UC-NRLF $B 133 Mfifi y^ lA ^tm^c .^^nthimsi l£e^\f ^4Ju i Digitized by the Internet Arcliive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/essaysonsourcesoOOgreerich ESSAYS ON THE SOURCES OF THE PLEASURES RECEIVED FROM LITERARY COMPOSITIONS. 7/^ J J..- !/ LONDON; PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. Bp ©. Jpamitton, SUeptjciDOfc. 1809. Q1^ PREFACE. In the following Essays it is proposed to examine certain Principles of Taste in literary composition, which either have not been, so far as I know, sufficiently ex- plained, or which still appear to be subjects of controversy. But if these pages shall not be found to contain any thing, that deserves the notice of the learned critic, there are, perhaps, other readers, to whom they may be acceptable ; whom they may in some degree assist in forming their taste, and introduce to studies, which are not only amusing and elegant, but also highly favourable, when properly directed, for cherishing the sentiments of religion and virtue. Uniformity of opinion is not to be ex- pected; nor am I so presumptuous as 916931 ESSAY I. OI^ THE IMPROVEMEI^T OF TASTE. Works of eloquence and poetry, when pro- perly corlducted, afford a most elegant and de- lightful, and not unfrequently also a highly pro- fitable, entertainment. But it is not by the untutored that their happy effects will be fully experienced. Our natural taste (by which word is to be understood at present our capa- city to receive the pleasures of such composi- tions, and of the fine arts in general) is suscep- tible of far greater improvement than may at first be supposed: and we shall endeavour to point out the circumstances on which that im- provement depends. Here we may first attend to the importance of making ourselves acquainted with productions of the highest excellence. B 2 ESSAY I. The ruder essays in the fine arts have attrac- tions sufficient to gain the inexperienced. The picture on a sign-post must be miserably exe- cuted, if it does not give pleasure to him who has never seen a better painting. A peasant is delighted with an old-fashioned garden, where the walks are all disposed in straight lines, and the trees and hedges trimmed into regular figures. In the same manner, the wisest and most delicate of our forefathers, in the days when the more perfect compositions of antiquity were unknown, heard with pleasure the rough verse, and the coarse^ unnatural stories of their minstrels. Now when our attention has been long con- fined to inferior productions, we are not only contented with the inferior gratifications which they are capable of affording, but we even grow, attached to them, and are disappointed and hurt when we do not meet with the same grati- fications in more perfect compositions.: for^ when once we are accustomed, to any. pleasiife, however trifling, we do not easily bear to be: deprived of it, and are sensibly disconcerted* ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. S when it is not found where our habits lead us to expect it. It was owing to this influence of habit, that, even after the works of the great authors of Greece and Rome were restored, men could not be brought all at once to for- sake the absurdities of the Gothic productions. Ariosto, with all his genius, would have had fewer readers in his own age, if he had not retained (I do not say the romantic wildness, and the romantic manners, for these are charms which ought not to be abandoned ; but if he had not retained) that familiar use of the marvellous, and that intricate manner of telling his bundle of stories, which, by taking away our solicitude, and distracting our attention, diminish greatly our interest in the fate of the characters, a plea- sure so much superior to what we can receive from those childish artifices. It appears, then, that we are not likely to be well disposed for relishing first-rate composi- tions, if our attention has been previously con- fined to common productions. But we have moreover to observe, that a short or slight ac- quaintance will not be sufficient to open our B 2 4 ESSAY I. minds to all the charms in the higher specimens of any of the fine arts. This will be evident from the following important consideration. Many of the most affecting circumstances in the objects of taste, require to have our atten- tion particularly and habitually directed to them, before they produce any considerable impres- sion. For even when these circumstances are such that they cannot fail to be distinctly apprehended as soon as they are presented, yet many of them are apt to be considered too slightly by the un- tutored. Now there is a wide difference in point of effect, between simply perceiving an object by the senses, or simply conceiving it in the mind, and directing to it the whole force of our attention. How many things are daily and hourly perceived by us, and how many thoughts are continually passing through the mind, capable all of them to make the deepest impression, and yet actually leaving no trace behind, merely because we do not allow or accustom ourselves to dwell on them. There is scarcely any person, who, in reading Thorn- ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. 5 son's Seasons, will not find several beauties in external nature pointed out to him, which he will recollect perfectly to have seen, though not to have attended to before; but which, now that his attention is turned to them, he will feel to be productive of the most delightful emotions. A common observer overlooks in a landscape a variety of charms, which strike at once the eye of a painter. It is easy then to conceive, that they who have their minds directed to the more refined excellencies of eloquence and poetry, will be af- fected and delighted by what would otherwise pass unnoticed. Hitherto we have supposed the affecting cir- cumstances to be such as would be apprehended distinctly w^henever they were presented. But in all the fine arts, the well-informed and ex- perienced receive high delight from many things, which, until we are particularly trained to attend to them, are either wholly imperceptible, orj at least, very indistinctly and imperfectly perceived. This may happen either from their delicacy, or from their complicated nature. 6 ESSAY I. It is wonderful how far even our external or- gans may be trained to a sensibility of the most delicate impressions. Blind persons, to whom the information derived from feeling and hear- ing is so peculiarly interesting, acquire in both of these senses a surprising acuteness. A sailor can with perfect certainty perceive land or a sail at a distance where others, who have no defect in their sight, are unable to distinguish any thing. In Hke manner, experienced musi- cians and painters are touched to the quick by differences in musical tones, and by gradations of shade, which are completely undetected by common observers. And thus also we may con- ceive, that in the language, in the allusions, in the transitions, in the sentiments, in the way of introducing the more affecting strokes, and in various other particulars, many delicate graces, which remain undiscovered by ordinary readers, will be felt with delight by those who have di- rected their attention to the refinements of composition. But it is frequently also from their compli- cated nature, that the affecting circumstances ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. % in the fine arts require us to be trained in a particular manner, before they can be distinctly and fully apprehended. A concert of music, for example, confounds an unexperienced hearer; he is unable to separate the different parts, or even to distinguish the principal air, although it should be one which he is well acquainted with, and would have recognised at once if it had been played alone, or with a single accompani-* merit. By degrees, however, if he accustoms himself to hear a variety of parts, accompany* ing the principal air, and especially if he gives some application to the practice of music, he begins to distinguish the principal air from the accompaniments, and the accompaniments from each other ; and it is only then that he has ac- quired the capacity of feeling what a concert is, or of receiving any thing like the true pleasure which it is capable of affording. In like manner it cannot be supposed that, any literary composition will produce it's full effect on every reader. On the contrary, while it gives the highest delight to one, it may appear insipid and tiresome, or even positively disagree- ^ ESSAY I. able, to another; merely because he is not able to perceive the connexion between the different parts, to discover how they severally contribute to the general design, and to retain, as he pro- ceeds, a steady view of what is past. Pindar says of his odes, that they are cpcuvoivfa a-wetoia-i, ^hat they speak to the intelligent : and it must be acknowledged, that in some passages they are not so agreeable to a modern reader, from ignorance of the circumstances to which they allude, or from inability to discover the author's design, or the happiness of his transitions; whe- ther this inability be always owing to a de- fect in the reader's intelligence, or may some- times proceed from a real fault in the composi- tions themselves. But, whatever may be the case with these poems, there can be no doubt of tlie general fact, that he who possesses extensive in- formation, a steady attention, a ready recollec- tion, a quick apprehension, a lively imagination, and a sound judgment, in a word, he who along with extensive information has the powers of his understanding improved to the greatest perfection, will discern many beauties of th^ ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. 9 highest kind, where no attractions will be felt by a person of inferior accomplishments. The advantage of a cultivated understand- ing, and extensive information in the improve- ment of taste, will appear still more evident, if we attend to the influence of the association of ideas. Without entering into a particular explana- tion of this last term, it is sufficient, at present, to observe in general, that a great part of what we feel from the objects of taste, in many in- stances by far the greatest part of what we feel, is not directly owing to the objects themselves, but to the train of ideas with which they are as- sociated in our minds ; a fact which we shall have occasion to consider more fully in the fol- lowing essay, and w hich Mr. Alison, in his very ingenious Essays on Taste, has most beautifully and happily illustrated and established. Now the train of our ideas in any particular case de- pends in a great measure on our habitual occu- pations, studies, and pursuits. And it is mani^ fest, that they whose knowledge is not only enlarged and varied, but also (which is the most 10 ESSAY I. important effect of cultivating the intellectual powers), readily recalled by whatever is con- nected with it, will often be kindled to a glow of thought, by what makes but a feeble impression upon less informed or duller minds. On the other hand it is to be remembered, that, from various causes, all men are liable to form associations whiclr render them less fit either to discern, or to relish, the higher beauties of composition. The books which first awakened our imagination, however destitute they may be of any real excellence, cannot fail to be con- nected with delightful feelings which they would not have otherwise excited. In celebrated works, or such as have received the sanction of approved judges, the very defects are apt to become agreeable, not only from their connex- ion with real beauties, but also from being as- sociated with our respect for the genius of the author, and for the judgment of his admirers. The same thing will naturally happen in compo- sitions connected with the government or with the religion which we revere, or with whatever else is interwoven in the idea of our country, ON THE IMPROVEMEXT OF TASTE. 11 and awakens our love and veneration. In such cases, disgusting or ludicrous circumstances may be connected with sentiments tending to coun- teract the effects which they would naturally produce, and which they actually do produce, on those who read the works without these pre- vious impressions. Thus we acquire a partiality for inferior beauties, and even for defects in composition — a partiality which will, of course, render us less favourable to what would other- wise have affected us with the greatest delight. Again, by associations of an opposite kind, our aversion to the pharacter, the opinions, or even the country of an author, may produce an aver- sion to the very beauties of his works. Now it is evident, that the remedy for these unfavour- able associations is only to be found in the en- largement of our knowledge, and the improve- ment of our understanding. But taste cannot be completely refined with- out great sensibility in the moral feelings. It is by this sensibility alone, that we rise superior to the allurements of those authors who prosti- tute their talents to enslave us to the ignoble 32 ESSAY I. passions. It is by this sensibility alone, that we are awakened to the most exalted pleasures ; all that flow from the contemplation of the sublimer virtues; all that flow from sympathy with the endearins "charities" of our nature; all that flow from the raptures of devotion, and the hopes of futurity. He who does not feel as a good man feels, will be a stranger to the highest delights of eloquence and poetry. Upon the whole, then, our taste will be im- proved, according as our moral sensibility and intellectual faculties are improved; according as our knowledge is extensive ; according as we have become acquainted with first-rate compo- sitions; according as we are disposed and ac- customed to connect agreeable trains of thought with proper objects; according as we have learned to counteract unfavourable associations; and according as we have been trained to direct our full attention to the more affecting circum- stances, and to apprehend them completely and distinctly, even when they are too complicated or too delicate for common observers. But although a man should have improved his ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. 13 taste to the utmost, it may afterward be cor- rupted by satiety. Tliis will happen when his acquaintance with compositions of merit is not sufficiently extensive for the time which he de- votes to them. Tired at last with too frequent repetition, he grows sick of what once delighted him, and flies to novelty for relief. In fact, the passive pleasures of taste, although they are, undoubtedly, our most elegant relaxations, can- not fail to pall upon us, if they are made the principal object of our pursuit. And, in order to enjoy them most, we ought to employ the greater part of our time in the more active and interesting occupations of business or science. It is sufficiently obvious, that the foregoing observations enable us to account for that di- versity of tastes which has been so often re- marked : and they likewise point out the principle upon which the preference between different tastes ought to be determined. It has been sometimes said, that tastes ad- mit of no dispute; that every man is pleased as nature inclines him, so that every man's taste is equally natural : and that if the question is to 14 ESSAY I. be decided by numbers, those who tak6 most de- light in the ruder productions of the fine aits will have an undoubted preference. But on the other hand the circumstances, tvhich have been enumerated as conducive to the improvement of taste, will account, in a sa- tisfactory manner, for the diversity which pre- vails, without having recourse to the supposi- tion, that such a diversity would subsist, if all men possessed the same advantages. Accord- ingly, that taste is to be regarded as the most natural, and the best, which there is reason to think -that all men would feel, if their faculties were improved to equal perfection, and if they were all placed in situations equally favourable. But the variations from this taste, which pro- ceed from inferiority in moral sensibihty or in the intellectual faculties, from limited know- ledge, from accidental associations of ideas, from incapacity to apprehend the affecting cir- cumstances, from weariness and satiety; all such variations are called with propriety unna- tural and corrupt tastes. It may still be asked, in what manner we are ON THE IMPROVEMENT OF TASTE. 15 to ascertain the circumstances, which, independ- ently of these accidental causes of variation, would be agreeable to those who possessed the accomplishments and advantages already enu- merated. If we have any means of ascertain- ing these circumstances, we have then what is called the standard of taste. On this subject three opinions have been advanced. Sometimes nature is said to be the standard ; sometimes we are directed to the ge- neral sentiments of mankind; and sometimes taC the principles of philosophical criticism. These assertions, in so far as they are intelli- gible, do not differ essentially from each other. For the principles of criticism are deduced frorti the study of human nature, and therefore it may' be said, that they establish nature for the stand- ard, although it is but a vague and inaccurate expression. Again, these principles are, or ought to be, only the expressions of the general sentiments of mankind, that is to say, of the sen- timents in which all men agree, when they are not influenced by accidental causes of variation, and have their faculties improved to the greatest; 16 E^SAY I. perfection. Hence these principles* establish the standard in the general sentiments of man- kind, by which we are to understand (as they who hold this language have always explained themselves), the general sentiments of the culti^ vated and well-informed. It is to be observed, however, that the prin- ciples of criticism, so far as they go, exhibit a standard which may at all times be readily con- sulted; and this is more than we can say of na- ture, or of the general sentiments of any part of mankind. But the establishment of these prin- ciples is an arduous work, where many errours mingle themselves with the investigations of the ablest men, and where, as in every other depart- ment of philosophy, we must only look for an approximation to what we are never destined in our present state completely to attain. ESSAY II. ON THE IMAGINATION, AND ON THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS. 1 HE great power of composition in raising either our pleasing or painful emotions arises from the imagination, and from the association of ideas. These two subjects are so intimately connected, that it will be proper, at least for our purpose, to consider them together. Ac- cordingly, after stating what parts of the human constitution are to be understood by these terms, we shall first consider their effect in raising the emotions; and, secondly, how this effect may be excited and regulated in composition. Every moment that we are awake, we expe- rience the state of mind which is produced by the impression of external objects; we expe- rience the sensations of colour, odour, sound, and so forth ; and also the perception of the c 18 ESSAY II. objects, as possessing different qualities, and existing independently of our feelings. But, farther ; on numberless occasions, as when we dream, or when we reflect on any thing which has deeply affected us, we find that, even al- though the external objects are absent we are in a state similar to that which is produced by their actual presence. It is true, that while we are awake, and in our senses, the state of our mind when the objects are absent is not so vivid; at least in so far as it resembles sensa- tion and perception it is not so vivid, as when the objects themselves affect our organs of sen- sation. For this difference, however, there is an obvious reason ; namely, that the various surrounding objects distract our attention^ and also remind us continually, that what we reflect upon is not really before us. And in dreaming our state of mind seems to be perfectly the same, as if the objects which are represented to us were actually present. Sometimes in dream- ing our state of mind is even nipre vivid, not only because we are removed from the influence of external objects, but frequently also because ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. IQ our thoughts are then confined to a smaller range of objects than when we are awake. But how- ever this may be, one thing every person knows, that in reflecting upon any object which he has formerly observed, he is brought into a state of mind similar to that which was produced by the actual presence of the object itself i3ut there is a great deal more than this. We are able in thought to combine at pleasure the various qualities which we have observed in real objects, and thus to represent to ourselves innu- merable objects which we never observed, and even which never existed. We can easily figure the dreams of the ancient astronomers, the crys- talline spheres of Heaven revolving in harmonious concert. We can easily conceive the material representations which have been given of the spi- ritual world, and people the ethereal regions with a race of immortal beings in the human form, but far more noble and beautiful. Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air. Gray. Now when our attention is turned to these com- binations, just as in the case where we reflect est ^0 ESSAY II. on absent objects wbich we have formerly ob- served, we are conscious of a state of mind similar to that which would be produced, if we saw and believed the objects themselves to be present. And we give the name of the ima- gination to that part of our constitution, which produces a state of mind similar to the sensa- tions and perceptions that would be produced by the presence of any object, whether the ob^ ject be real or not. But the mind cannot confine itself to any one object. On the contrary, whatever is pre- sented to us, whether by the senses, by the imar gination, or by the understanding, instantly sug- gests some other object to which it is related; this last suggests a third, and so on; and thus, at least while we are awake, we are always con- scious of a train of thought going forward, and often with astonishing rapidity. It will proceed even without any exertion upon our part; nor does it appear to be ever interrupted, except when we fall into a state of utter insensibility, as in the case perhaps of a profound sleep; or when conversation, or reading, or some external ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 21 i object, happens to introduce a foreign thought for the commencement of a new series. The association of ideas is the name given to this part of our constitution^ which, by a sort of fermentation, as Dr. Reid has well expressed it, is always raising up a train of thoughts in conse- quence of every object whicli engages the at- tention. We come now to consider the effect of the imagination, and of the association of ideas, in raising the emotions. As imagination is a ^tate,jQf mind similar to gercfp^tJQi^j it jyjd]jaQt.teJbgai^^^ that the objects which it contemplates should have an influence similar to that of present objects, and likewise raise our emotions, at least in some degree. That this is actually the case will be readily acknowledged. Every hour we are con- scious of emotions excited by the imagination, without the intervention of external objects. The scenes through which we have passed, the friends with whom we hav^ conversed, the dan- gers to which we have been exposed, the hap- piness which we have enjoyed or expect to 22 ESSAY II. enjoy, the evils which we have suffered, or are apprehensive of suffering; these and other ob- jects are continually occurring to the imagination, and affecting us, at least in some measure, with the same pain or pleasure, which would have been produced by their actual presence. Our emotions are raised even by those objects of the imagination, which we know to be purely imaginary, and which we never seriously be- lieved to have any existence. The reader, pro- bably, has no belief in ghosts and enchantments ; yet he will feel some degree of horrour when his imagination is awakened by the tales Of the death -bed call To him who robbM the widow, and devourM The orphan *s portion ; of unquiet souls Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt Of deeds in life conceaVd ; of shapes that walk At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave TJie torch of Hell around the murderer's bed *. But there is a curious fact, which we must now take notice of, as it is of the greatest importance to be studied by composers; and that is, the * Akenside's Pleasures of the Imagination, 1. i, v. 256. ON THK IMAGII^^ATION, &C. ^S sti'ength or JivelineSs of the emotions which are frequently raised by the itnagination. It does not appear surprising, that some faint emotions should be raised; and in many cases no doubt they are extremely faint. But in many cases also they are extremely vivid, and sometimes even more vivid than those of which we are conscious in real life. I do not say that this is always the case, but only that it frequently hap- pens: dnd ^ny one may b6 convinced oif the truth of the assertion, by a little attention to his own experience. -'^ For instance; however susceptible any one may be of the beauties of nature, yet he has no doubt frequently viewed a fine landscape with great indifference. But when the same, or even a much inferior one, has occurred to his imagina- tion, and especially if it has been presented in a poetical description, he may have felt as high, or perhaps a higher degree of pleasure, than he ever received from any landscape which was actually before his eyes. So, hkewise, the perusal, or the recollection of a well-told pathe- tic story, even w hen we are convinced that it is 24 ESSAY II. entirely fictitious, will often raise our pity more powerfully than even greater distress which we actually behold. This curious fact, which deserves to be care- fully considered by all who study the principles of composition, appears to me to be explained by the following observations. We may observe, in the first place, how much depends on the selection of circumstances. In real life our attention is distracted by the variety of objects, which all equally affect our senses, but which produce various and contrary effects on the mind. In the same manner, also, every individual object has a variety of qualities or cir- cumstances, which raise emotions of different and perhaps opposite natures. Now when any object or any scene is pre- sented to the imagination, although it may not appear so distmct or so lively as it does to the eye, yet it may be presented in that point of view, which will conduce in the highest degree to some particular effect; all the qualities and cir- cumstances which are favourable to the effect being forced on our attention, while such as are ON THE IMAGI^TATION, &C. 9,^ unfavourable or indifferent are concealed and overlooked. The finest landscape is interspersed with objects which either have no beauty, or are positively disagreeable. But these are neglected by the poet, who selects only what is sublime, picturesque, or beautiful, and thus by his de- scription rouses the imagination to contemplate a scene, not so distinct or lively, but more con- ducive to his particular purpose than that which is exhibited by nature, Or to take an instance of a different kind : in the mortality of a plague on shipboard, how many things would occur to overwhelm the spectator with terrour and disgust, as well as to melt him with the kindlier sympathies of pity ! But in Thomson's description of a scene of this kind on the coast of Carthagena, that engaging poet has omitted every loathsome circumstance, and touched the terrible but with a gentle hand, while he holds up to view the particulars which are calculated to awaken our tenderest com- passion. You, gallant Vernon, saw The miserable scene ; you pitying saw- To infant weakness sunk the warrior^s arm ; ^6 ESSAY II. Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form. The lip pale quivering, and the beamless eye No more with ardour bright : you heard the groans Of agonizing ships from shore to shore ; fleard nightly plung'd amid the sullen waves The frequent corse. We are next to observe, that as in real life we frequently see too much, so, on the other hand, we frequently see too little, to raise a par- ticular emotion to it's greatest height. Thus in the distresses of our fellow-creatures, it is but rarely that we are witnesses of the whole series of calamitous events, and that only at intervals both of time and place. It is but seldom that we are acquainted with the character of the sufferer, that we know how much he has lost, his sensibility to his losses, and the patience and fortitude with which he endures his afflictjpns. On the other hand, in those distressful scenes which we form in our imagination, or which are represented to us by the novelist or dramatic poet, the whole story is brought at once before us, and all the pathetic circumstances, which are unknown or overlooked in real life, may be ex- hibited in their full force. ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 2/ We have to add, in the next place, that the quahties which are favourable to a particular effect appear frequently higher to the imagina- tion than they are in reality. Thus when we meet with a beautiful woman whom we admired, but whom we have not seen for a considerable time, we are apt to suppose that she looks worse than formerly, merely becausewe had conceived too high an idea of her in our absence. Hence too we are often disappointed, when we are made acquainted with any person, whom we have heard greatly praised before we saw him. From the same cause, and from that which was first men- tioned, that objects frequently appear to the imagination free from their imperfections, we are apt to entertain an extravagant veneration for the sages and heroes of remote antiquity. To these causes also we are to ascribe the discontent, which so many people show for the comforts and pleasures which are in their pos- session, and their partiality for absent places, and absent persons, and in general for every object of desire, which it is not in their power to obtain at the time. 28 ESSAY II. But the imagination, in numberless instances, goes far beyond the mere representation of ob- jects , freed from their imperfections, or with their excellencies improved. For we are next to remember, that it combines all the excellen- cies which subsist in any particular species, and thus forms an imaginary creature far su- perior to any thing which we ever beheld. Just as Zeuxis, the celebrated Grecian painter (and I presume that many other painters have fol- lowed a similar method), by uniting in one figure the beauties which he had observed in different women, produced a Helen incomparably more beautiful than all of them. In this manner it is easy to see how much the imagination may im- prove on nature in every department ; how it may conceive a race of mortals far more amiable and respectable than the best and most accomplished of human creatures; and scenes more awful, more sublime, more beautiful, or more gay, than any which now exist upon Earth. Thus we are trans- ported into the regions pf the marvellouSj, where tjie imagination wanders without control. We are farther to observe, that without going ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 29 beyond what actually exists, many of the most 2ii- fecting objects of nature are either too vast or too minute, to be perceived sufficiently by the senses; while, at the same time, when the imagination is sufficiently roused, it is able to conceive them with great distinctness. Thus in the motions of the heavenly bodies, that which we see with our eyes is nothing compared to the view which rises in the mind at particular times. The diurnal revolution, which is incomparably the most rapid of all the apparent movements in the heavens, is to the sight a very slow one. Of the apparent movements of the moon and planets among the fixed stars, that of the moon is by far the quickest : and yet we can scarcely discern in less than an hour that she has ap- proached nearer to any of the stars, x^nd with regard to the planets, a day, and frequently a week or more, must elapse before we are sen- sible of any change. But how different is the vision which rises in the imagination, when we. are properly awakened to conceive the revolu- tions of those mighty globes, as they roll with astonishing rapidity through the depths of space! 30 ESSAY II. when we are awakened, for instance, by the fol- lowing address of Milton, though it is not agree- able to the system which is now universally adopted : Thou, Sun, of this great world both eye and soul. Acknowledge Him thy greater, sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st. And when high noon Hast gained, and when thou fairst. Moon, that now meet'st the orient Sun, now fliest With the fixM stars, fixM in their orb that flies ; And ye five other wandVing fires that move J In mystic dance, not without song ; resound '.'His praise, who out of darkness call'd up light*. We may next observe, that in real life the most affecting objects may be presented to us at a time when we are not disposed to receive the proper impression. Our attention may be distracted by objects of a very different nature; or we may be engaged by interesting reflections of our own; or we may be under the influence of passions, counteracting the effect which the scene before us would otherwise have produced. A man who is looking forward to a party of pleasure, or ruminating on a profitable bargain, * Paradise Lost, b. 5, v. 1 7 1 . ON THE IMAGINATION, &G. 31 is not in a frame to be easily subdued by ob- jects of pity, or easily elevated to sublime con- ceptions. We are likewise to remember, that without any apparent cause, our sensibility va- ries. Objects which at one time would have warmed and filled our heart, we behold at an- other with indifference. Thus it is easy to con- ceive, that the mere imagination of an object, at a time when we are more particularly dis- posed to be affected by it, may produce an emotion incomparably greater than would be felt from it's actual presence, if we were in a less favourable frame. J .'Our last observation on the present subject is this ; that both the vivacity and the nature of the emotion produced by any object depend on the particular train of thought which it ex- cites. Let us suppose, for instance, two differ- ent persons viewing a beautiful and extensive vernal prospect. Let us likewise suppose, that from their particular liabits, they are led by this view to different reflections: that one of them looks forward only to the wealth, which will arise to the possessors from the good crops. 