.- I THEORY ON THE CLASSIFICATION OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY, AND THEIR CORRESPONDENCE WITH PHYSIOGNOMONIC EXPRESSION, EXEMPLIFIED IN VARIOUS WORKS OF ART, AND NATURAL OBJECTS, AND ILLUSTRATED WITH Mm <8zm*l Cljarts, AND THIRTY-EIGHT COPPER-PLATES. BY MARY ANNE SCHIMMELPENNINCK, AUTHOR OF " A TOUR TO ALET." "iNGENUAS DIDICISSE FIDELITER ARTES, EMOLLIT MORES, NEC SINIT ESSE FEROS." LONDON: PRINTED FOR JOHN AND ARTHUR ARCH, CORNHILL. 181-5. INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. ThE work, which the author has the honor of submitting to the public, comprizes two objects. It endeavours, in the first place, to analyze the constituent prin- ciple of Beauty and Deformity, and to point out the several sources, and various species of that agreeable or disagreeable expres- sion, which pleases or offends the taste, either in natural objects or works of art. Its second, and principal design, is to reduce those varieties of expression to a fixed and determinate classification. To point out the sensible signs which characterize, with peculiar appropriation, each of these classes, and to trace the undeviating laws, by which they severally find utterance, through the medium of each of the five senses. Laws which, unless a more powerful, but casual coun- ter-association divert their course, permanently, but distinctly characterize the expression of each species throughout the vast expanse of natural objects — the creation of God ; and of productions of art — the limited, but yet beautiful creation of man. Should the theory, which this work attempts to develope, be wdi a \y INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. founded, it would then furnish a systematically arranged classifica- tion of agreeable and disagreeable perceptions, and would thereby afford fixed and definite rules for giving characteristic and appro- priate expression ; rules which, if true, would be of useful applica- tion, not only in painting, sculpture, architecture, landscape- gardening, poetry, and other branches of the fine arts and of elegant literature ; but which likewise would be of no less constant service, in all those minor departments of good taste, which consti- tute the agreeable every-day scenery of life. Those well-arranged domestic adornments, which the informed intellect and cultivated tastes, as well as the good sense of our British ladies, ought to insti- tute upon the permanent and unexpensive principles of good taste, instead of leaving them to the caprices of desultory fashions, ruinous by immoderate expense, alike of money and nf time. The author wishes she possessed that extensive and accurate in- formation in the various branches of the fine arts, which would have furnished her with the means of illustrating her theory in a less imperfect manner; which would have rendered it a completed structure, instead of a chaos of scattered materials. The respect due to the public, which occasions her regret, at presenting it with a work so manifestly incomplete, induces her however to add (what, probably, every author imagines of his own productions), that had not a long experience impressed herself with a belief, that the main principles of this theory are true ; of had it occurred to her ever to have seen those truths detailed elsewhere, she should have considered herself inexcusable in obtruding so un- finished a performance upon the public attention. Whilst so many of her own sex are employing bright talents to the most exalted and honorable purposes ; whilst some, reverend in INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. V piety yet more than in years, still maintain with the pen that most holy cause they have exemplified in a long life, rich in good works ; whilst one venerable poet, of equal years with the beloved and virtuous Sovereign, whose lamented illness she so pathetically sings ; and whose elegant and classic lay, is alike inspired by the muses of Helicon and of Solyma, laid aside her lyre to invite infant steps to cull garlands of unfading amaranth upon the holy hill of Zion ; and whilst a tragic genius, such as but once before astonished England (and then, like hers, was long unappreciated), holds up a faithful mirror to the wayward heart of man, reflecting the progress of every incipient passion which convulses his soul, the author of the following work is ashamed to mention the utility of a theory, which, even if true, and if, as she believes, applicable to works of art, can yet serve no higher purpose than to furnish with innocent relaxation the very few hours which a conscientious Christian ought to afford to mere pursuits of taste. Perhaps a simple relation of the incidental circumstances which led to its formation, will both most effectually explain the object of the succeeding pages, and best plead the author's apology for its imperfect execution. At a very early age, the writer was with a near relation, who was much out of health, and with whom it was essential to preserve great stillness; she was therefore plentifully supplied with books of prints ; among these were many works of architectural antiquities, ancient statues and costumes, and likewise the French edition of Lavater, which is very peculiarly remarkable for the physiogno- monic correctness of its outlines. The books with which children are acquainted, being but few, never fail to inspire them with a lively interest. vi INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. Her school-room accordingly soon exhibited a large collection of profiles, of the most frequent visiters to the family ; a large propor- tion of whom, at that time, were persons of literary and scientific celebrity. One of her childish amusements was that of travestying these profiles with every variety of costume, and then puzzling the original with his own likeness, which he had given her. The different effect of these costumes was very apparent. It could not fail to strike the most inattentive eye, that whilst some of them only travestied the individual, so as completely to disguise him, and others produced a burlesque incongruity of appearance ; some of them, on the other hand, imparted a new and bold relief to the expression ; and, as with the touch of Ithuriel's spear, bid the original charactct insert up to light, in all its native magnitude. The question, then, naturally presented itself, — What common point of accordance can exist between dress and countenance, which can possibly afford a basis for any congruity or incongruity between two things of so dissimilar a nature ? This unanswered question soon extended itself from dress to other subjects. One of her amusements was that of natural history ; and she frequently entertained herself with endeavouring to copy various animals from Buffon and Edwards, or drawing from memory the wild animals she was taken to see. She then involuntarily observed, " This lion, this oak-tree, this Roman soldier, this view of Cheddar Cliffs, all unite in the same class of expression ; all touch the very same class of emotion in the mind of the spectator ; yet what point of analogy can be discovered between objects so remote in their natures as a wild beast, a man, a tree, and a landscape ?" Again ; M This Numidian crane, this Grecian figure, this campanula, all INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. Vll partake of the same class of expression ; yet what point of unity can subsist between a bird, a lady, and a flower?" kc. Though incidental circumstances gave birth to this inquiry, it soon became a favourite amusement to extend it to other subjects, and to endeavour to discover a satisfactory solution. This inquiry, which occasionally amused her from the age of nine years to that of twenty, was not pursued long without suggesting another observation. It soon appeared, that as some classes of expression were equally susceptible of giving character to every object both of nature and art, and of equally inspiring the beauty of either the animate or inanimate creation; so there were certain other sources of beauty and expression, which were peculiar to man alone, as an intellectual being, and moral agent. Thus, whilst strength and sublimity may equally characterize the statue of Hercules, Alpine scenery, the figure of a lion, or an oak- tree's giant limbs labouring against the rising tempest, those pecu- liarities of expression, which mark wit, judgment, modesty, genius, kc. kc, can in their own nature only belong solely and exclusively to a class of beauty and a class of expression, which is alone peculiar to man. It appeared, therefore, that whilst on the one hand there exists one Universal physiognomony, characterized by laws equally appli- cable to the whole expanse of created nature, and which equally pervades the animate and inanimate world; there likewise exists, on the other, a second and distinct branch of physiognomony, which can apply to human expression only. A new source of beauty and deformity, which, though far more limited in its application, and only capable of acting (even within the limits of its sphere) in con- Vlii INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. junction with the former ; yet unfolds wholly new and much more vivid additional sources of interest and gratification both to the taste and heart. From this period the sources of the author's amusement became multiplied; and she occasionally entertained herself with making observations, both on the subject of pleasing expression in general, and of beautiful human expression in particular ; till, having written several memoranda, at various intervals, she conceived the idea, when she was about twenty, of looking over and deciphering these scattered pencil notes, and endeavouring to arrange them into a regular system, and to illustrate the whole by copious examples, taken from various branches of the fine arts, and from natural objects. Accordingly she arranged her system, and proceeded a little way in its execution ; but her progress was soon impeded by the want of information, sufficiently copious or accurate, fully to illustrate her theory ; and several circumstances arising about the same time, and forcibly directing her attention to subjects of far more serious moment, both the book, and all thoughts of ever resuming it, were wholly laid aside. Some years, however, after she had been married, her husband accidentally met with the scattered sheets. He read them, and be- lieving the main principles to be true, and that they might be of useful application in the productions of art, he requested her to re-write the whole, recommending her to illustrate it in the best manner she could, which, though incomplete, might yet be very sufficient to render the theory clearly intelligible. Such was the origin of the following pages, which, though incom- plete, are now respectfully submitted to the public. INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. IX As the plates to the physiognomonic part would, however, be both very numerous and expensive, that part only is now published, which includes the classification of universal pleasing and dis- pleasing expression. Though only in fact the first part of the system, it is however not only the basis of the other, but it forms a work distinct and perfectly complete in its object, so far as it extends. The author wishes to add one observation respecting the notes. They comprize, as the reader will not fail to observe, a large pro- portion of the work itself; and, in very many cases, are by no means indispensably necessary to make it understood. The author will simply state what was the real fact. Being doubtful whether her theory might appear as conclusive to others as it does to herself, she wished to interweave into her work a considerable portion of miscellaneous information, which might prove agreeable to the reader, and not make him regret, in any event, the time bestowed upon her book. The author trusts, that except in cases of necessary illustration, the notes will generally be found to be derived from works, which in some instances are actually very rare, and in others are not commonly met with out of their own peculiar class of readers. Every person who reads at all, must necessarily possess many scraps of desultory information, which are both entertaining and useful, but which are often scattered throughout a vast mass either of totally uninteresting matter, or of matter at least totally unin- teresting to general readers. Now, if each one who writes, presented society with his own little gleanings, much agreeable and often useful information would be disseminated, at a very trifling expense of time to each person. X INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS. We now conclude this preface, and turning to the table of con- tents, proceed to present our reader with his bill of fare ; hoping, that if he cannot relish our " corps du festin," he may at least taste with pleasure the " entremets' and " hors d'ceuvres." Bristol, 1 Alh November, 1814. TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page INTRODUCTORY ADDRESS iii PART I. ANALYSIS OF THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY IN GENERAL, AND DISCRI- MINATION BETWEEN BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. CLASSIFICATION OF THE VARIOUS GENERA OF BEAUTY IN PARTICULAR, AND DISCRIMINATION OF THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLES, DISTINGUISHING THEM FROM EACH OTHER. CHAPTER I. Definition of Taste — Of Beauty — In its critical Signification: in its colloquial Acceptation — Sense in which the Term is used in this Booh CHAPTER II. Inquiry into the constituent Principle o/Beauty — Variety of ingenious Systems on that Subject — Conclusion often drawn from their apparent Contrariety — Reasons against such Conclusion — Standard of Beauty and Deformity, Ileal and Permanent — Includes several distinct Genera — Confusion which has arisen from want of a clear and discriminating View of the peculiar generic Characteristics of each distinct Genus — Their consequent Misapplication — Beauty destroyed by In- congruity — False Taste, in what it consists CHAPTER III. Reasons in which the several Predilections in favor of various Genera of Beauty originate — Uniformity of the Basis on which they are founded— That Basis, therefore, the Radical and Constituent Principle of Beauty — There can be no Beauty without Expression — Heterogeneity , zehy displeasing — Homogeneity, why pleasing — True Beauty requires Pleasing as well as Homogeneous Expression — Spurious Beauty may be founded, however, on. Homogeneous, though disagreeable Expression. b xi i TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page Regular Species of Deformity — Inquiry what are the distinct Genera of Pleasing Qualities, which are the Constituent Principles of the distinct Genera of Beauty; and the characteristic Expressions of which it is the Object of this Work to ascertain and to discriminate 11 ADDITIONAL NOTES. (a). Peruvians, Page 17. (b). Peruvian Custom of never taking Oaths, Page 18. Nezzahualcojotl, King of Acolhuacan, Page 20. CHAPTER IV. The same Succession of Tastes may be traced in Nations at various Epocha of Civi- lization, as in Individuals at different Periods of their Lives— Progression of Tastes. Genus i. Sublime. Species 1st. Active or Terrible Sublime— Species 2nd. Passive or Contemplative Sublime — Radical Generic Principles of both —Distinguishing Specific Principle of each— Generic Characteristics founded on the Generic Principle of both — Specific Characteristics of each — Generic Style of Influence consequent on the Generic Constituents of both— Specific Style of Influ- ence arising from the different Specific Constituents of each. Genus 2. Sentimental, or Elegant. Constituent Generic Principle. Generic Characteristics founded thereon— Consequent Generic Style of Influence. Genus 3. Sprightly. Constituent Generic Principle— Generic Characteristics founded thereon— Generic Style of Influence— Comparison of the Sublime and Sprightly— In what they agree— In what they differ. PiECAPITULATION CHAPTER V. The Constituent Principle of each Genus of Beauty, is by Inversion susceptible of becoming the Basis of its own peculiar Genus of Deformity. Genus 1. Species 1st. From the Active Sublime may be deduced by Inversion the Horrible Radical Generic Principle — Generic Characteristics— Generic Style of Influence. Species 2nd. From the Passive Sublime, may be deduced, by Inversion, the V apid— Radical Generic Principle— Generic Characteristics— Generic Style of Influence. Genus 2. From the Sentimental may be deduced, by Inversion, the Porcine— Radical Generic Principle— Generic Characteristics— Generic Style of Influence. Genus 3. From the Sprightly may be deduced, by Inversion, the Flippant — Generic Radical Principle— Generic Style of Influence. TABLE OF CONTENTS. xm Page Contrast between each Species of Beauty, and its Correspondent Species of Defor- mity. These Genera of Deformities termed Regular Deformities, and why. Charts, shewing the Correspondence and Opposition beliceen the Constituent Princi- ples of the Genera o/'Beauty, and those o/Regular Deformity .... 37 PART II. ASSOCIATION OF AGREEABLE OR DISAGREEABLE FEELING WITH EXTERNAL OBJECTS, THE SOURCE OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. CLASSIFICATION OF ASSOCIATIONS. APPLICATION OF THE DIFFERENT CLASSES OF ASSOCIATION TO THE VARIOUS CLASSES OF WORKS OF TASTE. CHAPTER I. Association of Ideas — Association of Feelings. Association of Agreeable or Disagreeable, Feelings, the Foundation of Beauty or Deformity. Association of each peculiar Class of Perception, with its correspondent peculiar Class of Agreeable or Disagreeable Feeling, the Foundation of each peculiar Genus o/'Beauty or Deformity 48 CHAPTER II. Is Association arbitrary or not? — Reasons against arbitrary Associations — Reasons in Favor of them — Conclusion therefrom — Some Associations arbitrary .... 51 ADDITIONAL NOTES. (a). Chinese Gardens, 68. (b). Haroun al Raschid, 72. (c). Battle of Agincourt, 12). (d). Crichton, 121. (e). Russian Entertainments, 122. (f). Miraculous Discoveries of Murders, 126. (g). Reflex and direct Association, 128. CHAPTER III. Universal and Casual Association — Partial Association— Inherent Associations include Nahiral Scenery — -P hysiognomonic Expression — Par- tial Associations include Natio?ial Associations, Classical Associations, Re- ligious Associations, Sfc. S,c. — Individual Associations, include either Asso- ciations peculiar to each Individual, from a long Operation of the same Causes, or Associations rivetted by vivid Emotion ISO b2 xiv TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page ADDITIONAL NOTES. (a). Pichincha, 154. (b). Catacombs, 16 1. (c). Waldenses, 173. (d). Tyger Hunt, 177- (e). Sweating Sickness, 181. (f). Alfred, 183. (g). Calvin, 183. (g). Carlostadius, 184. (g). Fisher, 184. (g). Catherine of Arragon, 188. (g). Countess of Salisbury, Reginald Pole's Mother, 189. (g). Dissolution of Monasteries, 192. Hindlip, 199. (h). Goodwife Fisher, 201. (h). Queen Elizabeth's Bearward, and Cranmer, 203. CHAPTER IV. Each Species of Association the Basis of a peculiar Species of Works of Taste — Works of Universal and Permanent Celebrity — Works of Transient and Local Celebrity — Rules limiting the Jlpplicalion of each Class of Association — Peculiar Advantages and peculiar Disadvantages of each — Advantages of Extensive Inter- course in Cultivating a just Taste 208 ADDITIONAL NOTES. (a). Argenis, 219. CHAPTER V. Recapitulation — Inherent Associations the Object of this Work— Division of the Subject — Taste and Physiognomy PART III. SUCCESSION OF CHAPTERS, ILLUSTRATING, UNDER EACH OF THE FIVE SENSES, THE PECULIAR CLASSIFICATION OF ITS PERCEPTIONS, WHICH BELONG TO EACH PARTICU- LAR GENUS OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. ■VISION— HEARING— TOUCH— TASTE AND SMELL— CHARTS. GENERAL CHARTS OF BEAUTIES AND REGULAR DEFORMITIES. APPENDIX, WITH A BRIEF APPLICATION TO PHYSIOGNOMY PLATES IN ILLUSTRATION. CHAPTER I. VISION. Hypothesis. Perceptions of Vision threefold — Form — Motion — Color. Hypothesis on Foiim and Motion. Character of various Genera of Lines — Ria-ht Lines applied to Form, to Motion — Their Character — Reason on which it is founded — Illustration — Curved Lines applied to Form, to Motion — Their Cha- racter — On what founded — Illustration. TABLE OF CONTENTS. xv Page Character imparted to Figures, by Breadth or Narrowness of Base— On what founded — Illustration. Character of Square and of Parallelogrammatic Shapes— Why— Of Oval and Spheric ones— Why — Illustrations of each. Arches— Their Character, whether applied to inanimate or animated 'Nature— Why —Illustrations. Gibbous Forms— Their Character, whether applied to animated or inanimate Nature — Why — Illustration. Mode of Junction of Lines by which Figures are bounded — Rectangles — Their Cha- racter — Why — Illustrations. Acute or obtuse-angled Triangles— Polygons— Their Character— Why— Illustra- tions. Comparison and Contrast of various Objects, exhibiting the different Styles of Form and Action included in this Hypothesis. Application of this Hypothesis to the various Genera of Beauty and Deformity. Radical constituent Forms of the Sublime, Active, and Passive — The Senti- mental and the Sprightly, with Illustrations of each. Radical constituent Forms of the Inflated, Horrible, and Vapid, the Por- cine and the Flippant, with Illustrations of each. Radical Class of Motion, characteristic of each Genus of Beauty, with Illustrations. Radical Class of Motion, characteristic of each Genus of Deformity, with Illus- trations. This Hypothesis is applicable to animated as well as to inanimate Nature— Why. Physiognomonic Sublime, Physiognomonic Sentimental, Physiognomonic Sprightly — Illustration, and Reason why. Physiognomonic Horrible, Vapid, Porcine, Flippant — Illustration of each, and Reason why. Application of this Hypothesis to Portraits — As to an Attention to the Fundamental Generic Forms — Generic Style of Shadow, and of Outline and Color. Hypothesis on Color. Character of Intensity of Color and sudden Contrast — Why — Illustrations. Character of Continuity of intense Color — Why — Illustrations. Character of dilute and variable Tints — Why — Illustrations. Character of petty, distinct, bright, chequered Colors — Why— Illustrations. Character of dull Colors — Why — Illustrations. Character of livid Colors — Why — Illustrations. Application of this Hypothesis to the various Genera of Beauty and Deformity. Comparison and Contrast of various Objects, exhibiting the Effects of the different Styles of Coloring. XVI TABLE OF CONTENTS. Miscellaneous Examples, proving the Truth of the Hypothesis on the Perceptions of Vision. 1. Examples to prove this Hypothesis true, by shewing that the Effect is weakened, where that we have described as the same Genus of Form, Motion, and Color, are not united in the same Object : and, again, that the Expression is always manifestly strengthened, where the Form, Motion, and Color, are characterized by the same Generic Distinction. 1. Examples, farther to establish its Truth, taken from Works of Art: Architec- ture — Grecian — Saxon — Anglo-Gothic — Egyptian Moresque — Landscape Gardening — English Scenery — Imaginary Scenery, founded on Descriptions of various Places — Niagara — Mexico — -Teeshoo Loomboo. Dress. — Disposition — Ornaments — Materials. Houses. — Disposition, internal Arrangement, Furniture, Decoration, Style of- — Decoration, Gradation of, between that of the House, Furniture, and Figures — Light — Grouping of Figures. Sculpture. Painting. 3. Examples to substantiate this Hypothesis are adduced from the Works of Nature. Animal Kingdom in general. — Quadrupeds — Birds — Insects. Examples from the Vegetable Kingdom. Recapitulation. Conclusion of the Chapter ADDITIONAL NOTES. (a). Gothic Architecture, 320.— Mexican Century, 338. ( b:) Mexico, 342. CHAPTER II. HEARING. Sense of Hearing, wherein Equal, and wherein Inferior, to Vision. Perceptions of Sound. 1. Quality. 2. Intonation. 3. Succession. 1. Loudness, Harshness, Fulness. — Their Converses and Modifications. 1. Bass, Tenor, Treble, or Deep Medium, and Shrill, with Converses and Modifi- cations. 3. Abrupt Succession, Uniform Succession, and their Converses and Modifications. Recapit ulation of the Hypothesis — Application and Exemplification. Application of this Hypothesis to the various Genera of Beauty and Deformity — The Sublime, Active and Passive; the Sentimental and Sprightly ; and the Inflated Horrible and Vapid ; the Porcine and the Flippant. More especial Application of this Theory to Style, considered as to Ideas, Expression, and Sound, with the Genus of each which is proper to each Genus of Beauty and Deformity. TABLE OF CONTENTS. xvii Page Inseparable Connexion between the Formation of the Language, the Style of Ex- pression, and the Genus both of Feeling and of Thought, Characterizing every Nation. Exemplifications — Recapitulation 357 ADDITIONAL NOTES. A most Holesome Medicine for the Soule of Man, 403. Sir Thomas More, 404. CHAPTER III. TOUCH. Peculiar Characteristics of the Sense of Touch — Its Inferiority to our other Senses in Limitation — Its Superiority in Accuracy. Touch has been esteemed the distinguishing Human Sense. Perceptions o/'Touch include, 1, Form ; 2, Motion ; both of which hate been sufficiently considered under the head of Vis ion, to which they are also common. Touch likewise includes four other Perceptions peculiar to itself; viz. I. Perceptions of Superficial Qualities of Substances. 2. Of Temperature. 3. Of Texture — (^Gravity. Illustration of our Theory on the Perceptions of Form and Motion, exhibited in cur- rent Colloquial Expressions. Theory and Exemplification on the Four Species of Perception, peculiar to the Sense of Touch. Recapitulation 406 CHAPTER IV. TASTE AND SMELL. Miscellaneous Observations — Theory — Recapitulation— Conclusion .... 4ig General Charts of Beauties and regular Deformities. APPENDIX. Containing Thirty-eight Plates, with Explanations, illustrating the Theory contained in Chap. I. Part HI. ore Vision. Explanation of the First Series of Plates, intended to illustrate the Characters im- parted by Right Lines, Oval Lines, and Circular Lines 425 XVlll TABLE OF CONTENTS. Page FIRST SERIES OF PLATES, INCLUDING MATHEMATICAL FIGURES. 1. Right Line. 2. Oval Line. ^3. Circular Line. QUADRUPEDS. 4. Lion. 5. Greyhound. 6. Sow. BIRDS. 7. Eagle. 8. Demoiselle. 9. Dodo. INSECTS. 10. Lucanus. 11. Ephemerou. 12. Spider, &c. FIGURES. 13. Soldier. 14. Grecian Lady. 15. Sleeper. COUNTENANCE. 16. Transtiberine. 17. Nun. 18. Indifferent. 19. Counsellor. 20. Duke d' Urbino.- 21. Alderman. MISCELLANEOUS. 22. Politician. 23. Catholic Lady. 24. Sluggard. 25. Penitent. 26. Indolent Lady. Explanation to the Second Series of Plates, intended to exemplify the opposite Cha- racters, imparted by Convexity and Concavity of Outline 433 SECOND SERIES OF PLATES, INCLUDING \. Convex Horses and Bird. — 2. Concave Horses and Bird. — 3. Convex Sprightly Lady. 4, Concave Melancholic Gentleman. — S. Convexo-Rectangular Rectilinear Head. — 6. Obtuso-Rectangular Rectilinear Head.' — 7. Convexo-Rectangular Rectilinear Head. — 8. Convex-ovalinear Head.— 9. Convex Eagle. — 10. Exemplification of Bases of Counte- nances. 11. Ovalinear Convex Head. — 12. Circular Convex Head. The two General Charts, illustrating the whole Theory on Beauty andDeformity, as to the radical Principles, Mode of Expression throughout the Five Senses, and Application to Works of Nature and Art, to be placed before the Appendix. THEORY ON THE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY, AND MORAL EXPRESSION, 8cc. PART I. ANALYSIS OF THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY IN GE- NERAL, AND DISCRIMINATION BETWEEN BEAUTY AND DEFOR- MITY. CLASSIFICATION OF THE VARIOUS GENERA OF BEAUTY IN PARTICULAR, AND DISCRIMINATION OF THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLES, DISTINGUISHING THEM FROM EACH OTHER. CHAPTER I. Definition of Taste — Of Beauty — In its critical signification: in its colloquial acceptation — Sense in which the term is used in this book. TASTE is a branch of judgment, as imagination is of genius. As it is the province of imagination, by new combinations of sensible objects, to form new images, so it is that of taste, to select, or reject the combinations of imagination, according to the standard of beauty or deformity. In a word, taste is judgment exercised on the works of imagina- tion. Taste is judgment applied to the discrimination of beauty from deformity. The question will then arise, What is beauty? Beauty may be defined to be, that which gives pleasure to the mind, in objects of sense. B 2 DEFINITION OF TASTE AND BEAUTY. Thus in the strict and literal sense of the word, a fine view, a har- monious concert, the perfume of a rose, or the taste of an anana, are each possessed of beauty ; although in the common and colloquial acceptation, the term beauty, is applied only to such objects as de- light the senses of vision and hearing. This probably arises from their being the most perfect of our sen- ses, and in the most frequent use ; consequently we are more in the habit of discriminating their perceptions. We can all probably recall to our minds, with greater ease, and with more distinctness, the countenance of a friend, or a tune we have frequently heard, than the perfume of any fruit, its touch, or its taste. Colloquial expressions being adopted for the sake, not of accuracy, but of currency, the term beauty has never obtained, but as applied to the notices of those perfect senses, (sight and hearing) of whose perceptions the memory retains a distinct conception and vivid re- collection. Hence it is common to say, a beautiful face, a fine view, a charm- ing air, whilst that man would be ridiculed for his absurdity, who should talk of a beautiful ragout, a velvet of a sentimental texture, or a flower of a sublime perfume. The terms of conversation however, though sufficiently correct for the general purposes to which they are applied ; do not possess that definite precision which is nevertheless absolutely necessary to pre- clude misconceptions in writing. To avoid then conveying any er- roneous idea, it will be requisite in the following pages, to substitute the just and legitimate signification of the term beauty, to that in common use. Beauty then, in the ensuing pages, will be understood, as that which in objects of sense gives pleasure to the mind ; whether it be in sight, hearing, touch, taste, or smell. That the term is as correctly, though not as usually, applied to the inferior as to the superior senses, will immediately appear on the least consideration. CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. 3 Every man will undoubtedly acquiesce, that there is as real a dis- tinction of agreeable and disagreeable perception, between the taste of a Jamaica pine, and Esquimaux blubber; or between the perfume of a jasmin and the stench of a stapelia ; as there is between the beauty or deformity of any visible object. That the perceptions of the inferior senses, and consequently that the pleasant or unpleasant sensations they excite, are not so vivid as those of sight and hearing, is allowed. It is the reality, not the intensity, that makes the term appropriate. CHAPTER II. Inquiry into the constituent principle of Beauty — V ariety of ingenious Systems on that subject — Conclusion often drawn from their apparent contrariety — Reasons against such conclusion — Standard of Beauty and' Deformity real and permanent — Includes several distinct Ge- nera — Confusion which has arisen from want of a clear and dis- criminating view of the peculiar generic characteristics of each dis- tinct Genus — Their consequent Misapplication — Beauty destroyed by Incongruity — False Taste, in what it consists. THE next question will be. But what is that which does give pleasure to the mind through the medium of the senses ? And here we find ourselves involved amidst a multiplicity of con- tending systems. Were we to put this question to different individuals, we should probably receive as many different answers ; and were the inquiry extended still farther, to remote nations, or to distant periods of time, opinions would probably be proportionally far asunder. The effeminate oriental would probably consider halls inlaid with mother of pearl, and spangled with jewels, softly perfumed fountains, b 2 4 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. and downy silken couches, all the magnificent luxuries of an Alad- din's palace, as the true criterion of beauty. The ancient feudatory chieftain would describe his castle, the tow- ers of which proudly lord the neighbouring country, overshadowing his numerous vassals with the broad protecting shade of feudal pa- tronage. Or his board* far elevated above his meaner compeers, where oriental delicacies, + the hard-earned spoils of the well fought crusade, appeared in long succession ; whilst his guests viewed with anxious heart, to whom should fall the honoured places above the salt-cellar : in short, all that portrays that valor, which is the most necessary means of self-defence in a barbarous and uncultured age. Or were the same question put to one in Queen Elizabeth's time, % he might describe his terraced gardens, where leaden divinities frown * Even prelates were infected by this vanity. The seat of Thomas a Becket was, we are informed, elevated fifteen steps above the hall where his guests dined, and the monks who served his table, when they brought in the dishes, paused and sung a hymn on every fifth step. f John of Salisbury tells us he was present at an entertainment, which lasted from three in the afternoon till midnight, at which delicacies were served up which had been brought from Constantinople, Babylon, Alexandria, Palestine, Tripoli, Syria, Phoenicia. J At Nonsuche, says Hentzner, there were groves ornamented with trellis work, cabinets of verdure, and walks embrowned with trees, with columns and pyramids of marble. Two fountains that do spout water, the one round the other like a pyramid, on which are perched all over small birds that spout water out of their bills. Lord Burleigh's gardens at Theobalds are surrounded by a piece of water, with boats rowing through alleys of well cut trees, and labyrinths made with great labor : there were jets d'eau and a summer-house, with many plea- sant and faire fish-ponds. Statues were very abundant. When Sir Francis Bacon first walked in Lord Arundel's garden, he started, and exclaimed, " The Resurrection from the Grave, and yet as stiff and pale as death !" At this period ornamental gardening began to be cultivated in England, owing to the stock of aromatics and flowers being so much increased by the Nether- landers, who in 1567 fled the cruelties of the Duke of Alva, and settled in England. They par- ticularly introduced gilly-flowers, carnations, Provence roses. At this period too, Dr. Linacre introduced the damask rose, Lord Cromwell the musk rose, and several plums. Henry the VHIth's gardener the apricot. The tulip and tamarisk from Vienna, by Archbishop Grindal. The currant too was just introduced from Zante, on which Hakluyt observes, " Although it bring not its fruit to perfection, perhaps it may serve for pleasure and some use." It is cu- rious to observe, how completely the revolution of three centuries has assimilated it to our THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. 5 upon the broad and rectilinear stone-walks below. He would point out the dark yew hedges, the Gothic gloom of long oaken avenues, the trim arbored bowers, and his water-works that play at measured intervals. Nor would he forget the costly and artfully wrought at- tire, nor the far fetched conceits of their inhabitants. In short, he would exult in exhibiting every thing which by the farthest possible departure from nature, and by the most labored ostentation of art, shewed the newly acquired proficiency of an age just emerging from barbarism; and eager to display every step of its progress towards that civilization, and those social arts, in which it begins to place its ambition. A modern writer of eminence, Burke, has with Hogarth answered to the same question, that true beauty consisted in forms, bounded by gently curved lines ; in gentle and soft emotions, in purling streams, in cooing doves, in short, in the sentimentally elegant. These are but a few specimens of the various answers we might probably receive from men differing in nation and associations of thought. climate. The nobility and gentry used to build summer-houses or trellis-bowers in their gar- dens, with cellars under them. Dress was equally laborious and artificial. At the beginning of Elizabeth's reign, the men's thighs were so stuffed out with horse hair and cotton, that a MS. in the Harleian collection proves there was actually a scaffold erected round the parliament house, for the accommoda- tion of members who wore these huge clothes. They also wore taffeta hats with monsters, antiques, beasts, fowles, and all manner of pictures, embroidered with silk, gold, and silver, with a rich hat-band adorned by goldsmith's work and precious stones. The swords and dag- gers had damasked blades and velvet scabbards. Ladies' pocket handkerchiefs were wrought with gold and silver, and their under garments richly broidered. Ruffs were immoderately large, and stiffened with yellow starch, introduced by Mrs. Diugen Van Plesse, as also fine lawn like spider's web. They reached as high as the upper part of the head behind, and pok- ing them gracefully was an important attainment. The grave puritans of the day exulted in picturing " A shoure of raine to catch ye all before that ye can get harbour, then your great ruffes do strike sayle, and down they fall as dish-clouts, fluttering in the winde." Even ladies sent their daughters to learn the art of starching, and Mrs. Van Plesse received five pounds for teaching each to starch, and twenty shillings to seethe starch. Vide Hentzner, and Andrews's Continuation to Henry. 6 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. . Answers so different at first appear difficult to reconcile. To each one separately, the mind gives its assent. Yet while the one seems true, the next appears no less so. We feel ourselves susceptible al- ternately of being pleased with oriental luxury, feudal magnificence, and sentimental elegance. But, when we analyze the constituent parts of these things, each of which we have separately pronounced beautiful ; we are surprized to find them not only entirely distinct ; but in many instances totally opposite. Hence some have been led to conclude, that there is no such thing as a fixed standard of beauty; or that if there be any such standard, it is a relative one, whose precarious existence solely depends on the prevailing prejudice, or local associations of the day. Yet surely a little reflection must convince us, that this decision is mistaken. It is certainly fallacious to conclude, because we are ca- pable of alternately enjoying Gothic grandeur, Grecian elegance, or Moresque lightness ; (and all perhaps in an equal degree) that it is therefore opinion or prejudice merely, which constitutes the beauty of a rose over a fungus ; or which gives to the Venus of Medicis the palm over the brutally disgusting form of the Silenus. Ought we not then rather to conclude, that the distinction between beauty and deformity is real and permanent ; and that the error con- sists, not in supposing that there is a fixed standard of beauty, but only, in supposing that standard to be one, instead of several. Perhaps indeed several of our writers on beauty have fallen into the mistake, not of confounding beauty with deformity ; but of hav- ing substituted one species of the beautiful for the whole of beauty itself. Amongst these are Burke, Hogarth, the ingenious author of Clio, and many modern and justly eminent writers. And the same mistake into which they have fallen, is precisely that, which in some measure pervades the answers supposed to be given by persons of different nations and centuries. We are however under great obli- gations to those ingenious authors. The talent with which each one has described that species of beauty to which he attached himself, is THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. 7 the very circumstance which enables their readers, at once to com- bine all their several systems into one whole. That every different age and nation, and that many different au- thors, have fallen into the error of forming exclusive standards of beauty, will appear on the least observation. No doubt but in the time of Henry the VHIth, it would have been as condemnable an heresy, to have recommended to Cardinal Wol sey our Lombardy poplars and serpentine walks, in preference to the measured alleys of Hampton Court, as it would be in the eyes of Mr. Burke's sentimental, or Mr. Gilpin's picturesque pupils, to admire the tapestried chambers, or dark avenues of Hardwicke. By thus substituting one species of the beautiful for the whole of beauty, persons debar themselves from so many sources of innocent enjoyment, which they might have if they equally cultivated them all. Thus, a consistent follower of Mr Burke, ought not to admire the cheerful landscape, varied with knolls and studded with white cots, or diversified with waving corn-fields, poppies, and intersected by hedge-rows. For a landscape of this sort comes neither under his definition of the beautiful or the sublime. On the same principle, a disciple of some more modern authors ought to allow of no beauty in the silent remains of Tintern ; especially when seen by moon- light, its brown shadow is dilated over the clear surface of the Wye, even to the woods of the opposite shore. For such a view is singu- larly destitute of that boldness, roughness, and irregularity, which they have pronounced constituent parts of the picturesque. And in the picturesque, they have absorbed every other species of the beau- tiful. Nor does the mistake of substituting one, for several species of beauty, solely terminate in the rejection of those which are excluded. It likewise ruins that which is retained. Nothing more surely produces deformity, than the application of the rules of any one species of beauty to objects which do not come within its province. And this must always be the case, where one mode prevails in exclusion to others. 8 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. Thus in the time of Stephen, every puny popinjay (if popinjays there were) was compelled to adorn his baby face under a frowning helmet, and to case his trembling limbs in coat of mail ; to display proud armorial bearings, and a long and gorgeous procession of serfs. * Confucius, on the other hand, had, we are told, made such pro- gress in Chinese good breeding, that at six years' old, he walked, (we are informed) with the demure gravity of a man of ninety. The most venerable sages among the New Hollanders are those * This period, which witnessed the introduction of chivalry, the introduction of sworn bro- thership, the spirit of romantic gallantry, and the custom of armorial bearings, was particularly distinguished by the estimation for arms, which began to be inspired by the expeditions to the Holy Land, but which was greatly increased by the jousts and tournaments which began to be m vogue. All the nobility, both princes, barons, and even prelates, vied with each other in building fortified castles. The uncertainty of the royal succession no doubt increased their military ardor. But the improvements of this period in castellated architecture, in defensive armor, and in offensive weapons, is truly amazing. The magnificence of their retinue was truly astonishing. This military style and expense was affected no less by the clergy than the laity. William Longchamp, bishop of Ely, had no fewer than a thousand, some contemporary writers say fifteen hundred horsemen in his retinue. To furnish his table, says one of his prelates, all the different kinds of beasts that roam on land, all the fishes that swim in waters, or birds that fly in the air, were collected. William Fitzstephen gives a curious account of the state in w hich Thomas a Becket used to travel, when Chancellor of England. He was attended with about two hundred knights, besides esquires, young noblemen, pages, clerks, who, with all their attendants, were well armed, dressed, and mounted every one according to his rank. He had in his train eight wag- gons, each drawn by five of the strongest horses. Two contained his ale. One the furniture of his chapel, another that of his chamber, and another that of his kitchen. The other three were filled with provisions and clothes. Besides these he had twelve pack-horses, who carried trunks containing his money, gold and silver plate, books, apparel, &c. To each of the wag- gons was chained a fierce and terrible mastiff, and on each of the pack-horses sat an ape or monkey." In the expedition of Henry II. against Thoulouse, Becket had seven hundred knights in pay, who dined every day at his own table. Peter of Blois, chaplain to Henry II. gives the following account of a court life ; « When the king sets out in the morning, you see multitudes of people running up and down as if they were distracted, horses rushing against horses, carriages overturning carriages, players, games- ters, cooks, confectioners, mimics, dancers, barbers, and parasites, making so much noise, and such an intolerable jumble of horse and foot, that you imagine the great abyss hath opened, and that hell hath poured out all its inhabitants, ride Henry's History of England. THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. 9 whose step best imitates the leaping of the Kangaroo, and in Thibet the Tee Shoo Lama (Mr. Turner tells us) is enured at eighteen months old, to receive in regal dignity and state, every prostrate potentate of the eastern world. In the times of Lycurgus, no young girl could hope to obtain the palm of beauty, unless she had that of wrestling also. In that of Ti- berius, the Empress Livia reclined her aged limbs on ivory couches twined with myrtles and roses, and adorned with Cupids ; and her more luxurious successors are blamed by contemporary authors, for exhibiting their venerable countenances at the gladiatorian games, clad only in transparent Coan vests. Multitudes of examples equally absurd might be produced of false taste; that is, of beauty converted into deformity, by being falsely applied. Sufficient however has been said to exemplify what is meant, viz. That beauty admits of being reduced to a fixed standard, and that it is in its. own nature, essentially distinct from deformity. That this standard includes, not one, but several species, distinct in their constituent parts, and distinct in the objects to which they are susceptible of application. That the chief mistake of writers on this subject has been, substi- tuting the description of one species for an accurate discrimination of them all. That this misapplication not only cuts off all the species which are omitted, but destroys that which is left ; either by counterbalancing its effects by opposite objects, or converting it into deformity by mis- application. In those cases in which the incongruity is glaring, we all at once perceive it. There is no man, probably, who is at once an admirer of the wit of Butler, and the powerful imagination of Young, who ever fancied that Hudibras would be improved by being written in the style of the Night Thoughts, or the Night Thoughts by adopting that of Hudibras. There is no danger of the very worst translators c 10 THE PRINCIPLE OF BEAUTY. adopting the mournful stanza of Grey's Elegy, to convey the fire of Homer, or vice versa. That false taste which is most common, generally consists in the aggregate of a number of petty incongruities ; each of which is so minute as not to be perceptible but to an exercised attention ; and yet the accumulation of which produces a disagreeable effect, obvi- ous to the most cursory view, and similar in its nature to discord in' music, absurdity in reasoning, or inconsistency in character. To avoid this, it is necessary in the first place, to have a distinct idea of the principle which distinguishes beauty from deformity in general. To have a distinct idea of each distinct species of beauty in parti- cular, and of the mode of expression appropriate to it. Thirdly, to have an exercised perception of the capabilities of ob- jects, so as immediately to ascertain the class of beauty to which they either do belong, or may be made to belong. Fourthly, having done this, to preserve perfect unity of style throughout, and thus to avoid those inconsistencies, which arise from injudiciously confounding the various species of beauty with each other. 1 1 CHAPTER III. Reasons in which the several Predilections in favor of various Genera of Beauty originate — Uniformity of the Basis on which they are founded — That basis therefore the radical and constituent Principle of Beauty — There can be no Beauty without Expression — Heterogeneity, why displeasing — Homogeneity why pleasing — True Beauty requires pleasing as well as homogeneous Expression — Spurious Beauty may be founded however on homogeneous though disagreeable Expression — Regular Species of Deformity — Inquiry what are the distinct Ge- nera of pleasing Qualities, which are the constituent Principles of the distinct Genera of Beauty; and the characteristic Expressions of which it is the Object of this Work to ascertain and to discriminate. Beauty has been defined to be that which gives pleasure to the mind through the medium of the senses. But what is that which does give pleasure to the mind through the medium of the senses ? Is it any thing in form, color, hearing, taste, touch, or smell, con- sidered in themselves, merely as such? Let us examine, and let us take for the subject of our examination, the very same instances we before adduced. Let us ask the ancient feudatory, why the proud turrets of his cas- tle, his moated avenues, his numerous heraldic honors, and his long train of liveried serfs, appear possessed of beauty? Is it because those particular forms and colors have any peculiar inherent beauty ? If so, why is their impression immediately destroyed, when we are told that the castle is of modern date, in imitation of the antique ; that the arms are falsely assumed, and the servants hirelings of yes- terday, which a fortuitous lottery-prize gained by chance and not by worth ? Not surely because the lines or colors are altered, but because it was not either line or color, which in fact, constituted that impres- sion ; but the association of valor, long established bravery, power, 12 REASONS IN WHICH generosity, great deeds, and high moral qualities, which we annexed to them. This it was that in fact affected the mind. The outward form was only the visible expression, or external sign, by which these quali- ties were, (through the instrumentality of our senses) brought home to our minds. Disunite these forms and colors from the character with which they were associated, and the sublime is converted into the ridiculous. Ask the Swiss mountaineer what constitutes his admiration for his native country? How he can pine to death at the remembrance of bleak and barren rocks, whose passes are rendered dangerous by faithless snows, concealing yawning gulphs beneath ; and whose sum- mits, piercing the clouds, seem to present an eternal barrier to all the delights of human intercourse? He will probably answer, that it is because these rugged rocks remind him of that great and good Being, who has planted this impregnable fortress around them, as though they were objects of his peculiar care ; and that thev bring to his mind the recollection of the valor of a brave and free, but pas^ toral and unambitious ancestry. He will dwell with enthusiasm on his humble cot, his sheep, his goats, and his herds ; nor will he for- get the mountain-torrents and narrow passes of Morgarten, and the well fought field of Laupen. Or his wide spread lakes, whose faith- ful wave bore in safety through the storm the frail skiff which, in the person of William Tell, contained Helvetia, and Helvetia's fortune; or whose glassy surface reflected the images of those deathless heroes of Morat and Nancy. He will dwell on these scenes, not because of their inherent beauty, but because all these objects are associated with the liberty, independance, moderate desires, and securitv, in which he places his happiness. Ask the descendant of the ancient Peruvians, (a) why he prostrates himself on the hallowed spot where magnificent ruins shew the re- mains of imperial Cuzco ? Why he paces with mournful and reve- rential awe her empty palaces, her long drawn colleges, her mystic chambers, her dilapidated mausolea, and her various quarters di- VARIOUS STANDARDS ORIGINATE. verse in architecture, in the dress, and customs, and languages of the inhabitants ? Will he point the attention of the inquirer to the costly- golden cement that upheld its polished granite domes, and suspended its aerial palaces ? Will he not rather speak of their heaven-born race of Ynca nobles, of their territory, sacred as the peculiar favorite of God, of their mystic city, at once the metropolis and the temple of their royal Ynca and Pallas, brother and sister of divine lineage, and children of the beneficent luminary who cheers and gladdens all the nations of the earth, but in a peculiar manner dwells among them? Will he not dwell on the magnificent colleges, where the lettered youths of Peru learn the divine wisdom of Manco Capac ; or the vast halls where her Ynca youths, by deeds of prowess, attain the meed of knighthood ; of her mystically sealed chambers, whence the souls of her sovereigns, the immediate emanation of the divinity, return to their parent luminary? Will he not point out the scite of her golden gardens, the mimic type of the riches of the creation, and her diversified quarters, the ingenious type of all the nations over which their benignant influence extends, and her judgment-halls, where the law itself (b) respects the awful sanctity of the Holy name, (and where, though not like Christians forbidden by a divine legis- lator) an immutable decree permits not the subject to profane, by an unnecessary appeal, that sacred and eternal name, which no man guiltlessly shall take in vain ? Ask the historian, the poet, why he sheds a tear over the desolate ruins of Palmyra? Will he tell you of the fine proportion of its columns, or the beauty of its architraves ? Will he not rather de- scribe the misfortunes of the virtuous and generous Zenobia, and mark the scenes where once Longinus taught ? Shew the same pic- ture to a child, who has no idea of its antiquity or its history, and he will probably not even look at it. If the ignorant is unaffected, it is not because his optic nerve is less susceptible of being impressed by the forms and colors presented before it, but because those forms and colors do not convey to him any moral association. If the better informed is deeply impressed, it arises not from any peculiar delicacy 14 EXPRESSION NECESSARY TO BEAUTY. of organization, but because those forms and colors to him recal the ages that are past, and conjure up before his mind's eye, those who have so long since mouldered in the silent tomb. Hence its desolate avenues he " sees" peopled by " the forms they cannot see," and amidst its death-like silence he " hears a voice they cannot hear." From these few examples may we not infer, that beauty consists, not in mere form or color, considered simply as such, but rather, that mind alone can affect mind ; and that form, color, or other sensible objects, only become beautiful, in proportion as they become the ve- hicle by which mind is expressed, and made visible to our mind. Thus, character, by being associated with objects of sense, becomes palpable to our senses, and through our senses affects the heart agree- ably, which we term beauty ; or disagreeably, which we term defor- mity. For example, a military character is associated with the sound of martial music, which becomes obvious to us by hearing, and which affects our mind with sublimity or horror, accordingly as we asso- ciate this quality with fortitude or with cruelty. On the other hand, an organ being used to express devotional feelings, we gradually as- sociate the devotional feelings which inspire the player, to the in- strument itself; and as mind brought in collision with mind com- municates its own impetus, just as matter does to matter ; so the organ being the medium of bringing the player's devotional feelings into collision with our feelings, we likewise participate in them on hearing it. Hence the discriminator of beauty is only an universal physio- gnomist. A physiognomist who reads not merely the character of human beings, but of the whole face of nature ; and in proportion as this physiognomonical tact is exercised, it acquires justness. The perception of beauty is an agreeable emotion of mind. Mind alone can give emotion to mind. Where then there is no mind or character expressed, there can be no beauty. Hence appears the reason why unity of style is absolutely necessary to beauty. Inconsistency of expression destroys character. On the UNITY AND AGREEAELENESS OF EXPRESSION. 15 same principle by which in algebra a plus two added to a minus two destroy each other, and leave nothing ; so in matters of taste, a posi- tive beauty of one sort, added to a positive beauty of equal force, of a contrary description, as certainly destroy each other, and leave no- thing but a complete blank of expression. Unity of expression is not however alone sufficient to constitute beauty. It is requisite that objects should not only express mind, but that the mind expressed be an agreeable one ; otherwise we should be as well pleased with the expression of content in the over-fed sow, wal- lowing in the mire, as we are with the easy dignity of a swan, sailing on a clear lake. There can be no beauty without the expression of mind. Hence unity of beauty is absolutely indispensable. For where the styles of beauty are not in unison, that is, where the same object expresses two opposite characters, if they are of equal force they destroy each other, and give the same disagreeable perception to the intellectual taste, as inconsistency of character does to the moral taste. But uni- ty of expression cannot alone constitute beauty, or agreeable expres- sion, any more than consistency of character, without goodness of character, can alone constitute moral beauty. The sow wallowing in the mire, or feeding on garbage, has the beauty of consistency ; but it is not beautiful, because the character expressed is a loathsome one. A Silenus carousing is not beautiful, because the character it ex- presses is disgusting ; but decorate that Silenus as a Narcissus, and to the disgustful will be added the ridiculous. To the hatred of a loathsome character will be added the sovereign contempt excited by an inconsistent one. Beauty then is that which pleases the mind through the medium of the senses. Nothing but mind can either please or disgust mind. Beauty then is the expression of agreeable affections, which objects of sense are the means of conveying to our minds. 16 REGULAR DEFORMITIES. Deformity is the expression of disgustful or hateful affections, which objects of sense are the means of conveying to our minds. Objects of sense have neither beauty nor deformity, but as they become the medium of expressing character. Nevertheless, there is a natural love in the human mind of being excited ; so that it had rather be stimulated by unpleasant emotions, than experience the dreary void of unexcitement. It is said by those who study the human heart, that the heavy afflictions of the poor are easier to bear, than the uninterrupted ennui of the rich ; that the violence of pain is more easy to endure than the irksomeness of apathy ; and on the same principle in the intel- lectual taste, it is also found, that the forcible expression of even a disgustful or hateful character, gives a sort of pleasure, by relieving it from the dreary vacuum of that contrariety or inconsistency of ex- pression, which destroys all character. Hence, whilst beauty itself consists in agreeable character, there is also a sort of spurious beauty, if it may be so termed, arising from the consistency of each species of deformity. This in moral tastes, though the highest gratification is afforded by the contemplation of great characters, such as Alfred, * or Germani- cus, or Sir Philip Sidney, the Mexican legislator Nezzahualcojotl (c), William, Prince of Orange, or Fenelon, yet there is a sort of enter- tainment in reading of characters like Queen Elizabeth, Sixtus the Fifth, Richard the Third, Philip the Second, Oliver Cromwell, but we feel nothing but unmixed weariness in the inconsistency or con- trariety exhibited by King John, Edward the Second, Joan of Cas- tile, kc. * The reader would derive great pleasure in perusing a very interesting account of this eminently enlightened and Christian legislator, which is given in a long note under the article St. Neot, in Butler's Lives of the Saints, Vol. X. page 564 to 578, third edition. The anec- dotes of his piety, humanity, and learning, and many other particulars there recorded, are little known to general readers, and are remarkably interesting ; especially the account of his sending Sigetin, Bishop of Shircburn, to carry a considerable alms to the Christians of St. Thomas, in the East Indies. REGULAR DEFORMITIES. 17 In the intellectual tastes the same rule obtains. Hence statues of Silenus, pictures of butchers' shops, novels like those of Fielding and Smollett, or the character of Falstaff or Caliban, have obtained a value and currency, not from their beauty, but from the pleasure which is given to some minds even by consistent defor- mity. To return, as then beauty depends on the agreeable affections being expressed in outward objects, it follows that there are as many diffe- rent standards of beauty, as there are agreeable affections of mind ; or rather, as there are different classes in objects of sense, expressive of those agreeable affections ; and vice versa, that there are as many different sorts of regular ugliness, or spurious beauty, as there are classes of objects calculated to convey the expression of disagreeable affections, and as many species of absolute deformity as of absolute contrariety. The next inquiry will be, What are those agreeable affections of mind which are the foundations of the various species of beauty ? Additional Notes to Chapter III. (a) Perhaps it may amuse the reader to see a few particulars of this sin- gular people, from the pen of one of their native Yncas, Garcilasso de Vega, author of the Royal Commentaries of Peru. We quote the French edition of Bertrand, published at Amsterdam, with plates by Picart, 1737. All the Yncas and Pallas were descendants of their great legislator Manco Capac, and his wife Mamma Oella. The former being the appellation of the men, and the latter of the women. They were all considered as of divine origin, children of the sun, and of the rank of nobility. The royal Ynca, or Ynca Capac, after the example of their ancestor Manco Capac, mar- ried his sister ; who assumed the title of Coya, or queen, which literally sig- nifies Nursing-Mother of her People ; as her husband's title means Refuge of the Unfortunate. The Yncas were recognized by a peculiar mode of boring their ears, and by a band of tricoloured cotton round the brows. The royal Ynca wore immense ear-rings of most costly jewels, suspended by a broad B 18 ADDITION AX NOTES TO CHAPTER III. ribband of gold, hanging nearly to the elbows. Boring the ears was a ceremony to which great importance was attached. The size of the bore ascertained the rank. The royal Ynca kept at Cuzco the standard allowed to each class, nor were they ever suffered to exceed it. Those amongst the Yncas who obtained the honor of knighthood, had the privilege of having their ears bored by the royal Ynca, who had a casket of golden pins for that purpose. The material of which the ear-ring was composed, determined what state the individual belonged to. Some were to wear dyed cotton ; others, precious wood, or metals. The royal Ynca was also distinguished by wearing in his diadem two high straight feathers, almost in the manner of horns, which each sovereign was obliged on his accession to pluck him- self from a peculiar species of bird. Of this bird, which they consider as a type of Manco Capac and Mamma Oella, they say, there is but one single pair in the world, nor is it lawful for any but an Ynca to touch it. The feather is spotted black and white. On the death of a royal Ynca, his corpse is embalmed in all his royal ornaments; and this is so well done, that he appears alive. False eyes are put in, of such brilliancy, that the coun- tenance, Vega declares, is full of animation. It is then taken and put in the Temple of the Sun, standing exactly opposite that luminary. The room where he expired is then walled up and sealed for ever, with all the treasures it contains; it becomes sacrilegious ever to open it again; it is thenceforth considered as a sacred place. The buildings of ancient Cuzco were pecu- liarly magnificent; and owing to its being the residence of the Royal Ynca, Divinity was supposed resident in it in a peculiar manner. Seeds, flowers, or manufactures, all sold high or low in proportion as they came from the neighbourhood of Cuzco ; and persons who were not Yncas, took precedence, as they lived near or remote from that city. It was indeed an object of ado- ration to the Peruvians, and all the states under their dominion. It had magnificent colleges for the instruction of their priests, lawyers, historians, and physicians. Monasteries richly endowed for the sacred virgins of the sun. The magnificence of its temple is proverbial. It had immense halls for the sole purpose of exercising the candidates to knighthood. These ex- ercises consisted of fasting, athletic exercises, and a patience in the endur- ance of bodily pain and torture, which appears almost incredible. The palaces of the Royal Yncas exceeded in magnificence all which can be ima- gined. They were built of polished granite, the blocks of which were united by a cement of powdered gold and bitumen. We pass over the hanging- ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 19 gardens, menageries, baths, &c. to mention what is most singular, and pro- bably peculiar to Cuzco. As the Royal Ynca and his wife were considered as types of the sun and moon, the divinities of the universe ; so the city of Cuzco was considered as a sort of mystic and typical microcosm, represent- ing the world over which they ruled. The city was divided into a variety of quarters, inhabited by persons of different nations, languages, and habits, whose abode was fixed there, to represent the different people under the sun The palaces had most curious golden gardens, where every thing in the ani- mal and vegetable creation was imitated in that precious metal, in order to exhibit the riches of the universe. And on the same plan all Peru was di- vided into four parts, which they called the four quarters of the world. Gar- cilasso observes of Cuzco: " Les Curacas faisoient aussi batir des hotels pour y loger, lorsqu'ils iroient a la cour; chacun y observant l'ordre requis et l'assiette de sa province; accommodant son batiment a la disposition de son pays ; ce qu'ils faisoient avec tant d'ordre, et en gardant si bien les propor- tions, qu'en considerant les quartiers, les avenues, et les maisons de tant de nations differentes, et de quelle maniere ils y vivoient, Ton voyoit par la tout l'etat de cet empire comme dans un miroir, ou dans une carte de cos- mographie. Quoique la ville fut peuplee d'etrangers et de peuples differens, tels qu'etoient les Indiens de Chili, dePasto, de Caniare, deChachapoa; les Guancas, les Collas; il etoit aise de les reconnaitre tous separement, a cause du bon ordre qu'ils observoient. Car chaque peuple etablissoit sa de- meure au lieu qui lui etoit marque pour son quartier. Ils pratiquoient la maniere de vivre de leurs ayeux, et etoient habilles a la mode de leur pays." Histoire des Yncas, livre vii. chap. 9, par I' Ynca Garcilasso de Vega. Again, " Ce jardin etoit du tems des Yncas tout d'or et d'argent, comme ceux qu'on voit dans les palais de leurs rois ; ou il y avoit en or quantite d'herbes, de fleurs, de plantes, et d'arbres de diverses sortes; aussi plusieurs animaux grands et petits, sauvages et aprivoises, sans y comprendre les cou- leuvres, les lezards, les limacons, et autres reptiles ; des papillons et des oiseaux de tout espece. Outre cela, un grand champ de mays de Quinua, et d'autres legumes, et des arbres dont les fruits etoient tous d'or et d'argent; faits au nature], &c. &c. Histoire des Yncas Rois du Perou, par Garcilasso de Vega, liv. iii. chap. 24. (b) " Les Yncas, et tous les peuples de leur empire, ont la louable cou- tume de ne jurer jamais. Ils ont en si grande veneration les noms de Pach- D 2 50 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. acamac, et du soleil, qu'ils ne les proferent jamais qu'avec un respect reli- gieux, et dans l'intention de les adorer. Quand ils examinoient quelque temoin, quelque importance que fut l'affaire dont il etoit question, au lieu de lui faire preter serment, le juge lui disoit, " Promettez-vous d'avouer la verite al'Ynca?" A quoi le temoins repondoit, " Oui je le promets." Alois le juge lui disoit, " Dites simplement ce que vous en savez; ne deguisez rien, ne cachez rien." Le temoin repondoit, " Assurement je le ferai ainsi." Alors le juge lui laissoit dire tout ce qu'il savoit de l'affaire, sans le sonder par aucune autre demande, comme on le pratique ailleurs. Apres que les Espagnoles eurent conquis cet empire, il se fit quelques meurtres remar- quables dans une province, et le gouverneur de Cuzco y envoya un juge pour s'informer de l'affaire. Lorsqu'il fut question d'ouir la deposition d'un Curaca, le juge voulut qu'il jurat sur la croix : mais PIndien, bien etonne de cela: " Je ne pense pas avoir ete baptise," repondit-il, " pour jurer comme font les Chretiens." Alors le juge lui repartit qu'il eut a jurer par les noms du soleil et de la lune, ses dieux. " Vous vous trompez," repliqua l'lndien, " si vous croyez qu'il me soit permis de profaner ces beaux noms, que nous autres Indiens n'avons coutume de proferer que pour une marque d'adora- tion." " Quelle assurance aurons-nous done," ditlejuge, " de la verite de vos paroles?" " II doit vous suffire," repartit l'lndien, " que je vous en donne ma parole, et de savoir que je vous parle comme je parlerois a votre roi, puisque vous venez ici rendre la justice en son nom." Le juge l'interrogea sur le fait des meurtres; a quoi le Curaca repondit ce qu'il en savoit; mais voyant que le juge ne lui demandoit rien des agresseurs, qui etoient les m£mes qu'on avoit tues, il le pria de le laisser deduire au long tout ce qu'il en savoit : " Parceque," lui dit-il, " je ne crois pas dire la verite entiere comme je vous l'ai promis, lorsque je reponds simplement aux demandes que vous me faites, puisqu'en tel cas je ne dis qu'une partie du fait et ne declare point l'autre." Sur cela le juge lui dit qu'il etoit content pourvu qu'il repondit a ce qu'il lui demandoit. " Si vous l'etes," lui ditle Curaca, " je ne le suis pas moi-meme, puisque pour satisfaire a ma promesse, il faut que je rapporte exactement ce que les uns et les autres ont fait." Histoire des Yncas Rois du Perou, par Garcilasso de Vega, livre ii. chap. 3. (c) Nezzahualcojotl, king of Acolhuacan, was the hero, the philosopher, and legislator of the Mexican monarchy. Acolhuacan was one of the prin- cipal states of the empire of Anahuac, or Mexico; and, with Tacuba and ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 21 Mexico, formed that triple alliance which enabled the latter emperors of Mexico to maintain their dominion over such a variety of states, differing in governments and language. The choice of the Mexican emperor was fixed by the council of Mexico, who had one voice, and the Acolhuan and Tacu- ban kings, who had each one. Nezzahualcojotl, on the death of his father, was driven from his capital by a succession of usurpers ; and, after having undergone many vicissitudes of fortune during childhood, and many perils in early youth, he, on attaining manhood, raised an army, and regained pos- session of his dominions. His capital, Tezcuco, was situated on the opposite side of the lake to Mexico ; he soon rendered it the Athens of the western world. He instituted societies and colleges for poetry, astronomy, music, painting, history, and divination. On certain days they communicated their discoveries in a large hall, where all the foreign professors were also invited to be present. To accommodate the mechanic branches, he divided his city into thirty divisions ; the goldsmiths inhabited one, the weavers another, Sc. His integrity in the administration of justice was inflexible; nor would he permit any suit, civil or criminal, to last more than eight days. His clemency to the unfortunate was remarkable. It was forbid, under pain of death, to steal from another's field, taking even seven ears of maize was sufficient to incur this penalty. In order to provide for the poor, with- out breach of this law, Nezzahualcojotl, who had formed superb high roads through all his dominions, ordered them to be planted on each side with avenues of fruit-trees, and a space on each side to be sown with maize and other seeds. A great part of his revenue was employed in founding alms- houses for the aged, hospitals for the sick, and a board of council, called the widow's friend and adviser. The revenue of Nezzahualcojotl was immense, and his expenditure munificent. His annual expenditure, reduced to Casti- lian measure, was as follows: of maize, 4,900,300 fanegas ; cocoa-nuts, 2,744,000 ditto ; Chili and Tomate, 3,200 ditto; Chillecssen, 240 ditto ; salt, 1,300 large baskets; turkeys, 8,000. Note, the fanega is 130 Roman pounds. The quantity of Chia, French beans, pulse, deer, quails, ducks, &c. was infinite; thirty cities, viz. fifteen for each alternate half year, fur- nished Tezcuco with provisions. He excelled in poetry. His sixty hymns in honour of the Creator of Heaven and Earth are celebrated to this day, even among the Spaniards. He wrote many other beautiful odes, especially a lamentation over the fall of the tyrant Tezozomoc, who had expelled him 22 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. from the throne. But nothing delighted him like the study of nature. He studied all the plants and animals, obtained all the climate would bear, and sent out expeditions of learned men to paint and bring written accounts of others. He saw the weakness of idolatry, and told his sons, to detest a wor- ship deserving of mockery, as it was directed to lifeless forms ; that he ac- knowledged no other God than the Creator of Heaven. He prohibited the sacrifice of human victims. He erected, in honour of the Creator of Heaven, a high tower, consisting of nine floors, the last floor was dark and vaulted, painted within of a dark blue colour, and ornamented with cor- nices of gold. In this tower was a clepsydra, after the manner of the Ro- mans, to mark the hour, and men whose office it was to strike at certain hours of the day plates of the finest metal, at which signal this truly great king kneeled down to pray, and to give thanks to the Creator of Heaven and Earth ; or, as he expressed it, of the stars above our heads, and the insects under our feet. Nezzahualcojotl arranged his government with the utmost accuracy, one council determined civil, and another criminal causes. He had a council of war, a treasury board, and a senate. Nezzahualcojotl digested all the former laws of Acolhuacan, with eighty additional ones of his own, into one compact body or code, known by the name of the Acol- huan code, and which was so highly esteemed as to have been partially, if not wholly adopted by Mexico and Tacuba. He also instituted a college, for the express purpose of studying the laws, that justice might be administered impartially : In short, he was the Solon of Anahuac. He flourished in the beginning and middle of the fifteenth century. See Clavigero, <5fc. %3 CHAPTER IV. The same Succession of T nstes may be traced in Nations at various Epocha of Civilization, as in Individuals at different Periods of their Lives — Progression of Tastes. GEJVUS I. SUBLIME. Species 1st. Active or terrible Sublimes- Species 2,d. Passive or contemplative Sublime — Radical Generic Prin- ciple of both — Distinguishing Specific Principle of each — Generic Characteristics founded on the generic Principle of both — Specific Characteristics of each — Generic Style of Influence consequent on the Generic Constituents of both — Specific Style of Influence arising from the different specific Constituents of each. GEJVUS II. SENTIMENTAL, or Elegant. Constituent Generic Principle — Generic Characteristics founded thereon — Consequent Generic Style of Influence. GENUS HI, SPRIGHTLY. Constituent Generic Principle— Gene- ric Characteristics founded thereon — Generic Style of Influence. Comparison of the Sublime and Sprightly — In what they agree — In what they differ. Recapitulation. ThE succession of various tastes is very similar in nations to what it is in individuals. The progress of each nation from the extremes of barbarism to the utmost verge of refinement and luxury, present nearly the same variety of taste which is experienced by the same individual from boyhood to old age ; and there are just the same epocha, or standards of taste in the same nation at different periods, as there are in the same individual at different stages of life. The boy is at first pleased by the excitement of -strong emotions, as the child is with that of vivid colors. He is delighted with inde- pendent heroism in moral character, with high tragedy or epic poe- try in matters of taste. As his heart expands, and his social affec- tions enlarge, his taste likewise alters ; it becomes softened and more SUCCESSION OF TASTES. gentle, till at length in mature age, needing an excitement which the sentimental does not yield, and incapable of the strong emotions of the sublime, another standard of taste is formed, which may be called the pretty or amusing." The youth, the maturity, and the decrepitude of nations, present precisely the same epocha. The sublime genius of Homer and of ^Eschylus marked the in- fancy of Grecian literature. Virgil and Tibullus flourished during that period when civilization was perhaps at its height ; and the sparkling conceits of Tryphiodorus, and in some measure the affected brevity of Tacitus, and the Younger Pliny, have been esteemed as the taste of a declining age. Indeed it is obvious, that those various tastes must always present the same progression. The savage, wandering alone and untutored, amidst desolate wilds untrodden by the foot of man, untaught, and unable to look through the long perspective of second causes, which so often distract the at- tention of the civilized, sees the Almighty in all the face of nature. He hearkens to his voice in the roar of the mountain torrents. He trembles at his anger in the rolling thunder ; and shrinks beneath his arm at the forked lightning. Alone, unassisted by humanity, he looks alone to that powerful, but unknown being, whose smiles glad- den the face of nature, and whose heart-appalling frowns convulse the firm rooted earth to its very foundation. The beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fishes of the sea, he fancies were created for him ; and that purposely for him the fragrant flowers expand their silken leaves, and the blushing fruits swell beneath the green foliage which shades him from the scorching sun. Hence arises in the mind of the savage a taste for all that Jills the mind, that expresses a power superior to man? and hence Awe, under a variety of modifications, becomes the foundation of the first standard of beauty, which is therefore termed the Sublime. SUBLIME. 25 Genus I. Sublime. The Sublime might properly be termed the incomprehensible. For as the Sublime expresses that which is above, or greater than us, and as the smaller can never comprehend the greater, so its essen- tial property is to fill and expand the soul, and in this consists its pleasure. Its integral qualities are strength, vastness, power, and self-subsis- tence. Its moral qualities are firm, decisive, and magnanimous. The pleasure it gives the beholder, is that of filling, in contradis- tinction to that of soothing or of entertaining the mind. It excites admiration rather than love ; it influences and governs rather than attaches or engages. This species of beauty is the foundation of what, in moral charac- ter, is termed the Great. And as the savage has been represented as sometimes fearing, and sometimes venerating, the greatness of an unknown power, so in fact it will be found, that there are two entirely distinct species of the sublime. One may be termed the active, or terrible sublime ; the other, the passive, or contemplative sublime. Both express power, strength, and vastness : but the first expresses power, strength, and vastness acting on us ; the second a power, strength, and vastness, which no human strength can act upon. Of the first sort is a volcano, a tornado, Sec. ; of the second is time, eternity, death, kc. The first expresses power shrouded in darkness and terrors, whose violence is irresistible, and which suddenly arrests all the faculties of the mind, and rouses them to the greatest stretch. The second expresses boundless and irresistible power, without violence, but irresistibly certain ; it defies the utmost human strength to elude, but it leaves the mind at rest. The first sort, by the fear of impending danger, often owes its in- E 26 SUBLIME. comprehensibility to its sudden appearance, which takes from the mind the power of at once taking in the whole of it. The second owes its sublimity to the grandeur of the object, which defies all human curiosity, even when those faculties are most col- lected. Such, are ideas of the eternal, supreme, and self-existent Being ; or of time, eternity, space, death, &c, which the longer we think upon, the more inscrutable we find the subject ; whereas the former, like an earthquake, thunder-storm, kc, though fearful to those present as to its effects, is yet easily comprehended as to its cause. In a word, the active sublime is a force irresistibly acting on us; the passive sublime is a strength which irresistibly defies our acting on it. Thus the sublime is that, whatever it is, which is so far above us that we see no bounds to it. So to intrinsically little minds,* riches, family, or rank, constitute a sort of petti/ or mock sublime, and govern them by that power, * It has generally been supposed, that the Italian prince who thought it necessary to bestow on the Virgin Mary the title of Countess, and a coat of arms, exhibited a degree of value for title which was unparalleled. The literary annals of our own country, however, present us with an instance fully equal to it, in Juliana Berners, one of the earliest female-writers in England, and prioress of the Nunnery of Sopewell, near St Albans, about the year 1450. Here she lived in high esteem for her learning and beauty, but above all for her spirit and skill in exercises one might little expect to find a lady addicted to, and still less an abbess. She excelled most men of her age in hawking, hunting, angling, and above all in heraldry and genealogical learning. On all these subjects she w rote a variety of treatises, which were so popular, that they were published in the very infancy of the art of printing, and went through many editions. The first was printed at St. Albans, 1481, another in folio at the same place, 1496, and again at Westminster, by W. de Worde, in 1496. Amongst Cryne's books in the Bodleian Library, is a black letter copy of this work, " imprynted at London in Paul's Church- Yarde, by me Hary Tab." It was again printed with wooden cuts by William Copland, with- out date, and entitled " The Boke of Hawkynge, Huntynge, and Fishing, with all the Pro- perties and Medecynes that are necessary to be kept." The same title is in Powel's edition, 1550. The last impression, and the complete one of all her works, is in 4to. London, 1595, under the following title, " The Gentleman's Academie, or Boke of St. Albans, containing three most exact and excellent Bokes, the first of Hawkynge, the second of the proper terms SUBLIME. which the intrinsically little has over the yet less. To the great and good, the contemplation of that great source whence all that is good springs, or even that first shadow of his image, which is to be found amongst the excellent of the earth, ever constitutes the truest and highest, viz. the moral sublime. To return, a mountain half concealed in clouds, or when we are so near it that we can only see some of its crags, without taking in the whole, is sublime, because we see no bounds to it. But as soon as we are removed far enough to see the whole of its shape distinct- ly, it ceases to be so. The desolate ruins of Palmyra and Balbec, in the midst of the deserts, appear sublime, because they are indefinite. Probably to the architect who accurately knew the plan of the whole, it did not give the same impression. of Huntynge, written in ryme, and a list of the beasts of the field, by mee Dame J uliana Ber- ners, the third of Armorie, or "the Boke of Blasyng of Armys, translatyt and compylyt togedyr at St. Albans, the yere from thyncarnacyon of our Lorde Jhesu Crist, 1480. It is the book on armory to which we referred. It begins by the following curious piece of sacred biography and heraldry, " Of the offspring of that trew borne gentilman Jafeth, came the gentilman Habraham, with the gentilmen Moyses, Aron, and all the profettys, and also the kynge of the right lyne of Mary, of whom that most true gentilman Jhesus was borne very God and very man, after his manhode kynge of the land of Jude and of Jues; a right true gentilman borne by his modre Mary, and true Prince entitled by her to cote ar- mure," &c. &c. An awful instance of the undue value of external advantages occurs in the instance of the execrable and infamous Abb6 de Gange. Being obliged to flee from France to escape the wheel, he for many years resided in a very noble family in Holland, under a feigned name, as tutor. Wishing to marry, it was objected to him that his family was not known, on which he revealed himself to be the brother to the Marquis de Gange, thinking the contriver and chief executor of an enormous crime, at which all Europe had shuddered as almost unparalleled in atrocity, would be less objectionable, than a connexion with a man of his family would be desirable. The outlines of this horrible transaction have left too deep and too dark a mark in the annals of the age of Louis the Fourteenth, to be unknown to any reader ; but the detail- ed account in the Causes Celebres may be read with very great interest by the observer of the human heart, who wishes to trace the progress of evil ; and by the Christian philanthropist, who, in tracing his deep repentance, will delight to see, that even of such a monster, God can make a saint, who came to seek and to save that which, in this instance indeed, seemed lost. E 2 23 SUBLIME. Hence largeness has by many been considered as an essential in- gredient in the sublime, though it is in fact only an accidental mode of it, so far as it prevents our comprehending the whole of a thing at one view. Thus people who wish to give themselves an air of grandeur, dress in velvets, or silks, or woollens, which falling in thick folds, prevent the real shape from being distinctly seen ; and by forming few divi- sions in the figure, and a broad light and shadow, fix, instead of dis- tracting the eye : on the same principle, painters who have suc- ceeded in the grand style, have chosen the same draperies. A similar motive induces those who have small estates to endea- vour to impose upon the imagination, by concealing their bounds with belts of wood ; and in manners, reserve, which sometimes conceals the vast powers of distinguished characters, as the clouds which rest on the summits of mountains ; yet sometimes, it is also the frivolous subterfuge of narrow minds, to give a fictitious sublimity or dignity, by concealing the narrow bounds of their powers. This principle was at least practically understood by the person who first said, that Caesar was no hero to his valet. Hence black in dress is a dignified color, because by reflecting no light, it leaves the form indefinite : and black and white, or any variety of checquered contrasts, the least so, because they are the most definite. Looking down an abyss is more sublime than looking up to a moun- tain above, because being less used to it, we can less measure its dis- tance, and the latter again more so than looking before us to the same distance. A great crowd, for the same reason, a full organ which is composed of a thousand indefinite and consentient harmonies, are sublime.* * Solitude is generally considered as an integral part of the sublime. That it is not essen- tially connected with it will appear from the following reason. It does not always produce that effect, but only under certain circumstances. Were we transported to Cheddar Cliffs, or any other sublime prospect, with all the company of a race-ball, for example, the sublime would be destroyed ; but were we in a first-rate man-of-war which was sinking, and the whole SUBLIME. 29 The first standard of beauty has now been sufficiently defined. The sublime is that which from its loftiness is above our reach, and from its magnitude we cannot comprehend. It is divided into two sorts, the active and contemplative. It only remains to add, what is indeed a necessary consequence of what has been before said, viz. that as the sublime is incomprehensi- ble, and as it. fills all the faculties of the mind, so it is one whole, and not susceptible of being composed of many parts, for the mind can never take in several things at once, but when the first is not suf- ficiently great to fill it. In a word, the sublime is, as to its principle, strength, vastness, power, greatness, and self-subsistence. In the active sublime these qualities are exhibited in force, ener- gy, courage, heroism, conscious pride, vigor, genius, resistless impe- tuosity. In the passive sublime they are modified into firmness, perma- nence, fortitude, grandeur of soul, solidity, true dignity, judgment, calm inscrutable but awful power. Those who possess sublimity of character are firm, decisive, mag- nanimous and majestic. But active sublime characters are abrupt, fiery, energetic, and heroic. Passive sublime characters are calm, placid, and unshaken; they possess a noble constancy, equanimity, and lofty serenity. The style of personal beauty belonging to sublimity, is what is generally termed Handsomeness. The active sublime is typified by a fine military countenance. crew prostrate in prayer, whilst destruction was engulphing them ; or had we seen the vene- rable assembly of Conscript Fathers waiting their death from the Gaul, tbe very circumstance of multitude would have added to ..the sublime, by enhancing the terrors of that power which could destroy the united force opposed to it. In short, the rule seems to be, The sublime al- lows of occupying the mind with one impression only. When either persons or external ob- jects distract that impression, they destroy the sublime ; when they are so disposed as to add to it either by accession or by contrast, they increase the sublime. No power seems so vast as that which submerges vast power. 30 SENTIMENTAL. The passive by a fine saintly countenance. With respect to the style of feeling excited in us by the sublime : it everywhere excites respect and admiration; it influences and governs. But the active sublime excites awe; the passive sublime, vene- ration. To proceed to the next standard of beauty. As children whose optic nerves are not sufficiently exercised to perceive shades of color- ing, are always first attracted by the most forcible colors ; so savages, whose feelings are uncultivated, are always first captivated by the sub- lime, whose powerful stimulus is alone sufficiently strong to rouse them from the alternate apathy and pressing wants, incident upon their mode of life. But by degrees, a change takes place in habits and in tastes. Genus II. Sentimental. The rude huts which were at first intended as a mere shelter from the storm, are transformed gradually into comfortable or luxurious dwellings. Each individual, wearied by a state of barbarous toils and dangers, now pants after the repose of leisure and security; and Avearied with solitary exertions, seeks for comfort, happiness, and strength, in social unisons, mutual dependance, and assistance. With this new object, a new set of habits and tastes arise. When the savage was taught to depend solely on his own exer- tions, all his habits tended to increase his own personal strength, whether in activity or in enduring pain. Now that civilization has rendered man a gregarious animal, and that his strength depends on the united assistance of others, all his habits are formed on the principle of strengthening and extending the links by which his fellow-men are bound to him. Sympathy becomes more useful to him than strength. It becomes important to him to acquire an acute perception of the feelings of others, and it is therefore indispensable to acquire that quick sensi- SENTIMENTAL. 31 bility himself, by which alone he can perceive every gradation of inflexion in the feelings of his neighbour. His observation, his affections, are called forth, and the one gradu- ally acquires acuteness and penetration, and the other a delicacy and a flexibility, which renders it susceptible of infinite shades of in- flexion. Connected with society, he forgets nothing which can attach them, or secure the bonds by which he is united to them. And as his con- nexions become too diffuse for each individual to ascertain and es- teem his virtues, he learns the art of conciliating their affections, and of pleasing the superficial tastes of those he sees. Hence the origin of the social sympathies, the graces, and the fine arts. And a new standard of beauty is formed, which Mr. Burke has so admirably described under the general term of beauty, that he has almost persuaded his readers there was no other sort. But which, in order to distinguish it from others, will here be denomi- nated the sentimental. The essence of this species of beauty consists in gentle ease and leisure, united with soft social affections. In rest combined with such gentle excitement of the pleasing affections, as will preserve from that tedium vita;, which the French have emphatically termed ennui. For were a state of rest destitute of any affections, it would degenerate into loathsome and disgustful sloth ; and were those affections marked with a sufficiently decided character to be denominated passions, they would clash, instead of coalescing with those of others, and thus destroy that social bond which is the basis of the sentimental. There is only occasion to refer to any of the voluminous novelists and poetasters, who have enriched the republic of letters, from Sid- ney's Arcadia, and Drayton's Court of Faerie, to the present time, in order to find, that murmuring streams, distant water-falls, soft zephyrs, cooing doves, banks of violets, woodbines clinging to waving acacias, kc. &c, in short, all that inspires rest, languor, and depen- dance, belongs to this class. 32 SENTIMENTAL. Those trees whose boughs are most flexile, such as weeping wil- lows, the fusia, &c. may be considered as belonging to the sentimen- tal. In this class, instead of noble and spacious avenues, leading direct to some important site, as in the sublime ; meandering paths beguiling the length of way with many turns, accommodating them- selves to the surface of the ground, indicate at once the owner's lei- sure, his want of a decided object, and his willingness easily to go out of his way. In short, as in the sublime every thing shews a determined reso- lution and power of standing alone, so in the sentimental every thing indicates an inclination to rest on others. Oriental luxury is perhaps the best model of this species of beau- ty. The soft silken couches and carpets, the perfumed fountains, the gentle manners described by Lady M. W. Montague, nay, even to the waving folds of their muslin dresses, ambiguous dilute colors, and meandering movements and reclining attitudes, all imply the same want of energetic pursuit of some decided object, the same re- liance on others, the same willingness to assume their manners and expressions. In short, the sentimental implies a degree of relaxation and rest, which the refinement accompanying it alone prevents from degene- rating into coarse and brutal sloth, and a degree of dependance and clinging to others, which, were it diversified from the expression of affection and tenderness which characterizes it, would degenerate into abjectness and meanness. In its principle, the sentimental is constituted of compliance. It is flexible, yielding, affectionate, gentle, and sweet. It depends on others, is weak and easily depressed, is humble, is susceptible of exquisite refinement of taste and of imagination. Possesses sweetness destitute of power. Persons who are sentimental have softness, submission, loveli- ness, and elegance. Their style of beauty is what is properly termed beautiful. SENTIMENTAL. 33 They do not excite admiration or respect like the sublime, nor do they govern us ; but they excite love and interest, they altach and engage, and win upon our hearts. Such is that standard of beauty which is here denominated the sentimental. It is the very opposite to the sublime. For as the former implies the greatest stretch of feeling, so the latter supposes that state of gentle rest which immediately succeeds it. Let us now proceed to the next standard. Genus III. Sprightly. The mind of man cannot be always immersed in the enervating softness of the sentimental. As the forcible impressions of the sublime would, when long con- tinued, strain the mind to madness, so the sentimental would soon relax it into supine sloth. And as rest is delightful after the exhaus- tion of forcible exertion, so too long persisting in it produces ennui. Hence, after the relaxation of the sentimental, we require plea- surable excitement by means of fresh stimuli; in consequence of which a new class of beauty is elicited, called by the French, on that ac- count probably, piquant ; and by us, for the same reason, the pretty, smart, or sprightly. For the minds of men, too much enervated by the sentimental, sel- dom return to the strong emotions of the sublime, and therefore sub- stitute this class of constantly new and versatile emotions, each of which shall be strong enough to spur the attention, but none forcible enough to fix it. Thus, glittering objects, the flight of a butterfly, the bright berried holly-bushes, the sprightly mountain ashes, or glistering dew-drops in a frosty morning, belong to this class. In sounds, the shrill fife, the twittering sparrow, the merry lark, and the sprightly tambourine, also appertain to it. Likewise in landscape, green fields, spruce hedge-rows, tufted trees, interspersed with distant spires, and spotted with white cottages; and with a river whose shallow stream, rippling over a pebbled bed, 34 SPRIGHTLY. sparkles in the sun, and bears quickly glancing skiffs with bright oars and gay streamers ; whilst the merry chimes are heard in the offskip, and near at hand myriads of glancing flies glitter in the air. Such is the sprightly, or cheerful. As the sublime and the sprightly both, are opposed to the sen- timental, in that the two first depend on excitement, and the second on a state of rest ; so they differ from each other, in that the sublime depends on the force of one exciting cause arresting and fixing the mind ; and the sprightly on the liveliness of a variety of succes- sive excitements, spurring the attention one after the other. The sublime depends on the strength of one excitement; the sprightly on the activity of several. Thus the sublime depends upon one strong excitement, which fixes and arrests the mind. The sprightly depends upon successive petty excitements, the contrast and novelty of which perpetually surprize and divert us. Thus, one toll of a deep toned bell at the dead of midnight, when darkness takes off the mind from every other sensible impression, is sublime. But alter the scene,, and ring down the whole peal of chimes in broad sunshine, the landscape being studded with cattle, sheep, cots, Sec. kc, it becomes cheerful. In the sublime, the one excitement that is given, is not only pow- erful, but indefinite (as indeed all must be indefinite which the mind is not capacious enough to take in ; for who can define what he does not comprehend?). In the pretty, the excitements are smart, distinct, and definite. Hence, a man standing on a pier, and seeing a first rate man-of-war with undulating sails, slowly moving on the bosom of the ocean; when he contemplates the vastness of the object, the distant and unknown countries she will visit, and the uncertainty of her return, is strongly under the influence of the sublime. But when the ship is out of sight, if he chances to see a gay plea- sure-boat, with fluttering pennons and streamers, and full of gaudy SPRIGHTLY. company, whilst the musicians are in a bright uniform, and the sail- ors, bending at measured intervals, strike the sparkling wave with, glittering oars, then the number of distinct petty parts render it cheerful or sprightly. But suppose a storm to come on, and that same boat to be tempest-tost, then all those petty prettynesses are swallowed up in the one grand excitement of uncertainty as to its fate, and it becomes sublime. Suppose an immense hall of black marble, lighted by one dim solitary lamp, and it is sublime. But imagine the same hall instead, chequered all over with black and white marble in regular patterned compartments, and lighted up by a thousand of argand lamps, reflected by as many multiplying mirrors, then you have the sprightly. Hence the sublime and the sprightly both depend upon excite- ment. But the sublime consists in its being one, and that so vast as not to be fully comprehended, and so strong as to leave room for no other. The sprightly depends upon a succession of petty excite- ments which owe much of their brilliancy to contrast. This perhaps, applied to common life, may teach us, that cheerful- ness depends on occupying ourselves with a constant succession of petty agreeables, strong enough moderately to excite, and yet not forcible enough to fix the mind in the undisturbed possession of one idea, which often terminates in insanity. To return to our subject ; as respect is the leading principle of the sublime, and love, of the sentimental, so entertainment and novelty are the fundamental principles of the sprightly. The sprightly has for its principle, versatility, brilliancy, acti- vity, elasticity, smartness, cheerfulness, playfulness ; is spirited, yet gentle, possesses sparkling wit and droll humour ; has activity and energy combined with a degree of sweetness, but destitute of gran- deur. The sprightly differs from the sentimental, by being active instead of passive. It has its sweetness without its languor. f % 36 RECAPITULATION. It differs from the sublime, by consisting of a variety of petty ex- citements, instead of one great excitement. Sprightly persons have smartness, elasticity of spirits, agility. Their style of beauty is pretty. They neither excite the respect which fills the heart and soul in the contemplation of sublime cha- racters; nor do they possess that tenderness and love which wins every affection of the heart in the sentimental ; but they give entertainment and pleasure, and by amusing and stimulating, they often engage the fancy. To recapitulate. The three principal affections which are suscep- tible of expression by means of objects of sense, and which so expres- sed give pleasure to the mind, are : power, which excites respect, and constitutes the sublime ; gentleness, which excites love, and consti- tutes the sentimental ; novelty, which excites cheerful amusement, and constitutes the sprightly. 31 CHAPTER V. The Constituent Principle of each Genus of Beauty is by Inversion sus- ceptible of becoming the Basis of its own peculiar Genus of Deformity. GEJVUS J. Species 1st. From the Active Sublime may be deduced by Inversion the HORRIBLE — Radical Generic Principle — Generic Characteristics — Generic Style of Influence. Species 2,d- From the Passive Sublime may be deduced by Inversion the VAPID — Radical Generic Principle — Generic Characteristics — Generic Style of Influence. GEJVUS II. From the Sentimental may be deduced by Inversion the PORCINE — Radical Generic Principle— Generic Characteristics — Generic Style of Influence. GEJVUS III. From the Sprightly may be deduced by Inversion the FLIPPAJVT- — Generic Radical Principle — Generic Style of Influ- ence. Contrast between each Species of Beauty, and its Correspondent Species of Deformity. These Genera of Deformities termed Regular Deformities, and why. Charts shewing the Correspondence and Opposition between the Consti- tuent Principles of the Genera of Beauty, and those of Regular Deformity. .As each, however, of these three foregoing principles form, when correctly and chastely adhered to, the foundation of a distinct spe- cies of beauty ; so each is susceptible, by being caricatured, of becom- ing the basis of a peculiar species of deformity. Genus I. Species 1st. Thus, the active-sublime, with its violence increased, and its grandeur diminished, produces the horrible, or what is colloqui- ally termed, the sublime run mad. 36 DEFORMITIES. Genus I. Species 3d. * The passive-sublime, with its uniformity increased, and its firm- ness diminished, produces the vapid, or turgid. * It would have been very easy to have added a few more genera to the regular deformi- ties, but it is not done, because they occur so seldom, comparatively, as not to afford a suffi- cient list of exemplifications to make a system of illustration, regularly traced throughout the works of nature and art. They may however be incidentally mentioned. The sublime, with its force and grandeur exaggerated, and applied to petty ends, produces the mock heroic. This, it will be observed, is the exact converse to the flippant. Again, the sentimental, with its refinement much increased and overstrained, and its grace and relaxation diminished, produces the affected or mawkish. It is the vapid of the affections. A whole crop of ladies of this description sprouted up soon after Sterne pub- lished his Sentimental Journey, and Richardson his excellent novels (as may be seen in his Correspondence, to which Mrs. Barbauld's beautiful Preface has given celebrity). Happily for whoever loves truth and good taste, they are like ephemera passed away, the nuisance of a day, and we barely remember that the generic characteristics of this genus are : precision, far-fetched feeling, affected delicacy, softness, simpering, nervous sensibility, with callosity of heart, &c. &c. It does not, however, appear worth while to devote a place to a genus, which has itself small a place in society. These petty genera resemble the petty planets, Ceres, Pallas, Vesta, &c— they occupy a space in the solar system indeed, but it is so small, that the world went on perfectly well for six thousand years without dreaming of their existence ; and now it is informed of it, their names are all that general society find it desirable to know of them. If, however, our readers wish to form a more intimate acquaintance with the affected, we refer them to Moliere's Precieuses Ridicules, to Mademoiselle Scuderi's romances, and to Sterne ; or if they wish to be almost persuaded a slight tincture of the affected is a species of the beautiful, we refer them to Miss Harriet Byron, and her counterpart, Sir Charles Gran- dison, and not least, to the Original Letters of Lady Bradshaw, in Richardson's Correspon- dence. We do not know, if Dr. Monroe's excellent epigram on Richardson's intended addition of five volumes to Clarissa, has found its way to the press. — A gentleman having lent Clarissa to the Doctor, he returned it with the following lines on the first leaf: " Through six long volumes Clara lived, " And in the seventh expired : " Six thousand pages travelled o'er, " No wonder she was tired. " Richardson, resume thy matchless pen, " And add the other five ; " We soon shall share the fair one's fate, " No reader left alive!" DETORMITIES. 39 Genus II. The sentimental, with its relaxation and inertness increased, and its refinement taken away, produces the porcine. Genus III. The sprightly, with its prettyness, activity, and glare, increased, and its sweetness and refinement taken away, produces the flippant or TAWDRY. Genus I. Species 1st. The horrible, or active-sublime sharpened (*). Is in its principle violent, furious, gloomy. Subject to uncontrolled bursts of tempestuous and wayward pas- sions. Dark, gigantic, but distorted and disproportioned imagination. Phrenetic self-will. Passions stormy and self-devouring. Vivid and forcible impressions unregulated by judgment, and unrefined by taste. The creature of passion. The horrible may be denominated the sublime of madmen. Genus I. Species 2d. The vapid, or contemplative sublime flattened (i>), is in its consti- tuent principle frigid and contracted. Dull, inane, and pompous. Cheerless and insensible. Narrow, selfish, heartless frigidity. Too cold to do a service, too dull to render a kindness. The monotonous creature of habits destitute of feeling. Pride, founded on the thin rind of external and fortuitous circum- stances, devoid of any foundation in internal worth ; as family pride, pride of wealth. In short, the vapid is the sublime of little minds. Genus II. The porcine, or sentimental flattened (t>), is in its principle inert 40 DEFORMITIES. and sensual. It is brutish, gluttonous, and indolent. Sluggish apathy and indifference. Coarse self-indulgence and brutal laziness. Too much immersed in corporeal objects, for intellectual improvement. Too much absorbed in pampering the lowest part of self, for moral good. Is governed by sloth and animal enjoyments, eating, drink- ing, and sleeping. This style of deformity may be termed the para- dise of beasts ; or the enjoyment of those who are equally destitute of moral principle, feeling hearts, rational intellect, or awakened imagination. Genus HI. The flippant, or sprightly sharpened (*). Is in principle, sharp, petty, frivolous, and capricious. Is pert, insolent. Tawdry and fine. Affecting far-fetched conceits, without true wit. Obtrusive and ridiculous, vanity directed to ends equally petty and worthless. Restless activity without object. Trifling without grace. Brisk without sweetness. Vain without social affection. Self-conceited without mental power. Governed by caprice and vanity. This class may be denominated the live- liness of persons of hard hearts, narrow minds, coxcombical tastes, active bodies, capricious tempers, and petty passions. The relation of each of these species of deformity to its own pe- culiar standard of beauty, will be immediately seen, by placing their style of expression, and influence of each, in juxta-position. Genus I. Species 1st. Thus the style of expression of the active sublime is awful mag- nificence. That of the horrible, lurid gloom, or bursts of driving and over- whelming violence. Genus I. Species 2d. The style of expression of the passive sublime is serene and lofty dignity. That of the vapid, pompous and dull inanity. DEFORMITIES. 4i Genus II. The expression of the sentimental is soft elegance. That of the porcine, brutal degradation, supine sloth. Genus III. The character of the sprightly, smart prettyness. That of the flippant, affected and tawdry finery. Again, as to its influence on the minds of others : Genus I. Species 1st. The active sublime excites respect and awe; the horrible, terror and hatred. Genus I. Species 2d. The passive sublime excites veneration ; the vapid, ennui. Genus II. The sentimental excites love ; the porcine, loathing. Genus III. The sprightly excites entertainment; the tawdry, contempt. It is to be observed, that as perfection is of God, and imperfection of man, so numerous examples of the species of beauty described, are readily to be found in natural objects, or in the works of God ; whereas, it is only amidst an artificial state of society, that examples of the various species of deformity are to be met with. As abstract ideas are seldom clearly imparted, but when they are rendered objects of perception, by visible illustration, a few instan- ces of fictitious characters will be mentioned in explanation. On the whole, perhaps examples of the horrible might be suc- cessfully sought among the heroes of German tragedies ; and in that class of writings which some time ago deluged the press, and among 42 DEFORMITIES, WHY TERMED REGULAR. which Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene, The Little Grey Man, The Ancient Marinere, and Leonora, have survived, as less outraging the true sublime than many other contemporary works, of a descrip- tion somewhat similar, but whose authors have evidently sacrificed rather to the furies than the graces ; and whose muse has rather mounted the fiend-born steed of the infernal Lokke, than Pegasus whom poets were wont to mount in days of yore. Examples of the vapid might probably be often found in those unhappy representatives of ancient families, who have it at all times in view by a living personification of the feudal system, to keep up a dignity, whose thin ghost yet lingers at the herald's office, long after the substance has departed from the heads or hearts of the unhappy possessors. Instances of the porcine might probably not unfrequently be found in ale-houses, smoaking clubs, or merchant-aldermen's city feasts. Look for examples of the flippant among some of the ladies who frequent the pump-room and Crescent at Bath, the Esplanade at Weymouth, the Steyne at Brighton; and all other places, where per- sons of no head and unoccupied hearts, think it necessary to be trifling and dissipated, to seem cheerful and happy. The fictitious character of Argantes, in Tasso, or that of Bethlem Gabor, in Godwin's St. Leon, or the real characters of Attila, Totila, kc, furnish examples of the horrible. The character of Mr. Delville in Cecilia, is perhaps as perfect an example as possible of the vapid. That of Vitellius might be adduced as an example of the porcine. Virginie, in St. Pierre's beautiful tale, as the elegant or sentimen- tal. Lady G , in Sir Charles Grandison, as the sprightly. These genera of deformities are termed regular deformities. The term regular genera of deformity is used, because the most disagree- able species of deformity is that arising from incongruity, inconsis- tency, and contrariety ; and which therefore in its own nature can never become subject to rule, or furnish a subject of imitation to any MIXED GENERA. 4:> of the fine arts ; for in fact nothing can become the subject of imita- tion which has not some fixed principle on which it is founded, which is not reducible to rule, or possesses some sailliant point which can be seized, retained, and applied. But the regular simple genera of deformity, the leading principles of which it has been here attempted to trace, are of very frequent application in all the imitative arts, and generally in all works of imagination. As they arise from the inversion of the several genera of beauty, by altering the proportions which the radical principles of each bear to one another ; so they are useful when interspersed among the genera of beauty, either by relieving the mind from excitement by the imperfect pleasure they give, and occasionally, when powerfully used, they give the stimulus of strong and sudden contrast; and pro- duce the same effect as discords in music, or heinous characters, used to give zest to the excellent ones in works of imagination. Thus the deformity of incongruity arises from a contrariety of character, which mutually destroying each other, leave no character at all : the regular species of deformity arise from the consistency of a disagreeable character, and give the same pleasure which consis- tency of character always in a certain degree produces. Besides the grand divisions in the species of beauty and deformity, there are mixed or mongrel varieties, which might be multiplied ad infinitum, composed of all the different shades which unite the classes. Thus the sentimental contemplative (of which species might be reckoned Gray's Elegy in a Church-yard, and on a Distant View of Eton) may be considered as allied to the contemplative sublime, and yet as belonging also to the sentimental. On the other hand, the grotesqums a mixture of uncouthness, and yet flippancy, composed of the porcine and flippant, kc. It is however needless to spend time in describing all the mixed varieties of beauty and deformity. The grand leading or simple genera being understood, varieties ad infinitum may be easily deduced by combination. It only remains to observe, that in their appli- ■ g 2, 44 MIXED GENERA. cation, distinct genera of beauty must never be heterogeneously confounded, though a mixed class may be adopted ; just as in dress, a man would not chuse to have one half of his coat white and the other black, though he might prefer wearing a grey one, to that which is either black or white. Whether the style adopted be simple or mixed, every subordinate part must partake of that style, and not be overloaded with appendages belonging to another. Every distinct part should contribute its share in the production of one and the same effect. And whenever there is any appendage which might be subtracted without diminishing, or might be added without enhanc- ing it, that thing should be taken away, as contrary to unity of style and character. Having now spoken of the different genera of beauty and defor- mity as to their constituent principles, it is time to speak of the mode by which they are expressed by objects of sense; and in the first place, it is necessary to say a few words on the general laws of association by which character is expressed, and mental affections excited by sensible objects. END OF PART FIRST. TWO CHARTS EXHIBITING THE PARALLELISM and the DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE CORRESPONDING GENERA OF BEAUTIES AND DEFORMITIES, IN THEIR GENERIC CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLES, EXTERNAL CHARACTERISTICS, AND STYLE OF THEIR IJVFLUEJVCE. CHART No. I.