Seemed reared by giants for the immortal Gods. • Like things of nature, the eternal rocks • Oh happy they who for their country's cause And for their Gods shall die the brave man's death! • Them will their country consecrate with praise, • Them will their Gods reward!-They heard the priests, • Intoxicate and from the gate swarmed out • Tumultuous to the fight of martrydom.' Madoc. He spake, and to confirm his words, outflew • Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs Far round illumin'd hell: highly they rag'd • Hurling defiance toward the vault of heaven.' Par. Lost. Father, the eternal one! whose wisdom, power, • As I foretold you, were all spirits, and And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded, Now it appears to us, upon a consideration of these and many such like passages, that there are distinctly three kinds of emotion raised in our mind, sufficiently familiar to every one, and in general confounded under the name of the sublimethe emotions of magnanimity, of reverence, and of terror. The third Mr. Burke would make exclusively the source of the sublime. Our essayist considers the terrible and the sublime as perfectly distinct, though often united in the same subject; and accordingly, after a long chapter on the sublime, devotes the whole of the next to terror. It is enough for us that the emotion of terror is in general accounted sublime. The emotion of magnanimity is what Longinus appears to have had exclusively in his eye, when he says that our mind is 'raised by the true sublime, and receiving a certain proud elevation rejoices and glories as if it had actually produced 'what it had heard.' We may just remark that the same passage may excite this feeling in one, and the feeling of veneration in another. For instance, a young and ardent spirit puts itself in the place of Guatimozin,* imagines itself stretched out upon the burning bed, and feels endued, during the moment of enthusiasm, with the same supernatural fortitude. A calmer mind, conscious of it's own want of heroism, may yet feel a deep and awful reverence for it in another; and the feeling is undoubtedly in general called sublime. There are, however, objects calculated to inspire exclusively the sublime emotions of awe and reverence. Such are the gloom of a Gothic building, and the solitude of mountain-scenery, perhaps; such are the Mosaic account of the creation, and in general the contemplation of the goodness and greatness of the Deity. It is a curious thing that our admiration is awakened by extraordinary force of mind in whatever form it is displayed,and even when unhappily it is exerted for the worst of purposes.' Thus, forgetting the wickedness of Lady Macbeth, or Satan, in the passages above-quoted, we feel ourselves for the time fully possest with the grandeur of their sentiments. We suppose that the explication of this fact will be found to be the same as of another which our readers may have observed in real life; viz. that most men would rather be thought knaves than fools. That the swelling consciousness of superority in ourselves, or the sense of it in others, should be agreeable sensations there seems no reason to wonder: but that terror should be a source of pleasure appears at first sight a phænomenon almost inexplicable. It is to be accounted for, we imagine, on the theory of Hume, the theory which we endeavoured to explain in our last number but one, to which we must refer our readers. Terror, according to this, *See Robertson's America. is but a necessary stimulus to send forth the imagination on its daring flights. On the subject of terror there are some very good, though not very new, observations in the essayist. The effect of terrible objects is greatly heightened by obscurity. A particular, and still more a minute description defeats its own purpose. Even when the objects are before us, our terror is much diminished, as soon as we can prevail upon ourselves to look at them steadily. There is then no longer room for the exaggeration of the fancy, which produces by far the greatest part of the emotion. The description ought, therefore, to be conducted by alarming hints, and in such a manner as to leave an uncertainty with regard to the extent of what is dangerous or dreadful in the objects represented. 'How now,' says Macbeth to the weird sisters, when he went to their cave at the dead hour of night, How now, ye secret, black, and midnight hags, Their answer is, A deed without a name.' In Paradise Lost, when Raphael relates to our first parents the history of the apostate angels, our horror at the fate of their leader is greatly increased by a stroke of the same kind, but of still higher effect. It is where Raphael says, that the angelic host were reposing, • Save those who, in their course, Is heard no more in Heav'n.' Book V. pp. 99, 100. Upon the same principle, in paintings and theatrical representations, the objects of terror ought to be placed in obscurity. The witches in Macbeth, and the ghost in Hamlet, as they are generally represented, have rather a ludicrous effect. But I am persuaded it would be very different, if they were removed to a great distance at the bottom of the stage, and seen as obscurely as pos sible. It was a good observation of an exquisite artist, that he could conceive a picture in which no human figure, nor action, nor any object very terrible in itself was represented, which yet should raise a high degree of horror. Sach, he imagined, would be the effect of a picture representing a bedchamber, with a lady's slipper and a bloody