hearers, by blending with his reasonings the illusions of poetry or the magical influence of sounds consecrated by popular feelings. A regard to the different ends thus aimed at in Philosophical and in Rhetorical composition, renders the ornaments which are so becoming in the one, inconsistent with good taste and good sense, when adopted in the other.

In poetry, as truths and facts are introduced, not for the purpose of information, but to convey pleasure to the mind, nothing offends more than those general expressions which form the great instrument of philosophical reasoning. The original pleasures, which it is the aim of poetry to recall to the mind, are all derived from individual objects, and, of consequence, (with a very few exceptions, which it does not belong to my present subject to enumerate,) the more particular, and the more appropriated its language is, the greater will be the charm it possesses.

With respect to the description of the course of the Danube already quoted, I shall not dispute the result of the experiment to be as the author represents it. That words may often be applied to their proper purposes, without our annexing any particular notions to them, I have formerly shewn at great length, and I admit that the meaning of this description may be so understood. But to be understood is not the sole object of the poet; his primary object is to please, and the pleasure which he conveys will, in general, be found to be proportioned to the beauty and liveliness of the images which he suggests. In the case of a poet born blind, the effect of poetry must depend on other causes; but whatever opinion we may form on this point, it appears to me impossible, that such a poet should receive, even from his own descriptions, the same degree of pleasure which they may convey to a reader, who is capable of conceiving the scenes which are described. Indeed, this instance which Mr. Burke produces in support of his theory, is sufficient of itself to shew that the theory cannot be true in the extent in which it is stated.

By way of contrast to the description of the Danube, I shall quote a stanza from Gray, which affords a very beautiful ex

ample of the two different effects of poetical expression. The pleasure conveyed by the two last lines resolves almost entirely. into Mr. Burke's principles; but great as this pleasure is, how inconsiderable is it in comparison of that arising from the continued and varied exercise which the preceding lines give to the imagination?

"In climes beyond the solar road,

Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam,
The muse has broke the twilight-gloom,

To cheer the shiv'ring native's dull abode.

And oft, beneath the od'rous shade,

Of Chili's boundless forests laid,

She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat,

In loose numbers wildly sweet,

Their feather-cinctur'd chiefs, and dusky loves.

Her track where'er the goddess roves,

Glory pursue, and generous shame,

Th' unconquerable mind, and freedom's holy flame."

I cannot help remarking further, the effect of the solemn and uniform flow of the verse in this exquisite stanza, in retarding the pronunciation of the reader, so as to arrest his attention to every successive picture, till it has time to produce its proper impression. More of the charm of poetical rhythm arises from this circumstance than is commonly imagined.

To those who wish to study the theory of poetical expression, no author in our language affords a richer variety of illustrations than the poet last quoted. His merits, in many other respects are great, but his skill in this particular is more peculiarly conspicuous. How much he had made the principles of this branch of his art an object of study, appears from his letters published by Mr. Mason.

I have sometimes thought, that in the last line of the following passage, he had in view the two different effects of words already described; the effect of some in awakening the powers of Conception and Imagination, and that of others in exciting associated emotions:

VOL. II.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Bright-eyed Fancy hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn,

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn."

2 F

SECT. III. - CONTINUATION OF THE SAME SUBJECT.

RELATION OF IMAGINATION AND OF TASTE TO GENIUS.

From the remarks made in the foregoing sections, it is obvious in what manner a person accustomed to analyze and combine his conceptions, may acquire an idea of beauties superior to any which he has seen realized. It may also be easily inferred, that a habit of forming such intellectual combinations, and of remarking their effects on our own minds, must contribute to refine and to exalt the taste, to a degree which it never can attain in those men who study to improve it by the observation and comparison of external objects only.

