While others, although no directly voluntary power is exercised over either class, are neglected, and soon become extinct. But no account of this vivid feeling of approval or disapproval, of this very rapid perception of the mutual congruity of the images for each other or for the general conception of the subject, can be given, other than this, that with such a power, the original author of our intellectual susceptibilities has been pleased to form us.

§. 360. Mental process in the formation of Milton's imaginary paradise.

What has been said can perhaps be made plainer, by considering in what way Milton must have proceeded, in forming his happy description of the garden of Eden. He had formed, in the first place, some general outlines of the subject; and as it was one, which greatly interested his feelings, the interest, which was felt, tended to keep the outlines steadily before him. Then, the principles of association, which are ever at work, brought up a great variety of conceptions, having a relation of some kind to those general features; such as conceptions of rocks, and woods, and rivers, and green leaves, and golden fruit. The next step was the exercise of that power, which we have of perceiving relations, which has sometimes been designated as the susceptibility or power of relative suggestion. By means of this he was at once able to determine, whether the conceptions, which were suggested, were suitable to the general design of the description and to each other, and whether they would have, when combined together to form one picture, a pleasing effect. Accordingly, those, which were judged most suitable, were combined together as parts of the imaginary creation, and were detained and fixed by means of that feeling of interest, which was at first exercised towards the more prominent outlines merely; while others speedily disappeared from the mind. And thus arose an imaginary landscape, nore interesting, more perfect, than we can ever expect find realized in nature.

§. 361. Limitations of imagination by the condition of the senses.

The power of imagination depends in some measure on the number and condition of the senses. If Milton had been blind from infancy, it cannot be supposed, that he would have been able to have formed that beautiful combination, the description of Paradise. Had he possessed the sense of seeing only in an imperfect degree, furnished, for instance, with only those glimmerings of sight, which persons sometimes possess before being couched for the cataract, he would not have been able to have done it, at least to the degree of perfection, in which the description appears at present.

A person undertakes to describe a battle, who has always been deaf; and in order that he may enjoy every facility for the execution of his plan, he places himself on some eminence, where he can overlook those military manoeuvres and conflicts, the decription of which he anticipates giving. He gives us an account of the number engaged, of the position occupied, of the military dress, of the valour of different corps; but it was to him, as he beheld it, and it is to us, as we read it in his description, only a noiseless scene. A deathlike silence prevails. The word of command flies from rank to rank, and we hear it not. The hoofs of war-horses beat the earth, and we perceive the motion, without a perception of the noise of their tread. We witness the flashes of cannon on the hills of the battle, but while we feel the trembling of the earth, no sound reaches us. What an inadequate conception must a person, who does not possess the sense of hearing, have of many of those circumstances, which inspire others with emotions of pleasure and sublimity!

Similar remarks will apply to those cases, where there is a failure in any other sense.We read of a philosopher, who attempted to give a blind man a notion of scarlet colour. The philosopher assured him, that it yielded a lively and pleasant sensation; that it was an emblem of courage; & being considered ornamental to them, was worn by kings and princes. Having specified these and some oth er things, connected with this colour, he then asked the

blind man, whether he had any idea of scarlet? The blind man replied, that he thought he had some notion of it, and that he supposed, it must be more like the sound of a trumpet, than any thing else in the world.

But it will be asked, how does it then happen, that men born blind, frequently talk of visible things with great readiness and propriety? When they with propriety apply epithets to objects of colour, such conversation must be the effect of memory. They repeat what they have heard others say. For, if they are perfectly blind, they certainly can have no idea of what is meant by colours; being as ignorant of them as any man whatever is of the phenomena of the world of spirits.

In their efforts, (which, in consequence of their unhappy condition, they undoubtedly often make,) to form a conception of light, their ideas must always be conformed, in a great measure, to the knowledge, they already possess by means of the other senses. And it must consequently be very erroneous, as there is certainly nothing in the nature of light, analogous to the nature of sound, or of taste, or of smell.

