AMERICAN PREFACE. 
XXXIX 
a matter of feeling, believe it cannot be taught as otlier things are 
taught. If tbeir view of the nature of art is correct, then their 
view of tbe teaching is also correct. But the consequences extend 
much further than they imagine ; for such a view of art leads natu- 
rally to purblind criticism and chaotic rhapsody from those who 
discourse upon art; while the work of those who practise art 
in such faith can but display the same uncertain character. 1 But 
others there are, and their number is increasing, who believe 
that art bas its clearly defined, teachable features, which can be 
taught in the same rational way that other things are taught. 
They do not Claim that all matters relating to art can be thus 
taught, that great artists can be manufactured to Order. By no 
means. With Winckelmann the}' acknowledge they cannot teil, 
for example, what beauty is in the last analysis ; yet they claim 
that they can clearly deflne some of the laws of beauty, and 
teach one to discriminate with intelligence between ugly and 
beautiful objects. This is nothing more nor less than what 
happens in every other department of knowledge. 
Ask the biologist to teil you what is vegetable or animal life in 
its last analysis, and he will reply that it is impossible. But will 
1 When one, in the use of langnage, gives no heecl to fixed grammatical rules 
and rhetorical principles, bnt relies alone upon Ins feelings for proper expres- 
sion, the result is apt to be somewhät remarkable. Here is an illustrative 
instance. “The Boston Advertiser,” May 25, 1875, contained the following 
patriotic bnrst from a circular issued by an Irish Organization: — 
“ Remember 1775.—Sons of the sires of ’98, you are respeetfully reminded by this 
notice, and in accordance with the spirit of '76, together with the patriotism of this Or 
ganization, that on the coming 17th of June you will respond together with the teils of 
thousands who will rejoice to honor the meniory of the past, and perpetuate the chivalry 
of those whose sons were emblazoned with freedom against tyranny, and resolved to die, 
or live as free men, the result of which shook the pillars of tyranny and despotism in 
Europe. It is hoped that you will join with us on this eentennial celebration with martial 
music and frecman’s duty, beneath the sliadow of Bunker Hill, in glorious Columbia, the 
refuge of the oppressed of all nations, as you are the sons of the fathers whose untiring 
patriotism and love of freedom made these British vipers bite the dust.” 
Here we have a suitable occasion, and plenty of feeling, —two essential con- 
ditions for a display of “fine art” in writing. Verily, the result would have 
been niore pleasing, had the writer paid some attention to a few simple things 
that should be learned by the yonngest pupils in a grammar seliool. But such 
displays are not confined to literature alone: they are witnessed in art, vvhen 
the artist takes feeling alone for his guide. This is the truth of the matter. 
Every artist, aä every writer, must work according to definite rules and prin 
ciples which he has either beeil taught, or eise has acquired by experience.