after monfter to the end of the Metamorphofis.

If I were to name a poet that is a perfect mafter in all thefe arts of working on the imagination, I think Milton may pafs for one: and if his Paradife Loft falls fhort of the Æneid or Iliad in this refpect, it proceeds rather from the fault of the language in which it is written, than from any defect of genius in the author. So divine a poem in English, is like a stately palace built of brick, where one may fee architecture in as great a perfection as in one of marble, though the materials are of a coarfer nature. But to confider it only as it

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regards our present fubject; what can be conceived greater than the Battle of Angels, the majesty of Meffiah, the stature and behaviour of Satan and his peers? What more beautiful than Pandæmonium, Paradife, Heaven, Angels, Adam and Eve? What more ftrange, than the creation of the world, the several metamorphofes of the fallen angels, and the furprising adventures their leader meets with in his search after Paradife? No other subject could have furnished a poet with fcenes fo proper to strike the imagination, as no other poet could have painted those scenes in more ftrong and lively colours.

VIRG. ECL. III. v. 89.

HE pleafures of thefe fecondary views of the imagination, are of a wider and more univerfal nature than thofe it has when joined with fight; for not only what is great, ftrange, or beautiful, but any thing that is disagreeable when looked upon, pleafes us in an apt defcription. Here, therefore, we muft enquire after a new principle of pleafure, which is nothing elfe but the action of the mind, which compares the ideas that arife from words, with the ideas that arife from the objects themfelves; and why this operation of the mind is attended with fo much pleasure, we have before confidered. For this reafon, therefore, the defcription of a dunghill is pleafing to the imagination, if the image be represented to our minds by fuitable expreffions; though perhaps this may be more properly called the pleafure of the understanding than of the fancy, because we are not fo much delighted with the image that is contained in the defcription, as with the aptness of the defcription to excite the image.

But if the defcription of what is little, common, or deformed, be acceptable to the imagination, the defcription of what is great, furprifing, or beautiful, is much more fo; because here we are not only delighted with comparing the reprefentation with the original, but are highly pleafed with the original itself.

Moft readers, I believe, are more charmed with Milton's defcription of paradise, than of hell; they are both, perhaps, equally perfect in their kind; but in the one the brimstone and fulphur are not fo refreshing to the imagination, as the beds of flowers and the wilderness of fweets in the other.

There is yet another circumftance which recommends a defcription more than all the reft, and that is if it reprefents to us fuch objects as are apt to raife a fecret ferment in the mind of the reader, and to work, with violence, upon his paffions. For, in this cafe, we are at once warmed and enlightened, fo that the pleasure becomes more univerfal, and is feveral ways qualified to entertain us, Thus in painting, it is pleafant to look on the picture of any face, where the refemblance is hit; but the pleasure increafes, if it be the picture of a face that is beautiful; and is ftill greater, if the beauty be foftened with an air of melancholy or forrow. The two leading paffions which the more ferious parts of poetry endeavour to ftir up in us, are terror and pity. And here, by the way, one would wonder how it comes to pafs that fuch paffions as are very unpleafant at all other times, are very agreeable when excited by proper defcriptions. It is not ftrange, that we fhould take delight in fuch paffages as are apt to produce hope, joy, admira

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tion, love, or the like emotions in us, becaufe they never rife in the mind without an inward pleasure which attends them but how comes it to pafs, that we should take delight in being terrified or dejected by a defcription, when we find fo much uneafinefs in the fear or grief which we receive from any other occafion?

If we confider, therefore, the nature of this pleasure, we shall find that it does not arife fo properly from the defcription of what is terrible, as from the reflection we make on ourselves at the time of reading it. When we look on fuch hideous objects, we are not a little pleased to think we are in no dan ger of them we confider them, at the fame time, as dreadful and harmless; fo that the more frightful appearance they make, the greater is the pleasure we receive from the fenfe of our own fafety. In short, we look upon the terrors of a defeription with the fame curiofity and fatisfaction that we furvey a dead monster.

