a certain sensation, or class of sensations, excited in the mind by certain bodies, which are called sapid, applied to the tongue and palate, and moistened with the saliva. This is the original and proper meaning of the word taste (see Metaphysics, p. 46); but as the qualities of bodies which produce these sensations are unknown, they have in all languages got the names of the sensations themselves, by that figure of speech which substitutes the cause for the effect. Hence we talk of the tastes of sugar, wormwood, honey, vinegar, &c.; and say, that the taste of sugar is sweet and of vinegar sour. Tastes have been divided into simple and compound; and philosophers have to very little purpose endeavoured to ascertain the number of each species. Attempts have likewise been made to determine from their tastes the effects of different substances on the human body, taken into the stomach as food or physic; but by stating the results of the various inquiries, we should be more likely to mislead the unlearned reader, than to communicate useful information to readers of any description.

Whoever is desirous of information on the subject may consult Phil. Trans. No 280, 299; and Abercromb. Nov. Med. Clavis.

Taste is likewise used in a figurative sense, to denote that faculty of the mind by which we perceive and enjoy whatever is beautiful or sublime in the works of nature or of art. Like the taste of the palate, this faculty relishes some things, is disgusted with others, and to many is indifferent; and from these obvious analogies between it and the external sense it has obtained its name. It has likewise been called an internal sense, and by one philosopher Dr Hutson, a reflex sense; whilst others have considered it, not as a distinct faculty or sense, but as the joint exertion of perception and judgment in some cases, and as a play of the imagination in others.

To decide among these different opinions, it will be necessary to ascertain, if we can, what are the objects of this faculty; for we hardly think that every thing which is beautiful, either in nature or art, can with propriety be called an object of taste. Scarlet, blue, green, and yellow, are all beautiful colours, and a cube and a sphere are beautiful figures; but it does not appear to us, that a man could be said to have either a good or a bad taste for relishing the perception of a scarlet more than that of a yellow colour, or a spherical more than a cubical figure. A native of Africa considers thick lips and a flat nose as essential to female beauty; whilst the inhabitant of Europe prefers to all other forms of the nose that which is called Grecian, and is disgusted with lips either very thick or very thin. But upon what principles can we say that the African has a bad, and the European a good, taste?

With respect to the objects of the external sense, we are generally so constituted by nature as to relish, in the highest degree, those kinds of food which are most wholesome; and such a taste, which we believe is always found in infants, is justly said to be found and uncorrupted. It is in the highest perfection too at first; for it depends not upon culture of any kind, and is incapable of improvement. The reverse of all this is the case with respect to internal taste; of which the variety is obvious to the most careless observer, and is found, on examination, to be still greater in reality than it is in appearance. Every voice is indeed united in applauding elegance, propriety, simplicity, spirit in writing; and in blaming sultan, affectation, coldness, and a false brilliancy; but when critics come to particulars, this seeming unanimity vanishes; and it is found that they had affixed very different meanings to the same expressions. Perhaps no man ever attentively beheld the rising or the setting sun without feeling some emotions of pleasure which filled his mind; or went for the first time into such a building as the cathedral church of York, without being struck with a pleasing, though solemn, reverence. Yet it is certain, that the emotions of the clown, however acute he may be by nature, and perfect in all his faculties, are not the same, at least in degree, with those of the poet or philosopher when contemplating the rising or setting sun; or of the scientific mechanic when viewing the structure of the pillars and roof of the Gothic cathedral. We are not indeed sure that the pleasure of the clown on these occasions rises above that of mere sensation. Any bright and beautiful object presented to the eye, gives a pleasing sensation to the mind, in consequence of that peculiar agitation which such objects communicate to the optic nerves and the brain; and to us it appears, that the clown feels nothing more than this from the view of the rising sun or the magnificent church. Perhaps he may compare the sensations which he feels on these occasions with others which he has formerly felt in some degree similar to them, and have his pleasure heightened by the exercise. exercise of that faculty of which the province is to judge upon comparison; but we have no reason to suppose, that from the rising sun he receives any emotions different in kind from what he would receive from a blazing heath, were it accompanied with the same varying tints of colour; or that the church impresses on his fancy more than that wonder with which he would view any other building equally large and equally novel, though of a form very different. In poetry and painting the vulgar are always delighted with the melody of the verse and the brilliancy of the colours; and think of nothing else as beauties, either in the one or the other, unless the painting be the picture of some known object, and the poem describe scenes or actions in which they may be feebly interested. Hence it is that the vulgar are more captivated by the splendor of the Venetian style of painting, than by the simple grandeur of the Roman and Bolognian Schools; for the art of the former, which has been carried to the highest degree of perfection, is to give pleasure to the eye or the senses; that of the latter is to fill the imagination. The powers exerted in the former school Sir Joshua Reynolds calls the language of painters, which he compares to an empty tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. The compositions of the latter schools may be compared to the sublimity of Milton's sentiments, which would be disgraced by those petty ornaments to which it leaves not the reader at leisure to attend.

