certain degree of original sensibility; nay, it requires, perhaps, some original sensibility as its basis: but this sensibility, in consequence of the habit which it has itself contributed to establish, soon becomes transient and useless; losing all connection with reason and the moral principles, and alive only to such impressions as fashion recognizes and sanctions. The other species of taste, founded on the study of universal beauty, (and which, for the sake of distinction, I shall call philosophical taste,) implies a sensibility deep and permanent to those objects of affection, admiration, and reverence, which interested the youthful heart, while yet a stranger to the opinions and ways of the world. Its most distinguishing characteristics, accordingly, are strong domestic and local attachments, accompanied with that enthusiastic love of nature, simplicity, and truth, which, in every department both of art and science, is the best and surest presage of genius. It is this sensibility that gives rise to the habits of attentive observation by which such a taste can alone be formed; and it is this also that, binding and perpetuating the associations which such a taste supposes, fortifies the mind against the fleeting caprices which the votaries of fashion watch and obey." pp. 470-171.

The essential inferiority of arbitrary to universal associations, in all works of taste, is sufficiently established by the concurrent suffrages of mankind. Numberless illustrations of this fact present themselves, the instant it is stated, to every person who is at all conversant with the literary productions of different ages. But perhaps a more remarkable instance of its truth could hardly be found than is supplied by the writings of Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. The latter of these had at one time so nearly super

seded his master in the general favour, that Dryden, in his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, considers himself as exposed to a charge of presumption in venturing to claim even an equality for his beloved Shakspeare; and he seems to have thought it necessary to accompany the expression of so bold a judgment with an extravagant encomium on the Silent Woman of Jonson, which has probably seduced many an unhappy reader into a perusal of that very ordinary performance. Time, however, has reversed the judgments of fashion; the caprices of an age of pedantry are past; and truth and nature have resumed their legitimate authority.

It must not be supposed that all arbitrary associations are equally frivolous. Some of them are of far greater value than others; and there are two classes among them which may be said even to partake of universality. Mr. Stewart has named 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 wo

men, 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 attempt 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 in considerable value. This arises from a perception of the skill and taste as well as the genius 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 chisel 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 extravagancies, 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, (unquestionably of a higher order than the technical taste we have been now considering,) which 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 with the works of its favorite 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 some thing 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 remarked, 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 merely 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 guidance of an acknowledged standard of excellence, appears not only to