Lordship's love of letters and the fine arts Ireland owes, in a great measure, the immortal fame with which the genius of a Moore, a GRATTAN, a Curran, and a DERMODY, has wreathed her poetry and eloquence, and the celebrious renown, that the creations of a BARRY and a HAMILTON, and the splendid executions of HICKEY SMITH and JOHNSTON, have conferred upon Irish painting, sculpture, and architecture. It was the munificence and patronage of the Earl of Charlemont that first established the ROYAL IRISH ACADEMY, and the Dublin Society, the only schools of Belles Lettres and the arts, except the university in that city. Of these institutions his Lordship, from their foundation in 1786, when they were incorporated by royal charter, until his death, has been annually elected president.

The duties of this office were congenial to his disposition and habits, so that he brought to their performance, an accession of zeal and ability; presiding with a father's care and solicitude over their concerns, collecting antiques, and manuscripts, and employing his valuable pen in filling the pages of their transactions, with treasures amassed from his solid erudition, and the profound depths of his research.

The editors of the New Oxford Encyclopedia pay him a high compliment, for three of the essay's which he wrote in the "Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy;" viz. one on the contested passage in Herodotus of Halicarnassus; another on an ancient custom at Meteline, with considerations on its origin; and a third on the antiquity of the woollen manufactures of Ireland, which he has proved to be coeval with Heremon, by some passages from Strabo, Ptolemy, and the Italian poets. He was also one of the contributors to the Anthologia Hibernica, the most talented periodical that ever issued from the Dublin Press. But these constitute but a small part of those that are collected in Captain Hardy's interesting biography, which will ever remain monuments of the distinguished genius of the Earl of Charlemont. The memorials of his fine taste are still to be seen in Charlemont house, in Rutland Square, Dublin. Here we have seen a superb collection of the great masters in painting and sculpture, both ancient and modern; among which are one of Rembrandt's finest pictures, representing Judas repenting and casting the silver pieces on the ground; a noble portrait of Cæsar Borgia, by Titian; and the Lady's Last Stake, by Hogarth. With the pictures of the painters of the modern school, the walls of every apartment in the house are literally draped and embellished by the animated tapestry of the pencil. Some of the sculpture exhibits the noblest specimens of the art, particularly the group of Niobe and her dying children. The library, which was designed by his Lordship, is considered to possess more architective beauty than any apartment in Dublin. This is the depository of as fine a collection of books, in ancient and modern literature, as any private library in Great Britain can boast of. At one end of this spacious room is a Grecian anti-chamber, with a beautiful statue in white marble, of the Venus de Medicis, by Wilton; and at the other end two Egyptian pavilions, which are filled with pictures, antiquities, medals, and many other cabinet curiosities. His lordship's manners were polished to the highest brilliancy of courtly refinement; his disposition was kind, and teeming with those dear ameneties of a noble and philanthropie spirit, that never suffer irritation to cast a cloud over the lucific serenity of the temper; and his elegant and edifying conversation had all the magnetic attractions, which enlist the sympathy and captivate the attention of the social circle. Dr. Johnson has borne testimony to his admirable colloquial powers, which fell in sparkling effusions of lively wit and repartee from his flowing mind, like the waters of a deep river, at once placid, pellucid, and majestic, uniform and profound.

We have seen his full length picture, by Hamilton, which is, we understand, a striking likeness of the great chief of the Irish volunteers. He appears, in a plain private dress, upwards of sixty; his long gray hairs and bending form give him a venerable air, in which dignity and nobleness are happily blended by the artist, while the placidity and strength of his countenance irresistibly impress

32

the idea, that wisdom and virtue have been the companions of his life. Such is the imperfect biographical sketch of a nobleman, whose virtues will live emblazoned on "Pile, picture, and pillar," until time scatters, pyramids in the winds, and crumbles marbles and bronzes into dust. It was a remarkable circumstance which we ought not to omit mentioning, that, after the disaster of his youth, in Italy, the state of his health rendered it absolutely necessary for him to use the cold bath throughout the year; as even in the depth of the severest winter, he did not dare to intermit the practise.

CURSORY LIGHT ESSAYS.

GENIUS, TALENT AND TASTE.

