it has none; in fact it is a solecistical combination of bad taste, and false economy; without a single requisite of real grandeur, except that of extent, it is tricked out with a certain penurious shew of embellishment, more disgusting than the greatest plainness-in some parts even blank spaces have been left instead of either windows or their semblances; to attempt therefore to unite any decoration to such niggardliness, was absolutely ridiculous. "Bad taste" and "no taste" have generally been employed as of synonymous import, yet without pretending to any refinement of discrimination it must be confessed that there is an essential difference between the two. Water is preferable to bad wine; the former is merely insipid, the latter causes disgust and disappointment. Thus in building, where utility alone has been aimed at, we are satisfied that we have no right to expect but when there is an evident yet abortive attempt at something farther, we cannot forbear venting our spleen, neither is our querulousness in many instances abated by reflecting that for the same or even a less expense a far more pleasing effect might have been produced. This reproach attaches itself to some other splendid buildings in Yarmouth. The inhabitants, however, are proud,

more;

* Exampli gratia, that most hideous, uncouth, incoherent edifice the Chapel, which comprises as many solecisms and absurdities as it was possible to put together in a similar space; it is indeed a monstrum nulla virtute redemptum ; what a striking contrast between the Doric pilasters in this building, and the

can it be said, justly proud-of their Quay. Were architectural beauty estimated by the foot, as Dutchmen are facetiously said to judge of female loveliness by the stone-our Quay would certainly have very high pretensions: if it charms however, it is not by the adventitious aid of elegant buildings. Dr. Clarke has been pleased to compare Yarmouth to Genoa. The compliment might at first sight startle the most credulous vanity; when, however, it is discovered that the resemblance does not consist in any of those features which have obtained for the latter the epithet superba, but in the narrow lanes, with shops on each side, we are forcibly reminded of the "Hoc Ciceronis habes."

For the length to which he has protracted these remarks, the writer will not make any apology-to those to whom the matter is devoid of interest, he could offer none that would recompense them for the trouble they have taken; or rather this is the wrong place for such apology, which to be ingenious, ought to have been prefixed to this essay. Those who like himself are enamoured with the subject will require none. Should they coincide in his observations, they will perhaps not be disobliged to him. Should they dissent, they will have the gratification of defending their own opinions, and of censuring his temerity, and his mistakes. The minuteness and prolixity of this critique they may

antæ of the monument, the former may possibly be improvements upon the latter, but then it is just as Batty Langley improved Gothic architecture.

be disposed to pardon for its novelty, it being really so very singular an occurrence in this country for a production of architecture to elicit any thing resembling an analytical examination. They who participate in his admiration will not ridicule the warmth with which he has expressed himself. Those who do not, will perhaps recollect that "l'enthousiasme en tout genre est ridicule pour qui ne l'éprouve pas," while it is to be hoped that the professional architect will-for the sake of the attachment discovered towards his art-regard with lenity the observations of an AMATEUR.

The principal admeasurements of the Monument are as follows, viz:

By way of a concluding note, the writer hopes that Mr. Wilkins, who is already well known by several elegant literary works connected with the history of Grecian Architecture, will favour the

public with a series of designs from the more important buildings on which he has been employed, elucidated by a more copions text, than what usually accompanies publications of a similar

nature.

ART. II. On Gusto. By W. HASLITT, Esq.

GUSTO in art is power or passion defining any object. It is not so difficult to explain this term in what relates to expression (of which it may be said to be the highest degree,) as in what relates to things without expression, to the natural appearances of objects, as mere colour or form. The truth is, that there is hardly any object entirely devoid of expression, without some character of power belonging to it, some precise association with pleasure or pain and it is in giving this truth of character from the truth of feeling, whether in the highest or the lowest degree, but always in the highest degree of which the subject is capable, that Gusto consists.

There is a Gusto in the colouring of Titian. Not only do his heads seem to think-his bodies seem to feel. This is what the Italians mean by the morbidezza of his flesh colour. It seems sensitive and alive all over, not merely to have the look and texture of flesh, but the feeling in itself. For example, the limbs of his female figures have a luxuVOL. IV. NO. 15. Pp

rious softness and delicacy, which appears conscious of the pleasure of the beholder. As the objects themselves in nature would produce an impression on the sense, distinct from every other object, and having something divine in it, which the heart owns and the imagination consecrates. The objects in the picture preserve the same impressions, absolute, unimpaired, stamped with all the truth of passion, the pride of the eye, and the charms of beauty, Rubens makes his flesh colour like flowers, Albano's is like ivory, Titian's is like flesh, and like nothing else. It is as different from that of other painters, as the skin is from a piece of white or red drapery thrown over it. The blood circulates here and there, the blue veins just appear, the rest is distinguished throughout only by that sort of tingling sensation to the eye which the body feels within itself. This is Gusto. Vandyke's fleshcolour, though it has great truth and purity, wants Gusto-it has not the internal character, the living principle in it-it is a smooth surface, not a warm moving mass—it is painted without passion, with indifference-the hand only has been concerned. The impression slides off from the eye, and does not, like the tones of Titian's pencil, leave a sting behind it in the mind of the spectator. The eye does not acquire a taste or appetite for what it sees. In a word, Gusto in painting, is where the impression made on our sense excites by affinity those of another.

Michael Angelo's forms are full of Gusto. They