32 ESSAY II. and the rents which the proprietors ought to receive for fields so well enclosed, and in such excellent condition ; while the other is awakened to the affecting and exalted contemplations which we find in Buchanan's ode, the Calendae Majae; the beauty and happiness of the creation at the return of spring, the perpetual spring which reigned in the primeval ages before the degeneracy of man, the future restoration of nature to it's original glory, ^nd the felicity of the virtuous in that better :state. It is evident, that the one of these observeFs-will not be sen- sible of the sublime emotions, which the very same view has kindled in the other. And we can easily see, that the imagination of an object, if attended with the proper train of thought, may affect us in a particular way far more pow- erfully than it's actual presence would have done, if our thoughts had been turned into a different channel. These observations on the vivacity of the emotions produced by the imagination suggest the general principles, which a composer ought to keep in view for exciting and regulating ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 33 its influence according to his particular pur- pose. He ought, in the first place, to be extremely careful in selecting and bringing forward the circumstances which are conducive to his pur- pose, and concealing as much as may be those which are unfavourable, or even superfluous. This rule is very apt to be overlooked by an author of a fertile imagination. A mul- titude of brilliant ideas rise before him in the glow of composition, and he is unwilling to part with any of them, even although they should have the effect to draw oiF the reader's attention from the principal objects, and thus to deaden the great impression. Nor does the ardour of genius easily submit either to select with care, or even to wait with patience, and to seek with industry for the most favourable and affecting ideas. It may be said, that such a mode of com- posing would be hurtful to the exertions of genius; and that it is better for a composition to have many and even gross faults, than to be D 34 ESSAY II. altogether faultless, but at the same time des- titute of those high excellencies, which have charmed the world in Shakspeare and Homer. This assertion I am far from disputing, and have no doubt, that an author ought to give as full scope as possible to hk fancy in the time of composition, and even to mark down all his thoughts, if they appear to have any merit, although he should suspect that he may after- wards find cause to reject them. But when the glow of composition has subsided, let him calmly revise his work, and prune it not only of what is unfavourable to the emotions which he wi:5hes to communicate, but even of what is indifferent. Horace, whose good sense is so well known, laments the hastiness of the authors in his own country ; affirms that Italy would not have been more renowned for virtue and arms than for literature, if they had not been im- patient of the labour and delay requisite for polishing; and calk on the Pisoes to censure the poems, which had not been corrected with much time and much blotting, and polished ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 5S again and again, ad unguem, with scrupu- lousness. Nee virtute foret, clarisve potentius armis Quani lingua Latium, si non ofFenderet unum Quemque poetarum limag labor et mora. Vos, O Pompilius sanguis, carmen reprehendite, quod non Multa dies et multa litura coercuit, atque Perfectum decies non castigavit ad ungiiem*. It IS evident then in what manner a patient selection of circumstances may be rendered compatible with the greatest ardour of genius, and the highest excellencies of composition. The great care of this selection ought to be, not in the time of composing, but both before and after; that is to say, when the author forms, or at least when he corrects his plan, and above all in the revisal of what he has finished. There can be no doubt, that in this manner both Homer and Shakspeare would have rendered their performances finer through- out, and even heightened the effect of those * De Arte Poetica, v. 289. P 2 36 EssAr it. passages, which in themselves require no a- mendment. The author is also to remember, in the second place, that a great impression is not to be expected, unless he be careful to prepare the reader. It has been observed, that the emotion produced by the sight of an external object is often feeble, compared with the effect of the same object when represented to the imagi- nation, because in real life we are often distracted by objects of a different nature, or engaged with thoughts of our own, or under the influence of unfavourable passions. An author therefore must employ all his skill, to direct our attention to such a train of thoughts, and to awaken us to such emotions, as may best dispose us for the impression to be made. If he is to strike us with terrour, he must turn us aside from what is cheerful or enlivening; bring us gra- dually not only to a serious, but a melancholy frame; and likewise throw out previous hints to alarm us. If he is to melt us into pity, he must endeavour in the first place to interest us ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 37 in the fate of the character, to render him the object of our esteem and love, and to impress us with a high idea of the happiness from whicU he is to fall. Circumstances which would pro- duce the most powerful effect, if skilfully pre- pared and introduced, will prove extremely feeble, or perhaps entirely abortive, sometimes even ridiculous, in the management of an ordi- nary or a careless composer. Every one, who has witnessed the representation of Venice Preserved, may recollect a circumstance, which shows how much may be done by a proper preparation. I allude to the sudden alarm, which seizes the audience in the parting scene between Jaffier and Belvidera, when the bell gives the first toll for the execution of the conspirators. The effect of the bell would have been little or nothing, if it had been heard before this affecting interview begins. It js from the trembling sensibility to which we are previously subdued, that the signal for the execution shakes us to the very heart. 38 ESSAY II. But although an author ought to be ex- tremely careful to select and bring forward the important circumstances, and to prepare for their introduction where it is necessary ; yet it is not to be understood, that he ought always to enter into a minute detail. On the contrary, it may often have a much greater effect, not to circumscribe the reader's imagination by painting to him every feature, but rather to give hints from which he may figure the object or the scene to himself: for the imagination when sufficiently roused is capa- ble of conceiving them far more awful, sub- lime, beautiful, or affecting, than it is pos- sible for words to describe, or for the pencil to delineate. We would therefore suggest as the third general principle, that wherever it may be supposed that the reader is sufficiently roused to gather from hints enough to form a picture to himself; there it will be advisable, only to set his imagination to work by means of such hints as may lead him to the propet view of the subject. ON THE IMAGINATION, &C. 5^ How finely is this remark exemplified in the representation, which our great poet has given of Eve in Paradise ! Grace was in all her steps, Heaven in her eye. In ey'ry gesture dignity and love *. Or to take an instance of a very different nature, in his view of the infernal regions, it may be observed how often we have nothing more than hints for figuring to ourselves every thing that is most horribte. Roving on In confds'd march forlorn, th' advent'rous bands With shuddering horrour pale and eyes aghast, ViewM first their lamentable lot, and found No rest ; through many a dark and dreary vale They passed, and many a region dolorous. O'er many a fiery, many a frozen Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of Death, A universe of Death worse Than fables yet have feign'd or fear conceivM f . Painters also adopt frequently the same plan of rousing the imagination by hints. In the * Paradise Lost^ viii. f Paradise tost, ii. 40 ESSAY II, celebrated picture of Achilles bewailing the death of Patroclus, we do not see the face of Achilles, although it was the idea of his anguish that the painter wished ,to convey, Achilles is represented covering his face with his hand; and it is from this circumstance, anQ from the manner in which he seems to grasp his forehead, that we figure to ourselves more than it was possible to paint. It may not, however, be easy to determine in particular cases, whether the reader may be supposed to be sufficiently prepared, so that the hints which are given may serve both to keep up the fire of his imagination, and to present a sufficient outline, which he will readily of himself fill up in the manner we could wish. Where this does not happen, the attempt must prove abortive, and the com- position be most feeble in the very place, where the author designed it to have the strongest effect. It ought on the other hand to be carefully remarked, that every great or interesting object, instead of being represented by general hints, OS THE IMAGINATION, &C. 4l ought in some respects to be particularly and even minutely described, so that it may stand in our minds as a distinct individual, to be dressed up to our own fancy in other respects from the general hints which the author suggests to rouse our imagination. This is the practice of the great poet, from whom the instances are taken. He had already described Eve very particularly in several respects, before the admirable representation which has just been quoted. He had likewise given a view suf- ficiently minute, perhaps in some things too minute, of the infernal regions and the state of the rebellious angels, before he completed the whole with the general expressions of horrour. Homer from the distinct account which he gives of several circumstances in the mannei*, * in the person, and even in the dress of his different heroes, enables his readers to conceive each of them as a separate individual; and what is left to the imagination to supply/ it supplies the better from the assistance which it has already received to form a g eat part of the picture. 42 ESSAY II. In the last place, an author should be par- ticularly careful to direct us to the proper train of thoughts, and not allow us to be diverted by such as are either inconsistent with or foreign to his design. We have seen already, that the same object will produce very different emotions, according to the thoughts with which it happens to be associated ; that an object, which when it excites one train of thoughts warms us with the sublimest emotions, will at another time appear with no charms, and be viewed with indif- ference. It is not necessary, however, that all the thoughts to be suggested should be stated at full length. On the contrary, as the author ought frequently to leave somewhat for the ima- gination to paint to itself in his description of the most affecting objects, so here likewise he should observe the same discretion, and rather content himself with directing our thoughts to a particular channel, than attempt to state precisely every idea that occurs to himself. Such a mode of composition, how- ever proper on some occasions, when we are ON THE IMAGINATION^, &C. 43 endeavouring to initiate a scholar in the rudi- ments of a science, is extremely tiresome, and altogether inconsistent with the rapidity of the mind, when it is roused by any powerful emotion. These general principles will be more fully illustratied in treating of the different sources of pleasure. ESSAY III, ON THE SUBLIME. No subject has been treated more vaguely than the sublime; as will appear from the accounts which have been given by authors of eminence, who wrote professedly to explain it. To begin with Longinus : " What is sublime," says that agreeable writer, " does not lead the *' hearers to persuasion, but to ecstasy; and " every where the wonderful, by the astonish- ^^ ment which it produces, surpasses the per- ** suasive and the graceful; since it is for '* the most part in our power to resist the '* persuasive: but the sublime, carrying with " it irresistible power and violence, subdues ON THE SUBLIME. 45 " every hearer*." Again he says, that *^ our ** mind is raised by the true sublime, and *' receiving a certain proud elevation, re- *' joices and glories, as if it had actually ''produced what it heardf." Now these accounts are far from pointing out any precise characters by which the sublime may be di- stinguished. Besides, they exclude, what have been universally regarded as sublime, the objects which raise our veneration; for ve- neration is an humbling, not a proud or ele- vating emotion. Lord Karnes, in the fourth chapter of his Elements of Criticism, informs us, that every thing which is great in size affects the mind with a certain emotion, which he calls the emotion of grandeur; and that every thing * *0u ycL^ he ifsiSuj TQv; dx^ooofj^svovg, aAX' si; syccrfoca-iv oiyei to, virs^^vcx,' itavT-r) §8 ys ' iri^xyovy (jog roL itoXKoL, l^)' 'ijjtAiy rcx.vra, Se, $vyac(rt£iocy koh (2ia,v du,ocyoy nr^oa-i^s^oyra., ita-yrog sTtxvoo rou dK§ou}[ji,£vou ^OL^itrroiron. ITg^i 'T\|/ou;. §. 1. + 'Tiro r aXYjSovg Ci>ovg litcci^Bron rs -^fj^ouv ij ^u^yj, xa,i yoiv^Qv ri d,vo(.(rrri^(x, /\a,[^(2a,yo'j(rci, irXYj^ovroci yjx.i^'xg xa< Ht£yaXau%ia;, w; avrry ysvvoi.a'a.fToi, oirs^ TjV.ouff-gy.. Ibid. §. 7. 46 tSSAY III. which is elevated in situation produces what he calls the emotion of sublimity, which is similar, but not exactly the same with the former. " These emotions,*' he says, " are " clearly distinguishable, not only in the in- ** ternai feeling, but even in their external " expressions. A great object (these are his " words) makes the spectator endeavour to ** enlarge his bulk; which is remarkable in " plaui people, who give way to nature with- " out reserve; in describing a great object " they naturally expand themselves, by draw- " ing in air with all their force. An elevated " object produces a different expression; it " makes the spectator stretch upwards, and " stand a-tiptoe." He observes still farther, that no object is termed grand or sublime, unless, together with its size or' its elevation, it be possessed of the qualities which contribute to beauty, such as regularity, proportion, order, or colour. He even asserts, that according to the number of such qualities combined with magnitude or elevation, the object is more or less grand or sublime : though he acknowledges ON THE SUBLIME. 47 that the perfection of these beautiful qua- lities is less requisite in great, elevated, or distant objects, than in those which are small or near. Now he adds, that every emotion, from whatever cause it proceeds, which re- sembles the emotion produced by grandeur or elevation, is called by the same name. Hence he accounts for courage, magnanimity, ge- nerosity, and whatever else is called sub- lime, being all ranked in the same class, the emotions which they produce resem- bling what we feel at the sight of great or elevated objects. These observations are more vague and un- satisfactory than we should have expected in a philosophical discussion, and especially from an author of so great acuteness, who has thrown light on very difficult subjects. For surely it is not obvious at first sight, that there is any thing in common between two species of objects so very different, as the ocean or the sky on the one hand, and on the other hand Cassar's courage or Cato's mag- nanimity; nor do we readily discover what is 48 ESSAY III. the resemblance between the emotions which they produce. Dr. Gerard, in the second section of his Essay on Taste, agrees with Lord Karnes, in considering the emotion produced by objects of great dimensions as the standard of the subHme; though he does not insist, like his lordship, that they should be adorned with any of the beautiful qualities, but only that they *' possess quantity, or amplitude, and sim- ** plicity in conjunction." And he endeavours in the following manner to account for the resemblance, which he supposes between such an emotion and those which are produced by the consideration of the nobler passions, as heroism, magnanimity, or patriotism. In forming the idea of any passion, he says, we " run over in thought the objects about " which it is employed, the things by which " it is produced, the effects by which it dis- ** covers itself; and as these always enter into " our conception of the passion, and are often ** connected with quality, they naturally render ** the passion sublime. What wonder, then," ON THE SUBLIME. 49 he adds, " that We esteem heroism grand, ^' when, in order to imagine it, we suppose a ^* mighty conqueror, in Opposition to the most ^' formidable dangers, acquiring power over *' multitudes of nations, subjecting to his do- V minions wide -extended countries, and pur- ^^ chasing renown which reaches to the ex- ^^ tremities of the world, and shall continue ^"' through all the ages of futurity." Now here I would ask, if the hero's supe- riority to indolence^ pleasure, and security, and iiis conteitipt of hardships, danger, death, and ^uin, are riot sublime objects in themselves, independently of any consideration of the num- bers whom he has subdued> the wideness of his dominioil, oV the extent of his fame. I appre- bend, that these heroic virtues, exerted within the harrow bounds of a single city, and even exert- ed without success and without being known to the world, would be considered as far more sub- lime than the history of a man who had travelled through all the countries of the Earth where he could travel without danger, and whose name was known every where, and ^vould be perpetuated so ESSAY III. to postei'ity as an accurate geographer or cal- culator in astronomy. Our author, however, has also another way of explaining how the heroic virtues belong to the sublime ; for he says, that such an excellence of character " excites wonder and astonishment, *' the same emotion which is produced by *^ amplitude.'* But here it may be observed, that every object which is new or extraordinary of it's kind, a woman of very uncommon beauty, a hag of very uncommon ugliness, all excite our wonder and astonishment. Yet surely our wonder and astonishment at beauty are very different from our wonder and astonishment at ugliness; nor does the state of mind pro" duced by either of these objects resemble that which is produced by amplitude, or any other emotion which is called sublime. Dr. Gerard, indeed, has limited his account of the emotion of sublimity, and limited it too much, by saying after Longinus, that the soul when affected by it " feels a noble pride, and " entertains a lofty conception of it's own ca- " pacity." For, as we have already observed, ON THE SUBLIME. 51 veneration is an humbling, not a proud emotion; and so also is our admiration of the omni- potence displayed in the works of nature: yet both of these emotions are universally acknow- ledged to be sublime. Neither does the observation appear to be just, that all sublime emotions agree in com- posing the soul to a " solemn sedateness :" for this is not very expressive of our state of mind, when we look at the ocean in a storm, or admire an instance of extraordinary generosity. Mr. Burke, in his philosophical Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful, has considered the sub- ject in a very different light from the writers already mentioned, and explained and defended his theory with great ingenuity and liveliness, '' Whatever," he says, " is fitted in any sort to " excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is " to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or " is conversant about terrible objects, or oper- " ates in any manner analogous to terrour, is a '* source of the sublime*." Here, indeed, we * Part i. §. 7. E^ tnight suppose, that the aiithoi* is mentioning only one of these sources : but we find, when tve proceed, that the definition is considered as universal; nor does he even avail himself of the vague expression, " whatever operates in a manner *^ analogous to terrour," to avoid the difficulty of reducing all subHme objects within it's compass. On the contrary, after enumerating the different kinds of them, he endeavours to show, that they are all such as either raise terrour directly, or else such as produce the same state of body which terrour produces^ and consequently raise some degree of that passion in the mind. For, both in the sublime and beautiful, he proceeds on this principle, that as every passion of the mind produces a certain state of body, so on the other hand when the state of body corre* sponding to any passion is produced, by whatever cause, it will always be attended with some degree of the particular passion* Mr. Burke brought his principle even to the test of ex- periment; for he says, "he has often observed, " that on mimicking the looks of angry, or " placid; or frighted, or daring men, he has ON THE SUBLIME. S3 '^ involuntarily found his jnind turned to that ^* passion the appearance of which he endea- *' voured to imitate; and he is convinced tliat it -* is hard to avoid it, though one strove to '* separate the passion froni it's correspond^ '* ent gesture*." Whatever truth there may be in this principle, still we cannot admit the general theory, were it only for this one consideration, that we find objects which are terrible in the highest degree, but which yet are destitute of all pretensions to sublimity. Such, for instance, are a mortal wound, a coffin, a rack, a gibbet. We must, therefore, suppose the terrible to be distinct from the sublime, however frequently these two characters may be united, or heighten each other's effect. The most plausible theory appears to be that which is suggested by Dr. Blair at the conclusion of his Lecture on Sublimity in Objects. His words are: ^^ INIighty force or ^^ power, whether accompanied with terrour or * Part iv, §.4, 54 ESSAY in, *' not, whether employed in alarming or pro- " tecting us, has a better title than any thing *' that has been mentioned, to be the fund- " amental quality of the sublime." Agree- ably to the opinion of this judicious and elo- quent author, I would state in general, that objects are sublime, according as they exhibit or suggest extraordinary power. The truth of the theory will be more evident, when we take a survey of the different qualities which are regarded as sublime, and consider the emotions which they raise. We shall afterwards endeavour to state the principles which an author ought to have in view, when he would affect iiis readers with these delightful emotions. Great power is universally acknowledged to be sublime; whether it be that which is exerted by living agents on external objects; or whe- ther it be the force with which bodies act upon each other; or whetlier it be the mental energy traordinary power. But for this purpose a dif- ferent management is required in different cases. ' We may first observe, that in represent- ing the operations of living agents or external objects, our idea of the power will be heightened, the more the operation is wrapped in obscurity and mystery ; for thus the imagination is left at liberty, and even roused to conjecture more than can be told. By neglecting this principle, and upon an occa- iibn too which might well have suggested it> Milton has lost much of the effect, that might ON THE SUBLIME. 73 have been expected from his lofty genius on one of the grandest of all subjects, the creation of the world. Instead of availing himself of it's natural and awful mysteriousness, he has studied to render it familiar, by describing it in detail as a mechanical process. For example : He took the golden compasses, .prepared In God*s eternal store, to circumscribe The universe and all created things ; One foot he centred, and the other tum'd*. In point of sublimity Milton's description is tiothing, compared with the following verses in the passage from ]the Scripture, of which it is a paraphrase. '^ In the beginning God " created the Heaven and the Earth. And " the Earth was without form and void; and ^^ darkness was upon the face of the deep. And '* the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the " waters. And God said, Let there be light: ^^ and there was light f." In the description of external objects, our ^ Paradise Lost^ Bopk vii. f Genesis i. 1 3. 74 ESSAY HI. sense of the sublime may be awakened in different ways. For, in the first place, they may be represented as produced, or as acted upon, by extraordinary power ; and here ob- scurity and mystery will heighten the effect. We have an admirable example in Milton's address to light at the beginning of the third book of Paradise Lost : but in quoting this passage I shall omit a few lines, which follow the first in the original, because they appear to many persons to confound the literal and metaphorical meanings of the word light, and thus to proceed on a quibble, which deprives them both of sense and sublimity. Hail, holy Light! offspring of Heav'n firstborn! Or hear^st thou rather, pure ethereal stream. Whose fountain who shall tell ? Before the sun. Before the heav*ns thou wert ; and, at the voict Of God, as with a mantle didst invest The rising world of waters, dark and deep^ Won from the void and formless infmite. Again; the external objects themselves may be represented as acting with irresistible vio- lence. And here it is to be observed, that the imagination readily ascribes power, not only to ON THE SUBLIME. "^S the solid masses of matter, the action of which is manifest, but also, as we formerly remarked, to more subtle and visionary agents, such as Fire, Frost, Darkness, Time (some of which are mere negations), when they happen to be attended with great or alarming events. We have a good illustration in the following account from Thomson's Seasons of the effects of winter on the northern coasts of Tartary. Speaking of the mountains of ice piled upon these coasts, he says — Projected huge and horrid o*er the surge Alps frown on Alps ; or rushing hideous down. As if old Chaos was again return'd. Wide rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. Ocean itself no longer can resist The binding fury ; but, in all it's rage '" ^ Of tempest taken by the boundless frost, ^' quoted ; " Alps frown on Alps." So likewise Gray in his celebrated ode entitled The Bard: - On a rock, whose haughty brow . frowns o*er old Conway's foaming flood. In the same poem we have another admi- rable example, when the oaks, the caves, and the torrents of Snovvdon are represented as threatening to wreck all their fury on the merciless Edward, 78 ESSAY in. Hark ! how each giant oak and desert cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath, 0*er thee, O king, their hundred arms they ware. Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe. In the moral sublime it is evident, that the author ought to represent in as striking a view as possible, on the one hand, the difficulties to be surmounted, and on the other, the vigour of mind v^ith which they are encountered. I know nothing of the kind, which equals in point of masterly execution Satan's reflections on his own misery, in his address to the sun. But the picture is so shocking, that, subhme as it is, we turn from it with pain and abhorrence. It is true, that the more dreadful we conceive his misery to be, we must so much the more admire his undaunted resolution. But it is to be re- marked, that although admiration of great power, and particularly of mental energy, is a lively emotion, yet several other emotions, such as terrour, pity, and the tender affections, are far more interesting, and may be raised so high as not only to engross, but to overwhelm the ON THie SUBLIME. 79 mind. Accordingly in the passage which we are now considering the horrible is so pre- dominant, that the fainter emotions of the sublime are little distinguished. Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath and infinite despair ? Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep. Still threatening to devour me, opens wide. To which the Hell I suffer sewns a Heav*n. Besides, our abhorrence of a wickedness so desperate, that even such misery could not subdue it, diminishes not only the pleasure, but even the sensation of grandeur. But the ex- hibition of a depravity less shocking may leave us still open to the admiration of uncommon fortitude; while our admiration will be increased by the terrours to be encountered, if they are less hideous, and less beyond our conception of what the utmost human vigour is able to endure. Of this we have a good instance in the following animated description by Sallust of the conduct of Catiline and his army, when they were de- stroyed by the forces of the state. 80 ESSAY iir. # u Postquatn fusas copias, seque cum paucis " relictum, videt Catilina ; rnemor generis atque " pristinag dignitatis suae, in confertissimos hostes " incurrit, ibique pugnans confoditur. Sedcon- ** fecto proelio, turn vero cerneres quanta au- " dacia, quantaque anioji vis fuisset in exercitu " Catilinae, Nam fere quern quisque vivus " pugnando locum ceperat, eum amissa anima " corpore tegebat. Pauci autem quos medios " cohors prffitqria disjecerat, paullo diversius, " sed omnes tamen adversis vulneribus con- *^ ciderant. Catilina vero, longe a suis inter " hostium cadavera repertus est, paululum * " After Catiline sees his forces routed, and himself " remaining with but a few followers, remembering his "' family and former dignity, he rushes into the thickest of " the enemy, and there he fights till he is slain. But when *' the battle was over, then indeed you might perceive *^ what boldiies? and what force of mind had been exerted ** by Catiline^s army. For almost every one covered with *' his dead body the place which he had occupied in ** the fight. Only a few in the middle, whom the pre- *' tori an cohort had broken, fell a little separate, yet all *• with honourable wounds. But Catiline was found far *' from his own m.en, in the midst of dead bodies of the ** enemy, still breathing a little, and retaining in his '* countenance the ferocity of mind^ which he possessed; " when alive.'' ON THE SUBLIME. 81 '^^ etiam spirans, ferociamque animi quam ha- ** buerat vivus in vultu retinens." But it is a far more delightful, as well as use- ful display of the moral sublime, when the vigour of mitid discovers itself in virtuous exertions; where a good man struggles undaunted with the storms of adversity, braves ail hardships and dangers in some honourable pursuit, or de- liberately prefers destruction to disgrace. " Ecce spectaculum dignum in quod respi- *' ciat, operi suo intentus, Deus; bonum ** virum cum magnis infortuniis coUuctan- '' tern*." In all the cases which have been mentioned since the observations on the theory, the ter- rible, and sometimes the distressful, are mora or less incorporated with the sublime; and may be employed on many occasions, either to increase our idea of the power, or to main- tain that serious frame, which is necessary for * Here is a sight which Qod may vouchsafe to regard, for such virtue is his own work ; a good man struggling with great calamities. Seneca, S^ E^^At Hi. the full effect. Thus, Milton in the descriptierii of Satan at the head of his infernal hosts : He, above the rest ih shape &nd gesture proudly eminent. Stood like a tow'r. His form had not yfet lost All her original brightness, nor appeared jLess than archangel ruin'd, and th* excess Of glory obscur'd : As when the sun new ris'» Looks through the horizontal misty air. Shorn of his beams ; or from behind the mooit/ in dim eetipsc, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone Above them all th* archangel. In the representation of external objectSy t)Oth the sublime and the terrible may be height- ened, atid also the distressful brought forward, by the introduction of living creatures, par- ticularly human beings; a circumstance which has so fine an effect, that it ought never to be omitted, if we wish to render interesting any description of inanimate nature. We cannot but feel how grand and awful Milton has rendered the eclipse of the sun by this very circumstance. And we have also remarkable ON THE SUBLIME. S3 instances in the passages already quoted from Gray's ode, and from Thomson's account ot the Polar winter* In the cases which we are now consi* dering, terrour will be a good preparation to render us more sensible either of that awful power, which is displayed in the na- tural sublime, or of those alarms or distresses, which in the moral sublime call forth and prove the vigour of mind. We have a fine exB,mple in the song of Mador, the chief of the bards, in Mason's Caractacus. The beginning of it might be quoted as a specimen of the terrible: but we are at present to observe, that it pre- pares us for the highest admiration of the enthu- siastic courage described in this animated ode, I. h Hark ! heard ye not yon footstep dread, That shook the earth with thund'rin^ tread ? 'Twas Death. — In haste The warrior past; High tow'rM his helmed head, I mark'd his mail, I mark'd his shield, I spied the sparkling of his spear, I saw his giant arm the falchion wield ; Wide wav'd the bickering blade, andj^r'd the an^ry air. G2 84 EssAr lii, I. 2. On me, he cried, my Britons> wajt ; To lead you to the field of fate I come : yon car. That cleaves the air. Descends to throne my state. I mount yoiir champion and your god ; My proud steeds neigh beneath the thong : Hark ! to my wheels of brass that rattle loud ! Hark! t<5 my clarion shrill, that brays the woods among! 1 5. Kear not now the fever's fire. Fear not now the death-bed groarii Pangs that torture, pains that tire. Bedrid age with feeble moan. These domestic terrours wait. Hourly at my palaCe gate; And when o'er slothful realms my rod I wave, These on the tyrant king and coward slave Rush with vindictive rage, and drag them to the graven ih i. iut you, my sons, at this dread hour Shall share the fulness of my pow'r i From all your bows. In levell^l rows. My own dread shafts shall show'r* Go then to conquest, gladly go, . Deal forth my dole of destiny ; With all my fury dash the trembling foe Down to those darksome cells, where Rome's pale spectres lie, ON THE SUBLIME, 8>5 II. 2. Where creeps the ninefold stream profound Her black inexorable round, And on the bank To willows dank The shivering ghosts are bound. Twelve thousand crescents all shall swell 7*0 full orbM pride, and all decline. Ere they again in life's gay mansions dwell. Not such the meed, that crowns the sons of freedom's line ; IL 3. No, my Britons battle-slain ! Rapture gilds your parting hour; I, that all despotic reign. Claim but there a moment's power. Swiftly the soul of British flame Animates some kindred frame. Swiftly to life and light triumphant flies. Exults again in martial ecstasies. Again for freedom fights, again for freedom dies. Pity, and the tender affections, where the case permits, will introduce the moral sublime with great effect When we detest a person, our admiration of his fortitude is extorted froni us, and mixed with unpleasant feelings : whereas it is cordial and delightful, if we are attached to him either from pity to his suf- B6 ESSAY III. ferings, or from regard to his amiable qualities ; and no character is so engaging, as that which unites heroic fortitude to a kind and com^ passionate heart. Besides, we approach the persons of the miserable not only with pity and affection, but with a certain degree of rever- ence also; a state of mind highly favourable to increase our admiration of their magna- nimous exertions. Mason likewise affords us a good specimen of such a preparation in the last scene of Caractacus. The unhappy king, de- graded and ruined in his ©Id age, bewails In these lines the death of his son : Yes, best lov'd toy. Yes, I can weep, can fall upon thy corse. And I can tear my hairs, these few gray hairs. The only honours war and age have left me. Ah son ! thou mightst have ruKd o'er many nations^. As did thy royal ancestry ; but I, Rash that I was, ne*er kneSv the golden curb Discretion hangs on brav'ry : else perchance These men, that fasten feticrs on tliy father. Had su'd to him for peace, and claimed hi^ friendship;.. Aulus Didius takes this occasion to remind him ON THE SUBLIME. 87 of his obstinacy in opposing the pGwe)? pf the Romans ; But thou wa$t still implacable to Eome, And scorn'd hfir friendship. Caractacus, starting from the dead body of his son, instantly replies, Soldier, I had arms. Had neighing steeds to whirl my iron cars, Had wealth, dominion, post thou wonder, Roman, I fought to save them ? The sublime is not always so iptimately united with the terrible, and far less with the distressful. On the contrary the mighty power which we admire may be exerted in acts of protection and of bounty; it may be the foun- dation of our security, enjoyment, and hope. And, in general, whatever has a remarkable influence to inspire the mind with confidence and courage, will from that very circumstance be felt as sublime. In such cases it is evident, that the power ought not to be described with that awful mysteriousness, which has so great an effect on other occasions. The terrible and the distressful, if they are brought forward at all, ought to be touched with a gentler hand, and S8 ESSAY III. employed only by way of introduction or con- trast, to improve our feeling of the happier and more encouraging representations. In this spirit is the following passage from Thomson s hymn at the conclusion of the Sea- sons: Should Fate command mc to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to hostile barbarous climes,^ Rivers unknown to song, vi^here first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic Isles; 'tis nought to me^^ Since God is ever present, ever feh In the void waste as in th^ city full. Rolls the same kindred seasons round the world^ In all apparent, wise ancj good in atl. The beginnirvg of the morrring hymn of our first parents, though it contains no contrast witfip terrour or distress, is still a finer specimen of the elevating sublime ; These are thy glorious works. Parent of good> Almighty ! thine this universal frame. Thus wondVous fair ; thyself how wond'rous then t Un'^peakable, whu sitt'st above these heav'ns. To us invisible, or dimly seen In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond- thougl^t, and power ce of the effect of obseurity in ntagtiifying the horrible. Shall I now call you, says Erictho, by youi' real names? And thou, O Hecate, who art wont to approach the gods with a far different aspect, not thine own, shall I show thee as thou art, with thy pale livid form, and forbid thee to change thy face of Hell? Shall I tell the banquets, which detain thee under the ponderous earth? the union in which thou hast joined th3^self to the grim king of dark- ness? the pollutions which have made thee an abomination to thy mother? Do you obey? or must He be called, at whose invocation the earth itself cannot but shudder? He, who beholds the Gorgons in all their horrours, and chastises with his scourge the trembling furies? He, who reigns in a lower deep, which ye have not seen^ in a Hell to which yours is Heaven. '■{ Jafm Tos ego nomine rero ,. Eliciam? * ^^*^^ * * * * Teque Deis, ad quos alio procedere vultu Ficta soies, Hecate, pallenti lirrda forina. ON TERROUR. 