beauties make but a faint impression, indulges pride or envy without control, and loves to brood over errors and blemishes; in a word, there are other passions, that, upon occasion, may disturb the peace of society more than those mentioned; but not another pagsion is so unwearied an antagonist to the sweets of social intercourse: pride and envy put a man perpetually in opposition to others, and dispose him to relish bad more than good qualities, even in a companion. How different that disposition of mind, where every virtue in a companion or neighbor, is, by refinement of taste, set in its strongest light, and defects or blemishes natural to all are suppressed, or kept out of view?

In the next place, delicacy of taste tends not less to invigorate the social affections, than to moderate those that are selfish. To be convinced of that tendency, we need only reflect that delicacy of taste necessarily heightens our feeling of pain and pleasure; and of course our sympathy, which is the capital branch of every social passion. Sympathy invites a communication of joys and sorrows, hopes and fears: such exercise, soothing and satisfactory in itself, is necessarily productive of mutual good-will and affection. One other advantage of criticism is reserved to the last place, being of all the most important; which is, that it is a great support to morality. I insist on it with entire satisfaction, that no occupation attaches a man more to his duty, than that of cultivating a taste in the fine arts: a just relish for what is beautiful, proper, elegant, and ornamental, in writing or painting, in architecture or gardening, is a fine preparation for the same just relish of these qualities in character and behavior. To the man who has acquired a taste so acute and accomplished, every action, wrong or improper, must be highly disgustful: if, in any instance, the overbearing power of passion sway him from his duty, he returns to it with a doubled resolution never to be swayed a second time: he has now an additional motive to virtue, a conviction derived from experience, that happiness depends on regularity and order, and that disregard to justice or propriety never fails to be punished with shame and remorse.

With respect to the present undertaking, it is not the author's intention to compose a regular treatise upon each of the fine arts; but only in general to exhibit their fundamental principles, drawn from human nature, the true source of criticism. The fine arts are intended to entertain us, by making pleasant impressions; and,

by that circunstance, are distinguished from the useful arts: bu in order to make pleasant impressions, we ought, as above hinted, to know what objects are naturally agreeable, and what naturally disagreeable. That subject is here attempted, so far as necessary for unfolding the genuine principles of the fine arts; and the author assumes no merit from his performance, but that of evincing, perhaps more distinctly than hitherto has been done, that these principles, as well as every just rule of criticism, are founded upon the sensitive part of our nature. What the author has discovered or collected upon that subject, he chooses to impart in the gay and agreeable form of criticism; imagining that this form will be more relished, and perhaps be not less instructive, than a regular and labored disquisition. His plan is, to ascend gradually to principles, from facts and experiments; instead of beginning with the former, handled abstractedly, and descending to the latter. But though criticism be thus his only declared aim, he will not disown, that all along it has been his view to explain the nature of man, considered as a sensitive being, capable of pleasure and pain: and though he flatters himself with having made some progress in that important science, he is however too sensible of its extent and difficulty, to undertake it professedly, or to avow it as the chief purpose of the present work.

REVIEW.

What is the design of this work?

What is requisite in order to become a critic in the fine arts?
What do the fine arts thus become?

What is the first advantage which arises from an acquaintance with the principles of the fine arts?

To whom are the fine arts a favorite entertainment?

What habit is acquired by philosophic inquiry into the principles of the fine arts?

how may the science of criticism be considered?

Of what kind are the reasonings employed on the fine arts?

What does a just taste for the fine arts furnish?

How does the science of criticism tend to improve the heart?
To what vices is a discerning taste an enemy?

In what does the man of taste delight?

What does delicacy of taste invigorate?

What is the last and most important advantage of criticism?

What occupation particularly attaches a man to his duty?

What additional motive to virtue has the man of taste?

From what are the fundamental principles of criticism drawn?
Upon what is every just rule of criticism founded?

What is the author's plan?

What other object besides the science of criticism has the author kept in view?

