Mr. Connoisseur, do not pretend raptures at music, you know you have no ear.—Stare not at that picture, you are sensible you have no eye.—Close that book, let others weep; you have no heart. “Sir, it is the taste to admire music, painting, and fine writing.”—I am very glad of it.—But it is not your taste, here
————hinc Vos,
Vos hinc, mutatis discedite partibus—
Now confess honestly Mr. Sportsman, that you have more pleasure in Snyder’s pictures, than from hunting in propriâ personâ—that the French horns at a concert have more harmony than in a wood. And, Mr. Connoisseur, you are now in your element.—Is it not better to “join the jovial chace” than the insipid crew of the dilettanti?
Let us remember and practice the old maxim.
————trahit sua quemque Voluptas.
LETTER V.
Dear Sir,
I Am glad you go on with your painting. Though you should never arrive at any great degree of excellence yourself, it will infallibly make you a better judge of the excellencies of others. You tell me, what indeed every Connoisseur says by rote, that the great painters painted above, beyond nature! That they painted beyond nature I grant, but not above, if by above we are to understand something more excellent than what we find in nature. I have long been sick of the cant of writers and talkers upon this subject. If it be possible, let us speak a little common-sense—endeavour to shew what seems by our feelings to be the truth, and then prevent a wrong application of it.