of its parts. The other fluid vehicle of taſtes is ol. This too, when. ſmple, is inſi pid, inodorous, colburleſs, and ſmootli to the touch and taſte. It is ſmoother than'water, and in many caſes yet more relaxing. Oil is in ſome degree pleaſant to the eye, the touch and the taſte infi- pid as it is. Water is not ſo grateful, 1 which I do not know on what principle to account for, other than that water is not ſo ſoft and ſmooth. Suppoſe that to I this oil or water were added a certain quantity of a ſpecific ſalt, which had a power of putting the nervous papillæ of the tongue into a gentle vibratory mo- tion; as ſuppoſe ſugar diſſolved in it. The fmoothneſs of the oil, and the vibratory power of the ſalt, cauſe the ſenſe 2 we call ſweetneſs. In all ſweet bodies, U 3 ſugar, 294 On the SUBLIME ſugar, or a ſubſtance very little different frem ſugar, is conſtantly found; every ſpecies of ſalt examined by the micro- ſcope has its own diſtinct, regular, inva - riable form. That of nitre is a pointed oblong; that of ſea ſalt an exact cube; that of ſugar a perfect, globe. If you haxe tried how ſmooth. globular bodies, as the. marbles with which hoys amuſe themſelves, have affected the touch when they. are rolled backward and forward and over one another, you will eaſily con- ceive how ſweetneſs, Which conſiſts in a ſalt of ſuch nature, affects the taſte; for a ſingle globe, (though ſomewhat plea- ſant to the feeling) yet by the regularity of its form, and the ſomewhat too ſudden deviation of its parts from a right line, it is nothing near ſo. pleaſant to the touch as ſeveral globes, where the hand gently riſes, to one and falls to another; and this pleafure is greatly increaſed if the globes. are in motion, and ſliding over one another; for this ſoft variety prevents : that and BEAUTIFUL. 295 that wearineſs, which the uniform diſ- poſition of the ſeveral globes would other- wiſe produce. Thus in ſweet liquors, the parts of the fluid vehicle though moſt probably round, are yet ſo minute as to conceal the figure of their compo- nent parts from the niceſt inquiſition of the microſcope; and conſequently being ſo exceſſively minute, they have a ſort of flat ſimplicity to the taſte, reſembling the effects of plain ſmooth bodies to the touch; for if a body be compoſed of round parts exceſſively ſmall, and packed pretty cloſely together, the ſurface will be both to the fight and touch as if it were nearly plain and ſmooth. It is clear from their unveiling their figure to the microſcope, that the particles of ſugar are conſiderably larger than thoſe of water or- oil, and conſequently that their effects from their roundneſs will be more diſtin& and palpable to the ner- vous papillæ of that nice organ the tongue: they will induce that ſenſe called ſweet- © oo neſs, 296 On the SUBLIME neſs, which in a weak manner we dif- cover in oil, and in-a yet weaker in wa- ter; for inſipid as they are, water and oil are in ſome degree ſweet; and it may be obſerved, that inſipid things of all kinds approach more nearly to the nature of ſweotnels Mie? to that of any Er. XXI.
