in ancient customs, a term used for the melting of gold or silver, either to refine them, or to examine their value.—The method of doing this is explained at large in the Black Book of the Exchequer, ascribed to Gervaise, in the chapter De officio Militis Argentarii, being in those days of great use, on account of the various places and different manners in which the king's money was paid.

Arsura is also used for the loss or diminution of the metal in the trial. In this sense, a pound was said tot ardere denarios, to lose so many pennyweights.

Arsura is also used for the dust and sweepings of silversmiths, and others, who work in silver, melted down.

ART is defined by Lord Bacon, a proper disposal of the things of nature by human thought and experience, so as to answer the several purposes of mankind; in which sense art stands opposed to nature.

Art is principally used for a system of rules serving to facilitate the performance of certain actions; in which sense it stands opposed to science, or a system of speculative principles.

Arts are commonly divided into useful or mechanic, liberal or polite. The former are those wherein the hand hand and body are more concerned than the mind; of which kind are most of those which furnish us with the necessaries of life, and are popularly known by the name of trades; as baking, brewing, carpentry, smithery, weaving, &c.—The latter are such as depend more on the labour of the mind than that of the hand; they are the produce of the imagination, their essence consists in expression, and their end is pleasure. Of this kind are poetry, painting, music, &c.

Progress of the Arts. Some useful arts must be nearly coeval with the human race; for food, clothing, and habitation, even in their original simplicity, require some art. Many other arts are of such antiquity as to place the inventors beyond the reach of tradition. Several have gradually crept into the world without an inventor. The busy mind, however, accustomed to a beginning in things, cannot rest till it finds or imagines a beginning to every art. The most probable conjectures of this nature the reader may see in the historical introductions to the different articles.

In all countries where the people are barbarous and illiterate, the progress of arts is extremely slow. It is vouched by an old French poem, that the virtues of the loadstone were known in France before the year 1182. The mariner's compass was exhibited at Venice anno 1260, by Paulus Venetus, as his own invention. John Goya of Amalfi was the first who, many years afterward, used it in navigation; and also passed for being the inventor. Though it was used in China for navigation long before it was known in Europe, yet to this day it is not so perfect as in Europe. Instead of suspending it in order to make it act freely, it is placed upon a bed of sand, by which every motion of the ship disturbs its operation. Hand-mills, termed querns, were early used for grinding corn; and when corn came to be raised in greater quantity, horse mills succeeded. Water-mills for grinding corn are described by Vitruvius. Wind-mills were known in Greece, and in Arabia as early as the seventh century; and yet no mention is made of them in Italy till the fourteenth. That they were not known in England till the reign of Henry VIII. appears from a household book of an earl of Northumberland, contemporary with that king, stating an allowance for three mill-horses, "two to draw in the mill, and one to carry stuff to and from the mill." Water-mills for corn must in England have been of a later date. The ancients had mirror-glasses, and employed glass to imitate crystal vases and goblets; yet they never thought of using it in windows. In the thirteenth century, the Venetians were the only people who had the art of making crystal glass for mirrors. A clock that strikes the hours was unknown in Europe till the end of the twelfth century. And hence the custom of employing men to proclaim the hours during night; which to this day continues in Germany, Flanders, and England. Galileo was the first who conceived an idea that a pendulum might be used for measuring time; and Huygens was the first who put the idea in execution, by making a pendulum-clock. Hook, in the year 1660, invented a spiral spring for a watch, though a watch was far from being a new invention. Paper was made no earlier than the fourteenth century; and the invention of printing was a century later. Silk manufactures were long established in Greece before silk-worms were introduced there. The manufacturers were provided with raw silk from Persia; but that commerce being frequently interrupted by war, two monks, in the reign of Justinian, brought eggs of the silk-worm from Hindostan, and taught their countrymen the method of managing them.—The art of reading made a very slow progress. To encourage that art in England, the capital punishment for murder was remitted, if the criminal could read, which in law language is termed benefit of clergy. One would imagine that the arts must have made a very rapid progress when so greatly favoured; but there is a signal proof of the contrary: for so small an edition of the Bible as 600 copies, translated into English in the reign of Henry VIII., was not wholly sold off in three years. The people of England must have been profoundly ignorant in Queen Elizabeth's time, when a forged clause added to the 29th article of the English creed passed unnoticed till about 50 years ago.

The discoveries of the Portuguese on the west coast of Africa, is a remarkable instance of the flow progresses of arts. In the beginning of the thirteenth century, they were totally ignorant of that coast beyond Cape Non, 28 degrees north latitude. In 1410, the celebrated Prince Henry of Portugal fitted out a fleet for discoveries, which proceeded along the coast to Cape Bajadore in 28 deg., but had not courage to double it. In 1418, Tristan Vaz discovered the island Porto Santo; and the year after, the island Madeira was discovered. In 1439, a Portuguese captain doubled Cape Bajadore; and the next year the Portuguese reached Cape Blanco, lat. 20 degrees. In 1446, Nuna Tristán doubled Cape de Verde, lat. 14.40. In 1448, Don Gonzalo Vallo took possession of the Azores. In 1449, the islands of Cape de Verde were discovered for Don Henry. In 1471, Pedro d'Escobar discovered the island St Thomas and Prince's island. In 1484, Diego Cam discovered the kingdom of Congo. In 1486, Bartholomew Diaz, employed by John II. of Portugal, doubled the Cape of Good Hope, which he called Cabo Tormentoso, from the tempestuous weather he found in the passage.

