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glish navy, once told me that he had ment, the cutting with the diamond repeatedly had specimens of these an- chisel, and the hand strading of the imals under observation for months at a brush. A genial, grey-haired man had time, and that they always had par- under his brush Stephen dividing his ticular spots, generally depressions in cloak with his sword. While we were rocks, which they regarded as homes, admiring the rich coloring, the art and to which they would always return, workman jocosely said: “ 'E's not Romanes, the English biologist and cuttin' 'is cloak in 'alf; the hother naturalist, makes a like statement in won't get 'is good share.”. In these bis “Mental Evolution in Animals."
stained-glass rooms the signs of work
were cheery and inspiring. Often Ants are, of the entire insect world, there was the buzz of friendly talk, probably the most gifted home-finders. and the whole fellowship appeared to Time and again bave I tested them in be one of intelligence and mutual this, sometimes taking them what must interest, and certainly in that departhave been to these little creatures enor- ment, these words of Morris have mous distances from their nests before been fulfilled: “This seems to me freeing them. Of course the ants ex
most important—that our daily and perimented with were marked, other
necessary work, which we could not wise I could not have watched them
escape if we would, which we would successfully. When an ant is taken not forego if we could, should be into new surroundings and set free, it human, serious, and pleasurable, not at first runs here and there and every- machine-like, trivial, or grievous. I where. As soon, however, as it regains call this, not the very foundation of its equanimity and recovers from its architecture in all senses of the word, fright, it turns towards home. At first but of happiness also in all conditions it proceeds slowly, every now and then of life.” Amid this glass art work we climbing tall blades of grass and from
are pleasantly reminded of the story these high places viewing the surround- of Morris's and Burne-Jones's college ing country in search of landmarks. As days together, of their query as to soon as it arrives among scenes par- calling in life, since they were both tially familiar to it, it ceases to climb supposed to be destined for the service grass-blades or weeds, and accelerates of the Church, and, finally, of their its pace. When it arrives among well- mutual pledge to devote their lives to known and accustomed surroundings art. This comradeship of purpose and it runs along at its utmost speed, and work has lasted long years, and many fairly races into its nest.
English churches have been abunBy James Weir, Jr.
dantly served in these glorious windows.
Next we passed into the mazes of
weaving-the plainer rug-weaving, the A POET'S WORKSHOPS.
daintier silk-weaving, and the wonOur guide was delightful, being one derful tapestry-work. In all these of the workmen in the stained-glass rooms there were simply hand-looms, rooms. His face shone with guod which moved back and forth with a will, and he had such a factory com- sort of click-clack of sociability, but plexion as I had never seen—the most with no wearying thunder. There wonderful glow of health. The
were younger people at the heavier stained-glass work was first shown to looms where the rugs were growing, us. Here the genius of Burne-Jones but the two places of honor were held reigns supreme, since all the stained by the patriarchs of the art; a greyglass work in the Morris factory is haired man who was carrying througb from his designs. We saw many of his loom the daintiest silk brocade in the cartoons, and the glass in all de- white and green and gold, and who grees of disarrangement and arrange- stopped with the pleasure of the artist
From The Outlook.
to turn it over that we might see the These are the words in an essay where beautiful imagery of the light side; he is mourning the decadence of the over by a quiet window sat an old, old art: “What a noble art it once was! lady gently casting her shuttle To turn our chamber walls into the threaded with pale blue silk, and who green woods of the leafy month of smiled when we wondered what fair June,' populous of bird and beast, or a maiden should be gowned in it. Of summer garden with man and maid this beautiful work, yet possibly playing round the fountains, or a solmonotonous, William Morris writes em procession of the mythical warquite justly: "I do not call the figure- riors and heroes of old; that surely weaver's craft a dull one, if he be set to was worth the trouble of doing, and do things which are worth doing; to the money that had to be paid for it; watch the web growing day by day, that was no languid acquiescence in an almost magically, in anticipation of upholsterer's fashion." the time when it is to be taken out, The pattern-stamping room seemed and one can see it on the right side in quite natural, for there we saw the all its well-schemed beauty, to make glorious designs and rich coloring in something beautiful, that will last, out the cretonnes and velvets and fabrics of a few threads of silk and wool, which American importers have gra. seems to me not an unpleasant way of ciously made more familiar to us. An earning one's livelihood, so long as one old design was slowly growing under lives and works in a pleasant place, the strong and skilful hands of one of with work-day not too long, and a these art workers-a design that could book or two to be got at."
