in the mind of the artist, and he works from them with as much

certainty as if they were embodied, as I may say, upon paper. It

is true these refined principles cannot be always made palpable,

like the more gross rules of art; yet it does not follow but that

the mind may be put in such a train that it shall perceive, by a

kind of scientific sense, that propriety which words, particularly

words of unpractised writers such as we are, can but very feebly

suggest.

Invention is one of the great marks of genius, but if we consult

experience, we shall find that it is by being conversant with the

inventions of others that we learn to invent, as by reading the

thoughts of others we learn to think.

Whoever has so far formed his taste as to be able to relish and

feel the beauties of the great masters has gone a great way in his

study; for, merely from a consciousness of this relish of the

right, the mind swells with an inward pride, and is almost as

powerfully affected as if it had itself produced what it admires.

Our hearts frequently warmed in this manner by the contact of those

whom we wish to resemble, will undoubtedly catch something of their

way of thinking, and we shall receive in our own bosoms some

radiation at least of their fire and splendour. That disposition,

which is so strong in children, still continues with us, of

catching involuntarily the general air and manner of those with

whom we are most conversant; with this difference only, that a

young mind is naturally pliable and imitative, but in a more

advanced state it grows rigid, and must be warmed and softened

before it will receive a deep impression.

From these considerations, which a little of your reflection will

carry a great way further, it appears of what great consequence it

is that our minds should be habituated to the contemplation of

excellence, and that, far from being contented to make such habits