The exertion of national spirit upon any particular cause, art, promotes activity to prosecute other arts. The which advanced the Romans; by constant study, came to excel in the art of war, which led them naturally to improve upon other arts. Having, in the progress of society, acquired some degree of taste and polish, a talent for writing broke forth. Nevius composed in verse seven books of the Punic war; besides comedies, replete with bitter raillery against the nobility. Ennius wrote annals, and an epic poem. Lucius Andronicus was the father of dramatic poetry in Rome. Pacuvius wrote tragedies. Plautus and Terence wrote comedies. Lucilius composed satires, which Cicero esteems to be slight and void of erudition. Fabius Pictor, Cincius Alimentus, Piso Frugi, Valerius Antias, and Catō, were rather annalists than historians, confining themselves to naked facts, ranged in order of time. The genius of the Romans for the fine arts was much inflamed by Greek learning, when free intercourse between the two nations was opened. Many of those who made the greatest figure in the Roman state commenced menced authors; Cæsar, Cicero, &c. Sylla composed memoirs of his own transactions, a work much esteemed even in the days of Plutarch.

The progress of art seldom fails to be rapid, when a people happen to be roused out of a torpid state by some fortunate change of circumstances. Prosperity, contrasted with former abasement, gives to the mind a spring, which is vigourously exerted in every new pursuit. The Athenians made but a mean figure under the tyranny of Pisistratus; but upon regaining freedom and independence, they were converted into heroes. Miletus, a Greek city of Ionia, being destroyed by the king of Persia, and the inhabitants made slaves, the Athenians, deeply affected with the misery of their brethren, boldly attacked the king in his own dominions, and burnt the city of Sardis. In less than 10 years after, they gained a signal victory at Marathon; and, under Themistocles, made head against that prodigious army with which Xerxes threatened utter ruin to Greece. Such prosperity produced its usual effects: arts flourished with arms, and Athens became the chief theatre for sciences, as well as for fine arts. The reign of Augustus Cæsar, which put an end to the rancour of civil war, and restored peace to Rome, with the comforts of society, proved an auspicious era for literature; and produced a cloud of Latin historians, poets, and philosophers, to whom the moderns are indebted for their taste and talents. One who makes a figure roules emulation in all: one catches fire from another, and the national spirit is everywhere triumphant: classical works are composed, and useful discoveries made in every art and science. With regard to Rome, it is true, that the Roman government under Augustus was in effect despotic: but despoticism, in that single instance, made no obtrusion to literature, it having been the policy of that reign to hide power as much as possible. A similar revolution happened in Tuscany about three centuries ago. That country having been divided into a number of small republics, the people excited by mutual hatred between small nations in close neighbourhood, became ferocious and bloody, flaming with revenge for the slightest offence. These republics being united under the great duke of Tuscany, enjoyed the sweets of peace in a mild government. That comfortable revolution which made the deeper impression by a retrospect to recent calamities, roused the national spirit, and produced ardent application to arts and literature. The restoration of the royal family in England, which put an end to a cruel and envenomed civil war, promoted improvements of every kind; arts and industry made a rapid progress among the people, though left to themselves by a weak and fluctuating administration. Had the nation, upon that favourable turn of fortune, been blessed with a succession of able and virtuous princes, to what a height might not arts and sciences have been carried! In Scotland, a favourable period for improvement was the reign of the first Robert, after shaking off the English yoke; but the domineering spirit of the feudal system rendered every attempt abortive. The restoration of the royal family mentioned above, animated the legislature of Scotland to promote manufactures of various kinds: but in vain; for the union of the two crowns had introduced despoticism into Scotland, which sunk the genius of the people, and rendered them heartless and indolent. Liberty, indeed, and many other advantages, were procured to them by the union of the two kingdoms; but the salutary effects were long suspended by mutual enmity, such as commonly subsists between neighbouring nations. Enmity gradually wore out, and the eyes of the Scots were opened to the advantages of their present condition; the national spirit was roused to emulate and to excel; talents were exerted, hitherto latent; and Scotland at present makes a figure in arts and sciences above what it ever made while an independent kingdom.

Another cause of activity and animation, is the being engaged in some important action of doubtful event; a struggle for liberty, the resisting a potent invader, or the like. Greece, divided into small states frequently at war with each other, advanced literature and the fine arts to unrivalled perfection. The Corficans, while engaged in a perilous war for defence of their liberties, exerted a vigorous national spirit; they founded a university for arts and sciences, a public library, and a public bank. After a long slumber during the dark ages of Christianity, arts and literature revived among the turbulent states of Italy. The Royal Society in London, and the Academy of Sciences in Paris, were both of them instituted after civil wars that had animated the people and roused their activity.

As the progress of arts and sciences toward perfection is greatly promoted by emulation, nothing is more fatal to an art or science than to remove that spur, as where some extraordinary genius appears who foars above rivalry. Mathematics seem to be declining in Britain; the great Newton, having surpassed all the ancients, has not left to the moderns even the faintest hope of equalling him; and what man will enter the lists who despairs of victory.

In a country thinly peopled, where even necessary arts want hands, it is common to see one person exercising more arts than one: in several parts of Scotland, one man serves as a physician, surgeon, and apothecary. In every populous country, even simple arts are split into parts, and each part has an art appropriated to it. In the large towns of ancient Egypt, a physician was confined to a single discease. In mechanic arts that method is excellent. As a hand confined to a single operation becomes both expert and expeditious, a mechanic art is perfected by having its different operations distributed among the greatest number of hands: many hands are employed in making a watch, and a still greater number in manufacturing a web of woollen cloth. Various arts or operations carried on by the same man, invigorate his mind, because they exercise different faculties; and as he cannot be equally expert in every art or operation, he is frequently reduced to supply want of skill by thought and invention. Confiant application, on the contrary, to a single operation, confines the mind to a single object, and excludes all thought and invention: in such a train of life, the operator becomes dull and stupid, like a beast of burden. The difference is visible in the manners of the people: in a country where, from want of hands, several occupations must be carried on by the same person, the people are knowing and conversable: in a populous country, where manufactures flourish, they are ignorant and unsociable. The same effect is equally visible in countries where an art or manufacture is confined to a certain class of men. It is visible in Indostan, where the people are divided into castes, which never mix even by marriage, and where every man follows his father's trade. The Dutch lint-boors are a similar instance: the same family carries on the trade from generation to generation; and are accordingly ignorant and brutish even beyond other Dutch peasants. The inhabitants of Buckhaven, a sea-port in the county of Fife, were originally a colony of foreigners, invited hither to teach our people the art of fishing. They continue fishers to this day, marry among themselves, have little intercourse with their neighbours, and are dull and stupid to a proverb.

