now appea, ius equally ridiculous and unbecoming; merely because such appendages are no longer to be seen, but upon the heads of sober and sedentary lawyers, or in the pictures of antiquated esquires. We cannot afford, however, to enlarge any farther upon these considerations, and are inelined indeed to think, that what has been already said on the subject of associations, which, though not universal, are common to whole classes of persons, will make it unnecessary to enlarge on those that are peculiar to each individual. It is almost enough, indeed, to transcribe the following short passage from Mr. Alison. consequence of a sort of resemblance or an alogy which they seem to have to their natural and appropriate objects. The language of Poetry is founded, in a great degree, upon this analogy; and all language, indeed, is full of it; and attests, by its structure, both the extent to which it is spontaneously pursued, and the effects that are produced by its sug gestion. We take a familiar instance from the elegant writer to whom we have already referred. "What, for instance, is the leading impres sion we receive from the scenery of spring? The soft and gentle green with which the earth is spread, the feeble texture of the -There is no man, who has not some inter- plants and flowers, and the remains of winter esting associations with particular scenes, or yet lingering among the woods and hills— airs or books; and who does not feel their all conspire to infuse into our minds somebeauty or sublimity enhanced to him by such what of that fearful tenderness with which connections. The view of the house where infancy is usually beheld. With such a senor was born, of the school where one was timent, how innumerable are the ideas which educated, and where the gay years of infancy present themselves to our imagination! ideas, were passed, is indifferent to no man. There it is apparent, by no means confined to the are songs also, which we have heard in our scene before our eyes, or to the possible desoinfancy, which, when brought to our remem-lation which may yet await its infant beauty, brance in after years, raise emotions for which but which almost involuntarily extend themwe cannot well account; and which, though perhaps very indifferent in themselves, still ontinue from this association, and from the variety of conceptions which they kindle in our minds, to be our favourites through life. The scenes which have been distinguished by the residence of any person, whose memory we admire, produce a similar effect. Memur enim, nescio quo pacto, locis ipsis, in quibus eorum, quos diligimus, aut admiramur adsent vestigia. The scenes themselves may be little beautiful; but the delight with which recollect the traces of their lives, blends itself insensibly with the emotions which the scenery excites; and the admiration which these recollections afford, seems to give a kind of sanctity to the place where they dwelt, and converts every thing into beauty which appears to have been connected with them." There are similar impressions-as to the sort of scenery to which we have been long astomed as to the style of personal beauty by which we were first enchanted-and even as to the dialect, or the form of versification which we first began to admire, that bestow a secret and adventitious charm upon all these objects, and enable us to discover in them a beauty which is invisible, because it is non-existent to every other eye. In all the cases we have hitherto considered, the external object is supposed to have acquired its beauty by being actually connected with the causes of our natural emotions, either as a constant sign of their existence, or as being casually present on the ordinary ccasions of their excitement. There is a relation, however, of another kind, to which also it is necessary to attend, both to elucidate the general grounds of the theory, and explain several appearances that might otherwise expose it to objections. This is the relation which external objects may bear to our internal feelings, and the power they may onsequently acquire of suggesting them, in selves to analogies with the life of man! and bring before us all those images of hope or fear, which, according to our peculiar situations, have the dominion of our hearts! The beauty of autumn is accompanied with a similar exercise of thought: the leaves begin then to drop from the trees; the flowers and shrubs, with which the fields were adorned in the summer months, decay; the woods and groves are silent; the sun himself seems gradually to withdraw his light, or to become enfeebled in his power. Who is there, who, at this season, does not feel his mind impres sed with a sentiment of melancholy? or who is able to resist that current of thought, which, from such appearances of decay, so naturally leads him to the solemn imagination of that inevitable fate, which is to bring on alike the decay of life, of empire, and of nature itself?" A thousand such analogies, indeed, are suggested to us by the most familiar aspects of nature. The morning and the evening pre sent the same ready picture of youth and of closing life, as the various vicissitudes of the year. The withering of flowers images out to us the langour of beauty, or the sickness of childhood. The loud roar of troubled waters seems to bear some resemblance to the voice of lamentation or violence; and the softer murmur of brighter streams, to be expressive of cheerfulness and innocence. The purity and transparency of water or of air, indeed, is universally itself felt to be expressive of mental purity and gaiety; and their darkness or turbulence, of mental gloom and dejection. The genial warmth of autumn suggests to us the feeling of mild benevolence;-the sunny gleams and fitful showers of early spring, remind us of the waywardness of infancyflowers waving on their slender stems, im press us with the notion of flexibility and lightness of temper. All fine and delicate forms are typical of delicacy and gentleness 1 character; and almost all forms, bounded by waving or flowing lines, suggest