These terms have a double import, commonly signifying the quality or circumstance in objects by which the emotions of grandeur and sublimity are produced, and sometimes also the emotions themselves.

In treating this subject, it is necessary that the impression made on the mind by the magnitude of an object, abstracting from its other qualities, should be ascertained; and because abstraction is a mental operation of some difficulty, the safest method of judging is, to choose an object which is neither beautiful nor deformed, if such an one can be found. The plainest that occurs is a huge mass of rubbish, the ruins perhaps of some extensive building; or a large heap of stones, such as are collected together for keeping in memory a battle or other remarkable event. Such an object, which in miniature would be perfectly indifferent, makes an impression by its magnitude, and even appears agreeable. And supposing it large enough to fill the eye, and prevent the attention from wandering to other objects, the impression it makes will be so much the deeper.

But though a plain object of this kind be agreeable, it is not termed grand; nor is it entitled to that character, unless, together with its size, it be possessed of other qualities which contribute to beauty, such as regularity, proportion, order, or colour; but, according to the number of such qualities combined with magnitude, it will be more or less grand. Thus St Peter's church at Rome, the great pyramid of Egypt, the Alps towering above the clouds, an arm of the sea, and, above all, a clear and serene sky, are grand, because, besides their dimensions, they are beautiful in an eminent degree. On the other hand, an overgrown whale, having a disagreeable appearance, is by no means grand. A large building, remarkable for its regularity and proportions, is grand; and yet a much larger building, if destitute of regularity, has not the least tincture Grandeur of grandeur. A single regiment in battle-array makes a grand appearance, which the surrounding crowd does not, though perhaps ten times the number; and a regiment where the men are all in one uniform, and the horses of one colour, makes a grander appearance, and consequently strikes more terror, than where there is confusion of colour and dress. Thus greatness or magnitude is the circumstance which distinguishes grandeur from beauty; in other words, agreeableness is the genus, of which beauty and grandeur are species.

The emotion of grandeur, if duly examined, will be found to furnish additional proof of the truth of our doctrine. That this emotion is pleasant in a high degree, requires no other evidence than an appeal to the feelings, produced by the view of a grand object; and if an emotion of grandeur be pleasant, its cause or object, as already observed, must infallibly be agreeable in proportion.

The qualities of grandeur and beauty are not more distinct than the emotions which these qualities produce in a spectator. All the various emotions of beauty have one common character; that of sweetness and gaiety. The emotion of grandeur has a different character. A large object that is agreeable, occupies the whole attention, and swells the heart with a vivid emotion, which, though extremely pleasant, is rather serious than gay. And this affords a good reason for distinguishing in language these different emotions. The emotions raised by colour, regularity, proportion, and order, have such a resemblance to each other, as readily to come under one general term, the emotion of beauty; but the emotion of grandeur is so different from these, that it deserves to have a peculiar name applied to it.

Though regularity, proportion, order, and colour, contribute to grandeur as well as to beauty, yet these qualities are not by any means so essential to the former as to the latter. To establish this proposition, some preliminary remarks are necessary. In the first place, the mind, not being totally occupied with a small object, can give its attention at the same time to every minute part; but in a great or extensive object, the mind, being totally occupied with the capital and striking parts, has no attention left for those which are little or indifferent. In the next place, two similar objects appear not to be similar when viewed at different distances; the similar parts of a very large object cannot be seen except at different distances; and for this reason its regularity, and the proportion of its parts, are in some measure lost to the eye; neither are the irregularities of a very large object so conspicuous as those of one which is small. Hence it is that a large object is not so agreeable by its regularity as a small object, nor so disagreeable by its irregularities.

These considerations render it evident that grandeur is satisfied with a less degree of regularity, and of the other qualities mentioned, than is requisite for beauty. This may be illustrated by an experiment. Suppose that, approaching a small conical hill, we take an accurate survey of every part, and are sensible of the slightest deviation from regularity and proportion. If the hill were to be considerably enlarged, so as to make us less sensible of its regularity, it would upon that account appear less beautiful. It would not, however, appear less agreeable, because some slight emotion of grandeur would come instead of that which it had lost in beauty. Lastly, suppose the hill enlarged to a great mountain; then the small degree of beauty which is left would be merged in its grandeur. Hence it is that a towering hill is delightful, if it have but the slightest resemblance of a cone; and a chain of mountains is not less so, though deficient in the accuracy of order and proportion. We require a small surface to be smooth; but in an extensive plain, considerable inequalities are overlooked. In a word, regularity, proportion, order, and colour, contribute to grandeur as well as to beauty; but with this remarkable difference, that in passing from small to great they are not required in the same degree of perfection.

