fuch a mixture of incoherent, capricious forms, as renders it the most abfurd piece. of architecture which ancient or modern times ever produced.

Thefe, and many other inftances of a 'falfe ftyle, only fhew the want of skill in the builders, in mixing forms which cannot accord; but by no means prove the impoffibility of fuccefs, if a church were defigned upon the principle of the acute arch and angle, and had its other additions from the good taste of a modern artift, instead of the barbarous caprice of antiquity.

Although I am clearly of opinion that a Gothic church might at this time be built greatly fuperior to any of old times, yet I doubt, whether the affociation of ideas, upon which fo much depends, would not be wanting to give it the due effect. Our reverence for antiquity, and our reverence for religion,

in fome measure go together.

There is a folemnity attached to an old church, because it is old, which we do not feel in a new church, because it is new. How often has it been remarked of St. Paul's, that although a large and fine building, yet it does not produce the religious effect of a Gothic cathedral-which is undoubtedly true, partly for the above reason, and partly by our being more used to see the Grecian orders applied to buildings for common purposes. The language of the prayers is not that of common difcourse, nor is it the ftyle of authors at this period-it does not fuit with any place fo well as a Gothic church, which our imagination makes to be older than one built after the Grecian orders, because, in our country, they were first used after the Gothic Architecture had been long practifed.

The

The middle way not always best.

THE fafety of taking the middle way

is evident, when we are affailed by dif putants, each violent in his caufe-it is the most fecure path while we journey through life, where the difficulty lies in fteering between extremes that are equally hurtful-and this maxim may be generally applied to morals, philofophy, and even to religion itself: in all which, violence and coolnefs are equally to be avoided. But in the imitative arts, as they are called, the reverse of this maxim is our rule and guide, as appears by an examination of its effect in painting, mufic, and poetry.

When we would ftrike the imagination, which is the end of all the arts, it must

must be by fomething that operates inftantly, and with precision-this effect cannot be produced by mediocrity.

In a picture, the fubject must be told with some degree of violence to arrest the attention. If it be historical, the figures must be eagerly engaged, or they will not feem to be engaged at all. Strong men must be very strong-beautiful women, Supremely fo. In landscape, it is not fuch an affemblage of objects as we do fee, but fuch as we wish to fee-every thing must have a brilliancy and agitation beyond nature, if we are to think it a representation of nature.

It is this principle which has established fiery inftead of warm colouring-that makes the heightening touches of trees red or yellow instead of light green-that makes grey hills, blue-that makes a front and fide light in the fame picture, and other extravagancies. As our en

deavour

deavour to give a juft representation of nature generally fails of effect, we try to impose on the imagination, by substituting an exaggerated resemblance.

Not only in the subject, drawing, and colouring of a picture we confider the middle path as dangerous, but there must alfo be a boldnefs in the touch of the pencil, or all our other elevations above mediocrity will be of no avail. The very effence of Drawings depends upon effects fuddenly produced by broad and full

touches.

In mufic, quick and flow movements are diftinctly marked, but what is between both feems uncharacteristic, and though it often has the power to please, it feldom poffeffes fufficient force to affect us. This remark may be extended to the effect of the piano and forte, and even to the manner of performance.

Poetry,