I.

HE most useful as well as the most ornamental devices which have sprung from the exercise of human ingenuity have all been founded upon the varied and beautiful creations which Nature has presented to us. It is not within the limits of human power to create, but from the impressions made upon the mind an unlimited variety of combinations may be formed. By the mental kaleidoscope an infinite change of form is produced by the re-arrangement of a few simple elements of beauty. The ideal head of the Grecian sculptures is but a refined reproduction of the lines of grace and beauty which the observant artists had seen in, and selected from, the intellectual features of the educated Athenians. Architecture, too, has liberally borrowed from the perfections of the human form. In the symmetry of the Ionic columns, and in the graceful strength and grouped elegance of the Caryatides, we trace the best proportions of the perfect woman; and in the flowing beauty of their ornamentations we may discover a reproduction of some of those caprices which are the spontaneous growth of the female mind. Architecture has no less liberally borrowed its styles and ornaments from other natural sources: from the arched cavern and the bowery forest tradition draws the form of the Egyptian temple and the Gothic fane. The chalice-like flower of the lotus of the Nile ornaments the columns of Luxor; the acanthus foliage decorates those of Corinth; and in numerous other instances the artist has sought to weave the simplicity of vegetable forms into the texture of his work, for the purpose of insuring a general character of lightness and elegance.

Whether the ancient potter selected the shapes of his fictile manufactures from the foliage of the forests of his land has been frequently discussed. It is sufficient, at present, to know that the elegant curves of the Athenian and Etrurian vases, which have through all periods been regarded as beautiful, owe this high appreciation to the simple fact that they are true to the lines which Nature has herself adopted. The true is always beautiful, and in whatever form it may address itself to the mind, it exerts over it an uncontrollable power for good. The impulses of Nature are ever in the direction of perfection, and we find, even in the exercise of the mysterious physical forces which bind the atoms of matter into a mass, that a constant tendency is exhibited towards an arrangement which shall observe the utmost symmetry. In the inorganic world we have crystalline forms exhibiting an obedience to the most perfect geometrical laws; and in organic creation—from the lowly lichen to the stateliest tree, from the infusorial inhabitants of a drop of water up to man—we have molecule combining with molecule in a myriad ways, but in all of them producing results which charm by their adaptation to circumstances, and in the perfection of every organ.

The efforts of man to convey to the canvas the resemblance of humanity—to impress, by the agency of a few colours upon his tablet, a reflection of the mental operation as it is seen “breathing through the face” in love and sympathy, or disturbing the features with agony or sorrow—is but an exalted effort of that desire which moves the entire race to copy the phenomena of Nature as they present themselves to our senses. It is the prevailing character, and, indeed, the distinguishing feature, of the human race, that it delights in imitation: the child in its play, and the man of talent in his studio, are equally exemplifications of this fact. Man has ever gone to Nature for his inspirations. If we examine the rude productions of the savage who is awaking from his merely animal existence, and over whom mind is beginning to assert its power, we discover that his first impulses are to gleam from the organized forms around him such objects as he conceives will add something to the adornment of his body. When he commences to produce any of those aids to existence which are the earliest efforts of technical art, we still see he rudely attempts to copy some familiar natural form. Whether we select from Greece “those faultless productions whose very fragments are the despair of modern art,” the almost breathing marbles of Phydias—whether we take the sun-baked pottery of ancient Egypt or of Central America, the “art-manufactures” of a primitive people, or those manifestations of an educated taste which Greece, Rome, and modern Europe afford, we shall find that in all alike the effort to imitate the works of Nature is the prevailing tendency. And, beyond this, we shall learn, too, that where the simple beauties of Nature have been approached—seldom have they been realised—the art-production has become the glory of the age and the boast of the country to which it belongs. We sometimes find that human intellect, proud of its comparatively high achievements, quits that almost stern simplicity which distinguishes Nature, and aspires to produce effects by violent contrasts and glaring characteristics; but the result is invariably the fate of Dædalus, whose flight on waxen wings was punished by a fearful fall. The departure from Nature in the works of art marks, like a widespreading mildew, the decay of nations; and this is readily accounted for. As good taste invariably indicates a feeling of the presence of that intellectual beauty,

“The awful shadow of some unseen power,”

which consecrates all that it shines upon, and gains an ascendancy over the gross sensualities of life, so a departure from it exhibits the operations of those feelings which have their origin in the depravity of the race.

