Part 6

In the works of the ornamentist, to the best of our knowledge, the _Q. robur_ form of the oak has been exclusively used. To give an extended list of the places where illustrations of its use in design occur would be to devote far more space to it than is really needful: as an example of its use in stonework, we would instance a small, but good capital at Ely, where one pleasing, natural, and ornamental feature, the empty cup of the acorn contrasting with the other forms, is very well introduced. We see this same attention to natural detail in some flowing foliage in a hollow moulding at Henry VII.’s Chapel, Westminster: the leaves are so deeply cut into lobes, and so modified in form, that except for the presence of the acorns, we should not recognise the foliage as being that of the oak at all. A very clear and good piece of oak is introduced in some wood-carvings at the ends of the stalls at Wells Cathedral; again, in crockets at Exeter, in the Lady Chapel; in a stone boss, St. Cuthbert’s screen, St. Alban’s Abbey Church; in wooden spandrels at Winchester, and Northfleet Church, Kent; as a diaper in glass quarries at Fulbourne and Waterbeach Churches, in Cambridgeshire; and as a carving at the arch-springing at Southwell Minster, Nottinghamshire. On the Continent, in Burgos Cathedral, we meet with several exceedingly beautiful carvings of the maple, plane, vine, and many other plants--among them a square panel filled with oak, and a very graceful running band of leaves and acorns round the tomb of Don Juan II.; and in Paris, in the Sainte Chapelle, we also find a hollow moulding filled with running oak foliage. In the South Kensington Museum many excellent fragments of wood-carving are preserved, and among these the oak is very often visible; while in the ceramic collection we frequently see the borders of the Majolica dishes and plates entirely composed of interlaced branches of oak. The oak is, in this latter series of examples, of heraldic significance as the badge of the Dukes of Urbino. Representations of the natural growth of the oak may be seen in E. B. 1288; M. B. 126; P. F. 9; S. C. 151; G. O. 95; T. N. O. 127.

OX-EYE DAISY (_Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_). The impressions we at once derive on seeing the natural plant are--first, the size and brilliant star-like character of the flowers, as we view it growing amidst the long grass; secondly, the beautiful contrast of form, colour, and light and shade between the deep yellow, convex central portion and the brilliant white and concave rays surrounding it; and thirdly, the comparative smallness and insignificance of the leaves: hence it appears to us that in any adaptation of the plant to the purposes of the designer, these are salient points to be observed. We find it growing very freely in meadows, on the sunny side of railway banks, &c., and, where found at all, generally in great profusion. During the past summer, by the side of the river Wey, we came across a plant that had firmly established itself, and was growing and flowering in full health and vigour in the crown of a pollard willow tree, about eight feet from the ground. It is one of the plants regarded by the farmer with dislike, as it generally indicates great dryness of soil, and,

from its abundance and the perennial nature of the root, can scarcely be dislodged where it has once fairly taken possession. The whole plant varies from one to two feet in height, blossoming in June and July. The garden chrysanthemum is a Japanese allied species, considerably modified by cultivation. It may be seen painted on Japanese plates, screens, &c. So far as we are aware, the ox-eye seems to have been but little used in ornamental art, the following examples being the only cases of its occurrence with which we are acquainted:--On a label termination to one of the windows in the presbytery, Winchester, where we find the flower in the centre of the boss very clearly and unmistakably rendered, but surrounded by the ordinary type of leaf of the Early English Gothic period; in some twelfth-century glass at Rheims, where it is introduced as the flower dedicated to St. John, and where, by a poetical symbolism, all the flowers turn towards our Saviour on the cross, as the Sun of Righteousness, the true Light of the world; again met with in the celebrated MS., “The Hours of Anne of Brittany,” now in the _Bibliothèque du Roi_, Paris. This illumination dates from the close of the fifteenth century, the flowers introduced being very naturalistic in character, and with their shadows thrown upon a golden ground--a marked characteristic of the illumination of that time. It also occurs in a missal in the Library of the Arsenal, Paris, where, on a golden ground similar to that last cited, detached flowers are scattered over the borders--the pea, iris, heartsease, and many others being represented, and among them the ox-eye daisy. Drawings of the natural plant will be found in S. B. 158; E. B. 714; P. F. 42.

