of necessity must enter into that conception. On the contrary, it can be shown, and is now to be shown, that necessity does not, and that Freedom does, enter into the idea of Beauty.

Freedom in metaphysic is a question that has always hitherto been mooted in connexion with morality, as the postulate of merit or of blame; but it is a question that is at once less and greater than the question of morality. It is less, because it never touches, what is of equal importance, the question of the objective or real goodness of an action. Freedom is the postulate of our merit in performing an action, but it is not (Immortality is) the postulate of the good tendency of that action. It was to this double meaning of all morality that some of the Greek philosophers referred when they described moral excellence by two inseparable epithets -To Kaλо-κȧyalóv, the beautiful and good. According as an action, once performed, is destructive or not destructive, leads to death or leads to life, it is bad or good; but its merit, its moral beauty depends upon no such after-result, it depends upon what the action is in itself, the agent being free to do it, or to leave it undone. The question of Freedom, therefore, is less than the question of morality. But it is also greater if there is any Beauty which is not regarded as moral, and if it can be shown that Freedom is the transcendental postulate of its cognition. That there is a Beauty different from what is called moral Beauty may be taken for

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granted; and that à priori the conception of Freedom is necessary to its perception will not be difficult to show. For Beauty, as distinguished from Truth on the one hand, and from Good on the other, has already (p. 108) been defined to be a thing of present worth, something valuable in itself and for itself. Viewing it only as a present reality, the idea of an origin in the past, an origin out of itself, therefore an origin of necessity is impossible; finding it in the present, and not connecting it with anything prior, we must conceive it as independent, self-originating, free. This is what so many writers appear to mean when they say that always in the Beautiful we must perceive mind. We must perceive the action of a Free Will.

And now, to apply these remarks: if Freedom, if God, if Immortality be severally demanded in our conceptions of the Beautiful, of the True, and of the Good; then, if Beauty, if Truth, if Good be indeed the several centres of the Drama, of the Epic and of the Lyric, it follows that Freedom must be the burden of the Drama, that God must be the burden of the Epic, and that Immortality must be the burden of the Lyric. Is it not so? Is it not admitted on all hands that action is the essential of the Drama; and what is action if not the expression of Freedom? That God is the central thought of the Epic is a view which the critics now-a-days very much overlook; but it has the voice of all antiquity in its favour, as will appear in the sequel.

And is not Immortality the key-note of the Lyric? Look at Pindar, look at Horace; but with them it takes the spurious form of immortal renown. Look, then, at King David: "Thou wilt show me the path of life in Thy presence is fulness of joy; at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore." Life, dear life, is the chorus of every psalm. The finest ode in the English language is on the Immortality of the Soul.

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Naturally, we should go on at once to consider these principles in detail, as embodied in Dramatic, in Epic, and in Lyrical art; but it may be well to give a last look before we leap; it may be well, before plunging into these inward meanings, to show-aloof altogether from art—that the nations of whom we speak had each an eye especially to that one principle which belongs to the art (romantic, classical, or divine) especially cultivated by each; thus affording one more proof of the position already at some length maintained, that modern art is dramatic, that the antique is epic, and that what I have called primitive art is lyrical. In these respective eras, the ideas of Beautiful, of True, and of Good, will be found coming up in a thousand shapes; but if we grapple with them, as Aristæus grappled with Proteus, they will soon return to themselves. For example, sin, by the Christian world, is hated on its own account, being ugly; the Greek, looking back to its origin, saw that it was a blunder, a false step, folly; whereas the Hebrew hated it above everything for the evil conse

quences that follow in its train. Not that those peoples beheld sin in these lights alone, but chiefly in these lights. Again: the Supreme Being, the same to-day as yesterday and for ever, is the perfection at once of Beauty, of Truth and of Goodness; or, to use the language of Scripture as applied to God manifest in the flesh, He is the Way, the Truth, and the Life; words identical in meaning with the former, only that perhaps the first is rather a Jewish than a world-wide name. Jewish indeed, but still true; for Beauty, being a thing of the present, may be regarded as an isthmus between the eternal past and the everlasting future, a passage from cause to effect, the link between Truth and Good, a transition state, a Way. Now those faculties in man which answer to the ideas thus variously expressed, the subjective fittings of those objective realities, are—once more to employ the words of Scripture-Hope, Faith and Love; the first of which is again and for a like reason Jewish. Hope answers to the idea of the Beautiful as a Way, but it is not the word to express fully the mingled feelings awakened by the beautiful, unless, indeed, by implication; for it implies fear, and fear, as in old English, is closely connected with wonder; for which fearful, hopeful admiration we have no single term, although, perhaps, the word nearest to it is worship. We worship the beautiful, believe the true, love the good. Is not this worship the feeling of Christendom towards the Deity? as the Greek was full of faith,

and the Hebrew full of love. The Greek had both awe and love, but the most striking feature of his piety was its faith, often running into credulity, as St Paul; remarks when speaking of the altar raised to the unknown god. In like manner, amongst the Hebrews and amongst Christians, we trace the joint working of the three emotions; but the first and the last are always in the inverse ratio. The Hebrew was taught to fear, to admire God, but in addressing God it is not fear, it is not adoration that he expresses, it is love-I love the Lord. On Christians there is no duty so often enforced as that of love to God, but it is not love that they express in their prayers and praises, they give glory. This may be seen in every prayer-book, in every hymn-book, that is not Puritanic. The Puritan was a Hebrew in thought, in feeling, in taste, almost in language: his Christian name was Hebrew; and in those warm, frank, outspoken declarations of love to which he is so fond of giving a loose, he is still Hebrew to the life. The Hebrew or Puritanic sentiment may be reduced to the formula-I love Thee; the Christian feeling comes to this

-Thou art worthy. According to Scripture symbolism, the uppermost feeling of the daughter of Sion towards God was the unreflecting love of a child towards a father; and the prominent feeling of the Christian Church towards God is represented as that of a bride towards the bridegroom, a love that is conscious, that knows why it loves, in other words, admiration, worship.