upper classes, who are thereby inclined to pass over to Episcopacy; on the other hand it deprives the fine arts of their highest aims, which they can attain only by consecration to the service of God. In this view, it is pleasant to observe how the resumption of the realm of the beautiful into the domain of a reasonable theology has recently come, as was to have been expected, from the bosom of the Anglican Church; the well-known sermon Nature," by Dr. Mozley,* and the excellent little volume on the "Natural Theology of Beauty," by Tyrwhitt, being authoritative voices on this text that will not fail to find an echo in the public mind.t on 66 One observation we feel bound to make in concluding, that, so far as the history of aesthetical philosophy in this country is concerned, it would be altogether a mistake to confound the negative ideas on the philosophy of taste which we have noted in the English, and more particularly in the Scottish people, with the doctrine taught by the few writers that we can boast of on æsthetical science. The wide reception which the shallow associa tion theory obtained for a season among the wits of the modern Athens was no doubt a striking proof of how little the atmosphere which Jeffrey and Alison breathed partook of that element which gave elevation to the work of Phidias and the philosophy of Plato. Greek, as Sydney Smith said, never marched in great force to the north of the Tweed, certainly never leaped over the outer cincture of the soul of any thorough-bred Scotch Calvinist; but the special form of æsthetical scepticism preached by the association sophists, so far from being an expression of the general character of Scottish æsthetical science, runs directly in the teeth of the best utterances on the subject, both before the bewilderment produced by the sophistical glory and after it. Even Dugald Stewart, who takes off his hat to Alison in a style with diffi * Sermons preached before the University of Oxford, by J. B. Mozley, D.D. 2nd edition, London. 1876. The Natural Theology of Natural Beauty, by the Rev. St. John Tyrwhitt London. 1882. Mr. Tyrwhitt sums up the conclusion of his book shortly thus: 1. "That visible Nature represents the design, or a small part of it, of a living soul; and that that design includes our welfare." And 2. "That Nature does this by enabling man to ob serve in the world exterior to himself and in himself (a) structure, through scientific analysis, and (3) beauty as in immediate form or color, through Art"-words than which I could not desire any more succinctly and more effectively to summarize the doctrine of which I have endeavored to sketch the outline in the present paper. culty to be distinguished from absolute submission, in the first paragraph of his discussion of the principle of association, cuts off the ground from this theory as a foundation on which any really scientific account of our æsthetic sentiments can be raised: "It is,” says he, “ the province of association to impart to one thing the agreeable or disagreeable effects of another; but association can never account for the origin of a class of pleasures dif ferent in kind from all the others we know. If there was nothing originally and intrinsically beautiful, the associating principle would have no materials on which it could operate." * This is sense, a peculiarly Scottish virtue, over which in that climate metaphysical subtleties and twinkling sophistries never obtain anything but a very partial and fleeting triumph. To Hamilton we have already referred; and Dr. Reid, the most authoritative spokesman of the Caledonian philosophy, in his " Essay on Beauty," stands stoutly up against the tendency then beginning to manifest itself as an outgrowth of some of Locke's loose propositions-viz., the tendency to deprive a large class of our noblest sentiments and most elevating ideas of all objective value, by fixing the attention exclusively on one of the two factors employed in their production. He also distinctly emphasizes an essential excellence or perfection possessed by all objects admired as beautiful, and along with this admiration he willingly pays homage to the divine source from which all excellence proceeds.† And before Reid, Hutcheson, professor of mental philosophy in Glasgow, had given prominence in his "Essay on Beauty" to the great principle of uniformity in variety, which, as the dominant principle in the framework, so to speak, of all æsthetical science, we have in this paper stated as a necessary expression of the unity which belongs to mind. No less decided is this early writer in his assertion of the divine source to which the cunningly marshalled array of lovely objects in nature is ultimately to be referred. Coming to more recent times, Fergusson, whose name is a symbol for catholicity and comprehensiveness in architectural art, complains how "not only architecture but all the arts have Works of Dugald Stewart. Edinburgh, 1855. Vol. v., P. 243. On the Beautiful, ch. vi. t Reid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers, essay VIII. An Inquiry into the Original of Beauty and Virtue. London, 1759. 3rd edition. Emotions and the Will," discourses on ideal beauty, admirable as is the talent of various kinds which the book displays, one always feels as in a church where the walls are curiously decorated with sacred paintings, but where, in turning round, the spectator finds the pedestal in the centre of the shrine without the goddess. Always and everywhere, and in all matters, as Aratus says in the prefatory lines to his book on astronomy, we mortals are in need of Jove- távra dè Aids kexPημεOα Távres - but specially in the contemplation of the beauty and grandeur of the universe, which, if it is not felt indeed to be a temple to worship in, must dwindle down into a toy-shop to amuse children, or a farce for fools to laugh at. been cursed by that lowest and most un-erly speaking, labor under a natural incareasoning source of beauty, association pacity of comprehending. When prosaic a principle which teaches men to throw a and matter-of-fact persons meddle with veil of beauty over some objects in the the ideal, they either write nonsense, or mind of particular persons, which to others very inadequate, very frigid, and altoappear commonplace or even ugly."