101 Ostendam, faclemque Erebi mutare vetabo ? Eloquar, immeuso terree sub pondere quae te Contineant, Ennaea, dapes ? quo foedere moestum Regemnoctis ames? quae te contagia passim Noluerit revocare Ceres ? * * * * ****** * * * Paretis ? an I'He .CoAipellandus erit, quo nunquam terra vocato Non concussa tremit ? qui Gorgona cernit apertam, Verberibusque suis trepidam castigat Erinnyn j ladespecta tenet vobis qui Tar,tara, cujus Vos estis superi*. In Satan's address to the Sun, Milton has introduced, but with a still more awful effect, the stroke which has been last quoted from J^ucan : In the lowest deep, a lower deep, Still threat'njng to devour me, opens wide. To which the Hell I suffer seems a Ileav'n. Upon the same principle, in paintings and theatrical representations, the objects of terrour ought to be placed in obscurity. The witches in Macbeth, and the ghost in Hamlet, as they are generally represented, have rather a ludi- crous effect. But I am persuaded it woulcj * Pharsalia; lib. ti. 10^ be very different, if they were removed to a grieat distance at the bottom of the stage, and seeii.as obscurely as possible. I remember no exhibition of this kind, which produces so power- ful an effect as the appearance of Banquo's posterity in Macbeth. They not only cross the stage at the greatest possible distance, but are concealed from the spectators by the side scene till they come to the middle of the stage, so that each of them is seen for an instant only. 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 horrour. Such, 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 foot of a man as just leaving the room. I have heard of a remarks able picture of the Deluge by Poussin, which was formerly in the gallery of the Luxembourg * The late Mr. John Brown, of Edinburgh. ON TERROUR. 103 palace, at Paris. The only vestige of man- liind was the ark, seen diinly through t\ie haze in the distant back ground ; and the only living creatures were in the fore ground, a horse drowning, hurried down by a torrent from the hills, and only his head above water; and a huge snake winding up the hill, as if to escape from the inundation in the valley below. The colouring of the whole w^as uniform, dull, and dreary, like that of a very rainy, hazy No- vember day. The gentleman from whom I received this information mentioned also an- other picture, or sketch, by Raphael, which he thinks was in the Vatican. It is a repre- sentation of the Plague. The scene is a street, quite still and desolate, \vith only a starved cow in the back ground, reminding us at once of famine in the country and sqlitude in the town;" and in the fore ground, one small group, a man, wife, and infant; the woman just dead; the child wanting to suck her breast; the father with one hand endeavouring gently to push the chil^ iiway, and with the other hand covering 104 ESSAY IV. his own nostrils, and turning asicle his head. How much more awful are the few hints selected hy these great masters, than if the pictures had been crowded with objects of horrour. 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 scenes of terrour 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. And the effect will be still more powerful, if we have been weakened by compassion. 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 sjmie star, that^s westward from the pole. ON.TERROUR. 105 Had made his course t' illume that part of Heav"*!!, Where now it burns; Marcellus and myself The bell then beating one " Peace break thee off," interrupted Mar- cellus, ^^ Look where it comes again," The introduction to IVlador's song in Mason's Caractacus, which has been quoted in the foregoing Essay on the Sublime, is an excellent preparation for the images of terrour with which the song begins, while these images serve, as we have already remarked, to intro- dL\ce the sublime with great effect. There is a fine instance of the effect of pity as a preparation for the most dreadful horrours, in a German ballad which has been translated by a gentleman of Edinburgh, of high poetical genius, in the year 1796, under the title of Willian) and Helen. The same poem was also translated under the title of Lenora, and ac- companied with exquisite drawings by Lady Diana Beauclerc. There is yet anotlier way, in which terrour may be introduced with a very striking effect; and that is, when it rises unexpectedly in the 106 ESSAY IV. midst of a state of security, hope, or joy. But although the contrast will heighten the horrours, yet it is to be remembered, that this preparatory scene ought to be somewhat so- lemn or pathetic ; otherwise the transition might be] ludicrously abrupt. Goldsmith gives a fine instance in his beautiful and interesting novel of the Vicar of Wakefield. The tender father was returning home at night, to prepare his family for the reception of his unfortunate child Ohvia. " My heart," he says, " caught " new sensations of pleasure, the nearer I ** approached that peaceful mansion. As a *' bird that had been frighted from it's nest, " my affections outwent my haste, and hovered " round my little fire-side with all the rapture " of expectation. I called up the many fond "things I had to say, and anticipated the ^^ welcome I was to receive. I already felt " my wife's tender embrace, and smiled at the " joy of my little ones. As I walked but ■* slowly, the night waned apace. The la- " bourers of the day were all retired to rest ; '^ the lights were out in every cottage; no " sounds were heard but of the shrilling cock, ON TERROUR. 10? " and the deep-mouthed watch-dog, at hollow ** distance. I approached my little abode of " pleasure, and before I was within a furlong " of the place, our honest mastiff came run- ** nins to welcome me. " It was now near midnight, that I came jto knock at my door: all was still and silent: my heart dilated with unutterable *^ happiness, when, to my amazement, I saw " the house bursting out in a blaze of fire, *' and every aperture red with conflagration. ** .1 gave a loud convulsive outcry, and fell " -upon the pavement insensible." But although the reader or spectator should be prepared for receiving the impressions of terrour as forcibly as may be, yet it is not to be understood, that the approach of the par- ticular object which is to raise it should be gradual, or yet that it should be announced. On the contrary, the more suddenly it pre- sents itself, the effect will be the greater. Hence I am inclined to think, that the witches in Macbeth ought not to have been heard of till the appearance of the general and his officers 108 ESSAY IV. returning from the dangers of battle, and overtaken by a storm in the midst of the heath ; for thus the audience would not only be in a frame fit for receiving the full force of the im- pression, but also the impression itself would be made more abruptly. The observations, which have been made concerning the effect of obscurity, uncertainty, and alarms, of preparation, and of abruptness, suggest a remark of great importance. It is this; that the situation in which terrour 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 it's 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 it*s horrours. We have an admirable example in tb" German ballad entitled Earl Walter, or liie Chace. The hard-hearted oppressor, in his furious sport, had trampled on every obligation, human and divine; whence, as ON TERROUR. 10<} as from the alarm given to the imagination by the introduction of the two unknown strangers, the one entreating him to return to reason, the other encouraging him in his madness, we are prepared to expect the most awful events. He comes up with his retinue, and horns and hounds in full cry, to a lonely hut, where the stag had taken refuge, the cell of a venerable hermit, whose mild entreaties he answers with blasphemy and brutal scorn ^ He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, " Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!'V- But oft^ on whirlwind's pinions borne^ The stag, the hut, the hermit ga; And horse and man, and horn and hound. And clamour of the chase was gone : For hoofs, and howls, and bugle sound, A deadly silence TeignM alone. Wild gaz'd the alFrighted Earl around ; — He strove in yain to wake his horn, in vain to call ; for not a sound Could from his anxious lips be borne. He listens for his trustjr hounds; No distant baying reached his ears; His courser, rogted to the ground. The quick'aing spur unmindful bears. no ESS^AY IV. Still dark and darker round it spreads. Dark as the darkness of the grave ', And not a sound the still invades. Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; And from a cloud of swarthy red. The awful voice of thunder spoke. *' Oppressor of creation fairf '* Apostate spirits' hardened tool ! '* Scorner of God I scourge of the poor ! " The measure of thy cup is full. '* Go hunt for ever through the wood, " For ever roam th' affrighted wild ; " And let thy fate instruct the proud, " God's meanest creature is his child.'* ^was hush'd: one flash of sombre glare With yellow ting'd the forests brown ; Up rose Earl Walter's bristling hair. And horrour chill'd each nerve and bone. Cold ponr'd the sweat in freezing rill : A rising wind began to sing ; And louder, louder, louder still. Brought storm and tempest on it's wing. The earth is rock'd, it quakes, it rends ; From yawning rifts with many a yell, Mix'd with sulphureous flames, a.scend The misbegotten dogs of Hell. ON TERROUR. Ill What ghastly huntsman next arose. Well may I guess/ but dare not tell : ilis eye like midnight light'ning glows. His steed the swarthy hue of Hell. Earl Walter files o'er bush and thorn. With many a shriek of helpless wo ; &c.* The paem which we have just quoted re- minds us of another important prineiple, too frequently overlooked : that for rendering works of this kind more pleasing, and more instructive ^also, it is the guilty only who should be the victims of horrour, more especially if the horrour be inflicted by supernatural means. This however is not to be understood, as if it were improper to represent the most in- * This ballad of Earl Walter was published along with* that formerly mentioned of William and Helen, being both translated by the same hand. Both translations are of di- stinguished merit; but perhaps the former is in a more finished and masterly manner. But since these translations were printed, the author of them, Walter Scott, Esquire^ has acquire"d great and deserved celebrity by several original compositions, particularly by the Lay of the Last Minstrel,; a recent publication, in which a minute acquaintance with the history and antiquities of his country is happily unite or the dying moments of the persons, for whom we are chiefly interested. Writers in rudei- ages, or of inferior judgment, are apt to fall into the most shocking details, without consi- dering, that bodily suffering is the form of di- stress, which is the least engaging, and with which w^e sympathize the least; that its acute- ness does not depend on the disgusting circum- stances ; and that disgust is vei^ uAfavourable ON PITY. 163 both to affection and to pity. But writers of a better taste and finer genius feel, that this is the time for such beautiful allusions, as will not only turn away our attention from any thing that is unseemly, but also bring forward to view whatever is most affecting, and render it still more attractive. We have a good example in Virgil's description of the death of Euryalus. Euryalus falls, says the poet ; the blood flows over his beautiful limbs, and his bending neck re- clines on his shoulder: as when a purple flower, the stalk of which is cut by the plough, languishes and dies; or the poppies, loaded with rain, have drooped their weary head. Volvitur Euryalus leto, pulchrosque per artus It cruor, inque humeros cervix collapsa recumbit, Purpureus veluti cum flos, succisus aratro, Languescit moriens, lassove papavera collo Demisere caput, pluvia cum forte gravantur. iEN. 1. 9, V. 433. There are indeed situations, the distress of which cannot be fully represented without dwell* ing on unseemly and disgusting circumstances. Such are extreme poverty, and many cases of disease, imprisonment, and disgrace. But it may be possible, to represent the sufferer as so Msr l64 ESSAY V. respectable or amiable in his character and ap- pearance, that these circumstances shall have their unfavourable effect in a great measure counteracted, and only serve to remind us, by an affecting contrast, how very different his con- dition ought to have been. ^V'here this cannot be accomplished, the subject is thus far unfit for pathetic compositions, however proper to be recorded in authentic history, or in works, Avhich aim chiefly at instruction or persuasion. Upon this principle we must condemn the subject of Otway's tragedy of the Orphan, how- ever we may admire the talents of the author. Completely innocent as Monimia certainly is of any crime whatever, yet slie falls into a situa- tion, which renders her an abhorrence to herself. And, although she would, in real life, be for this reason the more justly entitled to the compassionate and affectionate attention of her friends, yet her story is on this very account a less engaging subject for tragedy, as it asso- ' dates, with the recollection of her very charms -and virtues, ideas of the most unpleasing kind, and by no means favourable to attachment; in- ON PITY. l55 somucb, that, even in real life, poor Monimia would be deserted, not only by the world, but also by the greater part of her friends them- selves. Although, however, it may be extremely diffi- cult, to command our attachment to a hero or heroine, who is placed in circumstances so very unseeml}^, or who is hooted and laughed at, or who appears in filth and rags ; yet a writer of reflection will understand that in the situation of a person, who falls from afflu'ence and honour into poverty or disgrace, there may be many circumstances of a very different kind, circum- stances of extreme affliction, but which are far from diminishing our affection or respect. But let the object of our pity be ever so en- gaging, yet, as pity is a painful emotion, we must remark here, as in the case of terrour, that an author should not endeavour to prolong it with- out interruption in it's higher degrees : for, either our state of mind will become too distressing, or the attempt will be abortive from the languor and insensibility, which are the consequence of violent agitation. We should be relieved, how- 166 ESSAY V. ever, not by objects of drollery, which are unfa- vourable to the repetition of the pathetic ; but by amiable views of human life, by the display of the tender affections, which will not only sooth our distress, but likewise soften our hearts, and render us easily subdued when the violence of sorrow returns. What is sublime or beauti- fill in external objects may also be employed with the best effect. From the dismay and an- guish of our fellow-creatures we gladly pass to those views of inanimate nature, which sooth to complacency, or inspire a gentler melancholy: and such representations, on the other hand, form an excellent preparation, and an excellent scenery, for whatever is most violent in the pathetic. The pain of pity will be greatly relieved, also, when the termination is happy for the virtuous. But this poetical justice, to use the technical term, although it seems agreeable to the general feelings of mankind, has not received the ap« probation of most of the critics. It is supposed, that we are apt to be indifferent to those calath e'er gavic. Await alike, th' inevitable hour: The path of glory ieads but to the grave. Yet melancholy as the subject is, and forced ^s we are to apply it directly to ourselves, thos is one of the stanzas, wliich we read mih the greatest pleasure. Horace also frequently reminds us, how -soon the joys of life pass away, and how soon we must part with every object of attachment; yet these are some of the verses, which we xire aptest to commit to memory, and fomlest of repeating. Such are tiie following stanzas am ^he ode to Postumus*. Eheu! fugaces, Postume^ Postume, Labuntur anni ; nee pietas jaoram Rugis et instanti senectse i Afier£t, iiadomitaeque morti. * Lib. 2, Ode 1 4- 17^ ESSAY vr. LInquenda tellus, et df)mu3, et placcns L'xor; neque harum quas colis arborum Te, pr^eter invlsas cupressos, Ulla brevem dominum sequctur. We have farther to observe, that frequently the feelings, which are excited in us by the ca- lamities of others, are not entirely those of pity for the sufferers. We are alarmed and afflicted for ourselves also, exposed as we are, like those w'hoQi we commiserate, to misfortune, while memory is busy in renewing the traces of our former sorrows. Thus Homer, with his usual knowledge of human nature, re- presents the female captives of Achilles joining in the lamentations of Briseis for Patroclus; while, in trutli, they were bewailing their own calamities : — And a little after, when Achilles mourned, that liis father, as well as his friend, was dead or on the brink of the grave, and that as he ON MELANCHOLY. 177 himself was never to return to his country, his young son would be destitute of a protector; the old men, says the poet, joined their groans to his, remembering what each of them had left at home. *£ls £(pa,'fQ xXcciccv ETfi OS reyoc^wto yspovTs^, MvYiO-cc^evQi fa. bkols'OS hyi lAsyocpOKriv sKsinfov*^ It is evident, that the more the calamities, which we pity in others, have a tendency to renew the memory of our former afflictions, or to remind us how much we may have yet to suffer, the more will our fears and sorrows be directed to ourselves. And hence M^e consider as be- longing to our present subject those passages, in which our fellow-creatures are represented as drawing near to the close of life, or mourning the absence or the death of friends, or suffering any other evil, which is common to all men. It appears difficult to account in a satis- factory manner for the pleasure, which proceeds from or accompanies sorrow for ourselves. It is obvious, however, that our melancholy may * Iliad, lib. 19, v. 301, and 3^8. isr lyS ESSAY VI. ^ be mingled and alleviated, not only with the charms of composition, but also with the ten- (Jer affections. We may also remark, that we are attracted in vto small degree by curiosity, to learn the sentiments, which are entertained by others with regard to subjects so extremely interesting as the calamities of life, and the awful event, by which it is closed for ever. But there are likewise other observations, which may deserve attention, and which are more peculiar to the subject. There are few persons, if indeed there be any, who are not at times disposed to consider human life in a melancholy view. A reverse of fortune, the disappointment of a favourite hope, the separation from those whom we love, or their sufferings, their unworthiness or their unkindness; such calamities will sadden the imagination, till it tinges with the darkest gloom the whole prospect of life, and it's fairest objects. '* This goodly frame," the earth, says Hamlet, " seems to me a sterile promontory: " this most excellent canopy, the air, this " majestical roof fretted with golden fires;, ON MELANCHOLY. 179 '* appears nothing to me, but a foul and pes- ** tilent congregation of vapours." " My joys " died with thee, Philander," says Young in his affliction; thy last sigh DissolvM the charm; the disenchanted Earth Lost all her lustre. Where her glittering towVs, Her golden mountains where ? All darkened down To naked waste, a dreary yale of tears *. Besides, in the happiest condition, which this world can afford, we still know the evils, to which our nature is subject, and the objects of desire, which we cannot obtain : and thus with- out any positive suffering, or even in the highest prosperity, apprehensions and regrets may sicken the heart. Now in our despondence it is no small consolation to find, that we are not without companions ; that all men are born, as well as ourselves, to suffer; that our fellow-creatures feel as we do, and sympathize with our fears and sorrows. Hence the melancholy descrip- * Night Thoughts. Night first. N 2 180 ESSAY VI. tions of life are seldom so far exaggerated, that they will not at times coincide with our views, and, while they indulge, will yet sooth our trou- ble. Even when the mind is in a sounder state, yet as we cannot but be conscious, that our best blessings are transitory and uncertain, and our tranquillity exposed to various vexations, those melancholy compositions, which are not ab- surdly exaggerated, may still be engaging by the agreeable view of sympathetic feelings. Farther: In the recollection of joys, that are past, which is tlie kind of melancholy, that we are the fondest: to indulge, the conception of these joys renews in some degree the sensations of our happier days, and relieves with it's brighter colouring the gloom of sorrow. *' Ah! " happy hills," said the poet in the fond re- membrance of his early years, aw«akened by the prospect of Eton college, Ah ! happy hills, ah ! pleasing shade. Ah ! fields belovM ki vaiii. Where once nay careless childhood stray 'd, A stranger yet to pain ! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow. ON MELANCHOLY. I^Sl As> waving fresh their gladsome whig. My weary soul they seem to sooth. And, redolent of joy and youth. To breathe^ a second spring. In real life, it is true, our condition may be so forlorn, that the contrast with our former prosperity will be extremely painful; and if our misfortunes have been occasioned by folly and guilt, no state of mind can be more insup- portable. Yet if there be no shame, or re- morse, or any other positive suffering, it seldom happens, ev€n in real life, that we do not love to indulge at times the remembrance of joys that are past, though we know they are never to return. Thus Homer in the Odyssey beau- tifully represents Menelaus speaking of the fondness, with which he reflected on his <;om- panions, who were lost, though he found the affliction too great to dwell on it long. TiOLVtOLS l^BV O^V§Of/,SVOS HSLl a^svuiv, IToAXaxi; ly ^syapQio^i, xa,Syj{J^svos ^^ers^oifTiv ■ * Odyss. lib. 4, v. 100. "Often when I sit in my " palace, mourning and lamenting them all, sometimes 182 ESSAY vr. So likewise the author of the Pleasures of the Imagination, in one of his best passages : Ask the faithful youth. Why the cold urn of her, whom long he lov'd, 60 often fills his arms, so often draws His lonely footsteps at the silent hour, 'To pay the mournful tribute of his tears. O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds Should ne*er seduce his bosom to forego That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise Of care and enyy, sweet remembrance sooths. With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast, A*d turns his tears to rapture *, It is in this spirit, that Shenstone inscribed on the urn, which was sacred to Maria's memory : " Heu ! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, " quam tui meminisse!" — a sentiment, which the Duke of Ormond, less elegantly, but not " the sorrow delights my soul ; sometimes again I -desist, « and am quickly satiated with the cruel sorrow/' In Pope's translatioi), Still in short intervals of pleasing wo. Regardful of the friendly dues I owe, I to the glorious dead, for ever dear. Indulge the tribute of a grateful tear. * Book 2, y. 683. ON MELANCHOLY. 183 less afFectingly expressed, when he lost the joy and pride of his heart; *' I would not *' give my dead son for the best living son ^* in Christendom*." If then even in real life we often find a deilight, that sooths our anguish in the recol- lection of departed happiness; we can more readily conceive, how the slighter sorrow, which is raised by descriptions of the uncertain and transitory nature of earthly blessings, may be mingled with pleasure, and moderated to an agreeable agitation. But there is another remark, which deserves particular attention, although it may at first appear somewhat paradoxical; that our life and blessings are greatly endeared to us by the consideration of their shortness and uncer- tainty. It will perhaps occur as an answer to this remark, that the shortness and uncertainty of any possession diminish it's value, and con- sequently will diminish our attacliment, or at * Hume's Hjstory of England. Reign of Charles li 184 ESSAT VI, least cannot increase it. But the first part of this objection is ambiguous, and, which- ever way we understand it, the conclusion is not implied. For the word "value denotes either the intrinsic worth of a possession, or the price, which, all circumstances considered, you ought reasonably to give for it. Now the price, which in your particular situation you ought to give for it, may be very different from it's intrinsic worth, and your attachment may be far from being regulated by either. You ought to give very little for the finest villa in the world, if it be situate in a country, where you are every day in danger of being dispossessed by violence : at the same time the intrinsic worth may be very high ; and your attachment may be either less than the intrinsic worth ^ deserves, or it may be so immoderate, that you will risk your life and all that is dear to you rather than forego the possession. But for our present subject it requires to be more particularly observed, that the shortness and uncertainty of the possession, although they ought certainly to diminish tiie price, if you were DN MELANCHOLY, 185 to purchase the villa, yet will not alter the in- trinsic worth: on the contrary, if it were actually your own, nothing would tend more to direct your attention and awaken your sensibility to it s comforts and beauties, than to reflect, that you were soon to enjoy them and to see them no more. What we conceive ourselves to possess securely we are apt to neglect and undervalue, and long familiarity impairs the sense of enjoy- ment. It is their loss, or the fear of their loss^ which most effectually makes us feel the value of our blessings. Hence our heart is warmed even to an ordinary acquaintance, whom we are leaving for the last time. Hence although \ in general we receive the light of day and survey the beauties of nature with great in- "diflference, yet how wistfully should we look to I the setting sun, or survey the most common objects, if our eyes were soon to be closed on them for ever! And eveiy heart conceives and sympathizes with the feelings of Antores, who, expiring far from Argi his native country. Looks up to HeavVs sweet light, and dying sighs For Argi's peaceful plains and cheerful skies. \ 186 ESSAY VI. coelumque Aspicit, et dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos *. Thus it appears, that, when life and it's blessings are represented as transitory and uncertain, they are placed in a light, which is gloomy indeed, but which renders them peculiarly en- gaging. Here it may be said, that according to this account religious and moral writers are ex- tremely imprudent, when they employ this topic to moderate our attachment to the present world. And I have no hesitation to affirm, that he is mistaken, who thinks to diminish our opinion of the intrinsic value of our blessings merely by representing them as fleeting and precarious. Perhaps indeed he may over- power us so much with this view of our situa- tion, as to render us incapable of enjoyment ; but the very sorrow, with which he overpowers us, affords too sure an evidence, that he has strengthened instead of weakening our attach- ment. And the topic, when urged by itself apart from other considerations, is employed * -fl2neid. lib. 10, v. 782. ON MELANCnaLY. 187 with greater knowledge of the human heart, and indeed with greater reason, by them, who advise us to Taste life's glad moments while the wasting taper glows And pluck ere it w^ithers the quickly fading rose. But I am far from imputing the mistake, which we have now supposed, to any of our instructors in religion and morality. They urge with great propriety the shortness and un- certainty of our present life and it's blessings, as a consideration sufficient in itself, not to lower our estimate of their intrinsic value (that is to be done by other topics), but to check the dangerous exultation and presumption, which we are apt to encourage, when we forget the tenure, on which we hold our blessings; and to restrain us, even although their intrinsic value were far greater than it is, from bestowing an unreasonable price, from sacrificing our honour and integrity for so transient and precarious a possession. And the miserable folly, as well as the unworthiness of such a conduct, becomes Btill more glaring, when religion directs our rss ESSAY vr. views to tiie higher and more permanent enjoy- ments of a future state. At the same time, however poor the blessings of this world may be, when compared with what we are invited to look for hereafter; however foolish it may be to triumph, as if w^ could insure their pos- session; and whatever maybe the price, which, every thing considered, we ought reasonably to give for them : still they have a certain intrinsic value, sufficient to make their loss very sensibly felt even by the wisest and best of men; a value, of which we are not only most sensible, but which we are even extremely apt to over- rate, when we reflect for how short a time at the longest we shall be permitted to enjoy them. We survey with renewed admiration the beauties of nature, as they seem to be retiring from our view. We look with redoubled affection on our companions, to whom we are soon to bid a long farewell. " Prepare the feast," said Lord Handolph ; *' Free is his heart, who for his country fights. He on the eve of battle may resign Himself to social pleasure, sweetest tlien, ON MELANCHOLY. ISfi Wlien danger to a soldier* s soul endears Tfte human joy that never may return*" The celebrated painter le Poussin under- stood this way of interesting the heart. In a picture of Arcadian festivity, he represents a tomb with this simple but affecting inscription, Et in Arcadia ego ; " I too was an Arcadian." The effect of this object, combined with the gayety of the rest of the scene, is beautifully described in the following verses from the Jardins of de Lille. The poet is advising the improvers of ground to enliven their scenes by contrast; and says, Imitez le Poussin. Aux f&tes bocageres II nous peint des bergers €t de jeunes bergeres, Les bras entrelaces dansant sous des ormeaux, Et pres d'eux une tombe oii sont ecrits ces mots ; £t moi, Jefus aussi pasteur dans FArcadie. Ce tableau des plaisirs, du neant de la vie, Semble dire : " Mortels, hatez vous de jouir ; ** Je«x, danses et bergers, tout va s'evanouir." Et dans Tame attendrie, a la vive alegresse Succede par degres une douce tristesse f. Upon tiie whole, the passages, which raise. * Tragedy of Douglas ; Act II, Scene 1, t Les Jardins, chant 4€i»er 190 £SSAY VI. our melancholy oa our own account, may yet be extremely engaging; not only by a certain gratification of curiosity, by the charms of com- position, or by awakening the tender affections; but also by the soothing influence of sympa- thetic feelings, by renewing the imagination of our former joys, and by endearing to us our uncertain and transitory blessings. But it is moreover to be observed, that such compositions may be productive of great delight as well as utility from various topics both of instruction and consolation. The evils of life are abimdantly obvious, and we are apt on every occasion, not only to recall them to our remembrance, but to crowd them all into one gloomy picture, while we overlook the comforts, with which they are mingled, and the happy purposes, for which they were ordained. Now while the author indulges our propensity to melancholy views, he may at the same time afford us much permanent pleasure, as well as real advantage, by connecting in our imagi- nation the evils of life with the most salutary, soothing, and encouraging reflections^ ,0N MELANCHOLY. IPI It will now be more obvious in what manner such compositions ought to be conducted. And here we may remark in general, that the author may either confine himself to remind us of the shortness and uncertainty of life and it's blessings : or he may also represent how much we have to suffer and how little to enjoy, and alarm us with the apprehension of the more dreadful calamities, to which we are exposed. The first of these topics affords ample oppor- tunity to delight the imagination with the most engaging objects, and to warm the heart with the most interesting affections: and an author of taste and genius will be happy to avail himself of these means to render more at- tractive the melancholy he inspires. Instead of endeavouring to frighten us like children with the description of dead bodies and graves, he will rather represent our dissolution in a far more affecting light, as the event, which be- reaves us of the objects, to which we have been accustomed and attached so long. He will describe in glowing colours the beauties of nature and the other charms of life; at the i9^ ESSAY VI. same time that he is to exhibit them more par- ticularly as passing rapidly away from us, and ready every moment to vanish from otrr sight, -^ which is the secret for renewing our attachment to our most ordinary blessings. Thus Horace in the ode to Torquatus''* charms our fancy with the picture of Nature's revival in the spring, while at the same time he is reminding us, that the vicissitudes of tlie year should warn us of our approach to the period of life. Diffugere nives, redeunt jam gramina campis, Arboribusque comae : Mutat terra vices, et decrescentia ripas Fluraina praetereunt : Gratia cum nymphis geminisquc sororibus audet Ducere nuda chores. Immortalia ne speres monet amius, et almum QucE rapit hora diem. Frigora mitescunt Zephyris, ver preterit aestas Interitura, simul Pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox Bruma recurrit iners. Damna tamen celeres reparant coeiestia lunsej Nos, ubi decidimus * Lib. 4. Ode 7. ON MELANCHOLY. 193 Quo pius -3Sneas^ quo dives Tullus et Ancus, Pulvis et umbra sumus. Quis scit an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summse Tempora Di superi ? The cheerless glare of snow is past. And rising verdure smiles around j The spreading trees rejoice at last With foliage crown'd. Again the Earth renews her youth. More sweetly shines the genial sky. And purest streams, whose murmurs sooth. Flow gently by. The nymphs and graces o'er the mead Can venture now in light attire. To join the frolic dance, or lead The wai'bling choir. Yet joys immortal are not here ; 'Tis but the season's transient bloom. We too shall fade : the changeful yeat Forebodes our doom. Now yields the cold to Zephyr's reign; The lovely spring will also fly. And summer bum the russet plain. But soon to die. When Autumn, to poor mortals kind. Strews with his annual fruits the ground ; Then dreary Winter close behind Completes the round. 194 ESSAY VI. Yet still the circling moons pursue The rapid course, which late they ran. The youth of nature to renew j But, hapless man! When we shall lie, as soon we must. Where all the good and great are laid. Oar glory turns to mouldering dust And empty shade. Who knows how soon the gods decree. To close the joys that now invite ? To day is ours ; but shall we see To morrow's light ? So likewise Dr. Beattie, in his poem entitled the Hermit, while he mourns over the vanity of human life, amuses our fancy with the most beautiful images. Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky. The moon half extinct her dim crescent displays : But lately I markM where majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path, that conducts thee to splendour again. — But man's faded glory no change shall renew ; Ah fool ! to exult in a glory so vain. 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more. I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with d« w. ON MELANCHOLY. I95 Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. — But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn ? Oh when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ? But it is more deeply interesting, when our tender affections are awakened by the remem- brance of the short period, during which we have been blest, or can hope to be blest with the society of those, whom we love the most. The author of the Elegy in the Country Church- yard is careful to represent this view of our situation, when in meditating upon those, who lay at rest around him, he pathetically ob- serves, For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; No children run to lisp their sire's return. Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. It is obvious, then, by what means the pas- sages, which dwell on the first of the general topics above mentioned, may be rendered both beautiful and interesting, although the author should not endeavour either to comfort our melancholy, or to repay it by instruction. But their charms will be greatly enhanced, if instruc- tion or consolation are properly administered. o 2 igG ESSAY vr. To enjoy our blessings while we may, is one lesson to be derived from the consideration of their shortness and uncertainty. Nor let it be said that it is a lesson, which we do not require to be taught. We are all too much inclined, to view our situation in the most unfavourable light; to repine for what we want, instead of enjoying what we have; and, while we complain, that the season of our happiness flies so quickly away, to abridge it still more by fruitless an- ticipations. The author, therefore, who directs our attention to the shortness and uncertainty of life and it's blessings, does well to rouse u5 from an oppressive and unmanly despondence at the melancholy view. And although the maxim of enjoying our blessings while we have them may be abused by the profligate; yet when confined within the bounds of innocence, it is perfectly consistent with religion and virtue, and tends greatly to sooth and enliven us, by rendering us more sensible of the various plea- sures, which are scattered for our comfort in this transitory world. Such maxims too are high- ly agreeable on this other account, that we love ON MELANCHOLY. 197 the resigned and cheerful temper, which, instead of sullenly refusing to be comforted, because our blessings are not so durable or certain as we could wish, is contented and thankful for what providence bestows. Horace in the ode, which was just now quot- ed, has been thought by some to insinuate this advice to Torquatus; but it must be acknow- ledged, that he expresses himself neither with perspicuity nor elegance*. In his ode to Dellius f he speaks more plainly. * The lines to which I allude, are Cuncta manus avidas fugient haeredis, amico QuoB dederis animo. According to one interpretation, which has been ascribed to Erasmus, the expression amico animo is taken in the dative, and the adjective amicus is understood in the sense, in which (piXog is used by the Greeks in such phrases as t7fi;? yaf nry^g; £(p£ra,tnv Qolvoltoio Mufia<, as 8X in (pvyeiv P§oTov, sS" yVaAuJa/, Could all our care elude the gloomy grave. Which claims no less the fearful than the brave. For thirst of fame I should not vainly dare In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. But since, alas! ignoble age must come. Disease, and death's inexorable doom. The life, which others pay, let us bestow. And give to fame what we to nature owe ; Brave though we fall, and honoured if we live. Or let us glory gain, or glory give ! Pope. But the meanness and folly of sacrificing ho- * Iliad, lib. 12, v. $92, ON MELANCHOLY. 201 nour and duty to what is at best so fleeting and uncertain become still more glaring, when we take into account the futurity that awaits us. To this interesting prospect these views of our present condition naturally lead us, and render us more readily and deeply affected with the importance of securing a more permanent interest in a better world. And it is evident, that instruc- tion of this kind may be adorned with the most sublime and beautiful imagery, and afford the most dehghtful consolation. All the considerations, which have now been mentioned as proper topics of instruction, re- lieve from the painful languor and depression of melancholy, and even invigorate and cheer us under the recollection of our precarious and transitory condition. And it is in the view of comfort, as w^ell as of instruction, that they may be urged not only in the most agreeable, but impressive manner. To enjoy while we may the blessings which we have ; to engage ourselves in the pursuits, which duty and honour require at the time; and, when we have done our part, to leave the care 202 ESSAY VI. of futurity to the powers above : these arc the maxims, by which we should study to re- gulate our temper and conduct; and accord- ing as we act up to them, we shall not only be resigned and cheerful under the prospect of mortality, but also find a refuge from the appre- hension or the pressure of calamities. Such is the spirit of the directions given by Horace, in one of his odes to Mecenas, for passing with comfort through this uncertain world. Prudens futuri tcmporis exitum Caliginosa nocte premit Deus ; Ridetque, si mortalis ultra Fas trepidat. Quod adest^ memento Componere aequus * » it * * * * Hie potcns sui LaBtusque degct, cui licet in diem Dixisse, vixi : eras vel atra Nube polum Pater occupato, Vel sole puro : non tamen irritum Quodcunque retro est efficiet : neque Diffinget, infectumque reddet Quod fugiens semel hora vexit *. * Lib. 3, Ode 29, v. 29. ON MELANCHOLY. 203 Death itself, an event in some respects so aw- ftil and distressing, may yet be represented in a consolatory view. We lament it as the pe- riod of our enjoyments ; but it is also the pe- riod of the desires, and fears, and disappoint- ments, and sufferings, which embitter the life of man. It removes us beyond the reach of €very earthly misfortune, to that secure retreat, where "the wicked cease from troubling, and *' the weary are at rest*'." The poet, who in- dulged his melancholy among the graves of the unhonoured dead, relieves us, in the epitaph which he intends for himself, with this soothing view of our fate : Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A youth to fortune and to fame unknown. And he, who so emphatically exposed and be- wailed the vanity of human wishes, exhorts us to pray for a mind, which considers death as a blessing. Qui spatium vits extremum inter munera ponit Naturae f. * Job. t Juvenal, Sat. 10, v. 358. 2,04i ESSAY VI. But religion opens for our consolation hap- pier prospects, which give ample scope for the exertions of genius to relieve and even delight affliction itself Beyond the clouds and storms, that surround our present abode, we descry the heavenly regions, where the virtuous are called to their high destination ; where their time shall be diversified by employments more honour- able, more delightful and varied than the Earth can afford ; where the sphere of their existence shall be enlarged by the developement of new and unknown faculties, far beyond what the change would be, if the eyes of the blind were opened to the beauties of the universe ; where they shall be admitted to the society of the im- mortal powers, in scenes more glorious than na- ture has ever yet displayed in the fairest arrange- ments and aspects of our lower world. Our thoughts are more particularly turned to this direction by the death or separation of those whom we love. These are calamities, which every one has endured, or at least to which he finds himself continually exposed. And it af- fords the sweetest comfort, and awakens our ON MELANCHOLY. £05 fancy to the most delightful ideas, to indulge the hope that we shall one day be united in a happier state; and that our remembrance is still cherished by our departed friends, who wait with anxiety for our deliverance from the troubles and dangers of life. In the composi- tions then, which we are now considering, it is evident what charms may be derived from these beautiful and affecting topics. It is with such reflections, that Petrarch loves to sooth his sor- row, and inspires his readers with so tender a melancholy. Se lamentar augelli, o verdi frondc Mover soavemente all* aura estiva, O roco mormorar di lucid* onde S* ode d*una fiorita e fresca riva. La *v' io seggia d* amor pensoso e scriva ; Lei che '1 Ciel ne mostro, terra n* asconde, Veggio, ed odo, ed intendo ; ch* ancor viva Di SI lontan a* sospiri miei risponde. Deh perche innanzi tempo ti consume ? Mi dice con pietate ; a che pur versi Degli occhi tristi un doloroso fiume ? 206 ESSAY VI. Di me non pianger tu, che miei di fersi, Morendo, eterni ; e neir eterno lume, Quando mostrai di chiuder gli occhi, apersi*. When birds lament, or when the green leaves play To summer^s fragrant breath, that softly blows. Or when clear waters hollow murmuring stray. Where on some flowery bank I seek repose ; While Heaven's dear gift, whom Earth no longer shows. Fills all my heart and prompts the pensive lay. Afar I see her answer to my woes. In pity^s sweetest notes I hear her say. Ah why should sorrow thus your life consume ? Why waste in bitter tears each weary night ? No longer thus bewail my early doom ; For still your Laura lives to bless your sight; From death I rose in youth's eternal bloom. And wak'd to rapture in the realms of light. Thomson also has caught the same spirit in the most beautiful of liis songs. Tell me, thou soul of her I love. Whither,' ah ! whither art thou fled ? To what delightful world above. Appointed for the happy dead ? * Sonnet 11th, in the second part of the Rime del Pc' trarca, in Castelvetro's edition at Venice, 1756. OJf MELANCHOLY. 207 Or dost thou free at pleasure roam. And sometimes share thy lover's wo. Where void of thee his cheerless home Can now, alas ! no comfort know ? if thou hover'st round my walk. While under ev'ry well-known tree 1 to thy fancied shadow, talk, And ev'ry tear is full of thee ; Should then the weary eye of grief, Beside some sympathetic stream. In slumber find a short relief, O visit thou my soothing dream. In what has been said we do not mean to re- commend, that an author should introduce all the topics of instruction and consolation, which the subject may suggest. It is evident, that he is to be directed by the particular circumstances, whether to choose such as are lighter and more familiar, or such as are more pathetic and sub- lime ; and that to enforce one or two topics, which rise naturally from the principal subject, and which harmonize with the general effect, will render the composition far more impressive, than to distract the attention with a greater va- riety. At the same time it is to be wished, that 208 zssAY vr. he were fully sensible of the beautiful imagery, and of the affecting and interesting considera- tions, with which he might enrich and adorn his works. There is also great scope for the exertions of genius, to those authors, who would go still far- ther in their attempts to raise our melancholy ; who are inclined to awaken our grief, that we have so much to suffer and so little to enjoy, or to alarm us with apprehension of the calamities, to which our nature is liable. But it is much to be regretted, that they sometimes allow them- selves to exaggerate the evils of our situation. Human Hfe is sometimes exhibited as a state, in which misery predominates ; the severer evils, which come but rarely, are described as conti- nually embittering our lot ; and the more dread- ful calamities, which come but to few, are be- wailed as the general condition of mankind : while our various pleasures are either over- looked ; or, which is worse, represented as the means of rendering the calamities, that follow them, still more intolerable. In such cases, w^ may admire the author's talents in combining ON MELANCHOLY. ^09 skilfally into one horrid group all the most dis^ mai sufferings, that are scattered among the .. many miUions of the human race, and in which the individual suiferers find many alleviations, and many intervals of ease and comfort ; we may admire the author's talents, and we may find some pleasure in comparing our own situa- tion with such a picture of wretchedness : at the same time we shall rest satisfied, that the picture is overcharged, or at least that we are not per- sonally concerned. Or if we should be actually carried along with the representation, we are not indebted to the author, who has afflicted us so ^ deeply with despondence and terrour, and whose views are too remote from reality, to make amends for the pain by sound instruction. Dr. Young, a poet of no common talents, with a fertile, but not a well-regulated imagina- tion, has in his Night Thoughts several exam- ples of this exaggerated description. Thus in the first of these poems, after raising up at once the evils of war, famine, pestilence, volcanoes, storms, fire, intestine broils, oppression, mines, galleys, and hospitals, as also the miseries p 2l0 ESSAY vi. that assail us even in peaceful and domestic life, he conckides with the following passage, which displays, indeed, a poetical imagination, but where we must regret that his talents have beea so ill directed : — A part how small of the terraqueous globe Is tenanted by man ! the rest a waste ; Rocks, deserts, frozen seas, and burnuig sands ; Wild haunts of monsters, poisons, stings,- and death. Such is Earth's melancholy map ; but, far More sad ! this E^artli is a true map of man. So bounded are it's haughty lord's delights To wo's wide empire, where deep troubles toss. Loud sorrows howl, envcnom'd passions bite, Rav'nous calamities our vitals seize. And threatening fate wide opens to devour. His melancholy goes even so far, that, instead of a salutary warning against the dangers of pro- sperity, he converts all the blessings of this world into judgments, and bids us tremble at the bounties of our Heavenly Father : — Stand on thy guard against the smiles of fate. Is Heav'n tremeridous in it's frowns .? Most sure ; And in it's favours formidable too. It's favours here are trials, not rewards ; A call to duty, iiot discharge from care j ON MELANCHOLY. 211 And should alarm us full as much as woes ; Awake us to their cause and consequence. And make us tremble, weigliM with our desert. Such descriptions of human life, if we believe them to be serious, may raise our compassion for the author, who appears to be afflicted with so deplorable a melancholy ; but unless we are brought to view things in the same dismal light, a state of mind in no respect desirable, we can- not be much interested on our own account. It is true, indeed, as we have already observed, that the melancholy accounts of life are seldom so far exaggerated, that they may not at a par- ticular time correspond to our feelings. But they will be more generally interesting, as well as more useful, when they are not so remote from our real condition. The author, however, ought to remember, that in subjects, which are so painful and de- pressing in themselves, it is still more requisite than in the former case, to reHeve us by thi^ amusement of the imagination, and by engaging topics of instruction and comfort, p 2 212 ' ESSAY Vf. With regard to the amusement of the imagi'- nation, it is evident, that in describing the cala- mities of life, and contrasting them with the hap- pier situations, which either actually exist, or may be conceived, there is room for the most awful, sublime, and beautiful scenery. This is well exemplified in Gray's affecting ode on the distant prospect of Eton CoHege. After a de- scription in which the monuments of antiquity, the charms of nature, and the recollections of our early youth concur to awaken the fancy and affections, we are presented with a lively and interesting picture of the innocent sports and a- chievements of the younger generation, which is pathetically contrasted with the evils ready to befall them in ** the changes and chances'^ " of this eventful life. We have to regret, that the author did not exert his uncommon genius to display some of those topics of instruction and consolation, which are so needful to reconcile us to this view of our condition. Beside those which have been al- * Liturgy. ON MELANCHOLT. 213 ready mentioned, there are others also of the most interesting kind. The natural and happy influence of adversity, to check our follies ; to render us severe to ourselves, and indulgent to others ; to train us to patience and courage ; to soften the heart ; and to raise our thoughts to a better world : the ever-^watchful providence of our Heavenly Father, who makes " all things " work together for good to them that love him*," who sooths and supports them in every time of need, and in a few years at the longest exalts them to a felicity, 'Ho which the sufferings of the *^ present time are not once to be compared*:" these considerations, which are able to brighten the darkest gloom of affliction, may be wrought into the most engaging forms of sublimity and beauty, and well deserve the exertion of the highest talents. * St. Paul, ESSAY VII, I ©N THE TENDER AFFECTIOKS. IHE tender affections, comprehending all the different modifications of loye, appear in vari- ous forms and degrees, from the transient good- will which we feel for a common stranger, to the fondness with which the mother watches oyer her child in distress, or which unites the hearts of absent lovers. Tl^eiy ipay be accompanied with disappointment or other circumstances pro- ductive of pain ; but that they are in themselves delightful, requires neither proof nor illustration. We have already observed, that they are raised to an uncommon height by the view of distress, and form a great charm of those compositions, which engage us by pity ; and also that we fre- ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 215 quentlyfeel their soothing influence, even 'where the principal design of the passage is to awaken our terrour or melancholy. In general, it must be naturally agreeable, when the author repre- sents the amiable qualities, which are the objects of these affections, and still more so when he re- presents the affections themselves in some in- teresting situation prompting the conduct and possessing the heart. And it is of importance to consider more particularly how such repre- sentations may be rendered as engaging as pos- sible. It is to be regretted, that several authors, par- ticularly among our novellists and dramatic writers, should have made it so necessary to observe, tbat it is in bad taste, as well as im- proper in other respects, to allure the reader's affections to worthless characters ; for either the affections will be imperfectly raised, or the mo- ral feelings will lose their sensibility. Yet Ri- chardson, who no doubt wished to promote" the interests of virtue, has exerted his great talents, in his celebrated novel of Clarissa, to attach us to a man, who coolly ai)d systematically made Ql6 ESSAY VIT. seduction his business, to which he devoted his time and accomplishments, in which he employed the basest means, and from which he could not be restrained by compassion for the most cruel and irretrievable misery. The novellist or dra- matic writer performs, indeed, an important service in reminding us, that the worthless may possess the most fascinating charms, and show- ing how their accomplishments and dissimulation may gain the hearts of the inexperienced. But it is highly improper, that the reader should be seduced to love the worthless; nor can this be the way to raise our affections either in the most instructive or agreeable manner. The effect is far more delightful, when our love is engaged for those whom we esteem and ad- mire; and especially when we sympathize with affections, which are not only displayed by wor- thy characters, but also directed to worthy ob- jects. We are mortified, that the amiable and high-minded ~ Clarissa should throw away her love on a hard-hearted man, who was not only a habitual, but a professional profligate; and even in our highest admiration of her virtues ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 217 the unpleasant mortifkation still lingers in our thoughts. On the other hand, our commisera- tion for Cecilia's affliction is relieved by the most soothing and interesting emotions ; a cordial esteem and affection, both for Delville and her- self, and a perfect sympathy with their attach- ment to each other. But the tender affections are never so engag- ing;, as when they improve the character. This, indeed, is their natural tendency, inasmuch as they prevent our attention from being confined to ourselves, and create both an interest in the welfare of others, and also an anxiety to recom- mend ourselves to their esteem. And it is won- derful how far in many instances they have sub- dued the selfishness and ferocity of hutnan na* ture, and roused it's timidity and indolence to indefatigable exertions and heroic exploits. At the same time it is to be acknowledged, that as their gratification may on some occasions interfere with prudence, honour, or duty, they may become the means of perverting the con- duct. And such cases may afford excellent sub- jects for raising our pity, and warning us against *218 ESSAY VII. the dangers to which we may be exposed from what are in themselves so generous dispositions. But the author has little claim to our gratitude, if he endeavours to gain our approbation to im- propriety ; nor ought he to expect, that we shall have a perfect and cordial sympathy with af- fections which corrupt the character. Thus the savage fury, which is kindled in the breast of Achilles by his grief for the loss of liis beloved friend, diminishes our attachment as well as' our esteem. We sympathize, indeed, with his ardour in the battle ; and we may even excuse in some degree the vengeance, which he wreaks on the dead body of Hector, since he is informed by a messenger from Heaven*, that Hector had ungenerously meditated the like in- sults on Patroclus ; though Homer himself, ip spite of the prejudices of his age and country, acknowledges that his hero's conduct to his no- ble antagonist was on this occasion unseemly : *EKro^cc 5iov 'AEIKEA ^rj$ero s^ya +. * Iliad. 1. 18, V. 175. flbid. 1, 22, t. 395. ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. QIQ We see no longer the hero, but the barba- rian only, when he sacrifices in cold blood twelve of the Trojan youth on no other account but to grace the funeral of his friend. We should certainly have both loved and admired iiinimore, if he had spared this most unneces- sary and unreasonable cruelty. And we should have been shocked with the poet also, if he had not expressly called it a foul deed : KAKA OS (^^B$^i. Ku^sTTaiJfiia. 1. G. The whole story, which Xenophon has told in his best manner, is one of the most beautiful that have been re- corded by the ancient authors. Ariosto has borrowed se- Teral hints from it in a very affecting episode in Orlando Furioso. ON THE TENDJER AFFECTIONS. Q^S curity and familiarity of the married state have not extinguished the ardour of love. This, how- ever, is far from being always the case. Hap- py and secure in the possession of each other^ the married lovers are too apt to forget how soon they may lose their influence, if they discontinue the means by which they acquired it, and thus grow less attentive to the importance of fixing each other^s esteem. But the evil rests not here; it too often happens, that the mutual re^ spect subsides, which once rendered each other's esteem the object of their dearest ambition. For, in a constant and familiar intercourse, they will undoubtedly discover frailties and infirmi- ties, which were unnoticed by the partial eyes of love, or which their anxiety to gain each other's affection prompted them to conceal, and, per- haps, partly to subdue. They who appeared like angels, are found to be but mortals ; and the best of mortals is not without faults. It is true, indeed, that, beside the forbearance to his fel- low-creatures, which ought to be produced in every one by the consciousness of his own in- firmities, good sense, good nature, and affection. £26 ESSAY VII, will easily overlook, in those whom we love, the frailties incident to our present condition. But good sense, good nature, and affection are some- times asleep ; and the mortification at not find- ing realized those ideas of angelic perfection, which fill the imaginations of youthful lovers be- fore their union, will render some persons un* reasonably offended with the infirmities of our common nature, and perversely hardened and blind to the real charms, and real merits, ^ven of the most amiable and respectable partners. On the other hand there is no situation in which one human creature is disposed to think more favourably, or more anxious to gain the esteem of another, than in that of virtuous lo- vers before their union. And these sentiments have not less influence on account of the restraint to which they are subjected, when the union is prevented by the imperious call of honour, or of duty; when love, though it can but ill conceal, dares scarcely avow itself; and with but little hope of any more intimate and dearer con- nexion, must be content to assume the name, and aspire to the privileges of friendship only. bK THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 227 Nor would the power of love, in improving the character, be so often extinguished after mar- riage, if the parties were but half as ready as be- fore it, to overlook in each other the infirmities of human nature, half as gentle to each other's failings, half as attentive to remark and to ac- knowledge each other's accomplishments and virtues, and half as fearful of losing the af- fections of each other. But love may improve the character, not only by rendering the parties anxious to acquire mu- tual esteem, but also by exciting thdm to great, and even heroic exertions to promote each other's happiness or honour. It is well known to what desperate valour the youth may be exalted, when his imagination, roused by anxiety and glowing with desire, arrays the object of his admiration with an angels charms. And although posses^ sion dissolves the attachijient of the vicious, and abates what is extravagant in the admiration of youthful lovers; yet, while they preserve the dispositions of mutual indulgence and partiality, it will heighten the tenderness of the affection^ ate and worthy. Nor do I know if romantic .^28- ESSAY VII. fancy has ever conceived more endearing or sub- limer views of human nature, than those exam- ples of heroism, which women have often dis- played under the influence of conjugal love. I know not, for instance, if any representation can either awaken more deHghtful emotions, or raise us liigher above selfish and ungenerous feel- ings, than the following relation, which deserves so well to be recorded, for the honour of the fair sex, and the instruction of ours. It is taken from General Burgoyne's State of the E.vpedition into Cajiada^ during the cam- paigns of 1776 and 1777. On the march of the l^th of September, 1777, Lady Harriet Ack- land, the wife of Major Ackland, of the grena- diers, had been directed by her husband to fol- low the route of the artillery and baggage, which was not exposed, his own party being liable to action at every step. The relation is continued by General Burgoyne in tliese words : " At the time the actiori began, she found ^' herself near a small uninhabited hut, where " she alighted. When it was. found the action " was becoming general and bloody, the sur- ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. ^29 " geons of the hospital took possession of the " same place, as the most convenient for the '* first care of the wounded. Thus was this '^ lady in hearing of one continued fire of can- *^ non and musketry for some hours together, " with the presumption, from the post of her " husband at the head of the grenadiers, that he *' was in the most exposed part of the action. '^ She hq,d three female companions, the Ba- '^ roness of Reidesel, and the w ives of two Bri- " tish officers. Major Harnage and Lieutenant " Reynell ; but in the event, their presence " served but little for comfort. Major Harnage " w^as soon brought to the surgeons, very badly " W'ounded ; and a little while after came intel- " ligence, that Lieutenant Reynell was shot " dead. Imagination will want no helps to " figure the state of the whole group. ** From the date of that action, t;o the 7th of " October, Lady Harriet, with her usual sere- '* nity, stood prepared for new trials. And it *' was her lot, that their severity increased with " their numbers. She was again Exposed to the ^' hearing of the whole action, and at last re- 230 ESSAY Vlt. *^ ceived the shock of her individual misfortune, " mixed with the intelligence of the general ca- " lamity; the troops were defeated, and Major " Ackland, desperately wounded, w-as a pri- *^ soner* *' The day of the 8th was passed by Lady ** Harriet and her companions in common anx- " iety; not a tent or a shed being standing, ^* except what belonged to the hospital, their '^ refuge was among the wounded and the '' dying. *^ I soon received a message from Lady Har- " riet, submitting to my decision a proposal *^ (and expressing an earnest solicitude to exe- *' cute it, if not interfering with my designs) of ^* passing to the camp of the enemy, and re- " questing General Gates's permission to at- '^ tend her husband. " Though I was ready to believe (for I had '^ experienced) that patience and fortitude, in " a supreme degree, were to be found, as well ** as every virtue, under the most tender forms, " I was astonished at this proposal. After so ** long an. agitation of spirits, exhausted nat ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 231 " only for want of rest, but absolutely want of *' food, drenched in rains for twelve hours to- ^' gether, that a woman should be capable of " such an undertaking as delivering herself to " the enemy, probably in the night, and uncer- ** tain of what hands she might fall into, appear- *' ed an effort above human nature. The as- ** sistance I was enabled to give was small in- " deed ; I had not even a cup of wine to offer " her; but I was told she had found, from ^- some kind and fortunate hand, a little rum " and dirty water. All I could furnish to her " was an open boat, and a few lines,' written '^ upon dirty and wet paper, to General Gates, " recommending her to his protection. ^' *' Mr. Brudenell, the chaplain to the artil- " lery, readily undertook to accompany her, " and with one^female servant, and the major's *' valet de chambre (who had a ball, which he " had received in the late action, then in his " shoulder) she rowed down the rjver to meet " the enemy. But her distresses were not yet " to end. The night was advanced before the ['- boat reached the enemy's out-posts, and the 332 ESSAY VII. *^ centinel would not let it pass, nor even come " to shore. In vain Mr. Brudenell offered the *^ flag of truce, and represented the state of the " extraordinary passenger. The guard, appre- " hensive of treachery, and punctiHous to their ** orders, threatened to fire into the boat, if " they stirred before day-light. Her anxiety " and sufferings were thus protracted through " seven or eight dark and cold hours ; and her *' reflections upon that first reception could " not give her very encouraging ideas of the " treatment she was afterwards to expect. But " it is due to justice, at the close of this adven- " ture, to say, that she was received and ac- " commodated by General Gates with all the " humanity and respect, that her rank, her me- " rits, and her fortunes deserved. *' Let such as are affected by these circum- " stances of alarm, hardships, and dangers, re- " collect, that the subject of them was a woman; " of the most tender and delicate frame ; of the " gentlest manners ; habituated to all th^ soft " elegancies and refined enjoyment, that attend ** high birth and fortune; and far advanced in ON^ THE TEN PER AFFECTIONS. S33 *^ a state, in which the tender cares, always due '* to the sex, become indispensably necessary. ^' Her mind alone was formed for such trials." It is easy to condeive, that the interchange of affections, which are not only so delightful, but also capable of raising us so much above the sufferings and the fears of human nature, i^iil prove the most powerful and sweetest comfort to distress. And, in fact, it is in the distresses of those whom we love, it is in the situations where they most need the aid of sympathy, that our affections burn with their greatest ardour. Thus pur subject presents itself again in a different view, which is extremely engaging, and na- turally combined with that which we have just been considering. Racine has given an admirable specimen in one of the finest passages of his celebrated tra- gedy, Britannicus. It is in the third scene of the second act^ w here Nero, who had obtained possession of the empire in opposition to Britan- nicus, makes the flattering offer of his hand and throne to Junia. And here it must be remem- bered, that Nero had not yet exliibited those 254 acssAY vir. vices, which afterwards rendered him the abhor- rence of mankind; but, on the contrary, was regarded as an amiable young man, of uncom- mon accomplishments, and promising disposi- tions. But Junia, who had been akeady be- trothed to his unfortunate rival, acknowledges her reason for declining the emperor's solicitar tion, in the following reply : J'atme Britannicus ; je lui fus destinee Quand Tempire devoit suivre son hymenee. iVIais ces memcs malheurs qui I'en ont ecarte, Ses honneurs abolis, son palais deserte. La fuite d'une cour que sa chute a bannie, Sont autant de liens qui retiennent Junie. Tout ce que vous voyez conspire a vos desirs ; Vos jours toujours sereins coulent dans les plaisirs ; Uetnpire en est pour vous Tinepuisable source ; Ou, si quelque chagrin en interrompt la course. Tout Tunivers, soigneux de les entretenir, S*empresse a reffacer de votre souvenir. Britannicus est seul. Quelque ennui qui le presse, II ne vait dans son sort que moi qui s'interesse, l*)t n'a pour tout plaisir, seigneur, que quelques pleuris. Qui lai font quelquefois oublier ses malheurs. Britannicus was destinM for my spouse. When the world's empire would have crownM our vows j Aild these calamities, which lay him low, His honours blasted in their early blow. ON THE TENBER AFFECTIONS. 9^35 l^is empty palace, and his faithless train, Wreathe round his Junia's heart a closer chain. All that you see conspires to your delight ; With varying pleasures all your days are bright; The empire pours it's wealth to give you joy ; And, if by chance a passing care annoy. All eager strive some soothing art to find. And to new bliss restore your troubled mind. With you the world rejoice, with you they mourn. But my Britannicus remains forlorn. Whatever cares oppress, no friends appear, Ko friend but I, to whom his wel farces dear. My tears are all the comfort he can know. Which sometimes steal his heart awhile from wo. The power of love, to support the affectionate in the most trying situations, is so great, that the very consciousness of being beloved by the objects of their attachment will disarm of its terrours even death itself. Metastasio has not gone farther than many of liis readers can follow him, when he represents the Parthian prince, Pharnaspes*, who had been miserable from the suspicion that Emirena had forsaken him, con- soling himself under the prospect of a fatal sen- tence with the thoughts of her] truth and love. it is thus that he addresses her at the instant * la the Operaof Adriano in Syria* ^SG ESSAY vir. when he was carried, as he supposed, to cer- tain execution, without the hope of ever seeing her more: — Se non ti moro allato^ Idolo del cor mio. Col tuo bel nome amatQ Fra' labbri io moriro. Addio, mia vita, addio ; Non piangere il mio fato : Misero non son io, Sei fida, ed io lo so. Though Emirena be not near To sooth me in the hour of death, ril still repeat that name so dear. And bless you with my latest breath. Farewel, my love ; but do not mourn ; From henceforth shall my anguish cease ; I thought you false, and llv'd forlorn, I know your truth, and die in peace. It must be acknowledged, however, that if the tender affections are the source of our most exquisite delights, so are they likewise of our bitterest sorrows. Who can describe the an- guish that wrings the heart, when the objects of our dearest attachment are torn frpm us by for- "ON TCHE tender AtFECTIONS. 