the finest individual features would result in nothing but discord. But secondly, even supposing that each style of countenance were carefully separated from the others, in such a manner that the best features of each would harmonise when combined (a not very possible supposition), still the result would be greatly inferior to the Ideal Beauty of the Greeks. In fact, to settle the matter, there are proportions in some of the Ideal countenances of Greek and Roman statuary which are never in any case met with in actual life. They have no parallel in living nature, and so the eclectical theory falls wholly to the ground. A product can never exhibit a thing not in the dividend,-a heap of pure sand can never, when sifted, leave behind it a grain of gold; and in like manner, no æsthetic eclecticism in the world can ever give as its product a facial angle of 95° or 100° (as seen in the Elgin Marbles, and in the heads of Jupiter in the Vatican Museum), when no such angle of the face is to be met with in actual life. In fine, it will be found that we can no more extract some forms of Ideal Beauty from the forms of nature than we can make pure light by a union of colours; and the best possible result of the Eclectical system would fall as much short of perfect ideal beauty as the dingy white produced by blending together the colours of the spectrum falls short of the purity and brilliance of unrefracted light.

The true source or foundation of Ideal Beauty, therefore, it appears to me, must be sought for elsewhere than in the world of matter. It springs not from any mere inspection of external particulars, but from a comparison of these with the aesthetic conceptions within us, and a discernment of the true ideas of form with which the human mind is itself endowed. Our mental constitution and external nature are made for one another. A perfect harmony subsists between the macrocosm without and the microcosm within, and the laws of the one tally exactly with those of the other. Both, it must be allowed, are often imperfect in their working; yet the former longs for, and the latter

tends to produce, Perfection: therefore there is but one standard for both. It was a fine saying of ancient times, that "there is nothing noble in Nature but Man, and nothing noble in Man but Mind." And it was in strict accordance with this maxim, and with a deep feeling of the harmony subsisting between the soul and nature,-with a lively conviction that each of these co-ordinates reflects the laws of the other, but that the former is the more perfect mirror of the two,-that the Greeks proceeded in their creation of Ideal Beauty. They resolved to supplement the defects of ordinary nature by an appeal to the higher standard within. Seizing with admiration upon their highest types of physical beauty, they idealised them,* and so succeeded in imparting a degree of symmetrical beauty to the forms of Nature which the latter, though ever striving after, seldom or never develops. If it be asked how the aesthetic principle of the Mind operates and manifests itself in the production of Ideal Beauty, we answer -In a twofold manner: the critical and the creative. When an artist, for instance-whether painter or sculptor-is busy in the work of conception, his Imagination is in full play, and summons up before his mind's eye a succession of forms,—each of which, consciously or unconsciously, he tries by the aesthetic faculty of his mind, and at length selects the one most in unison with his design: even as a musician selects, after trial, the most pleasing of a succession of chords. In this case, all goes on within the mind itself-Imagination supplying the objects, and the Esthetic faculty making the choice. But let us see what takes place when the mind emerges from her own recesses, from the shadowy chambers of imagery, and comes into contact with some object in the external world-as, for instance, a statue. In this case-unless there be some unusually gross violation of nature the imagination, acting in obedience to the æsthetic faculty, does not alter the fundamental style of the form set before it, but, accepting the general outline and expression of the statue, proceeds mentally to modify the defective lines or

* See also infra, pp. 133-5.

features until the whole aspect and contour is brought into unison with the mind's requirements, and until Imagination superimposes an airy image of the Perfect upon or around the solid lineaments of the Imperfect.