The CAMPION (_Lychnis diurna_) is another plant well adapted to the need of the ornamentist, the form of the flower and the sheathing of the stem by the pairs of leaves being valuable and characteristic ornamental features. The _Lychnis diurna_ is to be met with in moist hedge-banks, and more especially those that are shaded by overhanging trees; the flowers are of a delicate pink, scentless, and opening in the early morning; differing in all these respects from the _Lychnis vespertina_, a very similar plant in general appearance, but having the flowers white, with a slight odour, and opening in the evening. The white campion has generally a more robust and coarser character of growth than the pink campion, and appears to delight in more open situations. By many botanists, however, these two plants are considered as closely allied, the pink campion being regarded as merely a variety of the white, and both referred to as the _Lychnis dioica_. The specific names, _diurna_ and _vespertina_, refer to the times of flowering, the morning and evening respectively; while the generic name, _Lychnis_, common to all the species, is derived from the Greek word for lamps, the thick downy covering on the leaves of the white campion having at one time been employed in the manufacture of wicks for use in lamps. Refer to F. L. vol. ii. 32; T. N. O. 69; P. F. 53.

SORREL (_Rumex acetosa_). Though from its inconspicuous character the sorrel may very readily be passed over, it will, we think, be found to repay the attention of the ornamentist, since the lightness and grace of its growth, its brilliant colour, and the rich form of the leaf, are all characteristics that should render it valuable to those engaged in decorative art. The leaves have a pleasant acid flavour, and are occasionally employed in salads. The English name is derived from the Anglo-Saxon _sur_, sour. The present plant must not, from similarity of name, be confused with the wood-sorrel (_Oxalis acetosella_), as the two plants are very different in appearance, the wood-sorrel having large white flowers, and a beautiful trefoil character of leaf. Illustrations of the natural growth of _R. acetosa_ may be seen in E. B. 1223; F. L. vol. v. 29; M. B. 69.

The SPEAR-PLUME THISTLE (_Carduus lanceolatus_) has been selected as the subject of our next example. It may very commonly be met with in hedge-banks and waste ground, attaining to a height of from three to four feet, and forming a very ornamental and conspicuous object. Its employment in heraldry with the motto NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT, as the badge of Scotland, is so well known that the mere mention of the fact will suffice to recall it to the memory of our readers; but this application of it, and its frequent recurrence in all circumstances where the national emblems are introduced, render it necessary that the designer should be familiar with the plant he will thus have to treat. There are several indigenous species of thistle, some one or two of them laying claim to their right to be considered the true Scottish badge, but the balance of evidence will, we think, be found to point to the spear-plume thistle as that most entitled to the honour. The _C. marianus_, or milk-thistle, one of our rarer native, or at least naturalised species, has a particularly ornamental effect from the veins upon the leaves being of a clear milky white, the rest of the leaf being of the normal green colour. A drawing of the spear-plume thistle may be seen in E. B. 686.

The THORN-APPLE, though not a common wild plant, may occasionally be met with, growing on waste spots, rubbish heaps by the roadside, and similar places. The large size and brilliant whiteness of the flowers, the bulk and peculiar character of the spiny fruit, make it a very striking object, and admirably fitted for a share of the ornamentist’s regard. It is a plant of Eastern origin, and was unknown here until the reign of Elizabeth; we therefore do not find it in any of the art-work before that date, nor, indeed, do we remember to have ever seen it