Genius is a term constantly used, without having a precise and definite idea affixed to it. Genius may be termed a productive power, that generates beauties of the highest order. In the sublime productions of Shakspeare, Milton, and Byron, we are amazed and confounded at the blaze of original conception, and daring imagination that flash such a dazzling radiance around us. But genius must not be confined to superior literary efforts. It has its limits and degrees like every thing else in the wise economy of nature. For instance, we may say Napoleon had a gigantic genius for war, Raphael for painting, Canova for sculpture, Canning for eloquence, and Machiavel for subtile politics. The word possesses an extensive signification, and may, therefore, be applied to almost every thing. Genius in its highest sense is that divine power of the mind to which mankind have, in all ages, offered the homage of reverence. Under whatever character it makes its appearance, it excites attention, and demands respect. We gaze at its brilliant corruscations, flashing the lustre of sublimity and fancy, with admiration and pleasure. Genius then, is that exalted power of the mind, by which literary beauties are created. Genius is not to be acquired, it is the donation of nature, an inherent gift implanted in the mind; but there is no faculty so capable of improvement. There are many circumstances, on record, where the slightest sparks have been blown up, by emulation, into a blaze. Between genius and talent there subsists an intimate connexion which renders it necessary that they should be considered relatively. Let us say that genius is the general disposition of the mind for natural improvement; talent the particular tendency of it. The one is the source, the other the stream which flows from it. Genius, if we may be allowed the metaphor, is the sun of the soul; talents are the rays, which proceed in different directions from it. There may be genius without talents, but there can be no talent without genius. Rousseau says that extreme sensibility or irritability of temper, is ever the child of genius. Some philosopher has observed that genius was of no country, but, like the sun, was to be found in all. But we believe it is yet unsettled how far the minds of people may be affected by climate. Some speculative writers assert that the mild climate of Greece and Italy served to kindle the mental energies of their Poets, and Artists; as warmth and a pure atmosphere not only tempers the muscular faculty while they reduce it to a greater degree of regularity, and enable the individual to form more patient and exact observations, but they likewise exalt the imagination, excite sensibility, and like the steel coming in collision with the flint, elicit the latent fires of genius. They then adduce many instances of the influence which the continual succession of climate exercises on the human body, and on the moral system; an effect they maintain, which, according to Zimmerman and Wilson, extends to the lowest of the animal and vegetable species. Other learned writers, on the contrary, contend that genius is not peculiar to any parallel of latitude, as it may be equally found in the frigid or torrid region, among the cold milky Scandinavians as well as the

sun-burnt race of the ebon Ethiopians; among the Tartars and Nogayes, as well as among the inhabitants of meri dional countries; the latter of whom they would represent debased by strong passions, melancholy tempers and vindictive minds, because, say they, the effect of warm climates enervates the mind as well as the body, and dissipates that fire of imagination which kindles invention; for in such sultry territories, parched by a burning sun, they are not capable of that tedious study and intense application which produce miracles of genius and sublime works of art in Greece and Italy. Where authorities are so strong on both sides it is indeed impossible to draw an accurate line of distinction; however, the truth most probably lies between both extremes. The fact of the contested matter is, in our opinion, that genius depends upon the animal spirits, and fine texture of the organs; and that both are influenced by soil, food, air and heat, is more than probable. But then, it is not a degree or two more north or south that can make any perceivable difference; for there are no doubt extremes; but, yet who can tell where the region of genius begins or ends? Hume denies that climate can at all affect the understanding, though he allows that it may the will. Are we to suppose that mere physical causes wrought such contrary effects at the same time, upon the adjoining countries of Attica and Boeotia, as to render the Thebans gross, heavy and stupid, and the Athenians gay, lively, talented, and warlike? Especially when it is considered that Boeotia was one of the best districts, and Attica the very worst of all Greece. Surely, then, the warmest advocate for the influence of climate will not attribute to it such omnific influence ! Besides Boeotia was, originally, the most noted part of Greece for genius and female beauty; it was therefore made the seat of Apollo and the Muses. Cadmus, the inventor of letters, Hesiod, Pindar and Plutarch reflect a dazzling glory on its genius, while the beauty of Aspasia, and many other women of that country, has called forth the sublimest efforts of intellect, and given birth to the most wonderful creations of poetry, painting and sculpture. Was it, we would ask, the influence of atmosphere or the exhalations of earth, that made that striking contrast between the Attic and Laconian genius? Or was it the meek and rigid spirits of Solon, and Lycurgus that infused into one of these republics the love of simplicity, of war and agriculture, while they breathed into the other the Promethean flame of wit, learning and refinement, quickening the faculties of intellect by the impulses of sensibility, and the ardour of sentiment? All the varieties of intelligence and genius, receive their spring and passion from patronage, no matter in what clime, its rays calls forth ambition into action, and the internal and external physiological nature of each individual. Genius then we find is of such a subtile and fugitive nature, that it is as undefinable as the air; we can give no portrait of its form, nor circumscribe its boundaries within any limits; we can arrange it under no general law, as there is no principle we can assume which will not fail us. If we assign gentleness and warmth of climate, we will soon find it necessary to change our mind, if it is considered that the greatest geniuses have been born under chilling skies, where nature seldom wears a floral garment, or basks in the genial sun-beam.

