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    the fate of a companion who died early , and which is hroken off by her hysterical terror—in the sustained and sweet prayer which follows it—and in the agitated duet terminating the scene , we are conscious of a tender and loving nature , so true to its own qualities that no horror , no cruelty , can overcome the power of these qualities—can make that nature anything but sweet and loving—can condemn it to a bitterness which is not redeemed by beauty and faith . In this , as in the other cases , the cruelty and death become tests of those diviner influences which give to life its highest and truest happiness . So in many versions of the greatest sacrifice of martyrdom recorded in history—the Crucifixion . Blood and tears are presented in their nakedest aspect , certainly with no feelings of revulsion to the spectator . The " Ecce Homo" of Annibal Caracci represents Jesus wealing the crown of thorns , probably after undergoing the scourge ; Mary , the mother , fainting with agony . The countenance of Mary is exquisitely beautiful , but is simply given up to the physical sense of that agony which the unconquerable sweetness of the countenance of Jesus is incapable of expressing , because the sweetness is so unconquerable . No scourge , no bitterness of approaching death , no injustice , can extinguish the love , and the grace which accompanies love , in that countenance . The Divine power of the Atonement , as it was understood by the painter , triumphs over all ; and in the agony of the mother the intensity of the suffering is expressed . Her agony is the measure of the power of life surmounting death , which is the subject of the picture ; the blood and tears being the test of it , and themselves deriving a value from the sublime truth which they become the means of expounding . It needs the most perfect natures , the strongest powers of vitality , to sustain these trials of mortality with firmness and with unfailing dignity or beauty of feeling . Perfect and symmetrical natures are perfect and symmetrical in all their actions . Independently , therefore , of the canon which I have mentioned in my previous letter , and which requires an ideal beauty as the means of expression in painting , there is this additional truth—that a beautiful action is capable of its most complete and beautiful performance by an organization which is in itself most complete and beautiful . Thus our feelings are led to associate with the sense of that which we admire , with the sense of that which we instinctively seek to imitate or to be , the things also which are in themselves admirable and beautiful . In other words , while we contemplate a perfect work of art , representing a perfect action of dignity or of beauty , we become impressed with the Sublime feelings that dictated that action , that animated that work of art —we become imbued with those feelings to such a degree that at the moment we are more capable than otherwise we should be of understanding that work of art , of performing that action ; the aspect of a perfect life arouses in us , so far , the instinctive impulse to be that to which we are drawn—to be strong over peril or even death , to be sustained by dignity against injury , to uphold grace from the mire of debasement ifcy its own divine power . In these things , most excellent , the work of att affects as the presence and example of a beloved friend , making us to partake even in ourselves of its diviner influence . As vvitnesseth your Thornton Hunt .

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    VIVIAN IN THE DUMPS . I have received this letter from my friend Vivian , written in his blackest " Dear Chat Huant , —A better man than I shall ever be—Horatius Placcus by name—ran bravely away from the battle field when he saw the day was lost ; with , that discretionary valour so commendable in men of sense he threw his sword and shield over the hedge , and intrepidly retired to his villa at Tusculum : Somno et inertibus lioris Ducere solicits ? jucunda oblivia vitse . And there to write Sapphics which should drive poets mad with envy , and perplex long generations of schoolboys ... I , who am fond of quoting Horace , imitate him , run away , desert my post , burn my pen , and pack my carpet-bag . The dog days in London are too formidable . I could bear them if I were happybut being miserable I succumb .

    , " ' Vivian miserable ! Vivian the gay ! Is he then in love r JN ot he : Pas si bete ! He asks— Wherein doth Love differ from Hate When it doeth the work of Hato -destroy ? And judiciously avoids that passion so destructive of the appetite and complexion . But the Blue Devils assail him , he knows not wherefore , unless they be in the atmosphere . " No matter for the cause , I have lost ray gaiety , and no one will read

    me unless I recover ifc by the quickening influence of the country . I have tried everything London affords and failed . I have over eaten myself , and it did me no good . I have taken pints of full bodied port and am none the better for it . I have read Sherlock ' On Death' and it didn't enliven me . I went through Tillolsou's sermons without a smile . I have attended a vestry meeting and come away a hotter , not a better , man . I have seen Charles Kean act , and felt no spiritual exaltation follow it . A pall of ennui is spread over the sky . I am as mopish as if I were married , and lived in a provincial town . ThaL adorable Fanny who says , she ' likes Vivian when he is serious , ' would adore me now . I am as serious