Our artists and our artisans have sought busily over the surface of the earth for subjects on which to labour. Herb, shrub, and tree, leaf and flower, have been copied to ornament the works of their hands. The sea has yielded its organic forms, and the workman has sought, amidst the finny tribes and the shelly wonders of the great deep, for subjects to aid his decorative designs. The insect, the bird, and the beast have equally ministered to the exercise of fancy; and the inventive powers of the imaginative have not unfrequently attempted to blend the three kingdoms of Nature in one device, in the eager search for that novelty which generally gains a host of admirers. Leigh Hunt with truth exclaims, “We know not a millionth part of the wonders of this beautiful world;” and it is but slowly that science is discovering to us new subjects of admiration; but though slowly, science is steadily doing so. The truths of science are constantly serving the progress of art, and the more we free the labours of the philosopher and the experimentalist from the technicalities which are too frequently only retained to give a false appearance of learning, the more certain will be the advantages to be derived by the student of beauty from the labours of stern induction. The union of Vulcan and Venus tends to the diffusion of peace and happiness.

Although Natural History is found giving its aid to almost every division of ornamental art, there is one branch of it, Geology, which has rendered but little service to the artist. Yet here is a vast field, spread over an earth-wide space and comprehending almost infinite time, teeming with forms the result of the most varied organizations, which has scarcely yet been touched. This arises from the circumstance that the study of organic remains is itself a science of very recent date. Palæontology is but of yesterday; yet it has achieved important results. The study of the forms of animal life which existed in the earth previous to the creation of the present races which inhabit it is replete with the highest interest. As Astronomy penetrates the mysteries of space, so Geology pierces the arcana of time. The rock formations tell of the earth’s mutations, and the remains which they hold, as histories of former ages, show that the beings which possessed the earth as a dwelling were as perfectly adapted to their conditions of existence as any living examples of creative intelligence can be. Nor were they wanting in beauty. A study of the cabinets of the curious—or of the metropolitan and many local museums—would at once carry conviction to the mind, that amidst the host of fossil remains with which we are now acquainted is to be found a new variety of forms admirably adapted, by their symmetry and general character, for the purposes of ornament.

It will be found that stored in the rocks are creations which lived and breathed ere yet the great mutations had occurred which give to the earth its present physical features. From the coral-like structures of the Laurentian rocks—probably the earliest evidences existing of any organized structure—we may pursue our studies over the infinite variety of form which the Cambrian and the Silurian rocks preserve, until we arrive at that period when the Old Red Sandstone sea, teeming with life, washed the rock of that archipelago which has grown into the British Isles. Advancing to the study of yet more recent rocks, we may select the inhabitants of inland seas and the immense savannahs of an early world, which for delicacy of structure and elegance of design are not to be surpassed by any of the productions of organic life now existing. Here, then, is a yet unploughed field from which the art-manufacturer may cull fresh forms. We can only direct attention to the source, and give a few illustrations in proof of our assertions: having done this, we must leave the industrious artist to search for himself in geological cabinets and palæontological plates for those forms which may suit his purposes and please his taste. With the exception of two highly imaginative pictures by John Martin, of “The Country of the Iguanodon,” illustrating Dr. Mantell’s “Wonders of Geology,” and “The Book of the Great Sea-Dragons,” by Mr. Thomas Hawkins, in which a realisation of the condition of the earth during the period when it was the abode of those monstrous reptiles whose fossilised bones tell the tale of their ferocity and power, is attempted and ably conceived, art has not ventured into this abyss of time.

