SECTION II. Sic honor et nomen divinis vatibus atque Criticism has its source deep in human nature. There are implanted in the constitution of man, a bias towards objects that please, and a repugnance to others which disgust. Cur sensations in either case are capable of being defined, and the objects which occasion them of being examined; and as man is naturally inquisitive, here opens a wide field for the exercise of his powers. Universal nature became the first object of inquiry; the effects her various forms and appearances produced on the human mind and frame were observed and analyzed Afterwards the art came to be applied to literature, where the same rules held good, because the same objects and the same effects were found. It was then used to distinguish, not solely between delightful and disgusting images of Nature, but also between true and false representations of those images. The art was extended; composition became its prominent object; and taste arose. Fules were established to divide good composition from bad, to adapt particular styles to particular subjects, to decide what was lofty and what low, what apt and what improper, what clear and what obscure &c. till at length the scientific eye became so penetrating, that every object was judged by determinate principles, regarded in all possible lights, and investigated with careful exactness. The minutiae of criticism are however often attended by error, and not unfrequently by disingenuousness and illiberality. It is seldom unjust to conclude, that the man who descends to these, either has a mind insensible to the bolder beauties of language, or that he is seeking pretences to gratify his spleen and malevolence; and from these degraders of the art, the art itself has been called that of finding fault. Criticism however has a nobler aim, namely, to display the genuine genuine merits of the Muse, and to render here more admirable and more useful. In this light criticism is a very honorable employment; and it certainly is a very pleasing one, being highly adapted to flatter the intellectual powers, and by uniting objects of the senses to the operations of the ind, to fill the soul with a sweet and peculiar species of enjoyment. 1 But what qualifications are necessary to form the critic? As criticism is not so much an art of itself, as it is dependant on all other arts for its nourishment, it surely must require an enlarged intelligence. Yet one would imagine from the general run of the times, that it required nothing more than ordinary, so fond are we all of criticising. Fashion, that powerful arbiter of the age, has scattered taste, judgment and feeling with a very prodigal hand, and without any regard to the prior gifts of Nature. We are continually pestered by the consequential gravity of judgment, or the forced rapture of feeling; and these from beings the most stupid, apathetic and frivolous. In fact, very few are capable of estimating rightly the sublime productions which have informed or astonished mankind. Universal composition is relished only by persons of extensive erudition. Many derive a pleasure from that which bears analogy with their own particular views and passions, but few are so far unprejudiced, as to have a mind open to the impressions of all. Where is that universal taste which does not spring from the prejudice of habit, passion and occupation? How many are charmed with one kind of writing, who have no relish for another? The lover devours Hammond and the amatory Poets; the seaman delights in Falconer; the foxhunter in Somerville. Some like satire; some are for metaphysical research or moral argument; others admire the Drama; some are best pleased with pastorals & description, others with chivalrons adventurer, portraits of heroisin and scenes of warfare. Every one has some particular taste, the pleasing or offending of which forms his rule of praise or censure. Such Such as these only like Poetry by halves; they are no devoted lovers of the Muse, and are generally ignorant of any principles of judgment. The devoted lover of the Muse, he who joins a delicate taste with an ardent admiration, is an uncommon character. When he is found, he is not understood. He is sensible to pleasures, which are as little comprehended by most minds, as the elements of Euclid would be by a mock-bird. Abstracted from worldly concerns his soul is filled only with the sublime and beautiful. He tastes those blissful emotions, and feels that pure enthusiasm, which it is the boast of poetry to inspire. He accompanies his author side by side, traces his thoughts, and wings the same etherial flight. In the heights of Poetry, he finds "Heavens ambrosial flowers." a thousand nameless beauties, which duller souls might either entirely overlook, or disapprove as frivolous and inane. Such a person only could understand that poetry, which is highly refined and enthusiastic; and such only could make a good critic. The good critic must possess the Poet's elevation, in order to reach his meaning, and the Philosopher's calmness, in order to discern whether the meaning be just. He must have virtuous affections, that he may relish the generous sentiments and noble qualities, which Poetry delights to paint and above all, he must attain and preserve a clear, sound and unprejudiced judgment. The three first qualifications proceed in some measure from Nature, the last is the offspring of instruction. Long study of good Authors, and an acquaintance with the best commentators are necessary for this purpose. For in fact, it requires perhaps similar capacities to understand the writings of others, as to write oneself. Nothing can be more galling to a man of sense, than to hear a fool condemn a thing, which he cannot understand. It is clear, that no species of knowledge can be properly comprehended except by those who have studied it. And to those who have not, it will be obscure, not because the thing is in itself so, but because they have not been instructed to perceive its truth & beauty. No one could possibly understand parts of the poem of Paradise Lost, who did not possess an extensive acquaintance with geography and history. And yet there is nothing in Milton that cannot be understood. The odes of Gray and Collins, and the poems of Akenside, require a mind keenly. susceptible and highly enlightened to enter into all their merits, and to partake all their elevation. But it would be hard to find any thing in these poets nonsensical and inane. Would any one, who knew nothing of Euripides, comprehend the force of this beautiful invocation of Pity? By Pella's a magic name, By all the griefs his thought could frame, Thy sky-worn robes of tenderest blue Before we condemn any thing as absurd and unintelligible it would be well to reflect whether we ourselves are competent to understand it, whether memory has suffered any dimi nution of her powers, or whether any of our talents, natural or acquired, are clouded. No person, but a man of education, can be sensible of the beauties or the faults of literaturé. Mère natural sense is seldom sufficient to maintain us long above error; it is apt to be led away by the imagination, a power easily struck by objects vast and uncommon, but incompetent of itself to determine their real value. Art on the contrary instructs nature to know herself, restains imagination within proper bounds, and teaches the use of method and accuracy. This acquired taste, added to the vigour of natural discernment, is the grand requisite, which they who would become critics, should strive to obtain." The value of a performance, says Longinus in the beginning of his admirable work, may easily be ascertained by a person who has a requisite share of natural and acquired taste. If it does not transport his soul, exalt his thoughts and convey more enlarged ideas than the mere sound of words, it cannot possess any title to sublimity. That on the contrary is sublime, of which the more we consider, the greater idea we conceive, which immediately sinks deep, and so forcibly impreses itself on the mind, that the recollection of it cannot easily be efaced or worn away." SECTION III. THE PICTURE; A TALE from the ITALIAN. * At the time when Enea Silvio Piccolomini was Governor of Rome, there lived in that city a man, whose honesty and poverty were equally remarkable. Increasing years, and very infirin health prevented him from prosecuting any longer the trade by which he had hitherto supported himself, and an aged wife. So hard was he pressed by the griping hand of want, that he was constrained to sell piece-meal the few articles of his household furniture, in order to procure the means of subsistence. Among the rest was a small picture, which had been left to him by his Parents, and whose value was not estimated. But stained as it was by smoke, and obscured by dust, he regarded it as a thing of little account. He recommended it to the notice of a painter, one of those, who though blind to his own defects, is sufficiently vigilant to take advantage of the ignorance or necessities of his employers. This man no sooner saw the Master, whose distinguishing traits, a clean napkin had speedily disclosed, than he congratulated himself on the good fortune, which had brought such a prize within his power. He assured the possessor it was a wretched production, and offered him a few paoli in exchange, not as he said for the worth of such a daub, but as a tribute of charity. The old man accepted the money |