itself; hardly has it strength to exist, or to announce by its cries the sufferings it experiences; as if nature chose thus early to apprize it, that it had attained a place among the human species, only to partake of its infirmities and sorrows." Such a picture should make us reflect on ourselves with humility; and whenever we behold an infant, we should consider its case as once our own. Where then are the boasted powers of man? his strength, his form, his stature? his peculiar gift of reason, his keermess of penetration and his depth of intellect? At first, he appears devoid of all. Every animal excells him. His primitive state is more helpless than that of any other creature. The infant is unconscious of the faculties inherent in his nature. He knows not that his weak body contains a soul, which elevates him above all other creatures. The first stages of his life are irrational. The senses govern him. Those of hearing, seeing and feeling are the first that prevail, and from these arise all the primitive delights or terrors. Yet even the perceptions of the senses are at first so imperfect, that the child is continually misled by the objects around him, and is endangered every moment by his ignorance. When the first two or three years have been thus passed, when reason has begun to throw out her earliest lights, the child stands in equal peril. The senses having strengthened themselves without obstacle, the first efforts of the nobler principle are clogged and weak. Reason makes continual attempts e're it can disperse the vapours that seem to damp it's struggling flame. There is a perpetual contest between it and the infantine habits and passions. Even when it has pierced its way, it requires to be + Buffon's General History of Man. be directed to useful objects, in order to the attainment of its proper dominion, During the course of years while all these changes are effecting, the child is intirely dependent. Abandonment to his own impulses might not only injure his body, but destroy also the hopes of his mind. As the spiritual powers do not begin to òperate until the corporeal faculties have established themselves, it is necessary to call forth and direct the force of the one to combat and subdue the other. This a child cannot do of himself. He is thus dependent on others for the furtherance of his most important concerns. Others have the troublesome charge of his infant state, of nourishing and supporting his frame, and of watching over his safety: others also have the care of his mind and disposition, and the guidance of his intellect. Dependence therefore is the natural inheritance of man. It travels with him from the cradle to the grave; for the very essence of society of which he is born a member, is an intimate and mutual dependence. Exclusive of these, man often acquires in his maturity a number of immoral dependencies, which far from being so easy as those he has by nature, retain him in hateful bonds for the rest of his days. Independence is a word much used but with little propriety. There is no condition which is not upheld, no state which is exempt from reliance. The sole independent being is God. 1 DUROTRIGIUS. SECTION SECTION II. Omne ignotum pro magnifico est. All things which are not immediately obvious to the understanding, call forth the fancy. When a Poet succeeds in interesting this wonderful power, he displays a genuine mark of his skill. The charms of a fine description are like the charms of a beautiful woman, never so captivating as when partially discovered. Homer does not describe the features or the form of Helen, but he appeals at once to the imagination. They cried; No wonder such celestial charms Pope. While Lope de Vega, after exhausting the imagery of beauty in ten long stanzas on Angelica, exclaims at last, that he is unable to describe so many charms, and that silence is more eloquent than himself. It is a nice point to know when to enlarge and when to contract. But in all cases, where a strong impression is designed, it is best to throw out only the greatest and most prominent features, and to leave the rest to the imagination. The truest Sublimity perhaps arises from obscurity. The ancient Poets, when they would display the Deity to advantage, surround him with clouds and darkness, and represent him dealing forth unexpected thunders and sud den den destruction. His dwelling place is made in the "thick cloud," and his "pavillion" in "darkness." "The earth shook and trembled; the foundations of the hills were moved, because he was wroth." "The waters saw thee, O God, the waters saw thee; they were afraid : the depths also were troubled. The clouds poured out water, the skies sent out a sound; thine arrows went abroad. The voice of thy thunder was in the heaven; the lightnings lightened the world; the earth trembled and shook." Then the Poet, to represent the unsearchableness of God, compares him to a Being walking upon the waters, the traces of whose feet could not therefore be discovered. "Thy way is in the sea, and thy paths in the great waters, and thy footsteps are not known." The imagination is in general little affected by objects completely visible and apparent, but it is directly called forth by whatever is obscure and uncertain. Whatever seems to exceed conception, and to outstrip the utmost reaches of our thought, carries somewhat awful with it. Virgil, before he describes the descent of his Hero into the Infernal regions, suddenly becomes sensible that he is about to enter on unknown ground, and to touch on scenes which suprass the limits of human knowledge. He asks permission to relate what he has heard concerning them, as if he was fearful to use on so awful a subject the accustomed licence of a Poet. Dii, quibus imperium est animarum, umbræque silentes Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte silentia late! Quale Quale per incertam lunam, sub luce maligna Ye realms, yet unrevealed to human sight, By the moon's doubtful and malignant light.* Milton has taken care to throw a similar confusion and obscurity into his description of hell, as appearing to the fallen Satan. At once, as far as angels ken, he views As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace That *The truth and sublimity of the original is by no means preser. ved in Mr. Dryden's translation, The first part perhaps is better rendered by Pitt. Ye subterranean Gods, whose awful sway |