8 WEET NESS relaxing.
N the other ſenſes we have remarks ed, that ſmooth things are relaxing. Now it ought to appear that ſweet things, which are the ſmooth of taſte, are re- laxing too. It is remarkable, that in ſome languages ſoft and ſweet have but one name. Doux in French ſignifies ſoft as well as ſweet. The Latin Dulcis, and the Italian Dolce, have in many caſes the ſame double fignification. That ſweet Ng are generally relaxing is evident; 1 becauſe and BEAUTIFUL. 297 becauſe all ſuch, eſpecially thoſe which are moſt oily, taken frequently or in a large quantity, very much enfeeble the tone of the ſtomach. Sweet ſmells, which bear a great affinity to ſweet taſtes, re- lax very remarkably. The ſmell of flowers diſpoſes people to drowſineſs; and this relaxing effect is further appa- rent from the prejudice which people of weak nerves receive from their uſe. It were worth while to examine, whether taſtes of this kind, ſweet ones, taſtes that are cauſed by ſmooth oils and a re- laxing ſalt are not the originally pleaſant taſtes. For many which uſe has rendered ſuch, were not at all agreeable at firſt. The way to examine this is, to 1 85 try what nature has originally provided for us, which ſhe has undoubtedly made originally pleaſant: and to analyſe this proviſion. Mile is the firſt ſupport of our childhood. The component parts of this are water, oil, and a ſort of a very ſweet falt called the ſugar of milk. All theſe when blended have a great /inooth- 298 On the SUBLIME 72e/+ to the tafte, and a relaxing quality to the ſkin. The next thing children covet is fruit, and of fruits, thoſe prin- cipally which are ſweet; and every one knows that the ſweetneſs of fruit is cauſed by a ſubtle oil and ſuch a falt as that mentioned in the laſt ſection. After- wards,” euftom, habit, the deſire of no- velty, and a thouſand other cauſes, con- found, adulterate, and change our palates, ſo that we can no longer reaſon with any ſatisfaction about them. Before we quit this article we muſt obſerve; that as fmooth things are, as ſuch, agreeable to the taſte, and are found of a relaxing quality; ſo on the other hand, things which are found by experience to be of a ſtrengthening quality, and fitto brace the fibres, are almoſt univerſally rough and pungent to the taſte, and in many caſes rough even to the touch. We often apply the quality of ſweetneſs, metaphorically, to viſual objects. For the better, on this remarkable * analogy and BEAUTIFUL. 299 analogy of the ſenſes, we may here call ſweetneſs the beautiful of the taſte.
VARIATION, why beautiful.
NOTHER principal property of C A. beautiful objects is, that the line of their parts is continually varying its direction; but it varies it by a very in- ſenſible deviation, it never varies it fo quickly as to ſurpriſe, or by the ſharp- neſs of its angle to cauſe any twitching or convulſion of the optic nerve. Nothing long continued in the fame man-—- ner, nothing very ſuddenly varied can be beautiful; becauſe both are oppoſite to that agreeable relaxation, which is the characteriſtic effect of beauty. It is thus in all the ſenſes. A motion in a right line, is that manner of moving next to a very gentle deſcent, in which we 300 On the SUBLIME. meet the leaſt reſiſtance;' yet it is not that manner of moving, which next to a deſcent, wearies us the leaſt. Reſt certainly tends to relax; yet there is a ſpecies of motion which relaxes more than reſt; a gentle oſcillatory motion, a riſing and falling. Rocking ſets chil- dren to ſleep better than abſolute reſt; there is indeed ſcarce any thing at that age, which gives more pleaſure than to be gently lifted up and down; the man- ner of playing which their nurſes uſe with children, and the weighing and ſwinging uſed afterwards by themſelves as a favourite amuſement, evince this very ſufficiently. Moſt people muſt have obſerved the ſort of ſenſe they have had, on being ſwiftly. drawn in an eaſy coach, on a ſmooth turf, with gradual aſcents and declivities. - This will give a better idea of the beautiful, and point out its probable cauſe better than almoſt any thing elſe. On the contrary; when one 1s hurried over a rough, rocky, broken road, and BEAUTIFUL. 301 road, the pain felt by theſe ſudden in- equalities ſhews why ſimilar ſights, feel- ings and ſounds, are ſo contrary to beau- ty; and with regard to the feeling, it is exactly the ſame in its effect, or very nearly the ſame, whether, for inſtance, I move my hand along the ſurface of a body of a certain ſhape, or whether ſuch a body is moved along my hand. But to bring this analogy of the ſenſes home to the eye; if a body preſented to that ſenſe has ſuch a waving ſurface that the rays of light reflected from it are in a continual in- ſenſible deviation from the ſtrongeſt to the weakeſt, (which is always the caſe in a ſurface gradually unequal,) it muſt be exactly ſimilar in its effect on the eye and touch; upon the one of which it operates directly, on the other indirectly. And this body will be beautiful if the lines which compoſe its ſurface. are not con- tinued, even ſo varied, in a manner that may weary or diſſipate the attention. The 1 itſelf muſt be continually varied.
