were one of them, you should not hunt me so, without getting some hard knocks for your pains. You might kill me; but not before I had wiped out some of the bitter debt I owed."

"Truly, I think you would," said the sheriff, scowling at her, and feeling more angry at the glance of approval that appeared in Burnet's eye, as he listened to her speech. "But these are dangerous words, young lady; and spoken beneath any other roof than this, might bring you to jail."

Lady Aston, seeing that the conversation was taking an unpleasant turn, now rose; and bidding the rest a good night and pleasant slumber, left the hall. Her example was speedily followed by the others; and in a few minutes the sheriff and Lord Aston remained the sole occupants of the place.

Lord Aston was getting tired and drowsy; but manfully exerting himself to display his usual courtesy to his guest, whom he heartily wished a hundred miles off, he sat winking his eyes, and vainly trying to repress a frequent yawn.

The sheriff, however, was wide awake, and very thoughtful; pondering doubtfully, and trying to find, in the crackling logs, a clue to some vague suspicions that flitted through his brain. Suddenly he asked:

"Can you tell me who this Captain Burnet is, Lord Aston? Is he a friend of yours?"

"I cannot tell you much about him," replied Lord Aston, rousing himself. "It is said that he is on some mission from Master Cecil. We got him out of the fire at Fenner's place, when you burnt the cottage."

"Indeed!" said the other, slowly, as if thinking aloud. "He was lodging there with a recusant who is now in jail. I will have Master Fenner racked when I get back again, and see what he can tell. But what can his errand be? Has he told your lordship?"

"No," said Lord Aston, sleepily; "I have not cared to ask him. It is, I conceive, no business of mine. Why not question him yourself, if you have any curiosity on the subject?"

"To tell you the truth, Lord Aston," said the sheriff, "I should be afraid to interfere with him, if he be what you say he is. I had the ill-luck to arrest one of Master Cecil's people by mistake, a month or two ago, and was summoned to London to answer for

It was only my well-known zeal against the Papists that served me, or I should have had to change places with the prisoner. I got soundly rated; and I suspect that I should not be let off so easily if I blundered into the same offence again. But I will know something more of our friend before I leave."

He remained in the same thoughtful attitude for some time, leaning forward with his hands on his knees, his eyes still fixed upon the fire.

He roused himself at last, and observing that Lord Aston had gone to sleep, he got up and made a clatter with the fire-irons, raking the embers together with such vigour that Lord Aston started up, rubbing his eyes, and muttering some apologies for his drowsiness, offered to show the guest to his chamber. (To be continued.)

THE "BEAUTIFUL" IN ART.

ART, whose principle is variety combined in harmonious unity, when it exalts the mind by the representation of objects, scenes, situations, and images of beauty, power, sublimity, perfection, operates as an accessory to religion as to those systems of philosophy whose object is to unify and felicitate human minds, by raising them to a standard of high moral and ideal excellence. Art has received many definitions. "C'est la forme," says Madame Dudevant. "It is nature concentrated," says Balzac. But, including these conditions, it may, in its higher phases, be termed Life and Nature spiritualized-reality in part reflected, in part idealized. The mission of the highest minds-or those who unite love and imagination, and are poets and artists; or love and reason, and are sages; or love and action, and are holy men and heroes (for the original meaning of "hero" is from eros, love)-is to render all life diviner. The more complex our spiritual civilization, when governed by the principles of utility and beauty, the nobler it becomes. Any influence which idealizes reality into a higher beauty and associative harmony, tends to perfect society; and Art contributes to that end, by perpetuating the results of the highest emotional and ideal genius: thus constituting an ennobling presence in this world-temple of the Deity in space. Properly estimated, high Art should deal solely with what we call divinethat is, with what is true, beautiful, loveable, loving and useful. All that intelligence recognises as worthy of love, should be held sacred, and everything sacred should be rendered as beautiful as possible our religion, temples, homes, lives. The same principle should be impressed on works of ordinary utility, albeit their beauty is best illustrated in their use. Thus, our cities, which are sacred, as the vast homes of human life, should be rendered as beautiful as may be, and primarily healthy; as health, together with being the condition for the full exertion of human energies, is a main source both of happiness and of beauty. Order, symmetry, light and shade are the principles of Grecian architecture; the Gothic is more imaginative, capricious; its cathedral aisles repre

senting the avenues of the forest, its pinnacles the aspiring form of the tree, its ornamentation the endless variety of intervening branch and disposition of foliage. Perhaps northern architecture might be still further improved by rendering it the symbol, not alone of the tree, but of the cloud, whose forms are little less lovely, noble and various. Looking at one of those surging masses of white summer cloud, distantly crossed by perpendicular poplars, one recalls the form of St. Sophia with its domes and minarets. Combinations of the above objects and emblems suggest to the fancy certain new beauties which might be appropriately introduced into the domain of architecture. Again, fountains might be rendered most beautiful objects; and there is no structural work which admits more of the application of poetical design in which the lovely forms of tree and cloud might be united.