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this cafe, the object preffes too close upon our fenfes, and bears so hard upon us, that it does not give us time or leifure to reflect on ourselves. Our thoughts are fo intent upon the miseries of the fufferer, that we cannot turn them upon our own happiness. Whereas, on the contrary, we confider the misfortunes we read in hiftory or poetry, either as paft, or as fictitious; fo that the reflection upon ourselves rifes in us infenfibly, and overbears the forrow we conceive for the fufferings of the afflicted.

But because the mind of man requires fomething more perfect in matter, than what it finds there, and can never meet with any fight in nature which fufficiently anfwers it's highest idea of pleafantnefs; or, in other words, because the imagination can fancy to itself things more great, ftrange, or beautiful, than the eye ever faw, and is still fenfible of fome defect in what it has seen; on this account it is the part of a poet to humour the imagination in it's own notions, by mending and perfecting nature where he defcribes a reality, and by adding greater beauties than are put together in nature, where he describes a fiction.

He is not obliged to attend her in the flow advances which the makes from one feafon to another, or to observe her conduct in the fucceffive production of plants and flowers. He may draw into his defcription all the beauties of the fpring and autumn, and make the whole year contribute fomething to render it the more agreeable. His rofe-trees, woodbines, and jeffamines, may flower together, and his beds be covered at the fame time with lilies, violets, and amaranths. His foil is not restrained ta any particular fet of plants, but is proper either for oaks or myrtles, and adapts itself to the products of every climate, Oranges may grow wild in it; myrrh may be met with in every hedge, and if he thinks it proper to have a grove of fpices, he can quickly command fun enough to raife it. If all this will not furnish out an agreeable scene, he can make several new fpecies of flowers, with richer fcents and higher colours than any that grow in the gardens of nature. His concerts of birds may be as full and harmonious, and his woods as thick and gloomy, as he pleases. He is at no more expence in a long vifta then a fhort one, and can as eaf

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ly throw his cafcades from a precipice of half a mile high, as from one of twenty yards. He has his choice of the winds, and can turn the course of his rivers in all the variety of meanders that are most delightful to the reader's

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imagination. In a word, he has the modelling of nature in his own hands, and may give her what charms he pleafes, provided he does not reform her too much, and run into abfurdities, by endeavouring to excel.

HOR. EP. 11. L. 2. V. 140.

HERE is a kind of writing, wherein the poet quite lofes fight of nature, and entertains his reader's imagination with the characters and actions of such persons as have many of them no existence but what he beltows on them. Such are fairies, witches, magicians, demons, and departed spirits. This Mr. Dryden calls the fairy way of writing, which is, indeed, more difficult than any other that depends on the poet's fancy, because he has no pattern to follow in it, and must work altogether out of his own invention.

There is a very odd turn of thought required for this fort of writing, and it is impoffible for a poet to fucceed in it, who has not a particular caft of fancy, and an imagination naturally fruitful and fuperftitious. Befides this, he ought to be very well versed in legends and fables, antiquated romances, and the traditions of nurfes and old women, that he may fall in with our natural prejudices, and humour thofe notions which we have imbibed in our infancy. For otherwise he will be apt to make his fairies talk like people of his own fpecies, and not like other fets of beings, who converfe with different objects, and think in a different manner from that of mankind.

Sylvis dedu&i caveant, me judice, Fauni,
Ne velut innati triviis, ac penè forenfes,
Aut nimiùm teneris juvenentur verfibus-

HOR. ARS POET. v. 244.

A fatyr, that comes starting from the woods, Muft not at first speak like an orator.

ROSCOMMON.

I do not fay, with Mr. Bays in the Rebearfal, that fpirits must not be confined to speak fenfe, but it is certain their fenfe ought to be a little difcoloured, that it may feem particular, and pro

per to the perfon and condition of the speaker.

