I shall begin with considering the pleasure which arises from sublimity or grandeur, which I propose to treat at some length; both, as this has a character more precise and distinctly marked than any other of the pleasures of the imagination, and as it coinrides more directly with our main subject. For the greater distinctness I shall, first, treat of the grandeur or sublimity of external objects themselves, which will employ the rest of this lecture; and, afterwards, of the description of such objects, or, of what is called the sublime in writing, which shall be the subject of a following lecture. I distinguish these two things from one another, the grandeur of the objects themselves when they are presented to the eye, and the description of that grandeur in discourse or writing; though most critics, inaccurately I think, blend them together; and I consider grandeur and sublimity as terms synonymous, or nearly so. If there be any distinction between them, it arises from sublimity's expressing grandeur in its highest degree.*

It is not easy to describe, in words, the precise impression which great and sublime objects make upon us, when we behold them; but every one has a conception of it. It produces a sort of internal elevation and expansion; it raises the mind much above its ordinary state, and fills it with a degree of wonder and astonishment, which it cannot well express. The emotion is certainly delightful; but it is altogether of the serious kind; a degree of awfulness and solemnity, even approaching to severity, commonly attends it when at its height; very distinguishable from the more gay and brisk emotion raised by beautiful objects.

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 the perpetual motion and irresistible force of that mass of waters. Wherever space is concerned, it is clear that armplitude or greatness of extent, in one dimension or other, is necessary to grandeur. Remove all bounds from any object, and you presently render it sublime. Hence infinite space, endless numbers, and eternal duration, fill the mind with great ideas.

From this some have imagined, that vastness, or amplitude of extent, is the foundation of all sublimity. But I cannot be of this opinion, because many objects appear sublime which have no relation to space at all. Such, for instance, is great loudness of sound. The burst of thunder or of cannon, the roaring of winds, the shout

· See a Philosophical Inquiry into the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful:--Dr. Gerard on Taste, section i' Flements of Cr'ticism, chap. iv.

ing of multitudes, the sound of vast cataracts of water, are all incontestably grand objects. "I heard the voice of a great multi"tude, as the sound of many waters, and of mighty thunderings, "saying, Allelujah." In general we may observe, that great power and strength exerted, always raise sublime ideas; and perhaps the most copious source of these is derived from this quarter. Hence the grandeur of earthquakes and burning mountains; of great conflagrations; of the stormy ocean, and overflowing waters; of tempests of wind; of thunder and lightning; and of all the uncommon violence of the elements. Nothing is more sublime than mighty power and strength. A stream that runs within its banks, is a beautiful object, but when it rushes down with the impetuosity and noise of a torrent, it presently becomes a sublime one. From lions and other animals of strength, are drawn sublime comparisons in poets. A race-horse is looked upon 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 of the sublime; and has accordingly been always considered as 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. What are the scenes of nature that elevate the mind in the highest degree, and produce the sublime sensation? Not the gay landscape, the flowery field, or the flourishing city; but the hoary mountain, and the solitary lake; the aged forest, and the torrent falling over the rock. Hence, too, night-scenes are commonly the most sublime. 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 splendour 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 cloud." 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.

Observe, with how much art Virgil has introduced all those ideas of silence, vacuity, and darkness, when he is going to introduce his hero to the infernal regions, and to disclose the secrets of the great deep.

Dii, quibus imperium est animarum, umbræque silentes,

Et Chaos, et Phlegethon, loca nocte silentia latè,

Sit mihi fas audita loqui; sit numine vestro

Perque domos Ditis vacuos, et inania regna;

Quale per incertam lunam, sub luce malignâ
Est iter in Sylvis.....*

These passages I quote at present, not so much as instances of sublime writing, though in themselves they truly arc so, as to show, by the effect of them, that the objects which they present to us, belong to the class of sublime ones.

Obscurity, we are farther to remark, is not unfavourable to the sublime. Though it render the object indistinct, the impression, however, may be great; for as an ingenious author has well observed, it is one thing to make an idea clear, and another to make it affecting to the imagination; and the imagination may be strongly affected, and, in fact, often is so, by objects of which we have no clear conception. Thus we see, that 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. We may see this fully exemplified in the following noble passage of the book of Job. "In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, fear came upon me, and "trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit "passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up: it stood "still; but I could not discern the form thereof; an image was "before mine eyes; there was silence; and I heard a voice-Shall "mortal man be more just than God?" (Job iv. 15.) 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 of his power, though they surpass our conceptions, yet exalt

66

• Ye subterranean gods, whose awful swav
The gliding ghosts and silent shades ovey:
O Chaos, hear! and Phlegethon profound!
Whose solemn empire stretches wide around;
Give me, ye great tremendous powers! to tell
Of scenes and wonders in the depths of hell;
Give me your mighty secrets to display,
From those black realms of darkness to the day.

PITY.

Obscure they went; through dreary shades that led
Along the waste dominions of the dead;
As wander travellers in woods by night,
By the moon's doubtful and malignant light,

DRYDEN.

