suffers tbem to get the upper hand, he then betrays the liberty of his own soul.

"As nature has framed the several species of beings as it were in a cbain, so man seems to be placed as the middle link between angels and brutes. Hence he participates both of flesh and spirit by an admirable tie, which in him occasions perpetual war of passions ; and as a man inclines to the angelic or brute part of his constitution, he is then denominated good or bad, virtuous or wicked: if love, mercy, and good nature prevail, they speak him of the angel: if hatred, cruelty, and envy predominate, they declare bis kindred to the brute. Hence it was that some of the ancients imagined, that as men in this life inclined more to the angel or the brute, so after their death they should transmigrate into the one or the other; and it would be no unpleasant notion to consider the several species of brutes, into which we may imagine that tyrants, misers, the proud, malicious, and ill-natured, might be changed.

" As a consequence of this original, all passions are in all men, but appear not in all: constitution, education, custom of the country, reason, and the like causes, may improve or abate the strength of them; but still the seeds remain, which are ever ready to sprout forth upon the least encouragement. I have heard a story of a good religious man, who, having been bred with the milk of a goat, was very modest in public by a careful reflection he made ou his actions; but he frequently had an hour in secret, wherein he had his frisks and capers; and if we had an opportunity of examining the retirement of the strictest philosophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual returns of those passions they so artfully conceal from the public. I remember Machiavel observes, that every state should entertain a perpetual jealousy of its neighbours, tiiat so it should never be unprovided when an emergency happens; in like manner, should the reason be perpetually on its guard against the passions, and never suffer them to carry on any design that may lie destructive of its security; yet at the ?auie lime it must be careful, that it don't so far break their strength as 10 render them contemptible, and consequently itself unguarded.

" The understanding being of itself too slow and lazy to exert itself into action, it is necessary it should be put in motion by the gentle gales of the passions, which may preserve it from stagnating and corruption; for they are as necessary to the health of the mind, as the circulation of the animal spirits is to the health of the body ; they keep it in life, and strength, and vigour; nor is it possible for the mind to perform its offices without their assistance. These motions are given us with our beins?; they are little spirits that are born and die with us; to some they are mild, easy, and gentle; to others, wayward and unruly, yet never too strong for the reins of reason, and the guidance of judgment.

" We may generally observe a pretty nice proportion between the strength of reason and passion; the greatest geniuses have commonly the strongest affections, as, on the other hand, the weaker understandings have generally the weaker passions; and it is fit the fury of the coursers should not be too great for the strength of the charioteer. Young men, whose passions are not a little unruly, give small hopes of their ever being considerable ; the fire of youth will of course abate, and is a fault, if it be a fault, that mends every day; but surely, unless a man has fire in youth, he can hardly have warmth in old age. We must therefore be very cautious lest, while we think to regulate the passions, we should quite extinguish them, which is putting out the light of the soul; for to be without passion, or to be hurried away with it, makes a man equally blind. The extraordinary severitv used in most of our schools has this fatal effect, it breaks the spring of the mind, and most certainly destroys more good geniuses than it can possibly improve. And surely it is a mighty mistake that the passions should be so entirely subdued: for little irregularities are sometimes not only to be borne with, but to be cultivated too, since they are frequently attended with the greatest perfections. All great geniuses have faults mixed with their virtues, and resemble the flaming bush which has thorns amongst lights.

" Since therefore the passions are the principles of human actions, we must endeavour to manage them so as to retain their vigour, yet keep them under strict command; we must govern them rather like free subjects than slaves, lest, while we intend to make them obedient, they become abject, and unfit for those great purposes to which they were designed. For my part I must confess I could never have any regard to that sect of- philosophers, who so much insisted upon an absolute indifference and vacancy from all passion; for it seems to me a thing very inconsistent, for a man to divest himself of humanity, in order to acquire tranquillity of mind; and to eradicate the very principles of action, because it is possible they may produce ill eflects.

" 1 am, Sir, your affectionate admirer.

" T. B." Z.

[As the same train of thought that runs through this paper occurs not unfrequently in Pope's works, and is illustrated very happily in his " Essay on Man," it is not unreasonable to suppose that Pope might be the writer of the papers marked with -the signature 7,, of which there are four in this volume. See Nos. 404. 42fl, and 467. See also in confirmation of this supposition, SpecTator, No. Sft5, where we have the testimony of Steele that Pope was a writer in " The Spectator."]

No. 409. THURSDAY, JUNE 19, 1712.

Musso contingere cnncta lepore.

Lucb. i. 933. To grace each subject with enliv'ning wit.

Gbattan * very often recommends fine taste as the utmost perfection of an accomplished man.

As this word arises very often in conversation, I shall endeavour to give some account of it, and to lay down rules how we may know whether we are possessed of it, and how we may acquire that fine taste of writing, which is so much talked of among the polite world.

Most languages make use of this metaphor, to express that faculty of the mind which distinguishes all the most concealed faults and nicest perfections in writing. We may be sure this metaphor would not have been so general in all tongues, had there not been a very great conformity between that mental taste, which is the subject of this paper, and that sensitive taste, which gives us a relish of every different flavour that affects the palate. Accordingly we find, there are as many degrees of refinement in tbe intellectual faculty, as in the sense, which is marked out by this common denomination.