— BEAUTIES. GENERA. CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLES, CORRESPONDING MORAL and MENTAL QUALITIES. GENERIC CHARACTERISTICS IN MANNER and STYLE OF BEAUTY. GENUS I. SUBLIME. SPECIES I. ACTIVE Or Terrible Sublime. SPECIES II. PASSIVE Or Contemplative Sublime SELF-SUBSISTENCE. Force Firmness. Overwhelming imperii osity. - - - . . Boldness. - - - - . Vigor and energy. Lofty pride. - - Genius. - - - Calm, but inextricable power. ------ Dauntlessness. - - - - POWER. Strength and permanence. Conscious dignity. Judgment. - - - PARTS FEW AND VAST. Often contrasted. - - J Always continuous. Strength without sweetness. - - Overwhelms by resistless violence. - - - - Resists by unshaken stabi- lity. N. B. The sublime, as the term implies, consists in what is above us, and which the mind cannot grasp. It therefore consists of one impression ; for the human mind can never take in two impressions, but when one is not adequate to fill it. GENUS II. SENTIMENTAL GENUS III. SPRIGHTLY. DEPENDENCE. Yielding, weakness, depres- sion. ------- Flexibility and languor. - Timidity. - - - - - COMPLIANCE. Gentleness & acquiescence. Humility, affection, sensi- bility Elegant taste, imagination. Parts imperceptibly com- bined. Sweetness destitute of strength N. B. The sentimental consists in an aptitude of assimilation. It possesses gentleness without force, sweetness without variety. It wins by its softness, with- out commanding respect. VERSATILITY. Spirit but gentleness, ela ticity. Unwearied vivacity. Liveliness, cheerfulness. ELASTICITY. Readiness, cleverness, ; cuteness. Playful good humor. Brilliant wit, smartness. Partsnumerous,petty,coi trasted. Activity destitute of grai deur. N. B. The sprightly di fers from the sentiment: by its activity, and froi the sublime by its want ( strength, and by its consis ing of a number of pett excitements instead of oil great one. GENERIC STYLE OF INFLUENCE AND UTILITY. FIRM. Fiery, lofty & energetic. | Calm, Placid, unshaken. - DECISIVE. Bursts of heroism. - - I Exalted and noble constan- I cy. - . - . MAJESTIC. Chivalric Nobility. - - | Lofty courtesy, serenity. MAGNANIMITY. ■ HANDSOMENESS Heroic beauty. - - - [ Saintly beauty. The grand style. ADMIRATION. Awe. | Veneration. Influences Governs. - - - _ . _ _ PATRON. Chieftain. Pontiff. Soft, affectionate, teudei, sympathizing. - - - Submissive loveliness. Elegance,politeness, grace. Tenderness. - - - - Gay, playful and vivaciou Amusing and engaging ve satility. Brilliance, agility. Quickness. Beautiful. - - - The graceful style. Pretty. The florid o r decorated sty' LOVE. - - Interests and attaches. Wins and persuades. ENTERTAINMENT. Stimulates and amuses. Affectionate friend. Agreeable companion. CHART No. % — DEFORMITIES. GEN INFLj species r. Active Sublime (*), or HORRIBLE. US I. VTED. SPECIES 11. Passive Sublime (b), or VAPID. GENUS II. PORCINE, OR SENTIMENTAL (b). GENUS III. FLIPPANT, OR SPRIGHTLY (#). GENERA. IN FLA Violence. Haughty overbearing fury. Tyrannic gloom. - - - Uncontrolled, tempestu- ous passion. Governed by - - Dark, gigantic, but distort- ed imagination, & phre- netic self-will. - PRETI Passions self-devouring. Violence without strength. Energy without constancy. The sublime of madmen. TION. ■ Frigid monotony. - - - Dulness and pomposity. Cheerless heartlessness. Contracted mind, and nar- row selfish temper. Governed by - - Narrow monotonous hab- its, uninspired by feel- :nsion. Too cold to do a service, too dull to render a kindness. Pride of externals, without internal worth tosupport it, as family and purse- pride. The sublime of little minds and contracted hearts. Sluggishness, sensuality, A pathetic, luxurious in- dolence. Coarse, lazy self-indulgence. Coarse, brutal rudeness, & want of perception. Governed by - - Sloth. Too much immersed in cor- poreal objects for intel- lectual improvement. Too much absorbed in pam- pering self for moral good. The heaven of brutes, or enjoyment of those e- qually destitute of fixed principles, feeling hearts, cultivated intellect, and exercised imagination. Caprice and flippancy. Tawdry pertness. Affected conceit without wit. Offensive ridiculous vanity directed to petty and worthless ends. Governed by Caprice and vanity. Trifling without grace, lively briskness without sweetness, self-opinion- ated without mental power, vain without so- cial affections, restless activity without ade- quate end. The liveliness of persons of hard hearts, narrow minds, active bodies, capricious tempers, and petty passions. THEIR CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLES, AND CORRESPONDING MORAL and MENTAL QUALITIES. Tyrannical, irregular, furi- ous. Haughty, overbearing gloom, and raving fa- naticism. Pride of morbid melancho- ly and choler. Overl Violence. - - Proud, empty, frigid, in- different. Formal, precise, quaint, bigotted, and supersti- tious. Ceremonious affectation of state, earing. • - Coldness. - - Coarse, familiar, brutal carelessness, unmodified by principle, sympathy, intelligence, or proprie- ty. Gluttonous, lazy, thick, a- pathetic, wholly unsus- ceptible of sympathy. - - - Brutal. - - - Pettish, capricious, pert, affected, fine, insolent, mean, cringing. Dissipated, hard, heartless and slippery. Incapable of any thing no- ble, great or generous. Coxcombical finery. GENERIC CHARACTERISTICS IN MANNER, AND ALSO IN STYLE OF COUNTENANCE. Fierceness. - - - - - Inanity. - - - - - Brutality. - - - - Pertness. - - Terror and hatred. - - - - Ennui. - - - GENERIC STYLE OF INFLUENCE. PART II. ASSOCIATION OF AGREEABLE OR DISAGREEABLE FEELING WITH EXTERNAL OBJECTS, THE SOURCE OF BEAUTY AND DEFOR- MITY. CLASSIFICATION OF ASSOCIATIONS. APPLICATION OF THE DIFFERENT CLASSES OF ASSOCIATION TO THE VARIOUS CLASSES OF WORKS OF TASTE. CHAPTER It Association of Ideas — Association of Feelings. Association of agreeable or disagreeable Feelings the Foundation of Beauty or Deformity. Association of each peculiar Class of Perception, with its correspondent peculiar Class of agreeable or disagreeable Feeling, the Foundation of each peculiar Genus of Beauty or Deformity. We have now spoken of the radical constituent principle which distinguishes beauty from deformity in general. We have also endeavoured to ascertain the principles which cha- racterize each distinct genus of beauty and deformity in particular. It remains to treat of the external signs, by which each of these constituent internal principles are manifested through the medium of objects of sense and perception, and affect the soul by raising correspondent emotions in us. But before this branch of the subject can be properly entered upon, it becomes necessary, as a preliminary step, to make a few observations on the nature of associations in general, and of the INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATIONS. 49 different influence which various descriptions of associations possess over the different productions both of nature and art, which are the subjects of taste ; to discriminate between the different power and various modes of operation, which different classes of associations pos- sess ; the extension or contraction of their sphere of influence, arising from their various degrees of universality or individuality; and like- wise to inquire into their different degrees of vividness, or tenacity of association, arising from their proximity with the exciting cause ; or from the length, but constancy of the channel through which its influence is transmitted, from their being associations of vivid impression, or associations of habitual reflection. Every one (that is, every one who reads) knows perfectly well what is meant bv the association of ideas. It would be impertinent to waste the reader's time in saying, that if two objects have either been uniformly and habitually seen to- gether, or if under some circumstances of strong impression they have only once been seen together, the sight of the one will infal- libly recal the recollection of the other. To which we shall add, that which is the essential point to this theory; that it will not only recal the ideacf the other, but more especially, that if that other were connected with the passions or affections, it would spontaneously recal that train of feeling or affec- tions to the heart ; and that, whether such feelings were of an agree- able or disagreeable nature. On this principle it is, that we no sooner chance to see an old acquaintance, 'or revisit a place we had not seen for years, than thev bring back with vividness, not only to our minds, but likewise to our hearts, all their correspondent circle of acquaintance and events ; and a thousand trivial incidents rush upon the heart which had escaped the recollection, and but for this accidental circumstance, would never have been recalled to our remembrance. ^Nor is it in the least necessary to this effect, that the object ex- H 50 INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATIONS. citing these feelings of association should have had the least share in impressing the original feeling itself. The sight of a gate, the stump of a tree, an ivied wall, if asso- ciated with our early childhood, can as surely awaken some of the strongest feelings of the heart, as if they had a share in originally exciting them. Nevertheless, so far from these insignificant objects having any share in our attachment, they were probably, at the time that attachment was formed, passed by a thousand times unheeded, as being totally uninteresting. The philosopher who meets in the street the tailor, or the dan- cing-master, who many times detained him with sore ill will out of school-hours, with the tedious operations of measuring, or learning a minuet, may be far more effectually and pathetically reminded of an hundred early instances of affection and kindness from those whose place amongst men shall know them no more; and the glowing recollection of many a youthful friendship may crowd upon his heart more forcibly, and more feelingly, than had he just risen from the perusal of Cicero's treatise on friendship, or even the beau- tiful tale of Damon and Pythias, or of Pylades and Orestes. * But it would be needless to spend time in proving the truth of a principle, of which personal and constant experience must enable every one to adduce countless examples ; viz. that feelings as well as ideas, are connected, and consequently are recalled, by associa- tion. This, then, being taken for granted, and it having been before stated, that some agreeable or disagreeable affection is the constituent principle of every genus of beauty or deformity ; it will follow, that beauty, and deformity likewise, are subject to the same grand laws of association as other feelings ; and that, consequently, the external beauty or deformity of any object solely consists, in that the per- * We cannot refuse ourselves the pleasure of referring the reader to the beautiful and pathetic tale of Ismael and Caloiis. See Marigny's Hist, des Arabes, torn. ii. Reigne d'Abubecre. INFLUENCE OF ASSOCIATIONS. 51 ceptions of which it is composed are those which we have been accustomed to associate with the agreeable or disagreeable affec- tions. And the peculiar genus of beauty or deformity which any object possesses, arises from our being accustomed to associate that peculiar genus of perceptions of which it is composed, with the peculiar genus of affection or disaffection which is the constituent principle of that genus of beauty or deformity. CHAPTER II. Is Association arbitrary or not ? — Reasons against arbitrary Associa- tion — Reasons in favour of them — Conclusion therefrom — Some As- sociations arbitrary. This being allowed, the question will immediately arise. But why are we accustomed to associate any one particular genus of per- ceptions with any one particular genus of beauty or deformity ? Is this association arbitrary, and therefore capricious ; or is it founded in the inherent and physical nature of things, and therefore immutable ? If associations be arbitrary, if they depend solely upon the for- tuitous coincidence of external objects, accidentally associated with the occasional feelings of each individual ; or if being allowed a rather wider range, they be made to depend on the yet compara- tively restricted limits of associations peculiar to each different country, religion, class, or society ; how happens it, that in very many cases we can pronounce, with a full certainty of assurance, upon the merits and beauty of many stupendous productions both of nature, of human genius, and of art ? If associations of beauty and deformity follow no regular and h 2 52 INQUIRY ON THE established laws, on what solid grounds can the most eminent genius build his hopes of enduring reputation? Nay, we must in that case admit, that the breath of the capricious multitude might with equal justice bestow that garland of bays upon Sternhold and Hopkins, which it has hitherto consecrated to Milton and Young. And the designer of the noble burst at the entrance of Blenheim, would, in reality, possess no superiority but what arises from fancy, over Yuen Ming Yuen, and the far-fetched conceits of the Chinese enchanted gardens, (a) their mimic cities, and their subaquean sum- mer-houses, where the astonished visitor may fancy himself trans- ported to the court of the Queen Gulnare and her marine brother, King Saleh. For upon this plan, as no work of taste could have intrinsic excel- lence ; so, on the other hand, none could be in reality contemptible. So that upon this benevolent scheme, if the few amongst poets, painters, and sculptors, lost their distinctive reward, they would have the consolation of knowing, that the mass of poetasters, daubers, and hewers of stone, were advanced upon a ground as solid as that on which they themselves stood. But this does not appear to be the case. If associations be alto- gether arbitrary, why are we absolutely certain that the cataract of Niagara, the caverned abysses of the tremendous Pichinca, and the broad waters of the Amazons, not only are, but will and must, in every age and nation, be deemed sublime? How is it that we are positively sure that every individual, be his habits what they may ; be it a child or a sage, a king or a beggar, a civilized Frenchman, or a wild Cherokee, will all agree in ascribing them to precisely the same class of feeling ; and that no possible variation of prejudice, fashion, or fancy, ever has, or ever will induce any one person, at any period whatever, to think them sentimentally elegant or gaily sprightly ? If associations of beauty and deformity follow no fixed rules, and have no more substantial foundation than the fashion, humour, or caprice of each age, nation, or individual, upon what solid ground LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 53 do we pronounce, with absolute certainty, the epic of Homer to be superior to that of Tryphiodorus, on the same subject? Whence happens it that persons of every century and language have united in preferring the sculpture of Greece and Rome to the shapeless and gigantesque statues of Egypt, India, and Peru?* Why is it that we should not hesitate to pronounce that man's taste to be false (if, indeed, such a one could be found), who should consider the mystical statue of Memnon, (though honoured by the presence of Germanicus,) as superior to the Apollo Belvidere. And on what account do we feel as certain an assurance for future ages, as for our own, that the Venus and Antinous will ever retain the palm of beauty over the colossal statues of Osiris and Isis ; which have sate from the first dim twilight of fabulous history, frowning in solitary and barbaric majesty over the desert; and of whom, uncon- sumed by time, and unknown the hand that reared their ponderous masses, it may almost with truth be said : that they have ever been, they are, and ever will be ; and that none has ever yet lifted up the impenetrable veil that covers them? Why do we not scruple to assert, that the works of Raffaelle, Do- minichino, or Titian, are unquestionably superior to the ingeniously finished Chinese or Mexican paintings ; or even to the pictures of the royal artist, William of Prussia, to whose productions the pages of Thiebaud, and Madame de Bareuth, have given so much cele- brity? On what account do we retain the obstinate conviction, that our immortal Shakespeare's historic plays are in truth superior to the dull and prolix Chinese tragedy of the Orphan of the house of Chao, and to the equally vapid and wearisome, but more marvellous and intricate Indian play of Sacontala? * The prints to Humboldt's, and Norden's, and Pocock's Travels, shew a very remarkable coincidence between the statues of Peru, and the divinities of Egypt ; and that not in the wicouthness of their sculpture, which might belong equally to any barbarous nation, but in the peculiarity of the head-dress. It is, perhaps, curious to observe, that the pendant on each jside the head, which was an appendage to Isis and Osiris, the god and goddess of the sun and moon in Egypt, was the distinctive badge of the Yncas of Peru, estimated as the children of the sun and moon in South America. 54 INQUIRY ON THE Is it on the mere ground of fancy, or humour, or caprice, that we pronounce the works of Richardson and Fielding to be superior to Theagenes and Chariclea, among the Greeks ; or to Sydney's Arcadia, in more modern times? How can we know that aught but hereditary prejudice gives Virgil, Horace, or Tibullus, any superiority over Zachary Boyd, or Cowley's far-fetched conceits ; that Quintilian is superior to Aulus Gellius, or that all the classics of ancient or modern times possess more intrinsic worth than the Bellman's verses, or the Christmas carols ? What assurance can we have that the luminous pages of Tacitus and Livy, are more elegant than William of Malmsbury or Geoffrey of Monmouth ; or that the Bard and elegant Elegies of Gray, have more merit than the odd conceits of Herbert, and quaint devices of Francis Ouarles? If external perceptions were associated in a merely arbitrary man- ner ; if they, in fact, followed no established laws, and were abso- lutely destitute of any real and inherent foundation in the nature of things ; does it not stand to reason, that it must then be altogether impossible to pronounce with this determinate certainty on the beauty or deformity of any object of art or nature, on the merits or demerits of any work of taste? What pleased one eye might disgust another ; that which de- lighted one age might be irksome to the next. The stupendous effort of genius, which in one country was esteemed sublime, another might pass over as altogether insipid. What was esteemed as grace in one city, might be as justly branded with uncouthness in the next ; and what one person appreciated as wit, another would, with as much propriety, discard as dulness. On this plan, talent would both want object to work upon, hope to stimulate, and reward to crown its labours. Neither poet, musician, sculptor, or architect, could ever aspire to the honourable distinction of posthumous fame. The result of long and assiduous studies would be consumed on LAWS OF ASSOCIATION. 55 works, alike laborious and expensive in the achievement, and frail and nugatory in continuance. The individual of genius, like Rousseau and Roland, would no longer appeal to impartial posterity ; and the poet would look to encircle his brows, not with a wreath of enduring bays ; but with a transient garland of cistus, expanding its silken petals with a snow- white lustre, but whose blossom outlives not the passing day. Genius would equally want motive to stimulate, and reward to crown its exertions. And for want of that stimulus it would cease to exert itself ; and thus all that agreeable class of recreation would be cut off, which answers in human life the important end of innocent toys ; preserv- ing the unwise from degrading themselves by brutal, or absolutely evil and mischievous, or cruel amusements ; and recreating and re- freshing the powers of those truly wise persons, who use them as the relaxation of life, without ever devoting themselves to them as an end. Indeed, upon the supposition of merely arbitrary associations, there could be no such thing as either taste or genius ; because, as such associations would be wholly fortuitous, that man's taste who preferred Stephen Duck to Homer or the Davideis, or Gondibert to Milton, would be in reality exactly as just and well founded, as that of the man who held the converse. But the absurdity of this consequence plainly shews, there must be some fallacy in the position on which it is founded. Perhaps, however, it may be objected to this conclusion, that the supposed facts on which it is established are not, upon investigation, strictly true. That, in fact, different ages and different nations do not alike esteem the same works of taste. It may be urged, that the barbarous Turks destroy without re- morse the finest remains of Corinth and of Athens ; and watch, un- moved, the dilapidation of those edifices, which were the glory of the age of Pericles, and still are the admiration of our s. The Tartars pass unheeded the classic remains of Sympheropol 5 6 VARIATIONS OF ASSOCIATION. and Eupatoria; and the wild Bedouin pitches his tent without scruple amidst the collonaded vistas of Palmyra, and the desolate magnificence of Baalbec. When the hordes of Goths, Huns, and Vandals, swept like a hur- ricane the expanse of the civilized world, spreading desolation around, and thick darkness over the land ; they not only did not value, but they held in contempt the classic literature of Greece and Rome ; and we see that the same religion, under whose influence the noble but barbarous Omar commanded Amrou to destroy the intel- lectual treasure of the Alexandrian library, in less than two centu- ries after, became the depositary of the learning of mankind, bid literature, the fine arts, and the exact sciences, flourish even to the extremities of the western world ; and in the eastern empires gave birth to the munificence of Haroun al Raschid, and the wit, the elegance, the generosity and the learning of the noble but unfor- tunate Barmecides, (b) And if the difference of taste is so visible in the same nation at different periods, it is still more perceptible, it may be said, in dif- ferent nations. Bruce informs us, that at the court of Sennaar, extreme corpulence was esteemed the criterion of female beauty ; and the historian of the kingdom of Dahomay informs us, that the same taste prevailed there. The taste of our English king Henry the Eighth was exactly opposite ; and Ann of Cleves, who would have been the ornament of the Abyssinian court, was sent back disgracefully from our's. It will also probably be said, that if there is one subject on which more than another we can ascertain the taste of any nation, it is in its views of a future state. Wherever religion is not founded on the immutable standard of revelation, it is, like every other work of the imagination, founded upon the tastes of the people ; and whether such religions are im- posed by successful imposture, as in the case of Islamism, and the superstitions of Foe and Manco Capac ; or whether they gradually grow up out of the imperceptible accumulation of popular tradi- VARIATIONS OF ASSOCIATIONS. 57 tions and superstitions, still, in either case, the same causes will operate. Wherever a heaven is invented, it will be invented ac- cording to the taste of those who propose to themselves to become its inhabitants. Yet so far from finding any accordance in the taste of different nations on these points ; points, where no stubborn realities, as in the material world, can arise to check the scope of fancy, we find a direct contradiction in their views. What, for example,, can be more diametrically opposite than the heaven which the Scandinavians proposed to their heroes in the pa- lace of Valhalla, and that which Mahomet held out as a lure to the proselytes of Islamism. " Those only whose blood has been shed in battle," say the northern mythologists, ' r can ever arrive at the pleasures Odin pre- pares for them in Valhalla. The heroes," says the Edda, " who are received into the palace of Odin, have the delight every day of arm- ing themselves, of passing in review, of ranging themselves in order of battle, and of cutting one another all to pieces ; yet no sooner does the hour of repast arrive, than they return on horseback safe and sound back to the hall of Odin, and all fall to eating and drinking with all their might and main. Though the number of them cannot be counted, the flesh of the boar Serimner is sufficient for them all. Every day it is served up at table, and every day it is renewed again entire ; for though this wild boar is eaten every morning, at night it all becomes entire. The cook Andrimner dresses this wild boar incessantly in his pot, and the heroes are fed with the lard of this animal ; their beverage is mead and beer, for the universal father is not so foolish as to invite kings, chiefs, and great lords, and to give them nothing but water ; indeed their honor would cost them dear, were they to meet with no better entertain- ment ; but there is one she-goat, whose milk is excellent mead, who furnishes it in such abundance, that it every day completely fills a vast pitcher, which is large enough to inebriate all the heroes. Their cups are the skulls of the enemies they have slain; after 58 VARIATION OF ASSOCIATIONS. which they take their arms and steeds again, and fight till they have cut each other all to pieces by way of diversion." — Vide Edda, 20th Fable, and Edda Icelandic Mythology, 31, 33, 34, 35 ; also Maillet, vol. i. page 119, 120; vol. ii. page 105, 106. Such was the heaven of our Scandinavian forefathers ; widely diiferent was that of the impious king Shedad and his fabled gardens of Irani ; and widely different the Paradise which the impostor Ma- homet promised to his deluded followers. " Those that have the fear of God before their eyes will rest in perfumed gardens, adorned with wide-spreading trees, shadowing them with their refreshing verdure, and cooled by limpid streams and bubbling fountains, with abundance of all sorts of fruit. They shall recline on splendid couches, lined with crimson, and suck as much fruit as they please. Deep mossy turf and fresh green grass shall adorn the lawns ; rivers shall wind their course through them ; and dates, pomegranates, and all sorts of fruits shall hang within their reach." — Koran, chapter of the Merciful, written at Medina, containing 18 verses. And again, " There will be many in the first ages, and few in the latter, occu- pying the highest seats in heaven. They will lean on couches adorned with gold and precious stones ; young and beautiful chil- dren will wait on them, continually supplying them with vases, cups, and goblets, full of the most delicious cooling beverage, which shall neither produce head-ache or intoxication ; they shall rest under the shade of a fragrant apple-tree without thorns, and near the tree Musa, by a running stream, bordered by delicious fruits, and reclining on downy couches. When the good man dies, he shall enjoy all the delights of Paradise." — Koran, chapter of the Judgment, containing 99 verses, written at Medina. Such are a few among the numerous examples which might be adduced to support the opinion, that associations of taste are merely arbitrary ; but upon a farther examination, this conclusion will by no means appear so decisively proved by them. CAUSE OF THESE VARIETIES. 59 For it will appear upon investigation, that although there is in these instances a direct opposition in the degree of estimation the very same thing possessed in different centuries, yet this difference of estimation did not arise from a doubt whether that class of per- ceptions was really associated with the same qualities to which it had been attributed, but from a contempt of those very qualities altogether. The Cham of Tartary and the Grand Sultan do not despise the remains of Athens, or Eupatoria, because they think those remains contrary to good taste, but because they despise taste altogether, and do not think about it at all. The Goths, the Huns, and the Vandals, did not despise Roman and Grecian literature, in order to establish a new one of their own upon opposite principles ; but, as St. Augustine tells us in his book " De Civitate Dei" they valued none but martial qualities, and they altogether despised every literature, because literary pursuits being connected with sedentary habits and pacific dispositions, inspired tastes contrary to the habits of violence, rapine, and bloodshed, by which they were at that period extending their empire ; and when Omar commanded the destruction of the Alexandrian library, we do not find that he entered into any dispute with John the grammarian as to its literary merit, but we are expressly told that he thought all literature superfluous. And, with the assistance of Mr. Malthus, we may find it easy to reconcile the contradictions of the courts of Henry Vlllth, and those of Dahomay and Sennaar, respecting female beauty. In every country and age the supply of necessities is sought before the gratification of luxuries : nor is the latter pursued till the pressure of the former is relieved. And, under eveiy circumstance, that external sign which is associated with what supplies our want always gives pleasure ; for we set out with defining beauty to be those external perceptions which are associated with agreeable tastes. Now, in a barbarous country, without agriculture and without: 60 CAUSE OF THESE VARIETIES. security, that which is associated with the supply of bodily wants, gives the most pleasure. And if we revert to the miserable Cah Brogal of the New Hollanders, or the wretched state of the savages of Hudson's Bay, it cannot be difficult to account, why in every savage country the appearance of being raised above want must form the chief part of beauty. Where the bulk of the people must starve, the appearance of plenty is connected with ideas of wealth, rank, power, superiority, and comfort. Hence in savage countries corpulent persons are esteemed beauti- ful, on the same principle as the old proverb, " parmi les aveugles les borgnes sont Rois." In a civilized country the exact converse takes place. Corporeal wants being supplied, their pressure is removed, and mental wants spring up. Hence another object being sought, another standard of beauty arises. Those associations, which merely mark the power of animal in- dulgence, become vulgar ; and those associations which mark men- tal affluence, acquire greater influence. Hence in a country where there is neither food or security, the appearance of enjoying much food and much rest is beautiful ; but in a country where these things abound, they are connected with ideas of brutal degradation and sloth ; and the standard of beauty requires that corporeal appearance which is generally connected with activity of body, and of mind, and intelligence. With respect to the Scandinavian and Mohammedan elysium, the same principles still operate. The followers of the Koran and the Edda do not mutually con- tend, that the opposite class of perceptions they have selected, are associated with the same internal quality with which the external perceptions they describe, are regularly and not arbitrarily asso- ciated. The Mohammedan will never pretend that heroism is the quality CAUSE OF THESE VARIETIES. 61 associated with his heaven; nor will the Scandinavian imagine luxurious sloth to be associated with his. But the Mohammedan being the inhabitant of a hot climate, where rest and refreshment become necessary, forms his heaven by the external associations which are inherently connected with luxu- rious indolence. And the Scandinavian, living in a cold climate, where violent exercise is necessary, he forms his heaven of those associations which are also inherently connected with boldness, activity, and the intem- perance which is the abuse connected with it. Hence these examples, with the multitude of others which might be adduced, do not prove that different ages and different nations, form wholly opposite conclusions as to the associations of the same perceptions with the same qualities, and therefore, that these associa- tions are altogether arbitrary. They only prove, that different ages and different nations, according to their several necessities and circumstances, acquire a taste for different species of beauty ; and that at different periods of their existence they require the assistance of very different qualities. Insomuch, that a quality on which their very existence may de- pend at one time, may be wholly superfluous at another. And that class of perceptions will always be to each nation the standard of beauty, which is associated with the peculiar quality then in most request. When a people in early infancy are struggling for an independent existence amongst nations, a military and heroic genius is most useful to it, and the refinements of literature, or the fine arts, would be impertinent : of course, associations with the former are esteem^ ed, whilst, at the same period, those of the latter are under- valued. When, on the contrary, a people are established in habits of tranquillity and civilization, the barbarous and rude arts of aggres- sion and self-defence are no longer wanted ; they, therefore, compa- ratively, sink in value; and the habits which give variety and 62 RESULTS. interest to dtsmesdac enjoyment, or to social intercourse, rise into public estimation. And upon this principle only, all those varieties of taste may be fully accounted for, which have been hitherto described as taking place amongst different nations, or the same nation, at different periods. It appears, therefore, that in order truly to determine whether perceptions of taste are arbitrarily or inherently associated, the question should be asked, not whether classic elegance will be ap- preciated in a succeeding barbarous age, but whether the same authors, which are esteemed in the civilized period of one country, also retain their classical authority in the Augustan age of literature, in every succeeding country which attains literary distinction. The question is not whether Pindar, Anacreon, or Homer, were esteemed by the Huns and Vandals, who had no literature; but whether Homer or Virgil hold the same high rank, since the revival of literature among the civilized nations of modern Europe, as they held during the corresponding age of civilization in their own country? The question is not whether the same set of perceptions are equally esteemed by a variety of nations, or in a variety of periods, which wholly differ from each other in their value for those qualities with which they are associated, but whether two nations, or two centuries, equally esteeming the very same qualities, would express that quality by a similar, or by an opposite species of perception? If this be denied, it must be difficult, if not impossible, to ac- count for the permanent reputation which certain works of taste have maintained during the lapse of ages, the revolutions of empires, and the submersion of nations. It will be an inexplicable phenomenon, that although the incur- sions of barbarians may have so often diverted the public mind out of the channel of literature, and that for centuries ; yet no sooner has civilization revived, than the same specimens of the fine arts have been immediately restored to their rank, have recovered their influence, and been universally resorted to as standards. RESULTS. 63 And this effect has not been confined to a solitary instance, but has regularly taken place in a long succession of nations, differing not only in local habits and prejudices, but in government and' in religion. Such are the poetry, sculpture, and architecture of Greece and Rome. In every age and nation in which the fine arts have flourished, these great works have been not only admired, but cited as models of good taste. In every period of civilization, the luminous page of Tacitus will be preferred to the legends of William of Malmsbury, to the relator of the achievements of the battle of Agincourt, (c) or of the virtues of the admirable Crichton, (d) and the quaint historian of the lamentations at the funeral of Elizabeth.* The dark radiance which shoots its baleful influence from the deleterious pages of many modern infidel authors are in better taste, and, consequently, had more extensively disseminated their evils during the brief day which falsehood lives, than the ill-decked, uncouth absurdities in the Rabbinical fables of the Mishna and Gemara. So the centaurs, fawns, and other elegant chimeras of the Grecian mythology, were so tastefully combined, as to impose a transient delusion ; whilst the uncouth and ill-assorted monsters exhibited in the gardens of a celebrated Sicilian prince, t stare every one in the face with their glaring absurdity and inconsistent incongruity. From all these considerations it appears, that in many instances, there must necessarily be an inherent or universal association between certain genera of perceptions and certain qualities, since when these perceptions, are no longer esteemed, it always occurs at a period when the qualities with which they are connected are no longer valued ; and as soon as a period of civilization recurs in which these qualities, recover their rank in the public esteem, that genus of percep- * Vide Walpole's works. f See. Brydone's Tour to Sicily and Malta. 64 ARBITRARY ASSOCIATIONS. tion which was before associated with it, uniformly also regains its value. We may therefore in all safety conclude, that Athalie and Esther are in truth superior to the old moralities, in which Noah sends his wife into the ark by a box on the ear ; that it is not an unfounded prejudice to prefer Milton's Paradise Lost to the original masque, representing Satan celebrating the fall of man by dancing a cotillion with the seven deadly sins ; * and that it is not the mere caprice of the nineteenth century, that gives to the readings of Mrs. Siddons the palm over the grotesque amusements of the great, but semi-bar- barous legislator, Peter the First, (e) But although associations are certainly inherent and immutable in a great multitude of instances, there are yet perhaps some which do not appear to follow this rule. If associations be assumed to be in no instances arbitrary, it may justly be asked, why then is it, that in many nations, and in many periods so immediately contiguous, that nearly the same degree of civilization must be supposed to prevail, do we yet find that they have proverbially, in many instances at least, wholly different tastes? We cannot suppose any violent degree of difference in the civili- zation of good society within the last hundred years. We can scarcely imagine, that that society which appreciated the wit of Swift, Addison, Pope, and Lady Mary Wortley Montague, which includes in its period Chesterfield and Garrick, can be much inferior in civilization and culture, to that which at present, whilst it relishes the beauties of so many excellent modern authors, does not yet fully appreciate the force and genius of one of the first dra- matic writers that has ever adorned our country. Nevertheless, within that period a decided revolution in taste has taken place. The gorgeous magnificence of our forefathers, their courtly man- ners, the lofty dignity and politeness, which was perhaps the last * Vide Delandine Dictionnaire Historique, article Milton. VARIATIONS OF TASTE. 63 vanishing tint which lingered on the taste, after the destruction of feudal aristocracy from our policy, and Catholicism from our altars, is wholly opposite to that spirit of independence and insubjection, the rise and fall of which, the brief period of a few years has witnes- sed. And the manners described in Richardson's Sir Charles Gran- dison as those of young persons, now appear as overstrained and precise, as those portrayed in Mr. Bage's Hermsprong may in some future age appear coarse, proud, uncultured, and harshly inattentive to the feeling of others. It is impossible to suppose the French court, under the splendid reign of Louis the XlVth, to be much less civilized than it is at pre- sent. That epocha in the annals of France which produced the brilliant society, stimulated by the wit of Montespan, (la langue de Mortemart) adorned by the grace of Sevigne and Coulanges, and the imagination of Longueville ; which boasted the bright constellation of virtues of the Dukes and Duchess of Beauvilliers and Chevreuse, the admirable Duke and the engaging Duchess of Burgundy, and superior to all, Fenelon, raised above them all alike in piety, genius, taste, and politeness, can never surely be thought inferior to that which has bestowed upon the world the strength and talents of Roland, of Genlis, and of Stael. Yet how totally distinct are the tastes which characterize these two almost contiguous periods. How opposite are the productions of Mademoiselle Scuderi and Madame de Stael ; and how widely asunder must have been the tastes of the two centuries, which suc- cessively relished Clelie and Corinne ! Or let us compare the Chinese, who have long remained in undis- turbed possession of their claims of being the earliest civilized nation of the world, with the French, who have also, by tacit consent, been allowed to be the most polished nation of Europe. The elegant and accomplished Corinne, who is supposed sur- rounded by admiring multitudes to receive the crown of genius at the Capitol, would be looked upon with equal astonishment and K 66 VARIATIONS OF TASTE. abhorrence by the Chinese heroine Shuey Ping Sing, * who thought it necessary to hang up a mother-of-pearl curtain across her parlour, to conceal herself from her lover Tieh Chung U ; and who only allowed herself the privilege of seeing him, by the dexterous artifice of placing the lights on his side the curtain, whilst she herself re- mained in perfect darkness. In that period in which the low flat arch of Henry the Vllth's time was by an easy transition converted into an architrave, and Grecian succeeded to the exploded Gothic style of architecture ; Sir Christopher Wren and Mr. Evelyn, whose good taste however cannot be doubted, do not scruple to condemn the most stupendous archi- tectural piles, raised by the piety and genius of our forefathers, as " a certain fantastical and licentious mode of building, since called modern Gothic, congestions of heavy, dark, melancholy monkish piles, without any just proportion, use, or beauty." — {Wren's Paren- talia, page 308). Nevertheless, scarcely has the revolution of a single century been completed, before the Grecian structure of St. Paul's has been branded by some as fitter for a Pagan temple. The public taste has again returned to our ancient castellated or eccle- siastical edifices. And, probably, some future age may think, that if the colossal Corinthian pile of St. Paul's, and the exquisitely adorned interior of the chapel in Wardour Castle, deservedly rank very high among the architectural productions of the last age; the magnificent Gothic fabric of Fonthill Abbey, and the light and elegant one of the chapel at Cossey Hall, the seat of the Baronet family of Jerningham, certainly do no less honor to the genius and taste of the present. At the present period, not only the conviction, but the habitual imagination of ghosts, apparitions, second sight, &c. is so far exploded, that the famous story of Mrs. Veal, or the more celebrated Irish one of Lord T , would only excite a smile ; yet but a short period * See Hau Kiou Koan, or The Pleasing History, a translation from a very curious original Chinese romance. VARIATIONS OF TASTE. 67 comparatively is elapsed, since the supernatural discovery of a mur- der was recorded among the judicial proceedings of our courts. (Har- grave's State Trials, vol. x. Appendix, page 29) (f). And since, the great name of Wren, distinguished alike by philosophy, taste, and piety, sanctions another miraculous discovery of the same sort (f), a second sight revelation of the battle of Worcester, and supernatural information of remedies in two cases of illness. (See Wrens Paren- talia, pages 145 and 348.) Twenty years ago they formed the groundwork of a variety of works of imagination, and we can scarcely avoid regretting that the taste should be so completely obliterated, to which we are indebted for some productions which deserve a place among the classical works of British and of female genius ; although they have been suc- ceeded by the more useful, and therefore perhaps correct taste, which paiots the varieties of human character, or national peculiarities of manners. On considering these examples, (and a much greater variety might be introduced, were the ephemeral fashions of the day resorted to,) it should seem that in these instances at least, the same epocha of civilization, is often characterized by very different, if not opposite tastes. And on this ground we must be led to the conclusion, that if tastes do thus vary, associations of beauty must in some cases be arbitrary, and become dependant on the occurrence of fortuitous circumstances and incidents. But from the former set of examples previously adduced, it appeared that many tastes on the other hand were founded upon inherent associations. In order then to reconcile these discrepancies between two con- clusions, which at first sight appear in diametrical contradiction to each other, it will be necessary to examine more particularly into the different grounds, which may serve as the basis to various de- scriptions of associations. k 2, 68 Additional Notes to Chapter II. Part II. (a) CHINESE GARDENING. We are told by Father Attiret, that in one of the imperial gardens near Pekin, called Yven Ming Yven, there are, besides the palace, which is of itself a city, four hundred pavilions, all so different in their architecture, that each seems the production of a different country. He mentions one of them that cost upwards of two hundred thousand pounds, exclusive of the furni- ture 5 another consisting of a hundred rooms ; and says that most of them are sufficiently capacious to lodge the greatest European lord, and his whole retinue. There is likewise in the same garden a fortified town, with its ports, streets, public squares, temples, markets, shops, and tribunals of justice; in short, with every thing that is at Pekin, only upon a smaller scale. In this town the Emperors of China, who are too much the slaves of their greatness to appear in public, and their women, who are excluded from it by custom, are frequently diverted with the hurry and bustle of the capital, which is there represented, several times in the year, by the eunuchs of the palace : some of them personating merchants, others artists, artificers, offi- cers, soldiers, shop-keepers, porters, and even thieves and pick-pockets. On the appointed day each puts on the habit of his profession ; the ships arrive at the port, the shops are opened, and the goods are offered for sale ; tea- houses, taverns, and inns are ready for the reception of company ; fruits and all sorts of refreshments are cried about the streets ; the shop-keepers tease the passengers to purchase their merchandize, and every liberty is permitted : there is no distinction of persons; even the Emperor is confounded in the crowd. Quarrels happen, battles ensue, the watch seizes upon the combat- ants, they are conveyed before the judge, he examines the dispute and con- demns the culprit, who is sometimes severely bastinadoed, to divert his imperial majesty and the ladies of his train. Neither are sharpers forgot in these festivals; that noble profession is generally allotted to a good number of the most dexterous eunuchs, who, like the Spartan youths of old, are punished or applauded according to the merit of their exploits. Their scenes of terror are composed of gloomy woods, deep vallies, inac- cessible to the sun, impending barren rocks, dark caverns, and impetuous cataracts rushing down the mountains from all parts. The trees are ill formed, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. forced out of their natural direction, and seemingly torn to pieces by the violence of tempests ; some are thrown down, and interrupt the course of the torrents ; others look as if blasted and shattered by the power of lightning : the buildings are in ruins, or half consumed by fire, or swept away by the fury of the waters, nothing remaining entire but a few miserable huts dis- persed in the mountains, which serve at once to indicate the existence and wretchedness of the inhabitants. Bats, owls, vultures, and every bird of prey flutter in the groves ; wolves, tigers, and jackals howl in the forests ; half famished animals wander upon the plains ; gibbets, crosses, wheels, and the whole apparatus of torture are seen from the roads, and in the most dismal recesses of the woods, where the ways are rugged and overgrown with poi- sonous weeds; and where every object bears the marks of depopulation, are temples dedicated to the king of vengeance, deep caverns in the rocks, and descents to gloomy subterraneous habitations, overgrown with brushwood and brambles ; near which are inscribed, on pillars of stone, pathetic de- scriptions of tragical events, and many horrid acts of cruelty, perpetrated there by outlaws and robbers of former times : and to add both to the horror and sublimity of these scenes, they sometimes conceal, in cavities, on the summits of the highest mountains, founderies, lime-kilns, and glass works, which send forth large volumes of flames and continued clouds of thick smoke, that give to these mountains the appearance of volcanoes. Their surprizing or supernatural scenes are of the romantic kind, and abound in the marvellous, being calculated to excite in the mind of the spectator, quick successions of opposite and violent sensations. Sometimes the passenger is hurried by steep descending paths to subterraneous vaults, divided into stately apartments; where lamps, which yield a faint glimmering light, discover the pale images of ancient kings and heroes, reclining on beds of state, their heads are crowned with garlands of stars, and in their hands are tablets of moral sentences: flutes, and soft harmonious organs, impelled by subterraneous waters, interrupt at stated intervals the silence of the place, and fill the air with solemn sacred melody. Sometimes the traveller, after having wandered in the dusk of the forest, finds himself on the edge of precipices, in the glare of day-light, with cata- racts falling from the mountains around, and torrents raging in the depths beneath him ; or at the foot of impending rocks in gloomy vallies, overhung with woods; or on the banks of dull moving rivers, whose shores are covered with sepulchral monuments, under the shade of willow, laurel, and other plants, sacred to Manchew, the genius of sorrow. 70 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. His way now lies through dark passages cut in the rocks, on the sides of which are recesses, filled with colossal figures of dragons, infernal furies, and other horrid forms, which hold in their monstrous talons mysterious caba- listical sentences, inscribed on tables of brass, with preparations that yield a constant flame, serving at once to guide and astonish the passenger. From time to time he is surprised with repeated shocks of electrical impulse, with showers of artificial rain, or sudden violent gusts of wind, and instantaneous explosions of fire; the earth trembles under him, by the power of confined air, and his ears are successively struck with many different sounds, produced by the same means; some resembling the cries of men in torment, some the roaring of bulls and howl of ferocious animals, with the yell of hounds, and the voices of hunters ; others are like the mixed croaking of ravenous birds ; and others imitate thunder, the raging of the sea, the explosion of cannon^ the sound of trumpets, and all the noise of war. Air is likewise employed with great success on different occasions, not only for the purposes above mentioned, but also to form artificial and com- plicated echoes; some repeating the motion of the feet, some the rustling of garments, and others the human voices in many different tones : all which are calculated to embarrass, to surprize, or to terrify the passenger on his progress. All sorts of optical deceptions are also made use of; such as painting on prepared surfaces, contrived to vary the representations as often as the spec- tators change place, exhibiting in one view groups of men ; in another, com- bats of animals; in a third, rocks> cascades, trees and mountains; in a fourth, temples and colonades ; with a variety of other pleasing subjects. They likewise contrive pavements and incrustations for the walls of their apart- ments, of mosaic work, composed of many pieces of marble, seemingly thrown together without order or design, which, when seen from certain points of view, unite in forming lively and exact representations of men, animals, buildings, and landscapes ; and they frequently have pieces of archi- tecture, even whole prospects in perspective, which are formed by introdu- cing temples, bridges, vessels, and other fixed objects, lessening as they are more removed from the points of view, by giving greyish tints to the distant parts of the composition, and by planting there trees of a fainter colour and smaller growth, than those that stand in the fore-ground ; thus rendering considerable in appearance what in reality is trifling. The Chinese artists employ in these enchanting scenes the vendezhang, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 71 the ever-moving poplar, the pau-Iu, with all kinds of sensitive and other extraordinary trees, plants, and flowers. They keep in them a surprizing variety of monstrous birds, reptiles, and animals, which they import from distant countries, or obtain by crossing the breeds. These are tamed by art, and guarded by enormous dogs of Tibet, monstrous dwarfs, and African giants, in the habits of Eastern magicians^ The pau-lu is a tree very common in Bengal, and some parts of China, to which the large Indian bats have a particular attachment, insomuch, that during day-light, they almost cover its branches, hanging upon them in clusters like fruit. They also introduce in their lakes artificial rocks, built of a particular fine coloured stone, found on the sea-coasts of China, and designed with much taste. These are pierced with many openings, through which you discover distant prospects : they have in them caverns for the reception of tortoises, crocodiles, enormous water serpents, and other monsters ; with cages for rare aquatic birds, and grottoes divided into many shining apartments, adorned with marine productions, and gems of various sorts. They plant upon these rocks all kinds of grass, creepers, and shrubs, which thrive in such situations, as moss, ground-ivy, fern, stone-crop, common house-leek, and various other sorts of the sedum, crane's-bill, dwarf-box, rock-roses, and broom, with some trees rooted into the crevices; and they place on their summits, hermitages and idol temples, to which you ascend by many rugged, winding steps cut in the rock. But far the most extraordinary as well as the most pleasing of their aqua- tic constructions, are the Hoie-ta, or submerged habitations, consisting of many galleries, cabinets, and spacious halls, built entirely under water ; their walls are decorated with beautiful shells, corals, and sea-plants of all sorts, formed into many singular shapes, and sunk into various irregular recesses ; in which are placed in due order, Fung-shang, god of the winds, Bong-hoy, monarch of the sea, Shu-kong, king of the waters, with all the inferior pow- ers of the deep. The pavements are laid in compartments of jasper, agate, and madrepores of Hay-nang, of many extraordinary kinds: the ceilings are entirely of glass, which admits the light through the medium of the water, that rises several feet above the summits of these structures. The glass is of various bright colors, very strong; and the different pieces artfully joined, to resist the pressure of the fluid with which they are loaded. The use of these habitations is the same as that of the Mias-ting before described; they are ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. resorted to, in very hot weather, to feast and to enjoy; and it is singularly entertaining, in the intervals of pleasure, to observe, through the crystal ceilings, the agitation of the waters, the passage of vessels, and sports of fowls and fishes that swim over the spectators' heads.— Sir William Chambers on Oriental Gardening, published London, 1773, by Griffin, pp. 35, 36, 37, and 40, 41, 42, 43, 45, 46, 47, and 72, 73, 74. (b). HAROUN AL RASCHID AND JAFFIER. To those of our readers who recollect the amusement they formerly de- rived from the Arabian Nights, it may perhaps afford entertainment to have a sketch of the private life of their old friend, the Khaliffe Haroun al Raschid, and of his celebrated Vizier, Giafar, or rather Jafiier. Haroun al Raschid was contemporary with Charlemagne, and with the English Alfred ; and was the fifth Khaliffe of the dynasty of the Abbassides. This celebrated dynasty took its rise from Abbas, son of Abdolmothleb, who was both the ancestor of the dynasty, and uncle to the impostor Maho- met. Abbas, who was highly renowned for his military talents, at first declared war against his nephew, whom he considered both as an impostor and a traitor to his country; but having been conquered by him, and taken captive in the battle of Beder, which took place in the second year of the Hegira, his nephew demanded of him a very high ransom. Abbas imme- diately complained; saying, "Do you think it reasonable to reduce your uncle to a shameful poverty, and to compel him, to the disgrace of your own family, to beg his bread from door to door?" Mahomet, who had received information that Abbas possessed concealed treasures, replied, « What, then, have you done with those bags of gold you entrusted to the care of your mother, on leaving Mecca?" Abbas, much surprised to find his secret discovered, began to entertain an higher opinion of his nephew, and not only paid the ransom, but became one of the most renowned cham- pions of Islamism, distinguishing himself alike in its defence, both in the field of military and of polemic contest. Nay, so well satisfied was he with his conversion, that he publicly declared, some years afterwards, « that God, to reward it, had restored him the money an hundred fold." Abbas afterwards became one of the principal commanders under Ma- homet, and was with him in the celebrated battle of Honain, which was fought against the Thakefites, in the eighth year of the Hegira, after the cap- ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. Is tare of Mecca. Mahomet in this engagement was in the most imminent danger of losing his life; when Abbas, with a loud voice, recalled his fleeing troops, in the following words : " Wherefore do ye flee, O servants of the Most High ! Know ye not that his Prophet is in the midst of you ? O you amongst whom the acacia grows, to screen your dwellings, to adorn your gardens, and to feed your camels ; you are the faithful people of whom it is written; to you belong the promises of God." The voice of Abbas was so powerful, that the fugitive troops stopped, as though electrified; and, returning to the charge, disengaged their Prophet, who was at that moment surrounded by his enemies. But Abbas was not only celebrated as the military, but as the polemic champion of Islamism. He is celebrated as one of the first doctors of the Mahometan law; and he was especially useful to Mahomet, by the skill and address with which he was ever ready to apply some verse of the Koran, to serve the exigency of the moment. He also preserved to the Mahometan church a very large collection of apophthegms and legends, which are gene- rally received by the disciples of Islamism for prophetical traditions. The more lax sects, however, look upon them as apocryphal. In the science of polemics, great as was the celebrity of Abbas, he was much exceeded by his son, Ebn Abbas ; and his grandson, Ebn Abbas Abdallah, is one of the most considerable of all the Mahometan doctors, and is one of the highest in the rank called, by way of distinction, Sahabah, or companions of the prophets. His authority is esteemed the very first in all traditions; and well it may be, since it is said, the angel Gabriel appeared to him at ten years' old, and gave him a thorough insight both into them and the true meaning of the Koran, whence he is called Interpreter of the Koran. On all these accounts, it is no wonder that Abbas and his family were always held in the highest veneration among the Mahometans. The Khaliffes, Omar and Othman, never passed him on horseback without putting the foot to the ground to salute him. Abbas himself died in the 32d year of the Hegira; and one hundred years after his death, Abul Abbas, surnamed Saffah, one of his descendants, was proclaimed Khaliffe, and began the dynasty of the Abbassides, who possessed the Khaliffat, in uninterrupted succession, for the space of five hundred and twenty-four years. There were thirty-seven Khaliffes of this family, who immediately succeeded each other. It was in the hundredth year of the Hegira, and under the Khaliffat of L ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. Omar the Second, that Mahomet, the son of Ali, Grandson of Abdallah, and great grandson of Abbas, first began to publish his pretensions to the Khaliffat, on the ground of the proximity of the blood of the Abbassides to that of Mahomet; whereas the Ommiade Khaliffes were noways related to him. His cause was maintained by several of the nobles of the empire, who appointed twelve agents, chosen in the province of Chorasan and elsewhere, to traverse every part of the immense dominions of the Khaliffat, and stir up a revolt in favour of the Abbassides, and against the Ommiades. These persons everywhere disseminated the principles of disaffection. They declared that the Abbassides were alone the true representatives of the Pro- phet, because both were descended from one common ancestor; and that the Ommiades were usurpers of that empire, which ought to be hereditary in their family, which was that of their legislator, prince, and prophet. Nor had the Alians, or descendants of Ali (whence afterwards sprung the Fatimite Khaliffes), any nearer claim, except that Ali, their founder, had married Fatima, the daughter of Mahomet. In these pretensions the family of Abbas were successful ; and they began by exterminating the whole of the race of the Ommiades that fell into their hands; and the whole lineage would have become entirely extinct, had not Abdalrahman Ben Moaviah escaped into Spain, where he became the head of the dynasty of Spanish Ommiad Khaliffes, which began in the year 139 of the Hegira, under the reign of Al Mansor, second Khaliffe of the Abbas- sides, and lasted for two hundred and eighty-five years, to the year 424 of the Hegira. The Ommiades had reigned in Arabia and Syria, at the time of their dis- possession by the Abbassides ninety-one years ; and are termed by them and the Alians, the Pharaohs, or tyrants of the house of Ommiah. Perhaps, however, the reader may not form a much more favorable idea of the Abbassides, on learning, that immediately upon their accession, Abdallah, the uncle of the first Khaliffe, assembled eighty of the heads of the principal Ommian families, to whom he had given quarter; and had them all knocked on the head, by persons armed with heavy wooden clubs, placed for that purpose among them ; after which their bodies, yet breath- ing, were covered with the richest carpets, on which he gave a splendid banquet to all the officers of his army; so that these rejoicings took place in the midst of the dying groans of these miserable victims of his cruelty. Nor was the ferocity of Abdallah contented with this dreadful execution. He opened the sepulchres of all the Khaliffes of this race, with the single ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. exception of Omar Ben Abdalaziz, and exposed their bodies on gibbets 5 after which they were dragged through the public streets, and scattered to the winds. As the Abbassides treated the Ommiades as usurpers, so the latter were not at all backward in returning the compliment ; and though not Avith the same success, they yet frequently, during the long domination of the Ab- bassides, gained a party sufficiently powerful to stimulate frequent and most dangerous revolts. The race of the Abbassides was so prolific, that in the year of the Hegira 200, under the Khaliffat of Al Mamon, the total number of this lineage, including male and female, amounted to thirty-three thousand. Neverthe- less, although this race reigned for five hundred and twenty-three years, Egypt, in the S28th year of the Hegira, refused to recognize their authority, when Moez, the Fatimite, was there proclaimed Khaliffe, on the pretension of being the descendant of Ali, by Fatima, daughter of Mahomet; probably, however, this genealogy was not capable of being very accurately made out; for it was at the time much disputed ; and Thabatheba having one day, to insult Moez, asked him in public, from what branch of the Alians he traced his descent, the new Khaliffe, fiercely drew his sword, and brandishing it in his eye, replied, " Behold my pedigree !" then throwing handsful of gold among the surrounding soldiery, he exclaimed, " These are my family." The dynasty of the Fatimites continued in Egypt, till that of the Abas- sides was again proclaimed by Saladin the Great, who took possession of all the treasures of the Fatimite Khaliffes, which were at that time immense, owing to Egypt being the emporium of all the wealth of the Indies. Ebn Athir says, that amongst other immense treasures was found one ruby alone, which weighed seventeen Arabian drachms ; that is, near an ounce and an half. The intellectual treasures collected by these Khaliffes were no less valuable. The learned author of the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria describes the treasures of this dynasty of princes in the following terms : " Gaza regia potitus Salaheddinus, earn, ut erat liberalissimus, omnem distribuit, aut ad Noraddinum misit. Erat autem ingeno rerum omnium copia, aulae- orum, peristromatum, vestium generis omnis, vasa ex auro argentoque in- numera, chrystallina item et murrhina seu porcellanse non minoris pretii : gemmee, uniones : smaragdus palmi et dimidii longitudine; rubinorum majorumque drachmarum iEgyptiacarum septemdecim pondus asquabant, linea: unio insignis ovi columbini magnitudine. Tandem quod non minoris h 2 7G ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. asstimabatur, bibliotheca voluminum centum mille, elegantissime scripto- rum et compactorum, qua) doctoribus literatisque distribuenda curavit. Non merabitur tantum librorum multitudinem qui sciet extare apud Muha- medanos infinitam eorum copiam. Primum locum obtinent theologi qui al Koranum interpretati sunt, magno numero : turn qui traditiones explicave- runt, plures adhuc : juris et legum interpretes, philologi, grammatici, critici, poetas, praster philosophos, medicos, historicos ; aliosque, qui sub certis clas- sibus comprehendi non possunt. Sola Hadgi Calfaa qui ante paucos annos Constantinopole vivebat bibliotheca, quadraginta et amplius millia titulorum complectitur, quorum librorum plerique non uno volumine comprehen- duntur, tamen antiquos multos non habet, quorum in aliis libris memoria est : de Africanis scriptoribus quorum ingenia feracissima fuerunt, nihil ferme scribit de Christianis plane silet : philosophorum, mathematicorum, et astronomorum paucos omnino recensit. Ita non difficile fuit colligi a Fatimidis principibus, tot voluminum bibliothecam : cum ante annos cir- citer ducentos, ut legimus, apud Ebn Calican Ismael quidam Abul Casern incusaverit se quod libros suos transferre vix posset, quibus deferendis qua- dringenti cameli vix sufficerent. — (Historia Patriarcharum Alexandrinorum Jacob it arum A.D. Marco usque ad Finem Sacidi 13; cum Catalogo sequentium Patriarcharum, et collectaneis Historicis ad idtima Tempora spectantibus. Inse- runtur midta ad Res Ecclesiasticas Jacobitarum Patriarchates Antiocheni, JEthiopia, Nubia, et Armenia pertinentia. Accedit epitome Historia Mahume- daneo ad illustrandas Res Mgyptiacas omnia collecta ex Autoribus, Arabicis Severo episcopo Aschmonina, Michaele episcopo Taneos, Epham Jilio Zaraa, Abulbircat, et aliis anonymis : turn ex editis Eutychio, Elmacino, Abulfaragio, Chevnico ; Orientali diversisque Historia Mahumedana Arabicis et Persicis. Parisiis, 1713, en kto. pages 536-537. J At length, however, the power of the family of the Abbassides was com- pletely crushed by the Tartars in 656 ; though they still retained some shadow of authority in Egypt, through the interest of the Mameluke, Sultan Bibars. The history of these Egyptian Abbasside Khaliffes has been written by Diarbecri in his Chronicle, entitled, Al Khamisi. The dynasty of the Abbassides was equally celebrated for the extent of its domination (which included Spain and Morocco on the west, to beyond Persia and Syria in the east), the greatness of its wealth, and its military exploits; but it was above all celebrated for its learning, in which they ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 77 were widely different from the family of the Ommiades, their predecessors, who were as remarkable for ignorance. The literary and scientific tastes of this illustrious dynasty may probably be ascribed to the three following causes : the family of Abbas having origi- nally acquired studious habits, by being expositors of the Mahometan law, and by the necessity of exerting skill in making that interpretation which might best suit the ambition of their founder; and, secondly, the conquest of Egypt poured in upon them a flood of intellectual light, which their fre- quent intercourse and proximity to the Greeks taught them how to ap- preciate. Having given this brief account of the Abbasside dynasty, we now come to Haroun, surnamed Al Raschid, or the Just, who was the fifth Khaliffe of this race. This great prince was born under auspices peculiarly favourable, both to his intellectual and moral character; nor was he destitute of the advantage of being taught in the school of adversity, before he came to the throne. His grandfather, the Khaliffe AlMansor, the second of the race of theAb- bassides, though of a very severe and avaricious temper, was a man of strong powers of mind, and who himself both possessed and patronized learning. His tutor, the celebrated Vizir, Jahia ben Khaled al Barmeki, was a man not only of high family, being descended from the ancient kings of Persia, but of consummate prudence, of inflexible integrity, and the most princely and munificent liberality. His sons, too, Fahdell, Mahomet, Musa, and Jaffier, (afterwards so celebrated under the name of Giafar), were equally honourable and distinguished for probity with himself, and were Haroun's early companions. But what, above all, was advantageous to Haroun, was the wisdom, the talent, and the piety of his own father, the Khaliffe Mahadi, the third of the Abbasside race. Many instances of this are related by the Mohammedan writers : one or two are here inserted, to convey an impression of the influ- ence under which the character of Haroun was formed. This Khaliffe ascended the throne under circumstances of peculiar diffi- culty, owing to several factions occasioning a dangerous revolt, which re- quired not only much labour, but much expense to quell. Nevertheless, he had no sooner restored tranquillity to his dominions, than he took care to administer the most exact justice to his people, and began by setting an example himself, voluntarily restoring immense sums, which his father's 78 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. avarice and injustice had extorted from private individuals ; and releasing from prison all those who had heen confined, from inability to pay the exor- bitant taxes Al Mansor had imposed on them. Mahadi also carried on a war against the Greeks, at a great expense ; but he did not personally engage in it himself, but gave the command in chief of his troops to his second son, Haroun a! Raschid, who was then quite a lad ; and whose age, if the oriental historians are correct, could not be as much as fifteen, as the war began in the 160th year of the Hegira, and Haroun died, aged forty-seven, in its 193d year. As the war, however, with Greece, conti- nued five years, probably he commanded during the latter part of it only. Mahadi had no reason to repent of the confidence he had placed in his son ; he defeated the enemy in several actions, and made himself master of many strong places. He was even preparing to march to Constantinople, when the Empress Irene sued for peace. This princess, so renowned both for beauty and ambition, then governed the eastern empire, as guardian to Constantine her son, who was then onlv ten years' old. That she might be enabled to discharge so important a trust, she was induced to make offers of peace to the Khaliffe, or rather to purchase it, at the rate of a yearly tribute of sixty thousand golden crowns. By this means she was freed from the continual ravages of the Mussulmen, who made continual incursions even to the very gates of Constantinople. Haroun had no sooner concluded this affair, than his arms were again employed in quelling an intestine war equally important. This insurrection was fomented by an impostor, of the name of Hakem, who was surnamed Burkai, from the Arabic name Burka, which signifies a mask j Hakem wearing one of polished silver, to conceal the deformity of his face, having had it much disfigured by several severe wounds he received in battle. This impostor pretended to be inspired, and gained many followers, who absurdly professed that Hakem wore a mask only to prevent men's eyes from being dazzled by the luminous rays that issued from his counte- nance. His party soon became so strong in Chorasan, that it became necessary to send out a large body of troops against him. Hakem withstood with consi- derable firmness the first attack which was made upon him ; but the Khaliffe having sent considerable reinforcements, he retreated into a town, whose ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 79 natural strength of position was so assisted by art, that he concluded it would be impossible to dislodge him. But the valor of Haroun was not so easily intimidated. He besieged the city with a very considerable body of troops, and soon converted it into a complete blockade. Hakem then saw his destruction was inevitable, and seeing he had only to chuse between a voluntary death or the ignominious one that awaited him, if he was taken prisoner, he determined upon one which he thought would both occasion trouble to the Khaliffe, and secure to himself the imaginary benefits of posthumous fame. To this end he caused deep trenches to be dug and filled with quick lime; then he had several large vessels filled with spirits of wine and other com- bustible liquors, both of which he pretended were necessary to the execution of a stratagem, by which he meant to entrap the enemy. As soon as his deluded followers had executed his orders, he told them that he was about to make a vigorous attack next day, and ordered them to drink large draughts of wine, which he had secretly poisoned, that they might act with more vigor Accordingly, the unhappy men drank heartily of the liquor, and all died the same day. Then Burkai drew them himself to the ditches filled with lime, and throw- ing them in, their bodies were quickly consumed. This done, he set fire to the liquors in the tub, and precipitated himself headlong in. The next day, which was appointed for the assault, Haroun and his troops were greatly amazed to behold nobody upon the ramparts. They knew the city to be suffering the extremities of hunger, and they were perfectly astonished at neither meeting with a vigorous defence, nor with offers to surrender. A great dread now fell upon their nv'nds, and they began to look upon Burkai as a dangerous magician, who had by his art rendered his troops invi- sible, in order to attack them, and destroy them more certainly. This strange idea made such an impression upon the mind of Haroun, that he was on the point of raising the siege ; when a woman, the only remaining inhabitant, appeared on the walls, and invited them in. It was with some difficulty they could be prevailed upon to accept her invitation, and they were perfectly astonished when the gates were opened, to walk through silent streets without meeting one inhabitant, but the wretched woman who had escaped by concealing herself. Such was the termination of this dangerous revolt. Mahadi, who was a 80 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. very pious prince, determined on this occasion to make a pilgrimage to Mecca; and as it was intended to be a national thanksgiving, he performed it with great splendor. And it is computed that he expended on this jour- ney six million crowns of gold. He was accompanied by a numerous train, whom he treated all the way with the greatest luxury and magnificence. He carried a prodigious quantity of rich stuffs, provisions, and jewellery; but above all, such a prodigious number of camels laden with pounded snow, which was preserved in earthen vessels, that there was sufficient to supply his whole troop with cooled fruits, and iced water, and sherbet, during the whole expedition ; and to astonish the inhabitants of Mecca, who had never seen snow or ice before. Mahadi lived at Mecca in a much more sumptuous style than his prede- cessors had done. He was however very punctual and very fervent in his devotions ; and the public prayers, when he officiated, were always followed by considerable doles among the people, and largesses to a great amount, which he distributed amongst his officers. One day as the Khaliffe was distributing gold to all who were in the Mosque, striving to obtain a share in his bounty, he saw a man, called Mansor Hagiani, who still continued absorbed in prayer, without once look- ing up, amidst the tumult which surrounded him. " Why," said the Kha- liffe, " do you not, Mansor, ask for your share ?" " God forbid," replied the truly pious Mussulman, " that whilst I am in his house, I should ask any thing but of Him, or seek to enjoy any thing beside Him." Shortly after, Mahadi quitted Mecca, and went to Medina, to the tomb of the prophet ; where he caused several magnificent additions to be made to the outside of the principal Mosque. A man observing the Khaliffe's devo- tion, presented him a slipper which he asserted had belonged to Mahomet. The Khaliffe received it with great marks of veneration, and immediately ordered ten thousand drachmas to be given to the man. When he was alone with his friends, he said, " In all probability Mahomet never saw this slip- per; but as the people all believe it really did belong to him, it would have scandalized many of tender conscience, and been a means of adding to the hardness of others, had I seemed to despise it." One of Mahadi's officers having frequently made mistakes in the ceremo- nials of his place, Mahadi, being tired of his repeated blunders, said to him, « How long will you go on making blunders?" The officer immediately replied, « So long as God preserves your life for our benefit; though it will ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 81 belong to our weakness to commit faults, it will belong to your magnanimity to pardon them." One day when he was in the Mosque, on the point of beginning public prayers, a man from the dregs of the people exclaimed. " O Commander of the Faithful, I would gladly perform my prayers with thee, but I have not yet performed my ablution." The Khaliffe, with the utmost condescension, stopped short, and remained standing, till this Arabian had performed the legal ablution and purification. As the Khaliffe was returning from his expedition to Mecca, the heavens were suddenly obscured, and so violent a storm of thunder and lightning came on, that the whole heavens seemed in a blaze, and destruction threat- ened the whole country. The pious Khaliffe immediately assembled his numerous retinue, who were in the utmost consternation ; then alighting from his horse, and prostrating himself in the face of all his people, he prayed in the following terms : « O Lord, if I have unwittingly offended thee, and if it is for my sins this judgment is inflicted, spare thy faithful people, I be- seech thee, and take my life, but strike me only." Many other anecdotes are related of this Khaliffe, which do equal honor to his piety, his goodness of heart, and his generosity. On the Khaliffe's return home, he determined to choose his second son Haroun as his successor in the Khaliffat, instead of his eldest son Hadi, who was a prince both weak and cruel ; he accordingly imparted his design to Haroun, but this prince, with equal honor and generosity, absolutely refused to supplant his brother. Mahadi then left the Khaliffat to Hadi, with the reversion of it to Haroun, in exclusion of Hadi's son, which was a common mode among the orientals; and to confirm this disposition, he gave Haroun a very valuable ring, com- posed of a single ruby, which was the only thing Haroun would accept from his father's immense possessions. Mahadi died in the year of the Hegira 169, and of the Christian sera 785, whether by poison, or of an accident which befell him in hunting, is not ascertained. His son Hadi no sooner heard of his father's death, than he established himself in the Khaliffat, and began by behaving in the most ungrateful man- ner to his brother, to whose honor and fidelity he was indebted for it. Indeed he treated his brother so ill, that he entirely banished him from court. During this period, Haroun devoted his time to prayer, and to the M 82 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. study of the Grecian authors, for which taste he was indebted to his tutor, the Vizir Jahia ben Khaled ; and in which pursuit he found companions in his earliest friends, the sons of this Vizir. Hadi, in the mean time, met with many interruptions to the public peace, occasioned by the efforts of the Alians to regain possession of the Khaliffat ; and Houssain, great-grandson to Ali, gained so large a party at Medina, as to be publicly proclaimed Khaliffe there. The rapid spread, too, of the doctrines of the Zendians, threatened that of the Mussulman religion in this reign. Hadi, however, quelled both these revolts, and destroyed without mercy every person he could meet with that favoured either party. These public disturbances were no sooner quelled, than the Khaliffe again turned his mind to the design of transmitting the crown to his own children, to the prejudice of his brother Haroun, who, according to the regulation made by Mahadi in his life-time, was to succeed to the Khaliffat, in case of his brother's death, which disposition had been ratified by the grandees of the state. To this end, Hadi, knowing how much his father Mahadi was respected, and that he had given Haroun a ring, which he kept as a pledge of his father's dispositions, determined to get back the ring into his own possession. Haroun was walking on the banks of the Tygris, when an eunuch came to demand it of him in the Khaliffe's name. This requisition put him in such a fury, that after reproaching his brother with his base ingratitude, in en- deavouring to bereave him of the only token of his father's affection, whilst he himself possessed such immense territories, he pulled off the ring, and threw it with all his force into the very midst of the stream. Hadi was so enraged, that he immediately sent for the Vizir, who had also presided over their early education, Jahia ben Khaled ; and imparted to him his design to imprison Haroun, and secure the succession of the Khaliffat in his own family. The Vizir, like all the house of Barmekki, of which he was then the head, was a man of the most unsullied honor and integrity, and who was equally wise and prudent, as he was virtuous. Instead, then, of lending himself to the execution of this scheme, he observed, that Haroun was greatly beloved by the nobility on account of his bravery, and by the common people on account of his engaging manners ; that the state was highly obliged to him for the subjection to which he had reduced the Greeks; that he was in particular the favourite son of the last Khaliffe's widow; a ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 83 woman of a strong mind, great energy, and far too haughty to brook such an insult to her family, and so great an injury to her favorite son ; besides, the son of Hadi was an infant, and Mussulmen would expect that their prince should be capable of performing the functions of a Khaliffe ; namely, to say the daily prayers, lead them on pilgrimages, and command the army. In short, Jahia added, that if he had the least regard for his own peace, he would at least not think of breaking through this regulation of his father's, till his son was of a fit age to appear among the people, and gain their affec- tions. Hadi listened to this discourse of the Vizir, who had almost supplied a father's place to him, with great apparent attention, and pretended to be convinced by his reasons. He, however, on the contrary, formed the resolu- tion of secretly murdering both the Sultaness Al Shizaram his mother; his Vizir Jahia, and his brother Haroun. The Sultaness Al Shizaram had very great honor paid her, both on account of her own talents and her husband's memory. Indeed, the nobility paid her so much respect, that Hadi sent her word he would strike off the head of every lord who appeared at her court. This, however, did not intimidate the nobility, who paid her even more court than before. On this Hadi conceived a deep hatred against her; but fearing her party, he smothered his resentment; and pretending reconciliation, continually sent her presents of fruits, flowers, or rare birds, in order to find means to poison her. But this wily princess was not so easily deluded; she received her son with the greatest courtesy, but purchased a variety of lap-dogs, for which she pre- tended to have suddenly taken a great fancy, as also paroquets ; and whatever meat or fruit the Khaliffe sent her, she first tried it by giving a piece to these creatures. By this means she detected a poisoned goose which he had intended for her. Hadi, however, did not relinquish his designs, but one evening sent for a Mussulman nobleman of the name of Harthamath, in whom he had long placed great confidence, and addressed him in the following terms; " Har- thamath, the treacherous Jahia is become my inveterate enemy; he conti- nually estranges the hearts of my subjects from me, by openly continuing his friendship with my brother Haroun. Now, in thee have I placed my confidence — bring me both their heads ; for whilst either of them breathes, my throne and life are insecure. This done, thou shalt by the sword slay all the tribe of Ali, and all their adherents who are now in prison; after M % r 84 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. which I will give thee the command of my troops, with which thou shalt go to Cufah ; and immediately withdrawing all the Abbassians thence, thou shalt set the city on fire, nor let one soul escape." " When the Khaliffe," says Harthamath, " had concluded these terrible orders, I fell at his feet, humbly to represent to him the fatal consequences they must involve to himself ; but on his persisting, I told him I could not possibly execute them as he desired. On this he fell into a rage, which cannot possibly be described ; and uttering some words in a voice not articu- late from his excessive anger, he darted upon me a look laden with fate, and rushed to his chamber, shutting the door with a sound of thunder. At first I was so stupified with consternation I could not move; but as I expected the next person I should see would be an assassin, and being at a loss what to do, I stole into the apartment of the Sultana Al Shizaram, and hid myself in the first corner I could find, where I crouched down, trembling, till mid- night, when I heard a voice call * Harthamath, Harthamath, come and see the Khaliffe.' I was seized with horror, as I expected nothing but instant destruction ; and I had no idea any person had observed my concealment ; though I afterwards found I was espied by a slave. I was then obliged to come out of my corner to the Sultana, who had called me, and who led the way to the Khaliffe's room, where, to my utter amazement, he was lying dead on his bed, having died suddenly." Some authors, however, are not without their suspicions of the Sultaness ; she however said to Harthamath, " Come boldly, Harthamath, and see the Khaliffe 5 he has just expired of a cough which seized him on drinking a glass of water, after the violence of his passion.' I was so struck at this awful judg- ment that I could not reply ; when she added, ' Go and tell Haroun what you have seen.' " I went instantly to that prince, whom I found engaged in prayer. He finished it before he made me any reply ; then casting himself on the earth, and blessing God for delivering him out of the hands of his enemies, he arose and followed me." He then assembled the grandees of the state, who proclaimed him Kha- liffe. After which, he established Jahia ben Khaled his chief counsellor; Jaffier his son, and his own most beloved friend, his Vizir; Fahdell, another of Jahia's sons, his general 5 and to Mahomet and Musa, the other two bro- thers, he also gave very considerable employments. Having now committed the most important offices of the state to the t ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 85 family of Barmekki, whose honor, integrity, and liberality, were proverbial, he again went into retirement for a little while, before he assumed the honors of the Khaliffat. It is said, that not long after Haroun mounted the throne, he recollected his ruby ring, and commanded the royal divers to plunge into the river at the spot at which he threw it in, and find it, which they were so fortunate as to do immediately, to the great joy of the new Khaliffe. This incident was esteemed a sure presage of the prosperity of his reign. Haroun had not long succeeded to the Khaliffat, before he found himself engaged in various wars. One of them was on account of his friends the Barmekkides. It has already been mentioned, that Haroun most munificently rewarded that noble family, to whose fidelity and attachment he was so entirely in- debted for his crown and his life. The Vizir Jahia ben Khaled was continued supreme counsellor of the crown ; and the new Khaliffe placed his whole confidence in that minister, and in his sons, whom he had always about him. The family of Barmekki, it has already been observed, were of the royal line of Persia ; so that their lineage was in fact considered as fully equal to that of any of the oriental sovereigns. Their wealth was immense; perhaps greater than any subjects have ever possessed before or since. Their munifi- cence, their abilities, their unsullied honor, had not only continued them in all the first offices of the state, during the rival dynasties of the Ommiades and the Abbassides ; but it was considered that their voice alone, could at pleasure have established or overthrown the succession. And in addition to all this, the high favor shewn by Haroun to this family, rendered their friendship courted by the sovereigns of most of the states bordering on the Mussulman empire ; and some of them even wished to make a family alliance with them. Among others, the King of Chorazan offered to Jahia, the princess his daughter as a wife to one of his sons ; this minister spoke of it to Haroun, who readily consented. The King accordingly sent his daughter, accom- panied by a very numerous train of lords, to the frontier of the Khaliffe's dominions, where she was received with the utmost pomp and ceremony. Scarcely, however, had she travelled a few miles in the Khaliffe's territories, when she was seized with a violent attack, of which, in spite of every pos- sible remedy, the princess in a few hours expired. Unfortunately, the King of Chorazan conceived a notion, that the sudden SG ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. death of his daughter could only be accounted for, on the supposition of her having been treacherously poisoned. In consequence of this imagination, he levied a large army with such celerity, that it was scarcely known at Bagdat that the princess was dead, before the news arrived that the Chora- zans had fallen upon the empire, sword in hand, and were spreading desola- tion all around. This was the more troublesome, because about the same period, the Empress Irene, weary of being subjeoted to an odious tribute, had also pro- claimed war against the Khaliffe, who in his turn sent a formidable army against her, and ravaged all her provinces in Asia Minor, as far as Ephesus. Scarcely were these two wars come to a happy conclusion, when internal disturbances arose, and a numerous party sprung up in Georgia and Dilaim in favor of the Alians ; and the revolt grew to such a height, that Yahia ben Abdallah was openly declared Khaliffe in those provinces. Haroun was no sooner informed of this disagreeable news, than he sent his foster-brother and general, Fahdell, the son of Jahia, with an army of fifty thousand men, to quell the revolt. That general, who, like the rest of his family, was equally brave and humane, marched into Chorazan, and made many inquiries into the character of Yahia, who was a man of worth, integrity, and science. The result of this investigation, was a conviction in Fahdell's mind, that if Yahia were treated with respect, and a suitable provision made for him, he would readily be induced to return to his duty. Fahdell therefore halted in Chorazan ; and privately sent a trusty person to Yahia, informing him of the formidable force his small party would have to combat with, and expatiating on the great desire they had to be at peace with so respectable a person. He offered to make his peace with Haroun, and not to hold him accountable for the revolt in Georgia, provided he would make a complete renunciation of his rights to Haroun, and accept a security from that Khaliffe. Yahia, who was a man of worth, and who did not wish to embroil his country in a long and bloody civil war, agreed to accept these conditions. And the generous Fahdell, equally careful of the interests of Haroun his friend, and of Yahia, who confided in him, wrote word to Haroun, and desired him to send him a security, not only from himself, but signed by all the Abbassians and all the grandees of the empire, and that he would also bestow a munificent provision on Yahia, suitable to the rank of a prince. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 8 7 Haroun, delighted to get quit of this troublesome affair with so little diffi- culty, promised every thing which his friend required. He immediately dispatched to Yahia a passport, signed on oath by every Cadi or judge of the empire, and by every head of the houses of Abbas and Haschem. Yahia immediately went to Fahdell, who received him with the greatest respect at the head of his troops; and it would be difficult to say which was most ad- mirable, the noble confidence which enabled Yahia to come alone, and unarmed, in the midst of his enemies, or the honor with which Fahdell exceeded his promises in his behalf. After Yahia had rested a few days, Fahdell accompanied him to the court of Bagdat. Fahdell, before he introduced him, said to Haroun, " Remember, my Lord, he has not only the blood, but the soul of princes ; that he is un- fortunate, and in your power." He then brought Yahia, who was going to prostrate himself and make his renunciation, when Haroun arose from his throne, and embracing him, said, " How do I regret, my Lord, that the Khaliffat only admits an undivided throne. Think yourself, however, at home, and live entirely after your own manner. If you visit me, I shall rejoice in the honor of knowing a prince near to the Prophet, and to myself in blood, and distinguished by his own personal qualifications; but if you do not yet like to do me this favor, I shall not think unkindly on that ac- count." Haroun then gave Yahia, according to the request of Fahdell, a magnificent palace and an annual appointment ; with a retinue suitable to the first princes of the blood; nor did he omit any attention which could add to the happiness of a prince, who had so generously put himself in his power. Yahia was penetrated with sentiments of the deepest gratitude both to Haroun and to the Barmekides ; he again voluntarily ratified his renuncia- tion, which he had before given to Fahdell, and settled at the court of Bagdat; where he devoted his time to literature, and enjoyed a very high share of consideration ; especially from the whole family of the Barmekides, who proved his constant friends, and uniformly maintained a constant inter- course with him ; during which they always treated him with the high respect due to his exalted rank, and used every means to establish him more and more firmly in the Khaliffe's favor. Besides these disturbances at the beginning of Haroun's reign, his troops were employed on various other expeditions; and his generals had full em- ployment from Spain to Usbeck Tartary. S3 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. His dominions being restored to tolerable tranquillity, Haroun employed much of his attention in adorning his capital. He had imbibed an early taste both for literature and the fine arts, from his minister Jahia and his sons. The Barmekide family, as we have mentioned before, were of the royal line of Persia ; and originally came from the city of Balkhe, on the Oxus or Gihon, in the province of Chorazan; which city was originally built by Karumarath, first king of Persia, to commemorate his meeting his brother after a long absence ; and which the kings of the second dynasty of Persia made their capital. In this city the Barmekides were long the first family ; and the principal mosque which adorned it was built by them, and bestowed by their munificence on the public. This mosque was considered as the wonder of all the adjacent dominions. It was surrounded by gardens of such beauty and extent, that it was commonly known by the name of Neubehar, or New-Spring. Its construction was on the model of the temple of Mecca ; it was covered with rich stuffs of silk and gold brocade, and had attached to it three hundred and sixty private chapels ; indeed it is said, that the family took their surname of Barmek from the circumstance of being founders and patrons of this magnificent mosque. When, during the civil wars of Persia, Giaffar, then head of the Barme- kides, and ancestor of the Vizir Jahia, was obliged to quit Balkhe, and seek a refuge in the court of Soliman, son of Abdalmalek, the Ommyan Khaliffe ; he brought with him the same love of the fine arts which had always cha- racterized his family ; and which afterwards so eminently distinguished them during the reign of Haroun al Raschid. Fahdell then, who was esteemed the greatest general of his age, had no sooner rendered the Khaliffe's arms victorious ; and Jahia, his father, by his consummate prudence, quelled all internal divisions ; than Jaffier, who was the finest scholar, and first man of taste of the age, and besides that, the Khaliffe's most beloved friend, prevailed upon him to set about adorning his capital j which had however been finished, so as to be the residence of the court, from the time of his grandfather, the Khaliffe al Mansor. This city, the capital of the Moslem empire, was magnificent in the extreme. It consisted of four quarters ; two on each side the river Tygris, connected by most stupendous bridges. The western quarter alone is said to have cost Al Mansor four millions of dinars. This capital of the Baby- lonian Irak owed its origin and name to a singular incident. The Khaliffe Al Mansor, second Khaliffe of the race of the Abbassides, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 89 being out of conceit with his residence at the city of Haschemiah, where his brother Abul Abbas had kept his court, near Cufah, in Chaldea, on account of the revolt of the Ravendians, who had besieged him in his castle, he determined to build a new city, strongly fortified, and in the heart of the empire, and to establish there the seat of the Khaliffat. For this purpose he consulted one of his most celebrated astrologers, who, after drawing out an horoscope, and fixing the lucky day and moment for laying the foundation stone, pitched upon a wide and beautiful meadow- near the banks of the Tygris. It was in the year 145 of the Hegira, that Al Mansor founded the cele- brated capital of the Abbasside Khaliffes, in a plain originally bestowed by Cosroes Nuschirvan, as the dowry of one of his wives. This princess kept a very considerable number of herds and flocks upon this plain ; she also built a chapel there, which she dedicated to her idol, Bag, and she thence called the whole plain Bagdat, or the gift of Bag. The chapel of this idol became, in process of time, transformed into the retreat and oratory of an hermit, much renowned for his sanctity and skill in predictions. Al Mansor, walking by the side of the river, and meditating on his design, happened to enter this hermitage. In the course of conversation, the saint, who did not know him, said it was an old tradition, that a man, named Moclas, would one day build a powerful and celebrated city there. On hearing this, the Khaliffe prostrated himself on the earth, and thanked God for predestinating him to be the founder of this city. His suite, who were just then arrived, could not imagine what affinity there could be be- tween the names of Moclas and Al Mansor, when the Khaliffe explained the mystery in the following terms : " During the reign of the Ommiades, my brothers and myself lived in very narrow circumstances, with an old woman, who was our nurse. We each took in turn the care of our household affairs. One day, when it was my turn to provide for my brethren, I had no money, and took this woman's bracelet and pawned it; on which she ever after called me by the name of Moclas, who was at that time a famous captain of banditti, who infested the neighbourhood. I know then (said he) by this incident, that this is the place on which it should be built." Accordingly he entered immediately upon this arduous undertaking. The city, when finished, was perfectly round, it was surrounded by a double wall. Each was of great strength, and flanked by a prodigious number of N r 90 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. massive towers. These double inclosures were at a considerable distance from each other, and in the centre was a magnificent citadel, whose towers rose to a prodigious height, and overlooked the whole adjacent country. The gates of the city were so disposed, that those of the first wall were oblique or sloping with respect to those of the second, which was the cause of its being called Zaura, or oblique. Al Mansor himself called itMedinat al Salem, or the city of peace ; but the name by which it is generally known is that of Bagdat. The spot on which it is built is that where Seleucia formerly stood. The western part of this city was afterwards known by the name of Karkh, where a market was kept, which was one of the most famous in the world, for the precious commodities sold there ; and which caused the erection of magnificent buildings all round it, for the accommodation of the multitude of visitors and foreign merchants it attracted ; and whose goods formed a most magnificent and imposing spectacle of all that was precious and rare. The two palaces, known by the names of the palace of Al Mansor, on the western side of the river, and the palace of Al Mahadi, on the eastern, rose above the other buildings, and gave uncommon beauty to the city. These two quarters were connected by a very massive stone bridge. Many other palaces decorated the city; nor was it less famous for the number of colleges, which were afterwards founded there. That founded by the Khaliffe Mos- tanser is said by Abul Farage to excel, both in the elegance of its structure, the number of students it contained, the revenues settled upon it, and the science of its professors, every house of learning then in the world. Amongst other students in this single college were three hundred who applied to the Mahometan law only ; and each college was furnished with gardens, baths, large libraries, apothecaries' shops, and infirmaries. There was also a magnificent college and public gymnasium, founded by Moezadden, besides six more colleges of the first rank. Bagdat has pro- duced a very great number of learned men in jurisprudence, theology, medi- cine, poetry, history, ethics, mathematics, and natural history. We refer our readers to Herbelot; and the Universal History, vol. ii. page 289, for an account of some of them. Haroun having finished his improvements at Bagdat, resolved to accom- plish a pilgrimage on foot to Mecca; which, whilst he was cast down by the persecutions of his brother, he had, in the bitterness of his soul, vowed to per- form, if ever he were delivered from them. 1 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 91 He accordingly set out from Bagdat to Mecca on foot ; and it is said, that the whole of the road as he passed along was carpeted as far as the view extended, with the most costly and precious stuffs. Haroun distributed in his pilgrimage to Mecca fifteen hundred thousand dinars of gold ; and both this time, and every other time of his making the pilgrimage, he was accompanied by an hundred doctors of the law, whose expenses he paid ; and when he did not go himself, he clothed three hun- dred of them, whom he sent in his stead. This Khaliffe had great faith in the merit of this act of devotion. He often repeated, with exultation, that he had taken eight pilgrimages to Mecca, and that he had gained eight pitched battles. Nay, so high did he carry his veneration, that he had engraven on the front of his helmet two Arabic words, signifying, Mecca is all-powerful. Nor was the faith of his wife, the Sultana Zobeida, less fervent than his own. This princess was daughter to Giafar ben Mansour, and was the one among the wives of Haroun, whom he solemnly espoused as Sultana, and who was mother to the afterwards KhalifFe Amin. She was so celebrated for her piety, that amongst her numerous retinue she had a choir of one hundred female slaves, who knew the whole Koran by heart, and who were appointed in relays to repeat the tenth part every day; so that, says the Arabian historian, on entering this pious princess's apartment, your ears were assailed, and your heart rejoiced, with a constant hum, like the swarming of innumerable hives of bees, which, in reality, arose from the confused sound of the voices of these pious maids. She also performed a pilgrimage to Mecca, which is rendered famous for the alms she distributed on her journey. She also founded the citv of Tauris. Whilst Haroun was at Mecca, he fixed the succession of his empire amongst his three sons. To Mamon, his second son, who was afterwards so distinguished as the successful establisher of science and letters in the Moslem empire, he left all his eastern dominions, viz. Persia, Kerman, the Indies, Chorazan, Taba- restan, Zabul, Cabul, and all the country beyond the Gihon or Oxus. To Amin, his eldest son, he left the Khaliffat, Bagdat, Chaldea or Baby- lonia, the three Arabias, Mesopotamia, Syria, Media, Assyria, Palestine, Egypt, and all Africa, Morocco, and Spain ; to the utmost confines of the west. N 2 92 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. To Motassem, his third son (afterwards father to Vathek), he left Armenia, Natolia, Georgia, Circassia, and all the northern dominions of the Khaliffat, as far as the Euxine. This sketch sufficiently shews the vast extent of the Mohammedan empire. It is, however, to be observed, that the territories Haroun so allotted were not to be held as independent sovereignties, but the investiture of them was to be granted by the Khaliffe, as lord paramount. He caused all his children to consent to this partition ; after which he had letters patent drawn, containing an account of the division which was to take place at his demise, and fixed it to the gate of the temple of Mecca. On Haroun's return from his pilgrimage, he again devoted himself with renewed ardor to the science of legislation and to the arts of peace, with a taste for which his friends the Barmekidas had inspired him. They advised him to take advantage of the present calm to polish and inform his uncultivated people, and to ingraft in their naturally ardent and generous minds, a taste for those arts which tend to furnish domestic resources; and which therefore most effectually promote happiness. Jaffier, son to Jahia, it has been observed, was the first scholar of the age; and as Haroun, owing to his education under Jahia, was not destitute of con- siderable information, he did not find it difficult to prevail on the Khaliffe to encourage the love of letters amongst his subjects. To this end he invited all men of letters and science to visit his dominions and did not fail to assure adequate pensions to those who settled there. Besides this, he formed a company out of the most eminent men of talents of all descriptions, who were always to accompany him when he went to visit his provinces, or even headed his army, that they might by literary con- versation amuse his mind and dispel his cares in hours of relaxation. He was also at a truly royal expense to impart knowledge to his subjects, both by establishing libraries, rewarding literary efforts, and causing instru- ments of science to be made, from models obtained at an high price. By his command, too, a very great number both of Greek and Latin classics were translated into Arabic, and amongst others, excellent versions of the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer ; and, by the advice of his friend Jaffier, he employed companies of men to make copies of all valuable works, and distribute them. Nor were the sciences less cultivated under Haroun's reign ; of which no ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER 11. 93 other proof is requisite than the magnificent present he made to Charlemagne in the year 805; and of which, father Barre, in his History of Germany, vol. ii. page 490, and the learned Du Cange, in his Annals, give the following account : " Aaron, surnamed the Just, king of Persia, this year sent ambassadors with costly presents to the emperor ; besides rich perfumes, brocaded stuffs, balsams, spices, and aromatic woods, were two very remarkable pieces of wonderous workmanship. The first was a tent, prodigious in height, which contained, of a large size, all the room necessary to form a complete apart- ment, yet could be put together or taken to pieces at pleasure ; these rooms were disposed according to the manners of the orientals, and lined with the richest silks and carpets of Persia. At the end was a noble porch, sup- ported by columns, inlaid and embossed with highly wrought plates of gold and silver ; and beneath it was a throne, covered with gold, and diamonds intermixed, which shot forth an inconceivable lustre. " The other was an astronomical water-clock, of very uncommon mecha- nism ; it was of brass, and shewed the hours by the striking of brass balls against the bells, and by the figures of knights, which opened and shut doors in it according to the number of hours." Haroun took for his teacher in the Mahometan law the celebrated Doctor Asmai, who being willing to examine into every thing with the utmost rigor of the law, would often have excited tumults against the Khaliffe, had he not been upon his guard on these occasions. Haroun often said, with a smile, "Doctor, you have ten times more learning and patience than I; but I have ten times more good sense and prudence than you." The instructions which Haroun gave this Doctor on retaining him in his service, afford a curious specimen of oriental despotism. " In the first place, Doctor," said the Khaliffe, "you must never presume to be so for- ward and officious, as to ever offer to teach or instruct me in public ; nor are you ever to do it in private either, until your opinion is asked. When I command you, you shall tell it truly, but in as few words as possible, unless when I depart from the paths of justice and law in my decisions; in that case you are to use the softest words possible to explain your sentiments, should I ask them. " You are not to endeavour to pre-occupy my mind with your notions, nor to expect too high a regard for your authority, nor yet to try to in- fluence me by the relation of apologues, parables, or traditions. I desire 94 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. you will always furnish me with matter for my public discourses ; but re- member, I will have no technical terms, nor any thing whatever hard to be understood." "Whether the learned Doctor complied with all these requisitions is not known. Haroun had, however, the good fortune to meet with another man of letters, of a very different stamp. This sage's name was Malek. He excelled in grammar and eloquence, was perfectly versed in tradition, and thoroughly understood the Koran. Haroun sent for him to give him a lec- ture. When the philosopher was seated, Haroun ordered all the doors of the apartment to be shut, that none but himself and his children might learn, as he expressed it, the secrets of wisdom. " My Lord," said the truly wise rhetorician, " your highness should rather have all the doors of your palace thrown open. O Commander of the Faithful, knowledge, however excellent, can never be fully useful to the great, but in proportion as the little whom they command can appreciate and benefit by it; when it is not the curiosity of an individual, but the engine of power in the hands of a nation." Haroun was so wise as to profit by this advice, and it was not long after that he established the library already mentioned. Nor was this the only instance in which Haroun took reproof well. One day, as he was marching at the head of his army, a woman came to complain that his soldiers had pillaged her house ; he immediately answered, " Good woman, do you not know it is written, — When princes pass in arms through places, they destroy them ?" The woman immediately replied, "True, Lord; but it is also written in the same book, — But God shall bring these princes unto judgment, and overthrow the foundations of their houses, on account of the injustice they have committed." Haroun was so pleased with this firm and learned reply, that he immediately reinstated the woman in all her property. Another time, as the Khaliffe was walking in company with Jaffier and several men of learning, it happened that they saw a person, who had not taken a regular doctor's degree, dispensing prescriptions of his own. One of his suite, addressing the Khaliffe, said, " O Commander of the Faithful, I did not till now know, that there existed any method under the reign of Haroun the Just of murdering one's fellow-subjects with impunity." A law was immediately made, punishing such medical pretenders in the severest manner. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER U. 95 Haroun not only publicly patronized learning himself, but he also took great pleasure in literary conversation. It has already been said, how much he was attached to the family of the Barmekidas, and above all, to the society of Jaffier, from whom he was almost inseparable, and who was the scholar, wit, and poet of the age; he was also equally attached to his sister, Abbassah, who exceeded all the ladies in his dominions in beauty, learning, in a taste for literature, and poetry. The Khaliffe spent all his leisure time with these two persons ; till at length he became so much attached to them both, that he could not bear to take from the one the time he spent with the other ; and yet it would have been a decided violation of the oriental prac- tices to admit Jaffier into his sister's apartments. At length, after a very long struggle in his own mind, between his attachment both to his sister and to Jaffier ; his sense of the breach of their usages, did they eat in the same saloon ; his personal affection to Jaffier, and his strong feeling of the disparity of their rank, the Khaliffe, unused to deny himself any pleasure, commanded the marriage ceremony to be performed between his sister and Jaffier, that he might, without breach of decorum, make his favorite accom- pany him in his visits to his sister; and that in his presence his two chosen friends might also enjoy each other's society, whilst he gave himself up with- out restraint to the pleasure of being with them both. Such was the distin- guishing favor of which Haroun solicited his friend's acceptance; and although the Vizir Jahia did not willingly accede to it, his command was given, and it was obeyed. Accustomed, at Haroun's command, to spend much of every day together, and both being alike distinguished for beauty, engaging manners, nobility of mind, literature, and genius, it is no wonder that these two accomplished persons soon conceived the strongest mutual attachment. Little, pro- bably, did either imagine the gulf in which it was about to precipitate them both. In the mean time, however, Haroun's attachment to Jaffier increased daily. Haroun used frequently to disguise himself and his friends, and go in all quarters of the town, mixing with the people, and endeavouring to gain every information as to the real characters of his officers. Some of these expeditions were for amusement, others to collect knowledge. This custom of Haroun has been the foundation of many of the tales in the Arabian Nights, in which he and his minister Jaffier make such a conspi- cuous figure. It was, however, very useful to the Khaliffe in dispensing the 96 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. law j and the justice of his decisions it was, which were the original means of gaining him the surname of Al Raschid, or the Just. How far this title applied with truth, will be seen in the sequel. The reader will recollect the history of Yahia, the Alian ; the generosity with which Haroun received him ; the gratitude which Yahia expressed ; and the steady friendship the Barmecida? shewed him. By degrees that friend- ship, which began in sentiments of honor, became thoroughly established by a knowledge of his worth and merits. Yahia, the Alian, was every- where respected and esteemed ; and the demon of ill-grounded jealousy began to poison the Khaliffe's mind against him. He was less often asked, and less cordially received by Haroun. The sentiments of princes are too important to the base courtiers, who make it their trade to gratify them, to be long concealed. After a time, a certain man, of the name of Abdallah, of the family of Zobau, which had always been inimical to that of Ali, rose up and told the Khaliffe, that Yahia was secretly forming a powerful party to dethrone him. Haroun, who was already suspicious of Yahia, but who could not resolve upon an act of flagrant injustice, sent for him, and, in the presence of his accuser, interrogated him. Yahia appeared equally struck with indigna- tion and grief at being accused of such base conduct, and at Haroun, whom he loved as his benefactor, believing it. He, however, simply, but firmly replied, "The accusation is false, and the accuser knows it." Abdallah repeated it again and again, with many added circumstances and much voci- feration, during which Yahia maintained an unbroken silence and unmoved composure of countenance. When he had at length ceased, Haroun looked to Yahia for a reply. He paused for some moments, as if absorbed in prayer; then, with majestic dignity, advancing in the hall towards his accuser, he joined both his hands, and putting them between those of Ab- dallah, with uplifted eyes, and a voice whose firmness and deep solemnity struck every heart, pronounced these words : " O God of truth ! O Sovereign Creator ! by whose power accuser and accused, and all that breathes are held in life; I call upon thy sovereign justice to strike with a death sudden and awful, that head which is guilty, to the end that the innocent be fully cleared. This is my prayer (then glancing a look at the accuser, the Khaliffe, and the court, he added), and let the innocent reply, Amen !" So saying, he turned and slowly walked out of court, whilst the crowd opened on every side, no one offering to touch him. The wretched Abdallah turned ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 97 pale as death ; his knees smote against each other ; he fell, and on being raised, it was seen indeed that he had died that most horrible of all deaths, viz. that which the terrors of a guilty conscience inflict on the terrified but impenitent heart. Then Haroun exclaimed, with much perturbation, " Surely this man (meaning Yahia) is an eminent Saint?" Accordingly for some time he treated him with renewed friendship and distinction; but before long his old jealousy revived. The whole family of the Barmecida? exerted all the influence of friendship, of explanation, of good offices, and of remon- strances, to restore the deeply alienated mind of the Khaliffe, but in vain. At length the situation of Yahia became so unpleasant, that it was publicly rumoured that his life was in danger. None, however, of the Barmecida? would allow it : noble and generous themselves, they relied with undoubting confidence on the honor of Haroun ; especially Jaffier, his intimate friend, and Fahdell, who had been the means of Yahia's entering the court of Bagdat. They were, however, mistaken; for one day Haroun, taking his friend Jaffier aside, told him, that he had determined to slay Yahia, but privately, for fear of the people, and that he committed the execution to him. Jaffier was so thunderstruck he could make no reply. Yahia, who met him just after, and who had long seen the resolution that was forming in the Khaliffe' s mind, and who saw by Jaffier's countenance what was the matter addressed him in these terms: " Fear God; be not among the number of those who, at the day of judgment, will have to answer for spilling the blood of the innocent. I came here on the Khaliffe's word, and on thy brother's word. Thou knowest I am innocent." " I do know it (replied Jaffier), and God forbid I should lift a finger against thee." Jaffier was sensibly affected by the words of Yahia : he not only did not execute the Khaliffe's sentence, but he still continued to treat Yahia with the greatest friendship and kindness ; and he and Fahdell, with his father, the venerable Jahia, used every means they could devise to restore their friend to the Khaliffe's favor. When Haroun was informed of Jaffier's refusal to embrue his hands in the innocent blood of the man to whom his family had promised protection, he was transported with a degree of fury against Jaffier, which seemed violent in proportion to the great affection he had before shewn him ; and in the o 98 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. first paroxysms of his wrath, he was heard to exclaim, " May God take away my life, if I do not before long deprive thee of thine." These words were repeated to Jaffier, but his course, and that of all his family, remained unaltered; witli one accord they persevered both in main- taining fidelity to Haroun, and uninterrupted kindness to Yahia. Shortly after Yahia was found assassinated. No doubt remained on the public mind as to the author of this atrocious crime and violation of good faith. The Khaliffe's subjects, knowing the solemn promises and oaths which he had made to this unfortunate prince, were filled with indignation at so base a dereliction of honor. An universal consternation appeared to pervade his dominions ; mistrust, gloom, and fear, sat on every countenance ; every eye turned on the illustrious family of Barmecidas ; and had they swerved from their fidelity, Haroun's throne might perhaps have trembled to its foundation. Deeply, however, as they were offended at an action, which they not only detested for its treachery, but which they moreover felt as a personal viola- tion of good faith to themselves, and especially to Fahdell, on whose plighted word Yahia put himself in Haroun's power, they yet did not desert their duty or allegiance. The clouds, which obscured Haroun's brow, dissipated; and he treated the whole family, and courted them with an assiduity, which some attributed to policy in his present critical situation, and others more leniently attributed to an unfeigned sorrow for the past, and a sincere desire to make the only reparation in his power. By degrees, and only by slow degrees, the fatal impressions made on the minds of the Khaliffe's subjects, by his false and cruel behaviour, gradually dissipated, and Haroun meanwhile began to shew great zeal in the per- formance of his religious duties. He daily distributed largesses to the poor ; he "ave munificent pensions to men of letters, who, in return, invented and disseminated plausible reasons to justify Haroun; and as his behaviour in public was become unusually popular, the multitude lent a willing ear to all that might be urged in extenuation of this foul deed : and though Yahia was reputed as a saint, ever since the affair of Abdallah, it was yet admitted that Haroun might have been imposed on by the artifice of others, and have supposed him guilty. But what, above all, stayed the torrent of public execration was, the distinguishing honor with which he treated the Barme- cide, whose high character on every occasion, and especially on this, gra- ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 99 dually inspired the public with renewed hopes of Haroun. In time the impressions of this act of treachery seemed gradually to wear away, and he might yet have regained a full measure of the esteem of his subjects; when another act succeeded, yet darker than the first, and which plunged him in an irretrievable gulf of infamy and misery. The family of the Barmecides, it will be remembered, were of the most ancient dynasty of Persian kings, and ranked with the royal houses of Asia. It was mentioned that they originally came from the city of Balkhe, whence Giaffar, an ancestor of Jahia, and head of the family, had been obliged to flee, on account of a civil war, in which he had, with the generosity and integrity hereditary in his house, sacrificed all his immense possessions, in the defence of his country. He sought refuge at Damascus, then the seat of empire of the Ommiade Khaliffes, who then sat on the throne. The Khaliffe Soliman ben Abdalmelek was struck with the appearance of the noble stranger who presented himself at his court, and was going to address him, when he suddenly changed color, and commanded the stranger to retire from his presence, as he was assured he carried poison about him, which he thought fit to say he perceived by the spontaneous percussion of two gems, which he always wore in a bracelet, and which, he added, never failed to warn him of its approach. Giaffar, with dignity and frankness, replied, that he carried poison in the setting of his ring, in readiness to suck it thence when any fatal misfortune should befall him, which should leave him without resource ; and as he spoke in Persian, his native language, he expressed himself by the word Barmek, which both signifies to suck ; and also, by an allusion of great elegance in that tongue, means, I am Barmek, a name which, it will be recollected, the head of that family always bore, on account of their being the founders of the grand mosque at Balkhe. Soliman was equally surprised and delighted, to find that a nobleman of his high rank and exalted character had visited his court. He therefore gave him the most gracious reception, and soon after requested him to accept the post of Vizir. In this important office, the abilities and integrity of Giaffar shone with equal lustre; society appeared new-modelled by his wisdom, commerce flourished, and the coin, which had been debased, was restored by his ability; so that in the Khaliffe's dominions, the term Giaffarian gold was afterwards used in the same manner as that of sterling gold used to be in England. The Khaliffe soon heaped enormous wealth upon Giaffar; but as O 2 100 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. his munificence increased with his possessions, every addition to his power, instead of exciting envy, gained him fresh popularity. Such was the origin of the power of the Barmekkedas. They continued to hold an increasing place in public confidence, esteem, and affection; and during five generations, all the places of highest confidence and power in the state were entrusted to this family. Their wealth, though prodigious, con- tinually increased, and their power was so great, that it was always supposed their voice would decide on whom the Khaliffat should fall; but this was only supposition; their honor and integrity prevented the trial from being ever made. Meanwhile they, like a bright constellation in a dark night, exhibited a splendid assemblage of as many virtues as have ever adorned any character, not blessed with the light of Christianity. All were celebrated for piety, generosity, integrity, and wisdom j and the talents of legislation, literature, military prowess, and science, shone forth conspicuously in its different members. Such was the reputation maintained by this truly noble and illustrious family since its first origin; and its splendor yet shone more brightly in the time of Haroun, when it was represented by the venerable Jahia, who had been Vizir to his father and brother, as well as to Haroun, who owed him his life and throne; and by his four sons, Fahdell, the best general of the age, and commander in chief of his forces; Jaffier, his particular friend whose talents have been already spoken of; and Mahomet and Musa, who filled with distinguished reputation other places of trust. Such were the members of the family of the Barmecidse, under the rei^n of Haroun; nor had they, during any preceding period, been so highly distinguished, either for character, power, or opulence. As they were born amidst wealth and grandeur, Jahia, their father, early taught them to set no farther value on riches, than as they gave them the power to reward virtue, and alleviate distress. " My dear sons," said he often to them, " be liberal of your wealth ; be generous in your tempers. Diffuse your wealth wherever it can reward talents; prove a stimulus to exertion, alleviate distress, support virtue, or defend the oppressed. Above all, never fear that your means should be diminished by your bounty. You may indeed be deprived of your riches by the hands of the wicked, through the permission of God, but you will not lose them the sooner for having used them well. My dear sons, be bountiful. Generosity is the ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 101 best enjoyment of riches whilst they remain ; the only enjoyment derived from them we may permanently secure. If you employ your wealth in luxury, the possession of wealth will never yield you its highest pleasure; its loss will plunge you in utter despair. Once more, my sons : wealth is lent us by God; he can find means to render it a punishment to those who do not use it for his glory, and the benefit of creatures no less dear to Him than you. And, my dear sons, though brought up in a court, learn to preserve a pure conscience and an independent mind : to this end, my chil- dren, I have taken pains to verse you in literature and science, that you may always have means of amusement and enjoyment, independent of men and of wealth ; so that you may be without temptation, as you will be without excuse, if you ever swerve from conscience, either to preserve publiu opinion, favor, or fortune." Such was Jahia. These admirable maxims, which were not so much a lesson to his children as a true picture of his own conduct, made the deepest impressions on their minds. Their merit increased in proportion to their years; they were soon capable of the highest employments; and the KhalifFe, who was so deeply indebted to their father, was earnest to trust them with the management of public affairs, even before they attained the age of manhood. His great affection for them lasted seventeen years, during which he conti- nually heaped upon them every species of honor and wealth. Jahia having resigned the office of Vizir, which he had held under the two preceding Khaliffes, as he advanced in life, Jaffier, his second son, and Haroun's favourite friend, was appointed to succeed him ; but Jaffier, who was devoted to literary and social tastes, requested the Khaliffe's permission to relinquish that post ; and procured it for his brother Fahdell, a man of inflexible honor and austere integrity, and who had acquired the highest re- putation as Haroun's general; and who now maintained in the post of Vizir, as high a reputation as his father and brother had acquired before him; and as his grandfather, Khaled, who was Vizir to Abdul Abbas Saffah, the first Abbasside Khaliffe. Jaffier, delighted to have ridded himself of the burden of managing the affairs of so vast an empire, only thought of pursuing a life of noble private beneficence and literary leisure; and Haroun, who was fatigued with public business, had no pleasure so great as that of passing his intervals of relaxation with Jaffier; and, indeed, he grew so much attached to him, that he was 102 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. scarcely ever without him; and his influence over the Khaliffe seemed unbounded. Jaffier's relinquishment of the oflice of Vizir did not, however, arise from not possessing talents equal to so important a trust. On the contrary, he performed its duties with such skill and capacity, as to have dispatched one thousand sentences and orders once in one night, in the presence of the Khaliffe, in which neither mistake or legal objection could be found. Indeed he had studied under Abou Joseph, the first professor of jurisprudence in his time. Nor was Jaffier less acute in the service of Haroun as a private friend. He one day found Haroun plunged in the deepest melancholy. On inquiry, he confessed it was occasioned by the prediction of a Jew astro- loger, who had foretold him that he would assuredly die during the present year. Jaffier ordered the Jew to be brought before them both, and charged him with his imposture; but the man persisting in the certainty of his knowledge, Jaffier asked him how many years of life the science of astrology allotted to himself. The Jew replied, that his own horoscope predicted with certainty a very long life ; upon which Jaffier instantly gave orders to strike off the man's head ; and laying it at the Khaliffe's feet, said, " See, my Lord, what degree of faith is to be reposed on the calculations of astro- logers !" Haroun instantly recovered his peace of mind. The following anecdote has often been related as an instance of Jaffier's influence with the Khaliffe. Being one day in conversation after dinner with Abdalmalek Haschem, the latter complained, that although nearly related to the Khaliffe, he did not enjoy his favor; that he owed four thousand crowns of gold to impor- tunate creditors, whom he had no means to pay, and that his son could obtain no preferment. Jaffier told him, that it certainly must have escaped the Khaliffe, who would not only treat him henceforth with favor and kind- ness, but that he would pay his debts ; and, moreover, give his own daughter in marriage to his son, with the government of Egypt for her portion. Jahac, of Moussoul, who was present, concluded that Jaffier spoke under the influence of the wine he supposed he had been just drinking with the Khaliffe ; but what was his surprise the next day, to hear that Haroun had publicly declared that morning, that he granted Abdalmalek every thing Jaffier had promised in his name. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 105 Jaffier, passing one day through a public market, a slave was offered to him for sale at forty thousand crowns. The bargain was no sooner struck, than the slave, in an agony of despair, exclaimed to the merchant, " O wretched lot, you promised you would never reduce me to slavery." Jaffier replied, " Be free, then ! and keep the money for thy portion." Such was Jaffier, and such was his influence over the mind and heart of the Khaliffe, when three circumstances successively occurred, which, in the end, entirely alienated the heart of the Khaliffe from his friend. We have before mentioned the very great wealth of the Barmecidce. When Haroun ascended the throne, they were more opulent than any subjects had ever been before ; and after his accession that opulence had been very considerably increased. About the period at which Haroun began to entertain a suspicion of Yahia, the Alian prince; and before that suspicion broke out in any overt act, he occasionally seemed not altogether pleased at the steadiness with which the whole Barmecide family maintained the duties of friendship and consolation to this unfortunate nobleman. Unfortunately, he just about the same time made an extensive progress through his dominions. He saw in several places magnificent castles, and estates decorated in the most splendid manner, and the poor around em- ployed in various ways which afforded them a comfortable subsistence ; and on asking whose they were, the answer uniformly was, " They are Jaffier, the Barmecide's;" and unfortunately for Jaffier, though many of these were very distant from each other, the answer was still the same. These immense riches, added to the vast estates and great opulence of every individual of the family, just at this juncture, excited fears and suspi- cions in the mind of Haroun. He knew their power, but not their worth. Another source of discontent originated in the marriage of Jaffier with his sister, the princess Abassah ; which, though the ceremony was performed at the express command of Haroun, was accompanied by a prohibition ever to have any interview but in his presence. This was not of sufficient force to prevent an attachment, which terminated in the most inflexible displeasure on the part of the Khaliffe. The third cause, as we have before related, was the absolute refusal of Jaffier to embrue his hands in the innocent blood of Yahia. Such were the circumstances which led to the final alienation of Haroun's mind. He never saw his friend, without feeling the stings of a conscience he was resolved to disregard. 104 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. For some time, however, this change did not openly appear : whether Haroun thought it impolitic to overthrow the strong fortress the Barmekki family had ever proved, whilst the public mind had not yet subsided from the ferment in which the death of Yahia had thrown it : or whether his heart was in fact divided between the struggles of ancient friendship and conscience, with offended pride, must ever be doubtful. Certain it is, that he heaped many additional favors on the family, and treated Jaffier espe- cially with many renewed demonstrations of affection. He had, however, secretly resolved not only on the destruction of Jaffier, but of the whole of his excellent family. To this end, he invited Jaffier to accompany him from Bagdat on a tour of pleasure to Anbar: during this journey, the Khaliffe treated Jaffier with unusual affection, which some have attributed to hypocrisy, others to a miserable conflict at the thoughts of the purpose on which he yet was inflexibly bent. On their arrival, Haroun sent for one of his most confidential officers im- mediately to Bagdat, with orders instantly to imprison in a dungeon, the whole Barmecide family, viz. Jahia and his three sons. Having given this order, he returned to Jaffier, with whom he conversed some time, and parted from him with much affection; but scarcely was he gone, when Haroun ordered an officer of his guard, whose name was Jasser, to follow Jaffier, and bring him his head. This was on the first day of the month Sefevin, in the year of the He^ira 187. Jasser, accustomed to obey Jaffier as the Khaliffe, could hardly believe what he heard. Nevertheless he followed Jaffier, whom he found reading alone, and threw hmiself prostrate before him. It was some time before he could utter a word; at length he told him his commission, and announced the order of the Khaliffe. Jaffier was for an instant silent : then, without testifying any extraordinary emotion, he said, " Perhaps the Khaliffe may have given you this order when heated with wine; return, and tell him his command shall be obeyed. If he should be sorry for what he has done, my life will be preserved ; if not, my head is always ready." " My Lord," said Jasser, "gladly would I comply with your request, but my head would answer for it." " Thou shalt not suffer on my account," said Jaffier. " I will accompany thee to the entrance of the Khaliffe's apartment; thou shalt go in and tell him thou hast brought my head, and left it without. If the Khaliffe repents ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 105 he will reward thee for having saved my life ; if not, thou shalt return and strike it off, and take to Haroun the head of his friend." Jasser, who was not sorry to avoid a murder he saw must render him odious to the people, provided he could do it consistently with his own safety, gladly acceded to this. Jaffier accompanied him through the galleries of the palace, and he stop- ped at the door of the banqueting-room, where a few hours before he had dined with Haroun. He looked round with emotion. Jasser entered. " Is my command ex- ecuted?" said Haroun. " My Lord," said Jasser, " I have brought Jaffier's head, but have left it without." " Bring it in instantly," said Haroun imperiously ; Jasser went out. Jaf- fier was standing in the gallery where he had left him, his eyes were turned to the ground, and his hands joined in confession or prayer. He was so intent on devout meditation, that he did not instantly move. At the end of a moment he lifted up his eyes, and saw by the embarrassment of Jasser the Khalitfe's decision. Jasser was going to throw himself at his feet. Jaffier joined his hands again in devotion, and bent his neck to receive the stroke. Then Jasser drew his sabre, and severing his head at a blow, took it in to Haroun, reeking with blood, and the lips yet quivering. As soon as Haroun looked on it, he turned from the horrid spectacle with emotion, he could no longer control : * O Jaffier," exclaimed he, " never can Haroun look upon the murderer of thee." Then looking at Jasser with indignation and fury, he exclaimed, " Begone ! thou who art imbrued in the blood of my friend ! nor sully my view even for the moment of thy forfeited life, with thy execrated presence !" Haroun then made a sign to the attending officers, and before Jasser reached the door, or that the headsman could perform his office, he fell pierced with an hundred daggers— an awful example of the reward of those who deviate from rectitude, for the vain hope of temporal advantage. Jaffier was seven and thirty at the time of his death ; for seventeen years he had enjoyed the friendship of the Khaliffe. His head was placed on the bridge of Bagdat, where it remained till Haroun set out on his expedition to Chorazan, when it was burnt. Kondemir relates in his life of Haroun al Raschid, that in the accounts of the expenses of his household, were found the sums in gold, silver, jewels, p 106 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. presents, perfumes, and silks, bestowed on Jaffier. They amounted to thirty millions of drachmas of silver in one year. In the next year is charged four crowns of gold expended in naphtha and hemp, to burn the body of Jaffier ! An author of the History of the Barmecides says, " Jaffier, a short time before his death, was consulting an ephemeris, that he might chuse a favor- able hour to approach the Khaliffe. He was then in his palace on the banks oftheTygris. The windows were open, the summer air was delightful; and amidst his calculations, Jaffier was resting, absorbed in melancholy reflexions, as he looked at the bubbles that successively rose and sparkled, and burst as they chased each other in rapid succession down the stream. A man, who could not see Jaffier, was passing under the windows in a boat, singing some Arabian verses, which the breeze wafted to Jaffier's ears, and the sense of which were : " ' He who governs himself by the stars, does not recollect that God governs them. Serve God, then, whose will shall be inevitably fulfilled, and trust thy fate with him.' " Jaffier no sooner had heard these words, than he threw away his ephe- meris and his astrolabe; and, mounting his horse to meet the Khaliffe, never more shewed the least anxiety." Such was the end of the unfortunate Jaffier, nor was that of the rest of his family less severe. Jahia his venerable father, and Mahomet and Musa his brothers, were suddenly loaded with chains, and to the consternation not only of Bagdat, but of the whole empire, cast into noisome and deep dungeons, to languish out a wretched existence ; nor was the noble Fahdell excepted. This nobleman not only inherited all the virtues which were common to his whole family, and was likewise endowed with great military talents, but he was, in an especial manner, distinguished for austere virtue and honor a lofty dignity of manner, and princely generosity. The author of the Nighiaristan says, that Fahdell was equally lofty, su- perb, and liberal ; never unbending but to his intimate friends. One of them having asked him one day, how he had acquired the distant and proud manner with which his munificence was accompanied, he replied : " I have derived these qualities from the noble Amarah ben Hamzab, who possessed them both in a very eminent degree; and when a boy, I admired them so much in him, that their influence engrafted a new nature in me. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER U. 107 " The particular action of Amarah ben Hamzah which made the strongest impression on my mind, is as follows. My father Jahia, at the commence- ment of his fortune under the rapacious Khaliffe Al Mansor, had the govern- ment of a district. The Vizir, who was not his friend, ordered him instantly to pay the revenues of his province into the royal treasury, before it was possible to collect them. My father, after all the efforts which could be made by himself or his friends, could not possibly procure the sum. An immense deficiency remained, and absolute ruin threatened us. «* In this extremity, in which, under the reign of Al Mansor, not only our whole fortune, but our very existence was at stake, my father could think of nobody but Amarah ben Hamzah who could possibly extricate him, by lending so enormous a sum till the taxes were returned. But we had reason to suppose ourselves neither possessed of his favor nor friendship. The urgency of the case, however, admitted of no delay, and compelled an appli- cation. My father therefore sent me to represent his pressing necessity for the loan of a considerable sum of money. " I went accordingly to his house, where, after passing through a long file of attendants, I found him on a raised platform, covered with the richest car- pets, and reclining upon four large cushions. I saluted him respectfully from below, but so far from deigning to make me any reply, or even an inclination of the head in return, he coldly looked at me from head to foot, and turned his face away from me. " Chilled by this ungracious reception, had it not been my father's com- mand, I never could have asked this favor of him ; as his interest, however, was so deeply at stake, 1 executed his commission, and described his situa- tion with all the eloquence 1 was master of. When I ceased, he left me standing for a very considerable time, without one word of reply ; at length perceiving I did not go, he said in the driest and coldest manner possible, ' I will see,' and again turned away. " After this ungracious reply, I withdrew in indignation at his unfeeling manner, and in utter despair of attaining any thing j nor could I bring my- self for some time to take my father this unfavourable report. I wandered about for some time, full of desponding thoughts. At length, however, I returned, when I saw a long team of heavy-laden mules standing at my father's gate, and to my utmost astonishment was told they had brought the whole of the money from Amarah. " To finish my story — a short time after, my father having collected the 108 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. revenues of his government, sent to Amarah ben Hamzah the sum with which he had so generously supplied him, and ordered me to go and present his acknowledgments for the very essential service he had rendered him. " Am arah received me just as before, and no sooner had he understood my errand, than he drew himself up proudly, and said, ' Am I banker then to your father ? Take away these mules : never let me see this money more. Go, and God give you good speed.' " Nor was the example of Amarah lost upon Fahdell. Mindar ben Mog- heirat relates, that having fallen into great poverty, he left Damascus, his native place, and came to Bagdat with his children, during the time that Fahdell, the Barmecide, enjoyed the favor of the Khaliffe Haroun. When he reached the great square in which the market is held, he placed his starving children at the door of the great Mosque, and went to see what would befall him. He presently saw a number of persons richly dressed, who appeared to be assembling to attend some great and splendid entertain- ment. Pressed by extreme hunger, he resolved to follow, and went with them into a magnificent palace, where the gate being opened, they were imme- diately shewn through a succession of magnificent courts, into a splendid banqueting hall; every one placing himself at dinner, he also took a place. When he had eaten, he asked the person who sat next him what was the name of their host. " Do you not then," replied the guest, " know the generous Fahdell, the Barmecide?" Although by this question he discovered himself to be a stranger, he was yet allowed to remain with the guests, and a plate of gold was placed before him, in common with all those who had been invited ; and after the repast, two small bags of perfume, which every guest was presented with to take away, as- well as their golden plate. At length the company beginning to retire, he likewise moved towards the door, when an attendant stopped him. " I thought at first," said Min- der, " it was to command me to give up the plate I was carrying away, but I was only told Fahdell ordered me to come into his presence." When Minder presented himself, Fahdell told him he immediately observed him to be a stranger, and that he had a great curiosity to know by what adventure he had been brought to his house. Minder related circumstantially all that had lately occurred to him ; but not satisfied with this, he desired to hear the history of his past life; when ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER H. 109 he was so much interested by the recital of his misfortunes, that he desired him to remain, and detained him in conversation the remainder of the day. As the night was drawing near, he asked leave to go in search of his children. Fahdell desired to know where they had been left, and being told at the gate of the great Mosque, he said, " Very well, there is nothing to fear for them, since they are under the protection of God." Then calling one of his atten- dants to him, Fahdell whispered something in his ear, and continuing his conversation, desired Minder to stay with him till the morning, when he would send a person to shew him the way to the great Mosque. But when the time arrived, the man, instead of conducting him to the Mosque, led him to a beautiful house, neatly furnished, where he found his children, who had been taken there by Fahdell's orders the day before. Mahommed Demeschi, a celebrated poet, relates, that being one day in the palace of Fahdell, it so happened that several copies of verses were re- cited before him, on the birth of one of his sons. " None of these perform- ances," says Demeschi, " pleased him, and he asked me to compose a poem on the same subject. I did it in obedience to his commands, and he was so well pleased with my composition, that he munificently gave me ten thousand crowns, which laid the foundation of my subsequent fortune and reputation. Many years after the misfortunes of the noble house of Barmekki, I chanced one day to go to the bath, when the master sent a very handsome young lad to wait upon me. I know not by what impulse these verses just then came into my mind, and I accompanied them aloud with my voice; when on a sudden the boy, who waited on me, swooned, and fell to the ground, and the moment he recovered his senses left me. I was much surprized at this occur- rence, and having quitted the bath, complained to the master for having given me a youth for an attendant, who had dropped down, no doubt from being infected with the plague. " The master declared upon his oath, he had never perceived any thing of the kind, and immediately sending for the boy, interrogated him in my pre- sence. " The boy immediately asked me who was the author of the verses I had just recited. I told him they were written by myself. ' For whom did you compose them ?' said he. I answered him, ' For the son of the illustrious Fahdell.' He then said, ' Do you know where the son of Fahdell now is?' then, pausing a moment, he added, ' I am that son ; and unexpectedly hearing you repeat that poem, reminded me of my father's fallen fortune. 110 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. and of his expiring in a prison ; and the recollection so affected me that I swooned.' When," continued Demeschi, " I heard this pathetic story, I was touched with compassion for the son of the patron, to whom I owed all I possessed; and told him, ' O son of the noble Fahdell, come with me; I am old, and have no heirs, enjoy all that the munificence of your family has bestowed upon me immediately, and come now before the Cadhi, that I may immediately secure to you my whole fortune after my death.' The young man answered me, with tears in his eyes, ' God forbid that I should take again what my father has given. Know, that though I have lost all, I yet retain not only the blood, but the soul of a Barmecide !' " Nor could all the earnest entreaties I could use, by any means prevail upon him to allow me to shew him my gratitude for the benefits I had de- rived from his family. I could never prevail upon him to accept the smallest trifle." Such was the untimely fall of this truly noble and illustrious house. Jahia and his children died in prison, their immense estates were confiscated, and all their relations shared the same fate; they were seized in the different provinces of the empire, and for the most part died either a violent death, or in extreme want and misery. But this dreadful misfortune set the resignation and religious constancy of Jahia, the venerable head of this family, in its true light. This excellent man, though loaded with chains, gave continual proofs of it, whenever he was visited in prison by his friends j for there were among the thousands he had served, some who were so faithful as not to desert him in his misfor- tunes. Jahia was thoroughly sensible of the value of their sympathy, but those who visited him in the dungeon of his prison, to endeavour to furnish him with motives of consolation, were soon convinced that his heart was fixed on a rock, which no billows of misfortune could shake. " Let us be thankful," said he, " that whilst God has been pleased to shew in our family an awful instance of the instability of fortune, we are free from that sting with which ill employed prosperity might have embittered the remainder of our days. O my sons, repine not that God has chosen us for an example to the world ; that the greatest reverse of fortune, where the conscience is pure, can never make a man thoroughly unhappy. God does no man wrong, in withdrawing from him the favors he hath in a plenteous manner bestowed upon him. He owed him nothing. The good man should ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. Ill not covet riches; he should employ the bulk for the good of others, and enjoy the rest without attachment, as a traveller enjoys a comfortable night's rest at his inn, but passes on without regret to the end of his journey." Such were the sentiments of this excellent man in the height of his misfor- tunes. He was the comfort and support of his children, who were confined in the same prison with him. " How is it possible," said one of his younger sons to him, " that having served both God and the state with the utmost zeal and application, and having in all respects lavished our blood and talents in the service of the Khaliffe, we should yet be reduced to starve in hunger, darkness, and in chains?" " O my sons," said Jahia, " God sees not as man sees. It is perhaps the voice of some distressed person who hath cried aloud to heaven for vengeance against us; perhaps we have unwittingly neglected to administer justice to some person under oppression, that we might have served. But I am inclined to think that it is an effect of his goodness, to shew us the instability of the goods of this world, He may be pleased to try our faith, to see if we love Him more than ourselves; if we adore Him in adversity as well as in prosperity, and make his will the rule of our actions and wishes in both." Such was Jahia. Surely he who was thus faithful to that light he saw darkly, shall one day rise to behold the unknown God, whom he sought after, face to face. But the unjust animosity of the Khaliffe against the Barmecidse, was not satisfied with the long imprisonment he made this venerable old man suffer. He at length put an end to his misfortunes, by ordering him to be put to death ; and this order was accordingly executed in prison. Those who were bribed to despatch him returned with altered countenances, and cast before the Khaliffe a paper, which on stripping their victim, they had found fixed upon his breast. It contained these words in Jahia's hand-writing : " The accused goes first, the accuser shall soon follow him ; they must both appear before that inflexibly just tribunal, where false accusations and illicit pro- ceedings shall avail no more." The inflexible Haroun could not refrain from tears on reading this paper. For a moment those about him imagined he was sorry he had acted so rigor- ously to a venerable person who was the instructor of his youth, to whose charge he could lay no crime, and to whose fidelity he owed his crown and his life. But they were mistaken. These emotions were smothered, nor were they productive of any good to the rest of the family of the unfortunate r 112, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. minister. Not one of them could obtain a pardon, or a restitution of their effects and estates : so that those who escaped death, were obliged for the most part to go far from Bagdat; and not daring to discover themselves in the places whither they took shelter, they were obliged to follow the mean- est employments to obtain a livelihood. Haroun even carried his unjust resentment against this exalted family to such an absurd length, as to attempt to abolish the very memory of them. But it was all in vain. Their munificence, their integrity, and their talents, had left a deeply engraven trace uu the hearts of the people. The unani- mous voice of the people avenged them, for the cruelty and injustice of the prince. The Khaliffe at length proclaimed, that all persons, who should presume to make the least mention of the Barmecide, should suffer death. There was, however, an old man, venerable both on account of his virtues and advanced age, who, through the affection, gratitude, and respect, he bore to the memory of the Barmecidaj, dared the Khaliffe's prohibition, and every- where openly spoke in their praises. Monder, for so this reverend man was named, used every day to take his stand before one of their palaces, and as he pointed to their desolate avenues, and grass-grown courts, he recited to the passengers their virtues, their ac- complishments, their noble actions, their generosity, and the eminent services they had rendered the state. Here liberal largesses were given to the poor ; there incorruptible justice was administered; every part, in short, of each of their palaces, bore record to some virtue of the fallen Barmecida? The Khaliffe having been informed of the old man's boldness, caused him to be apprehended and condemned to death. Monder received his sentence with the greatest resolution, and asked no other favor, than that he might be per- mitted to speak a few words to the Khaliffe, before it was put in execution. Haroun having consented, the old man addressed him in the following manner : "Thou, O Commander of the Faithful, art he, who chose the unfor- tunate Barmecida? to govern the empire under thy authority. Thou didst lavish favors upon them before our eyes. Thou taughtest us to love and revere them first: how then are we culpable for entertaining sentiments to which thou thyself hast given rise ? Experience confirmed the sentiment thy wisdom first taught us. They shewed themselves faithful subjects, the support of thy throne, and the refuge of the desolate and oppressed ; and for seventeen long years, thou, O Khaliffe, didst proclaim their unrivalled merit, zeal, and capacity. How then, shall the myriads who constitute thy empire ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 113 forget their benefits, their virtues, or their services. Thou mayest, indeed, silence the tongue of the base and the ungrateful, but thy power extends not to the emotions of the heart, or the sentiments of the mind ; and he who should abstain from uttering their praise, would awaken the scorpion of con- science in his heart, whose sting infuses that only pain, which endures beyond the power of time. I therefore boldly assert, that thou canst never constrain the voice of the gratitude of an empire; but if, contrary to my firm assur- ance, the nations from the Oxus to the gates of the West, should prove so utterly base, which is impossible, the very ruins of the palace of the Barme- cidae, whence an ample tide of blessings was wont to flow, would yet remain a monument of their praise, and our ingratitude. This discourse made a very deep impression upon the Khaliffe ; he even, appeared moved to compassion, nor could he refrain from tears. It was hoped, that though the Barmecidae were no longer here below, that he would at least have honored their memory by some mark of real sorrow. But they were mistaken. He however revoked the sentence he had passed against the grateful Monder, and set him at liberty. The old man, overjoyed, not that he had escaped with life, but that he had in any degree appeased the Khaliffe's wrath against this illustrious family, fell at Haroun's feet to return him thanks ; when he arose to depart, the Khaliffe made him a present. It was a golden plate. Monder, when he received it, gave a fresh proof of his inviolable regard for the Barmecidae ; for after kneeling again to thank the Khaliffe, he prostrated himself towards the quarter where the ruins of the palace of the Barmecidae appeared, and exclaimed with a loud voice, " O noble Barmecidae, this is a fresh favor and benefit, which you have been the means of my receiving." Notwithstanding, however, Haroun's favor to Monder, he continued equal- ly inflexible, and still endeavoured, by every means, to extinguish the remem- brance of this illustrious house. But in vain. The universal voice of the nations spoke their praise. Authors, both poets and historians, emulated each other in proclaiming their virtues. It has indeed been observed, that there never was either prince or Sultan among the Arabians, who employed the pens of so many writers as the Barmecidae. An expression concluding one of the numerous poems on this family, we cannot forbear to mention. " O children of Barmeki," says the poet, " your gladdening beams inspired life to all, and the whole earth, which rejoiced before you as your bride, now mourns with the mourning of your widow." 2 114 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. Such was the fate of this noble house; nor must we forget that of the princess Abassah, the Khaliffe's sister, whose connexion with the unfortu- nate Jaffier was one of the principal causes of his untimely end. Some Arabian writers say, she was thrown into a well at the time the Barmecidae were put in prison. She, however, by some means escaped from her intended destruction ; since Abu Ajetah, an Arabian historian, relates, that she was living many years afterwards in a distant province, unknown, and in a most miserable condition. He tells us, that a lady of her former acquaintance, having met her in the place of her exile, had a conversation with her, in which Abassah, speaking of her former grandeur, informed the lady, that she had once four hundred slaves to wait upon her, and at that time she was destitute of every thing. Her whole possessions consisted of two sheep-skins, with which she covered herself. She then said, that she did not repine at her situation, and that she attributed her singular misfortunes, to her want of gratitude for the singular blessings God had bestowed upon her. She added, that she acknowledged the mercy of God in leading her to see her error, and to be sincerely penitent, and that she was perfectly contented. The lady then made her a present of five hundred drachmas, with which she seemed as well pleased, as if she had been restored to her former rank. The Khaliffe had scarcely destroyed his friends, the Barmecides, before he felt the want of them. He soon received intelligence of the revolutions which had happened in the Grecian empire. Irene had been deposed, and Nicephorus being seated upon the throne, wrote to Haroun a pathetic letter on the duty of sparing the blood of their subjects, and entreated him to continue the truce he had granted the Empress Irene, on the same conditions, which he promised punctually to observe. The Khaliffe, who was well pleased to find the new Emperor become his tributary, without exposing the lives of his subjects, departed from Bagdat to spend the winter at Jerusalem. The winter proving extremely severe, Nicephorus supposed the ice would prevent the Khaliffe from sending out his troops against him ; and he there- fore, in express violation of the treaty he had just solicited, sent a large body of troops on the Khaliffe's frontiers, who put fire and sword in every quarter. Nicephorus at the same time commanded his ambassador to present to the Khaliffe several swords, richly ornamented, and of excellent temper, meaning to let that prince know, that for the future he must not expect to ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER It. 115 receive the stipulated tribute; and that instead of money, he had nothing but weapons to present to him. It is said, the Khaliffe answered this bravado by a feat of strength, which astonished all the bystanders. He caused the swords to be fixed together, and stuck into the ground, and then cut them all asunder with one blow of his scymitar. He afterwards sent a formidable army into Greece, who ravaged Bceotia, Romania, and all the neighbouring provinces, and returned with an im- mense booty. The Khaliffe also sent out a large fleet against the Grecian emperor, which made a descent on Cyprus, and devastated the whole island. They were preparing to do the same at Rhodes, when a terrible tempest arose, which destroyed a considerable part of the ships, and obliged the rest to return to port in a very disabled condition. The next year Nicephorus headed his army in person, and was totally defeated by Haroun, and was obliged to sue for peace, and to agree to pay the tribute as at first. Scarcely, however, was the Grecian war concluded, when Haroun was summoned into Persia, to quell dangerous commotions excited there by the Zendeans, and which threatened a revolt. Nicephorus was no sooner informed of Haroun's departure with his army towards Persia, than he seized the opportunity afforded him of taking the field, and ravaging the Mussulman territories. The Khaliffe, enraged to the last degree at this breach of faith, laid aside his march into Persia; and, reinforcing his army, till it amounted to three hundred thousand men, he hastened to the Grecian frontiers, where he took ample vengeance, by burning every town he made himself master of, and putting all the inhabitants to the sword. He wreaked his principal fury, however, on Heraclea and the neighbouring cities, which he totally destroyed; and when the Grecian Emperor again sued for peace, the Khaliffe only consented on condition of greatly augmenting the tribute they had before paid ; he moreover bound him by an oath neither to rebuild one of the cities he had destroyed, nor to raise any fortifications to defend any of the other cities. Haroun then withdrew his troops, and marched towards Persia, which had by this time broken out into an open revolt. After some time he put an end to this insurrection, and retired to the city of Raccah, in Mesopotamia, Q 2 ?lf ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. whither for some time he took up his abode. But though he had been thus in every instance triumphant over his enemies, his heart was inwardly not at peace; a deep and unconquerable dejection sat upon his spirits ; outwardly he was harassed by continual revolts; and in the interior of his mind he was still more tormented, by restless anxieties and foreboding fears ; his faithful friends, the Barmecidas, were no more; and though his talents fitted him equally to head his army or direct his own councils, he felt that he was now- alone; the commander of nations, whose esteem he had lost; nor did the leisure he enjoyed at Raccah appear to cheer his mind. Literary society in which he was formerly used to unbend, seemed to have lost its charms ; and he often left his courtiers to wander alone, apparently occupied by painful recollections; and his nights grew more and more disturbed. One evening the Khaliffe had been more than usually oppressed - all his attendants had long retired to rest, when Haroun, unable to bear the reflec- tions of a wounded spirit, rose from his bed, and after pacing up and down his chamber for a long time, took a book, hoping to tranquillize his spirits How thetrae passed he was unconscious; when, as in a vision, he beheld issuing from the dark part of his room, a spectral and gigantic arm, which slowly extended till it reached, in a threatening posture, over his head. The clenched hand was filled with red earth, which soiled the wrist up to the elbow. Then a voice, deep, solemn, and inexpressibly awful, pronounced slowly the following words : « Blood-red is this earth. Of blood-red earth the grave of Haroun !» » And where (demanded the Khaliffe imperiously) shall be my grave ?" The same voice answered, << It * a t Toos " The spectral arm disappeared, and the Khaliffe was left in profound darkness Meanwhile the greatest terror and consternation seized his mind • nor could any art conceal the perturbation of his spirits. A deep and fatal impression appeared to have taken full possession of him, and he instantlv returned to Bagdat, his capital. ^ The Khaliffe immediately sent for Gabriel, the son of Baklishua his phy sician, who was a Christian, and who was in the habit of visiting nim every morning. This physician told him, that dreams arose solely from a disor dered state of the stomach, (what occasioned that, he seems to have been too good a courtier to inquire), and that he could not do better than drive it from his memory, by diverting himself either by some entertainment, or bv some military expedition. * Haroun resolved to follow his physician's advice; he ordered a sumptuous ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 11T entertainment, at which all the nobility of the empire were invited, and commanded largesses to be distributed to the poor every day. This festival continued many days, and Haroun was always present; yet amidst the rejoicing of his whole capital, his countenance shewed that he alone was sad, and that his heart was yet weighed down with a load of unrepented guilt; and all his physician's arts proved insufficient " To minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; Or with some sweet oblivious antidote Cleanse the stuff 'd bosom of that perilous stuff Which weighs upon the heart." After his entertainment, which was conducted with great splendor, was concluded, he determined to try Gabriel's other prescription, and to set out at the head of his army, to quell another revolt which had taken place at Samarcand. In order to go to Chorazan, he must necessarily quit Bagdat by a road leading over the bridge upon which he had ordered the head of Jaffier, the Barmecide, to be affixed. The Khaliffe had several times passed this way during nearly five years which had elapsed since the destruction of that family. He never mentioned them, and, indeed, as it has before been said, took every means to efface their remembrance. Yet now, before he set out, he ordered the head of Jaffier to be taken down ; and he particularly added, that it was his command it should be properly buried. He then set out on his expedition, and went by long marches to Georgia, where, being much indisposed, he halted; but, after some days rest, he seemed completely recovered, and that not only in body, but in mind. His attention seemed engrossed by the object in which he was engaged, and cheerfulness was restored to his spirits, and the whole army again proceeded to Chorazan. He had, however, scarcely entered that province, when he was suddenly seized with such weakness and indisposition, that it became absolutely necessary for him to rest till he should be quite restored; and they, with very great difficulty, got him late at night to the nearest town. When they halted, he seemed much better, and slept so well, that he ap- peared quite well; on awaking next morning, and enquiring what was the name of the town in which he was, he was told it wasToos. A violent agi- tation then seized the Khaliffe, and turning to his physician, who was come 118 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. to see him, he exclaimed, "O Gabriel, dost thou remember what I told thee at Raccah ? This is Toos." Then, with redoubled agitation, he com- manded that some of his attendants should bring him an handful of the earth. None but Gabriel understood the cause of the Khaliffe's agitation, as he had revealed his dream to him in strict confidence. Mesrour, his con- fidential and favorite Eunuch, who was also much attached to Haroun, wishing to quiet his agitation, ran, and turning up his sleeve, plunged his bare arm into an heap of wet earth that happened to be at no great distance, and ran in with an handful, just as it was, to Haroun. The Khaliffe no sooner saw it, than a convulsive shuddering crept over his whole frame, and he turned from the ominous sight, inarticulately exclaiming, " This is that naked arm, and this the blood-red earth. Here the glory of Haroun ends. This is the place of my sepulture." So saying, an horrible dread immediately seized upon his mind, and his disease returned with redoubled violence ; so that he was immediately put to bed, and his life was despaired of. There was at this time in the train of Haroun an Indian physician, named Mangey, to whom popular prejudice ascribed powers almost miraculous. Khondemer tells us, he had the white and polished hand of Moses (that is, he was endued with the power of working miracles) and the breath of the Messiah (which means, the ability to restore life to the dead). This man being conceived to be the most able physician in the Khaliffe's dominions, was immediately applied to, and he accordingly prescribed a remedy, which gave Haroun immediate relief. His disease, so far as it was a bodily one, was a dropsy on the chest. But Gabriel, physician in ordinary to the Khaliffe, was much displeased at seeing Mangey resorted to in this critical case, instead of himself; and was still more vexed to find his remedies attended with a success, which seemed likely to secure to another the honor of Haroun's cure. Gabriel accordingly went to the Khaliffe and prevailed upon him to take some of his medicines. Mangey hearing the quality of the mixtures Gabriel had administered, exclaimed in a fury, " Then, that ignorant fellow has killed the Khaliffe." Accordingly the medicine had not been taken above an hour, when Haroun grew much worse ; and on being told what Mangey had said, he ordered Gabriel to be immediately killed. Gabriel having heard this sentence, begged a respite till next day, that the effect of his remedy might be fully seen, as he con- tended, that many medicines appear at first to weaken those they finally ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 119 cure. The Khaliffe having granted this favor, Mangey said to the courtiers, " He has deceived the prince to save his life; Haroun will be dead before to-morrow." Accordingly he died that very night, at the end of three days after he came to Toos; and was succeeded in the Khaliffat by his eldest son, Amin. Haroun was buried in the blood-red earth of Toos, according to his dream, in the very place where the splendid sepulchre of the Iman Riza has been since erected, which is now called Meschad. We have dwelt more at length upon this piece of biography, from having always thought it very interesting. Can there be a more striking contrast than the peaceful end of the virtuous Jahia, loaded with chains in his dun- geon, and the perturbed one of Haroun, seated on the throne of the eastern and the western world ; and gifted not only with plenitude of wealth and domination, but with intellectual gifts also. The learned author of this history of the Patriarchs of Alexandria thus characterizes this celebrated Khaliffe, p. 250 : " Vir fuit, quantum in Muhamedana religione fieri potuit magnus literis et literatis favens, autori- tatis suae tenax, crudelis in suos, qui imperium Saracenorum gloriose et fortiter tenuit. Sub eo autem floruere celebres medici Bachtiechua Georgii filius; Joannes filius Masowcah, vulgo Mesue, Salehus Indus; quorum duo priores Christiani fuerunt ex Nestorianorum secta, et eorum gratia apud principes res Nestorianorum Bagdate maximum incrementum acceperunt adeo ut in reliquos Christianos primatum quemdam dignitatis haberent." We should have observed, that just as Haroun was at the very point of death, the brother of Leith, who headed the revolt at Samarcand, was brought to him in chains. It was imagined, at such an hour, that the Khaliffe would have shewn mercy ; but instead of that, tortured by his own mind, but unrepenting, he fiercely exclaimed, with his dying breath, " Could I but say two words, they should be, Kill him. Let him be imme- diately cut to pieces in my presence;" which was no sooner done, than Haroun expired. He sat three-and-twenty years upon the Moslem throne. As to his person, he was tall, corpulent, and of a fair complexion. He had thick bushy hair, which began to grow grey; a black beard. His face was handsome, denoting bravery and sensibility ; yet violence and a deter- mined inflexibility of purpose. Where his passions were not interested, he was a Khaliffe of singular justice and humanity. He was a great patron of the liberal arts* and ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. very generous to the poor, amongst whom he distributed a thousand dirhems every day. None of the preceding Khaliffes had so great a number of counsellors, judges, learned men, and poets in his palace. The inscription on his seal was, " Greatness and power are from God." Some say, that besides the dropsy on his chest, he was seized at Toos with other dangerous symptoms. Eutychius tells us, that in Haroun's reign there was so remarkable a solar eclipse, that at Alexandria, after evening prayer, the stars appeared, and the people, struck with terror, fell down on their knees to implore the divine protection. Isa Ebn Jaafar said the funeral service over the Khaliffe Haroun al Raschid, at his interment. For the authorities for this article we refer our readers to Herbelot's BlBLiOTHEQUE ORIENTALS, Edit, de Neaulme d la Haye, 1777,— Articles : —Abbas. Abbassides. All Ommiades. Khaliffe. Mahadi. Al Mansor. Hadi. Haroun. Jahia ben Barmec. Jahia ben Abdullah. Barmekian. Fahdell. Abbassah. Zobeide. Balkhe. Bagdat. Asmai. Malec. Giafar. Gabriel. Mangeh. Fatimiles. Moez. Mohammed Demeschi. Mostanser. Toos. Chorazan. Hakem, 8{c. Sfc. Also to the Modern Universal History, vol. ii. from page 277, at the building of Bagdat, to page 369, which includes the reign of Haroun. Likewise the Abbe' Marigny's Lives of the Khaliffes to the expira- tion of the Abbasside dynasty, vol. iii. from page 26, the foundation of Bagdat, to page 93, the end of Haroun's reign. Also the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria, which we re- ferred to duly in the body of this article ; and Ockley's History of the Saracens. We have to observe, that in the originals the names Giafar and Jaffier are used indifferently, as also those of Yahia and Jahia. We thought it more simple to uniformly apply the name Giafar to the first of the Barmecidas, and that of Jaffier to Haroun's friend, than to perplex our reader, by giving each time the name at full length, and to designate them by their proper appellations, Giafar or Jaffier Ben Barmek of Balkhe, and Giafar or Jaffier ben Jahia ben Khaled ben Barmek the friend of Haroun. And, on the same plan, we have uniformly applied the name Jahia to ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 121 Haroun's Vizir, and Yahia to the Alian prince, instead of saying each time, Jahia or Yahia ben Khaled al Barmek, and Jahia or Yahia ben Abdallah ben Hassan ben Ali. The events of Haroun's reign are not here marked in chronological order, because the arrangement adopted by the Abbe Marigny, and that in the Universal History, do not precisely agree. (c). BOMBAST DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT. O ! letale bellum, dira strages, clades mortalis, fames mortis, sitis cruoris insaciabilis, furibundus impetus, furor impetuosus, insania vehemens, crudelis conflictus, immisericors ulcio, lancearum fragor immensus, sagit- tarum garritus, securium concussus, ensium vibracio, armorum dirupcio, vulnerum impressio, effusio sanguinis, induccio mortis, corporum dissolucio, nobilium occisio, aer fragoribus horrendis tonitruat, nubes missilia impluunt, tellus cruorem absorbet, spiritus a corporibus evolant, semiviva corpora proprio sanguine volutant, cadaveribus occisorum terrae superficies operitur. Iste invadit, ille cadit, iste aggreditur, ille moritur, iste animum revocat, ille animam, cum cruore simul eructat, occisor irascitur, occisus mcerore conte- ritur, victus reddi desiderat, victorum impetus reddicionis tempora non exspectat, saevicia regnat, pietas exulat, fortes et strenui opprimuntur et montes cadaverum cumilantur, multitudo maxima traditur morti, principes et magnates ducuntur captivi, &c. &c. — Henry's History of England, fourth edit. Svo. 1805, 10th vol. page 325. Extracted from Thomas of Elmham. (d). RIDICULOUS DESCRIPTION OF THE ADMIRABLE CRICHTON. Speaking of the fifteen characters played by Crichton, Sir Thomas Urquhart says, " Summoning all his spirits together, which never failed to be ready at the call of so worthy a commander, he did, by their assistance, so conglomerate, shuffle, mix, and interlace the gestures, inclinations, actions, and very tones of the speech of those fifteen several sorts of men, whose carriages he did personate, into an inestimable ollapodrida of immaterial morsels of divers kinds, suitable to the very ambrosian relish of the Heliconian nymphs, that in the peripetia of this drammatical exercitation, by the enchanted trans- portation of the eyes and ears of its spectabundal auditorie, one would have sworn that they all had looked with multiplying glasses ; and that (like that R 122 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. angel in the Scripture, whose voice was said to be like the voice of a multi- tude), they heard in him alone the promiscuous speech of fifteen several actors; by the various ravishments of the excellencies whereof, in the frolick- ness of a jocund strain beyond expectation, the logofacinated spirits of the beholding hearers and auricularic spectators, were so on a sudden seazed upon in their risible faculties of the soul, and all their vital motions so universally affected in this extremitie of agitation, that to avoid the inevitable charms of his intoxicating ejaculations, and the accumulative influences of so powerful a transportation, one of my lady dutchess' chief maids of honour, by the vehemence of the shock of those incomprehensible raptures, burst forth into a laughter to the rupture of a vein in her body; and another young lady, by the irresistible violence of the pleasure unawares infused, where the tender receptibilite of her too tickled fancie was least able to hold out, so unpro- videdly was surprised, that with no less impetuositie of ridibundal passion then she, not able longer to support the well beloved burden of so excessive delight, and intransing joys of such mercurial exhilarations, through the in- effable extasie of an overmastered apprehension, fell back in a swoon, without the appearance of any other life into her, then what, by the most refined wits of theological speculators, is conceived to be exerced by the purest parts of the separated entelechies of blessed saints in their sublimest conversations with the celestial hierarchies : this accident procured the incoming of an apothecarie with restoratives, as the other did that of a surgeon, with conso- lidative medicaments. — Sir Thomas UrquharCs account of Crichton, pp. 71 and 76. (e). RUSSIAN ENTERTAINMENTS IN THE COURT OF PETER THE FIRST, SURNAMED GREAT. The following accounts from a confidential officer in Peter the Great's court, give nearly as vivid a picture of the barbarism of the Russian court, as that exhibited by Madame de Bareuth. The two entertainments described, were given by the Czar and by his sister, the princess Natalia, on account of the marriage of two of her dwarfs. " The princess Natalia, only sister to the Czar, ordered preparations to be made for a grand wedding of two of her favourite dwarfs, who were to be married; on which occasion a great number of little coaches were made, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 123 and little Shetland horses provided to draw them, and all the dwarfs in the kingdom were invited to celebrate the nuptials, to the number of ninety- three. They went in a grand procession through all the streets of Moscow; before them went a large open waggon, drawn by six horses, with kettle- drums, trumpets, French horns, and hautboys ; then followed the marshal and his attendants, two and two, on horseback ; then the bridegroom and bride, in a coach and six, attended by a little bridesman and bridesmaid, who sat before them in the coach. They were followed by fifteen little coaches, each drawn by six Shetland horses, and each containing four dwarfs. It was very strange to see such a multitude of little creatures together in one company; especially as they were furnished with coach- men, footmen, and the whole of their equipage, in exact conformity to their own stature. Two troops of dragoons attended the procession, to keep off the mob ; and many persons of fashion were invited to the wedding, who attended in their coaches to the church, where the pigmy couple were married ; from thence the procession returned in order to the princess's palace, where a grand entertainment was prepared for the company ; two large tables were covered on each side of a long hall, where the assembly of dwarfs dined together; the princess, with her two nieces, princesses Ann and Elizabeth, the Czar's daughters, were at the trouble themselves to see them all seated and well attended before they sat down to their own table ; and in the evening the dwarf company had a large state room allotted to make merry among themselves ; the entertainment concluded with a ball, which lasted till day-light. The company which attended the princesses on this occasion was so numerous as to fill several rooms." On the birth of the unfortunate Peter Petrovitch, the Czar gave an enter- tainment, yet more grotesque and barbarous. The rejoicings on this occa- sion lasted eight days. " The solemnities on this occasion were attended with the most extraordi- nary pomp, as splendid entertainments, balls, and fire-works. At one of the entertainments three curious pies were served up; upon opening the first, at the table of the grandees, out stepped a female dwarf ; she made a speech to the company, and then the pie was carried away. At the taple of the ladies, a male dwarf was served up in the same manner. Out of the third, at the table of the gentlemen, sprung a covey of twelve partridges, with such a fluttering noise, as greatly surprised the company. In the evening a noble fire-work was played off, in honor of the new-born Peter, with several R 2 124 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. curious devices ; and on the top of all was this inscription in large characters HOPE WITH PATIENCE. " The rejoicings were followed by a kind of carnival; the Czar having united the patriarchal dignity, and the great revenues belonging to it, to the crown ; and to render the character of the patriarch ridiculous in the eyes of the people, he appointed Sotof his jester, now in the eighty-fourth year of his age, mock patriarch, who, on this occasion, was married to a widow of thirty-four; and the nuptials of this extraordinary couple were celebrated in masquerade, by about four hundred persons of both sexes ; every four persons having their proper dress, and peculiar musical instruments. The persons appointed to invite the company were four of the greatest stam- merers in the kingdom ; the four running footmen were the most unwieldy, gouty, fat men that could be found; the bridemen, stewards, and waiters, were very old men; and the priest that joined them in marriage was upwards of one hundred years' old. The procession, which began at the Czar's palace, and crossed the river upon the ice, proceeded to the great church near the senate-house, was in the following order: first, a sledge, with the four footmen ; secondly, another with the stammerers, the bride- men, stewards, and waiters ; then followed Knez Romadanofski, the farcical czar, who represented king David in his dress, but instead of a harp, had a lyre, covered with a bear skin, to play upon; and he being the chief character in the show, his sledge was made in imitation of a throne, and he had king David's crown upon his head, and four bears, one at each corner, tied to his sledge by way of footmen, and one behind, standing and holding the sledge with his two paws; the bears being all the while pricked with goads, which made them roar in a frightful manner; then the bridegroom and bride, on an elevated sledge, made on purpose, surrounded with Cupids, holding each a large horn in his hand; on the fore part of the sledge was placed, by way of coachman, a ram, with very large horns ; and behind, was a he-goat, by way of lacquey ; behind them followed a number of other sledges, drawn by different kinds of animals, four to each, as rams, goats, deer, bulls, bears, dogs, wolves, swine, and asses ; then came a number of sledges, drawn by six horses each, with the company; the sledges were made long, with a bench in the middle, stuffed with hair and covered with cloth ; twenty persons in one sledge, sitting behind each other, as on horse- back. The procession no sooner began to move than all the bells in the city began to ring, and all the drums of the fort, toward which they were ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 125 advancing, began to beat upon the ramparts; the different animals were forced to make a noise; all the company playing upon or rattling their different instruments, and altogether made such a terrible confused noise; that it is past description. The Czar, with his three companions, Prince Menzikof, and the Counts Apraxin and Bruce, were clad like Friezland boors, each with a drum. From church the procession returned to the palace, where all the company were entertained till twelve at night, when the same procession went by the light of flambeaux to the bride's house, to see her home. " This carnival lasted ten days, the company going every day from one house to another, at each of which were tables spread with all sorts of coM meat, and with such abundance of strong liquors everywhere, that there scarce was a sober person to be found at that time in Petersburgh. On the tenth day the Czar gave a grand entertainment at the Senate-house, on the close of which every one of the guests was presented with a large glass with a cover, called the Double Eagle, containing a large bottle of wine, which every body was obliged to drink ; to avoid this, I made my escape, pretend- ing to the officer upon guard, that I was sent on a message from the Czar, which he believing, Jet me pass, and I went to the house of a Mr. Kelderman, who had formerly been one of the Czar's tutors, and was still in great favor with him ; Mr. Kelderman followed me very soon, but not before he had drank his double eagle, and coming into his own house, he com- plained that he was sick with drinking, and sitting down by the table, laid his head on it, and appeared as if fallen asleep ; it being a common custom with him, his wife and daughters took no notice of it, till after some time they observed him neither to move or breathe, and coming close up to him, found he was stiff and dead, which threw the family into great confusion. Knowing the esteem in which he stood with the Czar, I went and informed, him of the sudden death of Mr. Kelderman. His Majesty's concern at the event brought him immediately to the house, where he condoled with the widow for the loss of her husband, and ordered an honorable burial for the deceased at his own expense, and provided an annuity for her life. Thus ended that noisy carnival ; but it was some time before the members could fully recover their senses." These narrations are extracted from the Memoirs of Peter Henry Bruce, a very curious and amusing work. This gentleman was an officer in the service of Peter the Great. They present a very singular portrait of Russian 126 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. manners at that period, and decidedly shew, in the case of Peter himself, that whatever superiority the force of genius may impart to the views of an individual, his taste will generally be modelled by that of his century; and that though the single possession of knowledge may confer distinc- tion of talent, it requires the diffusion of knowledge among the mass of the people, before a foundation can be laid for the perfectioning the taste of any individual. (f). MIRACULOUS DISCOVERIES OF MURDERS. Observatio sa?igui>iis in occiso, et submerso, ad rei prasenliam, effluent is. E.v schedis reverendi Christop. Wren, S. T. P. Submersis clam, subsistere sanguinem ad accessum interfectoris certum est; ex historia toti provincial Oxon, notissima. Apud Ricot (in parochia de Haseley cujus cura mini olim demandata est) ad barones Norricios spec- tantem ; vivarii custos grandacvus, a nepote, in vivarium noctu allectus, cum tempus pactum prasverteret, sub quercu recumbens, sopore correptus est; quem sic repertum, nepos accedens (spe hseredii, cui post mortem senis destinatus est) excerebravit, tractumque in profundam fossam, lapide ingenti, ad collum appenso, demersit; ubi 5 hebdomadis plus minus delituit cadaver, stupente domino, totaque vicinia, quid de sene actum esset; post dictum tempus fcenifectores, ad margines fossae, operas producentes, tarn ingentia muscarum examina conspexerunt, ut ad inquisitionem tanti ostenti impellerentur : tandemque visum primo obscure, deinde multo labore ■extractum cadaver, putridum 3 et vix sibi cohasrens extrahunt, et extractum recognoscunt; sed de interfectore nemo mortalium conjicire quicquam potuit; interfectum fuisse, et summa vi illic projectum indicio fuit, saxum ad collum appensum; quod omnem, de suicidio, dubitationem sustulit prorsus. Ad scelus igitur tam atrox delegendum, solerter admodum, impulsu ejus, qui vindictam sibi propriam esse vult, dominus Norricius jussit putridum corpus, sed in aquis, ab extremis fcetoribus prasservatum, dominica jam proxima, in casmiterio juxta portam ecclesias exponi, ut egredientium oculis et tactui pcene obversaretur. Solus scelestus ille nepos, facinoris tanti conscius, quasi conspectum carissimi avunculi nequiret ferre, abducere se, multo dolore quasi oppressum, conatus est; at dominus Norricius suspi- catus, illius fuisse facinore senem ablatum, cui hasredii lucrum obventurum ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. erat, eo urgentius detractantem, accedere impulit ; manumque mortui (quod plurimi sponte fecerant) digito attingere ; quo tactu (mirum dictu !) Oculi (in cadavere) quasi Dei digito aperti, palam se movere visi, et sanguis e naribus effluens, adeo consternarunt Sicarium, ut in terram dilapsus, fateretur scelus a se clam patratum, sed justissimo Dei judieio patefactum; ex quo judici primura, dein carnifici oblatus, dignas tanto scelere pcenas, in patibulo dedit. Quod memorandum meaque ipsius manu signandum duxi. Ideoque ita testor. Ex autographo. Christop. Wren, Rector ecclesicc pradictce. Wren's Parentalia. Hargrove' s State Trials, folio edition, vol. x. Appendix, page 29. Case found among the papers of Sir John Maynard, Serjeant at Law, Ath Charles I. Spring Assizes, Hertford. Jane Norkot, found in bed with her throat cut, was pronounced to be a felo de se by the coroner's jury. Suspicions having afterwards arisen that she was murdered, the body was taken up, thirty days after interment, in the presence of the jury and a great number of people; one of them, the minister of the parish where the fact was committed, gave the following deposition at the trial that ensued : " That the body being taken up out of " the grave, thirty days after the party's death, and lying on the grass, and " the four defendants being present, were required each of them to touch " the dead body. Okeman's wife fell upon her knees, and prayed God to " shew tokens of her innocency. The appellant did touch the dead body; whereupon the brow of the dead, which was before of a livid and carrion " colour (in terminis, the verbal expression of the witness), began to have a " dew or gentle sweat arise on it, which encreased by degrees, till the sweat " ran down in drops on the face ; the brow turned of a lively and fresh " colour, and the deceased opened one of her eyes, and shut it again; and " this opening of the eye was done three several times. She likewise thrust " out the ring or marriage-finger three times, and pulled it in again, and •* the finger dropped blood from it on the grass." Sir Nicholas Hyde, Chief Justice, seeming to doubt the evidence, asked the witness, " who saw this " besides you?" — Witness, " I cannot swear what other people saw; but, " my Lord, I do believe the whole company saw it; and if it had been f thought a doubt, many would have attended with me." Thus the witness- 128 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. observing some admiration in the auditors, spake further : " My Lord, I am " the minister of the parish, and have long known all the parties, but have " never had occasion of displeasure against any of them, or they with me, " but as I was minister; the thing was wonderful to me, but I have no " interest in the matter, but as called upon to testify the truth, and that I " have done." (This witness was a very reverend person, as I guessed, of about seventy years of age ; his testimony was delivered gravely and tem- perately, to the great admiration of the auditory) ; whereupon, applying himself to the Chief Justice, he said, " My Lord, my brother here present " is minister of the next parish adjacent, and I am sure saw all done that I " have affirmed. " Therefore that person was also sworn, and did depose in every point, " the sweating of the brow — the change of colour— thrice " opening the eye — and the thrice motion of the finger, and drawing it in " again ;" — only the first witness added, that he himself dipped his finger in the blood which came from the dead body, to examine it, and he swore he believed it was blood. The result was the conviction of three of the accused out of four ; the husband of the deceased was the acquitted person. They made no confession at the place of execution, but each denied the commis- sion of the crime individually. (g). REFLEX AND DIRECT ASSOCIATIONS. Besides dividing associations into inherent or casual, we may also separate them into direct and reflex ones. The first mode of considering associations relates to their universality or individuality ; the latter mode to their proxi- mity or distance from the object with which they are connected. Direct associations are those excited by the object itself; whether universally or individually associated ; as the emotion any man experiences at seeing the ocean, or that which an Englishman feels at hearing " Britons strike home." Reflex associations are those excited not immediately by the object itself, but by the judgment or opinion with which we have been accustomed to connect that object. It is a feeling impressed not by a sensible object, but by an abstract idea. For example, suppose a foreigner walking through the streets of London. He sees a large building on fire, and immediately feels the direct association of awe at the -ight of so wide a conflagration, and at the idea of the number of individuals now perishing. But on seeing a mob collected, he inquires> ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. and learns it is a public building, and that no lives will be lost. He then simply regrets the destruction of so fine a building, and is going on his way, when a passenger, better informed than the rest, tells him, this building is the one which is the sole national depository of the wills of the deceased ; that it involves the security of every bequeathed inheritance, and the peace of every family in the empire. Immediately his feelings change, and he experiences the reflective sublime; for it is by a process of judgment, not by an instantaneous perception, that the mind appreciates these associations, and connects them with the interests of a vast empire ; and therefore it is through reflection, and not through perception, that he feels that boundless wealth and power are on the brink of a destruction vast and terrible, in- volving the fate of millions, and extending to generations yet unborn. "We thought it well to mention this, though it was unnecessary to dwell upon it in the text. We will conclude these remarks by observing, that as perceptions strike youth, and habits of thinking influence age; so direct associations have the most effect at one period of life, and reflex ones at another. And we have no doubt but that the failure of some vast commercial house, at one period of life, would excite feelings of a similar nature to those which a tremendous convulsion of nature would excite in another. s 130 ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. CHAPTER III. Universal and Casual Associations — Partial Associations — Inherent Associations include JVatural Scenery — Phy siognomonic Expression — Partial Associations include JVational Associations, Classical As- sociations, Religious Associations, &c. &c. — Individual Associations include either Associations peculiar to each Individual, from a long Operation of the same Causes, or Associations rivetted by vivid Emo- tion. In the first place, all associations, as the word implies, consist in one idea being presented to the mind accompanied by another ; and that either so often, or under circumstances of such vivid impression, that the mind habitually connects them together by an indissoluble bond, and (what is the material point to this Theory) the heart spon- taneously recurs to the feelings which both have excited. Nevertheless, though the mind may so connect two ideas together, or the heart associate the peculiar emotions they have excited, owing to having originally received the impression of them both at one time, yet the perceptions or feelings themselves which are so con- nected, may in reality have been conjoined upon very different grounds. In some cases, the perception may be inherently, and in its own nature, indissolubly associated with the feeling it excited ; as a tor- nado, for instance, is inherently associated with a sense of awe and fear. In other cases, the perception may be only fortuitously associated, as if, for instance, we had witnessed the death of any very dear friend in any particular room, we should experience pensive sensations at the sight of that room, though it should in reality command the most sprightly view, or be fitted up in the gayest manner imaginable. Thus, no person can have ever existed, of any age, century, or ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. 131 nation, (except perhaps Empedocles,) but would receive an impression of horror, at being placed with Mr. Humboldt on the perilous rock which projects over the unfathomable abysses of Pichincha (a) : but in the celebrated anecdote of the guide who ex- hibited the house of the eloquent and excellent Massillon, the impres- sion which caused him to faint away, when he came into the room where his master died, was imparted, not by an association inherent in the place itself, but by an accidental and peculiar association, which consequently could not operate beyond the sphere of that individual who had happened to be under its influence. For although, strictly speaking, indeed every expression of beauty or deformity is only the association of some external object, with the internal principle which constitutes its distinctive character, yet as there are some of these signs, which in their own nature are necessa- rily and universally associated, so others owe their association merely to fortuitous circumstances of casual or local association. We shall, therefore, for the better distinguishing of terms, hereafter denominate those of universal association, inherently ; and those of fortuitous association, casually associated ideas or feelings. For it is obvious, that feelings may in some instances be so inhe- rently associated with the object exciting them, that they can never be separated, but must continue through every age, and under all circumstances, to give one and the same impression ; whereas, in many other cases, associations may not be in the least neces- sarily connected with the object exciting them ; and hence it clearly appears, that though that casual association may as forcibly impress the individual who has chanced to receive it, as though it were inherent, yet the influence of that association cannot possibly extend farther than the limited instance in which its operation took place. Thus, for example, the granite crags of Chimboraco, the volcanic eruptions of Cotopaxi, Latacunga, or Popocatepec, the bursting of Geyser, the earthquake of Calabria, and various objects of the like description, may justly be termed inherently sublime ; because they s 2 132 ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. necessarily, and in their very nature, cannot fail to be universally associated with sensations of awe : and it is obvious, that every indi- vidual who ever has existed, or who ever will exist, will pronounce alike concerning them. Nor can we conceive the possibility of any one person, under any circumstances, referring them to any other class of feeling than the one above specified. But suppose, on the other hand, a person walking out early on a beautiful spring morning. The landscape glows with the purple morning light, dispersing the bright sunny mists. The violets and primroses peep from the banks, the young leaves and tender buds expand their purest green, the boughs are spangled with dew, the birds sing gladly from the brake, and every creature, buoyant with renewed spirits, seems rejoicing in the happiness of animal existence. The traveller sits beneath the picturesque bole of an aged willow, whose silvery foliage spreads far, to enjoy the cheerful landscape ; and a thousand gay scenes of innocent happiness float upon his mind, as he views the brightening light tinging the distant woody hills, and the heathered expanse of the distant Coldfield, and tipping with its brightest beams the light triple spire, the long known " ladies of the valley," which gracefully rise, adorning the plains of Lichfield. As he delights in the gay prospect, an inhabitant passing by, tells him the very willow under which he sits was planted by the hand of Johnson, and that in that very place had often stood Darwin, of saga- cious eye, " as Apollo, the genius alike of physic and of song;" Day, noble but eccentric, generous, yet uncouthly beneficent ; Gar- rick, like his own Shakespeare, crowned both by the comic and the tragic Muse ; Knowles, * like David, with a simple pebble from the living brook, successfully defending her Israel against the railings of the opposing Goliath, and like Minerva, skilled at the needle and equally in the arts ; Saville, celebrated for song ; and Seward, for the memorials of those she shortly followed to the tomb : immediately * Vide Mrs. Knowles's conversation with Johnson and Miss Harry, in Boswell's Life of Johnson, and more correctly given by her in the Gentleman's Magazine. ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. 133 the whole scene will change its character, and that which in its inhe- rent association was sprightly, will to him, by means of this new casual association, assume that of the contemplative sublime, as he revolves in his altered mind the talents, the labors, the fates and fortunes of so many individuals, eminently endowed with powers to enlighten and adorn society, and add to the happiness of their fellow creatures ; — individuals, whose supereminent intellectual powers shine like a bright constellation among their contemporaries. Whose memories, and whose labors, still hold a distinguished place amongst men, but whose mortal bodies now sleep in the dust, and whose spirits are now returned to give account to God who gave them. Thus to him individually, the scene would belong to the contem- plative sublime, though to every one who had not formed the same casual association, it would retain its inherent association of the SPRIGHTLY. Suppose we were shewn a mountain ash, which inherently belongs to the sprightly, and we were told it overshadowed the once cele- brated pass of Thermopylae. It would probably impress us much more strongly by its casual association with the contemplative sublime, than by its inherent connexion with the sprightly. An anecdote has frequently been related of Rousseau, which, whether it be accurately true, or whether it be merely founded on a circumstance briefly mentioned in one of his works, will equally serve as an illustration of our principle. The philosopher of Geneva, during his earliest and his happiest years, was one day walking with a beloved friend. It was summer ; the evening was calm and delightful. The sun was just setting be- hind the double tower of the church, its broad beams spread their attempered fires in one vast sheet over the clear expanse of the lake, and the painted skiffs, that glanced over the transparent water, were tipped with vivid light. They sat on a soft mossy bank, and enjoyed the gay prospect. At their feet was a bright tuft of speedwell. Rousseau's friend pointed out to him the little pretty flower, the Vero- 134 ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. nica Chamaedrys, as bearing the same expression of cheerfulness and innocency as the scene before them. No more was said. Thirty years elapsed. Care-worn, persecuted, and disappointed, known to fame, but not to peace, Rousseau again revisited Geneva. It happened that he one evening passed by the very same spot. The scene was just the same. The sun shone as brightly as before, the birds sung as cheerfully, and rose as merrily on the soft summer air, and the glittering boats skimmed the still surface of the lake as rapidly. But the house where he had spent so many happy hours was levelled with the ground. His kind friend had long slept in the grave. The generation of villagers who had partaken the bounty of the same beneficent hand were passed away, and none remained to point out the green sod where that benefactor lay. He walked on pensively. The same bank, tufted with the same knot of bright-eyed speedwell, caught his eye. He turned away, and wept bitterly. The inherent association of the pretty, was exchanged for the casual one of the sentimental. In the early ages of the Christian church, when persecution marked the track of the faithful in blood, the early Christians, we are told, resorted as an asylum of refuge and concealment to the catacombs, those vast subterranean cities of the dead, which had been originally used solely for the purposes of interment. Here they dwelt among the dead, who rested in hope; and amidst these consecrated remains they erected their oratories and celebrated their agapae, cheering each other with the glorious immortality, whose bright prospect, holy, awful, but magnificent, boundless and consolatory, was opened to their eyes by that faith, which is the substance of things hoped for, the demonstrative evidence of realities unseen. On every side they beheld themselves encompassed as by the cloud of witnesses of those happy spirits which had departed before them. Here stood those blessed dead who died in the Lord, and whose works follow them. There the undaunted Confessors, who witnessed a glorious confession; there the noble army of martyrs, who, through much tribulation, inherited the kingdom ; and there the venerable assembly of patri- ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. 135 archs, elders, and prophets, who walked and wrought righteousness by faith, who endured, as seeing him who is invisible, and who only seeing the promise afar off, yet believed, and were enabled to die in faith, and before their translation to have a testimony that they pleased God. And as they contemplated the prospect, their hearts were cheered, their peace deepened, and their hopes brightened ; and such were their associations of habitual piety, that they always felt as though surrounded by a heavenly host of ministering spirits. Af- ter the ages of persecution ceased, and the Christian religion became the established profession of the Roman empire, the catacombs were still resorted to on memorial days by pious persons, for the pur- poses of devotion and occasional meditation. Very different indeed were the train of feelings excited by the same places in the mind of St. Jerome. When a boy, he often went with his school-fellows to visit those repositories of the dead; and he expressly mentions, (in c. 40, Ezech. t. v. p. 980, ed. Ben.) " When I was a boy, and studied at Rome, I was accustomed on Sundays to visit in a round the sepul- chres of the apostles and martyrs, and frequently to go into the cryptae, which are dug in the earth to a great extent, and have on each hand bodies of the dead like walls, which with their darkness strike the mind with awful fear and horror," ice. The long narrow damp passages, the trickling damps and ropy slime of the grave, impressed his youthful mind with all those horrors which ever accompany death, to those whose imaginations follow the body instead of the soul. Thus, whilst the persecuted Christians felt the influence of those associations which, since the fall, are no longer inherent in the human heart, Jerome felt the impression of those universal fears, which nature has implanted for self-preservation in every human breast, and which never cease to operate till the love of this life be superseded by the still stronger love of one which is far better, (b) Mother-of-pearl possesses intrinsically all the characteristics of the beautiful ; but were a lady informed, that the shell of her tea-caddy was made of the very same piece on which the noble Aristides signed his own banishment, though to every other person ignorant 136 ASSOCIATIONS UNIVERSAL AND CASUAL. of that circumstance, it would remain elegant ; yet to her it would acquire contemplative sublimity. No doubt but that the caricatures and epigrams which are yet to be seen scratched upon the columns of the barracks of Pompeia, were beheld the evening preceding the catastrophe with associations of mirth, widely different indeed to those excited when, after a lapse of seventeen centuries, they emerged from the engulfment of the tomb, and were again beheld by the human eye. The young nobleman, who passes through the fertile and richly variegated country of Dauphine and Piedmont, whose fancy is delighted with the endless succession of magnificent mountains, capt with snow, sloping hills, gay with vineyards, glassy lakes, mountain streams, and sheltered and fertile vallies, experiences very different feelings from his clerical tutor, who passes with religious veneration over the spot, consecrated by the piety and the sufferings of the Waldenses. In the valley, he seems yet to behold their turfed-roof villages, their pastoral cots surrounded by herds and flocks, their grey-headed elders uncultured in human lore, but rich in the possession of that pearl of inestimable price, the gift of God, which consists in love to God, and through Him to man ; and he can yet fancy he sees their shepherd boys now tuning the praises of God on oaten pipe, and now, though unlearned, teaching divine truth and heavenly wisdom to their persecutors. He looks with awful reverence on those eternal mountains, within whose capacious and caverned sides the flock of the faithful found asylum from the storm of persecution, and in the dizzy heights and precipitous abysses, which their barbs,* inspired by that charity which overcometh all things, were wont, with staff in hand, and with the word of God, to traverse in pursuit of their flock ; nor does he forget the river, over whose half frozen tide one of them passed every day, to save the soul of his expiring persecutor. Then he remembers the execrable Simon de Montfort, and throngs of dark and horrid deeds of blood would rush upon his mind, that, * The Priests of the Waldenses were called Barbs. CASUAL AND INHERENT ASSOCIATIONS. 137 from the suppressed remembrance, turns from rising vengeance still to prayer. The pure water of life, which he drinks freely, was yet bought by them at the precious price of torment and of blood, and like the royal Psalmist, when he received the waters of Bethlehem, the price of champions' blood, his heart renews its vows to hold it as no common gift, but undefiled and sacred, holy to the Lord, (c) Such are the different effects of casual and inherent association. Nor is there, perhaps, any person who has not felt the forcible influence of the latter, even in private life. Do not those very things, which are in themselves deformities, often become beauties in the eyes of partial friendship ? And do not those actions, which to the unprejudiced eye appear inherently cruel and inhuman; actions which are base as lead, change their cha- racter to purest gold, transmuted by the alchemy of party spirit? It is on the principle of casual association that the Catholic venerates the relics of his saints, and that the English Protestant who laughs at him, exchanges his sterling silver for chips of that arm of Shakespeare's chair, which has, during the space of two centuries, been, like the hydra's heads, or the snails of Mr. Reaumur, so miraculously and constantly renewed. Hence inherent associations are those concerning which every individual will necessarily feel alike. Casual associations are of a nature only to be felt where fortuitous circumstances happen to have impressed them. Now, as those who have not happened to be under the same circumstances, cannot have received the same impressions respecting them, they cannot consequently have formed the same associations. Hence casual associations, when they are felt, often possess more vividness than any merely inherent association, because they come more closely and more individually home to the heart ; but then they excite no impression at all out of that sphere to which their association extends. Again — there are associations of a mixed nature, and which belong partly to both these classes. They are not strictly to be termed T 138 CASUAL, INHERENT, AND inherent, because they do not apply indiscriminately to all, but are only confined to a certain class or description of men ; nevertheless, they cannot on the other hand be, with stricter justice, denominated absolutely casual, because they are in reality inherent quo ad, and universal as it respects a certain class or description of persons. For example : the simple word Ouirites, by which Caesar recalled a whole rebel army to obedience, though its influence was inherent and universal on every Roman heart, would have been heard unheeded by the savage troops of the German Arminius. The English " Rule Britannia," would in vain endeavour to ani- mate an American soldiery, and the American " Hail Columbia," Avould inspire no energy to British hearts. This being the case, although all associations must, as to their principles, be resolved into universal or casual ones, yet, in order to facilitate their application to the various genera of beauty and deformity, it will be necessary to consider them in a combined or mixed, as well as in a simple form. We shall therefore divide associations into three grand orders ; those of, I. Inherent associations, properly so called, which, as we have above said, include all those associations which are radically inherent in the nature of things. This class of association is universally intelligible to all, and is consequently the basis of those impressions, from works either of nature or of art, which are addressed to all, and are appreciated by all. II. Casual, or individual associations, which are purely fortui- tous, and extend solely to the individual who chances to experience them. This class of association being only intelligible to an insulated individual, can never be the basis of works of taste addressed to society, but generally form the deepest and most vivid associa- tions, and take the most firm hold of the individual concerned. III. Partial, or mixed associations, which are, in fact, compounded PARTIAL ASSOCIATIONS. of the other two, and which comprehend all those associations which are universal with a certain description of persons, but whose operation is limited to them. This description of associations being universally intelligible within a certain sphere, but being nevertheless bounded by that, forms the basis of those works of art, or productions of the fancy, which have a temporary or limited sphere of influence, and which are addressed to, and appreciated by particular ages, nations, parties, sects, or classes of society, kc. We will now make a few observations on the classes of external objects, which may be generally considered to rank under each of these three grand classes of association. Under the head of inherent association may be included all the associations of feelings with the face of external natural objects ; because they are in their very nature calculated to affect all man- kind alike. The bright and animating cheerfulness of a fine frosty day, the first soft breath of spring, the contemplative peaceful hour of a summer's evening, will excite the same genus of sensation in every individual, except some more vivid casual association accidentally divert it from its course. The baleful and desolating Simoom, the moving pillars of sand which sweep over the silent desert, and all the phenomena of nature, cannot but impress all mankind with the same species of awe and dread. And the sight of an eruption from Mount Vesuvius would pro- duce one unanimous sentiment on all the spectators ; nor could there possibly be one dissentient voice, except, indeed, Sir William Hamilton's apathetic nuns ; but they, we request the reader to remember, were superannuated. Under the same class of association may be ranged, upon similar grounds, the expression of the human countenance. The physiognomonic expressions of strength and weakness, activity and indolence, and the pathognomonic ones of anger, love, t 2 140 INHERENT ASSOCIATIONS. joy, and grief, are perfectly intelligible to all, and produce the same class of impression upon every beholder. And if the more delicate expressions of intellect, judgment, and imagination, be not so fully understood by persons of unexercised physiognomonic tact, yet this want of perception arises not from the signs being themselves matters of arbitrary convention, but because, although the signs of expression are radical and inherent, they have yet not been studied, and can therefore not be appre- ciated by every individual. They are not like the continually vacillating characters on the KhalifFe Vathek's mystic sabres;* but, like the books of the Sybil, though written in an unknown tongue, were yet replete with mean- ing and with fate. In all the stronger passions of the human heart, the pathogno- monic expression is however perfectly intelligible. When Daniel informs us, that after Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego refused to bow to the golden image in the plain of Dura, the countenance of Nebuchadnezzar the King was changed towards them ; there is no person whatever but must most fully understand and appreciate the force of the expression. When in other places in the Holy Scriptures, it speaks of " lifting " up the light of the countenance," or " the light of the counte- " nance shining upon them," there can scarcely be an individual who does not immediately see the image before his eyes, and feel its force upon his heart. Again, — all that either in circumstances, manner, gesture, or sentiment, is either addressed to, or expressive of what may be perhaps termed the ground and radical feelings of human nature, are of this description. Thus, let any person, of whatever age or condition, read the anecdote of Xerxes contemplating the myriads of his vast armv : * See Mr. Beckford's Arabian Tale of KhalifFe Vathek. Vathek was son to Khaliffe Motassem, third son to Haroun al Raschid, and the ninth Khaliffe of the Abbassian dynasty. His terrible eyes and their fate are well known. PARTIAL ASSOCIATIONS. 141 the feeling which moved the Persian monarch to tears will imme- diately come home to the heart of every individual. Every person of every description, who has ever looked upon a vast concourse of people, be the occasion what it may, has probably felt exactly the same, from the noble guests who were present at the Champ du Drap d'Or, at Ardres, to the " Dames de la Halle," who besieged the palace of Versailles. Perhaps there was not one single individual in that innumerable multitude assembled on the plain of the Champ de Mars, at the day when an assembled nation witnessed that oath of federation, of which the name is all that remains, whose feelings were not affected by the same sympathies. And even the Italian singer, no doubt, awfully feels, when she addresses her crowded audience at a Bath oratorio, that in a very few years all that innumerable multitude will be passed away ; every applauding tongue will be mute ; and every ear that hangs with silent attention on her lips, will have heard " the knell that sum- lr mons each to heaven or to hell." Every individual in every crowded assembly has no doubt felt exactly the same ; whilst the Christian, feeling like the rest, has acted upon that feeling, and be- come truly wise unto salvation. We will now consider those species of external impressions which may be included under the class of partial association. Under this head may be ranged all national associations. Such, for example, as the effect the " Ranz des Vaches" produces on the Swiss ; or that which the Tigree march, played by the rebel army, produced on the soldiers of that province in the opposing troops under the King of Abyssinia and Ras Michael. Such also are associations, which, although the basis on which that association was originally formed is destroyed, have yet obtained notoriety, and being consecrated by classic literature, are generally recognized. Thus, although Minerva, Mars, Apollo, have no longer any 142 PARTIAL ASSOCIATIONS. worshippers, the olive and owl still remain the symbols of peace and wisdom, the cock remains the emblem of valor, and the laurel and the bay are still the signs of victory and genius. To partial associations likewise belong all those associations which, although originally casually and fortuitously formed at any particular moment, are yet understood in their own particular sphere ; such, for example, are the historic associations of the white and red roses in England; such is, perhaps, already that of the tree of liberty in France; and, in short, every external sign which is associated with internal feeling by any party or description of persons exclusively, whether political, scientific, or civil. Under the head of partial associations may in an especial man- ner be ranked all the external peculiarities of manners, habits, and language, which different sects associate with religious feeling. Peculiarities which, though they may have not the least connexion with the conscience, in the case of those who have not received their influence, are yet so strongly interwoven with the vitals of true religion in persons who have, that the injudicious friends who attempt the ill office of destroying the one, too often effectually undermine the other. So the savage Caribb, who wished to alter the head of his captive European, by compressing his brain into the same mould with his own, destroyed the life, in seeking to change an external and non-essential form. The effects of partial religious associations may be exemplified by the well-known anecdote so often related of Madame Guyon. In the midst of the persecution which she suffered, and in which the pious Fenelon participated on her account, worn out by hardship, anxiety, and fatigue, she resolved at last to withdraw herself from public notoriety, and retaining for her private consolation the opinions she had before disseminated openly, to retire from the intrigues and cabal of a dissolute court, and leaving it to its own vices, and their attendant judgments, she determined to quit her country, and to seek clearer and more peaceful skies. It is related she had arrived near her journey's end, and already began to feel PARTIAL ASSOCIATIONS. 143 peace restored to her bosom, when the sight of a crucifix, erected by the road side, attracted her view. She instantly recalled to heart the sufferings of her Lord ; his path marked with blood, his ignominious death, and crown of thorns. She remembered the myriads of blessed Saints, who, after treading the brief but painful road of the cross, have, through his sufferings, attained a bright and everlasting crown. She melted into tears ; her heart was again endued with strength She traced back her steps, bore witness to the truth, preached righteousness, converted multitudes from the error of their ways, and endured twelve long years' imprisonment, in the possession of that peace which passes all understanding; from which she departed in joy, to take possession of her everlasting inheritance. Such was, in this instance, the effect of partial association, and such would have been its effect on the Christians of the three first centuries, whom the same sign called through flames, and blood, and torments ; through death, and toil, and martyrdom, to an incor- ruptible inheritance and heavenly croAvn. But let the casual association be changed ; and let us suppose the same cross to have been seen by a Pagan Roman, under the reign of Dioclesian ; or by one of those Flemish protestant reformers in the sixteenth century, who discovered their zeal for pure Chris- tianity, by wearing the Moorish crescent rather than the cross. The very same object would have inspired a totally different association, and the Pagan and Reformer would have united in the same feelings of abhorrence and contempt. Again, — let us imagine two persons travelling in Cornwall, and arriving near Gwenap.* In the midst of the vast, and comfortless, and dreary moor, appears a capacious natural amphitheatre ; seated on the turf-sodded steps of its wide circle, appear near twenty thousand persons, clad in decent and respectable, but humble garb, * An account of this curious natural amphitheatre is to be found in Wesley's Journals. 144 PARTIAL ASSOCIATIONS. who hang with mute attention and with fixed eye upon the lips of a preacher, who stands in the midst, plain and unlettered like themselves. Unaccomplished in human lore, but versed in the word of God, and in the heart of man, he holds forth the bread and water of life to the assembled thousands. Both the travellers see the same object, but each feels the effect of his own peculiar associations. The one sees by association the time when, not many years ago, comparative barbarism over-ran the land ; when in that very place feuds were kept up by barbarous games from one genera- tion to another; where wrecks delivered the wretched mariners who reached the shore, to a death more horrible than the chances of the sea ; he remembers the time when the earth poured forth from her entrails the armies of her lawless cyclops over the land ; and from the metropolis of the west of England, through her midland counties and manufacturing districts, even to the northern floods of the Tyne, it trembled at the desolating storm ; till a private indi- vidual, the light of his century arose. Destitute of wealth, of influ- ence, or worldly power, his countenance beamed with that peace which passes all understanding, and the fire of divine love that melts the frozen heart. His venerable white hair parted in the midst, gracefully depending, shewed a brow unruffled by corroding cares ; heavenly wisdom sat upon his lips. He saw the thick dark- ness that brooded over the land. In the name of his divine Master, he bid there be light, and for that the power of God accompanied his messenger, there was light. Though hosts arose against him, yet the God who stays the waves of the sea, and the tumult of the people, was with him. Illumination succeeded to Egyptian darkness, civilization spread over the land, and peace and social order pre- vailed. Such are the associations in the mind of the first traveller, he sees, and he lifts up his heart and blesses God. Not so the second. He has formed no such associations. He looks around on the bleak and comfortless, and barren moor, unva- ried, by any sign of vegetation, or of the cheering habitations of INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 145 men, and on the motley audience of squalid look and rustic garb, of uncouth illiterate expression ; and he turns away from both with equal disgust. Such are the different impressions produced by precisely the same object. So Sonini tells us, that two travellers once passing through the barren deserts of Gizah, the eye of the one was so fixed by the grovelling ant-hill that deformed its base, that he forgot to see the vast pyramid itself rising amid the waste, in impregnable strength, built on a foundation immutable and firm, like eternal truth; and which, lifting its head aloft towards heaven, towers amidst warring tempests, in uncouth but awful majesty : a build- ing founded upon a rock, which shall endure long after the suc- ceeding generations of the nations, whose lances have been vainly shivered against its granite sides, shall be swept alike from the habitations and the records of men. Such are some of the principal species of impressions which may be arranged under the head of partial association. We will now consider those impressions which mostly constitute casual or individual association. Under this head may be included associations arising from peculiar habits ; or associations made under circumstances of vivid impres- sion, and therefrom acquiring that force and indissoluble connexion, which could not otherwise have subsisted without frequent repe- tition. Among the former, we include peculiar associations formed during childhood with particular scenes or persons. Instances of the latter must be familiar to every one ; by way of exemplification, an anecdote may be mentioned, which was lately related to the writer of these pages by a gentleman acquainted with the party. A French nobleman was, during the reign of terror in France, immured in a crowded prison, whence every day some of his inno- cent and wretched companions were dragged to an untimely end. The guillotine was placed on wheels, and moved from place to u 146 INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. place ; so that all the principal squares of the vast metropolis alter- nately exhibited the appearance of the Place de Greve. It passed on most days before his prison, and the dull and heavy rumbling of its wheels was no sooner succeeded by the awful silence of its stop, than one of their decreasing company was mysteriously summoned away, never to appear again. In this state this nobleman spent a year. He was afterwards not only released, but recovered a considerable portion of property. He is now in England, but I am informed never resides in a town, because he cannot bear the rumbling of a cart or waggon over the pavement, without experiencing a degree of anguish, so dreadful as to affect his whole frame. Such was the effect of individual association, formed under circumstances of short duration, but of vivid impression. Many similar examples are recorded in history. Plutarch informs us, that after the death of Caesar, Rome was divided into several factions ; some embracing the cause of Anthony, and others that of young Octavius ; whilst the people at large and the soldiery, careless of the welfare of their country, sold their services to the highest bidder. Brutus, despairing of the popular cause, resolved to quit Italy, and went on foot through the country of Lucania, to the city of Elea, which is situated on the sea shore, and whence he meant to set sail, and to take leave of his wife Portia, who was to return to Rome, till the cause should be finally decided. Portia studiously subjugating her feelings, never suffered the least symptom of sorrow to escape, but urged, in a manner worthy the daughter of Cato, every motive which might excite her husband to pursue the path of duty to his country, and of glory and honour to himself ; she resolutely stifled the expression of her tender affection, that he might depart with less pain ; and above all, she exhorted him never to see Rome enslaved. Nor, when he took his final leave, was Portia ever observed to sigh, or did one expression of sorrow escape her lips. Some time after, she saw, by accident, a picture of the parting of Hector from his wife Andromache, she instantly burst INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 147 into tears, and returned many times every day to look at the picture. Sometimes, again, individual associations are formed partly of early associations impressed by habit, and partly by their being brought home to the heart under circumstances of vivid emotion, as in the anecdote of the son of Fahdell Ben Jahia, and the poet Mohammed Demeschi ;* or in that of the old woman, whom Zoffani painted, lamenting over the body of the royal tyger. (e) Having now endeavoured to discriminate between the three grand classes of inherent, partial, and individual association, and to enumerate the principal species of impressions which are included under each. It will, perhaps, be necessary to observe, before we conclude this chapter, that as the circumstances under which either individuals or bodies of men are placed, tend originally to form their peculiar sets of associations, so when these associations are once firmly established, and when the character has once received its impulse, these associations form as it were a magnetic nucleus, continually attracting associations of the same species from every object, and filling them so as to coalesce with themselves, and again to re-act upon the character. For let us suppose the general election just over, and a newly elected member just setting out from his country seat, in the north- east of England, for his house in town. Every individual of his party sees in the route precisely the same objects. Yet, although they are perhaps alike new to every one, each individual not only views them connected with a totally different train of associations, but from that very circumstance receives a totally different influence upon his character. As they pass along the extensive and unvaried flat of Huntingdon- shire, or wind along the wide and double avenued roads of noble forest-trees from Wellingborough to Hinchinbrooke, the newly * See in Herbelot's Bibliotheque Orientate, the article Fahdell al Barmeki, and also Mehemmed Demeschi. u 2, 148 INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. elected member recalls the birth-place of Oliver Cromwel. He observes, with curiosity, the scenes which contributed to form that daring and intrepid spirit, which, towering amidst his people, grasped with strong hand a supreme but fleeting domination ; and, according to his political party, he will fix his mental eye on the plenitude of power which crowned his usurpation, or on the sharp thorns that lurked beneath, and on the quick downfal of his dynasty. Not so the young lady his daughter. She contemplates that classic ground, dear to each British and each Christian heart, where Cowper dwelt ; consecrated to genius, taste, and still more, to piety ; the birth-place of a friendship most honourable, founded on the solid basis of religion, and enduring unchanged from elastic youth to hoary age, unshaken by the lapse of time, the shock of circum- stances, and the sacrifice of bright, though transient tastes ; and as she renews her vows to heaven, she dwells with reverence on the memory of that truly honorable genius, whose mild and beneficent light, after diffusing a salutary and quickening influence over the land, darkly set in the starless night of mental suffering on earth, to burst forth with the renewed radiance of those it has kindled, amidst the brightness of eternal and unclouded day. Very different are the reflections which occupy the lady her aunt, as she traverses that arcadian land, where the all-accomplished Miss Byron wrote her interminable epistles, or furnished with conversa- tion the venerable assembly in the cedar parlour, and where the youthful Sir Charles Grandison paraded in his coach and six long- tailed nags. And yet dissimilar again, are the contemplations of the chaplain, who occupies the opposite corner of the coach, as he passes the scite of the celebrated Protestant nunnery of little Gidding.