2^F iune,' or by death? or when the eye, which once beamed with affection, and was the sun- shine of our soul, meets us only with the cold look of unkindness or neglect? Men of the firmest minds, who could bear every other ca- lamity without a murmur, have sometimes found themselves unequal to such distresses, and have either thrown away their life as an intolerable burden, or given themselves up a prey to me- lancholy or distractioh. But from the tender affections theraselvesj which inflict the wound, they might have de- rived the inost soothing consolation, if they had looked for it where religion directs. For reli- gion directs our attention to that happier coun- try, where the viftuous shall find again their vir- tuous friends; and shall find them far removed from those troubles, and frailties, and misunder- standings, which so often, in the present world, interrupt or embitter the purest attachments. Religion even encourages the delightful idea, which we cherish so fondly when we lay our friends in the dust, that although we see them no more, they do not forsake us, but sometimes iSA ESSAV Vlt. look down to our humble dvvelling, and long to receive us for their companions in happiness*. And from these views it is evident how many representations may be formed, to lull the sor- rows, and even to revive the hearts of those, who have been crossed in their dearest wishes. But a still sublimer view is opened for our comfort, in the " loving kindness and tender " mercies" of our heavenly father. For with this most affecting character, and it's most en- dearing attributes, the Lord of the Universe has softened the awful glories of the Divinity, and rendered his throne accessible to the children of the dust. " Sing, O Heavens," cried the prophet, in the midst of desolation; " Sing, O " Heavens, and be joyful, O Earth; and break " forth into singing, O mountains ; for the Lord " hath comforted his people, and will have *' mercy upon the afflicted. But Zion said, the *' Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath " forgotten me. Can a woman forget her suck* * See Epistle to the Hebrews, ch. 12, v. 1, compared with the JUh chapter* t>1^ tHE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 25$ ** ing child, that she should not have com^ " passion on the son of her womb ? Yea, tliey ** may forget, yet will I not forget thee*"* — ^ Where then is the wretch so lost, that he may not find consolation, if he will but listen to that still) small %'oice, " Come unto me, all ye that " are weary and heavy laden, and I will give " you rest?" It is the voice of him who died for our sake, of him who is higher than the angels, of God himself; of him, whose favour cannot be lost, but by our future iniquity alone ; of him, who can change into a Paradise the waste, howling wilderness, and the grave itself into the gate of Heaven ; of him, who has com- forts and joys in store, beyond the utmost wishes of the heart of man. Since then the tender affections may be exhi* bited in such various forms, to contribute at once to our improvement and delight, Jet not men of genius degrade them to win our attach- ment to worthless characters, or to allure us to a vicious, indolent, or effeminate life. And * Isaiah, xlix, 13. 240 ESSAY Vlt. although it is, indeed, a meritorious employ- ment, to warn the inexperienced against the arts of the profligate, and to represent the err- burs and crimes into which the most amiable dispositions may betray the unwary: it is also of the highest importance sometimes to exhibit our fellow-creatures in a more favourable view, to rouse our emulation, by characters who unite the respectable to the amiable qualities, and to show (what is not unfrequently exemplified in the world) how the tender affections, w hen pro- perly directed, are productive of the most gene- rous and heroic virtues. Moreover; while pa- thetic writers exert their utmost abilities W ** harrow up the soul," with the representation of human nature perishing in despair, under the agonies of it's tortured passions; why do they not indulge us oftener with those more beautiful, and not less interesting or less use- ful forms of the pathetic, where the kind emo- tions are employed to sooth the sorrows of life, and to brighten it's dreary hours ? And surely it is a service worthy of their highest powers^ to elevate our minds to those sublimer views, ON THE TENDER AFFECTIONS. 241 where Heaven and Earth are united by the bonds of love ; those views which can support us in the worst of miseries, when our last hope is blasted, when our last friend has forsaken us. ESSAY VIIL ON BEAUTY. A GREAT part of the pleasure, which we re- ceive from works of literature, arises from the representation of beautiful objects, or from the beauties of the compositions themselves. Thus we are led to consider the nature of beauty ; a subject which has engaged the attention of philosophers ever since the days of Socrates and Plato. Few speculative subjects have occasioned greater perplexity. In fact, the term beautiful is sometimes applied to any agreeable object whatever, which is excellent in it's kind. This vague meaning, however, admits of no discus- sion ; and we are to consider only the more ON BEAUTY. 243 limited sense, in which the term is employed. But even in it's more limited sense it is applied to objects of the most different species. We speak of a beautiful woman, and a beautiful tree ; a beautiful building, and a beautiful piece of music; a beautiful poem, and a beautiful theorem. And it has not been found easy to detect, in objects so incongruous, the common or similar qualities, which should entitle them all to the same appellation. In objects of sight, the qualities to which the term beautiful is peculiarly appropriated are well known to be the following : A smooth and polished surface, together with constant and gentle variation, without any sudden breaks or angular turns ; but the parts melting, as it were, imperceptibly into each other: ^the colours clear and bright, but not glaring, without any distinct boundaries, but losing themselves in each other by insensible shades. Mr. Burke's account* of the manner, in which we are affected by the sight of the qualities * Inquiry into thp Origin of our Ideas of the gubliia^ and Beautiful. Its 244 ESSAY VIII. that have just been enumerated, may at first appear too fanciful, and even whimsical. This appearance, however, arises chiefly or entirely from some of his physiological observations, tvhich do not affect the real question ; and from the way in which he has chosen, in one or two instances, to express himself. But a candid reader will allow, that in the juvenile perform- ance of this celebrated man we may find a more ingenious and more satisfactory account of the subject, than had formerly been given : perhaps, indeed, so far as it goes, as satisfac- tory as we have any reason to hope for. To see the matter in a clearer light, it will be proper to keep in view the agreeable effect pro- duced by certain motions. Infants are lulled to quiet, and at last to sleep, by rocking. They are evidently soothed, and that to a very great degree, as nurses well know, by being lifted gently up and down. As they grow older, they have recourse of themselves to balancing and Swinging, as favourite amusements. Most peo- ple will recollect their feelings on these occa- sions ; as also what they have felt, when they ox BEAUTY. 245 were drawn swiftly in an easy carriage, over a smooth turf, with gentle risings and declivities. In all such cases, we are conscious, more or less, of a delightful serenity, accompanied (to use Mr. Burke's terjns upon another occasion) with " an inward" and agreeable " sense of *^ melting and languor." To these examples, which have been mention- ed by our author, we may add the case of sail- ing, when the surface of the sea is continually diversified by smooth and gentle swells ; and the vessel is small eitough to be sensibly affect- ed by the rising and falling of the waters. To such as are not sick or afraid, there is, perhaps, no situation, in which both the pleasing serenity, and the " inward sense of melting and languor" are more distinctly perceptible. . Travellers speak much of the luxury of the Venetian gon- dolas ; and the following quotation, from the second volume of Captain Cooke's last Voyage to the Pacific Ocean, deserves particular atten- tion ; not only because he was a very accurate observer, but also because he had no theory to support by the facts which he relates. 246 ESSAY A' III, Speaking of the inhabitants of Otaheite, he says ; *' They are no strangers to the soothing " effects produced by particular sorts of mo- '^ tion, which, in some cases, seem to allay *' any perturbation of mind with as much suc- " cess as music. Of this I met with a remark- '' able instance; for, on walking one day about " IVIatavai point, where our tents were erected, " I saw a man paddling in a small canoe so " quickly, and looking about with such eagcr- '* ness on each side, as to command all my at* *' t^ntion. At first I imagined that he had '^ stolen something from one of the ships, and " was pursued; but on waiting patiently, I saw " him repeat his amusement. He went out '' from the shore till he was near the place " where the swell begins to take if s rise ; and, " watching it's first motion very attentively, *' paddled before it, with great quickness, till '* he found that it overtook him, and had ac- " quired sufficient force to carry his canoe be- *' fore it, without passing underneath. He *' then sat motionless, and was carried along at ** the same swift rate as the wave, till it landed ON BEAUTr. 247 " him upon the beach. Then he started out, " emptied his canoe, and went in search of an- ** other swell. I could not help concluding, " that this man felt the most supreme pleasure, " while he was driven so fast, and so smoothly, " by the sea ; especially as, though the tents " and ships were so near, he did not seem in " the least to envy, or even to take notice of the ** crowds of his countrymen collected to view ** them as objects which were rare and curi- " ous. During my stay, two or three of the " natives came up, who seemed to share his ** felicity, and always called out when there " was an appearance of a favourable swell, as " he sometimes missed it, by his back being '' turned, and looking about for it. By them *' I understood, that this exercise, which is *' called chorooe, was frequent among them; " and they have probably more amusements of " this sort, which afford them at least as much " pleasure as skaiting, which is the only one ** of ours with whose effects I could compare '' it." Now these cases of motion are considered by 248 ESSAY VIII. Mr. Burke as analogous to the impression made upon the organ of sight, by the beautiful quali- ties which have been enumerated ; the swift smooth motion corresponding to the impression made by the smooth surface, and it's clear and gentle colours ; and the constant and gradual variation of the motion corresponding to the constant and gradual variation of the impression upon the eye, when the different parts of the sur- face, and it's different colours, melt impercep- tibly into each other. Here I am not anxious to examine how far the two cases are analogous. Nor have I any inclination, either to controvert or to defend* Mr. Burke's physiological opinions, that the immediate effect produced in each of the cases is a relaxation of the fibres, and that a re- laxation of the fibres, from whatever cause it may arise, produces the passion of love, or- something resembling it. It is sufficient for our present purpose, to appeal to those who are in the habit of attending to their feelings mi- nutely, w hcther we are not similarly affected in both cases ; whether the delightful serenity, and ON BEAUTY. 249 inward sense of melting and languor, which are so perceptible in the one case, are not felt in the other also, in a greater or less degree ; it being understood, that according to the state of our body or mind at the time, as well as according to the nature of the particular objects, these degrees may vary between complete indifference, and what Captain Cooke has called a supreme pleasure. These observations are evidently applicable to motion considered as an object of sight. The - sight of smooth and gliding motions, which are performed neither in straight lines, nor by sharp turns, but in gentle curves, produces very re- markably a sootliing effect, similar to what has been already described. This effect, indeed, will be diminished or destroyed by a certain ra- pidity, as rapidity naturally tends to rouse" and alarm. It will be impaired also when the mo- tion becomes so slow as to weary the attention. And the mass or bulk of the moving body, when it is such as to suggest the idea of power, will impress on the motion a character of sublimity, essentially different from beauty. But in other 1^50 ESSAY VIII. . cases, as in the gentle winding of a moderate stream, or in the graceful gestures of the human body, and even of some of the lower animals, the soothing effect is sufficiently perceptible. Hitherto we have considered only one class of beautiful quahties. In most cases, however, in which we feel their influence, some other beautiful quahties are also exhibited, or some other soothing ideas suggested, that greatly diversify and improve their effect. In -par- ticular, the human countenance derives by for the greatest part of it's beauty from expression, from expression of the feelings and the cha- racter. But we do not give the name of beau- tiful to the expression of the sterner qualities of a firm, persevering, ardent, bold, independ- ent, and unconquerable spirit. In fact, how- ever we may respect or admire these sublimer qualities, or whatever effect th^y may have, %vhen united to the gentler virtues, yet, when contemplated by themselves, they are certainly very far from soothing objects. On the other hand, we give, indiscriminately, the name of beautiful, or lovely, to the expression of those qualities, which it is naturally soothing to con- ON BEAUTY. 251 template; serenity, resignation, gentleness, ten- derness, and affection. If we attend to what we feel at the sight of a countenance expressive of these dispo- sitions, our state of mind will appear to be partly the effect of sympathy, and partly of love. Sympathy has been considered by several writers, particularly by Mr. Burke in his In- quiry into the Sublime and Beautiful, and by Mr. Smith, in his Theory of Moral Sentiments. For our purpose it is sufficient to describe it as that remarkable part of our constitution, by which we '^ rejoice with them that rejoice, and '^ weep with them that weep;" and by which, in general, our imagination transports us into the situation of our fellow-creatures, and gives us a participation of their pains and pleasures, of their sentiments and emotions. Hence the sight of a countenance characterized by the milder virtues will naturally communicate some degree of the soft tranquillity, and sweet affections, that seem to bless the soul which inspires it's features. 25^ ESSAY VIII. Beside the effect of sympathy, these milder virtues are the natural objects of love. But this affection must not be confounded with the passion between the sexes, to which the same name is very frequently^ applied. The desire peculiar to this latter passion is indeed often blended both with the love of the milder virtues,, and also with the emotion produced by those beautiful external qualities, which were first enumerated. It will be remembered how- ever, that persons, who have po remarkable degree either of beauty, or amiable dispositions, may yet be objects of desire ; and that, on the other hand, in cases where we have no degree of desire whatever, we may have very high pleasure from the sight of external beauty, or from the contemplation of the milder virtues. And, as the love of the milder virtues is in itself extremely soothing and tranquil, it is obvious that this affection, and the sympathy produced by the sight of a countenance in which these amiable dispositions are conspicuous, will form together a state of mind so much characterized by a delightful serenity and languor (the pre- ON BEAUTY. 253 dominant feelings which accompany ,the sight of external beauty), that it is natural to transfer the name of beautiful, not only to such an ex- pression of countenance, but also to the mental qualities themselves. Thus we see how it happens, that beauty has Been ascribed to virtue. In some of it's aspects, indeed, virtue is venerable, and even awful; as when it is exerted in deeds of heroic valour, in the sterner acts of justice, or in the duties of a painful self-denial. But it resumes it's native beauty, when it appears in the attitude of meekness, humility, or resignation, or is employed in the kind offices of courtesy, hu- manity, or affection. And even it's severer aspects are softened to a penetrating eye by more soothing features. Our admiration of the heroic valour of the virtuous is blended with our love of the generous sentiments that inspire it. The sterner acts of justice are re- quisite for the safety and tranquillity of the innocent. And the cruel pains of self-denial are the most unequivocal proofs of resignation 254 ESSAY VIII. to Heaven, and are gradually recompensed by ^ peace and hope. In like manner we transfer the name of beautiful to all objects associated in our ima- gination with ideas, which sooth us into a state of tranquillity and languor; to all those scenes, for example, which appear to be the habita- tions of peace, and innocence, and love, and of minds unvexed by the turbulent and de- structive passions. Such are the groves, which have not the awfulness of the forest, but which are enlivened by the warbling of birds, happy in each other, and in the care of tlieir offspring. Such are the rivulets, which do not, like the cataract, suggest the ideas of violence and destruction, but along the green and shady banks of which we find a cool retreat from the noonday sun, while their murmurs invite us to repose, far from the fatigues and the vexations of the world. Associations of this kind will even confer teauty upon objects, which otherwise assume a very different aspect. The mountain, in its ON BEAUTY. 255 own nature, is sublime and awful ; but when the poet speaks of " All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields*," he adorns it with the charms of beauty, by throwing round it the ideas of shelter and se- curity. The abode of our childhood and youth, although it should be such as to appear indifferent, or dull, or even dreary to a stran- ger, may still be lovely in our own eyes, from the fond recollection of early endearments. It is almost unnecessary to observe, that a delightful serenity and languor may be pro- duced by music. Indeed of all the fine arts there is none, which, in some constitutions at least, has a more direct and powerful influence in i500thing even a troubled mind. And accord- ing as it is more or less adapted to this effect, it appears more or less entitled to the name of beautiful. It may be impossible to ascertain in what manner such an effect can be produced by any sounds, or combination of sounds, just * Beattie's Minstrel. i256 ESSAY VIII* as it may be impossible' to ascertain how it can be produced by subjecting the body to par- ticular motions, or by exposing the eye to particular impressions. But it is evident, that objects which produce similar effects of so remarkable a kind, will naturally be classed under one common appellation. The effect of the objects, which have been hitherto considered, is directly opposite to the irritation of violent, or painful, or contending passions. But, we may likewise be disturbed by the painful exertions or perplexity of the understanding; and objects that produce the contrary state of mind form a distinct and re* markable class of the beautiful. Now the province of the understanding is to trace the relations or connexions of objects. And according as these relations are more striking in themselves, and according as the objects are presented and arranged in such a manner as to render these relations more con- spicuous, the understanding will employ itself with the greater facility. It soon however becomes irksome, and even ON BEAUTY. 257 painful, when we endeavour to confine our attention to a set of objects, which are nearly uniform. This indeed may not always be the case when our affections are deeply interested: as a lover does not soon grow weary of con- templating the face of his mistress. But other- wise, and in so far as the intellectual powers are concerned, a certain degree of variety, either in the objects themselves, or in their relations and connexions, is requisite, not only for the agreeable entertainment, but even for the tranquillity of the mind. On the other hand, when in any particular subject of our contemplation the variety is carried too far, either we become perplexed, or a painful exertion is required to apprehend it distinctly. But however we may be distressed by per- plexity, or by intense application, yet the mind is seldom, if ever, so much fatigued, as to find satisfaction in absolute repose. On the con- trary, while we are awake at least, it is never wholly at rest; and our situation is always ex- tremely irksome, when we can find neither any s 258 ESSAY VIII. external object, nor any of our own thoughts sufficient to engage our attention. But we may be preserved in tranquillity, and even refreshed, in weariness and pain of mind, that is to say, we may be soothed in a very considerable degree, by variety and facility in the exertion of our intellectual powers. Hence we are naturally soothed with any set of objects which have striking relations or con- nexions with each other, and which are pre- sented and arranged in such a manner as to render these relations conspicuous; provided that there be a certain degree of variety either in the objects themselves, or in their mutual connexions : and hence every exhibition of this kind will of course receive the name of beau- tiful. Here one circumstance deserves to be par- ticularly noticed ; namely, the effect of such an order, as we have mentioned, in producing facility and distinctness both of apprehension and recollection. It is well known, that re- collection depends on the association of ideas ; that ideas are associated^ in the mind by their ON BEAUTY. 259 mutual relations; and that the associations are strong and permanent, according as the re- lations are striking. Hence when objegts ar^, arranged according to the more striking re- lations, such as those of resemblance, or of contrast, or of cause and effect, or of co- operation to a particular purpose, we are won- derfully facilitated in the distinct recollection of the whole assemblage. But the recollection of what is absent, both presupposes, and is also a much more difficult operation, than the apprehension of the same thing actually exhibited. It is evident, therefore, that ' arrangement according to the more striking relations will enable us to command with ease a distinct view, in all it's parts and connexions, of a much more complicated and diversified assemblage, than^ we could make ourselves masters of, without the greatest difficulty, if it were presented in a less regular form. We cannot wonder then, that order should be ac- companied with so agreeable and soothing a sensation. The soothing effect, however, may be con- s 2 260 ESSAY VIII. siderably impaired, when any violent contrast is forced upon our notice ; as by placing con- tiguous, or directly confronting each other, very lively and very mournful objects; or very glaring and very mild-coloured; or very dig- nified and very humble; or very great and very little. Objects of such opposite qualities may indeed have an agreeable effect, when they are introduced into the same group^ and even when they are placed contiguous or in direct opposition ; but the sensation of these abrupt transitions, whatever sub- limity, or vivacity, or other attractions they may possess, is by no means similar to the feelings produced by what we call beautiful in the more appropriate sense of the word. And, accordingly, although an exhibition, in which transitions of this kind were remarkable, might still be soothing, and, consequently, might still have beauty ascribed to it, yet we should be disposed to qualify the term with some epithet, as sublime, or bold, or lively, according as the contrasts might affect us. It will be under- stood, however, that objects of very opposite ON BEAUTT. 26l qualities may be introduced into the same group, without disturbing the beauty, if they are only so placed as not to render the violent contrast conspicuous, and consequently so as not to pro- duce an abrupt transition. But abrupt transitions may be produced, not merely by too violent contrasts, but also by the introduction of heterogeneous objects. Thus a beautiful arrangement may be formed, either with china vases, or with specimens of ore ; yet it will be far from having a good effect, to inter- mingle the two collections, even although we might Still exhibit both a copious and unper- plexed variety of similar objects similarly si- tuate. Upon the whole, tliis very comprehensive species, which may be called the beauty of or- der, consists in the exhibition and arrangement of objects according to the more striking rela- tions, so as to render these relations sufficiently conspicuous, and to produce a sufficient variety, but without perplexity, and without abrupt trans- itions. These characteristics are so remarkable and 262 ESSAY' VIII. extensive, that the celebrated Doctor Hutche- son, of Glasgow, seems, in a great measure, to have confined his attention to this part of the subject, in his general Theory of Beauty. For, with the single exception of the species which he characterizes by the indication of virtuous dis- positions, he considers uniformity in variety as the universal constituent of what he calls origin- al or absolute beauty, comprehending, under this term, every other kind of beauty, but that which he supposes to result from imitation. Now, uniformity in variety consists only in re- semblance, or in some common property, dis- played among objects which are otherwise di- versified ; and consequently though it is not fully equivalent to the description which has just been given, in great measure coincides with it. It is not fully equivalent : for, in the first place, it does not imply the absence of abrupt transition ; and yet abrupt transition differs es- sentially frorn the beautiful. In the second place, there may be a beautiful exhibition of ob- jects, arranged according to very striking rela^ ^ipns, where yet there will be no remarkable uni* ON BEAUTY. 263 formity in variety. Thus we may have a lively perception of beauty from the description of a machine, when the parts are represented and in- troduced to our notice in such a manner, as to render their joint cooperation to the ultimate effect conspicuous and easily traced ; and yet no two of the parts may have any resemblance or common property so remarkable as to engage our attention. It is to be regretted also, that this author con- tented himself with ascribing the pleasure, which we receive from beauty, to a peculiar sense, dis- tinct from the other faculties of the human mhid, and did not direct his great talents to consider how far this pleasure results from the known principles of our nature, or how far it is similar to sensations, which we experience upon other occasions. Whatever theory may be adopted, the beauty of order well deserves the attention both of phi- losophers and artists, as it produces very remark- able effects, even when it is not accompanied Ipy any other beauty ; and as it extends it's kiflu- 264 ESSAY VIIT. ence from the most trifling to the most important subjects. Doctor Hutcheson considers the regular figures of Geometry, or those which have all their sides and all their angles equal, as the sim- plest form in which it appears, and accordingly has chosen them as the first illustration of his doctrine *. But he does not seem to have placed them precisely in the proper point of view ; for he considers the variety to be in proportion to the number of sides, whereas it is evident, that variety consists not in number only, but in nmnber and dissimilarity. It may be proper therefore to consider more particularly what it is that con- stitutes the variety exhibited by any of the regu- lar figures, and how these figures come to differ from each other in beauty. Here a distinction must be made between the figures which have an even, and those which have an odd number of sides. Regular figures of the first kind, when the position of the centre is not * Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty an^ Virtue, Treatise I, Section II, Article III. ON BEAUTY. Q65 made conspicuous, exhibit five remarkable rela- tions of tlieir parts to each other ; namely, the equality of the sides, the equality of the angles, the parallelism of the opposite sides, and the equality and parallelism of the straight lines, which the eye naturally traces between the ex- tremities of the opposite sides. And the dissimi- larity either of these relations, or of the objects between which they subsist, constitutes the whole variety exhibited to the eye by any given regular figure of an even number of sides, at least when theposition of the centre is not conspicuous. In the square, however, the last two relations are confounded with the equality and parallelism of the sides ; so that the square has considerably less variety than the other figures of this class; -and thus we see one reason why the hexagon and the octagon should surpass it in beauty. If we now consider the regular figures with an odd number of sides, we are struck only with the equality of the sides and angles : all the three other relations, which take place' in the former class, are completely wanting; and the t6G ESSAY VIII. perpendicular situation of the angles over the. middle points of the opposite sides, a relation which, before actual trial, might be supposed to supply the want of parallel sides, will not be found sufficiently conspicuous to produce a con- siderable effect. Accordingly these figures, if they have any pretensions to beauty, are certainly far inferior to the former class ; and I am even apt to believe, that to most eyes they are rather disagreeable than otherwise. The foregoing observations, however, are scarcely applicable to figures of a greater num- ber of sides tlian eleven or twelve. For when the number is increased beyond a certain degree, the sides must become so small, or else the op- posite sides must become so distant, that in either case the equality and parallelism of these sides will cease to be conspicuous, as well as the equality and parallelism of the lines which join their extremities. Thus the figures of an even number of sides will be reduced pretty nearly to the same footing with those of an odd number ; and neither of them will have any perceptible ON BEAUTY. ^6'/ beauty, except that which arises from the gentle- ness of their curvature, and which is very difter- ent from tiie subject of our present consideration. Hitherto we have considered the ligures as consisting only of equal sides, and equal angles. But it deserves to be remarked, that their beauty is much increased, when the place of the centre is rendered conspicuous ; or when the observer is stationed there. By this means there is brought into view a striking relation, not only of the sides, but also of the angles, both to the centre and to each other; namely, the equality of their distances from the centre. And thus, likewise, a new set of parts make their appearance ; for the straight lines, which the eye naturally traces between the centre and each of the angles, di- vide the area of flie figure into triangles, which are both similar and equal to each other. These observations, with regard to the centre, are ap- plicable, whether the number of sides be small or great, odd or even. But when their num- ber is even, and does not exceed ten or twelve, we immediately perceive a striking relation be- tween every two opposite angles and the centre, *i6S ISSAY VIII. these three points behig evidently in one straight line ; and a similar connexion also discovers it- self between the centre and the middle points of every two opposite sides. In comparing the regular figures with each other, the octagon is acknowledged to be the most beautiful ; a preference which is perfectly agreeable to the foregoing principles. For we have seen how it should be superior to the figures with an odd number of sides ; and also to the square. In fact, the figure of six, and the figure of ten equal sides, are the only ones which can be compared to it. But it is more beautiful than the former, on account of it's gentler curva- ture ; and it has the parallelism of the opposite sides more conspicuous than in the latter, and still more so than in the higher polygons. In the works and arrangements of art, we find more or less of the beauty of order^ wherever it can be introduced without too great a sacrifice of convenience or utility; and we are sensibly displeased, even upon trifling and ordinary occasions, when we see it neglect- ed by the careless or the stupid. Thus even in ON BEAUTT. SG^ placing common furniture round the wails of a common room, we could not bear to see all the tables set by themselves, and then all the chairs one after another, without interruption : but although we could expect to gain nothing in point of convenience, we would contrive to mix the tables with the chairs, so as to produce some variety of groups; and to arrange the whole in such a manner, that the correspondence between the different groups, as well as between the dif- ferent parts of each of them, might be suffix ciently obvious. It is upon the same principle, that we endeavour, as far as circumstances will permit, to arrange the pieces in every collection whatever; as the plate and glasses on a side- board, the china in a cupboard, the ornaments on a chimney piece, and the articles in the draw- ers and shelves of a museum. And where an ele- gant arrangement is evidently attainable, the beauty of the different pieces considered separate- ly will not atone for the ugliness of confusion. The productions of nature, as they strike the eye, exhibit chiefly that species of beauty, which was first considered. Yet in almost all the 270 ESSAY viir. animal, and in a great proportion of the vege- table forms, We are sensible of the beauty which results from the disposition of the parts, and this sometimes even in cases where we find no beauty, in the more appropriate meaning of the word. Thus a tree in winter, though it is deprived of it's foliage, and though it ha5 neither a fine colour, nor a smooth bark, nor a gently waving form, may still be beautiful. This, however, will depend upon circumstances. For on the one hand, we find no such pretensions in a thorn hedge stripped of it's leaves, where the branches are so closely huddled up, as to have only the appearance of unconnected sticks. Nor on the other hand do we find any charms in a bare tree, when the branches from the stem are very inconsiderable both in number and size, with little resemblance to each otlier, ir- regularly placed; most of them, perhaps, upon one side of the stem, inclined to it in very dif- ferent, perhaps opposite angles, and sending out only a few puny twigs, irregularly scattered. But a very different effect is produced, when ON BEAUTY. 2l7 1 the expansion and general figure of the tree give us the idea of being able to trace with ease a long progress of ramification, at once diversified, regular, and gradual; diversified copiously by the number, and various sizes and various dis- positions of the branches ; regular, in the gene- ral similarity of those which are similarly si- tuate ; while the branches gradually diminish in size according to their more elevated situa- tion, or according to their more remote con- nexion with the parent stem. But if, even in the most superficial and cur- sory survey of external nature, we meet with various examples of the beauty of order, these examples multiply and increase in importance when the view is enlarged, and nature more ac- curately and skilfully examined. And the same principles, which prompt and direct us in ar- ranging the most trifling ornaments, have alsQ excited men of science, with infinite labour and ingenuity, and with the happiest eftects both for the communication and the application of knowledge, to detect, and bring to light, and reduce to the elegance of system, the various 272 ESSAY viir. resemblances and correspondences, nhich both in the natural and moral world conceal them* selves from the curiosity of common inquirers. This subject merits a particular illustration. The earliest observers were led by the more obvious resemblances among the productions of the earth to the primary classifications of na- tural history. But the more extensive informa- tion, and minuter attention of their successors, have produced that arrangement of divisions and . subdivisions; where (amidst the great diversity of species, and the infinite variety of individual objects) the regular distribution and gradual ar- rangement of the classes give a peculiar charm to this popular study. Again ; it is the great business of -philosophy to mvestigate the laws of nature ; and these laws consist in the correspondences which take place, either between different parts of the same ope- ration of nature, or between different opera- tions compared with each other. Now although the discovery of these laws may in many cases require the utmost efforts of human genius, and though it may even be difficult to understand the ON BEAUTY. 