NATURE may be studied in many aspects; her wealth of service and beauty is freely open to all who seek; and while the man of science, by patient study and assiduous toil, may learn something of her mystery, and gather from her not unwilling hands rich treasure of knowledge for the benefit of humanity (for without the midnight watch and the elaborate calculation of the astronomer navigation would yet be in its infancy; without the enthusiasm of the botanist as he toils in the tropic forest the virtues of many a healing plant would be unknown; without the keen perception of the geologist the miner’s task would be in vain), so the man of art in no less degree may find in her study richest elements of beauty, loveliest suggestions of colour, forms of infinite grace. A delight in the study of Nature, a desire to realise something of its grandeur, is a source of unbounded pleasure to its possessor, for to him no walk can be a weariness, no season of the year dreary, no soil so sterile as to be barren of interest:—

The lichen on the rock, the wayside grass, the many-coloured fungi, are no less full of beauty than the forms that more ordinarily attract attention, and are no less worthy of study. “The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have pleasure therein;” and Nature has ever to the devout mind, from its own inherent beauty and its testimony to Him its creator and sustainer, been a study of the deepest interest. Some who glance over these opening remarks before entering upon the search for such material in the body of the book as may seem available for their immediate purpose, may consider that this view of the subject is unpractical; but we would remind such that all art, pictorial, sculptural, decorative, or what not, is only noble and worthy of the name so far as it affords food for thought in the spectator, and testifies to thought in the artist, and that the nobility of the work is in direct proportion to such evidence of inner life. Art that is Æsthetic and sensuous, though pleasing to the eye, must ever in the nature of things hold a subordinate place to that art which is symbolic, to those forms in which an inner meaning may be traced; and though one work of art may perhaps necessarily contain less of this reflected thought than another, yet this proposition we think will hold good, that no work of art that does not in some way testify to this can be altogether satisfactory, for while pleasing for a time to the eye, it yet leaves the mind unsatisfied: the reverse will equally hold good, and we may safely repeat that in proportion to the thought bestowed and expressed by the artist will be the enjoyment and profit to be derived by others from it. The true artist will not consider with how small expenditure of trouble he may attain his end; he will, on the contrary, have a heart full of sympathy with all that is beautiful. This will become a wealth of knowledge, will prove a precious possession to himself, and the result must be visible in his work, and stamp it with Promethean fire. To the artist then who is worthy of the name, nothing can be too petty for regard, nothing that the Creator has pronounced “very good” too insignificant for notice; for in Nature beauty is scattered with a lavish hand, and the fungus that passes through all the stages of its existence during a summer’s night, and the snow-flake still more transient in its duration—

have a charm of their own no less than the higher forms, while to give but one other example from the many that present themselves, the Foraminifera—animal remains met with in chalk cliffs—though only visible with high microscopic power, have the curves of their shells as graceful, designs as varied, markings as intricate, as perhaps any other natural objects whatsoever. We therefore appreciate the quaint fancy, the studied thought of the designer who in some old glass that we have noticed at Ockham Church, in Surrey, while making some of his quarry designs of columbine, rose, and other lovely forms, chose for one of them a little fungus surrounded by cup moss, and springing from the turf; frail creatures of a day, meet emblems—like the withering grass, the fading flower—of the short estate of man, the transience of all his glory.

In the endeavour to suggest something of these humbler types of beauty to the artist, the designer, the architect, and the manufacturer, the following papers have been collected from the pages of the Art-Journal, the periodical in which they originally appeared, and after careful revision by their several writers, have been published in this detached form, in order that they may be still more commonly accessible.

The first article is an endeavour on the part of the author to indicate something of the profusion of beautiful form that may be met with in our hedges and skirting our roadsides, to point out the source from whence the mediÆval artists gathered their inspiration, and to plead for its greater use by their successors, that by a like loving appreciation we too may create like forms of beauty.

The second essay deals with marine forms of vegetable life, and dwells on the immense variety of form that may be met with in the sea-weeds that surround our shores, and the applicability of many of the species to the varied purposes of the designer. It is curious that these wonderful forms should not have been employed more largely in the decorative work of any people. With the exception of the singularly waved and bossed foliage seen in the stone carving and metal-work of the later years of the Decorated period of Gothic, and which may possibly have been originally suggested by the Fucus vesiculosus, one of our commonest shore weeds, we know of no instance of their introduction into ornamental art. Hence here at once a wide field is open to the designer, and this essay cannot fail to be full of valuable material.