* The canonic hours, the ceremonious ritual, the perpetual choir, the blazoned * See Peckard's Life of Nicholas Ferrer, Walton's Lives, article, Herbert ; and above all, the Life of Ferrar, in Dr. Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography. INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 149 moralities, the illuminated manuscripts, and laborious harmonies of its deeply pious and learned inhabitants, rise in his recollection. He traces with triumph the first dawn of his national establishment, from amidst the cumbrous remnants of Popish superstition. He exults in contrasting that dark period, when the tradition of past ages was de- clared by council of Ecclesiastics, with the succeeding enlightened one, when the boundaries of divine truth were decreed by Act of Parliament. He retraces with horror that faith, which recognized for its supreme Pontiff, Alexander the Vlth, infamous in private life; Leo the Xth, polished, but profligate; and John the XXIIId; blasted alike for public breach of faith to an oppressed religious community, and for the notoriety of his private vices ; and he congra- tulates himself on belonging to that pure communion, founded by the able theologian and defender of the faith, Henry the VHIth, ren- dered uniform by the accomplished scholar Charles the lid ; and which, while the Book of Common Prayer exists, will never cease to boast, as the head of its doctrine, ritual, and discipline, of a most religious and gracious prince. And as he beguiles the tedious length of Newmarket Heath, by comparing newspaper advertisements of fat* livings in a sporting country, in a noble and convivial neighbour- hood, with duty but once a week, and cellars well stocked with French wines, he rejoices at the rapid progress of piety and illumi- nation, since slothful ecclesiastics battened amid the abuses of glutton masses, and since the exorbitant sum of forty pounds was annually lavished in Lent, to supply the luxurious monks of Glastonbury and Croyland * with almond cream. And now all the family are equally impatient to arrive, and for the last ten miles every individual watches with equal impatience for the various symptoms of London. The Chinese railings, the nodding waggon-horses decked with tinkling bells, the nicely piled turnip carts, the frequent gig, or smarter curricle, the well packed oil-case carriages, are all examined with equal alacrity ; and at length * See Dr. Henry's History of Britain. 150 INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. the well known lamps and clustered lights of Hyde Park appear in view. And as the gate closes behind them, the hurry of carriages coroneted, whirling past beggars starving, in vain imploring a scanty pittance; powdered footmen with staves and flaming flambeaux; mis- erable hackney-coachmen swearing at their jaded beasts ; here, scarlet centinels with glittering bayonets and chin erect, proud of guarding where no danger is ; there, pining want and squalid misery immured in underground cellars. Such are the objects that meet the eye ; the mind of each indivi- dual in the party receives a very different impression. The father, as he passes the gate, feels his heart beat higher on entering the grand theatre of political pre-eminence. He already shares in the antici- pated happiness of the reiterated plaudits of the listening senate. He fancies the press already blazing forth his eloquence, and the glitter- ing coronet, or more solid pension, already soliciting his acceptance. Not so the son, just returned from Edinburgh : he sees before him the centre of science and learning ; he already sees expand before him the recondite treasures of the British Museum, and the luminous talents that adorn the Royal Institute ; and as he passes through the crowded streets, he revolves the various changes of the vast metro- polis, since the wild fortress of the haughty Cassibelanus arose amidst shaggy woods, to the time when, in the reign of the Henrys, a new and sudden malady bid life ooze at every pore, and spread desolation over the land; or when, in the reign of Charles the lid,* her once crowded streets were desolate and overgrown with grass, when the black cross appeared on every door, and all were silent, save the dull lumbering of the heavily laden dead cart, duly stopping in its round, or shooting its burthen of corses in the yawning grave ; and now, enveloped in a dread conflagration, he sees the ascending flames rise far above the lofty tower of the old St. Paul's, spreading far and wide a baleful light over the terrified land, whilst the whole concave of the heavens reflect again the dun and blood-red light. * See De Foe's Account of the Plague. INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 151 Not so the footman, who rides post behind, with strapped waist and spattered boots. Unincumbered with any of these casual asso- ciations, he is only taken up with the inherent ones of confusion and disgust. Again, let us suppose the stage coach well packed within and without, with sounding horn and giddy wheels. Within are three reverend passengers of clerical profession ; the one an Oxford student, lettered and sincerely pious, and two, whose rusty suits of thread-bare black, betoken them unprovided by the national establishment. Both are in silent meditation. The one with reverend curls of thin grey hairs, and lively but placid countenance, with downcast eyes and moving lips, and frequent signs of the cross, betoken him a French cure. The other should be youthful, yet erect and solemn, with locks lank and shining, and countenance composed as though unused to smile ; and whose knees, well worn, betoken one used to address the multitude in open air. Meanwhile the horses hoofs rattle over the pavement, the lofty elm-trees cast long deep shadows over the street, and the venerable Gothic edifices appear on either side, a solitary lamp gleaming in the dark portal of each, whose shadowy form deepens the gloom of eve. The student just returned from abroad to visit his native country, and most of all, this renowned University, passes with silent reve- rence through her grass-grown streets, and. views with awe the an- cient towers, where the circling jack-daws have built their hereditary nests from the time of the great Wolsey. As he passes through her quadrangles and halls, he recalls his sudden rise and his untimely fall, a just retribution, by the very hand of that nobleman, whose lawful interests he had sacrificed to gain the transitory favor of a wayward King. * Then he remembers the still greater Alfred the saint, the hero, the legislator, the man of letters, and the architect of * The Earl of Northumberland, whose marriage with Ann Boleyn he unjustly broke off, and who was afterwards sent to arrest him. Vide Wordsworth's Lives, article, Wolsey. 152 INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. his age ; he remembers with exultation the parallel generosity of Alfred (f ) and the accomplished Sir Philip Sydney ; and he views with amazement the Bodleian library, the collected wisdom of ages, and the most munificent gift of one individual to his country. And as he paces the river scite of Magdalen, and the noble walks of Christ Church, he recalls the shades of Gibbon, Locke, and Addison, and as he arrives in his silent hour, at the stone which marks the place where Latimer and Ridley died, he muses on the endless variety of human opinion, and on the eminent piety which has done honor to either side. He adores that divine grace, which equally inspired the fervent piety of More and Fisher, in defending the faith of their ancestors ; and of Ridley and Latimer, who suffered in withstanding its abuses ; that of Tillotson, of Hooker, of Beveridge, who did honor to the national establishment ; and that of Baxter, in conscientiously seceding from it. He mourns over the corruption of human nature, which is ever ready to use spiritual things as an engine for acquiring temporal power, whether the unhappy instruments of per- secution be in the communion which persecuted the protestants, the puritans, the non-conformists, or the catholics. Not so the venerable emigre. He views with horror a pretended reformation, which he attributes to motives of interest in Germany, of inconstancy in France, and of immorality in England. He remem- bers its first apostle both breaking the sanction of his own vows, and authorizing the double marriage of Philip, Landgrave of Hesse. He contrasts the virulent language of Luther,* Calvin (g), and Carlo- stadius (g), with the meekness of Christ and his gospel. He contrasts the tyrant Henry the VHIth. with his cousin Reginald Pole ; the capricious Anna Boleyn with the noble and pious Catherine of Ar- ragon (g), and the venerable Countess of Salisbury (g). He pictures * The account, at length, of Luther's authorizing the double marriage of Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, is in Bossuet's Histoire des Variations, edit. 1702, vol. i. The instrument is signed by Luther, Melancthon, Bucer, Corvi, Adam, Leninqui, Wentferte, Melanther, page27y, and legally attested by Nupescher, 280. INDIVIDUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 153 to himself England once a land of saints, her monasteries peopled with inhabitants like Thomas a Kempis, where piety inspired the genius of architecture and painting, thereby affecting the imagina- tion, and informing the mind of the unlearned ; hallowed asylums of learning and piety in a benighted land ; which opened harbours of refuge during ages distracted by the contentions of civil war, and accumulated and preserved that learning, which the invention of the art of printing afterwards enabled others more diffusively and successfully to dispense. He thinks with horror of a pretended reformation, which began by sacrilegiously (g) seizing the consecrated lands, to lavish their revenues in idle extravagance, or dispose of them at play ; whose hosts were headed by men of aspiring ambition, and whose banners were surrounded by wretches actuated by the love of gain (g), plunder, and aggrandisement. A misei-able time, when the rich vestments consecrated to the use of the sanctuary were applied to the vilest uses (g) ; the learning of centuries destroyed (g), for the poor gain of the gold with which the volumes were encased ; an exemplary Queen repudiated; conscientious officers of state, bishops (g) and ministers of the church dragged to slaughter : at these recollections the silent tear trickles down his cheek, and his uplifted eye says, " Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." Very opposite indeed., are the meditations of his demure com- panion, erect, formal, and precise, ungiven to smile, and unread in ought of romance, save Fox's Book of Martyrs ; he rejoices in that glorious period of illumination, whose flood of light suddenly ena- bled unlettered mechanics to solve mysteries, which the assembled church of the Christian world feared to explore. He rejoices in the overthrow of monastic asylums, which he pictures to himself as inhabited by supine sloth, battening in luxurious self-indulgence, the whole of which were wrung from a credulous and deluded people by the infamous deceptions of Hailes, and maintained by the malicious zeal of underlings like Goodwife Fisher (h), or the Lady* * Afterwards Queen Elizabeth. — When we consider these two sets of examples of the X 154 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. Elizabeth's zealous bear- ward (h) ; and then, too prudent to venture beyond the oft sounded shallows, he retreats to the safe and accus- tomed harbour of the fires of Smith field, and under the broad Tela- monian shield of Mary's five years' disgraceful persecutions, he battles for the penal statutes and final disabilities of two long centuries. The preceding examples are intended to illustrate the difference between inherent, partial, and casual associations, and between the various effects resulting from individual associations in different per- sons. It now remains to give a few general rules concerning the different effects produced by inherent and casual associations, and concerning the rules which ought to regulate the application of each to works of taste. Additional Notes to Chapter III. Part II. (a). PICHINCHA. Among the great number of facts collected by Humboldt, one of the most curious relates to the volcano of Imbabarn, which is situated in the Eastern Cordillera, above the town of Ibana, and to the North of Quito. Many volcanoes of the Andes, he observes, eject at intervals not only erup- tions of mud mingled with great quantities of soft water, but what is ex- tremely remarkable, an infinite number of fish. This volcano, among others, •once threw out so great a quantity, that their putrefaction produced serious maladies in the town of Ibana. Astonishing as this phenomenon is, it is not even unusual, but on the contrary very frequent, and the public autho- 164 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. and Julius, in the fourth, were deposited in the cemeteries of St. Callistus, Priscilla, Ursus Pileatus, Thraso, Basilla, &c. In these cemeteries, espe- cially that of St. Callistus, the bodies of many famous martyrs have been discovered, and translated thence ; also of many whose names are not found in the calendars, and sometimes mention is made in the inscription of a great number of martyrs together. In the cemetery of Basilla and St. Her- mes were found one of St. Marcella, and five hundred and fifty martyrs, another of St. Ruffinus, and one hundred and fifty martyrs. Marcella et Christie Martyres cccccl. Ruffinus et Christie Marfyres cl. With this in- scription was carved a palm-branch, and with the former, two, and between them a crown of two other branches. In the cemetery of St. Agnes was found St. Gordian with his whole family, martyrs, with a palm-branch. That the earthen vials with the red sediment contained blood, appears from the following observations. Leibnitz, after subjecting this red sediment to various chymical experiments, in a letter to Fabretti confesses, he could find nothing it resembled but a hardened, brittle crust of congealed blood, which after so many ages retains its colour. The Christians used the utmost diligence to gather the blood of the mar- tyrs, and deposit it with their bodies. They sucked it up while fresh, with sponges, from the wood or stones, and gathered the dust and sand which was stained by it, to extract it, as Prudentius witnesses. Hence sometimes sponges stained with blood, are found in these vials. Such vials have some- times legible inscriptions upon them, attesting the martyrdom. A vial of this kind was fixed on the sepulchre of St. Primitius in the Ostorian, now called Ostrian cemetery, with this inscription : Primitius in pace qui post multas angustias fortissimus martyr et vixit annis P. M. XXXVIII. Conjugi suo per- didcissimo benemerenti fecit. With great devotion and care, the faithful preserved the blood of the mar- tyrs. F. Lupi, in his curious and learned dissertation, shews that the primi- tive Christians endeavoured to recover every drop, that the funeral might be entire, as Prudentius says of St. Hyppolitus: Nec jam densa sacro quidquam de corpore sylva, Obtinet plenis fraudat ab exequiis. St. Ambrose mentions the blood of Saints Vitalis and Agricola, doubtless in a vial found with their bodies ; and the same of Saints Gervasius and Protasius. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 165 Hence the congregation of Indigencies and Relics declared, in 1668, that vessels tinged with blood, accompanied with palm branches, ought to be regarded as marks of the relics of a martyr. Mabillon doubts not but that such vessels of blood alone, are assured marks. Christians, from devotion, visited the tombs of the martyrs ; and, in the times of persecution, often concealed themselves in these catacombs, and assembled there to celebrate the divine mysteries. Whence the persecutors forbade them to enter the cemeteries, as the Proconsul declared to St. Cyprian, and the Prefect of Egypt, to St. Dionysius, of Alexandria. That the catacombs were known to be filled with the tombs of innume- rable martyrs, and devoutly visited by the Christians in the early ages of Christianity, is incontestible, from the testimonies of St. Jerome, St. Paulinus, and Prudentius. St. Jerome mentions, that when he was a boy, and studied at Rome, he was accustomed on Sundays to visit in a round the sepulchres of the Apostles and martyrs, and frequently to go into the cryptce, which are dug in the earth to a great extent, and have on each hand bodies of the dead, like walls, this circumstance, with their darkness, strikes the mind with horror. It is evident he went not thither to play, but to perform an exer- cise of religion and piety. St. Paulinus says, that the tombs of the martyrs contained in the catacombs could not be numbered. Prudentius describes the catacombs, and mentions, that he himself visited these holy places, and (in the cemetery of St. Syriaca, a lady, by whom it was built, and who was buried in it in the Veran field, on the left hand of the road to Tibur, a mile from Rome) he saw the body of St. Hyppolitus, with an altar by it, on which priests celebrated and distributed the divine mysteries : on the wall of the chapel was a picture, representing the martyr- dom of the saint ; and, among other circumstances, the faithful gathering his scattered relics, and, with cloths and a sponge, sucking up his blood from the briars and the ground. He also says, that the bodies of many martyrs lay there, without names, titles, or inscriptions; and he saw the bodies of sixty, deposited together, whose names were only known to Christ. He adds, that on the solemnities of particular martyrs, which were kept by the people, all Rome and the neighbouring provinces went to adore God at their tombs, kissing their relics. Festivals could not be kept for all martyrs, as Mamachi takes notice. The numberless tombs of other anony^ mous martyrs are- celebrated by this pious and elegant Father, in his hymn 166 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. on St. Lawrence. From the custom of kissing and praying at the entrance of the tombs of the martyrs, came the expression of visiting their limina, or threshold, which has been particularly used of the tombs of Saints Peter and Paul. Apostolorum et Martyrum Exosculantur limina. t% ■ -> The bodies of many celebrated martyrs have been from time to time trans- lated from the catacombs, yet new vaults are frequently discovered. Burnet acknowledges, that often, in the extent of a whole mile, no relics are found ; for no notice is taken of those which neither inscriptions nor other marks shew to have been martyrs. That only Christians were buried in these places, is proved by Mabillon, Boldetti, &c. ; for the faithful never made use of any but their own cemeteries, when it was in their power so to do. If the bodies of Saints Vitalis and Agricola were interred among the Jews, and the ashes of Saints Nestablus and Zeno were mingled with those of asses : this was owing to the malice of the persecutors. A stone is mentioned by Montfaucon as having been found in one of the catacombs, with the heathenish inscription, Diis Manibus ; and I saw on one in St. Sebastian's, D. M.; but it is evident, that Christians sometimes made use of stones, which they took from broken old monuments of idolaters, as appears by crosses, or other Christian symbols and inscriptions on other parts of the same; as I observed on several in Rome ; in a great museum or repository at Verona, &c. in the same manner as the porphyry urn of Agrippa, taken from the porch of the Pantheon, is now placed over the tomb of Clement XII., in the Corsini chapel in the Lateran church. Fabretti thinks, D. M. was often used by Christians for Deo Magno. Scipio MafTei produces a Christian epitaph, with Deo Magno. In Muratori, we have an epitaph certainly of a Christian with D. M., and several such occur, in which it is more reasonable to suppose it meant Deo Magno ; yet, in some that are undoubtedly Christian, it is Diis Manibus; which must be some old heathenish stone, made use of by a Christian. There is at least no danger of such being mistaken for martyrs, as Bishop Burnet pretends. In the ancient sepulchres of Christians, the inscriptions express faith in one God, or Christ, or of a resurrection, by the words, peace, sleeping, or the like. They are frequently adorned with symbols of their faith, — as a fish, &c. an emblem of Christ ; the figures of Adam and Eve, emblems of our returning to dust; and figures of other ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. patriarchs or prophets of the old law, especially of Noe and his ark, of a dove, emblems of baptism. The monogram of Christ's name in a cross is much older than Constantine, who is nowhere said to have invented, but only to have employed it in the Labarum, &c. It is found on the sepulchre of St. Marius, martyr under Adrian ; of St. Alexander, under Antoninus ; of St. Lawrence and St. Hermes, both in the cemetery of Priscilla; of St. Primitius; of, St. Caius, Pope, &c. That this monogram had been used by heathens, was a mistake of Casalius and others ; for, on the coin of Decius, to which they appeal, the mark differs widely, and is a contraction for three Greek letters; in that of Ptolemy, of Cyrene, Bottarius finds nothing like it. It seems a mark for thunder, such as is found in others; at least, it differs widely from this monogram. Christ is often represented on these ancient monuments under a carved or painted figure of a lamb, with or without a cross on his head; but more frequently under that of a shepherd, carrying the lost sheep on his shoulders, an emblem of his mercy towards sinners, and of the efficacy of repentance. Tertullian, a Montanist, mentions this emblem for the encou- ragement of sinners, carved on chalices. This figure was very frequently used, especially by penitents (and such all Christians are by their profes- sion), and is found on ancient vessels, earthen urns, sepulchral lamps, and gems. In the paintings on the vials, lamps, and other monuments found on these cemeteries, images of Saints Peter and Paul frequently occur. In these St. Paul is generally painted on the right hand, because that is the left to the eye of the spectator. To these images, Eusebius is thought to allude, when, after relating the martyrdom of the Apostles at Rome, he says, '.' The monuments which yet subsist in the cemeteries there (at Rome), confirm this history." St. Austin mentions the images of Saints Peter and Paul, with Christ in the middle, in some churches. St. Paul is always painted bald, and with a longer beard. Their long garment is tied on, or joined on the breast with a button ; but in some pictures they hold it fast together with their right hand. The custom of painting these Apostles on earthen or glass vessels is mentioned by St. Jerom : " In cucurbitis vasculorum quas vulgo saucomarias vocant, solent apostolorum imagines adumbrari." In the vials and paintings of these cemeteries are found the images of Justus Demas, and Timothy, disciples of St. Paul ; of Saints Lawrence, Vincent,. 168 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. Abdon, and Sennen, Hyppolitus, &c. St. Lawrence is painted in the cemetery of Pope Julius, in a cloak, holding a book and a cross. Among other symbols in these places, a stag was an emblem of a Chris- tian's thirst after Christ ; a palm-branch, of victory ; a ship, of the church ; an anchor, of hope, also of constancy. These remarks seemed necessary to rectify several mistakes of Burnet, Misson, Spanheim, &c. and serve to illustrate several passages in the Acts of Martyrs. Mabillon takes notice, that the symbols of a dove, a sheep, an olive, a vine, a palm, an anchor, or the like, which may denote certain virtues, are no proofs of martyrdom nor sanctity, nor are they looked upon as such at Rome. The principal catacombs, or ancient cemeteries of Rome, are that of St. Priscilla, within the city, where stands the church of St. Pudentiana Virgin, not far from that of her sister, St. Praxedes. This Priscilla is said to have been mother of St. Pudens, whose house, where St. Peter lodged, is believed to have been this church of St. Pudentiana, between the Viminal and the Q.uirinal hills. That ad Ursum Pileatum (so called from some sign or street) now St. Bibiana's church on the Esquiline hill. There is another of the same name, afterwards called of Saints Abdon and Sennen, on the road to Porto. That on the Vatican hill, where are the tombs of Saints Peter and Paul, on the Aurelian way. On the Aurelian way, half a mile from the Aurelian gate, called also Janiculensis, was that of St. Calepodius, now a church of St. Pancras ; that of St. Julius, Pope ; that of St. Felix, Pope ; that of Lucina, two miles from the gate of St. Pancras. On the way to Ostia, that of Anastasius Ad Aquas Salvias, or Ad Guttam jugiter manan- tem ; that of St. Cyriacus. On the Ardeatin way, that of St. Callistus (reaching to the Appian, where was its most eminent part) j those of St. Petronilla, or of Saints Nereus and Achilleus, of St. Balbina, and of St. Damarus ; these two lying towards the Appian way. On the Appian way, those of Praotextatus, or St. Sixtus, of St. Callistus (the principal part of St. Sebastian's, two miles from Rome, at which church is the great entrance into this catacomb) of St. Zephyrin, of St. Soteris V. of St. Urban, &c. On the Latin way of Apronianus, of Saints Gordion and Epimachus, &c. On the Lavican way, of Castulus ; of Tiburtius, afterward of St. Helena, empress, (whose mausoleum was erected there, now in a portico belonging to the Lateran-basilic) or Inter duas Lauros. On the Prsenestine, or Palestrine way, out of the Esquiline, or Lavican, or Palestrine gate, of the Acqua Bulicaute. On the Tiburtin way, of St. Cyriaca, of St. Hyppolitus. On the Nomentan ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 169 way, of St. Agnes, where that holy virgin was first interred, two miles from the Viminal gate, now called Pia : this is the most spacious catacomb next to St. Sebastian's ; that, ad Nymphas (so called from waters there), of St. Alexandus, of St. Nicomedes, &c. On the new Salarian way, of Saints Saturninus and Thraso; of Saints Crysanthus and Daria ; of Ostriano (built- by one of the Ostorian family) ; of Priscilla (different from that within the city, and probably founded by a different lady of this name) ; of St. Sylvester; of St. Hilaria, &c. On the old Salarian way; that, ad Clivum Cucumeris ; of St. Hermes, or St. Bassilla, &c. On the Flaminian way, of St. Valentin, or St. Julius, Pope; of St. Theodora, &c. There are others, some at a considerable distance from Rome; one discovered on the Flami- nian, several miles from Rome. Mabillon observes, that in the first ages of the church, the faithful turned their faces toward the east at prayer; built churches, so that the high altar and head of the church were eastwards, the rising sun being a symbol of the resurrection. They also buried the faithful with their feet turned towards the east ; the rituals of late ages say, towards the altar in the chapel in which they are buried, or towards the high altar, if in the church-yard or body of the church. Adamnan and Bede describe the sepulchre of Christ, that he was interred with his sacred feet toward the East. Haymo confirms the same, adding, that his right hand was turned towards the south, and his left hand towards the north. From his sepulture, Christians have made this their common rule in their burials; also that at the last day they might face the rising sun, as an emblem of the resurrection. The Roman ritual, published by Paul the Vth, in 1614, prescribes, that priests be buried with their heads towards the altar, to face the people. The diocese of Rheims, and some others, retain the old custom of making no distinction between priest and laity in this respect, but bury all with their feet towards the altar. We learn from ancient chronicles, and from the Pontificals published by Anastasius, &c. that Callistus made the cemetery which reached to the Appian way. But by this we are to understand, that it was only enlarged and adorned by him; for it existed before his time, as is observed by Arringhi ; and this observation is supported by the authority of the Pontificals of Vignoli. Besides, there were three of the predecessors of Callistus buried in that cemetery; viz. Anicetus, Soter, and Zephyrinus. It now goes under the name of the catacomb of St. Sebastian, who was first buried there, and is patron of the church situate at the entrance of it. This is one of the seven no ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. principal churches of Rome; it was magnificently rebuilt in 1612, by- Cardinal Scipio Borghese, who placed in it reformed Cistercians, known in France by the name of Feuillants. The pious and learned Cardinal Bona, who died at Rome, 1674, was Abbot of it. The church is adorned with fine paintings, and enriched with many relicks ; among others, those of St. Sebastian, St. Fabian, St. Callistus. It is three miles from the gate of St. Sebastian, formerly called Capena, from an ancient city of Latium, twelve miles from Rome. In the church we read an inscription, setting forth, " that 174,000 holy martyrs, and 46 illustrious bishops, were buried in the cemetery of Callistus;" and from this, some authors think, that forty-six popes were buried there. But we can pronounce with certainty of sixteen, who are mentioned in the Pontificals of Vignoli, Blanchini, and Anastasius. Prudentius' Hymn, and Paulinus' Poem say, that the multitude of martyrs buried in the catacombs was innumerable; but we are not to infer that none but martyrs were buried in them, for they were common to all the faithful. Sometimes catechumens are found among them, as appears from certain inscriptions. From what we have said, it is evident that the faithful admitted none but their brethren into those catacombs, which they revered as sacred places, containing the bodies of the Saints who reign with Christ. In that of Callistus there is an ancient altar of stone, which, according to a popular opinion, belonged to that holy Pope. But Fonseca observes, that it was rebuilt since the pontificate of St. Sylvester ; the altars before that period being stone tables, of which some are yet seen in Rome. Ancient monuments make no mention of the decree attributed to this Pope, order- ing altars to be made of stone, for such were common at that time. In the first six ages, the altars were hollow underneath, consisting of a plank or board, supported on pillars, under which the bodies of martyrs were depo- sited. The throne of the ancient Popes, which was in the subterraneous chapel of the same catacomb, was removed to the church of the Knights of St. Stephen, of Pisa. Christians, in the primitive ages, were ambitious of being buried near the tombs of the martyrs, hoping, by this devotion, to be assisted by their prayers, and desiring to rise in their glorious company at the last day. In the sixth and seventh centuries, very holy men and newly baptized children were allowed burial with the martyrs in churches, which privilege was after- wards extended to other Christians, and was tolerated by the bishops ; though ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. the very words of the consecrations of churches and cemeteries shew the first to be properly for the living, the latter for the dead. Moreover, too great a multitude of burials in churches in large cities breaks the pavement, and disfigures the buildings; besides which, where the graves are not deep, or the vaults ill closed, it sensibly infects the air. The preceding account is taken from the Rev. and learned Alban Butler's Lives, vol. x. page 303 to 315. His authorities are so exceedingly nume- rous, that we must refer the reader to the original. The writer of this work has often derived much pleasure from looking over the Roma Sotteranea, published at the Vatican press, 1737, under the pontifi- cate of Clement the 12th. These sepulchres of the ancient Christians do not exhibit any great variety of designs; but the very circumstance of their uni- formity bears an ample testimony to what were then considered the funda- mental articles of Christian faith. Adam and Eve in the garden, and beguiled by the serpent, symbols of the original perfection and the fall of man. The good Shepherd finding the lost sheep. Jonah preaching repentance. His being swallowed and cast up by the fish, the symbol of Christ's death and resurrec- tion. Noah saved in the ark, the type of regeneration. Lazarus raised from the dead by Christ; and a variety of other symbols, continually recurring, shew, that from the beginning, even to the present time, there has essentially been only one Lord, one faith, and one baptism. — Bingham gives the following account of the catacombs: «* Meanwhile let it be observed, that the com- mon way of burying, for this interval of three hundred years, was either in graves, with monuments set over them in the public roads; or else in vaults and catacombs, for greater safety, made in the fields and under ground. For that they had such vaults for this purpose, called Cryptce and Arenaria, from their being digged privately in the sand under ground, is evident, both from the ancient and modern accounts of them. Baronius tells us, there were about forty-three such in the suburbs of Rome; and Onuphius gives us a particular account of their names, taken from the names of their founders, or such charitable persons as were at the pains or charge to build or repair them : and what is chiefly remarkable, he tells us, the places where they were, viz. not in the city, but in the ways or roads without the walls, leading from Rome to other places, as the Via Appia, Aurelia, Ostiensis, Nomentana, Tiburtina, Latina, Salaria, Flaminia, Portuensis, Ardeatina, Lavicana, &c. which are the known roads leading to the neighbouring cities about Rome. And by this we may understand what St. Jerome means z 2 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. when he says, It was his custom, when he was a boy at school in Rome, on Sundays, to go about and visit the sepulchres of the apostles and martyrs, and often to enter into the vaults, which were digged deep into the ground, and on each side as one went in, had along by the walls the bodies of such as lay buried ; and were so dark, that to enter in them was, in the Psalmist's language, almost like going down alive into hell; the light from above peeped in but here and there, a little to take off the horror of darkness, not so much by windows, as little holes and crannies, which still left a dark night within, and terrified the minds of such, as had the curiosity to visit them, with silence and horror. This is to be understood not of any places within the city, but of those vaults which lay by the several ways round about Rome. And the description agrees very well with the accounts which Baronius gives of one of them, called the cemetery of Priscilla, discovered in his time, An. 1578, in the Via Salaria, about three miles from Rome. He says, at the entrance of it there was one principal way, which on either side opened into divers other ways, and those again divided into other lesser ways, like lanes in a city : there were also some void open places, fitted for their holding of religious assemblies, which had in them the effigies and representations of martyrs; and likewise, there were holes at the top of it, to let in light; but these were long ago stopped up. These catacombs of Rome have made the greatest noise in the world; but there were such belonging to many other cities. Bishop Burnet describes those of Naples, which, he says, are without the city, and much more noble and spacious than those of Rome. He supposes them to be made by the heathens, and not by the Christians. An ancient writer, St. Chrysostom, says, in general, that every city, nay every village, had their graves or burying places before the entrances into them, that they who went in might first consider what they themselves were, before they set a foot into the cities flourishing with riches, dignity, and power. There are graves before cities, and graves before fields: everywhere the school of humility lies before our eyes. Now I think, upon the whole, we can hardly have better proof of any thing than we have of this, whether we consider law or fact, that for the first three hundred years under the heathen emperors, the general rule and custom was, to bury without the walls of the cities; and, consequently, neither in cities, nor city churches, unless by some connivance or transgression." Bingham's Ecclesiastical Antiquities, vol. x. page 9 to 12. Edit. 1722. London. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER 111, 178 (c). THE WALDENSES Have generally been considered as founded by Peter Waldo, and named after him; but they were, in fact, the remains of the Cathari, and there- fore owe their origin to Claudius of Turin, in the ninth century. Their name, Vallenses, was derived from their abode in the obscure valleys of Dauphine and Piedmont, which, after their connexion with Waldo, was, by an easy transition, changed into Waldenses. We give a short sketch of their manners and customs from contemporaries. A pontifical inquisitor says, " heretics are known by their manners. In behaviour they are composed and modest, and no pride appears in their apparel." Seysillius says, " it much strengthens the Waldenses, that, their heresy excepted, they generally live a purer life than other Christians. They never swear but by compulsion, and seldom take the name of God in vain ; they fulfil their promises with good faith; and living for the most part in poverty, they profess that they at once preserve the apostolical life and doctrine." Liclenstenius, a Dominican, speaking of the Waldenses of Bohemia, says, " I say that in morals and life they are good ; true in words, unanimous in brotherly love; but their faith is incorrigible and vile, as I have shewn in my treatise." Rainerius, the cruel persecutor, owns that the Waldenses frequently read the Holy Scriptures, and in their preaching cited the words of Christ and his Apostles, concerning love and humility, and other virtues; insomuch that the women who heard them were enraptured with the sound. He further says, that they taught men to live by the words of the Gospel and the Apostles; that they led religious lives; that their manners were seasoned with grace, and their words prudent; that they freely discoursed on divine things, that they might be esteemed good men. He observes likewise, that they taught their children and families the Epistles and Gospels. Claude, bishop of Turin, wrote a treatise against their doctrines, in which he can- didly owns, that they themselves were blameless, without reproach among men, and that they observed the divine commands with all their might. Jacob de Riberia says, that he had seen peasants among them, who could recite the Book of Job by heart; and several others, who could perfectly repeat the whole New Testament. The bishop of Cavillon once obliged a preaching monk to enter into con- ference with them, that they might be convinced of their errors, and the ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER ini effusion of blood be prevented. This happened during a great persecution in 1540, in Merindol and Provence. But the monk returned in confusion, owning that he had never known in his whole life so much of the Scriptures as he had learned during those few days, in which he had held conferences with the heretics. The bishop, however, sent among them a number of Doctors, young men who had lately come from the Sorbonne, which was at that time the very centre of theological subtilly at Paris. One of them openly owned that he had understood more of the doctrine of salvation from the answers of the little children in the catechism, than by all the disputa- tions which he had ever heard. This is the testimony of Vesembecius, in his oration concerning the Waldenses. The same author informs us farther, that Lewis the Xllth, importuned by the calumnies of informers, sent two respectable persons into Provence, to make inquiries. They reported, that in visiting all their parishes and temples, they found no images or Roman ceremonies, but that they could not discover any marks of the crimes with which they were charged; that the sabbath was strictly observed; that children were baptized according to the rules of the primitive church, and instructed in the articles of the Christian faith, and the commandments of God. Lewis having heard the report, declared with an oath, " They are better men than myself or my people." One of the confessors of the same king having, by his orders, visited the valley of Fraissiniere, in Dauphine, was so struck with the holy lives of the people there, that he declared, in the hearing of several competent witnesses, that he wished he himself were so good a Christian as the worst inhabitant in that valley. Thuanus, in describing one of the valleys inhabited by this people in Dauphiny, which is called the Stony Valley, says, "Their clothing is of the skins of sheep, they have no linen. They inhabit seven villages: their houses are constructed of flint-stone, with a flat roof, covered with mud which being spoiled or loosened by rain, they smooth again with a roller! In these they live, with their cattle, separated from them, however, by a fence ; they have besides two caves set apart for particular purposes, in one of which they conceal their cattle, in the other themselves, when'hunted by their enemies. They live on milk and venison, being, by constant prac- tice, excellent marksmen. Poor as they are, they are content, and live sepa- rate from the rest of mankind. One thing is astonishing, that persons externally so savage and rude should have so much moral cultivation. They •can all read and write ; they understand French, so far as is needful for the ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 175 understanding of the Bible and the singing of psalms. You can scarcely find a boy among them, who cannot give an intelligible account of the faith which they profess; in this, indeed, they resemble their brethren of the other valleys : they pay tribute with a good conscience, and the obligation of this duty is peculiarly noted in the confession of their faith. If, by reason of the civil wars, they are prevented from doing this, they carefully set apart the sum, and at the first opportunity pay it to the king's tax- gatherers." Francis I., the successor of Lewis XII., received, on inquiry, the follow- ing information concerning the Waldenses of Merindol, and other neigh- bouring places; namely, that they were a laborious people, who came from Piedmont to dwell in Provence, about two hundred years ago ; that they had much improved the country by their industry; that their manners were most excellent; and that they were honest, liberal, hospitable, and humane; that they were distinct from others in this, that they could not bear the sound of blasphemy, or the naming of the devil, or any oaths, except on solemn occasions; and that if ever they fell into company where blas- phemy or lewdness formed the substance of discourse, they instantly with- drew themselves. Vignaux, a Waldensian pastor, says, " We never mix ourselves with the church of Rome in marriage ; yet Roman Catholic lords and others prefer our people as servants, to those of their own religion, and come from far to seek nurses among us for their children." Some ancient inquisitorial memoirs, describing the manners and customs of this people, speak to this effect : kneeling on their knees, they continue their prayers in silence, so long as a man may say thirty or forty paternos- ters. This they do daily with great reverence, when they have no strangers with them, both before dinner and after, likewise before supper and after and when they retire to rest, and in the morning. Before they go to meat the elder among them says, " God, who blessed the five barley loaves and two fishes before his disciples in the wilderness, bless this table and that which is set upon it, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost." And after meat he says, " The God, which has given us corporal food, grant us his spiritual life, and may God be with us, and we always with him." After their meals they teach and exhort one another. Reinerus, their adversary, declares, that a certain heretical Waldensian 1-76 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. with a view of turning a person from the Catholic faith, swam over a river in the night, and in the winter, to come to him and teach him. Hear what a character an ancient inquisitor gives of this people: « He- retics are known by their manners and words ; for they are orderly and mo- dest in their manners and behaviour. They avoid all appearance of pride in their dress, they neither wear rich clothes, nor are they too mean and ragged in their attire. They avoid commerce, that they may be free from deceit and falsehood : they live by manual industry, as day-labourers or mechanics, and their preachers are weavers and tailors. They seek not to amass wealth, but are content with the necessaries of life. They are chaste, temperate^ and sober; they abstain from anger. They hypocritically go to the church' confess, communicate, and hear sermons, to catch the preacher in his words. Their women are modest, avoid slander, foolish jesting, and levity of words, especially falsehood and oaths." Dauphiny is a province of France which was very full of the Waldenses, who inhabited valleys on both sides of the Alps. On the Italian side, the valley of Pragella in particular had, in 1618, six churches, each having its pastor, and every pastor having the care of several villages which appertained to his church. The oldest people in them, Perrin observes, never remem- bered to have heard mass sung in their country. The valley itself was one of the most secure retreats of the Waldenses, being environed on all sides with mountains, into whose caverns the people were accustomed to retreat in time of persecution. Vignaux, one of their preachers, used to admire the integrity of the people, whom no dangers whatever could seduce from the faith of their ancestors. Their children were catechised with the minutest care ; and their pastors not only exhorted them on the sabbaths, but also on the week-days went to their hamlets to instruct them. With much in- convenience to themselves, these teachers climbed the steepest mountains to visit their flocks. The word of God was heard with reverence, the voice of prayer was common in private houses, as well as in the churches : Christian simplicity and zeal abounded, and plain, useful learning was diligently cul- tivated in the schools. These extracts are mostly taken from Dr. Milner's Church History, under the article Waldenses; but Leger, one of their ministers, has published a most interesting account of these excellent men, under the title of" Histoire des Persecutions des eglises Protestantes dans le Pays de Vaud et des Vallees," in one volume, folio. There are also several interesting notices of them ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 177 in Crantz's History of that excellent people, the Unitas Fratrum. Nor will the reader find the account devoid of interest which is given of them in the life of St. Francois de Sales, written by Marsollier, and elegantly translated, I understand, by Dr. Combes. (d). ACCOUNT OF A TYGER HUNT. Being a Letter from Sir to the Honourable Sir William Jones. Chinsura, April lid, 1784. My Dear Sir, Though you could not partake of the pleasure, I am resolved you shall not entirely escape the fatigue of our enterprize; and with that laudable view, though we have not returned more than an hour, and that at this mo- ment a sound sleep were heaven to me, I snatch the pen to give you a hasty and imperfect account of the business of the day. Matters had been thus judiciously arranged : — tents had been sent off yes- terday, and an encampment formed within a mile and a half of the jungle,* which was to be the scene of our operations. At one, this morning, thirty elephants, with the servants and refreshments of all kinds, were dispatched ; at two, we all followed in palankeens; at a quarter past four, we reached the encampment, and having rested near an hour, we mounted our elephants and proceeded to the jungle. In our way we met with game of all kinds : hares, antelopes, hog-deer, wild boars, and wild buffaloes ; but nothing could divert our attention from the fiercer and more glorious game. At the grey of dawn, my elephant (sorely against my grain, but there was no remedy, since the driver was a keen sportsman, and he and I spoke no common language) passed through the centre of the jungle; but happily the tyger had not at that time nestled there. I saw, however, as I passed through it, the bed of one, in which there lay an half-devoured bullock, and two human sculls, with a heap of bones, some bleached, and some still red with gore. We had not proceeded through the jungle five hundred yards, before we heard a general cry of " Baug ! Baug !" f on which we wheeled, and form- * Jungle— a thicket of long rank grass and reeds, growing in some places fifteen feet high, -•J- Baug — the term for a tyger. % A 178 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER HI. ing a line anew, entered the great jungle; when the spot where a single tyger lay having been pointed out, on the discharge of the first gun, a scene presented itself, confessed by all experienced tyger-hunters present, to be the finest they had ever seen. Five full-grown royal tygers sprung together from the same spot, where they had sat in bloody congress. They ran diversely, but running heavily, they all crouched again in new covers, within the same jungle, and were all marked. We followed, having formed the line into a crescent, so as to embrace either extremity of the jungle. In the centre were the houders,* the ele- phants with marksmen, and the ladies, viz. in one, Mr. Zaffany with Mrs. Ramus; in the other, Mr. Ramus and Lady led the attack ; my brother and I supported them, with Mr. Van Europe and Mr. Longcroft. These gentlemen had each an elephant to himself, when we had slowly and warily advanced to the spot where the first tyger lay. He moved not until we were just upon him, when, with a roar that resembled thunder, he rushed upon us. The elephants wheeled at once, and (for I must coin a word for the occasion, since it cannot be described by any quadruped mo- tion) we shuffled off. They returned, however, after a flight of about fifty yards, and again ap- proaching the spot where the tyger had lodged, he again rushed forward, and springing at the side of an elephant, on which three of the natives were mounted, he at one stroke tore the pad from under them, and one of the riders, panic struck, fell off. The tyger, however, seeing his enemies in force, returned slow and indignant into his shelter ; when the place he lay in being marked, and an heavy and well directed fire poured in upon him we saw him in the struggles of death, and growling and foaming, he ex- pired. We roused the other three, and in close succession, and with little varia- tion of circumstances, killed them all. The oldest and most ferocious of the family had, however, early in the conflict very sensibly quitted the field of battle, and escaped to another part of the country. Whilst the fate of the last and largest was depending, more shots were fired than in the other three attacks. He escaped four several attacks, and taking post in different parts of the jungle, rushed out upon us at each wound he * Houders— elephants trained for state or the chase, and magnificently caparisoned. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 179 received, with rekindled rage, and as often put the whole troop to flight. In his last pursuit, he singled out the elephant upon which Lady was mounted, and was at its tail, with its jaws extended, and in the very act of rising up on his hind legs to fasten upon her, when he fortunately cleared the jungle, and one general discharge laid him dead at her feet. The dan- ger, I believe, was not very great ; but it was sufficient, when she shall be again invited, to make her say, like Lord Chesterfield, when they attempted to allure him to a second fox-hunt, " I have been." The chase being over, we returned in triumph to our encampment, and were followed by the spoil of the morning, and by an accumulating multi- tude of Ryots, (i. e. husbandmen,) from the circumjacent villages, who pressed round an open tent where we sat at breakfast, with gratulations, blessings, and thanksgivings. The four tygers were laid in front, and the natives viewed them, some with terror, and some with tears. There was a very affecting circumstance, which so fastened upon Zaffa- ny's imagination, and so touched his heart, that he means to give it a prin- cipal place in a picture which he meditates on the subject; and which, had you been with us, I should have hoped might have been also recorded ele- gantly and pathetically in song. — An old woman, looking earnestly at the largest of the tygers, and pointing to his tusks, and at times lifting his fore paws, and viewing his talons ; her furrows bathed in tears, in broken and mourning tones narrating something to a little circle, composed of three bramins, and a young woman with a child in her arms. No human misery could pierce the phlegm and apathy of the bramins ; and with them there was not a feature softened — but horror and sorrow were alternately painted in the face of the female, and from her clasping her child still more closely to her breast, I guessed the subject of the old woman's story, and upon inquiry found I was right in my conjec- tures : — She was widowed and childless — She owed both misfortunes to the tygers of that jungle ; since the tygers which lay dead before her had recent- ly carried off her husband, and her two sons, grown up to manhood — and now she wanted food. In the phrenzy of grief she alternately described her loss to the crowd ; and, in a wild scream, demanded her husband and chil- dren of the Indeed it was a piteous spectacle. — The scite of our encampment was well chosen. It was a small sloping lawn, the verdure fresh, skirted on three sides with trees, and on the fourth 2, A 2, 180 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. it was bounded by a ravine. At proper distances on this lawn, there were five large and commodious tents pitched in a semicircle. That in which we all assembled, and passed the sultry part of the day, was carpetted, and by means of tattys, * which were continually watered, kept at a temperature pretty near that of an April day in England. Here we had a luxurious cold dinner, with a variety of excellent wines, and other liquors, well cooled ; and whilst we dined, the French horns, &c. played marches, hunting pieces, descriptive of the death of the game, and other slow movements. The tygers still lay in front, whilst the people, retiring to a greater dis- tance, anxiously waited the signal for skinning and cutting the slain : for with them, the fat of a tyger is a sovereign panacea; the tongue dried and pulverized is an infallible specific in nervous disorders, and every part appli- cable to some use ; even the whiskers they deem a deadly poison, and most anxiously, though secretly, seek them as the means, in drink, of certain de- struction to their enemies. As my share of the spoils, I have reserved one of the talons of the large tyger which pursued Lady , and intend to have it set in gold, with a swivel and fillet, ornamented with diamonds; and having filled it with otto of roses, I shall some time hence surprize her with it, and insist upon her giving it a place among the trinkets of her watch as a trophy — the « spolia opima,' torn from the body of an enemy slain in battle. I have also reserved a skin for you, which shall, when cured, be sent to you, and I shall hope to see it, ere many years elapse, as a hammer-cloth to a handsome chariot of yours in the streets of London. Dinner being over, the tygers being skinned, and their flesh and offals distributed, as soon as the sun declined we returned to Chinsura. And here ends the history of the tyger chase; in which I have been thus minute, that you may be tempted to accompany us in our future expedition ; and if not, that you may say you have been authentically informed upon the subject by an eye-witness. I am, dear Sir, Your very faithful and obedient Servant, » Tattys — double wickers applied to tent doors, and made of aromatic grass, against which water being dashed from without, at once cools and perfumes the air. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 181 (e). SWEATING SICKNESS. " He had not long been at Shene, when the court and the whole kingdom were thrown into a strange consternation, at the breaking out of the sweat- ing sickness, the fatal consequences of which have been recorded by our historians. This pestilential ephemera was a fever of one day, and the pa- tient died or recovered within twenty-four hours after he was seized. It first appeared in Henry the Vllth's army, at their landing from France at Mil- ford Haven, in the year 1483, and afflicted England six several times within the space of sixty-eight years. On the third return, in 1517, it was so vio- lent, that it usually killed in three hours' time, and in some towns it swept away half the inhabitants. In the year 1551, which was its last appearance, it began in Shrewsbury, where in a few days it destroyed near a thousand persons, and from thence spread itself all over England. It constantly be- gan with the warm weather, and ceased at the approach of winter. After the first visit, it disappeared during the space of two years only ; one and twenty after the second ; eleven after the third and fourth ; and then was three and twenty years before it broke out again, and has never been heard of since, either in our own or any other country. There was something so peculiar in the infection, that the English alone were liable to it. Foreigners who were amongst us, and even the Scotch, who inhabit the same island, were exempt ; and it attacked the English in other countries, while it spared the natives. Doctor Cajus, our learned countryman, who was a student at Padua about the time I am speaking of, has given us his conjectures con- cerning the cause of this particularly. His observation, however, that foreigners who were then in England were not seized with it, admitted of exception. « Bellay, bishop of Bayonne, the French ambassador at the English court, was one of them, and sent the following account to Anne of Montmo- rency, High Steward to the French King's household, " One of Mrs. Ann Bullen's women," says he, " was taken ill of the sweating sickness, on Tues- day last : on this the King removed to a seat twelve miles distant from Lon- don ; and the lady, as I am told, was sent to her father's in Kent. As yet his passion for her is not abated : I cannot say what effects absence and the difficulties he meets with from Rome may produce. This distemper began to appear four days ago, and affords the easiest kind of death imaginable; 182 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. the help even of physicians is not necessary. A slight head-ache, and sick- ness at the stomach, is followed by sweating, and if the patient is kept too warm, or not warm enough, he die? in four, and sometimes in two, or three hours. About two thousand have already been taken with it. Yesterday, as I was going to sign the suspension of arms, I beheld an incredible number of people leave the streets and the shops, and make all the haste they could to their houses, to sweat as soon as they found themselves ill. The priests have their hands as full as the physicians, and are not numerous enough to bury the dead. The like disease raged here twelve years ago, and carried off, as I am informed, ten thousand persons in ten or twelve days, and yet was not so contagious as it now is. My Lord Legate came up to keep Term, but left the town immediately, and there will be neither Term nor Sittings. Every body is in the utmost consternation." In another dispatch he writes thus : " The lady is still at her father's : the King continues to remove from one place to another, to shun the infection: a considerable number are dead of it in three or four hours. All the Lords of the Bed- chamber, excepting one, have already been, or are actually ill of it. The King keeps himself shut up alone. The contagion is as rife in the Legate's fa- mily : those who only put their hands out of bed, for the four-and-twenty hours after they are taken ill, become stiff like a piece of inortar. Yet after all, the persons who do not expose themselves to the air, escape; and what- ever reports may have been spread, of eleven thousand who have died of the distemper, two thousand only have died." Towards the end of the letter, " The King," says he, " perceiving it was to no purpose to change place, has at length fixed his residence at a house, built by my Lord Legate, about twenty miles from hence. I am credibly informed he has made his will, and received the sacraments of Penitence and the holy Eucharist, not to be taken unawares. He has not, however, been ill, and if he should, which God for- bid, I do not foresee he would run any great risk." In a third dispatch he says, " The disease begins to abate in London, and to get ground in places where it has not yet been felt, and at present rages in Kent. Mrs. Bullen and her father have had it, but are out of danger. On the day that the sweating took me at the Archbishop of Canterbury's, eighteen of the family died within four hours. I was almost the only person who survived, and am not yet quite recovered. The King is retired to a greater distance, and though he hopes to escape, he takes all precautions against what may hap- pen, confesses himself every day, and receives the blessed sacrament on all ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 183 festivals. The Queen, who is with him, does the same; and my Lord Legate, at his residence. The lawyers have lately had full employment; I believe a hundred thousand wills have been made; for those who die of this distemper, lose their senses when it begins to come to a head. I have sent his Majesty's compliments of condolence on this occasion to the King his brother, and to my Lord Legate, and doubt not of their being well re- ceived." — Pliilips's Life of Cardinal Pole. There is a very curious account of the sweating sickness in Henry's His- tory of England ; and there is also an interesting letter on the same sub- ject in Whitaker's History of Craven, from page 236 to page 239, giving an account of the two young Dukes of Suffolk, and their sudden deaths by this distemper. (f). ALFRED. " Whilst Alfred lay in this miserable little cottage at Athelney, and the waters being all frozen, so that no fish could be got in that place, his com- panions went out at some distance to get some fowl or fish for provisions. In the mean time, a poor man came to the door begging an alms. The King, who was reading, ordered some bread to be given to him. His mo- ther, who was alone with him, said there was but one loaf in the house, which would not suffice for themselves that day. Yet he prayed her to give half of it to the poor man, bidding her trust in Him who fed five thou- sand men with five loaves and two fishes." — Butler's Lives, vol. x. p. 366. (g). CALVIN. " Vestphale, Lutherien, l'ayant traite de declamateur : c II a beau faire,' repondit Calvin, 'jamais il ne le persuadera a personne; l'univers sait avec quelle force je presse un argument, avec quelle precision je sais ecrire.' Et pour prouver qu'il n'est pas declamateur, il dit a son critique : • Ton ecole n'est qu'une puante etable a porceaux . . . m'entends-tu, chien ? m'entends- tu bien, frenetique ? m'entends-tu bien, grosse bete ?' " — Dictionnaire His- torique, par De Chaudon et De Landine, d I' article Calvin ; voyez aussi Bayle, Moreri, et Histoire des Variations des Eglises Protestantes, par Bossuet. 184 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. (g). CARLOSTADIUS. " Carlostad ou Carolstad, (Andre Rodolphe) dont le veritable nom etoit Bodenstein, chanoine, arcliidiacre et professeur de theologie a Wirtemberg, donna le bonnet de docteur a Martin Luther, et se lia d'amitie avec lui. Un jour qu'ils etoient a table, Luther, avec un air dedaigneux, le defia d'ecrire contre lui : et la dispute s'etant echauffee assez vivement de part et d'autre, Luther tira de sa bourse un ecu d'or, et promit de le donner a Car- lostad s'il entreprenoit d'ecrire : £ Tenez,' lui dit-il, ' prenez-le, et ecrivez contre moi le plus fortement que vous pourez.' Carlostad accepta la condi- tion. Ensuite ils se toucherent dans la main, en se promettant mutuelle- ment de se faire la guerre. Luther but a la sante de Carlostad, et au bel ouvrage qu'il alloit mettre au jour. Carlostad lui fit raison, et avala le verre plein ; ainsi la guerre fut declaree a la maniere Allemande, le 22 Aout 1524. L'adieu des combattans fut memorable. ' Puisse-je te voir sur la roue !' dit Carlostad a Luther, qui lui repliqua: ' Puisses-tu te rompre le cou, avantde sortir de la ville !' Voila comment etoit preche le nouvel Evangile: un ca- baret produisit le chef des Sacramentaires !" — Dictionnaire Historique, article Carlostad; voyez aussi Bayle, Moreri, et Bossuet des Variations. (g). FISHER, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER. It remains now that I give an account of this great prelate's last hours, and in what manner he prepared himself for his exit. Take it in the words of Mr. Fuller, in his Church History: " After the lieutenant of the Tower had received the writ for his execution, because it was then very late, and the prisoner asleep, he was loth to disease him of his rest. But in the morning before five of the clock, he came to him in his chamber in the Bell- tower ; and finding him yet asleep in bed, and waking him, he told him, he was come to him on a message from the King, and that his pleasure was, he should suffer that forenoon. « Well,' quoth the bishop, ' if this be your errand, you bring me no great news: for I have looked a long time for this message, and I most humbly thank his Majesty, that it pleaseth him to rid one from all this worldly business ; yet let me by your patience sleep an ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 185 hour or two, for I have slept very ill this night, not for any fear of death, (I thank God,) but by reason of my great infirmity and weakness.' ' The King's pleasure is farther,' said the lieutenant, ' that you shall use as little speech as may be, especially of any thing touching his Majesty, whereby the people should have any cause to think of him, or his proceedings, other- wise than well.' ' For that,' said he, ' you shall see me order myself, as by God's grace, neither the King, nor any man else, shall have occasion to mislike my words.' With which answer the lieutenant departed from him; and so the prisoner falling again to rest, slept soundly two hours and more ; and after he was awakened, called to his man to help him up : but first com- manded him to take away his shirt of hair (which customarily he wore), and to convey it privily out of the house; and instead thereof, to lay him out a clean white shirt, and all the best apparel he had, as cleanly brushed as might be. And as he was arraying himself, his man, seeing in him more curiosity and care for the fine and cleanly wearing his apparel that day than was wont, demanded of him what this sudden change meant, saying, that his Lordship knew well enough, that he must put off all again within two hours, and lose it. £ What of that ?' said he, ' dost not thou mark that this is our marriage day, and that it behoveth us, therefore, to use more cleanli- ness for solemnity thereof?' About nine of the clock, the lieutenant came again, and finding him almost ready, said he was now come for him. Then said he to his man, « Reach me my furr'd tippet to put about my neck.' ' Oh ! my Lord,' said the lieutenant, « what need you be so careful of your health for this little time, being as yourself knows not much above an hour?' f I think no otherwise,' said he; • but yet, in the mean time, I will keep myself as well as I can. For I tell you truth, though I have, I thank our Lord, a very good desire and willing mind to die at this present, and so trust in his infinite mercy and goodness, he will continue it ; yet I will not willing- ly hinder my health in the mean time, one minute of an hour, but still pro- long the same as long as I can, by such reasonable ways and means as Almighty God hath provided for me.' And with that taking a little book in his hand, which was the New Testament, lying by him, he made a cross on his forehead, and went out of the prison door with the lieutenant, being so weak as he was scant able to go down the stairs. Wherefore at the stair foot he was taken up in a chair, between two of the lieutenant's men, and carried to the Tower gate, with a great number of weapons about him, to 2b 186 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. be delivered to the Sheriff of London for execution. And as they were comen to the uttermost precinct of the liberties of the Tower, they rested there with him a space, till such time as one was sent to know in what readi- ness the Sheriffs were to receive him. During which space he arose out of his chair, and standing on his feet, leaned his shoulder to the wall, and lifting up his eyes towards heaven, said, ' O Lord, this is the last time that ever I shall open this book, let some comfortable place now chance unto me, whereby I, thy poor servant, may glorify thee in this my last hour.' And without looking into the book, the first thing that came to his sight were these words, John xvii. ver. 3, Hcec est antem vita sterna ut cognoscant te solum verum Deum, et quern misisti Jesum Christum. Ego te glorificavi super terram, opus consummavi quod dedisti milii, &c. And with that he shut the book together, and said, • Here is even learning enough for me to my life's end.' And so the Sheriff being ready for him, he was taken up again among certain of the Sheriff's men, with a new and much greater com- pany of weapons than before, and carried to the scaffold on the Tower-hill, himself praying all the way, and recording upon the words which before he had read. When he was comen to the foot of the scaffold, they that carried him, offered to help him up the stairs; ' But,' said he, ' nay, masters, seeing I am comen so far, let me alone, and ye shall see me shift for myself well enough, without any help;' so lively, that it was a marvel to them that before knew his debility and weakness. But as he was mounting the stairs, the south-east sun shining very bright in his face, whereupon be said to him- self these words, lifting up his hands, Acceditc ad eum, et illuminamini, et facies vestra nan confundetur. By that time he was upon the scaffold, it was about ten o'clock; where the executioner being ready to do his office, kneeled down to him, and asked him forgiveness. • I forgive thee,' said he, • with all my heart, and I trust thou shalt see me overcome this storm lustily.' Then was his gown and tippet taken from him, and he stood in his doublet and hose, in sight of all the people, whereof there was no small number as- sembled to see the execution. Being upon the scaffold, he spoke as follows, ' Christian people, I am comen hither to die for the faith of Christ's holy catholic church, and I thank God, hitherto my stomach hath served me very well thereunto, so that yet I have not feared death. Wherefore, I desire you all to help and assist me in your prayers, that at the very point and instant of death's stroke, I may in that very moment stand stedfast, without ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 187 fainting in any one point of the catholic faith, free from fear. And I beseech Almighty God, of his infinite goodness, to save the King and this realm, and that it may please him to hold his holy hand over it, and send the King a good council.' These words he spoke with such a cheerful countenance, such a stout and constant courage, and such a reverend gravity, that he ap- peared to all men not only void of fear, but also glad of death. After these few words by him uttered, he kneeled down on both his knees, and said cer- tain prayers, among which, as some reported, one was the hymn of Te Deum laudamits, to the end, and the psalm, In te Domine speravi. Then came the executioner, and bound a handkerchief about his eyes, and so the bishop, lifting up his hands arid heart to heaven, said a few prayers, which were not long, but fervent and devout; which being ended, he laid his head down over the midst of a little block, where the executioner being ready with a sharp and heavy axe, cut asunder his slender neck at one blow. He suffered, June 22, 1535, being 76 years of age, 9 months, and a few days. What hastened his death, was supposed to be the honour conferred upon him by Paul III. bishop of Rome, who, May 21, 1535, bestowed upon him a Cardinal's hat, which he was not privy to, much less ambitious of it. When King Henry understood that a hat was upon the road, he sent to have it stopped at Calais ; and at the same time a person was commissioned, in the King's name, to demand of the bishop, whether he was willing to accept of such an offer from the see of Rome? The bishop replied, that though the dignity was far above his merits, yet he would not refuse to serve the church of God in that or any other way. This answer being carried to the King by secretary Cromwel, he was so provoked at it, that he swore, if the bishop of Rochester did accept of a Cardinal's hat, he should wear it upon his shoul- ders, for he should have no head to carry it on. 'Twas thus the bishop fell a sacrifice to the favours and rage of two great courts. ** It happened in these days, what is observable upon most revolutions, both persons and causes lay under a general misrepresentation ; nor was the strictest virtue able to defend itself against calumny. Bishop Fisher, a person of primitive behaviour, the oracle of learning, and whom Erasmus styles the phoenix of the age; a man universally applauded in every action of his life, excepting that point for which he died ; and yet even here he shewed such a contempt for all worldly advantages, that his greatest enemies, when passion did not transport them, were forced to acknowledge his since- 2, B % 188 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. rity. Yet, notwithstanding the advantage of his character, to put a gloss upon the proceedings of the court, it was judged necessary to have him represented as an obstinate, avaricious old man, and a fit object of the king's wrath and indignation; with which sort of calumnies, Bale, Ascham, and some other virulent writers have fouled their pens ; whilst others of the party have generously removed the calumny. However, the people were so over- awed in their behaviour in his regard, that no one durst speak a word or move a step in his behalf; whereof there cannot be a greater instance than the disrespect that was shewn to his body after he was beheaded ; no friend he had durst approach it; it lay exposed naked on the scaffold from the time he suffered till eight o'clock in the evening, when two watchmen hoisted it upon their halberts, and carried it into All-hallows Barking church- yard, where it was thrown naked into a hole, without either coffin, shroud, or any other ceremony becoming his dignity, or even that of a Christian. His head, indeed, was taken care of, and, as it is reported, first carried to Ann Bullen, who, induced by an unnatural curiosity to view that coun- tenance which had so often been displeasing to her, and flirting her hand against his mouth with a kind of scorn, one of his teeth projecting, she struck her finger against it, which razed the skin, and afterwards became a chargeable wound, the scar whereof remained as long as she lived. His head was afterwards placed upon London Bridge ; but within a fortnight, by order of council, was thrown into the Thames." Vide this article by the Index in Dodd's Church Hist., and in Phillips's Life of Reginald Pole; also a long and very interesting Life of Fisher, in Wordsworth's Biography. (g). CATHERINE OF ARRAGON. As for queen Catherine, who was the harmless occasion of this great con- test, she lived not long after she was divorced, dying at Kimbolton, January 8, 1536. Finding her end draw near, she sent the king the following letter : " The hour of my death now approaching, I cannot chuse but out of the love I bear you, to. advise you of your soul's health, which you ought to prefer to all considerations of the world or flesh whatsoever; for which you have cast me into many calamities, and yourself into many troubles : but I forgive you all, and pray God to do so likewise. For the rest, J commend unto you Mary, our daughter, beseeching you to be a good father unto her, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 189 as I have heretofore desired. I must entreat you also to respect my maids, and give them in marriage, which is not much, they being but three ; and to all my other servants a year's pay, besides their due, lest otherwise they should be unprovided for. Lastly, I make this vow, that my eyes have desired you above all things." She lived not long after the writing of this letter; and the king received the news of her death not without tears, order- ing her to be buried in the abbey church of Peterborough. All our histo- rians agree in giving this lady the best of characters. She was a devout and exemplary lady, who used to work much with her own hands amongst her women ; and her severities and devotions, which were known to her priests, and her alms-deeds, joined to her misfortunes, raised a high esteem of her in all sorts of people. It is farther said of her, by those that were in the secret of her life, that she rose to midnight prayers, and was up again at five ; on the vigils of several feasts lived wholly on bread and water ; con- fessed her sins every Wednesday and Friday, and received the sacrament every Sunday ; read the saints' lives every afternoon to her maids, was frequent in prayer, which she constantly performed on her bare knees. Her soul was elevated above the world, which appeared by her constancy and meekness in the variety of fortune. Prosperity did not corrupt her, nor adversity deject her; and what advantage her enemies might have over her, in point of law and politics, she far surpassed them in claims of a greater concern. Vide this article in Dodd's Church History. Phillips's Life of Pole. Moreri. Bayle. The Dictionnaire Historique. And Chalmers' s Biogra- phical Dictionary. "'(g). THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY, MOTHER TO CARDINAL REGINALD POLE. " The Countess of Salisbury was mother to the celebrated Reginald Pole • he received his birth at a castle, which takes its name from the river Stour, two miles from Stourbridge, in Staffordshire. He was born in March, in the year 1500, which was the fifteenth of Henry the Seventh's reign, and on the ninth of that prince's age who succeeded him. His father, Sir Richard Pole, was son to Geoffry Pole, Knight, descended of ancient gentry in Wales. A courtly behaviour, and great sweetness of disposition, joined to equal valour, which he shewed in Henry's wars with Scotland, recommended Sir Richard to that prince's favour. He gave him large command in the country from which they both derived their origin, created him knight of the garter, and 19b ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER fit. appointed him chief gentleman of the bed-chamber, and governor to his eldest son Arthur, Prince of Wales. These marks of distinction were still heightened by allying him to a person of the royal blood, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, daughter to George, Duke of Clarence, brother to Edward the IVth, and sister to the young Earl of Warwick, who was sacrificed to the cruel and wicked policy of Henry the Vllth and Ferdinand of Arragon, father to queen Catherine. This choice was intended by the wary monarch, not only as a reward of his services, on whom it fell, but to quiet his own fears from a revival of the claim of the Plantagenets, by marrying the next in blood of that family to a person of an unambitious temper and approved fidelity. From this marriage sprung four sons and a daughter : Henry, the first-born, Geoffry, Arthur, Reginald, and Ursula, who being all underage when their father died, were left to the guardianship of the Countess, their mother. " In the year 1539, Margaret, Countess of Salisbury, was attainted. Her •quality and her attachment to the Catholic religion were her only crimes. Such causes, however, were too invidious to be alleged even by one who had set himself above all restraint; and the Countess's conduct being blameless, something was to be invented, which the King's (Henry the VHIth) pleasure might make high treason. On this, a report was spread, that she bad forbid her dependants the use of the new translation of the Bible into the English tongue, which was published by the royal authority; that some Papist's dispensations had been found at her country-seat at Coudray, and that she kept a correspondence with her son. On a cabinet scrutiny, it was discovered, that these accusations could not be made out; and, if they could, were insufficient to form any thing capital against the offender. A more summary method, therefore, was taken, which suited the King's temper. The question was put to the Judges by Cromwe], whether the parliament could attaint a person, within the realm, without trial, or citing the party to appear before them ? Their answer was, that it would be of the most fatal consequence, and that such a doubt ought not to be moved • and they hoped the high court of parliament would never set the inferior court an example of such unwarrantable proceedings. Being required to be more explicit in their answer, they delivered it as their opinion, that an attainder •so passed could not be called in question, but would remain good in law. This was all the information the King wanted : having learnt by this declara- tion that such a measure, though contrary to all right, was yet practicable, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 191 he resolved to employ it against the Countess; and Cromwel, on this occa- sion, produced to the house of peers a banner, on which was embroidered the symbol of the northern insurgents, which he affirmed to have been found in her house. This was the guilt, and this the proof by which it was ascer- tained. The parliament, without any further inquiry, passed a bill of attainder against her, and involved, without any belter proof, as far as appears, Gertrude, Marchioness of Exeter, and some more. The Mar- chioness was pardoned; Sir Adrian Fortescue and Sir Thomas Dingley were put to death; but the Countess of Salisbury's execution was deferred for two years, till the time I am speaking of, during which interval she was confined in prison. It was Henry's custom, to treat those with the greatest rigour, whom he had honoured most with his favour, as soon as they fell into, disgrace. " Lord Herbert relates (who says he had it from very good authority), thaff the Countess's behaviour in these distressed circumstances was spirited and intrepid; and no arts could prevail on her to acknowledge a guilt of which she was not conscious. For among the many hateful practices used by the tyrant to extinguish, if possible, the eternal difference there will be between- good and evil, and make their nature depend on his caprice, a principal one had always been, that those whom he treated with the greatest injustice, should confess themselves deserving of what he inflicted on them, and sue for mercy he did not intend to shew. Being brought to the scaffold, this vene- rable matron retained to the last the dignity of the long race of monarchs from whom she was descended, and of the cause in which she died, and refused to lay her head on the block. The executioner telling her, it was customary so to do, she replied, it was so for traitors, but she was none; and turning about her grey head, she said, if he would have it, he must get it as he could; at which he aimed several fruitless blows at her neck, and mangled her body in a shocking manner, till she expired at his feet. Her last words were, ' Blessed are the}' who suffer persecution for righteousness' sake.' «' The royal descent of this lady, her marriage, and offspring, have been spoken of in the beginning of this work. Besides these advantages, she was endowed with all those which constitute personal merit, and would have assured to her an uncommon regard from any prince but him in whose reign she lived. Her brother, the Earl of Warwick, had been basely put to death by the King's father, in order to get rid of a prince Who was the lineal heir 192 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. to the Crown, and the Countess had succeeded to all his rights. The Princess Mary, Henry's daughter, had been educated by her ; and his first wife, Catherine of Arragon, had honoured her with an unreserved confidence. Yet all these claims to gratitude, love, and respect, which met in the last of the Plantagenets, only contributed to make her finish her life, in the se- ventieth year of her age, by the hands of a common executioner. " The Legate was at Viterbo when the news was brought of this tragical event ; and the manner in which he received it is related by his secretary, Becatilli, and is too particular not to be set down in the detail he has given of it: e I was with him,' says he, * when he was informed of his mother's death ; and it was on the following occasion : He had received several letters from France, Spain, and Flanders, and having read them, he called me, as his custom was, to return answers. As I was putting them together, I perceived one to be in English, and told him, I need not take that with me, as I did not understand the language. To which he replied, without the least emotion, I could wish you did, that you might read the good news it contains ; and on my replying, I hope your Excellence will make me partaker of it, Hitherto, says he, I have thought myself indebted to the divine good- ness, for having received my birth from one of the most noble and virtuous women in England ; but, from henceforward, my obligation will be much greater, as I understand that I am now the son of a martyr. The King has caused her to be publicly beheaded, for her constancy in the Catholic faith, though she was 70 years of age, and after his own children, the nearest to him in blood. This is the recompense he has thought fit to bestow for the care of his daughter's education and long attendance on her ; but my God's will be done, and may He in all events be thanked and praised. On my being seized with surprize and horror at this relation, Be of good courage, says he ; we have now one Patron more added to those we already had in heaven. Having spoken this, he retired to a private oratory, and having passed some time in prayer, he came out with his usual cheerfulness." Dodd's Church History, Phillips's Life of Pole. (g). DISSOLUTION OF MONASTERIES. Dodd, a Catholic writer, gives the following account of the dissolution of monasteries : w Several disinterested writers, after having seriously considered this dis- ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER HI. 193 solution of monasteries, as well in itself as with regard to the consequences, have candidly owned, that nothing could be carried on more scandalous to religion, nor more detrimental to the civil government. To say nothing how criminal it might be in the sight of God (whatever the ruling powers might pretend) to drive so many thousand persons out of their possessions, and obstruct them in the duties of fasting, prayer, and recollection, which are practices recommended and enjoined by the gospel. Every station in life and every order of men felt the weight of Henry's hand, and were con- siderable sufferers by the undertaking ; both nobility and gentry, rich and poor, young and old, clergy and laity, the ignorant and the learned, the living and the dead, became sensible of many inconveniences, and expe- rienced many calamities which flowed from it. The temporal nobility and gentry had a creditable way of providing for their younger children : those who were disposed to withdraw from the world, or not likely to make their fortunes in it, had a handsome retreat to the cloister. Here they were furnished with conveniences for life and study, with opportunities for thought and recollection, and, over and above, passed their time in a con- dition not unbecoming their quality. The charge of their family being thus lessened, there was no temptation for racking tenants, no occasion for break- ing the bulk of the estate, and by consequence the lasting of the family better secured. It is true, there were sometimes small sums given to the monasteries, for admitting persons to be professed ; but, generally speaking, they received them gratis. The abbeys were very serviceable for the educa- tion of young people ; every convent had one person or more assigned for this business. Thus the children of the neighbourhood were taught grammar and music, without charge to their parents; and in the nunneries, those of the other sex learned to work and read English, with some advances in Latin. Farther, it is to the abbeys we are obliged for most of our historians both in church and state. Those places of retirement had most both learning and leisure for such undertakings ; neither did they want information for such employments. For, not to mention several episcopal sees that were founded for the cloister, the mitred abbots, as we have seen, sat in parliament, and not a few of the religious had a share in the convocation. It is not denied but they were some of the best landlords; their reserved rents were low, and their fines easy ; and sometimes the product of their farms, without paying money, discharged their tenants in a great measure. They were particu- larly remarkable for their hospitality. The monasteries were, as it were, 2 C 194 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. houses of public entertainment for the gentry that travelled; and as for their distributions of charity, it may be guessed from one instance : While the religious houses were standing, there were no provisions of parliament to relieve the poor ; no assessment upon the parish for that purpose ; but now this charge upon the kingdom amounts, at a moderate computation, to «£800,000. " Now, if we compare the annual income of £135,529,. \Ss. lOd. which was the valuation of the monastery lands, with the poor's tax, which amounts to about .£800,000," (in 1813, between five and six millions) "it will appear What the nation has got by the dissolution. I own consideration is to be had to the different valuation of money in those days and these; but this makes no difference in the nature of the burden which the present pos- sessors of the abbey lands would find, if the whole charge of the poor were to be thrown upon them. It is allowed the nation is grown more populous, and by this the number of poor are proportionably increased ; but are not the riches and trade of the nation increased in the same degree ? Now it is somewhat mysterious how a nation that increases in wealth should abound more with beggars, unless sacrilege has entailed that blessing upon them. " But to proceed from these to other inconveniences which flowed from the same source, — besides this rent charge, as it were drawn upon the whole nation by the dissolution, the ancient nobility suffered considerably other ways; for the seizure and surrender of the abbeys being confirmed to the crown by act of parliament, the services reserved to the founders were extin- guished of course. To mention some of them, the abbeys that held by knights' service were bound to provide such a number of soldiers as their estates required, and furnish them for the field at their own charges. Thus their men were to appear at their musters, and attend the heirs of the founders, or such benefactors as had settled a knight's fee upon them. Secondly, where they held by knights' service, they were bound to contri- bute towards a fortune for marrying their lord's eldest daughter. And, thirdly, to pay a sum of money to defray the expense of a knighthood, when that distinction was conferred upon the founder's eldest son. Lastly, the founders had the benefit of corrodies; that is, they had the privilege of quar- tering a certain number of poor servants upon the abbeys. Thus, people that were worn out with age and labour, and in no condition to support themselves, were not thrown up to starving or parish collections, but had a ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 195 comfortable retreat to the abbeys, where they were maintained, without hardship or marks of indigence, during life. " Again, the nation suffered very much as to learning and improvement in the liberal sciences by the dissolution of monasteries; for, as this order of men were once honourable, so they were always serviceable to the church. They promoted a general improvement; they were very industrious in restoring learning, and removing the country from the remarkable ignorance of those times. The monasteries were the schools and seminaries of almost the whole clergy, both secular and regular. They bred their novices to letters; and to this purpose every great monastery had a peculiar college in each of the universities ; and even to the time of their dissolution they main- tained great numbers of children at school for the service of the church ; and a little before the reformation, many of the great monasteries were nurseries of learning. Their superiors were men of distinction this way, and great promoters of their own sufficiency in others. Of this rank we may reckon Kidderminster, abbot of Winchelcombe ; Godwell, prior of Canterbury ; Voch, prior of St. Augustine's ; Wells, prior of Ely ; Holbeach, prior of Coventry ; and many others. From hence it appears, the monks deserved a fairer character than is sometimes given them ; and that in the darkest and most exceptionable ages, they were far from being enemies to learning. " The monks did not only apply themselves to learning, but guarded the springs from whence it was derived. Most of the learned records of the age were lodged in the monasteries. Printing was then but a late invention, and had secured but a few books in comparison of the rest. The main of learning lay in manuscripts ; and the most considerable of these, both for number and quality, were in the monks' possession. But the abbeys at the dissolution falling oftentimes into hands who understood no farther than the estates, the libraries were miserably disposed of. The books, instead of being removed to royal libraries, to those of cathedrals, or the universities, were frequently thrown in to the grantees," as things of slender consideration. Now these men oftentimes proved a very ill protection for learning and antiquity. Their avarice was so mean, and their ignorance so undistin- guishing, that when the covers were somewhat rich, and would yield a little, they pulled them off, threw away the books, or turned them to waste paper. Thus many noble libraries were destroyed. Nay, so great a spoil was made in the republic of learning, that John Bale, sometime bishop of 2 C 21 196 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. Ossory, ia Ireland, a man remarkably averse to popery and the monastic institutions, gives this lamentable account of what he himself was an eye- witness to. * I know a merchant (who shall at this time be nameless) that bought the contents of two noble libraries for forty shillings price ; a shame it is to be spoken. This stuff has been occupied, instead of grey paper, by the space of more than ten years. A prodigious example this is, and to be abhorred of all men who love their nation as they should do. Yea, what may bring our realm to more shame, than to have it noised abroad that we are despisers of learning ? I judge this to be true, and utter it with heavi- ness, that neither the Britons under the Romans or Saxons, nor yet the English people under the Danes and Normans, had ever such damage of their learned monuments as we have seen in our time.' But Bale is not alone in this charge. Fuller breaks out into a passionate declamation upon this occasion, and complains, ' that all arts and sciences fell under the common calamity. How many admirable manuscripts of the fathers, schoolmen, and commentators were destroyed by this means ? What num- bers of historians, of all ages and countries? The Holy Scriptures themselves underwent the fate of the rest. If a book had a cross on it, it was con- demned for popery ; and those with lines and circles, were interpreted the black art, and destroyed for conjuring. And thus (Fuller goes on) divinity was profaned, mathematics suffered for corresponding with evil spirits, physic was maimed, and riot committed on the law itself.' "Learning being thus driven out of the monasteries, the poor remains re- tired into the two universities for shelter, where it subsisted in a very starving condition, and was daily apprehensive of being entirely subdued and demo- lished. Mr. Wood, the Oxford historian, gives us a general idea of this matter. He tells us, that whereas formerly there were in Oxford near three hundred halls or private schools, besides the colleges ; now not above eight were remaining. They had constantly been supplied with students from the monasteries, and every religious order had a place of residence or school, -where they prepared themselves for academical performances and degrees. " When the monasteries were dissolved, some kind of care was taken for the subsistence of the ejected monks; some were provided with pensions, which were greater or less, according to the willingness they shewed in resigning ; others were placed in benefices, as they fell out, their pensions ceasing upon the promotion. But as for the chantry priests, and such as served in the hospitals, &c. though some few were taken care of, the greatest ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 197 part of them were reduced to the extremities of want, as also were many- thousands of the laity who depended upon them. Nor was want the only- hardship they laboured under : they were ridiculed and publicly insulted in the streets; insomuch, that the ministry, being ashamed to suffer persons of their character to be treated with so much contempt, were obliged to issue forth a proclamation, November 12th, 1547, for redressing the abuse. " Nothing was now left besides the gleanings of the field ; viz. church plate, rich vestments, unfurnishing altars, defacing windows, rifling libraries, tear- ing off brass from the tombs of their ancestors, and disturbing the ashes of the dead. In this manner it was, that luxury, oppression, and hatred to religion, had over- run the higher rank of the people, and countenanced the reformers, merely to rob the church. To complete these matters, visitors were sent about, and, upon a pretence of rooting out superstition, made spoil of all things that might conduce to support either learning or piety. Upon this occasion was destroyed the famous Angervillian library, a choice collection of books, first compiled by Angerville, bishop of Durham. The two noble libraries of Cobham, bishop of Winchester, and that of Duke Humphry, underwent the same fate. These books were many of them plated with gold and silver, and curiously embossed. This, as far as we can guess, was the superstition which destroyed them. Here avarice had a very thin disguise, and the courtiers discovered of what spirit they were to a very remarkable degree. Mei ton college had almost a cart load of manu- scripts carried off, and thrown away to the most scandalous uses. This was a strange inquisition upon sense and reason, and shewed that they intended to seize the superstitious foundations, and reform them to nothing. " In consequence of the act of parliament for the seizures above men- tioned, the ministry issued out orders to strip the churches of their unneces- sary furniture; to the more speedy execution of which orders, Bishop Hooper's doctrine did contribute very much. This divine pressing for a farther reformation, was very much displeased at the word altar, as well as with the situation of it. It was chiefly through his persuasion that it was removed from the end of the chancel to the middle, that it might appear to be no more than a table. This proved to be a very serviceable alteration, and encouraged the execution of the orders for the dismantling of altars. For a table placed in the middle, having no adjuncts, a few ornaments would suffice, and the visitors took care to leave none but what were absolutely 198 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. necessary. Some profit was thereby raised to the king's exchequer; yet the far greatest part of the prey came to other hands, insomuch that many pri- vate persons' parlours were hung up with altar-cloths, their tables and beds covered with capes, instead of carpets and coverlids, and many made carousing cups of the sacred chalices, as once Belshazzar celebrated his drunken feasts in the sanctified vessels of the temple. It was a sorry house, and not worth the naming, which had not somewhat of this furniture in it, though it were only a fair large cushion, made of a cope, or altar-cloth, to adorn their windows, or make their chairs to have somewhat in them of a chair of state. Yet how contemptible were these trappings in comparison of those vast sums of money which were made of the jewels, plate, and cloth of tissue, either conveyed beyond the seas or sold at home, and good lands pur- chased with the money ! Nothing more blessed to the posterity of them that bought them, for being purchased with the consecrated treasures of so many temples. This order for undressing churches was, it seems, repre- sented to the king (as Burnet relates the fact) as an inoffensive expedient, and calling for the superfluous plate and other goods that lay in churches, more for pomp than for use. But those who called these things superfluous, and shewed so slender a regard for the honour of religion, were none of the best reformers. Had these people governed in the minority of Josiah, as they did in this of Edward the Vlth, they would in all likelihood have retrenched the Mosaic institution, and served God at a more frugal rate. They would have disfurnished the temple of most of the gold plate, carried off the unnecessary magnificence, and left but little plunder for Nebuchad- nezzar. " Abbey lands, as the dust flung up by Moses, presently disperse all the kingdom over, and at once become curses both upon the families and estates of the owners ; they often viciously spending on their private occasions what was piously intended for public devotion ; insomuch, that within twenty years next after the dissolution, more of our nobility and their children have been attainted and died under the sword of justice, than did from the con- quest to the dissolution, being almost 500 years : so that if you examine the list of the barons in the parliament of the 27th of Henry VIII., you will find very few of them whose sons do at this day inherit their fathers' titles and estates; and of these few, many to whom the King's favour hath restored what the rigorous law of attainder took, both dignity, lands, and posterity. And doubtless the commons have drunk deeply of this cup ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 199 vf deadly wine ; but they being more numerous and less eminent, are not so obvious to observation. However, it will not be amiss to insert the obser- vation of a most worthy antiquarian (Sir Henry Spelman), in the country where he was born and best experienced ; who reporteth, that in Norfolk there were one hundred houses of gentlemen before the dissolution, possessed of fair estates, of whom so many as gained accession by abbey lands are at this time extinct or much impaired, bemoaning his own family under the latter notion, as diminished by such an addition. And I believe, he that will take the pains to run through the several counties of England, and make the same observation, will find, that in such families as have been pos- sessors of abbey lands, they have slipt through their fingers, and have been prodigally spent in all sorts of extravagancies, after the example of the first invader, Henry VIII., of whom our historians relate, ' that he made a grant to a gentlewoman of a religious house, for presenting him with a dish of puddings, which happened to oblige his palate ; that he played away many a thousand a year belonging to the monasteries ; and, particularly, that Jesus bells, belonging to a steeple not far from St. Paul's, London, very remarkable both for their size and musick, were lost at one throw to Sir Miles Partridge.' For the rest I remit the reader to his own eyes, if he has the curiosity to view those ancient monuments, places of divine worship, which are now become tippling-houses, stables, and dog-kennels ; and who can behold such dismal heaps of ruined fabrics, but he will conclude, that some barbarous nation had invaded our land?" Dvdd's Church History, vol. i. p. 110 to 115. HINDLIP. About the period of the reformation, and during some of the succeeding years, many structures were contrived, with a view to conceal obnoxious persons. One of these may be seen on the road from Worcester to Broms- grove, which at present bears the appearance of a respectable but deserted mansion, at Hindlip. It is supposed to have been built by Babington, in 1572. His son, who was concerned in various plots for the release of Mary, Queen of Scots, and setting up a Papist to succeed her, contrived many hiding holes in different parts of the building. The access to some was through the chimney ; others had trap-doors, which communicated to back stair-cases : some of these rooms on the outside have the appearance of 500 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. great chimnies. Tradition in this country attributes the discovery of the gunpowder plot to the wife of Mr. Thomas Babington, sister to Lord Mont- eagle. Mr. Babington, husband to this lady, was condemned to die, for concealing Garnet and Oldcorn at Hindlip, but was pardoned, at the inter- cession of his wife and Lord Monteagle. After the proclamation for apprehending the persons concerned in the gunpowder plot, in which several were particularly described, Sir Henry Bromlie, with a troop of attendants, surrounded the house at Hindlip on the 20th of January, early in the morning. Mr. Babington was not at home, but returned that night. On the proclamation and commission being shewn to him, he denied any such men being in his house ; the search was conti- nued until eleven; secret places of concealment were discovered, but nothing was found in them except mass-books, and other things used in the celebration of the Romish worship ; but on the fourth day, in the morning, from behind the wainscot in the galleries, two men voluntarily came forth, being no longer able to conceal themselves, for they confessed they had had but one apple between them from the time they were concealed. One of them was named Owen, who afterwards destroyed himself in the tower; the other Chambers ; but they would not confess that any others were in the house. On the eighth day, in a place of concealment behind a chimney, Henry Garnet, the Jesuit, and another, named Hall, were found. Marmalade and other sweetmeats were lying by them, but their belter maintenance had been conveyed through a reed or quill, by a small hole in the back cf this chimney, through which they were supplied with nourishing liquids. They confessed their confinement was become so noisome and intolerable, " they " had not been able to hold out one whole day longer, but either they must " have squeeled or perished in the place. The whole service endured the " space of eleven nights and twelve days, and no more persons being there « found, in company of Mayster Babington himself, Garnet, Hill, Owen, " and Chambers were brought up to London, to understand farther of His " Highness' pleasure." Garnet was a man of much learning, professor of philosophy and Hebrew in the Italian college at Rome, and supplied the place of the celebrated Clavius. It doth not appear that he was active in the powder plot; and he declared just before his execution, that he was only privy to it, and con- cealed what was delivered to him in confession. He was a Nottingham- shire man, educated at Rome. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 301 Mr. Addison, in the lodgings of the English Jesuits at Loretto, saw the pictures of the two Garnets, Oldcorn, and others, who had been executed in England, to the number of thirty. The reader is referred to Dodd's Church History, where he will find along list of Catholics put to death in England, on account of their religion, during the reigns of Henry the Eighth, Edward the Sixth, Elizabeth, James the First, Charles the First, Charles the Second, &c. &c. See NasKs Wor- cestershire, article Hindlip. The formation of all the places of concealment, which abound in the old mansions in England, cannot, however, be justly ascribed to the tumultuous period of the Reformation, since all times of public commotion are equally fertile in generating the causes which render them necessary. In Oxbrugh-hall, Norfolk, the seat of the Bedingfield Baronet family, is a very curious place of concealment, which shuts within side; and as this mansion was erected in the reign of Edward the Fourth, it was obviously occasioned by the civil wars of that period. At Bristol is a house, now called the Red Lodge, and which belonged to the celebrated Cannynge, the builder of Redcliffe church about the same time, which likewise abounds in places of concealment. In Aston-hall, Warwickshire, the late mansion of the Holt Baronet family, and now the seat of Heneage Legge, Esq. there is likewise a very well contrived place of concealment, to which Charles the First retired pre- viously to the battle of Edge-hill, when this mansion was searched. (h). GOODWIFE FISHER. In the year of our Lord, 1538. Sir William Forman beeing Maior of the citie of London, three weeks before Easter the wife of one Thomas Freebam, dwelling in Pater noste rowe, beeing very desirous of having a morsel of a pigge, told her mindeunto a maide dwelling in Abchurch-lane, desiring her, if it were possible, to helpe her unto a peece. Upon this, Thomas Freebarn, her husband, spake to a butter, which he knew, that dwelled at Harnsey, named good wife Fisher, to helpe him to a pigge for his wife, unto whom the said good wife Fisher promised that she would bring him one on the Friday following; and so she did, beeing ready dressed and scalded before. But when she had delivered him the pigge, she craftily conveied one of the pig's feet, and carried it unto Doctor Cockes, at that time being deane of 2 D 202 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. Canterburie, dwelling in Ivy-lane, who at that time of his dinner, before certaine guests which he had bidden, shewed his pig's foote, declaring who had the body thereof: and after that they had talked their pleasure, and dinner was done, one of his guests, being landlord unto Freebarn aforesaid, called M. Ganet, and by his office, king of Armes, sent his man unto the said Freebarn, demanding if there were no body sick in his house. Unto whom he answered, that they were all in good health, he gave God thankes. Then said he againe, It was told his maister that somebody was sicke, or else they would not eat flesh in Lent : unto whom Freebarn made answer, that his wife longed for a peece of a pigge, and if he could get some for her, he would. Then departed his landlord's man home again. And shortly after his landlord sent for him. But before that he sent for him, he had sent for the Bishop of London's sumner, called Holland, and when Freebarn was come, he demanded of him if hee had, which he denied not. Then commanded M. Ganet the said sumner to take him and go home to his own house, and to take the pig, and carry both him and the pig unto Doctor Stokesley his maister, being then Bishop of London; and so he did. Then the Bishop beeing in his chamber with divers others of the clergy, called this Freebarn before him, and had him in examination for this pigge; laying also unto his charge, that he had eaten in his house that Lent, powdred beefe and calves' heads. Unto whom Freebarn answered, " My Lord, if the heads were eaten in my house, in whose houses were the bodies eaten? Also, if there be either man or woman that can prove, that either I, or any in my house, hath done as your Lordship saith, let me suffer death therefore." " You speak (said he) against pilgrimages, and will not take holy bread, nor holy water, nor yet go on procession on Palme Sunday : Thou art no Christian man." * My Lord," said Freebarn, " I trust I am a true Chris- tian man, and have done nothing, neither against God's law nor my prince's." In the time of this examination, which was during the space of two hours, divers came unto the Bishop, some to have their children confirmed, and some for other causes. Unto whom, as they came, having the pigge before him covered, he would lift up the cloth and shew it to them, saying, *f How think you of such a fellow as this is? is not this good meate, I pray you, to be eaten in this blessed time of Lent, yea, and also powdred beefe and calves' heads too besides this ?" After this, the Bishop called his sumner unto him, and commanded him to go and carry this Thomas Freebarn and the pigge openly thorow the streets, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. into the Old Bailey, unto Sir Roger Chomley : for the Bishoppe said he had nothing to do to punish him, for that belonged unto the civil magistrates. And so was Freebarn carried with the pigge before him to Sir Roger Chom- lie's house in the Old Bailey, and he not being at home at that time, Free- barn was brought likewise back againe unto the Bishop's palace with the pigge, and there lay in the porter's lodge till it was nine o'clocke at night. Then the Bishoppe sent him unto the Counter in the Poultry, by the sum- ner, and other of his servants. The next day being Saturday, he was brought before the Maior of London and his brethren unto the Guildhall, but before his comming, they had the pigge delivered unto them by the Bishoppe's officer. Then the Maior and the Bench laid unto his charge (as they were informed from the Bishop) that he had eaten powdred beefe and calves' heads in his house the same Lent. But no man was able to come in that would justify it; neither could any thing be found, save only the pigge, which, as is before sayd, was for his wife. Notwithstanding the Maior of London said, that the Monday following he should stand on the Pillarie in Cheape side, with the one halfe of the pigge on one shoulder, and the other halfe on the other.