ideas of easy movement, social pliability, and elegance. Rapid and impetuous motion seems to be emblematical of violence and passion; -slow and steady motion, of deliberation, dignity, and resolution;-fluttering motion, of inconstancy or terror;-and waving motion, according as it is slow or swift, of sadness or playfulness. A lofty tower, or a massive building, gives us at once the idea of firmness and elevation of character;-a rock bat-ness of the analogy enables them to force hu tered by the waves, of fortitude in adversity. Stillness and calmness, in the water or the air, seem to shadow out tenderness, indolence, and placidity;-moonlight we call pensive and gentle; and the unclouded sun gives us an impression of exulting vigour, and domineering ambition and glory. the poet has connected with human emotions, a variety of objects, to which common minds could not discover such a relation. What the poet does for his readers, however, by his original similes and metaphors, in these higher cases, even the dullest of those readers de, in some degree, every day, for themselves: and the beauty which is perceived, wher natural objects are unexpectedly vivified by the glowing fancy of the former, is precisely of the same kind that is felt when the close. man feelings upon the recollection of all mankind. As the poet sees more of beauty in nature than ordinary mortals, just because he perceives more of these analogies and relations to social emotion, in which all beauty consists; so other men see more or less of this beauty, exactly as they happen to possess that fancy, or those habits, which enable them readily to trace out these relations. It is not difficult, with the assistance which language affords us, to trace the origin of all these, and a thousand other associations. In many instances, the qualities which thus sug- From all these sources of evidence, then, gest mental emotions, do actually resemble we think it is pretty well made out, that the their constant concomitants in human nature; beauty or sublimity of external objects is no. as is obviously the case with the forms and thing but the reflection of emotions excited motions which are sublime and beautiful: by the feelings or condition of sentient be and, in some, their effects and relations bearings; and is produced altogether by certain so obvious an analogy to those of human con- little portions, as it were, of love, joy, pity, duct or feeling, as to force itself upon the no- veneration, or terror, that adhere to the ob tice of the most careless beholder. But, what- jects that were present on the occasions of ever may have been their original, the very such emotions.-Nor, after what we have alstructure of language attests the vast extent ready said, does it seem necessary to reply to which they have been carried, and the na- to more than one of the objections to which ture of the suggestions to which they are in- we are aware that this theory is liable.-If debted for their interest or beauty. Since we beauty be nothing more than a reflection of all speak familiarly of the sparkling of wit-love, pity, or veneration, how comes it, it may and the darkness of melancholy-can it be be asked, to be distinguished from these seu any way difficult to conceive that bright light timents? They are never confounded with may be agreeable, because it reminds us of each other, either in our feelings or our laugaiety and darkness oppressive, because it guage:-Why, then, should they all be con is felt to be emblematical of sorrow? It is founded under the common name of beauty? very remarkable, indeed, that, while almost and why should beauty, in all cases, affect us all the words by which the affections of the in a way so different from the love or com mind are expressed, seem to have been bor-passion of which it is said to be merely the rowed originally from the qualities of matter, reflection? the epithets by which we learn afterwards to Now, to these questions, we are somewhat distinguish such material objects as are felt tempted to answer, after the manner of our to be sublime or beautiful, are all of them country, by asking, in our turn, whether it be epithets that had been previously appropri- really true, that beauty always affects us in ated to express some quality or emotion of one and the same manner, and always in a mind. Colours are thus familiarly said to be different manner from the simple and ele gay or grave—motions to be lively, or delib-mentary affections which it is its office to erate, or capricious-forms to be delicate or recal to us? In very many cases, it appear modest-sounds to be animated or mournful to us, that the sensations which we receive --prospects to be cheerful or melancholyrocks to be bold-waters to be tranquil—and a thousand other phrases of the same import; all indicating, most unequivocally, the sources from which our interest in matter is derived, and proving, that it is necessary, in all cases, to confer mind and feeling upon it, before it can be conceived as either sublime or beautiful. The great charm, indeed, and the great secret of poetical diction, consists in thus lending life and emotion to all the objects it embraces; and the enchanting beauty which we sometimes recognise in descriptions of very ordinary phenomena, will be found to arise from the force of imagination, by which from objects that are felt to be beautiful, and that in the highest degree, do not differ at all from the direct movements of tenderness or pity towards sentient beings. If the epithet of beauty be correctly (as it is universally) ap plied to many of the most admired and en chanting passages in poetry, which consist entirely in the expression of affecting senti ments, the question would be speedily decided; and it is a fact, at all events, too remarkable to be omitted, that some of the most powerful and delightful emotions that are uniformly classed under this name, arise altogether from the direct influence of such pathetic emotions, without the intervention of ary material imagery. We not wish, however, to dwell upon