objects themselves, shall first be considered; and afterwards, the description of such objects, or, what is called the sublime in writing

The simplest form of external grandeur, appears in the vast and boundless prospects presented to us by nature; such as wide extended plains, to which the eye can see no limits; the firmament of heaven, or the boundless expanse of the ocean. All vastness produces the impression of sublimity. It is to be remarked, however, that space extended in length, makes not so strong an impression as height or depth. Though a boundless plain be a grand object, yet a high mountain, to which we look up, or an awful precipice or tower, whence we look down on the objects which lie below, is still more so. The excessive grandeur of the firmament arises from its height, joined to its boundless extent; and that of the ocean, not from its extent alone, but from its perpetual motion and irresistible force. Wherever space is concerned, it is clear that amplitude, or greatness of extent, in one dimension or other, is necessary to grandeur. Remove all bounds from any object, and you immediately render it sublime. Hence, infinite space, endless numbers, and eternal duration, fill the mind with great ideas.

The most copious source of sublime ideas seems to be derived from the exertion of great power and force. Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning mountains; of great conflagrations; of the boisterous ocean; of the tempestuous storm; of thunder and lightning; and of all the uncommon violence of the elements. A stream which glides along gently within its banks is a beautiful object; but when it precipitates itself with the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it immediately becomes a sublime one. A race horse is beheld with pleasure, but it is the war horse, "whose neck is clothed with thunder," that carries grandeur in its idea. The engagement of two great armies, as it is the highest exertion of human might, combines a variety of sources

In what does the simplest form of external grandeur appear; and what instances are mentioned? What effect does all vastness produce; yet what is to be remarked; and how is this illustrated? From what does the excessive grandeur of the firmament arise; and from what, that of the occan? Wherever space is concerned, what is clear? Remove all bounds from any object and what will follow; and hence what fills the mind with great ideas? Whence is the most copious source of sublime ideas derived; and hence what follows? How is this remark fully illustrated?

of the sublime; and has, accordingly, been always considered one of the most striking and magnificent spectacles that can be either presented to the eye, or exhibited to the imagination in description.

For the farther illustration of this subject, it is proper to remark, that all ideas of the solemn and awful kind, and even bordering on the terrible, tend greatly to assist the sublime; such as darkness, solitude, and silence. The firmament when filled with stars scattered in such vast numbers, and with such magnificent profusion, strikes the imagination with a more awful grandeur than when we view it enlightened by all the splendor of the sun. The deep sound of a great bell, or the striking of a great clock, are, at any time, grand; but when heard amid the silence and stillness of the night, they become doubly so. Darkness is very commonly applied for adding sublimity to all our ideas of the Deity." He maketh darkness his pavilion; he dwelleth in the thick clouds." So Milton:

-How oft, amidst

Thick clouds and dark, does Heaven's all-ruling Sire
Choose to reside, his glory unobscur'd,

And with the majesty of darkness round
Circles his throne.

Book II. 263.

Obscurity, we may farther remark, is also favorable to the sublime. Though it render the object indistinct, yet the impression may be great; for, as Mr. Burke has ingeniously observed, it is one thing to make an idea clear, and another, to make it affecting to the imagination. Thus, almost all the descriptions given us of the appearances of supernatural beings, carry some sublimity, though the conceptions which they afford us be confused and indistinct. Their sublimity arises from the ideas, which they always convey, of superior power and might, joined with an awful obscurity. No ideas, it is plain, are so sublime as those taken from the Supreme Being; the most unknown, but the greatest of all objects; the infinity of whose nature, and the eternity of whose duration, joined with the omnipotence

For the farther illustration of this subject, what is it proper to remark; and what examples are given? How is this, also, illustrated? For what is darkness very commonly applied; and what illustrations follow? What is also favorable to the sublime; what is remarked of it; and what has Mr. Burke ingeniously observed? How is this illustrated in the descriptions of supernatural beings; and from what does their sublimity arise Of the Supreme Being, and of the ideas taken from him what is observed?

of his power, though they surpass our conceptions, yet exalt them to the highest.

As is obscurity, so disorder, too, is very compatible with grandeur; nay, it frequently heightens it. Few things that are strictly regular and methodical, appear sublime. We see the limits on every side; we feel ourselves confined; there is no room for the mind to exert any great effort. Though exact proportion of parts, often enters into the beautiful, yet it is altogether disregarded in the sublime. A great mass of rocks, thrown together by the hand of nature with wildness and confusion, strikes the mind with more grandeur, than if they had been adjusted to one another with the most accurate symmetry.