This remark serves to explain the extreme delight we feel in viewing the face of nature, when sufficiently enriched and diversified with objects. The bulk of the objects in a natural landscape are beautiful, and some of them grand; a flowing river, a spreading oak, a round hill, an extended plain, are delightful; and even a rugged rock, or barren heath, though in themselves disagreeable, contribute by contrast to the beauty of the whole; but if to these we add the verdure of the fields, the mixture of light and shadow, and the sublime canopy spread over all, it will not appear wonderful that so extensive a group of splendid objects should swell the heart to the utmost, and raise the strongest emotion of grandeur. The spectator becomes conscious of an enthusiasm which cannot bear confinement, or the strictness of regularity and order; he loves to range at large, and is so enchanted with magnificent objects as to overlook slight beauties or deformities.

The same observation is applicable in some measure to works of art. In a small building, the slightest irregularity is disagreeable; but in a magnificent palace, or in a large Gothic church, irregularities are less regarded. In an epic poem, we pardon many negligences which would not be permitted in a sonnet or an epigram. But notwithstanding such exceptions, it may justly be laid down as a rule, that in works of art, order and regularity ought to be governing principles; and hence the justice of the observation of Longinus, that "in works of art we have regard to exact proportion, and in those of nature, to grandeur and magnificence."

The same reflections are in a great measure applicable to sublimity, particularly that, like grandeur, it is a species of agreeableness; that a beautiful object placed on an elevated position appears more agreeable than formerly, and produces in the spectator a new emotion, termed the emotion of sublimity; and that the perfection of order, regularity, and proportion, is less required in objects elevated or placed at a distance, than in those which are at hand.

But though a grand object is agreeable, we must not thence infer that a little object is disagreeable; which would be unfortunate for man, considering that he is surrounded with so many objects of that description. The same thing holds true with respect to place. A body placed high is agreeable; but the same body placed low is not by that circumstance rendered disagreeable. Littleness and lowness of place are precisely similar in this, that of themselves they produce neither pleasure nor pain. And in this may be discovered a peculiar adaptation in fitting the internal constitution of man to his external circumstances. Were littleness and lowness of place agreeable, greatness and elevation could not be so; were littleness and lowness of place disagreeable, they would occasion uninterrupted uneasiness.

The difference between great and little with respect to agreeableness is remarkably felt in a series when we pass gradually from one extreme to the other. A mental progress from the capital to the kingdom, and from that to Europe, to the whole earth, to the planetary system, to the universe, is extremely pleasant; the heart swells, and the mind is dilated at every step. Nor is the returning in an opposite direction positively painful, though our pleasure lessens at every step, till it vanish into indifference. Such a progress may sometimes produce pleasure of a different sort, arising from our taking a narrower and narrower inspection. The same observation holds good in a progress upwards and downwards. Ascent is pleasant because it elevates us; but descent is never painful; on the contrary, it is for the most part pleasant from a different cause, that it is according to the order of nature. The fall of a stone from any height is extremely agreeable by its accelerated motion. We feel it pleasant to descend from a mountain, because the descent is natural and easy. Neither is looking downwards painful; whilst, on the contrary, looking down upon objects forms part of the pleasure of elevation. Looking down becomes painful only when the object is so far below as to create dizziness.

It has been remarked, that the emotions of grandeur and sublimity are nearly allied; and hence it is, that the one term is frequently put for the other. An increasing series of numbers, for example, producing an emotion similar to that of mounting upwards, is commonly termed an ascending series; a series of numbers gradually decreasing, producing an emotion similar to that of going downwards, is commonly termed a descending series. We talk familiarly of going up to the capital, and of going down to the country; and from a lesser kingdom we talk of going up to a greater, as in the anabasis of the Greek language, when one travelled from Greece to Persia. We discover the same mode of expression in the language even of Japan; and its universality proves that it is the offspring of a natural feeling.

This leads us to consider next grandeur and sublimity in a figurative sense, and as applicable to the fine arts. Hitherto these terms have been taken in their proper sense as applicable to objects of sight only; and it is of importance to bestow some pains upon this, because, generally speaking, the figurative sense of a word is derived from its proper sense, and particularly so in the present instance. Beauty, in its original signification, is confined to objects of sight; but as many other objects, intellectual as well as moral, raise emotions resembling that of beauty, the resemblance of the effects prompts us to extend the term beauty to these objects. The same principle serves equally to explain the terms grandeur and sublimity, when employed in a figurative sense. Every emotion, from whatever cause it proceeds, which resembles an emotion of grandeur or elevation, is called by the same name. Thus generosity is said to be an elevated emotion, as well as great courage; and that firmness of soul which is superior to misfortunes obtains the peculiar name of magnanimity.