an argument, which certainly is not applicable to all parts of the question; and, admitting that, on many occasions, the feelings which we experience from beauty, are sensibly different from the primary emotions in which we think they originate, we shall endeavour in a very few words, to give an explanation of this difference, which seems to be perfectly consistent with the theory we have undertaken to illustrate. In the first place, it should make some difference on the primary affections to which we have alluded, that, in the cases alluded to, they are reflected from material objects, and not directly excited by their natural causes. The light of the moon has a very different complexion from that of the sun;-though it is substance the sun's light: and glimpses st interesting, or even of familiar objects, anght unexpectedly from a mirror placed at a distance from these objects, will affect us, Lke sudden allusions in poetry, very differendly from the natural perception of those objects in their ordinary relations. In the next place, the emotion, when suggested in the hape of beauty, comes upon us, for the most part, disencumbered of all those accompaniments which frequently give it a peculiar and less satisfactory character, when it arises from direct intercourse with its living objects. The compassion, for example, that is suggested by beauty of a gentle and winning description, is not attended with any of that disgust and uneasiness which frequently accompany the spectacle of real distress; nor with that importunate suggestion of the duty of relieving it from which it is almost inseparable. Nor does the temporary delight which we receive from beauty of a gay and animating character. call upon us for any such expenditure of spirits, or active demonstrations of sympathy, as an sometimes demanded by the turbulence of real joy. In the third place, the emotion of beauty, being partly founded upon illusion, is far more transitory in its own nature, and is both more apt to fluctuate and vary in its character, and more capable of being dismissed at pleasure, than any of the primary affections, whose shadow and representative it is. In the fourth place, the perception of beauty implies a certain exercise of the imagination that is not required in the case of direct emotion, and is sufficient, of itself both to give a new character to every emotion that is suggested by the intervention of such an exercise, and to account for our classing all the various emotions that are so nested under the same denomination of beauty. When we are injured, we feel indignation when we are wounded, we feel pain-when we see suffering, we feel comim-and when we witness any splendid art of heroism or generosity, we feel admiration-without any effort of the imagination, or the intervention of any picture or vision in the mind. But when we feel indignation or pity, or admiration, in consequence of seeing me piece of inanimate matter that merely suggests or recals to us the ordinary causes or proper objects of these emotions, it is evident that our fancy is kindled by a sudden flash of recollection; and that the effect is produced by means of a certain poetical creation that is instantly conjured up in the mind. It is this active and heated state of the imagination, and this divided and busy occupa tion of the mind, that constitute the great peculiarity of the emotions we experience from the perception of beauty. Finally, and this is perhaps the most important consideration of the whole, it should be recollected, that, along with the shadow or suggestion of associated emotions, there is always present a real and direct perception, which not only gives a force and liveliness to all the images which it suggests, but seems to impart to them some share of its own reality. That there is an illusion of this kind in the case, is sufficiently demonstrated by the fact, that we invariably ascribe the interest, which we think has been proved to arise wholly from these associations, to the object itself, as one of its actual and inherent qualities; and consider its beauty as no less a property belonging to it, than any of its physical attributes. The associated interest, therefore, is beyond all doubt confounded with the present perception of the object itself; and a livelier and more instant impression is accordingly made upon the mind, than if the interesting conceptions had been merely excited in the memory by the usual operation of reflection or voluntary meditation. Something analogous to this is familiarly known to occur in other cases. When we merely think of an absent friend, our emotions are incomparably less lively than when the recollection of him is suddenly suggested by the unexpected sight of his picture, of the house where he dwelt, or the spot on which we last parted from him-and all these objects seem for the moment to wear the colours of our own associated affections. When Captain Cook's companions found, in the remotest corner of the habitable globe, a broken spoon with the word London stamped upon it-and burst into tears at the sight!-they proved how differently we may be moved by emotions thus connected with the real presence of an actual perception, than by the mere recollection of the objects on which those emotions depend. Every one of them had probably thought of London every day since he left it; and many of them might have been talking of it with tranquillity, but a moment before this more effectual appeal was made to their sensibility. If we add to all this, that there is necessa rily something of vagueness and variableness in the emotions most generally excited by the perception of beauty, and that the mind wanders with the eye, over the different objects which may supply these emotions, with a degree of unsteadiness, and half voluntary half involuntary fluctuation, we may come to understand how the effect not only should be essentially different from that of the simple presentraent of any one interesting concep tion, but should acquire a peculiarity which entitles it to a different denomination. Most