that selfishness which is the child of apathy, which, as nations decline in productive and creative power, makes them value themselves upon a presumed refinement of judging. Poverty of language is the primary cause of the use which we make of the word Imagination; but the word Taste has been stretched to the sense which it bears in modern Europe by habits of self-conceit, inducing that aversion in the order of things whereby a passive faculty is made paramount among the faculties conversant with the fine arts. Proportion and congruity, the requisite knowledge being supposed, are subjects upon which taste may be trusted; it is competent to this office ;-for in its intercourse with these the mind is passive, and is affected painfully or pleasurably as by an instinct. But the profound and the exquisite in feeling, the lofty and universal in thought and imagination; or, in ordinary language, the pathetic and the sublime;-are neither of them, accurately speaking, objects of a faculty which could ever, without a sinking in the spirit of nations, have been designated by the metaphor-Taste. And why? Because, without the exertion of a co-operating power in the mind of the reader, there can be no adequate sympathy with either of these emotions: without this Auxiliar impulse elevated or profound passion cannot exist. Passion, it must be observed, is derived from a word which signifies suffering; but the connection which suffering has with effort, with exertion, and action, is immediate and inseparable. How strikingly is this property of human nature exhibited by the fact, that, in popular language, to be in a passion, is to be angry! But, "Anger in hasty words or blows To be moved, then, by a passion, is to be excited, often to exter. nal, and always to internal, effort; whether for the continuance and strengthening of the passion, or for its suppression, accord. ingly as the course which it takes may be painful or pleasurable. If the latter, the soul must contribute to its support, or it never becomes vivid, and soon languishes, and dies. And this brings as to the point. If every great Poet with whose writings men are familiar, in the highest exercise of his genius, before he can be thoroughly enjoyed, has to call forth and to communicate power, this service, in a still greater degree, falls upon an original writer, at his first appearance in the world. Of genius the only proof is, the act of doing well what is worthy to be done, and what was never done before. Of genius, in the fine arts, the only infallible sign is the widening the sphere of human sensibility, for the delight, honour, and benefit of human nature. Genius is the introduction of a new element into the intellectual universe; or, if that be not allowed, it is the application of powers to objects on which they had not before been exercised, or the employment of them in such a manner as to produce effects hitherto unknown. What is all this but an advance or a conquest made by the soul of the Poet? Is it to be supposed that the reader can make progress of this kind, like an Indian Prince or Generalstretched on his palanqin, and borne by his slaves? No, he is invigorated and inspirited by his leader, in order that he may exert himself; for he cannot proceed in quiescence, he cannot be carried like a dead weight. Therefore to create taste is to call forth and bestow power, of which knowledge is the effect; and there lies the true difficulty. As the pathetic participates of an animal sensation, it might seem that, if the springs of this emotion were genuine, all men possessed of competent knowledge of the facts and circumstances would be instantaneously affected. And doubtless in the works of every true Poet will be found passages of that species of excellence which is proved by effects immediate and universal. But there are emotions of the pathetic that are simple and direct, and others that are complex and revolutionary; some to which the heart yields with gentleness; others against which it strug gles with pride: these varieties are infinite as the combinations of circumstance and the constitutions of character. Remember, also, that the medium through which, in poetry, the heart is to be affected is language-a thing subject to endless fluctuations and arbitrary associations. The genius of the Poet melts these down for his purpose; but they retain their shape and quality to him who is not capable of exerting within his own mind a corresponding energy. There is also a meditative as well as a human pathos; an enthusiastic as well as an ordinary sorrow; a sadness that has its seat in the depth of reason, to which the mind cannot sink gently of itself, but to which it must descend by treading the steps of thought. And for the sublime;-if we consider what are the cares that occupy the passing day, and how remote is the practice and the course of life from the sources of sublimity, in the soul of man, can it be wondered that there is little existing preparation for a Poet charged with a new mission to extend its kingdom and to augument and spread its enjoyments? Away, then, with the senseless iteration of the word popular applied to new works in Poetry; as if there were no test of excel