— Wordsworth's Ecclesias- tical Biography, article Cromwell. (h). QUEEN ELIZABETH'S BEARWARD, AND CRANMER. Archbishop Cranmer had opposed the six articles in Parliament, during a debate which continued three days. The King, desiring to be made ac- quainted with the reasons on which his opposition was founded, he directed his Secretary, after collecting his authorities from the Scriptures and Doc- tors, and the arguments deduced from them, to write them in a faire book, to be presented to the King. " This booke was written in his secretaire's " chamber, where in a by chamber lay the Archbishop's Almosiner. When « this booke was fayre written, and whiles the secretarie was gone to de- " liver the same unto the Archbishop his maister, who was (as it then « chanced) rid to Croydon ; returning back to his chamber, he found the " doore shut, and the key carried away to London by the Almosiner. " At this season also, chanced the father of the said secretary to come to « the citie, by whose occasion it so fell out that he must needes go to Lon- " don. The booke he could not lay into his chamber, neither durst he com- 2»2 204 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. " mit it to any other person to keepe, being straightly charged, on any con- " dition of the Archbishop his maister, to be circumspect thereof; so that " he determined to go to his father, and to keepe the booke about him. " And so thrusting the booke under his girdle, he went over to Westminster " bridge with a sculler, where he entered into a whyrry that went to Lon- " don, wherein were four of the Gard, who ment to land at Paule's Wharfe, " and to passe by the King's highnesse, who then was in his barge, with a " great number of barges and boates about him, then baiting of Beares in " the water over against the banke. " These foresaid yeomen of the Gard, when they came against the King's " Barge, durst not passe by towards Paule's Wharfe, least they should be " espied ; and therefore entreated the secretarie to go with them to the " Bearebayting, and they would finde the meanes, being of the Gard, to " make roome, and to see all the pastime. The secretarie perceiving no " other remedie, assented thereto. When the Whirry came nie the multi- ** t«de of the Boates, they with pollaxes got in the Whirry so farre, that " being compassed with many other Whirries and Boates, there was no re- " fuge if the Beare should break loose, and come upon them ; as in very " deede, within one paternoster while, the Beare brake loose, and came into " the Boate where the yeomen of the Gard were, and the sayd secretarie. " The Gard forsooke the Whirry, and went into another Barge, one or two " of them leaping short, and so fell into the water. The Beare and the " dogs so shaked the Whirrie wherein the secretarie was, that the Boate " being full of water, sunke to the ground, and being also as it chanced an " ebbing tide, he there sate on the end of the Whirrie, up to the middle in " water. To whome came the Beare and all the dogs. The Beare seeking " as it were aide and succour of him, came back with his hinder parts upon " him, and so rushing upon him, the booke was loosed from his girdle, and " fell into the Thames out of his reach. " The flying of the people, after that the Beare was loose, from one Boate " to another, was so comberous, that diverse persons were throwne into the " Thames ; the King commanding certaine men that could svvimme to help " to save them that were in danger. This pastime so displeased the King, '« that he had away with the Beare, and let us all go hence. " The secretarie perceiving his booke to fleete away in the Thames, called " to the Beareward to take up the booke. When the Beareward had the " booke in his custody, being an arrant Papist, farre from the religion of his 4 . ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III, 2,05 *' mistress, (for he was the Ladie Elizabeth's Beareward, now the QueenV *' Majestie,) ere that the secretarie could come to land, he had delivered- " the booke to a priest of his own affinitie in religion standing on the banke, " who reading in the booke, and perceiving that it was a manifest refutation " of the Six Articles, made much adoe, and told the Beareward, that who- {c soever claymed the booke should surely he hanged. Anon the secretarie " came to the Beareward for his booke. What, quoth the Beareward, dare " you chalenge this booke? Whose servant be you? I am servant to one " of the councell, said the secretarie, and my Lord of Caunturburie is my '* maister. Yea marie, quoth the Beareward, I thought so much. You be " like I trust, quoth the Beareward, to be both hanged for this booke. Well " (sayd he) it is not so evill as you take it j and I warrant you my Lord will " avouch the booke to the King's Majestie. But I pray you let me have " my booke, and I will give you a crowne to drinke. If you would give me " five hundred crownes you should not have it, quoth the Beareward. With C£ that the secretarie departed from him, and understanding the malicious " frowarduess of the Beareward, he learned that Blage, the Grocer, in Gheape " side, might doe much with the Beareward ; to whome the secretarie brake " this matter, requiring him to send for the Beareward to supper, and he " would pay for the whole charge thereof ; and besides, that rather than hee " should forgo his booke after this sort, the Beareward should have twenty " shillings to drinke. The supper was prepared. The Beareward was sent " for, and came. After supper the matter was intreated of, and twenty " shillings offered for the booke. But doe what could be done, neither " friendship, acquaintance, nor yet reward of money, could obtaine the " booke out of his handes, but that the same should be delivered unto some " of the councell, that would not so sleightly looke in so waightie a matter, " as to have it redeemed for a supper, or a piece of money. The honest " man, M. Blage, with many good reasons, would have persuaded him not to " be stiffe in his owne conceite, declaring that in the end hee should nothing " at all prevail of his purpose, but be laught to scorne, getting neither " peny nor praise for his travell. He, hearing that, rushed sodainly out of the doores from his friend, maister Blage, without any manner " of thankes giving for his supper, more like a Beareward, than like an " honest man. When the secretarie saw the matter so extreamlie to be " used against him, he then thought it expedient to fall from any far- " ther practising of entreatie with the Beareward, as with him that seemed 206 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. ' rather to be a Beare himselfe, than the master of the beast, deter- ' mined the next morning to make the Lord Cromwell privy of the chance ' that hapned. " So on the next day, as the Lord Cromwell went to the Court, the se- ' cretarie declared the whole matter unto him, and how he had offered him 1 twenty shillings for the finding thereof. Where is the fellowe? quoth the ! Lord Cromwell. I suppose, sayd the secretarie, that he is now in the ! Court attending to deliver the booke to some of the Councell. Well, sayd ' the Lord Cromwell, it maketh no matter : go with me thither, and I shall 1 get you your booke againe. When the Lord Cromwell came into the hall ' of the Court, there stood the Beareward with the booke in his hand, wait- : ing to have delivered the same to Syr Anthony Browne, or unto the Bish- : oppe of Winchester, as it was reported. To whom the Lord Cromwell ' said, Come hither, fellowe; what booke hast thou there in thy hand? and : looking on the booke, he sayd, I knowe this hand well enough. This is your hand, sayd hee to the secretarie. But where haddest thou this booke ? quoth the Lord Cromwell to the Beareward. This Gentleman lost it two dayes agoe in the Thames, saide the Beareward. Doest thou knowe whose servant he is ? saide the Lord Cromwell. He saith, quoth the Beareward, that he is my Lord of Canturburie's servant. Why then diddest not thou deliver to him the booke when he required ? said the Lord Cromwell. Who made thee so bold as to detaine and withhold any booke or writing from a Counsellor's servant, especially being his secre- tarie ? It is more meeter for thee to meddle with thy Beares than with such writing ; and were it not for thy Mistress' sake, I would set thee fast by the feete, to teach such malapert knaves to meddle with Counsellors' matters. Had not money been well bestowed upon such a fellow as this is, that knoweth not a Counsellor's mart from a Cobler's man ? And with those words, the Lord Cromwell went up into the King's chamber of pre- sence, and the Archbishop's secretarie with him, where he found in the chamber, the Lord of Canturburie. To whom he sayd, My Lord, I have found heer good stuffe for you, (shewing to him the paper booke that he had in his hand,) readie to bring both you and this good fellowe your man to the halter, namely, if the knave Beareward nowe in the Hall, might have well compassed it. At these words, the Archbishop smiled and said, He that lost the booke is like to have the worse bargaine, for besides that he was well washed in the Thames, he must write the booke faire againe; t ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER III. 507 " and at those wordes, the Lord Cromwell cast the booke unto the secretarie, " I pray thee, Morice, go in hand therwith by and by with all expedition, " for it must serve a turne. Surely, my Lord, it somewhat rejoyceth me, " quoth the Lord Cromwell, that the verlet mi^ht have had of your man " twenty shillings for the booke, and nowe I have discharged the matter with " never a penie. And shaking him up for his overmuch malapertness, I " knowe the fellowe well enough (quoth he), there is not a rancker papist " within this realme than hee is, most unworthy to be a servant unto so no- ct ble a Princesse. And so, after humble thankes given to the Lord Crom- " well, the sayd Morice departed with his booke, which, when he again had " faire written, it was delivered to the King's Majestie by the sayd Lord " Cromwell, within four days after." — Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography, article Cromwell. 2,08 DIFFERENCE BETWEEN INHERENT CHAPTER IV. Each Species of Association the Basis of a peculiar Species of Works of Taste — Works of Universal and Permanent Celebrity — Works of Transient and, Local Celebrity — Rules limiting the Application of each Class of Association — Peculiar Advantages and peculiar Dis- advantages of each — Advantages of Extensive Intercourse in Culti- vating a Just Taste. Having before stated, that all impressions of taste arise from as- sociating certain perceptions with a certain set of feelings, it will necessarily follow, that the sphere of influence of external ob- jects thus associated, will be exactly equal to the sphere of their association. This being granted, it appears that all inherent impressions being Tiaturally and necessarily connected with the affections they excite, are consequently a matter of notoriety to all. All receiving precise- ly the same kind of impression from them. They therefore form the basis of all those associations of beauty and deformity which are universal, and hence by parity of reasoning, all those works of taste which are founded upon inherent or uni- versal associations, can never lose their influence in any age, or amongst any people, because they are founded upon associations which must, under all circumstances of situation or education, come equally home to all hearts. On such associations, Homer, Shakespeare, Milton, Virgil, have written. From the universality of those associations, they will be ever read. And upon the basis of universal associations, every au- thor must write, who composes for that brief period which human vanity terms eternity. Casual associations being formed by the accidental collision of peculiar and fortuitous incidents, can only be notorious to those who are under the influence of such circumstances ; and hence their AND CASUAL ASSOCIATIONS. 209 sphere of operation must necessarily be restricted to certain indivi- duals, or to certain bodies of men. Hence it will appear, that whilst inherent associations lie at the foundation of universal taste, and whilst those broad distinctions of perception, which all human nature has associated with one class of feeling, and which consequently are all placed under the same class of beauty and deformity, and are the basis of those works of taste which successfully aspire to immortality ; so, on the other hand, it must be equally manifest, that partial associations are the radical foundation of peculiar tastes, and of those limited perceptions of beauty or deformity, which are restricted in their influence to different countries, nations, and religions. Therefore, as inherent associations are the foundation of works of universal influence and permanent fame, partial associations are the foundation of those works of taste which have a restrictive influence, and a limited duration. Works, such as many excellent novels, genteel comedy, satires, kc. turn entirely on the manners peculiar to the age or nation in which they are written. Inherent associations are the foundation of those notions of beauty, in which all men agree ; and casual associations lie at the founda- tion of those in which most men differ. Each of these classes of association however, possess their own pe- culiar and distinctive advantage. For if partial or individual associations are more limited in their sphere of influence than inherent associations, they are, generallv speaking, much more vivid in impression. And although ornaments founded on casual association can never be introduced at all beyond the sphere in which they are understood yet within that limit they acquire a locality and individuality, which gives them an especial force, and brings them home to the heart in a peculiar manner. That which in an especial manner is addressed to the bosom of an v one peculiar party, country, sect, or individual, always possesses a 2 E 210 WORKS WHICH MAKE A LASTING IMPRESSION. peculiar force ; and if it strike only them, yet them it does strike with redoubled strength of effect. Works of taste founded upon inherent associations, might perhaps be compared to those universally agreeable acquaintance, whose va- luable and pleasing qualities are beneficial to all, and popular alike amongst all, and whose mass of popularity is made up of the small portion of love and esteem contributed by every individual. Works of taste, founded upon casual associations, may be compared to the individual address of a particular friend, who speaks to our own peculiar feelings, and who speaks with tenfold impression, be- cause he speaks to us alone. Hence, although we are sure of indisputably striking the heart, when we address ourselves to inherent associations, yet it is only the secondary feelings of the heart we touch ; and it is only when we occasionally add the emphatic touch of an appeal to casual associa- tions, that the person or party addressed, identifies it with his own distinct personality, his own inmost soul ; for it is that in which we differ, and not that wherein we agree with all others, that stamps our own individual identity and personality. This being the case, it will appear, that as the effect of inherent association is more continuous, and that of partial association more vivid, works of taste founded on the latter, though not so long lived, must necessarily attain a much more rapid and extensive popularity in the first instance, among that party, sect, nation, or age, to whose peculiar taste they are immediately addressed. And this is the foundation of that difference, which is so continu- ally observed between the period of duration, and the rapid diffusion of any work. Works addressed to the humour of the day, cannot survive the period of that day. The standard works which are the admiration of centuries, are not often those which quickly obtain circulation, because they are seldom addressed to the excited feelings of the moment. Perhaps the various successes of these kinds of works, may be compared to the formation of our friendships. Those acquaintance strike us most vividly, who happen to chime works which make a vivid inpression. 211 in with any casually excited emotion or taste ; at the same time those establish themselves in our regard most solidly, who radically suit our habitual tempers and tastes. The writings of Shakespeare, Milton, and many others of our first authors were, it is well known, long in making their way into public notice; whilst the ridiculous work of Juliana Barnes on hunting and hawking, passed through several editions in her life-time. If we look into the Spectator, we may gather from it, that at the time of its publication,, those papers were far the most in vogue, which lashed the peculiar follies of the day. They are now com- pletely passed away, and those papers on general literature, taste/ religion, or which describe characters radically the same in every age, are the only ones which now enjoy an undiminished reputation. Nor does it follow on this account, that the one set of papers is inferior to the other. Perhaps there is no sentiment more unjustly entertained, than, that works of taste which do not endure, do not therefore possess high merit. In fact, the end proposed by works of inherent and of partial asso- ciation is wholly different ; both may be equally excellent in their own peculiar way, but in their nature they differ: the object of the one is vivid impression; that of the other, permanent estimation. And though a work founded upon partial associations, may have equal merit with one founded upon inherent ones, yet, in its very nature, it cannot retain its celebrity any longer than whilst the asso- ciations in which it is formed retain their existence. In the case of the Spectator just cited, the signatures declare, that both sets of papers were inspired by the same genius and talents ; and to any of our readers who have seen the Rejected Addresses, (and who, that appreciates wit, has not?) it will surely be superfluous to observe, that their wit is genuine and sterling, though their point might be blunted, by the accident of Drury-Lane Theatre once more sinking, and by no public spirited adventurer being again found to bid the " trowel tick against the brick" in its re-edification ; or could 2 e 2 WORKS WHICH HAVE A LIMITED INFLUENCE. we suppose a possibility, that in the lapse of time, few amidst the ingenious effusions upon which they are founded, should, as it has been poetically said, " escape the dull, cold, negligent chronicles of time." So in the beautiful crystal palace, which the taste of the wily Ha- roun al Raschid built for Jahia, the elegant superstructure fell, be- cause the foundations were of soluble salt. Hence it is, above all necessary, in the composition of every work of taste, to know exactly how far those associations, which are intended to be used, extend their influence. Otherwise, no author could ever calculate with precision, either the vigor of impression, or the period of duration of his work. Indeed, most instances of false taste originate, in not clearly dis- criminating the sphere of influence of those associations upon which the work hinges. Thus using casual associations, where inherent ones only could have been understood. Partial associations can never be used with propriety beyond the limits of the age, country, sect, fcc. in which they are familiar ; and individual associations can never become the basis of works of taste, because they are confined to the individual, and are destitute of even a partial currency. By want of attention to this rule, an author may be betrayed into mistakes fatal to his reputation. In composing any permanent work of taste, the author should aim at producing inherently, instead of partially associated beauties ; otherwise, though his work may be truly excellent, and although its excellencies may be perfectly appreciated by one particular class or party, yet they will not only be totally unintelligible to every other, but their very existence must, in its own nature, cease with that of the class or party to which it is addressed. The man who writes for his own particular village, may, with pro- priety, use associations, which would be utterly irrelevant, were his work addressed to the nation at large. And nobody can even cur- sorily dip into the political or sectarian ephemerides, without being WORKS WHICH HAVE A LIMITED DURATION. 213 aware, that many works may excite the highest and most universal enthusiasm amongst any one party or sect, which are passed over in silence as completely dull and flat by every other. Per- • haps this has never been more fully exemplified than in the case of Barclay's Argenis. (a) This excellent political romance, although valuable from preserving the history of a very interesting period, and although so highly esteemed in its day, as to have been translated into most European languages ; to have given rise to no less than four English versions ; to have furnished that consummate statesman, Cardinal Richelieu, with many of his political maxims ; and which possesses so much that is intrinsically interesting, as to have called forth a very animated eulogium from the poet Cowper ; and whose style, it is said, would not dishonor Tacitus : yet, owing to its being encumbered and buried beneath the transient tastes and conceits of the day, is scarcely to be met with, but amidst the dusty lumber of the book-stalls. A book written for a single age, and one written for lasting fame, ought to proceed on a set of associations wholly dissimilar. The wit of Friar Gerund, the successful satirist of mendicant friars; that of Hudibras, the Zoilus of the puritans ; nay, in many instances, that of Don Quixotte itself, now requires wading through copious notes, to re-sharpen the edge of that satire, to which peculiar associa- tions gave point, and which the lapse of centuries has already blunted: whilst Shakespeare, although the contemporary of Cervantes, rises in estimation, as every revolving century accumulates the suffrages of successive generations. And the wit of Fielding will ever endure, because it is grounded, not on any local or temporary peculiarity, distinguishing his own nation or age, but upon those broad charac- teristics which discriminate the various classes of men, who must necessarily have an existence wherever civilized society exists. Hence it will be equally applicable, and equally understood in every age, however remote ; nor can his works ever need any other glossary, than a thorough acquaintance both with our own hearts and those of others. 214 FALSE ASSOCIATIONS. From these considerations it will appear, that, as casual associations are susceptible, when properly introduced, of imparting peculiar vividness of impression by individualizing the feeling they address ; so on the other hand, they are also peculiarly liable, not only to a misapplication beyond their sphere, but they have in their own na- ture a tendency to establish a number of false associations, which have no real foundation in the nature of things. And when these associations are not counteracted by mingling with persons of con- trary ones, but are, on the other hand, nurtured by an intercourse limited to persons entertaining the same false associations, they be- come so firmly established and rivetted in the mind, as to supersede just and well founded inherent associations, to occasion false judg- ments in our own minds, and to betray into what produces an impression of contrariety or ridiculousness in the looker on. For it is to be observed, that as good taste eminently tolerates, and recognizes the emphasis and variety afforded by casual association, in cases where there is no opposing inherent association, as in the case of Catholic magnificence, Moravian simplicity, or Friendly plain- ness, all of which, however, are not necessarily connected with reli- gion; it rejects all those casual associations, which individuals or par- ties fall into, in diametrical opposition to inherent association, and when such parties, by an exclusive association with each other, strengthen themselves in their false associations, they lay the foun- dation of those peculiarities which the malicious often avail them- selves of to ridicule the substantial good, with which they have been fortuitously, not necessarily, connected. Nor are examples of false individual associations less frequent, than those of false partial associations. Peculiarity of circumstance, whether relative to bodies of men or to individuals, will tend precisely to the same point, and operate exactly in the same manner, laying the foundation in both of those false judgments which produce absurdity in manner, and in many jcases, the most serious consequences of false measures in conduct. FALSE ASSOCIATIONS. 315 Thus the unfortunate Masque de Fer, * with unoccupied affections and an uncultured mind, found an innocent amusement during the long period that elapsed from his incarceration at Pignerol, to his death in the Bastile, in the false association he had formed between fine linen and lace, and elevation of character. Anne of Austria, + on the contrary, was as often debarred from the pleasure of walking in her garden, by the association she had established between the scent of roses and poison. ; Erasmus had to thank his nurse for that unconquerable aversion to fish, that " Lutheran stomach/' as he ex- presses himself, which was so convenient to a Protestant reformer. And perhaps the minute investigator of the human heart might hazard an inquiry, whether if the great Bossuet, the Demosthenes of the Gallican church, had not formed an association between a ride | in Louis the XlVth's coach to Versailles, and happiness, (and let our readers judge from the Due de St. Simon's account of these progresses, if it was not a most false one,) the grand controversy on quietism would never have arisen to convulse papal Christendom. Had not another false association taken place between adventitious splendour and po- pular esteem, the noble houses of Tavora and Aveiro§ might not have been precipitated into a destruction too horrible to be dwelt upon ; and the intriguing Madame des Ursins || might have enjoyed her own fire-side, without the cruel necessity of exchanging the bright vision of her principality at Chanteloup, for a freezing Christmas journey through the mountains of Spain. Thus, one set of men have associated jumping with religion, another screaming, another groaning, sighing, or hysterics : some ladies are * See the Dictionnaire Historique, edit. 1 804, article Masque de Fer : voyez aussi La Bas- tille devotee, in 8vo. trois tomes, •f- Dictionnaire Historique. J Vie de Fenelon, par Bausset. § Les Memoires de Sebastien Joseph Carvhallo, Marquis de Pombal, 4 vols, in I2rno. oil le lecteur trouvera au commencement du troisieme tome les d6tails affreux de ce crime atroce. Cet ouvrage est fort rare en Angleterre. || M6moires de M. le Due de St. Simon. 516 ADVANTAGES OF EXTENSIVE INTERCOURSE. said to associate hard words, and some gentlemen, eccentric opinions, with philosophy. And persons of contracted education and obser- vation, whether the sphere of that observation be limited to the fashionable, the professing, the literary, the scientific, the Bond- street, or the Billingsgate world, are all subject to some peculiarities of manner or conversation, which may be termed cant or slang, and which excite ridicule in action by their false associations, in the same manner as absurdity in reasoning would be caused by false premises. Upon this principle it is, that every place where good taste has flourished, has been where the concourse of people of different tastes, has at the same time extended the sphere of associations, by the accumulation of the various peculiar associations, and has pre- vented the adoption of any false or contradictory associations. Greece was composed of petty states of different laws, dialects, and habits. Hence their associations were different. But being, in a manner, bound together for their mutual defence, their false associa- tions mutually corrected each other. Boeotian phlegm was sharpened by Attic wit, and Laconian rigidi- ty mollified by Corinthian luxury, till at length the just medium was established, and a true standard of beauty elicited. Whereas in Egypt, India, and China, great as their improvements actually were in science, taste seems to have been crushed beneath the weight of overwhelming despotism. In Rome it was otherwise. Rome, al- though the despotic sovereign of the universe, secured to herself by her immense extent almost the same advantages which Greece owed to her narrow limits. The emporium of commerce, of science, and of wealth, of military prowess, and of the liberal arts. Thousands of dissimilar nations greeted each other in her crowded forum. The scientific Egyptian, the ferocious Parthian, the learned Briton, the haughty German, the polished Greek, the pastoral Scythian, or the indolent Oriental, all jarred against each other in rude collision, and thus bestowed the blessing of civilization on each other, and finally polished their rude and haughty victress. ADVANTAGES OF EXTENSIVE INTERCOURSE. 217 Hence Rome and Greece have always been cited as furnishing the most perfect models of good taste. The same principles operated with respect to ancient Alexandria, and produced precisely similar results. When the Ptolemies fixed the seat of their empire in this newly erected Egyptian metropolis, and opened a communication between the talents of the western, and the treasures of the eastern world, she soon became the centre of wealth, of learning, and the fine arts, and was afterwards esteemed the second city of the Roman empire, not only in dominion but in civilization. The magnificence of her ar- chitecture, the elegance of her theatrical representations, the learn- ing of her schools of philosophy, and the luxury of her baths, as well as the intellectual treasures of her library, are cited with tri- umph by her Roman victors, and with amazement by those Saracenic conquerors * who entered her walls barbarians ; and who, taught by her, issued forth to spread civilization, and to diffuse light over the remotest shores of the western world. So great was the change, that the historian can scarcely imagine the nation to whom Spain is indebted for her finest remains of architecture and poetry ; and to whom Europe owes the creation of algebra, and much of the improve- ment of medicine and astronomy, to be the successors of that horde of barbarians who destroyed the Alexandrian library. He can no longer trace the descendants of the savage Omart in the haughty Zegris, or the noble, but unfortunate Abencerrages, whose opposing lineage, with proud device and milk-white chargers, so often con- tended on the pansied plain of the Vega ; and whose valiant deeds of prowess furnish youthful poets with those songs which, at the still hour of evening, echo along the shores of the Xenil. Nor can he * Vide the History of the Patriarchs of Alexandria. Marigny's Histoire des Arabes, torn. 2. Ockley's History of the Saracens. Herbelot's Bibliotheque Orientales, articles Omar, Amrou. •f Cardon Histoire des Maures d'Espagne et d'Afrique. Gina Perez Guerras Civilas. Grenada Marigny, et Herbelot; also Mariana Histoire d'Espagne, and Geddes's Tracts on the Moors. % F 218 ADVANTAGES OF EXTENSIVE INTERCOURSE. recognize the fierce marauders of Antioch in the two and thirty noble lineages, whose emulous jousts and pageants enlivened the turbulent and divided reign of Muley Hascem and the weak Boabdil ; and whose gallantry adorned with sumptuous magnificence, or magic mechanism, the royal square of Bibarrambla. Nor can he establish any resem- blance between the perfidious Aeisha, the mother of the faithful, with her ominous camel ; and the unfortunate, but innocent Sultana! who, with a true dignity, becoming the representative of the bright and unsullied Almoradic and Almohadic lines, confidently called from the opposing Christian hosts of enemies, for champions against an assembled nation; and, to the glory of truth, of knighthood, and Castilian honor, found them. In a lesser degree, the same principle operates in the capital of every nation. Every province, every town, every individual possesses some peculiarities of locality, of interest, and of incident, which generate a perpetual tendency to form casual or peculiar, false, partial, or individual associations. Now, were this propensity to prevail to any extreme, so as to be ostensibly brought forward into action, it is obvious, that it must prove subversive of good taste, because it would occasion the pro- duction of numerous works of fancy, hanging upon associations not only foreign, and therefore unintelligible to others, but which in many instances would prove in direct opposition to those pre- valent, which being inherent, form consequently that just criterion, by whose standard all others must be finally tried. Hence in every capital, or centre of rendezvous, it may be uni- formly observed, that a better taste will prevail, than in remote and insulated provinces. The greater the concourse of people from different quarters, and the more diverse their original habits, the more effectually do they counteract and correct each other's temporary and local associations, and the more certainly do they reduce both taste and manner to one .fixed and just standard. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. 219 Additional Notes to Chapter IV. Part II. (a). ARGENIS. John Barclay, son of William Barclay, a learned and eminent civilian, was born in Aberdeenshire, in 1541, and descended from one of the best families in Scotland. He was in favour with Mary, Queen of Scots ; but after that princess was dethroned and detained in captivity in England, find- ing that he had no prospect of making his fortune in the court of her son James, he resolved to retire into France, which he did about 1573. He was then more than thirty years of age, and went to Bourges, in order to study law. He there took his doctor's degree in that faculty, and had applied himself so closely to his books, that he was qualified to fill a professor's chair. Edmund Hay, the Jesuit, who was his countryman, and is said to have been related to him, procured him accordingly a professorship in civil law in the university of Pontamousson, by his interest with the duke of Lorraine, who had lately founded that seminary. And the duke not only conferred upon Barclay the first professorship, but also appointed him counsellor of state, and master of requests. In 1581, Barclay married Ann de Malleville, a young lady of Lorraine, by whom he had a son, John, who afterwards be- came a writer of considerable note, and whom the Jesuits endeavoured to prevail on to enter into their society. But Barclay opposing their scheme, the Jesuits resented it so highly, and did him so many ill offices with the duke, that he was obliged to leave Lorraine. He then went to London, where King James I. is said to have offered him a place in his council, with a considerable pension ; but he declined these offers, because it was made a necessary condition of his accepting them, that he should embrace the pro- testant religion. In 1604, he returned into France, and accepted the profes- sorship of civil law, which was offered him by the university of Angers. He taught there with repute, and is said to have been fond of making a splendid appearance in his character of professor. But he did not hold this office long, dying in 1606. He was buried in the church of the Fran- ciscans. He appears to have been much prejudiced against the protestants and was a zealous advocate for passive obedience, and the divine right of kings, as appears from his writings, of which the following are the princi- pal : 1. « De Regno et Regali Potestate adversus Buchananum, Brutum, Boucherium, et reliquos Monarcho machos." Paris, 1600, dedicated to 2 f 2 230 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. Henry IV. 2. " De Potestate Papse quatenus, in Reges et Principes Secu- lares Jus et Imperium habeat." Francof. 1609, 1613, 1621, Hannovia;, 1612, in 8vo. and London, in English, 1611, in 4to. Mussiponti, 1610, 8vo. and Parisiis, 1600. In this, he proves that the pope has no power, direct or indirect, over sovereigns in temporals ; and that they who allow him any such power, whatever they may intend, do very great prejudice to the Ro- man Catholic religion. 3. " A Commentary upon the Title of the Pandects, de Rebus creditis et de Jurejurando," Paris, 1605, 8vo. 4. " Proemetia in Vitam Agricolas," Paris, 1599, 2 vols. 8vo. This last is said to be an ex- cellent commentary on Tacitus. There are two letters from him to Lipsius, in Burman's Sylloges Epistolarum, and four from Lipsius to him. John Barclay was born at Pontamousson, January 28th, 1582. He was educated at the college of the Jesuits in his native place, and when only nineteen years' old, published notes on the Thebais of Statius. The Jesuits, as already noticed in his father's life, remarked his genius for literature, and attempted to win him to their order, but, his father looked on that attempt as a breach of trust. Hence there arose a quarrel between him and the Jesuits, who at that time were in high credit with the duke of Lorraine. He therefore quitted Lorraine in disgust, and conducted his son to London. This was in 1603, just after the accession of his native sovereign to the Eng- lish throne. In 1604, young Barclay presented to the King a poetical panegyric, as a new year's gift, and soon after dedicated to him the first part of the Latin satire entitled " Euphormion." In the dedication of Eu- phormion, he intimated a wish to enter into the service of King James ; and professed himself alike ready in that service, H to convert his sword into a pen, or his pen into a sword." To excel was his ruling passion; and youth- ful self-sufficiency led him to hope that he might excel in every department : but his flatteries, and even his confidence availed not. His father was conscientiously attached to the church of Rome, and his son professed the same. In 1604, his father carried him to France, and it is said that John attended his father's lectures, while the latter filled the chair of civil law at Angers; and indeed it appears from many passages in his works, that he was conver- sant in the science which his father taught. In 1605, allured by some proffers of countenance and advancement, the son returned to England, and remained there about a year. On his father's death in 1606, he went to Paris, married Louisa Debonnaire, and soon after settled with his family in ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. 221 London. He also published a brief narrative of the powder plot, which he had composed a few weeks after the discovery of that treason, entitled " Se- ries patefacti divinitus parricidii, contra Maximum Regem Regnumque Brit- tannia? cogitati et instructi." In 1610, he published his apology for Euphormion, the severity of which satire had excited enemies against him in every quarter of Europe. In this year also he published his father's work, " De Potestate Papa?;" and when it was attacked by cardinal Bellarmin, he published a treatise entitled, "J. Barclaii Pietas sive publicae pro regibus ac principibus, et privatce pro Gulielmo Barclaio parente vindiciae, adversus Roberti Bellarmini tractatum, de Potestate summi Pontificis in rebus temporalibus," Paris, 4to. In 1614, he published his " Icon Animarum," perhaps the best, although not the most renowned of his compositions. It is a delineation of the genius and manners of the European nations, with remarks, moral and philosophical, on the various tempers of men. Mr. Malone observes, as a curious circum- stance, that in this work, Barclay has suggested an expedition against the Turkish empire, similar in the most material circumstances to that under- taken, 1798, by the French Republic, (particularly in the number of the troops employed,) though it was proposed to be directed against a different part of the Turkish dominions from that which was assailed by the French. In 1615, invited as it is said by Pope Paul V., Barclay determined to fix his residence under the immediate power of a pontiff, whose political con- duct he had reprobated; and of a court, whose maxims he had censured with extraordinary freedom. About the end of that year, he quitted England, but not clandestinely, as his enemies reported, and having hastily passed through France, he settled at Rome with his family, in the beginning of the year 1616. In the " Parasnesis," or « Exhortation to the Sectaries," he mentions two reasons which induced him to quit England, and take up his abode in Italy. His first was, lest his children, by remaining in England, should have been perverted from the faith. But he could have obviated that dan- ger, by removing into France, in which country he had for his friends, Du Vair (president of the parliament of Provence, afterwards keeper of the great seals, and lastly bishop of Lisieux) and M. Peirere. His second reason was more singular; he perceived that his " Pietas," or vindication of his father, was pleasing to heretics, and that it disgusted many persons of the Romish communion. He repented of having written it : he then found that it con- tained erroneous propositions, and he wished to settle in Italy, that he might have leisure and freedom to refute them. 222 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. Although Barclay found much civility at Rome, yet it does not appear that he obtained any emolument. Incumbered with a wife and family, and having a spirit above his fortune, he was left at full leisure to pursue his lite- rary studies. It was at that time he composed his Latin Romance, called " Argenis." He -employed his leisure hours in cultivating a flower- garden. Rossi (or Erythrasus) relates, in the turgid Italian style, that Bar- clay cared not for those bulbous roots which produce flowers of a sweet scent, and that he cultivated such as produced flowers void of smell, but having variety of colours. Hence we may conclude, that he was among the first of those who were infected with that strange disease, a passion for tulips, which soon after overspread Europe, and is still remembered under the name of the Tulip-mania. Barclay had it to such an excess, that he placed two mastiffs, as centinels, in his garden ; and rather than abandon his favourite flowers, chose to continue his residence in an ill-aired and unwholesome habitation. He died at Rome, August 12th, 1621, of the stone, a disease for which in his Euphormion, he had vainly pronounced the plant Golden Rod to be a specific. At that time his friend M. de Peirere was engaged in superintend- ing the publication of Argenis, at Paris. His widow erected a monument for him, with his bust in marble, at the church of St. Lawrence, on the road to Tivoli : but she caused the bust to be removed, as soon as she learnt that cardinal Francis Barberini had, in the same place, erected a monument al- together similar, in honour of his preceptor Bernardus Gulielmus, a monte Sancti Sabini. » My husband," said that high spirited lady, « was a man of birth, and one famous in the literary world; and I will not suffer him to remain on a level with a base and obscure pedagogue." The inscription on the monument of Barclay was erased ; but by whom, or on what account, is not certainly known. Freher, the biographer, ascribes this to the malevo- lence of the Jesuits, who indeed had no great cause to be studious of pre- serving the memory of Barclay. But Tomasini says, that he heard, from undoubted authority, that the only cause for effacing the inscription was, that the widow of Barclay proposed to erect a more sumptuous monument for him in another place. The Argenis was printed at Paris, in 8vo. in 1621. It has since passed through many editions, and been translated into several languages. The first English translation was published by Kingsmill Long, gent, in 1625, 4to. The poetical part was translated by Thomas May, Esq. The second edition was published in 1636. There was also an edition in 1628, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. 223 by Sir Robert Le Grys, said to be by command of King Charles I. An- other edition appeared in 1772, in 4 vols. 12mo. under the following title: " The Phoenix; or, the History of Polyarchus and Argenis, translated from the Latin by a Lady." In the preface to this, it is observed, that the editor has made use of both the former translations occasionally, and whenever a doubt arose, had recourse to the original. Barclay's Latin style in his Argenis has been much praised, and much censured j but upon the whole it is elegant. It is said that cardinal Riche- lieu was extremely fond of reading this work, and that from thence he de- rived many of his political maxims. It is observed in the preface to the last English translation, that " Barclay's Argenis affords such variety of enter- tainment, that every kind of reader may find in it something suitable to his own taste and disposition; the statesman, the philosopher, the soldier, the lover, the citizen, the friend of mankind, each may gratify his favourite pro- pensity ; while the reader who comes for his amusement only, will not be disappointed." It is also remarked of this work in the same preface, that " it is a romance, an allegory, and a system of politics. In it, the various forms of government are investigated, the causes of faction detected, and the remedies pointed out for most of the evils that can arise in a state." Cow- per, the celebrated poet, pronounced it the most amusing romance ever written. " It is," he adds, in a letter to Samuel Rose, Esq. " interesting in a high degree ; richer in incident than can be imagined, full of surprizes, which the reader never forestalls, and yet free from all entanglement and confusion. The style too appears to me to be such as would not dishonour Tacitus him- self." In this political allegory, by the kingdom of Sicily, France is described during the time of the civil wars sunder Henry the Third, and until the fixing the crown upon the head of Henry the Fourth. By the country over against Sicily, and frequently her competitor, England is signified. By the country formerly united under one head, but now divided into several principalities, the author means Germany ; i. e. Mergania. Several names are disguised in the same manner, by transposing the letters. As to the principal per- sons designed, by Aquilius is meant the Emperor of Germany, Calvin is Urinulca, and the Hugenots are called Hyperephanii. Under the person and character of Poliarchus, Barclay undoubtedly intended to describe that real hero, Henry of Navarre, as he has preserved the likeness even to his features and complexion. By his rivals are meant the leaders of the different factions; by Lycogenes and his friends, the Lorraine party, with the Duke of ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER IV. Guise at their head ; some features of Hyanisbe's character are supposed to resemble Queen Elizabeth of England ; Radirobanes is the King of Spain, and his fruitless expedition against Mauritania is pointed at the ambitious de- signs of Philip the Second, and his invincible armada. Under Meleander, the character of Henry the Third of France seems intended, though the re- semblance is very flattering to him." The above account has been taken from Chalmers's Biographical Diction- ary. Bayle and Moreri mention many curious circumstances respecting these Barclays, and they are frequently noticed, with others of the same family, in Dodd's Church History. Among others of the Scotch family of Barclay who have distinguished themselves, are Alexander Barclay, who lived in the sixteenth century, and was one of the revivers of English literature, and author of " The Castel of Labor," printed by Winken de Worde, 1506 : '« Shyp of Folys," by Pyn- son, 1509; besides a great many other works, the titles of which we have not here room to insert, but of which Mr. Warton has given an elaborate account. Also, Colonel David Barclay, father to Robert Barclay the apologist, and his brother Robert Barclay, founder of the Scots college in Paris, and eminent for piety and learning. Likewise Robert Barclay, the apologist, famous for his works on theology ; and as his father had given an example of shedding his blood for his sovereign when unfortunate, so he gave the yet nobler one of telling the truth to his successor amidst worldly prosperity (see his noble de- dication to Charles the Second). The late Mr. Barclay of Urie, who was member for the county of Kincardine, will long be remembered as an eminent benefactor to his country, by being one of the first who introduced agricultural improvements into Scotland. 228 CHAPTER V. Recapitulation — Inherent Associations the object of this work — Division of the subject — Taste and Physiognomony. "We will conclude this part of our subject by a brief recapitula- tion, and by a few observations, which may be properly considered as introductory to the theory which it is the object of this work to establish, and to which the preceding parts have been only prepa- ratory. And, first, The constituent principles of beauty and deformity are expressed by that modification of sensible objects, which has been associated with the principles of that peculiar genus of beauty or deformity. But sensible objects are only beautiful or deformed from their association with certain internal feelings, or moral, agreeable, or dis- agreeable affections. These associations, it appears, may have been originally established on very different principles. Some may have been established by a real and necessary, or, to speak more accurately, a constant and undeviating association with their object : these we term inherent associations ; and these asso- ciations being matter of notoriety to all, they form the universal tastes on which all men agree, and they form the basis of those works of taste which attain permanent celebrity. Other associations have been impressed by a casual or adventitious coincidence. By causes operating regularly within a certain sphere, or for a certain period, producing partial associations; or else they are wholly fortuitous and incidental, owing to casual individual impression, and have no necessary association, nor any regular limited association with their object. Both these are termed casual 2 g 226 INHERENT ASSOCIATIONS THE OBJECT OF THIS WORK. associations, in contradistinction to inherent or necessary ones. But the first species, whose association, though not necessary or uni- versal, is yet regular within a limited sphere, becomes the foundation of those peculiar tastes which identify and give distinct personality to nations, sects, and parties ; and they form the basis of all those agreeable and brilliant works of fancy, which describe manners, 8cc; and which, though they only obtain a local and temporary currency, give a rich variety and interest to general literature. They might be termed the vivid and gay annuals, with which the muse enlivens the perennial and ever verdant bays which flourish on Mount Par- nassus. The second species, whose associations are neither necessary nor regular, but solely incidental and personal, can never be selected as the basis of works of taste. Now, as inherent associations depend upon fixed and established principles, and as casual ones are not only limited in their opera- tions, but fortuitous in their formation, it follows, that it is the former class only, which can ever become the legitimate object of inquiry in any work on the subject of taste ; for it is obvious, that it would be utterly impossible to trace every fortuitous and incidental association, which the infinitely varied combination of circumstances in human life may occasion. The object, then, of the following work upon the classification of beauty and deformity, or the regular associations of external objects with agreeable or disagreeable affections, is necessarily restricted to the analysis of the grand class of inherent association. Its object is to trace those radical and permanent laws of associa- tion, by which, in every climate, age, or nation, the very same genus of perception is uniformly associated with the same genus of feeling, and universally ascribed to the same genus of beauty and deformity. Now inherent associations respect two main and distinct orders of subject matter. The first includes the face of inanimate nature ; the last, that of animated nature. The first, composed of brute matter, is inert, and incapable of RESPECTING ANIMATE AND INANIMATE MATTER. 227 action, but by the application of an external agent. But it is susceptible of a great variety of mechanical conformations, which will give it different capacities for action on the application of such agents. The second, composed of matter connected with an animated soul, is capable of beginning motion, and may be considered as a machine, which has constantly resident within it the agent inspiring its operations. This species is susceptible of volition, of moral agency, and of moral accountability; but then that agency is tinctured by the physical conformation of the body in which the immaterial soul is resident. Hence inherent associations may be divided into two main orders. The first regards the expression of which inanimate nature is sus- ceptible, or, in other words, it appreciates its capacities of uses. The second regards the expression which inspires animated nature, or, in other words, appreciates the capacities of character. Both orders are subject to fixed, established laws. Both afford associations uniformly to be understood in every nation and language ; but both afford associations entirely distinct in their nature, and of a wholly different kind. For although both animate and inanimate nature so far agree, as to be both susceptible of the expression of sublimity, elegance, spright- liness, 8cc, yet, in the case of inanimate nature, the expression will chiefly depend upon those mechanical principles which indicate strength or weakness, or upon the vividness or dulness which occa- sion forcible or languid correspondent perceptions, either strongly or feebly affecting us as sentient beings. But in the case of animated nature, in addition to the mechanical material expression indicating the strength or weakness of the machine, are superadded those expressions which belong to animal, to rational, and to moral expression. Thus the first order becomes the foundation of general taste ; the second constitutes the basis of the Physiognomonic science. In the first case, we have only the capability of the machine to 2g2 228 RECAPITULATION. consider ; in the second case, we have not only the capabilities of the machine to estimate, but we have to contemplate it as joined to the inspiring agent that sets it in motion, and calculate the complex combinations resulting from the connexion between them. Thus the man of taste may be termed the Physiognomist of nature ; and the Physiognomist may be termed the man of cultivated taste, applied to human expression. The object of the succeeding pages is confined solely to the first order of inherent expression ; or to an analysis of those laws of the regular associations of external perceptions, which constitute beauty and deformity throughout the whole face of nature, independently of the peculiarities imparted by the inspiration and combination of the vital principle. We use this circumlocution, instead of saying, that we confine this inquiry to inanimate nature, because in truth many of the exemplifications will be adduced from attitudes, countenance, and other Physiognomic expressions. But then, though taken from the human subject, they will be confined, if I may so say, to the mecha- nical expression of which the form of man is susceptible in common with any other material object, and not from that class of expression which is peculiar to him as an animated, rational, or moral being. The first portion of this work, the reader will recollect, was devoted to the discrimination of the principle of beauty and de- formity in general, and of the various genera of beauty and deformity in particular. The next, which we now conclude, has been employed in investi- gating the various classes of association, by which external objects are connected with our agreeable or disagreeable affections. The succeeding portion of this work will be devoted to the dis- crimination of the various genera of perceptions with which each individual genus of beauty or deformity is inherently associated throughout the five senses. The perfect senses of vision and hear- ing, the distinctively perfect human sense of touch, and the im- perfect, or inferior and animal senses of taste and smell. DIVISIONS OF THE WORK. 229 We shall endeavour not only to point out what these associations are, but likewise to shew the grounds on which they are necessarily founded ; and, lastly, we shall attempt, by copious examples, both from the works of nature and of art, to prove that these associations do actually exist. The fourth and last part of this work will treat of the farther modifications, of which each genus of beauty and deformity is sus- ceptible, from the application of artificial culture ; and the work will be concluded by a few rules and observations on the prin- ciples which should direct their application to works of nature and art. PART III. SUCCESSION OF CHAPTERS, ILLUSTRATING UNDER EACH OF THE FIVE SENSES, THE PECULIAR CLASSIFICATION OF ITS PERCEP- TIONS, WHICH BELONG TO EACH PARTICULAR GENUS OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. VISION. HEARING. TOUCH. TASTE AND SMELL. CHARTS. GENERAL CHARTS OF BEAUTIES AND REGULAR DEFORMITIES. APPENDIX, WITH A BRIEF APPLICATION TO PHYSIOGNOMY. PLATES IN ILLUSTRATION. CHAPTER I. VISION. HYPOTHESIS. Perceptions of Vision threefold. Form, Motion, Color. HYPOTHESIS OJV FORM AJVD MOTIOJV. Character of va- rious Genera of Lines — Right Lines applied to Form, to Motion Their Character — Reason on which it is founded — Illustration. Curved Lines applied to Form, to Motion— Their Character— On what founded — Illustration. Character imparted to Figures by Breadth or JVarrowness of Base- On what founded — Illustration. Character of Square and of Parallelogrammatic Shapes— Why— Of Oval and Spheric ones— Why— Illustrations of each. Arches— Their Character, whether applied to inanimate or animated JVature — Why — Illustrations. . 231 Gibbous Forms — Their Character, whether applied to animated or in- animate Mature— -Why — Illustrations. Mode of junction of Lines by which Figures are bounded. Rectangles — Their Character — Why — Illustrations. Acute or obtuse-angled Triangles — Polygons — Their Character — Why — Illustrations. Comparison and Contrast of various Objects, exhibiting the different Styles of Form and Action included in this Hypothesis. APPLICATION OF THIS HYPOTHESIS TO THE VARIOUS GENERA OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. Radical constituent Forms of the Sublime, Active, and Passive, the Sentimental and the Sprightly, with Illustrations of each. Radical constituent Forms of the Inflated, Horrible, and Vapid, the Porcine and the Flippant, with Illustrations of each. Radical Class of Motion characteristic of each Genus of Beauty, with Illustrations. Radical Class of Motion, characteristic of each Genus of Deformity, with Illustrations. This Hypothesis is applicable to animated as well as to inanimate Mature — Why. Physiognomonic Sublime, Physiognomonic Sentimental, Physiognomonic Sprightly — Illustration, and Reason why. Physiognomonic Horrible, Vapid, Porcine, Flippant — Illustration of each, and Reason why. Application of this Hypothesis to Portraits — As to an Attention to the fundamental Generic Forms — Generic Style of Shadow, and of Out- line and Color. HYPOTHESIS ON COLOR. Character of Intensity of Color and sudden Contrast — Why — Illustrations. Character of Continuity of intense Color — Why — Illustrations. Character of dilute and variable Tints — Why — Illustrations. Character of petty, distinct, bright, checquered Colors — Why — Illustra- tions. 232 Character of dull Colors — Why — Illustrations. Character of livid Colors — Why — Illustrations. APPLICATION OF THIS HYPOTHESIS TO THE VARIOUS GENERA OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. Comparison and Contrast of various Objects, exhibiting the Effects of the different Styles of coloring. MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES, PROVING THE TRUTH OF THE HYPOTHESIS ON THE PERCEPTIONS OF VISIONS. It Examples to prove this Hypothesis true, by shewing that the Effect is weakened, where that we have described as the same Genus of Form, Motion, and Color, are not united in the same Object : and again, that the Expression is always manifestly strengthened, where the Form, Motion, and Color are characterized by the same Generic Distinction. 2- Examples, farther to establish its Truth, taken from Works of Art: Architecture — Grecian — Saxon — Anglo Gothic- -Egyptian— Moresque. Landscape Gardening — English Scenery — Imaginary Scenery, founded on Description of various Places — Niagara — Mexico — Teeshoo Loomboo. Dress — Disposition — Ornaments — Materials. Houses — Disposition, Internal Arrangement, Furniture, Decoration, Style of- — Decoration, Gradation of, between that of the House, Furniture, and Figures — Light grouping of Figures. Sculpture. Painting. 3. Examples to substantiate this Hypothesis adduced from the Works of Natur e : Animal Kingdom in general — Quadrupeds — Birds — Insects. Examples from the Vegetable Kingdom. Examples from Physiognomony. Conclusion of the Chapter. VISION. 2,33 Section I. — Hypothesis. ION is the most perfect of all our senses. The perception of sight may be distinguished into three classes : that of form, that of color, and that of motion. Form is made visible by the description of lines by which it is bounded, and by color. Motion, as an object of sight, is only the mode of succession of perceptions of form and color. Perceptions of form and motion may be considered as more perfect than those of color; because they admit of the evidence of two senses ; that of touch as well as vision. Perceptions of color are the least perfect among those of sight, because they are ascertained by the single sense of vision only. To begin by form and motion. Forms are bounded by lines. These lines must either be right lines, or curved lines ; and, to include any figure, must of necessity either be united by angles or curves. Now, a right line, placed perpendicularly, is a line which in every part is placed exactly over its base. Thus a column, owing to its perpendicularity, is in every part firmly supported by its base ; and the greatest weight may be placed upon it, whilst it preserves that perpendicularity, without the possi- bility of overthrowing it. Again, a straight line is the shortest possible distance from one point to another. So that, supposing a man strongly bent on getting to any particular place, " cateris paribus" he would naturally take the road which led to it in a direct line, in preference to a cir- cuitous one. Hence, in form, all figures, which are composed of straight lines, perpendicularly erected, so that every part gives a firm support to the part above, may be considered as indicative of strength and firmness. This class of form, therefore, is indicative 234 GENERA OF LINES. of those qualities which we have described, as constituent parts of the sublime. Again, as a right line is the shortest distance from one point to another, and as a decided object always leads the shortest road to its end ; so action, or movement, in decided or right lines, always indi- cates determination of purpose. A character which is centered in one fixed will, and which is not divided among the doubtful attrac- tions of many feeble diverging wishes. It is on these principles that an oak-tree, which is entirely formed of right lines and right angles, expresses strength ; whilst the ash- tree has the character of elegance. And it is owing to the two prin- ciples above mentioned, that military attitudes are all erect; and military motions (as in soldiers going through the manual exercise) are all abrupt, and in right lines. Contrast these erect attitudes and rectilinear movements with the gently curved lines, which are presented in the dancing figures on the walls of Herculaneum, and the difference of character will imme- diately appear. Again ; curved lines, if considered in what may be improperly termed an upright position, do not in every part lean upon their bases. Instead, then, of being firmly supported, they would, inas- much as they depart from the perpendicularity of a right line, immediately fall down, did not the attraction of cohesion prevent it. They are, then, so far from being able, like a column, to support any thing else, that they are utterly destitute of support themselves. Compare the gentle curves of the weeping willow, with the rectan- gular form of the oak, and the difference will be manifest be- tween the line of compliance and that of strength. The one being firmly placed on its basis, can endure any weight ; the other not being balanced on its basis, must necessarily yield to every pressure, however slight. Again ; curved lines are the least direct road from one point to another. Now, " cceteris paribus," no man would go by a long circuitous road, when he might go by a short direct one,_ unless GENERA OF LINES. 235 his mind was so little bent upon his final object, that intervening ones presenting themselves, tempt him easily out of his way. Hence, movements in gentle curves and devious meandering lines indicate a mind not decisively fixed on any final point; but one, willing to go out of its way, and influenced by a variety of gentle affections of about equal strength : so, that as right-lined movements might be termed the language of the passions, curved- lined ones might be termed those of the gentle affections. Curved lines, then, may be considered as the lines of weakness and compliance, and curvilinear movements as indicative of gentle affections ; but weakness, compliance, and gentle affections, are the characteristic qualities of the sentimental : hence these lines and this class of movements is inherently associated with the sentimental. By way of illustration, compare the square form of the eagle, and its darting right-lined movements, with the gently waved outline of the peacock, and its waving contour as it moves along ; or compare the undulating line of lambent flame with the glance of lightning. As figures are possessed of strength or weakness, according to their formation of perpendicular or curved lines, so they are possessed of permanence or mutability according to their breadth or narrowness of base. Thus a cast-iron pillar, of a few inches diameter, will bear any weight, owing to its perpendicularity; but it will not bear a powerful shock, on account of the smallness of its base. A Tuscan column, or a Gothic pillar, will both support a weight and bear a shock, because they have breadth of base to rest upon. Hence, whilst all figures bounded by right lines express strength, those which have altitude in proportion to their width, are capable of expressing both strength and lightness, as may be seen in the Gothic architecture of Henry the Seventh's time ; and where the object is animate, instead of inanimate, great muscular activity, as in erect military figures, war horses, &c. Those straight-lined figures, on the other hand, which have width of base in proportion to their height, express strength with perma- % H % 236 BASES. nence and immutability ; as may be seen in many examples of Saxon and Egyptian architecture, especially, in Denon's Travels, in the celebrated Temple of Tentyra.* In animated nature, breadth of base, with perpendicularity, ex- presses great strength, united with permanence and composure, as in the form of a lion, or in some degree in that of a fine ox. Compare an obelisk with a pyramid ; both are bounded by right lines, and both express strength; but the obelisk, which has a narrow base, expresses strength united with lightness, and the pyramid strength with solidity. But strength, with force and activity, are the constituent qualities of the active sublime ; and strength with permanence, those of the passive sublime. Parallelogrammatic forms, therefore, may be con- sidered as the fundamental forms, inherently associated with the active sublime ; and square forms, as the radical forms, inherently associated with the passive sublime. Again ; curved lines may be divided into two sorts— the circular and the ovalinear. A sphere, it is well known, is that shape which contains the greatest quantity of matter in any given space. Yet whilst its breadth and bulk contain so much solid substance, as it only rests on a single point, and has no breadth of base, its bulk only renders it more easily mutable. On the least percussion, it is rolled by its own weight. Again ; though the line bounding it, be not straight, yet being equidistant in every part from its centre, it * Rien de plus simples et de mieux calcule que le peu de lignes qui composent cette architecture. Les Egyptiens n'ayant rien emprunte des autres, ils n'ont ajoute aucun ornement etranger, aucune superfluity a ce qui etoit dicte par la necessite : ordoimance et simplicity ont et6 leurs principes ; et ils ont eleves ces principes jusqu'a la sublimit : par- venus a ce point, ils ont mis une telle importance a ne pas l'alterer, que, bien qu'ils aient surcharge leurs edifices de bas reliefs, d'inscriptions, de tableaux historiques et scientifiques, aucune de ses richesses ne coupe une seule ligne; elles sont respectees; elles semblent sacrees; tout ce qui est ornement ; richesse, somptuosite de pres, disparoit de loin pour ne laisser voir que le principe, qui est toujours grand et toujours dicte par une raison puissante. Denon, Egypte, iom.i. 178, 179. Londres, 1809. CHARACTER OF CIRCULAR FORMS. 237 offers no variety of curve, but every part presents the same dull rotundity. As circular forms, then, include the greatest possible quantity of material substance, they are sluggish and inert. Yet, owing to their want of breadth of base, they express heavy, dull weight, without strength or permanence; and as their outline offers no break or variety, it exhibits complete uninterrupted dulness, utterly un- marked by character. But heavy dulness, without permanence, and stupid, inert slug- gishness belong to the porcine. Hence circular forms are the inherent forms which characterize the porcine; amongst natural objects, the walrus, the hippopotamus, the dodo, the rana pipa of Surinam,* slugs, maggots, exhibit these disgusting lines ; and, in the imitative arts, the ancient sculptors of Greece and Rome have appropriated them to the Silenus ; and, in a more modern period, Shakespeare has considered them as essentially characterizing Sir John Falstaff. Again ; as the motion of spheric bodies partakes of the ponderosity of their substance, and the tremulousness occasioned by their want of basis, so a waddling motion exclusively characterizes the porcine. Consider, for instance, the outline, and attitudes, and motion of an over-fed sow, going to wallow in the mire ; or of a team of ducks going into a pool. An oval, on the other hand, has height in proportion to its width; it does not, therefore, include near so much in proportion to its height, as a circle. It has, therefore, a much greater degree of light- ness. It has no broad base, and has not consequently more the character of permanence than a sphere. But owing to its being less ponderous, it has not the lumpish, cumbrous movement peculiar to spheric bodies. * Vide, Plates in Madame Merian's Surinam, and in Shaw's Zoology, CHARACTER OF OVAL FORMS. The outline too of an oval does not present the dull uniformity of a circle. Its curve is continually varied, not by the abrupt and decisive breaks of angles, but by a continually devious line. It presents that outline which has often been termed the line of grace or beauty. It exhibits no fixed point, but a constant gentle, and almost insensible variety and pliability of line. But curved lines, which are associated with compliance, united with lightness, grace, and gentle but almost imperceptible, variety, constitute the sentimental. Hence, as circular lines in general denote weakness instead of strength, so a circle or spheroid may be considered as the radical form inherently associated with the porcine; and the oval, or ellipsis, as the radical lines inherently associated with the sentimental or elegant. Some examples may be mentioned in illustration of the different characters expressed by these two different genera of forms. Compare the globose form of the cabbage with the elliptic curves of the elegant asparagus plant ; compare a round, full-blown rose with an opening rose-bud ; or the lines of a fungus with the gentle curves of the fern plant. Compare the heavy Saxon arches of the nave of Gloucester and Winchester cathedrals, or Tewkesbury church, with the light and graceful elliptic lines that form the Gothic arches of Wells cathe- dral; St. George's chapel, Windsor; the Beauchamp chapel, War- wick; Redcliffe church, Bristol; King's College chapel, Cambridge; Henry the Seventh's chapel, Westminster Abbey ; or Salisbury cathedral. Compare the over-fed sow, of whom dishonorable mention has so often been made, with the lines of an Italian greyhound,, or with the gazelle, or antelope. Compare the lumpish waddling of the Muscovy duck, with the graceful movement of the peacock ; or the dodo, with the demoiselle DOMES AND ARCHES. 239 of Numidia ; or the strutting turkey-cock, with the waved outline of the silver pheasant. Or compare the Silenus, with the Venus of Medicis, or the Apollo of Belvidere ; or the corpulent, laughing, squabby gods of China, cross-legged on their cushions, with the Antinous. The reader may easily multiply examples ; — sufficient have been given to shew, that segments of oval lines belong to the sentimental, and circular lines to the porcine. In order, however, to prevent misapprehension, one observation must be added respecting circular lines ; in one case they seem to present an exception to the general rule. Arches are the forms best calculated for strength ; and it may be said that domes are often used in buildings. In reply to the latter observation, it is to be said, first, that so situated, the eye never can take in at once the whole of the circle, as it does in looking at a sunflower, a fungus, a full-blown piony, &c; and not only so, but the very perspective gives a sort of variety to the lines. Secondly, domes never constitute the bulk of a build- ing ; the principal part is composed of straight lines ; nor are domes placed near the eye. Thirdly, with all these allowances, they give a heavy, lumpish, dull effect,* very different to the strength of a tower, or the lightness of a spire ; and the sort of sublimity attri- buted to domes, only arises from the vast bulk, and not from the form ; a sublimity something like the awe which Bruce experienced on seeing the Queens of Sennaar, who, the elephant and rhinoceros * Witness the dome of St. Paul's, compared with the octagonal towers of Ely cathedral ; or the spire of Salisbury, with the towers of Wells, and the massive strength of Norwich castle. On comparing the two latter, it will appear how much the unbroken and solid mass adds both to the squareness and strength of effect of Nor ich castle; whilst the rich work on the facade of Wells, by subdividing (in a measure) the mass into a variety of small parts, gives it a comparative lightness of effect. Vide plate of Norwich castle, in the 4th vol. of Britton's Architectural Antiquities, and compare it with Buckler's beautiful print of Wells cathedral. Compare the massive circular towers of Longford castle (Lord Radnor's) with the lofty polygonic ones of Oxburgh hall (Sir Richard Bedingfield's). r 240 THE ARCHED FORM OF BONES DENOTES STRENGTH. excepted, were the most enormous creatures he had ever beheld. It is the size, not the shape, which produces the effect. The same may be said of a circus or amphitheatre. Whether we look at its form from within or without, the eye never can take in the whole circle at once. Nevertheless, at best they are not comparable in beauty to an ellipsis. Compare the Crescent and the Circus at Bath; compare those ancient amphitheatres, which describe a perfect circle, with those that describe an ellipsis ;* compare those bridges, whose arches are circular, with those that are ovalinear. In general we may lay it down as a rule, that circular lines denote weakness, except they are used as arches, when they give the expression of strength ; and even this allowance confirms the rule, for then, instead of the base being reduced to a point, it ex- ceeds the breadth of any other part of the figure ; and it was owing to the narrowness of base in a perfect sphere, that it had an expres- sion of weakness. The lumpish effect remains; but there the same distinction between circular and oval lines holds good. The circular arch gives the expression of sluggish weight combined with strength; the elliptic arch of elegance united with strength. Domes may be considered as arches. In animated nature, a similar rule and a similar allowance takes place. Curved lines always indicate relaxation, unless those curves are the arches of the bones, or the swell of muscular exertion. Compare the arched forms of the war-horse with the drooping concave curves of some miserable jades in hackney coaches ; con- trast the falling neck, straight mane, drooping eyelids, collapsing nostrils, and flaccid hanging under-lip of the latter, with the arched neck, flowing mane, open sparkling eyes, inflated nostrils, and champing foaming mouth of the other; compare an arched and spirited outline of countenance with a concave and spiritless one, * See the beautiful bridges over the Loire, especially at Tours. CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMATE AND INANIMATE FORMS. 241 vide Plates 1 and 2 of the second series. Compare the Transti- berine, No. 16, in series the first, with the Indifferent, No. 18, in the same series. Or contrast the Sluggard, No. 24, with the Convex head, No. 8, in the second series. Likewise the Duke of Urbino, No. 20, in the first series, with the same head, No. 8. Also the Lady,' No. 3, and the Gentleman, No. 4, of the second series.* In the preceding case, the arched form of the bones affords a strong foundation for forcible play of the muscles ; they therefore indicate strength. In the second instance, the swell of muscular exertion denotes energy and activity, and must therefore belong to the active classes ; and, according to various modifications, may°be- long to the active sublime, or the pretty. But this allowance will be easily made. The most unexercised eye may immediately discriminate the difference between the globose forms, arising from the greatest possible quantity of flesh being packed in a given space, and the arched forms of strongly marked bones, and strong muscular inflexion. The arched neck of the war-horse bears a very different character to the over-grown blubber of the sea-lion. The strongly inflected aquiline nose of the Transtiberine, is totally opposite to the gib- bous excrescence of that of the Silenus. Indeed, as in buildings, an arch is always placed on perpendicular supports, so in animal life, the vigorous inflexions of arched bones and strong muscles are always placed on a basis composed of right lines. It may then be laid down as a general rule, that in animated nature, all globosity of form, which arises neither from the arch of the bones, nor from muscular exertion, belongs to the porcine. Again,— forms are defined, not only by the species of lines by which they are bounded, but by the manner in which those lines are united together, whether by curves or by angles. Now a right angle is the greatest possible degree of deflexion from a right line, and the most sudden and violent departure from it ; as * The heterogeneity of a convex outline, with relaxation of muscle and pensile attitudes Will be made obvious by the insufferable affectation, and want of genuineness of expression of the plate, winch, in the French edition of Lavater, is next to the Transtiberine 242 CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMATE AND INANIMATE FORMS. may be easily seen, by drawing a right line, and raising another upon it ; when, if it be raised at right angles, it will form an angle of 90 degrees ; but if not placed perpendicularly, or at right angles, it must on one side form an acute angle with the original line, which is less than a right angle. Thus, if a man were going from Toulon to Bergen, which are nearly in the same longitude, it would be less out of his way to go through Paris, the deflexion to which forms an acute angle with his direct road, than by Corunna, the direction to which shoots off at a riant angle with it. A right angle, then, being the most sudden and violent deflexion from any given right line, it of course requires the strongest degree of power, if the body be in motion, to give it that deflexion. In animated nature also, it requires the most complete decision of will thus to take up a course of action at the greatest possible dis- tance from that pursued before. Hence rectangular forms always indicate strength and energy. The form of the lion, as it was before observed, consists entirely of right lines, connected by right angles ; and the oak is not only composed of right lines, but every limb is set on at right angles. The movements and attitudes of soldiers are all rectangular as well as rectilinear. Indeed wherever perpendiculars are raised, it naturally implies an horizontal basis to rest upon; and this hori- zontal basis, with a perpendicular, forms the rectangle. In the same manner, if two perpendiculars (say columns) be raised on an hori- zontal basis (which can alone give them a firm foundation), and if they be intended themselves firmly to support any superincumbent weight, that weight must either be placed on another horizontal, as in the case of an architrave, or on an arch, which no force can com- press. Such, then, are the lines of strength, or of the sublime. Having now considered right lines, connected by right angles, or by strong arches, as the form inherently associated with strength, we will proceed to another description of figures, also bounded by right lines, but in which those lines are not connected by right CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMATE AND INANIMATE FORMS. 243 angles. Of this sort are, the paragonic polygon, the acute-angled triangle, and the oblong, which is formed of two such triangles. A paragonic polygon consists of a multitude of equal sides, joined together by a multitude of angles, also equal to each other. Every side and every angle being equal, it presents no point particularly to fix the eye and rivet its attention. Nevertheless, not being com- posed of one uniform curve, like the circle, it is broken into as many petty distinct parts as there are sides or angles. Now the parts being too many for the mind to apprehend at one view, and yet not any having that decided difference from the rest as to fix the attention, the eye keeps successively running round to every part, and the mind receives quickly the successive petty perceptions arising from every distinct part, without being sufficiently filled by any one to be detained there. But a variety of percussions, strong enough to spur the mind, but not forcible enough to fix it, belong to the class we have termed the sprightly. The same may be said in a greater degree of acute-angled triangles. The right lines, by which it is bounded, give it a character of deci- sion, as different from the weakness of a curve, as it is from the pon- derous strength of the right angle. Every line, by leaning against the opposite line, acquires a degree of that strength which the per- pendicularity of the right line gave to rectangular figures ; and yet the angles being acute, and consequently not containing nearly the solid substance comprehended in a rectangle, they also possess a peculiar character of lightness. Compare, for example, the massive square tower with the light form of the sjiire. This effect is still increased, when the spire is worked, instead of being solid, as in many of the old crosses. The massive effect too of the tower is a little diminished by being much worked. Compare the light and richly worked crosses of Coventry, Winchester, and, above all, the exquisitely beautiful one which formerly stood in Bristol, now at Stour-head, with the solid masses of Norwich and Salisbury, or with the triple spire of Lich- field cathedral. % i 2 244 CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMATE AND INANIMATE FORMS. Compare, too, the massive square block of the gateway, College- Green, Bristol, and St. Edmund's-Bury ; also Norwich castle, and that model of strength, the building of Newgate, with the equally strong, but more lightly worked towers of Wells cathedral. By contrasting both sets of examples, it will be found, that the square form uniformly gives the expression of strength, and the spire of lightness ; but that in each of these radical forms, the ornamented style produces a lighter effect than the solid' one The reason of this is two-fold : First, it actually possesses less solid substance; secondly, when seen in profile, or against any op- posing back-ground, a diversified worked building, does not present the same bold, absolute, hard, determinate edge of out- line, or broad expanse of light and shadow; but is, both by means of the irregularity of the outline, and the flickering and uncer- tain touches of light and shadow, occasioned by the ornamental parts, more blended with the back-ground. On the same principle, fringes give lightness and elegance to dress, by giving an indeterminate outline. Borders, either to dress or furniture, by giving a precise termination, always belong to the active genera ; and, according to their lightness or richness, a\ ve either the smartness of the pretty, or magnificence of the sublime The dome of St. Paul's, the castle of Norwich, and the spire at Salisbury, perhaps are three of the best examples that could be selected, to shew the inert ponderosity of the circle, the strength of rectangular figures, and the lightness of triangular ones. Again,— whilst the right lines of the triangle give the appearance of decision to. rectangular figures, in opposition to the weakness of curves, their obliquity gives them the constant variety of curves in opposition to the determined uniformity of a perpendicular or hmi zontal line. Nay, a strait line being the shortest possible space" from one point to another, the eye glances along the obliquity of the line much quicker than it can pass along the gently varied curve of the oval. Hence oblique lines unite in a peculiar degree the expres- sion of decision and agility, which in motion is often termed smart- CLASSIFICATION OF ANIMATE AND INANIMATE FORMS. 2,45 ness. When these oblique lines are so formed as to compose an acute-angled triangle, the eye quickly runs along each line, and the attention is successively caught by each of the angles, every one of which presents a new variety. But decision, variety, and agility, belong to the sprightly : hence acute angular forms and oblique lines belong to the sprightly. The figure generally termed a star, which is composed of a variety of triangles, the acute points of which attract the eye in quick succession, also belongs to this class. Likewise oblongs, which are composed of two triangles, and which do not contain the substance of the square. In motion, as well as in figure, the same rule holds good. The strait line implies a determined will, steadily pursued, like the eternal Roman roads, which pursued their undeviating course through hill and dale, and rock and mountain — the line unaltered, the direction unchanged. The same in some degree obtains, in a long and stately avenue, which always bears the character of permanent grandeur and sub- limity. A straight road, on the other hand, with a sudden and complete rectangular inflexion, gives the impression of the forcible inflexion of will in a powerful character. As, suppose, after pursuing an avenue for a considerable time, the road suddenly turns, and you find a tremendous precipice at your feet, with the wide ocean expanding below, and reaching beyond the horizon. On the other hand, a gently meandering path, by the grassy bank of some still, but devious lake, when the twilight begins to soften the glare of day, gives the effect of the sentimental, or soft. Suppose, again, a zig-zag walk: every line being the shortest way to the next angle, gives decision ; every line being oblique, gives variety ; and every angle being acute, each line brings us back pretty nearly to the spot we had left before. Hence the cha- racter of vigor, liveliness, playful skittishness, and caprice, peculiar to the sprightly. , 246 RADICAL FORMS OF EACH GENUS. Compare the slow sailing of the owl in one uniform line, the rapid flight and sudden pouncing of the vulture, the gentle and graceful movements of the outline of the peacock, the waddling strut of the turkey-cock, and the lively zig-zag, glancing flight of the butterfly, and of many little birds ; the reader will then have a clear idea of the passive sublime, the active sublime, the sentimental, the porcine, and the sprightly. The contrast between rectangular figures of few parts, and para- gonic figures of many, will be instantly obvious, by adducing the most simple illustrations. Fancy a long Gothic library, the books dark and venerable with age, placed in the niches along the sides ; at one end, on a plat- form of a few stone steps, a fine old Gothic organ ; opposite, a large Gothic window, twenty feet high, adorned with old painted glass, and opening to a long avenue of aged trees, continuing the effect of the Gothic arches. Suppose, on the other hand, a polygonic room of equal sides, in every side a window, and every window commanding a different prospect, but all extensive, containing objects enough to give con- stant variety to the eye, and none near enough or forcible enough to fix it ; near the house, a smooth lawn, with numbers of gay flower- plots and flowering shrubs, interspersed with birch and mountain ash, whose bright berries and silvery rind glitter through the foliage of the other shrubs. RADICAL FORMS OF EACH GENUS OF BEAUTY AND DEFORMITY. Having endeavored to define the different expression of different lines, we shall now endeavor to apply them more particularly to each different genus of beauty and deformity. The sublime is expressed in form by right lines, indicative of de- cision ; and by right angles and firm arches, indicative of strength. It is rectilinear, rectangular, erect, firm, arched. The radical forms of the active sublime are perpendicular and arched in inanimate objects ; and the same, with the swell of strong RADICAL FORMS OF EACH GENUS. 247 muscular exertion, in animate ones ; as an oak tree, rocky scenery, towers, a lion, an eagle, See. The radical forms of the passive sublime are — horizontal, cubic, arched, or rectangular, in inanimate objects ; with large, well defined strength of muscle, rather than vigorous muscular exertion. Such are some of the large horned owls, a fine ox, the long protracted Gothic aisles, the broad expanse of shade of the beech tree, the horse chesnut, or the religious gloom of an oaken grove ; continuity of line, as an avenue, kc. The radical forms of the sentimental are ovalinear and waving; they are without angles ; in attitude, pensile and drooping ; not mus- cular; as, for example, a weeping willow, many figures of Grecian females, &c. The radical forms of the sprightly are obliquilinear and acute- angular; as a star, or an acute-angled triangle. The radical forms of the horrible, or active sublime, sharpened, * are, in inanimate objects, by increasing the number of rectangles in proportion to the continuity of right line ; and in animate ones, by increasing the muscular play, and diminishing the radical strength of figure, as may be seen in many of Fuseli's pictures, or in pictures of furies, &c. where violence, rather than power, is to be expressed. The radical forms of the vapid, or passive sublime, flattened, b are given by increasing the continuity of line of the passive sublime, and diminishing its angles and arches ; and if in animate forms, by retaining its largeness, without giving muscular inflexion, which in countenance produces what we call hard-featured ; viz. large bones, but no expression. As an example of the vapid, fancy a tall lady, straight and formal, unbending, stiff, and precise, with no play of countenance; her muscles uninflected, as if cast in the mould of habit ; her attitudes set with automatic precision, wholly incapable of being animated by powerful passions, or of being awakened by the charm of transient emotion. Fancy this lady attired in a dress, too stiff for elegance, and not ample enough for dignity ; the folds and cut of which are set 248 RADICAL MOTION OF EACH CLASS. to the model of George the First, instead of following the inflexions of the figure ; the colors too dull to be beautiful, and not marked enough to be magnificent. Fancy her, moreover, in head, dull, inane, and empty; in heart, cold, indifferent, proud, and frigid, apathetic and phlegmatic. In that mental faculty, which in such people supplies the total want of imagination, fancy her formal, quaint, and precise; bigotted, narrow, and superstitious; full of family pride, and pride of wealth ; her conversation pompous and solemn, yet on trifles ; her intended wisdom, strings of threadbare truisms ; her voice dissonant and monotonous, wholly unmodulated ; and her periods parenthetic, obscure, confused, and involved, with- out either nerve or cadence ; her paragraphs, without termination, as to sound, or point, as to sense. The reader having pictured to himself such a lady as his patroness, let him imagine himself com- pelled, as her humble companion, to attend her in a six mile airing in a London snuff-colored drizzling November day, in a slow-paced coach of state on a road between two blank dead walls, not high enough to cast a sublime darkness on the road below, and not low enough in any place to be looked over. The very ennui of this long description must convince the reader, that this lady, and all her equipage, deserve a place in the vapid. The radical forms of the porcine are circular and massive, in objects which are inanimate, and fleshy and globose in animated bodies. Fungi, caterpillars, toads, &c. belong to this class. The flippant, or sprightly sharpened, * is obtained by loading the sprightly with an infinity of impertinent, gaudy ornaments, so ill arranged as to distract the eye, instead of successively entertaining it. It is the finery of those who pursue ornament without taste. RADICAL MOTION OF EACH CLASS. In motion, the active sublime stalks, marches, hurls, darts pounces, seizes, rushes, as the pouncing of a vulture, (he eruption of a volcano. Subdues. The passive sublime. A slow and measured walk, a firm step, APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. 349 and undeviating course ; as the sailing of an owl, the silent, but irre- sistible lapse of time. Influences. The sentimental meanders, waves, glides, floats, reclines. Loves. The sprightly hops, leaps, flutters, glances, frisks, capers, plays, step elastic. Amuses. The horrible raves, rages, the agitation of ungovernable fury and phrenzy ; furious and unequal, pacing up and down. Terrifies. The vapid, ceremonious, automatic, and fashioned by habit. Erect and unreclining, not from strength, but want of muscular in- flexion. Ennui. The porcine crawls, waddles, wallows. Disgusts. The tawdry struts, cringes, grins. Excites contempt. That the hypothesis here laid down as truly applies to the ex- pression of the animated human figure and countenance, as it does to that of inanimate material objects, will, we think, be found correct in practical application. It is to be observed, that the association of strong and powerful passions with perpendicular lines and strong arches, is not fanciful, but founded in nature ; as is also the association of the soft affections with pensile forms and ovalinear outlines. This will, we think, appear from the following considera- tions. The human heart, or will, is governed by two leading principles — love and hatred, or attraction and repulsion. These may be con- sidered as the main springs of the human will ; and all other pas- sions are, in fact, only emanations from these roots, though distin- guished by various names, as they assume different modifications. Perhaps, as the words love and hatred are generally applied to per- sonal friendship or dislike, it would be more intelligible to say, the attraction towards that which is good or agreeable, and the repulsion from the bad or disagreeable. Now the first has always the effect of expanding the heart, which dilates, and, as it were, lays itself open to the agreeable perceptions 2, K 250 APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. which surround it. The last, on the contrary, contracts the heart, which instantly collects its forces, and entrenching itself in an impe- netrable armour, arms itself against the disagreeable surrounding perceptions which threaten it. Thus, as if under the influence of a moral sunshine, or a moral frost, the heart is melted and dilated, or frozen and contracted. All the perceptions, which touch the classes of feelings united with pain, warn us to guard against what they would inflict. Thus, all the attitudes belonging to the agreeable class partake of a yielding nature, and are characterized by lines of weakness and compliance. All the attitudes belonging to the disagreeable class, on the other hand, are attitudes of unyielding strength, defence, or menace. They, therefore, are characterized by the lines of strength and resistance. Thus, let a man be resolved on opposition to any shock, or be bent upon vigorous action : Immediately he stands with his feet not quite close, which gives firmness, by enlarging his base. He draws himself up erect, in which every part is over its base. He places his arms a-kimbo, by which the strong bony, instead of the sensitive fleshy part, is presented to his enemy. Every muscle is constricted, * which enables it to bear, * " The rigidity which appears in the action of the muscles is not apparent only, but real. A muscle in death has but a weak cohesion, and is easily torn ; but during life and full con- traction, it is almost impossible to tear the muscle, so strong is the attraction of the muscular fibre. " In violent action, the muscle, it is said, has less sensibility, and by exerting their muscles powerfully, jugglers suffer pins to be thrust into their flesh. It is certain, that during con- traction, the muscles will suffer blows and pressure without injury, and thus we can explain the feat sometimes performed, of breaking a poker over the arm, by which, without a strong action and preparation of the muscles, the bone would be fractured, and the flesh bruised. A more extraordinary instance of the resisting power of the muscles during their contraction, was exhibited some years ago in the streets of London, by a fellow who went by the name of Leather-coat Jack. For a pot of porter, he would lie down in the street and allow a carriage to pass over him. Jack having died, was dissected in the theatre of Dr. W. Hunter, and the APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. 251 uninjured, a shock, which would wound it in a state of relaxation. His head is raised, which enables him to see farther, and prevents his adversary from crushing him. His eye-brows are deeply drawn down, both that forming a shadow over the eye, he may see better where to aim his blow, and also that they may effectually form a penthouse, to defend the eye. His mouth is determinately closed, that the chin and teeth may form one solid barrier of bone, in oppo- sition to any blow ; the lips and cheeks, with the end of the nose, being the only soft parts, are forcibly constricted by muscular exer- tion, that they may as much possible be hardened against a blow. The chest is elevated and expanded, and the nostrils dilated, and firmly pronounced, to breathe freely. Such are the attitudes which the violent passions naturally produce, and it will be seen, that in their own nature, they must give those rectangular and perpendicular forms, which have been described as belonging to the sublime. In the attitudes connected with agreeable sensation, the reverse is the case. Surrounded by agreeable impressions, the heart yields to their invitation without resistance. Hence the muscles fall into a state of rest and relaxation. Being no longer forcibly constricted, the limbs are not moved so violently as to shew their angular articulations, nor are they so thick in proportion, from the swell of muscular ex- ertion being subsided. Hence an appearance of length of limb, and appearance of muscular strength was extraordinary, both in the form of the muscles, and in the remarkable processes of the bones into which they were inserted. It could not be strength of bone which saved him from being bruised in these exhibitions. I conceive the explanation to be this : that, being a man of great muscular strength, the power of habit enabled him to give such exertion to the muscles, as not only to defend the bones from being broken, but to save the muscles themselves from being bruised by a weight which, in a state of relaxation, would have crushed them to a jelly. We have all experienced the difference between a blow received unexpectedly, and one received when on our guard. Even on the same place of the body, the effect will be different. Boxers receive the hardest blows without injury, in conse- quence of the state of preparation in which they hold themselves when about to receive a blow, and by the habit of sudden and powerful exertion of the muscles, the opponent's fist is repelled as from a board." — Belt's Anatomy of Expression, fourth edition, pp. 170, OjJi 2K2 252 APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. gentle curvature of outline. The posture too becomes recumbent, leaning on other things for support, instead of being firmly built up on its own base. In the face too the countenance is changed. The forehead is no more drawn down ; the eyebrows return to their usual height ; and their hair, which had bristled up, lies down smooth. The eye, no longer exercised in observation, is no longer flashing fire from its convexity. The muscles, that opened it, are relaxed. Its length then appears greater in proportion to its heighth ; and a soft languor characterizes it. The nostrils are no longer inflated, nor the chest raised and expanded to breathe freely. Hence the nos- trils are narrower and longer, and the figure droops more. The muscles too of the cheeks, jaws, and lips, become relaxed, giving an oval contour to the face, leaving the mouth just closed, and giving to the lips their curling outline, which their former constricted state had destroyed. Thus the upper lip is shortened, and becomes more fleshy. If we compare also the external signs of the porcine and of the sprightly with their internal character, we shall find them equally founded on the nature of things, and not on arbitrary fancy. Imagine a man wholly devoted to eating, drinking, and sleeping, without mental pursuit, or active employment. Does it not neces- sarily follow, that he will increase in bulk, so that the fleshy part will bear an enormous proportion to the bones ? And does it not also follow, that the fleshy parts being unconstricted by the muscular exertion incident on active employment, they will bulge out, and assume those unmodified, globose forms, which inert matter always assumes when crowded into the space it occupies? Does it not also follow, that from the enormity of the weight, and want of muscular activity to poise it well, the gait will be waddling, &c? And is it not true, that from want of activity, the blood will never be forcibly propelled to the extremity of the system, nor will the bile be properly expelled through the pores of the skin ? Hence the complexion will be muddy, dingy, and sodden, and the unexer- cised cuticle will become flaccid and flabby. APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. 253 With the sprightly, on the other hand, the case is different. Formed for constant motion and activity, its frame is strong, light, and well articulated. The bones are shorter, in proportion, between the joints, than in the other classes. Hence the muscular force is greater, the purchase stronger, and the swell of the muscles more perceptible. To support this pressure, the bones are small, and often arched. The spaces between the articulations being short, and the muscular force greater, the whole figure appears composed of a number of petty parts, and the movements are brisk, angular, and lively. The habit of constant muscular exertion gives a proper constriction to the soft parts ; and hence the flesh, instead of being flabby, as in the porcine, or soft, as in the sentimental, acquires firmness and elas- ticity ; and the features, though minute, are sharp and well defined ; and the muscles well, but not harshly, pronounced ; their exertion being too mutable, to allow them to acquire the determined set form of the active sublime. The eye may be justly termed the guide of action. There can be no step taken till the eye has determined with precision where that step will rest. Hence, as the vigor of action, so is the intensity of ob- servation in the eye ; and as the versatility of action or celerity of it, so is the promptness, precision, and versatility of the eye. Now, as in the sublime, the eye-brows are drawn down, forming a deep shade over the eye, to enable it steadily to observe; so in the sprightly, the eye is brisk, sparkling, lively and versatile ; not to observe one thing, but successively to catch all with promptness and precision. As vigorous action is required, the chest expands and plays freely, and the nostrils are well marked. The blood is forcibly sent to the very extremities of the system, and the vigorous action of the lungs gives it a bright redness ; and the skin being kept in an healthful and vigorous state by action, expels every noxious particle, and becomes clear, transparent, and firm. Hence the bright colouring, the blue veins, and clear skin, and elastic, firm flesh of the sprightly. 254 APPLICABLE TO THE HUMAN FIGURE AND COUNTENANCE. Again, the firmness of the figure in the sublime, depends on the perpendicular position of every part on a permanent base; and on the consolidation (if we may so express it) of the whole figure into one solid, impenetrable mass : the arms, the legs, the neck, the head, all become compacted together, and rooted and grounded immov- ably upon one strong base. But in the sprightly, the case is pre- cisely opposite. Where there is a perpetual change of attitude and motion, there must be a perpetual change of base. Hence, as the firmness of the sublime depends on the impregnability of one strong foundation, the security of the sprightly is in the agility with which the perpendicular is continually changed, and the dexterity with which the exact equipoise is always maintained. Hence, instead of having the arms and legs fixed, as in the sub- lime, they are in constant motion, poizing and balancing the body in all its different evolutions. The arms, the legs, the head, all seem limber, and as though fastened to wires, and even the spine seems to possess a power of movement which the other classes have not. Compare the attitudes of a soldier* and of a rope-dancer, and the idea will be illustrated with precision. And as the one depends on base, and the other on equipoise, the one seems strong and the other light. In the sublime too, the body rises, forming, like a strong column, one whole ; nor do any of the subordinate parts take away from the simplicity of the figure. In the sprightly, the at- tention is always attracted by the continually versatile movements of the limbs ; and hence, instead of forming one whole, the eye runs over a continual succession of distinct parts, each of which is con- tinually changing its position. The sublime and sprightly bear perhaps the same relation to each other, as the ponderous strength of the English cart-horse, and the fleetness of the Arabian ; or as the impenetrable strength and overwhelming crush of the Macedonian phalanx, contrasted with the unwearied agility and activity of the Roman legion. * See Lord Pembroke's ingenious treatise on Horsemanship. CLASSIFICATION OF COLORS. 255 COLOR. Having now considered the various expressions of beauty and de- formity as it respects form and motion, it will be necessary to add a few words on the style of coloring peculiar to each. The chapter will be concluded by a few general illustrations. In the first place it is to be observed, that our idea of the animated soul is, that it consists of two simple faculties ; the perceptive faculty, and the active faculty, or the understanding and the will. By means of the first, it receives those impressions or notices of external objects, M'hich are conveyed to the brain, through the me- dium of the senses. By means of the second, the will is stimulated either by agreeable perceptions which we term pleasure, or disagree- able ones, which we term pain. The understanding can know nothing spontaneously ; her infor- mation is derived through the instrumentality of the senses. Nor can the will incline to, or be averse from, till the understanding have furnished her with what I may term a subject matter, either of love or hatred. Hence the soul may in some measure be compared to a queen, who, sitting in her own palace, is nevertheless informed by con- tinual emissaries, of all that passes abroad. On this information her actions and councils are framed. The resolutions and measures she adopts, are decisive and vigorous, in proportion to the strength of the cases submitted to her. Thus, in the same manner, man is always the patient, before he is the agent. The perceptive faculty displays her vivid images before the heart desires. And as no perceptions can give rise to no will, so slight percep- tions are connected with feeble desires, and strong perceptions excite the strongest desires. In every sense, then, the strongest and most forcible perceptions arrest and fix the mind, but it often requires the senses to be habitually exercised to discern the feebler notices. 256 CLASSIFICATION OF COLORS. Thus children are first struck by bright lights, total darkness, in- tense colors, &c. Hence the strongest class of perceptions under every sense belong to the sublime, and the softer or less perceptible ones to the senti- mental. As in form, the sublime is expressed by right and decided lines, so in color it is by determined and intense color ; and as on seeing a straight line, no doubt remains on the mind as to the direc- tion to which it tends, so bright colors are those which are also most thoroughly defined. But, as in the active sublime, the right lines are suddenly inter- rupted by right angles, so in color it is expressed by intense color in large masses, suddenly contrasted with a bright one; as a flash of lightning illuminating a dark night, or a wide conflagration in the dead of night. As in the passive sublime the expression is given by a continuity of straight line, so in coloring it is given by a continuity of intense color ; as the religious gloom of an oaken grove, or of the aisles of a Gothic cathedral. In the sentimental, the expression is given by lines in gentle curves, without any perceptible angle, yet varied in every part ; in coloring it is given by a variety of dilute tints gradually blended into each other, exhibiting in color, as in form, the same gentle but continual gradation, and the same impossibility of finding any fixed point. Such is the coloring of a pigeon's neck ; also the dilute tints of the moss-rose, opposed to the deep scarlet of the crown imperial, which belongs to the sublime. The hectic bloom of a delicate female, and that beautiful complexion which the Arabian poets so frequently compare to the blush of the almond blossom, and which generally accompanies silvery flaxen hair, belong to the sentimental. It is obvious, that in this complexion the very slight blush of the cheeks forms no sudden contrast with the ground of the complexion, nor with the blue eyes and flaxen hair; and, owing to the dilute color of EXAMPLES OF THE CHARACTER GIVEN BY COLOR. 25 7 the latter, the light falling on their polished surface, gives a soft animation, but not the flashing fire of the sublime. In the pretty or sprightly, on the contrary, as the character is given in form by a continual succession of petty distinct parts, so it is given in color by a succession of petty, but bright and distinct colors ; each of which, by its vividness, catches the eye, but which is not in mass sufficient to detain it, and which is immediately suc- ceeded by a contrast as vivid ; as in a chequered pavement, an har- lequin dress, a moresque temple ; or, in all glittering things, which strongly reflect the light, not in broad masses, but in continually mutable points, as jewels, tinsel, the holly bush, bright with red berries. The bright colors of many little flowers, as pheasant's-eye, hawk- weed, kc. will illustrate this. Little birds, too, and the bright colors of many foreign insects, such as the diamond beetle, or even the English coccinella, would sufficiently exemplify the subject. A smooth turf, spangled with bright daisies, and inclosed by flowering shrubs, may be given as a common example of the cheerful or sprightly. In beauty, the pretty or sprightly might have small, well proportioned, agile limbs, sparkling black eyes, marked but thin eye-brows, and small distinct features, small white even teeth, bright red but thin lips. We will now briefly mention the coloring, which might express some of the different species of deformity. The vapid, or contemplative sublime flat, being destitute of the strength of the sublime, or the grace of the sentimental, is expressed by colors which have the continuity and monotony, without the force and intensity of the contemplative sublime, and which have not the grace and purity of tint of the elegant, or its variety. Hence dull colors, such as brown drab, faded colors of all sorts, belong to the vapid ; colors which are neither strong enough to fix the eye, nor have sufficient variety to amuse it. Hence, if we fancy a large drawing-room in a banking-house in Lombard-street ; the air is dark and dingy, and lowering and thick; yet it is a darkness not associated with any idea that can awaken the imagination, as in one of Ossiarrs % L 958 MISCELLANEOUS EXAMPLES. impending storms ; the furniture is heavy and cumbersome, but not magnificent ; the house and its inhabitants are unmodern, yet no- thing about either are connected with the noble passions of the heart, which are awakened by that antiquity which great deeds have immortalized. The porcine, or sentimental flat, has in color all the want of deci- sion of the sentimental, without its elegance, and with the appear- ance of opacity or ponderous weight. Thus livid dingy colors run- ning into each other, instead of the pure aerial tints of the senti- mental. The coloring of a rainbow might perhaps be selected as the type of the first ; the dingy colors of putrefaction exemplify the latter. As the vapid is composed of a continuity of one dark color, with its vigor and intensity taken off, as drabs, browns, fcc, so the por- cine is composed of dirty bright colors, muddled and running into each other, as the dirty yellow of a toad, &c. Section % — Miscellaneous Examples. Having, in the progress of this chapter, given examples for the exemplification of each species of beauty and deformity, under the separate heads of form, motion, and color, a few will now be added, in order both to shew how much the character is strengthened when they are combined, and how they are weakened when they do not all unite in impressing the same character. A full-blown rose, for example, does not possess the beauty of a rose-bud, because its lines are circular instead of oval ; but it has not the disgusting appearance of the fungus, because its colors are dilute, and the texture of its petals is delicate and semi-trans- parent. The moon in its crescent shape, would be more beautiful than when it is at the full, did not contemplative sublime associations overcome the inherent ones ; and did not the fleecy clouds, the stillness and freshness of the air, and a variety of other associations, distract the attention from the more circular outline. ARCHITECTURE. 