Useful arts pave the way to fine arts. Men upon whom the former had bestowed every convenience, turned their thoughts to the latter. Beauty was studied in objects of sight; and men of taste attached themselves to the fine arts, which multiplied their enjoyments, and improved their benevolence. Sculpture and painting made an early figure in Greece; which afforded plenty of beautiful originals to be copied in these imitative arts. Statuary, a more simple imitation than painting, was sooner brought to perfection: the statue of Jupiter by Phidias, and of Juno by Polycletus, though the admiration of all the world, were executed long before the art of light and shade was known. Apollodorus, and Zeuxis his disciple, who flourished in the 95th Olympiad, were the first who figured in that art. Another cause concurred to advance statuary before painting in Greece, viz. a great demand for statues of their gods. Architecture, as a fine art, made a slower progress. Proportions, upon which its elegance chiefly depends, cannot be accurately ascertained, but by an infinity of trials in great buildings: a model cannot be relied on; for a large and a small building, even of the same form, require different proportions.

From the fine arts mentioned, we proceed to literature. It is agreed, among all antiquaries, that the first writings were in verse, and that writing in prose was of a much later date. The first Greek who wrote in prose was Pherecides Syrus: the first Roman was Appius Caecus, who composed a declamation against Pyrrhus. The four books of the Chatah Bhade, which is the sacred book of Hindoostan, are composed in verse stanzas; and the Arabian compositions in prose followed long after those in verse. To account for that singular fact, many learned pens have been employed; but without success. By some it has been urged, that as memory is the only record of events where writing is unknown, history originally was composed in verse for the sake of memory. This is not satisfactory. To undertake the painful task of composing in verse, merely for the sake of memory, would require more foresight than ever was exerted by a barbarian: not to mention that other means were used for preserving the memory of remarkable events; a heap of stones, a pillar, or other object that catches the eye. The account given by Longinus is more ingenious. In a fragment of his treatise on verse, the only part that remains, he observes, "that measure or verse belongs to poetry, because poetry represents the various passions with their language; for which reason the ancients, in their ordinary discourse, delivered their thoughts in verse rather than in prose."

Longinus thought, that anciently men were more exposed to accidents and dangers, than when they were protected by good government and by fortified cities. But he seems not to have adverted, that fear and grief inspired by dangers and misfortunes, are better suited to humble prose than to elevated verse. It may be added, that however natural poetical diction may be when one is animated with any vivid passion, it is not supposable that the ancients never wrote nor spoke but when excited by passion. Their history, their laws, their covenants, were certainly not composed in that tone of mind.

An important article in the progress of the fine arts, which writers have not sufficiently attended to, will perhaps explain this mystery. The article is the profession of a bard, which sprung up in early times before writing was known*, and died away gradually as writing became more and more common†.

The songs of the bards, being universal favourites‡, were certainly the first compositions that writing was employed upon: they would be carefully collected by the most skilful writers, in order to preserve them in perpetual remembrance. The following part of the progress is obvious. People acquainted with no written compositions, but what were in verse, composed in verse their laws, their religious ceremonies, and every memorable transaction that was intended to be preserved in memory by writing. But when subjects of writing multiplied, and became more and more involved; when people began to reason, to teach, and to harangue; they were obliged to descend to humble prose: for to confine a writer or speaker to verse in handling subjects of that nature would be a burden unsupportable.

The prose compositions of early historians are all of history them dramatic. A writer destitute of art is naturally prompted to relate facts as he saw them performed: he introduces his personages as speaking and confering; and he himself relates what was acted, and not spoke. The historical books of the Old Testament are composed in that mode; and so addicted to the dramatic are the authors of those books, that they frequently introduce God himself into the dialogue. At the same time, the simplicity of that mode is happily suited to the poverty of every language in its early periods. The dramatic mode has a delicious effect in expressing sentiment, and every thing that is simple and tender. Read, as an instance of a low incident becoming, by that means, not a little interesting, Ruth i. 8: to iv. 16.

The dramatic mode is far from pleasing so much in relating bare historical facts. Read, as an example, the story of Adonijah in 1 Kings i. 11—49.

In that passage there are frequent repetitions; not however by the same person, but by different persons, who have occasion in the course of the story to say the same things; which is natural in the dramatic mode, where things are represented precisely as they were tranacted. In that view, Homer's repetitions are a beauty, not a blemish; for they are confined to the dramatic part, and never occur in the narrative.

But the dramatic mode of composition, however pleasing, is tedious and intolerable in a long history. In the progress of society new appetites and new passions arise; men come to be involved with each other in various connexions; incidents and events multiply, and history becomes intricate by an endless variety of circumstances. Dialogue accordingly is more sparingly used, and in history plain narration is mixed with it. Narration is as it were the groundwork; and dialogue is raised upon it, like flowers in embroidery. Homer is admitted by all to be the great master in that mode of composition.

The narrative mode came in time so to prevail, that in a long chain of history, the writer commonly leaves off dialogue altogether. Early writers of that kind appear to have very little judgment in distinguishing capital facts from minute circumstances, such as can be supplied by the reader without being mentioned. The history of the Trojan war by Dares Phrygius is a curious instance of that cold and creeping manner of composition. The Roman histories before the time of Cicero are chronicles merely. Cato, Fabius Pictor, and Piso, confined themselves to naked facts. In the Augustae Historiae Scriptores we find nothing but a jejune narrative of facts, commonly of very little moment, concerning a degenerate people, without a single incident that can rouse the imagination or exercise the judgment. The monkish histories are all of them composed in the same manner.

The dry narrative manner being very little interesting or agreeable, a taste for embellishment prompted some writers to be copious and verbose. Saxo-Grammaticus, who in the 12th century composed in Latin a history of Denmark surprisingly pure at that early period, is extremely verbose and full of tautologies. Such a style, at any rate unpleasing, is intolerable in a modern tongue, before it is enriched with a stock of phrases for expressing aptly the great variety of incidents that enter into history.

