The British museum possesses in the Portland vase one of the finest remains of ancient art; and it may be remembered how, some years ago—the world of taste was shocked to hear that this precious relic had been shattered by a maniac’s hand.
Without disparaging classic taste or this exquisite example of it, I venture to say there is not a poor worm that we tread upon, nor a sere leaf, that, like a ruined but reckless man, dances merrily in its fallen state to the autumn winds, but has superior claims upon our study and admiration.
The child who plucks a lily or rose to pieces, or crushes the fragile form of a fluttering insect, destroys a work which the highest art could not invent, nor man’s best-skilled hand construct.
And there was not a leaf quivered on the trees which stood under the domes of the crystal palace, but eclipsed the brightest glories of loom or chisel; it had no rival among the triumphs of invention, which a world went there to see. In his humblest works, God infinitely surpasses the highest efforts of human skill.—GUTHRIE.