If this be so, the pleasures which the vulgar derive from what are called objects of taste are merely gratifications of the senses; or if any of these objects ever interest their higher faculties, it must be by inspiring them with confidence or dread; confidence of their own safety, for instance, if the building which they admire appear to them to be stable; and dread, if they have formed of it a contrary opinion. Very different is the pleasure which the man of cultivated taste derives from the beauties either of nature or of art: when he beholds the rising or the setting sun, he has indeed the pleasing sensation, which is all that the rude man feels; but along with this arises in his imagination a train of ideas, which hurries him beyond the object before him to its beneficent effects and its Almighty Creator: and if he has been much conversant with the works of descriptive poets, a number of pleasing ideas treasured up in his memory will, by the principle of association, pass in review before him, though they be not connected either with one another, or with the rising or setting sun, by a relation so close as that of cause and effect. In like manner, when the scientific architect views the Gothic cathedral, he must admire its solemn magnificence, though with less wonder than it excites in the breast of the clown; but he feels an additional pleasure, derived from a source to which the other has no access. He perceives the many contrivances displayed in its structure for uniting stability with lightness; and from contemplating the building, he is instantly led by a natural train of thought to admire the skill of the builder.

The nature of any person's taste, therefore, is generally determined from the character of his imagination and the soundness of his judgment. When any object either of sublimity or beauty is presented to the mind, every man is conscious of a train of thought being immediately awakened in his imagination, analogous to the character or expression of the original object. The simple perception of the object we frequently find is insufficient to excite these emotions, unless it is accompanied with this operation of mind; unless, according to common expression, our imagination is seized, and our fancy busied in the pursuit of all those trains of thought which are allied to this character or expression.

Thus, when we feel either the beauty or sublimity of natural scenery, the gay lustre of a morning in spring, or the mild radiance of a summer evening, the savage majesty of a wintry storm, or the wild magnificence of a tempestuous ocean, we are conscious of a variety of images in our minds, very different from those which the objects themselves can present to the eye. Trains of pleasing or of solemn thought arise spontaneously within our minds; our hearts swell with emotions, of which the objects before us seem to afford no adequate cause; and we are never so much fatigued with delight, as when, in recalling our attention, we are unable to trace either the progress or the connection of those thoughts which have passed with so much rapidity through our imagination.

If the mind is in such a state as to prevent this freedom of imagination, the emotion, whether of sublimity or beauty, is unperceived. In so far as the beauties of art or nature affect the external senses, their effect is the same upon every man who is in possession of these senses. But to a man in pain or in grief, whose mind by these means is attentive only to one object or consideration, the same scene or the same form will produce no feeling of admiration, which, at other times, when his imagination was at liberty, would have produced it in its fullest perfection. It is upon the vacant and the unemployed, accordingly, that the objects of taste make the strongest impression. It is in such hours alone that we turn to the compositions of music or of poetry for amusement. The sensations of care, of grief, or of business, have other occupations, and destroy, for the time at least, our sensibility to the beautiful or the sublime, in the same proportion that they produce a state of mind unfavourable to the indulgence of imagination.