The perfection of historical composition which writers at last attain to after wandering through various imperfect modes, is a relation of interesting facts, connected with their motives and consequences. A history of that kind is truly a chain of causes and effects.

The history of Thucydides, and still more that of Tacitus, are shining instances of that mode.

Eloquence was of a later date than the art of literary composition; for till the latter was improved there were no models for studying the former. Cicero's oration for Roscius is composed in a style diffuse and highly ornamented; which, says Plutarch, was universally approved, because at that time the style of Asia, introduced into Rome with its luxury, was in high vogue. But Cicero, in a journey to Greece, where he leisurely studied Greek authors, was taught to prune off superfluities, and to purify his style, which he did to a high degree of refinement. He introduced into his native tongue a sweetness, a grace, a majesty, that surprized the world, and even the Romans themselves. Cicero observes with great regret, that if ambition for power had not drawn Julius Caesar from the bar to command legions, he would have become the most complete orator in the world. So partial are men to the profession in which they excel. Eloquence triumphs in a popular assembly; makes some figure in a court of law composed of many judges; very little where there is but a single judge, and none at all in a despotic government. Eloquence flourished in the republics of Athens and of Rome; and makes some figure at present in a British house of commons.

The Greek stage has been justly admired among all polite nations. The tragedies of Sophocles and Euripides, in particular, are by all critics held to be perfect in their kind, excellent models for imitation, but far above rivalry. If the Greek stage was so early brought to maturity, it is a phenomenon not a little singular in the progress of arts. The Greek tragedy made a rapid progress from Thespis to Sophocles and Euripides, whose compositions are wonderful productions of genius, considering that the Greeks at that period were but beginning to emerge from roughness and barbarity into a taste for literature. The compositions of Echylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, must have been highly relished among a people who had no idea of anything more perfect. We judge by comparison, and every work is held to be perfect that has no rival. It ought at the same time to be kept in view, that it was not the dialogue which chiefly enchanted the Athenians, nor variety in the passions represented, nor perfection in the actors; but machinery and pompous decoration, joined with exquisite music. That these particulars were carried to the greatest height, we may with certainty conclude from the extravagant sums bestowed on them: the exhibiting a single tragedy was more expensive to the Athenians than their fleet or their armies in any single campaign.

One would imagine, however, that these compositions were too simple to enchant for ever: as variety in action, sentiment, and passion, is requisite, without which the stage will not continue long a favourite entertainment: and yet we find not a single improvement attempted after the days of Sophocles and Euripides. The manner of performance, indeed, prevented absolutely any improvement. A fluctuation of passion and refined sentiments would have made no figure on the Grecian stage. Imagine the discordant scene between Brutus and Cassius in Julius Caesar to be there exhibited, or the handkerchief in the Moor of Venice: how slight would be their effect, when pronounced in a mawk, and through a pipe? The workings of nature upon the countenance, and the flexions of voice expressive of various feelings, so deeply affecting in modern representation, would have been entirely lost. If a great genius had arisen with talents for composing a pathetic tragedy in perfection, he would have made no figure in Greece. An edifice must have been erected of a moderate size: new actors must have been trained to act with a bare face, and to pronounce in their own voice. And after all, there remained a greater miracle still to be performed, viz. a total reformation of taste in the people of Athens. In one word, the simplicity of the Greek tragedy was suited to the manner of acting; and that manner excluded all improvements.

With respect to comedy, it does not appear that the Comedy Greek comedy surpassed the tragedy in its progress toward perfection. Horace mentions three stages of Greek comedy. The first well suited to the rough and coarse manners of the Greeks, when Eupolis, Cratinus, and Aristophanes wrote. These authors were not ashamed to represent on the stage real persons, not even disguising their names; of which we have a striking instance in a comedy of Aristophanes, called The Clouds, where Socrates is introduced, and most contemptuously This sort of comedy, sparing neither gods nor men, was restrained by the magistrates of Athens, so far as to prohibit persons to be named on the stage. This led writers to do what is done at present: the characters and manners of known persons were painted so much to the life, that there could be no mistake; and the satire was indeed heightened by this regulation, as it was an additional pleasure to find out the names that were meant in the representation. This was termed the middle comedy. But as there still remained too great scope for obloquy and licentiousness, a law was made, prohibiting real events or incidents to be introduced upon the stage. This law happily banished satire against individuals, and confined it to manners and customs in general. Obedient to this law are the comedies of Menander, Philemon, and Diphilus, who flourished about 300 years before the Christian era.

And this is termed the third stage of Greek comedy. The comedies of Aristophanes which still remain, err not less against taste than against decency. But the Greek comedy is supposed to have been considerably refined by Menander and his contemporaries. Their works, however, were far from perfection, if we can draw any conjecture from their imitator Plautus, who wrote about a century later. Plautus was a writer of genius; and it may be reasonably supposed that his copies did not fall much short of the originals, at least in matters that can be faithfully copied; and he shows very little art, either in his compositions or in the conduct of his pieces. With respect to the former, his plots are wondrous simple, very little varied, and very little interesting. The subject of almost every piece is a young man in love with a music girl, desiring to purchase her from the procurer, and employing a favourite slave to cheat his father out of the price; and the different ways of accomplishing the cheat is all the variety we find. In some few of his comedies the story rises to a higher tone, the music girl being discovered to be the daughter of a freeman, which removes every obstruction of a marriage between her and her lover. In the conduct of his pieces there is a miserable defect of art. Instead of unfolding the subject in the progress of the action, as is done by Terence, and by every modern writer, Plautus introduces a person for no other end but to explain the story to the audience. In one of his comedies, a household god is so obliging as not only to unfold the subject, but to relate beforehand every particular that is to be represented, not excepting the catastrophe.

