politeness which the English have invented by the strength of
their own genius without any assistance either from France,
Italy, or Lapland." It is needless to recapitulate Smollett's
views of Rome. Every one has his own, and a passing traveller's
annotations are just about as nourishing to the imagination as a
bibliographer's note on the Bible. Smollett speaks in the main
judiciously of the Castle of St. Angelo, the Piazza and the
interior of St. Peter's, the Pincian, the Forum, the Coliseum,
the Baths of Caracalla, and the other famous sights of successive
ages. On Roman habits and pastimes and the gullibility of the
English cognoscente he speaks with more spice of authority. Upon
the whole he is decidedly modest about his virtuoso vein, and
when we reflect upon the way in which standards change and idols
are shifted from one pedestal to another, it seems a pity that
such modesty has not more votaries. In Smollett's time we must
remember that Hellenic and primitive art, whether antique or
medieval, were unknown or unappreciated. The reigning models of
taste in ancient sculpture were copies of fourth-century
originals, Hellenistic or later productions. Hence Smollett's
ecstasies over the Laocoon, the Niobe, and the Dying Gladiator.
Greek art of the best period was hardly known in authentic
examples; antiques so fine as the Torso of Hercules were rare.
But while his failures show the danger of dogmatism in art
criticism, Smollett is careful to disclaim all pretensions to the
nice discernment of the real connoisseur. In cases where good
sense and sincere utterance are all that is necessary he is
seldom far wrong. Take the following description for example:--

"You need not doubt but that I went to the church of St. Peter in
Montorio, to view the celebrated Transfiguration by Raphael,