* In gether soulless sense. In contrast with the year 1835 Dr. MacVicar, of Moffat, MacVicar and Shairp, in whose pages gave to the world his extremely ingenious the Three Graces, the true, the good, and and finely discriminating book on the the beautiful, in native sisterhood twine "Philosophy of the Beautiful," † in which their sacred dance together before the he announced the very principle for which divine source of all good, 'tis sad to see we have made stout contention in this the Scottish philosophy in one of its latest paper-viz., "that the elements of beauty phases reverting to the mere tabulation of by which the eye is flattered or the ear uninspired groups, without any reference regaled are as determinate as any propo- to the one great source, which alone is sitions in mathematics." And with re- able to impart to these groups the unity gard to the right which æsthetical science and the significance which they undoubt has to take place with the sublimest veri-edly possess. When such a writer as ties of a reasonable theology, he says: Professor Bain in his work "On the "If there be, as it appears there is, a responsiveness and agreement between nature and the soul, this only proves the unity or sameness of the Creator of both. But if we refuse to grant a Creator, then all remains an incomprehensible mystery; and, indeed, there is an end of all philosophy. The idea of beauty, the beautiful in essence, must be in the creative mind." And in perfect harmony with this, we find Principal Shairp, in his work on the "Poetic Interpretation of Nature," writing as follows: "Poetry has three objects man, nature, and God. The presence of this last pervades all great poetry, whether it lifts an eye of reverence directly towards himself, or the presence be only indirectly felt, as the centre to which all deep thoughts about man and nature ultimately tend. Regarded in this view, the field over which poetry ranges becomes co-extensive with the domain of philosophy, indeed of theology." In these words we find the better nature of the Scottish mind blossoming out, unhampered by the sharp fence of scholastic dogma in which it has so long been imprisoned; and in Principal Shairp's book altogether there is an aroma of fine as thetic interest, which can be found in a treatise on poetry only when the writer is himself a poet. No man can write well on any subject of which he has not had a living experience; and it must always be regarded as a misfortune when persons of a prosaic and utilitarian habit of mind feel themselves called upon to put forth judicial utterances on a matter which they can only know at second hand, or, more prop JOHN STUART BLACKIE. From Longman's Magazine. TAMZIN'S CHOICE. CHAPTER I. It was an awful night by sea and land; all the day long a fierce north-wester had swept across the Atlantic driving the waves before it with angry fury, till at last, checked in their wild course, they roared and broke in columns of foam on the bare and savage cliffs of north Cornwall. Trevenna, which, unlike many of the villages on that coast, does not nestle down in a valley between the rocks, but lies exposed on a bleak headland, felt the full sweep of the storm. Some ten minutes' walk from the village lay the Port, a singular haven; for, besides a huge rock in its very midst, it was lined with boulders, whilst the few fishermen's boats that belonged to the place were hauled on to a sort of shelf half-way | in a corner of the fireplace, every now and up the cliff. There was no such thing as then looking out of the window from pushing off a boat at Trevenna, it could only be let down by a windlass from the rocky ledge at high tide. Leaving the Port behind us, a very steep, stony road leads to the village, and in the first cottage on the edge of the tableland lived the prettiest girl in Tre venna, gifted with that beauty which can at times be found in Cornwall, reminding one that the coast population has had many a foreign intermixture of blood, which has left a still unobliterated trace on the inhabitants. Tamzin Richards was an only child, and her parents, no wiser than parents usually are, doted on the girl and spoilt her unsparingly. Now the evil was done, Tamzin always took her own way and heeded nothing that was said to her. A strong self-will had this Cornish maiden; born within sound of those wind-tossed waves, the very freedom of the elements had found a resting-place in the nature that could be but seldom led and never driven. Quick of wit she was, and of temper, perfect in health, in figure, and in feature, brown and tanned it is true, but that suited the dark, shining eyes, and the crisp, curly hair that clustered round her small head. Old Richards had once been a sailor, but having met with an accident he had set up a small shop-that is, he had filled his cottage window with various bottles and articles of value in a fishing village, and had turned tradesman. Tamzin scorned the shop and allowed her father to do the counter-work. There was that in the girl's nature that despised anything so safe and free from danger as shopkeeping. Still she was glad enough to spend the profits on her person, and many a gay knot of