The Roman theatre, from the time of Plautus to that of Terence, made a rapid progress. Aristotle defines comedy to be "an imitation of light and trivial subjects, provoking laughter." The comedies of Plautus correspond accurately to that definition: those of Terence rise to a higher tone.

Nothing is more evident than the superiority of Terence above Plautus in the art of writing; and, considering that Terence is a later writer, nothing would appear more natural, if they did not copy the same originals. It may be owing to genius that Terence excelled in purity of language and propriety of dialogue; but how account for his superiority over Plautus in the construction and conduct of a play? It will not certainly be thought, that Plautus would imitate the worst constructed plays, leaving the best to those who should come after him. This difficulty does not seem to have occurred to any of the commentators. Had the works of Menander and of his contemporaries been preserved, they probably would have explained the mystery; which for want of that light will probably remain a mystery for ever.

Homer has for more than 2000 years been held the prince of poets. Such perfection in an author who flourished when arts were far short of maturity, is truly wonderful. The nations engaged in the Trojan war are described by him as in a progress from the shepherd state to that of agriculture. Frequent mention is made in the Iliad of the most eminent men being shepherds. Andromache, in particular, mentions seven of her brethren who were slain by Achilles as they tended their father's flocks and herds. In that state, garments of woollen cloth were used; but the skins of beasts, the original clothing, were still worn as an upper garment; every chief in the Iliad appeared in that dress. Such indeed was the simplicity of this early period, that a black ewe was promised by each chief to the man who would undertake to be a spy. In times of such simplicity, literature could not be far advanced; and it is a great doubt, whether there was at that time a single poem of the epic kind for Homer to imitate or improve upon. Homer is undoubtedly a wonderful genius, perhaps the greatest that ever existed: his fire, and the boldness of his conceptions, are inimitable. But in that early age, it would fall little short of a real miracle, to find such ripeness of judgment, and correctness of execution, as in modern writers are the fruits of long experience and progressive improvements during the course of many centuries. Accordingly, that Homer is far from being so ripe, or so correct, cannot escape the observation of any reader of taste and discernment. One striking particular is, his digressions without end, which draw our attention from the principal subject. Diomedes, for instance, meeting with Glaucus in the field of battle, and doubting from his majestic air, whether he might not be an immortal, inquires who he was, declaring that he would not fight with a god. Glaucus lays hold of this very slight opportunity, in the very heat of action, to give a long history of his family. In the mean time the reader's patience is put to a trial, and his ardour cools. Again, Agamemnon deferring advice how to resist the Trojans, Diomedes springs forward; but before he offers advice, gives the history of all his progenitors, and of their characters, in a long train. And, after all, what was the sage advice that required such a preface? It was, that Agamemnon should exhort the Greeks to fight bravely. At any rate, was Diomedes so little known, as to make it proper to suspend the action at so critical a juncture, for a genealogical history? There is a third particular which justly merits censure; and that is, an endless number of minute circumstances, especially in the description of battles, where they are most improper. The capital beauty of an epic poem is, the selection of such incidents and circumstances as make a deep impression, keeping out of view every thing low or familiar. An account of a single battle employs the whole fifth book of the Iliad and a great part of the sixth; yet in the whole there is no general action; but unknown warriors, whom we never heard of before, killed at a distance with an arrow or a javelin; lin; and every wound described with anatomical accuracy. The whole seventeenth book is employed in the context about the dead body of Patroclus, stuffed with minute circumstances, below the dignity of an epic poem. In such scenes the reader is fatigued with endless particulars; and has nothing to support him but the melody of Homer's verification.

Having traced the progress of the fine arts toward maturity, in a summary way, the decline of these arts comes next in order. An art, in its progress toward maturity, is greatly promoted by emulation; and, after arriving at maturity, its downfall is not less promoted by it. It is difficult to judge of perfection but by comparison; and an artist, ambitious to outstrip his predecessors, cannot submit to be an imitator, but must strike out something new, which, in an art advanced to ripeness, seldom fails to be a degeneracy. This cause of the decline of the fine arts may be illustrated by various instances. The perfection of vocal music is to accompany passion, and to enforce sentiment. In ancient Greece, the province of music was well understood; which being confined within its proper sphere, had an enchanting influence. Harmony at that time was very little cultivated, because it was of very little use: melody reaches the heart, and it is by it chiefly that a sentiment is enforced, or a passion soothed; harmony, on the contrary, reaches the ear only; and it is a matter of undoubted experience, that the most melodious airs admit but of very simple harmony. Artists, in later times, ignorant why harmony was so little regarded by the ancients, applied themselves seriously to its cultivation; and they have been wonderfully successful. But they have been successful at the expense of melody; which in modern compositions, generally speaking, is lost amid the blaze of harmony. These compositions tickle the ear by the luxury of complicated sounds, but seldom make any impression on the heart. The Italian opera, in its form, resembles the Greek tragedy, from which it is evidently copied; but very little in substance. In the latter, music being made subservient to sentiment, the dialogue is nervous and sublime: in the former, the whole weight is laid on music; and the dialogue, devoid of sentiment, is weak and spiritless. Refinements man knows no golden mean, but will be attempting innovations without end. By the same ambition, architecture has visibly declined from its perfection. The Ionic was the favourite order when architecture was in its height of glory. The Corinthian order came next; which, in attempting greater perfection, has deviated from the true simplicity of nature: and the deviation is still greater in the Composite order. With respect to literary productions, the first essays of the Romans were very imperfect. We may judge of this from Plautus, whose compositions are abundantly rude, though much admired by his contemporaries, being the best that existed at that time. The exalted spirit of the Romans hurried them on to the grand and beautiful; and literary productions of all kinds were in perfection when Augustus reigned. In attempting still greater perfection, the Roman compositions became a strange jumble of inconsistent parts: they were tumid and pompous; and, at the same time, full of antitheses, conceit, and tinsel wit. Everything new in the fine arts pleases, though less perfect than what we are accustomed to; and, for that reason, such compositions were generally relished. We see not by what gradual steps writers, after the time of Augustus, deviated from the patterns that were before them; for no book of any moment after that time is preserved till we come down to Seneca, in whose works nature and simplicity give place to artificial thought and bastard wit. He was a great corrupter of the Roman taste; and after him nothing was relished but brilliant strokes of fancy, with very little regard to sentiment: even Virgil and Cicero made no figure in comparison. Lucan has a forced elevation of thought and style very difficult to be supported; and, accordingly, he sinks often into puerile reflections; witness his encomium on the river Po; which, says he, would equal the Danube, had it the name of several tributary streams. Quintilian, a writer of true and classical taste, who was protected and encouraged by Vespasian, attempted to stem the tide of false writing. His rhetoric is composed in an elegant style; and his observations contain every delicacy of the critical art. At the same time flourished Tacitus, professing a more extensive knowledge of the nature of man than any other author, ancient or modern, if Shakespeare be not excepted. His style is original, concise, compact, and comprehensive; and, in what is properly called his history, perfectly correct and beautiful. He has been imitated by several, but never equalled by any. Brutus is said to be the last of the Romans for love of liberty: Quintilian and Tacitus may be said to be the last of the Romans for literary genius. Pliny the younger is no exception; his style is affected, turgid, and full of childish brilliancy. Seneca and Pliny are proper examples of writers who study show more than substance, and who make sense yield to sound. The difference between these authors and those of the Augustan age, resembles the difference between Greek and Italian music. Music, among the Greeks, limited itself to the employment to which it is destined by nature, viz. to be the handmaid of sense, to enforce, enliven, or twicken a sentiment. In the Italian opera, the mistress is degraded to be handmaid; and harmony triumphs, with very little regard to sentiment.