easily suggest Mr. Morris's dictum, But, oh! the tapestries! Two loonis “The absolute necessities of this art piere bearing these lovely burdens. are beauty of color and restfulness of One picture growing in most delicate form.” It required muscle to carry tints
copy of Botticelli's the copper plate steadily, and perfec“Spring,” this the first time it has ever tion of touch to plant it firmly in its gone into tapestry, it being the special proper place. The coloring was in rich order of a woman who had long fan- golden brown, which the interested cied it would well lend itself to being stamper told us was the most durable thus wrought. The other was “The color, it being practically rust! We all Visit of the Magi,” this being from know Mr. Morris's love of the Persian Burne-Jones's design, and the third designs which reappear with new life time, I think, it has gone on the Mer- under his pencil, in stamped fabrics ton Abbey loom. The only discour and in woven stuffs. If we heartily aging feature of the tapestry-weaving enjoy these gorgeous things, we may was that these sensitive, quick fingers partially sympathize with Mr. Morbelonged to men from the Far East, ris's feeling about the old Persian and that it is not yet an English art. workers and designers when he writes: Our appreciative guide spoke in hon- “I believe I am not thinking only of est, rapturous terms of tapestries that my own pleasure, but of the pleasure during their weaving had lent their of many people, when I praise the usebeauty to the factory and to all the fulness of the lives of these men, workers. A series representing the whose names are long forgotten, but King Arthur legends had been with whose works we still wonder at. In them
Seemingly they their own way they meant to tell us had grown to love them as their life, how the flowers grew in the and
in rich memories their garden of Damascus, how the thoughts followed them to the courtly hunt was up on the plains of Kirhome whither they could not go. I man, or how the tulips shone among know of no home adornment that Mor- the grass in the Mid-Persian valley, ris writes of with more keen feeling and how their souls delighted in it all, and love than of wall-hangings. and wbat joy they had in life; nor did
From The Forum.
they fail to make their meaning clear gives naturally. In short, this is what to some of us."
it comes to, that it would be better for The allied craft of nearly all these us, if we cannot revive the now almost arts is that of the dyer, and these lost art of dyeing, to content ourselves pure, ravishing colors we next traced with weaving our cloths of the natural to their abiding-place in the Mertou color of the fiber, or to buy them colAbbey vats. Certainly these seemed ored by less civilized people than ourlike magic caldrons! We hear much of selves.” the poet's love of color, and this poet's The workers in all these crafts, by fondness is also ascribed to Morris. their goodly occupation, eight-hour
But what other poet, besides feeling working day, and highest wages color and writing of color, could say, known in the trade, seem to be realizin discussing the niceties of the coloring, as far as is possible at present, the craft, as Morris does in such plain claims of a decent life as Mr. Morris workman's prose: “I myself have dyed has himself stated them: "First, a wool by the self-same process that the healthy body; second, an active mind Mosaical dyers used!" Mr. Morris in sympathy with the past, the present, rather enjoys color tirades, and, after and the future; thirdly, occupation fit having delighted in the perfect glasses for a healthy body and an active mind; or wools or fabrics from the factory, and, fourthly, a beautiful world to live or having felt his painstaking care in." when looking in a vat where the dye From "A Visit to William Morris's Factory.” By had stood for seven years, we
Rho Fisk Zueblin. quite easily sympathize with an attack upon the new dyes like this: "The fact is that every one of these colors is hideous in itself, whereas all the old PARTNERS IN A COMMON PROGRESS. dyes are in themselves beautiful col- The history of civilization shows ors-only extreme perversity could that its growth has been attended by make an ugly color out of them. slow but steady improvement in the Under these circumstances it must, I condition of women, and that it may be suppose, be considered a negative vir- measured very accurately by this tue in the new dyes that they are as standard. It is often assumed, by fugitive as the old ones are stable; those who review this history, that the but even on that bead I will ask you improvement has been wrung from to note one thing that condemns them unwilling men, or granted by generous finally—that whereas the old dyes, ones, and that more may be got in the when fading, as all colors will do more same way. It is also assumed to be or less, simply gradually change into not only improvement in the condition paler tints of the same color, and are of women but progress toward the connot unpleasant to look upon, the fad dition of men, although the one by no ing of the new dyes is a change into means implies the other. I venture to all kinds of abominable and livid hues. believe that