dagger on the floor; and at the door, the foo of a man as just leaving the room.' pp. 102—3, In the art of creating terror by obscurity and mystery no Her scenes are one was a greater adept than Mrs. Radcliffe. frequently very counterparts of Mr. Brown's picture. The rustling of a garment, a half-heard whisper, the tolling of a VOL. X, Y bell; this is all; and the rest is utter silence and gloom and yet there is terror even to suspension of breath. One great advantage of language above painting is this, that the author has it in his power to prepare us for the great impression. Now, in order that the scenes of terror may have their full effect, we should previously be brought to a serious, and even a melancholy frame, and startled by sudden and obscure alarms. In the first scene of Hamlet we are well prepared for the entry of the ghost, merely by having our attention turned to sublime objects, together with a single hint to alarm us. Last night of all,' says Bernardo, to the officers who were on watch with him at midnight, and who had heard of the apparition; 'Last night of all, When yon some star, that's westward from the pole, The bell then beating one 'Peace, break thee off,' interrupted Marcellus, Look where it comes again.' 6 Another instance of Shakespeare's skill in preparing us for the great impression' is in Julius Cæsar. The little page falls asleep at his harp; and Brutus is left alone at the witching hour of night.' How ill this taper burns!' says he; thus recalling to the mind the terrors of our childhood, when we were taught that the blueness of the flame indicated the 'nearing of unearthly steps.' And then the ghost of Cæsar enters. "But the situation' observes our author, 'in which terror is carried to the utmost height, which the case will admit, is a state of suspense, when we know that some dreadful evil is every moment ready to fall on us, but at the same time have no distinct knowledge of its nature or degree; while our apprehensions are always kept alive by some new alarm, which seems to indicate the instant approach of the evil in all its horrors.' Who can imagine the terrors of a spirit, which, already weakened by a consciousness of its guilt, and a remembrance of its bloody actions, should receive the full impression of a letter like the following? Of the troubles which surrounded Roberspierre in this asylum,' says an anonymous historian of the reign of our present king, the papers, which were found in it after his death, sufficiently inform us. He received a number of letters in which the most extravagant adoration was lavished upon him; but others contained menaces and imprecations which must have frozen his blood. Among others a letter was found which contained a terrible words: This hand, which traces thy sentence; this hand, which thine embarrassed eyes search in vain to discover; this hand, pierce thine inhuman heart. every day; and every hour Oh, most accursed of men, Sleep to dream of me, that which presses thine with horror, shall Every day I am with thee; I see thee my lifted arm seeks for thy breast. live yet a little while to think of me. my remembrance and their affright may be the first preparation of thy punishment. Adieu. This very day, in looking in thy face, I shall enjoy thy terror.' We have thus taken a very brief notice of what appear to us the three sources of the sublime. It cannot be expected that in our narrow limits we should find room to take a survey of the different qualities which are regarded as sublime,' and to point out the class to which they belong, or the associations by means of which they acquire their sublimity. We shall content ourselves with just noticing the sublimity of sounds and colours. Of sounds our readers have already seen the essayist's account. Surely it would have been a more natural account of the matter, to say, that, in childhood, we dread thunder as something which imperiouly calls our attention, but the cause and nature and effects of which, are utterly unknown and incomprehensible to us. The impression remains, when the ignorance is in part removed. From their resemblance to thunder arises the sublimity of other sounds; as the groaning of the sea, or of a cataract, or of a forest in a storm-the shouting of a large assembly-the roaring of cannon-the pealing of a gong or of a kettle-drum.-With regard to colours, it is perhaps more difficult to account for the effects of those which are favourable to the sublime. These Mr. Burke reckons to be black, and all the fuscous colours, such as brown or deep purple, and likewise strong red. Now we can scarcely say that such colours either exhibit power, or render us conscious of it, or any how suggest its idea. Perhaps we shall go no farther than to say, that they somehow predispose the mind to be more deeply affected with either the sublime or the terrible.' That there are colours which please more than others, independently of any association, appears both from the case mentioned by the essayist, p. 65, and that lately made public by Professor Stewart, and Mr. Wardrop: but that any particular colour should predispose' the mind to any particular emotion, there seems no reason to believe. It appears to us that without any hypothesis of their somehow predisposing the mind,' it is sufficient to say, in general, that these colours are in nature united to sublime objects, to some or other of which every one is accustomed even from childhood. The lowering sky, the thunder-cloud, the sea in a storm, the heavens in a dark night lighted up with the reflection of a con |