§. 362. Explanation of the case of the poet Blacklock.

In connection with the remarks, which have already been made on the limitation of imagination by the state and condition of the senses, it seems proper to say something in explanation of the case of the poet Blacklock.

Thomas Blacklock, a poet, and a minister of the established church of Scotland, lost his sight in consequence of a disease at five months of age. It does not come within our plan to repeat in this place his interesting and instructive history, any further than to say that, notwithstanding the great misfortune, under which he laboured, he made such advances in learning as to merit the reputation of a philosopher as well as of a poet. "I am acquainted, (says Dr. Beattie, referring to Blacklock,) with a person, who, having at the age of five months lost his sight by the small-pox, retains not the idea of any thing visible; and is yet a good poet, philosopher, and divine, a

most ingenious as well as a most worthy man. He dreams too as frequently as other people, and dreams are universally ascribed to the fancy; and his writings prove, that he possesses, what every critic will allow to be, and what Addison himself would have called, a sublime imagination."

In the remarks before made, we find a solution, in some measure, of his poetical ability. He was undoubtedly a person of natural capacity superiour to that of most men; and possessed in particular of no small share of poetical sensibility. Giving loose to the ardour of his imagination, he was led to treasure up in his memory, from conversation and from hearing works read, the words, WHITE, BLACK, PURPLE, and others, descriptive of the colour of objects. His general accuracy, in the application of them, may be accounted for in this way. He had acquired in the same way, that he had acquired the words themselves, those associations, which people in general are in the habit of attaching to such colours, as have been mentioned. With the word, WHITE, for instance, although it could not suggest to him the idea of that colour, he associated the ideas of cheerfulness and innocence; with the word, PURPLE, the ideas of splendour and majesty; with the word, BLACK, the qualities of gloom and melancholy. It is not, therefore, wholly unaccountable, that he should have been able to speak of the "purple " dawn, or of "dark" woodland scenery, although he at the same time was without any correct notions of the primary significations of these terms.

§. 363. Works of imagination give different degrees of pleasure.

Different persons receive different degrees of pleasure from works of imagination. The fact is well known. Something may be said in explanation of it, in reference to poetry; which is one of the creations of the power, we are considering. And the same explanation will apply in part to other efforts of the imagination.Although poetry is generally looked upon to be a useful and pleasing art, we find, that all have not the same relish for its beauties. The pleasure, which is felt by a reader of poetry, will in general depend upon two circumstances, (1) the confor

mity of his experience to the things described, (2) the liveliness of his own imagination.

And

The pleasure received will depend, in the first place, on the conformity of the reader's experience to the things described. Accordingly, if the scene of a poem be laid within the limits of a commercial city, if it deal chiefly in the description of the habits of the people residing there, and of their various turns of fortune, it will excite but comparatively little interest in those, who have been brought up wholly amid retired and rural scenes. when, on the other hand, the scene of it is laid in the country, when it deals in the toils, and sorrows, and joys of country life, it excites comparatively little interest in those, who have never had any actual experience of that kind. Burn's Cotter's Saturday Night is an admirable poem; but it is exceedingly more pleasing to those, who can clearly perceive, from what they have themselves seen and heard and felt, its accurate conformity to nature, than to those, who cannot.

The pleasure, which is felt by a reader of poetry, will depend also in part on the liveliness of his own imagination. In poems the different parts are only imperfectly filled up; some describe more minutely than others; but the most minute describers only trace the outlines. These remain, therefore, to be filled up by the reader. But the ability to do this is found in very different degrees in different persons; some very rapidly and admirably finish the picture, and others do not. The latter, consequently, remain, in a considerable degree, unaffected, and perhaps condemn the poem as deficient in interest; while the former read it with great feeling and pleasure. This statement accounts for the fact, that the same poem gives to different persons different degrees of satisfaction; and also, inasmuch as it requires in all cases some power of imagination in the reader, explains the circumstance, that so many, appear to be utterly destitute of any relish for the beauties of the poetic art.