Thefe defcriptions raise a pleafing kind of horror in the mind of the reader, and amufe his imagination with the ftrangeness and novelty of the perfons who are reprefented in them. They bring up into our memory the ftories we have heard in our childhood, and favour thofe fecret terrors and apprehenfions to which the mind of man is naturally fubject. We are pleased with furveying the different habits and behaviours of foreign countries; how much more muft we be delighted and furprifed when we are led, as it were, into a new creation, and fee the perfons and manners of another species? Men of cold fancies, and philofophical difpofitions, object to this kind of poetry, that it has not probability enough to affect the imagination. But to this it may be answered, that we are fure, in general, there are many intellectual beings in the world befide ourselves, and feveral fpecies of fpirits, who are fubject to different laws and oeconomies from thofe of mankind: when we fee, therefore, any of these reprefented naturally, we cannot look upon the reprefentation as altogether impofible; nay, many are prepoffeffed with fuch falfe opinions, as difpofe them to believe thefe particular delufions; at leaft we have all heard fo many pleafing relations in favour of them, that we do not care for feeing through the falfhood, and willingly give ourfelves up to fo agreeable an imposture.

The ancients have not much of this poetry among them; for, indeed, almost the whole fubftance of it owes it's original to the darkness and fuperftition of later ages, when pious frauds were made ufe of to amufe mankind, and frighten them into a fenfe of their duty.

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Our forefathers looked upon nature with more reverence and horror, before the world was enlightened by learning and philofophy, and loved to aftonifh themfelves with the apprehenfions of witchcraft, prodigies, charms, and inchantments. There was not a village in England that had not a ghost in it, the church-yards were all haunted, every large common had a circle of fairies belonging to it, and there was scarce a fhepherd to be met with who had not feen a fpirit.

Among all the poets of this kind, our English are much the belt, by what I have yet feen; whether it be that we abound with more ftories of this nature, or that the genius of our country is fit ter for this fort of poetry. For the English are naturally fanciful, and very of ten difpofed by that gloominefs and melancholy of temper, which is fo frequent in our nation, to many wild notions and vifions, to which others are not fo liable.

Among the English, Shakespeare has incomparably excelled all others. That noble extravagance of fancy, which he had in fo great perfection, thoroughly qualified him to touch this weak fuperftitious part of his reader's imagination; and made him capable of fucceeding, where he had nothing to fupport him befides the ftrength of his own genius. There is fomething fo wild and yet fo folemn in the fpeeches of his ghofts, fairies, witches, and the like imaginary

perfons, that we cannot forbear thinking them natural, though we have no rule by which to judge of them; and muft confefs, if there are fuch beings in the world, it looks highly probable they should talk and act as he has reprefented them.

There is another fort of imaginary beings, that we fometimes meet with among the poets, when the author reprefents any paffion, appetite, virtue, or vice, under a visible shape, and makes it a perfon or an actor in his poem. Of this nature are the defcriptions of Hunger and Envy in Ovid, of Fame in Virgil, and of Sin and Death in Milton. We find a whole creation of the like fhadowy perfons in Spenfer, who had an admirable talent in reprefentations of this kind. I have difcourfed of the fe emblematical perfons in former papers, and fhall therefore only mention them in this place. Thus we fee how many ways poetry addreffes itself to the ima gination, as it has not only the whole circle of nature for it's province, but makes new worlds of it's own, fhews us perfons who are not to be found in being, and reprefents even the faculties of the foul, with the feveral virtues and vices, in a fenfible shape and character.

I fhall, in my two following papers, confider in general, how other kinds of writing are qualified to please the imagination, with which I intend to conclude this effay.

HOR. ARS POET. V. 100.

S the writers in poetry and fiction borrow their feveral materials from outward objects, and join them together at their own pleafure, there are others who are obliged to follow Nature more clofely, and to take intire fcenes out of her. Such are hiftorians, natual philofophers, travellers, geographers, and, in a word, all who defcribe vifible objects of a real exiftence.