Another great cause that precipitates the downfall of every fine art is despotism. The reason is obvious; and there is a dismal example of it in Rome, particularly with regard to eloquence. We learn from a dialogue accounting for the corruption of the Roman eloquence, that in the decline of the art it became fashionable to stuff harangues with impertinent poetical quotations, without any view but ornament merely; and this also was long fashionable in France. It happened unluckily for the Romans, and for the world, that the fine arts were at their height in Rome, and not much upon the decline in Greece, when despotism put an end to the republic. Augustus, it is true, retarded their fall, particularly that of literature; it being the policy of his reign to hide despotism, and to give his government an air of freedom. His court was a school of urbanity, where people of genius acquired that delicacy of taste, that elevation of sentiment, and that purity of expression, which characterize the writers of his time. He honoured men of learning, admitted them to his table, and was bountiful to them. It would be painful to follow the decline of the fine arts in Rome to their... their total extirpation. The tyranny of Tiberius, and of subsequent emperors, broke at last the elevated and independent spirit of the brave Romans, reduced them to abject slavery, and left not a spark of genius. The science of law is the only exception, as it flourished even in the worst of times: the Roman lawyers were a respectable body, and less the object of jealousy than men of power and extensive landed property. Among the Greeks also, a conquered people, the fine arts decayed; but not so rapidly as at Rome: the Greeks, farther removed from the seat of government, being less within the reach of a Roman tyrant. During their depression, they were guilty of the most puerile conceits: witness verses composed in the form of an axe, an egg, wings, and such like. The style of Greek authors, in the reign of the emperor Adrian, is unequal, obscure, stiff, and affected. Lucian is the only exception that may be made.

We scarcely need any other cause but despotism, to account for the decline of statuary and painting in Greece. These arts had arrived at their utmost perfection about the time of Alexander the Great; and from that time they declined gradually with the vigour of a free people; for Greece was now enslaved by the Macedonian power. It may in general be observed, that when a nation becomes stationary in that degree of power which it acquires from its constitution and situation, the national spirit subsides, and men of talents become rare. It is still worse with a nation that is sunk below its former power and pre-eminence; and worst of all when it is reduced to slavery. Other causes concurred to accelerate the downfall of the arts mentioned. Greece, in the days of Alexander, was filled with statues of excellent workmanship; and there being little demand for more, the later statuaries were reduced to heads and busts. At last the Romans put a total end both to statuary and painting in Greece, by plundering it of its finest pieces; and the Greeks, exposed to the avarice of the conquerors, bestowed no longer any money on the fine arts.

The decline of the fine arts in Rome is by a writer of taste and elegance ascribed to a cause different from any above mentioned, a cause that overwhelms mankind as well as the fine arts wherever it prevails; and that is opulence, joined with its faithful attendants avarice and luxury. "In ancient times (says he), when naked virtue had her admirers, the liberal arts were in their highest vigour; and there was a generous contest among men, that nothing of real and permanent advantage should long remain undiscovered. Democritus extracted the juice of every herb and plant; and, lest the virtue of a single stone or twig should escape him, he consumed a lifetime in experiments. Eudoxus, immersed in the study of astronomy, spent his age upon the top of a mountain. Chryippus, to stimulate his inventive faculty, thrice purified his genius with hellebore. To turn to the imitative arts; Lyfippus, while labouring on the form of a single statue, perished from want. Myron, whose powerful hand gave to the bras almost the soul of man and animals,—at his death found not an heir! Of us of modern times what shall we say? Immersed in drunkenness and debauchery, we want the spirit to cultivate those arts which we possess. We inveigh against the manners of antiquity; we study vice alone; and vice is all we teach. Where now is the art of reasoning? Where astronomy? Where is the right path of wisdom? What man now-a-days is heard in our temples to make a vow for the attainment of eloquence, or for the discovery of the fountain of true philosophy? Nor do we even pray for health of body, or a sound understanding. One, while he has scarce entered the porch of the temple, devotes a gift in the event of the death of a rich relation; another prays for the discovery of a treasure; a third for a minute trifling fortune. The senate itself, the exemplary preceptor of what is good and laudable, has promised a thousand pounds of gold to the capitol; and, to remove all reproach from the crime of avarice, has offered a bribe to Jupiter himself. How should we wonder that the art of painting has declined, when, in the eyes both of the gods and men, there is more beauty in a mass of gold than in all the works of Phidias and Apelles."—In England, the fine arts are far from such perfection as to suffer by opulence. They are in a progress, it is true, toward maturity; but they proceed in a very slow pace.

