authors and artists are naturally too much inclined to rely, and ask no further. Moreover, who has authority to set up such an imperial standard? Certainly no person will claim it for himself, and none other is competent to confer it upon him, save the united voice of the public, which by that very act would constitute itself the authority. And this would amount to just leaving the matter where it was, and where, in this respect, it must forever remain. We can have standard weights and standard measures; but can never realize the conception of a standard taste. With equal propriety might we speak of a standard of reason, a standard of love, or of hate, or of imagination. Strange that the notion has not been laughed out of countenance long ago.

We have no design to appoint a great dictator of taste, whom all must obey; but simply to enquire, whether or not there is any thing like agreement among men, on this subject? In other words, are there any principles of taste generally acknowledged among men? Nor is this an unimportant question; for if it must be answered in the negative, there can be no such thing as æsthetic science, or rules to guide the labors of the artist.

It must be granted, that agreement on this head is not complete. All men do not enjoy pleasure, or the same degree of pleasure, from the same objects: what delights the uncivilized, may excite only contempt in the refined. The ornaments of beads and coarse paint,

which to the Indian's eye enhance the beauty of the human figure, are ridiculous to the European; while the Indian is incapable of appreciating many of the refined arts of his white brethren. The white man says of the Indian, that he has no taste, and probably the Indian has the same opinion of the white man; but is it not evident that they both possess that faculty, seeing that the exercise of it is the very subject on which they differ? But even in the history of civilized man, some variety has occurred from time to time in the decisions of taste. Among the Greeks, for example, the simple style of architecture, embodying the most complete repose, was deemed most beautiful. The Romans thought that simplicity too tame, and sought in all their public buildings to dazzle by luxurious ornament. The taste of the Middle Ages admired the dark and massive, and reviving Europe gave her love to the bewildering beauty and imposing grandeur of the Gothic. A similar diversity may be observed among judgments on the excellence of the other arts. In oratory, the flowery eloquence of Asia and Rhodes, the severe style of Attica, the graceful and impassioned flow of Cicero, the tawdry affectations of the later Empire, and the metaphysical quibbling of the Dark Ages, all had their admirers in their respective places and periods. And works of great popularity at one time, have, at another, sunk into utter neglect. Euphuists of the days of Elizabeth, although they enjoyed unbounded applause in their own time, are

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now so completely neglected that the very fact of their existence constitutes an item of antiquarian knowledge. Amid this variety, is it possible to prove any one more correct than another, or must they all be accounted equally just? Only a brief comparison is needed to show that they are not all equally correct. For in general, the savage, when well educated, and furnished with just views of the real relations of things, coincides with the taste of the refined: what he continues to dislike in the fashions of civilization being only what men of good sense generally disapprove of, and what he continues to admire in his native wilds being nothing more than what those born in civilization would also admire, were they equally well acquainted with these, or had associated with them equally agreeable reminiscences. The peculiar notions of the savage are therefore erroneous, seeing that they are dispelled by more extensive knowledge.

Rome was possessed of wealth and dominion, and for centuries covered the world with architectural monuments of her gorgeous taste. The more modest beauty of the works of Greece was overlooked by the sumptuous masters of the world, and those who blindly followed in their train. But after the dominion of Roman luxury, and that obscuration of the intellect of Europe which followed upon its downfall, had passed away, and attention had been called to the works of Greece, the voice of the world became once more eloquent in their praise. All the nations of modern

civilization, who can not be supposed more partial to Greece than to Rome, have with one accord confirmed the taste of the older country. Such a general and zealous return to the rules of ancient art, where there has been no power used to compel, and no common prejudice prevailing, nay, in spite of different national prejudices, can be explained only by reference to some permanent principles in human nature; while the reign of Roman taste is easily accounted for by the sovereign, political, and military influence of the imperial city, and the pride and luxurious habits of the people.

The diversity of opinion among cotemporaneous nations on matters of taste, can for the most part be accounted for by inequality of knowledge, and national prejudice. Thus the French were wont to despise Shakspeare, while they refused to study him, because he was an Englishman. They praise him now, when they give him a hearing, and take the trouble to understand him. Both French and English hooted at German literature, while it was but partially known and greatly misapprehended among them, and because they had preconceived of stupidity as inherent in all German brains. Now Goëthe and Schiller have fairly taken their places, even in French and English estimation, among the great ones of the earth. Consequently, we infer that French, German, and English taste is the same, where no cause exterior to itself interferes on either side.

In regard to the more remarkable objects of sense, the unanimity of mankind is almost perfect. Who refuses to acknowledge the green fields of spring as beautiful? And wherefore do thousands, year after year, visit the banks of the Rhine and the lakes of Italy? Persons from all quarters of the world have looked upon Niagara, and all, whatever their first impressions, finally agree as to its sublimity.

Such is also the case in regard to ancient works of literature. For twenty-seven hundred years, the poems of Homer have afforded pleasure to all who have given them intelligent perusal. The works of Eschylus, of Sophocles, of Herodotus, of Plato, etc., why have they been preserved with so much care by generation after generation, for more than two thousand years? No other reason can be assigned than the pleasure which they have furnished every intelligent reader. The temple of Minerva Parthenon, even in ruins, is a topic upon which every traveler to Athens loves to dwell. Can we doubt, that if it had been preserved in all its ancient beauty, it would still be admired with as much enthusiasm as in the days of Pericles? The Venus de Medici, the Apollo Belvidere, and Antinous, modeled to the taste of ancient times, are found to command the approbation of that of modern times. Such, in short, is the testimony of all extant works of ancient literature and art, whose merits are in their beauty. We have thus, in fact, the recorded vote of