It is the most agreeable talent of an hiftorian to be able to draw up his armies and fight his battles in proper ex

ROSCOMMON.

preffions, to fet before our eyes the di vifions, cabals, and jealoufies of great men, and to lead us ftep by step into the feveral actions and events of his history. We love to fee the subject un folding itself by jutt degrees, and breaking upon us infenfibly, that fo we may be kept in a pleafing fufpence, and have time given us to raife our expectations, and to fide with one of the parties con cerned in the relation. I confefs this fhews more the art than the veracity of the hiftorian, but I am only to speak of

him as he is qualified to please the imagination. And in this refpect Livy has, perhaps, excelled all who went before him, or have written fince his time. He defcribes every thing in fo lively a manner, that his whole history is an admirable picture, and touches on fuch proper circumftances in every ftory, that his reader becomes a kind of spectator, and feels in himself all the variety of paffions which are correfpondent to the several parts of the relation.

But among this set of writers there are none who more gratify and enlarge the imagination, than the authors of the new philofophy, whether we confider their theories of the earth or heavens, the discoveries they have made by glaffes, or any other of their contemplations on nature. We are not a little pleafed to find every green leaf swarm with millions of animals, that at their largest growth are not visible to the naked eye. There is fomething very engaging to the fancy, as well as to our reafon, in the treatises of metals, minerals, plants, and meteors. But when we furvey the whole earth at once, and the feveral planets that lie within it's neighbourhood, we are filled with a pleafing aftonishment, to fee fo many worlds hanging one above another, and fliding round their axles in fuch an amazing pomp and folemnity. If, after this, we contemplate thofe wild fields of Æther, that reach in height as far as from Saturn to the fixed stars, and run abroad almoft to an infinitude, our imagination finds it's capacity filled with fo immenfe a profpect, and puts itself upon the firetch to comprehend it. But if we yet rife higher, and confider the fixed stars as fo many vaft oceans of flame, that are each of them attended with a different fet of planets, and still discover new firmaments and new lights that are funk farther in those unfathomable depths of Æther, fo as not to be feen by the frongest of our telescopes, we are loft in fuch a labyrinth of funs and worlds, and confounded with the immenfity and magnificence of nature.

Nothing is more pleasant to the fancy, than to enlarge itself by degrees, in it's contemplation of the various proportions which it's feveral objects bear to each other, when it compares the body of man to the bulk of the whole earth, the earth to the circle it defcribes round the fun, that circle to the sphere of the fixed

ftars, the fphere of the fixed ftars to the circuit of the whole creation, the whole creation itself to the infinite space that is every where diffused about it; or when the imagination works downward, and confiders the bulk of a human body in refpect of an animal a hundred times lefs than a mite, the particular limbs of fuch an animal, the different fprings which actuate the limbs, the fpirits which fet the fprings a going, and the proportionable minutenefs of thefe feveral parts, before they have arrived at their full growth and perfection; but if, after all this, we take the leaft particle of thefe animal fpirits, and confider it's capacity of being wrought into the world that fhall contain within those narrow dimenfions a heaven and earth, stars and planets, and every different (pecies of living creatures, in the fame analogy and proportion they bear to each other in our own univerfe; fuch a fpeculation, by reafon of it's nicety, appears ridiculous to thofe who have not turned their thoughts that way, though at the fame time it is founded on no lefs than the evidence of a demonstration. Nay, we may yet carry it farther, and difcover in the finalleft particle of this little world a new inexhaufted fund of matter, capable of being spun out into another univerfe.

I have dwelt the longer on this fube ject, because I think it may fhew us the proper limits, as well as the defectivenefs of our imagination; how it is confined to a very finall quantity of space, and immediately ftopt in it's operations, when it endeavours to take in any thing that is very great or very little, Let a man try to conceive the different bulk of an animal, which is twenty, from another which is an hundred times lefs than a mite, or to compare in his thoughts a length of a thousand diameters of the earth, with that of a million, and he will quickly find that he has no different measures in his mind adjusted to fuch extraordinary degrees of grandeur or minutenefs. The understanding, indeed, opens an infinite space on every fide of us; but the imagination, after a few faint efforts, is immediately at a ftand, and finds herself fwallowed up in the immenfity of the void that furrounds it. Qur reafon can purfue a particle of matter through an infinite variety of divifions, but the fancy foon lofes fight of it, and feels in itself a kind