large and few, so as to allow the imagination to combine them into a simple whole that can be easily grasped by the mind, they can never, when nearly viewed (in as far at least as my sensations have indicated) produce a vivid impression of grandeur. When viewed from a distance, I conceive that nothing but magnitude simply can produce the sensation of grandeur; and in that way even the upper part of Drury Lane Theatre constitutes an object of grandeur when seen from Surrey. and the adjacent parts, though it is totally destitute of every other requisite that could attract notice. When ruins that are seen from a distance exhibit fantastic forms, and bold elevations, they produce a striking effect, which has been demoninated picturesque, but which has a much more intimate connexion with the sensation of beauty than of grandeur.

If, in all disquisitions concerning objects of taste, strong and vivid sensations were thus to form the basis, like facts in physics, and our reasoning faculty were only resorted to for the purpose of extending our views to others of a similar kind, and thus connecting, arranging, and combining them in various ways, and then deducing general conclusions, much good might result from it; and such disquisitions might afford both pleasure and instruction: but when persons who have none of those native, unsought for, warm and feeling perceptions of mind, departing from the province which nature afsigned to them in this world, shall sit down to analyse what they never perceived, and by a series of dry hypothetical arguments shall pretend to overrule the strong propensities of nature, by telling why we should be pleased with this thing, or dislike that,

and prescribing dictatorially what we should admire, and where we should be disgusted, we may thus go on in a kind of labyrinth through an endless succefsion of ages, in a series of perpetual wranglings, without ever being able to come to any satisfactory conclusion. [To be continued.]

Farther observations on Coutchouc,

[Continued from page 78.]

ALLOW me to add a few other observations on the uses that may be made of Coutchouc, before we proceed to particularise the tree from which it is produced, and the mode of obtaining the juice in abundance.

To the lovers of the fine arts this substance promises to be a most valuable discovery, as it bids fair to confer upon their works that immortal youth which Hebe "ever fair and ever young" pofsefsed among the gods. To speak seriously, if any thing can preserve the works of the pencil from the destructive ravages of time, it would seem that this is the very substance that is fitted to do it. In the first place, the canvas on, which paintings are made can be thus entirely protected from the operation of moisture or the corrosive vapours of the atmosphere in a manner that could not be effected by any other substance hitherto discovered by man; so that we may naturally infer, that it would be preserved fresh and firm for an indefinite length of time. In the second place, the painting, when properly finished and thoroughly dry, if then covered with a coating of this varnish in its fluid state, would quickly dry, and from that moment would not only be de

tend to sully it, but would also be protected entirely from the influence of the air, which, by an operation certain, though slow, inevitably impairs the lustre of the finest colours. And though it be true, that the Coutchouc is not itself entirely colourlefs, yet the coating that would be necessary for this purpose would form only a film of the thinnest sort, that would, like glafs before a print, serve but to soften the glare, and make the tints melt into each other with the most enchanting sweetness. It pofsefses even other peculiarities in this respect which ought not to be overlooked.

It appears by the experiments of Mr. Howison, that though Coutchouc admits of being spread upon the surface of wax so as to form a thin uniform undivided. film, yet it does not adhere to that substance; so that it can be drawn from it without deranging its surface, even as a stocking can be drawn off from the leg without any disruptive violence. From this circumstance, I conceive that coutchouc varnish, when applied to the surface of an oil painting, would differ from all other kinds of varnish in this respect, that it would form only a separate coating before it, as a glass before a print, instead of adhering to it inseparably like other varnishes: of course, should it happen in the course of time, that this coating became sullied or tarnished in any way, it could be taken entirely off without affecting the painting in the smallest degree, and a fresh one put in its place exactly as a new glass could be put before a print.

But, says some one, if this varnish does not adhere to the painting, how can you prevent it from falling

off, or how can you prevent the air from getting accefs behind by insinuating itself at the edges all round, and thus effectually injuring the picture? I answer, by a contrivance the most easy and simple that can be conceived. As the canvas on which the painting is made has been coated with coutchouc, it follows, that if a part of the edges of that canvas which is nailed to the stretching frame shall be left untouched by the oil paint, the coutchouc varnish, wherever it reaches that part of the canvas, will there adhere to it indivisibly as one substance, without the smallest pore or opening of any sort; thus is the painting enclosed between two coats of coutchouc without the smallest opening of any sort, exactly as if it were put within the cavity of a glass hermetically sealed. And, although the film of varnish that is before the picture be extremely fine, yet, under these circumstances, there is no danger that it will ever separate from it, unless a hole be somewhere made in it: for, as it is applied at the first quite close to the picture, so that no air can be lodged behind it, the pressure of the atmosphere acting continually upon it from without, as upon the surface of an exhausted receiver, will make it apply as close to the surface of the painting as if it actually adhered to it.

But, says the same captious gentleman, you forget, sir, that as your coutchouc does not adhere to oil paint, so neither will your oil paint, it is to be presumed, adhere to coutchouc; therefore your fine system of painting on coutchouc-canvas, and all the su perstructure you have raised upon it, falls to the ground

it is utterly destroyed. I answer, no, sir, I had neither forgotten the one, nor overlooked the consequences of the other; but I had reserved the answer to illustrate some other beneficial uses which, in this line, may be made of the singular substance that now claims our attention.

It does not, in the first place, follow, though fluid coutchouc should not adhere to solid paint, that fluid paint would not adhere to solid coutchouc; that is an experiment which remains to be tried, as the fact has not, that I know of, been hitherto ascertained.. But, supposing it were found that oil paint could not be made to adhere to coutchouc canvas, it would produce very little effect upon the case in question. All that would be required in this case would be, to have a canvas properly prepared for painting on, laid upon a coutchouc canvas before it was nailed upon the stretching frame, so that they could be both laid on together, taking care to prefs the two so close together, by pafsing them between two rollers or otherwise, as to extrude all the air from between them, after which they should be nailed upon the frame. But in this case the inner canvas ought to be made of such a size as not to reach so far as the outer edge of the stretching frame; and a few holes should be made all round the edges of the inner canvas, but so as that these may all be covered by the picture frame when the whole is finished; this smaller canvas being secured in the meanwhile by a few half-driven tacks that may be afterwards drawn. In this state the picture may be painted; and when it is finished and dry, the coutchouc varnish may be applied. Under these circum