There are many objects of taste, however, which produce not their full effect on the imagination, but through the medium of the judgment. We have given one instance in architecture, and shall give another in sculpture. The beauty of the Farnese Hercules is one kind of beauty; that of the gladiator in the palace of Chigi another; and that of the Apollo of Belvedere a third. Each of these figures is acknowledged to be perfect in its kind; and yet Sir Joshua Reynolds affirms, that the highest perfection of the human figure is not to be found in any one of them, but in that form which might be taken from them all, and would partake equally of the activity of the gladiator, of the delicacy of the Apollo, and of the muscular strength of the Hercules. If the judgment of this eminent artist be admitted, the perfection of these statues cannot consist in anything which is the immediate object of sense, either external or internal; but in something which, being perceived by the eye, is referred by the understanding to what we know of the characters of Hercules, Apollo, and the Gladiator, and which we believe it was the intention of the statuaries to express. Nay, there are objects of which taste is sometimes said to judge, though they have little or no effect whatever on the imagination. A book of abstract science, written in a prolix and intricate style, might be said to be in a bad taste; and had Swift, in his clear and simple style, written An Essay on the Human Understanding, his work, supposing him master of the subject, would undoubtedly have displayed more taste than Locke's, in which the terms are sometimes vague, and the periods often incumbered. This is actually the case of Berkeley, whom every man admits to have been a writer of good taste, though neither The Principles of Human Knowledge, The Dialogues on Matter, nor the beautiful work intitled The Minute Philosopher, is capable of affording pleasure to the senses or the imagination. His beauty consists merely in the perspicuity of his style, of which the understanding alone is the judge. The meta-physical physical writings of Dr Reid possess in an eminent degree the same beauty; and no man of true taste can read them without admiring the elegant simplicity of the composition as much as the strength of the reasoning, and feeling from the whole a pleasure which the poetical style of Shaftesbury cannot communicate.

If this be a just account of the pleasures of taste, that faculty cannot be properly considered as a mere internal sense, since its enjoyments a well-floured fancy is necessary in some cases, and the reasoning power in all; and the poet and the painter who wish to excel in their respective professions, must not content themselves, the one with filling the ear of the reader with mellifluous sounds, and the other with dazzling or deceiving the eye of the spectator by the brilliancy of his colours, but both must strive for fame by captivating the imagination; whilst the architect, who aspires to a similar celebrity, must make the purpose of his ornaments obvious to every person capable of judging. The landscapes of Claude Lorrain, the music of Handel, the poetry of Milton, excite feeble emotions in our minds, when our attention is confined to the qualities they present to our senses, or when it is to such qualities of their composition that we turn our regard. It is then only we feel the sublimity or beauty of their productions, when our imaginations are kindled by their power, when we lose ourselves amid the number of images that pass before our minds, and when we waken at last from this play of fancy as from the charm of a romantic dream.

It is well observed by Sir Joshua Reynolds*, that taste is sometimes praised in such terms by orators and poets, who call it inspiration, and a gift from heaven, that though a student by such praise may have his attention roused, and a desire excited of obtaining this gift, he is more likely to be deterred than encouraged in the pursuit of his object. "He examines his own mind, and perceives there nothing of that divine inspiration with which he is told so many others have been favoured. He never travelled to heaven to gather new ideas; and he finds himself possessed of no other qualifications than what mere common observation and a plain understanding are able to confer. Thus he becomes gloomy amidst the splendour of figurative declamation, and thinks it hopeless to pursue an object which he supposes out of the reach of human industry. But on this, as on many other occasions, we ought to distinguish how much is to be given to enthusiasm, and how much to common sense; taking care not to lose in terms of vague admiration that solidity and truth of principle upon which alone we can reason." Whoever possesses the ordinary powers of perception, sensibility of heart, good sense, and an imagination capable of being roused by the striking objects of nature and of art, may, without inspiration, become, by mere experience, a man of fine taste in the objects of which he aspires to be a critical judge.

This being the case, we may easily account for the variety of tastes which prevail among men, not only as individuals but as nations. We have already mentioned the difference in one instance between the European taste and the African respecting female beauty; and we may now affirm, as we hope to prove our affirmation, that the one taste is equally correct with the other. The charms of female beauty exist not in the mere external form and colour considered by themselves (for then the inanimate statue of the Venus de Medici would give more delight to the European beholder than the finest woman that ever lived); but we affix external beauty with sweetness of disposition, and with all the train of endearments which take place in the union of the sexes; and it is this association which delights the man of taste, as giving refinement to an appetite which in itself is gross and sensual. A similar association must be formed in the breast of the African who has any taste; and as he never knew feminine softness, or any of the endearing qualities of the sex, but as united with thick lips, a flat nose, a black skin, and woolly hair—a sable beauty of that description must excite in his breast the same emotions that are excited in the breast of an European by the fair woman with Grecian features.