As the first and second articles have striven to illustrate the beautiful forms that inhabit the land and the sea respectively, so the third article, leaving

and the more familiar forms of earth, deals with those delicate forms of the air, the flakes of falling snow, and points out the immense variety of graceful forms afforded by their crystals.

Symmetry and geometry are both so commonly met with in ornamental art, and are also so conspicuously present in the forms of snow crystals, that the application of those forms to design cannot fail to follow when once their beauties are brought under the notice of the designer and manufacturer.

Symmetry shows itself in a general beauty of proportion, and balance of masses in a composition; or, in the more limited sense in which we now use the word, in the likeness of one half or part to another in the unit of design. We speak of a design being bi-symmetrical or tri-symmetrical, or if it goes beyond this, as in snow crystals and in many other cases where the ornament may be bounded by a circle, it is termed multi-symmetrical. Bi-symmetrical arrangements will be found most appropriate for the decoration of upright surfaces, as wall-papers or curtains, which will always be seen one way, while multi-symmetrical star-like forms are more suitable for floor-cloth or carpet patterns, because a star-like pattern on the floor looks equally well from all parts of the room; while a design having its halves merely alike can only be viewed to advantage from one point. It is curious to observe that in Nature the rule seems to be that the lower forms shall be multi-symmetrical, made up of several similar parts, while the higher forms of life are bi-symmetrical: thus in the first class we get snow crystals, sea-anemones, star-fishes; and in the second, the more advanced forms of animal life—insects, birds, quadrupeds, and man himself. There are numerous exceptions, however, to this: thus we have flowers multi-symmetrical, and their leaves only alike in their halves, though undoubtedly the flower, in view of its functions in vegetable physiology, and also from the ornamentist’s stand-point, cannot be considered lower in the scale of creation than the leaf. The charm produced by the mere repetition of parts may be well seen in the kaleidoscope, where a series of irregular pieces of glass develop into various ornamental forms, owing to their symmetrical arrangement and radiation from one centre—an effect still more clearly and beautifully seen in the crystals of snow, where the unit is itself of pleasing form.

The influence of geometry upon design has in almost all periods of art been very marked—in some styles, as the Early English Gothic, and the Italian of the thirteenth century, much more so than in others; but in no style is it altogether ignored. Whether we study the examples of decorative art produced in our midst, the result of modern skill; or turn to the remains of Egyptian and Assyrian ornament, the brain-work and handiwork of men who toiled thousands of years ago, or whether we contrast the delicacy of much of our English work with the rude carving or pottery of the South Sea Islander, we still cannot fail to notice that amidst much that is very marked and distinctive in comparing one period with another, or the handiwork of one race or nation with another, this one great principle of the adaptation of geometry to ornament is exhibited more or less prominently in all. Where a sense of flatness is desirable, as in designs for floor-coverings—as mosaic, tile-work, carpeting, &c.—the use of geometrical forms appears especially appropriate, since the feeling of flatness is easily obtainable, and yet, accompanying this essential feature, almost any degree of complexity and richness of effect. These remarks upon the use of geometry must, however, be considered to apply more especially to the simpler kinds of design, to those intended to fill but a subordinate place. As we rise higher, geometry, though still valuable in the setting out and defining of leading lines and masses, gives place to higher forms, those based on animal or vegetable life. In a fourteenth-century diaper the part we admire is not the geometric basis of the design, but the delicate filling in of oak or maple, buttercup or ivy, though we unconsciously admire this the more on account of the enclosing straight lines—lines that we should at once miss if they were removed as superfluous.

The fourth essay of our series deals with the suggestive ornamental forms so freely met with in organic remains. As in the previous essay we found in the clouds above forms of beauty well adapted for our needs as ornamentists, so in this one we delve beneath the surface of our earth, and again have the lesson impressed upon us, that in every situation forms of beauty abound, that the world is full of suggestive material for the student of ornamental art, and that in what at first sight appears a barren and profitless waste, fresh proof is given of the universal reign of law, order, and beauty throughout the whole range of creation. These four essays, then, should prove a welcome addition to the ornamentist’s store of material, since (though no book-work can take the place of actual observation) they may at least suggest to him other forms, and cause him to turn his attention in fresh directions. With this hope, then, we conclude, trusting that our efforts thus to illustrate in some degree the wealth of Nature may not have been altogether in vain.

F. E. H.