lence in this first of the fine arts, but that all men should run after its productions as if urged by an appetite, or constrained by a spell! The qualities of writing best fitted for eager reception are either such as startle the world into attention by their audacity and extravagance; or they are chiefly of a superficial kind, lying upon the surfaces of manners; or arising out of a selection and arrangement of incidents, by which the mind is kept upon the stretch of curiosity, and the fancy amused without the trouble of thought. But in everything which is to send the soul into herself, to be admonished of her weakness or to be made conscious of her power-wherever life and nature are described as operated upon by the creative or abstracting virtue of the imagination-wherever the instinctive wisdom of antiquity and her heroic passions uniting, in the heart of the Poet, with the meditative wisdom of later ages, have produced that accord of sublimated humanity, which is at once a history of the remote past and a prophetic annunciation of the remotest future, there the Poet must reconcile himself for a season to few and scattered hearers. Grand thoughts (and Shakspeare must often have sighed over this truth), as they are most naturally and most fitly conceived in solitude, so can they not be brought forth in the midst of plaudits without some violation of their sanctity. Go to a silent exhibition of the productions of the sister art, and be convinced that the qualities which dazzle at first sight, and kindle the admiraitor of the multitude, are essentially different from those by which permanent influence is secured. Let us not shrink from following up these principles as far as they will carry us, and conclude with observing, that there never has been a period, and perhaps never will be, in which vicious Poetry, of some kind or other, has not excited more zealous admiration, and been far more generally read, than good; but this advantage attends the good-that the individual, as well as the species, survives from age to age; whereas, of the depraved, though the species be immortal the individual quickly perishes; the object of present admiration vanishes, being supplanted by some other as easily produced; which, though no better, brings with it at least the irritation of novelty, with adaptation, more or less skilful, to the changing humours of the majority of those who are most at leisure to regard poetical works when they first solicit their attention. Is it the result of the whole that, in the opinion of the writer, the judgment of the people is not to be respected? The thought is most injurious; and could the charge be brought against him, he would repel it with indignation. The people have already been justified, and their eulogium pronounced by implication, when it was said, above-that of good Poetry, the individual, as well as the species, survives. And how does it survive but through the people? what preserves it but their intellect and their wisdom "Past and future, are the wings On whose support, harmoniously conjoined, Moves the great Spirit of human knowledge-" MS. The voice that issues from this spirit is that vox populi whica the Deity inspires. Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a local acclamation, or a transitory outcry,-transitory though it be for years, local though from a nation. Still more lamentable is his error who can believe that there is anything of divine infallibility in the clamour of that small though loud portion of the community, ever governed by factitious influence, which, under the name of the PUBLIC, passes itself, upon the unthinking, for the PEOPLE. Towards the Public, the writer hopes that he feels as much deference as it is entitled to: but to the People, philosophically characterized, and to the embodied spirit of their knowledge, so far as it exists and moves at the present, faithfully supported by its two wings, the past and the future, his devout respect, his reverence, is due. He offers it willingly and readily; and, this done, takes leave of his readers by assuring them, that, if he were not persuaded that the contents of these volumes, and the work to which they are subsidiary, evinced something of the "vision and the faculty divine," and that, both in words and things, they will operate in their degree, to extend the domain of sensibility for the delight, the honour, and the benefit of human nature, notwithstanding the many happy hours which he has employed in their composition, and the manifold comforts and enjoyments they have procured to him, he would not, if a wish could do it, save them from immediate destruction; from becoming at this moment to the world, as a thing that had never been. NOTES. 2. 14. EXCURSION. Much did he see of men. "We learn from Cæsar and other Roman writers, that the travelling merchants who frequented Gaul and other barbarous countries, either newly conquered by the Roman arms, or bordering on the Roman conquests, were ever the first to make the inhabitants of those countries familiarly acquainted with the Roman modes of life, and to inspire them with an inclination to follow the Roman fashions, and to enjoy Roman conveniences. In North America, travelling merchants from the settlements have done and continue to do much more towards civilizing the Indian natives than all the missionaries, Papist or Protestant, who have ever been sent among them."