being merely heard, as it once was, has something to do with it. As regards the question when imagery is excessive, when the richness of a poet's language is to be called extravagance, no general principle can be laid down. The judgment on this point in each case must depend on the particular state of the case. A useful distinction, under this head, might possibly be drawn between the liberty of the poet and the duty of the artist. Keats's Endymion, one might safely, in reference to such a distinction, pronounce to be too rich; for in that poem there is no proportion between the imagery, or accessory concrete, and the main stem of the imagined circumstance from which the poem derives its name. In the Eve of St. Agnes, on the other hand, there is no such fault. Of verse, as connected with poetry, various theories have been given. Wordsworth, whose theory is always more narrow than his practice, makes the rationale of verse to consist in this, that it provides for the mind a succession of minute pleasurable surprises in addition to the mere pleasure communicated by the meaning. Others regard the use of verse as consisting in its power to secure the attention of the reader or hearer. Others regard it as a voluntary homage of the mind to law as law, repaid by the usual rewards of disinterested obedience. Mr. Dallas sets these and other theories aside, and puts the matter on its right basis. Verse is an artificial source of pleasure; it is an incentive to attention, or a device for economizing attention; and it is an act of obedience to law if you choose so to regard it. All these, however, are merely statements respecting verse as something already found out and existing; not one of them is a theory of verse in its origin and nature. Such a theory, if it is to be sought for at all, must clearly consist in the assertion of this, as a fundamental fact of nature-that, when the mind of man is either excited to a certain pitch, or engaged in a certain kind of exercise, its transactions adjust themselves, in a more express manner than usual, to time as meted out in beats or intervals. Mr. Dallas, giving to the statement its most transcendental form, says that the rationale of metre is to be deduced from the fact that Time being, according to Kant, but a leading V form of sense, must fall under the law of imagination, the faculty representative of sense. Quite independent of this philosophic generalization, which it would at least require much time to work down for the ordinary market, there are many facts, some of which Mr. Dallas very acutely points out, all tending to indicate the existence of such a law as we have referred to. The swinging of a student to and fro in his chair during a fit of cogitation, the oratorical see-saw, the evident connexion of mental states with the breathings and the pulsebeats, the power of the tick-tick of a clock to induce reverie, and of the clinkum-clankum of a bell to make the fool think words to it, are all instances of the existence of such a law. Nay, the beginnings of poetical metre itself are to be traced in speech far on this side of what is accounted poetry. There is a visible tendency to metre in every articulate expression of strong feeling; and the ancient Greeks, we are told, used to amuse themselves with scanning passages in the speeches of their great orators. Without trying to investigate this point farther, however, we would simply refer to a consideration connected with it, which seems important for our present purpose. The law, as stated hypothetically, is, that the mind, either when excited to a certain pitch, or when engaged in a particular kind of exercise, takes on, in its transactions, a marked concordance with time as measured by beats. Now, whether is it the first or the second mental condition that necessitates this concordance? Poetry we have all along defined as a special mode of intellectual exercise, possible under all degrees of emotional excitement the exercise of the mind imaginatively, or in the figuring forth of concrete circumstance. Is it, then, poetry, as such, that requires metre, or only poetry by virtue of the emotion with which it is in general accompanied, that emotion either preceding and stimulating the imaginative action, or being generated by it, as heat is evolved by friction? The question is not an easy one. On the whole, however, we incline to the belief that, though poetry and passion, like two inseparable friends that have taken up house together, have metre for their common servant, it is on passion, and not on poetry, that metre holds by original tenure. The very reasons we adduce for thinking so will show that the question is not a mere metaphysical quibble. These are that metre is found, in its highest and most decided form, in lyrical poetry, or the poetry of feeling, narrative poetry having less, and dramatic poetry still less of it; and that, wherever, in the course of a poem, there is an unusual metrical boom and vigour, the passage so characterized will be found to be one not so much of pure concrete richness, as of strong accompanying passion. What, then, if song, instead of being, as common language makes it, the complete and developed form of poetry, should have to be philosophically defined as the complete and developed form of oratory, passing into poetry only in as far as passion, in its utterance, always seizes and whirls with it shreds and atoms of imagined circumstance? If this is the true theory, verse belongs, by historical origin, to oratory, and lingers with poetry only as an entailed inheritance. Prose, then, may, as we have said, make inroads upon that region of the literature of the concrete which has hitherto been under the dominion of verse. But, on the other hand, verse, whatever it may