259 In the sunflower there is a contradictory effect of splendor and yet ugliness, from the brilliancy of its colors and the heavy rotundity of its outline. In Saxon architecture, the broad base and straight lines of its column, with its strong arch, expresses strength, whilst the massive circular lines of both give inert weight and heaviness. An elephant is formed on precisely the same model, and furnishes a similar example of passive strength and inert weight. His short thick legs represent the massive columns, and his back, the arch. The ash tree has been termed the Venus, and the oak, the Hercules of the forest. The ash owes its elegance to each of its boughs, and even sprays, forming the segment of an ellipsis. To the dilute green of its foliage, and the variable but not bright light tints of its bark, and also to the spiry oval shape of its leaves. The oak, on the contrary, is not only composed of right lines and right angles, but its bark and foliage are rough and rugged, and its coloring dark and intense; whilst the angular contorted boughs are formed to give strong lights and intense shadows. The holly, on the other hand, is neither pensile and dilute, like the ash or silvery willow, nor strong, like the oak ; but it is stiff, elastic, polished, glittering in the light, and bright with innume- rable crimson berries. The myrtle, too, exhibits the same cheerful appearance, from its stiffness, its polished leaf, and its white blos- soms. In the privet the character is the same. Stiffness, indeed (not primness, but elasticity), is a necessary con- stituent part of the sprightly. The trained passiflora, the jasmine, with all the " Gay profusion of her scattered stars," may be included under this head. The bright-leaved laurel, and, in general, all plants with a polished leaf, such as box, kc. preserve this character. We shall now apply these principles to ARCHITECTURE, (a.) In Grecian architecture, the Doric order* being formed of per- * The reader is requested to compare Major's views of the massive Doric ruins of Psestum, 2 l 2 260 CORINTHIAN ARCHITECTURE. pendicular lines, with perpendicular trygliphs, and being unorna- mented, belongs to the sublime. The Corinthian, whose height is greater in proportion to its breadth of base, and the ornaments of whose capital are in ovalinear segments, the columns fluted,* and the frize and pediment adorned with ovalinear mouldings,* therefore belongs to the sentimental. with the light and ornamental corinthian and composite remains of Palmyra and Balbec, also published at London, 1757, in two vols, folio. Let him especially contrast the following prints in each, viz. the Hexastyle spetral temple, the Hexastyle peripteral temple, and the Pseudo dipteral temple hi the former, with plates 18, 19, 22, and lb in the latter. We might also add to this latter list, the beautiful views of the remaius of Dioclesian's palace, in Adams's magnificent work on the ruins of Spalatro. The reader is especially referred to the view of the peristyle of the palace of Dioclesian ; also the door of the Vestibulum, plates 24 and 25. The door to the temple of Jupiter, plate 31. That of the temple of JEscula- pius ; and also the architrave to the door of the Crypto portico, plate 52. In the work al- ready referred to on the ruins of Palmyra, many of the plates exhibiting the ornamental parts, illustrate the positions advanced in the text. The r< ader is requested to turn to all the plates of cornices, columns, and ceilings. Among the rich profusion presented in this beautiful work, he will, perhaps, more particularly select the door-way, plate 7, and the cornices, plates 10, 18, 24. Many specimens equally beautiful are to be found in Le Roy's Monuments de la Grece, Voyage Pittoresque de la Grece, Chandler's Ionian Antiquities, Wilkins's Grecian Islands, Overbeke's Rome. We had collected a numerous list of references to particular plates, but as such a dry detail would fatigue the reader to no purpose, he is referred to the works themselves. Above all, he is requested to study Stewart's Antiquities of Athens. The comparison of the corresponding plates in Stewart and Le Roy, will give peculiar pleasure to the English reader. Piranesi's Rome is not here referred to, because that magnificent work is rather to be considered as pictures of architecture, than as architectural plans. We have rather aimed, under the head of architecture, to refer to works merely exhibiting the effect of the building itself, and not to prints whose effect is enhanced by effects of light ap- pendages of landscape, figures, &c. If, however, that superb work be examined in all these respects, it will be found to coincide with the theory here laid down. * Some persons have supposed, perhaps with more ingenuity than truth, that the flutings on the shafts of columns of temples, were introduced as a contrivance to enable warriors to rest their spears, without laying them on the ground, whilst they went into the temples to worship. f Perhaps nothing exhibits a more striking example of the opposite character, imparted by straight or curved lines, than architecture. Let any person observe a building, where the wretched taste has been adopted of using spirally shafted instead of straight columns. He TUSCAN ARCHITECTURE, 261 The Romans, less polished than the elegant Athenians, and less soft than the luxurious Corinthians, invented the Tuscan, which, from its breadth of base and unmodified circularity of shaft, may be termed the inert or porcine. Hence also, in architecture, pillars being square, belong to the sublime, and unmodified roundness of column to the inert. For this reason the Greeks, wishing to take off that heaviness, by will immediately see the bad effect of using the spiral line, which is the line of compliance, as a support, instead of the perpendicular one, the line of strength, in which every part leans upon its base. It is surprizing how many great painters have fallen into this capital error, in the in- troduction of architectural subjects : even Raphael himself, in the Cartoon of Lystra, has been betrayed into this practical architectural bull. The object of a column is to give support. Whatever style then be adopted, whether solid or light, plain or ornamented, the expression of firm support must never be infringed upon. Heme, in Grecian architecture we find three styles — that in which the column is perfectly plain, which gives unbroken massiveness; that in whfcli the shaft is fluted, and gives the effect of a number of slender rods, which has the greatest lightness ; and that in which the shaft of the column is cut off in flat segments, which unites strength with lightness. But in all these cases, the perpendicularity of the shaft, which is the essential line of strength, is not infringed upon. The same may be said of our ancient English ecclesiastical architecture. Our ancestors liad likewise the same triple mode of expression. The short, thick, ponderous, and plain Saxon column expressed massive strength alone. Then, by an opposite extreme, were intro- duced columns surrounded by detached, loose, slender rods of Purbeck marble, springing up to a surprizing altitude, and giving that lightness of character, which is so beautifully exempli- fied in Salisbury cathedral. Lastly, these slender rods were compressed together into one solid clustered column, uniting at once the greatest strength, and the greatest lightness, as may be seen in Henry the Seventh's chapel. But again, in all these cases the same rule was observed ; and whether the columns were formed of one massive pier, or of a collection of slender rods, the perpendicular line, which is the expression, because it is the reality of strength, was never sacrificed. Again, in light, ornamental architecture, where there is no great superincumbent weight, good taste requires, that even where the substance of the support be lessened, the line of sup- port should be left unbroken. Compare the beautiful voided crosses of Coventry and Stour- head, with any massive spiral column, and the difference will instantly appear between the effect of a slender line given with strength, and a clumsy mass given with weakness. If the reader will consult the above architectural works, he will see exemplifications of precisely the same principles, in the best specimens of Grecian architecture, and in the remains of Balbec and - Palmyra, the door-cases and window-cases present voided pilasters, of a lightness correspond- ing with the small architrave above, but always conjoined by straight lines. DORIC AND IONIC ARCHITECTURE. leading the eye along the height instead of the breadth, increased the number of perpendicular lines, by fluting their columns. Thus they acquire lightness and elegance. But, in the Tuscan, which was seldom used but for basement stories, the object was intentionally to give the appearance of mas- sive strength and inert ponderosity. Hence that rotundity is always left unbroken, which is one of its main constituent parts. The Athenians, polished beyond any other people of antiquity, had the art of uniting in works of taste, grace and lightness, even where they wished to preserve the greatest strength. Instead, therefore, of either leaving the shafts of their Doric columns plain, which gives heaviness or inertness, or fluting them, which would destroy their character, by giving them too much ele- gance, they cut off the rotundity of the circumference in segments, forming the whole column into a polygon, thus uniting the strength of perpendicular right lines with the lightness, without the softness, of curved ones. The same is observable in the remains of Passtum or Posidonium. In the same manner in the Ionic and Corinthian orders, the Athe- nians, instead of having the heavy square dentils, observed in many Roman ruins, cut off the corners, and also made them shallower, by which means they formed a semi-elliptic. The difference of effect between the strength of the square Roman dentil and the lightness and elegance of the oval Grecian one, may be immediately seen by comparing Piranesi's Rome with Stewart's Antiquities of Athens. Generally speaking, however, perhaps the Grecian architecture may be considered as striking the eye with the variety of its mem- bers, and with the softened shadow of its circular columns. Gothic architecture, on the contrary, though so much ornamented in its detail, strikes the eye at once by the perfect simplicity of its design, and by the marked perpendicularity of its lines. Perhaps it was this impression which led Horace Walpole to say, that Grecian architecture was addressed to the tastes, and Gothic architecture, to the passions. ORIENTAL ARCHITECTURE. 263 On the whole, perhaps, the Gothic in general may be considered as belonging to the active sublime. The Grecian architecture, on the whole, may be considered as the sentimental and elegant. But here we would be understood to speak particularly of Grecian architecture, as practised in Greece, not of the examples of the same orders in Rome. Any person taking the trouble to compare them, will be struck with the great superiority of elegance, lightness, and grace in the Athenian and Corinthian originals, and at the comparative clumsiness of the Roman copy. For this purpose compare Piranesi's Rome with Stewart's Athens, Wilkins's Grecian Antiquities, Voyage Pittoresque de la Grece, Le Roy's Monuments de la Grece, Chandler's Ionia, &c. Moresco architecture again may be considered as furnishing the best specimens of the pretty. The complexity of petty parts, the light columns, pointed arches, and chequered colors, all conspire to give this effect. The views of the Alhambra, in Swinburne's Travels, and those of the Palaces Royal, in the French folio edition of Chardin's Travels, exemplify this style. Daniel's Views of Hindostan, also, would furnish many beautiful exemplifications of the sprightly ; but we have not at this moment the book at hand to refer to. It will be well, however, briefly to observe, that many of his views are not so purely belonging to the sprightly as those in Sir John Chardin. In many of the oriental buildings, the style exhibits a medium between the sublime or grand, and the sprightly. The square towers, the lofty archways, the magnificent courts, and the capacious domes, would in many of the views give decidedly the character of sublimity, did not the party-colored compart- ments divide the massiveness of the structure into many minute parts. The reader may be immediately convinced of this, by tracing two outlines from some of the first of Daniel's views, and by coloring one of them according to the grey tints of Anglo-Gothic ruins, and 564 CHINESE ARCHITECTURE r decorating the other with all the party-colored embellishments of the orientals. He will immediately find, that the same outline may be made subservient to the active sublime or the sprightly, by the mere circumstance of coloring. The square heavy Egyptian architecture, consisting of broad pillars and ponderous superincumbent architraves, may be con- sidered as the passive sublime. Vide Temple of Tentyra, remains of Thebes. The ancient Peruvian architecture exhibits precisely the same character. The reader is referred to the superb French edition of Humboldt's Travels, where he will perceive a similarity to the Egyptian, which is evidently not' the result of chance. Chinese buildings may be selected as representing the tawdry, composed of a number of petty but unmeaning parts, stuck over and bedizened with impertinent glitter, frippery, and ornament of all sorts ; they shew finery and littleness, without taste, arrangement, or subserviency to any whole. In short, they appear in direct con- tradiction to that first axiom of mathematics, that the whole is com- posed of its parts; for as the pretty or sprightly is one whole, com- posed of a complex multitude of parts, so the tawdry is an incoherent glitter of a multitude of petty parts, wholly incompatible to forming any whole. The architecture generally termed Saxon, has been already men- tioned as inert. The nave of Glocester cathedral, part of Hereford cathedral, kc. might be referred to as examples. All the works that we could wish to refer to, as illustrative of these positions, are not at this moment before us; otherwise the particular plates might be indicated. It will, however, fully answer the purpose to designate the works in general. The prints in the beginning of Messrs. Pocock and Norden's Travels to Egypt illustrate the massive Egyptian architecture pecu- liarly well, by being contrasted with the graceful Grecian architec- ture of Balbec and Palmyra; Denon's Egypt, and Meyer's Egyptian Views, perhaps, exemplify it still more fully. REFERENCE TO PLATES. 265 Many works, now publishing in England, sufficiently exhibit the character of Gothic architecture. If the reader will compare the plates of the history of Westminster abbey, now publishing, with Daniel's Views of the Mahometan Ar- chitecture of Hindostan, he will see how much unity of color, or diversity of color, gives the character of the sublime or the sprightly, by fixing the eye on the few grand essential parts, or in causing it successively to run over all the variety of petty ornament with which it is decorated. Chardin's prints of Ispahan are, however, more competent exam- ples of the pretty than Daniel's. They cannot be converted into the grand by any means ; nevertheless, owing to their want of color, they do not so immediately strike the eye. The view of the cathedral of Cintra, in Murphy's Travels, and those of the Alhambra, in Swinburne's Tour, may be referred to. In Stewart's Athenian Antiquities, the reader is particularly referred to the elevation of a Doric portico at Athens, chap. i. plate 3, vol. I.; also to the temple of Minerva, called Parthenon, at Athens, vol. ii. chap. 1, plate 3; and to the view of the temple of Theseus, vol. iii. plate 4, for examples of the strength, combined with lightness, acquired by cutting off the circular segments of Doric columns. The same may be seen in Wilkins's Antiquities of Magna Grecia, chap. ii. plate 3, in the ruins of Syracuse, and in the elevation of the temple of Concord at Agrigentum. For the beauty and grace given by the oval Grecian dentils, refer to Stewart's Antiquities, vol. ii. chap. 1, plates 6 and 7. The peculiar grace which the Greeks imparted in the delicacy of decoration of the different orders, may be seen by consulting the same work at the following plates : Elevation of the portico of the temple of Erectheus, Ionic, vol. ii. chap. 2, plate 4 ; also turn to the models of Ionic columns, same vol. chap. 2, plate 5 ; also plates 8 and 1 1 ; see, too, the western Ionic front of the temple of Minerva Polias. But, above all, for beauty, lightness, and simplicity, yet 2 m 266 DIFFERENT CHARACTERS OF LANDSCAPE. delicacy of decoration, see the exquisitely beautiful choragic monu- ment of Thrasyllus, vol. ii. chap. 14, plates 3 and 4. For an example of the sentimental or elegant, we refer to the general view of the ruins of Agrigentum, in Wilkins's Greece, chap. 3, plate 1. For the pretty or sprightly, the reader is referred to the view of Corinth, in Meyer's Greece, and the square of Cairo, in his views in Egypt. Likewise to the tomb of Abbas and the sepulchre of Sefy in Chardin's travels ; also to the cedar and royal mosques of Ispahan ; to the Jews' house at Ispahan ; but, above all, to the view of the pavilion of the royal palace ; to the bridge of Allah Veyrdy Khawn, and to the bridge of Chyraz, called the bridge of Hhacan Abad. LANDSCAPE. In landscape, it will be observed, that the same character is ob- tained by following the same rules, as to class of line, color, and motion. Let the reader picture to himself a cataract, foaming and roaring between a chasm, beneath two black rocks, whose beetling brows form a dark impending shade over the abyss below ; imagine a rude Alpine bridge thrown across, and a scathed oak. hoar with lichens, and rifled by many a wintry storm, to impend over the precipice below ; suppose the time to be the dead of night, during a tremen- dous thunder-storm, the whole made visible by one flash of light- ning. Here we have the active sublime. And now let us change the scene. Fancy the hour to be sunset, and the deep majestic river of Su to be rolling its ample, but silent tide, through the vast plain of Kidfeu, which gradually slopes down to its very edge, in one vast level green ; the whole is encircled with a majestic amphitheatre of hills, crowned with dark autumnal forests ; the sun setting behind their tufted summits, amidst bright western clouds, spreads a rich, but DIFFERENT CHARACTERS OF LANDSCAPE. 267 yet a softened light, over the landscape. In the distance, the vanishing spires and domes of the imperial city of Yen chew, just catch the last glimmer of the fading light. In the fore-ground, Confucius, slowly rising in the midst of his disciples, who recline in one multitude on the banks of the river, opens his mouth, and addresses them on the nature and goodness of God. Here is the contemplative sublime. Let the reader again shift the scene, and suppose himself carried back to the days of Haroun al Raschid and his beloved Jaffier, and endowed with the magic wand of the mangraby, the wondrous lamp of Aladdin, or the equipage which the kind fairy, Pari Banou, be- stowed on her favorite Ahmed. Suppose, then, her light car of gilt fillagree, the nave and circum- ference of whose wheels, spangled with diamonds, glitter in the sun, as it glances, with the rapidity of light, drawn by her four light striped zebras ; their golden hoofs twinkle in the light, and their speed is guided by little genii in moresco dresses ; or else behold the fairy's magic palace. Its slender columns, its pointed arches, and its twinkling minarets, rise with aerial lightness. Its gilt lattices, its light verandas, and its gay arabesques, dazzle, and yet entertain the eye, as they are discerned rising in the midst of a trim shaven lawn, spangled with white daisies, and with baskets of roses and other bright flowers. Plots of tulips, anemonies, and every gay flower, are brilliantly, though artificially disposed ; and the whole is tufted with the richest and lightest flowering shrubs. The myrtle, the almond blossom, the laburnum's golden stream, the spangled jasmine, and the broom, the light Guelders rose, the rich cistus, adorn and diversify the lawn. Paroquets, lorys, and other birds of bright and diversified plumage, sport among the foliage ; and on every side the flowering shrubs open their vistas, to shew a different, but wide and diversified prospect. The inside is decorated in a similar manner. Court succeeds court, surrounded by light moresco cloistered walks, adorned 2 m 2 268 LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES, with arabesques in compartments, and supporting light galleries one above another ; the area is diversified with tesselated pavement ; and in the center, from basons of variegated marble, arise fountains, every drop of which glittering in the sun as it rises, borrows all the tints of the rainbow, and falls again in a shower of glittering gems ; the whole enlivened by gay and sportive groups of dancing girls, with triangles, cymbals, tambourines, and castanets. Such were the wonders of Aladdin's palace, and such is the sprightly or pretty. Generally speaking, perhaps Swiss scenery might be considered as belonging to the sublime, and Italian landscape to the pretty. To the British tourist, Cheddar cliffs, the first view of the entrance of the cavern at Castleton, with parts of Dove-dale and Middleton- dale, may be considered as the active sublime ; also Kennelworth and Berkeley castles. Perhaps Fingal's cave, in the isle of Staffa, parts of Hagley and Blenheim, the outside of Wells cathedral, may be considered as the contemplative sublime. Mendip lodge possibly may be considered as the farthest degree at which the sprightly can arrive. Were it more ornamented, or were its present ornaments disposed by a person of less exquisite taste, it would degenerate into the fine, tawdry, little, frivolous, and contemptible. And now let us consider the sentimental. Imagine a cool grot, the mouth overshadowed by a weeping ash, overhanging from the rock above, and admitting a soft light through its semi-transparent foliage. Its fibry roots hang in a thousand fan- tastic forms from the roof, festooned with clematis and ivy, or adorned with the fern, the streaming maiden hair, or wild campa- nula. The grot opens to a very small enclosed lawn, turfed with softest moss, whose deep green almost conceals the violets and pansies that peep amidst it. The wide-spreading linden, the pensile ash, the poplar trembling in the breeze, enclose the retreat on every side, and, uniting their branches above, give a varying, but not a LANDSCAPE — EXAMPLES. 269 bright light on the green below ; immediately in front, and almost close at hand, it is closed by a rock, also clothed with pensile plants. The yellow sedum, the geranium robustianum, and the limber briony, adorn, without taking off, from the repose of the scene. Coppice woods, of various kinds, soften its rude crags, and mingle their tints with the grey coloring of the rock, now hoar with lichen, or green with moss ; and now presenting a dark mantle of ivy, which hanging from above, streams like loose tresses, on the gently un- dulating summer air. From a small cleft in this rock, imagine a small and limpid stream, falling in a murmuring cascade ; the over- hanging larch and pensile silver-rinded birch, shade its source ; its brook is clear, and scarcely betrayed but by the fresh and lively green of its banks, till it forms a tranquil and glassy bath, at the entrance of the grot. Amongst places familiarly known to every English reader, Oxford, Dover, and Bath might respectively be adduced as examples of the passive, the active sublime, and the sprightly. Contrast the long and silent street which leads into Oxford, be- tween dark avenues of elms, the venerable towers and spires, whose shadowy forms darken the shades of evening ; the solitary lamp at the portal, shooting a red light through the trees, and spreading their dark and lengthened shadows across the street, like the dimly seen columns of some Gothic aisle. Again, shift the scene to the environs of Bath. Fancy the lively green of its open hills, and its light and gay buildings, whitening the valley. Crescent rising above crescent, interspersed with Lombardy poplars and acacias, and adorned with gay verandas. Every street opens its vista to some new and cheer- ful pi-ospect, and its footpaths are diversified by its glittering inha- bitants, who shew at a distance like an ever variable plot of beauti- ful flowers, waving and mingling their vivid colors, as they undulate in a perpetually changing morrice. Again, transport yourself to the entrance of Dover. The road winds along a precipitous hill. On the one side it abruptly rises, 270 LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. till its steep summits are lost in the clouds, above whose curling mists arise the venerable turrets of its hoary castle. On the other side, a sudden wind in the road, appears as though the next step would precipitate the traveller from a dizzy height into the expanse of ocean, which roars and foams amidst the caverns of the rocks far below. Such are the active sublime, the passive sublime, and the sprightly; as for a sentimental city, it will be vain to look for one, excepting in the reveries of the learned and eccentric John Buncle. A recourse to travels, of various descriptions, would amazingly multiply examples. But as it is needless to fatigue the reader, only a few will be cited. Indeed it would be superfluous to add any more, did not the writer think, that every one who pretends to call the attention of the public to a new system, is bound to shew, that it is not erected on one or two insulated and selected facts, but on the indiscriminate mass of spontaneous evidence. In the latter case, if the writer establish his point, he will have the pleasure of being indebted to truth and to skill alone for success; and if he fail, it Avill be a real satisfaction to think that his failure does not arise from a want of that industry and consideration which form a part of the respect that every writer owes the public, and which should effectually restrain every man from throwing the chaotic burden of crude and undigested suggestions before its tribunal. Imagine then the scene to be North America. After pursuing for some time his Indian guide through winding paths, tangled with brushwood, and interrupted by loose stones, a zig-zag ascent presents itself. On reaching the summit, a world' of waters seems to expand before the astounded senses. The blue mountains, clothed with pines, the boundless tide of Ontario, the stormy billows of Lake Erie, are spread beneath his eye ; and the gigantic cataract of Niagara pours the deafening roar of its hundred floods at his feet. The granite rocks around tremble with the tre- LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. 271 mendous crash of its ponderous waters, and the sound reverberates from the marble abysses that yawn beneath the vast arch of its flood. As far as the eye can see, the terrors of its vast expanse extend, till it is lost in the broad waters of Ontario, and the dense vapors which shroud in awful darkness the unexplored wonders of the horse-shoe fall. Whirlwind, darkness, and tempest lower over it, and a thick and im- penetrable mantle of mist conceals the struggling maddening of the whirlpools, that rage in bellowing thunders beneath. All round is vast, majestic, grand, and boundless ; yet all else is hushed in dread silence, as though nature awfully paused, and awaited in fearful expectation that final catastrophe, when heavens and earth shall pass away as a scroll, and time itself shall be no more. Such is the active sublime. And now, let us suppose the same traveller, exhausted by the overwhelming grandeur of Niagara. He turns his back on the boundless expanse of her lakes, her interminable forests, and her wide savannahs. He quits North America. Already her pine-clad promontories sink in the horizon behind him, and the last surf of her broad rivers faintly mingles their full flood with the green waves of the Atlantic. And now behold him traversing the fertile grassy plains and swelling hills of Anahuac* Meadows, rich with cattle, and knolls and tufted woods advancing and receding, form a rich and magnificent, yet soft landscape. After passing many a deep ravine and thickly wooded glen, he suddenly finds himself at the summit of an amphitheatre of * It is needless to tell our readers, that in the imaginary descriptions illustrating our theorv, we use the same license which a poet or painter might do in adjusting his subject to the im- pression he means to convey. Our object is not to be the historian of Mexico, but to use the descriptions given of Mexico, and borrow from them and add to them what is necessary to elucidate this theory. Nevertheless, almost every part is borrowed from the following authors, with various degrees of accuracy or license :— Salis' account of Mexico, Cortes' account of the Conquest of Mexico, Bernal Diaz del Castillo's account of Mexico, Clavi- gero's Mexico. The notes, which are added, are intended to supply accurate information to those who wish it. 212 LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. wooded hills, and the rich vale of Mexico spreads in a beautiful level plain at his feet. Imagine a wide level of some miles, wholly- inclosed by hills, whose swell is bold and magnificent, yet not rude or abrupt. The forests, which richly clothe them, and crown their summits, form a beautifully varied undulating outline, against the rich purple of the morning light ; and their bases now deeply em- bayed, and now rapidly projecting, down to the very foot of the hills, receive a broad and beautiful variety of light and shadow. The plain beneath, rich, verdant, and grassy, is scattered over with herds of cattle, and intersected by numerous and magnificent converging causeways, each bordered by a noble double avenue of spreading lindens, each leading from the capital city of a different kingdom, and each terminating in the imperial metropolis. In the center is an immense lake, clear, glassy, and still ; and in its floods are reflected, as in a mirror, the proud towers and gorgeous palaces of the imperial city of Mexico, with walls, light as the foamy surface of the sea, and brilliant as polished silver, she rises like a queen amidst the waters, and looks down on all her tributaries below. Here, distinguishably pre-eminent, arise the lofty temples of Heutzilopochtle and Tezcatlipoca, the bright and unextinguished fire of whose incensed altar spreads its long stream of light across the dark waters of the lake at eventide ; and here, the long reflection of their airy spires trembling on the surface of the lake, arise amidst poplars and bright flowering shrubs, the glittering mausolea of the heroes of the republic. Here Montezuma Ilhuicamina, of deathless memory, shoots his arrows to the heavens. There stands the bright record of Acamapitzia, who alone, amidst the hosts of Olompan, raised, with a strong and single grasp, a proslrate nation, and died with its completion ; and at their feet, in grotesque sculp- ture, lie the images of haughty Tlascala, reluctantly bending her republican spirit to the strong yoke of Mexico ; and Maxlaton, of execrable memory, paying the forfeit of his accumulated crimes ; and the weak and luxurious Tezozomoc, reclining in his cotton LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. 2,13 basket, whilst the ghosts of the murdered kings, in the form of vul- tures, gnaw his quivering heart. Here, amidst its flowering gardens, its gilt aviaries, and its latticed menageries, arise the towers of the royal palace of the unfortunate Montezuma Xocojotzin. Four hun- dred baths reflect their silver light, four hundred fountains play amidst its courts and spacious marble squares, where an hundred games celebrate the emperor's accession, and the renewal of sacred fire. In an instant the numerous folding gates of the city expand, and. from as many different causeways, raised on light arches over the lake, arrive as many royal processions from tributary kings. Here march the youthful soldiers, (b) graceful with their bent bow and polished spear, and sword of the chequered itzili ; their belts of party-colored quipos, and their faces diversified with gay and grotesque masks. Then advance the nobles, each holding his standard fluttering in the air. They are known by the light golden tiara and tufted party-colored crest of plumes, by the rich feather coat of mail, and by the shield, richly broidered with stained por- cupines' quills, now folded like an umbrella, now displayed in sport, bearing the blazoned records of their prowess, embroidered around the border. The gilded domes, light spires, and party-colored obelisks, of forty royal cities, glitter in the circumjacent plain, begirding, as with a starry zone, though yet at a respectful distance, the imperial metropolis. And every one, though distinguished by proud deeds and noble, sends her peculiar homage. Here the Tlascalans, haughty and fierce, send their sturdy youths, shagged with the spoils of war, and armed with clubs and deadly battle-axes, compelling the reluctant beasts of the forest to adorn their long procession. There the ingenious Toltecans, renowned for mechanic arts, bear aloft wrought golden vessels of a thousand shapes, studded with gems. Then come the Chechemecas, noble, yet warlike, known by 2, n 274 LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. their princely mien, their elastic step, and light glittering lances and slings. And there the pastoral Xochimilchese arrive, laden with fruits and with the produce of their herds, with the feathers of the Curucui. On the opposite side, known by their sumptuous magni- ficence, with slow reluctant step and averted eyes, advance the long procession of the superb and long imperial, but now subjected Tacubans, — the most ancient city of the plain, and for ages the most powerful, her long drawn annals bright with the accumulated splen- did achievements of two and twenty revolving centuries. Con- quered in fortune, but not in spirit ; outshone by her splendid and newly erected victor, but with the bright train of her ancient glory unobscured and unspotted, they slowly proceed with leaden step, disdaining, yet compelled. They bear no gif(,s, they offer no in- cense ; yet, as their princely youths and venerable sires lower the flag to the imperial eagle of Mexico, and indignantly half bend the knee unused to bow, their cruel victress triumphs in their humilia- tion, nor heeds the starting tear, wrung by the silent anguish of a noble but breaking heart. Nor less grateful are the intellectual treasures of Tezcucu, famed for science, the graces, and the liberal arts. Polished, yet unwar- like ; respected, without seeking dominion ; even Mexico herself sits at the feet of her sages, and courts her lettered youth, till they forget their light chains. Behold the gay procession from her ivory colleges. Her youthful poets, whose brows are crowned with gar- lands of feathers ; her orators diademed with purple, and her histo- rians unrolling their long annals of feather-painting, glittering in the sun. Averse from the din of war, and rejoicing to flourish under her peaceable but strong protection, they pour their intellec- tual treasures at the feet of their imperial mistress, and gladly pay the homage of the heart. Joyfully they prostrate themselves before her, and pour the rich profusion of their boundless wealth and stores at her feet ; whilst she, supereminent in dignity, welcomes LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. 275 the homage of her princely feudatories, with the light and easy grace of long-accustomed pre-eminence. Such a scene would be the sprightly ; or, perhaps, like Daniel's Views of Hindostan, might be considered as a sort of mixture of the sprightly, with a slight tincture of the sublime. And now let us change the scene, and transport ourselves to the sandy deserts and bleak dreary wilds of Great Thibet. All along extend immeasurable plains of deep sand, interspersed with loose shingles, in which the hardy piebald Tungun ponies, though well accustomed, sink at every step, and scarcely, by dint of reiterated flogging, wind their wearied way. A cold and piercing wind, fraught with the icy air of the far-famed KafF, sweeps along the vast solitude, and chills the very heart. No vulture's scream is heard in tbose lone wilds ; no blade of grass shews its thin scat- tered spires in these barren climes ; no sign of animal or of vegetable life appears ; but the whitening bones of the starved buffaloes, or the little track of the lizard of the desert which surrounds her retreat, like a fine lace-work impressed upon the sand. Nor does any thing vary the scene, but now and then a dreary ascent, up sandy hills, whose shingled sides, sliding beneath the aching feet, compels the traveller to retrace each burdened and laboring step, till at length its arduous and inhospitable summit gained, its vast and flat tabled plain, yet more bleak and more barren, opens the view to farther deserts, and to further hills beyond. At length, after many days of most tedious and laborious toiling, the sand becomes yet looser, and more interspersed with shingles ; then with loose stones, and at last black rocky scars begin here and there to appear, peeping through the more shallow sand. The road is first rough, then rugged, then mountainous. The black rocks of Thibet appear rising, like rude and uncouth towers, frowning over the desert, and casting a long and dreary shadow over its desolate expanse, whilst their bleak and dark summits are capt with a crown of snow, cold and cheerless. As the traveller advances, the shades of night set in; darkness spreads over the immeasurable wilds % n 2 276 LANDSCAPE — EXAMPLES. which inclose him, as the silence of one vast tomb ; when, after many a toilsome step, he gains the highest ridge of the chain of rocks. The moon, emerging from the midnight gloom, in bloody redness, like some portentous meteor, scarcely tinges the black edges of the clouds with a dubious silver, whilst it discovers his journey's end. Imagine the night lowering and chill, and before the traveller, but far beneath his feet, an expanse of sandy desert, enclosed on all sides by black rocky mountains, whose dark outline blackens the night ; whilst their extremest projections faintly catch the dark red light. Directly and immediately in front across the plain arises, in solitary majesty, one immense and enormous rock, whose vast extent of front, bold, broad, and precipitous, rises per- pendicularly from the plain below, and spreads its front like a gigantic fortress. Its dizzy summit, which almost mocks the up- ward sight, shoots out afar its overhanging crags, forming one vast arch over its lofty brows, and casting a wide, and dense, and impe- netrable darkness over that side of the plain below. Not immediately under, but yet wrapped in its dilated shadow, arises, in solitary but desolate majesty, the far-famed city of Teeshoo Loomboo.(c) Its appearance is cheerless, but inexpressibly striking, venerable, and awful. No domestic dwelling is here, to cheer with a thousand nameless kindnesses the way-worn traveller ; no friendly light twinkling from any habitation, gives hospitable promise of a cheerful welcome. But rising in the midst of the deserts, silent, ancient, and solitary, like them ; the long drawn thickly buttressed walls of its venerable monasteries, the vast area of its halls, and the doubly embattled massy towers, gleam dimly on the blood-red moon, and announce to the wearied traveller the long venerated, awful, and mystic seat, of the spiritual domination of the eastern world. High towering above the rest, dark, uncouth, and flanked with enormous square towers, arises the temple, the mysterious residence of the supreme Lama. Four gigantesque figures, whose types are unrecorded in the annals of the earth, part lion and part griffin, guard its wide portals ; and the awful and mystic words LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. 277 Oom maunee paimee com gleaming in fretted, but rude sculpture, along the unvaried length of wall, calls the traveller to prostrate prayer. A portentous silence reigns over the still and bleak expanse, whilst he gazes at the antique and shapeless towers of this venerable capital. And now one toll of a deep bell interrupts the deathlike stillness. Presently, slow rising from beneath, in voices, sono- rous, deep, and solemn, ascends that chant which, once a year, commemorates the illumination of the illustrious dead. Slow, grave, and most awful, but gloomy, and diffusing inexpressible melancholy through the soul, the deep toned voices swell ; and now the hoarse posaune, the nowbut, and the deep and lengthened roll of the death-drum, swell the awful chorus. When suddenly from the highest summits of the temple, shooting its dark red flame in one high towering column, glares far and wide over the plain the baleful death-fire. Its lurid light is dimly re- flected by the black rocks around, whilst it gleams with an angry fiery red, over the broad expanse of the rock in front, and pene- trating the lowering gloom which dwells under its overarching summit. The vast and enormous double portals of an iron gate appear confest to view. Ponderous, wide, and massive, they appear to cover the whole width of the mountain. And now the chants are hushed, a solemn silence reigns, and the funeral rites begin ; and from the portals of each monastery issue, clad in funereal black, the long procession of her numerous gylongs ; at the head of every file flare the mourning torches reversed. They walk in slow and mea- sured step in profound silence, with eyes cast down to the ground, and counting the long-strung beads depending from their girdles ; the murky light tinging their smooth shaven crowns, discovers the amulet and mystic character of the votaries of Fo. Procession after procession issues from her gates ; all in silence wind their way over the desert plain ; till at length they stop, and take their stand in one vast multitude, under the overhanging rock, and before the huge mysterious portals. 278 LANDSCAPE EXAMPLES. , And now the sacred rites begin. Again the solemn chant is heard, and, with its awful close, behold the vast iron curtain which concealed the recesses of the mountain, is slowly drawn aside. Di- viding in the midst, it gradually recedes ; on either side discovering the recondite depths of caverned abysses, concealed behind. Ima- gine a cave, vast, gloomy, and prodigious ; its capacious mouth, the whole side of the mountain ; and its interior height, like the high roofed and fretted vault of some high Gothic cathedral, extends beyond the reach of the gloomy death-fires which are now seen glaring in its caverned chamber, and gleaming below upon its pave- ments, whitened with the collected human bones of ten long years. Far and wide they spread, strewed in neglected piles, in this vast charnel house. Beyond, and dimly seen, blackening the farthest recesses of the cavern, yawns one vast grave, deep, wide, and capa- cious ; the intended repository of the hitherto untombed dead. The processions enter one by one, and range themselves in solemn silence around the extended chaos of human ruins at their feet. Not one eye is lifted up ; not one foot shrinks from the awful rite; not one weak tear escapes, to profane the hallowed rite, or to dis- honor, by unworthy weakness, the honored memory of the illus- trious dead. All is grave and solemn, but dignified ; becoming at once the sacred priesthood of those who mourn, and the deathless fame of the mourned. The regal pontiff, superior in dignity as in piety, stands amidst the rest in silent recollection. After a short pause, he gives the signal, and clasps together his sacred hands with uplifted eyes. Then every knee of this vast multitude is bowed with one consent, and every forehead is prostrate in the dust ; whilst every heart, with one accord, is lifted up in prayer for the repose of the illustrious departed. A deep silence, that may be felt, succeeds ; a solemn pause, profound, death-like, and terrible. Then once more the death-drum beats. At its long and solemn roll, all the funeral lights expire, and a sacred darkness shrouds in a decent, but impenetrable veil, the mournful rites where the LANDSCAPE. — DRESS. 279 dust is again committed to its parent dust, and the indissoluble seal of the tomb is placed over them for ever. Were this scene witnessed, it would be a specimen of the sub- lime. It is needless to multiply examples. By applying the rules, it will immediately be seen, that in every instance the effect is pro- duced, by the causes described as the constituent parts of each species of beauty. The reader will most probably think the two examples last given much too long, especially as they are unconsecrated by classic as- sociation. It might, indeed, have been easy to have brought examples more familiarly occurrent ; but the writer wished purposely to avoid all those to which classic associations, or very familiar knowledge, had already imparted a decided character, in order that the effect might be solely produced by an adherence to the rules laid down, and that it should be impossible to ascribe it to pre-conceived asso- ciations. DRESS. A little observation will shew, that the same causes will always produce the same character, whether applied in architecture, or landscape, or in any other subject, however different, as, for ex- ample, in Dress. In the sublime, it has already been said, that the parts must be large, forcibly marked, few, and in subserviency to one whole. In the active sublime, those parts must be so disposed as to admit of energetic action ; and, in the passive sublime, of stability, or con- tinuity of action, without abruptness. Hence a dress of this description must be such as only to mark the great divisions of the figure ; but those must be shewn with force and precision. The coloring, too, must be in mass. It must be sufficiently intense or sufficiently bright to fix the eye; but it must not be in party 280 DRESS THEORY. colors to distract it, or to divide the unity of the whole figure into several small parts. It must on the whole be unadorned, because ornament fixes the eye on the accessory instead of the principal parts. In the active sublime, the dress must be hard, stiff, angular, to mark with force the great articulations. It must lead the eye along perpendicular and erect, instead of horizontal lines ; and it must be short and close, so as not to impede forcible and vigorous action ; such as armour, for example. In the passive sublime it must be of continuous color, and of thick, heavy material, falling in broad folds, shrouding the limbs, only marking their great articulations, and wholly concealing their mo- tion and their subdivision : it must be long and ample, such as vel- vet, woollen, &c. In the sentimental the colors must be dilute; they may be varied gently, but not have sensible contrariety enough to take away from the unity of the whole, nor must the coloring be either bright or intense enough strongly to arrest the eye. The material of dress must be thin and limp, to fall in length of folds, shewing every inflexion of the limbs, and perpetually exhi- biting an undivided length of undulating outline, and a continual gradual change. The dress must not be such as to subdivide either the limbs or figure, but its lines and folds must lead the eye in an inflected line along their whole length. The ornaments must be few, but graceful. They must not be glittering, and must rather fix the eye on inspection, than catch its attention at first. They must be all placed on points of rest, or gentle motion, and not on the extremities of the limbs, or points of the greatest motion. That is, on the head or the body, not on the hands and feet. Muslin, kc. falls in folds of this description. In the sprightly, on the contrary, multiplicity of parts is to be exhibited. DRESS EXAMPLES. Shortness of limb, and distinctness of articulation ; thus increasing the proportion of points of action beyond those of rest. This must be done in dress by two means, by making the dress short, so as not to impede motion ; and in petty vivid colors, so as to increase and multiply its parts. Hence the materials must be light and stiff, to fall in a number of little stiff constantly varying folds, glittering and elastic. It must not only be short and light, not to impede continual versatile motion, but it must be made so as continually to intersect the limbs in a number of petty parts, instead of carrying the eye all along their whole length. It must abound in ornaments, but of a light and glittering kind ; but they must not overload the figure, so as to take off its character by encumbering it ; and they must distinctly lead the eye from point to point, without any tawdry or confused glare. All the ornaments to be placed on the points of motion, so as to fix the eye on them, and not on the points of rest. That is, on the limbs and not on the body. For specimens of the active sublime in dress, the reader is di- rected to consult specimens of ancient British armor. The British armor, as it is generally seen in the armory at the Tower, or in the cabinets of the curious, is mentioned in preference to Grecian or Roman armor ; because, in many of our most classic representations of the armor of those nations, they are far too much decorated to retain the character of grandeur. This is particularly the case in Mr. Hope's beautiful prints of the costume of the ancients. Whilst the accuracy of his delineations exhibits the extent of his acquaintance with classic antiquity, the elegance and variety of their decoration, especially that of the Grecian armor, shew that he se- lected that period, when the Athenian Minerva, wearied of war, unbraced her arms, and twined the nodding plumes of her helmet with the olive, and the bays of Academus and Helicon. The different effect given by unity or diversity of coloring, has been already re- marked with respect to Daniel's views of Hindostan. The same observation holds good in regard to dress as to architecture. 2 o 282 DRESS EXAMPLES. Compare the appearance of one of the German legions (as they dressed in 1805), with that of other regiments whose dress is scarlet. In the first the coloring is dark and entire, uninterrupted by cross lines or party colors, so that the eye immediately follows the per- pendicularity of the limbs. The high helmet, the fur and horse-hair which adorn it, add to the erect and columnar form of the whole : and by covering the forehead, fix the eye on the dark brow and on the eyes, to which the projection of the helmet gives peculiar force of expression. The dark mustachios, too, cover and conceal the cheeks and the lips, which are the chief seats of soft, indolent, luxu- rious, or tender expression. Thus the dark brow, the high and immovable line of the nose, and the bony projection of the chin, are alone visible. In a word, all the points of soft expression are concealed, and all those of powerful expression are thrown out in relief. In many other regiments the expression is totally different. The bright scarlet uniform intersected by party-colored cross belts, col- lars, bright buttons and sashes, and glittering tassels, give to some of our soldiers rather the appearance of some pretty paroquet, or goldfinch, pluming himself in a lady's dressing-room, than that of the defenders of their country, the successors of Caractacus, of Al- fred, of the Edwards and the Henrys. The writer of these pages will not easily forget the first impression made by the sight of the German legion. It was in the year 1805, in the latter end of March. The weather was cold and dreary. After a long day's journey, the writer of these pages and a companion were traversing the bleak wolds of Dorsetshire. The country consists of vast tracts of heathy open downs, as desolate and barren as the cheer- less wilds of Newmarket, but that it is constantly varied bv hills and dales. After proceeding many miles with this continued variety of uncultivated country, and without meeting an inhabitant, suddenly over the top of one of the hills, appeared a detachment of this legion. Their air was dark and military; they were mounted on heavy chargers, and wound slowly along between the hills in one length- DRESS EXAMPLES. 283 ened file, singing in alternate parts some of the older Lutheran hymns. Their voices were deep and solemn, and their horses trod slowly along. At length, as they drew near, recognizing the car- riage, they suddenly drew their sabres, and clapping spurs to their horses, rushed by with an hideous yell. It produced a strong effect of the active sublime. For the passive sublime in dress, examples without end may be found in the works of all the great masters who have painted sacred history. Raphael's picture of the separation of light from darkness, precisely exemplifies what is meant. Many other examples might be given from the cartoons only. Raphael in dress, has so clearly exemplified the dignity given by heavy drapery, whose few and rectilinear folds conceal the inferior parts, and cast a strong relief, and broad light and shadow. It is then very surprizing, to find him in the cartoon of the preaching at Lystra, fall into such a palpable error as to use spiral, instead of straight columns. Thus placing the line of weakness and compliance, where that of strength should be. The modern Turkish costume affords many fine examples of this style of dress. And the Greek pallium, and the Roman toga, might both be ad- duced as specimens of the passive sublime. On the whole, however, the Romans and Grecians do not appear to have succeeded in this style of drapery, as the great masters of painting have done.* Situ- * With respect to coloring, though it may appear at first a part of painting merely mechan- ical, yet it still has its rules, and those grounded upon that presiding principle, which regulates both the great and the little in the study of a painter. By this, the first effect of the picture is produced ; and as this is performed, the spectator, as he walks the gallery, will stop, or pass along. To give a general air of grandeur at first view, all trifling or artful play of little lights, or an attention to a variety of tints, is to be avoided: a quietness and simplicity must reign over the whole work ; to which a breadth of uniform and simple color will very much contri- bute. Grandeur of effect is produced by two different ways, which seem entirely opposed to each other. One is, by reducing the colors to little more than chiara oscuro, which was often the practice of the Bolognian schools ; and the other, by making the colors very distinct and forcible, such as we see in those of Rome and Florence ; but still the presiding principle of both those manners is simplicity. Certainly, nothing can be more simple than monotony ; 2o 2 284 DRESS EXAMPLES. ated in a warm climate, and far averse from the indolent habits of the Turks, a heavy, thick, and ample drapery, would have become insupportable, both from its heat, and from precluding active exer- tion. Their eye was therefore accustomed to the light and pensile drapery, which is indeed generally known by the denomination of antique; and when they have attempted to give a different one, they have generally failed, and produced a sort of encumbered drap- ery, replete with too many folds to give breadth of light and shadow, or real dignity, and which has at the same time too much weight and mass for elegance. The reader is referred for examples of this to Zanetti's collection of prints from the statues in the library of St. Mark, and other Ve- netian collections, especially to that of the Priestess, No. 48, of Faus- tina, of Antoninus Pius, No. 25, of an Egyptian, No. 10, of Isis, No. 11, a Parthian, No. 13, and, in a measure, a Dacian king, No. 19, in the first volume of Hope's Costume of the Ancients. It is to be ob- served, also, that much assistance in point of dignity of effect, is given to the heavy drapery of the Turks by the turban worn on the head, and by retaining the beard. And in the figures clad in the Greek pallium, or Roman toga, much of the effect is diminished when the beard is not retained. In fact, a massy drapery gives extent to the figure, by increasing its apparent substance. Now, unless an equally proportioned am- plitude be given to the head, the proportion of the whole figure is destroyed, and the relation, which the head ought to bear to the whole, is lost. The head, instead of crowning the whole, and super- and the distinct blue, red, and yellow colors, which are seen in the draperies of the Roman and Florentine schools, though they have not that kind of harmony which is produced by a variety of broken and transparent colors, strike the mind more forcibly, from there not being any great union between them ; as martial music, which is intended to rouse the nobler passions has its effect from the sudden and strongly marked transitions from one note to another, which that style of music requires ; whilst in that which is intended to move the softer passions, the notes imperceptibly melt into one another. — Vide Works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, edition 1809, vol. i. p. 88, 89. DRESS EXAMPLES. 2,85 eminently attracting the eye, as the soul and index of the mind, immediately sinks into a merely insignificant appendage to the rest of the figure, which in this case attracts the eye chiefly. With respect to the sentimental, as applied to dress, we cannot refer to more perfect examples, than to many of the figures from the elegant and graceful pencil of Angelica Kauffman, in modern times. And the antique draperies of Greece and Rome offer such a multi- tude, and such well-known examples of the light and pensile cloth- ing here described, that it seems superfluous to cite them. Mr. Hope's Costume of the Ancients affords numberless most beautiful and perfect examples of this style of dress. Among others, the reader is especially referred to Nos. 63 and 72, in the first volume of Mr. Hope's Costume of the Ancients, and Nos. 134, 137, 1 79, 188, 516, and 219, in the second volume. Here, however, there is in a mea- sure, room for the same remark which was made on the examples of Grecian armor in the active sublime. In some instances, the Dro- fusion of ornament is inconsistent with the chaste and unobtrusive decoration, properly belonging to this class. Whilst the pensile and undulating outline, both of the figure and of the folds of the drap- ery, invite the mind to soft repose, the glitter of decoration spread over the whole figure, hurries on the eye from one petty ornament to another ; and this contradictory effect is not pleasing to the mind, which always loves unity of design. The distinguishing characteristic of the sentimental is elegance, delicacy, and grace, in opposition to the boldness, energy, and splen- dor of the sublime, or to the pettiness, agility, and glitter of the sprightly. The radical and constituent principles of each class, ought to re- gulate every, the most minute appendage to it. It was, we are told, a favorite diversion of some Roman ladies, to place two of their female slaves, one was to stand behind the other so as to appear as one person. The foremost was to sing some tender and melancholy air, with all the pathos that musical expression, or expression of countenance could give it ; the one behind, whose arms 286 DRESS EXAMPLES. only were to appear, was to gesticulate with all the movements of a gay Bacchante. May it not be imagined, that the capricious lady who devised this heterogeneous entertainment, may also have in- vented some of the fashions,, mixed of the sentimental and pretty, to which Mr. Hope has allowed a place in his elegant and classic work. We now come to the sprightly, or pretty. But in this class, it is perhaps far more difficult to find perfect examples than in any other. The sedentary habits of civilized nations, even in warm climates, would not comport with the undress which is properly the charac- teristic of a class, whose distinguishing character is lightness and agility. The cold regions of the north require heavy and ample clothing ; and the relaxed habits of warmer climates, as for example Turkey, Syria, and modern Greece, are inimical to habits, and consequently to clothing, formed for activity. Nor is it less contrary to the habits than the ideas of civilized nations ; of tbe costume of uncivilized nations, we have in general but little knowledge. Perhaps, however, the most complete example of this class is the costume of the ancient Mexicans. Light, short, party-colored, and formed for agility and nimbleness, the Mexican warrior presents, both in dress and figure, a perfect example of the sprightly. His short black hair was crested with a light crown of bright feathers, set in a light rim of gold, sometimes sparkling with jewels. The feathers were in color vivid and diverse, erect and elastic ; far diffe- rent from the ponderous nodding horse-hair plume, which shrouds the helmet in the active sublime, or from the lengthened ostrich plume's undulating wave, and constant but gently varying outline. On the contrary, the stiff erect set of the Mexican feather, by length- ening the radius from the setting on of the head, to mark in an in- creased degree every movement of the head, and to give it in sudden starts. The feathered coat of mail, the light party-colored shield, the short feather skirt, shewing all the movements of the legs, the belted moccasins, decorated with bright porcupines' quills, and spangled with jewels. The arms, neck, and legs, intersected by 1 DRESS EXAMPLES. 287 bracelets and necklaces into many small parts, all led the eye to fix its attention on the mutable parts of the figure. The women's dress was on the same plan. A knot of gay flowers, often also intermixed with short bright feathers, was placed on one side of the head, mark- ing its inflexions with accent, and not giving a gentle undulatory movement to the whole, like that which marks the light helmet, and graceful depending ostrich plumes of the Athenian Minerva, as re- presented in the beautiful bust in the anti-room of the library of St. Mark. A short dress, with a gay belt dividing the figure, or a cross belt over the shoulder, ear-rings, ornamented buskins, rings, brace- lets, and not unfrequently a light open-work and ornamented basket depending from their hand, also fixed the eye on all the mutable points of the figure. Many most beautiful decorations for the spright- ly occur in Mr. Hope's Costume of the Ancients; but owing to their being placed on figures or dresses belonging to the sentimental, they lose their vivacious effect, and only spoil the outline by distracting them with a confused glitter. The same observation applies in a degree to Sir William Hamilton's prints of dancing figures, in his antiquities of Herculaneum. Though exquisitely beautiful, yet many of them form a sort of mixed style between the sentimental and the sprightly, neither giving with feeling the tenderness of the one, nor with spirit the buoyant and agile vivacity of the other. In truth, the flying back of the hair, the streaming drapery, and the attitude of the limbs, would seem to indicate the vigorous and quick move- ments of the sprightly ; but on the other hand, the want of muscular inflexion in the limbs, the pensile outline, and the length of the drapery, is wholly inconsistent with any but the graceful, pensile, reclining attitudes of the sentimental. In many instances, however, the classic remains of Greece and Rome, present more happy illus- trations of this class. Many antique figures of Bacchantes, are per- haps unrivalled in the truth and grace with which they give the elastic buoyancy of the sprightly. On the whole, however, perhaps it is among civilized nations, that we may expect the most perfect instances of the contemplative DRESS EXAMPLES. or passive sublime, and of the elegant; and in uncivilized nations, we may expect the hardy and dauntless energy of the active sublime, or the agility, dexterity, and precision of equipoise, of the sprightly. No better figures, dress, or attitudes, can be given for the active sublime, than that of a Mohawk chief. Nor for the sprightly, than the figures often represented of native Mexicans dancing. The native Highland dress, is a beautiful example of a mixed style between the active sublime and the sprightly. The Greek philosophic garb ex- emplifies the passive sublime ; and the Greek female drapery, the sentimental. On the whole, the sprightly is the dress of childhood, or growing youth. The active sublime and sentimental, the masculine and femi- nine garb of adults. The passive sublime is the garb of old age. Having said thus much on the general principles of dress, as ap- plied to the different classes of beauty, a very few desultory obser- vations will be added further, to illustrate what has been said. Thick woollens, heavy rich silks and velvets, &c. belong to the sublime, because they fall in large folds. When formed into a succinct rectilinear dress, like the Spanish * costume of Queen Eliz- * Though both the armor and the Spanish dress of Elizabeth's time may be termed active sublime, yet each has a very distinct character. Armor, by concealing the forehead, the seat of intelligence peculiar to man, by hiding the lips and jaw-bone, only discovers the brow, the seat of passion ; the firm line of the nose, the cheek-bone, and firm bone of the chin. It may be termed the sublime of energetic passion. The Spanish dress leaves the high forehead uncovered, the seat of intelligence ; and whilst the mustachio hides the fleshy part of the cheeks and lips, it shews the line of the jaw-bone, which is decisive in expressing strength or refinement, it may be termed the sublime of intel- ligence. Contrast both with the Dress of Charles the Second's time, the flowing wig, giving one round unmeaning bulbous contour both to the forehead and jaw, the seat of intelligence and will ; utterly destroying all dignity of expression, and irresistibly fixing the eye on the centre of the face, the cheeks, and lips : thus the fleshy bulbous parts bearing an undue proportion to the intellectual part, the whole countenance becomes degraded, vulgar, and ignoble. DRESS EXAMPLES. 289 abeth's time, they produce the active sublime. When formed into ample drapery, the contemplative. The folds being heavy, and moving slowly, add to this character. Muslins, limp and unglossy silks, falling in long pensile folds, which float in moving, and gradually change, belong to the senti- mental. Slight stiff silks, like tiffany, gauze, also shot silks, by forming a va- riety of petty stiff folds, always changing, belong to the sprightly. Rough fur, or shaggy substances in general, belong to the sub- lime. Ornaments which give a pure and beautiful, but not a bright light, belong to the sentimental; as opal, labradore stone, pearl, sattin spar, kc. Those which give a twinkling, glittering light, as jewels, &c. &c. belong to the sprightly. All which intersects the figure in many parts, as bracelets, neck- laces, harlequins' dresses, ear-rings, belts, short sleeves, moccassins, &c. belong to the sprightly. Stripes, by carrying the eye along the length of limb, and forming an unbroken undulating line with the movement of the body, may belong to the sentimental. Spots, by giving a variety of little distinct petty parts, belong to the sprightly. In order to be convinced of the difference of effect, given by produced length of waving line and spots, the reader is referred to Mr. Hope's Costume of the Ancients. Compare the ele- gant gracefulness of the long line of deep antique border in some of the figures, with the sprightly studded and spangled drapery of others. In many instances, the effect of both is considerably injured by uniting them in the same figure. Again, in dress, the material of which it is constituted, tends very essentially to add to, or to detract from, the general character, by marking the class of motion. For if the dress be heavy, it must ne- cessarily move slow, and in few folds. If it be thin and limp, it must as certainly be always gently varying in pensile curves ; and 290 DRESS EXAMPLES. if it be light and a little stiff, it cannot but be constantly changing in stiff and distinct versatile folds. The different character imparted by the difference of material, may at once be seen by comparing the graceful swell of the sails of a ship, with the fluttering of its pennon. Hence, horse-hair plumes, or those heavy ostrich plumes which are seen on helmets, and the nodding of which shew their weight, and mark one uniform measured step, belong to the sublime. Ostrich feathers, on the contrary, which float in a continual undu- lating motion, without forcible inflexion, belong to the sentimental. And upright, stiff, or stiff arched feathers of vivid colors, or spot- ted, belong to the sprightly. In a word, the dress of the active sublime must be calculated for energetic expression, that of the sentimental for graceful expression, that of the sprightly for animated expression. A few words may be briefly added on the style of dress of the dif- ferent genera of deformity. That of the horrible, has the succinctness and strength of material of the active sublime, but unites with it the sordid and squalid neglect of a mind absorbed in deep and restless passions, and the disorder occasioned by violent and forcible exertion. The constituent character of the vapid, is monotonous mechanical tenacity of habit, uninspired by feeling or passion. Hence the dress has the weight, stiffness, and cumbersomeness, which comports with slow motion, without the amplitude or dignity of the sublime. It rather shews richness of material than a good disposition of parts. It rather marks dignity of rank, than dignity of deportment. It ex- hibits affluence of purse with penury of intellect. The folds and cut of the dress are stiff, but they mark not the inflexions of the figure, as in the sublime ; its cut shews rather the fashion of former days, and its folds, the quality of its material. Stable from the frigid tenacity of habit, and not from the permanent and deep die of pow- erful and noble passions, it is equally far in appearance from the dignity of antiquity, or the grace of novelty, and its general appear- ance may be designated by what we term old fashioned. FURNITURE — THEORY. 291 Many of the portraits from Charles the Second's time, to nearly the present, exactly illustrate what is meant. The porcine is in dress dirty, slovenly, and disorderly. The negligence, not of a mind absorbed by deep passions, but of a body immersed in brutal and degrading sloth, laziness, and apathy, and wholly lost to every honorable feeling of self-respect or deference to others. FURNITURE. The same principles which have been illustrated, as it respects dress, equally apply to Furniture, or the interior decorations of a house. So many examples have been already cited under other heads, that it seems almost superfluous to expatiate upon this. One or two will suffice to illustrate the principle, of which the reader may extend the application at pleasure. Large rooms, or one continued suite of rooms, if the color be in- tense and unvaried, give the effect of the sublime; because their length gives the effect of slow motion to those who walk along them ; for the eye measures motion, by the length of time employed in going from one fixed point to another. Hence a company walking down a long avenue, always appears to move more slowly, than one going along the windings of a zig-zag walk. A uniform intense color, by forming a dark back-ground, throws out the figures of those walking in the room in strong relief, and gives unity of impression by decid- edly fixing the eye on the persons, and not distracting it by the glit- ter of ornamented walls. Rooms, the walls of which are laid out in compartments, are sprightly, because the compartments assist the eye in tracing the motion of the figures in the room. A large room in compartments, and a large room of a self-color, produce in the persons walking in it, almost the same difference in apparent length of time, as a stage with mile-stones and one without. 2, p 2, 292 FURNITURE THEORY. The ground, however, of the compartments in the sprightly, ought not to be any white, cold color, but one at once vivacious, and strong enough both to light up with brilliancy, and to throw out all the figures in the room with distinctness and spirit, as geranium color, &:c. &c. This latter observation ought to be particularly attended to. Many rooms fitted up in the sprightly costume, have their viva- cious effect very considerably diminished, by having the ground of the compartments of a cold, white dilute tint, with dark borders, instead of having a brilliant one, relieved with light borders. The white ground has the disadvantage of forming no good back- ground to the figures in the room. If these are clad in white, they are utterly without relief ; whilst the wall of the room principally attracts the eye, by a glare of light. If, on the contrary, they are clad in colors, then owing to their being darker than the walls, it gives a peculiar heaviness, and look of substantiality, wholly opposite to the sylph-like lightness, which is the peculiar characteristic of this class. The dark borderings too of the compartments, and dark arabesques, have a hard, disagreeable effect. The harsh contrast of color distracts the eye, instead of concentrating its attention on the figures in the room. And as darkness always gives the character of substance, and light of vacuum, the borders appear too heavy for the compartments on which they are attached, and the arabesques appear too heavy for the void on which they seem standing. As a general rule, it will be found that borders much darker than the ground on which they are placed, by assuming an appearance of substantiality, give the appearance of weight ; whereas borders of a lighter or relieved color, by the inverse rule, always give the effect of peculiar lightness. In order to be convinced of this, let the reader take one of Mr. Hope's beautiful figures with deep antique borders ; let him take two copies of it, and tint the ground of the dress of any color he likes ; in the one, let the border be given in black, and in the other in light FURNITURE THEORY. 293 silver; and the reader will immediately see the difference, in the weight or lightness of effect. It is also a very capital defect in dark borders, that they attract the eye too much. It has been observed before, that in every room, and under every class of beauty, the walls can only be as the back-ground of the pic- ture ; and in every class of beauty, all that principally attracts the eye, and fixes it on them, must be in bad taste. And though the constituent part of the sprightly is ornament and variety, in opposi- tion to uniformity ; yet the degree of ornament, and its degree of splendour in its different applications, must be subordinate to just keeping. And as there must be incident in every part of a play, but those of the plot must fix the mind, instead of those of the under plot ; so in the sprightly, though every part must be ornamented, the figures must be that which chiefly strikes the eye. That these observations are true, will, we think, be apparent, by comparing the effect of modern houses fitted up in the sprightly style, with those in the same style among the orientals. We need only compare them with some of Daniel's Views of Hin- dostan, or Chardin's Views of the interior of the Oriental halls of audience. All these buildings, both without and within, are decorated with some vivacious color, ornamented by borders in compartments of a light color ; and all the figures being in light colored draperies against the darker ground, are well relieved, and have a peculiar lightness of effect, which nothing else can give. The same observation may be made on furniture as on figures. Where the furniture is darker than the wall, it gives a heavy effect ; where brighter and lighter, a brilliant light and splendid one. Com- pare the crimson velvet hangings of Hardwicke with its dark ma- hogany furniture, with the hall of Montezuma Xocojotzin, which, we are told, was adorned with bright hangings of crimson feathers in compartments, bordered with light gold fillagree ; and that the fur- 294 FURNITURE THEORY. niture was also of a substance like ivory, with light gold wrought mouldings. Compartments add to the sprightly effect, not only by marking motion, but by carrying the eye perpendicularly up their slender lines, give to rooms a spiry altitude. Pilasters, by carrying the eye perpendicularly, without having the massive substance of pillars, have also in measure the same effect. Chequered or tesselated pavements, also belong to the sprightly, and also mark the motion of those who walk. Chequered pave- ments are best, because they have the liveliness of a tesselated pavement, and being in a regular succession, do not attract the eye too much from the figures. The fountains and marble basons in use among the Orientals, and their carpets spread in compartments, are also appendages of the sprightly. They also mark motion, and have that united uniform variety, which adorns by a succession of objects, whilst the regularity with which they are disposed, does not too much attract the eye. The furniture in the sublime must be dark, massive, rich, but not gaudy in coloring ; and magnificently, but not garishly wrought. All its forms must be square, and all the legs must be adorned with massive ornaments, producing the effect of greater thickness at the feet than elsewhere, which by causing breadth of base, gives the appearance of stability and immutability ; as though the legs rose out of the ground, and were firmly rooted in it. And to produce this massy effect, recourse has been had to every massive and ponderous animal, of real or fabulous existence, whose grim visages and claws, have successively lent their uncouth assistance. It is needless to enter into the comparative merits of the sphynx of Osymandias, the griffin of Zoroaster, the wivern of Tadmor, or the lion used in the more ponderous Grecian furniture. The principle is the same in all. Mass, perpendicularity of line, ponderous and high-wrought adornment, breadth of base, and consequent strength. FURNITURE — THEORY. 2,95 Nor is the effect of grandeur produced simply by the expression of strength. Massive materials of value, suppose both wealth in the possessor and durability in the thing itself. But wealth is connected by reflective association with power. Durability, too, and antiquity, which marks a house or family, as remaining unshaken by the desolations of time, which destroys all things, also is connected still more forcibly with associations of power and stability, &c. ; hence both these belong to the sublime. For the same reasons, furniture in this class ought to be very richly wrought, without at the same time having the least glitter. The richness of the workmanship connects it with wealth, and that with power ; its antiquity shews that power to have been long established and acknowledged. It must be entirely without glitter, or else it would distract the eye from the grand and indefinite impressions of power, time, &c. to fix it upon the petty ornaments before it, and it would then become the sprightly or pretty. Perhaps the entrance of King's college chapel, at Cambridge, is one of the best illustrations of what is here meant. Though so highly ornamented, when its detail is examined, its effect is one and simple. It rather awakens the heart and imagina- tion to grand emotions, than fixes the eye by petty perceptions. It is also to be observed, that the stained glass windows in churches very much add to the effect of sublimity in two ways. By darkening the place, they render its bounds indefinite ; and by con- fining the view within its limits, it fixes the eye on one object, in- stead of letting it wander over many. As in the sublime, the furniture should be all massive, rich, but not glittering, and broad at the base. So in the pretty it should be light, composed of a multitude of petty parts, ornamented with distinctness and vivacity ; and the base should always be narrower than the top, which, by separating it from the ground, gives the appearance of lightness and moveableness. 296 FURNITURE THEORY. This may at once be seen, by comparing heavy Egyptian furniture with sphinx bases, with moresco furniture with feet tapering to nearly a point. Also compare any figure in heavy drapery with a broad base. Contrast Jupiter Tonans with a Mercury, the extended arms of which, whilst it only touches the earth with one foot, gives that in- verted triangular shape and equipoise, which implies quick transi- tion of motion, and which is a constituent part of the sprightly. Hence moresco furniture is always of a material that forms a vivid contrast of color with the walls, and is often adorned with borders, which, by defining the outlines with precision, gives viva- city, and exhibits motion more distinctly. As the furniture of the sublime should be made for durability, it should have that substantiality which will make it last. As that in the sprightly only exhibits with playful and buoyant vivacity the column of the moment, it should have that slightness which shews that it is not only new to-day, but will to-morrow vanish, for some toy as new and as frail. One general observation should be made, which is equally appli- cable to dress, furniture, Sec. As the object in the sublime is to fix, and in the sprightly only to catch, the attention ; so both the materials, and ornaments, and workmanship, should be intrinsically good in the first ; whereas the lightness and spirit of design, and neat execution, is chiefly to be considered in the latter. Compare the magnificent hangings, the velvet furniture, the wrought and ponderous marble chimney pieces, the massy gold and silver plate of Hardwicke, with the gilt fillagree, cut glass, light painted chairs, painted ceilings, and chalked floors of a Bath ball-room. Every thing in the first class must, like a tried friend for life, be substantially valuable, and stand the test of time, the shocks of cir- cumstances, and the inspection of daily observation, The other, like the superficial acquaintance of a day, gives all that we expect, or have time to look for, in an hour's lively and brilliant conversa- FURNITURE THEORY. tion. In short, like the wise and foolish ladies in Swift's days — the first makes cages, and the latter is content with spreading nets. In the sentimental, the same rule holds good as in the sublime. It is intended not to catch the eye, but to repose it. Hence all the ornaments must both be beautiful and highly finished; and though not massive like the sublime, they must be infinitely far removed from the cheap glitter of the sprightly. Indeed, in this class the ornaments ought to be kept in such subordination, as not in the least to attract the eye at first sight, but merely, on inspection, to relieve it from the wearisome monotony of waved line, and give a gentle emphasis of expression to particular parts. The polished and soft Athenians particularly excelled in this style; and, in Stewart's Antiquities of Athens, are striking specimens of the graceful, light, but chastened ornament here meant. See the elegant design for Ionic columns in the second volume ; but, above all, the exquisitely beautiful choragic monument of Thrasyllus. Rooms or houses belonging to this class should neither be painted in compartments of vivacious color, like the lively or sprightly; nor in intense colors, with richly worked cornices and mouldings, like the sublime. The walls should be self-colored, the tint not dilute enough to give indistinctness of outline to the figures in the room, yet not intense enough to give that outline a harsh and definite edge. The coloring should be equally far from the dark tints which give gloom; or the garish ones, which light up with glare or brightness. The ancients chiefly employed for this purpose semi-tints of undecided co- lor, as light browns, greys, stone colors, kc. ; and the borderings they used were light and graceful, frequently done in light silver, so as to form no strong contrast with the wall itself ; and rather, on inspec- tion, gracefully to supply the want of finish that would exist without it, than to catch the eye on a first entrance into the room. The 2 Q FURNITURE THEORY. same observations apply respecting the furniture in this class. It should neither have the massive weight and richness of workmanship of the sublime, nor the extreme lightness, frailty, and glitter of the SPRIGHTLY. As all the adornments of the sublime tend to express lofty state, and those of the sprightly playful sportiveness, so those of the sentimental indicate gentle repose. The furniture, then, must be sufficiently light for moveableness, and composed of those waving curved lines, and that length, if I may be allowed the expression, which invites to recline at ease, without being disturbed by any sharp angles, or by want of length to lounge. In Mr. Hope's Costume of the Ancients, and in his specimens of household furniture, are some beautiful examples of this style; likewise at Lord Scarsdale's, at Kettlestone Hall, excepting that in both these instances, there is sometimes too much of the glitter of the sprightly, to be wholly appropriate to the retiring grace of the sentimental. In this class, beauty should be given, not so much by a load of extraneous ornament, as by the graceful design and exquisite finishing of the integral parts. There should be no borderings, no tinsel, as in the sprightly ; but the curve of every line should be given with the nicest precision of suitability to the whole, of which it is a part ; and the mouldings should give lightness, delicacy, and grace to the finishing, without any extraneous addition. The Tri- nity-house in London, affords a beautiful specimen of this style of decoration. One observation ought to be made, respecting the principle of decorating the interior of houses in general. It is to be remembered, that in all cases, the walls must be considered as the back-ground, the figures as the fore-ground, and the furniture as the middle dis- tance. In whatever style then a house is decorated, there should be that gradation in decoration, which fixes the eye at once on the figures, as the principal object ; which gives the furniture a subor- dinate place, and which allows the walls only the last place in the FURNITURE THEORY. 299 attention.. The want of attention to this, is a capital defect in many noblemen's palaces. The rooms have been built and furnished, as though the architect and upholsterer had forgotten they were ever to be inhabited, and as if they had intended the walls, and not the figures, to be the principal objects. By this means a ridiculous con- trast is formed between the mansion and its possessor. We read in the Arabian Nights, of a potent genius who was immured in a nar- row vessel ; but in this instance the case is exactly the reverse ; and every one may have felt what the Otaheitean prince expressed, when, on travelling through Oxford, he was taken to see one of the most splendid palaces with which national munificence ever rewarded the achievements of any subject. After wandering from hall to hall., and room to room, in mute astonishment, he saw a gentleman riding by, whom he was told was the possessor of the palace. How is that possible, said he, so great a shell can never be intended to fit such a little insect? Such was the observation made by a youth, who mea- sured greatness by external appearance, instead of the capacity of the mind. Now, though we know that this mode of measurement is unjust in reason, it ought to be remembered, that in matters of taste we are led by visible impression, and not by abstract reason. And hence, as truth in reason depends on truth of conviction, so truth in taste depends on truth of impression. This being the case, it appears, that in decoration, every class of beauty has its own scale or gradation ; and at whatever place you pitch the scale, the walls must be lowest, the furniture next, and the figures highest. Thus in the sublime, suppose the lowest pitch, or walls, to be intense ; the medium pitch, or furniture, to be of rich colours, but not glaring ; and the highest pitch, or figures, gorgeous, but not glitter- ing. In the sentimental, suppose the lowest pitch, or walls, to be medi- um dilute tints ; the furniture of dilute, but more determined color, and soft and glossy, but not bright material ; the figures white, to fix the eye without violent contrast. In the pretty, the lowest pitch, or walls, of vivacious color; the 2 q 2 300 FURNITURE THEORY. furniture bright and polished; the figures adorned with twinkling ornaments. On a reference to fact, it will be found that these rules have been generally adhered to. For the sublime consult Hardwicke castle, or parts of Chatsworth. Their dark velvet hangings, and rich, but not gaudy crimson furniture ; their massive and highly wrought, but not glittering gold and silver plate. People them with inhabitants of Queen Elizabeth's days, and you will have the sublime scale. Again, transport yourself to Athens, and annihilating the lapse of twenty-two hundred years, fancy yourself in the drawing-room of the beautiful, and learned, and agreeable Aspasia. Her fawn-colored rooms, her long ivory couches, and the graceful transparent lustre of her Coan vest, exactly exemplify the sentimental scale. And now travelling from Greece to Persia, let us visit one of the summer Oriental residences, watered by the far-famed streams of Rocnabad, and adorned with all the gaiety of the celebrated bowers of Mosellay. See the vivacious bordered hangings, and party-colored carpets, as the lowest pitch of the sprightly ; place in it their gilt, or ivory and ebony inlaid furniture, and crown the whole by figures clad in light colors, and adorned with a profusion of jewels, with paint, and their eye-lashes black leaded; * and it is obvious, that * For the truth of this assertion, that a regular gradation of ornament should be observed in rooms, furniture, and figures, according to the pitch of decoration of the first, consider the following remarks. Walls, furniture, £cc, are only the accessories— the figures, the principals. The attention, all agree, both in matters of taste or science, ought to be fixed chiefly on the principals. But the most vivid objects of sense must always make the most vivid impression, and must forcibly fix the attention. Hence, if the accessories are more vivid than the princi- pals, they must the most fix the attention. At whatever pitch then the accessories begin, the principals should enhance upon it, or else a disagreeable flat will be produced. Who has not often observed at the Opera-house, Theatres, or Bath-rooms, &c, the difference of effect between those who artificially heighten the complexion, and who wear jewels, and those who do not ?— The first have a completely dead, vapid, flat effect, owing to the pitch at which the accessories are fixed. The latter have the effect, not of gaudi- ness, but of that just gradation, which (where the accessories are pitched so high) is absolutely necessary to fix the eye on the principals. The want of these appendages in FURNITURE THEORY. 301 though in the sprightly the lowest pitch begins as high as the high- est in the sublime ends, yet that precisely the same gradation of adornment is preserved, and there is precisely the same comparative difference in each scale, between the ornament bestowed on the walls, furniture, and figures. Again, there is scarcely any circumstance which tends more either to add to, or diminish from, the style of beauty in houses, than the manner in which they are lighted. In the sublime, the light should be always suspended from above, and there should be only one. By suspending it from above, the principal strong light is thrown on the intellectual parts of the face, and on the parts which exhibit strength of character. And the parts which are more animal, as well as those which are soft, are lost. Thus the forehead, the cheek- bones, the ridge of the nose, and top of the chin, are illuminated strongly. The dark shadow under the brow, and at the end of the nose, give a marked character. The soft parts of the cheeks, the wave of the lip, the line from the nose to the upper lip, are lost. Hence the intellectual and energetic parts of expression are thrown out in strong relief, and the soft or earthly animal expressions sink into shade. Besides this, the light being suspended from above, forcibly illuminates the head, the seat of expression and intelligence, and keeps the rest of the figure in subordination to it ; only marking its great articulations, without casting a full light on its details. Hence the eye of the spectator is immediately fixed on the countenance, and every thing else being subservient to it, the mind is not distracted between a variety of contending impressions ; but a strength and boldness of emphasis at once characterizes the grand object. For the same reason, the light ought only to be one. Where the those who frequent such places, is just like an anticlimax in a sentence ; and forms as false a sequence in point of just taste, as it would in moral sequence, to lay the foundation in vanity, to go on in extravagance, yet suddenly to conclude in sobriety and good sense. 302, FURNITURE — THEORY. lights are more than one, there can be no forcible relief, no breadth of light and shadow, no emphasis of expression. Where there are several lights too, the bounds of the room immediately appear, and the light reflected from the wall causes a distracting glare. If, also, there are several groups of persons in the room, it diffuses an equal light on each, thus distracting the eye between two objects of equal strength. Where the light is one, it does not extend to the bounds of the room. It casts a broad emphatic illumination on one principal figure, or group of figures, and keeps all the rest in complete subor- dination. In the sentimental, the case is different. The object is not to give forcible, but graceful and tender expression. Hence the light must so fall, as instead of marking, to soften the lines and shades of ener- getic expression, and to produce all the parts which mark gentle emotions. Thus the high angular eye-brows, the arch of the fore- head, the dark shadow of the brow, the unyielding ridge of the nose and cheek-bone, the square shadow of the nostril, must vanish ; and the soft lustre of the eye, the gentle expression given by the rising of the under eye-lid, the continually mutable line that joins the lips, undulates the cheeks, or curls the line that joins the nose and mouth, must be brought into view ; and the waving outline, and reclining attitudes of the whole person, must appear in a continual but gentle change of undulating line. The light, therefore, without being bright or glaring, must be pretty equally diffused over the whole person, and so as not to give strong shadows or vivid lights on any parti- cular part. To effect this, the light should not be suspended from above, but ought to be pretty nearly on a level with the figure ; and, without being numerous enough to cause any glare, be yet sufficient to throw an equal light over the whole room, and to avoid dark shadows. The Grecians fully understood these effects of dis- posing lights. In the Eleusinian mysteries, and in other awful so- lemnities, their temples were illuminated with one red-flamed solitary lamp, suspended from above. In the relaxation of social intercourse, especially among the softened Athenians and Corinthians, their sa- FURNITURE THEORY. 303 loons were lighted by candelabras, or by Persians and Caryatides, which supported lights about even with the figures in the room, and whose too vivid effulgence opposite to the eye, was softened by some transparent substances. The sprightly, again, requires a different arrangement of light. The object is here not to give one principal point of view, as in the sublime, but to exhibit a successive and constant variety. Hence the lights must not only be brilliant, but numerous, to throw strong lights on a multiplicity of groups of figures, which may at every turn offer something new to catch the eye. Again, as the sprightly requires forcibly contrasted light and shade, though in petty parts, the lights must be from above: in which case, the sha- dow will sufficiently mark the outline with spirit, whilst the crossing lights will effectually prevent the broad and massive lights and sha- dows, peculiar to the sublime. It ought likewise to be observed, that as the lights and shadows in the sublime are permanent, like the class to which they belong ; so the lights and shadows in the spright- ly, must partake of the sportive caprice and versatility of the class they characterize. Hence the Orientals illuminate their saloons with hundreds of brilliant Bengola lights and variegated lamps, reflected on all sides by as many multiplying mirrors, and by a profusion of crystals, whose tremulous and sparkling rays, fling party-colored vivid lights with sportive radiance and versatility, alternately on the chequered pavement, the walls, or the ceiling. As in the sublime, the lights and shadows must be intense and permanent, in the sentimental they must be softened, and in the sprightly they must be brilliant and playful ; and by art, false lights and shadows must be given, and color and mutability imparted to them. In natural objects, this is in a degree observed. Compare the in- tense gloom of a grove of oaks, with the sportive chequered lights and shadows under a coppice wood. Or compare the bright expanse of a still lake, with the sparkling diamond lights that play upon a rippling stream. 304 FURNITURE THEORY. One further observation should be made on the mode of laying out rooms in the sublime, sentimental, or sprightly classes. In the sublime, the eye must be fixed on one main object. On this account, both the shape of the room and the disposition of its parts must conduce to fix the eye on some definite point, such were the magnificent chimney-pieces formerly used, which by immediately fixing the eye on that part of the room, which in a northern climate must ever be the principal, gave at once dignity and substantial comfort. With this view, compare the chimney-pieces of Kenel- worth, Berkeley, Warwick Castles, or Aston Hall, with the low chimney-pieces and the frozen icy surface of the mirrors just above, which have invited so many muslin-clad ladies to destruction. The difference will immediately appear, between the magnificent amplitude and adorned comforts of the one, and the impertinent frippery, and extraneous irrelevant finery of the other. For the same reason, the shape of the room in the sublime ought always to be a parallelogram, instead of a square. For a square, having four equal sides, the eye becomes distracted between them, and does not immediately know where to rest. But in a parallelogrammatic room it follows the length, and imme- diately fixes its attention on the principal object, which should be placed at the end. So that the side walls give to the principal ob- ject, just the same effect as an avenue to a mansion house. Placing the principal object at the ends of the room, has also a motive in another point of view. Supposing the room to be illumi- nated by a single light in the centre, that light will fall on the figures in the space under it, and the other objects will be lost ; the figures will become the principal object, and that at the end being lost in shade, the same unity of design will prevail. In the sentimental, the room ought to be elliptic, without any determinate beginning or end. The furniture disposed in the same manner, so as to produce an uniformly gentle, agreeable impression, without any very striking effect to stimulate the eye. FURNITURE — THEORY. 305 The ancients fitted up rooms in this style, with couches adorned with flowing drapery; in the spaces in the walls between them, were niches with Caryatides holding lamps of a semi-transparent sub- stance. An ample curtained drapery surrounded the whole of the cornice, and depending at intervals, concealed the doors ; thus ex- cluding sound, and giving the effect of perfect seclusion. The vaulted ceiling was generally painted to imitate that sober time of evening, when the stars just begin to appear. This was done to damp the brightness of the light, and that the starred ornaments might relieve the dark grey tint, without approaching to glitter. The Orientals, the models of the sprightly, have generally pur- sued one of these two methods of furnishing their apartments. Where the room was polygonic, each side generally opened into a fresh vista of rooms. Whether, however, this be the case or not, wherever the room is polygonic, the group of figures, or whatever else be the principal object, must always occupy the centre; be- cause the circumference is then alone left free for the spectators. And in walking round the room, though the eye may always be fixed on the same principal object, yet it is always seen under a dif- ferent point of view, and the opposing back-ground is continually shifting. Thus combining the just unity of one object, with the constant variety of the sprightly. The effect of this mode of disposition will immediately be percep- tible, when placed in opposition to the sublime. There, the principal object is placed at the end of the room. The approach is as through a long avenue, during which, neither the back-ground nor the principal objects change their point of view. Both remain the same, only they rise in distinctness on the sight, as the spectator draws near. And if we examine the internal operation of the mind, we shall find it precisely the same, when occupied on any subject which really fills it. In the sprightly, on the contrary, the continual change in the point of view, produces a constant cheerful variety. 2, R 306 SCULPTURE. A different arrangement is pursued in the sprightly, where the room is square. In that case it is often surrounded by light orna- mented galleries, supported by light moresco pillars, or adorned with hangings in compartments. In the centre is often placed a magnificent basin and fountain, and gaily wrought carpets are spread on the pavement, that the dif- ferent groups of people collected at each, may successively attract the eye. The whole together giving the effect of a gay parterre, fancifully disposed, and rich with a thousand vivid colors. In either case the principle is the same. The centre is occupied, that the spectators walking around, may have a continual change of scenery ; and the figures, for the same reason, are disposed in several groups instead of one. SCULPTURE. Nor are the principles described as the constituent parts of the various classes of beauty alone applicable to architecture, to land- scape gardening, to dress, and to furniture. An adherence to the same rules is equally necessary to give effect to sculpture. It is not indeed pretended, that the theory here laid down, was professedly detailed in so many words. But if the most celebrated works of antiquity be examined, it will be found that they precisely accord with it ; and the first sculptors of Greece and Rome practically observed its rules, though they may not have theoretically inculcated them. Compare the principal remaining statues of Hercules, of Atlas, and of Sisyphus, with the rules here laid down, and it will be found, that the columnar perpendicularity, the right lines, and abrupt angles, the swell of muscles, and the broad light and shadow, and their determined edges, which characterize the active sublime, ob- tain in them all. SCULPTURE. 307 On the other hand, let the reader compare with them the most cele- brated statues of Jupiter, Neptune, and yEsculapius; and those square shapes (those right lines, imitated with breadth of base, horizontality of feature, and cumbrous heavy drapery) will be recognized, which give the expression of permanent tranquil strength, the distinguish- ing character of the passive sublime. Again, the gently waving lines and oval forms of the Apollo, the Venus, the Graces, and Antinous, shew that the ancient sculptors used exactly that line which has here been described, as appropriate tO the SENTIMENTAL. The figures of Mercury, various figures of Bacchantes, or of Fauns, (especially those in the Portici collection,) exhibit complete models of the lightness, equipoise, and acute angles peculiar to the sprightly. Statues of Silenus, on the contrary, with many of those of Cen- taurs, Satyrs, and Pans, are characterized by the fleshy, bulbous, ignoble, circular contours, which we denominated the porcine. For the truth of these observations, the reader is referred to Zanetti's Collection of Statues of the Library of St. Mark; to Sir William Hamilton's Antiquities of Herculaneum ; to the superb collection of prints, both from the paintings and statues of the Vati- can ; to the prints from the Napoleon Museum ; to Spence's Poly- metis, and to the collection at the Louvre. It would be superfluous to attempt to demonstrate, that the same principles have practically obtained in every imitative art. Enough has been said to explain the principles, the application may be made at pleasure. One observation, however, must not be passed over, that the same general laws are to be recognized in the operations of nature, as in the imitations of art ; which proves the latter not to be the selections of fashion, but the imitation of her general laws. If so, does it not follow that their rules are founded in truth, in the eternal fitness of things, as Mr. Square might express himself, and that they are not the mere creatures of arbitrary convention ? 2R2 .908 EMPIRE OF NATURE. EMPIRE OF NATURE— ANIMALS. To elucidate this observation, a few examples may be adduced. The empire of nature, it is well known, is, in the terms of science, divided into three kingdoms ; the animal, the vegetable, and the mineral. The animal kingdom again, is subdivided into six classes, the MAMMALIA, AVES, PISCES, AMPHIBIA, VERMES, and INSECTS. Of these, on the whole, the mammalia most properly belong to the sublime, and they are, on the whole, mostly formed of perpendicular lines. The aves, on the whole, are mostly formed of acute lines and angles, have the lightest frame, the most sudden motions, the gayest and most vivid colors, and they assuredly belong, on the whole, mostly to the sprightly. Unless, indeed, the insects be allowed an equal place in this vivacious genus ; and surely their numerous petty arti- culations, their glistering coats of mail, and bright colors, are also equally consistent with the rules laid down for the sprightly. The amphibia again, (and especially the division of reptilia,) come under a different description. Their cold, flabby, flaccid skin, or their heavy, cumbrous, inert, waddling motion, and their circu- lar forms, shew them to belong to the porcine. To illustrate this, compare the sublimity of the lion, with the sprightliness of the goldfinch or the lady-bird, and with the disgust- ing squabbiness of the turtle or the toad. Each separate class in the animal kingdom, might indeed furnish instances of each species of beauty. We shall, however, only select one or two instances from the mammalia, aves, and insects, be- cause they alone are commonly known to the familiar observation of the unscientific. Among the mammalia, the fer,e might be termed the most sub- lime ; the pecora, the most sentimental; the glires, the most sprightly ; and the brut^e, the most porcine. Compare, for example, the square forms, strongly marked mus- EMPIRE OF NATURE. 309 cles, powerful limbs, and rough, shagged fur of the lion, the bear, the hyasna, the mastiff, and the blood-hound, with the oval forms, gracefully bending neck, and well turned limbs of the antelope, the gazelle, and the pacos. Or compare the sparkling eyes, the erect, pointed ears, the acute nose, the leaping movements, and the brisk agile limbs of the squirrel, the rabbit, the gerboa, Sec, with the ponderous, circular, misshapen, fleshy mass of the elephant, the walrus, and the sloth. In the class aves, the accipitres may be termed most sublime; the gralltE, the most elegant ; the passeres, most sprightly; and some of the anseres and struthiones, most porcine. Compare the angular forms, the strongly arched beak and talons, the rough, harsh plumage of the vulture, the eagle, or the greater owls, with the graceful and ovalinear length of limb and waving lines of the crane, the heron, the demoiselle of Numidia ; and con- trast the agile, light limbs, hopping movements, and gay, glossy plumage of the goldfinch, bulfinch, yellow-hammer, fee, with the inert, heavy, waddling, globose forms of the pelican, the Mus- covy duck, and the dodo. In the class insects, many of the larger coleopterous insects may be ranged under the sublime; many of the neuroptera under the sentimental or elegant ; many of the lesser coleoptera under the sprightly ; and several of the aptera, and many larvae, under the porcine. Contrast, for example, the rectangular forms, the strong articula- tions, and intense colors of the lucanus cervus, the dytiscus, or the larger scarabei, with the slim, graceful form, and light gauzy wings of the lesser libelluljE. Or compare the burnished and vivid coats of the little coccinella, the curculio, or the glancing gyri- nus, with the flabby and circular forms of maggots, many spiders, the oniscus, &c. These are only offered as general observations ; the rule by no means applies to every animal of each class. The Italian greyhound, for example, belongs to the elegant, and 310 EMPIRE OF NATURE. a multitude of other examples might be adduced. But if the reader will compare all the animals among quadrupeds, birds, and in- sects, which have been ranged under the same genus of beauty, he will find they exactly agree in the very same characteristics. Compare the examples from the fer.e, from the accipitres, and from the larger coleoptera. Though the lion, the eagle, and the stag-beetle, are animals wholly dissimilar in class, in habits, and in their rank in the scale of existence ; yet they all agree in square forms, strong, thick, well articulated limbs, and every thing which can assist forcible, vigorous exertion. And accordingly, each, though in a different scale, pro- duces the same genus of impression. Again, though there be no congeniality of habits between the an- telope, the demoiselle of Numidia, and the lesser dragon-fly ; yet they all agree in slimness of form, length of waved line, oval forms, and freedom from any harshness of contour ; and accordingly, they all unite in giving the same expression of elegance, though in a de- gree suited to the different places they occupy in the scale of ani- mated nature. The same holds good in the sprightly. Take the examples selected from the glires among beasts, the passeres among birds, and the les- ser coleoptera among insects. At first, there may seem to be no analogy between a squirrel, a goldfinch, and a lady-bird. Nevertheless, they all unite in light, agile form, in shortness of limb between the articulations, (which increases the appearance of points of motion above those of rest,) in lively, brisk movements, and the two latter in little vivid colors Hence, however dissimilar in class and habits, they all unite in hav- ing the same expression of vivacity and sprightliness. The same might be said of the porcine. Compare the walrus engraved in Cook's Voyages; the dodo, in Edwards's Birds ; and the bottled spider, or the larvae of a cock- chaffer ; it will be seen, that though the one be a quadruped, the second, a bird, and the third, an insect, yet that the same flaccid sub- EMPIRE OF NATURE. SI1 stance, the same globose forms, and the same waddling motion, im- part the same inert, loathsome, disgustful character to each. Nor let it be supposed that these are mere arbitrary assertions, se- lected with a view of establishing a particular system. Wherever the same lines,, forms, style of color, and substance occur, the same impressions will uniformly be produced, and that upon the mind of every individual, the most remote from having adopted any preconceived theory upon the subject. Ask a child, a servant, a peasant, which strikes him as most sub- lime and majestic ; a lion (which is composed of square forms), or a tyger (which is composed of oval ones). Both animals are equally powerful and mischievous, yet the answer will be uniform. Ask them which is most elegant, an Italian greyhound, or an over- fed sow. Or which is prettiest, the gold and silver fish, or the toad and jelly fish. It is quite superfluous to multiply examples. Every reader must be fully aware, that from hence to the antipodes, in point of place, or from the present aera to the flood, in point of time, every individual that has existed, must have given precisely the same reply. VEGETABLE KINGDOM. In the vegetable kingdom, the same rules apply to trees, shrubs, or flowers. In trees, the oak, the Spanish chesnut, the elm, the cedar of Le- banon, are distinguished by intense color, rugged foliage, rectangu- lar forms, gigantic limbs. We appeal to every person whether they are not sublime, rather than the larch, the willow, the ash, whose oval and deciduous forms and lighter foliage and variable tints, give them a place in the sentimental. Again,let any persons contrast the contemplative sublime of the broad spreading shade of the beech, the linden, the fig, the banyan, with the light glittering, elastic foliage of the birch, the mountain ash, the holly. 312 EMPIRE OF NATURE. Amongst shrubs, compare the rugged foliage, and angular con- torted stems of some venerable aged thorn, with the pensile fusia, the briony, the Virginian creeper, and white broom ; or with the bright and gay mezerion, the laurustrinus, or any other stiff and polished leaf plant. Among flowers, or lesser plants, compare the thistle, erect, angu- lar, and rough, with the oval forms of the asparagus plant, or the bright pheasant's eye. Lastly, let the plants under each head be compared with the ani- mals before mentioned, as belonging to the same genus of beauty, and it will plainly appear, that the same genus of line and of color, give the same genus of character to each. The foregoing examples have all been taken from natural objects, with the view to prove that this theory is founded in nature, and is not a mere matter of human convention, which it might be sup- posed to be, had all the examples been taken from works of art. And though the examples selected have been but few in number, since they were intended rather to lead the reader to make others, than to give all that occurred ; still it is hoped, that so far as they go, they will be found satisfactory. In order, however, fully to establish, or to point out the fallacy of this theory, another set of ex- amples should be added, taken from the human countenance and figure. For however the examples selected from other natural objects may elucidate what is meant, yet there is nothing whatever in the whole face of nature, which is capable of that degree of character and expression which irradiates the human countenance, or which animates the human figure. It is intended, at the end of this series of chapters, to add a short appendix, explaining how this system applies to that part of phy- siognomonic expression which belongs to these genera of beauty and deformity. It cannot be entered upon now, because it is in a measure interwoven with the subject of the ensuing chapters. We will now conclude this long chapter on the examination of the EMPIRE OF NATURE. 313 forms, the colors, and the genus of motion, by which, under the sense of vision, every different genus of beauty and deformity is ap- propriately expressed. A person possessed of extensive and accurate information, on sub- jects with which the writer is but superficially conversant, could readily have thrown upon the system a light, not only more bril- liant, but likewise far more clear; nevertheless, the remarks and examples which have been adduced, though desultory, will, we hope, prove that the theory is not destitute of foundation. Amidst the variety of illustrations, some of which are taken from architecture, landscape, trees, flowers, sculpture, dress, furniture, and the human figure, from works of art, and works of nature ; we trust it will appear, that the same genus of forms, the same genus of colors, and the same genus of motion, however they may be ap- plied, uniformly express precisely the same style of character and expression. Should the reader admit the characters ascribed to the several examples, must he not likewise allow the truth of the theory they will in that case uniformly support ? And will he not admit that The sublime, Genus I. is In Form - - - Rectilinear. Rectangular. Erect. Firm? In Color - - - Intense? In Motion - - - Irresistible? That the sublime genus is divided into two distinct species, of which The active sublime, Species 1st, is In Form - - - Perpendicular. Parallelopipedal ? In Color - - - Forcibly contrasted ? In Motion - - - Impetuous? That, on the other hand, The passive sublime, Species 2d, is In Form - - - Broad based. Cubic ? In Color - - - Continuous. Intense? In Motion - - - Undeviating ? 