ribbon that went to adorn the little brown neck was cut by Tamzin's fingers from the store in the one box which contained the vanities of old Richards's shelves. At the back of the shop was the real sitting-room of the family—a low chamber looking out towards the cliffs, with its small, latticed windows deeply set in the thick masonry, otherwise they could not have long withstood the winter storms. Old Richards's face was bright and handsome evidently Tamzin took after her father; whilst her mother, who was almost a nonentity, except as far as she was bound up in her daughter, was certainly not distinguished by any personal beauty, and this evening she sat knitting which Tamzin had drawn back the curtain, shaking her head at the weather in a kind of deprecating manner as much as to intimate a gentle remonstrance with the elements. The talk of the three might have been a little difficult to catch for any one unaccustomed to the accent, and for the sake of lucidity we will spare the reader the real dialect, which ran somewhat like this, Ay, it's a fearfu' night, Tamzin. I've a fancy Jahn Kernick won't be a-comin' to-night, az time be taaken oop elsewhere," said Mrs. Richards. "You might have said, mother, he'd been afraaid to have com'en out at night, it laik'd but thicky to the tale. Shall I go and axen him az reason?" answered Tamzin scornfully. "I never'n.said as he laiked courage, Tamzin; but it's an awfu' night. Looken at the keendle-teening, child." Tamzin and her father both cast their eyes towards the guttering candle, the former with half a smile of scorn, but the latter with a graver look on his face. Keendle-teening is a bad sign, child," he said solemnly; "it's a sign of folks in trouble and spirits a-knocking about a place; when they once begin theirn games they won't laive mun alone at all.” Jahn Kernick is not a man to be affrighted at nothing," said Tamzin, but her voice was not so assured as before, and she got up and went into the dark shop whose window looked into the vil lage street. Nothing was to be seen but one or two twinkling lights down the village; and the roar of the wind as it howled up from the Port was almost terrible to hear, even though the girl felt safe enough in her own home. "John Kernick will come," she said to herself slowly; "he said he would. He won't think much of walking from Port Gavorne; even if it were worse than this he wouldn't." At this moment there was a knock at the door, a knock which most likely would not have been so easily heard if Tamzin had not happened to be in the front room. The warm blood rushed to the girl's cheek, but suddenly forsook it, again, as she murmured, "That's not John Kernick's knock; he makes a noise one can hear when he comes." With agile fingers Tamzin unfastened the door and opened it carefully, asking in her quick and not very musical voice, — "Who's there?" "Don't you know, Tamzin?" answered a man's voice, as, not waiting for a further invitation, he stepped in and shut the door; and so doing he came in contact with Tamzin's fingers as if quite by chance, and suddenly grasped them and held them tight. "Have done, Pascho Fuge," said Tamzin quickly, and this time she spoke in a low voice. "Can't a girl shut the door without having her fingers squeezed to death?" "I meant no harm, Tamzin," said the voice, in a far softer accent than Tamzin's. There was almost a pleading tone in the few words, which any woman would have noticed; and which Tamzin, not being less clever than the usual run of her sex, certainly heard though she would not heed it. "Who is it?" called out old Richards from the inner room; and Pascho was forced to go forwards, thus losing all chance of any more private conversation with Tamzin. Ay, that there is," answered Pascho, sitting down in a chair Tamzin carelessly brought forward for him. "It's a roughish night, but I've seen worse ones, though, Mrs. Richards." performed with that quiet, meek look on his face. "He's brave, and no mistake," Tamzin had once said, "but I wish he looked it more. He's not like John Kernick — he's brave and looks it, every inch of him." "What were you saying about signs, my son?" asked Richards, rubbing his knees and looking at the quarryman with interest: the mysterious and the terrible had a strange fascination for the old seaman. Even Tamzin now deigned to come forward, so that the light fell on her face, and her dark, lustrous eyes looked up into Pascho's face with real interest. "Is it a sign you've seen, Pascho Fuge?" she asked. "Yes," he said slowly, "it's I that have seen it - the dead hand." He paused, and the effect on his hearers was. as thrilling as he could expect. Tamzin's eyes dilated visibly, whilst Mrs. Richards shuddered. "Are you sure of that, Pascho? It's an evil sign," said the old woman. Just as I was coming down the quarry this afternoon I looked up a minute and I saw in front of me a handa right hand - it was nothing more, grasping the rungs of the ladder I had let go, it followed me all the way down, holding our miner's light between its thumb and finger, and, as sure as my name is Pascho Fuge, that light was bright enough to guide me down to the very bottom." "What do the miner-folk say it means? asked Tamzin, almost softly. Pascho noted the tone, and would willingly, had he dared, have grasped her hand again and covered it with kisses, because she had spoken gently to him. "I'm not great at meanings, Tamzin," he said laughing; some folks say it brings harm to the man who sees it, but my father saw it twice, and died in his bed as quiet as any one. It's my belief it depends on people's eyes; some have a power of sight in their eyes, whilst others have most none, except just enough to lead 'em to put the victuals in their