them; 1. Classical Associations; and 2. National or Local Associations. Of the power which the first of these possess, under the direction of a skilful hand, no one who is fully sensible of the beauties of Milton's poetry can be ignorant. Mr. Burke's works abound in similar allusions. The following, among numberless others, has always struck us as exquisitely beautiful:-speaking of the wars of 1796-7, in Italy, he names the Mincio," who now hides his head in his reeds, and leads his slow and melancholy windings along banks wasted by the barbarians of Gaul.”" The power of classical associations is probably felt much more strongly by men than by women, in consequence of the different courses of education pursued by them. We are persuaded also, that the pleasure felt by many who delight in references to the ancient writers, arises less from a keen relish for their beauties than from those fond recollections of the days of youth, and hope, and gaiety, with which they are insensibly accompanied. The effect of national and local associations, though limited in its extent, is so considerable within its own sphere, and allies itself so powerfully to some of the best affections of our nature, that it would be an unpardonable cruelty to at tempt to diminish their influence. The emotions to which a feeling heart is peculiarly sensible are surely among the most genuine elements of poetry:

He dreamed on Alpine heights of Athol's hill,

And heard in Ebro's roar his Lynedoch's lovely rill.

It is justly observed by Mr. Stewart, that the cultivation of a fine taste not only enables us to enjoy more perfectly those primary pleasures which its appropriate objects afford, but superadds to these a secondary pleasure peculiar to itself and of no inconsiderable value. This arises from a perception of the skill and taste as well as the genius CHRIST. ORSERV. No. 130.

which is exhibited in a performance. Both statuary and painting are greatly indebted to this circumstance for the applauses they receive. The finer touches of the chissel and pencil, which an ordinary eye wholly overlooks, are beheld with rapture by those who have cultivated the arts. Even in poetry how much of the admiration so justly paid to Virgil, Tasso, Boileau, and Pope, may be resolved into the same principle. Indeed, the pleasure which attends the contemplation of whatever is perfect, or which nearly approaches to perfection, seems peculiarly to belong to a being who is, or ought to be, in a state of continual progression. Nothing, perhaps, is so distinctive of a really superior character, as a just and lively perception of excellence wherever it is to be found.

The topic last mentioned leads Mr. Stewart to notice those technical rules which critics in different ages, from Aristotle to Bossu, have laboured to establish for the direction of authors. To these he does not attach any great value; and we concur with him in that opinion. They may save little men from committing great extravagances, but are seldom much regarded by bolder minds; like crutches, which support the weak, and are an incumbrance to the strong. After making a few observations on what he calls a technical correctness of taste, Mr. Stewart proceeds in the following manner. The extract we are about to make is long; but it will give to our readers a better opportunity of observing his general style of composition than we have yet afforded them, and the observations which it contains are interesting and valuable.

"There is another species of taste,(unnical taste we have been now considering) questionably of a higher order than the techwhich is insensibly acquired by a diligent and habitual study of the most approved and consecrated standards of excellence; and which, in pronouncing its critical judgments, is secretly and often unconsciously guided by an idolatrous comparison of what it sees 4. R

with the works of its favourite masters. This, I think, approaches nearly to what La Bruyere calls le gout de comparaison. It is that kind of taste which commonly belongs to the connoisseur in painting; and to which something analogous may be remarked in all the other fine arts.

A person possessed of this sort of taste, if he should be surpassed in the correctness of his judgment by the technical critic, is much more likely to recognize the beauties of a new work, by their resemblance to those which are familiar to his memory; or if he should himself attempt the task of execution, and possesses powers equal to that task, he may possibly, without any clear conception of his own merits, rival, the original he has been accustomed to admire. It was said by an ancient critic, that in reading Seneca, it was impossible not to wish that he had written with the taste of another person, though with his own genius'-suo ingenio alieno judicio; and we find, in fact, that many who have failed as original writers, have seemed to surpass themselves, when they attempted to imitate. Warburton has semarked, and, in my opinion, with some truth, that Burke himself, never wrote, so well as when he imitated, Bolingbroke, If, on other occasions, he soared higher than in his Vindication of Natural Society, he has certainly no where else (I speak at present inerely of the style of his composition) sustained himself so long upon a steady wing. I do not, however, agree with Warburton in thinking, that this implied any defect in Mr. Burke's genius, connected with that faculty of imitation which he so eminently possessed, The defect lay in his taste, which, when left to itself, without the guid, ance of an acknowledged standard of ex cellence, appears not only, to have been warped by some peculiar notions concerning the art of writing; but to have been too wavering and versatile, to keep his imagina, tion and his fancy (stimulated, as they were, by an ostentation of his intellectual riches, and by an ambition of Asiatic ornament) under due controul. With the composition of Bolingbroke present to his thoughts, he has shewn with what ease he could equal its most finished beauties; while, on more than one occasion, a consciousness

of his own strength has led him to display his superiority, by brandishing, in his sport, still heavier weapons than his master was able to wield.

"To one or other of these two classes, the taste of most professed critics will be found to belong; and it is evident, that they both exist where there is little or no sensibility to

beauty. That genuine and native taste, the origin and growth of which I attempted to describe in the last chapter, is perhaps one of the rarest acquisitions of the human mind: nor will this appear surprising to those who consider with attention the combination of original qualities which it implies; the accidental nature of many of the circumstances which must conspire to afford due opportunities for its improvement; and the persevering habits of discriminating observation by which it is formed. It occurs, indeed, in its most perfect state, as seldom as originality of genius: and when united with industry, and with moderate powers of execution, it will go farther in such an age as the present, to secure success in the arts with which it is conversant, than the utmost fertility of invention, where the taste is unformed or perverted.