The picture which Lucretius has drawn of the dominion of superstition over mankind, representing it as a portentous spectre showing its head from the clouds und dismaying the whole human race with its countenance, together with the maguanimity of Epicurus in raising himself up against it, carries all the grandeur of a sublime, obscure, and awful image.

Humana ante oculos fœde cum vita jaceret
In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione,
Quæ caput cœli regionibus ostendebat,
Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans,
Primum Graius homo mortales tollere contra
Est oculos ausus,.............

LIB. I.

them to the highest. In general, all objects that are greatly raised above us, or far removed from us, either in space or in time, are apt to strike us as great. Our viewing them, as through the mist of distance or antiquity, is favourable to the impressions of their sublimity.

As obscurity so disorder too, is very compatible with grandeur, nay, 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's exerting any great effort. Exact proportion of parts, though it enters often into the beautiful, is much disregarded in the sublime. A great mass of rocks, thrown together by the hand of nature with wildness and confusion, strike the mind with more grandeur, than if they had been adjusted to one another with the most accurate symmetry.

In the feeble attempts, which human art can make towards producing grand objects, (feeble, I mean, in comparison with the powers of nature,) greatness of dimensions always constitutes a principal part. No pile of building can convey any idea of sublimity, unless it be ample and lofty. There is too, in architecture, what is called greatness of manner; which seems chiefly to arise, from presenting the object to us in one full point of view; so that it shall make its impression whole, entire, and undivided upon the mind. A Gothic cathedral raises ideas of grandeur in our minds, by its size, its height, its awful obscurity, its strength, its antiquity, and its durability.

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 mind; from certain affections, and actions, of our fellow-creatures. These will be found to be all, or 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. A noted instance of this, quoted by all the French critics, is the celebrated Qu'il Mourut of Corneille, in the tragedy of Horace. In the famous combat between the Horatii and the Curiatii, the old Horatius being informed that two of his sons are slain, and that the third had betaken himself to flight, at first will not believe the report; but being thoroughly assured of the fact, is fired with all the sentiments of high honour and indignation at this supposed unworthy behaviour of his surviving son. He is reminded, that his son stood alone against three, and asked what he wished him to have done? "To have died," he answers. In the same manner Porus, 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 the storm, "Quid times? Cæsarem vehis;" are good instances of this sentimental sublime. Wherever, in some critical and high 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; there we are struck with a sense of the sublime.*

High virtue is the most natural and fertile source of this moral sublimity. However, on some occasions, where virtue either has no place, or is but imperfectly displayed, yet if extraordinary vigour and force of mind be discovered, we are not insensible to a degree of grandeur in the character; and from the splendid conqueror or the daring conspirator, whom we are far from approving, we cannot withhold our admiration.t

I have now enumerated a variety of instances, both in inanimate objects and in human life, wherein the sublime appears. In all these instances, the emotion raised in us is of the same kind, although the objects that produce the emotion be of widely different kinds. A question next arises, whether we are able to discover some one fundamental quality in which all these different objects agree, and which is the cause of their producing an emotion of the same na ture in our minds? Various hypotheses have been formed concern ing this; but, as far as appears to me, hitherto unsatisfactory. Some have imagined that amplitude, or great extent, joined with simplicity, is either immediately, or remotely, the fundamental quality of whatever is sublime; but we have seen that amplitude is confined to one species of sublime objects, and cannot, without violent strain

*The sublime, in natural and in moral objects, is brought before us in or view, and compared together, in the following beautiful passage of Akensick Pleasures of the Imagination:

Look then abroad through nature to the range

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,
Wheeling, unshaken, thro' the void immense;
And speak, O man! does this capacious scene,
With half that kindling majesty dilate
Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose,
Refulgent, from the stroke of Cæsar's fate,
Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm
Aloft extending, like eternal ove,

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud

On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,
And bade the father of his country hail?

For, lo! the tyraut prostrate on the dust,
And Rome again is free.

Book L

+ Silius Italicus has studied to give an august idea of Hannibal, by representing him as surrounded with all his victories, in the place of guards. One who had formed a design of assassinating him in the midst of a feast, is thus addressed:

Fallit te, mensas, inter quod credis inermem ;
Tot bellis quæsita viro, tot cædibus, armat
Majestas æterna ducem. Si admoveris ora

Cannas et Trebiam ante oculos, Trasymenaque busta
Et Pauli stare ingentem miraberis umbram.

A thought somewhat of the same nature occurs in a French author: "Il se "cache; mais sa réputation le découvre; Il marche sans suite & sans équipage; "mais chacun, dans son esprit, le met sur un char de triomphe. On compte en le 26 voyant, les ennemis qu'il a vaincus, non pas les serviteurs qui le suivent. Tout "seid qu'il est, on se figure, autour de lui, ses vertus, et ses victoires, qui l'accom66 pagnent. Moins il est superbe, plus il devient vénérable." Oraison funèbre de M. de Turenne, par M. Fléchier. Both these passages are splendid, rather than sublime. In the first, there is a want of justness in the thought: in the second, of simplicity in the expression.