man-the adult male I mention this because otherwise it human being-has had little to do with might be thought that a man with an either the “subjection” or the “emanartistic eye for color might so blend the cipation" of woman, and that ber hideous but bright aniline colors as improvement is only one aspect of that to produce something at least tolera- progress of the race in which her share ble; indeed, this is not unfrequently is precisely the same as his. attempted to-day, but with small suc- Primitive man was, no doubt, an cess, partly from the reason above ugly, ferocious brute, but there is evimentioned, partly because the hues so dence that primitive woman admired produced by 'messing about,' as I his ferocity and was quite ready to should call it, have none of the quality abandon him and follow a more feroor character which the simple drug cious brute with resignation and even with exultation. If the woman of the without deliberation, and as it wure, heroic age was in constant danger of by instinct; so that she is able to act life-long slavery under covetous and wisely in the affairs of practical comable-bodied neighbors, her men-folks mon life without waiting to weigh were, according to the “Odyssey,” in
motives and to compare consequences. no less danger of furnishing a bloody In other words woman is held by man meal for dogs. Any delicate and re- to surpass him in intuition. fined woman of to-day would find til On the other hand man holds himself common life of a woman of the Dark superior in power to abstract and to Ages unendurable. The women of the compare, to deliberate, to suspend Dark Ages were not over-refined, nor. judgment, to reach new generalizafor that matter, were those in the time tions by the slow process of logical reaof good Queen Bess; and the life of soning, and to perceive these generaleither of those periods would be misery izations in their pure and native light, and wretchedness to the men of the free from all practical complications. nineteenth century as well as to the By these means he is able to extend women.
the domain of mind over nature and to Those who talk of the subjection of escape competition by opening new woman to man's dominion, and her fields for action. IIe believes he 4:15 emancipation from his tyranny, forget especial aptitude for winning his way that, during historical times, the whole in the field where bold and aggressive human race has improved in the vir- qualities count. He takes upon himtues of self-restraint and humanity, self the task of challenging comand that, even if there has as yet been petition by striking out into new lines; no material progress in disinterested and he believes he excels woman in ness, selfishness has unquestionably power to discern the laws of thought, become more enlightened and broad of society, and of the material uniminded. Instead of being something verse, and in ability to make these diswrested from hard-hearted man, the coveries the basis of conduct, and thus improvement of the condition of to widen the sphere of human activity. woman is only one aspect of that prog- Where intuitions, instincts, emotions, ress which benefits all,—the young, the and past experience furnish no guide mature, the aged, women and men, to conduct, he believes his judgment alike. Man has
not deliberately is better than hers. His power to orig. worked out his destiny. He has been inate and to generalize from new expeshaped and controlled by influences of riences fits him for success in occupawbich he has been, for the most part, tions where competition is fiercest; totally ignorant; influences which are where marked success depends upon purely natural, shining like the sun on the addition to the knowledge and skill the evil and the good, and descending of his rivals of the inventiveness which like rain on the just and the unjust; gives him advantage over them. and woman, like man, has had her If women wish to abandon the part in the whole history of our race. domain which he considers more prop
While admitting that the average erly their own, and to compete with woman may not be the most admirable him, they should have a fair field, but or the most useful one, men are toler- they can expect no favor. If they are ably unanimous in the opinion that driven to the wall they may, if they there
well-marked differences choose, attribute their “subjection" between the average male mind and and his success to his big lungs and the average female mind. They hold muscles, and to his brutal energy of woman superior to man in concrete body and mind, rather than to any acquaintance with those principles of difference of mental quality,- but the conduct which are of most general result will be the same. application, and in constitutional apti- From “Woman from the Standpoint of a Naturaltude for applying them to special cases,
ist.” By Dr. W. K. Brooks.