ELEMENTS OF CRITICISM.

CHAPTER I.

Association of Ideas.

WHILE awake we are conscious of a continued train of perceptions passing in our minds. It requires no activity to carry on, nor can we at will add an idea to this train, which is not regulated by chance.

The notions by which things are linked have great influence in directing the train of thought. The inherent properties of external objects are not more remarkable than the various relations that connect them together. Cause and effect, contiguity in time and place, high and low, prior and posterior, resemblance, contrast, and a thousand other relations, connect things without end. No single object appears solitary and devoid of connexion; some are intimately, some slightly connected; some near, others remote.

The train of thought is chiefly regulated by these relations. An external object suggests to the mind others with which it is related: thus the train of thoughts is composed. Such is the law of succession, which must be natural because it governs all human things. Sometimes, however, as after a profound sleep, an idea arises in the mind without any perceived connexion.

We can attend to some ideas and dismiss others. Among objects connected, one suggests many of its relations; choice is afforded; we can elect one and reject others. We can insist on what is commonly the slighter connexion. Ideas left to their natural course are continued through the strictest connexions: the

mind extends its view to a son more readily than to a servant; and more readily to a neighbor than to one living at a distance. We cannot, however, dissolve the train, though we may vary the order. So far our power extends; and it is sufficient for all useful purposes.

A subject that accords with the tone of the mind is always welcome; thus, in good spirits a cheerful subject will be introduced by the slightest connexion; and one that is melancholy, in low spirits: an interesting subject is recalled from time to time, by any connexion indifferently strong or weak, as in this finely touched relation to a rich cargo at sea:

My wind, cooling my broth,

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought
What harm a wind too great might do at sea.
I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,
But I should think of shallows and of flats,
And see my wealthy Andrew dock'd in sand
Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,
To kiss her burial. Should I go to church.
And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me straight of dangerous rocks?
Which touching but my gentle vessel's side,
Would scatter all the spices on the stream,
Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks;
And, in a word, but even now worth this,
And now worth nothing.

MERCH. OF VENICE, ACT I. Sc. 1.

In the minds of some persons, thoughts and circumstances crowd upon each other by the slightest connexions. I ascribe this to a bluntness in the discerning faculty; and such a person has usually a great flow of ideas, because they are introduced by any relations indifferently. This doctrine is in a lively manner illustrated by Shakspeare.

Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?

Hostess. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and thy money too. Thou didst swear to me on a parcel gilt goblet sitting in my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the Prince broke thy head for liking his father to a singing man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my lady, thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not Good

wife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me Gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound. And didst not thou, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people, saying that ere long they should call me madam?`And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book oath; deny it if thou canst?

SECOND PART, HEN. IV. ACT II. Sc. 2.

On the other hand, a man of an accurate judgment cannot have a flow of ideas; because the slighter relations, making no figure in his mind, have no power to introduce ideas; thence an accurate judgment is not friendly to eloquence. A comprehensive memory is seldom connected with a good judgment.

Wit and judgment are seldom united. Wit joins things by distant and fanciful relations, that occur only to those who make every relation equally welcome. Hence wit is incompatible with a solid judgment. Memory and wit are often conjoined; solid judgment seldom with either.

There is order as well as connexion in the succession of our ideas. The principle of order governs the arrangement of perceptions, ideas and actions. Sheep in a fold, trees in a field, may be indifferently surveyed, because they are equal in rank. In things of unequal rank, we descend from the principal subject to its accessories; we enter not into a minute consideration of constituent parts till the thing be surveyed as a whole. Our ideas are governed by the same principle.

The principle of order is conspicuous with regard to natural objects, as bodies in motion; the mind falls with a heavy body, descends with a river, rises with smoke. In tracing a family, we begin with the founder; musing on an oak, we begin at the trunk and mount to the branches. In historical facts we proceed in the order of time, and through the chain of causes and effects.

In science we proceed from effects to causes; from

B