9>73 evidence on which they are established, yet the correspondences which they exhibit are often simple enough, to be apprehended with facility by ordinary capacities, and to afford striking ex- amples of the beauty of order. Thus in the state of science when Galileo liv- ed, it required the extraordinary abilities of that great man to discover the law, which regulates the descent of falling bodies. Yet the law itself may be distinctly apprehended by any person who knows what is meant by the series of odd numbers, 1, 3, 5, 7, &c. ; for it is simply what follows. Let a body be dropped from a height, and suppose it to be so heavy, that the resistance of the air will produce n6 sensible retardation. Divide the whole time of its descent into any number of equal portions, which we shall call moments ; and let the body fall from rest through one inch (or whatever the space may be) during the first moment. Then it will fall through three inches during the second moment, through five inches during the third, through seven during the fourth, and so on ; the number of inches describ- 1274 ESSAY VIII. ed during the first, second, third, and fourth moments, being respectively equal to the first, second, third, and fourth odd numbers ; and in general the number of inches described during each successive moment being equal to the odd number which corresponds to it in order. Now this law may be distinctly apprehended by any person, who chooses to attend to it ; and any person, who apprehends it, will be sensibly sooth- ed in contemplating the relation between the spaces described during the successive moments, a relation abundantly striking and continually varying ; but varying without perplexity, and by gradual transitions. We have more brilliant examples in Kepler's celebrated laws of the planetary motions. The Greek astronomers had supposed, that all the motions in the heavens were uniform and circu- lar ; but Kepler perceived, that in the case of the planets, neither of these suppositions was consistent with the appearances, when accurately observed. The orbit, in which a planet revolves round the sun, is not a circle, but an oval of that ON BEAUTY. 9,75 kind, which mathematicians have called the ellipse, having the sun not in it's centre, but in one of the two points called the foci. Moreover, the velocity of the planet is continually varying, yet by no means in the same proportion as it's distance from the sun ; and it was not easy to discover any general relation between the spaces through which it moves in equal times. Kepler however, with admirable sagacity, considering the subject from another point of view, perceived amidst the apparent confusion a very remarkable and unexpected regularity. Let us conceive the planet to be pierced through it's centre by a wire of indefinite length, along which it can move freely like a bead ; and that one end of the wire is placed in the centre of the sun. As the pla- net revolves, the wire will be carried round with' it, so that in the course of a revolution that part of the wire between the centres of the sun and planet will sweep over the whole area of the? elliptical orbit. And Kepler's discovery was this; that those portions of the area are equal to each other, over which the wire sweeps in equal times.' In this case, as also in Galileo's law of falling t2 276 ESSAY VIIK bodies, we have an example of the different parts of the same operation so exhibited aiid arranged, as to render their connexion distinct and con- spicuous. Connexions not less curious and unexpected have been discovered, when different operations were compared with each other. It was well known, for instance, that the periodic times of the different planets, or the times, which they severally employ in one complete revolution round the sun, are shorter in the planets, which are nearer the sun, than in those which are more remote. But it was obvious to every person, who knew the rule of three, that the periodic times of no two planets were in the same proportion as either their longest, or shortest, or medium distances from the sun. Yet as that great lumi- nary appeared to be the common regulator of their movements, or as at least he had a similar position in all their orbits, it was natural to sup- pose, that the times w ere in some way or other connected with the distances. In fact, there is a very intimate and even striking connexion be- tween them, although it's discovery required the indefatigable industry of Kepler. The connex- ON BEAUTY. Til ion is well known to be this ; that the squares of the numbers expressing the periodic times are in the same proportion as the cubes of the numbers expressing the medium distances. Now whatever labour the discovery may have cost, yet it may readily be understood by any one, who knows only what is meant by pro- portion in the rule of three, and by the squares and cubes of numbers. And combining this law with that, which has just been mentioned of the equality of the areas described in equal times, we rest with delight in this exhibition, which, in- stead of the disorder that seems at first sight to prevail in the planetary system, displays so re- gular an arrangement amidst all the variety in the position and movement of it's parts. The principles of beauty will be still farther il- lustrated, if we attend to the difference between Kepler's and Newton's discoveries. Kepler confined his attention to the higher regions ; but Newton's bolder eye " glanced from Heaven to *' Earth, from Earth to Heaven*," and with a ♦ Shakspeare. 278 ESSAY VIII. wonderful combination of patience, skill, and ge- nius, this great philosopher discovered at last, that the motions of the moon, of the planets, and of the heavy bodies around us, are all regulated by the same laws; that if human power or art cpuld throw forward a cannon ball with a cer- tain velocity, and if the resistance of the air were destroyed, the ball, while it tended downward by it's weight, would still be kept aloof by it's pro- jectile velocity, and continue, as an humbler sa- tellite, to revolve round the Earth ; that if stones were substituted for the bodies of the planetary system, that is to say, if these bodies were anni- hilated, and if stones were once for all thrown for- ward in their places, in their directions, and with their velocities, the stones would continue to re- volve with the same regularity. How shall we characterize this view of the universe ? It is unexpected ; it is astonishing ; and whether we consider the genius of Newton, or the power displayed in originating and regu- lating the rapid motions of those stupendous bo- dies, it is singularly sublime. But the abrupt transition from the stones of the ground to the ON BEAUTY. 9>79 stars of Heaven produces a state of mind very different from the soothing tranquillity, which is essential to beauty. On the other hand, in Kepler's exhibition of the planetary movements, all is not only regu- lar but homogeneous ; and while we are reliev- ed by variety, we are not agitated by any violent disproportion either in the nature or the grandeur of the objects. And accordingly, it is only when he confines his attention to the great bodies of the universe, that Newton ascribes beauty to the system, and such a beauty as he justly con- siders to be a mark of it's divine original. In his own impressive words ; " Elegantissima haecce ** solis, planetarum, et cometarum compages, ** non nisi consilio et dominio entis intelligentis " et potentis oriri potuit*." In general, it is the business of philosophy to arrange the objects both of the natural and mo- ral world, and also the ideas of the human mind, according to their more important relations. — Hence we are soothed with the elegance of or- * Newtoni Principia, Lib. 3. Scholium generale. 280 ESSAY viir. der, instead of irregular, bewildering medley, in which those objects and ideas are actually exhi- bited by nature, or in which they appear to us from our imperfect comprehcQsion. And the only things, which can efface the beauty of these arrangements, are too great intricacy, and too great abruptness of transition. At the same time, it is not to be understood, that intricacy and abrupt transition may not to a certain degree be introduced with propriety, even in those cases where the exhibition of beauty is the principal design. On the contrary, beauty cloys by itself, and we are glad when it is qua- lified by somewhat of a less regular or more com- plicated character. This rouses and stimulates, and thereby counteracts the cloying effect, and renders us more sensible to the delight of sooth- ing impressions. Many persons will recollect how much they have been charmed with the first representation which is usually given of the planetary system : the sun immovable in the centre ; the planets revolving uniformly round him in circles, at dif- ferent distances, in different times, and with ON BEAUTY. 281 different velocities, but the velocities so propor- tioned, that the periodic times have all the same connexion, and a very remarkable one, with the respective distances of the planets from the sun. PJere certainly is a beautiful picture ; but it is greatly enlivened, without losing it's beauty, by the transitions, the complications, and even the seeming irregularities, which discover them- selves on a nearer inspection, or which must re- sult from the tendencies of the heavenly bodies to each other. The sun, in consequence of his tendency to each of the planets, is in a con- stant but gentle agitation; the planets revolve in eUipses, with velocities continually varying, but the velocity of every planet varying in such a manner as to produce an equal description of the area of it's orbit; the planets all move in different planes, and cross the plane of the Earth's orbit in different quarters of the Heavens ; nor do they follow the precise path to which the sun would confine them, but show their respect for each other by a mutual approach as they pass. But while we are engaged with the heavenly bo- ^Sa ESSAY VIII. dies, which move in orbits not differing greatly from circles, and in planes not diverging beyond the limits of the zodiac, our contemplation is in- terrupted and varied by the arrival of those un- expected visitants, the comets ; which revolve in- deed by the same general laws, but which move in planes diverging to all the quarters of the heavens, and which are drawn to the neighbour- hood of the sun from regions far beyond the sphere of the Georgium Sidus itself, and return through their long and narrow orbits to those deep recesses of the void, where they linger for years and even for ages, still influenced, but scarcely influenced, by the almost extinguished powers of the solar attraction. Now however difficult or impossible it may be to calculate minutely all the particulars of the system, yet it is not sO difficult to form a general idea of it's principal movements. And when once we are able, without a painful exertion, to trace in some measure the regularity which pre- vails in it's intricacies, the resemblances which harmonize it's diversities, and the connexion of such various effects with one sinrfe cause, we feel ON BEAUTV. 283 how much superior to what the orrery represents or suggests is the exhibition, which now rises in the imagination, and with how great propriety Sir Isaac Newton has described it as elegant in the highest degree. In general, the beauty of order is improved and rendered more engaging by intricacy and by abrupt transitions, when the intricacy is not so great as to require a painfid exertion in tracing the relations of the parts, nor the transitions so violent as to shock us with discordant feelings. And in like manner every kind of beauty becomes more alluring by intermixing qualities of an ani- mating and even of an irritating nature, not so as to destroy the pleasing serenity and languor which are the characteristical effects, but only to prevent them from degenerating into satiety or weariness, and also, by rousing the attention, to render us more susceptible of their delights. A smooth-flowing stream, for example, when other circumstances are the same, is certainly more beautiful than one, the course of which is checked and disturbed, and it's waters dashed and fretted among stones and rocks. Yet a 284 ESSAY VIII. stream of this latter kind, even when it is far from aspiring to sublimity, may add a wonderful charm to a beautiful landscape. And it is evi- dent, that as we are soothed and lulled by smooth- ness, gentle variation, and regularity, so we are roused and even irritated by roughness, abrupt- ness, and intricacy. So likewise, although there is no expression of countenance so beautiful in itself as that of serenity and tenderness ; yet it is not half so engaging in it's simple state, as when it is lighted up with vivacity, or ennobled by dignity, or even as when we perceive through all the predominant mildness, that the temper is ir ritable to a certain degree. Nature in her loveli- est productions has not omitted those ornaments, which are required as the seasoners of beau- ty. We see it obviously in trees, and in all the most elegant vegetables. It is extremely remark- able in the tufts, the crests, and the ruffs which diversify the smooth plumage of the finest birds. And every one must have felt how much the allurements of female beauty are increased by the eyelashes, and eyebrows, and irregular rino;lets. ON BJEAUTY. 285 If it be thought singular, that the charms of beauty should be increased by circumstances, which are the reverse of beautiful, we may refer to a case which is analogqus in the sense of taste. A sweet or luscious taste quickly satiates and cloys of itself, but is rendered agreeably de- licious when tempered by pungency, acidity, or bitterness. In like manner, beauty becomes far more engaging by a certain intermixture of the irritating qualities, as roughness, abrupt varia- tion, intricacy, and disorder. To these qualities Mr. Uvedale Price has appropriated the name of picturesque*. Whether the picturesque in this sense of the word deserve to be cultivated or introduced on it's own account into any of the line arts, it is not our present business to consider. But it is well known, as we have al- ready seen in a former essay, that these quali- ties are highly congenial to the sublime. And Mr. Price in his ingenious treatise has shown by various examples, how much a certain de- * Essay on the Picturesque and Beautiful. 286 ESSAY VIII. gree of them contributes to the improvement of beauty. It is obvious that beauty, in one form or other, is frequently the source of great delight in literary compositions, as well as in all the fine arts. It is indeed only certain compositions, which admit the description of beautiful objects. But however destitute of charms the subject may be in itself, even though it should be the author's design to instruct us in the dry and stern sciences of law, metaphysics, or mathematics, he should ne- ver forget to adorn his work with elegance of method. And according to the principles al- ready stated, this consists in such a representation and arrangement of the subject, as may serve to render the important relations between the dif- ferent parts sufficiently conspicuous ; and, while as great a variety is introduced as may be con- sistent with the purpose of the work, to prevent bot;h perplexity and too abrupt transitions. Now the less entertaining or the more difficult the subject is in itself, it is the more proper to re- lieve the reader by every contrivance, which does on: beauty. 287 not obstruct the main design. And it has al- ready been observed, that the beauty of order is not only highly agreeable, but also contributes greatly to produce a distinct apprehension, and a lively and ready recollection of the work in all it's different parts, an object which ought cer- tainly to be studied by every author, and more particularly when the design is instruction. But when the subject is difficult in itself, it would be absurd to introduce artificial intricacy, or to puzzle without necessity by abrupt transi- tions. On the contray, such an arrangement ought as far as possible to be studied, that each divison of the work may naturally introduce what follows it, and that the connexion between all the different divisions as we go along may be kept distinctly and steadily in view. The case is different where the subject is easy, and more especially where amusement is intended. Thus in that part of fictitious histories or dramatic representations which is called tlie denouement,; or unravelling of the plot, where we gradually discover how the several characters and incidents contribute to the final resultj our gratification ia: 288 ESSAY VIII. much enlivened by the previous uncertainty and confusion. The confusion indeed may easily be carried too far, as in some of the older ro- mances. But it is managed by Fielding with the hand of a master, in the beautiful mechanism of the fable and arrangement of the incidents, which delight us so much in the history of a Foundling. With regard to the representation of beautiful objects, it is much to be regretted, that it has so often been employed, and even by the most emi- nent authors, to inflame desires, which, without the aid of artificial incentives, are abundantly ardent and importunate of themselves. This indeed is only what might be expected from writ- ers of profligate characters, or in grosser times. But we are surprised at the frequent and la- boured indelicacies of Fielding ; and we are still more mortitied, when men of such piety as Tasso and Milton, and even in books professedly reli- gious, exert the highest powers of composition for a purpose so ignoble and superfluous. Yet these very authors have shown in other pas- sages how much they could delight us by the ON BEAUTY. ^89 description both of personal beauty and of the tenderest love, without forciilg on our attention what any man would be chastised for introdu- cing into general conversation, and what cannot be less improper in books designed for general entertainment. Indeed it is obvious, that the beautiful may be introduced into composition with the happiest effect, and yet w ithout the smallest violation of good manners. We have seen in the foregoing essays how well it may be employed to soften the painful emotions, and also to heighten the pathetic and the tender. It may also become itself the principal object in certain composi- tions. The more soothing charms of nature,- the more soothing views of life, are the great sources of our pleasure in many descriptive and pastoral poems. And such compositions are capable of no small variety. Both in the natural and moral world, beauty is exhibited in a great diversity of forms, and imagination can enlarge and improve the sphere of observation. Besides, the beautiful admits, in many different ways, of being rendered interesting by combi- ^90 ESSAY VIII. nations of terrour and sorrow ; or of being en- livened by it's natural association with the gay and joyful, or of being ennobled by it's union with the virtuous or the sublime. Nor ought those compositions in which the beautiful predominates, to be regarded as of little importance. They afford a sweet relaxa- tion from our cares and fatigues, when we are too much worn out to endure the more violent emotions. They insensibly calm the " perturbed spirit;" or, in the language of Thomson, " Sooth every gust of passion into peace, " All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, •' That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind*." They bring before us this remarkable and affecting indication of the divine goodness, that even amidst the wreck of creation, and the trials of a probationary state, unspeakable care is dis- played, not only in providing for our wants, but likewise in adorning all nature for our delight. * Thomson's Spring.^ ON BEAUTY. 291 And they will afford us the highest consolation, as well as contribute to the advancemejit of our best concerns, if, amidst the confusion and de- formities, the vices and distresses, which so often disfigure the present scene, they carry forward our view to that period, when the works of God shall be restored to their primeval beauty, and the reign of order and felicity return. y 2 ESSAY IX. ON THE LUDICROUS. Various theories of the ludicrous or laugh- alSTe have been proposed by Aristotle and suc- ceeding philosophers ; but I know of none which appears to be so well founded as Dr. Hutche* son's, who maintains in his Reflect iofis on Laugh^ ter, that the ludicrous consists in the contrast of dignity and meanness, whether the dignity and meanness reside both in the same object, or in different objects which are nearly related to each other. It will be understood, however, that we are not always sensible of the ludicrous in these cases, unless there be somewhat unusual and striking in the contrast, while at the same time we arc disengaged to a certain degree from any serious emotion. ON THE LUDICROUS. 293 It is proper also to remark, that the bodily movement, to which according to it's degree we give the name of smiling or laughter, is a very equivocal sign of our perception of the ludicrous. For, in the first place, this perception is not al- ways, though it is no doubt frequently, accom- panied by the bodily movement. Some persons, who seldom or never laugh, are abundantly sen- sible of drollery. And, in the second place, the bodily movement is excited in some cases of a very different kind. There is a smile of sur- prise and of admiration; a smile of affection ; a smile and even a laugh of joy ; there is even a smile of contempt, of envy, and of malice ; and laughter may be excited in the most violent de» gree by tickling and by hysterics. In these cases it will not be said, that the bodily movement is produced by any thing which we call ludicrous, or even laughable. It may be observed, however, that our feelings in some of these cases are frequently mingled with those which arise from the ludicrous. Thus we may despise the person whom we laugh at as ludi- crous, and to such an object the epithet oiridicu- 994} ESSAY IX, bus is appropriated. And if our contempt rise to a remarkable height, more especially if it be tinged with indignation, the emotion is more particularly called derision ; and they who give full vent to their derision are, with great pro- priety and force of expression, said to laugh the object of it to scorn. Again, our laughter at the ludicrous may be combined both with surprise and admiration; as when we are en-^ tertained with those unexpected and ingenious sallies of drollery, to which we give the name pf wit. Still, however, the state of mind produced by the ludicrous we feel plainly distinguishable from our other emotions. But it has not been found easy to deter- mine precisely the nature of the cases, to which the name of ludicrous is applied. For, beside the different accounts, which were given by former philosophers, some later writers have considered Dr. Hutcheson's theory as not sufficiently comprehensive, and have accord- ingly stated as a juster description, that the ludicrous results from incongruity in general, or ft'om some unsuitableness, or want of rela- ON THE LUDICROUS. Q95 tion in certain respects, among objects which are related in other respects. This is Dr. Gerard's account in his Essay on Taste, and has been adopted by Dr. Campbell in his Philosophy of Rhetoric, and by Dr. Beattie in his Essay on Laughter and Ludicrous composition. It may be doubted, however, whether this alteration of Dr. Hutcheson's theory be any real improvement, either in the science of criticism or of the human mind. It is acknowledged by the very writers, who propose the alteration, that the contrast between dignity and meanness constitutes the principal class of laughable objects. And in the examples which have been hitherto produced as belonging to a dif- ferent class, it may not, perhaps, be difficult to show, that the effect depends on somewhat that is mean or trifling, connected with some what that is great, important, or serious. Dr. Beattie has favoured the public not only with several excellent observations on the subject, but also with the most copious collection of examples to support the theory, that incon- gruity, in general, is the source of the ludi- 59^ ESSAY IX. crous; and of these we shall consider such as the learned author conceives to exhibit no contrast of dignity and meanness. But before we proceed, it is proper to oh^ serve, that several incongruities, which Dr. Hutcheson would no doubt have regarded as illustrations of his theory, are stated by Dr. Beattie as of a different kind. Tlius he con^ ceives that the absurd epitaphs, or love-letters, written by illiterate persons, may exhibit no apparent contrast of dignity and meanness, even when there is '* a vast disproportioq *' between the seriousness of the author and the *^ insignificance of his wprk, beside many odd ** contrasts in the work itself, of ^wea/z phrases " and sentiments aspiring to importance, of " sounding words with little signification, of ** sentences that seem to promise much but end ** in nothing^.'' Examples of this sort ought surely to be considered as very favourable illustrations of Dr. Hutcheson's doctrine. Anc^ his theory ought in all fairness to be understood fis comprised in the following proposition i * Beattie's Essays, 4-to, p. 042, ON THE LUDICROUS. 297 namely, that the ludicrous consists in the con- trast of somewhat that is great, important, or serious, connected with somewhat that is mean or trifling. We now proceed to consider the cases, which Dr. Beattie has stated in opposition to Dr. Hutcheson. A little reflection may satisfy us, that de- formity ought not to have been produced as an example of this kind; and probably it would not, if it had been attended to, that our emo- tions are frequently raised, not merely by the objects actually exhibited or expressed, but also by the ideas which these objects suggest. Now deformity is a remarkable deviation from the natural appearance of the human body; the perception of deviation implies, of necessity, a comparison with the standard from which the deviation is made; and no one will dispute the elegance and ' dignity of the human form in it's more perfect state. Accordingly, we are not disposed to laugh when we see a man, who looks well in other Inspects, considerably larger than what we 298 ESSAY IX. regard as the proper standard, unless thei'fe be also a clumsiness or awkwardness incompatible with the dignity, which we expect in so great a personage. But a xvoman six feet high, and indeed any woman of a masculine appearance, is always somewhat ludicrous; for here, as the word virago sufficiently indicates, we are amused by the fancy, that a person with a figure or character so manly should submit to the apparel and occupations of the weaker and more dependent sex; or that a per- son who assumes the dress of that part of our species from whom we expect a modest dignity and elegance, should exhibit that coarseness and arrogance, into which the manners of our sex are so apt to degenerate. On tlie other hand, when any one dwindles considerably below the standard, even the most beautiful face, and a form the most unexceptionable in every other respect, will not entirely remove the ludicrous appearance. In those cases to which the name of de- formity is commonly applied, the contrast be- tween the noble and the mean is but too striking. ON THE LUDICROUS. 299 The crooked or distorted body or limbs make but a poor appearance, when compared with the graceful figures, of which they assume the name, and stand as the representatives. The features, which, in their natural arrangement, form, and proportion, are susceptible not only of so engaging, but of so dignified an ex- pression, lose their character when they are turned awry, or diminished, or enlarged, be- yond a certain degree, and become only un- meaning and awkward implements, stuck up in the places of objects which we admire. Do you call that a nosef do you call that a leg? are the questions which instantly occur even to children, when they divert themselves with a person who is ugly or deformed. We can see too how it happens, that when the deformity is equal, the features which are enlarged appear more ludicrous than those which are diminished. That eminence of cheek- bone, that extent of chin, that prominence of nose, adorned, perhaps, with carbuncles, that protuberance of goggling eyes, exhibit a costly apparatus, a more than ordinary pre- 300 ESSAY IX. paration for the purposes of human physio- gnomy, but fall wonderfully short of their high pretensions. Deformity, too, is not only ludicrous in itself, but is frequently rendered greatly more so, by means of some foolish expression, which it may occasion in the face or figure, as of stupidity, or affectation, or pertness, or self- conceit, things which belong to a more im- portant department of the ludicrous. Bodily deformity in itself, indeed, is seldom a fair subject of laughter in real life. It is a serious misfortune, which may fall t© the Jot of the worthiest, and which ridicule may inibitter, but cannot remove ; and we soon lose the perception of it in those with whom we live, at least if we esteem them. In real life it is unpardonable brutality to deride any one for such a cause, unless when he is vain of his personal charms, or when his whimsical ap- pearance results from bad habits in the looks or gestures, produced by negligence, or affect- ation. The case is different in painting and in ON THE LUDICROUS. 301 composition. The strange figures represented by Hogarth, Bunbury, and other character- istical painters afford a lively amusement, which does harm to nobody; and gratitude is due to every man of genius, who takes the trouble to furnish us with a harmless amusement. But it deserves to be remarked, that these representations of bodily deformity are chiefly valuable, when they render more prominent the oddities of character, and thus awaken more strongly our sense of the ludicrous in those follies which are the fair objects of ridicule, and for which ridicule is the proper correction. Thus in Hogarth's Country Dance, which that great master has sketched as an illustration of his principles in the Analysis of Beauty, as also in Bunbury 's humorous drawing of the Bath Minuet, most of the figures ai-e ex- tremely laughable, not merely from the outward deformity which they have either received from nature, or into which they are pleased to throw themselves, but also from the affectation and self-conceit, of which these outward defor- mities, if they are not the actual effect, yet 302 ESSAY IX* heighten the expression, or at least render it more remarkable. So Hkewise in dramatic representations, and in fictitious history, some- thing whimsical in the countenance, shape, or attitudes, is frequently introduced to throw a higher glare of ridicule on mental absurdity. But mental absurdity itself, though not always so obvious to a common observer, forms a more amusing, as well as more im- portant and comprehensive department of the ludicrous. It will not be difficult to show, that it exhibits a very striking contrast of dignity and meanness. And it will be proper to pay attention to this part of the subject, not only because it serves to explain in an easy and satisfactory mannei* several cases, which might otherwise appear inconsistent with Dr. Hutche- son's theory, but also because it supplies the materials of the only species of ludicrous composition, which deserves to be cultivated. As deformity is a remarkable deviation from the appearance of the human body in it's more perfect state, so absurdity is a remarkable deviation from that more perfect and accom- ON THE LUDICROUS. 303 plished state either of the moral or intellectual character, in which the dignity of human nature principally consists ; and it is needless to repeat, that the perception of deviation implies of ne- cessity a comparison with the standard, from which the deviation is made. When a creature, claiming the name of rational, allows itself to be wrought into a ferment by the most frivolous causes, or defeats it's own purposes by it's own deliberations, we cannot but feel towards so nonsensical a personage somewhat of the same sentiments, which a humorous gentleman expressed of himself, who, when he played a bad stroke at cards, used to apostrophize his head, telling it in the plainest and shortest terms, that, whatever it might call itself, it was not fit to occupy a certain very ignoble de- partment in the animal ceconomy. The absurdity that displays itself in the emotions or sentiments comprehends a variety of cases, which are every day exemplified in common life, and which are admirably adapted to the satirist and comic writer. Such, for instance, is the choleric man, who ratres at 304 ESSAY IX. ever}^ trifiing inconvenience or disappointment; tlie fine lady, who is thrown into hysterics by the fall of a china basin; the love-sick swain, who languishes for a silly girl that laughs at liim; the coxcomb, who displays for his own person and accomplishments an admiration, which nobody else can entertain ; the miser, who starves himself that he may gather a heap of \\ hat he never means to use, and is to leave to those whom he neither loves nor values. In these instances the absurdity consists in the heiii^ht to which the emotion is raised be- o yond what we should expect in a rational mind. But there are also ludicrous cases of the opposite kind, in which we are diverted with the slight impression, which is made on the stupid or untaught, by objects that have a powerful effect on the feeling heart and cul- tivated understanding. Thus Garrick's thea- trical powers, which rendered him the admi- ration of his country, were but poorly esteemed by Partridge; and thus the beauty and gran- deur of nature are surveyed with indifference or contempt by many a London citizen and town- ON THE LUDTCROUS. 305 bred lady. And the Jewish proverb, not to throw pearls before swine, expresses strongly and is currently employed to express, both our derision in those cases where moral de- pravity renders men insensible of high -con- siderations, and also our ridicule in cases of smaller moment, as where the absurdity pro- ceeds from want of sensibility or discernment in matters of taste. But our emotions or sentiments may be ludicrous not only from their degree, but also from their inconsistency with each other. And the contrast of dignity and meanness appears but too conspicuous, when instead of the se- renity that reigns in the mind the affections and desires of which are regulated by reason, we observe the regrets and perplexities arising from the struggle of incompatible principles, as of avarice and vanity, or of indolence and ambition. Such cases, indeed, are frequently so important or interesting, that our laughter may be restrained by serious emotions, but otherwise they are extremely diverting: as when X 306 ESSAY IX* Harpagon, in Moliere's Avare, tortures his brain to make a great show at a small expense; or when Sganarelle, in his Mariage forck^ is distracted first between his fancy for a young gay wife and his doubts 6f her fidelity; and afterward, between his terrour for the marriage and his terrour for the duel. Even where there is no direct or evident inconsistency, yet a great inconstancy of sen- timents forms a ludicrous character. Our amusement liere may be increased by the contrast of dignity and meanness, which will frequently be exhibited in the various objects of such a person's affections or pursuits ; as in the case of him, whom Dryden has described in so lively a manner, " Who in the course of one revolving moon " Was chemist, fiddler, statesman, and bufFoon." But even although the objects of his fluctuating attachment should be all of uniform worth and importance, we cannot but laugh at the man, who devotes himself to every new object that ON THE LUDICROUS. 30? Strikes his fancy, who, to use the words of Dryden, " Is every thing by fits, and nothing long/' Steadiness both of attachment and pursuit is an essential constituent of a respectable cha- racter; and we cannot but be struck with the contrast, when we observe a man veering about with every transient inclination; just as we could not but be struck with the want of that regularity which is requisite for a good time- piece, if a clock had it's dial-plate connected with a weather-cock, so as to turn backwards or forwards with every breeze, and thus render it impossible to conjecture at what hour the hand would be pointing at any particular time of the day. Any one who has read Destouche'is entertaining comedy entitled VIrrksolu, will be more sensible of the justness of th'^se ob- servations. The absurdities of the understanding also are well known to be ludicrous, and we cannot l?e at a loss for a similar explanation. When X 2 308 ESSAY IX. a man blunders in his judgments or opinions, whether it proceeds from want of knowledge, or of recollection, from want of capacity, or of attention, it is still a person who makes a fool ©f himself, at the very time and in the very act of aspiring to the deliberative, that is to say, to the characteristical functions of an intelligent being. These blunders are often abundantly laugh- able even in speculative opinions, as might be illustrated by various examples from the learned and metaphysical discussions of Hudibras and his Squire, several of which are pointed out by Dr. Beattie. These examples are so extrava- gant, that we regard them as caricatures ; and yet even in real life we sometimes meet with instances little inferior in absurdity, and that too in persons who are far from being fools, but who venture to discourse on subjects which they do not understand, or before they have taken the trouble to think of what they should say. But our absurdities become more glaring ON THE LUDICROUS. 