302 On the SUBLIME SE CT. XIV. Concerning SMALLNESS.
No avoid a ſameneſs which may ariſe from the too frequent repe- tition of the ſame reaſonings, and of il- luſtrations of the ſame nature, I will not enter very minutely into every par- ticular that regards beauty, as it is found- _ the diſpoſition of its 8 or its quantity itſelf. In ſpeal en bodies there is great” un- certainty, becauſe the ideas of great and mall, are terms almoſt entirely relative to the ſpecies of the objects, which are infinite. It is true, that having once faxed the ſpecies of any object, and the dimenſions common in the individuals of that ſpecies, we may obſerve ſome that exceed, and ſome that fall ſhort of the ordinary ſtandard: theſe which great- rr are by that exceſs, provided the and BEAUTIFUL 303 the ſpecies itſelf be not very ſmall, ra- ther great and terrible than beautiful; but as in the animal world, and in a good meaſure in the vegetable world likewiſe, the qualities that conſtitute, beauty may poſſibly be united to things of greater dimenfions; when they are ſo united they conſtitute. a ſpecies ſome - and beautiful, which I have before call- ed Fire; but this kind 1 imaging has not ſuch a power on the paſſions, ei- ther as vaſt bodies have which are en- dued with the correſpondent qualities of the ſublime; or as the qualities of beauty have when united in a ſitall object. The affection produced by large bodies adorns” - - ed with the ſpoils of beauty, is a tenſion continually relieved; which approaches to the nature of mediocrity. But if I were to ſay how I find myſelf af- fected upon - ſuch occaſions, I ſhould ſay, that the ſublime ſuffers leſs by be- ng united to ſome of the qualities of 1 beauty, 304 On the SUBLIME beauty, than beauty does by being join- ed to greatneſs of quantity, or any other properties of the ſublime. There is ſome- thing ſo over-ruling in whatever inſpires us with awe, in all things which be- long ever ſo remotely to terror, that no- thing elſe can ſtand in their preſence. There lie the qualities of beauty either dead and unoperative; or at moſt exert- ed to mollify the rigour and ſternneſs of the terror, which is the natural conco- mitant of greatneſs. Beſides the extra- ordinary great in every ſpecies, the op- poſite to this, the dwarfiſh and diminu- tive ought to be conſidered. Littleneſs, merely as ſuch, has nothing contrary to che idea of beauty. The humming bird both in "ſhape and colouring yields to none of the winged ſpecies, of which it is the leaſt; and perhaps his beauty is enhanced by his ſmallneſs. But there 1 are animals, which when they are ex- tremely ſmall are rarely (if ever) beauti- ful. There is a dwarfiſh ſize of men and BEAUTIFUL. zog and women, which is almoſt conſtantly ſo groſs and maſſive in compariſon of their height, that they preſent us with a very diſagreeable image. But ſhould a man be found not above two or three feet high, ſuppoſing ſuch a perſon to have all the parts of his body of a delicacy ſuitable to ſuch a ſize, and otherwiſe en- dued with the common qualities of other beautiful bodies, J am pretty well con- yinced that a perſon of ſuch-a ſtature might be conſidered as beautiful; might be the object of love; might give us very pleaſing ideas on viewing him. The only thing which could poſſibly inter- poſe to check our pleaſure is, that ſuch creatures, however formed, are unuſual, and are often therefore conſidered. as. ſomething monſtrous. The large and gigantic, though very compatible with the ſublime, is contrary to the beauti- ful. It is impoſſible to ſuppoſe a glant the object of love. When we let our imaginations looſe in romance, the ideas ö [ 3066 On the SUBLIME naturally annex to that ſize are thoſe of tyranny, cruelty, injuſtice, and every thing horrid and abominable. We paint the giant ravaging the country, plundering the innocent traveller, and after- wards gorged with his half-living fleſh: ſuch are Polyphemus, Cacus, and others, who make ſo great a figure in romances and heroic poems.