But is there not an ideal or perfect beauty of the human form? There certainly is, as of every other natural object; but it cannot be the same in Europe as in Africa, unless to a being who is acquainted with all the peculiarities of form, national and individual, that are to be found among the inhabitants of the whole earth. It has been supposed, and we think completely proved, by one of the best writers that we have on the philosophy of taste*, that the sublimity or beauty of forms arises altogether from the associations we connect with them, or the qualities of which they are expressive to us. The qualities expressed by the male and female forms are very different; and we would by no means think the woman beautiful who should have the form of the Farnese Hercules, or admire the shape of the hero who should be formed like the Venus de Medici; because the proportions of such a woman would indicate strength and intrepidity, where we wish to find only gentleness and delicacy; and the delicate form of the hero would indicate softness and effeminacy, where the opposite qualities only can be esteemed. As we associate with the female form many desirable qualities, every woman is esteemed more or less beautiful as her figure and features indicate a greater or smaller number of these qualities; and the same is the case with respect to the qualities which adorn the male character, and the form and features by which they are expressed. Upon comparing a number of human beings with one another, we find, that with respect to every feature and limb, there is one central form to which nature always tends, though she be continually deviating from it on the right hand and on the left: (See Nose). This form therefore is considered as the most perfect form of the species, and most expressive of the qualities for which that species is valued; but in Africa, the central form, with respect to the proportions of the human body and the features of the human face, is very different from what it is in Europe; and therefore the ideal or perfect beauty of the human form and features cannot be the same in both countries. No doubt, if a man could examine the limbs and features of every individual of the human race, he would discover one central form belonging to the whole, and be led to esteem it the standard of beauty; but as this is obviously impossible, the common idea or central form belonging to each great class of mankind must be esteemed the standard of beauty in that class, as indicating most completely the qualities for which individuals are esteemed. Thus there is a common form in childhood and a common form in age; each of which is the more perfect as it is the more remote from peculiarities: but though age and childhood have something in common, we should not deem the child beautiful who was formed exactly like the most handsome man, nor the man handsome who was formed exactly like the most beautiful child. This doctrine is well illustrated by Sir Joshua Reynolds*, who has applied it to every object esteemed beautiful in nature; and proved, that the superiority of Claude Lorrain over the landscape-painters of the Dutch and Flemish schools, arises chiefly from his having generalized his conceptions, and formed his pictures by compounding together the various draughts which he had previously made from various beautiful scenes and prospects. "On the whole," says he, "it seems to me that there is but one presiding principle which regulates and gives gives stability to every art. The works, whether of poets, painters, moralists, or historians, which are built upon general nature, live for ever; while those which depend for their existence on particular customs and habits, a particular view of nature, or the fluctuation of fashion, can only be coeval with that which first raised them from obscurity. All the individual objects which are exhibited to our view by nature, upon close examination, will be found to have their blemishes and defects. The most beautiful forms have something about them like weaknesses, minuteness, or imperfection. But it is not every eye that perceives these blemishes: It must be an eye long used to the contemplation and comparison of these forms; which alone can discern what any set of objects of the same kind has in common, and what each wants in particular.

From these reasonings the same great artist concludes, that the man who is ambitious of the character of possessing a correct taste, ought to acquire a "habit of comparing and directing his notions. He ought not to be wholly unacquainted with that part of philosophy which gives him an insight into human nature, and relates to the manners, characters, passions, and affections. He ought to know something concerning the mind, as well as a great deal concerning the body, and the various external works of nature and of art; for it is only the power of distinguishing right from wrong that is properly denominated taste.

"Genius and taste, in their common acceptation, appear to be very nearly related; the difference lies only in this, that genius has superadded to it a habit or power of execution. Or we may say, that taste, when this power is added, changes its name, and is called genius. They both, in the popular opinion, pretend to an entire exemption from the restraint of rules. It is supposed that their powers are intuitive; that under the name of genius great works are produced, and under the name of taste an exact judgment is given, without our knowing why, and without being under the least obligation to reason, precept, or experience.