Whether the hydras of superstition or the griffins and dragons which are preserved in heraldic bearings are dim outshadowings of those ancient days, preserved like a myth amongst men, it were vain to speculate, although the speculation is fraught with interest. It is, however, curious that we find those strange remains of the old world linked to superstitions which have their origin since the introduction of Christianity.

It is therefore evident that those remarkable fossil forms must have excited the wonder of man ere yet science bent to the task of studying them. The graceful form of the Nautilus, which now enjoys existence in our tropical seas, is familiar to all. A large variety of molluscous animals of the same genera have existed through all time; and their remains found in the fossil state prove them to have been among the earliest inhabitants of the ancient ocean. In nearly all the rocks of a limestone character the remains of Ammonites—the ancient Nautilus—have been found. In the Oolite, the Lias, and the Chalk, varieties of these elegant shells are constantly discovered, and nearly three hundred species have been named. From these we select a few, which will, we think, show that they are well adapted for ornamental purposes.

Fig. 1.

The first we give is the Ammonites Eudesianus ([Fig. 1]), which is found in the inferior Oolite, a variety of the sandstone rocks; the specimen from which our illustration is taken being from the sandstone rocks of Caen, so well known in this country from the great quantity employed in our architectural ornaments. This example is remarkable for the perfection of the spiral lines and the beautiful disposition of the ribs or elevated portions, which serve to strengthen the delicate chambered shell.

The Ammonites cordatus of Sowerby ([Fig. 2]) is distinguished by a spiral of a different order from that of Eudesianus. Its ribs forming graceful waving lines, and terminating in a denticulated edge, give a very symmetrical character to the architecture of this variety.

Fig. 2.

Fig. 3.

The Ammonites cristagalli ([Fig. 3]), in which we have an arrangement of the convolutions not very unlike the last-named species, differs from it in the disposition of those folds which form the supports of the arch of the shell, by which a very charming though simple character is obtained.

The Ammonites muticus ([Fig. 4]), found in great abundance in the marls of the Lias, is remarkable for the very curious arrangement of tubercles or spines, which are formed by the elongation of the folds of the shell. Notwithstanding the general defect which arises from the repetition of angular lines, we have in this shell an example of the harmony which may be produced by them when arranged upon a uniform system. The radiating effect of these tubercles ranged around the involutions of the shell is very pleasing.

Fig. 4.

The Ammonites Grenouilloxi ([Fig. 5]) offers another variety, which shows the folds gradually being elevated, as these approach the mouth of the shell, into bosses, by which, of course, increased strength is secured where the shell becomes more open, and consequently weaker; at the same time they give a pleasing variety to the form of the shell itself.

The Ammonites contrarius ([Fig. 6]) presents many distinguishing characteristics, which are important to the naturalist as distinctive markings, and furnish the artist with a variety of simple elegance which deserves his study. The peculiar arrangement of the ribs, curving off right and left from a line running along the centre of the shell, gives rise to the formation of a series of festoon-like ribs, which add much to the general beauty of this species.

Fig. 5.

“The general principle,” remarks Dr. Buckland, “of dividing and subdividing the ribs, in order to multiply supports as the vault enlarges, is conducted nearly on the same plan, and for the same purpose, as the divisions and subdivisions of the ribs beneath the groin work in the flat vaulted roofs of the florid Gothic architecture.” In all these arrangements, and also in the bosses or tubercles, we have varieties giving both additional strength and beauty. A striking uniformity is found to prevail in even those shells of the Ammonites which seem the most complicated; and the elegance of their general appearance will be found to be due to the repetition, at regular intervals, of one symmetrical system of forms. In many of these fossil shells the pearly plates are dovetailed together in a curious and beautiful manner, the regular disposition of the sutures producing a very elegant foliated appearance. The charm of all these forms, and also of those fossil shells which are allied to the Ammonites, consists in the pleasing impression which is given by the gracefully curved outline, and the waving lines by which the shells are banded.

