these powers, we may add that particular habit of association to which I formerly gave the name of Fancy; as it is this which presents to our choice all the different materials which are subservient to the efforts of imagination, and which may therefore be considered as forming the ground-work of poetical genius.

To illustrate these observations, let us consider the steps by which Milton must have proceeded in creating his imaginary garden of Eden. When he first proposed to himself that subject of description, it is reasonable to suppose that a variety of the most striking scenes which he had seen crowded into his mind. The association of ideas suggested them, and the power of Conception placed each of them before him with all its beauties and imperfections. In every natural scene, if we destine it for any particular purpose, there are defects and redundancies which art may sometimes but cannot always correct. But the power of Imagination is unlimited. She can create and annihilate, and dispose at pleasure her woods, her rocks, and her rivers. Milton, accordingly, would not copy his Eden from any one scene, but would select from each the features which were most eminently beautiful. The power of Abstraction enabled him to make the separation, and taste directed him in the selection. Thus he was furnished with his materials, by a skilful combination of which he has created a landscape, more perfect probably in all its parts than was ever realized in nature, and certainly very different from anything which this country exhibited at the period when he wrote. It is a curious remark of Mr. Walpole, that Milton's Eden is free from the defects of the old English garden, and is imagined on the same principles which it was reserved for the present age to carry into execution.

From what has been said, it is sufficiently evident that Imagination is not a simple power of the mind, like Attention, Conception, or Abstraction, but that it is formed by a combination of various faculties. It is farther evident, that it must appear under very different forms in the case of different individuals, as some of its component parts are liable to be greatly

influenced by habit, and other accidental circumstances. The variety, for example, of the materials out of which the combinations of the poet or the painter are formed, will depend much on the tendency of external situation, to store the mind. with a multiplicity of conceptions, and the beauty of these combinations will depend entirely on the success with which the power of taste has been cultivated. What we call, therefore, the power of Imagination, is not the gift of nature, but the result of acquired habits, aided by favourable circumstances. It is not an original endowment of the mind, but an accomplishment formed by experience and situation; and which in its different gradations, fills up all the interval between the first efforts of untutored genius, and the sublime creations of Raphael or of Milton.

An uncommon degree of Imagination constitutes poetical genius,―a talent which, although chiefly displayed in poetical composition, is also the foundation (though not precisely in the same manner) of various other Arts. A few remarks on the relation which Imagination bears to some of the most interesting of these, will throw additional light on its nature and office.

SECT. II.-OF IMAGINATION CONSIDERED IN ITS RELATION TO SOME OF THE FINE ARTS.

Among the Arts connected with Imagination, some not only take their rise from this power, but produce objects which are addressed to it. Others take their rise from Imagination, but produce objects which are addressed to the power of Perception.

To the latter of these two classes of Arts, belongs that of Gardening; or, as it has been lately called, the Art of creating Landscape. In this Art the designer is limited in his creation. by nature; and his only province is to correct, to improve, and to adorn. As he cannot repeat his experiments, in order to observe the effect, he must call up, in his imagination, the scene which he means to produce, and apply to this imaginary scene his taste and his judgment; or, in other words,

to a lively conception of visible objects, he must add a power (which long experience and attentive observation alone can give him) of judging beforehand of the effect which they would produce, if they were actually exhibited to his senses. This power forms what Lord Chatham beautifully and expressively called the prophetic Eye of Taste,-that eye which (if I may borrow the language of Mr. Gray) "sees all the beauties that a place is susceptible of, long before they are born; and when it plants a seedling, already sits under the shade of it, and enjoys the effect it will have, from every point of view that lies in the prospect." But although the artist who creates a landscape, copies it from his imagination, the scene which he exhibits is addressed to the senses, and may produce its full effect on the minds of others, without any effort on their part, either of imagination or of conception.