There is still another cause that never fails to undermine a fine art in a country where it is brought to perfection, abstracting from every one of the causes above mentioned. "It is remarked a little above, that nothing is more fatal to an art or to a science than a performance so much superior to all of the kind as to extinguish emulation. This remark is exemplified in the great Newton, who having surpassed all the ancients, has not left to his countrymen even the faintest hope of rivalling him; and to that cause is attributed the visible decline of mathematics in Great Britain. The same cause would have been fatal to the arts of statuary and painting among the Greeks, even though they had continued a free people. The decay of painting in modern Italy is, probably, owing to the same cause: Michael Angelo, Raphael, Titian, &c. are lofty oaks that bear down young plants in their neighbourhood, and intercept from them the sunshine of emulation. Had the art of painting made a slower progress in Italy, it might have there continued in vigour to this day. Velleius Paterculus says judiciously, "Ut primo ad confequentos quos priores ducimus accendi- mur; ita, ubi aut praeteriri aut aquari eos poe deferevisimus, studium cum sse benefecit; et quod ade- qui non potest, fecit definit: praeteritoque eo in quo eminere non possimus, aliquid in quo nitamus conqui- rimus."

The decline of an art or science proceeding from the foregoing cause, is the most rapid where a strict comparison can be instituted between the works of different matters. The superiority of Newton above every other mathematician can be ascertained with precision; and hence the sudden decline of that science in Great Britain. In Italy a talent for painting continued many years in vigour, because no painter appeared with such superiority of genius as to carry perfection in every branch of the art. As one surpassed in designing, one in colouring, one in graceful attitudes, there was still scope for emulation. But when at last there was not a single perfection but what one or other matter had excelled in, from that period the art began to languish. Architecture continued longer in vigour than painting, because the principles of comparison in the former are less precise than in the latter. The artist who could not rival his predecessors in an established mode, sought out a new mode for himself, which, though perhaps less elegant or perfect, was for a time supported by novelty.

Useful arts will never be neglected in a country where there is any police; for every man finds his account in them. Fine arts are more precarious. They are not relished but by persons of taste, who are rare; and such as can spare great sums for supporting them are still more rare. For that reason, they will never flourish in any country, unless patronized by the sovereign, or by men of power and opulence. They merit such patronage, as one of the springs of government: and a capital spring they make, by multiplying amusements, and humanizing manners; upon which account they have always been encouraged by good princes.

General Theory of the Polite Arts. The essence of the polite arts, as before observed, consists in expression. The end of these arts is pleasure; whereas the end of the sciences is instruction and utility. Some of the polite arts indeed, as eloquence, poetry, and architecture, are frequently applied to objects that are useful, or exercised in matters that are instructive, as we shall show more particularly in their proper place; but in these cases, though the groundwork belongs to those sciences which employ the understanding, yet the expression arises from the inventive faculty. It is a picture that is designed by Minerva, to which the Muses add the colouring, and the Graces the frame. This union forms therefore the perfection of the art, according to that sententious and well known precept of Horace:

Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci.

Under the denomination therefore, of Polite Arts, we comprehend, 1. Eloquence; 2. Poetry; 3. Music; 4. Painting; 5. Sculpture; 6. Graving; 7. Architecture; 8. Declamation; 9. Dancing. Particular descriptions of these arts are given under their respective names. This branch of the present article is intended as a general introduction to them; and, as such, will be occasionally referred to.

There is one very essential reflection, which it appears to us proper to make in the first place, on the polite arts in general. All the rules in the world are not sufficient to make a great poet, an able orator, or an excellent artist; because the quality necessary to form these, depends on the natural disposition, the fire of genius, which no human art can confer, but which is the pure gift of heaven. The rules, however, will prevent a man from being a bad artist, a dull orator, or a wretched poet; seeing they are the reflections of the greatest matters in those arts, and that they point out the rocks which the artist should shun in the exercise of his talents. They are of use moreover, in facilitating his labours, and in directing him to arrive by the shortest and surest road at perfection. They refine, strengthen, and confirm his taste. Nature, abandoned to herself, has something constantly wild and savage. Art, founded on just and sagacious rules, gives her elegance, dignity, and politeness; and it is impossible to sacrifice properly to the Graces, without knowing the incense that is pleasing to them.

Beauty is the object of all the polite arts. It is not, however, so easy, as it may seem, to give a clear and determinate idea of what we precisely mean by that term*. Many able writers, who have treated expressly on the subject, have shown that they were totally ignorant of what it was. It is one of these expressions that we comprehend immediately, that present * See this us with a clear and precise idea, that leave a distinct impression on our minds, when it is simply written or pronounced; but which philosophers envelop in darkness, when they attempt to elucidate it by definitions and descriptions; and the more, as mankind have different ideas of beauty, their opinions and tastes being as various as their understandings and physiognomies. We may say, however, in general, that beauty results from the various perfections of which any object is susceptible, and which it actually possesses; and that the perfections which produce beauty consist principally in the agreeable and delightful proportions which are found, 1. Between the several parts of the same object; 2. Between each part and the whole together; 3. Between the parts and the end or design of the object to which they belong. Genius, or invention, is that faculty of the mind by which beauty is produced. Taste†, disposition, or rather the natural sensation of the mind refined by art, serves to guide the genius in discerning, embracing, and producing, that which is beautiful of every kind. From whence it follows, that the general theory of the polite arts is nothing more than the knowledge of what they contain that is truly beautiful and agreeable; and it is this knowledge, this theory, which modern philosophers call by the Latin name of æsthetica.

It should be constantly remembered, that the essence of the polite arts consists in expression. This expression lies sometimes in the words, and sometimes in the pen; sometimes in sounds and their harmony, and at others in corporeal attitudes; sometimes in the pencil or in the chisel, and at others in the graver; sometimes in a proper disposition or judicious employment of the mechanic arts, and at others merely in their manner of acting. From whence arise those arts that we have mentioned, and which are described in their order.