The event we attend to with the greateſt ſatisfaction is their defeat and death.
I do not remember in all that multitude of deaths with which the Iliad is filled, that the fall of any man remarkable for his great ſtature and ſtrength touches us with pity; nor does it appear that the author, ſo well read in human nature, ever intended it ſhould. It is Simoiſius in the ſoft bloom of youth, torn | from his parents, who tremble for a - | 10 i ſuited to his ſtrength; it is another hurried by war from the new embraces of his bride, young, and fair, and a novice to the field, who melts us by and BEAUTIFUL, 307 by his untimely fate. Achilles, in ſpite of the many qualities of beauty which Homer has beſtowed on his outward form, and the many great virtues with/ which he has adorned his mind, can never make us love him. It may be obſerved, that Homer has given the Trojans, whoſe fate he has deſigned to excite our com- paſſion, infinitely more of the amiable focial virtues than he has diſtributed among his Greeks. With regard to the Trojans, the paſſion he chuſes to raiſe is pity; pity is a paſſion founded on love; and theſe leer, and if I may ſay, domeſtic virtues, are certainly the moſt amiable, But he has made the Greeks far their ſuperiors in the politic and military vir- tues. The councils of Priam are weak; the arms of Hector comparatively feeble; his courage far below that of Achilles. Yet we love Priam more than Agamem- non, and Hector more than his con- queror Achilles. Admiration is the paſ- ſion which Homer would excite in favour 398 On the SUBLIME of the Greeks, and he has done it by beſtowing on them the virtues which have but little to do with love. This ſhort digreſſion is perhaps not wholly beſide our purpoſe, where our buſineſs is to ſhew, that objects of great dimenſions are incompatible with beauty, the more incompatible as they are greater; whereas the ſmall, if ever they fail of beauty, this failure is not to be attribu- ted to their ſize.
SE CT. XXVL Of COLOUR.
ITH regard to colour, the diſquiſition is almoſt infinite; but I conceive the principles laid down in the beginning of this part are ſufficient to account for the effects of them all, as well as for the agreeable effect of tranſpa- rent bodies, whether fluid or ſolid.. Sup- * I look at a bottle of muddy liquor, of a blue or red colour: the blue or red rays cannot paſs clearly to the eye, brit are ſuddenly and unequally ſtopped by the intervention of little opaque bodies, which without preparation change the idea, and change it too into one diſagree- able in its own nature, donformable to the principles laid down in ſect. 24. But when the ray paſſes without ſuch oppo- ſition through the glaſs or liquor, when the glaſs or liquor are quite tranſparent, the light is ſomething ſoftened in the paſſage, which makes it more agreeable even as light; and the liquor reflecting all the rays of its proper colour evenly, it has ſuch an effect on the eye, as ſmooth opaque bodies have on the eye and touch. So that the pleaſure here is compounded of the ſoftneſs of the tranſmitted, and the evenneſs of the reflected light. This pleaſure may be heightened by the com- mon principles in other things, if the ſhape of the glaſs which holds the tranſ- ent liquor be ſo judiciouſſy varied, as 310 On the SUBLIME 310 On the SUBLIME to preſent the colour gradually and inter- changeably weakened and ſtrengthened with all that variety which judgment in affairs of this nature ſhall ſuggeſt. On a review of all that has been ſaid of the effects, as well as the cauſes of both; it will appear, that the ſublime and beau- tiful are built on principles very different, and that their affections are as different: the great has terror for its baſis; which, when it is modified, cauſes that emotion in the mind, which I have called aſto- niſhment; the beautiful is founded on mere poſitive pleaſure, and excites in the ſoul that feeling, which is called love. Their cauſes have made the ſubject of 7 The end of the Fourth Part.
