they are conscious of the preference given by mankind in general to things grand and sublime; and they are sensible that their peculiar taste ought to yield to the general taste.

In

What is said above suggests a capital rule for reaching the sublime in such works of art as are susceptible of it: and that is, to present those parts or circumstances only which make the greatest figure, keeping out of view every thing low or trivial; for the mind, elevated by an important object, cannot, without reluctance, be forced down to bestow any share of its attention upon trifles. Such judicious selection of capital circumstances, is by an eminent critic styled grandeur of manner.* none of the fine arts is there so great scope for that rule as in poetry; which, by that means, enjoys a remarkable power of bestowing upon objects and events an air of grandeur: when we are spectators, every minute object presents itself in its order: but, in describing at second hand, these are laid aside, and the capital objects are brought close together. A judicious taste in thus selecting the most interesting incidents, to give them an united force, accounts for a fact that may appear surprising; which is, that we are more moved by a spirited narrative at second hand, than by being spectators of the event itself, in all its circumstances.

Longinus exemplifies the foregoing rule by a comparison of two passages.† The first, from Aristæus, is thus translated:

Ye pow'rs, what madness! how on ships so frail
(Tremendous thought!) can thoughtless mortals sail?
For stormy seas they quit the pleasing plain,

Plant woods in waves, and dwell amidst the main.

Spectator, No. 415.

+ Chapter VIII. of the Sublime.

Far o'er the deep (a trackless path) they go,
And wander oceans in pursuit of wo.

No

ease their hearts, no rest their eyes can find,

On heaven their looks, and on the waves their mind,
Sunk are their spirits, while their arms they rear,
And gods are wearied with their fruitless prayer.

The other, from Homer I shall give in Pope's translation:

Burst as a wave that from the cloud impends,
And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends.
White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud
Howl o'er the masts, and sing through every shroud,
Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with fears,
And instant death on every wave appears.

In the latter passage, the most striking circumstances are selected to fill the mind with terror and astonishment. The former is a collection of minute and low circumstances, which scatter the thought, and make no impression: it is at the same time full of verbal antitheses and low conceit, extremely improper in a scene of distress. But this last observation belongs to another head.

The following description of a battle is remarkably sublime, by collecting together, in the fewest words, those circumstances which make the greatest figure.

Like Autumn's dark storms pouring from two echoing hills, toward each other approached the heroes; as two dark streams from high rocks meet and roar on the plain, loud, rough and dark in battle, meet Lochlin and Inisfail. Chief mixes his strokes with chief, and man with man: steel sounds on steel, and helmets are cleft on high: blood bursts and smokes around; strings murmur on the polish'd yew: darts rush along the sky: spears fall like sparks of flame that gild the stormy face of night.

As the noise of the troubled ocean when roll the waves on' high, as the last peal of thundering heaven, such is the noise of

battle. Tho' Cormac's hundred bards were there, feeble were the voice of a hundred bards to send the deaths to future times; for many were the deaths of the heroes, and wide poured the blood of the valiant.

Fingal

The following passage in the 4th book of the Iliad is a description of a battle, wonderfully ardent. "When now gathered on either side, the "hosts plunged together in fight; shield is harshly "laid to shield; spears crash on the brazen cor"slets; bossy buckler with buckler meets; loud "tumult rages over all; groans are mixed with "boasts of men: the slain and slayer join in noise; "the earth is floating round with blood. As when "two rushing streams from two mountains. come "roaring down, and throw together their rapid "waters below, they roar along the gulphy vale: "The startled shepherd hears the sound, as he "stalks o'er the distant hills: So, as they mixed in "fight, from both armies clamour with loud terror "arose." But such general descriptions are not frequent in Homer. Even his single combats are rare. The fifth book is the longest account of a battle that is in the Illiad; and yet contains nothing but a long catalogue of chiefs killing chiefs, not in single combat neither, but at a distance, with an arrow or a javelin; and these chiefs named for the first time and the last. The same scene is continued through a great part of the sixth book. There is at the same time a minute description of every wound, which for accuracy may do honour to an anatomist, but in an epic poem is tiresome and fatiguing. There is no relief from horrid languor but the beautiful Greek language, and melody of Homer's versification.

In the twenty-first book of the Odyssey, there is a passage which deviates widely from the rule

above laid down: it concerns that part of the history of Penelope and her suitors, in which she is made to declare in favour of him who should

prove the most dexterous in shooting with the bow of Ulysses :

Now gently winding up the fair ascent,
By many an easy step, the matron weht:
Then o'er the pavement glides with grace divine,
With polish'd oak the level pavements shine ;)
The folding gates a dazzling light display'd,
With pomp of various archittrave o’erlay'd.
The bolt, obedient to the silken string,
Forsakes the staple as she pulls the ring;
The wards respondent to the key turn'd round;
The bars fall back; the flying valves resound.
Loud as a bull makes bill and valley ring ;
So roar'd the lock when it releas'd the spring.
She moves majestic throngh the wealthy room,
Where treasur'd garments cast a rich perfume ;
There from the column where aloft it hung,
Reach'd, in its splendid case, the bow unstrung.

are

Virgil sometimes errs against this rule: in the following passages minute circumstances brought into full view; and, what is still worse, they are described with all the pomp of poetical diction; Æneid, L. i. l. 214 to 219. L. vi. l. 176 to 182. L. vi. l. 212 to 231 : and the last, which describes a funeral, is the less excusable, as the man whose funeral it is makes no figure in the poem.

The speech of Clytemnestra, descending from her chariot in the Iphigenia of Euripides, * is stuffed with a number of common and trivial circumstances.

But of all writers, Lucan, as to this article, is the most injudicious: the sea-fight between the Ro

*

Beginning of Act iji,

mans and Massilians,* is described so much in detail, without exhibiting any grand or total view, that the reader is fatigued with endless circumstances, without ever feeling any degree of elevation; and yet there are some fine incidents, those for example of the two brothers, and of the old man and his son, which, taken separately, would affect us greatly. But Lucan, once engaged in a description, knows no end. See other passages of the same kind, L. xxiv. I. 292 to 337. L. iv. l. 750 to 765. The episode of the sorceress Erictho, end of book vi. is intolerably minute and prolix.

To these I venture to oppose a passage from an old historical ballad :

Go, little page, tell Hardiknute,

That lives on hill so high,
To draw his sword, the dread of faes,

And haste to follow me.

The little page flew swift as dart

Flung by his master's arm.
6 Come down,come down, Lord Hardiknute,

“ And rid your king from harm.".

This rule is also applicable to other fine arts. In painting, it is established, that the principal figure must be put in the strongest light; that the

; beauty of attitude consists in placing the nobler parts most in view, and in suppressing the smaller parts as much as possible; that the folds of the drapery must be few and large; that fore-shortenings are bad, because they make the parts appear little; and that the muscles ought to be kept as entire as possible, without being divided into small sections. Every one at present subscribes to that