This might be called, for brevity's sake, the Law of Psychical Suggestion. But as I entertain a salutary distrust of all technical phrases-which generally do little more than hint at the thing signified, without in any degree describing it—I shall endeavour to find plain words enough in the English language to fully express my meaning. And although Ideal Beauty is a subject which is regarded as peculiarly belonging to the transcendental regions of philosophy, and has been discoursed upon with as much haziness as if it did actually belong to the most recondite arcana of mysticism, I do not despair of making it intelligible to the reader, since it is identical in principle with a class of the most ordinary phenomena of everyday life. Suppose we are reading a book, and come to an idea with which we cannot coincide: does not the mind forthwith set to work, and suggest thought after thought in rapid succession, until among the multitude presented we recognise the true one? Or suppose we are asking ourselves that question which every other day or hour demands from us an answer,-"What shall I do in the circumstances?"-and forthwith the various alternatives of the case pass in review through the mind, until the judgment selects that which seems to it the best. In some such cases, plan after plan may unfold itself within the mind, each with its long train of probable accidents and far-off results,-until the thoughts that thus glint through the light of the mind, like a flight of meteors in a November night, coming from darkness and going into darkness, may absolutely bewilder us by the multiplicity in which they appear. Or, leaving the realms of pure thought, let us think of things which have physical forms and qualities. Let us take counsel with ourselves, for example, as to the best shape or size for a dining-room table; or the best pattern for drawingroom carpet or curtains; or the best colour for a neck-tie; or,

more homely still, what we should like for dinner, and forthwith tables of all shapes and sizes, and carpets, curtains, and neck-ties in goodly variety pass in shadowy review before us; while, if we chance to be particularly hungry, savoury dishes of all sorts appeal almost as strongly to our senses as if they stood arrayed before us on a table d'hôte. One article after another, in short, is suggested by the mind, until we make a choice. These things are familiar to all of us; and, in truth, the power of the mind to originate ideas, either of itself or in connection. with some external object, is a matter of such hourly experience with every human being, as to need neither comment nor illustration. Nevertheless, as it is this self-same mental process which constitutes the basis of the beautiful phenomenon which we are now investigating, we must look a little farther into it.

When a lively idea of any object is conceived in the mind, we feel as if the object itself were in some way present and felt, and that we are mentally enjoying, suffering, or inspecting it. Every such conception which relates to material objects—such as a form, or colour-tends to produce a more or less vivid picture of them on our mental retina. Every one is aware, at times, but especially when our emotions are excited (or, in other words, when the soul is in lively activity), that we can and do see in our "mind's eye"-as Shakespeare said first, and as everybody says now-perfect likenesses of absent persons and places. But the imagination can go farther than this, and, dispensing altogether with the aids of recollection, can conjure up scenes, figures, or events which have no existence at all in the outer world. This is the faculty which the creative artist (one) employs; and the result is, as in the former case, an image impressed on what we may still call the mental retina, the vividness of which varies in intensity according to the temperament of the individual and the extent to which his mind is interested and his imagination in play. Almost every one, however mentally sluggish and apathetic, must be familiar with this phenomenon; and it is told of that most original of artists,

Blake, who possessed the imaginative faculty in a very high degree, that he used to be able to summon up ideal faces with such vividness, that he felt as if he beheld them in all the distinctness of objective reality—with all the life-likeness of flesh and blood.

Nor is this much to be wondered at, for this "ideal" image is, in truth, quite as real, though not so vivid, as any produced by external influences. The province of matter is to excite to action the Mind, and Mind in its turn reacts upon matter. The Soul, in fact, and the External World, are two poles of action; and as the Body is an intermediate organism, and medium of communication between them, it is acted upon by both. The sole use of external objects, so far as the eye is concerned, is to send a vibration or influence along the optic nerve to the brain, exciting in the soul an idea corresponding to the object beheld. But, dispensing with this process, by an exercise of its own native powers, the soul, as we have seen, can conceive this same idea for itself, independently of external assistance; and so the image is as truly conceived by the latter process as by the former, -although the image produced by external influence is the more vivid, because the soul, like everything else, cannot act upon itself with the same intensity as it is acted upon by other bodies. But there is more in the matter than this; for the soul can not only create images for itself, but it can impress these ideal images upon its enveloping organism. For, just as certain vibrations from without produce a picture on the retina, sensation in the brain, and an idea in the soul-so, reversing the process, an idea strongly conceived by the soul, excites corresponding visual sensation and vibration in the brain and nerve, and an actual picture on the retina. For example, when a man sees a statue, a vibration is sent inwards through the eye, along the optic nerve, to the brain; so, when he thinks, or conceives the idea of this statue, a similar vibration is sent outwards from the brain, along the optic nerve, until its delicate lineaments are depicted on the expanded surface of the retina. Thus-as