    as taxes . " By the way , I wish you would tell Fanny the next time she complains of my being ' such a coxcomb , ' that her complaint is idle . Why should 1 not be a coxcomb if Nature has made me one P Nature has need of coxcombs—she delights in them , or she would not make them . " To resume . The object of this lugubrious letter is to tell you that my gaiety is gone , my ' occupation is gono , ' and operas aro as odious to me as the little bills that are always being ' made up . ' Will you ' do my spiriting gently , ' and write the splendid articles I should have written V I am oil to fresh fields and pastimes new' to seek reinvigoration in Nature , and a volume of the Christian Fathers . ' \ Kver affectionately yours , VrviAN . "

    Our Constant Readers will remember , it was about this sultry time last year , that at the prayer of Vivian , who began to sicken and to say , " I ' m aweary , aweary , I iirst sat down and took up my pen ( as our modern Sevigiic ' s say ) to give the Leader an opportunity of forming an intimacy with a delightfully fresh and simple nature . Indeed this was the only favourable point of contrast by which 1 could hone to reconcile a worldlyminded public to a temporary loss of Vivian . Ft is so pleasant after all , especially at this season , to ( tome in contact with a soft green bit of real , nature , and such was mine , fresh iroin ( he society , calm yet cheerful , of three maiden aunts ( and a , torn cat ) in a , far oil country village in the

    west of Fnghuul . K von the best friends of Vivian have never been abh' to accuse him of simplicity of nature , or to acquit him of knowledge of tho world . For no other reason jin I conceive , he pounced upon mo for his milwtituto in the ( log days . Alan ! wince this ( lay last ? year 1 have fasted of the Vauxhall ham of" life . " 1 have experienced its unsatisfyingncss , iln steely flavour ; I sun no more the guileless heart of other days . Sinco I have enjoyed tho intimacy of Vivian , ho has taught me , rather by examp le than precept , tho vanity of existence without an aim , and that aim iiary distant wedlock with Home rich and aged spinster , suggestive of immortelles and legacies , and meanwhile a bachelorhood of independent feelings . Yen , Vivian , the philosopher of inooueianee , him converted me , a fresh

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    PASSAGES FROM A BOY'S EPIC . VII . THE DEATH OF UIIANIa . Through court and spacious square the Princess past , Nor paused until she reacht the poplar trees Beside the palace gates . Here fingering winds , With song of birds amid the dancing leaves , And sigh of reed , and rush , and waving grass , Troubled the else inviolable calm . The daylight waned ; the red and circular moon Showed near and large , and with dim shupeless fears Perplext the heart ; and Ariadne saw From starry heights in worlds invisible , Hope fall , as falls to earth a heavy stone , Which some strong hand lias hurled above the clouds . Yet paused she not , but through the palace gates , Now opening to her , entered , and beheld Within the gates , hidden in swathing grass , Urania , her fair daughter , haply here Deserted by the women , when the din And outcry of the frantic populace Kolled up to heaven , and they bewildered sought Kefuge in flight and in some cave obscure . The child lay sleeping on her folded arm , Her hair in golden tendrils shadowy fell Over her face and neck , and lightly came And went the breath between her parted lips , Fragrant and soft , while scarce one happy smile itufllcd the summer calm of looks as clear As waters dreaming in a glassy pool . Then o ' er the slumberer Ariadne leant And woke her , breathing warmly on her face , And fanning her light liuir ; ho never more

    Awakened . But the Child , low murmuring , said , " Kiss , kiss me , mother dear , and clasp my hand , And say farewell to me ere I depart , Where all day long the lovely children play , On pleasant fields of yellow asphodel : Clasp , clasp me , mother , ere I fade from life , And kiss me as I kist thee yesterday ; I shall not need thy kisses any more , When a pale shade I play with shades as pale . " So spake she , but her words were pent by Death , In that great Darkness where new stars appear . Her mother answered not , but from her brow Parting the wavy gold she kist the child , Who , smiling , from her kisses faded fast . There was no moan for her , no falling tear , No sigh , nor stifled sob , who thus from life Gently withdrew ; but Ariadne knelt , Folding her hands , beside that fair dead child , With look eternal and prophetic soul , That welcomed every evil it divined : So leave them with no wail upon the night , To the calm Gods , and to the patient stars . M

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    690 THE LEADER . [ Saturday ,

• Citation
  • Leader (1850-1860), July 17, 1852, page 690, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/l/issues/vm2-ncseproduct1943/page/22/