"With respect to this native or indigenous taste, it is particularly, worthy of observation, that it is always more strongly disposed to the enjoyment of beauties than to the detection of blemishes. It is, indeed, by a quick and fively perception of the former, accompanied with a spirit of candour and indul gence towards the latter, that its existence in the mind of any individual is most unequi vocally marked. It is this perception which can alone evince that sensibility of tem perament, of which a certain portion, al though it does not of itself constitute taste, is, nevertheless, the just and most essential element in its composition; while it evinces, at the same time, those habits of critical observation and cool reflection, which, allow ing no impression, how slight soever, to pass unnoticed, seem to awaken a new sense of beauty, and to create that delicacy of feels ing which they only disclose. We are told of Saunderson, the blind mathematician, that in a series of Roman medals, he could disting guish by his hand the true from the counterfeit, with a more unerring discrimination than the eye of a professed virtuoso; and we are assured by his biographer, Mr. Colson, that when he was present at the astronomical observations, in the garden of his college, he was accustomed to remark every cloud that passed over the sun. The effect of the blindness of this extraordinary person was not surely, to produce any organical change in his other perceptive powers. It served only to quicken his attention, to those, slighter perceptions of touch, which are overlooked by men to whom they convey no useful in formation. The case, I conceive, to be perfectly analogous in matters which fall under the cognizance of intellectual taste. Where nature has denied all sensibility to beauty.

no study or instruction can supply the defect; but it may be possible, nevertheless, by awakening the attention to things neglect ed before, to develope a latent sensibility where none was suspected to exist. In all men, indeed without exception, whether their natural sensibility be strong or weak, it is by such habits of attention alone to the finer feelings of their own minds, that the power of taste can acquire all the delicacy of which it is susceptible.

"While this cultivated sensibility enlarges so widely to the man who possesses it the pleasures of taste, it has a tendency, wherever it is gratified and delighted in a high degree, to avert bis critical eye from ble mishes and imperfections ;-not because lie is unable to remark them, but because he can appreciate the merits by which they are redeemed, and loves to enjoy the beauties in which they are lost. A taste thus awake to the beautiful, seizes eagerly on every touch of genius with the sympathy of kindred affection; and in the secret consciousness of a congenial inspiration, shares, in some measure, the triumph of the artist. The faults which have escaped him, it views with the partiality of friendship; and willingly abandons the censorial office to those who exult in the errors of superior minds, as their appropriate and easy prey.

"Nor is this indulgent spirit towards the works of others, at all inconsistent with the most rigid severity in an author towards his own. On the contrary, both are the natural consequences of that discriminating power of taste, on which I have already enlarged as one of its most important characteristics. Where men of little discernment attend only to general effects, confounding beauties and blemishes, flowers and weeds, in one gross and undistinguishing perception, a man of quick sensibility and cultivated judgment, detaches, in a moment, the one from the other; rejects, in imagination, whatever is offensive in the prospect; and enjoys, without alloy, whatever is fitted to please. His taste, in the mean time, is refined and confirmed by the exercise: and, while it multiplies the sources of his gratification, in proportion to the latent charms which it detects, becomes itself, as the arbiter and guide of his own genius, more scrupulous and inflexible than before.

"The tragedy of Douglas' (says Gray, in one of his letters) has infinite faults; but there is one scene (that between Matilda and the old peasant) so masterly, that it strikes me blind to all the defects of the piece.' These, I apprehend, are the natural impressions of genuine taste in pronouncing

on the merits of works of genuine excellence; impressions, however, which they who are conscious of them have not always the courage either to indulge or to avow.

Such, also, was the feeling which dictated the memorable precept of La Bruyere, of which I will not impair the force by attempting a translation: 'Quand une lecture vous éléve l'esprit, et qu'elle vous inspire des sentimens nobles et courageux, ne clierchez pas une autre regle pour juger de l'ouvrage; il est bon, et fait de main de Pouvrier.'-How different both sentiments from that fastidiousness of taste, by an affectation of which, it is usual for little minds to court the reputation of superior refinement!

"In producing, however, this fastidiousness, whether affected or real, various moral causes-such as jealousy, rivalship, personal dislike, or the spleen of conscious inferiority

may conspire with the intellectual defects which have been mentioned: nay, the same moral causes may be conceived to be so powerful in their influence, as to produce this unfortunate effect, in spite of every intellectual gift which nature and education can bestow. It is observed by Shenstone, that good taste and and good-nature aṛe inseparably united; and although the observation is by no means true, when thus stated as an unqualified proposition, it will be found to have a sufficient foundation in fact, to deserve the attention of those who have a pleasure in studying the varieties of human character. One thing is certain, that as an habitual deficiency in good humour is sufficient to warp the decisions of the soundest taste, so the taste of an individual, in proportion as it appears to be free from capricious biasses, affords a strong presump. tion that the temper is unsuspicious, open, and generous. As the habits besides which contribute spontaneously to the formation of taste, all originate in the desire of intellectúal gratification, this power, where it is possessed in an eminent degree, may be regarded as a symptom of that general disposition to be pleased and happy, in which the essence of good-nature consists. In those vernal seasons of the year' (says Milton in one of the finest sentences of his prose writings), when the air is soft and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature, not to go out and see her riches, and partake of her rejoicings with heaven and earth.' Such is the temper of mind, by which, in our early years, those habits which form the ground-work of taste are most likely to be formed; and such precisely is the temper which, in our intercourse with our

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