the difficulty of working it being increased proportionally to its degree of hardness, it ought not to escape our notice, in a treatise, of which it is the professed object to illustrate the adaptation of external nature to the physical condition of man, that many of the common forms of building-stone, though soft while yet undetached from the quarry, become hardened very considerably by exposure to the air: which change in their state enhances their value in a twofold sense; for, in consequence of their previous softness, they are more easily worked; while their subsequent hardness insures the greater durability of the building in which they are employed. And, again, though many varieties of stone are so easily worked, even after a long exposure to the air, as to have acquired in consequence the name of freestone; yet even with respect to such as are of the hardest and toughest quality, an equal degree of ease in working them is easily attainable by practice. To an unpractised workman, for instance, nothing is more difficult than to give a determinate form, by the hammer or chisel, to granite, slate, or flint; and yet a little experience enables the mason to work all these to the greatest nicety: and that person would indeed be very incurious, who, although he might not naturally be disposed to notice mechanical processes, did not feel an interest in observing the form which the roofing-slate takes under the bill of the slater; or the ease with which the gunflint is formed into its peculiar shape by a few strokes of a light hammer.

But, after the stones have been detached from the quarry, and have been worked into a convenient form for building, it is in the greater number of instances necessary to the stability of the intended structure, that they should be consolidated together by some intermediate substance: for it would very rarely happen that the separate stones could be obtained of such a size as to be capable of remaining fixed by their own weight. Sometimes this effect is produced by means merely mechanical, as in the case of the construction of the larger circle of Stonehenge; where the upper extremity of two contiguous perpendicular stones, being pared away so as to form what is called a tenon, is let into a corresponding cavity called a mortise cut into each extremity of the horizontal stone that unites them.

As such Cyclopean masonry would be far too expensive for common purposes; and as the labour and expense of uniting together, by cramps of iron or other mechanical means, the very great number of stones requisite for the construction of even a small building, would be endless; we at once see the importance of any medium that will fully and readily effect that union, without much expense of time or money: and how completely the substance called mortar answers the intended purpose, the slightest observation will make manifest. As the employment of this useful substance appears to have existed antecedently to history, it is not worth while to spend

any time in conjecturing how it was first discovered: but it is quite in unison with the intention of the present treatise to observe, that, of the three materials of which it is principally made, namely lime, sand, and water, the first is readily obtained by the simple application of heat to any common form of limestone, a process which is occasionally going on in every limekiln; and the means of obtaining the two others are almost every where at hand.

Hitherto the materials, applicable to the arts of architecture and sculpture, have been considered as adapted to the common or necessary wants of mankind: but in what may not improperly be called the poetry of those arts, they are capable, in their application, of eliciting the highest powers of the imagination: for surely this may with propriety be affirmed of such sublime productions as the Parthenon in architecture, or the Belvedere Apollo in sculpture. Nor are we obliged to seek for such productions solely in the classic ages of antiquity for, to say nothing of Palladio, Michael Angelo, Canova, Thorvaldson, and other ornaments of modern Europe, our own country has given birth to works of the highest excellence in either department of the art. Nor need this assertion be made with any hesitation, while in architecture that imperishable monument of genius, the Eddystone lighthouse, attests the fame of Smeaton; and in sculpture, the pure and simple taste of Chantrey has, in that most exquisite work contained within the walls of Litchfield cathedral, thrown a truth and beauty over the image of death, which none of his predecessors had ever attained.*

Who can peruse the journal of Smeaton, and not admire the penetration, the resources, and the activity of his genius? Consider the nature of the task which he had engaged to perform; his limited and uncertain opportunities of action; the failures of others who had preceded him in a similar undertaking; the consequent necessity of new principles, and new combinations, in his plan of operations; the formidable dangers he was continually under the necessity of encountering; and, lastly, the awful responsibility of the undertaking itself: consider all these points, and it may be safely affirmed that, as an instance of the conjoined effects of personal enterprise, fortitude, and perseverance, the Eddystone lighthouse stands unrivalled.

On a small, precipitous, and completely insulated rock, deriving its very name from the irregular and impetuous eddies which prevail around it; elevated but a few feet above the level of the surrounding ocean, even in its calmest state; and exposed at all times to the uninterrupted swell of the Atlantic; by the joint violence of the wind and waves of which, a preceding structure had been in a moment swept away, leaving not a wreck behind; on such a spot was this new wonder of the world to be erected. Former experi

* One exception to this assertion perhaps exists, in a work on a similar subject by Banks; in the church of Ashbourne, Derbyshire.

ence is here of little avail, and common principles and means have been already tried in vain; the architect is thrown almost entirely on his own resources; and they do not fail him. In order to combat the force of those overpowering elements to which the future structure is to be constantly exposed, he looks about for that natural form which is found most permanently to resist a similar conflict; and viewing with a philosophic eye the expanded base of the oak, and the varying proportions of its rising stem, he made the happy selection of this object as the type of the proportions of his intended work.

"On this occasion," he himself says, "the natural figure of the waist or bole of a large spreading oak presented itself to my imagination. Let us for a moment consider this tree: suppose at twelve or fifteen feet above its base, it branches out in every direction, and forms a large bushy top, as we often observe. This top, when full of leaves, is subject to a very great impulse from the agitation of violent winds; yet partly by its elasticity, and partly by the natural strength arising from its figure, it resists them all, even for ages, till the gradual decay of the material diminishes the coherence of the parts, and they suffer piecemeal by the violence of the storm but it is very rare that we hear of such a tree being torn up by the roots. Let us now consider its particular figure-connected with its roots, which lie hid below ground, it rises from the surface thereof with a large swelling base, which at the height of one diameter is generally reduced by an elegant curve, concave to the eye, to a diameter less by at least one third, and sometimes to half of its origi nal base. From thence its taper diminishing more slow, its sides by degrees come into a perpendicular, and for some height form a cylinder.