Three fourths of the world have talent and sparks of genius, like fire in the flint, concealed in the mind, but for want of the collision of education or taste, it is never elicited. Genius conceives-talent executes the one is intellectual, the other a mechanical faculty.

There are many people of what we term equal or moderate abilities, who glide through life with no particular tendency of talents, with a general disposition to and a taste for improvement of every kind. If this be true, it is talent, and not genius, which constitutes the eccentric movement, and gives the different bias.

We may therefore conclude that those minds, which are occupied in a variety of pursuits, will scarcely ever approach excellence, as a general distraction of rays will enervate the powers, and dim the brilliancy of genius, while those who adhere to one or two branches of science or literature, will acquire proficiency and renown by their labours.

"Taste," says a very accomplished Critic, "is the power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of nature and art." The term taste, applied to composition, must be understood in a figurative sense. Its original signification refers immediately to the palate, by which we are enabled to ascertain the quality of the food presented to us. But tastes are as different as the tints of the rain-bow, or the lineaments of the human countenance. Taste cannot be fettered by rules, for a man may have a just taste in architecture, and be wholly unacquainted with the art of building; hence Dennis detected errors in Pope and Addison, though he was as inferior to these master spirits in talent as Southey is to Byron, or the Quixotic Mrs. Royall to Lady Morgan.

In all matters of literature, the knowledge and love of the beautiful and the excellent are the basis and rule of taste. Taste requires that virtue should be painted with majesty, elegance and warmth of colouring; pleasure with passion, sensibility, and grace; vice with contempt and disgust; crime, with all the hideous attributes of horror. Hence it is that the soul-stirring poetry of Byron enchants us by its pictorial effect, whilst the fanatic and rapid effusions of Southey fatigue and tire us by their sombre cast of quaintness and prolix frigidity.

In those fine arts, which express actions, passions, or sentiments, as poetry, music and painting, the rules of taste are precisely the same. Music and painting are the sisters of poetry; and it is the mind of the feeling man, the Poet, and Philosopher, which must judge them. Long sentences in a short composition, betray a want of taste, because they are like large rooms in a little house. In our countryman Barry's picture of the "Village Maiden," who though deeply affected at quitting her family, still clings to the arm of her lover, whom she is going to marry, and the mixture of the "joy of grief,', and the hope of future happiness are finely expressed in her countenance, with an effect which taste could only produce.

But the picture of another of our artists, representing the "Bad father," abandoned on the bed of death, by his children, though full of expression, is in it a very false and disgusting taste; because we ought not to suppose that any father can ever have been so heartless and dead to the feelings of nature as to deserve to be so forsaken by his own offspring; and even if he had been ever so unkind and depraved, his children would not be the less culpable in deserting him at so awful, and mournful an hour, when resentment should give way to pity.

When Rousseau makes St. Preux write in the cabinet of Julia, and continue his letter whilst he is looking at her clothes, and even when he hears her footsteps at the door, and behave so cold and passionless as to write or think of any thing but expected bliss, and the stolen rapture of love, that awaits his enjoyment, the philosopher not only evinced a vitiated taste, repugnant to the feelings of man, but a chilling apathy, and insensibility to the fascinating charms of a beautiful woman. Thus in the arts, the suitable is the rule of taste; but the judgment of what is suitable demands some lights, though the first impression decides almost uniformly with sufficient justice.