A cultivated taste, combined with a creative imagination, constitutes genius in the Fine Arts. Without taste, imagination could produce only a random analysis and combination of our conceptions; and without imagination, taste would be destitute of the faculty of invention. These two ingredients of genius may be mixed together in all possible proportions; and where either is possessed in a degree remarkably exceeding what falls to the ordinary share of mankind, it may compensate in some measure for a deficiency in the other. An uncommonly correct taste with little imagination, if it does not produce works which excite admiration, produces at least nothing which can offend. An uncommon fertility of imagination, even when it offends, excites our wonder by its creative power, and shews what it could have performed, had its exertions been guided by a more perfect model.

In the infancy of the arts, a union of these two powers in the same mind is necessary for the production of every work of genius. Taste without imagination, is in such a situation impossible; for, as there are no monuments of ancient genius on which it can be formed, it must be the result of experiments, which nothing but the imagination of every individual can enable him to make. Such a taste must necessarily be imperfect, in consequence of the limited experience of which it is the

result, but without imagination it could not have been acquired even in this imperfect degree.

In the progress of the arts the case comes to be altered. The productions of genius accumulate to such an extent, that taste may be formed by a careful study of the works of others; and, as formerly imagination had served as a necessary foundation for taste, so taste begins now to invade the province of imagination. The combinations which the latter faculty has been employed in making, during a long succession of ages, approach to infinity; and present such ample materials to a judicious selection, that with a high standard of excellence continually present to the thoughts, industry, assisted by the most moderate degree of imagination, will in time produce performances, not only more free from faults, but incomparably more powerful in their effects, than the most original efforts of untutored genius, which, guided by an uncultivated taste, copies after an inferior model of perfection. What Reynolds observes of painting, may be applied to all the other Fine Arts: that as the painter, by bringing together in one piece those beauties which are dispersed amongst a great variety of individuals, produces a figure more beautiful than can be found in nature; so that artist who can unite in himself the excellences of the various painters, will approach nearer to perfection than any of his masters." "1

SECT. IV.- -OF THE INFLUENCE OF IMAGINATION ON HUMAN CHARACTER AND HAPPINESS.

Hitherto we have considered the power of Imagination chiefly as it is connected with the Fine Arts. But it deserves our attention still more, on account of its extensive influence on human character and happiness.

The lower animals, as far as we are able to judge, are entirely occupied with the objects of their present perceptions; and the case is nearly the same with the inferior orders of our own species. One of the principal effects which a liberal education 1 See P. 226 of his Discourses.

produces on the mind, is to accustom us to withdraw our attention from the objects of sense, and to direct it at pleasure to those intellectual combinations which delight the imagination. Even, however, among men of cultivated understandings, this faculty is possessed in very unequal degrees by different individuals; and these differences, (whether resulting from original constitution, or from early education,) lay the foundation of some striking varieties in human character.

What we commonly call sensibility, depends, in a great measure, on the power of imagination. Point out to two men, any object of compassion;-a man, for example, reduced by misfortune from easy circumstances to indigence. The one feels merely in proportion to what he perceives by his senses. The other follows, in imagination, the unfortunate man to his dwelling, and partakes with him and his family in their domestic distresses. He listens to their conversation while. they recall to remembrance the flattering prospects they once indulged; the circle of friends they had been forced to leave; the liberal plans of education which were begun and interrupted; and pictures out to himself all the various resources which delicacy and pride suggest, to conceal poverty from the world. As he proceeds in the painting, his sensibility increases, and he weeps, not for what he sees, but for what he imagines. It will be said that it was his sensibility which originally roused his imagination; and the observation is undoubtedly true; but it is equally evident, on the other hand, that the warmth of his imagination increases and prolongs his sensibility.

This is beautifully illustrated in the Sentimental Journey of Sterne. While engaged in a train of reflections on the state prisons in France, the accidental sight of a starling in a cage suggests to him the idea of a captive in his dungeon. He indulges his imagination, " and looks through the twilight of the grated door to take the picture."

"I beheld," says he, "his body half-wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it is which arises from hope deferred. Upon looking