far
from the great original herself. The latter copies of an engraving
retain fainter and fainter traces of the subject, to which the earlier
impressions bore so strong a resemblance.

IT seems very extraordinary, that it should be the most difficult thing
in the world to be natural, and that it should be harder to hit off the
manners of real life, and to delineate such characters as we converse
with every day, than to imagine such as do not exist. But caricature is
much easier than an exact outline, and the colouring of fancy less
difficult than that of truth.

PEOPLE do not always know what taste they have, till it is awakened by
some corresponding object; nay, genius itself is a fire, which in many
minds would never blaze, if not kindled by some external cause.

NATURE, that munificent mother, when she bestows the power of judging,
accompanies it with the capacity of enjoying. The judgment, which is
clear sighted, points out such objects as are calculated to inspire
love, and the heart instantaneously attaches itself to whatever is
lovely.

IN regard to literary reputation, a great deal depends on the state of
learning in the particular age or nation, in which an author lives. In a
dark and ignorant period, moderate knowledge will entitle its
possessor to a considerable share of fame; whereas, to be
distinguished in a polite and lettered age, requires striking parts and
deep erudition.

WHEN a nation begins to emerge from a state of mental darkness, and to
strike out the first rudiments of improvement, it chalks out a few
strong but incorrect sketches, gives the rude out-lines of general art,
and leaves the filling up to the leisure of happier days, and the
refinement of more enlightened times. Their drawing is a rude _Sbozzo_,
and their poetry wild minstrelsy.

PERFECTION of taste is a point which a nation no sooner reaches, than it
overshoots; and it is more difficult to return to it, after having
passed it, than it was to attain when they fell short of it. Where the
arts begin to languish after having flourished, they seldom indeed fall
back to their original barbarism, but a certain feebleness of exertion
takes place, and it is more difficult to recover them from this dying
languor to their proper strength, than it was to polish them from their
former rudeness; for it is a less formidable undertaking to refine
barbarity, than to stop decay: the first may be laboured into elegance,
but the latter will rare