"One can scarce state these opinions without exposing their absurdity; yet they are constantly in the mouths of men, and particularly of illiterate and affected connoisseurs. The natural appetite, or taste of the human mind, is for truth; whether that truth results from the real agreement or equality of original ideas among themselves, from the agreement of the representation of any object with the thing represented, or from the correspondence of the several parts of any arrangement with each other. It is the very same taste which relishes a demonstration in geometry, that is pleased with the resemblance of a picture to an original, and touched with the harmony of music.

"But besides real, there is also apparent truth, or opinion, or prejudice. With regard to real truth, when it is known, the taste which conforms to it is and must be uniform. With regard to the second sort of truth, which may be called truth upon sufferance, or truth by courtesy, it is not fixed but variable. However, whilst these opinions and prejudices on which it is founded continue, they operate as truth; and the art, whose office it is to please the mind as well as instruct it, must direct itself according to opinion, or it will not attain its end. In proportion as these prejudices are known to be generally diffused or long received, the taste which conforms to them approaches nearer to certainty, and to a fort of resemblance to real science, even where opinions are found to be no better than prejudices. And since they deserve, on account of their duration and extent, to be considered as really true, they become capable of no small degree of stability and determination by their permanent and uniform nature.

"Of the judgment which we make on the works of art, and the preference that we give to one class of art over another, if a reason be demanded, the question is perhaps evaded by answering, I judge from my taste; but it does not follow that a better answer cannot be given, though for common gazers this may be sufficient. Every man is not obliged to investigate the causes of his approbation or dislike. The arts would lie open for ever to caprice and casualty, if those who are to judge of their excellencies had no settled principles by which they are to regulate their decisions, and the merit or defect of performances were to be determined by unguided fancy. And indeed we may venture to affirm, that whatever speculative knowledge is necessary to the artist, is equally and indispensible necessary to the critic and the connoisseur.

"The first idea that occurs in the consideration of what is fixed in art or in taste, is that preceding principle which we have already mentioned, the general idea of nature. The beginning, the middle, and the end of every thing that is valuable in taste, is comprised in the knowledge of what is truly nature; for whatever ideas are not conformable to those of nature or universal opinion, must be considered as more or less capricious; the idea of nature comprehending not only the forms which nature produces, but also the nature and internal fabric and organization, as I may call it, of the human mind and imagination. General ideas, beauty, or nature, are but different ways of expressing the same thing, whether we apply these terms to statues, poetry, or picture. Deformity is not nature, but an accidental deviation from her accustomed practice. This general idea therefore ought to be called nature; and nothing else, correctly speaking, has a right to that name. Hence it plainly appears, that as a work is conducted under the influence of general ideas, or partial, it is principally to be considered as the effect of a good or a bad taste."

Upon the whole, we may conclude that the real substance, as it may be called, of what goes under the name of taste, is fixed and established in the nature of things; that there are certain and regular causes by which the imagination and passions of men are affected; and that the knowledge of these causes is acquired by a laborious and diligent investigation of nature, and by the same slow progress as wisdom or knowledge of every kind, however instantaneous its operations may appear when thus acquired. A man of real taste is always a man of judgment in other respects; and those inventions which either disdain or shrink from reason, are generally more like the dreams of a disordered brain than the exalted enthusiasm of a sound and true genius. In the midst of the highest flights of fancy or imagination, reason ought to preside from first to last; and he who shall decide on the beauties of any one of the fine arts by an imaginary innate sense or feeling, will make as ridiculous an appearance as the connoisseur mentioned by Dr Moor, who praised as a work of the divine Raphael the wretched dabbling by a Swiss copyist. The reader who wishes for further instruction in the philosophy of taste, may consult Gerard's Essay on Taste, with the dissertations of Voltaire, d'Alembert, and Montesquieu; Dr Blair's Lectures on the Belles Lettres; Dr Reid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man; Alison's Essays on the Nature and Principles of Taste; and Sir Joshua Reynolds's Discourses delivered in the Royal Academy.