have been in its origin, exists now, like many other sovereignties, by right of expediency, constitutional guarantee, and the voluntary submission of those who are its subjects. And here it is that the theories of Wordsworth and others have their proper place. They are theories of verse, not in its origin, but in its character as an existing institution in the literature of the concrete. They tell us what we can now do intellectually by means of verse, which we could not do if her royalty were abolished. They point to the fact, that in literature, as in other departments of activity, law and order, and even the etiquette of exquisite artificial ceremonial, though they may impose intolerable burdens on the disaffected and the boorish, are but conditions of liberty and development to all higher, and finer, and more cultured natures. In short, (and this is the important fact,) metre, rhyme, and the like, are not only devices for the sweet and pleasurable conveyance of the poet's meaning after it is formed; they are devices assisting beforehand in the creation of that meaning-devices so spurring and delighting the imagination, while they chafe and restrain it, that its thoughts and combinations in the world of concrete circumstance are more rich, more rare, more occult, more beautiful, and more incomprehensible, than they would otherwise be. Like the effect of the music on the fountain and the company of Bacchanals in Tennyson's strange vision, is the effect of verse on poetical thought. "Then methought I heard a mellow sound, But here we must stop our discussions on the Theory of Poetry. For much that we have left undiscussed, and especially for a philosophical division of poetry according to its kinds, we must refer to Mr. Dallas. We recommend his book highly and cordially. There is perhaps a stronger dash of what may be called Okenism in his style of speculation, than some readers may like; as, for example, in his systematic laying out of everything into corresponding threes or triads. Thus, poetry figures throughout his treatise as a compound result of three laws-the law of unconsciousness, the law of harmony, and the law of imagination; which laws are supreme respectively in three kinds of poetry-lyrical poetry, epic poetry, and dramatic poetry; which three kinds of poetry, again, correspond historically with Eastern, primitive, or divine art, Grecian, antique, or classical art, and Western, modern, or romantic art; which historical division, again, corresponds philosophically with such trinities as these-I, he, you; time future, time past, time present; immortality, God, freedom; the good, the true, the beautiful. All this, stated thus abruptly and without explanation, may seem more hopeless sort of matter to some than it would to us; but even they will find in the book much that will please them, in the shape of shrewd observation, and lucid and deep criticism, valuable on its own account, and very different from what used to be supplied to the last age by its critics. PROSE AND VERSE DE QUINCEY." IN the Preface to this series of volumes (which is intended to be a more perfect accomplishment, under the author's own editorship, of a scheme of literary collection already executed very creditably by an American publisher), Mr. De Quincey ventures on something rather unusual-a theoretical classification of his own writings for the benefit of critics. The following is the passage in which he states this classification and the grounds of it: 66 Taking as the basis of my remarks the collective American edition, I will here attempt a rude general classification of all the articles which compose it. I distribute them grossly into three classes :— "First, into that class which proposes primarily to amuse the reader; but which, in doing so, may or may not happen occasionally to reach a higher station, at which the amusement passes into an impassioned interest. Some papers are merely playful; but others have a mixed character. These present Autobiographic Sketches illustrate what I mean. Generally, they pretend to little beyond that sort of amusement which attaches to any real story, thoughtfully and faithfully related, moving through a succession of scenes sufficiently varied, that are not suffered to remain too long upon the eye, and that connect themselves at every stage with intellectual objects. But, even here, I do not scruple to claim from the reader, occasionally, a higher consideration. At times, the narrative rises into a far higher key. "Into the second class I throw those papers which address themselves purely to the understanding as an insulated faculty; or do so primarily. Let me call them by the general name of essays. These, as in other cases of the same kind, must have their value measured by two separate questions. A.-What is the problem, and of what rank in dignity or use, which the essay undertakes? And next-that point being settled-B.-What is the success obtained? and (as a separate question) What is the executive ability displayed in the solution of the problem? This latter question is naturally no question for myself, as the answer would involve a verdict upon my own merit. But, generally, there will be quite enough in the answer to Question A for establishing the value of any essay on its soundest basis. Prudens interrogatio est dimidium scientiæ. Skilfully to frame your question, is half-way towards insuring the true answer. Two or three of the problems treated in these essays I will here rehearse [Mr. De Quincey here cites, as examples of the *BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW; July, 1854.-Selections Grave and Gay, from Writings published and unpublished. By THOMAS DE QUINCEY. Vols. I. and II.; containing "Autobiographic Sketches." Edinburgh, 1853-4. |