the mental eye that is expecting some defined form of sense? The chapter does, nevertheless, afford an agreeable, though quite immethodical view of the wide capacities and affinities of poetry. It was conformable with the general design of the work, that these deeply inherent relations, which constitute the union of all sciences, and the arts resulting from them, in a grand intellectual system, should be but very briefly illustrated; while the sovereign right which poetry has asserted, and practically maintained, to invade what might have seemed the sacredly peculiar property of each of them, and seize something there for her own, is dwelt on with the amplification of triumph. This noble arrogance of poetry, thus asserting her relationship to all the arts and sciences in the way of compelling them to pay her tribute, is described by our author, not so much in a philosophical as in a popular manner. He celebrates the fact as exemplified in Homer, Spenser, Milton, Butler, and many other great poets. Even Shakespeare, not a man of science, nor, in the usual sense of the word, of learning, is justly maintained to be one of the examples, inasmuch as the very considerable historical and general knowledge which he possessed, all finds its use in his poetry; which would, doubtless, as happily have availed itself of all the knowledge of Bacon, had the poet possessed it. The great lesson inculcated by the whole discourse, though obvious, cannot be too often inculcated, that a poet will, in that capacity, derive benefit from all the knowledge he can acquire, and that an ignorant great poet is the most perfect absurdity of which it is possible to dream.

The notion that genius is not to be subjected, in its operations, to rules, we should have thought, had been by this time, too effectually exploded, to require any further expense of argument, The chapter on this subject is, however, sensible and spirited, though without any remarkable novelty..

The next three chapters are employed on the matter of fact, that there are but few excellent poets, and on the question, Why are there so few?? There is, first, a brief historical view of the early and progressive cultivation of poetry, as a favourite employment in various parts of the world, tending to shew what an immense number of poets there have been in all; and, therefore, if we have but a diminutive list of excellent ones, of what arduous ascent that eminence must be, where the monumentum ære perennius can be erected.

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In adverting to the influence of climate, our author appears to us, to fall into a very palpable contradiction i paragraph in which he says, In the coldest regions of the north, clouds hang over the mind, and torpor freezes the imagination,' ends thus

< The loftiness of the mountains, the violence of the winds, the terror of the thunders, the severity of the frosts, the inscrutable depth of the shores, the dreadful noises of the caverns, fill the mind with horror, and generate credulity and superstition. Hence the Norway monsters, the Lapland witches, the fairies, the giants, the dæmons of the North.' p. 53.

It is natural enough to wonder why the great poets have been so few, since the taste for poetry has been universal, and the number so vast of persons, who have earnestly addicted themselves to its composition, with passionate wishes, and even sanguine hopes, for eternal fame.

What is more generally attempted than poetry? What pursuit more intimately allied to our feelings, more expressive of our natural passions? more conversant in common life and general manners? What more immediately addresses those natural passions? What more excites those smaller and larger vibrations which make all mankind feel? What, therefore, at first sight, so easy to common apprehension? Let it be added, too, that nothing is more remote from the technicisms of art, the scholastic jargon of language, the subtleties and scepticism of disquisition, the logomachy, the ob scurity of learning, than poetry. And, with respect to what is properly called its mechanical part,-I mean the business of versification, it is considered by many so easy of structure, that in this the most ordinary genius may, without much difficulty, become a ready-handed builder, a professional adept.'

Is the excellence of poetry as accessible as that of the other arts and sciences? It is generally, and I think justly said, It is not. What then are the difficulties which lie in the way? What the dragons which thus guard the golden fruit?'

The long chapter which appears to pledge itself, by its title, to answer these last questions, is a piece of utter trifling, a farrago of unconnected fancies, facts, and observations, which will leave the reader's mind in so perfect a confusion, that he will not know how to avail himself, to any purpose, of here and there a passage, that does seem to be pertinent to any proposed subject. A most unconscionable portion of space is occupied with quoted testimonies and grave remarks about the idle conceit of the ancients, that poets are divinely inspired. How could it be worth while for a writer, assuming the office of a modern critic or philosopher, to expend three sentences on such a vanity? But the fancy is formally dwelt upon, and displayed in this light and in that light, as if there might after all be something in it: as if, at least, it ought to be carefully placed and numbered among those matters which philosophy will have to bring under another scrutiny, before she finally determines her theories. Modernize, however, this