309 when they display themselves in the conduct: and as it is the exclusive property of the under- standing to discover the fittest means for accom- plishing our purposes; hence, when we observe a man employing means that are inadequate, or, still more absurdly, that counteract his purpose, we cannot but be struck with the contrast between his folly, and the dignity which he assumes of an intelligent being. We have a good example in the story of the gen- tleman, who after having been frequently dis- tressed for want of a sixpence to open his snuff-box, which could not be opened easily without something of this kind, discovered at last, that the surest way of having a sixpence always ready for the purpose was, to keep it in the box itself If any thing farther be necessary to show, that our laughter at absurdity arises from our contrast- ing the folly of the absurd person with what we conceive to approach more nearly to the perfection of the human character, it will be remembered, that they who do not perceive the deviation from propriety, , are also insensible of the joke. 510 ESSAY IX. The coxcomb, who sees nothing unsuitable to the highest dignity in his ostentatious display of himself, is astonished to be received with a titter instead of the admiration to which he thinks himself entitled. A fine lady is provoked by the brutality of those, who smile at the distress into which her friend is thrown by the fall of a china basin; at least this will be the case, if she entertains no malice against her friend, if she has the same delicacy of nerves, or decorum of feeling, and the same just estimation of true Pekin. In the des- perate case of the snuff-box, a person, who like the owner lost sight of one small circumstance (and it is wonderful how the most obvious things will sometimes escape the attention for a moment), that the sixpence when enclosed in the box could not be apphed to the purpose wanted so readily as the gentleman seems to have conceived in his first hasty view of the matter, would approve the sagacious con- trivance, by which the poor man thought he bad at last secured himself from much vexation during the rest of his life. ON THE LUDICROUS. 5ll But enough has been said to illustrate the general principle, that, absurdity being nothing else than a deviation from that more perfect state of the moral or intellectual character, in which the dignity of human nature chiefly consists, hence whatever is perceived as an absurdity must of necessity present a contrast of dignity and meanness: and it will not be disputed, that what we perceive to be absurd, we feel of course to be ludicrous, unless when we are controlled by serious emotions. Now several instances of the ludicrous mentioned by Dr. Beattie are acknowledged absurdities, though he accounts for their effect in a different manner. Thus he remarks, that ^^ Sancho's proverbs '* often provoke a smile; not because some " are low, and others elevated, but because, *^ though unconnected with the subject and ** with one another, they happen to be spoken " at the same time, and absurdly applied ** to the same purpose*." And this is one * Beattie's Essays, 4t«, p. 611. 512 ESSAY IX. of the examples which he produces to show, that a group of objects, which are otherwise unconnected, may become in some degree laughable by juxtaposition. Yet surely no person laughs at such a collection of proverbs or unconnected sentences as we find in several grammars for exempUfying the idioms of a foreign language. He may be amused, indeed, with those which are ludicrous in themselves; or with the contiguity of an elevated and a low one, or of a serious and a trivial one, as if we should suppose the proverb. Evil communications corrupt good manners, to be followed by. Money makes the mare to go; or he may be amused if they should be ar- ranged in such a manner as to have the ap- pearance of raving. But it is not easy to conceive, that their mere juxtaposition should '* provoke a smile" from a person of the lightest mind. And what is diverting in Sancho Panca's proverbs is plainly (a cir-r cumstance which is hinted at by Dr. Beattie himself) the absurdity of their application, and also the absurdity of his pretensions to wisdom, ON THE LUDICROUS. 313 which are founded on the facility with which he. repeats a chime of old sayings, sagacious in themselves, but extremely little to the purpose. Dr. Beattie has also observed, that " the '^ mind naturally considers as part of the same " assemblage and joins together in one view " those objects, that appear in the relation '' of cause and effect. Hence," he says, " when things in other respects unrelated or " incongruous are found or supposed to be '' thus related, they sometimes provoke laugh- '^ ter*." And on this principle he accounts for our laughter at conclusions founded upon inadequate premises, at the employment of means which are disproportioned to the pur- pose intended, and at emotions which are either too violent or too languid for the oc- casion. Now all these cases are plainly in- stances of absurdity, and indeed have been already illustrated by examples. And it ap- pears, that even when there is no contrast of * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 6 1 2. 314 ESSAY IX. dignity and meanness between the conclusion and the premises, or between the emotions and their cause, yet a very remarkable contrast of this kind is forced upon our attention by the absurdity which is displayed. We must take notice also of another kind of absurdity, as Dr. Beattie has produced some examples of it by way of a direct contradiction to Dr. Hutcheson's theory. It is that talka- tiveness or itch of speaking, which, without regard to time or place, gives utterance to every silly or impertinent thought that is .passing through the mind. Here is certainly a very striking deviation from that use of speech which is dictated by common sense, and by a decent respect for the feelings of others ; and nobody, who is not as foolish, or as thought- less and indelicate as the talker himself, will be blind to the contrast of propriety and folly : more especially as the proper use of speech is the faculty by which v^e are most obviously distinguished as rational creatures. In real life, indeed, this absurdity, which we meet with but too frequently, is often so in- ON THE LUDICROUS. 315 sipid and spun out to so great a length, or so offensive, that our laughter is extinguished by weariness or anger. But we find it always amusing in compositions, where it cannot hurt our feelings, where we may take as much or as little of it as we please, and at the time when we are most disposed for it, and espe- cially when it is conducted by authors like Cervantes, or Shakspeare, or Fielding, who know how to enliven it by novelty. Upon the whole then we cannot admit, that the nonsensical and ill-timed loquacity or other follies of Sancho Panca, of Hostess Quickly, or of the nurse in Romeo and Juliet, or in general any laughable absurdities of character whatever, are at all inconsistent with the theory, that the ludicrous consists in the contrast of dignity and meanness*. After what has been said it will readily occur, that the general principle, which has been applied to absurdity and to bodily de- ibrmity, is applicable also to other cases. If * Siee Dr. Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 599 and 61 1. 31^ ESSAY IX. objects of whatever kind possess in their more perfect state any elegance or beauty, any utility or convenience at all, we cannot fail to be struck with the contrast of meanness and com- parative dignity or importance, when some dis- figured, or maimed, or unmanageable individual of the species presents itself for our use or , admiration. Dr. Beattie has mentioned an example in Swift's inventory of his household stuff; *' An oaken broken elbow-chair, " A caudle cup without an ear/' &c. Pie ascribes our laughter, however, to this circumstance, that " the ^carious and dissimilar " articles specified in the inventory are similar " and uniform in this one respect, that they " are all worn out, imperfect, or useless ; but " their meanness, he observes, is without any " mixture of dignity*." Now if this were a just account of the matter, we should also be disposed to laugh at reading an inventory, or * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 610. ON THE LUDICROUS. 317 viewing a collection of furniture, in which all the articles were in the highest order, since the *carioiis and dissimilar articles w^ould in this case also be similar and uniform in one respect, being all new, perfect, and convenient. On the other hand, although it may be true, that the meanness of Swift's household stuff is without any mixture of dignity, yet Ave cannot liut be struck with the contrast between the meanness and inconvenience of so beggarly an equipage, and the elegance and comforts of a well furnished house. A very complete set of furniture truly I is the remark Avhich naturally occurs on reading the Dean's in- ventory. And in general when we laugh at any thing which is imperfect or faulty in it's kind, vve are always ready to use some such expression or ironical praise ; which shows that our laughter arises from comparing the object with the more respectable individuals of the species in which it claims to be ranked. Dr. Beattie has also mentioned in opposition to Dr. Hutcheson, the character of Sir Toby in the Twelfth Night, and of Autolycus in the 31S ESSAY IX. Winter's Tale*. Now with regard to the first of these, the principles already stated are applicable to the absurdities of his drunken ravings. But this facetious gentleman af- fords us also other sources of entertainment. Sir Toby is more rogue than fool; and we laugh chiefly at the drollery with which he plays on the timidity and vanity of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, and the readiness with which this simple youth swallows tlie nonsensical com- mendations and trusts to the directions of a sot, who seeks only to gull him of his money and expose him to ridicule. Here there is little difficulty in accounting for our laughter on Dr. Hutcheson's principles. The drollery in which Sir Toby excelled is well known under the cant name of quizzing; and consists in delivering nonsense or falsehood, so that it may pass for wisdom or truth. And in this case we are presented with more than one laughable contrast. There is the non- sense or falsehood, which we despise, assuming * Beattie's Essays, 4.to, p. 59% ON THE LUDICROUS. 319 the importance and seriousness of wisdom or truth; while the attention and submission due to the latter only are bestowed on the former^ instead of the contempt which it deserves. In fact, it is well known, that the joke is in pro- portion not only to the magnitude of the nonsense or falsehood, but also to the gravity with which it is delivered, and the respect with which it is received. We are often amused with the high opinion which the dupe entertains of himself, compared with the silly figure which he is making in the eyes of every other person. And in the dupe's simplicity, and in the extra- vagance of his vanity, self-conceit, cowardice, or some other emotion, which is brought into play by the person who imposes on him, there is exhibited that contrast of dignity and mean- ness, which, as we have already observed, is implied in the very nature of absurdity. Be- sides, in the particular case, which we are now considering, of Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek, the advantageous and happy si- tuation, which the latter flattered himself with tlie prospect of obtaining, compared with the 320 ESSAY IX, contemptible one in which he actually appears^ not only renders his folly more conspicuous, but is itself a striking contrast of the very same kind with that wiiich the present theory supposes to constitute the ludicrous. For poor Sir Andrew, instead of establishing without any risk a reputation for courage, and marrying a lady of the first beauty and fortune, as his friend Sir Toby had led him to expect ; gets his head broken disgracefully, is never looked at by the lady, and is cheated by his worthy adviser out of two thousand pounds. It is perfectly consistent tlierefore with Dr. Hutcheson s theory, that an exhibition of quiz- zuio^ should excite our lauehter. And in this humour of quizzing, and in the ab- surdities of his drunken ravings, together with now and then a pun, or a repartee (which two species of the ludicrous we shall consider afterwards), consists all that is laughable in Sir Toby's character or conversation. With regard to Autolycus, if we except that he does not appear to be a professional drunk- ard, he is a droll of the same kind with Sip ON THE LUDICROUS. 3^h Toby; but he is in the lowest rank of life, and acts both the buffoon and the rogue without reserve, with little fear of his neck, and with none for his character. It will be remarked too, that in the re- presentation both of Autolycus and Sir Toby, a considerable part of our laughter is to be ascribed to the buffoonery of the actor ; by which I mean not only the grimaces of coun- tenance, but hkewise all the oddities of dress, attitudes, voice, appearance, and behaviour in general, which are ludicrous by their glaring deviation from propriety, and to which the observations already stated concerning de- formity and absurdity are evidently applicable. And if our laughter at buffooner}^ is agreeable to Dr. Hutcheson's theory, no objection to that theory can be founded on the case men- tioned by Dr. Beattie* of one buffoon mimick- ing another, where to our amusement from the buffoonery is superadded the pleasure, which we receive from the imitation. The two per- * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 598. y 322 ESSAY IX. sons may, indeed, be perfectly on a level with each other; but this will not prevent us from feeling the contrast between the exhibition which they make of themselves, and the natural appearance and deportment of the more re- spectable and accomplished of our species. But in another part of his Essay* it is sug- gested, that mimicry is ludicrous even in those cases in which it " displays no contrast of " dignity and meanness;" and our laughter is ascribed by Dr. Beattie to this circumstance, that as "we perceive the actions of one man " joined to the features and body of another," there is of course " a mixture of unsuitableness " or want of relation, arising from the difference " of the persons, with congruity and simi- " litude, arising from the sameness of the " actions." Dr. Beattie, however, has pro- duced no example or illustration; and it is evident tliat Dr. Hutcheson's theory will not be affected by the observation, unless it can be shown that there may be cases which we shall ■^ Beattie' s Essays, 4to, p. 603.. ON THE LUDICROUS. 323 feel to be ludicrous, although we aire not struck with any contrast between what is dignified or serious, and what is mean or trifling. In fact, specimens of mimicry may be con- ceived, which would not excite laughter. Gar- rick is said to have possessed uncommon talents as a mimic; and it may be presumed, that he could have affected his hearers with very se- rious emotions by delivering a speech in the character of Lord Mansfield. Such specimens, however, are extremely rare. For the imitation must always be chiefly directed to the peculiarities of the original ; and very few performers will be able to restrain themselves (and very few spectators would be gratified if they did) from exaggerating these peculiarities to some degree of caricature, that is to say, of deformity and absurdity. And even although there is no exaggeration, yet it will seldom be possible, by the most skilful management, to remove all appearance of cari- cature, where the peculiarities of one man are exhibited in the person of another. Besides, the most serious specimens of mi- 324 ESSAY IX. micry must have some tendency to suggest certain ludicrous ideas. What was originally grave and important is now converted into an amusement. The companion, who was conversing with liveUness and familiarity, has all at once put on the dignity of a judge, or risen to the vehemence of the most in- teresting emotions. There may also be a striking contrast between the character or the station of the performer, and that of the person whom he represents. Or if in these respects they are both on a level, and both of dignity, there will then be a contrast between the real dignity of the performer and the humble capacity of a mimic, in which he con- descends to officiate for our entertainment. Altliough some of these contrasts are suggested by serious theatrical representations, yet they can scarcely have any sensible effect when these representations are tolerably conducted, on account of the powerful emotions by which we are subdued. But we can seldom meet with exhibitions of mimicry sufficiently impressive and pathetic. ON THE LUBICROUS. 39>5 Upon the whole, even the case of serious mimicry has nothing inconsistent with Dr. Hutcheson's theory. Parody may be considered as a species of mimicry; it is one composition mimicking ano- ther. When the imitation, either from it's subject, or language, or any other circumstance, is much inferior in dignity to the original, our laughter is perfectly consistent with the theory. But Dr. Beattie says, that ^' Parodies may be ** ludicrous from the opposition between simi- '^ larity of phrase and diver^sity of meaning, " even though both the original and the " imitation be serious*." The only thing, however, which he produces as an example of such a parody, is the following verse from an imitation of Gray's celebrated Elegy : *-' Bread was his only food, his drink the brook, " So small a salary did his rector send : '* He left his laundress all he had, a book : '• He found in death, 'twas all he wished, a friend." Now the second and third of these lines are * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 637. 326 ESSAY IX. SO mean, when compared with the dignity which we expect in serious poetry, and par- ticularly with the admirable verses which cor- respond to them in the original, that they seem fitter to be quoted in illustration, than in oppo- sition to the theory. And Dr. Beattie's obser- vation concerning the ludicrous nature of pa- rodies in general appears directly inconsistent with the following fact. We find in the iEneid a variety, of passages, which are evidently imi- tations or parodies of certain passages in the Iliad and Odyssey. The subjects in both authors are of equal grandeur; many readers, although great admirers of Homer, are yet of opinion, that Virgil is not inferior in dignity to his master; and it will not be said, that such readers at least are tempted to laugh when they compare the Latin parodies with the Greek originals. But Dr. Beattie has brought forward a very respectable champion of a different kind, in the character of the good Dr. Harrison in Fielding's Amelia. '^ Dr. Harrison," he ob- serves, " is never mean, but always respect- ON THE LUDICROUS. 30,7 " able ; yet there is a dash of humour in him, ** which often betrays the reader into a smile*." But the occasions, on which this excellent per- son tempts us to smile, are when he is hurried into a boyish impetuosity or levi ty of ex- pression or behaviour, which, although it does not diminish our esteem, yet certainly lowers our veneration, and affords a striking enough contrast with his respectable qualities, as well as with tlie moderation and calmness which are essential constituents of dignity. This is the light in which we view the good Divine, when, after commending Booth's conduct with regard to Amelia, he declared, that if he knew half a dozen of such instances in the army, the painter should put red liveries on ail the saints in his closet; or when the violence, with which his indignation made him toss about the ex- pensive toys which he found in Booth's lodg- ings, frightened the servant girl into the belief that he was come to pillage the house ; or, when he tells Colonel Bath, who had de- * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 599. 328 ESSAY IX. clared that he would fight for the church of England to the last drop of his blood ; that it was very generous in him to do so much for a religion by which he was to be damned. In this last instance indeed there is another distinct source of laughter, which we shall just remark, as it explains how repartees ex- cite our mirth, even although what is said may have nothing ludicrous in itself The doctor having insisted, that Colonel Bath's principles with regard to duelling were altogether incom- patible with Christianity, the colonel declared, that he was not only a Christian of the church of England, but was ready to shed his blood in her defence, an observation which produced the blunt reply that has been already men- tioned. Now, upon this occasion, we laugh not only at the absurd impetuosity of the reverend pastor, but also at the colonel's fool- ish appearance, compared with the self-im- portance assumed in the dignified remark^ which produced the unexpected and confound- ing' repartee. .This reply however is so presumptuous and ON THE LUDICROUS. 329 even brutal, that, although we are amused at the colonel's confusion, we are at the same time ashamed for the hot-headed doctor. But the finest repartees are those, which, although they suggest a proper censure to humble the antagonist, yet, in their direct meaning are complimentary, or, at least, in- offensive. The antagonist is thus more com- pletely confounded, and even appears to be deprived of all means of retaliation. A certain author, who has been accused of adopting unintelligible tenets, said to a person whose learning he respected, but of whose metaphy- sical acuteness he did not entertain so high an opinion, " I will send you my book, if you " will promise to read it;" " I shall certainly ** read it," said the other, '^ if you will pro- '' mise that I shall understand it." " Nay," replied the first, " I cannot answer for ^* that." Beside the specimen which Fielding has exhibited in the character of Dr. Harrison, there are various other cases, in whiclT we are diverted by the mixture and contrast of childish- 330 ESSAY IX. ness or levity with whg-t is respectable or serious. Dr. Beattie has produced* a curious instance from the Beggar's Opera. " Re- " ally, madam," says Filch to Mrs. Peachum, " I fear I shall be cut off in the flower of my *' youth; so that every now and then, since I '^ was pumped, I have thoughts of taking up, " and going to sea." Here we may perceive two distinct causes of laughter, both perfectly consistent with Dr. Hutcheson's theory. First, we have a sufliciently striking contrast of dignity and meanness, between the discipline of pump- ing to which Filch was subjected, and the good resolutions to which it had given rise in his mind. But, secondly, we are to take notice of another circumstance: the speaker appears at the beginning to be impressed with a most important consideration, and we are immedi- ately surprised with a very singular contrast of levity, which discovers itself in his whim- sical account of the first turn of his thoughts to reformation and a sea-faring life. * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 612. ON THE LUDICROUS. 331 We have sometimes a contrast of the same kind in conversation, when a person, for his amusement, affects to understand what is said, in a sense different from that which is really intended. " In what light/' cried one, " do '* you consider the man, who is caught in " adultery?" "As a tardy fellow," replied another*. There is, indeed, in this example, a contrast of importance and meanness in the different views, which these two persons take of the adulterer ; the one impressed with bis guilt, the other attending only to his tardi- ness. But we laugh also at the contrast be- tween the seriousness of the one and the play- fulness of the other. And accordingly, even when there is no importance in the subject, or in any of the views which are taken of it, we are still diverted, when the one party trifles while the other is serious. As in the common story: " What wine do you like best?" " Port," * This is expressed much more neatly in Latin : Qualem existimas qui in adulterio deprehenditur ? Tardum. Cicero de Oratore, J. 2. 339; ESSAY IX. says one ; '^ Claret," says another; '^ the wine of ^' other people," says a third. Punning is nothing else than using an ex- pression in a meaning different from that in which it would be employed upon the occasion by a person speaking seriously. As in Marttars epigram : Esse nihil dicis quicquid petis, improbe Cinna Si nil, Cinna, petis, nil tibi, Cinna, ncgo. Tis nothing now, you simp'ring say. The favour which you beg to day : Why then, dear sir, you must allow. That I refuse you nothing now. A similar contrast of seriousness and trifling appears in the Paronomasia, which consists in the antithesis of expressions similar in sound but different in meaning. " Some men's Para- " dise,'' said a preacher, " is a pair of dice; " matrimony is become a matter of money ; " and all houses are turned into ale-houses, " Were there such doings in the days of " Noah? Ah, no.'' ON THE LUDICROUS. 3SS Dr. Beattie* agreeably to the theory which he has adopted, and in opposition to Dr. Hutcheson's, ascribes our laughter upon such occasions to the mixture of sameness and di- versity, of sameness or similarity in sound, and diversity in signification. And it is easy to see, that such a mixture, where it appears un- common and difficult, will be amusing, not only from the surprise which it occasions, but also from our admiration (a low species of admiration indeed) at the address of the person, who has acquired such a command of lan- guage. But if the mixture of sameness and diversity were in itself a cause of laughter, then every example of synonymous words, whether in the same, or in different languages, would also be a joke, since here too we have a mixture of sameness and diversity, sameness in the meaning and diversity in the sound. But although the mixture of sameness and diversity will not in itself appear laughable even to those who are the most susceptible of * Essays, 4to^ p. 599. f 1 ! "J ' * 334 ESSAY IX. ludicrous impressions, yet any man who is not occupied liy serious considerations, or restrained by powerful emotions, will be tempted to smile, when he observes one person employing language seriously as the means of communi- cating his thoughts, while another uses it only as a plaything for the exercise of his ingenuity. Nor is it necessary, that we should have thie seribusriess of one person to compare* with the playfulness of ahother. The contrast is still ludicrous enough when the instrument which we are either actually employing for the serious comimunication of thought, or which, at least, wei know to be naturally appropriated for that iriiportant purpose, we contrive, by the by, to sport with for our amusement. Here it may be said, that, according to this' account, both rhiming and versification, arid even every harmonious period, should be laugh- able, since language is in these cases employed not only for the serious communication of thought, but also for the comparatively trifling purpose of amusing the ear. Now the fact is, that on some occasions we are disposed to ON THE LUDICROUS. 335 laugh at these circumstances, and on other occasions we are affected in a very different manner; but neither case will be found in- consistent with the theory. For, in the first place, those modifications of common speech, that render it more agree- able to the ear, strike us in very many instances rather as the natural properties of the language itself, than as adventitious ornaments laboured out by the art of the author or speaker. Iii the next place we know, that the mind is powerfully affected by melodious and regulated sounds, even when they are not, like language, the signs of ideas. Such is tlie case with in- strumental music. We are even sensibly af- fected by sounds, which are destitute of me- lody, if only their intervals are properly regu- lated, as in the beating of a drum, or the tinkling of a cymbal. Accordingly, the into- nations of voice, the harmony of periods, and that regular flow of numbers which constitutes verse, will not be felt as trifling, so long as their effect, whether solemn, or pathetic, or gay, or soothing, is favourable to the emotions 336 ESSAY IX. which the sentiments produce ; and so long as they do not appear to be the result of too great labour and research. Even rhime, which seems, when we consider it abstractedly, so egregiously trifling, is not only agreeable in itself,, as we see from the delight that children and common people take in it ; but also, as it serves, like the drum or cymbal, to mark more distinctly the regular flow of the numbers, con- tributes not a little to the eff*ect of the versifi- cation. But, on the other hand, if the music of the language does not correspond with the state of mind which is suitable to the occasion, it must, of course, appear not only a trifling, but an absurd contrivance, and in both of these views it will have a ludicrous eflTect. Thus we should certainly be tempted to smile, if the languishing tones and soothing numbers, which belong to supplication, pity, and the tender emotions, were employed in a discourse that was in- tended to enliven, or to encourage, or to com- mand, or to instruct us in the arts and sci- ences. ON th£ ludicrous. 337 In the next place, if the means employed to make the language agreeable be not such as we have been accustomed to, they will of course draw our attention to themselves, and must have the appearance, not of being the constituents, or ordinary properties, but only the ornaments of language. And, accofdingly^ unless they have a powerful command over our higher emotions, they will not fail to be ludi- crous; until, from being accustomed to them, we do not feel them so distinct from the other properties of the language, and perhaps have formed associations of ideas which increase their serious influence. Thus, the tones of a foreigner sound at first uncouthly to our ear; and children and common people, who are not accustomed to check the expressions of their feelings, are always ready to laugh at him even in the pronunciation of his own language, and even when he is pronouncing it to the entire satisfaction of his own countrymen. So likewise any forms of verse, which are not usual in English, however fine their effects may be in the languages, in which we have been ac- z 338 ESSAY IX. customed to find them, give a whimsical air to an English poem. This appears sufficiently from the unsuccessful attempts to introduce the Greek and Latin numbers into our versifi- cation, as in the Sapphic and Adonic stanzas of Dr. Watts on the last day, of which the fol- lowing is a specimen : When the fierce North-wind with his airy forces Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury. And th6 red lightning, like a storm of hail, comes Rushing amain down. Rhyme is one of the most palpable contri- vances for amusing the ear with the mere sound of words; yet it is so agreeable a way of mark- ing the measure of the verse, that when once w^e have been accustomed to it, we attend only to it's pleasing effects, with little or no reflexion on the frivolity of the contrivance. But where the rhyme happens to be of an unusual kind, the frivolity is forced on our notice; and we feel very sensibly, that such rhymes are fit only for ludicrous compositions. In our language double ryhmes are far less ON THE LUDICROUS. S39 frequent than single ones. Accordingly, double rhymes are very sparingly employed in serious poetry, as they have always somewhat of a ludicrous cast, except only when their effect on the ear is remarkably pleasing and favourably to the proper emotions, while at the same tinae they result from the most natural expressions without any appearance of research. For instance, when the first syllable is neither hard nor sonorous, but soft and easily arti- culated, the double rhyme is very soothing ; and in passages which are designed to sooth, it will have a delightful effect, provided that the words are both proper and obvious: as in the fol- lowing lines from Drydens celebrated poem, entitled Alexander's Feast: Softly sweet in Lydian measureSi Soon he sooth*d his soul to pleasures* War, he sung, is toil and trouble. Honour but an empty bubble. Never ending, still beginning. Fighting still, and still destroying: If the world be worth thy winning. Think, oh think it wort^ enjoyiji^. Z ^ S40 ESSAY IX. But in other cases double rhymes in English poetry are fit for those passages only where the author means to be playful. It will be re- marked also, that of such rhymes the most un- common are the most ludicrous. In Hudibras we find many specimens : Cesar himself could never say He got two victories in a day. As I have done, that can say, twice I In on6 day veni, vidi, vici *. Those wholesale critics that in coffee- Houses cry down all philosophy f. Alas! quoth Hudibras, what is't t'us. Whether 'twere said by Trismegistus :j: ? Upoi) the whole, then, with regard to what we may call the music of language, there is nothing inconsistent with Dr. Hutcheson's theory ; for the music of language is ludicrous only on those occasions, where it has the ap-^ pearance either of absurdity or of trifling. Of all the cases produced by Dr. Beattie * Hudibras, part 1, canto 3. t Ibid, part 2, canto 3. t Ibid. ibid. ON THE LUDICROUS. 341 in opposition to the theory, (if we except Butler's comparison of the morning dawn to a boiled lobster*, a case which speaks for itself) only three remain to be considered. One of them is an expedient, which, if it does not always " promote mirth," will have the effect of exciting curiosity and invention, and consequently may prove a very good amuse- ment. The business is, that each person of a company, one after another, writes a line on the same page of paper ; no one knows in the mean time, what the others have put down,, as care is taken always to cover what has been already written ; and lastly, the whole is read aloud to the impatient audience f. Of the same kind also is the device, which is men- tioned, though with a different view, in another part of the essay J, when the facetious Papyrius Cursor " read the newspaper quite across the " page, without minding the space that dis- *' tinguishes the columns, and so pretended to * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 603. f Ibid. p. 61 K X Ibid. p. 597. 342 ESSAY IX. " light upon some very diverting combina' " tions." Now it is evident, that a curious enough con- trast of seriousness and trifling may be exhi- bited by a person, who reads a string of in- coherent sentences, with the gravity which would be suitable for a connected discourse. But it has not been shown, by example or argument, that such a collection of incoherent sentences will appear ludicrous in itself, when it neither exhibits nor suggests any contrast of dignity and meanness, or of seriousness and trifling. On the contrary, the observations, which have been made on Sancho Panca's proverbs, are evidently applicable to the pre- sent case. Let us now consider, whether the following account of Hudibras's dagger will afford an in- stance " of laughter arising from a group of *' ideas or objects, wherein there is no discerni- ** ble apposition of meanness and dignity* ;" It could scrape trenchers, or chip bread ; Toast cheese or bacon, though it were * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 598. ' ON THE LUDICROUS. 348 To bait a mo«se-trap, 'twould not care ; 'Twould make clean shoes ; or in the earth Set leeks and onions, and so forth. Here Dr. Beattie says, that *^ the humour of *' the passage cannot arise from the meanness " of the offices compared with the dignity *' of the dagger; nor from any opposition " of dignity and meanness in the offices them- " selves, they being all equally mean; and " must therefore be owing to some other " peculiarity in the description." This pecu- liarity we afterwards find to be, that " the " offices ascribed to the dagger seem quite " heterogeneous; but we discover a bond of " connexion among them, when we are told, " that the same weapon could occasionally " perform them all*." Yet surely it does not require half the talents displayed in Dr. Beattie's essay to point out certain very laughable contrasts, which are naturally, and indeed irresistibly suggested by these lines of Butler. For the dagger, the * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 603. 