6 
recondite mysteries. As the student of Natural History finds in 
the stratification of a rock or the veining of a butterfly’s wing a 
key to some hitherto unsuspected secret of the ‘‘ Great Mother 
Earth,” so the true Artist never traces the exquisite contour of a 
mountain range, or imitates the blending of the sunset’s varying 
tints, without investigating, as far as in him lies, those hidden 
laws of harmony which make all Nature beautiful, and which he 
must himself skilfully apply, if he would transfer a portion of 
that beauty to his canvas. Nor does the resemblance stop here. 
The student of Nature must not merely investigate; he must 
generalise. The geologist who is seen to-day, lens in hand, 
examining the structure of some tiny fossil, will to-morrow unfold 
to us the nature and succession of the stratification of a continent, 
and the alternate depositions and denudations of centuries. The 
knowledge derived from the markings of a_ petal, or the 
peculiarities of a bird’s claw, will enable the botanist or the 
ornithologist to trace the evolution of our household pets from 
long-extinct ancestors. So, too, the minute skill with which the 
Artist depicts the very form and colour of the objects before him, 
will be but labour in vain unless he has mastered the laws of 
composition, and knows how to combine the varied forms of 
beauty which are presented to his gaze into one harmonious 
whole. Such study is eternal. Nature is like the fabled Proteus : 
she must be held fast and bound with chains before she will 
answer the questions proposed to her ; but she will answer them 
eventually. There is no mystery so great that the ardent student 
may not hope to solve or penetrate it, but the end is not yet. In 
the very solution of his problem another mystery comes into 
sight, “Hills peep o’er hills, and Alps on Alps arise.” He 
feels like one of the Nile explorers—he has advanced a little 
further into the dark continent, but the vast interior is still un- 
known. Yet his progress is sure as far as he has reached, and 
he takes his place among the prophets ; for, small though it may 
be, he has a revelation to impart and will leave the world wiser 
than it was before. Nor will I venture to decide which lessons 
are the more important, or the more durable,—those recorded 
with the pen, those traced with the pencil, or those chiselled on 
the monuments of remote antiquity. 
Nor is it only in their common love of Nature, or in their 
endeavours to trace her hidden beauties, and to record them for 
the advantage of others, that the Naturalist and the Artist are 
brought into close connection. In both the faculty and close 
observation is largely developed, and the senses are quickened to 
a degree unattainable by those whom a similar enthusiasm has 
not “ touched to fine issues.” If the man of Science is prompt to 
mark some slight discoloration on a leaf, indicating the presence 
of a fungus, or some ripple on the still pond, telling where the 
