were rare. But
while his failures show the danger of dogmatism in art criticism,
Smollett is careful to disclaim all pretensions to the nice discernment
of the real connoisseur. In cases where good sense and sincere
utterance are all that is necessary he is seldom far wrong. Take the
following description for example:--

"You need not doubt but that I went to the church of St. Peter in
Montorio, to view the celebrated Transfiguration by Raphael, which, if
it was mine, I would cut in two parts. The three figures in the air
attract the eye so strongly that little or no attention is paid to
those below on the mountain. I apprehend that the nature of the subject
does not admit of that keeping and dependence which ought to be
maintained in the disposition of the lights and shadows in a picture.
The groups seem to be entirely independent of each other. The
extraordinary merit of this piece, I imagine, consists not only in the
expression of divinity on the face of Christ, but also in the
surprising lightness of the figure that hovers like a beautiful
exhalation in the air."

Smollett's remarks about the "Last Judgement" of Michael Angelo, (that
it confuses the eye as a number of people speaking at once confounds
the ear; and that while single figures are splendid, the whole together
resembles a mere mob, without subordination, keeping, or repose) will
probably be re-echoed by a large proportion of the sightseers who gaze
upon it yearly. But his description of the "Transfiguration" displays
an amount of taste and judgement which is far from being so widely
distributed. For purposes of reproduction at the present day, I may
remind the reader that the picture is ordinarily "cut in two." and the
nether portion is commonly attributed to Raphael's pupils, while the
"beautiful exhalation," as Smollett so felicitously terms it, is
attributed exclusively to the master when at the zenith of his powers.
His general verdict upon Michael Angelo and Raphael has much in it that
appeals to a modern taste. Of Raphael, as a whole, he concludes that
the master possesses the serenity of Virgil, but lacks the fire of
Homer; and before leaving this same Letter XXXIII, in which Smollett
ventures so many independent critical judgements, I am tempted to cite
yet another example of his capacity for acute yet sympathetic
appreciation.
"In the Palazzo Altieri I admired a picture, by Carlo Maratti,
representing a saint calling down lightning from heav