There still remains to be mentioned, one class of sublime objects, which may be called the moral, or sentimental sublime; arising from certain exertions of the human mindfrom certain affections and actions of our fellow-creatures. These will be found chiefly of that class, which comes under the name of magnanimity or heroism: and they produce an effect extremely similar to what is produced by the view of grand objects in nature; filling the mind with admiration, and elevating it above itself. Wherever, in some critical and dangerous situation, we behold a man uncommonly intrepid, and resting upon himself; superior to passion and to fear; animated by some great principle to the contempt of popular opinion, of selfish interest, of dangers or of death; we are struck with a sense of the sublime. Thus Porus, when taken prisoner by Alexander, after a gallant defence, and asked how he wished to be treated, answering "Like a king;" and Cæsar, chiding the pilot, who was afraid to set out with him in a storm, " Quid times? Cæsarem vehis;" are good instances of the sentimental sublime.

Various theories have been formed, to ascertain whether we are able to discover some one distinct quality, in which all the different objects that produce the sublime, coincide. Some have imagined that amplitude, or great extent, joined with simplicity, is either immediately, or remotely, the fun

As is obscurity, so also what is very compatible with grandeur; and how is this fully illustrated? What class of sublime objects still remains to be considered; and from what do they arise? Under what name do they come; and what effect do they produce? When are we struck with a sense of the sublime; and what instances of illustration follow? To ascertain what, have various theories been formed? What have some imagined to be the fundamental quality of the sublime; but, of it, what is observed ?

damental quality of whatever is sublime; but we have seen that amplitude is confined to one species of sublime objects only, and cannot, without violent straining, be applied to them all. Mr. Burke supposes that terror is the great source of the sublime; and that no objects have this character, but such as produce impressions of pain and danger. It is, indeed, true, that many terrible objects are highly sublime; and that grandeur does not refuse an alliance with the idea of danger. But the sublime does not consist wholly in modes of danger, or of pain. In many grand objects, there is not the smallest coincidence with terror; as in the magnificent prospect of wide extended plains, and of the starry firmament; or in the moral dispositions and sentiments, which we contemplate with high admiration. In many painful and terrible objects also, there is evidently no sort of grandeur. The amputation of a limb, or the bite of a snake, are exceedingly terrible; but are destitute of all claim whatever, to sublimity. Mighty force or power, perhaps, whether attended by terror or not, whether employed in protecting or in alarming us, has a better title, than any thing that has yet been mentioned, to be considered the fundamental quality of the sublime. There appears to be no sublime object, into the idea of which, strength and force, either enter not directly, or with which they are not intimately connected, in conducting our thoughts to some astonishing power, as concerned in the production of the object.

What is Mr. Burke's theory; and what is remarked of it? What has a better title than any thing that has yet been mentioned, to be considered the fundamental quality of the sublime; and why ?

LECTURE IV.

THE SUBLIME IN WRITING.

HAVING treated of grandeur or sublimity in external objects, the way seems now to be cleared, for treating, with more advantage, of the descriptions of such objects; or, of what is called the sublime in writing.

The true sense of the sublime in composition is, undoubtedly, such a description of objects, or exhibition of sentiments, which are, in themselves, of a sublime nature, as shall give us strong impressions of them. Its foundation must always be laid in the nature of the object described. Unless it be such an object as, if presented to our eyes, if exhibited to us in reality, would raise ideas of that elevating, that awful and magnificent kind, which we call sublime; the description, however finely drawn, is not entitled to come under this class. This excludes all objects that are merely beautiful, gay, or elegant. Besides, the object must not only be, in itself, sublime, but it must be set before us in such a light as is most proper to give us a clear and full impression of it; it must be described with strength, with conciseness, and simplicity. This depends, chiefly, upon the lively impression which the poet, or orator, has of the subject which he exhibits; and upon his being deeply affected, and warmed, by the sublime idea which he would convey. If his own feelings be languid, he can never inspire us with any strong emotion. Instances, which are extremely necessary on this subject, will clearly show the importance of these requisites.

It is, generally speaking, among the most ancient authors, that we are to look for the most striking instances of the sublime. The early ages of the world, and the rude uncultivated state of society, appear to have been peculiarly

Having treated of grandeur, or sublimity in external objects, for what does the way now seem cleared? What is the true sense of the sublime in composition and where must its foundation always be laid? That the description may come under this class, it must be an object of what kind; and what objects does this exclude? Besides being in itself sublime, how must the object be set before us, and described? On what does this depend; and if his own feelings be languid, what will follow? Among what authors are we to look for the most striking instances of the sublime; and why?