-Heron's Journey in Scotland. P. 46. Lost in unsearchable Eternity! Since this paragraph was composed, I have read with much pleasure, in Burnet's "Theory of the Earth," a passage expressing corresponding sentiments, excited by objects of a similar nature. p. 62. Of Mississippi, or that northern stream. "A man is supposed to improve by going out into the World, by visiting London. Artificial man does; he extends with his sphere; but, alas, that sphere is microscopic; it is formed of minutiæ, and he surrenders his genuine vision to the artist, in order to embrace it in his ken. His bodily senses grow acute, even to barren and inhuman pruriency; while his mental become proportionally obtuse. The reverse is the man of mind: he who is placed in the sphere of nature and of God might be a mock at Tattersall's and Brooks's, and a sneer at St James's; he would certainly be swallowed alive by the first Pizarro that crossed him.-But when he walks along the river of Amazons; when he rests his eye on the unrivalled Andes; when he measures the long and watered Savannah; or contemplates, from a sudden promontory, the distant, vast Pacific-and feels himself a freeman in this vast theatre, and commanding each ready-produced fruit of this wilderness, and each progeny of this stream-his exaltation is not less than imperial. He is as gentle, too, as he is great: his emotions of tenderness keep pace with his elevation of sentiment; for he says, "These were made by a good Being, who, unsought by me, placed me here to en joy them.' He becomes at once a child and a king. His mind is in himself; from hence he argues, and from hence he acts, and he argues unerringly, and acts magisterially: his mind in himself is also in his God; and therefore he loves, and therefore he soars."-From the notes upon The Hurricane, a poem, by William Gilbert. The reader, I am sure, will thank me for the above quotation, which, though from a strange book, is one of the finest passages of modern English prose. p. 66. 'Tis by comparison, an easy task See, upon this subject, Baxter's most interesting review of his own op! nions and sentiments in the decline of life. It may be found (lately ie printed) in Dr Wordsworth's Ecclesiastical Biography. P. 67. Alas! the endowment of immortal power, Is matched unequally with custom, time, &c. This subject is treated at length in the Ode-"Intimations of Immor tality." p. 494. P. 69. Knowing the heart of man is set to be, &c. The passage quoted from Daniel is taken from a poem addressed to the Lady Margaret, Countess of Cumberland, and the two last lines, printed in italics, are by him translated from Seneca. The whole poem is very beau tiful. P. 103. And spires whose 'silent finger points to heaven.' An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches in flat coun tries with spire-steeples, which, as they cannot be referred to any other object, point as with silent finger to the sky and stars, and sometimes, when they reflect the brazen light of a rich, though rainy sunset, appear like a pyramid of flame burning heavenward. See "The Friend," by S. T. Coleridge, No. 14, p. 223. P. 152. Perish the roses and the flowers of kings. The Transit gloria mundi' is finely expressed in the Introduction to the foundation-charters of some of the ancient Abbeys. Some expressions here used are taken from that of the Abbey of St Mary's, Furness, the translation of which is as follows "Considering every day the uncertainty of life, that the roses and flowers of kings, emperors, and dukes, and the crowns and palms of al the great, wither and decay; and that all things, with an uninterrupted course, tend to dissolution and death: I therefore," &c. P. 156. -Earth has lent Her waters, Air her breezes. In treating this subject, it was impossible not to recollect, with grati tnde, the pleasing picture, which, in his poem of the Fleece, the excellent and amiable Dyer has given of the influences of manufacturing industry upon the face of this island. He wrote at a time when machinery was first beginning to be introduced, and his benevolent heart prompted him to augur from it nothing but good. Truth has compelled me to dwell upon the baneful effects arising out of an ill-regulated and excessive application of powers so admirable in themselves. p. 171. Binding herself by statute. The discovery of Dr Bell affords marvellous facilities for carrying this into effect; and it is impossible to over-rate the benefit which might accrue to humanity from the universal application of this simple engine under an enlightened and conscientious government. p. 184. THE WHITE DOE OF RYLSTONE. From Bolton's old monastic tower. It is to be regreted that at the present day Bolton Abbey wants this ornament: but the poem, according to the imagination of the Poet, is composed in Queen Elizabeth's time. "Formerly," says Dr Whitaker, "over the transept was a tower." This is proved not only from the mention of bells at the dissolution, when they could have had no other place |