which may be very variously applied,—to thoughts and actions as well as to forms.—A third, reflecting on the value and distribution of these rules, and observing that some prevail more in poetry, and others in painting, concludes that according as one set or the other is brought into operation, Painting may serve as an auxiliary to Poetry, or Poetry to Painting, by way of illustration and example.—The first of these individuals is the amateur; the second the philosopher; and the last, the critic.

The two former of these could scarcely make an injurious use either of their feelings or of their conclusions. In the remarks of the critic, on the contrary, every thing depends on the correctness of their application to each particular case. When, therefore, we consider that, for one judicious critic, there are fifty whose object is only to show their ingenuity, it would be astonishing indeed if these applications were always made with the requisite degree of caution.

If Apelles and Protogenes, in their treatises

on Painting, which are unfortunately lost to us, confirmed and illustrated the rules of that art by the previously-determined rules of poetry, we may safely conclude that they executed their task with the same moderation and accuracy which has been shown by Aristotle, Cicero, Horace and Quintilian, in applying the principles and practice of painting to eloquence and poetry. It is the privilege of the ancients, whatever subject they treat, to enter upon it with that spirit of calm inquiry which preserves them steadily in the middle line between the vice of exaggeration on the one hand, and of culpable negligence on the other. Instead of taking example by this prudent spirit, we moderns too often labor to amplify all that we draw from them. We fancy we have improved on the ancients in converting their little pleasure-ways into great high-roads, forgetting that these, though shorter and securer in themselves, may open into other paths, leading to trackless wildernesses.

The brilliant antithesis of the Greek Voltaire, that "Painting is mute Poetry, and Poetry speaking Painting," was uttered in no didactic spirit. It was one of those striking thoughts, so frequent in Simonides, the truer portion of which is so apparent that we readily overlook whatever of indefinite or false is mingled with it. Yet the ancients did not overlook the inaccuracy of the saying of Simonides; but, confining its application simply to the effect of both the arts, they were careful to inculcate that, notwithstanding their complete similarity in this respect, they yet differed as well in the objects as in the modes of their imitation,— Ύλη και τροποις.

How often do we see modern critics, on the contrary, most absurdly dwelling altogether on the resemblance between poetry and painting, just as if no such difference existed. At times they would confine poetry within the narrower limits of painting, and at times extend painting throughout the wider sphere of poetry. Whatever is the privilege of the one, they would also have

conceded to the other; whatever either charms or displeases in the one, must also, in their idea, produce the same effect in the other. Impressed with this notion, they are betrayed into the most inaccurate decisions. The variations discoverable between the works of the poet and the painter in treating the same subject, they hesitate not to set down as faults, which they charge to one or the other art, according as their taste or fancy guides their preference. This spurious criticism has even partly misled the professors themselves. It has engendered in poetry the love of delineation, and in painting, allegorical display. The poet seeks to make his work like a speaking picture, without properly knowing what it is that his art has the power and the privilege to paint. The painter, on the other hand, labors to produce a mute poem, not considering to what extent his art is capable of expressing general ideas without abandoning its legitimate destination, and degenerating into a mere delineation of arbitrary signs.

To counteract the effect of this false taste and this shallow criticism, is the great object of the following essay. The sections of which it

is composed were commenced in a casual way, and were continued rather in the order of my own reading, than in that of any methodical development of general principles. They consequently form rather the disconnected materials for a work, than a work itself. I flatter myself, however, with the hope that this will not be held as a reason for despising them. Of regular systematic works, we Germans have, in general, abundance. In the talent of deducing from two or three given words whatever line of argument or illustration may be desired, we yield to no nation in the world.

Baumgarten acknowledged that he was indebted to Gesner's Dictionary for a great part of the examples in his work on Æsthetics. If my reasoning be not so conclusive as Baumgarten's, my examples will at least savor more of the source from which they are drawn. Having