ODDS AND ENDS.

The following Parody was written in a leaf of a volume of Wordsworth, from a circulating library; we do not imagine it has ever been published.

She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,

A maid whom there were none to praise,
And very few to love.

A violet by a mossy stone,

Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining on the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and, oh !
Thedifference to me.

IMITATION.

He dwelt amid the untrodden ways

By Rydel's grassy mead,

A bard whom there were none to praise,
And very few to read.

Beneath a cloud his mystic sense
Deep hidden who can spy?

Dark as the night when not a star

Is shining from the sky.

He lived unknown---his " Milk-white Doe"
With dust is dark and dim,

It lies in Longman's shop, and oh!

The difference to him.

Oct. 3, 1826.

LINES

TO MALVINA B

BY JOHN B. RUDDUCK.

O! breathe again sweet minstrel! breathe once more
That strain whose music round my soul now clings,

For it recalls the memory of hours,

Once bright with hope and Love's imaginings!
And ne'er could Fancy in her brightest hue,

Array a form so exquisitely fair

As thine, whose presence now delights my view,
Whose music's flow delights my raptur'd ear!
Yet still the pleasure's mix'd with deep alloys,
Where'er a chord responsive in my breast
Is touch'd by thee, that speaks of early joys
And times, when once my troubled soul had rest.

EDDISCOMBE COLLEGE.

POETRY, PAINTING, AND MUSIC.

[We insert with considerable gratification the first part of an Essay, which we under stand was delivered as a Lecture at a Literary Society in the metropolis, on the Principles on which the Fine Arts afford pleasure. We strongly recommend it to the notice of our readers on its own intrinsic merits, on the interests of the subject on which it treats, and as a very good introduction at least to the study of Mr. Alison and other writers on Taste.]

Etenim omnes artes, quæ ad humanitatem pertinent, habent quod dam commune vinculum, et quasi cognatione quâdem inter se continentur.---CICERO.

I do not know if it be a fact, that a much more correct and refined knowledge of the Fine Arts has of late become more universally spread among us; but one thing is very certain, that they have lately become more than ever the general subject of talk and observation. Every one seems to decide without hesitation upon these topics, because, as matters of taste, they are supposed to be beyond the reach of rules; and as no conclusion is sought, no one cares to examine the grounds of his belief, or enquires if he have any reason whatever for his avowed opinion. In the course of our discussions in this Society, we have sometimes entertained questions upon the relative merits of poetical productions of different authors, and continually in the course of debate, opinions have been stated of contrast and comparison, upon what are generally called matters of taste. When some of these questions have been originated, I have felt, like others, a strong predilection for the works of one or other of the authors mentioned, and have even regarded it as preposterous to carry out the comparison between them; I have deemed the matter too obvious to afford any discussion, but when the evening has arrived upon which I had the opportunity of explaining my reasons for this preference, I found in myself an abundance of feeling, but a most lamentable deficiency of argument--and the sum of my reasons has sometimes been, I prefer one or other, because I do!

Why then am I affected by a poem or picture in a manner entirely different from other men? Why am I perhaps unmoved, while the liveliest emotions are excited by the same production in the breasts of others? Are there no general principles discovered or known by which these seeming contradictions may be reconciled and explained?

He who adventures into this field of enquiry, will not long want for opportunities of observation. Every man he meets will afford him the prospect of a different shade and gradation of taste; of an indi vidual who, compared with others, is differently affected by the productions of the Fine Arts. There are, first of all, the great divisions of mankind into classes of admirers of the different depart

ments of art.

The lover of poetry will talk of the feebleness of the painter's

art, and represent its inferiorities to his own; in being confined to the exhibition of one action, and one moment of time; in leaving nothing to the imagination of the spectator, obliging the time and invention of the artist to be extended on minute details which produce no corresponding effect; while in his favorite art, time is commanded to proceed or stand still-events past and present are represented in affecting succession, and the heart of the reader is gradually prepared for the exhibition of that action, which the painter is obliged to force at once on the unprepared mind of the spectator. The admirers of painting are not behind hand nor negligent in representing the dignity of their art: we are desired to remember the perfect image which a painting gives of the imagination of the artist-the pleasures and perfection of design and coloring-and that at least one scene of grandeur, one point of mighty interest, is exhibited to the mind in so vivid a manner, that any given point in poetry must be altogether languid and powerless when compared with such surprising effects. In this contention and rivalry we find the followers of all branches of the arts engaged, the warfare descending to those who practice any kind of art, which by any construction of their own, however remote, can be denominated one of the Fine Arts. So low indeed does it descend, that we at last hear from a fiddler, who styles himself a professor of music, that of all imaginative pursuits, of all the means of operating on the mind and passions of mankind, nothing can be compared to the scraping according to method upon four pieces of catgut! These great factions are again divided and distinguished by endless subdivisions of opinions and minute shades of difference. From many who will unitedly proclaim themselves lovers of poetry, for instance, select a few, and present a given production: from the lips of one will burst the warmest eulogies, and indications of feeling and emotion; while the other may remain unmoved, and meaning to degrade the author, incontinently stumbles on the truth by pronouncing it "too high for him."

2

If we enter a picture gallery, we shall find acknowledged admirers of that branch of the arts quite as divided. There "Schools" of Painting are contesting the prize: the admirers of the Dutch and Flemish Schools call aloud on you to observe the nature and truth of their masters; while other zealous devotees are paying homage to the wonders of Italian art, they are murmuring over the pictures the words, "divine conception," "grand composition," occasionally pausing to sneer at the meanness and vulgarity, the poverty of design and want of imagination, in the rival artists.