FART „ Philoſophical Enquiry + "IN TO'THE Onli of our Ip EAS OF THE | SUBLIME and BEAUTIFUL. "E Fol. WM Of WORDS. I TATURAL objedts affect us, by 2 thelaws of that connexion, which 15 Providence has eſtabliſned be- tween certain motions and configurations of bodies, and certain conſequent feelings in our minds. Painting affects in the ſame manner, but with the ſuperadded pleaſure of imitation. Architecture 5 X 4 affects 312 On the: SUBLIME affects by the laws, of nature, and the law of reaſon; from which latter reſult the rules of proportion, which make a work to be praiſed or cenſured, in the whole or in ſome part, when the end for which it was deſigned is or is not properly an- ſwered. But as to words; they ſeem to me to affect us in a manner very different from that in which we are affected by natural objects, or by painting or archi- tecture; yet words have as conſiderable a ſhare in exciting ideas of beauty and of the ſublime as any of thoſe, and ſome- times a much greater than any of them; therefore an enquiry into the manner by which they excite ſuch emotions is far from being unneceſſary in a eden of this N.
* * nee 5 0 SECT.
SECT. 1.
The common effect of POETRY, not by raiſing ideas of things.
HE common notion of the power of poetry and eloquence, as well as that of words in ordinary converſa- tion, is; that they affect the mind by raiſing in it ideas of thoſe things for which cuſtom has appointed them to ſtand. To examine the truth of this notion 35 it may be requiſite to obſerve that words may be divided into three ſorts. The firſt are ſuch as repreſent many ſimple ideas united by nature to form ſome one determinate compoſition, as man, horſe, tree, caſtle, &c. Theſe.: call aggregate words. The ſecond, are they that ſtand for one ſimple idea of ſuch compoſitions and no more; as red, blue, round, ſquare, and the like. Theſe: I call imple abſtraci words. The third, TNT. are 314 On the SUBLIME are thoſe, which are formed by an union, an arbitrary union of both the others, and of the various relations between them, in greater or leſſer degrees of complexity; as virtue, honour, perſuaſion, magiſtrate, and the like. Theſe I call compounded ab- Arad words. Words, I am ſenſible, are capable of being claſſed into more cu- rious diſtinctions; but theſe ſeem to be natural, and enough for our purpoſe; and they are diſpoſed in that order in which the mind gets the ideas they are ſubſtitu- ted for. I ſhall begin with the third {oct of words; compound abſtracts, ſuch Of theſe I am convinced, that whatever power they. may have on the paſſions, they do not derive it from any repreſen- tation raiſed in the mind of the things for which they ſtand. As compoſiti- ly cauſe, I think, any real ideas. No * I believe, immediately on hearing 8 the and BEAUTIFUL. 375 the ſounds, virtue, liberty, or honour, con- ceives any preciſe notion of the particu- lar modes of action and thinking, to- gether with the mixt and ſimple ideas, and the feveral relations of them for - which theſe words are ſubſtituted; nei- ther has he any general idea, compound- ed of them; for if he had, then ſome of thoſe particular ones, though indi- ſoon to be perceived. But this, I take it, is hardly ever the caſe. For put your- ſelf upon analyſing one of theſe words, and you muſt reduce it from one ſet of general words to another, and chen into the ſimple abſtracts and aggregates, in a much longer ſeries than may be at firſt to light, before you come to diſcover any thing like the firſt principles of ſuch compoſitions; and when you have made ſuch a diſcovery of the -original ideas, the effect of the compoſition is utterly loſt. A train of thinking of this fort, is much too long to be purſued in the ordinary ways of converſation, nor is it at all neceſſary that it ſhould. Such words are in reality but mere ſounds; but they are ſounds, which being uſed an particular occaſions, wherein we re- ceive ſome good, or ſuffer ſome evil, or ee others affected with good or evil; or -which'we hear applied to other intereſting things or events; and being applied in ſuch a valiety of caſes that we Ano readily by habit to what things they belong, they produce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned, effects ſimilar to thoſe of their occaſions. The ſounds being often uſed without re- ference to any particular occaſion, and carrying till their firſt impreſſions, they at laſt utterly loſe their connection with the particular occaſions that gave riſe to them; yet the found without any annex- ee continues to b as before. vie oe Blog 8 3 3 2 . and BEAU TIFU IL. PRE e.