2 s 514 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER t. He will also probably allow, that The SENTIMENTAL, GenUS II. is In Form - - - Ovalinear and pensile. In Color - - '- Dilute, and shaded into each other. In Motion - - - Meandering and graceful. He will be convinced, likewise, that The sprightly, Genus III. is In Form - - - Multilinear. Acute-angular. In many petty parts. In Color - - - Sparkling. Bright. Chequered. Vivid. In Motion - - - Light. Agile. Versatile. We now take leave of the subject of vision, referring the reader to the charts and plates in recapitulation and farther illustration. We propose devoting the next chapter to an inquiry how the va- rious genera of beauty and deformity are appropriately expressed by perceptions of sound. Additional Notes to Chapter I. Part III. (a). GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. — OLD ST. PAUL'S. To illustrate this chapter, it will be necessary to make some observations on architecture. It is to be observed, that Gothic architecture proceeds, as to its main plan, on the very principles of the sublime. It unites simplicity of impression with that degree of real intricacy, which at once prevents distraction to the eye, and yet effectually precludes the power of taking in the whole design at once. On entering a Gothic cathe- dral, from the commencement of the nave to the termination at the altar, one magnificent avenue is presented to the view, noblv terminating in one object; and that including all that can most powerfully affect the external sen- ses, the imagination, and the heart. The eye is not confused by the cross- ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER f. 315 ing intersections of shafts with their friezes and architraves. But the lofty columns springing from the ground, and their insensibly diverging ramifica- tions terminating in the roof, produce one simple effect; and the very clustering of the rods composing each, tend not a little, when seen in per- spective, to prevent the eye from severing them into distinct objects. Nevertheless, as the spectator proceeds, the transepts, the side aisles, (and in those cathedrals which have escaped the architectural reformation,) the ladies' chapel, successively unfold themselves, and excite the curiosity. Every position at which the observer takes his stand, presents one grand and simple object, yet he cannot fix upon any one which includes a view of the whole plan. But whilst the simplicity of the design at once strikes and pleases, the rich workmanship, the profuse detail of adornment, afterwards succeed in arresting the attention ; and the variety of the under-parts effec- tually prevent satiety. Precisely the reverse takes place in Grecian architecture. Instead of the strength and simplicity of the Gothic column, whose arch only terminates the same lines which formed its shaft, the Grecian archi- tecture is severed into multiplied petty parts; its pedestal, base, shaft, capi- tal, architrave, frieze, and cornice, with all the numerous subdivisions of each, are so many sources of distraction to the eye, and want of unity of effect. Yet notwithstanding the feebleness, caused by this total want of simplicity in the members, there is a poverty, baldness, and comparative want of stimulus to the mind, in the design. Let us examine the most beautiful specimens of Grecian architecture. The temple of Diana at Ephesus, the Parthenon at Athens, nay the Pan- theon itself. They present nothing but one vast empty room ; well proportioned and neatly decorated indeed, but wholly destitute of the apparent simplicity and real intricacy, which imparts a venerable and mysterious grandeur to our Gothic edifices. Perhaps it might be justly said, that these two styles of architecture offer not unapt symbols of the two religions, which their noblest efforts have been employed to adorn. The Grecian archi- tecture, like the Pagan religion to which her temples were dedicated, ex- hibits at first view an assemblage of dissimilar petty parts, and catches the eye by its garish and ornamental members ; but the splendid threshold once passed, nothing appears but one blank and dreary void ; too little to fill the eye, or to occupy the mind, which recoils disgusted from its nar- 2 s 2 316 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. row compass, its unoccupied emptiness, and the contrast between its splen- did threshold and the poverty of its interior. Gothic architecture, on the other hand, like that most holy and divine faith to which its boldest efforts have been consecrated, (and which at once inspired and dignified its noblest productions,) is distinguished, at first view, by a vast and venerable simplicity. Every subordinate part, however ramified or adorned, grows out of its radical pillars, forming amidst all its minute detail and endless variety, one vast simple and connected whole. Nor is it till after a long and careful inspection, that we perceive the intricacy of appli- cation to which the few main radical parts are applicable; nor the multitude of parts, each more beautiful than the preceding, which suc- cessively unfold themselves to the view of him, who not content with gaz- ing at its exterior, really enters its recesses, whilst they remain wholly unseen, not only by the multitude without, but by him who has only entered the outside court. We cannot help lamenting the bad taste which has introduced the modern plan of removing the altar-screen, and exposing the interior of the ladies' chapel to view. We leave it to the antiquary to deplore this spoliation of so many venerable remains of English antiquity, and of so many monuments, leaving a permanent mark amidst the silent lapse of time, of the progression of human opinion, and of the variations and fluc- tuations it experiences in the revolutions of centuries; but we must re- mark upon this custom, so far as it does belong to our subject. In the first place then, upon the principles of good taste merely, antiquity, which includes ideas of power, fixity, and duration, contrasted with the fluctu- ations of human generations, is one grand source of the sublime. All mod- ernizing, abstractedly from every other consideration, is absolutely incon- sistent with the sublime. But independently of this consideration, the modern practice is in itself utterly subversive of every principle of good taste. The design of our ancient cathedrals was to present a noble vista, concentrating the whole attention of the eye and mind of the spectator in the high altar. Nor can the effect intended to be produced be per- haps fully or justly appreciated, unless we transport ourselves to a Catholic country, and contrast the mystic obscurity of the body of the building, with the splendid lights, the magnificently wrought vestments, the gor- geous plate and jewellery, in which the perspective terminated. A mo- dern writer describes the cathedral of Seville in the following interesting ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. lines : " I have frequently visited this church before, and every time with such increased admiration, that I am afraid to attempt a description of it, from a consciousness of the difficulty to do justice to my own impressions. From the climate it is necessary to exclude the heat, and of course the light; there are consequently but few windows, and those of painted glass, barely sufficient to give light enough, to distinguish at first entering the various objects. This produces a solemn effect on the high altar, which is brilliantly illuminated with wax tapers of an enormous size. The decorations of this altar are splendid and sumptuous beyond description; the quantity of gild- ing on the borders of the different compartments, filled with images and pictures, the massive silver and gold ornaments, and the rails of bronze taste- fully designed, compose a most impressive whole. The priests kneeling before the altar, and in silence offering up their devotions, the clouds of ascending incense, and the pious, all on their knees in the most striking atti- tudes, altogether form a scene that at once captivates the imagination, and suspends the reasoning faculties. It is a scene to be felt, but not described." Jacob's Travels in Spain, 4to. p. 84 and 85. But, when not only these cir- cumstances are themselves done away, but that the altar-screen itself is de- molished ; leaving the whole length of the building to terminate in the glare of the opposing window, the very magnificence of the long vista of columns becomes not only destroyed, but absolutely absurd and ridiculous, from the want of a point of termination to repose the eye. In the ages of Catholicity, the nave and choir of a cathedral, with its high altar, presented a noble and venerable avenue, terminating in a magni- ficent mansion ; but after our cathedrals have been the subjects of architec- tural reformation, they exhibit the absurd spectacle of a spacious and mag- nificent avenue, forming a superb vista conducting to, and terminating in nothing. The semblance and type of some of those insufferable, pompous, solemn coxcombs, in whom, like Mr. Delville, an imposing exterior, and a tedious length of avenue of reserve of manner and gravity, passed through, you discover only the inane vacuity of a shallow mind concealed behind. In truth, good taste is only good sense applied to objects of impression. Anti- climax possesses precisely the same inherent principle of absurdity, applied to one of the fine arts, as to another. To architecture, as to poetry and literature. In every work, we will not merely say of taste, but in every work under- taken by a rational creature, is it not apparent, that the importance of the 318 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. termination should bear an adequate proportion to the cost and labor lavished upon the approach to it ? We refer our readers to Salisbury and Wells cathedrals, for instances of this spoliation of Gothic churches. Since writing the above, having met with a passage in Dr. Milner's work, which exactly expresses our sentiments on this subject, and far better than our superficial knowledge would enable us to do, we beg leave to insert it. The reader will see how exactly it accords with the theory attempted to be laid down in this work. " It is well known, (says this prelate,) that heightb and length are among the primary sources of the sublime. It is equally agreed, that these are the proportions which our ancient architects chiefly affected in their religious structures. But besides the real effect of these proportions, which were generally carried as far as they were capable of, the mind was farther im- pressed by an artificial heighth and length, which were the natural produce of the style employed. For the aspiring form of the pointed arches, the lofty pediments, and the tapering pinnacles, with which our cathedrals are adorned, contribute perhaps still more to give an idea of heighth than their actual elevation. In like manner, the perspective of uniform columns, ribs and arches repeated at equal distances," (oftener than the eye can distinguish their number at a glance, and without changing its point of view,) " as they are seen in the aisles of those fabrics," (consequently) " produce an artificial infinite in the mind of the spectator," (the same effect from the same cause, is visible in an avenue of trees, or in a regiment of soldiers,) " when the very same extent of plain surface, would perhaps hardly affect it at all. For a si- milar reason, I think the effect of ancient cathedrals is greatly helped by the variety of their constituent parts and ornaments, though I suppose them all to be executed in one uniform style. The eye is quickly satiated by any object, however great and magnificent, which it can take in all at once " (as in that case, though great to the eye, it is little to the mind,) * as the mind is with what it can completely comprehend ;" (for then the mind is greater than the object, and not the object than the mind, but the latter is absolutely the sine qua non of the SUBLIME j) " but when the former, having; wandered through the intricate and interminable length of a pointed vault in an ancient cathedral, discovers two parallel aisles of equal length and rich- ness with it, thence proceeding discovers the transepts and the side chapels, the choir, the sanctuary, and the ladies' chapel, all equally interesting for ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 319 their design and execution, and all of them calculated for different purposes; the eye, I say, in these circumstances, is certainly much more entertained, and the mind more dilated and gratified, than can possibly be effected by any single view, even though our modern architects should succeed in their attempts to make one entire sweep of the contents of a cathedral, in order to shew it all at a single view, and to make one vast empty room of the whole." " This observation (Dr. Milner continues) does not apply to the modern practice of destroying the altar-screens of cathedrals, and taking the ladies' chapel into their grand perspective. For first, a vista being too long drawn, destroys its proper effect ;" (in truth, the principle, on which it hinges, is this, the object of a vista is to impart dignity to the object terminating it, and by delay to give the imagination leisure to kindle at its contemplation ; but if the vista be so long, as to diminish by distance the object in which it ter- minates, it then causes it to dwindle, instead of rising in importance, and destroys its own object;) « secondly, it is essential that the objects of sight, which are repeated for the above mentioned purpose, should be perfectly uniform in their appearance, otherwise the illusion is destroyed, and intel- lectual disorder and pain ensues, instead of pleasure. Now this inevitably happens in the case under consideration, where the eye, shooting down the vista, perceives the great columns and lofty arches of the nave, shrink all at once into the slender shafts, and low vaulting of the ladies' chapel" (which forms the very anticlimax spoken of). In order to apply this theory to Gothic architecture, it will be necessary to say a few words on the distinguishing characteristics of its principal or- ders. It would be irrelevant to the object of this work, to enter into any dis- cussion upon its origin. To inquire whether a style of architecture, which, from the subjects of its application in England, might be emphatically termed Christian, originated in the oriental Saracens, or their occidental descendants, the Moors ; whether a style, whose first efforts are peculiarly characterized by impressions of contemplative piety, mysterious and venerable sanctity, and awful seclusion, could have been the offspring of a nation, alternately devoted to the horrors of war, or to luxurious indolence and sloth. Nor does it belong to it, to attempt to prove that this style of archi- tecture was the natural and spontaneous product of Christianity; that when a new and divine faith descended from heaven, the same heavenly 320 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER t. flame which kindled devotion in the soul, and bid the invisible world start to light before the astonished view, not only gave to man a new heart, but like- wise inspired with a peculiar and distinct genius all the fine arts; and gave a new and exalted impulse to the imagination, that part of our nature, in which the affections and the intellect are mutually blended. A new style of beauty, the result of new affections, was imparted to the countenance; the spiritual beauty of divine love shot its heavenly radiance through the grovelling apathy of animal, or the cheerless greatness of mere intellectual expression. The saintly countenances exhibited by the pencils of Raffaelle and Guido, had no antitype in the models of Phidias and Praxiteles. And the same spirit whose new creation gave a new model to the Christian artist, which soared with eagle flight in the divine poetry of Milton, and which inspired the strains of Handel, (immortal like itself), also expanded in architecture. For out of the abundance of the heart, the imagination, as well as the tongue, finds ut- terance. As at the creating word of God a new material creation arose, so at his renovating spirit, a new spiritual creation appeared; and that di- vine faith which is the gift of God, gives dignity, and imparts its heavenly spirit, the stamp of its divine original, on all that it inspires; whether it be to the understanding, the fluctuations of which it fixes ; to the heart, the af- fections of which it renews; the imagination, the objects of which it exalts; or the tastes, the pleasures of which it purifies. We shall then only briefly mark, what may be considered as the leading characteristics of this style of architecture, endeavouring to consolidate in a succinct sketch, the principal remarks dispersed through various ingenious essays and treatises on the subject. GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE — DEFINITIONS. The architecture of the middle ages, which is vulgarly termed Gothic, flourished from about the tenth, to the termination of the sixteenth cen- tury. It may be defined to be that architecture, in which the colonnades are united by arches, in contradistinction to Grecian and Roman architecture, in which they are united by superincumbent architraves. As the various orders of Grecian and Roman architecture are emphatically characterized by their capitals, so the architecture of the middle ages is em- phatically distinguished into orders, by the varieties of its arch. This architecture may be divided into two classes, the GLOBOSE and the POINTED. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. .321 The GLOBOSE is distinguished by the circularity of its arch, and the lati- tude of its columns. The POINTED is characterized by the angularity of its arch, and the alti- tude of its columns. The first class flourished from the first introduction of ecclesiastical archi- tecture, to the time of Stephen, or Henry the Second, from its rise at that period, until the final declension of this style of architecture, about Henry the Eighth's time. We proceed to the principal characteristics. GLOBOSE ARCHITECTURE. Globose architecture may be divided into two orders, the Saxon and the Norman, The first flourished till the tenth century, when, at the conquest, it was succeeded by the Norman. They chiefly differed from each other in size : the only differences being such as might be expected from the rise of an art in a barbarous age, and its natural progression when improved on by more civilized nations. The Saxon churches were plain, and of a very moderate size, being often began and finished in less than six years. The works of the Normans, on the other hand, were large, sumptuous, and magnificent, of great length and breadth, and carried up to a proportionate height, with two, or sometimes three ranges of pillars, one over the other, connected together by various arches, all of them circular, forming thereby a lower and upper portico; and over them a gallery, and on the outside three tier of windows. The chief entrance was at the west end of the nave ; at the upper end of that was a cross, the arms of it extending north and south, and the head, in which was the choir, towards the east, ending usually in a semicircular form. Exactly in the centre of the cross was placed a tower to contain the bells, which no doubt at first suggested their necessity. Two more were added for the sake of symmetry, and their capacity of being rendered orna- mental, soon increased their altitude. The towers and turrets of churches, built by the Normans in the first century after their coming, were covered with platforms as battlements, or a plain parapet. The principal distinctions of NORMAN architecture are as follows :— soli- dity and massive strength, equally characterize both orders of globose archi- tecture. 2, T ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. NORMAN STYLE. Arches, both in roofs, windows, doors, and arcades, semicircular. COLUMNS, and consequently doors and windows, and arcades, low. Very massive, round, and thick ; almost like round, low piers. Shafts not unfrequently decorated with half columns joined on to them, or their surface diversified with spirals, squares, lozenge work of figures, engraved or in relievo, as in Canterbury cathedral, especially the under croft ; the monastery at Lindisfarne, Durham cathedral, and the ruined choir of Orford, in Suffolk. A regular base and capital always, often plain, but often also orna- mented with rude carving of foliage, animals, heads, or grotesque devices. Windows small, very narrow. Walls immensely thick, and without buttresses. Ornaments very few, but were chiefly placed on the capitals of columns, or the arches of the doors and windows, but more especially those of the principal doors. They consisted of mouldings and grotesque sculp- ture. Among the great varieties of mouldings, we may especially mention the chevron, or zigzag work, as in the nave of Peterborough ; embattled frette, as in the arch of Sandwich church ; nail-head, as in the arches at Ely ; billetted moulding, as in Binham priory ; hatched mouldings, often used as a string course; nebule of various sorts; square billet moulding, and gable mouldings. Besides these mouldings, however, a great many pieces of grotesque sculpture are often crowded in, which are both so fantastic and clumsy, as to appear rather like the result of an uncouth imagination, than of any particular design. Nay, some appear absolutely impious. On many of these arches appear representations of the Creator, of our Saviour, surrounded by angels, and below a melange of foliage, animals, ludicrous and often profane subjects. Partly of this sort is the great door of Barfreston church, in Kent; but the most elaborate specimen of this style is the entrance of Malmesbury abbey. The friezes, too, round these churches, were often ornamented with grotesque human heads, monsters, figures playing on musical instru- ments, and other whimsical devices, as may be seen in Barfreston and Adderbury churches. But the arcade-work of intersecting circular arches, used to ornament ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 323 the walls of churches in this period, is perhaps one of the most distin- guishing characteristics of this period. It must be particularly ob- served, because the intersections of this arcade-work probably elicited both the highly pointed arch which immediately succeeded, and also probably gave rise to the niches which the succeeding period adopted on the west facades of churches. The following specimens may be resorted to as illustrating NORMAN archi- tecture: The college gateway of Bristol, the church at Tewkesbury, great part of the cathedrals of Durham, Carlisle, Chester, Peterborough, Norwich, Rochester, Chichester, Oxford, Worcester, Hereford, the tower and transept of Winchester, nave of Gloucester, nave and transept of Ely, the two towers of Exeter, some remains in the middle of the west front of Lincoln, with the tower, parts of the two towers there ; in Canterbury, a great part of the choir called Conrad's choir, St. Anselm's, St. Gregory's tower, and the north-west tower of the same church ; the collegiate church of Southwell, and part of St. Bartholomew's in Smithfield, are all in the same style; as also the nave and transept of Old St. Paul's j also the royal chapel of the white tower, London, the chapel of St. Cross, and various others. POINTED STYLE. The POINTED style began about the time of Henry the Second. Like the GLOBOSE, it may be divided into two distinct orders, which have by various authors been distinguished by different names, but which, from the radical proportions of their arches, might perhaps be not unaptly termed the EQUI- LATERAL, and the OBTUSE arched. The first flourished from the decline of the Norman style, in Henry the Second's time, to its depression into the obtuse arch in Henry the Sixth's* The latter continued from that period till the end of Henry the Eighth's reign; soon after which, it became still farther depressed, till the arch became finally lost in a flat architrave, and the Graeco-Gothic of Elizabeth and James the First superseded it, and formed the grotesque link between the pure Gothic of the middle ages, and the pure classical Roman or Grecian style of Charles the Second and Queen Anne's time. Each of these two orders of pointed architecture may be again subdivided into two genera, in the EQUILATERAL order; the LIGHT EQUILATERAL predominated from the introduction of pointed architecture till about 2 t 2 324 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. Edward the First's time; the GRAVE EQUILATERAL succeeded it, and con- tinued to Henry the Sixth's. THE LIGHT EQUILATERAL is characterized by the following particulars. ARCHES. High, pointed, both in the roofs, windows, and arcades, and niches and doors. The vaulting of the roof being so high, gave a pecu- liar lightness to the springers supporting it, which were made of chalk for lightness, and were introduced rising in continuation from the various shafts of the columns and clustered pillars, and gradually diverg- ing, spread towards the middle of the vaulting, being enriched at their intersections with carved orbs, foliage, and other devices. COLUMNS. The high-pointed form of the arch necessarily drew after it a correspondent altitude and lightness in the columns. Wherever the pointed arch was introduced, the columns became proportionally tall and slender; and in order to give the appearance of slenderness, without diminishing the strength necessary to support the superincumbent weight, loose shafts of purbeck marble were introduced, surrounding the princi- pal central shaft, and adding to the support, whilst being a little detached from the main column, it gave a great appearance of lightness. During the whole of the reign of Henry the Third, the fashionable pillars of our churches were lofty, comparatively very slender, and encompassed with purbeck marble shafts, a little detached; each of these shafts had a regular and distinct capital, richly adorned with foliage, or grotesque heads or figures, which together formed an elegant capital to the whole column. Each of these shafts, it has already been observed, was con- tinued by its own springer to the vaulting, where it was met by the cor- responding ones of the opposing columns. Windows. The windows of this period were long, narrow, high, and lance-shaped, mostly decorated both within and without with slender marble shafts. The order and disposition of the windows, varied in some measure according to the stories of which the building consisted. In one of the three stories, the uppermost had commonly three windows within the compass of every arch, the centre one being higher than those on each side; the middle tier or story had two within the same space, and the lowest only one window, usually divided by a slender ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I, 325 pillar or mullion, which began to be ornamented on the top with a trefoil single rose, or some such simple decoration, to fill up the dead space between their two heads; and hence the trefoil or quarter-foil is one of the most ancient ornaments we meet with; as in the porch of Beaulieu refectory ; the ancient part of the ladies' chapel, Winton ; and the west door of the present church of St. Cross. Walls. The walls, too, being proportionally much higher than in the Norman style, it became necessary to support them with buttresses, which could not finish conformably to the general style, without taper- ing up into pinnacles. The same support was also requisite to the towers and tapering pinnacles at the four corners. These suggested the idea of a centre spire, which, in fact, is only a larger pinnacle; accordingly, soon after the introduction of this style, we find them commonly erected upon towers. Ornaments. The principal ornaments of this style were both few and sim- ple; they consisted chiefly in the carved capitals to the shafts of columns, and the orbs at the intersection of the vaulting, the trefoil or quarter-foil between the divisions of the windows, and the adoption of spires; and what above all characterized its improvement on the Norman, was the introduction of magnificent facades on the western fronts of churches, adorned with niches, and in several tiers containing rows of statues. It seems not improbable but this custom might have been a progressive improvement upon the Norman arcades, which adorned the same end of churches. The figure formed by their intersections would readily give the idea of niches; being hollowed still deeper, would give a finer effect of light and shade. An empty nich would soon suggest statues,, in order to fill them; nor could any thing seem more appropriate to the congregation about to enter into the immediate presence of their hea- venly King, than being, as it were, welcomed on the threshold of his courts by an innumerable host of saints, angels, and just men made perfect, whom these statues were, no doubt, intended to represent. The statues, again, soon furnished the hint of forming canopies over them, to protect them from the weather. These, again, were supported 'by slender pillars; and their slender pinnacles gave rise to crockets and finials. Thus one of the most magnificent ornaments of our cathe- drals was introduced. Early examples of these facades may be seen in Peterborough and Salisbury; and in later times we find them in a ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. more improved state, as at Lichfield and Wells 5 also Amiens, Senlis, Rheims. Salisbury cathedral is a perfect specimen of the light EQUILATERAL style. THE GRAVE EQUILATERAL. The progressive improvements which were continually taking place in ecclesiastical architecture, about Edward the First's time, became sufficiently obvious to have created a change of style. COLUMNS. Experience now began to prove, that though the slender detached shafts of purbeck marble were graceful to the eye, they were yet attended with an inconvenience not probably apprehended at first; for the shafts, consisting of long pieces, cut out horizontally from the quarry, when placed in a perpendicular direction, began to break and split. Hence a new alteration was adopted. The various shafts became consolidated into one massive clustered column, uniting much of the lightness of appearance of the former style, with much of the real soli- dity of the old Norman. The increase in the number of clusters again augmented those of their respective springers. This again occasioned more complicated and numerous intersections on the vaulting of the roof, which appearing ornamental, they soon began to ramify in a variety of tracery. WINDOWS. Painted glass, too, which was introduced as an ornament, was found to darken the narrow lance-shaped windows too much. Besides, as men became more expert in the art, they did not afford scope for their genius, but precluding historic designs, confined them nearly to single figures. Hence the windows became very considerably enlarged; and indeed, the arch of the whole of this period became insensibly widened, to accommodate itself to the windows; as, however, it would have spoilt the proportion of the architecture, to give the windows too much undivided breadth, they were separated into several distinct lights by stone mullions. This complication in the division of windows, occasioned a still farther one in the ornaments of their heads. The original trefoil became easily converted into a cinquefoil; these, again, by being used in circles or squares became converted into fans and Catherine wheels, and the windows of churches now began to prove one of their most magnificent ornaments. The vivid tints of painted ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER 1. 321 glass began to display the most complicated historic subjects; and the stone-work, branching out in the head in rich tracery work, produced the most beautiful and magnificent effects; as in Amiens and Senlis cathe- drals. Ornaments. The principal distinction in this respect from the LIGHT EQUILATERAL, consists in the increasing delicacy and richness of orna- ment. Those of the vaulting, the windows, and the painted glass, we have already spoken of on the outside of buildings; a proportionate improvement likewise took place, the pinnacles terminating the but- tresses, the canopies, and the spire, became more adorned; and orna- mented with highly wrought leaves or crockets, and terminated in a carved finial or trefoil. OBTUSE ARCHITECTURE may, like the EQUILATERAL, perhaps, be divided into two genera, the ex- tremes of which are plainly perceptible, though their gradations and intermediate shades are much blended. These two genera might be termed the plain obtuse, which began about Henry the Sixth's time, and flourished till the end of Henry the Eighth's ; the second, which is only the more ornamented style, occasionally used during the same period, did not spring up till Edward the Fourth's time, and was then used occasion- ally for more superb and costly buildings, till the decline of Gothic archi- tecture in Henry the Eighth's time. This sort we may term the GORGEOUS OBTUSE. Both these genera of architecture agree in the following particulars, by which they are distinguished from the equilateral style; their columns are distinguished by clustering ribs of an amazing number and altitude, so that the capital, instead of striking the eye, becomes almost imperceptible, and the ribs seem uninterruptedly to continue over the vaulting. The additional ribs occasioning a rich display of tracery work, in a very great variety of patterns ; the arch was lowered or made more obtuse, that the vaulting, being more flat, might better display in full perfection the pattern of the tracery work adorning it, and shew it distinctly. We will now consider the chief characteristics of each of these genera separately. PLAIN OBTUSE. This style of architecture is, perhaps, the one of all others which com- 328 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. bines, in the highest degree, strength with lightness, elegance, and sim- plicity. Arch. The character of the arch we have already spoken of : it is al- most needless to observe, that those of the windows and door-ways follow of course those of the colonnades. Windows. The windows, following the proportions of the colonnades, became more open, less pointed, and greatly increased in altitude ; they became divided into a very great number of lights by stone mullions; and also following the increased height of the columns, they were no longer placed in stories one above the other, but were in one height, strengthened by being divided across by strong stone transoms, and the similitude of the mullions being followed in stone-work in the space under the window, gave the effect of being continued to the floor. So that the churches, instead of the awful gloom and severe seclusion of the former period, rather presented the appearance of a beautiful light lace-work canopy, supported on light columns, and exhibited, instead of the inclosure of walls, light screens of painted glass. The variety of tracery in the heads of windows formed the most complicated fillagree patterns. Vaulting. The same, too, took place in the vaulting. It had formerly been large, and even when most adorned, always bore the appearance of being chiefly designed for support and strength ; but now beauty became manifestly the object. The ribs of the vaulting became divided into an infinity of parts, issuing from the imposts as from a centre, and spreading themselves over the vaulting, where they were intermixed with such delicate sculpture, as gave the whole vault the appearance of a web of rich embroidery, in the most beautiful patterns, thrown over it. ORNAMENTS. The principle of additional elegance and delicacy of adorn- ment was also adopted in all the minor parts. The canopies, taber- nacles, and statues, were more highly finished : beautiful polygonic turrets, of a great height and slenderness, were often added at the corners of the towers of churches or gateways, as in Bath Abbey, Ox- burgh-hall, &c. : screens were very richly adorned with open work ; and tomb architecture, of great delicacy and adornment, became pre- valent. Ornamental flying buttresses were also adopted. In a word, this style was remarkable for a rare union of strength and lightness. X ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 3i>9 King's College chapel, Cambridge, and Redcliffe church, Bristol, are perfect specimens of this style. The Gorgeous Obtuse Is, in fact, only a more richly adorned species of the obtuse; it rose in Edward the Fourth's time, and was frequently used in the more sumptuous edifices, till the total decline of Gothic architecture with Henry the Eighth. The most profuse adornment was now spread over every part of the build- ing. The delicate web of the roof exhibited fans, roses, and every intricate pattern possible to be conceived. Their points of intersection, which had been before lowered to bring the whole into view, were now inverted, and formed deep pendants, hanging down almost like natural productions in the roofs of caves and grottoes ; and these pendants, thus brought within the spectator's view, were covered with a profusion of adornment. It is the characteristic of this style to distract the eye from the principal parts. Henry the Seventh's chapel, at Westminster abbey; Edward the Fourth's, at "Windsor; and several specimens of tomb architecture of the same period, afford the richest examples of this style. The foregoing sketch is altogether formed upon the information dispersed through various popular treatises on Gothic architecture. Though cursory, it is, however, very sufficient for our present purpose. If we compare the effects of the various species of GOTHIC, with the various species of Grecian and Roman architecture, we might, perhaps, justly liken the Norman to the TUSCAN, the light EQUILATERAL to the more adorned specimens of IONIC, the GRAVE EQUILATERAL to the Doric, the plain obtuse to the slender Corinthian, and the gorgeous to the garish COMPOSITE. In fact, in every nation so far civilized that art readily obeys the dic- tates of the mind, it will be possible to trace a correspondence of impres- sion in every form under which the same fine art may have flourished in that nation ; and every species of beautiful expression will have an ap- propriate mode of being made visible in every country. It is true, indeed, that the outward forms, or circumstantials, by which that expression is con- veyed, may differ widely at different periods; but the expressions themselves 2 U 330 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. will always find an appropriate utterance, because they lie deeper than cir- cumstances, and are the natural and universal growth of the radical facul- ties of the human mind. Hence, under every circumstance, they will make to themselves an appropriate expression. The admiration of what is grand, awful, and solemn; the love of what is soft, elegant, and graceful ; the exhilarating refreshment of what is new, brilliant, pretty, and surprising, are indigenous to human nature; and hence these three classes of expression must find an appropriate utterance through the means of every one of the fine arts, in every civilized age. We will simply observe farther, that the great beauty of the architecture of the middle ages, from the ponderous Saxon to the most gorgeous obtuse, consists in the simplicity of the radical parts and fundamental lines; and even in its highest state of adornment, we may apply to it that observation which Denon makes on the temples of Egypt — that, however ornamented they might be, those ornaments never intersected the simplicity of the radical parts ; so that, however richly they appeared worked when close at hand, at a little distance all the adornment disappeared, and the perfect simplicity of the essential parts alone struck the eye. Nay, it is observable, that the more highly this architecture was adorned, the more studiously this perfect simplicity was maintained. In the primitive Norman, we have the massive column intersected by a regular base and capital. In the style immediately succeeding, the capital to its clustered column does not so forcibly strike the eye, and the number of springers continue the line of the columns in a more marked manner, till in the last stages of plain and gorgeous obtuse, the capital dwindles till it is wholly lost as to its effect on the eye, and the majestic but light column shoots its clustered stem, from its rise in the ground, to where its interlaced tracery weaves itself into a light embroidered and canopied vault above. "With respect to the characteristic beauties of each period, we must observe, that as the very erection of edifices, which are to last for centuries, pre-supposes the existence of strength ; so straight lines, angular forms, and the character of sublimity, pierces through all, and is mingled with every other character by which it is modified, and is uniformly recognizable throughout, independently of real associations with antiquity. The expressions which, in addition to this, characterize each peculiar period of this architecture, are perhaps as follows : ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER L $31 The breadth of base, circularity of form, yet squareness of foundation of the Norman, belong to a mixture of the INERT and the PASSIVE SUBLIME. The LIGHT ACUTE, such as Salisbury cathedral, is, as to the altitude and lightness of its parts, and slenderness of its clustered columns, eminently calculated for the foundation of the sprightly ; and could a style be invented, in which these radical lines should have all the profusion of delicate orna- ment of Edward the Fourth's time, it would be far more light and BRILLIANT than any yet used, but it would not be at all calculated for ecclesiastical purposes. As it now is, the gentle curves of its radical lines, its lightness and symmetry of parts, without any extraneous glitter, render it peculiarly graceful, and give it a high place in the genus of beauty we have termed ELEGANT or SENTIMENTAL. The species immediately succeeding this, in which the slender shafts were consolidated into one massive cluster, and where the windows, not too much enlarged, caused sufficient gloom, without much ornament, excepting the awful mementoes of the dead, to entertain the eye, and where both windows and roof were ramified uncouthly with massive stone-work, may perhaps be termed the most purely sublime, as having all the grandeur without the clumsiness and uncouthness of the Norman. Its associations, too, are more striking. The Saxon and Norman archi- tecture reminds us of a barbarous race passed away, with whom we have no sympathy ; the grave equilateral puts us in mind of an age brave, hardy, and warlike, but noble — the race of the Edwards, the black prince j and it touches our heart and our patriotism. The next species, the plain obtuse, is, perhaps, that style of architecture which, in the most eminent degree possible, unites every species of beauty. The sublime, by the strength and angularity of its radical parts. The ELEGANT, by the uninterrupted sweep of its clustered shafts, and the gradual, and almost insensibly, diverging ribs, which connect them with their richly ramified vault ; and the SPRIGHTLY, by the exceeding lightness and delicacy, and intricacy of its decorations. This style may therefore be considered as one of the most grand and complete productions ever in- vented by human genius, and polished by human taste ; as a complete pattern of beauty, including every one, and exhibiting each one in due subordination. In the last species, the profusion of ornament bears too great a propor- tion to the radical lines. The eye is immediately arrested by the details, 2 D 2 33% ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. instead of being only relieved by them, as a secondary object. The gorgeous obtuse belongs, then, most decidedly, to the SPRIGHTLY. We hope our reader will excuse us for dwelling so long on a species of architecture, which is at once the glory of architectural genius, by its variety and harmony of expression • of Christianity, to which its efforts have been consecrated, and which first inspired its genius; and of Britain, where many of its noblest monuments are found. A few examples under each head of beauty are added ; in order to facili- tate a reference to them, they are mostly taken from that elegant and popular work, Britton's Architectural Antiquities. Many of them at least under each head will be found there. Amongst instances of the pure SUBLIME and venerable, we may mention Norwich castle; Berkeley castle, Gloucestershire, the seat of Colonel Berkeley; abbey gateway of St. Edmund's Bury, Suffolk; Wells cathedral; York Minster; gateway and towers of Oxburgh-hall, Sir Richard Beding- feld's, Bart. Norfolk ; Eton college, Bucks ; East Basham-house, Norfolk ; Hengrave-hall, near Bury, Suffolk ; tower and gateway of Layer Marney- house, Essex. In those instances in which the strength of the SUBLIME is more or less tinctured by the inertness of the PORCINE, we select the interior of St. John's church, Devizes, Wilts ; interior of St. Peter's, Northampton ; Longford castle, Lord Radnor's, Wiltshire; Waltham abbey church, Es- sex; doorway of Lullington church, Somersetshire; interior of Heding- ham castle, Essex; college gateway, Bristol; western doorway to the round church, Cambridge; Dunstable priory church, Bedfordshire; St. Botolph's priory, Colchester, Essex; St. Sepulchre's church, Cambridge; western doorway of Malmesbury abbey ; doorway of Barfreston church, Kent; inner doorway of Malmesbury abbey; York castle; Clifford's tower, York ; cloister to St. Peter's, York ; crypt to the cathedral, York ; porch of St. Margaret's church, York ; entrance to St. Diom's church, York; vaults to St. Mary's abbey, York; Tewkesbury church, Gloucester- shire. Amongst instances in which the SUBLIME is combined with the graceful and ELEGANT, we refer to the interiors of Tintern, Netley, Furness, and Fountain's abbey, with the later parts of Glastonbury, Backwell church, Somersetshire, and many other churches in the same county; likewise Warwick castle, and the interior of Redcliffe church, Bristol, and the Beau- champ chapel, Warwick. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER 1. 333 We give as instances in which the SUBLIME is, perhaps, exceeded by a mixture of the elegant and SPRIGHTLY, Salisbury cathedral ; King's college chapel, Cambridge; Henry the Seventh's chapel, Westminster; St. George's chapel, Windsor; also the beautiful crosses at Sir Richard Colt Hoare, Bart.'s, Stourhead, Wiltshire; at Winchester; at Geddenglan, Northampton- shire; and that which was at Coventry. These examples, we trust, are sufficiently numerous fully to explain our meaning. We subjoin, for those who would like to see it, a brief sketch of the history of Old St. Paul's, which was the most spacious cathedral ever erected in England. It is extracted from Dugdale's History of St. Paul's, and Wren's Parentalia, and both these works being scarce and expensive^ and uninteresting to general readers, and the information being much dis- persed in them, we thought it might be agreeable to all our readers to know something of this celebrated edifice. Old St. Paul's. " The Britains went to sea in vessels covered with hides, for they wanted pitch ; they traded chiefly with the Gauls, and the principal emporium, to which the Gallic ships resorted, was London, taking its name (according to some derivation) from the old British term of ship-hill, or otherwise a har- bour of ships. " Here the Romans established a colony in the reign of Claudius, which greatly increased under Nero, by the resort of merchants for the conve- nience of commerce, Christians and heathens. " The extent of the Roman prsefecture, particularly northward, was dis- covered by Sir Christopher Wren in the following manner. The church of St. Mary le Bow, in Cheapside, was to be rebuilt after the great fire; the building had been mean and low, with one corner taken out for a tower; but on restoring that, the new church could be rendered square. On opening the ground, a foundation was discovered, firm enough for the intended struc- ture; and on digging deeper, and removing the earth and rubbish, the walls, with the windows and pavement of a Roman dhurch or temple, were discovered buried under the level of the street. This determined him to erect his new church over the old ; and to complete the regularity of the new design, he restored the corner, by purchasing the ground of one pri- 334 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. vate house not yet rebuilt, to bring the steeple forward in a line with the present street. Here he sunk about eighteen feet through made ground, when, instead of having come to the natural soil, he discovered a Roman causeway of rough stone, with Roman brick and rubbish for a foundation, firmly cemented, and corresponding in thickness with Montfaucon's mea- surement of the Via Appia. He was of opinion this highway was the northern boundary of the colony, and the Thames the southern ; the extent from east to west, from Tower-hill to Ludgate; and the principal street, or praetorian way, Watling-street. " On the north, beyond the causeway, was a great fen or morass, more particularly ascertained by Sir C. Wren, when seeking a foundation for the •east front of the church of St. Lawrence, near Guildhall, where, after sinking seven feet, he was obliged to build on piles. " About the year 1414 this marsh was drained, under the direction and at the expense of Francerius, a lord mayor, and still retains the name of Moor-fields, and the gate, Moor-gate. London Stone was supposed to be a pillar from whence distances were measured, in the manner of the Millia- rium Aureum at Rome; but Sir C. W., from its large foundation, thought it some more considerable monument in the forum, having discovered, on digging near the south side, after the great fire, tesselated pavements, and other extensive remains of Roman buildings. "On the other side was situated the praetorian camp, which was also walled in to Ludgate, on the ballum of which was dug up near the gate, after the great fire, a stone, with an inscription, and the figure of a Roman soldier, presented by Sir C. W. to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and depo- sited by him, with the Arundelian marbles, at Oxford. It is a sepulchral monument, dedicated to the memory of Vivius Marcianus, a soldier of the second legion, styled Augusta by his wife Jamaria Matrina. " The soldiers used to be buried in ballo, as the citizens extra postas in Pomasrio, probably the camp extended to Ludgate, to the declivity of the hill on that side. Sir C. W. gave little credit to the story of a temple of Diana having formerly stood near this spot, meeting with no indications of the remains of animals, such as of stags, ox skulls, boars' tusks, &c. on which assertion the report has been founded ; but that on the north side of St. Paul's had been anciently a great burying place was manifest. On digging the foundations for the present fabric of St. Paul's, under the graves of the latter ages, were found in a row below them the burying places of the ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 335 Saxons, lined, as their custom was, with chalk stones, though some more eminent were entombed in coffins of whole stones. Below these were British graves, wherein were discovered, in great quantity, pins of ivory, and of a hard wood resembling box, of about six inches in length ; their use had been to pin the woollen shrouds round the bodies, in which it was their practice to bury the dead. In the same row, but deeper, were Roman urns intermixed ; this was at the depth of eighteen feet and lower. " The most remarkable Roman urns, lamps, lachrymatories, fragments of sacrificing vessels, &c. were found deep in the ground towards the north- east corner of St. Paul's church, near Cheapside ; they were generally well wrought, and embossed with various figures and devices, of the colour of the modern red Portugal ware ; some brighter, like coral, and equally hard and well glazed with earthen ware. Among those which happened to be pre- served, were a fragment of a vessel, in the shape of a bason, whereon Charon is represented, with his oar in his hand, receiving a naked ghost; a patera sacrificialis, a remarkable small urn, of fine hard earth, the colour of lead, containing about half a pint; many pieces of urns, with the names of the potters embossed on the bottoms ; a sepulchral earthen lamp, figured with two branches of palms, supposed Christian, and two lachrymatories of glass. " The most curious antique among those discovered by Sir C. W. in other parts of the town, after the great fire, was a large Roman urn or ossuary of glass, with a handle, containing a gallon and half, but with a very short neck and wide mouth of whiter metal, encompassed girthways with five parallel circles, found in Spitalfields, deposited in the museum of the Royal Society. " There is no doubt of the Christian faith having been early received in Britain. Every Christian church derived its origin from the Apostles, and a succession of bishops from them ; there were British bishops at the Coun- cil of Nice in 325. Restitutus, bishop of London, with two others, assisted at the Council of Aries ; some British prelates were likewise at the Council of Arenunum in 359. f* The first cathedral of the see of London was built in the area the Roman prastorian camp formerly occupied ; it was demolished under the persecution of Dioclesian ; all the succeeding buildings have been erected on the same spot. It was rebuilt under Constantine, and destroyed by the Pagan Saxons ; it was again restored upon the old foundations, when they 336 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. embraced Christianity, by Melitus, bishop of London, under Ethelbert, king of Kent, the first Christian Saxon king. " This church, with the whole city of London, was destroyed by a casual fire in the year 1083; a spacious castle in the neighbourhood, called the Palatine Tower, which stood at the entrance of the Fleet river, had been demolished by the same fire. Mauritius, then bishop of London, obtained the stone of this building from William the Conqueror, and began to rebuild the cathedral upon the old foundations. This edifice, known by the name of Old St. Paul's, after a variety of additions and reparations, continued to the general conflagration in 1666. " This fabric was in the shape of a cross, with a semicircular chancel, after the usual mode of primitive churches; a choir of considerable length was afterwards added, in the pointed Gothic style. In order to give it addi- tional beauty, a steeple was erected, which was finished in 1221, the fifth of Henry the Third; the choir was perfected in 1240. Underneath the latter was a noble vault, supported by three ranks of massive Saxon pillars ; it was afterwards made a parish church, and dedicated to St. Faith. " In 1631, Inigo Jones repaired the choir, new-cased the tower within and without, and added a magnificent portico, in the Corinthian order. The vaulting wanted so much repair, that in order to be well centered, it was upheld with standards of some hundreds of tall masts. In this state the church continued till the time of the civil wars; but, in 1643, all the mate- rials assigned for the repairs were seized, the scaffolds pulled down, and the body of the church converted to a horse quarter for soldiers ; the beautiful pillars of Inigo Jones's portico were shamefully hewed and defaced for sup- port of the timber- work of shops for seamstresses and other trades; for which sordid uses that stately colonnade was wholly taken up and defiled. Upon taking away the inner scaffolds which supported the arched vaults, in order to their late intended repair, the whole roof of the south cross tumbled down, and the rest in several places of the church did often fall ; so that the structure continued a woeful spectacle of ruin till the happy Restoration. « Upon an accurate survey of the whole structure, it was astonishing to find how negligent the first builders had been ; they appeared to have been Normans, and to have used the Norman foot ; but their measurement was incorrect, and their levels were not true; some intercolumns were an inch and half too large, others as much too little. They made great pillars with- out any graceful manner, and thick walls without judgment. They had ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 337 not as yet fallen into the Gothic pointed arch, as was followed in the quire of a later date, but kept to the circular arch ; so much they retained of the Roman manner, but nothing else. Ctrnices they could not have, for want of larger stones; in short it was a vast, but heavy building. Adjoining to the south cross was a chapter-house, of a more elegant Gothic manner, with a cloister of two stories high. " The lofty spire which anciently rose from the great middle stone tower, was observed not to have been originally intended of stone; for there were no diagonal arches to reduce it into an octagon; it was therefore finished of timber, covered with lead. This was twice set on fire by lightning, and the last time, in 1561, totally consumed. " According to Stow, the height of the stone tower and spire were 260 feet each ; which agrees with Dugdale, who makes the whole to be 520. Camden makes it 534 feet. All the stone tower was standing when the survey was taken before the great fire ; and, agreeable to other accounts, its height was found to be 260 feet; the basis of the spire was found to be 40 feet ; therefore, according to the usual proportion of spires in Gothic edifices, which was four diameters, or five at the utmost, it could rise no higher than 200 feet, and make the whole altitude 460 to the ball of copper gilt and cross ; upon which, after the first fire by lightning, was added a weather-cock, representing an eagle, also of copper gilt. " The proportions of these ornaments are thus recorded : The ball was in circumference 9 feet 1 inch ; the height of the cross from the ball, 15 feet 6 inches, and its traverse 5 feet 10 inches ; the eagle, from the bill to the tail, 4 feet, the breadth over the wings 3 feet 6 inches. " The dilapidated state of the old cathedral of St. Paul, at the restoration of King Charles the Second, is very generally known, and that its repara- tion had been ordered and undertaken, when it was destroyed in the confla- gration of 1666. All attempts to restore the ruins after the fire being aban- doned, the plan of the present structure was adopted and proceeded upon in the year 1675. " The pulling down the walls, being about eighty feet high and five feet thick, was a great and troublesome work, in which some lives were lost, the heaps of stone and rubbish grew steep and large, which made it difficult to lay out the foundation of the intended building, when the architect adopted the expedient of raising a scaffold above the heaps of stone, in which he drew his lines, and then, by perpendiculars, marked the ground below. Thus he 2 X 338 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. proceeded, till he came to the remains of the tower which had borne the steeple; this being two hundred feet high, the workmen were afraid to work above, he therefore determined to use gunpowder. A hole was dug, about four feet wide, by the side of the north-west pillar of the tower to its foun- dation (the four pillars were each 14 feet in diameter) ; he then wrought a hole, two feet square, into the centre of the pillar, in which he placed a deal box, containing eighteen pounds of gunpowder, in which was a cane, con- taining a quick match ; the mine was then carefully closed with stone and mortar, and filled up to the surface of the ground. The force of this small quantity of powder not only lifted the whole angle of the tower, with two great arches that rested upon it, but also two adjoining arches of the aisles and all above them, which it seemed to do somewhat leisurely, cracking the walls to the top, visibly lifting the whole weight about nine inches, then suddenly falling down, made a great heap of ruin in the place, without scat- tering. It was half a minute before the heap already fallen opened in two or three places, and emitted some smoke. Thus the force of eighteen pounds of gunpowder lifted above 3,000 tons, and saved the labour of 1,000 men. The fall of this great weight, from the height of 200 feet, gave a concussion to the ground which the neighbouring inhabitants took for an earthquake. " The inhabitants having been alarmed by the effects of the gunpowder, an engine was resorted to for pulling down the remaining walls, like the ancient battering ram. This was at most about forty feet long, armed with a strong iron spike, and strengthened with bars and hoops of iron, and sus- pended on a level ; fifteen men on each side, with ropes and pullies, beat on one place in the wall a whole day, without discerning any immediate effect; but on the second day the wall was perceived to tremble, and in a few hours fell." Vide Wren's Parentalia, and Dugdale's St. Paul's. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO THE CHAPTER ON VISION, Which the Author sent too late to be inserted at the foot of the respective pages. Page 274, line 10. MEXICAN CENTURY. It must here be understood, that what the Mexicans term a century, is in fact only a cycle, including fifty-two of our years. See Clavigero, ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 339 Page 279, line 17. EXAMPLES OF LANDSCAPE AND SCENERY. Perhaps our readers may prefer real to fictitious examples. If so, we refer them for many instances of the sublime, to the cities of Leyden, Lou- vain, Antwerp, Utrecht, and Mons. To the ruins of the cathedral at Cambray, and Fenelon's adjoining palace ; and above all, we cannot se- lect a better example of the CONTEMPLATIVE SUBLIME, than the whole distribution of the hall, in which the coffin, containing the remains of Fene- lon, is placed. A noble instance of the sublime, may be seen in the ap- proach through Windsor forest to the castle. The SPRIGHTLY again, strongly characterizes the Hague, Zeist, the road from the Hague to Haarlem, and from Amsterdam to Utrecht; and most particularly the first view of Arn- heim, Zutphen, and Nimeguen-See, for a combination of SPRIGHTLINESS with elegance ; and the SENTIMENTAL, the beautiful groves of the Hague and Haarlem, and the road from the Hague to Scheveninge. For the MAGNIFICENT united with the SPRIGHTLY, we may refer to the place Royale at Brussels ; the Thuilleries, Louvre, Pantheon, and in ge- neral all the finest parts of Paris; but above all, to the noble, but gay pros- pect of the city of Rotterdam, with its avenues, towers, and gay company, seen rising across the wide expanse of the river Maase. Page 282, line 22. DRESS. If the form of the North Holland dress were less lumpish, its vivid, petty decorations and neatness, would give it a decided place in the pretty or SPRIGHTLY. The exact accordance between this dress and the gay, neat towns of Hol- land, is not more striking than that between the religious gloom of the ancient and venerable city of Antwerp, and the long black silk failles of the devout and contemplative inhabitants of the latter. A more complete exemplification of the characteristics of the sprightly and contemplative SUBLIME, can scarcely be exhibited, than the contrast between Rotterdam and Antwerp. Between the gaily painted houses, trees, canals, boats, flowers, and lively colored short dress of Holland, with the musical chimes and the dark ramparts, fosses, gateways, dark and narrow streets, churches, convents, and religious processions, nun-like dress and demeanor, of the Flemish cities. 3x2 340 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. Page 283, line 9. HEAVY DRAPERY. The ecclesiastical sculpture of the middle ages, affords many most mag~ nificent examples of the PASSIVE SUBLIME, both as it respects drapery, countenance, and attitude. I shall never forget the awe which impressed my mind, on first entering the church of the Dominicans at Antwerp, and its Calvary, where all the prophets and apostles appeared assembled in atti- tudes of the most profound meditation, the most fervent adoration, or the most humble prayer. I must refer the reader to the magnificent statues and confessionals which adorn this church, as well as those of the Jesuits and St. James's in the same city. Likewise those in the churches of St. Gudule, Chapelle, and Sabloniere, at Brussels; also to the cathedrals of Mechlin, Louvain, Mons, Amiens, Rheims, Senlis, and St. Denis. Page 284, line 15. See the three Egyptian statues in the Louvre: one of which represents an Egyptian priest; another, Antinous in the character of one; both standing; and Memnon, in alabaster, sitting. Contrast their heavy, lumpish forms, with the true dignity of the thick draperied Indian Bacchus. Page 287, line 28. FALSE COMPOSITION OF STYLES. Many painters too, (not excepting some of the first Italian artists,) have greatly lowered the dignity of sacred subjects, by an heterogeneous mixture of the sentimental with the passive sublime. Every artist should first have a definite idea of his character, then of the characteristic and accurate expres- sion of it. Among other examples of the want of this, might be adduced a celebrated Magdalen by Guido Reni, in the museum of the palace of Am- sterdam. Madame Guyon's hymns (excellent as the authoress was), exhibit in their native dress, precisely the same defect in poetry, which is analogous to the one I allude to in painting. Page 288, continuation of the note at the bottom of the page. SPANISH DRESS CONTRASTED WITH CHARLES THE SECOND'S DRESS. Perhaps nothing can better illustrate the dignity of the Spanish, and the vulgarity of the immediately succeeding costume, than the succession of portraits preserved in the town-halls in Holland. In the succession of their ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 341 burgo-masters in the Hague, Leyden, Amsterdam, Haarlem r Delft, and Utrecht, you see the very same nation, and consequently pretty nearly the same national countenance exhibited ; first, in the Spanish costume of the Duke of Alva's time, and then in their modern costume, which is pretty nearly the same with ours, from Charles II. to George I. It is perfectly astonishing to observe the total difference this single circumstance creates, and the instant degradation from a dignified, to a perfectly ignoble and vulgar expression. Page 292, line 5. EXAMPLES OF LIGHT BORDERINGS TO ROOMS, WITH BRILLIANT GROUNDS. In order to form a judgment of the good effect of brilliant grounds for the walls of rooms, relieved by light borders, and of the harsh disagreeable one of light walls with dark borders, we will refer those of our readers who have lately been abroad, to the palaces of St. Cloud near Paris, and of Laken near Brussels; which he may contrast with -the style in which the best Bath houses are usually furnished : or of the palace of Loo in Holland, which for- merly belonged to William the Third of England. In the palaces of St. Cloud and Laken, many of the rooms are hung with bright crimson, purple, or other rich and brilliant colored velvets, with a broad, but lightly worked gold bordering, giving a surprising brilliancy of effect. At many modern Bath houses, and at the palace of Loo, on the other hand, where the ground is cold, light, and often surrounded by a wiry edge of dark bordering, the same dulness of effect is produced. And the light and beautifully flowered silks, with which the walls of this palace are decorated, serve only to exhibit the perfection of the manufacture ; but ut- terly destroy vividness of relief, as it respects the figures in the room. Page 294, line 12. TESSELATED PAVEMENTS. Two of the most beautiful specimens of modern tesselated pavements I ever saw, are, the noble saloon suite of apartments in Mr. Hope's late house in the grove of Haarlem ; the other is the pavement under the dome of the church of the Hotel des Invalides at Paris. We request our reader parti- cularly to observe the dome of this church. On comparing it with that of St. Paul's, he cannot fail to observe the taste and judgment with which the 342 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER h French artists have applied the gilding, so as wholly to take off the effect of ponderous clumsiness, so striking in the unrelieved rotundity of the dome of St. Paul's. Page 296, line 29- EXAMPLES OF FURNITURE AND ROOMS. The grand saloon in the palace at Amsterdam, is justly esteemed at once the most magmficent and gaily decorated room in Europe. It will be found to unite the precise requisites described in this work, as the appendages of the magnificent and sprightly. ° Page 301, line 29. LIGHT, AND ITS POSITION. The reader is referred to the noble altar-piece of St. Sulpice at Paris where the statue of the Virgin is strongly illuminated, by a concealed lUj from above. See also the striking mausoleum of the princes of La Tour laxis, at Brussels. Note (b), page 273. It is well known that the Emperor of Mexico had gradually made himself supreme Lord of almost all the states of Anahuac, and that these various tributary states, once a jear, besides their regular tribute, sent some vre sents in token of allegiance. We subjoin a word on some of the allusions. The Tlascalans were a wild republican state, always rebelling against the usurpations of Mexico The Tollecas were peculiarly ingenious in mechanical and handicraft works The Tezcucans were the most learned people in Anahuac. An allusion Z made to the Mexican century, it is to be observed that it consists of onll fifty-two years. Another allusion is made to the gorgeous dress of the Tacubans. It ,s to be observed that, in Mexico, it is a mark of respect to wear a humble garb before a superior; but the Tacubans, beL 1 older race than the Mexicans, though subjugated, kept their rich dZ before the Emperor, wishing, though conquered, to assert their n>l to a prior antiquity, and as a silent reproach to their upstart usurpations ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 343 ■ The following notes are all borrowed from Clavigero's Mexico. They afford a curious picture of the state of civilization the western world had attained before the period of the Spanish conquest. All the servants of the Emperor of Mexico's palace consisted of persons of rank. Besides those who constantly lived in it, every morning six hundred feudatory lords and nobles came to pay court to him. They passed the whole day in the antichamber, where none of their servants were per- mitted to enter, conversing in a low voice, and waiting the orders of their sovereign. The servants who accompanied these lords were so numerous, as to occupy three small courts of the palace, and many waited in the streets. The women about the court were not less in number, including those of rank, servants, and slaves. All this numerous female tribe lived shut up in a kind of seraglio, under the care of some noble matrons, who watched over their conduct, as these kings were extremely jealous, and every piece of misconduct which happened in the palace, however slight, was severely punished. No one could enter the palace, either to serve the king, or to confer with him on any business, without pulling off his shoes and stockings at the gate. No person was allowed to appear before the king in any pompous dress, as it was deemed a want of respect to majesty ; consequently, the greatest lords, excepting the nearest relations of the king, stripped them- selves of the rich dress which they wore, or, at least, covered it with one more ordinary, to shew their humility before him. All persons on entering the hall of audience, and before speaking to the king, made three bows, saying at the first, lord ; at the second, my lord ; and at the third, great lord. They spoke low, and with the head inclined, and received the answer, which the king gave them by means of his secretaries, as attentively and humbly as if it had been the voice of an oracle. In taking leave, no person ever turned his back upon the throne. The audience hall served also for his dining-room. The table was a large pillow, and his seat a low chair. The table-cloth, napkins, and towels, were of cotton, but very fine, white, and always perfectly clean. The kitchen utensils were of the earthen ware of Chalula, but none of these things ever served him more than once, as, immediately after, he gave them to one of his nobles. The cups in which they prepared his chocolate and other drinks of the cocoa, were of gold, or some beautiful sea-shell, or naturally formed vessels curiously varnished. He had gold plate, but it 344 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. was used only on certain festivals in the temple. The number and variety of dishes at his table, amazed the Spaniards who saw them. Cortez says that they covered the floor of a great hall, and that there were dishes of every kind of game, fish, fruit, and herbs of that country. Three or four hundred noble youths carried this dinner in form, presented it as soon as the king sat down to table, and immediately retired; and, that it might not grow cold, every dish was accompanied with its chafing dish. The king marking with a rod which he had in his hand, the meats which he chose, and the rest were distributed among the nobles who were in the antichamber. Before he sat down, four of the most beautiful women of his seraglio presented water to him to wash his hands, and continued standing all the time of his dinner, together with six of his principal ministers, and his carver. As soon as the king sat down to table, -the carver shut the door of the hall, that none of the other nobles might see him eat. The ministers stood at a distance, and kept profound silence, unless when they made answer to what the king said. The carver and the four women served the dishes to him, besides two others who brought him bread, made of maize baked with eggs. He frequently heard music during the time of his meal, and was entertained with the humorous sayings of some deformed men, whom he kept out of mere state. He shewed much satisfaction in hearing them, and observed, that among their jests they frequently pronounced some important truths. When his dinner was over, he took tobacco, mixed with liquid amber, in a pipe or reed, beautifully varnished, and with the smoke of it put himself to sleep. After having slept a little upon the same low chair, he gave audience, and listened attentively to all that was communicated to him, encouraged those who from embarrassment were unable to speak to him, and answered every one by his ministers or secretaries. After giving audience, he was entertained with music, being much delighted with hearing the °-lorious actions of his ancestors sung. At other times, he amused himself with seeing various games played. When he went abroad, he was carried on the shoulders of the nobles, in a litter covered with a rich canopy, attended by a numerous retinue of courtiers; and wherever he passed, every person stopped with their eyes shut, as if they feared to be dazzled with the splen- dor of majesty. When he alighted from the litter to walk, they spread car- pets, that his feet might not touch the earth. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 345 The grandeur and magnificence of his palaces, houses of pleasure, woods, and gardens, were correspondent to this majesty. The palace of his usual residence was a vast edifice of stone and lime, which had twenty doors to the public square and streets; three great courts, in one of which was a beautiful fountain, several halls, and more than a hundred chambers. Some of the apartments had walls of marble and other valuable kinds of stone. The beams were of cypress, cedar, and other excellent woods, well finished and carved. Among tbe halls there was one large enough to contain three thousand people. Besides this palace, he had others, both within and without the capital. In Mexico, beside the seraglio for his wives, there was lodging for all his ministers and counsellors, and all the officers of his house- hold and court, and also accommodation for foreign lords who arrived there, and particularly for the two allied kings. Two houses in Mexico he appropriated to animals; the one for birds which did not live by prey, the other for those of prey, quadrupeds, and reptiles. There were several chambers belonging to the first, and galleries, supported on pillars of marble, all of one piece. These galleries looked towards a garden, where, in the midst of some shrubbery, ten fish-ponds were formed, some of them of fresh water, for the aquatic birds of rivers, and others of salt water, for those of the sea. In other parts of the house were all sorts of birds, in such number and variety, as to strike the Spaniards with wonder, who could not believe there was any species in the world wanting to the collection. They were supplied with the same sort of food they fed upon while they enjoyed their liberty, whether seeds, fruits, or in- sects. For those birds who lived on fish only, the consumption was ten Castilian peros of fish (according to the testimony of Cortez, in his letters to Charles the Fifth), which is more than three hundred Roman pounds. Three hundred men (says Cortez) were employed to take care of those birds, besides their physicians, who observed their distempers, and applied timely remedies to them. Of these three hundred men, some procured them their food, others distributed it, others took care of their eggs at the time of their incubation, and others picked their plumage at certain seasons of the year; for, besides the pleasure which the king took in seeing so great a multitude of animals collected together, he was principally careful of their feathers, not less for the sake of the famous mosaic images, than of the other works which were made of them. The halls and chambers of those houses were so many in number, that they could have accommodated two great princes, 2 Y 346 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER ft, with all their retinue. This celebrated house was situated in the place where at present the great convent of St. Francis stands. The other house, appropriated to the wild animals, had a large and hand- some court, with a chequered pavement, and was divided into various apartments. One of them contained all the birds of prey, from the royal eagle to the kestrel, and many individuals of every species. These birds ■were distributed according to their species, in various subterraneous cham- bers, which were more than seven feet deep, and upwards of seventeen feet in length and breadth. The half of every chamber was covered with flat stones, and stakes were fixed in the wall, on which they might sleep, and be defended from rain. The other half of the chamber was only covered with a lattice, through which they enjoyed the light of the sun. For the support of these birds, were killed daily near five hundred turkeys.. In the same house were many low halls, filled with a great number of strong wooden cages, in which lions, tigers, wolves, coyotoo, and wild cats, were confined, and all other kinds of wild beasts, which were fed upon deer, rabbits, hares, techichis, and other animals, and the intestines of human sacrifices. The king of Mexico not only kept all the species of animals which other princes do for state, but likewise such as by nature seemed exempted from slavery, namely, crocodiles and serpents. The serpents were kept in large casks or vessels ; the crocodiles in ponds, which were walled round. There were also various ponds for fish, two of which that are remaining, and still beautiful, we have seen in the palace of Chapoltepec, two miles from Mexico. Montezuma, who was not satisfied with having every sort of animal in his palace, also collected there all irregularly formed men, who, either from the colour of their hair, or skin, or some deformity in their persons, were oddi- ties of their species. A humour this, however, not unattended with bene- ficial consequences, as it gave maintenance to a number of miserable objects, and delivered them from the inhuman insults of their fellow creatures. All his palaces were surrounded with beautiful gardens, where was every kind of beautiful flower, odoriferous herb, and medical plant. He had like- wise woods, enclosed with walls, and furnished with variety of game, in which he frequently sported. One of these woods was upon an island, in the lake known at present among the Spaniards by the name of Penon. Not only the palaces, but all the other places, were kept in exquisite order ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 341 and neatness, even those which were seldom or never visited ; as there was nothing in which he took more pride than the cleanliness of his own person, and of every thing else which was his. He bathed regularly every day, and had therefore baths in all his palaces. Every day he wore four dresses, and that which he once put off he never after used again : these were reserved as largesses for the nobles who served him, and the soldiers who behaved gal- lantly in war. Every morning, according to the accounts given by some historians, upwards of a thousand men were employed by him in sweeping and watering the streets of the city. In one of the royal buildings was an armory, filled with all kinds of offensive and defensive arms, which were made use of by these nations, with military ornaments and ensigns. He kept a surprising number of artificers at work in manufacturing these and other things. He had numerous artists constantly busied likewise; namely, goldsmiths, mosaic workmen, sculptors, painters, and others. One whole district consisted wholly of dancing- masters, who were trained up to entertain him. The Mexicans were extremely well skilled in the cultivation of kitchen and other gardens, in which they planted, with great regularity and taste, fruit-trees and medicinal plants and flowers. The last of these were much in demand, not less on account of the particular pleasure taken in them, than of the custom which prevailed of presenting bunches of flowers to then- kings, lords, ambassadors, and other persons of rank ; besides the excessive quantities which were made use of in the temples and private oratories. Among the ancient gardens, those of Mexico and Tezcuco, and those of the lords of Iztapalapan and Huaxtepec, have been much celebrated. Among the gardens of the great palace of the lord of Iztapalapan there wai one, the extent, disposition, and beauty of which excited the admiration of their Spanish conquerors. It was laid out in four squares, and planted with every variety of trees, the sight and scent of which gave infinite pleasure to the senses; through those squares a number of roads and paths led; some formed by fruit-bearing trees, and others by espaliers of flowering shrubs and aromatic herbs. Several canals from the lake watered it, by one of which their barges could enter, in the centre of the garden was a fish-pond, the circumference of which measured sixteen hundred paces, or four hundred from side to side, where innumerable water-fowl resorted, and there were steps on every side to descend to the bottom. This garden, agreeable to the testimony of Cortez and Diaz, was planted, or rather extended and improved 348 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. by Cuitlehuatzin, the brother and successor to Montezuma II. He caused many foreign trees to be transplanted there, according to the account of Hernandez. The garden of Huaxtepec was still more extensive and celebrated. It was six miles in circumference, and watered by a beautiful river which crossed it. Innumerable species of trees and plants were reared there, and beauti- fully disposed, and at proper distances from each other, different pleasure- houses were erected. When the Mexicans were brought under subjection to the Colhuan and Tepanecan nations, and confined to the miserable little islands on the lake, they ceased for some years to cultivate the land, because they had none until necessity and industry together taught them to form moveable fields and gardens, which floated on the waters of the lake. The method which they pursued to make those, and which they still practise, is very simple. They plait and twist willows and roots of marsh plants, or other materials, together, which are light, but capable of supporting the earth of the garden, when firmly united. Upon this foundation they lay the light bushes which float on the lake, and, over all, the mud and dirt which they draw up from the bottom of the same lake. Their general figure is quadrangular ; their length and breadth various ; about eight perches long, and not more than three in breadth, and have less than a foot elevation above the surface of the water. These were the first fields which the Mexicans owned after the foundation of Mexico; there they first cultivated the maize, great pepper, and other plants necessary for their support. In progress of time, as those fields grew numerous from the industry of these people, there were among them gardens of flowers and odoriferous plants, which were employed in the worship of their gods, and served for the recreation of the nobles. At pre- sent they cultivate flowers, and every sort of garden-herbs upon them. Every day of the year, at sun-rise, innumerable vessels, loaded with various kinds of flowers and herbs, which are cultivated in these gardens, are seen arriving by the canal at the great market-place of that capital. All plants thrive there surprisingly; the mud of the lake is an extremely fertile soil, and requires no water from the clouds. In the largest gardens there is com- monly a little tree, and even a little hut to shelter the cultivator, and defend him from rain or the sun. When the owner of a garden, or the Chinampa, as he is usually called, wishes to change his situation, to remove from a disagreeable neighbour, or to come nearer to his own family, he gets into ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 349 his little vessel, and by his own strength alone, if the garden is small, or with the assistance of others, if it is large, he tows it after him, and conducts it wlierever he pleases, with the little tree and hut upon it. That part of the lake where these floating gardens are, is a place of infinite recreation, where the senses receive the highest possible gratification. The Colhuan and Tepanecan kings sent to inform the Mexicans, that the tribute which they had hitherto paid being too small, it was their pleasure that they should double it in future ; that they were besides to carry so many thousands of willow and fir-plants, to be set in the roads and gardens of Azcapozalco, and to transport to the court a great kitchen- garden, where all the vegetables known in Anahuac were sown and growing. The Mexicans, who until that time had paid no other tribute than a certain quantity of fish, and a certain number of water-birds, were greatly distressed with these new grievances, fearing that they might constantly be increasing ; but they performed all that was enjoined them, carrying at the appointed time, along with their fish and fowl, the willows and floating garden. Whoever has not seen one of these most beautiful gardens, will not without difficulty be persuaded of the truth of such an event ; but who- ever has seen them, and all who have sailed upon that lake, where the senses receive the most delightful recreation, will have no reason to doubt of the authenticity. Having obtained this tribute from them, the king ordered them to bring him the next year another garden, with a duck and a swan in it, both sitting on their eggs, but so as that, on their arrival at Azcapozalco, the brood might be ready to hatch. The Mexicans obeyed, and took their measures so well, that the foolish prince had the pleasure of seeing the chickens come out of the eggs. They were ordered the succeeding year to bring, besides a garden of this kind, a live stag. This new order was the more difficult to execute, as it was necessary to go to the mountains on the continent to hunt the stag, where they were in danger of engaging with their enemies; it was, however, accomplished, that they might escape from wrongs more oppressive. When the king went to war, he wore, besides his armour, particular badges of distinction ; on his legs, half boots, made of thin plates of gold ; on his arms, plates of the same metal, and bracelets of gems ; at his under- lip hung an emerald, set in gold; at his ears, ear-rings of the same stone; about his neck a necklace, or a chain of gold and gems, and a plume of beautiful feathers on his head : but the badge most expressive of majesty ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER L was a work of great labour, made of beautiful feathers, which reached from the head all down the back. The Mexicans were very attentive to distin- guish persons, particularly in war, by different badges. The defensive and offensive arms which were made use of by the Mexicans, and the other nations of Anahuac, were of various sorts. The defensive arms common to the nobles and plebeians, to the officers and soldiers, were shields, which they called chimalli, and were made of different forms and materials. Some of them were perfectly round, and others were rounded only in the under-part. Some were made of otatle, or solid elastic canes, interwoven with thick cotton threads, and covered with feathers; those of the nobles, with their plates of gold ; others were made of large tortoise- shells, adorned with copper, silver, and gold, according to the wealth of the owner, or his rank in the army. These were of a moderate size; but others were so excessively large, that they could occasionally cover the whole body; but when it was not necessary to use them, they could compress them, and carry them under their arms, like the parasols of the moderns ; it is probable they were made of the skins of animals, or cloth, waxed with ule or gum elastic. On the other hand, many of their shields were very small, more beautiful than strong, and adorned with fine feathers ; these were not employed in war, but only at the entertainments which they made in imitation of a battle. The defensive arms, peculiar to the officers, were breast-plates of cotton, one and sometimes two fingers thick, which were arrow proof, and on this account the Spaniards themselves made use of them in the war against the Mexicans. The name Ichcacahuepilli, which the Mexicans gave to this sort of breast-plate, was changed by the Spaniards into the word Escaupil. Over this sort of cuirass, which only covered part of the breast, they put on another piece of armour, which, besides the chest, covered the thighs and the half of the arms. The lords were accustomed to wear a thick upper- coat of feathers, over a cuiras, made of several plates of gold, or silver gilt, which rendered them invulnerable, not only by arrows, but even by darts or swords. Besides the armour which they wore for the defence of their chests, their arms, their thighs, and even their legs, their heads were usually cased in the heads of tigers or serpents, made of wood, or some other substance, with the mouth open, and furnished with large teeth, that they might inspire terror, and so animated in appearance, that they seemed to be vomiting up the soldiers. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 351 The maquahuitl, called by the Spaniards spada, or sword, as it was the weapon among the Mexicans, which was equivalent to the sword of the old continent, was a stout stick, three feet and a half long, and about four inches broad, armed on each side with a sort of razors of the stone itzli, extraordinarily sharp, fixed, and firmly fastened to the stick with gum lack, which were about three inches long, one or two inches broad, and as thick as the blade of our ancient swords. This weapon was so keen, that it once entirely beheaded a horse at one stroke, according to the affirmation of Acosta ; but the first stroke only was to be feared, for the razors soon became blunt. They tied this weapon by a string to their arm, lest they might lose it in any violent conflict. Nothing was more highly valued by the Mexicans than their mosaic works, which were made of the most delicate and beautiful feathers of birds. They raised for this purpose various species of birds of fine plumage (espe- cially those of the Trogon or Curucui), with which that country abounds, not only in the palaces of the king, where, as already observed, there were all sorts of animals, but likewise in private houses; and at certain seasons they carried off their feathers, to make use of them on this kind of work, or to sell them at market. They set a high value on the feathers of those won- derful little birds which they call Huitzitzilirs, and the Spaniards, Picastores, on account of the smallness, fineness, and the various colours of them. In these and other beautiful birds, nature supplied them with all the colours which art can produce, and also some which art cannot imitate. At the undertaking of every mosaic work, several artists assembled; after having agreed upon a design, and taken their measures and proportions; each artist charged himself with the execution of a certain part of the image, and exerted himself so diligently in it, with such patience and application, that he frequently spent a whole day in adjusting a feather; first trying one, then another; viewing it sometimes one way,, then another, until he found one which gave his part that ideal perfection proposed to be attained. When the part, which each artist undertook, was done, they assembled again to form the entire image from them. If any part was accidentally the least deranged, it was wrought again until it was perfectly finished. They laid hold of the feathers with small pincers, that they might not do them the least injury, and pasted them on the cloth with some glutinous matter; then they united all the parts upon a little table, or a plate of copper, and flat- 352 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. tened them softly, until they left the surface of the image so equal and smooth, it appeared to be the work of a pencil. Whoever beheld them, was at a loss whether he ought to have praised most the life and beauty of the natural colours, or the dexterity of the artist, and the ingenious disposition of art. " These images," says Acosta, " are deservedly admired ; for it is wonderful how it was possible, with the feathers of birds, to execute works so fine and so equal, that they appear the per- formance of the pencil; and what neither the pencil nor the colours in paint- ing can effect, they have, when viewed from aside, an appearance so beauti- ful, so lively and animated, they give delight to the sight. Some Indians, who are able artists, copy whatever is painted with a pencil so perfectly with plumage, that they rival the best painters of Spain. Several works of this kind are still preserved in the museums of Europe, and many in Mexico ; but few, we apprehend, belong to the sixteenth cen- tury, and none of those, which we know of, were made before the conquest. The mosaic works also, which they made of broken shells, was extremely curious. This art is still practised in Guatemala. In imitation of these skilful artists, there were others, who formed with flowers and leaves upon mats many beautiful works, made use of at festivals. After the introduction of Christianity, they made these works for ornament ; they were sought after most eagerly by the Spanish nobility, on account of the singular beauty of the artifice. At present there are many artists in that kingdom who employ themselves in counterfeiting with silk, images of feathers, but their performances are by no means comparable with those of the ancients. The houses of the poor were built of reeds, or unburned bricks, or stone and mud, and the roof made of a long kind of hay, which grows thick, and is common in the fields, particularly in hot countries, or of the leaves of maguei or aloe, placed in the manner of tiles, to which they bear some resemblance both in thickness and shape. One of the columns, or supports of these houses, was generally a tree of a regular growth, by means of which, besides the pleasure they took in its foliage and shade, they saved themselves some labour and expense. These houses had for the most part but one cham- ber, where the family, and all the animals belonging to it, the fire-place and furniture, were lodged. If the family was not very poor, there were more chambers, an ajauhcalli, or oratory, a temazealli, or bath, and a little granary. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 353 The houses of lords and people of circumstances were built of stone and lime ; they consisted of two floors, having halls, large court-yards, and the chambers fitly disposed ; the roofs were flat and terraced ; the walls were so well whitened, polished, and shining, that they appeared to the Spaniards, when at a distance, to have been silver. The pavement or floor was plaster, perfectly level, plain, and smooth. Many of these houses were crowned with battlements and turrets ; and their gardens had fish-ponds, and the walks of them symmetrically laid out. The large houses of the capital had in general two entrances; the principal one to the street, the other to the canal; they had no wooden doors to their houses, perhaps because they thought their habitations sufficiently secure without them, from the severity of the laws against robbers; but, to prevent the inspection of passengers, they covered the entrance with little reeds, from which they suspended a string of cocoas, or pieces of broken utensils, or some other thing fit to awake by its noise the attention of the family, when any person lifted up the reeds to enter the house. No person was per- mitted to enter without the consent of the owner. When necessity, or civi- lity, or family connexions did not justify the entrance of any person who came to the house, he was listened to without, and immediately dismissed. The Mexicans understood the building of arches and vaults, as appears from their baths, from the remains of the royal palaces of Tezcuco, and other buildings which escaped the fury of the conquerors, and also from several paintings. Cornices, and other ornaments of architecture, were likewise in use among them. They took great delight in making ornaments of stone, which had the appearance of snares about their doors and win- dows, and in some buildings there was a large serpent, made of stone, in the act of biting his tail, after having twisted his body through all the windows of the house. Their columns were cylindrical or square. They endeavoured at nothing more anxiously than to make them of one single piece, adorning them fre- quently with figures in basso relievo. The foundations of the large houses of the capital were laid upon a floor of large beams of cedar, fixed in the earth, on account of the want of solidity in the soil, which example the Spaniards have imitated. The roofs of such houses were made of cedar, of fir, of cypress, of pine, or of ojametl ; the columns were of common stone; but in the royal palaces they were of marble, and some even of alabaster, which many Spaniards took for jasper. k See Clavigero, Bernal Diaz, Be Soils, and Cortez. 2 z 354 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER i. Note (c) page 276. " We halted this evening at Tsondue, three and twenty miles from Dukque, and within an easy day's journey of Teeshoo Loomboo. The glitter of the gilding betrayed the tops of some of the edifices, as the sun shone obliquely upon them ; but we could not, even with our glasses, distinguish much tnore. "The following morning, however, our guides were determined we should be there early. We were disturbed long before the dawn, though we had to travel only a distance of about ten miles, and by torch-light mounted our horses, so as to arrive at Teeshoo Loomboo just as the sun was rising. If the magnificence of the place was to be increased by any external cause, none could more superbly have adorned its numerous gilded caropies and turrets, than the sun rising in full splendor directly opposite. It presented a view wonderfully beautiful and brilliant; the effect was little short of magic ; and it made an impression, which no time will ever efface from my mind. " We ascended by a narrow street through the middle'of the monastery, and were conducted to very splendid apartments, bright with gay colours, and situated in the centre of the palace, amidst a profusion of gorgeous finery. At the instant of our entrance, we heard the deep tone of many sonorous instruments, which were summoning the religious to their morning orisons. Teeshoo Loomboo, or Lubrong, the seat of Teeshoo Lama, and the capital of that part of Tibet immediately subject to his authority, is situated in 29° 4' 20" north latitude, and 89° 7' east longitude, from Greenwich. It is a large monastery, consisting of three or four hundred houses, the habitations of the Gylongs, besides temples, mausoleums, and the palace of the sovereign pontiff; in which is comprised also, the residence of the regent, and of all the subordinate officers, both ecclesiastical and civil, belonging to the court. It is included within the hollow face of a high rock, and has a southern aspect." Turner's Embassy to Tibet, 230, 293. " The plain of Teeshoo Loomboo, which is perfectly level, is encompassed by rocky hills on all sides. Its direction is north and south, and its extreme length about fifteen miles; its southern extremity in breadth, from east to> west, may be perhaps five or six miles. The abruptness with which the hills rise from this plain is very remarkable ; they are all of a rocky texture, of the colour of rusty iron, and r.re easily shivered by the effects of the weather. On one side of the monastery of Teeshoo Loomboo I saw the ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. 355 place, the Golgotha, if I may so call it, to which they convey their dead. It was a spacious area, enclosed on one part by the perpendicular rock, and oh the others by lofty walls, raised probably with a view to seclude from public observation the disgusting objects contained within them. At the top it was totally uncovered, so as to be perfectly open to the birds ; and at the bottom a narrow passage was left through the walls, near their founda- tion, for the sole purpose of admitting dogs, or other beasts of prey. On the rock above, a platform overhung the inclosure, which had been con- structed for the conveniency of precipitating the dead bodies with greater ease over the walls into the area. And here, I understood, the only rites performed in honour of the dead, were merely such as tended to facilitate the destruction of the body by dogs or birds of prey. But though this was the general receptacle, yet there were some who declined the use of it, and conveyed their friends to the summit of some neighbouring hill, where, I was told, they disjointed and mangled the dead body, that it might become a more easy prey to carnivorous birds. I concluded that there was a strong preju- dice in their minds, of some idea of pollution attached to " being given to the dogs," which was sufficient to create a preference of the contrary prac- tice. " In Tibet, as well as in Bengal, an annual festival is kept in honour of the dead. On the 29th of October, as soon as the evening drew on, and it be- came dark, a general illumination was displayed upon the summits of all the buildings in the monastery; the tops also of the houses upon the plain, as well as in the most distant villages, scattered among the clusters of wil- lows, were in the same manner lighted up with lamps, exhibiting altogether a brilliant and splendid spectacle. The night was dark, the weather calm, and the lights burnt with a clear and steady flame. The Tibetians reckon these circumstances of the first importance, as, on the contrary, they deem it a most evil omen, if the weather be stormy, and their lights extinguished by the wind or rain. " It is worthy of notice, how materially an effect depends upon a previously declared design, and how diametrically opposite the emotions may be, al- though produced by appearances exactly similar. In England, I had been accustomed to esteem general illuminations as the strongest expression of public joy; I now saw them exhibited as a solemn token of melancholy re- membrance, an awful tribute of respect paid to the innumerable generations of the dead. The darkness of the night, the profound tranquillity and silence, interrupted only by the deep and slowly repeated tones of the now- 2 Z 2 356 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER I. but, trumpet, gong, and cymbal, at different intervals; the tolling of bells, and the loud monotonous repetition of sentences of prayer, sometimes heard when the instruments were silent, were all so calculated, by their solemnity, to produce serious reflection, that I really believe no human ceremony could possibly have been contrived more effectually to impress the mind with senti- ments of awe. In addition to this external token of solemn retrospect, acts of beneficence performed during this festival are supposed to have peculiar merit, and all persons are called upon, according to their ability, to distri- bute alms, and to feed the poor." Turner's Embassy to Tibet, 295, 296, 317, 318, 319. " The rock of Teeshoo Loomboo is by far the loftiest of all that are in its neighbourhood." Turner's Embassy, 297. The monks in the Tibetian monasteries are termed Gylongs, the nuns, Annees. We refer the reader to the whole of Captain Turner's curious work, and again guard the reader against taking our illustration of our system, " au pied de la lettre," as a description of Teeshoo Loomboo. It is greatly removed from the reality. a 51 CHAPTER Hi HEARING. Sense of HEARING. Wherein Equal and wherein Inferior lo VISION. Perceptions of Sound. (1) QUALITY. (2) INTONATION. (3) SUCCESSION. (1) Loudness, Harshness, Fulness — Their Converses and Modifica- tions. (2) Bass, Tenor, Treble, or Deep Medium, and Shrill, with Converses and Modifications. (3) Abrupt Succession, Uniform Succession, and their Converses and Modifications. Recapitulation of the Hypothesis — Application and Exemplification. Application of this Hypothesis to the various Genera of Beauty and Deformity— the SUBLIME, ACTIVE and PASSIVE; the SEN- TIMENTAL and SPRIGHTLY; and the INFLATED, HOR- RIBLE, and VAPID; the PORCINE and the FLIPPANT. More especial Application of this Theory to Style, considered as to Ideas, Expression, and Sound, with the Genus of each, which is proper to each Genus of Beauty and Deformity. Inseparable Connexion between the Formation of the Language, the Style of Expression, and the Genus both of Feeling and of Thought, characterizing every Nation. Exemplifications — Recapitulation. Hearing may, on the whole, be esteemed perhaps the next perfect sense to vision. Its perceptions, indeed, may perhaps not be so accurate as those of touch ; because the perceptions of touch being also perceptible 358 HEARING IN GENERAL. to vision, are subjects of scrutiny to two senses, whereas the percep- tions of sound are amenable to one only. We can both see as well as feel, that the bark of an oak is rough, that ice is smooth ; but we only hear, that the sound of a syrinx, or flageolet, is more shrill than that of a posaune. Nevertheless, what the sense of hearing may therefore be said to want in accuracy, it amply has compensated in extent of compass. The perceptions of touch, however accurate, are bounded by the limits of our own locality; those of hearing, conveyed from a dis- tance, convey intelligence to us from a variety of quarters. When, too, we consider that sound is capable, under particular circumstances, of accurate admeasurement, we can scarcely consider the sense of hearing, on the whole, as being much inferior to touch, even in accuracy of perception. Musical sounds, we all know, are susceptible of the most accurate and mathematical admeasurement, both as to intonation, duration, and combination ; and language, though not so regular in its struc- ture, and therefore not so capable of being measured by the exact sciences, is yet subjected to the regulations of metrical accuracy in poetic composition ; and to inflexions of cadence and measure, not so obvious, but as distinctly to be appreciated by the ear, in the in- flexions of voice in speech, or the formation of sentences in good prose compositions. The general rules, however, which give character to perceptions of sound, must be radically the same, of whatever species that sound may be; whether it come under the regular admeasurement of mu- sical science ; the less exact, but not less perceptible niceties of style and language ; or the wholly irregular and desultory sounds that terrify, that sooth, or enliven, in the natural creation. It is these general observations which are alone the object of the following pages ; and it is hoped, that although no scientific details are here attempted, it will yet be found, by those who choose to give them the modifications required for application, that they are, how- ever, really true. DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT. 359 To begin : all sounds whatsoever, be they musical, oral, or wholly desultory ; whether it be the singing of birds, the bleating of sheep, the roaring of the winds and waves, or the voice in speech ; in short, whatever may be their nature, they all admit of being considered under a treble point of view. Viz. their quality; whether, for example, it be loud or low, whether it be harsh like a trumpet, sweet like a flute, full like the diapason of an organ, or unsubstantial, like the dulciana on the same instrument. Again, their intonation, or pitch ; whether it be deep, middling, or shrill ; bass, tenor, treble. Thirdly, their succession ; whether it be equable or abrupt, slow or quick, continued or broken, distinct, or gliding into each other. Upon each of these three heads we shall make a few observations ; endeavouring to take some examples mostly from our own language, because it is certain to be of most familiar application. If the obser- vations are just, they ought to be applicable by modifications, which each reader may give at pleasure, to every other language, and to every other species of sound. First, then, of the QUALITY OF SOUND. The strongest and most powerful action upon any of the senses, must of necessity produce the strongest and most vivid perceptions; and, cateris paribus, produce the strongest and most vivid feelings. This may be easily proved, directly and inversely, Thus, confine a man in the Bastile for a considerable time, so that no fresh sensible impressions shall have any access, and that the recollection of former impressions shall become blunted ; it will produce complete dulness and inanity, which is the very contrary to vivid feeling. Place him, on the other hand, at the brink of the Falls of Niagara, in a situation of perfect security, yet the vastness and force of the 360 QUALITY OF SOUND. impressions of sense he will receive, are such as to excite feelings powerful enough to absorb his whole mind. This then being grant- ed, that perceptions, cceteris paribus, excite feelings of proportionate vigor to their own intensity ; and it having been before said, that the sublime consists in an excitement of the strongest feelings ; it will therefore follow, that the sublime is expressed throughout every sense, whatever it be, by the most forcible perceptions that sense is capable of receiving. In that of hearing ; loudness gives the strongest sensible percep- tion. Softness is the medium between a strong perception, and no perception at all. Hence loudness in sound, is associated, cceteris paribus, with the sublime ; and softness, which gives the least degree of sensible perception, with the sentimental, which consists in the most gentle excitement of feeling. Compare the reverberation of thunder from the caverned abysses of the gigantic Andes, Avith the soft murmur of a waterfall, whose scarcely perceptible and soothing sound invites to sweet repose. Or compare the roaring of a lion, or the bellowing of a bull, with the cooing of a turtle, or the nightingale of the Oriental poets, pour- ing out her soft complaint to the rose. Nobody will disagree as to the class of character to which the above mentioned examples belong. That the effect is owing to loudness or softness, will appear from observing, that where this circumstance is altered, the character al- ters with it. Thus, swell the soothing waterfall above mentioned, into the expanse of Niagara ; and with the tremendous and deafening roar of his floods, the character of sublimity is also imparted. The same may be said of harshness and sweetness of sound. In proportion as sound is harsh and grating, it rouses and startles the ear ; in proportion as it is sweet, it gently sooths, and detains it in a state of rest. Hence, harsh sounds also belong to the sublime ; and sweet ones to the sentimental. Compare the effect of the harsh, rough, wolf tone of a full organ, with that of the stop diapason singly. Or com- QUALITY OF SOUND. 361 pare the hoarse scream of the eagle, or harsh croak of the raven, with the sweet note of the nightingale. Again, the same remark applies to what may be termed a full tone, or a thin and unsubstantial tone. Fulness of tone likewise fills the ear ; it gives a determined and powerful, though not a harsh perception ; whilst an unsubstantial tone gives a weakness and feebleness of perception, proportioned to its own want of substance. Hence, a full and well bodied tone belongs to the sublime ; an unsubstantial tone, to the sentimental. Thus, compare the full, rich, magnificent, mellow tone of an organ, with all the body-stops, but without the harsh stops, with the sweet, delicate, but unsubstantial tone of the dulciana stop singly. Or compare the full note of the bloodhound, with the unsubstantial one of the dove. Hence, in quality of tone, a certain degree of loudness belongs to the sublime, and softness to the sentimental. Probably a very little observation may convince any one of the universal effect produced by these causes. In irregular sounds (that is, in sounds that are not the subjects of rhythm and measurement) we all feel it ; and any person who will be at the pains of observing, or rather attending to the observations of those, who do not understand musical composition, will find, that wherever the imagination is unsusceptible of entering into the design of the composer, on the subject of the melody and combination of the harmony, the ear is affected by that loudness or softness, which in music may be termed the sublime and tender of the auditory nerve, in contradistinction to that of the soul and imagination. * * The same will apply to language. Observe the state of roused energy in the cultivated and uncultivated mind. The first expends his accumulation of sensorial energy in the expres- sion of forcible ideas, the latter in forcible sounds. Compare the opening to Gray's Bard, or Cicero's Oration against Catiline, with the orations of quarrelling porters or fish-women, who, feeling the same accumulated energies, have no mode of giving them expression, but in loud and turbulent " sound and fury, signifying nothing." 3 A 362 INTONATION. Harshness and fulness of tone likewise belong to the sublime, for both produce a forcible and determinate impression. But whilst harshness not only rouses, but startles the ear ; fulness of tone with- out harshness, fills the mind by a strong perception, but likewise leaves it at rest. Thus, harshness of tone belongs to the active sublime : fulness, without harshness, to the passive sublime. Compare the different character of the rattling crack of a startling thunderbolt, with the awful, deep, and solemn roll of pealing thunder among mountains. Here the very same thing bears a totally different character, from this one circumstance. Again, compare the rough, harsh blast of the raw trumpet, with the full, deep roll of the kettle-drum. Or compare the full organ's wolf-tone, given by the union of harsh stops to the body-stops, with the mellow, deep, and full tide of ample and sonorous tone from the body-stops only. Sweetness, softness, and a certain want of substance in tone, on the other hand, belong to the sentimental ; such as yEolian harps, flutes, fcc. INTONATION. Character, however, is not imparted to sounds simply from their quality. It likewise depends in a great measure upon intonation or pitch ; whether it be deep, middling, or high. And here the same rule obtains as before. Whoever has seen any wind or stringed instrument, knows, that as the length and width of tube, or length and thickness of string, so the depth of the tone. As the shortness and narrowness of tube, or shortness and thin- ness of string, so the height of the tone. In fact, where the tone is deep, there must be that forcible per- cussion, which will remove a large quantity of air; where the tone INTONATION. 363 is shrill, there must be that limited percussion, which shall only remove a small quantity. In the first instance, the same effect is brought about, whether it be accomplished by widening the tube to let more air pass, or by lengthening it to hold more, the effect is the same, vibration must be given to a large quantity of air. In the last instance again, whether you limit the length of the pipe, or the width of it, the object is still the same, to give a quick vibration to a small quantity of air. This being the case, it follows, that the perceptions excited by the motion of a large quantity of air, must be more powerful and more forcible, than that excited by a small quantity. Hence deep or bass tones produce the most solemn effect on the mind, they strike, and fill, and detain the ear most ; and hence, ceteris paribus, they be- long to the SUBLIME. Again, when the musical string or tube is very much shortened, and is very thin, what is lost in the substance of air displaced, is gained in rapidity of vibration and distinctness. Hence the mind is not filled by the substance of tone, or overpowered by its loudness, and the ear is yet roused by its petty vibration, and by its smartness or distinctness of tone. Hence the high, shrill, yet soft treble tones are those which give the character to the sprightly. Such are the tones of the English flageolet, the flute, or soft octave stop of the organ. Thirdly : where the musical string or pipe is shortened beyond the bass, so as not to displace a large body of air, and that it is not sufficiently curtailed to give great rapidity of vibration, the sound produced thereby gives that class of tenor, or middle sound, and weak perception, which has neither the force and dignity of the bass, nor the distinctness and agility of the high treble. Thus, its perceptions have neither the forcible energy of the one, nor the smart percussions of the other. But the softest and weakest perceptions are those belonging to the sentimental. Hence this medium pitch is that of the sentimental. 3 a 2, 364 INTONATION. As we have before compared the quality of tone, we may now compare the pitch of the double bass, or kettle-drum, with the flute or horn, and with the flageolet, syrinx, or Pandean pipes. Surely the pitch, as well as the tone, contributes to give to these the cha- racter of sublime, SENTIMENTAL, and SPRIGHTLY. Or compare the deep note of the bloodhound, the middle tone of the dove, and the shrill, cheerful twitter of the sparrow. Or the deep hum of the evening beetle, with the soft, middle hum of bees, and with the shrill chirrup of grasshoppers ; or (if it be a more classic association) with the cricket, whose fame for sprig htliness has been too long established to be contested. Compare the deep-toned thunder of a battery of cannon, with the sprightly running fire of a rejoicing day. The vibration of tone, however, does not solely influence the ear, as it gives heighth or depth of sound. It likewise affects it by giving an expectation concerning its quality of succession. The mind, in some measure, acquires a momentum according to the slowness or quickness of vibration necessary to produce each tone; and accordingly expects a pause, or a rapid succession of tones. That an opposite expectation of the mind is induced by bass and high treble sounds, will, I think, appear from the following exam- ples. Strike one deep toll of a church-bell ; the ear is satisfied, and it expects no more. Strike a chime, and the ear expects a rapid succession of the oc- tave. It may be said, But in the first case custom allows only one note, in the last, all. But why was this custom formed, but from this very perception of the ear ? Again, listen to the roar of a lion, or the lengthened, deep howl of the bloodhound ; the mind is filled, and you expect no more ; but INTONATION. 365 listen to the merry lark, or twittering sparrow, and you expect a ra- pid, distinct succession of twittering sounds. An experiment, which is perfectly familiar, may convince any person of the facility with which the auditory nerve acquires a mo- mentum from reiterated sound. On hearing a clock strike once, we distinctly know the hour ; but if we attempt to count the strokes of a clock which strikes ten, eleven, or twelve times, the ear having ac- quired a momentum, so naturally expects a succession of sound, that it often seems to hear another stroke, after the clock has done strik- ing ; and although it frequently seems as though the stroke were given in a fainter tone, it is likewise frequently difficult to distin- guish it from the real one. The same effect which is produced by repeatedly sounding any note (as in the case of the clock), is also produced by the rapid suc- cession of vibrations which takes place in one shrill sound, even when not repeated. But it is not the case where the tone is formed by slow vibrations, as in bass notes. The striking analogy that exists between colors and sounds is well known. They not only agree in number, but the same proportions which by combination produce concord in the one instance, also please the eye in the other; and that as the third, the fifth, and the octave, produce a perfect simple harmony in the one case, so the third, the fifth, the eighth, produce in color white, or the utmost and most simple combination of blended lights. In. the instance above mentioned too, there seems to exist a striking analogy between the momentum imparted to the auditory nerve by shrill sounds, and that given to the optic nerves by vivid colors ; which may be immediately exhibited by the experiment of the ocular spectra. Let any one take a sheet of writing paper, and paint in the centre a vivid red spot, about an inch in diameter, and gaze upon it intensely about a minute, and then look on the paper, and he will see a spot of similar size of bright green. That is, the first set of sensations having wearied the optic nerve y 366 SUCCESSION. it will rest itself by taking the contrary position. If the spot be painted black, the eye will rest itself by seeing white. If orange, by seeing blue, kc. In short, whatever the color be, the eye will rest itself by seeing the fifth, which is the most perfect accordance to it. And if any person will take the trouble of observing what succes- sion of colors please the eye, it will be found, that the basis of suc- cession of leading or accented colors, must always follow each other in thirds or fifths, which, united with the eighth, compose white; and that others are only used either, in passing, to unite them, or by way of contrast ; which contrast the eye requires to be perfectly resolved into a final simple close. But if the colors used in trying the experiment of ocular spectra be dilute, no such effect will be produced ; because the colors are not vivid enough to give the optic nerve a momentum. Such is precisely the case in the auditory nerve : where the sound is vivid or shrill, the ear expects a succession of sound ; where it is deep, the vibrations are too slow to create this momentum ; and it expects rest by the cessation of sound, instead of the raising an opposite one. Hence, deep notes are not only sublime from their depth, but be- cause they fill the ear, and it expects no more ; and shrill sounds are sprightly, not only from their lively percussion on the ear, with- out being vast enough to fill it, but also because the ear naturally expects a tinkling succession of shrill sounds ; and whatever is in many distinct, petty parts, striking successively Avithout filling the mind, belongs to the lively or sprightly. SUCCESSION. It now remains to speak of the different modes of the succession of sounds, and of the distinct character imparted by each ; whether it be abrupt or equable, slow or quick, continued or broken, distinct, or gliding into each other. In proportion to the abruptness of sounds, is the violence or SUCCESSION. 