-the same cause. The antiquarian, in his cabinet, surrounded by the relics of former ages, seems to himself to be removed to periods that are long since past, and indulges in the imagination of living in a world, which, by a very natural kind of prejudice, we are always willing to believe was both wiser and better than the present. All that is venerable or laudable in the history of these times present themselves to his memory. The gallantry, the heroism, the patriotism of antiquity rise again before his view, softened by the obscurity in which they are involved, and rendered more seducing to the imagination by that obscurity itself, which, while it mingles a sentiment of regret amid his pursuits, serves at the same time to stimulate his fancy to fill up, by its own creation, those long intervals of time of which history has preserved no record. The relics he contemplates seem to approach him still nearer to the ages of his regard. The dress, the furniture, the arms of the times, are so many assistances to his imagination, in guiding or directing its exercise, and offering him a thousand sources of imagery, provide him with an almost inexhaustible field in which his memory and his fancy may expatiate. There are few men who have

not felt somewhat, at least, of the delight of such an employment. There is no man in the least acquainted with the history of an tiquity, who does not love to let his imagination loose on the prospect of its remains, and to whom they are not in some measure saered, from the innumerable images which they bring. Even the peasant, whose knowledge of former times extends but to a few generations, has yet in his village some monument of the deeds or virtues of his forefathers; and cherishes with a fond veneration the memorial of those good old times to

which his imagination returns with delight, and of which he loves to recount the simple

tales that tradition has brought him.

"And what is it that constitutes that emotion of sublime delight, which every man of common sensibility feels upon the first prospect of Rome? It is not the scene of destruction which is before him. It is not the Tiber, diminished in his imagination to a paltry stream, flowing amid the ruins of that magnificence which it once adorned, It is not the triumph of superstition over the wreck of human greatness, and its monu. ments erected upon the very spot where the first honours of humanity have been gained. It is ancient Rome which fills his imagination. It is the country of Cæsar, and Cicero, and Virgil, which is before him. It is the mistress of the world which he sees, and

who seems to him to rise again from her tomb, to give laws to the universe. All that the labours of his youth, or the studies of his maturer age have acquired, with regard to the history of this great people, open at once before his imagination, and present him with a field of high and solemn imagery, which can never be exhausted. Take from him these associations, conceal from him that it is Rome that he sees, and how different would be his emotion!" Vol. i. pp. 39-42.

Although much might be added under this head, neither less striking nor less eloquent, we hasten on to the second position taken by the author. It is evident, that all exercise of the imagination does not lead to the emotion of taste. Many objects excite a train of ideas in the mind which yet excite no emotion of pleasure. The ideas which are excited by objects of beauty and sublimity have two peculiarities. 1. They are" ideas of emotion," or ideas by which emotion is excited; and, 2dly, They have a principle of connection by which the whole train have a tendency to excite the same emotion. That the complex emotions of beauty and sublimity are never felt except when some simple emotion is excited, or affection is kindled, is capable of various proof. Who ever calls that beautiful which he, at the same time, declares to be indifferent to him? If an object also is beautiful to us and not to another, do we not ascribe it to some association by which it has laid hold of our mind, or formed a lodgement in our feelings? In like manner, all which contributes to give us an interest in any pursuit or object invests it with new beauties.

"The lover reads or hears with indifference, of all that is most sublime in the history of ambition, and wonders only at the folly of mankind, who can sacrifice their ease, their comforts, and all the best pleasures of life, to the unsubstantial pursuit of power. The man, whose life has been passed in the pursuits of commerce, and who has learned to estimate every thing by its value in money, laughs at the labours of the philosopher or the poet, and beholds with indifference the most splendid pursuits of life, if they are not repaid by wealth. The anecdote of a late celebrated mathematician is well known, who read the

Paradise Lost, without being able to discover in it any thing that was sublime, but who said that he could never read the queries, at the end of Newton's Optics, without feeling his hair stand on end, and his blood

run cold. There are thousands who have read

the old ballad of Chevy Chace, without having their imaginations inflamed with the ideas of military glory. It is the brave only, who, in the perusal of it, like the gallant Sir Philip Sydney, feel their hearts moved, as by the sound of a trumpet.'" Vol. i. pp. 87—89. In like manner, when, through the circumstances of the moment,the sensibility is deadened, a pall seems to be cast over the most splendid objects. And in the same way, when the attention is withdrawn from the interesting, and directed to the uninteresting, qualities of an object, the emotion of beauty decays. The artist who withdraws his attention from the expression of the Apollo Belvidere to measure its proportions; the affluent who are familiarized to 'their splendid furniture, and who look on them not as the mere ornament of the drawing-room, but as the apparatus of daily life; the auctioneer whose enthusiasm is divided between the colours of a picture and the construction of its frame; one and all cease to perceive the beauties upon which others are feasting.