in any way introduced in later designs: this, no doubt, is partly owing to the comparative rarity of the plant. Its scientific name is _Datura stramonium_, the generic name being derived from _tatorah_, the name of the plant in Arabic. The whole plant is powerfully narcotic in its effects. In the quaint pages of Gerarde, published A.D. 1636, we learn the history of its introduction into England. Gerarde was the director of the botanical garden of Lord Burleigh; hence he received many rare plants from abroad for cultivation. In speaking of the _Datura_, he says, “whose seeds I have received of the Right Honourable the Lord Edward Zouch, which he brought from Constantinople, and of his liberalitie did bestow them vpon me; and it is that thorn-apple that I have disposed through this land.” In some botanical works we find it asserted that the thorn-apple was introduced into Europe in the Middle Ages by the gypsies, who, in their wanderings, brought it from Asia; but the declaration of Gerarde is so positive and explicit, that it seems difficult to admit any other belief, more especially as he accompanies his statement by an illustration which, though very rough and quaint, is quite sufficiently like the natural plant to prove that it was not some other species introduced by him and wrongly named. Drawings of the thorn-apple may be consulted in E. B. 935; F. L. vol. vi. 17; M. B. 124; S. C. 6; P. F. 13.

The TORMENTIL (_Potentilla tormentilla_) has already, to some extent, been referred to when speaking of an allied species, the cinquefoil. The flowers, though typically composed of four petals, are frequently to be found with the petals five in number, the calyx in that case being cleft into ten segments instead of the normal arrangement. We are not acquainted with any example of the use of the tormentil in ornament, but the wood-strawberry (_Fragaria vesca_), an allied genus of the same natural order, has a similar form of calyx, the segments being alternately large and small, and twice as numerous as the petals; and this beautiful ornamental feature is very carefully shown in a sixteenth-century MS. at the British Museum, where the plant is introduced in one of the borders. Consult E. B. 430; F. L. vol. v. 35; or P. F. 94, for illustrations of the natural growth of the tormentil.

Our remaining illustration has been suggested by the WATER CROWFOOT (_Ranunculus aquatilis_), one of the numerous species of buttercups, but distinguished from its allies by the petals of the flowers being white, not yellow, as in the case of the other members of the family, and also from the habitat of the plant, the blossoms being found floating upon the surface of quiet water-courses. The crowfoot may be met with in flower throughout the summer, and, where seen at all, is ordinarily very abundant, so that at a little distance the whole surface of a large pond will tell upon the eye as a mass of white, from the innumerable blossoms thickly scattered over the water. The English name crowfoot has arisen, like many similar names, from the supposed resemblance of the plant, or some portion of it, to some other natural object; thus we get crane’s-bill, cock’s-foot grass, lark’s-spur, bee-orchis, pheasant’s-eye, and many other such examples among our common names for plants. As a family, the buttercups must be regarded with suspicion on account of their strongly developed acrid qualities; thus the leaves of the _R. flammula_, if applied to the skin, will, in a very short time, cause large and painful blisters. The _R. acris_ is equally poisonous; and the _R. arvensis_, or corn crowfoot, is extremely injurious to cattle and sheep. The _R. aquatilis_ does not possess these dangerous qualities; on the contrary, it may be collected and given as fodder in times of scarcity or drought, and the animals will not only eat it, but thrive upon it. It is a very