human comfort, ingenuity, and fortune of the associations of which we have been last speaking, as being founded on the analogies or fanciful resemblances that are felt to exist between physical objects and qualities, and the interesting affections of mind, are intrinsically of this vague and wavering description-and when we look at a fine landscape, or any other scene of complicated beauty, a great variety of such images are suddenly presented to the fancy, and as suddenly succeeded by others, as the eye ranges over the different features of which it is composed, and feeds upon the charms which it discloses. Now, the direct perception, in all such cases, not only perpetually accompanies the associated emotions, but is inextricably confounded with them in our feelings, and is even recognised upon reflection as the cause, not merely of their unusual strength, but of the several peculiarities by which we have shown that they are distinguished. It is not wonderful, therefore, either that emotions so circumstanced should not be classed along with similar affections, excited under different circumstances, or that the perception of present existence, thus mixed up, and indissolubly confounded with interesting conceptions, should between them produce a sensation of so distinct a nature as naturally to be distinguished by a peculiar name or that the beauty which results from this combination should, in ordinary language, be ascribed to the objects themselves-the presence and perception of which is a necessary condition of its existence. All these, indeed, obviously resolve themselves into the great object of sympathy-human enjoyment. Convenience and comfort is but another name for a lower, but very indispen sable ingredient of that emotion. Skill and ingenuity readily present themselves as means by which enjoyment may be promoted; and high fortune, and opulence, and splendour, pass, at least at a distance, for its certain causes and attendants. The beauty of fitness and adaptation of parts, even in the works of nature, is derived from the same fountainpartly by means of its obvious analogy to works of human skill, and partly by sugges tions of that Creative power and wisdom, to which all human destiny is subjected. The feelings, therefore, associated with all those qualities, though scarcely rising to the height of emotion, are obviously in a certain degree pleasing or interesting; and when several of them happen to be united in one object, may accumulate to a very great degree of beauty. It is needless, we think, to pursue these gene ral propositions through all the details to which they so obviously lead. We shall confine ourselves, therefore, to a very few remarks upon the beauty of architecture-and chiefly as an illustration of our general position. building; 2d, Of security and stability, with a view to the nature of the materials; 3d, Of the skill and power requisite to mould such materials into forms so commodious; 4th, C magnificence, and splendour, and expense; 5th, Of antiquity; and, 6thly, Of Roman and Grecian greatness. His observations are summed up in the following short sentence. There are few things, about which men of virtù are more apt to rave, than the merits of the Grecian architecture; and most of those who affect an uncommon purity and delicacy of taste, talk of the intrinsic beauty of its proportions as a thing not to be disputed, except by barbarian ignorance and stupidity. Mr. What we have now said is enough, we be- Alison, we think, was the first who gave a lieve, to give an attentive reader that general full and convincing refutation of this mysteconception of the theory before us, which is rious dogma; and, while he admits, in the all that we can hope to give in the narrow most ample terms, the actual beauty of the limits to which we are confined. It may be objects in question, has shown, we think, in observed, however, that we have spoken only the clearest manner, that it arises entirely of those sorts of beauty which we think capa- from the combination of the following asso ble of being resolved into some passion, or ciations:-1st, The association of utility, conemotion, or pretty lively sentiment of our na-venience, or fitness for the purposes of the ture; and though these are undoubtedly the highest and most decided kinds of beauty, it is certain that there are many things called beautiful which cannot claim so lofty a connection. It is necessary, therefore, to observe, that, though every thing that excites any feeling worthy to be called an emotion, by its beauty or sublimity, will be found to be related to the natural objects of human passions or affections, there are many things which are pleasing or agreeable enough to be called beautiful, in consequence of their relation merely to human convenience and comfort; many others that please by suggesting ideas of human skill and ingenuity; and many that obtain the name of beautiful, by being associated with human fortune, vanity, or splendour. After what has been already said, it will not be necessary either to exemplify or explain these subordinate phenomena. It is enough merely to suggest, that they all please on the same great principle of sympathy with feelings; and are explained by the and indisputable fact, that we are with the direct contemplation of "The proportions," he observes, "of these orders, it is to be remembered, are distinet subjects of beauty, from the omaments with which they are embellished, from the magnificence with which they are executed, from the purposes of elegance they are intended to serve, or the scenes of grandeur they are des tined to adorn. It is in such scenes, however, and with such additions, that we are accus. tomed to observe them; and, while we feel the effect of all these accidental associations, we are seldom willing to examine what are the causes of the complex emotion we feel, and readily attribute to the nature of the architecture itself, the whole pleasure which we enjoy. But, besides these, there are other associations we have with these forms, tha till more powerfully