Are all these varied emotions, then, produced by accident or caprice, subject to no principle nor restrained by any law of the mental constitution? Yes, say some, our sense of beauty is innate: men are born with a genius and predilection for particular arts; the mind of one man is so organized by nature, as to be incapable of relishing the higher beauties of art-he possesses no imagination, and to speak of genius and taste, as confined to any rule of action, as subject to any laws, very clearly shows that you are unblest with either one or

other, or, as the most rhetorical would tell me, you were never warmed with the true Promethean fire!

It has been the misfortune of the arts to be talked about by men who mistake darkness for depth. Many use a mysterious jargon about taste, and about the objects of taste; which is calculated to lead others to suppose, that they are favored by nature, that they possess a distinct sense for the perception of beauty, as the eye perceives light and the ear sound, and that the great mass of mankind are mentally incapable of any such combinations or perceptions. There cannot exist more barefaced quackery than such language indicates. Every thing which affords pleasure must act on some principle. This unmeaning jargon is not unfrequently uttered, as the secure. resort of ignorance and want of enquiry. Oftener it is used to encourage an idea of the superior gifts of pretenders, who, by these and similar means, endeavour to elevate themselves as the oracles of taste, the one-eyed monarchs of the blind!-But is it the truth, that this impervious darkness naturally veils all the subjects of taste; that mystery attends all the sources of our pleasure derived from the arts? I believe not, nor ought we by any means to rest satisfied with these shallow, though obvious and easy, explanations.

Every object, I repeat, that delights us, must afford pleasure upon some certain and fixed principles. The human mind and passions are acted upon as certainly-causes produce effects as surely, as in all the operations of nature in the physical world. I am not supposing that philosophers and men of deep thought have acknowledged these absurd sentiments, to which I have referred; that they have come to the conclusion, that the emotions produced by the Fine Arts are the effect of caprice, or without assignable and generally operating causes; on the contrary, the most eminent investigators of mental philosophy have loudly testified against such thoughts: I speak of what I believe are the loose and popular notions afloat on subjects of taste.

Let us then ask ourselves at first this unmixed question: Upon what principle do we derive any pleasure from the arts? Not, why does painting or sculpture afford us the most pleasure, but why they please at all?

This then is our first point; what is the kind of power which a picture or statue may possess to raise emotions in the mind? Simply upon the principle by which any material object may possess the same power, though in different degrees, we are moved by the sight of rocks, trees, ancient ruins, and an endless range of objects, which, under certain circumstances, raise ideas more or less vivid, and fill the mind with pleasure and delight. It is no other than the principle of association, the chief, if not the only, source and origin of every kind of beauty and attraction, which any material form or substance whatever can possibly possess. Let us then look a little at this explanation, let us examine it, even with suspicion, and appealing at every step to that which passes in our own bosoms, let each of us submit it to the test of his own individual and personal experience.

The enquiry very naturally divides itself into two branches-the first relating to the nature of the faculty, the other to the nature of its objects. By one we endeavour to answer the question, what is taste? by the other, what is beauty? Although it may be impossible within our limits strictly to analyze these philosophical divisions of the subject, we cannot do better than keep them distinctly in our minds. It may be stated almost as an incontrovertible axiom, that except in the case of positive bodily pain or pleasure, we can never be interested by any thing but the fortunes of sentient beings. Every thing partaking of the nature of mental emotion, must have for its object the feelings past, present, or possible, of something capable of

sensation.

For this reason, nothing can be more false and unsatisfactory than these theories, which would lead us to suppose that any material objects can possess physical attributes, any dispositions of form or color, which can abstractedly of themselves create emotions in the mind. The truth seems to be, that the sense of beauty is never produced by any material quality of the object before us, but by the recollection or conception of other objects which are associated with, and brought to mind by, the presence of the one under our immediate consideration. These associated feelings must be interesting to us, on the natural and familiar principle of being the objects of our love or pity, hatred or fear, or some other lively and stirring mental emotion. This then is the plain statement of the principle. All objects are beautiful or sublime, which suggest to us some natural emotion of love, pity, terror, or any other social or selfish affection of our nature;---all their effects consisting in the power they have acquired by association of reminding us of these familiar and deeply seated affections. Here then is the secret of the great, the varied power of the fine arts, of poetry and painting, of sculpture and music; they are powerful and pleasing only in the exact proportion as they are capable of agitating our minds, by suggesting certain trains of thought and feeling. But to satisfy ourselves that this is practically the fact, let us advert to one or two cases of the strongest and most obvious associations that can be established between the inward feelings and external causes of sensation.

Take for example a much quoted, because most striking, instance, the case of thunder. Nothing in all nature is so universally powerful in creating feelings of sublimity. Is it because of any peculiarity, or intensity, or quality in the sound? No. We habitually associate with thunder the ideas of majesty, power, and danger, which produce their natural and corresponding effect on the mind. That these sensations arise from no peculiarity in the nature of the sound, is made evident by the mistakes which are often ludicrously made respecting it. The noise of a cart rattling over our paved streets, is not unfrequently mistaken for thunder; and as long as the mistake lasts, we are impressed with strong feelings of the sublime, derived even from such a vulgar and unimportant cause. We associate undefined ideas of power and danger with thunder, but the sublimity is lost as soon as the associa