367 abruptness of the cause producing it; whether it be extorted by pain, or any other violent passion, or whether it arises from any strong concussion of nature. The abrupt succession of sound, therefore, interrupted by marked pauses, belongs to the active sublime. A sound loud, rauc, dis- jointed, and the marked pauses in which, keep the ear in a startled expectation of being succeeded by another, but yet a doubt when it will arrive. Such as a thunder-storm, the pauses between the veer- ing of a hurricane ; and when the next sound does come, it must be of a nature to fill the ear and mind. Perhaps it may here be urged, that both in the case of music and poetry, that the causes here mentioned, as producing abrupt succession of sound, do not exist, and therefore that the argument built upon it falls to the ground. But to this it may justly be replied, that both music and poetry are to a certain degree imitative arts ; and that it is only by a skil- ful adoption of the accent of the passions, that they rouse those passions. We shall accordingly find, that both in music and in poetry, this observation does hold good; and that important ideas, divested of ac- cessories, either in words, or by the incumbrance of trifling ideas, forcibly expressed with decision, and abrupt and marked pauses, do produce the active sublime. As for example, the opening of Gray's Bard. Or in music, the opening of Handel's second concerto for the organ ; that of the overture in Sampson, the dead march in Saul, the Hallelujah cho- rus, kc. What school-boy has not felt the effect of the marked pause after the words Conticuere omnes, at the opening of the second book of the vEneid? Longinus, on the same principle, brought forward the third verse of the first chapter of Genesis, as the most perfect in- stance of the sublime. Of the same description is Caesar's celebrated sentence, " Veni, vidi, vici." 368 SUCCESSION. Also, the well known epitaph, " Sta viator, heroem calcas." Perhaps a yet more striking instance of the true sublime, is the inscription put by the Americans under Dr. Franklin's bust : " Eripuit fulmen co&lo, sceptrumque tyrannis." It is needless to multiply examples ; these sufficiently illustrate what is meant. If every example given be examined,, it will be found they all agree, of whatever nature they are, in the following particulars. Both the tone and ideas are clear, determinate, and definite. Only the accented ones are given, and those forcibly, without any inter- mediate accessories to connect, soften, or amplify. The termination of each clause is marked by a decided pause ; and is not interwoven into the succeeding one, by any imperceptible chain of unimportant and subordinate ideas or sounds. Again, the equable succession of sound, implies either a sound produced by some regularly undeviating permanent cause ; or if it be a feeble unsubstantial one, it gives the impression of a listless want of energy, and incapacity to proceed with more vigor. Hence, the equable succession of sound is always appropriate to the two passive classes, the passive sublime and the sentimental. Compare, for example, the howling of the south-west wind in autumn, with the murmur of a waterfall. The full tide of uninter- rupted harmony of the organ, with the melody of a flute. The equable succession of sound, whether in prose or poetical composition, or in music, naturally implies a gliding change instead of a distinct succession ; because it is only by sliding to the next idea, through the medium of an accessory common to both, that the moment of change, or passing from one to the other, is lost, and it is only by concealing the moment of change, that all abruptness is done away. But in the passive sublime, the emphasis is always placed on the integral and substantial ideas ; and in the sentimental, the connect- ing subordinate parts are spun out and ornamented, while the inte- SUCCESSION. 369 gral parts are rarely scattered ; rather as a tincture colouring the whole, than brought forward as a substantial body. The 8th, 91st, and 104th Psalms, are beautiful examples of the devotional passive sublime. Also, compare in style the Address to the Sun at the end of Car- thon, for the passive sublime; with Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard, for the sentimental. Or Milton's Morning Hymn, with the first of the Elegies of Tibullus. Also compare the Miserere of Francesco Ciampi, with the Stabat Mater of Astorga. Or the Cor Mundum of Francesco Ciampi, and the 71st Psalm by Rolle, with the Ad Te Clamamus of G. A. Hasse. Handel's Dove sei, the Mise- rere of Siroli, and compare the sublime funeral anthem of E. W. Wolfe, with the beautiful air Viva Fonte, in G. Hasse's oratorio of the Pelegrini. * Any person taking the trouble to compare these examples, will see, that the equable and gliding succession both of idea and sound, place all of them in the passive instead of the active classes. But that the full body both of sound and idea in the one set, the strength of the integral parts, the fewness of the subordinate ones, render the one set, of the passive sublime ; whilst the slenderness of their substance, the diffuse nature of the connecting parts, and their great proportion to the whole, give the other set, a decided place in the sentimental. Again, a distinct, regular succession of vivid, shrill, tinkling sound, belongs to the sprightly. Its vivid shrillness and tinkling succession, percusses the ear enough to spur the attention, without that force of sound which fills the mind, or those abrupt marked pauses which awaken the passions in the sublime. In fact, there is the same difference in the succes- sion of the active sublime and sprightly, as there is between the impetuous force, the sudden pauses, and forcible changes of strug- gling and conflicting passions, and the animated playfulness of merely buoyant animal spirits. * Vide Mr. La Trobe's beautiful collection of sacred music. 3 B 370 SUCCESSION. Hence, whilst the sprightly has not the abrupt irregular pauses of the sublime, it is also, contrary to the sliding, imperceptible, devious flow of sound, of the passive sublime or sentimental. The integral parts, though not powerful in substance of sound, must yet be smartly accented ; the subordinate parts may be playfully and neatly, but distinctly ornamented ; and it may abound in subordi- nate parts, which must be continually relieved, and the attention re-awakened, by the accented spur of the integral parts, which must be smartly, without being heavily dwelt upon. The sprightly, in short, requires elasticity of accent; the active sublime, irresistible force of accent. Contrast the full and ponderous chords which, as with a thou- sand consentient tongues, enforce the thunder of the Hallelujah chorus, and mark the accentuation with awful, irresistible strength : with the light, but elastic accent of the Scottish reels, with which Niel Gow has so often poured life and spirits into the hearts of his cheerful countrymen. The same rule precisely is applicable to style. Contrast the abrupt pauses, the weighty sentences, the concise periods of Tacitus, or the cursing scene . in Richard the Third, or the opening of Cicero's oration against Catiline, with the gay, smartly accented, undesyllabic measure of the New Bath Guide, or of Hamilton's Bawn. As in the instance of the Hallelujah, a thousand consentient har- monies fill up and enforce each concise accented part, so in style, each idea, concisely and clearly marked, must bear on its front that irresistible evidence, which instantly rouses a thousand other con- sentient accessory ideas, that, starting up like the armed host of Roderic Dhu, overwhelm the heart and soul by one united pon- derous crush. Examine any of the sentences given as instances of the sublime ; it will be seen that each clause consists in not one idea, but in one leading idea, which includes the united strength of a multitude of others ; which a feeble or an elegant writer would have dilated into SUCCESSION. 371 a succession regularly growing out of each other; whereas the sub- lime writer touches the principal, so as to awake the mind to the others consentaneously instead of successively. Sublime writing may therefore be compared to full harmony, and elegant writing to agreeable melody. In the sprightly, on the other hand, the character or accent of thought is not given by the ponderous crush of gigantic, overwhelm- ing truths ; but by acuteness of point, by the smart and compact expression and collision of petty truths, and by placing them in a sparkling light. We refer to two examples, which, from their being universally known, may be more easily analyzed. The command of the Lacedemonian mother to her son, " Return with thy shield or on thy shield," may be taken as an example of the first ; and many instances of the wit of Madame de Montespan might be selected for the seconds- Examine them ; you will find that the first contains a multitude of important feelings and truths, condensed into a small compass ; the others contain what is worthless and common place, thrown by a new and artificial light into accented relief. There is precisely the same difference between them as between an ingot of solid gold, which admits of being expanded into hun- dreds of guineas, but which lies in the compass of a few inches, and a fine steel glittering Birmingham watch-chain, worked and wrought, and cut till it sparkles in the sun, but the original material of which was nothing worth. Of this style it may be said, " Materiam superabat opus." One other observation must be made respecting succession either of sound, or of the ideas which are clothed under the garb of sound. The active sublime has its radical source in deep conflicting, * Dictionnaire Historique. 3 B 2 372 SUCCESSION. struggling passions ; sometimes hurrying on the mind with an irre- sistible rush or force of impetus ; sometimes, as it were, choaking the heart, by the sudden rush of contrary passions ; and sometimes standing still, on the awful and momentous pause between the pa- roxysms of their alternate conflict. That pause, where, though no sign is given by sound, yet the heart rests not. As these are the radical principles of the sublime, so in its exter- nal signs, in sound, it is irregular; often very rapid; often again slow, labouring, and struggling; often pausing; often bursting forth anew ; and not only has it these irregularities in quickness and slowness, but also in loudness and in lowness. If we observe a person under the influence of violent passions, we shall perceive them to undergo exactly the same mentally, as is undergone in a fever bodily, or in the experiments of Galvanic excitation. As in the two latter instances there is the state of excitement from preternatural excitation, and the state of exhaustion between the fits incapacitating for even natural excitement, so in the influence of the more violent passions, there are paroxysms of rushing violence with long pauses. Loud and bursting explosions, succeeded by low, indistinct mut- terings. Now the imitative arts excite these passions in us by a faithful copy of their effects; and hence precisely the same alternation, sometimes of the forced measured slowness of concentrated passion, sometimes the overwhelming rapidity of its bursting paroxysms; sometimes its portentous pauses, and its low, suppressed, exhausted mutterings must be imitated, whether it be applied to musical, poetic, or prose expression. The passive sublime, again, which always supposes one forcible, but regular, undeviating, operating cause, is always slow and equable in its movement. The sentimental, which supposes lassitude, feebleness, and want of energy, is also slow in the sounds expressing it. It is to be observed, that as in vision the lines of the active sub- RECAPITULATION. 373 lime were to be strongly contrasted with light and shadow, and the sentimental gradually swelled, so in sound and in idea, the active sublime loves contrast of loud and low, and bold contrast of idea, wherever the passive sublime and sentimental love swell of sound and swell of idea, without harsh contrast. Only in the passive sublime it is one regular, grand, sonorous swell, both in sound and in idea; in the sentimental, it is an alter- nate gentle swell and fall, both in sound and in idea. Contrast the swell of the organ with the swell and fall of the vEolian harp. Or in style, compare the noble address to the sun, at the end of Carthon, with Percy's pathetic ballad, " O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me ?" In the Address to the Sun, the first sentence gives the theme, which is gradually, but regularly swelled, by an accession of mag- nificent imagery, till it flows in a full and ample tide of grandeur. In the Scottish ballad, on the other hand, we find in each verse one leading idea, amplified and joined on to one in the next verse, by several accessory ones; thus forming a regular succession of gentle swells and gentle falls of sentiment. The sprightly, again, as its essence is versatility and vivacity, must always have quickness and rapidity, as well as accent. Recapitulation. We have now examined the characteristics of beautiful expression in sound, under its three principal points of view; viz. quality, intonation, and succession. We will briefly recapitulate the result. The sublime in sound is full toned, deep toned, and, on the whole, loud. In the imitative arts, it consists of radical parts, in opposition to accessories. The active sublime is not only loud, but harsh and jarring in tone. In succession it is abrupt, irregular, strongly accented. In irregular sounds, rattling thunder may be given as an example. In 374 EXEMPLIFICATIONS. regular sounds, military music ; and the style of Tacitus, jEschylus, or Demosthenes, in composition. The passive sublime is not only full and deep toned, but sono- rous, mellow, and continuous. Is susceptible of rich and ample swell of tone, but not of abrupt transitions. In succession equable. In the imitative arts, is susceptible of lofty, regular, measured cadence. In irregular sounds, that of the sea in a calm day, or that of rolling thunder, might be given. In regular sounds, in music, sacred or devotional harmony, on the whole, especially that of a liturgic cast. ' In composition, blank verse in general, Milton's Morning Hymn in particular, and the opening to the third book of Paradise Lost, afford beautiful specimens of this style. Perhaps no writing, however, is so admirably adapted to this style as the sacred poetry of the Hebrews, which, according to Dr. Lowth, did not consist in the jingle of rhyme, like our modern poetry] nor in the regularly measured feet of Greek or Latin poetry, but in' divisions of nearly the same interval ; each of which contained some grand thought, amplified by corresponding clauses. To exemplify this, we only need refer the reader to the eighth Psalm, beginning, " O Lord our God, how excellent is thy name in all the earth ! fcc. fee."* If the reader will take the trouble of examin- * * " O Lord our God, how excellent is thy name in all the earth! Who hast set thy glory above the heavens ! **#*#### " When I consider the heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars which thou hast ordained, " What is man, that thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that thou visitest him ? " For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and clothed him with <*lory and honor. « Thou madest him to have dominion over the works of thine hands ; thou hast put all things under his feet : EXEMPLIFICATIONS. 375 ing this Psalm, he will see that the first distich gives, as it were, the subject in one grand thought, forcibly, but simply expressed, and without impertinent accessories, such as is truly and in fact the utterance of the heart, when it is really deeply impressed. There are no spun-out metaphors, no weakening epithets, as in the senti- mental, which not feeling deeply, takes time to adorn her feelings, and observe whether they are well dressed as she produces them. Here are no antitheses, no strongly contrasted feelings or ideas, as in the active sublime, where the mind is convulsed with conflicting and opposite passions ; but one great thought powerfully impressed the heart and mind of the speaker; the soul dwells on it, and illus- trates it in a hundred different ways ; seeking analogies from the glory of the heavens to the depths of the sea, to give utterance to the fulness of his heart; and he returns with increased glow of soul to the same conclusion from which he set out. The style, too, like the ideas, is uniformly supported and dignified, dividing itself in about equable regular and measured cadences, wholly without jingle, but the heart singly fixed on one grand point; and finding utterance from its abundance, selects an ample tide of lofty and majestic imagery to illustrate her ideas and feelings, which glowing as they proceed, heighten in a regular and magnificent climax, without ever quitting their point. " All sheep and oxen, yea, and the beast of the field, the fowl of the air, and the fish of the sea, and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas. " O Lord our God, how excellent is thy name in all the earth!" We might refer the reader to a very great variety of similar passages, both in profane and sacred literature. If he will compare the opening of Gray's Bard with Cato's Soliloquy, or the preceding Psalm with the 14th Chapter of Isaiah, he will observe the difference of style between the active and the passive sublime, and clearly perceive that these characteristic differences are equally to be traced in the cast of thought, the expression or style, and the class of tone of which the words themselves are construe ted. We do not give many examples, because, when the hypothesis is once made intelligible, numerous exemplifications will spontaneously occur. 376 EXEMPLIFICATIONS. This style in writing may be compared in vision to the approach <>{ a noble mansion by a spacious avenue. You see the object of your journey's end distinctly proposed at first ; but as you proceed through the long and regular vista of ap- proach, it rises in magnitude and in dignity, without ever allowing the eye to be diverted from it. In the active sublime, on the contrary, though it is equally far from feeble thoughts and tame expletives, yet the march of idea is abrupt, irregular, and, though grand and magnificent, yet forcibly contrasted, and abounding in apostrophe, antitheses, and all the bolder figures of speech. The reader will immediately feel the difference by an example. We also take it from Scripture, and refer to the fourteenth chap- ter of Isaiah, the triumph of the prophet over the fall of the king of Babylon. Let the reader compare these two passages, and he will instantly see the difference between the magnificent amplified style of the pas- sive sublime, and the abrupt, bold, and contrasted imagery of the active sublime. The sentimental is in tone, soft, unsubstantial ; in succession, softly gliding, full of varied and soft inflexion. In the imitative arts it is, in idea, uncompressed, diffused, and polished, with many accessories gracefully adorned, with gentle cadence without promi- nent parts. As blank verse and devotional poetry may be consi- dered as belonging to the passive sublime, and as odes belong on the whole to the active sublime, so elegiac poetry may be consi- dered as belonging to the sentimental. That the sublime consists in the forcible expression of grand radi- cal parts ; and the sentimental, in the grace with which the acces- sories are adorned, and that their gliding into each other precludes any fixed determinate idea, may instantly be seen from this one circumstance ; that if any one will take the trouble of reading a fine sublime, and a beautiful sentimental passage, he will find that the first leaves a substantial, definite idea in his mind, which he can EXEMPLIFICATIONS. 377 clearly relate to a third person; whereas the sentimental leaves no fixed, permanent object, and he would be wholly incapable of relat- ing it. The ideas are mere accessories, and they slide into each other so as to leave no fixed idea. It is the difference of copying a drawing with, and without any definite outline. We will give an example of each sort, which will illustrate what is meant, and first of the sublime. We refer the reader to the begin- ning of the hundred and thirty-ninth Psalm in sacred, or to the pas- sage in the Tempest, beginning " The cloud-capt towers," in profane literature. In these passages it is obvious, that all the thoughts are grand, important, and clearly definite. A grandeur not of word only, but especially of the ideas conveyed by those words. Let the subject be repeated, and be ever so ill expressed, while the idea is given, the grandeur and sublimity of the passages cannot be wholly lost. The inspiration of the spirit that speaks cannot be smothered, however stammering the tongue through which it finds utterance. Now let us turn to a sentimental passage. We refer to Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard as one of the most beautiful specimens that either our own, or perhaps any lan- guage affords. It has been chosen as a most striking example of true genuine sentiment, far removed from that sickly trash, the unhealthy and diseased exhalations of hearts and minds, stagnant for want of really useful objects, which so often usurps its name. Yet beautiful as it is, the reader would find it impossible to tell another what it was about ; nor could he find any leading, radical idea to fix it in his recollection ; and if he attempted to translate it to a person who did not understand English, he would find that the beauties were wholly lost ; because they consist not in any prominent, radical points, capable of being seized and copied, but in the graceful ex- pression, in the blending of those half tints of feeling, if I may use the expression, which elude accurate observation and investigation, and which cannot therefore be easily rendered. 3 c 378 EXEMPLIFICATIONS. The first eclogue of Virgil, and Tibullus, afford multitudes of examples to the same point: this one, however, will probably explain sufficiently what is meant. The reader may be especially referred, in Virgil's first eclogue, to the passage beginning, " Fortunate Senex ergo," and the thirteen following lines, kc. kc. Also in Percy's beautiful, pathetic ballad, " O Nanny, wilt thou gang with me i" And in the ode ascribed to Sappho, which, in Phillips's well- known translation, begins, " Blest as th' immortal Gods is lie." In all these it must be evident, that there is much grace and little substance. And any person who undertook to give the " Esprit raisonnc" of these, or any other sentimental productions, would probably find himself not a little puzzled. In the sentimental, instead of one grand thought dwelt on, as in the passive sublime,* or distinct grand thoughts and passions strongly contrasted, as in the active sublime, there must be a suc- cession of ideas and feelings constantly and gradually varying, in which one idea and feeling gently and imperceptibly flows into the next, like a river which, though the waters are constantly changing, yet to the eye forms one regular, uninterrupted stream. Indeed the very word sentimental naturally implies, that the mind is left at a sort of leisure to be passively modified by external objects, and the feelings spontaneously rising out of them, and as spontaneously issuing from each other in their natural succession, without any act of volition to turn their course. In short, the succession of the active sublime and sentimental, in sound and in idea, may be compared to experiments with prismatic light, and those of the ocular spectra in vision. Where the colors are not intense, as in prismatic colors, they fol- low each other in a regular succession, growing out of each other, EXEMPLIFICATIONS. 379 and blending their tints, so that the beginning of each can hardly be discerned, though they grow out of each other in a regular succession of violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red. But where they are intense, as in the case of the experiment of the ocular spectra, the optic nerve having been forcibly excited, rests itself by a revulsion to an opposite position, which presents to the eye the phantoms of a totally different color. Just so is it with the feelings of the heart. Where they are soft, gentle, or sentimental, as I term them, they successively and regularly grow out of each other in a progressive concatenation ; where, on the other hand, the passion is a powerful one, the heart rests itself by a revulsion to opposite feelings, which is one cause of the contrasts in the sublime. Let any of my readers examine their own hearts ; have they nofc observed, that in all the deep passions of the mind, they have expe- rienced this alternation and revulsion of feeling. In grief, for ex- ample, are there not paroxysms of feeling and of rest? Are not alternate high and low spirits esteemed the symptom of deep dis- tress? And, if we have recourse to the imitative arts, to poetry for example, is not this alternation of feeling the criterion of expres- sion of the vivid passions? We could refer the reader to many other examples, besides those of Othello, Macbeth, Hamlet, King Lear, De Montford, See. &c. In the tragedy of Richard the Third, where the warp of the heart, the black dye in grain, and not the impetus of passion, is described ; there is no such alternation ex- hibited. In the sprightly, on the other hand, the tone must be shrill, distinct, short, tinkling, contrasted, rapid, and accented with elas- ticity. In thought, the sprightly consists of a number of petty distinct ideas, glittering enough to catch the attention, but not grand enough to keep it. They must be light, versatile, abounding in point, in smartly and 3c2 380 EXEMPLIFICATIONS. distinctly rendered petty images, contrasted. The pretty, in short, is to the sublime just what the glittering crystals of Derbyshire spar are to the massy and disrupted gigantic crags of Chimborazo. There must be a constant glitter and sudden shifting of ideas ; a constant succession of surprise and small parts. Hence wit comes under the head of the sprightly. This being the character of the sprightly as to idea, it follows, that in the words, in which it is clothed, the same smartness, small distinct parts, and intersections of style must be observed. Hence a short perspi- cuous style, abounding in short periods, belongs to this genus. Com- pare the thunder of Bossuet, in his Discours sur l'Histoire Universale, with the sonorous grandeur of the dignified cadence of Johnson. The elegant, flowered style of Fenelon and Addison, and the point of Voltaire and Franklin. The styles of these authors afford excel- lent specimens of each different species of beauty. In poetry, our undesyllabic measure has exactly the requisite of the SPRIGHTLY. Many examples might be given. On the whole, Young, Milton, and Lucan may certainly be esteemed among the first class of passive sublime poets. Milton, Homer, ^Eschylus, Shakespeare, Gray, claim a high place in the active sublime. Virgil, Sappho, Tibullus, Hammond, Gray, Percy, Beattie, Waller, Fenelon, Lyttleton, and others, may be considered as sentimental. Popes Rape of the Lock, Anstey's poems, Sheridan's comedies, Sec. Boileau's Lutrin, kc. may be considered as decidedly belonging tO the SPRIGHTLY. Many poems have a mixed character. Walter Scott's vivid and animated succession of poetic sketches unites a mixture of the sprightly and active sublime. As Dr. Darwin's that of the sprightly sentimental. Sir William Jones may also be consi- dered as a poet of a mixed character, between the sprightly, active svblime, and sentimental. FOUNDATION OF THE RULES. 381 Enough has now been said clearly to point out, both in sound and in thought, the leading characteristics of each species of beauty under the sense of hearing. A few desultory observations, however, tending farther to eluci- date the subject, will be added. It has been said, that in the active sublime there must be short and abrupt periods, and no superfluous words. The reason of this may perhaps be more clear, from the following considerations. Under the head of vision, we remarked, that straight lines be- longed to the sublime, because they were the shortest possible line between one point and another. But, as in motion a straight line expresses decision, because it leads the very shortest possible road from one point to another, so, in writing, the fewest possible words express decision, because they lead the shortest possible way from one idea to another. Little words, by suspending the principal ones, cause the ideas to lag behind the mind of the reader ; which produces what we call a prolix, diffuse style. Whereas, where little words and tame accessory ideas are ex- punged, the principal ideas present themselves to the eye of the reader more quickly than his mind could have drawn the conclusion alone ; and this forms a vigorous and energetic style. For were we to consider what is the definition of a prolix and a vigorous style., is it not precisely this ? In a feeble style, the ideas of the reader outrun the succession presented by the author. In a vigorous style, the ideas of the author outrun the invention of the reader. The one is walking with a slow- paced companion, who lags behind, hanging at our arm like a dead weight, impeding our speed at every step. The other is like some stout and alert companion, who lends a strong arm, and draws us on without fatiguing us. Hence Latin, or any other language in which only the principal 382, - FOUNDATION OF THE RULES. words appear, and in which the inferior ones are given by modified affixes or prefixes to the principals, without obtruding themselves, must of course be proportionally vigorous. Whilst on the other hand, a style, in which are many expletives, must be proportionally weak and dhTuse. The same maybe observed of epithets, whether they be adjectives, explaining the mode of substantives ; or adverbs, marking the modification of verbs. The more they are used, the weaker the style. The same is to be remarked of ideas. The more clearly the principal idea is kept in view, the less secondary ones are used to enforce it, the more strength will be preserved. The essence of the sublime, is not to say and exhaust all that may be said on any subject, but forcibly to give the materials for thinking, the materials for feeling. The following example is selected to shew the force or weakness of the very same idea, when the sense is concentrated, or when ex- panded throughout a number of insignificant words. The subject is the first lines of the ^Eneid. We give the original, and Dryden's. translation ; and afterwards Chaucer's, in his House of Fame. " Arma virumque cano, Trojoe qui primus ab oris, Italiam fato profugus Lavinaque venit." P. Virgil. Murom JEneidos. " Arms and the man I sing, who, forced by fate, And haughty Juno's unrelenting hate, Expelled and exiled, left the Trojan shore." Dryden's Fireil. " I woll now sing, if that I can, The armis and also the man, Who first came through his destinie, Fugitife fro Troy the countre, Unto Itaile with full much pine, Unto the strondes of Lavine, And tho began the storie anoue, As I shall tellen you echone." Chaucer, first book of House of Fame. Foundation of the rules. 383 ' Let any person examine these three separate examples, where the same idea is intended to be given, and he will trace the progression from the sublime, the passable, and the altogether weak. The genius of the Latin and English language did not admit of Dryden's giving the same force to his translation as the original. The Latin tongue expresses modifications of idea by inflexions of the principal words. The northern tongues know not these inflexions; they abound in a multitude of little unemphatic words. Hence the more remote the period from which we take our example, the weaker and the more diffuse it is ; because our language partook proportionally more of the Northern and less of the Latinized phraseology. The reader may be convinced of this, by consulting the examples of each given in the notes. Let him compare the long character of Sir Thomas More with the epitaph on Franklin. The single line of the latter is an epitome of the sailliant points of Franklin's life ; the whole of the other conveys not one single, definite idea. Nobody can fail to see the difference between a style in which many accessories are used, and one in which the leading ideas only are touched, and are forcibly thrown in relief and contrast. It may also be observed, that it gains not only in strength, but in perspicuity. Much more is said in Franklin's epitaph, or in that of Jansenius, than in the labored but indefinite panegyric on Sir Thomas More. In idea or subject the essence of the sublime is to give thought, extracted from a world of thinking. The essence of the feeble is to give an imperfect thought, smo- thered beneath an ocean of indefinite words, and feeble, accessory, irrelevant ideas. Manv instances of the true sublime are to be found in the elo- quence of every savage nation. Their impressions are vivid ; they know no shades of accessory feelings ; and they express themselves by objects of perception, instead of ideas of abstraction; by verbs and substantives, instead of derivatives. The feeble, diffuse style 384 FOUNDATION OF THE RULES. was much in vogue from the revival of literature to the beginning of the progress of science in Charles the Second's time. In fact, the revival of literature brought in an influx of words, similes, kc. before science had furnished things properly to expend them upon. See Sydney's Arcadia, kc. the epitaphs of that period, the ancient romances and poetry, kc. kc. x It will be observed, that most of the examples we have given of the sublime are Latin. In truth, this language is far more capable of the concise and powerful contrast of active sublime expression than English. The inflexions of nouns, pronouns, adjectives, and verbs, being given without little words, it is both more concise and more defi- nite ; and words being definite, the idea becomes forcibly thrown out in relief; and where the idea is well defined, it is clearly dis- tinguished and contrasted with the next, instead of being blended into one uniform stream. The sentimental, on the other hand, pursues quite a different course of thought, and ought to be clothed in very different lan- guage. As the variations of thought in the sentimental must be almost imperceptible, so that style becomes necessary which favors the concealment of the terminations of one idea, and the commence- ment of another. The ideas must be expressed at length ; they must be united by many accessory ones, blending the foregoing with the succeeding idea. Hence the periods become longer, and divided into more clauses, without marked pauses. The words, too, must not be so definite as in the sublime. They must, indeed, not be irrelevant, but yet the sense must be expanded throughout a number of little words, gently and imperceptibly giv- ing the idea. Thus, in gardening, if a walk is to be turned from one direction to another, the longer the road is, the more imperceptible will be the curve, though every part may partake of it, and lead, though slow- ly, to the final object. So, in style, the less compressed it is, and COMPOSITION. 385 the less definite each word, the more easy it will be to vary the idea imperceptibly, to conceal the precise point at which one idea is sub- stituted for another. Not that any absolutely irrelevant words or ideas should be used. This would give that feeble diffuseness of style, visible in the fore- going example. But as in the walk before spoken of, every part must partake, without any break, of a gentle, though almost imper- ceptible curve; so in the sentimental., however expanded the idea, every word must in some degree, though but in a small one, con- duce to its elucidation. Hence the sentimental delights in a number of accessory ideas, expressed also by a number of accessory words. On this account, the Northern languages, or those derived from them, are peculiarly adapted to this style of writing. And accord- ingly it will perhaps be found, that some of our most beautiful pa- thetic compositions, peculiarly abound with words of Saxon, Gothic, Icelandic, and Celtic origin ; whilst our nervous and sublime writers chiefly use words of Latin or Greek derivation. Compare Gray's two Elegies, in a Church-yard and on Eton, Percy's poems, and some of Mallet's, with the style of Johnson, Parr, Paley, &c. It will appear, that not only the cast of thought and feeling are different, but that both the set of words and the construction of the sentences are totally distinct. Perhaps one of the peculiar beauties and richest resources of the English tongue, consists in the variety of languages from which it has not only incorporated expressions, but adopted varieties in its modes of construction. So that any writer, well aware of this pecu- liarity, may either use the terse construction, the comprehensive and forcible diction derived from the classic tongues, or he may follow the Anglo-Saxon more lax construction ; and adopt, with its multitude of words, its sentences more diffuse, and divided into many clauses. Addison and Johnson, amongst our prose writers, perhaps offer the most perfect models of these two opposite styles. 3 D 386 LANGUAGE. Swift and Franklin offer perfect specimens of the middle style, which is perhaps the best suited to ordinary prose composition, in which a luminous perspicuity is requisite, without any character of peculiar force. Accordingly, if the style of these two prose writers be analyzed, it will be found that they unite both the Latin and Saxon styles ; very much omitting many of the short intersecting words of the Saxon, and yet avoiding the compressed expression of the Latin. Any person tracing the progress of the English tongue from the time of Chaucer to the present day, cannot fail of being struck with the progress from the Northern to the Latinized construction. Almost every half century presents a striking alteration in this respect. Nor has this alteration perhaps ever proceeded with more rapidity, than in the last half century. Let any person take up one of Addison's papers in the Spectator, and consider the sentences. He will perhaps perceive, that there is scarcely one, but would have been compressed into a much smaller compass by any writer of the present day. And on examining how this compression is effected, it will be found that it mostly consists in exchanging a Saxon construction for a Latinized one. A few observations may be added on the different nature of the sounds of which language is composed. Vowels, it will be granted on all hands, are the only simple sounds. Consonants are only the inflexions of sounds, and, as their name implies, can only sound with them.* * In truth, M ere written language formed upon the real principles of the modifications of sound in speech, our alphabet would probably be written on principles the exact converse of the Hebrew character. Instead of having consonants with vowel points, we should adopt vowel characters with consonant points ; since, in truth, each distinct syllable is only a dis- tinct vowel, or self-subsistent sound, inflected either at its commencement or termination, or both. On this plan, indeed, the number of vowel characters would be much more consider- able than those we now use. We should no longer designate a great number of totally dis- LANGUAGE. 387 Hence, consonants in fact, bear the same relation to vowels, that angles do to lines marking their inflexions. Or they might be compared, as it respects vowels, to adjectives, which have no existence by themselves, but which are only ser- viceable in marking the quality of the substances to which they belong. They are not so much a distinct existence, as a modification, shew- ing the relation of vowels to each other. tinct sounds by the same sign. We should no longer use the same letter to express the dissi- milar sounds of a, in the words hat, hate, art, all, carry, &c. ; but every distinct sound would have its own distinct and appropriate character. But if, on one hand, the number of vowel characters was considerably increased, that of the consonant points would be very few ; since our consonants would, in truth, be reduced to one half their number, were the same inflexion always marked by the same sign, and were its hard and soft breathing no longer designated as a different letter, which in fact it is not, but simply by an alteration of the posi- tion of the same point, say, over or under its respective vowel. That we use two characters, for the hard and soft breathing of the very same sound, will appear by placing the corres- ponding sounds in juxtaposition. Examples. Hard. Soft. Pet, Bet, - P, B. Sink, Zinc, - S hissing, as in sit, or ss, Z, or s soft, like as. Tell, Dell, - T, D. Feel, Veal, - F, V. Chuse, Jews, - Ch, as in chuse, J, as in^'ef. Ket, Get, - K, G, as in get. Run, Rung, - N, Ng, as in rung. Sure, Jour, - Sh, French J, as in jonc, jour. Thistle, This, - Th, as in three, Th, as in thee. Although we do not mean to urge our printers to adopt a new character, or our friends to go to school anew, we cannot but think, that had this mode been originally adopted, it would not have been destitute of advantages. Every syllable being designated by one character only, the eye, by taking in much more at one view, would perceive the combination and succession of ideas, with the same clearness as in a chart. It would enable the mind, without fatigue, much more evidently to see the truth, or detect the fallacy of any chain of argument ; to say nothing of the reduction of books to one third of their present expense, and bulk. We are sure all amongst ministers who are itinerant, and all amongst philosophers who are of the peripatetic school, will favor our plan. 3 D 2, 388 LANGUAGE. Vowels, then, being, when uninfected by consonants, a continued sound, and not an inflexion of a sound, may be compared to conti- nuity of line in vision. Consonants giving an inflexion to that sound, may be compared to inflexions of lines in vision. Hence, the more vowels and the fewer consonants there are in any language, the more rugged, harsh, and abrupt it will be. Now, consonants and vowels may again be each subdivided. The consonants may be divided into two species, the harsh and accented, or the soft and liquid. The harsh are those which give the roughest inflexion, as the. Dutch and German G, English and Greek Th, Ch, the Northern Gh, also Rh, and other aspirate consonants and gutturals, many of which abound in the Anglo-Saxon, Mceso-Gothic, and other Northern dialects. The accented are those which give the most sudden percussion or inflexion, as b, p, d, t. Now the harsh and accented consonants, giving the roughest and most sudden inflexions to vowels, may be compared, in their effects, to angles, which give the most sudden and violent inflexions to lines. The liquid and soft consonants, such as z, soft s, I, m, the //, mouille of the French, Sec, give the softest and gentlest, and most im- perceptible inflexion to vowels ; they may therefore be compared to curves, which give the softest and gentlest inflexion to lines. Compare the character given by these two species of consonants, in the lines, " Down the rough slope the pond'rous waggon rings." with the beginning of Milton, " Hail, holy light." To mark the character of sudden and rapid inflexion given by the accented consonants, see the following line from Aftsoftiusf; " Sic tibi nix nox nux nex fuit ante diem." Hence, since both the harsh and accented cousonants give inflex- ions, of which the harsh consonants mark rough inflexions, and the LANGUAGE. 389 accented ones, sudden inflexion, it follows, according to the preceding theory, that The rauc, harsh, guttural consonants belong exclusively to the ACTIVE SUBLIME. The accented consonants, according to the vowels they are joined with, may belong either to the active sublime, or the pretty, as they inflect a full bodied or petty sound. The soft consonants exclusively belong to the passive classes, and according to the vowels with which they are joined, may belong to the passive sublime or the sentimental. Vowels, on the other hand, admit of being divided into four clas- ses, (by vowels we mean simple sounds, whether expressed by one character or not ;) thus we call a, in call, in hat, in hate, in art, in stare, distinct vowels, though in English all expressed by one cha- racter. Vowels are either sonorous and full bodied, as au, ai, o in ore ; or they are of a thin and unsubstantial sound, as i in pin, e in pet, kc. Or else they are short but full, as a in dash, crash, o in Scotch; or else they are sweet and soft, like u in flute, or oo, or a in hate, or e in eat. Now the sonorous and full bodied vowels, exclusively give the character of gravity, grandeur, and strength. When they are in- flected by the harsh, or accented consonants, they give the effect of the active sublime; when by soft consonants, of the passive sub- lime. The short but full vowels give accent with rapidity ; hence, when inflected by the guttural, harsh consonants, they give the effect of the active sublime ; when intersected by the smart percussion of accented consonants, they may belong to the pretty. The thin, short, unsubstantial vowels, exclusively belong to the sprightly, and in their own nature always follow the smart percus- sion of accented consonants, nor can they exist but in combination with them. The soft vowels belong especially to the sentimental — when in- 390 LANGUAGE. fleeted by the softer consonants,, they do so to the greatest degree ; where they are inflected by rougher consonants, they may be used occasionally in the passive sublime. The foregoing observations are to be understood with a consider- able share of allowance. It is no doubt impossible to construct any piece of composition, which shall, so abound in any one species of consonants or vowels, as to exclude all others. This is not meant. But the rules before given are, we believe, just, so far as defining the characters of the different vowels and consonants ; and in proportion as any particu- lar species abound, their character will be imparted to the compo- sition. If the preceding observations on the ideas to be used in different species of writing, on the construction of language, and on the sounds of the words composing it, be true, then it will appear, that, The active sublime must abound in bold, forcible thoughts and feelings, abruptly contrasted, or impetuously rushing together. The construction of the sentences must be short, abrupt, full of marked pauses, irregular. The words composing them must, in consonants, abound in harsh gutturals, and in strongly accented consonants. In vowels, those which are full-toned, whether they be short or long. The passive sublime, must begin by some one grand elevated thought as a theme, which must be uniformly pursued and dwelt on, and enhanced by an accession of grand ideas and magnificent imagery, going on in one regular stream. The construction of the sentences must be long, ample, slow, and with dignified cadence. Often in corresponding clauses, often in regularly returning lines; the words composing the sentences to abound in full-toned, long, mellow vowels, frequently inflected by soft consonants. It admits occasionally of the soft, long vowels, but not of the rapid vowels. The sentimental consists of soft, tender, but unsubstantial ideas LANGUAGE. 391 and feelings, growing imperceptibly out of each other, in gentle or unemphatic rises or falls. In construction, the sentences are long, formed of a multitude of words, none of which are energetic or ner- vous. In words, soft vowels and soft consonants abound. Without harsh gutturals, and without full-toned vowels. The sprightly is in idea petty, multitudinous, distinct, glitter- ing. In construction brief, divided into multitudes of short sen- tences. Accented with elasticity. Tinkling. In words abounding with rapid, short, unsubstantial vowels, with the smartly accented, but not with the rough, guttural consonants. Many examples might be given under each head. We refer to the following of the active and passive sublime. They lose much by being disunited from their context ; so that they can merely shew the peculiar effect of sound and construction, disunited from the sense. * * Madame de Stael makes the following excellent observations upon the practice often adopted by German writers, of using monotonous repetitions of certain phrases in terrible scenery, and of the power of this monotony to inspire horror. " Les anciens, et les poetes du moyen age, ont parfaitement connu l'effroi que cause, dans de certaines circonstances, le retour des mtjmes paroles ; il semble qu'on reveille ainsi le sen- timent de l'iriflexible necessite. Les ombres, les oracles, toutes les puissances surnaturelles, doivent etre monotones : ce qui est immiiable est uniforme ; et c'est un grand art, dans cer- taines fictions, que d'imiter, par les paroles, la fixite solennelle que l'imagination se represente dans l'empire des tenebres et de la mort." — UAllemagne, torn. i. page 343, edit. Londres. It will be observed by the reader, that the fixity and unalterability produced by this mono- tony, are precisely the very characteristics described as appropriate to the passive sub- lime. In truth, however, the repetition of certain lines at measured intervals, may be employed in two totally distinct classes of poetry ; and according to its judicious application, it heightens the effect of both ; in the one case aggravating the awful, and in the other giving point and accent to the sprightly. Spenser's admirable translation of the terrible ballad of Leonora, affords, perhaps, one of the very best examples our language has produced of the former ; and many brilliant specimens of the latter may be found in Sir William Jones's exquisite transla- tions from the sprightly songs of the Persian poet Hafez. In the latter case, the sportive playfulness of fancy, which, after amusing itself with short, o-ay, skittish sallies, voluntarily returns to the same idea, whence it starts afresh with like 392 STYLE. ACTIVE SUBLIME. " Hark ! with high tread and prancings proud, A war-horse shakes the rattling grate, Clattering his clanking armor loud, Alights a horseman at the gate. * * # # # playfulness, may be compared to the sportive vivacity of some animal, which, wild and buoyant with spirits, playfully bounds and frisks about, and after gaily encircling the same spot, returns to his master, and presently starts off in another circle. In the former case, a monotonous repetition of the same words, as Madame de Stael most justly observes, gives the effect of an unalterable fixed necessity, regularly and inevitably march- ing on, like time and death, to overwhelm you ; and which, however you may endeavour to extricate yourself from its fatality, or for a time to divert your attention, yet recurs again and again, meeting you whatever way you turn ; precluding, with a direful necessity, every at- tempt to elude or escape ; and staring you full in the face, whatever road you take. In this horrible monotony, great effect is given by those monotonous repetitions being couched in mysterious or dubious phraseology; such, for example, as Shakespeare's witch chorus, " Double, double, toil and trouble ! Fire burn, and cauldron bubble." Or the soothsayer's warning to Caesar, " Remember the ides of March !" For, it is to be observed, that as nonsense is usually desultory and inconsistent, and sense usually consistent and arranged ; so a writer, by giving to sheer nonsense a certain regular ar- rangement and recurrence (the garb of sense), gives the impression of a momentous sense, too deep and too mysterious for our research. But a degree of power beyond our own to comprehend, is the essence of sublimity. Nor is this expedient resorted to by poets only. Many other arts and sciences have also discovered the secret of giving an imposing appearance, by a skilful use of the garb of wisdom and power. We are sure, that a learned antiquary might produce many thousand examples from the days of jEsop, when the ass (contrary to its usual dulness) invented putting on the lion's skin ; to modern times, when a certain sublime has perhaps been given by the same means, to the ingenious reveries of Barou Swedenborg, Madame Bourignon, and Jacob Behmen. And in Moliere's time, when physic was not so well understood as it is now, we see that " La grosse peruque," went very far towards establishing the reputation of a phy- sician. In all these cases, the principle is the same. When human power arrives at its " ne plus ultra," either in works of imagination or judgment, mystery is resorted to, that the nar- row bounds may be concealed, and the spectator's imagination amplify the bounds of the domain. STYLE. 393 With lightning's force the courser flies, Earth shakes, his thundering hoofs beneath ! Dust, stones, and sparks in whirlwinds rise, And horse and horseman pant for breath. * # # # * ^ ?P ^fr 4fr Full at a portal's massy grate The plunging steed impetuous dash'd ; At the dread shock, fort, bars, and gate, Hurl'd down with headlong ruin crash'd! Lo ! whilst the night's dread glooms increase, Transform'd, the wond'rous horseman stood : The crumbling flesh shrunk piece by piece, Like ashes from consuming wood. Shrunk to a skull, his pale face glares ; High ridged, his eyeless sockets stand ; All bone, his towering form appears ; A dart gleams deadly from his hand! The fiend-horse snorts blue fiery flakes, Collected roll his nostrils round ; High-rear'd, his bristling mane he shakes, Then sinks beneath the rending ground ! Spenser's Leonora. passive sublime. Address to the Sun, in Carthon. " O thou, who rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy beams, O Sun, and whence thine everlasting light ? " Thou earnest forth in thine awful beauty, the stars fade at thy presence, and the moon, cold and pale, sinks beneath the western wave ! But thou thyself movest alone, and who can be a companion of thy course ? " The oaks of the mountains fall, the mountains themselves decay with years. The ocean grows and shrinks : n, and the moon herself is lost in heaven. " But thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course ! " When the world is dark with tempests ; when thunder rolls, and lightning glances through the heavens ; thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm ! " But to Ossian thou lookest in vain ! for I behold thy beams no more ; whether thy yel- low hair fl.oats on the eastern clouds, or trembles at the gates of the west. " Yet thou, perhaps, like me, art but for a season ! and thy years will have an end ! Thou too, shalt once sleep for ever in thy clouds, and shalt one day sink, unawakened more by the voice of the morning ! 3 E 394 LANGUAGE. The examples given will, we hope, sufficiently explain the effects of style of thought, and construction of language. The active sublime, it may be seen, has its root in violent feel- ing and violent resolves. The passive sublime in deep feeling, and in determined but calm resolves. The difference in their principles being understood, that of the language, in which they are clothed, will immediately be ob- vious. The rules above given, as far as they relate to the construction of sentences, may be tried by applying them to a variety of lan- guages. If the rules are founded in truth, if certain classes of tone are really in nature connected with certain modes of feeling, they will then be found to hold equally good, in whatever language they are applied. And that these rules are true, I think appears from this circum- stance, that the general character of different languages is very much determined by them. For example; the long, full-toned vowels and diphthongs abound in Greek, as also some of the gutturals and harsh consonants, as the x, Y, P, H,0; accordingly, Greek is universally esteemed the most dignified and sublime language ; equally suscep- tible of the lofty dignity of the passive sublime, or the energy of the active ; which last quality it owes, in a great measure, to the facility of making compound words, which condense and compress the ideas into a smaller compass. The Northern languages again, abound in harsh gutturals and accented consonants, as the Saxon 3, ! S, gh, and the Moeso-Gothic r, t/, , 0, X, Q ; also in a multitude of little words. Now, when its guttural sounds are used, whilst the short Latin construction is adopted, it is capable of surprising force; but when the little words are retained, it is peculiarly adapted to one description of sentimen- tal, the pastoral sentimental, which will be more fully spoken of afterwards.* * Vide the chapter of Adjunct Classes, LANGUAGE, 395 Italian, on the contrary, which abounds in vowels and in soft consonants, is peculiarly said to excel in the polished sentimental. Perhaps our readers will have the goodness to compare, in a par- ticular manner, the German and Italian languages. The tone of the vowels is nearly the same in both ; nevertheless their character is totally distinct, owing to the different modification of the consonants. In the Italian language, the proportion of vowels to that of con- sonants, is much greater than in the German. And in the German, the harsh consonants and gutturals are much used, whereas the Ita- lian abounds in soft ones. French, on the contrary, though it knows none of those emphatic inflexions which we term accent, yet abounds in what we have termed rapid vowels, or short vowels, and consonants of accent, or smart percussion. The recurrence of full-toned vowels is rare ; it knows no gutturals, but is full of short vowels and accented consonants ; in short, it has all the characteristics of the sprightly. And accordingly, we find that it is peculiarly adapted to the pur- poses of conversation, or colloquial composition ; as anecdotes, me- moirs, repartees, and all those species of composition, where a sparkling lustre is to be imparted to trifles. If the genius and construction of these different languages be con- sidered, it will soon appear why Homer, ^Eschylus, Shakespeare, Milton, and Klopstock, wrote in Greek, in English, and in German, instead of in French or in Italian. Or as it would be more correctly expressed, why Greece, England, and Germany produced this de- scription of genius, instead of France. Consider the capabilities of the language, and it will immediately be obvious, why genius similar to that of Petrarch, or Tasso, should have expanded in Italy, rather than in England or Germany. And why the grace of Sevigne, Stael, Florian, or the wit of Vol- taire, can never be transfused through the forcible, but ponderous and cumbrous pen of an English writer. It will probably be said, in answer to these observations, that they are not in fact true. 3 e 2 LANGUAGE. For that all these countries have a variety of writers in various styles. If England has its Paradise Lost, France may boast its Hen- riade. If France have the Lutrin, and Vest Vert, we have also the Rape of the Lock, Sec, If Italy has produced Petrarch, has she not also given birth to Dante, &c. kc. ? But to this it may be replied, that although all well-constructed languages have a sufficient degree of copiousness to be capable of works of imagination of different de- scriptions, yet the literary fame of the country is founded on those Only in which its peculiar character, resources, and strength dis- play themselves. The literary fame of England rests itself on Shakespeare and Milton, rather than on the elegant and ornamented poetry of Darwin, or the wit of Butler. That of France is founded rather on her memorialists, kc. than on the Henriade. And if Dante be mentioned by Italians, as a proof of the sublimity to which their language can attain, its honors are frequently brought forward by others, in con- trast with the genuine sublimity of Milton or Homer. And if we consider, that language may be termed the algebra of ideas ; that it not only furnishes visible signs, by which we may make our ideas perceptible to others, but that it also is an ample means, by combination, of eliciting new ones ; it will then appear, that there must always be a close connexion between the genius of any nation and its language. That as in the outset the genius of the .nation modified the language, so the language, once formed, operates by a constant and imperceptible influence in modelling the modes of thought and feeling of the people, and in forming that style of genius analogous to it ; just as the uniform, but imper- ceptible influence of climate, in modelling the human figure and complexion. We have now spoken of sound and its modifications, as it relates to the different classes of beauty. A word may be added on the subject of those modifications of sound which express the different species of deformity. The horrible has been described to be the active sublime LANGUAGE. 39' sharpened, or with its violence increased and grandeur dimi- nished. Hence in sound it has the roughness and abruptness of the sub- lime much increased, with its fulness of tone and its distinctness diminished. In style, as to thought, its violence, irritability, and gloom is in- creased. Its imagery is equally bold, but distorted, gloomy, dis- proportionate. The alternations of passion are so violent as to strain and disgust the mind ; and too rapid to be distinctly per- ceived, or to be subject to those marked and long pauses, which in the sublime give a powerful stamp to each feeling before the next succeeds. In the sublime, the objects of feeling are grand, and the feelings flowing from them are great, because that the exciting cause is so. In the horrible, there is the preternatural violent excitement of an unhealthy mind, without adequate cause. As examples of the horrible, perhaps the ballad of Alonzo the Brave, The Auncient Marinere, might be adduced : nor should we, above all, omit a reference to the excellent poems of Crabbe, whose forcible and accurate descriptions of scenes of real horror, are yet equalled by the inimitable truth and pathos of his contemplative sentimental pieces, The Parting Hour, The Patron, The Library, See. fcc. The authors of the preceding ballads have admirably well thrown into relief the barbarous, and yet gigantic genius, 'of an uncivilized age, and the disgustful, yet gloomy accompaniments, of vice and misery. This style of writing, dark, gloomy, distorted, is yet full of power- ful genius, and seems almost like the description of the sun, darkly gleaming through black misshapen clouds, chasing each other in a stormy day. As the poet expresses it, " glory veiled in gloom." The vapid, or passive sublime flattened, has been described to be the same as the passive sublime, with its continuity increased, and its firmness or strength diminished. : Hence in voice the vapid is deep, but droning, monotonous, 398 STYLE. drawling, uninflecled, without the least modulation or inflexion. Hence it is dissonant and without mellowness, wearying the ear. In style also it is diffuse, prolix, not definite ; utterly without strength, or compass, or invention ; its style, when it attempts rea- soning, are thread-bare truisms. When it attempts feeling, turgid and quaint ; inflated words, without ideas or feelings. When it attempts metaphor, they are dull, far fetched, labored, and irrele- vant. Periods involved, confused, without nerve or cadence. Under this head may be ranged the taste for long-spun allegories, compa- risons wire-drawn, fcc. &c. This style prevailed very much from the time succeeding the restoration of literature, till the Augustan age of English letters, under Queen Anne. Perhaps it was at its height from Henry the Eighth's time to the end of the Commonwealth. It appears to have obtained also in the rise of Oriental literature. Our readers are referred to many of the speeches of Oliver Crom- well, the deliberations of the Barebones Parliament, Sydney's Arcadia, kc. kc. for examples of this style of writing ; a short one may be found in Harrington's Nugse Antiquse, under the head in the Index of An holesome Remedy for the Soule of Man. The porcine, or sentimental flattened, consists in the senti- mental, with its relaxation increased, and its refinement and sus- ceptible affections taken away. In tone of voice it is thick, guttural, confused, and inarticulate. As this class of persons are too uninformed to write, and too idle to speak, no account can be given of their style. They have none. Those who wish to see an accurate description of a porcine person, may look in Spenser's Fairy Queen, in the legend of the Red Cross Knight ; where, in the House of Pride, they will find a description of gluttony, which is precisely what is meant. The flippant, or sprightly sharpened, is precisely the same as the sprightly, diminished in sweetness and elegance, and increased in violence and prettiness. STYLE. Hence, in tone, it is shrill and sharp, squeaking. Thus it bears the same proportion to the sprightly, as the squeak of the fife does to the flageolet. It is likewise unvaried by accent, and so high as to tear and tire the ear, as a yelping cur, a housewife scolding in the highest treble key. In style, the flippant has pettish insolence and impertinence, instead of animation ; violence, instead of playfulness ; stinging, in- stead of sparkling ; far-fetched conceits, instead of wit. Many passages of Cowley, not a few of Chaucer, of Sprat, Denham, and Waller, might be produced as instances of this style. In mo- dern times, lampoons, and other scurrilous performances, which have the levity of works of entertainment without their grace, and which have petty ill-nature and malignity instead of wit, may be considered as belonging to this despicable class. This chapter, like that on vision, may be concluded by applying the foregoing observations to physiognomony. The horrible or sublime (*) is In style . . . Ranting and bombast. In voice . . . Harsh, dissonant, unsubstantial, grating. The vapid or passive sublime ( b ) is, In style , . . Drawling, monotonous, turgid, and quaint. In voice . . . Deep, unsubstantial, immodulated, unharmonious, The porcine or sentimental ( b ) is, In style . . . Nothing. In voice . . . Croaking, thick, confused, choaked with gorman- dizing. The flippant or sprightly(*) is, In style . . . Full of affected conceit, and shallow impertinence. In voice . . . Squeaking, sharp, voluble. 400 STYLE. In the different styles of beauty, the characteristic tones of voice may be thus applied : SUBLIME. In style . . . Simple, strong, divested of accessories. Ideas .... Vast. In voice . . . Deep, full-toned, loud. ACTIVE SUBLIME. In style . . . Energetic, concise, short, broken periods. Ideas .... Contrasted. In voice . . . Harsh and rough. PASSIVE SUBLIME. In style . . . Ample, but not diffuse ; sonorous, in long mea- sured cadence. Ideas .... Discrete, or growing out of each other. In voice . . . Full, grave, mellow. SENTIMENTAL. In style . . . Diffuse, polished, adorned. Ideas .... Unforcible. Discrete. In voice . . . Sweet, unsubstantial, flexible, and full of soft modulation. In style . Ideas . . Voice . . On examination it will appear, that the physiognomonic charac- ters of sound are as little arbitrary as those of vision ; and that both ■ SPRIGHTLY. Intersected, lively, accented, much glittering orna- ment. Petty, distinct, frequently contrasted. Sweet, shrill, accented. TONES OF VOICE. 401 the tone of voice and style assigned to each, naturally and unavoid- ably, are consequent upon the radical passions which constitute each style, whether of beauty or deformity. Thus, a deep tone of voice being the distinguishing characteristic of a man's voice, we associate with it ideas of strength and power. It supposes strength of lungs, and that the passages through which the voice is formed have attained their full ampli- tude of volume. Soft and sweet is the distinguishing characteristic of the female voice. It is therefore associated with those ideas which we altach to the feminine character. It is less substantial than a deep toned voice; because the strength of lungs, or width of the passages through which the air passes, is not equal to the former. Again, a shrill voice is that of children; it is formed by activity of lungs ; but by the air passing through slender passages, which have not yet attained their developement, we therefore associate it with activity and diminutiveness. Once more ; a deep tone of voice, when inspired by strong pas- sions, is raised in loudness, and becomes less sweet. A greater pro- portion of breath being expended in a given time, the sentences are necessarily expressed more concisely. On the other hand, a deep tone of voice, when inspired by per- manent, but not violent feelings, does not exert its full pitch ; hence the voice is sweeter,, more modulated; the lungs are not sub- jected to any stress, and the sentences are longer and more sonorous. Whoever recollects his own sensations, or observes those of others, under the paroxysms of any powerful passion, must know that the increased action of the heart in the stimulating passions, and the concentration of blood upon it in the depressing ones, equally inter- fere with freedom of respiration ; and hence alone, if there were no other cause, all the classes of expression, that agitate the heart, are physiognomically characterized by short, abrupt sentences ; and all that leave the heart at rest, by long and well rounded ones. From these considerations it will appear, why the indications 402 TONES OF VOICE. assigned to the active and passive sublime are characteristic of these classes ; the same mode of reasoning may be extended to the horrible. As a deep, full voice, moderately exerted, produces the deep, sonorous flow of the passive sublime, and, stretched to its full pitch, the bold, harsh, and abrupt eloquence of the active ; so if the voice be goaded by passions of preternatural violence, it is urged beyond what its pitch will bear; and consequently becomes grating, hoarse, and jarring. It loses in strength and substance, and being exhausted, cannot preserve its natural key ; but sometimes is raised to a screaming pitch, from want of power. Again, when the heart is at rest, or when its surface is only gently undulated by soft passions, the voice not being exerted to its full power, is sweet, and full of gentle and tender modulation. And as in the horrible, the voice, by being unduly strained, was out of the power of regulation, so in the sentimental, by being kept very much within its pitch, it is in perfect command, and be- comes almost infinitely plastic, and susceptible of the greatest flexi- bility to every shade of emotion. In the porcine, where the habits of gormandizing choak the pas- sages, and oppress the breath, the voice becomes inward, thick, gut- tural, indistinct ; and the sentences short, but wholly unmodified by the expression either of heart or intellect. The porcine speaks, not to hold social intercourse with his fellow-creatures, but to get his animal wants supplied. Hence he hurries over his words, to end as soon as possible. In the sprightly, the essence of which is a constant, playful ac- tivity, the voice is modulated by accent ; it rests itself by short sen- tences ; and being never exerted to its full scope, is sweet as well as shrill. But in the flippant, where the same original diminutiveness is inspired by violent, petty, and malignant passions, the voice is goaded beyond its pitch ; it becomes sharp, squeaking, screaming, like a yelping cur or a Billingsgate scold. It saws and wears the ear with an intolerable shrillness ; and the ideas expressed, retain their acridity, and lose their ornament. ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 403 Whoever will take the trouble of comparing the relations between the different classes, will see that there is a decided similarity be- tween the active sublime and the sprightly ; only that the one is on a large, the other on a minute scale. They resemble each other, as the crags of Chimborazo may be compared to the crystals of a Derbyshire spar. And just so a sort of relation might be traced be- tween the horrible and the flippant. Precisely the same thing which, added to the active sublime, makes it horrible; when added to the sprightly, renders it flippant. Sufficient has now probably been said to illustrate the foregoing theory, as applied to sound or hearing. The next chapter will be devoted to making a few remarks on the same system, as applied to the sense of feeling. Additional Notes to Chapter II. Part III. EXAMPLES OF THE VAPID. A most Holesome Medecin for the Souk of Man. TAKE a quart of repentaunce of Nynivie, and put thereto bothe your handfulls of fervent faithe in Christ's bloode, with as much hope and charitie of the purest that you can gett or find in God's shopp, of eche a like quan- tities an ^ put it into a vessell of cleane conscience, and let it boile well in the fier of love till thoue seest, by the eye of faithe, the black fome of the love of the worlde stinke in the stomache : Then skyme it off cleane with the spone of faithfull prayers ; that done, put in the powder of patience, and take the immaculate clothe of Christ's pure innocencie, and strain it together throughe into Christ's cupp : Then drink it burning hote betimes next thie harte : This done, rest from thy beastlie conversation, used in time past, upon the bedd of Christ's pure innocencie, and cover thee warme with as many clothes of amendment of lief as God shall strengthen thee to bear : That thoue maste sweat out all the vile poison of covetousness, idoletrie, and 3 F 2 404 ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. the participation thereof, with all kinde of beggerlie pride, oppression, extorcion, sedition, usurie, prodigalitie, swaringe, lyinge, slaunderinge, envy- inge, wrathe, sects, thefte, murder, drunkeness, glottonye, and slowthe. With such like sweat clean of thie harte, thie bones, thie bodie, with all thie other powres or partes of thee : And euer wash thie harte and eyes with the pure water of humilitie, myxed with the fear of God ; and laye the sweet cammamell of good conversation hard to thie nose, lest thoue sholde smell more than thine ovvnej and when thoue feelest thieselfe altered from all these aforenamed vices, take the powder of saie well, and laie it upon the top of thie tongue, to savour thie mowth with all, and the ears of the bearer; but drinke thrise soe muche, doe well dailie, and then take the oyle of good works mixed with the same mercie that God hath willed us to use, and annoynt therewith thine eyes, thie ears, thie lippes, thie harte, thie handes throvvlie, that they may be light, nimble, quick, and reddie to minister to the poore and dispersed members of Jesus Christe, even as you are able, or see occacion, but beware thoue takest not winde in ministring thereof, least the deadlie dust of vain glorie and ipocrisie do thee mutche harme, and keep a good diet for thie head sake, use the hote broth of holi- ness and righteousness contynuallie, and feed thieselffe well with the oyle of God's peace, and this done, arise from synn willinglie, and walke thie course worthielie, and take up Christ's crosse boldlie, and beare it thank- fullie, and thoue shalt live everlastinglie. Harrington's Nugce Antiquce, vol. iii. p. 230-233. CHARACTER OF SIR THOMAS MORE. Wherefore in this, as also it mought be sayde in verie many other respects, this little briefe and shorte booke being a sweete, well scented, odoriferous and delicate posie of select, chosen, and fragrant flowres ; yea an epitome of celestiall vertues springing up, sowed, grown, nurtured, cultured, and fos- tered in the paradise of delights, the Life of Sir Thomas More, the walkes whereof are paved, and strawen with the camimile of humilitie, the borders are set with patience, enameled with pinks and violets of rich povertie, the knots are all of thyme intermingled with Germander over the same, here and there hysope of mortification, the rows and hedges musk roses and rosema- rine of sweet conversation, the vacant spots are spangled with flowres, the golden marigold of obedience, Hearts-ease of a settled conscience, flowres ADDITIONAL NOTES TO CHAPTER II. 405 of Jerusalem of his desires to be in heaven, white lilie puritie of his inten- tions, red roses the glorie of his death. Yet with one hard hearted and obdurate blow of a cruel axe, this sweete soule, rich in fragrant odors of sanctitie, like to some eagle who, misliking this baser world, soareth upwards to the sunne, or like to the famed Phoenix of Heliopoli, which seeketh the altar of that bright luminary, spread the pinions of his faith, and soared to paradyce. 406 CHAPTER III. TOUCH. Peculiar characteristics of the sense of TOUCH— Its inferiority to our other senses in limitation — Its superiority in accuracy. Touch has been esteemed the distinguishing human sense. Perceptions of TOUCH include, (I.) FORM; (2.) MOTION; both of which have been sufficiently considered under the head of VISION, to which they are also common. TOUCH likewise includes four other perceptions peculiar to itself; viz. (1.) Perceptions of SUPERFICIAL QUALIFIES of substances. (2.) Of TEMPERATURE. (3.) Of TEXTURE. (4.) Of GRAVITY. Illustration of our theory on the perceptions of Form and Motion exhi- bited in current colloquial expressions. Theory and exemplification on the four species of perceptions peculiar to the sense r an urgan, an .Eulian liarp, or a sivee. and flevible female voice. Soft, yielding, downy, ur smooth, is swan's 01 eider-down, floss silk. Moderate in temperature; so as never to shock (he touch by sudden sensation of culd or heat, rying only from moderate cuolness to moderate .Sh,ill but ssveet, flageolet, the twine Itng succession, at chimes of Holland, Ing of a sparrow. In a ink. Superficies, full of petty ai Li thy, elastic, crisp. Sn.ci'jithljlc uf alternate stria Very light. Rough, austere. Acid. Hard, nigged, dry. Rhenish nines. Very hot or very cold. Curry powder, h FULL-BODIED. Suit. As (he scent of roses, tuberoses, jasmin ; or the lastt of Front ignac or Bergerac wine, raiissima, liqueurs. Slimp, Aceto-dulcciliiinu-, pungent, ctisp. racy, spirited. I Refreshingly cold, or stimulating!;' hot, as Soda | and Seiner water. Fruit, gingerade, Cliampagoel mousseux : perry, cider, leinimatlc. The sea of svormnood, spirits of vinegar, salts, besse-sop. View of Dover Untie and harbour descending Trom the Deal turnpike. Berkeley Cattle. Cheddar Cliffs, Rocks of Gibraltar. Entrance of the fortifications of Cambny. Ca- tacombs of Paris. Alpine scenery. Approach to Windsor Cist le through the Forest. Warwick Castle. Tintern Abbey. Longford Castle, llagley, Blenheim. Antwerp. Mons. I.ousain. Utrecht. Oxford. Westminster Ab- bey. Stonchenge. Gives Carli and Elephanla. Barr House, Sir Joseph Scott'j. X.cist, hiiiv- ig-ground. BrocLley Combe. LaycucL Abbey, 'irgil's Grove in the Lejsowes. Cistcllate Conwiy or Caernarvon Castles. Norwich Castle. GOTHIC ARCHITECTURE. " Mendip Lodge, Dr. Whalley's. Bailey Wot Mrs. Hannah More s. Wood at Haarlem. The Hague. Bath. Approach to Zutphen ind A robe im. Flosver garden, Bliisc Castle. Italian scenery. Ecclesiastical. Furness, FounlainJ, or Netlcy Abbey. Wells Cathednl. Amiens, Senlis Cathedral. ECVI'TIAN AUCHITECTUKE. Temple of Temyra, ice. GRECIAN. Choraglc monument of Thrai)i!us The New Louvre. M'.ni i . ur Mahometan .irdnieciure. Sec Da- niel's Hindoostin. Swinburne's Spain, and) Plain and Gorgeous Obtuse. Tewksbury Church. St. Sepulchre's Church, Cambridge. Crypt to Canterbury Cathedral. Church :n Desires. Cr ypt of Si. Denil. Light equiljieral. Salisbury Cathedral. Lichfield. Cathedral 11 Antwerp. Pxstim IN MASS. — IN I l\\ I'AKIs I'NOKNAMl M I I).- ..M \N I I \l u|r Ilf-AVY MATERIAL.— ONLY MARKING GREAT ARTICULATIONS. Hard, stiff, angular; to mark the great at lieu- I Oldjrk, thick, hcivy material ; ample, falling itlons only. in broad and few folds. Giving mass to the figure, Lofty, as a helmet, Lc. and shrowding the motion and subdivision of [be Shun, close, not to iinpeJc vigorous ami sudden | limbs. Materials light, limp. Pins few and coalescing. Falling in length ul folds, so as to be susceptible ol varying, but gradual motion. Long. Pensile. Ornaments not glittering, not many; placed only Abounding in petty, distinct, intersecting, glit- Ting parts. Materials very light, stiff, glittering, clastic, short, and light; not to impede a constant d rapid succession of petty actions. Abounding in petty distinct colors, and glittering Military costume. e ecclesiastical ! the Flemish Churches. Heavy drapery. Ecclesiastical costume. Wool- fl uom s i. a nt, i:.- \k i n i i. a i ions m \uk b-.i>. - ni.i in-: mcsci i.ak. i.f.m i;ai. FORMS AND ATTITUDES RECTILINEAR AND RECTANGULAR. ALTITUDE. Face ind limbs on a parallel- LATITUDE. Face and form on an horizontal graiumalic basis. Junction ol features and limbs I basis. Breadth ol feature with rectangular contour, rectangular, definitely marled. Motions abrupt, ' Muscle' large, but not exerted. Vast power ai in tight lints. Sluduss, ,„.! ligln, f„ lt .;l,le; thei. !res(. s"owerful, not mutable expression. Cleai point of junction boldly defined. Form rugged, , and broad, but nut harshly contrasted, lights and muscular, calculated fur vigorous exertion. Hair shadows. Motion rectangular, decisive, but uni- coarse, rough, shagged. Light of the eye flashing farm and steady. Light of the eye temperate, hut and powerful. Vide Atlas in Spain's I'olymciis. steadfast and powerful. Vide Phil. Champagne Caesar, by Rubens. Force, in :id vol. oILaviter. in the French Lavater. Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, in Holbein'a heads. Forehead, eye-bones, ridge of nose, eye-hiows, Shidnwt giving breadth to the root of the nose, mouth, forcibly and definition to the eye-bone. Muscles not JlaeciJ, but not in action. In a prepared equipoise. Clear, broad outline. Face ind form on an oval basts. The articula- tion of limbs and ft a lutes so gentle, is to be scarce- ly marked. Altitudes pensile. Movements gently inflcctm- the whole length or limb, in one con- tinued wive ; ncvei brcAing the length by sudden rectangular movements. Flair pen The faclk, „ sepir. ol light from daikue Due il'l'ihino. French Lavater. Oinline gently ssvclleil, and vanishing. Waved ntour of the lips. Cheeks and under eye-lids gracelully soltencd. Soft parts predominating. Shortness ol limb ind distinctness of articulation, bones small, figure and altitudes upright, alert, light, playful ; in perpetual petty movement. Features and limbs petty, distinct, sparkling, brightly colored. Outline little, but tcn-i.J. Light and shadows little, numerous, distinctly The coloring ol hiir, eyes, complexion, checks, lips, and teeth, bright and very distinct. Hair polished juil sir.iuglv impelled or frit Light of the eye sparkling, glancing, and cheer- Yams oi Mtdic is, Louvre ; A in in Dead much in Saul. I.ulhei '- linntliallh I'sjlui II Viva Fume, liasse in I'cllc hanlSiabat mater. Lilur 2 it i funis, IHtll GDIS I.KI A I , MALE STRUNG AN ) Sl.MI'LF. — VOICE DEEP, ST RONG, FULL . lofty, t of each other. SENTENCES ;mi. in long measured cadence. VOICE Dauuiiheiies. Bussui n CONSTRUCTION iboutidin; VIII. Jane de Mori IDEAS lender, diffuse, polished, adorned. liscrete, or growing nut ol cac her. VOICE .veil, luisulitiaiiiiJ, flexible, ;ind lull of sok and In CONSTRUCTION, ug hit mother's picture, a lie iutiiletl My Miry. Elegies in gcneral._ Grail*. Ncuroi lot As petty, distinct, smart; frequently e asttd, and rapidly succeeding each other. In Vulture. Eagle. "Stag-lieetle. alata. Giown Imperial. II horned owl. MasiuT. | Beech. Plane. Linden. reus. Magnolia. Old Span I Egyptian arattt. Large white Libellula. Ephcmctu Rape ul the Lock. Bath Guide en. llamilioii's Bawu. Satires, epigrams, jeux d'cspiit Passeres. Lessa Colcopicn. iquirtei. Mouse. Jeitioa. Goldtmch. t. CDCcinella. Ceratiibex. Leuiun. silver fish. III Jl. MUIIIUJIII j,Tl" Hl.lll I'lHJSJll ivkwced. Vttouici chamedrys, or Co Speedwell. Variegated holly. GENERAL CHART, ILLUSTRATING THE RADICAL PRINCIPLES AND CHARACTERISTIC EXPRESSION OF THE VARIOUS GENERA OF ©CfontUtj) THROUGHOUT THE FIVE SENSES, WITH AN APPLICATION OF THE HYPOTHESIS TO SOME OF THE ARTS, AND TO NATURAL OBJECTS, fcc. ©cm IN F Li Or SUBLIME, trith it* rigidity and o.,« THE ACTIVE SUBLIME, mih ils fielence increased, and ils Crandiur Species I. THE HORRIBLE. IB I. ITED, ill) iucitmnl, mill ill ^n-nlne-i diminished. THE PASSIVE SUBLIME, IFM ill Uniformity increased, and iltjirmnesi Species U. THE \ Al'l 1). *25rmts II. THE SENTIMENTAL, lit Relaxation anil [nativity iitcrealtd, and ils Refinement iiiul Scnsihilili) diminished, 1 H Ji I'UKL 1 IN fc. (Sflltlfi ill. THE SPRIGHTLY, Its Fettinest and Aclirily increased, and ill Sreeetnea and Grace taken aaay, THE FLIPPANT. THE VARIOUS GENERA ©Efoimitj?. V" ! 1 A ' Uncontrolled, irregular, tempestuous pallium, Dark, gigantic, liul phrenetic and distorted ima- gination. FEW PARTS— "W Passions self devouring. Lurid gloom, with overwhelming burst* or pai- Covemed by pa (lion. Tyranny. The sublime or madmen. Impircs (error and hatred. CE. Frigid contraction. Dull pomposity. Covemcd by fiibil. Prudery. The sublime of little minds. Brutish sensuality. Luxurious indolence. Slug- ;idi apathy. Colrsc, brulal laziness and sell in- dulgence. Governed by ilotli, Brnlalde'gradalion. Inspires loathing. Liitleness, caprice, alfectalion. Tawdry finery. Triflmg withoui grace. Lisels and hri.t, without ssveeinesi. Allecl,d.ll,|,|,anl, lar- fclclied eonceils, without wit. Heslless activity, and obtruiive and ridiculous vanity, and pretension dfrecled lo worthless and Governed by caprice and vanity. The liveliness of heiriless dissipation. Inspires sovereign contempt. « in n 1 i S <3 5 > } *, l | V * ^ % X, CO « O Ph Expressed throughout the live sensei,on the same general principle! as [he minf sublime ; only as ill preiematural action exceeds in radical strength, tins expression is given by increasing ttic muscular ten- lion, and diminishing the strength of the figure in animate objects; and by strongly increasing the proportion of anglei, (o that of right lino, in in- The same as the jimui t sublime, only that the ami ihe uniformity ol uninllecled line, unmoving muscles, and dull coloring, are retained. This class is evpressed by circular lines, in con- radistineiimi lo oval ones. The radical principle of this class is mind, buried, oppressetl, aid sufTu- catcd bLiieaih muter. Now a circle coniiins ihe mosi mailer in llie least space. Expressed as Ihe s/pri^ii/f.; only its litileness and !;jutln,e-s is increased; sviih its neainess and unity destroyed. J Violent angular ii.lb v ions, hci;iiig a very git« proportion lo right lines. Altitude increased; till the sunt of suQicient base produces leeblcnesi. Perfect rigidity of line, without inflexion. Per- ]icrulrci:laiiiy arising hum tenacity and position, not from latitude of base. Ci,„l„»,, WiM. its angles increased, and its litileness. Its a medley of a variely of heter,-, :,,, , us an. 1.1,'. uuuai petty pails, and unsuitable ornaments. £ *! Dull, faded colors; loo dull for forcible cTfccl; Livid coloring; as putrid corpses, carric n, loads. Confused, heterogeneous glitter of bright coloring. § 1 i % S ^ i« ^ 3 fl r * S M f f U p * s Automatic. Suit. Starched. Bridles. Waddling. Crawling. Slovenly". As a son Hallowing in the mire, a told, a Muscovy duck out i S3 LOUD Harsh, grating, with alternation. UNSUBSTANTIAL. Drawling, Bninflecttd. DEEP Croam, yells. DISSONANT. Drones, proses. Croaking, nnm.idulaied, thick, c- .n Fu sed, choaktd "c'i5.Lr''c™». Squeaking, sharp, voluble, high and unaccenied. HA Thorny, lacerating, coarse, ruHc. Intensely hot or cold. ID. Fui/y. Tough. Cold. Pulpy, mucilaginous. Clammy, llabbv, unelas- tic, adhesive. Cold. Very heavy. As a slug, jelly fish, pulrid Fungus. Prickly, brilile. Painfially hoi or cold. Sting- ing, smarting, very lighi. Corrosively acid. Lacerating roughness, scorch- ing. Mawkish, liat, stale, tasteless. Musty, hi tier. Coarsely line inns, mly, mucilaginous. As manna dissolved incastoroil. StJpelia. Oysters with brown sugar. Specimens of tbe various species or deformity ar taste. Consequently few permanent instances can Description of the witch Erictho, in Lucin's Pharsalia. Heroes of many German plays. The little Grey Man. Dante's Inferno, Bcthlcm Cabor, 'in Godwin 1 ! Si. Leon. seldom the object ol the fine arts | nor does nalura e adduced; nevertheless, Ihe lew svhich occur, and Speeches of Oliver Cromwell lo his parliament. Fuller's Worthies. Old Rominces. Clelie, Grand Cyrus. Tbreidbare truisms. Long-spun allegories. Ouaun devices and 'iiuilitudes. Quarle's Emblems. scenery afford any. They must chiefly be sought in shich can, wiih.mt uisidi-ius rrllcciious, be adduced *«-.>«*' «■ il.e individual instances D r men, who pervtrl good shall be given, by way ur illunrllion. Cowley. Abounding iu Tar- r« died, allec ted conceits. Many in-l^.si^.-f litis style are It, he lound atii.-u;-.! tu„. ■mi- which appeal „', ll s V U ^"ts n tt'en to main- tain a character for talent, nol lu unfold tbe mind. •I 1 g APPLICATION. Picture, by Albert Uuicr, of the Intrepid knight, in Mr. Bnriin's collection at Brussels. Templa- lious of St. Anthony, in the Louvre, by Teuiers. Pictures in ihe early siagcsuf painting, in ihe Callers- ol the Louvre; w, hie .lie designs ahui Hid- ing in Stiuii's Regal and Ecclesiastical Antiquities, That class ol llulih picture-, represent in; sinujl- llc.ciijit.wi, ,.l 1 .liillmiv, u> S;.c:i rl'. Il..u't ,.l Pride. Statues, and plcuues of Silenui, Indian squat idols. Sir John Faisiaff. Cbineie, Indian, ami l' c , ,ij„ paintings, abound- taste, or penpeciive.' * ' ' """ e "' i ""'""'• 1 Loot in Bedlam and Si. Luke's. Look al Madame de Slael's description in Cor- rine, of a circle of English ladies. Look It Mr,. Tabiiha Bramhle, Mrs. Blifil, kc. Mr. Delville, iic. kc. Ladies whose hearts are not eipandcd by social benevolence, whose heads ate unstored, and whom unrespected age is devoted lo trifles. All who ajie dignity. Look for such persons in ale-houses, anauiking clubs, ic. Ice, City feaiii, Look for such ladies and genllemen in ihe pump- room ai Bath, and iu llie gardens of ihe Thuilleiies in Paris, ^ Ulien exhibited uii ihe stage, .1,.! l:, plas 5 vale K, >^e. jii.l jl! ss-hu jp C luniy in general. Ofien exfuhued in real life by Ihe sons and daughicts ul iclignnis [irofessors. Vuung ueople, svho suddenly cast in; nil Ihe liahits. and uiulei valuing the piety ol limit patents, adopt and ejrieature ihe Iris-uhiics, follies, and absurdities of the world, ss ithoat culti- vated taste or intellect. Scorpio. Hyama. Ourang nutans, chimpaiijcc, p.nii;u. Old dusky vulture. Long-armed ape in Shaw's Natural His- lory. Male in.iudi.l, lilting with his arms crossed, iuBuffon. Amphibia in general. Vermes in general. Walrus. Sow. Toad, Dodo. Tunic. Duck. Bottled spider. Slug. Meloe. Maggys. Cater- r ,|i, r -. p,h n . n . Msdsm- MenWr S,;^™ Invl. Polypus. Wasp. Ichncumoii. Monkey. Lillle Welch L P C) ^ Stems of ihe night -flowering Cereus, Cactus, Cypress' tree. Full-blown piony. Cabbage. Stapelia. Fungus. Aliictlttmivus Examples of Vegetables. Fom angular, rude, neglected. Constant vio- lent stress ol muscle, rather than radical strength. Overstrained muscular cxerlion, overstrained ner- vous irritability. Worn, haggard with conlliciing passions, and violent feelings. No amplitude o spice between the eyes. Eye brows, mouth, forc- | MOB, lilt ICii'.liiiK passions., i" a conlilul.il J.^il.l- eye-brosvs rough: in pcrpttual motion. Eye-balls Hashing, yet sunk and haggard. An unsteady loot; glaring with fescrish passions; alternately depressed with gloomy and unreal fear, and now (lashing with overwhelming fury. Altitudes, a 1 conslant succession of agitation. Stamping, tossing distractedly. Lips drawn back Irom the teeth in scorn, or quivciiiii; with iniir-ded fear and rage. The averted darkly flashing eye of fear, gloom, and brooding revenge. Nose sharpened and wrinkled, and mouth ill jwu by grinning e,.nieiiipl. Nostrils at once inllatcd by anger, yet drawn and pinched by Tear, Voice harsh, dissonant, gmlngj deep, but unsubstantial. Sometimes tremulous, and fail- ing 11 once from fear and exhaustion; often raised the rush ol feelings (boating ;nd uppre.sing the 1 respiration. Ideas dtsuhory and incoheienl . lan- guage lull ol J|iuslruphe, metaphor, al.d dark g.gan- tic and distorted, hut bold Imagery. In diess, die wild neglect of > eoind wholly absorbed lay poweiful passions, and the disordei arising from their being coostawly yielded lo, Usui rough, sc|ualid, coatsc, unpolished. Perpendicular, erect. Stinding upright from stiffness and uuhml.cmessof aniculalion, 1101 from solidity of base. Features and limbs large ; bony s.m.thd -Liu predominant. The fleshy or iduscu- lar pans giving grace or active txpressiu.1 subser- vient. No play nl cunlenjiicc. Whclcj,, in the ruiiuilat pljs . hue the, only iiuil the harsh edge' of Ihe bones, and loose wrinkled skin. Voice harsh and dissonant; deep. Dress stiff, ptecisc, aniiuuiled ; costly without either giace or Htm coarse, unpolished, iinighi. Globular. Supine. Incumbered by flesh, unmo- dified by muscular ecctlion. A rude tons ol fun. gous flesh, apparently dt-tiiute ill spiritual, iniel- leciual, or moral perception. The lips, checks, under ilnB.atid abdutiiLii, bul^c mil ssiih 1111 l.-lc net and rephiimi. In ihe t si i , ihe forehead, the seal of intellect, bears no proporiion lo ihe cheeks, jaws, uiuiiih, and animal pari!. Ilrosv offers nu proinineiice ul bone. When this class uses its in- stincls lo ihosc petty Hid ignoble etuis tvhieh its dull and brutish perceptions admit, ihe liule eye- brow is drawn dusvn us er the iwintling 'mall lion's eye helow; wrinkling ils corners, rentfrriu; us lulls- "i it : .11.1, te, -,i;i! s-. liiilliiii; u;i ll-i li|iuid-up ness. When the eye ol the porcine is udi of ibis cunning description, tluu the aiehed eye brussi aie raised in one unmeaning curve, high on llie loie- head ; and ihe large, lull, inanimate eye, fixed m one vacant, thick, slupid slare. The coiners ol ihe eye-blows neil llie nose nol forcibly uuikesl. llie lool and lidge of the nose flattened, and not isell defined ; the end of llie nose and lips bulbous, (iphhuus, unsusienlihle uf inllevi N'tek lost, head l,„i,td in ihe shoulde.s, and not flexible. Aims and leg, shun; bauds anil feel, whirl, are Ihe scats uf ailiviiy and ilrenglll, small and llabb, ; olilesh. Ai nr. i,i \ muilbuit, men, la,, . slu.i- giih, crawling, waddling, or unwieldy: stuniinj; like a lutkey-CucL with his tail spread. Voice thick, cultural, CI iiaLing. M m. miis eoaise, lusv, fjiiiilijj , brulal, careless. Tutal apathy and ss jnl ol percep- tion uf propriety. Dniss lints, slatternly, sloseuls. Loathsome and disgusting lo llie vety last degree. llAiit, scarcely any. Worn by a constant succession of petty, malig- nant, or ridiculous pissioni, Foeh, little, angular, or arched. L".',., petty hardness, penucs, ami in- solence. Nusc ssnnUetl, under-lip [louling, chin raised, and attitude strutting, ss.ifi p L -ity uisnlruee, vanity, and viiilcnce ol temper. Forehead and lace wiinHcd ssiih the little multiplicity uf intersecting lines, id pct-ons worn by petty pas, ions, and svholly incapable .,1 grand ones. Shadows Tall so as 10 shew ihe hard angles ol ihe bones, and the vloleni stress of peliy muscular exertion, am! the wrinkles of ihe skin. Kye-hrosvs, nostrils, and all parts ol pelly violence and CDiHempt ; and those svhich shew the grimace id ridiculous vanity in conslant play. Voter, .shrill, ■■■jiie.iliu;, M:,i!ding, sharp, vo- luble, luing the ear. Mans m, strutting, cringing, grinning, perl, c-.net ile.J . prltish, Inveuuihieal, nupiv, Insuloiii, self-opinionated, brisk, .hallow. Daus, finery, overloaded, wilhout lisle or ob- jeci. Meanness, and ihe ,nientati,ui oi all suns uf follies. HAH, ImiglcJ, thicLIy fiizded. ^ J O . IS -3 * 5 S j O O -1 a, !*3 Back of Foltfout Not Imaged V 1 m i9 gllttjetatton* TO CHAPTER I. PART III. ON VISION, CONTAINING TWO SERIES OF PLATES; viz. SERIES I. ILLUSTRATING THE SUBLIME, SENTIMENTAL, and PORCINE GENERA AND SERIES II. ILLUSTRATING THE CONTRARY CHARACTER OF CONVEX and CONCAVE LINES. 3 I EXPLANATION OF THE FIRST SERIES OF PLATES, ILLUSTRATING THE EXPRESSION OF RIGHT LINES, OVAL LINES, AND CIRCULAR LINES. ThE following series of examples are added, to shew the manner in which the theory contained in the preceding chapter might be illustrated. Had the author possessed the talent of drawing, every GENUS of beauty and deformity would have been regularly exemplified. But the difficulties which attend either the selection of former designs, and the adaptation they require; or the no less difficulty of explaining oneself so clearly, as to pro- cure new ones ; has induced the author to confine the exemplifications to merely three of the GENERA described. The plates are therefore offered, not as a complete illustration, but as a specimen of the method in which the whole might be illustrated. The genera selected are, the SUBLIME in general, the SENTIMENTAL, and the PORCINE : the fundamental lines of which are, in the following plates, adapted to various examples. They are as follows : List of SUBJECTS. SUBLIME. Radical lines. . . 1 Straight line. Quadrupeds. . . 4 Lion. . . . Birds 7 Eagle. . . Insects 10 Lucanus. Figures 13 Soldier. . Heads 16 Transtiberine, Heads, fyc. #c. . • 19 Counsellor. . 22 Politician. , SENTIMENTAL. 2 Oval line. . . 5 Greyhound. . . 8 Demoiselle. . . 11 Ephemeron. 14 Grecian Lady. . 17 Nun 20 Duke d'Urbino. 23 Catholic Lady. . 25 Penitent. . . 3 i 2 PORCINE. 3 Circular line. 6 Sow. 9 Dodo. 12 Spiders. 15 Sleeper. 18 Indifferent. 21 Alderman. 24 Sluggard. 26 Indolent Lady. 428 EXPLANATION OF PLATES. Now, if the reader will take the trouble of comparing the plates, he will see, that whether the subjects be quadrupeds, birds, insects, or countenances, the same class of line uniformly gives the same class of character. The ex- amples might have been extended to architecture, sculpture, landscape, and various other objects ; and a similar mode of illustration might, with equal facility, have been applied to the three remaining genera, the horrible, vapid, and sprightly. Had the author understood drawing, far more striking illustrations might have been given ; but in many instances she was reduced to the necessity of selecting from various prints, those which came nearest to what she wished, and altering them to suit her own particular views. In others she endeavoured to explain her own idea, and imposed upon the artist the laborious and tedious task of deciphering her strokes, and producing a drawing. The distance, at which she was situated from London, was so great, that it was not in very many instances, that the artist had an opportunity of exercising his taste, or of giving scope to his own genius 5 though when he has clone so, they are by far the best designs in the set. * The author does not designate more particularly those designs which are borrowed ; because to persons acquainted with the originals, thev will be instantly recognizable ; and to those who are not, the alterations and adaptations have been so considerable, in order to suit them to illustrate this particular theory, that to name the original would be to make a libel upon it. If, however, the reader will procure Hope's Costume, Les Annates du Musee, et de I'Ecole des Beaux Arts, the French edition of Lavater, Hol- bein's heads, and various other works, he will not only detect the source of several of our illustrations, but he will be enabled to make a far better appli- cation and appreciation of our theory, than by stopping at the few examples given in this work. The reader is requested to compare all the examples in both the series. On consulting the plates of the trans tiberine, the politician, and the coun- sellor, in the first series, and the head, No. 6, in the second, it will appear, that they are all equally placed on a rectilinear basis ; and that consequently they are all firm, decided characters. But it will also appear, that their * It is to W. H. Brooke, Esq. of Newman-street, Oxford-street, that I am so much indebted. The quickness' with which he entered into my plan, is only surpassed by the taste and genius with which lie has illustrated it. EXPLANATION OF PLATE!}. 420 activity and energy is characterized by the convexity and abruptness of the features, upon this basis. Thus, the transtiberine, who has the greatest convexity of feature and abruptness of line, we conceive of as violently energetic. The politician, who is much less convex, we imagine to have unwearied activity, and impregnable firmness, but we do not attribute to him the vio- lence of the transtiberine. The counsellor again, begins to exhibit a different class of features. The mouth, the cheeks, the nose, are bounded by softer lines; the muscles, in- deed, about the eyes and eye-brows, marking attention, and those closing the mouth are constricted. The expression is accordingly placid, but with acute observation and pe- netration ; but we have no longer the violence of the transtiberine, nor the unwearied activity and hardness of the politician. In the head, No. 6, in the next series, the lines are still more relaxed; the eye-brow and the eye are less alert: it is the head of a just thinker, not like the last, of a quick, penetrating, and sagacious observer. The mind of the preceding is on the alert, to catch whatever passes ; that of this man. only retains and digests what is offered him. Should the reader wish to be referred to examples which are not fictitious,, in order to see the firmness of character imparted by right lines, we refer him to the best likenesses of General Washington ; likewise to the head of Sir Thomas More, in Holbein's collection. We might refer, in the same collection, to the head of Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, as uniting with a rectilinear basis, soft contours ; so that if our theory be true, he was both firm and steady, yet mild and gentle. To these, we may add the best like- nesses of Newton, which are in the same manner characterized by marked horizontality of line : and who declared his pre-eminence above other men, to consist, in a power of undeviating, fixed, obstinate attention. See like- wise the authentic likenesses of Luther, and of Theodore Beza. We might also mention the religious and laborious Cruden, the author of the Concor- dance ; and Herbelot, the indefatigable collector of the treasures of Asiatic learning; and Linnaeus, whose persevering industry classified the whole em- pire of Nature. To them all, we may add the admirable head of Cato, in the collection of the Louvre. If the reader will compare all the counte- nances of these celebrated men, he will see, that, however differently their features are modified, they all agree in marked horizontality of basis. And 430 EXPLANATION OF PLATES. if he will likewise institute a comparison between their characters, he will see, that however different in other respects; in stability, solidity, and per- severance, they all equally agree. Some, indeed, exhibit this quality in active pursuits; in military and political talents, as Washington ; in polemic warfare, as Beza and Luther; others, again, exhibit the same stability in less active pursuits, and more contemplative studies, as Newton, Cruden, and Herbelot; some in what they did not do, rather than what they did, as Fisher. Yet whatever be their pursuits, whether it be the powers of inves- tigation, of action, or of conscience, which were exercised, the same sta- bility is marked by precisely the same characteristics. And if we attentively examine all these heads, we shall find, that the abruptness and rectangularity of feature, or the curved and mild junction of feature, on the very same basis, is precisely in proportion to the degree in which the pursuits of these characters were active or passive. The countenances of Washington, Luther, Beza, and Cato, are marked by abrupt and angular inflexions, and a bold, rough outline. Those of the venerable and pious Fisher, of Cruden, and of Herbelot, are united either by curved, or at least not abrupt lines. With respect to other differences, they belong more peculiarly to the sub- ject of physiognomony. We have, on this very ground, rather selected imaginary examples, than real portraits. It is more easy to make ourselves understood by framing an example simply to the point, than it would be to give a clear idea, amidst the compound expression which every portrait must necessarily possess. It is only by seeing a succession of such portraits, that the mind forms the ideal, in which they all agree, and clearly distinguishes that point, from others in composition with it. In the countenance, for example, of Handel, we perceive a marked squareness and horizontality of basis, abruptness and rectangularity of fea- ture, and also a great proportion of globose contour in the cheeks, lips, and chin. And in this combination of physiognomonic line, we recognize the boldness, power, fire, and sublimity which inspired his compositions, and, as we are told by his biographer, pervaded his manners. " Son air etoit majestueux, ses manieres et sa conversation brusques et decisives." Diet. Hist. And we may also discern, that, had it then been published, the Al- manack des Gourmands might have found a place in his library, or at least in his housekeeper's. EXPLANATION OF PLATES. 431 We add one or two observations on the plates. The Eagle, No. 7, would be yet better, if it stooped forward considerably more. It should pounce, not stand. It would in that case be more square, and more characteristic! The Grecian Lady would be yet better, if she had put on a plain, instead of a spotted veil. It a little mixes the glitter of the sprightly, with the simplicity of the sentimental.* The Penitent, No. 15, is a perfect example of the style. The figure, drapery, and accompaniments, for all of which I am indebted to Mr. Brooke' are excellently well. The Sleeper, No. 15, is excellent. We only wish he had employed a country, instead of a London tailor, who would have a little reinforced his character, by striping his waistcoat erossways, instead of longways. This however, is a mere trifle. ' * The reader is requested particularly to compare the plates of the Catholic and Grecian ladies with that of the Penitent. He will observe, that in the two first, the general oval outline is a little intersected by little cross folds, ornaments, and borderings to the drapery; in the last, there is a unity of length of oval line, in every part, both of the figure and the accompaniments. Accordingly we appeal to our reader, whether the sentimental character of these plates is not lost, or pre- served, in the exact proportion in which the fundamental characteristics are departed from or adhered to." ' The Catholic and Grecian ladies exhibit a slight unsentimental mixture of Spbightli- N ESS The Penitent is excellently characteristic in every part. Our reader may be con- vinced of the truth of this observation, by f acing the figures of the Catholic and Grecian- takeaway al the ornaments, and giving length of tress, or flowing veil to the first, and length of ovahnear fold to the draperies; he will immediately see how much more purely Sentimental the character will be rendered. 1 explanation TO SERIES THE SECOND OF PLATES, ILLUSTRATING THE OPPOSITE EXPRESSION OF CONVEX AND CONCAVE LINES. LIST OF THE PLATES. c(l). Convex Horses and Birds. 1 ((2). Concave Horses and Birds. J f(S). Convex Human Head. 1 (_(4). Concave Human Head. j f (5). Convexo-Rectilinear Head. 1 |(6). Obtuso-Rectilinear Head. ) f(7). Convexo-Rectilinear Head, l ((8). Convexo-Ovalinear Head. j (9) . Eagle. (10) . Bases. C(ll). Convexo-Sentimental Head. '((12). Circulo-Convex Head. 3 K EXPLANATION O F THE SECOND SERIES OF PLATES, ILLUSTRATING THE EXPRESSION O F CONVEX AND CONCAVE LINES. TThE following examples are intended to shew the opposite effects of convex and concave lines; in giving the active or the passive character; in expressing energy, or want of energy. The first four plates are intended to exhibit the effect of these classes of lines in their simple state, and uneombined with any other. The 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 11th, and 12th plates exhibit them in com- bination with the various genera of right and curved lines, which it was the object of the preceding series of plates to exemplify. They are intended to shew the manner in which they modify the former genera. The 10th plate is intended to shew the reader what is meant by the basis of the countenance ; or that plane on which the features are indented or projected. Plates 1, 2, 3, 4, Exhibit the figures of birds, horses, and human heads. In the case of plates 1 and 3, both the outlines themselves and their bases are convex; in their contrasts, plates 2 and 4, they are concave. The spectator will very sufficiently perceive the opposition of expression. Plates 5 and 6, Exhibit two heads, the features of both of which are placed upon the very same rectilinear and parallelogrammatic basis. To render the identity of the bases more obvious, the reader is referred to fig. 2, plate 10. On the plane there represented, either of these two faces might be drawn. 3 k 2 436 EXPLANATION OF PLATES. Whilst however, the basis is in both cases precisely the same ; the features of these two examples are totally opposite. Those of No. 5 are conv x strongly arched, exhibit muscular constriction, and are united by recCIs! Those of No. 6, on the contrary, are obtuse, exhibit no muscular con stnction, and the union of features is formed by curved lines If, then, our theory be true, it appears, that both these heads, having a ^X b ° th ° f ^ ^ ^ ^-ss, But No. 5, being bounded by arched lines, united with muscular con- striction, is active and rapid; his features being united by rectangles, he is decided, powerful, and energetic. S No. 6, on the other hand, being bounded by rather concave lines, without ZZ fh C ° nSt " C T' 1S , m ° re P assive ' ca, ™> temperate: his features being united by circular lines, he ,s both more indolent in body, and slow in intel ec^ than he preceding. It may be safely said, that he is unenterprizt Ind less"; K ^ » ™* ^ -pid and ess forcible in execut.on, than his companion. The rectangularity of the bas.s shews faun however, to be no less persevering in the prosecutL, and no less certain in the insuring the success of his undertakings. ADDITIONAL OBSERVATIONS. The reader is requested to compare the heads of the transtiberine and the counselor in the preceding series. Both those heads are likewise on a rect- angular basis Both of them, too, Jike these, are characterized by an oppo- site class of feature. The reader will perceive the same corresponding dnlerenoe ot expression. 6 Both those heads exhibit force and stability; but the violence and energy of the transtiberine is widely different from the unshaken, but placid stabi- lity of the counsellor. Let the reader again compare the counsellor, where, though the features are curved, the basis is square, with the Duke d'Urbzno, where both the features and bas.s are curved; and he will immediately perceive the distinc- tion between the placid permanence of the one, and the complete weakness or the other. Plates 7 and 8. These two plates are formed precisely on an opposite plan to the pre- ceding. ^ EXPLANATION OF PLATES. 437 Here we have two heads precisely agreeing in the class of lines bounding the features j but altogether in contradiction as to the basis on which those features are projected. In both these heads the features are convex ; but No. 7 is on a rectilinear rectangular basis ; and No. 8 is on an ovalinear curved-line basis. Now both agreeing in convexity of outline and muscular constriction, both are energetic, rapid, enterprizing, and active. But No. 7, being on a rectilinear rectangular basis, is firm, fixed, perma- nent, and intrepid, as well as bold and energetic. He unites a fund of radi- cal strength to active vigor. No. 8, on the contrary, being on an oval basis, exhibits no permanence of decision, and none of that radical strength and solidity, which constitute greatness of character. He is courageous ; but it is not the intrepidity and decision of a powerful and invincible mind, but the excited passion and vigor, produced by a sudden spur of occasion, on an active and irritable one. His boldness is rashness ; his energy, violence; his activity, caprice. MISCELLANEOUS OBSERVATIONS. The reader will have the goodness to observe, that the basis of counte- nance answers to the basis of character. The features, to the subordinate parts of character. The heads 5, 6, 7) 8, might be defined by a common adage. No. 5 and 7 might be termed Fortiter in modo, fortiter in re. No. 6, Suaviter in modo, fortiter in re. No. 8, Fortiter in modo, suaviter in re. No. 8 may be compared to a shallow, but swollen brook, rushing with great sound and impetuosity, but whose force is soon expended. No. 6 is a silent, but deep and powerful river, rolling its broad floods to beneficial purposes, in one tranquil, uniform channel. No. 5 and 7 may be likened to the fall of Niagara, which rushes with an irresistible thunder, but whose everlasting waters never fail: The reader is requested to compare No. 6 with the desponding concave Gentleman at No. 4. He will then see the difference of expression between the calm and placid strength of the rectilinear basis, in No. 6, and the total want of strength produced in No. 4, by making the basis, as well as the out- line, concave. 438 EXPLANATION OF PLATES, Compare also the Lady, No. 3, with the convex figures 5 and 7 The reader will see that the convexity of her features promise equal activity though the want of a rectilinear basis does not admit of equal radical strength or greatness of character. If this lady should turn fine lady, she will rather shop all the morning, and visit all the evening 5 than lie in bed, read novels, and take nervous medicines. If she should be a domestic lady! she will rather excel in bargaining with her tradesmen, hunting out defaulters amongst her tenants, and managing her servants, than in making for her husband the cheerful rest of a quiet fire-side. Or if ever she should become religious, we may rather expect to meet her at various sermons, Bible-society meetings, and school-committees, than to find her in her closet, composing meditations with St. Augustin, or with Hannah speaking in secret to the Lord with her heart. We will, however, refer not merely to fictitious examples. Let the reader consult the authentic likenesses of Lord Chatham, Antoine Arnauld, and Bonaparte. He will recognize in the convex outlines and muscular con- striction of these heads, the man who "trampled on impossibilities the man who swore « to defend religion, not only with the pen, but with his blood;" and the man, who, from the obscurity of a remote island, swayed the sceptre of continental Europe. The same character of boldness, vigor, and activity, and the same class of outline, equally characterized the politician, the theologian, and the conqueror. The same boldness and activity of character, as well as the same class of convex lines, and muscular constriction, mark the countenances of Henry the Fourth of France, the great Conde, the Duke de Grammont, and the celebrated reformer, John Wesley. Every one of these characters, 'it is well known, were in a very peculiar degree possessed of these qualities'. In the work on Physiognomony, a more accurate account is given of the various modifications of which convex lines are susceptible, and of their effects in altering, abating, or reinforcing their expression. As for example in the CONVEX ovalinear, in which the muscular constriction is unbraced^ the outline unintersected by abrupt angles, but though sailliant, united by oval waving lines, such as the countenance of Lavater in the French edition; the print of Fletcher, from the picture in Mr. Ireland's possession at Bris- lington ; the print from the authentic likeness of Madame Guyon ; and the admirable print by Audran, of Fenelon. This style of countenance, which EXPLANATION OF PLATES. 439 might be almost termed the MYSTIC countenance, will be found to unite a mixture of activity and fire with gentleness and refinement, producing that union of enthusiasm and contemplation, and refinement of imagination, which, under various modifications, distinguished these persons. — Vide No. (11). Another variation is what might be termed the OBTUSE CONVEX ; or, as the last mentioned sort was, the CONVEX, engrafted on a SENTIMENTAL basis, so this sort may be considered as the CONVEX, engrafted on an INERT basis. — Vide plate (12). Of this species were the countenances of the late Mr. Fox, and, thouo-h under a very different modification, the late amiable and religious, but un- fortunate Louis the Sixteenth. In the latter of these two celebrated charac- ters, does not the doable characteristic we have attributed to the outline, equally mark the character? Have not the best friends of the monarch often lamented over tiiat uuaptness to continued active exertion, that slug- glish difficulty in rousing himself from the thraldom of long habits of supine- ness, which was the only degree in which so religious a man could be tinc- tured with the character we have ascribed to the INERT ; and, on the other hand, when the pressure of circumstances effectually roused his latent powers, and called character, instead of habits, into action, did not its lustre so beam forth, as to astonish with its brightness his very enemies ? The energy of mind and of conscience which directed the occupations of his captivity, as well as his farewell to his family, his conduct to his enemies, and his Christian heroism in death, are surely a proof of that native vigor of character, which can burst through the shackles of habit, and stand unshaken and alone in the midst of adverse circumstances. And accordingly, the nation who, on so small a majority, permitted his execution, have themselves declared his encomium : Ce prince infortiine qu'une severe loi Sur un vil echafaud fit peril corame UD traitre, Ne parut digne d'etre roi Que lorsqifil eut cesst: de l'etre. II dut a ses malheurs Parnour He l'univers : Trop foible sur le trone, ll hit grand dans les fers; Le jour de son Uepas fu.t celui de sa gl .ire. Diction ua ire H istorique. Many other modifications of convex lines might be mentioned ; but they are treated of at large, in the work on pbysiognomony. With respect to concave lines, we find a greater difficulty in selecting 440 EXPLANATION OF PLATES. examples, because, from the very circumstances of character, few of their resemblances survive their century. It is indeed, in certain combinations, common for concave faces to be found amongst men of science and elo- quence, and persons of contemplative habits; but the countenances of this class of men are not so often handed down to posterity as those who are of active and energetic characters. We, however, confidently appeal to the fictitious examples already given. We are very sure, that the individual of the most antiphysiognomonic creed would never suspect our hypochondriacal friend, at No. 4, to have been the man who uttered the words, " Veni, Vidi, V^ici." Nor would they con- ceive the Indifferent, the Alderman, the Sluggard, the Sleeper, or the Duke d'Urbino, in the preceding series, to be portraits of the conqueror of conti- nental Europe, the hero of Bender, or of our British hero on the Spanish peninsula.* Or let any person look at the Indolent Lady, No. 26, in the preceding series, and decide whether such a face could belong to that lady of imperial lineage, whose character, traduced in prosperity, became august in the eyes of the admiring world in adversity; and who, in the midst of almost unex- ampled ill treatments, pronounced the memorable words, "J'ai tout vu, j'ai tout entendu, mais j'ai tout oublie !" — a sentence honorable alike to a queen, a heroine, and a Christian. * The countenance of the great Dr. Johnson will undoubtedly occur to the reader, as one uniting a great portion of circularity in the cheeks, jaw, and lips ; with a forcible convex con- tour of feature, united by harsh rectangular junctions, and bounded by right lines. Accordingly, the character both of his feelings, genius, and manner, was marked with gigantic power and grandeur; with dignity, strength, and abruptness. Had he not occupied the pen of any contemporary biographer, the conception and execution of the plan of his Dictionary ; and the composition of the original and beautiful tale of Rasselas in a fortnight, and during a period of deep sorrow, would sufficiently mark the force and vigor of his charac- ter. And if those biographers, to whom he confided his daily habits and weaknesses, in the un- suspecting intimacy of unreserved friendship, have recorded his constantly renewed resolutions of early rising, limiting his regimen, &c. &c. ; the benevolent physiognomist will view with additional respect and veneration, those traces of a powerful principle of conscience acting in opposition to the constant heavy weight of an opposite temperament. Dr. Johnson's reply to a friend, who asked him to take a glass of wine, is well known. " Abstinence is au easy virtue ; temperance is a difficult one." Perhaps it would be impos- sible to make a speech more indicative of vigorous power and self-indulgent habits : or, to speak physiognomonically, of convex features and a circular tendency of outline. J. M'Creery Printer, Black-Horse- Court, Fleet-Street, London. ■ I