mouths." All the time Pascho was speaking he kept turning round slowly in his chair so as to catch a better view of Tamzin, for that young woman had perversely placed herself just behind him. Pascho was a big, fair man, with a red beard, and soft, mild, blue eyes, with a far-away look in them. Though his size was formidable, the expression of his face was as gentle as a child's. Some might have called bim "a bit sheepish," when they saw him, as at this moment, sitting in the same room as Tamzin and breathing the same air. But Pascho was not at all sheepish in reality, not one of the quarrymen could excel him in pluck when there was need for it, nor could any keep a cooler head or steadier hand when being let down the face of those terrible slate quarries al- "And so they do," said Pascho; and most overhanging the sea, in which he then softly, so that in the din of the wind was now at work. Many a time had Pas-only Tamzin heard, he continued, "they cho received a cheer from his fellow-work- always see you, Tamzin, afore them day men for some feat of extra boldness, and night; in the quarry and out of it, "I expect it is," said Tamzin, looking for the first time straight into Pascho's blue orbs. "Your eyes have a look as if they saw a heap more nor most people's, Pascho." they see your loving face and your eyes. There isn't another as has your eyes in Trevenna, Tamzin." "It comes of living two doors off," were his words, as he let himself into his own cottage, where he lived with an old mother and a sister. "Ay, sure enough, it all comes o' that." CHAPTER II. IF Pascho thought sadly, not to say "My cousin Sabrina has my eyes, folks say, just the same pair over again," and Tamzin laughed merrily so that every feature was lighted up by her radiant smile, and seemed to intimate by their expression that folks might say so, but Sa-jealously, of his rival that night, he would brina could not really he compared with have been comforted bad he seen that her. Pascho thought just the same; poor that self-willed beauty Tamzin did not fellow! if he had but been the only one to allow the sailor to be more familiar with · think so. her than he had been. If a woman has two lovers, it is by no means always easy to tell which she prefers; on the other hand, if an outsider had been asked to settle the question after looking at the two men, on first thoughts, or without thought, no doubt he would have given the preference to the one who now settled himself down comfortably by the Richards's fireside, but in such a way as to see Tamzin's face. "Sabrina is not fit to hold a rushlight to you, Tamzin." The rushlight brought back the idea of the candle, and the candle the thought of the light held by the dead hand. Tamzin looked grave a little; she was even going to say something pleasant, or so it seemed from the look on her face, when a loud knock was heard. This time there was no mistaking the sound, and Tamzin jumped up quickly. "It's John Kernick!" she exclaimed, regardless of Pascho's presence; "didn't I say he would come, mother?" In a moment she was in the front room without waiting for an answer, and without seeing the look of pain which passed over Pascho's face. What business, he thought, had John Kernick to come courting all the way from Port Gavorne weren't there any girls there and at Port Isaac for him? Poor Pascho rose and muttered a kind of good-night, even though the old folk both bade him bide a bit, but all the time he was saying to himself, "No, John Kernick is right; there isn't another like Tamzin, and I would walk a heap of miles more than he does to see her, but I just happen to live two doors off, so she doesn't take no heed of my love." By this time Tamzin had opened the door, and a loud, hearty voice pealed out above the noise of the elements. "Her I am, Tamzin; I wager you didn't expect me this rough night. Tregeagle is howling himself hoarse over the moor, every demon must be after him." "I knew you would come," said Tamzin; and by the tone of her voice one could make sure that she tossed her head, even though it was dark. Then by a certain little scuffle on John's part, one could guess that he also tried to come into close proximity with Tamzin. It was just at that moment that Pascho slipped by them and went out with a terrible feeling at his heart and a low murmur on his lips. John Kernick was tall, strong, and manly, with the jollity belonging to his calling, and with a certain daring, devil-may-care courage which always has a charm for women. He owned a small vessel which was usually_employed in carrying slate from Port Gavorne to various destinations, but he had other business as well, and did a little honest trading on his own account, and now and then a little trading that would not bear the adjective honest before it. Coming one summer day into Trevenna Port, he had caught sight of Tamzin Richards, and from that minute John Kernick determined to make her his wife. But he soon found that there are two people in this bargain, and Tamzin was not the girl to be won in an hour; besides, Pascho Fuge was first in the field he had loved her from childhood, and every one in the village knew he was "sweet on Tamzin." What did this matter, however, to the bold sailor? He felt sure of success, and knew that Tamzin was by no means insensible to his charms what girl could be? But this girl was superior to any he had ever seen. He had walked over this very evening to show her that for her sake he could brave the elements with ease, nay pleasure. "Tamzin said you would come, Cap'en Kernick, and she was right enough." "I'm sure I didn't care, mother," retorted Tamzin hotly. "It isn't many as would have come this night," said John contentedly, "and that's the truth." |