Material civilization is the basis of our social system; higher in order is our moral civilization, which is aided by it, but is founded on principles wholly apart from it-the eternal principles of right and wrong; above both these utilitarian regions is the domain of Art-or æsthetical civilization-the ideal domain, in which beautiful objects and beautiful emotions and imaginations are represented the useful below and around, the poetic and sacred, above. The conceptions of the artist are only limited by the horizon of nature; but as it is his business to educate his mind and those of others for the recognition of all charms of form, colour, sound, feeling and fancy, and exert his faculties in their combinations, it is the function of the artist-poet to extract Beauty from all things-to idealize nature and life into a higher loveliness, and thus elevate both towards the Deity-the Spirit of Divine Perfection, whose ministers true artists thus become. Now, how are we to define Beauty, whose domain, objective and subjective, is so various and so wide? It may be said to consist in any symmetrical relation of forms, contrasts and gradations of colours or sounds, harmony of qualities, contrast of situations, which awaken in the soul feelings and associations of admiration and of love. To understand a subject thoroughly, is essential to conception and execution; while to love it, is the secret of making it a living product of the mind, and of evolving a perfection. Kant says (in his Esthetik): "Disinterestedness distinguishes the satisfaction which the beautiful produces; we love it for itself, without having any interest in it as we have in the good;" but it may be suggested that we have an interest in it, as its contemplation affords one of the highest sensible and ideal pleasures to ourselves and others. Majesty in simplicity, chastity in grace, ideality in harmony, are among the elements of true beauty. Art deals, of course, with many subjects which are not in themselves beautiful; the artist selects for treatment many subjects and themes with the object of producing powerful impressions—selects, in brief,' any subject which can be rendered interesting and attractive. But it is laid down

E

as a fundamental principle of æsthetics, that there can be no work of true art which is not in some way beautiful, either in its subject, its treatment, or its purpose-i.e., with reference to the moral emotions it elicits. Any work of art which satisfies the mind, produces a harmony therein: but whatever the material may be, or how little lovely it may be in itself or its details, it must leave, as its result, the impression of Beauty, either in the choice and treatment of the subject, or its spiritual inference. To take an illustration from literature-Keats' "Eve of St. Agnes" is surpassingly beautiful in its objective painting. Again, a tragedy may be repulsive in its character and situations, yet beautiful in its moral effect. Even in pictures, such as Guiricault's "Wreck of the Medusa," where the object was to paint horror, the pathos of utter desolation affects the aesthetical sentiment; and this picture could have been rendered far more dramatic, if in point of time a moment had been selected for representing the situation of the groups on the raft, before they had succumbed to the paralysis of despair.

The cultivation of the sentiment of Beauty through the exhibition of works of art is one the most refining and delightful of those influences which are vital in our current civilization. Everyone is rendered more elevated and better by studying, understanding and appreciating a fine composition, or piece of music, a statue or picture a Poem whether in sound, language, paint or marble. And as Moral Beauty is of a higher order than physical or intellectual, so are, comparatively, the works in which it is embodied. Whether pictorial art is purely realistic or eclectic, the same result follows, as the mind of the observer is thus, so to speak, toned to accord with the harmonies of the universe, which is impregnated with the beauty of the Deitific soul. As in the foundation of the system of life we have, first, material improvement, and next moral and social advance, so its last development and blossom is that æsthetical element produced by the enjoyment of beautiful objects and emotions in the higher works of art to which we advert. "So from the root springs lightly the green stalk, the leaves more airy; last the bright consummate flowerspirit odorous breathes" and the more a people are afforded facilities for cultivating their taste and the sense of Beauty, derived from their observation of external nature, and the fine moods of poets and artists, the higher is their status in the domain of Being, and the more elevated the degree of happiness of which they are thus rendered capable.

The appreciation of Beauty appears to have been an innate principle in the minds of the ancient Greek race to a greater degree than in any other ancient people. It is manifested not only in their architecture, where we have the beauty dependent on formal order in relation to light and shade, and in their literature and mythology, but in many of the regulations of their

social life-as, for example, the custom of interring the young at dawn, the mature at noon, the old in the evening, &c., &c. On a subject so familiar we need not dwell; but, as a telling illustration of that love for the Beautiful, which the Greek mind regarded as the highest influence in life, may refer to its exposition in the discourse of Agathon, in the Banquet of Plato; and to the expression which Xenophon, in his Symposion, puts into the mouth of Critobulus-"I swear by all the gods, I would not choose the power of Persia's king in preference to the love of the Beautiful." It need not be added that in our more complex modern life, the same sense of beauty, and one of far wider relations, physical, moral and intellectual, exists. We superadd, so to speak, the variety of the Gothic to the order of the Greek intelligence-our life includes a wider horizon. In a world of work and business such as ours, the portion of time which most are enabled to allot to the cultivation of æsthetical taste is very limited; hence the necessity of directing their choice of the best works of Art-and especially those of Literature-with which the precious hours of leisure may be employed. Considering the elevating influences which a taste for works of true art elicits in a community, and the lasting intellectual results derived from their enjoyment and contemplation, the affording of facilities for forming an acquaintance with them has now become one of the most necessary and important functions of the directors and developers of our civilization.

N. W.

CLONMACNOISE.

On the eastern bank of the Shannon, seven miles below Athlone, a venerable group of ecclesiastical ruins marks the site of the ancient monastic city of St. Ciaran, at Clonmacnoise. Amid a scene of solemn, desolate grandeur, sentinels of the past, the stormbeaten cross and ivied pillar-tower, whose changing shadows fall upon the forgotten tombs of kings and warriors, saints and sages, proclaim that here stood one of the olden sanctuaries which during a thousand years were the pride and glory of Catholic Ireland, the peaceful homes of piety and learning in the medieval centuries, when the land of the Gael was "the School of the West."

In the number of illustrious saints who, in the dawn of the fifth century, treading in the sacred footsteps of the great Apostle of Ireland, by their heroic labours, secured deep and solid the foundations of her Catholicity, the patron of Clonmacnoise holds distinguished rank. St. Ciaran, born A.D. 516, was a native of