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is recognized as the result of one creative idea. Any departure from 

 such a recognition tends to notions which are essentially anthropo- 

 morphic and utilitarian. 



In the enquiry before us, we have no such danger to guard against. 

 The particular pattern which is formed by shades of colour, is, with 

 few exceptions, so manifestly unimportant to the economy of the 

 creature, that we feel no disposition to account for it in any other way 

 than by referring at once to the idea of the Creator. 



There are, however, some exceptions, which must be noticed. The 

 colour of certain birds is so similar to that of the localities where they 

 are found, that we can hardly doubt this circumstance is important to 

 their welfare as enabling them more readily to conceal themselves from 

 their enemies. The same may be said of many kinds of fish. The 

 change of colour on the approach of winter observable in some birds 

 and animals is supposed to answer purposes similarly useful ; and there 

 are probably many other exceptions. 



Setting these aside, the phenomena of colour in plants and animals 

 refer us at once to the will of the Creator. We see these things so 

 because He would have them so ; and there is no intervention of any 

 probable use that might have modified or suggested the creative 

 thought. 



The colour of a spot upon the wing of a bird or a butterfly seems to 

 be a matter of perfect indifference, and so perhaps it may be in respect 

 of the more palpable requirements of the creature ; but the distinction 

 is only apparent, and not real. It is highly probable that the colours 

 of animals are determined by laws just as fixed and unalterable as 

 those which regulate the construction of their most necessary organs. 

 We may, indeed, find it much more difiScult to arrive at the principles 

 on which the colour pattern has been elaborated ; but, at all events, we 

 may apply ourselves to the task, encouraged by the firm persuasion 

 that nature is never capricious. 



One of the most essential points to be observed in any work of art 

 produced by the use of colours is the preservation of harmony of tone. 

 It is needless to prove this, for almost any clever picture, ancient or 

 modern, is an exemplification. We have only to fancy an azure patch 

 from one of the early Flemish painters introduced into a composition 

 of Salvator Rosa, or a sunset from Turner, in the same frame with a 

 Caualetti, and we perceive at once the fatal incongruity. 



But these are extreme cases, whereas the rule is most exact. Let 

 any artist, however skilful, attempt to restore a gap in one of Claude's 

 landscapes, it will be fortunate, indeed, if he does not produce a blot 

 fatal to the beauty of the picture. And why ? Because of the extreme 



