To the latter of thefe two claffes of Arts, belongs that of Gardening; or, as it has been lately called, the Art of creating Landscape. In this Art, the defigner is limited in his creation by nature; and his only province is to correct, to improve, and to adorn. As he cannot repeat his experiments, in order to ob ferve the effect, he must call up, in his imagination, the scene which he means to produce; and apply to this imaginary scene his tafte and his judgment; or, in other words, to a lively conception of vifible objects, he must add a power (which long experience and attentive obfervation alone can give him) of judging beforehand, of the effect which they would produce, if they were actually exhibited to his fenfes. This power forms, what Lord Chatham beautifully and expreffively called the prophetic Eye of Tafte; that eye which (if I may borrow the language of Mr. Gray)" fees all the beauties that a place is fufcep"tible of, long before they are born; and when it 'plants a feedling, already fits under the fhade of it, "and enjoys the effect it will have, from every point "of view that lies in the prospect *." But although the artist who creates a landscape, copies it from his imagination, the scene which he exhibits is addreffed to the fenfes, and may produce its full effect on the minds of others, without any effort on their part, either of imagination or of conception.

To prevent being misunderstood, it is neceffary for me to remark, that, in the last observation, I speak merely of the natural effects produced by a landscape,

GRAY'S Works, by Mason, p. 277.

and

and abstract entirely from the pleasure which may refult from an accidental affociation of ideas with a particular scene. The effect refulting from fuch affociations will depend, in a great measure, on the liveliness with which the affociated objects are conceived, and on the affecting nature of the pictures which a creative imagination, when once roufed, will present to the mind; but the pleasures thus arifing from the accidental exercise that a landscape may give to the imagination, must not be confounded with those which it is naturally fitted to produce.

In Painting, (excepting in thofe inftances in which it exhibits a faithful copy of a particular object,) the original idea must be formed in the imagination: and, in most cases, the exercise of imagination must concur with perception, before the picture can produce that effect on the mind of the fpectator which the artist has in view. Painting, therefore, does not belong entirely to either of the two claffes of Arts formerly mentioned, but has fomething in common with them both.

The

As far as the Painter aims at copying exactly what he fees, he may be guided mechanically by general rules; and he requires no aid from that creative genius which is characteristical of the Poet. pleafure, however, which refults from painting, confidered merely as an imitative art, is extremely trifling; and is fpecifically different from that which it aims to produce, by awakening the imagination. Even in portrait-painting, the fervile copyift of nature is regarded in no higher light than that of a tradefman. "Deception," (as Reynolds has excellently obferved,)

"inftead

"instead of advancing the art, is, in reality, carry"ing it back to its infant ftate. The firft effays of painting were certainly nothing but mere imitations "of individual objects; and when this amounted to "a deception, the artist had accomplished his purpofe *."

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When the history or the landscape Painter indulges his genius, in forming new combinations of his own, he vies with the Poet in the nobleft exertion of the poetical art and he avails himself of his profeffional fkill, as the Poet avails himself of language, only to convey the ideas in his mind. To deceive the eye by accurate representations of particular forms, is no longer his aim; but, by the touches of an expreffive pencil, to speak to the imaginations of others. Imitation, therefore, is not the end which he propofes to himself, but the means which he employs in order to accomplish it: nay, if the imitation be carried fo far as to preclude all exercise of the fpectator's imagination, it will difappoint, in a great measure, the purpose of the artist.

In Poetry, and in every other fpecies of compofition, in which one perfon attempts, by means of language, to present to the mind of another, the objects of his own imagination; this power is neceffary, though not in the fame degree, to the author and to the reader. When we perufe a description, we naturally feel a difpofition to form, in our own minds, a diftinct picture of what is defcribed; and in propor

*Notes on MASON's Tranflation of FRESNOY's Poem on the Art of Painting, p. 114.

tion to the attention and intereft which the subject excites, the picture becomes fteady and determinate. It is fcarcely poffible for us to hear much of a parti cular town, without forming fome notion of its figure and fize and fituation; and in reading hiftory and poetry, I believe it feldom happens, that we do not annex imaginary appearances to the names of our favourite characters. It is, at the fame time, almost certain, that the imaginations of no two men coincide upon fuch occafions; and, therefore, though both may be pleased, the agreeable impreffions which they feel, may be widely different from each other, according as the pictures by which they are produced are more or less happily imagined. Hence it is, that when a perfon accustomed to dramatic reading fees, for the first time, one of his favourite characters represented on the stage, he is generally diffatisfied with the exhibition, however eminent the actor may be; and if he should happen, before this reprefentation, to have been very familiarly acquainted with the character, the cafe may continue to be the fame through life. For my own part, I have never re ceived from any Falstaff on the ftage, half the pleafure which Shakespeare gives me in the clofet; and I am perfuaded, that I fhould feel fome degree of uneafinefs, if I were prefent at any attempt to perfonate the figure or the voice of Don Quixote or Sancho Panca. It is not always that the actor, on fuch occafions, falls fhort of our expectation. He disappoints us, by exhibiting fomething different from what our imagination had anticipated, and which confequently appears to us, at the moment, to be an un

faithful representation of the Poet's idea: and until a frequent repetition of the performance has completely obliterated our former impreffions, it is impoffible for us to form an adequate estimate of its merit.

Similar obfervations may be applied to other fubjects. The fight of any natural scene, or of any work of art, provided we have not previously heard of it, commonly produces a greater effect, at first, than ever afterwards: but if, in confequence of a defcription, we have been led to form a previous notion of it, I apprehend, the effect will be found less pleasing, the first time it is feen, than the second. Although the description fhould fall fhort greatly of the reality, yet the disappointment which we feel, on meeting with fomething different from what we expected, diminishes our fatisfaction. The fecond time we see the scene, the effect of novelty is indeed lefs than before; but it is ftill confiderable, and the imagination now anticipates nothing which is not realised in the perception.

The remarks which have been made, afford a fatisfactory reason why fo few are to be found who have a genuine relish for the beauties of poetry. The defigns of Kent and of Brown evince in their authors a degree of imagination entirely analogous to that of the descriptive poet; but when they are once executed, their beauties (excepting those which refult from affociation) meet the eye of every spectator. In poetry the effect is inconfiderable, unless upon a mind which poffeffes fome degree of the author's genius ; a mind amply furnished, by its previous habits, with the means of interpreting the language which he em

ploys;