General words before IDEAS. © R. Locke has ſomewhere obſerved with his uſual fagacity, that moſt general words, thoſe belonging to virtue and vice, good and evil, eſpecially, are taught before the particular modes of action to which they belong are preſent- ed to the mind; and with them, the love of the one, and the abhorrence of the other; for the minds of children are ſo ductile, that a nurſe, or any perſon about a child, by ſeeming pleaſed or diſpleaſed with any thing, or even any word, may give the diſpoſition of the child a ſimilar turn. When afterwards, the ſeveral oc- currences in life come to be applied to theſe words; and that which is pleaſant often appears under the name of evil; and what is diſagreeable to nature is called good and virtuous; a ſtrange con- fuſion 318 on the SUBLIME fuſion of ideas and affections ariſes in the minds of many; and an appearance of no ſmall contradiction between their no- tions and their actions. There are many, who love virtue, and who deteſt vice, and this not from hypocriſy or affecta- tion, who notwithſtanding very fre- quently act ill and wickedly in particulars without the leaſt remorſe; becauſe theſe particular occaſions never came into view, when the paſſions on the fide. of virtue were ſo warmly affected by certain words heated originally by the breath of others; and for this reaſon, it is hard to repeat certain ſets of words, though owned by thermſelves unoperative, without being in ſome degree affected, efpecially if a warm and affecting tone of voice accom- Wi valiant — neee, | Theſe words, 27 nah e . to be unoperative; but when words and B AUTIF UL. 319 words commonly facred to great occaſi - ons are uſed, we are affected by them even without the occaſions. When words which have been generally ſo ap- plied are put together without any ratio- nal view, or in ſuch a manner that they do not rightly agree with each other, the ſtile is called bombaſt. And it requires in ſeveral caſes much good ſenſe and ex- perience to be guarded againſt the force of ſuch language; for when propriety is neglected, a greater number of theſe affecting words may be taken into the ſer vice, and a greater variety may be in- dulged in combining them.
SECT. IV. The effect of WO RDS.
F words have all their poſſible ex- tent of power, three effects ariſe in the mind of the hearer. The firſt is, the ſound; the ſecond, the pilfure, or rere ſentation -foul produced by one or by both of the foregoing.
Compounded abſtraf# words, of which we have been ſpeaking, (honour, juſtice, liberty, and the like,) pro- duce the firſt and the laſt of theſe effects, but not the ſecond. Simple abſtracts, are uſed to ſignify ſome one ſimple idea with- out much adverting to others which may chance to attend it, as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like; theſe are capable of affecting all three of the purpoſes of words; as the aggregate words, man, caſtle, horſe, &c. are in a yet higlier degree. But I am of opinion, that the moſt general effect even of theſe words, does not ariſe from their forming pictures of the ſeveral things they would repre- ſent in the imagination; becauſe on a very diligent examii nation of my own mind, and getting others to conſider theirs, I do not find that once in twenty times any ſuch picture is formed, and 4d BEAUTIFUL. 321 vrhen it is, there is moſt commonly a particular effort of the imagination for that purpoſe. But the aggregate words operate as I ſaid of the compound ab- ſtracts, not by preſenting any image to the mind, but by having from uſe the ſame effect on being mentioned, that their original has when it is ſeen. Suppoſe we were to read a paſſage to this effect. The river Danube riſes in a moiſt and moun- tainous ſoil in the heart of Germany; where winding to and fro it waters ſeye= ral prineipalities, until turning into Au- ſtria and leaving the walls of Vienna it paſſes into Hungary; there with a vaſt flood augmented by the Saave and the Drave it quits Chriſtendom, and rolling 4 through the batbirous / countries which border on Tartary, it enters by many niduths into the Black ſea.” In chis de- ſcription 1 many things are mentioned, as mountains, rivers, cities, the ſea, &c.