VICTOR HUGO AND SAINTE-BEUVE. cut up, I had rather it was not done by
24th December, [1830). you. If so, put a short paragraph in You do well to write to me, my
the Globe, to-morrow or the next day, friend; you do well, for the sake of all with a notice that the book will appear of us. My wife and I read your letters
on Wednesday. I have told Gosselin together, and we speak often of you to send you one of the first copies. You with deep affection. The days you re
will read it, won't you? And then you mind me of are very dear to me.
Do will tell me quite frankly if you think you think they will never return? I you can review it; and one of these hope they will. There! it will always days I will go and write in your copy be a pleasure to me to see you, a pleas- that I always am, have been, and shall ure to write to you. There are only be, your best friend,
V. H. two or three things really worth har
Friday, 18th March, 1831. ing in life, and friendship is one of them. But let us write to each other,
My Friend,-I did not wish to write and often. Our hearts are still keep
to you with the impression made by
your letter fresh in my mind. It was too ing up their intercourse. There is no
sad and too bitter. I should have been breach between us.
unjust in my turn. I wanted to wait
for a few days. To-day, at all events, 2d January, 1831.
I am calm, and I can read your letter You have been very kind, my friend, again without reopening too widely the to my little ones. We want to thank deep wound it gave me.
I must tell you for it, both my wife and I. So
you, I did not think that what has will you come to dinner with us to passed between us, what is known to us morrow, Tuesday? 1830 is passed and alone, could ever be forgotten, espegone!
cially by you, by the Sainte-Beuve that Your friend,
I have known. Oh, yes! I say it with VICTOR. greater sorrow for you than for myself,
[Sunday, 13th March, 1831]. you are very different from what you I did not see you last night, my were. You must remember, if your friend, and I was really sorry for it. I new friends have not made even the have so much to say to you, so much to shadow of your old ones fade from tell you about the pain you are giving your mind, you must remember what me, so many heartfelt requests to make passed between us in the most paiuto you, my friend, for your own sake, ful moment of my life, when I had to Sainte-Beuve, whom I love more than choose between her and you; recollect myself. I want so much to hear you what I said to you, what I proposed to say that you love me still, to be able to you, what I offered to you with the believe it, that I must go and see you firm resolution, as you know, of keepsome of these days, and have a long, ing my promise, and doing what you unreserved, and affectionate talk with wished. Recollect all this, and then you about all this. Does it not some- reflect that you have just written to times strike you that you may be me that I showed a want of openness, wrong, my friend?
Oh! I implore you, of confidence, and of sincerity towards do not get this idea into your head; it you in this matter.
This is what you is, perhaps, the only remaining hold I brought yourself to write hardly three have over you.
We will talk about it, months afterwards. I forgive you will we not?
from this moment. Perhaps a day will Yow to unimportant matters.
come when you will not forgive yourWill you take “Notre-Dame de Paris" self for it. in hand? Do you still think you need Your friend still, in spite of yourself,' not cut it up too much; for if it is to be
V. H. LIVING AGE. VOL. XII. 602