widely spread species: the placid waters of regions so different from each other in climate as Lapland and Abyssinia are equally favourable to its growth, and the lakes and slowly running streams of California are powdered over with its brilliant blossoms, as we see them in our English pools. The water crowfoot affords us also a beautiful example of that adaptability of form to the circumstances of the plant’s existence which we may so frequently trace in the works of nature. It will be noticed in the illustration that two very distinct forms of leaf are represented; and, on examining the natural plant, it will be found that the simpler form of leaf floats upon the surface of the water, while the lower and more minutely divided leaves are submerged. Imagine the respective positions of these leaves reversed, and it would speedily be apparent that the finely cut leaves were unable to support the blossoms, and to expose them to the vivifying rays of the sun, while the simpler form of leaf would, by the action of the water, speedily be torn into long shreds, the principal veins alone remaining, and very much resembling the actual form that we meet with in the case of the submerged leaves. In employing the water crowfoot in ornamental art, it appears to us that the two great features most highly characteristic of it, and therefore to be embodied in a design, are, first, the number of its blossoms; and, secondly, the two distinct kinds of leaf; the simpler form being the most prominent, but the other, though subordinate, as in the case of the natural plant, to be indicated, and its presence felt. The _R. bulbosus_ is the species so frequently met with in the carvings of the Decorated period of Gothic art, an especially beautiful example of its use being seen in a capital in the doorway in the Chapter-house at Southwell Minster, Notts. The _R. aquatilis_, so far as we have had opportunity of observation, appears to have been entirely overlooked. Illustrations of the water crowfoot will be met with in V. W. 95; E. B. 18.

Having thus briefly indicated some few points of interest in the foregoing British plants, we draw our remarks to a close; it must not, however, be supposed that all the material at our disposal was exhausted. We fear rather to weary the reader than to exhaust the stores which nature affords; hence we limit our remarks to fifty plants, leaving many equally valuable ones untouched; such plants as the bird’s-foot trefoil, chicory, cowslip, forget-me-not, meadow vetchling, silver-weed, and stork’s-bill, being fully as well adapted to the various purposes of ornamental art as those we have, in the body of our text, referred to; in fact, the whole of those just mentioned were, together with many more, indexed as a portion of our plan, and were only cut out when it was found that a catalogue thus amplified would stretch to an inordinate length. Though we have, in the course of our remarks on each plant, been careful to indicate to our readers the books he should consult for illustrations of the natural growth of the flower in question, we cannot conclude without again strongly advising the designer, wherever it is at all practicable, to go direct to nature, as a series of sketches of even the roughest character has an ornamental value and variety which are not always found in book-illustrations, and, moreover, the knowledge of the plant acquired in actually delineating it is worth far more than any study of the written descriptions of others. These sketches should of course be made when the plant is available, and not left till an emergency arises, and when, very possibly, the plant, if found at all, may not be in satisfactory condition for ornamental work. Whenever, therefore, a plant possessing valuable properties for decorative work is met with, a drawing of the general growth and enlarged details of its more artistically valuable parts should be made and stored up for future use. A designer cannot have too many such reserves of material, though he may very easily have too few. Those who have never fairly searched may, however, be under the impression that but little practical good could come of any such seeking, as, for want of experience, they unknowingly underrate the wealth that, at the expense of a short railway journey into the country, is theirs for the gathering. To test this we set out one day in June, and the result of a stroll of barely two and a half hours was conclusive on this point. In addition to many plants in seed, or which, from their foliage, were worthy of introduction into art-work, no less than seventy-four were met with in flower; many of these, as the dog-rose, blackberry, white bryony, comfrey, mallow, hawthorn, and silver-weed, being excellent for carving; while the bladder campion, forget-me-not, meadow cranesbill, ground-ivy, meadow vetchling, cinquefoil, oxalis, and honeysuckle, would be valuable for lighter work--muslins, papers, or lace. We cannot doubt that the interest thus evolved from a direct study of nature would be a growing one; that not only would the actual result in art-work be the better for it, but also that the enjoyment derived from the study would be such as to render the pursuit one of far more interest than those who have not yet experienced it can realise.

“Happy is he who lives to understand, Not human nature only, but explores All natures--to the end that he may find The law that governs each; and where begins The union, the partition where, that makes Kind and degree, among all visible beings; The constitutions, powers, and faculties, Which they inherit--cannot step beyond, And cannot fall beneath; that do assign To every class its station and its office, Through all the mighty commonwealth of things; Up from the creeping plant to sovereign man. Such converse, if directed by a meek, Sincere, and humble spirit, teaches love: For knowledge is delight; and such delight Breeds love; yet, suited as it rather is For thought and to the climbing intellect, It teaches less to love than to adore: If that be not indeed the highest love.” WORDSWORTH.