But let any body examine himſelf, and ſee whether he has had impreſfed en his 8 Y ima 7 322 On! the SUBLIME 2 pictures of a river, mou tain, watery foil, Germany, &c. Indeed it is e in the rapidity and quick ſucceſſion of words in converſation, to have ideas both of the ſound of the word, and of the thing eee 3 — a ur 4 ntl og nominal import, that it is impracticable to jump from ſenſe to thought, from par- ticulars to generals, from things to words, in ſuch a manner as to anſwer the purns nor is it eee ſhould. \ * BY * Ss SECT. v. e hog Eaangles — WORDS may aka without e 45 eh - chat) their 8 ae affected by wards from, des. e. no ad ” and BEAUTIFUL. 323 in the ordinary courle of converſation we are ſufficiently underſtood without rai- ſing any images of the things concern ing which we ſpeak...It ſeems to be an odd ſubject of diſpute with any man, whether he has ideas in his mind or not. Of this at firſt view, every man, in his own forum, ought to judge without ap- peal. But ſtrange as it may appear, we are often, at a loſs, to know What ideas we have of things, or whether we "oh y any ideas at all upon ſome ſubjects. even requires'a gooddeal of attention to 1: thoroughly ſatisfied on this head. Since I wrote theſe, papers I found two 9 ſtriking inſtances of the poſſibility there is, that a man may hear words without 6 having any idea of the things which they repreſent, and yet afterwards be capable of returning them to others, combined, in anew way and with great progrietys; energy and jnſtruction. The firſt in- ſtance, is that, of Mr. Blacklock, a poet blind from his birth. Few men bleſſed”; UG Y 2 with $> 324. O te SUBLIME with the moſt perfect fight can deſcribe viſual objects with more ſpirit and juftneſs than this blind man; which cannot poſſibly be attributed to his having a clearer conception of the things he de- ſcribes-than is common to other perſons. Mr. Spence, in an elegant preface which he has written to the works of this poet, reaſons very ingeniouſſy, and I imagine for the moſt part very rightly upon the cauſe of this extraordinary phenomenon; * but I cannot altogether agree with him, that ſome i improprieties in language and thought which occur in theſe poems have ariſen from the blind poet's imperfect conception of viſual objects, ſince ſuch improprieties, and much greater, may be found in writers even of an higher claſs than Mr. Hlacklock, and Who, notwithſtanding, poſfeſſed the Hculty of ſeeing in its ful perfectio n. Here is a poet doubtleſs as muck affected by 4 his own deſcriptions as any that reads them « can be; and * he is affected with 6-4) mY N N 15 this and BEAUTIFUL. 325 this ſtrong enthuſiaſm by things of which he neither has, nor can poſſibly have any idea further than that of a bare ſound; and why may not thoſe who read his works be affected in the fame manner that he was, with as little of any real ideas of the things deſcribed?: The ſe- cond inſtance is of Mr: Saunderſon, pro- feſſor of mathematics in the univerſity of Cambridge. This learned man had ac- quired great knowledge in natural phi- loſophy, in aſtronomy, and whatever ſeiences depend upon mathematical ſkill. What was the moſt extraordinary, and the moſt to my purpoſe, he gave excellent lectures upon light and colours; and this man taught others the ine of thoſp 5 ideas which they had, and which he himſelf undoubtedly had not. But it is probable, that the words red, blue, green, anſwered to him as well as the ideas of the colours themſelves; for the ideas of greater or leſſer degrees of refrangibility being wes to-theſe words, and the blind 8 Y 3 man 326 On che 18 UV BLIM2E ſpects they were found to