notion a little, and it will not be quite so ambitious a one as it seems to be at the first hearing of it; since the medium of this same celestial inspiration, if not its very essence, may be no other than electricity. For, I see nothing absurd,' our author says, in supposing that genius is the effect of some electrical principle.' And in order to give a certain port and dignity to the idea, (which he takes care to mark as his own) he goes on to observe, in lofty style and apocryphal philosophy, that, The electric matter, that great fifth element, affects all nature; it glitters in the meteor, flashes in the lightning, rolls in the thunder, and in the bowels of the earth excites all those mighty commotions which shake and overturn vast districts,' &c. &c. He consistently ends the paragraph with a respectful reference to the explanation of the nature of the intellectual faculties in the notorious Systeme de la Nature.

There are just observations on the malignant influence of despotism on poetical genius; and some not very intelligible assertions relative to the creative power of circumstances; as, for instance, 'It may safely be said, that a powerful imagination is formed by circumstances, as well as every thing else.' p. 72.

The next subject of inquiry, is, the primary and ultimate end of poetry. Its primary or immediate end, is to please and elevate; and this being predicated, without any hazard of contradiction, the author goes into a train of observations on the theories and opinions concerning poetry, of Aristotle, Theophrastus, Dionysius of Halicarnassus, Longinus, Plutarch, and Plato. These observations run on agreeably, in a lively style, with an unaffected appearance of easy familiarity with these ancient doctors; but they are extremely desultory, uncertain, and indirect in their bearing, and so, but little conducive to any specific purpose of proof or illustration.

The latter and larger division of this disquisition, is conducted in so discursive and disorderly a way, that we cannot, with confidence, assign its precise object. Its general appearance is that of a learned pleading in justification of poetry for employing fiction. Perhaps the main purpose is still no more than to maintain and illustrate the principle or position, that the immediate object of poetry is to please; on which point, if any one has continued sceptical, in despite of the loads of paper that have been wasted on the frivolous topic, it would have been perfectly just to abandon him to the consequences of his obdurate perverseness. A hopeful and prosperous concern is that of the philosophy of criticism, if we are not yet advanced beyond the necessity of debating whether fiction is among the legitimate resources of poetry, and whether poetry must adapt

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the earth, and whatever analogies they may, amidst all their diversity, still have to one another, they are, nevertheless, when contemplated for practical purposes, to be held as quite distinct, and that the poet must not blend together the peculiar personages or images of several of them; neither may he make use of any one mythology but that received among the people for whom he writes-excepting in sundry licensed cases thus specified in the act.

But he may use them in his own person, though he does not believe them, nor describe them conformably to public opinion, where he speaks merely in a way of allusion, or simile, or under the form of a vision; or in a dramatic representation, where the language is agreeable to the character represented; or where the writer, throwing himself into other countries and other times, appears himself in an assumed representative cha racter.'

Taking mythology as synonimous with false religion,* there would be a much readier way of getting rid of all difficulties, distinctions, and exceptions about the matter; that is, to proscribe it altogether; committing Poetry to the fearful venture of life or death. Even let her die, if she cannot live without the company of pagan gods and goddesses. Let her pine and expire, if she cannot sustain Daniel's experiment of abstinence from the wine of the idolaters. It must be quite certain, that if poetry cannot do without irreligion, mankind can do without poetry. That it is not less than irreligion, to labour to render objects of heathen worship attractive or commanding, by investing them with beauty or sublimity, is not, we should think, a point to be argued and proved, to any man who believes the Bible.

Our author, in the sort of historical and philosophical review of mythology, which constitutes so large a portion of this essay, is, we think, beguiled by the delights of classical associations, into a tone of feeling much too pacific' towards the pernicious, and the more pernicious for being elegant and poetical,--delusions that have imposed themselves on the human mind in the stead of the authentic religion. Witness the complacent strain of such observations as the following.

But be the ancient mythology what it may, it threw open those vast, those boundless regions, so soothing to human expectancy, so favourable to poetic imagination,-regions inhabited

* Mr.. Dyer, however, employs the term in a sense comprehending a wider extent of fable.