serve to command our admiration; for they are the GRECIAN orders; they derive their origin from those times, and were the ornament of those countries which are most hallowed in our imaginations; and it is difficult for us to see them, even in their modem copies, without feeling them operate upon our minds as relics of those polished nations where they first arose, and of that greater people by whom they were afterwards borrowed." Agreeing as he does with Mr. Alison, and all modern inquirers, that the whole beauty of objects consists, in the far greater number of instances, in the associations to which we have alluded, he still maintains, that some few visible objects affect us with a sense of beauty in consequence of the pleasurable impression they make upon the sense-and that our perception of beauty is, in these instances, a mere organic sensation. Now, we have already stated, that it would be something quite unexampled in the history either of mind or of language, if certain physical and bodily sensations should thus be confounded with moral and social feelings with which they had no connection, and pass familiarly under one and the same name. Beauty consists confessedly, in almost all cases, in the suggestion of moral or social emotions, mixed This analysis is to us perfectly satisfactory. But, indeed, we cannot conceive any more complete refutation of the notion of an intrinsic and inherent beauty in the proportions of the Grecian architecture, than the fact of the admitted beauty of such very opposite proportions in the Gothic. Opposite as they are, however, the great elements of beauty are the same in this style as in the other-up and modified by a present sensation or the impressions of religious awe and of chivalrous recollections, coming here in place of the classical associations which constitute so great a share of the interest of the former. It is well observed too by Mr. Alison, that the great durability and costliness of the producLans of this art, have had the effect, in almost all regions of the world, of rendering their Fashion permanent, after it had once attained such a degree of perfection as to fulfil its substantial purposes. "Buildings," he observes, "may last, and are intended to last for centuries. The life of man is very inadequate to the duration of ich productions; and the present period of the world, though old with respect to those arts which are employed upon perishable subjerts, is yet young in relation to an art, which is employed upon so durable materials as those of architecture. Instead of a few years, therefore, centuries must probably pass before such productions demand to be renewed; and, long before that period is elapsed, the sacredness of antiquity is acquired by the abject itself, and a new motive given for the preservation of similar forms. In every country, accordingly, the same effect has taken place: and the same causes which have thus served to produce among us, for so many years, an uniformity of taste with regard to the style of Grecian architecture, have produced also among the nations of the East, for a much longer course of time, a similar uniformity of taste with regard to their ornamental style of architecture; and have perpetuated among them the same forms which were in use among their forefathers, before the Grecian orders were invented." It is not necessary, we think, to carry these llustrations any farther: as the theory they are intended to explain, is now, we believe, universally adopted, though with some limitations, which we see no reason to retain. Those suggested by Mr. Alison, we have already endeavoured to dispose of in the few remarks we have made upon his publication; and it only remains to say a word or two more upon Mr. Knight's doctrine as to the primitive and independent beauty of colours, upon which Te have already hazarded some remarks. perception; and it is this suggestion, and this identification with a present object, that constitutes its essence, and gives a common character to the whole class of feelings it produces, sufficient to justify their being designated by a common appellation. If the word beauty, in short, must mean something, and if this be very clearly what it means, in all the remarkable instances of its occurrence, it is difficult to conceive, that it should occa sionally mean something quite different, and denote a mere sensual or physical gratification, unaccompanied by the suggestion of any moral emotion whatever. According to Mr. Knight, however, and, indeed, to many other writers, this is the case with regard to the beauty of colours; which depends altogether, they say, upon the delight which the eye naturally takes in their contemplation-this delight being just as primitive and sensual as that which the palate receives from the contact of agreeable flavours. It must be admitted, we think, in the first place, that such an allegation is in itself extremely improbable, and contrary to all analogy, and all experience of the structure of language, or of the laws of thought. It is farther to be considered, too, that if the pleasures of the senses are ever to be considered as beautiful, those pleasures which are the most lively and important would be the most likely to usurp this denomination, and to take rank with the higher gratifications that result from the perception of beauty. Now, it admits of no dispute, that the mere organic pleasures of the eye (if indeed they have any existence) are far inferior to those of the palate, the touch, and indeed almost all the other senses-none of which, however, are in any case confounded with the sense of beauty. In the next place, it should follow, that if what affords organic pleasure to the eye be properly called beautiful, what offends or gives pain to it, should be called ugly. Now, excessive or dazzling light is offensive to the eye-but, considered by itself, it is never called ugly, but only painful or disagreeable. The moderate excitement of light, on the other hand, or the soothing of certain bright but temperate colours, when considered in |