the temper, the personal habits, and previous
education of the painter: the latter is merely mechanical, and is
technically termed the _manner_ of a painter; it may be cold or warm,
hard, dry, free, strong, tender: as we say the cold manner of Sasso
Ferrato, the warm manner of Giorgione, the hard manner of Holbein, the
dry manner of Perugino, the free manner of Rubens, the strong manner
of Carravaggio, and so forth; I heard an amateur once observe, that
one of Morland's Pig-sties was painted with great _feeling_: all this
refers merely to mechanical execution.

I am no connaisseur; and I should have lamented, as a misfortune, the
want of some fixed principles of taste and criticism to guide my
judgment; some nomenclature by which to express certain effects,
peculiarities, and excellencies which I felt, rather than understood;
if my own ignorance had not afforded considerable amusement to myself,
and perhaps to others. I have derived some gratification from
observing the gradual improvement of my own taste: and from comparing
the decisions of my own unassisted judgment and natural feelings, with
the fiat of profound critics and connaisseurs: the result has been
sometimes mortifying, sometimes pleasing. Had I visited Italy in the
character of a ready-made connaisseur, I should have lost many
pleasures; for as the eye becomes more practised, the taste becomes
more discriminative and fastidious; and the more extensive our
acquaintance with the works of art, the more limited is our sphere of
admiration; as if the circle of enjoyment contracted round us, in
proportion as our sense of beauty became more intense and exquisite. A
thousand things which once had power to charm, can charm no longer;
but, _en revanche_, those which _do_ please, please a thousand times
more: thus what we lose on one side, we gain on the other. Perhaps, on
the whole, a technical knowledge of the arts is apt to divert the mind
from the general effect, to fix it on petty details of execution. Here
comes a connaisseur, who has found his way, good man! from Somerset
House, to the Tribune at Florence: see him with one hand passed across
his brow, to shade the light, while the other extended forwards,
describes certain indescribable circumvolutions in the air, and now he
retires, now advances, now recedes again, till he has hit the exact
distance from which every point of beauty is displayed to the best
possible advantage, and there he stands--gazing, as ne