important, but subordinate faculty; subjecting it betimes to the wholesome discipline of rules, and, by a constant application of it to its destined purposes, preserving to it entire, all the advantages which it received from the hand of nature.

CHAPTER SECOND.

CONTINUATION OF THE SUBJECT.-REPLY TO AN OBJECTION FOUNDED ON THE SUPPOSED VIGOR OF IMAGINATION IN THE EARLIER PERIODS OF SOCIETY.

Ir now only remains for me, before I conclude these speculations, to obviate an objection against a supposition, involved in many of the preceding reasonings, and more especially in the remarks which have been just stated, on the possibility of prolonging the pleasures of Imagination, after the enthusiasm of youth has subsided. The objection I allude to, is founded on a doctrine which has been commonly, or rather universally taught of late; according to which Imagination is represented as in its state of highest perfection in those rude periods of society, when the faculties shoot up wild and free. If imagination require culture for its developement; and if, in the mind of an individual, it may be rendered more vigorous and luxuriant when subjected to the discipline of reason and good sense, what account (it may be asked) shall we give of those figurative strains of oratory which have been quoted from the harangues of American Indians; and of those relics of the poetry of rude nations, which it is the pride of human genius, in its state of gratest refinement, to study and to imitate?

In order to form correct notions with respect to this question, it is necessary to consider, that when I speak of a cultivated imagination, I mean an imagination which has acquired such a degree of activity as to delight in its own exertions; to delight in conjuring up those ideal combinations which withdraw the mind from the present objects of sense, and transport it into a new world. Now, of this activity and versatility of imagination, I find no traces among rude tribes. Their diction is, indeed, highly metaphorical; but the metaphors they employ are either the unavoidable consequences of an imperfect language, or they are inspired by the mechanical impulse of passion. In both instances, imagination

operates to a certain degree; but in neither is imagination the primary cause of the effect; inasmuch as in the one, it is excited by passion, and in the other, called forth by the pressure of necessity. A strong confirmation of this remark may be drawn from the indolence of savages, and their improvidence concerning futurity; a feature in their character, in which all the most authentic pictures of it agree. Dr. Robertson himself, notwithstanding the countenance which he has occasionally given to the doctrine which I am now combating, has stated this circumstance so very strongly, that it is surprising he was not led, by his own description, to perceive, that his general conclusions concerning the poetical genius of savages, required some limitation. "The thoughts and attention of a savage are confined within the small circle of objects immediately conducive to his preservation and enjoyment. Every thing beyond that escapes his observation, or is perfectly indifferent to him. Like a mere animal, what is before his eyes interests and affects him: what is out of sight, or at a distance, makes no impression. When, on the approach of the evening a Caribbee feels himself disposed to go to rest, no consideration will tempt him to sell his hammoc. But, in the morning, when he is sallying out to the business or pastime of the day, he will part with it for the slightest toy that catches his fancy. At the close of winter, while the impression of what he has suffered from the rigor of the climate, is fresh in the mind of the North American, he sets himself with vigor to prepare materials for erecting a comfortable hut to protect him against the inclemencies of the succeeding season; but, as soon as the weather becomes mild, he forgets what is past, abandons his work, and never thinks of it more, until the return of cold compels him, when too late, to resume it." How is it possible to reconcile these facts with the assertion, that imagination is most lively and vigorous in the ruder periods of society?

The indifference of savages to religious impressions, gives additional evidence to the foregoing conclusions. "The powers of their uncultivated understandings are so limited," says the eloquent and faithful historian just

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now quoted, "that their observations and reflections reach little beyond the mere objects of sense. The numerous and splendid ceremonies of popish worship, as they catch the eye, please and interest them; but when their instructors attempt to explain the articles of faith with which these external observances are connected, though they listen with patience, they so little conceive the meaning of what they hear, that their acquiescence does not merit the name of belief. Their indifference is still greater than their incapacity. Attentive only to the present moment, and engrossed by the objects before them, the Indians so seldom reflect on what is past, or take thought for what is to come, that neither the promises nor threats of religion make much impression upon them; and while their foresight rarely extends so far as the next day, it is almost impossible to inspire them with solicitude about the concerns of a future world."

In critical discussions concerning the poetical relics which have been handed down to us from the earlier periods of society, frequent appeals have been made to the eloquence of savage orators, as a proof of the peculiar relish with which the pleasures of imagination are enjoyed by uncultivated minds. But this inference has been drawn from a very partial view of circumstances. The eloquence of savages (as I already hinted) is the natural offspring of passion impatient to give vent to its feelings, and struggling with the restraints of a scanty vocabulary; and it implies none of those inventive powers which are displayed in the creation of characters, of situations, of events, of ideal scenery; none of the powers, in short, which form the distinguishing attributes of poetical genius. In the mind of the poet, on the other hand, it happens much less frequently, that imagination is inspired by passion, than passion by imagination; and, in all cases, the specific pleasures of imagination are most completely enjoyed when the passions are at rest. In order, besides, to render these pleasures a solid accession to human happiness, it is necessary that the individual should be able, at will, so to apply the faculty from which they arise, to its appropriate ob

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jects, as to find in its exercise an unfailing source of delight, whenever he wishes to enliven the intervals of bodily labor, or of animal indulgence;—a capacity, surely, which is by no means implied in the use of that figurative diction by which savages are said to convey their ideas; and which is utterly irreconcilable with the most authentic accounts we have received of the great features of their intellectual character. On this occasion, we may, with confidence, adopt the beautiful words which one of our poets has, with a more than questionable propriety, applied to a gallant and enlightened people, entitled to a very high rank in the scale of European civilization:

"Unknown to them, when sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy."

Where particular circumstances, indeed, have given any encouragement, among rude tribes, to the pacific profession of a bard; still more, where an order of bards has formed a part of the political establishment, individuals may be conceived to have occasionally arisen, whose poetical compositions are likely to increase in reputation as the world grows older. Obvious reasons may be assigned, why imagination should be susceptible of culture, at a period when the intellectual powers which require the aid of experience and observation must necessarily continue in infancy; and the very peculiarities, which, in such circumstances, its productions exhibit, although they would justly be regarded as blemishes in those of a more refined age, may interest the philosopher, and even please the critic, ast characteristical of the human mind in the earliest stages of its progress. The same circumstances, too, which influence so powerfully the eloquence of the savage orator, furnish to the bard a language peculiarly adapted to his purpose, and in which the antiquaries of a distant age are to perceive numberless charms of which the author was unconscious. In the compositions of such a poet, even the defects of his taste become, in the judgment of the multitude, proofs of the vigor of his imagination; the powers of genius, where they are irregularly