344 ESSAY IX. proper office of which every person will acknow- ledge to be an awful one, is here degraded into the most servile and low employments, and goes about them too with a familiarity and unconcern, which bespeak a character strangely debased below it's original dignity * though it wer€ To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care Then, again, we cannot hut be diverted both at the absurdity, the beggarly accoutrements, and the nastiness of the hero, who employs one and the same instrument, I do not say in the incongruous, but the incompatible offices of onion -dibble, cheese- toaster, shoe -scraper, trencher-scraper, and bread-chipper. Such appear to be the considerations, which raise our laughter in the present case. But there does not seem to be any thing ludicrous in the mere circumstance, that one and the same instrument is employed in performing diffisrent offices, however dissimilar these offices may be, if this diversity of employ- ment neither exhibits nor suggests aay con- ON THE LUDICROUS. 345 trast of dignity and meanness, nor implies any thing absurd or otherwise ridiculous in the employer. We laugh when Horace tells us, that the carpenter was uncertain whether he should make his block of wood a stool or a god ; but unless we were diverted with the poor man's irresolution, which, as we have already observed, is naturally a laughable object, there would have been no joke, if he had only been uncertain whether to make it a stool or a sign- board, though these two things are completely incongruous. So like- wise, although toasting cheese and cutting strings are employments of completely different kinds, yet no one would think it comical, if a common person, who had nothing more con- venient at hand, should toast a bit of cheese on the point of a pocket-knife, which he kept for cutting strings or sticks. We might pro- bably smile, however, if we saw him make this use of a pair of scissars, by recollecting their more cleanly and elegant occupations in the hands of the ladies. But if we saw him toast his cheese on the point of a sword or 34^ ' ESSAY IX. bayonet, although either of these deadly wea- pons would be more convenient for the purpose than the pocket-knife, yet nothing could restrain our laughter but the fear of being run through the body. We have now to close this long scrutiny with the only remaining case, that of the Enraged Musician, a well known picture of the celebrated Hogarth. " This extraordinary " group," Dr. Beattie says, '^ comprehends *^ not any mixture of meanness and dignity;" but he observes, that it *^ forms a very comi- " cal mixture of incongruity and relation;— of " incongruity, owing to the dissimilar employ- " ments and appearances of several persons, " and to the variety and dissonance of their " respective noises; — and of relation, owing ** to their being all united in the same place, '* and for the same purpose of tormenting the " poor fiddler*." Now in this observation are pointed out pireumstances, which suggest to every one who * Beattie's Essays, 4to, p. 607. ON THE LUDICROUS. 347 looks at the picture, very curious contrasts of dignity and meanness. For, in the first place, by the appearance of the musician himself at the window, with his violin in his hand, vainly endeavouring to disperse his troublesome neigh- bours in the street, and shutting his ears in rage and miser}^, we have the charms of music brought into as direct and striking a com- parison, as it was possible for a picture to accomplish, with the monstrous jarring of all the vilest noises, that could be collected from the lanes of London; the ill-tuned and most vociferous concert of the different cries, the grating sounds of knife-grinders, the peal of bells, indicated by the flag on St. Martin's steeple, the screams of children, the barking, snarling, and howling of dogs, the cater- wauling of cats, and, for the counter-tenor of the infernal harmony, the shrill heart-piercing yells of scolding wenches. In fact, according to the observations which we have already had occasion to state and illustrate, this extra- ordinary concert would of itself be laughable, although the musician had not been introduced. 348 ESSAY IX. For the clashing of the harsh and discordant noises would of itself suggest to any one, whose ears are assailed and tortured by it, the very different effect of sounds in that state of refine- ment to which we give the names of melody and harmony. But the appearance of the mu- sician renders the contrast still more striking, and consequently makes a still more laughable group. In another view, to which we are directed by the very title of the piece, the fiddler is ex- tremely diverting, as he exhibits in his figure and deportment all the deformity and absurdity of extravagant rage. For he could not have been wrought up to a higher pitch of fury, if the people had deliberately assembled below his window for the express purpose of insulting and tormenting him ; whereas, it is evident, that each of them is wholly engaged in his ow n occupation, without having any intention, and indeed without being conscious of their giving him the smallest offence. What is still more absurd, he vainly imagines, that the execrations, which he is uttering with such ON THE LUDICROUS. 349 bitterness from the window, will make an im- pression amidst the din and confusion of the street; while, on the other hand, it is evident, that neither his execrations nor liis furious looks, if they were perceived, would have the smallest effect to appease the storm, and that his unavailing screams are only adding another part, which might well have been spared, to a harmony already overloaded. To this we may add, that the complete unconcern and un- consciousness of the people with regard to the distress which they are occasioning, and the serenity, indeed, which appears in several of the countenances, renders still more glaring, by contrast, the foolish and impotent ferocity of the fiddler. We have now finished the review which was proposed ; and, if the observations, which have been made in the course of it, be just, it ap- pears, not only that Dr. Hutcheson's theory remains unaffected by the examples, which Dr. Beattie has opposed to it, but also that the theory, which resolves the ludicrous into mere incongruity, is not supported by facts, as several 360 ESSAY IX. cases have been produced, where incongruous objects are closely related to each other, but without assuming a ludicrous appearance. It may still, however, be imagined, that ^though we cannot admit, in it's full extent, the theory proposed by Dr. Gerard and his followers, yet Dr, Hutcheson's theory is too much limited, and that tlie ludicrous is pro- duced by the connexion of objects, or ideas, which are not merely incongruous, but of opposite kinds, or productive of opposite emo- tions. Thus, it may be said, we are apt to laugh when an ugly person is conversing with a beautiful one ; or when any one is agitated between hope and fear ; or when a man, whom we suppose to be glad in his heart, puts on a dismal countenance at the funeral, which brings him to the possession of an estate ; nay, we should even think it somewhat droll, to see a person all in white beside another all in black. But these examples, however plausible they may appear, are not conclusive. For although the beautiful person should be supposed to have less dignity than the ugly, still the beauty ON^ THE LUDICROUS. 351 of the one must render the ugliness of the other more conspicuous ; and his ugliness must have a mean appearance, if not hy comparison with the beauty of the particular' person, who is near him, yet certainly by another comparison, which is implied in the very notion of ugliness ; namely, a comparison with the figure, which he would have made, if he had not exhibited so glaring deviations from the more perfect form of his species. On the other hand, we may be satisfied, that our laughter does not proceed from the circumstance, that the qua- lities, or appearances of the two persons, are opposite; since the greatest giggler, that ever lived, is not diverted at seeing an old person in conversation with a young one. With regard to the second case; a person agitated between hope and fear, or between any two motives, which impel in opposite di- rections, is no doubt apt to fall into a hesi- tation, or an inconsistency of conduct, which may be extremely ridiculous from it's absurdity, or appearance of absurdity. But, who would think of laughing, merely because the proba- 35^ ESSAY IX. bility of a loss at cards was equal to the pro- *bability of a gain ? We laugh at the dismal countenance of an heir at his predecessor s funeral, when we sus- pect, or conceive, that it is only a hum, or hypocritical grimace, a species of the ludicrous which has been already considered. And the happier we imagine him to be in his heart, his grimace will appear the more ridiculous, at least till our indignation overcomes our pro- pensity to laugh. This, however, is no proof, that a contrast between sorrow and joy has in itself a ludicrous appearance. If it has, then we should laugh when a person, who is sorry for the illness or misfortune of one friend, expresses satisfaction at the recovery, or prosperity, of another. It is true, that we are tempted to smile at a person, who protests that he is excessively dis- stressed at one event, and in the next breath declares that he is quite overjoyed at something else. But here we are diverted at the absurd extravagance of the language, where much is professed while little is felt; a hum, which i$ ON THE LUDICROUS. 353 the more palpable and absurd, as every one feels, that excess we joy and e.vcessive sorrow eannot subsist toojether in the same mind, and eannot even succeed each other so rapidly, at least without a convulsive struggle, very dif- ferent from the state of the man who is speaking quite at his ease. And all this is quite a different thing from the case of a person, who tells us without affectation, that some piece of good news gives him pleasure, while a piece of bad news gives him concern ; a case, surely, w^hich would never be quoted as a specimen of the ludicrous. It may be said, however, that a merry countenance and a rueful visage form a ludi- crous group. This will no doubt be the case, when each of these objects, or either of them, is ludicrous in itself And when we are not restrained by sympathy or displeasure, we may be tempted to smile at the contrast between the levity of mirth and the seriousness of sorrow. It is to be remembered too, that sorrow, borne with tolerable patience, has a dignity which commands our respect; whereas joy is ex- 2 A S^'i - ESSAY IX. tremely apt to degenerate more or less into the low friskiness of mirth. Hence the grimace of sorrow, like the strut of mock-majesty, will be always ridiculous. And hence there will very often be something whimsical in the conver- sation between a sad and a cheerful man. But joy, as well as sorrow, may be supported with calmness and dignity; and nobody sees any thing ludicrous in the contrast between sorrow and peace of mind. These observations will be illustrated by the case which was mentioned of the black and white figures. For if we smile at seeing a person in white beside another in black, this cannot proceed from the mere contrast of the colours; otherwise we should think it droll to see a lady in a white gown with black rib- bands ; a dress, which, far from being ludicrous, is extremely elegant. We should, indeed, be diverted at a person, the upper part of whose apparel was all white, and the lower all black. But such an appearance would be very ugly ; and our laughter at an ugly dress will not be thought inconsistent with Dr. Hutcheson s ON THE LUDICROUS. 355 theory, if we admit the principles which have been stated concerning deformity and absur- dity. It is evident then, that our laughter at the black and white figures must be ascribed, hot to the mere contrast of the colours, but to some ideas suggested by the appearance. Now if the white figure be gayly and fanci- fully attired, and more especially if the coun- tenance and demeanour favour the idea, it is the genius of mirth associated with the genius of mourning; and we may naturally be amused both at the absurdity of two such characters preferring each other's company, and also at the seriousness of the one contrasted with the levity of the other. But if the figure in white be simply, though elegantly dressed, and if the countenance, though young and happy, be at the same time serene, it is the emblem of peace or tranquil joy ; and the two companions, whether our thoughts take a melancholy or cheerful course, will affect us with sentiments very different from laughter. it appears, then, that in order to produce a S A 2 S56 ESSAY IX. ludicrous effect, an author must fix our atten- tion upon a contrast exhibited or suggested between somewhat that is comparatively great, severe, or important, on the one hand, and somewhat that is mean or trifling on the other : it being always understood, that tlie contrasted qualities must either reside in the same object, or, if they reside in different ones, yet that these objects must have some remarkable re- semblance or relation to each other. The propriety of this limitation will not be disputed. There is a sufficiently remarkable conti'ast, both in appearance and in station, be- tween the porter of a ball-room, and the com- pany who pass him ; the connexion, however, is too slight to occasion laughter. But if the porter should proceed to form a closer con- nexion, if he should be pleased to make himself one of the company, or to dance a minuet with a fine lady, the room would ])e instantly in a roar. The necessity of some remarkable relation be- tween the different objects, when the opposite qua- lities do not both reside in one, may be accounted ON THE LUDICROUS. 357 for in this manner ; that otherwise the qualities are not so closely connected as to produce that vivid contrast, that rapid vibration between the opposite feelings, which appears to be essential to the ludicrous sentiment. It is to be observed, likewise, that the effect of the connexion to enliven the contrast arises not merely from the intimate association, which it produces in our mind between the opposite ideas, but also from our surprise and wonder at the strange union of so incongruous qualities; and this surprise and wonder themselves constitute at the same time a very considerable part of our amusement. But any particular case of this union may be so often presented, that, however strange it may be in itself, and however powerful it's effect on; a person to whom it is new, yet it^s impression upon tiiose who have been accus- tomed to it will become too languid, to excite their attention to it's oddity. We are much diverted by many of the old-fashioned dresses, which have been preserved with so much care by somQ judicious painters in family pictures, S5^ ESSAY XX. and we certainly could not refrain from laugh* ing, if we saw an assembly of our modern beauties furbished out in the same taste. Yet our good fathers, who were accustomed to the appearance, had no difficulty to preserve their decorum when they entered the ball-room; and it would have required a man of some talents and huniour, to represent the absurdity of their mantua-makers*, and milliners', and hair-dressers' contrivances with sufficient vivacity to excite their ridicule. Hence it is evident, that to excel in ludicrous composition, requires not only great vivacity in the contrast between dignity and meanness, but likewise somewhat unusual and unexpected in the combination of these qualities. It is by no means implied, however, that the ludicrous circumstances daily exhibited in com- mon life are on this account improper for such compositions. In fact, many things are daily to be seen in the appearance and conduct of mankind, which are not only fair and instructive objects of ridicule, but which may also be yen- dered entertaining in a very high degree. Nor ON THE LUDICROUS. 359 is this at all inconsistent with the principle, Avhich has just been mentioned. For although many things are so familiar as scarcely to en- gage our attention upon ordinary occasions, yet on this very account the ludicrous contrast, which they suggest to an attentive and hu- morous observer, will be so much the more unusual and unexpected, when it is held up to our notice. Of all the fashionable dresses, which have been successively introduced in our own days, there are few which did not in some respect appear more or less ridiculous upon their first introduction. This appearance, however, and sometimes also the remembrance of it, quickly goes off in consequence of famili- arity. Accordingly, when the satirist points out in these familiar cases the care and con- trivance, with which even the most civilized of the human race incommodate and deform themselves by the very means, which they devise for convenience and ornament, we are enter- tained with the exhibition of absurdity, where we did not think of looking for it, nor were ac- customed to remark it. And similar obser- 360 ESSAY IX. vations are applicable to some of the prevailing opinions of all classes of mankind. Pope, Swift, ^nd Arbuthnot, not to mention several other men of genius, both in ancient and modern times, have shown in a variety of instances, that very unusual and unexpected contrasts of the most ludicrous nature may be suggested in th^ representation of the most familiar objects and common events. And no author can arrive at eminence in ludicrous compositions, if he does not possess sufficient infonnation and ingenuity, to combine such ideas of dignity and meanness as we do not frequently attend to, and would not readily expect to find confronting and allied to each other. But even such combinations will lose much of their effect, and may often become positively disagreeable, when they are impertinently in- troduced^; that is to say, when either by shock- ing our feelings, or distracting our attention, they disturb the particular impression, which ought to be produced at the time. On the otheij hand, when they serv^ to, enliven tl^is impres- sion^, they appear to tjje ^re^test ^^^a^t^ge, ON THE LUDICROUS. 36l and operate with their full effect. That vi- vacity of mind, which appears to be so essea- tially requisite before we can be sensible of Ihe ludicrous, will in this case be greatly quick- ened by our admiration of the author's in- genuity, in promoting his objects by means, which would not have readily occurred to our- selves; or which we should not have readily discovered how to apply to the purpose. Thus Butler in Hudibras describes the dawn of the morning in the following manner : ^ And now had Phoebus in the lap Of Thetis taken out his nap. When, like a lobster boird, the mom From black to red began to turn. y^riC ^y.e are in the first place surprised by ^ very unexpected affinity, which the author has (Ji&covered between the dawn of the morning ^(i, a boiled, lobster. But we are also amused^ by tiie cont^mt between the meanness of this P^asagi?, and the elegance of those descriptions erf Aurorja. in. the celebrated epic poets, of which i^ is evidently intended as a burlesque imi-, 36q essay IX, tation. And thus we see, that the ludicrous combination of images, however wild it may appear, is aptly introduced to keep up the general idea of a mock-heroic poem, so that Iludibras may figure throughout as a com- panion to .Eneas and Achilles. Another very ludicrous combination is intro* duced for a more particular purpose in the following verses, which describe the ignominious chastisement inflicted on Whackum : Iludibras gave him a twitch, As quick as lightning, in the breech ; Just in the place where honour's lodg'd. As wise philosopljers have judg'd j Because a kick in that part more Hurts honour, than deep wounds before. Here the poor fortune-teller's clerk appears in a very whimsical view, from the near relation, which is discovered between his posteriors and his honour, inasmuch as the former are most unexpectedly, but most philosophically, demon- strated to be the seat of the latter. And this ludicrous demonstration appears with the utmost propriety in a m ork, the great design of which ON THE LUDICROUS. 263 is to expose the absurd logic and metaphysics, which infected the philosophy and theolog}'^ of those fanatical times. The observations, which have been made with regard to what is requisite for excellence in the ludicrous, may be shortly expressed in this manner, that the composition ought to be en- livened by wit. For wit consists in combining apparently incongruous objects, by means of unexpected relations, so as to render a com- position or conversation more amusing, and yet so as to promote, or at least not to injure, the impression, which ought to be produced at the time. These two limitations, although not men- tioned in any of the general accounts of wit, which I have seen, appear to be necessary to the definition of the term in the sense in which it is now employed. The revolution of a planet and the fall of a stone are things which at first view appear extremely incongruous, but which sir Isaac Newton combined most intimately by means of a very unexpected analogy. But although this combination might be considered 364 ESSAY i)i. as an instance of wit according to the seiise, in which this word is employed by some of our older writers, yet the Principia certainly would not at present be quoted as a witty perform- ance, inasmuch a^ the author has combined the incongi'uous objects, not to amuse his readers with an occasional sport of fancy, but to explain the system of the universe. And in general \vdt is distinguished, from invention in the arts or sciences by the very different purposes, to which the combinations are applied. On the other hopfiy w^ da not consider a^ a man of wit ev^r.y person, who may surprise or even divert us by odd combinations; but we resej^ve th^t n^me for him, who Ijia^ the ingenuity to iwto^mce them aptly, so as to incorporate easily with, the coi^versation or composition. At the same time poetical' fancy is distinguished foorai wit by. this cincunistance, timt the poet, without being limited; to strange and uji thought of combinations, ought to admit Hon^ but s^ri> ^^ either aidorn. his sufeject,. oc render itr more affecting. Tb^ disj;i»(jtioa hetwoeia tbfe ludicrou^j and ON THE LUDICROUS. 565 the ^vitty is also evident. For, in the first place, although, in either case, there is required an linexpected comhination of incongruous ideas, it is implied in wit, that the conabinations should not only be singularly unusual, but ahc both formed and applied with skill. And, in the second place, while wit may take it's range through incongruous objects of every kind, the ludicrous character is found only in that re- markable class, where the contrasted ideas are those of dignity and meanness. Nor is it in every combination of dignity aiifd meanness, that the ludicrous character is perceptible. The objects will assume a dif- ferent aspect, if, either from their own nature, or from the manner, in which they are repre- setited, they awaken our serious emotions be- yond a certain degree. Thus nobody laughs at Pope's account of that eminent person, whom he describes as The wisest, greatest, meanest of mankind. Here our admiration and regret are so pou er- fuUv awaJvened, as to render us inse^isible of S66 ESSAY TX. the ludicrous. It is to be observed, however,' .that the ludicrous will become distinctly perceptible, if we only check these serious emotions, by lowering the tone in which the poet has announced this great charactei', and obscuring the splendour in which he had placed it : At ill-gotten nchcs, let simpletons gibe ; Philosopher Bacon could pocket a bribe. The effect of the serious emotions in coii^ trolling our laughter appears, at first sight, to degrade ludicrous compositions into a very low rank, as incapable of serving any useful purpose. But, for my own part, 1 cannot think it a matter of small utility, to afford art innocent amusement for enlivening the hours of' solitude or weariness. These compositions, however, are frequently productive of highei' effects, which not only render them moref valuable, but also increase the vivacity of our amusement. For it cannot be denied, and various examples have been produced in the course of the foregoing investigation, that, at ON THE LUDICROUS. 367 least, they may serve to expose our slighter absurdities and follies. And even in this de- partment, humble as some persons are apt to conceive it, services may be performed to so- ciety of no inconsiderable importance. For in how many cases does it happen, that some failing, which is prevented by the better dispositions from influencing the conduct on serious occasions, impairs very sensibly the comfort of the person infected with it, abates the respect which is due to his virtues, and is the source of frequent vexation to his neigh- bours? How happy, for example, would it be, both for ourselves and our families, and all who are exposed to our company, if we could be cured of our wearisome loquacity, or our impertinent curiosity, or importunate officious- ness, or impatience of contradiction, or self- conceit when we are courted, or peevishness when we are neglected ? These, and various other foibles, even when they do not go so far as to assume the odious name of vices, yet not unfrequently produce, directly or indirectly, very poignant feelings, both to ourselves and 36s ESSAY IX. Others. And, although each particular distress may be transient, and slight perhaps in itself, yet it may be so often repeated, as to amount to a grievous sum. It ought also to be re- membered, that these trials of our patience generally occur in situations where we look for the enjoyment of life, or at least for relaxation from our cares ; and from this cause, and also, independently of this cause, from the trivial nature of the circumstances themselves, we are not so apt to prepare or to exert ourselves for bearing them with composure. Thus no inconsiderable portion of the plagues of life ^'ould be removied, if the slighter absurdities dnd follies of mankind were corrected; and it will readily be admitted, that for this pur- pose ri'dkule is more Effectual than serious admonition. Tliete.rs als^o another department, in which the ludicrous Ym& been successfully employed for a very useful purpose; to expose those j^ei'versions of the understanding, which hate }(td mtn to waste so mtich tirim'e tttfd labour, and" sbrrtetimes s'd mWch learning and ingenuit;^ , ON TItJ: LUDICROUS. 369 in frivolous, or misconceived, or unattainable pursuits. The memoirs and speculations of that multifarious philosopher, Martinus Scriblerus, are admirable specimens of this application of the ludicrous. And it is much to be regretted, that he does not revive to enlighten the world with his profound lucubrations on the disco- veries of the present day : such as Animal Magnetism ; or the Metallic Tractors ; or the practicability of travelling under water, and of taking the command of the winds out of the hands qi the witches*; or the probability that our posterity may see the plough obedient to the mind of the farmer, without the expensive intermediate agency of a plonghboy and horses f; or the indefinite perfectibility and indefinite longevity of man, to the utter confusion of lawyers, priests, and physicians:]:. But may not ridicule be employed with pro- priety and effect on still more important oc- * See Darwin's Botanic Garden, part I. t See Godwin's Treatise on Political Justice. t The late Marquis de Condorcet published an Essay on this subject. See also Godwin on Political Justice. 2b 370 ESSAY IX* casions? For, if the principles in the former part of the essay be just, there is nothing which prevents our laughter at the more serious errours and crimes of mankind, except our concern for their effects, or abhorrence of their depravity. Now, is it either impossible, or is it, in every case, improper for an author, to throw the graver parts of his subject so much into the back ground of his picture, and to touch them so slightly, while, at the same time, he places the absurdity of folly and guilt in so glaring a light, that we shall be forced to laugh at those very objects, which, under a different management, would produce the most serious emotions ? There can be no doubt, that the thing is possible, for it has often been done ; nor does there appear any reason to prohibit, however proper it may be to regulate, this additional method of discountenancing errour and vice, Argument and admonition, restraint and pu- nishment, are, indeed, the most direct reme- dies : but restraint and punishment, in a thousand cases, it is not in human power ON THE LUDICROUS. 371 to inflict ; and, at any rate, all gentle means should be employed to prevent, as far as possible, the necessity of these harsher cor- rections. And many persons are terrified by ridicule, who lend a deaf ear to argument: nor is it less difficult to bear the laughter, than the reproaches of the world. Few serious discourses are so well calculated as the Voyage to Lilliput, for reminding us how often the most contemptible trifles are wrought up bj human folly into objects of the most serious importance; and for checking that low pride and selfish ambition, which are so apt to cor- rupt the powerful, and which, in all nations, and under all forms of government, have some- times led them to the most atrocious as well as the vilest crimes. Nor will it be denied, that the admirable satire of Hudibras con- tributed greatly to discredit that mixture of hypocrisy and fanaticism, of worldly ambition and spiritual pride, which, in those days, perverted the purest and most pacific religion into an engine of cruel and unhallowed policy ; which, after the parliament had it fairly in their 2b2 372 ' ESSAY IX. offer and in their power to establish the most ef- fectual restraints against the abuse of the royal prerogative, spread the horrours of civil war over a happy land, and reared a military des- potism on the ruins of the throne. This was the millennium of the puritanical saints. But, if Butler had lived in our days, he would have found a subject still more worthy of his powers, in the millennium of the new-fangled philoso- phers, the revolution of France, which began ia rebellion to Lewis the^sixteenth, and ended in submission to General Bonaparte; that strangest of all strange events, where we have seen jumbled in one monstrous group the most remorseless villains, and the most self-conceited dupes, the most hellish atrocities, and the most nonsensical buffooneries, the deepest of all tra- gedies, and the abaurdest of all farces. This extensive and most important depart- ment of the ludicroqs, in which the absurdities of mankind are exposed to ridicule, is distin- guished in our language by the name of the hmnoroits. In other departments, the ludi- crous is only a trifling amusement, which sooa ON THE LUDICROUS. 373 grows insipid ; but humour possesses a singular vivacity and interest from the exhibition of our fellow-creatures. It acquires, too, a great ad- ditional charm, when it is rendered subservient to useful purposes ; and we have just seen, what has been also exemplified in the former part of the essay, that it has naturally a tend- ency to promote happiness and virtue. For every thing, even in the intellectual or moral character, which is inconsistent with what should be looked for in a rational and ac- countable being, is naturally ridiculous, though our laughter may be restrained by more power- ful emotions. And those authors perform a very important service to society, who make men feel, that he, who cherishes even the slighter and more pardonable follies and foibles, will expose himself to the ridicule of his fellow- <:reatures; and that he, who perseveres in serious guilt, will become the object of their alternate abhorrence and derision. When so ample and diversified a field is open lo ludicrous writers, in which they may deserve the gratitude, and promote the best interests of 374 ESSAY IX. mankind, it is to be lamented, that some of them have perverted their talents to the most improper purposes. There is, in particular, one abuse, against which we ought always to be on our guard. It is similar to what is known in paint- ing by the name of caricature; where each feature of the picture resembles the correspond- ing feature of the original, but where so strange a disproportion between the features is intro- duced into the picture, as to divert us with it's deformity, or with the absurdity which it ex- presses. In the same manner, any particular disposition, however respectable or amiable in itself, may yet be represented in so great excess, or so unseasonably displayed, that it shall appear extremely absurd. And the reader, not attending to the real state of the matter, that he is laughing at the excess, or at the unseasonable display of the good dispo- sition, not at the disposition itself, may be led to regard even virtue as ridiculous. It is thus that economy, temperance, prudence, piety, patriotism, and disinterestedness, are so much laughed out of countenance among ON THE LUDICROUS. 375 thoughtless or half-thinking men, at different periods of their life. We have still to mention another abuse, which consists in giving a laughable appearance to objects of real dignity, worth, or importance, by grouping them with such as are mean or contemptible. Thus it is not uncommon with buffoons, who are incapable of any higher species of drollery, to employ on the gravest subjects the most vulgar expressions, or such as either directly or indirectly suggest low and perhaps filthy ideas ; endeavouring by this means to degrade in our imagination those things, which are in themselves the most affecting and sublime. In like manner, it is easy, and is too often practised, to raise a laugh against the worthiest character. For this purpose any of his weaknesses (and who is without weak- nesses both moral and intellectual ?), or any un- seemly circumstance in his situation or appear- ance, is presented in the most glaring light, while, at the same time, his real worth is not brought forward in it's full splendour to overpower the ludicrous effect. S76 ESSAY IX. In fact, in the present condition of our fallen nature, and in this strange world, where we are appointed to pass the first sixty or seventy years of our existence, the great and the little, the heavenly and the earthly, the angel and the reptile, are so variously connected, and blended, and united, that a buffoon can find no difficulty to expose whatever is most important and sa- cred to the laughter of the unprincipled or giddy. Nothing more is required than presumption enough to sport with his subject ; that is to say, to touch slightly on those objects, which would otherwise produce too serious impressions, while he expatiates on the low or despicable ideas, with which they may happen to be as- sociated. It is obvious, for example, how many whimsical representations any person, who had impiety enough, might easily give of the superintending care of Heaven for so pitiful an animal as man, who is engaged by the necessities of his nature in so many paltry con- cerns : or how oddly he may represent the presumption, of such a feeble, shivering, trifling creature, in claiming kindred with the angels. ON THE LUDICROUS. S77 and hoping one day to join their society. It is easy to conceive, that persons, who have the firmest belief in a future state, may yet be tempted to laugh, when the drunken fellow in the play comes across their thoughts, who called out to his comrades, as they were threat- ening to put to death a poor knight of the needle, to stop a little before they' made the tailor immortal. But it is highly improper to sport with those important and awful concerns ; or even to ac- custom ourselves to ridicule the present con- dition of man. And Swift ought not to escape without severe reprehension, who, with a hard heart and sacrilegious hand, tore away the veil, with which the modest pride and the good sense of cultivated nations cover the nakedness of the filthy despicable yahoo; that decent veil, which enables us to contemplate with greater complacency and respect, and to cultivate with greater ardour, the graces, the talents, and the virtues of our nature. But although we ought to detest those com- positions, where the author endeavours to cor- 2 c \ 378 ESSAY IX. rupt our imagination by ludicrously associating what is great, worthy, important, or excellent, with mean or contemptible ideas ; yet we ought not to be ungrateful to those men of fancy, who, in employing the^r wit and humour to furnish one of our most agreeable recreations, consult at the same time our improvement and comfort; who not only correct with pleasantry our awk» wardnesses, and our less serious follies and foibles, but who even execute the stern office of censor in a sportful, yet not upon that account less effectual manner, exposing wickedness as the greatest of all absurdities, and teaching us not only to abhor it, but to laugh it to scorn. THE END» P/ioted by S. Hamilton, Wey bridge. 14 DAY USE RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED LOAN DEPT. This book is due on the last date stamped below, or on the date to which renewed. 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