Fig. 6.

Among the Pectens—a class of shells common to the Sussex chalk—will also be found a great number of forms which, although not unlike many modern species, differ from them in some striking features, and which, independently of their novelty, are so very elegant that they seem peculiarly fitted for ornamental purposes. It has been with much difficulty that we have chosen two or three illustrations from this class, and we still feel doubtful if our selections exhibit the most favourable samples of their symmetry.

Fig. 7.

Fig. 8.

The Pecten quinquccostatus of Forbes, the Janira Atava of D’Orbigny ([Fig. 7]), is a beautiful semicircular shell, with a regularly denticulated edge, its surface being covered with fine transverse striæ. The woodcuts of the Pecten or Janira striatacostata and the Pecten Dujardinii ( [Fig. 8] and [9]), serve to exhibit other varieties of these fossils, and at the same time to show the elegant curvatures of these shells, when viewed in different positions.

Fig. 9.

Fig. 10. Fig. 11.

The Trigonia carinata ( [Fig. 10] and [11]), one of a class of fossils which has particularly engaged the attention of Agassiz, is also found in the Cretacean series. It is figured in two different positions, that the elegant outline and the ornamental radiating striæ, regular tubercles, and denticulated margin may be fully seen.

In the Cardita we have the same heart-shaped form, but the ornamental surface is in many respects different. The regular curved lines proceeding from the hinge of the shell, which is itself most delicately formed, present in the Cardium mutonianum ([Fig. 12]), the tuberculata of Sowerby, a most pleasing arrangement of striations. The regularity of these, as shown in the woodcut, particularly recommends this specimen and others of its class as admirably adapted for ornamental purposes, where very delicate and elaborate workmanship can be admitted.

Fig. 12.

The Opis Sabandiana ([Fig. 13]) is another of these elegant shells more remarkable for the regular form of its outline than for any elaboration of the striæ which traverse it, in this respect standing in pleasing contrast with the preceding figure.

Fig. 13.

Among the Trigonia will be found a vast variety of the most symmetrical forms, most of which are elegantly ornamented.

Fig. 14.

The two representations which we have given of the Trigonia scabra ([Fig. 14] and [15]) will convey a general idea of the more striking characteristics of this class of fossils, which are found distributed abundantly over the Portland rocks. The manner in which the folds of the shells overlap each other is singular, and gives to them often a very striking resemblance to the foldings of leaves in the leaf-bud of plants. The curved lines, formed by the small bosses regularly elevated from the striæ, running transversely to these lines in many species, give an exceedingly pleasing outline, which certainly adapts these Trigonia, from the variety of forms thus produced, to the purposes of the art-manufacturer in a peculiar manner.

Fig. 15.

By the wonderful transmutation of organic structures, by those natural processes

“Which turned the ocean-bed to rock,
And changed its myriad living swarms
To the marble’s veined forms,”

we have preserved specimens of the early creations, rivalling in beauty any of those which now exist.

If we can but show that a series of novelties for art may be found by searching over the charnel-houses of the ancient world, possessing the charm of symmetry and that beauty of arrangement and decoration which adapts them, as we believe, to numerous ornamental purposes, we shall be satisfied. We do but suggest an examination. We have confined ourselves to a few of the numerous remains of animal life. “The sermons in stones” are varied beyond the conception of those who have not attempted to read them. Between the earliest attempts of Nature to form a cell in which life should exert its mysteries, up to the most elaborated and gigantic form which ever swam in the ancient waters or roamed in the wide savannahs, there is one unceasing, never-failing effort to multiply the beautiful, and to make it conformable to the useful. In conclusion, we may again remark that whether we seek to copy from Nature her older or her more recent works, we shall find in them all that peculiar charm which

“Can so inform
The mind that is within us—so impress
With quietness and beauty—and so feed
With lofty thoughts,”

that the results of that study will be the production of beautiful works, all tending, by their spells, to elevate humanity.