NO. 2.
COMPOSITION AS A FINK AIIT.
31
and cnpncitiy for the duties of every day
life. It were not less absurd to attempt to
live without, eating than without playing
the vagabond occasionally. Some would
be muse-invoking hypocrite has poured
out a dolorous effusion about eating,
grieving that it is necessary to do so un
poctfc a thing, yet Ins animosities were
not noticeable at dinner time.
This brings us back to the hypothesis
that man, normally, is not a society fop
nor an ofllec machine, hut has the qualities
of a vagabond; at least, he enjoys both
amusement and eating. His natural in
clinations may bo restrained and covered
up as much as possible; but there are
times when his real character creeps out
in spite of him. The human has the in
stincts and appetites of an animal, and
when he cultivates and improves the men
tal and moral parts, and neglects and
crushes the physical, he is not a perfect
man and can be regarded only as an ah.
normal specimen of the race. In order
to reach the most satisfactory results the
moral, mental, and physical man should
be cultivated simultaneously.
Soakvola.
COMPOSITION AS A FINE ART.
By composition I mean the rhetorical
structure of language, not that crude and
massive combination of words and
thought, but those close and studied sen
tences that constitute style and determine
the artistic beauty of language; for there
are comparatively few men who read,
that can not write the common wants and
dictates of self. But to penetrate farther
to give each thought its proper force and
arrangement, to give each word its logi
cal order and relative strength, is ns much
an art and as broad a field for human am.
bition, as ever allured the artist's brush or
enticed the sculptor's chisel.
Every art, whether culminated in the
dark labyrinths of Egypt, or nourished in
the arched domes of Nincva, or even
owes its consummation to modern research,
has only been attained through the vari
ous combinations of nature guided by the
genius of humanity. Destroy this com
bination, dissolve this subject matter, and
that composition of material, thai sy
mctry and beauty of formation, which we
call art, like its creator perishes in the
silent dust.
If the artist draws upon canvas the
landscape around him, and within it there
glow the symbols of life and activity, he
owes his achievement to no one clement,
but to all the infinite shades of color,
blended and arranged as his ingenuity
dictates. So language, whoso origin car
ries us back through thousands of years
owes its luster and characteristic shades,
not to its primitive momentum, but to an
unseen artist that has crested the tidal
wave of every social and political revolu
tion that has swept over humanity. The
scene of the artist, if perfect in its trans
posed state, highly characterizes his pro
fession. Here, there stands boldly forth
his imagination; there, the material obe
dicnt to his magic touch. Every move of
the brush, carries with it representative
life. There is force in every color. There
is beauty in every shade. Symetry per
vades every outline. The scenery marred
by the delicate lip of the tinsbl brush,
shows plainly the work of the destruct
ive elements. All this combined in work,
at the instigation of the actor, is the com
position of material and human ingenui
ty. This composition, perfect in its con
summate sublimity, we call art.
Nor is the sculptor held by less string,
out laws. His work, to he pci feet, must
conform to his ideal, painted vividly in his
imagination. Every stroke of his mallet,
every chip from the block, adds addition,
al force and expression to the Image bo
fore him. "Willi the requisites of art at his
command he carves, from the rough mar
)le, a Laocoon, tugging with the coils of
a huge serpents, every muscle braced
upon one desperate struggle, and the
writhing agony of the human couuten-