But let us consider taste, as it merely regards the composition of authors. On this scale it may be graduated, as a lively and delicate, clear and acute discernment of all the beauties, truth and justness of the thought and expression, which form the materials of a work. A general, and therefore a sufficient standard of taste, may be found by adverting to those qualities, which universally please mankind, more especially those who have been placed in circumstances most favourable to the cultivation of their taste. For there are excellencies and beauties, which, when displayed in a just point of view, must impart, even to rude minds, a certain degree of pleasure. A correct taste, with nice discrimination, weighs the manners, graces and peculiarities of thought, and inflections of language, in the balance of critical investigation. This excellent quality, which is easier felt than described, is less the property of genius, than it is of judgment; it may be defined as a species of sense, capable of being matured and perfected

by study. It is the fiery pillar that lights the poet through the mazes of imagination. It serves, in composition, as a rule to guide and regulate the fire of fancyto curb the rapidity of thought, and weed the prodigal fertility of genius.

It is to the want of this essential quality, that every defect and inaccuracy, which debase composition, may be imputed; for genius, whenever it is destitute of judgment, uniformly makes erroneous abberrations into the deserts of imagination, led by the semblance of beauty. It is certain that all men, at their birth, are endowed with the first principles of taste. The proof is, that a fine picture will charm and delight the rude Indian, who has not the slightest knowledge of the art: the natural sense, or innate affections of the mind, in such cases, occasion nearly the same sensations in him, as art and habit produce in Connoisseurs. A good taste, though we now treat of it as respecting literature, is not by any means circumscribed within the circle of the sciences; no, it disdains limits, and grasps in its extension all the fine arts, embracing painting, sculpture, architecture and music. In the middle ages, when a depraved taste prevailed, the literary horizon was dark and dismal, and the arts were sunk in Gothic barbarism. The excessive load of ornament, confusion of details, and ludicrous grossness of the ancient Gothic edifices in Europe, distributed about them without either taste or judgment, afford a perfect resemblance of the crude writings of that age. Taste in literature, communicates not only with what we have already noticed, but with the manners and customs of the time, and even the effects produced by the manner of living.

An anecdote, which we take from Plutarch, will furnish an exemplifying illustration of the truth of our position. The Roman Consul, Paulus Emilus, after conquering Macedonia, and subjecting the Ligurians to the Roman power, gave a sumptuous entertainment, in a Grecian city, to several hundred guests, one of whom in his hearing expressed his astonishment at the order and elegance with which it was conducted, so infinitely surpassing any thing he could expect from a man bred in camps; to which the veteran replied, that " they had no ground for astonishment, since the same genius which instructs to range an army for battle, taught also to order the disposal of a feast."

66

The pleasures of taste, are indeed more generally diffused in those of the beautiful and sublime. What constitutes the component parts of the one and the other, has often been the subject of philosophic inquiry. That masterly critic, Burke, has ably investigated the principles on which they are founded.

It may be presumed, from his definition, that the beautiful results from colour, symmetry of figure, grace of motion, correctness of design, and from the combination of these qualities in objects, either of nature or of art. On the other hand, the sublime arises from a certain grandeur and majesty, contemplated with a reverential awe, or a profound admiration.

It is, however, confessed, that sublimity, either in natural or moral objects, always elevates the mind, and thrills it with deep sensations.

But taste warns us to stop apropos, and that we should not do as the orator did, of whom it was said, that he spoke of taste until he effectually produced distaste.

VENUS'S LAMENT FOR ADONIS.

Translated into English, from McDAIRY's Irish version of the Poems of Bion of Smyrna, for the Irish Shield.

Let the harps of the Bards vibrate with the song of sorrow! let its plaintive moans be heard in the bowers of Arcadia! and the flowery vales of Tempe echo the wailings of the wretched Cytherea! Let the winds bear her sighs to Heaven, that they may pierce the flinty heart of the relentless thunderer, who has