The general theory of the polite arts, or æsthetics, first necessarily supposes, therefore, certain rules; but these general rules are of no great number. The first is, That whoever would devote himself to the polite arts, should above all things consult his genius; divest himself of self-love; and examine if he be a true son of Apollo, and cherished by the Muses: for

In vain, rash author, dost thou strive to climb, By lofty verse, Parnassus' height sublime, If heaven does not by secret powers inspire, Or if thy natal star darts not poetic fire.

This precept with regard to poetry in particular, is applicable to all the polite arts in general: for their most happy success is founded on imagination. By this term, we understand, in general, a faculty of the mind, a particular genius, a lively invention, a certain subtle spirit, which gives a facility in discovering something new. But it is necessary also to describe just bounds to this term new, which must not be here taken in an absolute sense. Solomon wisely remarks, that, even in his time, there was nothing new under the sun. In fact, all that exists, and all that is capable of being discovered in the known world, has already been discovered. The fine arts in their imitations of nature, in their expressions, can borrow images, figures, comparisons, from those things only that exist and are known. As there have been from the beginning of the world to our days, millions of authors in each of the polite arts, almost all the possible combinations of the various subjects have been produced by their lively imaginations; and when we hear the ignorant part of mankind talk of a work of wit or of art that is entirely new, that offers ideas which were before utterly unknown, that had never entered into the brain of any other man, we should refer such affections to the class of popular errors: and reflect on those stories we every day here of certain empirics, who pretend to be alone possessed of marvellous methods of cure by means of simples; as if there were any plant, any stalk of grass that grows in our world, that can escape the researches of botanists. But the novelty, of which we here speak, consists in the ingenious use of combinations of all the various objects of nature, that are new, happy, and agreeable, that have not yet been exhausted, and which appear even to be inexhaustible; and of the use which the artist makes of all new discoveries, which he turns to his advantage by a judicious application. Invention therefore supposes a considerable fund of preliminary knowledge, such as is capable of furnishing ideas and images, to form new combinations. But there is no art by which invention itself can be produced; for that, as we have already said, is the gift of heaven; and it is an endowment which we cannot even make use of whenever we please. We would rather say, therefore, that invention consists in producing, in works of genius, that which is unexpected; an object, a harmony, a perfection, a thought, an expression of which we had no idea, that we could not foresee, nor hope to find, where the artist has so happily placed it, and where we perceive it with delight. This idea appears applicable to such of the polite arts as affect the mind by the hearing as well as by the sight; and it is a matter that is highly essential.

The second rule is, That every artist ought incessantly to labour in the improvement of his taste; in acquiring that sensible, refined, and clear discernment, by which he will be enabled to distinguish the real beauties in each object, the ornaments that are agreeable to it, and the proportions and relations that subsist among the several parts: and by this faculty, he will be regulated in the employment of his natural talents. This labour consists not only in the profound reflections he will make on the properties of objects, as they relate to the fine arts, but also in a constant, assiduous study of the grand models of beauty.

The third rule to be observed in the practice of the polite arts, is the imitation of nature. Every object in the universe has its peculiar nature, of which the artist should never lose sight in his manner of treating it. In vain will he otherwise ornament his work with the most refined and most brilliant strokes; for, if nature be not justly imitated, it will for ever remain imperfect. The sublime Homer has sometimes frowned against this rule: for, as the gods have a nature peculiar to themselves, it cannot be a just imitation when we attribute to them passions that are scarcely pardonable in mortals, and make them frequently converse in a language that is at once vulgar and ridiculous. It was not to imitate nature, to put in the mouth of a hero, at the moment of a decisive battle, a harangue that must become tedious by its excessive length, and which certainly could not have been heard by the thousandth part of a numerous army: but we have already touched upon some of the faults that are shrewed over the poems of that great man; to multiply or dwell upon them would be ungrateful. We must, however, observe that this imitation of nature, which appears at first view so simple and so easy, is of all things the most difficult in practice; and that it requires a dexterity so sagacious, and an expression so happy, as is rarely bestowed by heaven on mortal man.

Perfusivity forms the fourth rule of expression. In all the fine arts, in general, an obscure, perplexed, ambiguous, and elaborate expression, is always bad. The true striking beauty must be manifest and perceptible to the most ignorant of mankind as well as the most learned. Those are even false or inferior beauties that have occasion for a covering, a kind of veil that may make them appear greater than they really are: true beauty wants no veil, but shines by its native lustre. From the union of the true imitation of nature with perfusivity of expression arises that truth which is so essential in the productions of the fine arts.

In all the polite arts, and in all the subjects they embrace, there must necessarily reign an elevation of sentiment, that expresses each object in the greatest perfection of which it is susceptible; that imitates nature in her most exalted beauty. This makes the fifth general rule. The design of the fine arts being to excite pleasure by the expression of that which is beautiful, every artist should raise himself above his subject; and, choosing the most favourable light wherein to place it, should there embellish it with the greatest, most noble, and beautiful ornaments, that his own genius can suggest; still, however, observing a strict imitation of nature.

From the observation of these two last rules results the sublime, which is the union of the greatest perfection with the strictest truth and most exalted elevation possible. It is necessary to remark here, that the most simple and common subjects are susceptible of a sublime that is agreeable to their nature. An idyl or landscape may be as sublime in their kinds as an epic poem or a history piece. When Moses begins the book of Genesis, with these words, In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth; or when he tells us, that God said, Let there be light, and there was light; these expressions are sublime in the highest degree, because they are perfectly clear, true, and elevated. Every author should therefore endeavour after the sublime in every subject that he undertakes; and this makes the fifth and last general rule in the practice of the polite arts. But if he cannot attain to this, it is, however, indispensably necessary that he constantly make use of expressions that are noble and refined. Everything that is low, indecent, or disagreeable, is naturally repugnant to the sublime, and ought to be forever banished from all works that proceed from the noble and liberal arts.