QUID ALTERI SIMILE EST, NECESSE EST MINUS SIT EO, QUOD IMITATUR. But it holds only of strict and scrupulous imitations. And of such alone, I think, it was intended; for the explanation follows, ut umbra corpore, & imago facie, & actus histrionum veris affectibus; that is, where the artist confines himself to the single view of taking a faithful and exact transcript. And even this can be allowed only, when the copyist is of inferior, or at most but of equal, talents. Nay, it is not certainly to be relied upon even then; as may appear from what we are told of an inferior painter's [Andrea del Sarto's] copying a por, trait of the divine Raphael. The story is well known. But, as an aphorism, brought to determine the merits of imitation, in general, nothing can be falser or more delusive. For, 1. Besides the supposed original, the object itself, as was observed, is before the poet, and he may catch from thence, and infuse into his piece, the same glow of real life, which animated the first copy. 2. He may also take in circumstances, omitted or overlooked before in the common object, and so give new and additional vigour to his imitation. Or, 3. He may possess a stronger, and more plastic

d QUINCTIL. lib. x. c. 11.

genius, and therefore be enabled to touch, with more force of expression, even those particulars, which he professedly imitates.

On all these accounts, the difficulty of distinguishing betwixt original, and secondary, imitations is apparent. And it is of importance, that this difficulty be seen in its full light. Because, if the similarity, observed in two or more writers, may, for the most part, and with the highest probability, be accounted for from general principles, it is superfluous at least, if not unfair, to have recourse to the particular charge of imitation.

Now to see how far the same common principles of nature will go towards effecting the similarity, here spoken of, it is necessary to consider very distinctly

I. THE MATTER; and

II. THE MANNER, of all poetical imitation.

I. In all that range of natural objects, over which the restless imagination of the poet expatiates, there is no subject of picture or

imitation, that is not reducible to one or other of the three following classes. 1. The material world, or that vast compages of corporeal forms, of which this universe is compounded. 2. The internal workings and movements of his own mind, under which I comprehend the manners, sentiments, and passions. 3. Those internal operations, that are made objective to sense by the outward signs of gesture, attitude, or action. Besides these I know of no source, whence the artist can derive a single sentiment or image. There needs no new distinction in favour of Homer's gods, Milton's angels, or Shakespear's witches; it being clear, that these are only human characters, diversified by such attributes and manners, as superstition, religion, or even wayward fancy, had assigned to each.

1. The material universe, or what the painters call still life, is the object of that species of poetical imitation, we call descriptive. This beauteous arrangement of natural objects, which arrests the attention on all sides, makes a necessary and forceable impression on the human mind. We are so constituted, as to have a quick perception of beauty in the forms, combinations, and aspects of things

about us; which the philosopher may amuse himself in explaining from remote and insufficient considerations; but consciousness and common feeling will never suffer us to doubt of its being entirely natural. Accordingly we may observe, that it operates universally on all men; more especially the young and unexperienced; who are not less transported by the novelty, than beauty of material objects. But its impressions are strongest on those, whom nature hath touched with a ray of that celestial fire, which we call true genius. Here the workings of this instinctive sense are so powerful, that, to judge from its effects, one should conclude, it perfectly intranced and bore away the mind, as in a fit of rapture. Whenever the form of natural beauty presents itself, though but casually, to the mind of the poet; busied it may be, and intent on the investigation of quite other objects; his imagination takes fire, and it is with difficulty that he restrains himself from quitting his proper pursuit, and stopping a while to survey and delineate the enchanting image. This is the charaeter of what we call a luxuriant fancy, which all the rigour of art can hardly keep down; and we give the highest praise of judgment to those few, who have been able to discipline and confine it within due limits.

I insist the more on this strong influence of external beauty, because it leads, I think, to a clear view of the subject before us, so far as it respects descriptive poetry. These living forms are, without any change, presented to observation in every age and country. There needs but opening the eyes, and these forms necessarily imprint themselves on the fancy; and the love of imitation, which naturally accompanies and keeps pace with this sense of beauty in the poet, is continually urging him to trans late them into description. These descriptions will, indeed, have different degrees of colour

་*

ng, according to the force of genius in the imitator; but the outlines are the same in all; in the weak, faint sketches of an ordinary Gothic designer, as in the living pictures of Homer.

An instance will explain my meaning, Amidst all that diversity of natural objects, which the poet delights to paint, nothing is so taking to his imagination, as rural scenery; which is, always, the first passion of good poets, and the only one that seems, in any degree, to animate and inspirit bad ones. Now let us take a description of such a scene; suppose that which. Aelian hath left us of the Grecian TEMPE, given from the life and without