To prevent being misunderstood, it is necessary for me to remark that, in the last observation, I speak merely of the natural effects produced by a landscape, and abstract entirely from the pleasure which may result from an accidental association of ideas with a particular scene. The effect resulting from such associations will depend, in a great measure, on the liveliness with which the associated objects are conceived, and on the affecting nature of the pictures which a creative imagination, when once roused, will present to the mind; but the pleasures thus arising from the accidental exercise that a landscape may give to the imagination, must not be confounded with those which it is naturally fitted to produce.

In Painting, (excepting in those instances in which it exhibits a faithful copy of a particular object,) the original idea must be formed in the imagination: and, in most cases, the exercise of imagination must concur with perception, before the picture can produce that effect on the mind of the spectator which the artist has in view. Painting, therefore, does not belong entirely to either of the two classes of Arts formerly mentioned, but has something in common with them both.

As far as the Painter aims at copying exactly what he sees, Gray's Works by Mason, p. 277.

he may be guided mechanically by general rules; and he requires no aid from that creative genius which is characteristical of the Poet. The pleasure, however, which results from painting, considered merely as an imitative art, is extremely trifling, and is specifically different from that which it aims to produce, by awakening the imagination. Even in portrait-painting, the servile copyist of nature is regarded in no higher light than that of a tradesman. "Deception," as Reynolds has excellently observed, "instead of advancing the art, is, in reality, carrying it back to its infant state. The first essays of painting were certainly nothing but mere imitations of individual objects; and when this amounted to a deception, the artist had accomplished his purpose."

"1

When the history or the landscape painter indulges his genius in forming new combinations of his own, he vies with the poet in the noblest exertion of the poetical art; and he avails himself of his professional skill, as the Poet avails himself of language, only to convey the ideas in his mind. To deceive the eye by accurate representations of particular forms, is no longer his aim; but, by the touches of an expressive pencil, to speak to the imaginations of others. Imitation, therefore, is not the end which he proposes to himself, but the means which he employs in order to accomplish it: nay, if the imitation be carried so far as to preclude all exercise of the spectator's imagination, it will disappoint, in a great measure, the purpose of the artist.

In Poetry, and in every other species of composition, in which one person attempts, by means of language, to present to the mind of another, the objects of his own imagination; this power is necessary, though not in the same degree, to the author and to the reader. When we peruse a description, we naturally feel a disposition to form, in our own minds, a distinct picture of what is described; and in proportion to the attention and interest which the subject excites, the picture becomes steady and determinate. It is scarcely possible for us to hear

1 Notes on Mason's Translation of Fresnoy's Poem on the Art of Painting, P. 114.

much of a particular town, without forming some notion of its figure and size and situation; and in reading history and poetry, I believe it seldom happens that we do not annex imaginary appearances to the names of our favourite characters. It is, at the same time, almost certain, that the imaginations of no two men coincide upon such occasions; and, therefore, though both may be pleased, the agreeable impressions which they feel may be widely different from each other, according as the pictures by which they are produced are more or less happily imagined. Hence it is, that when a person accustomed to dramatic reading sees, for the first time, one of his favourite characters represented on the stage, he is generally dissatisfied with the exhibition, however eminent the actor may be; and if he should happen, before this representation, to have been very familiarly acquainted with the character, the case may continue to be the same through life. For my own part, I have never received from any Falstaff on the stage, half the pleasure which Shakespeare gives me in the closet; and I am persuaded that I should feel some degree of uneasiness, if I were present at any attempt to personate the figure or the voice of Don Quixote or Sancho Panza. It is not always that the actor, on such occasions, falls short of our expectation. He disappoints us by exhibiting something different from what our imagination had anticipated, and which consequently appears to us, at the moment, to be an unfaithful representation of the poet's idea: and until a frequent repetition of the performance has completely obliterated our former impressions, it is impossible for us to form an adequate estimate of its merit.

Similar observations may be applied to other subjects. The sight of any natural scene, or of any work of art, provided we have not previously heard of it, commonly produces a greater effect at first than ever afterwards; but if, in consequence of a description, we have been led to form a previous notion of it, I apprehend the effect will be found less pleasing the first time it is seen than the second. Although the description should fall short greatly of the reality, yet the disappointment which we