II.

SEA-WEEDS AS OBJECTS OF DESIGN.

BY S. J. MACKIE, F.G.S., F.S.A.

I.

As in the world of human life, so in the world of nature--from the humblest and meekest the greatest lessons may be learned; and there is often as much worthy of admiration and study in the neglected as in the known and appreciated. The pure metal lies not on the surface, but the gold is extracted from the solid rock, or picked up, after much labour, among the common sands; and many things lie out of the beaten path from which the artist and the student might gather fresh fancies. Twice a day rises and falls the great tide of ocean, and its heavings were not less constant when the trilobite and astrolepis were inhabitants of primordial depths; still twice a day it ebbs and flows, and the stony mountains have treasured the fragments of the weeds it plucked from pre-Adamic shores in memory of its ancient toil.

Bright are the flowers of the earth, the first and choicest of ornaments. Pure, simple, and holy, their charms can never decay, though familiarity and inconsistency may vulgarise, and innumerable misappropriations make us sometimes wish for the contrasts that other less showy objects would afford. While the fields are radiant with their beauty, and the gentle zephyrs fragrant with their scented odours, the great tide ebbs and flows over the flowerless plants of the sea. Around the huge rocks the perennial fringes of olive fuci undulate in graceful folds among the swelling waves, and the tall tangle bows its pliant stem as

“The ocean old,-- Centuries old,-- Strong as youth, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold.”

For ages have the weeds of the sea been heedlessly disregarded or despised. The vilest epithet the polished Roman knew was _alga projecta vilior_. Horace, too, wrote _alga inutilis_; and there may yet be many to exclaim with the Scotch professor of the last century, “Pooh, pooh, sir! only a bundle of sea-weeds!” But when the apostle Peter slept at the house of Simon the tanner he dreamt a great dream--a dream memorable to the end of time--a dream that was a waking truth to be set in golden letters, and engraven on the hearts of rich and poor, wise and unwise--“There is nothing common nor unclean.”

The Chinese believe there is one word expressive of all excellence, so exquisite that no one can pronounce it, although it can be written and perceived by the eyes. That word is stamped alike on “the vile sea-weed” and on the lovely flower. I do not claim for both an equal rank,--the cottage may be charming, and not vie with the palace; and “the pride of the village” may want the grace of “the ladye of high degree,”--but I do claim for the neglected vegetation of the seaside an elegance of form, and structure, a suggestiveness of mathematical designs, a poetry of association and typical expression, a simplicity and modest gracefulness, which will entitle it to the best consideration of the designer.

World-wide in distribution, the sea-weeds are accessible to every one; and it is not the rarest that are, for ornamental purposes, the most valuable. The beauty of a manuscript tempted England’s greatest monarch to the acquirement of letters, and the commonest weed may be the incentive to the perusal of one of Nature’s choicest books. Wherever the briny waters wash the coasts, in marshes even where the salt sea penetrates but seldom in the year, on rocks and stones, and piers and piles, winter or summer, from the land of gold to the Canaries, from the soil of the Hottentot and Caffre to the ice-bound country of the Lapp, from the floating meadows of the tropics to the snowy regions of the poles--there grow the crisp sea-weeds--there may be gathered in endless variety the chastest patterns of simplicity. All the associations of the sea are grand and glorious, and the goddess of beauty came from the foam of its waves. In the sublime language of ancient mythology, the Ocean was the first-born of Heaven and Earth, that was wedded to the child of the land and the sky. Are there no gems of classic imagery in the bronzed belt that girdles its giant form? Have the thousand daughters of Atlas and Tethys all taken to groves and cities, and have the Nereides become the attendants of Flora? Are the tears of Calypso and the loves of Amphitrite forgotten? Has the memory of Sappho passed for ever away, and have the green and olive nurslings of the surge no affinity with the crystal phœnix that arose from their ashes in the Phœnicians’ fire?