agree or to diſ⸗ | agree, it was as eaſy for him to. reaſon upon the words as if he had been fully maſter of the ideas. Indeed it muſt be owned he eauld make no new diſcove- ries in the way of experiment. He did nothing but what we do every day in laſt ſentence,” and uſed the words very day and common diſcaumſe: I had no images in my mind of any ſucceſſion of time; nor af men in conſerence with each other; not do I imagine that the falle will have any ſuch ideas on reading it. Neither when I ſpake of red, blue, and green, as well as of refrangibilityʒ had I thei ſeretal colours. or the rays af light paſſing into a different medium, and eee den their roſs een ieee — ur ef raiſing! fuch images — and BEAUTIFUL, 325 chls; and in ordinary converſation or reading it is very rarely that any image at all is excited in the mind. If I fay, J ſhall go to Italy next ſummer,” 1 am well underſtood. Yet I believe no body has by this painted in his imagi- nation the exact figure of the ſpeaker paſſing by land or by. water, or both; ſometimes on horſeback, ſometimes in a carriage; with all the particulars of the journey. Still leſs has he any idea of Italy, the country to which I propoſed to go; or of the greenneſs of the fields, the ripening of the fruits, and the warmth of the air, with the change to this from for which the word from the word nex?; for this word ſtands for the idea of many ſummers, with the excluſion of all but one: and ſurely the man who ſays next fummer, has no images of ſuch a ſucceſſion, and ſuch an excluſn. In ſhort, it is not only of thoſe þd'\! Y 4 ideas — - J. —— ge nn .
— —ä—ʒä—ũẽ y“ — - ene —— 8 — i U it z> } $1 1 ' : i 1 i i} 1 N ö x 4 0 I 1 IS $28 Oi tht S UB LIM E ideas Which are commonly called abſtract, and of which no image at all can be formed, but even of particular real be- ings, that we converſe without having any idea of them excited in the imagi- nation; as will certainly appear on a di- ligent examination of our own minds.
Indeed fo little does poetry depend for its effect on the power of raiſing ſenſible images, that I am convinced it would loſe a very conſiderable part of its energy, if this were the neceſſary reſult of all deſeription. Becauſe that union of af. fecting words which is the moſt power- ful of all poetical inftruments, would "propriety and conſiſtency, if the ſenſible images were always excited. There is grand and laboured paſſage, than the deſoription of Vulcan's cavern in Etna; and dwells particularly on the formatioi of 3 he deſeribes unfiviſh» „ of. the pat | ak aud are the RS. KY of this ex· 0 g 0 e 5 l torti 3 rres. nubie ethos | Addiderant; rutili tres ignis ar eee. J Fulgares Ane terrificos, ſonitumgue, netumgue |. (Miſha per Senn: ſpades ire i This Av wy me ods ſublime; 5 | i yet if we attend. coolly.to the kind ß ſenſible image which a combination of jt ideas of this ſort muſt form, the chi- i meras of madmen cannot appear more l wild and abſurd than ſuch a picture. | % Three rays of twiſted ſhowers, three of « watry clouds, three of fire, and three 6 of the winged ſouth wind; then mixed &. they in the work terrific lightnings, and « found, and fear, and anger, with pur- . ſuing flames.” This ſtrange compo- ſition is formed into a groſs body; it is hammered» by the Cyclops, it is in part ns * e continues — The 1 839 Qu) the S'V/BIa ME The truth is, if poetry gives us a noble gaſſemblage of words, correſponding to S " "_ noble ideas, which are connected » by circumſtances of time or place, or 5 related to each other as cauſe and effect, 1; Nee any natural way, they may ks BY be moulded together in any Form, and Fasane anſwer their end. The pictu-