It is scarcely less obvious that the train of images by which the emotion of taste is excited is distinguished by some general principle of connection. When the eye, for instance, wanders over a landscape, the taste is often offended by some feature which does not harmonize with the rest. In like manner, in poetry, in painting, or in music, a discordant sentiment, image, or tone often checks the rising emotion of taste. In each of these cases it is evidently a certain character or expression to which the discordant part is referred, and by its discrepancy with which it offends. This expression is the charm by which the emotion is kindled, and, as the one is weakened, the other vanishes. The corner stone of the edifice of our feeling or affection is touched and the fairy fabric falls to the ground.

It is curious to observe how nature, in some rare instances, by her very prodigality tarnishes the beauty of her own scenes. One object clashes with another, and so destroys the expression of the whole. Nor is it less curious to observe the artist or poet, by the labour of selection and assimilation, endeavouring to improve upon this profuse expenditure and bold irregularity of nature. The author, however, by stating this point too broadly, seems to us to do a little dishonour to Nature. The discordancies discovered in her scenes are often less in the prospect than in the examiner. The narrowness of the mind often betrays us into a false interpretation of their character. If a spectator mistook the expression which à painter meant to give to his picture, and which he actually did convey to the accurate eye, many parts, really appropriate, must seem to him out of place. And thus, if we narrow the expression of the landscape, parts, which in fact conspire to adorn the scene, appear dis→ cordancies to us. Man, in this instance, should do homage to the great Artist of the scenery before him; and not cripple the landscape to the mind, but strain the mind to follow and embrace the landscape. "Non mibi res, sed me rebus subjungere conor," should be our motto here; and a readiness be discovered to vindicate Nature at our own expense.

The foregoing observations, however, we think, sufficiently establish the two last mentioned propositions of the author; so that we may rest in the conclusion stated by him at the end of his first essay, that wherever the emotions of beauty or sublimity are felt, an exercise of imagination is promoted, and that the train of thought upon which the imagination is employed is made up of ideas of emotion, associated by a general principle of connection. Hence, he adds, the difference between our emotions of simple pleasure and the emotion of taste are obvious.

be able with certainty to define its effect upon others, and to reduce it to certain general laws. But no part of this description applies to the case of the emotions of sublimity and beauty. Here all is irregularity. No two men are affected in the same way; no one man, perhaps, in the same manner, at two different times; and the alleged objects of this sense appear and disappear according to the frame of the examiner, or the society in which the object is viewed.

Take, in the first place, the case of sounds. Thunder, when heard as the "artillery of heaven," is sublime, Is it the mere quality of loudness which renders it sublime? Let it, on the contrary, be discovered that what we supposed to be thunder is the mere rumbling of a cart, and the emotion of sublimity is destroyed. Indeed, there are instances in which the lowest sounds are invested with the same sublimity:

"

Along the woods, along the moorish fens, Sighs the sad genius of the coming storm." Or to take a more striking instance from that unfathomable mine of all that is beautiful or sublime, the Scriptures. It is a passage in which the appearance of the Deity to the prophet Elijah is described. "And he said, Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And behold the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake; and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire a small still voice. And it was so, when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle."

Here, then, we have instances both of the same sound, by different associations, affecting the mind in an opposite manner; and of the most Opposite sounds affecting the mind in the same manner. Can we need any stronger proof that the beauty or sublimity does not reside in the CHRIST. OBSERY. No. 122.

mere sound, but in the quality of which it is the sign or expression?

In proceeding to apply his theory to colours, the author remarks that the greatest part of colours are "connected with a kind of established imagery in the mind," and are considered as "expressive of many pleasing and interesting qualities.” These associations are, 1st, such as arise from the nature of the objects thus permanently coloured; as black, from being the complexion of night, is expressive of gloom: or, 2dly, such as arise from some analogy between certain colours and certain dispositions of the mind, whence these colours are called mild, or bold, gay, or gloomy: and, 3dly, such as arise from accidental connections; as purple is to us the sign of imperial dignity, and yellow to the Chinese. These associations will sufficiently explain the peculiar attractions of some colours, while a few plain observations will shew that they have no intrinsic beauty. For, if they had, the same colour would always be beautiful, and we should rejoice to see the pink of the cheek extended to the nose: neither would the beauty of colours vary with the caprices of fashion, whereas half a dozen duchesses may, by dint of the associations which rank can convey, clothe the town in a new colour every winter: nor would different nations make their elections of opposite colours, and the dusky beauties of one hemisphere be the monsters of another.

In chapter IV. upon Forms, the course of argument is nearly the same as before. The illustrations are numerous and convincing. As it is on the subject of forms that the old theories chiefly dwelt, the author had here many prejudices to combat, and difficulties to overcome. We think, however, that the hitherto wavering converts of Hogarth and Burke, and of the more recent upholders of the intrinsic beauty of lines, will rejoice to find here a key to many difficulties confessedly impervious by their ancient masters.