I knew a person who possessed the one in so great a perfection, that after having tasted ten different kinds of tea, he would distinguish, without seeing the colour of it, the particular sort which was offered him ; and not only so, but any two sorts of them that «ere mixed together in an equal proportion ; nay, he has carried the experiment so far, as, upon tasting the composition of three different sorts, to name the parcels from whence the several ingredients were taken. A man of a fine taste in writing will discern, after the same manner, not only the general beauties and imperfections of an author, but discover the several ways of thinking and expressing himself, which diversify him from all other authors, with the several foreign infusions of thought and language, and the particular authors from whom they were borrowed.

After having thus far explained what is generally meant by a fine taste in writing, and shown the propriety of the metaphor which is used on this occasion, I think I may define it to be " that faculty of the soul, which discerns the beauties of an author with

• See Noa. 293 and 379.

ileasure, and the imperfections with dislike.” I f a man would
know whether he is possessed of this faculty, I would have him
read over the celebrated works of antiquity, which have stood the
test of so many diiferent ages and countries, or those works among
the moderns which have the sanction of the politer part of our
contem oraries. If, upon the perusal of such writings, he does
not find, himself delighted in an extraordinary manner, or ii upon
readin the admired passages in such authors, he tinds a coldness
and indifference in his thoughts,he ought to conclude, not (as is too
usual among tasteless readers) that the author wants those per-
fections which have been admired in him, but that he himself
wants the faculty of discovering them.
He should, in the second place, be very careful to observe,
whether he tastes the distinguishing perfections, or, if I may be al-
lowed to call them so, the specific qualities of the author whom
he peruses; whether he is particularly pleased with Livy for his
manner of telling a story, with Sallust for his entering into them
internal principles of action which arise from the characters and
manners of the persons he describes, or with Tacitus, for his dis
playing those outward motives of safety and interest, which give
birth to the whole series of transactions which he relates.
He may likewise consider, how differently he is affected by the
same thought, which presents itself in a great writer, from what
he is when he finds it delivered by a person of an ordinary genius:
for there is as much difference in apprehending a thought clothed
in Cicero's language, and that of a common author, as in seeing
an object by the light of a taper, or by the light ofthe sun.
It is very difficult to lay down rules for the acquirement of such
a taste as that I am here speaking oil The faculty must in some
degree be born with us, and it very often happens, that those who
have other qualities in perfection are wholly void of this. One of
the most eminent mathematicians of the age has assured me, that
the greatest pleasure he took in reading Virgil, was in examining
Aineas his voyage by the map; as I question not but many a
modem compi er of history would be delighted with little more in
that divine author tha.n the bare matters of fact.
But, notwithstanding this facult must in some measure be
bom_with us, there are several methods for cultivating and im-
proving it, and without which it will be very uncertain, and of little
use to the person that possesses it. The most natural method for
this purpose is, to he conversant amon the writings of the most
polite authors. A man who has any reTish for fine writing, either
discovers new beauties, or receives stronger impressions, from the
rnasterly strokes of a great author every time he peruses him; be-
sides that he naturally wears himself into the same manner ot'
speaking and thinking.

Conversation with men of a polite genius is another method for improving our natural taste. It is impossible for a man of the greatest parts to consider anything in its whole extent, and in all its variety of lights. Everyman, besides those general observations which are to be made upon an author, forms several reflections that are peculiar to his own manner of thinking; so that conversation will naturally furnish us with hints which we did not attend to, and make us enjoy other men's parts and reflections as well as our own. This is the best reason I can give for the observation which several have made, that men of great genius in the same way of writing seldom rise up singly, but at certain periods of time appear together and in a body; as they did at Rome in the reign of Augustus, and in Greece about the age of Socrates. I cannot think that Corneille, Bacine, Moliere, Boileau, la Fontaine, Bniyere, Bossu, or the Daciers, would have written so well as they have done, had they not been friends and contemporaries.

It is likewise necessary for a man who would form to himself a finished taste of good writing to be well versed in the works of the best critics both ancient and modern. I must confess that I could wish there were authors of this kind, who beside the mechanical rules, which a man of very little taste may discourse upon, would enter into the very spirit and soul of fine writing, and show us the several sources of that pleasure which rises in the mind upon the perusal of a noble work. Thus although in poetry it be absolutely necessary that the unities of time, place, and action, with other points of the same nature, should be thoroughly explained and understood ; there is still something more essential to the art, something that elevates and astonishes the fancy, and gives a greatness of mind to the reader, which few of the critics besides Longiniis have considered.

Our general taste in England is for epigram, turns of wit, and forced conceits, which have no manner of influence, either for the bettering or enlarging the mind of him who reads them, and have been carefully avoided by the greatest writers, both among the ancients and moderns. I have endeavoured, in several of my speculations, to banish this Gothic taste, which has taken possession among us. I entertained the town for a week together with an essay upon wit,* in which I endeavoured to detect several of those false kinds which have been admired in the different ages of the world, and at the same time to show wherein the nature of true wit consists. I afterwards gave an instance of the great force which lies in a natural simplicity of thought to affect the mind of the reader, from such vulgar pieces as have little else besides this single qualification to recommend them. I have likewise examined the works of the greatest poet which our nation, or perhaps any other, has produced, and particularized most of those •See No. 58-68.