"After that, a preparation of more circumference becomes necessary for the strong insertion and establishment of the principal boughs, which produces a swelling of its diameter. Now we can hardly doubt but that every section of the tree is nearly of an equal strength in proportion to what it has to resist and were we to lop off its principal boughs, and expose it in that state to a rapid current of water, we should find it as much capable of resisting the action of the heavier fluid, when divested of the greatest part of its clothing, as it was that of the lighter when all its spreading ornaments were exposed to the fury of the winds: and hence we may derive an idea of what the shape of a column of the greatest stability ought to be, to resist the action of external violence, when the quantity of matter is given whereof it is to be composed."

But invention and composition, do not constitute the whole of the character of genius, in the practical arts at least. Industry, both

* A Narration of the Building, &c. of the Eddystone Light-house, London, 1791, p. 42.

that which resists the listlessness arising from continuity and sameness of pursuit; and, still more, that which, though repeatedly repressed by unexpected impediments, as repeatedly recovers its elasticity; unconquerable and indefatigable industry, like that of the ant, is likewise requisite. And such industry did Smeaton manifest: and his industry has hitherto been completely crowned with success. The Eddystone has withstood the war of winds and waves through the greater part of a century, unshaken in a single point: and if of any human work we dare affirm as much, we might affirm of this," manet æternumque manebit."

We now turn to the efforts of genius, of another, and, intrinsically, a higher order to that beautiful composition of Chantrey, to which allusion has been already made. A different task is here to be accomplished: it is not the storm of the physical elements which is to be resisted, but the poignant grief of the bereaved parent is to be assuaged; and that, not by any nepenthe which may obliterate the memory of lost happiness; but by, I had almost said, the living image of the very objects themselves from which that happiness arose, and in which it centred. Alone, and undistracted by the presence of surrounding friends, the widowed mother approaches in mournful silence the consecrated aisle; where, softly clasped in each other's arms, she sees her beloved children resting in the repose of sleep rather than of death and gazing on them with intense affection, she feels not sorrow for a while; but, indulging in a dream which almost realizes her past happiness, would fold her treasures to her bosom, were she not too conscious that the cold embrace would dissipate the fond illusion.

SECTION III.

Gems and Precious Stones.

Ir it were the purpose of this treatise to point out the adaptation of external nature to the moral as well as to the physical condition of man, it might be easily shown, that, however an undue degree of attention to outward ornaments is blameable, a moderate degree of attention is both allowable and right: otherwise, and it is an instance that outweighs all others, it would not have been observed in the decorations of the temple of Solomon, nor in the original ordinations. respecting the dress of the Levitical priesthood. Those substances consequently, which are capable of being applied to ornamental purposes, become, in our mode of using them, a test of virtue, in the same manner as our ordinary clothing, and food, and sleep; all of which, though even necessary to our existence, may be abused by a luxurious indulgence in them. But at present I am no further concerned with the moral part of the question, than to infer that, if

an attention to external ornament be not only allowable, but right, we may antecedently expect that materials for its exercise would be provided by nature and that is indeed the fact.*

It would be difficult however to determine, which of the three kingdoms, the animal, vegetable, or mineral, is the most prolific source of those beautiful forms and colours which are principally valued as objects of external ornament. We do not indeed observe in any flower that iridescent play of colours which characterises some varieties of the opal and felspar, among minerals; and the plumage of certain birds and the scales of certain fish, among animals: but in elegance and variety of form, and in splendour and simplicity of colour, the vegetable world will be found to yield neither to the animal nor mineral. Mineral substances, however, from their rarity as well as beauty, are more prized; and from the durability of their substance are more permanently applicable to ornamental purposes than those either of animal or vegetable origin; and therefore serve better to illustrate the principle of this treatise. From among those substances which in commercial language are called precious stones, though some so called are not really derived from the mineral kingdom, it is proposed to select the diamond as a pre-eminent example of the whole class; because, in addition to those properties which render it valuable as an ornamental gem, there are some points in its history which give it a peculiar worth. naturally excite the surprise of those, who are unacquainted with the chemical history of this substance, to learn that the purest diamond does not essentially differ from a particular variety of common coal; or from that mineral of which drawing pencils are made, and which is usually, though not with propriety, called plumbago and black lead: and yet nothing has been more clearly proved than that equal weights of these several substances, if submitted to the process of combustion, will produce nearly equal proportions of carbonic acid gas; which has already been stated to be a chemical combination of definite proportions of carbon and oxygen; the diamond, which is the purest form of carbon, burning away without leaving any residuum; the other two leaving a very small proportion of ashes, in consequence of their containing foreign matter.

And here we can hardly fail to notice a very remarkable instance of what may be called the economical provisions of nature. How rarely, and in what small quantities, are the diamond and plumbago found; and how abundantly does coal predominate in many parts of the world! The Borrodale mine of plumbago in Cumberland is the most considerable source of that substance throughout Europe; and the province of Golconda almost alone supplies the whole world with diamonds: and, probably, the accumulated weight of all the

"Wherefore did nature pour her bounties forth?" &c.

COMUS, line 726, &c.