On the other hand, every emotion which contracts the mind, and fixes it upon things trivial or of no importance, is termed low, by its resemblance to an emotion produced by a little or low object of sight. Thus an appetite for trifling amusements is called a low taste. The same terms are applied to characters and actions. We talk familiarly of an elevated genius, of a great man, and equally so of littleness of mind. Some actions are great and elevated, and others are little and grovelling. Sentiments, and even expressions, are characterised in the same manner. An expression or sentiment which raises the mind is denominated great or elevated; and hence the sublime in poetry. In such figurative terms, we lose the distinction between great and elevated in their proper sense; for the resemblance is not so entire as to preserve these terms distinct in their figurative application. And we carry this figure still further. Elevation, in its proper sense, imports superiority of place, and lowness inferiority of place; hence we say a man of superior talents, of superior rank, of inferior parts, of inferior taste, and such like. The veneration we have for our ancestors, and for the ancients in general, being similar to the emotion produced by an elevated object of sight, justifies the figurative expression of the ancients being raised above us, or possessing a superior place.

The notes of the gamut, proceeding regularly from the blunter or grosser sounds to the more acute and piercing, produce in the hearer a feeling somewhat similar to that which is produced by mounting upwards; and this gives occasion to the figurative expressions, a high note, a low note.

Such indeed is the resemblance in feeling between real and figurative grandeur, that amongst the nations on the eastern coast of Africa, who are directed purely by nature, the officers of state are, with respect to rank, distinguished by the length of the baton each carries in his hand; and in Japan, princes and great lords exhibit their rank by the length and size of their sedan poles. Again, it is a rule in painting, that figures of a small size are most proper for grotesque pieces; but that an historical subject generally requires figures as large as the life, or nearly so. The resemblance of these feelings is in reality so strong, that elevation in a figurative sense is observed to have the same effect, even externally, with real elevation.

The resemblance in feeling between real and figurative grandeur is humorously illustrated by Addison in criticising English tragedy. "The ordinary method of making a hero is to clap a huge plume of feathers upon his head, which rises so high, that there is often a greater length from his chin to the top of his head than to the sole of his foot. One would believe that we thought a great man and a tall man the same thing. As these superfluous ornaments upon the head make a great man, a princess generally receives her grandeur from those additional incumbrances that fall into her tail. I mean the broad sweeping train that follows her in all her motions, and finds constant employment for a boy who stands behind her to open and spread it to advantage." On the same principle, the Scythians, impressed with the fame of Alexander, were astonished when they found him a little man.

The gradual progress from small to great is not less remarkable in figurative than in real grandeur or elevation. Every one must have observed the delightful effect of a number of thoughts or sentiments, artfully disposed like an ascending series, and making impressions deeper and deeper as they proceed. Such a disposition of members or clauses in a period is termed a climax.

Within certain limits grandeur and sublimity produce their strongest effects; which, however, lessen by excess as well as by defect. This is remarkable in grandeur and sublimity taken in their proper sense. The grandest emotion which can be excited by a visible object is where the object can be taken in at one view; but if so immense as to be comprehended only in parts, it tends rather to distract than to satisfy the mind. In like manner, the strongest emotion produced by elevation is where the object is seen distinctly; a greater elevation lessens in appearance the object, till it vanishes out of sight with its pleasant emotions. The same thing is equally remarkable in figurative grandeur and elevation. Sentiments may be so strained as to become obscure, or to exceed the capacity of the human mind; but against such license of imagination every good writer will be upon his guard; and it is therefore of importance to observe, that even the true sublime may be carried beyond that pitch which produces the strongest impression. We are undoubtedly susceptible of a greater elevation than can be inspired by human actions the most heroic and magnanimous: this is evident from the feelings produced by Milton's description of superior beings: yet every man must be sensible of a more constant and agreeable elevation when the history of his own species is the subject. He enjoys an elevation equal to that of the greatest hero, of an Alexander or a Caesar, of a Brutus or an

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1 It is justly observed by Addison, that perhaps a man would have been more astonished with the majestic air which appeared in one of Lysippus's statues of Alexander, though no bigger than the life, than he might have been with Mount Athos had it been cut into the figure of the hero, according to the proposal of Phidias, with a river in one hand and a city in the other. Grandeur. Epaminondas; he accompanies these heroes in their most sublime sentiments and hazardous exploits, with a magnanimity equal to theirs; and he finds it no stretch to preserve the same tone of mind for hours together without sinking. The case is not the same in describing the actions or qualities of superior beings. The reader's imagination cannot keep pace with that of the poet; the mind, unable to support itself in a strained elevation, falls as from a height, and the fall is immoderate like the elevation; or where that effect is not felt, it must be prevented by some obscurity in the conception, which frequently attends the descriptions of unknown objects. A mind unable to raise itself to the full contemplation of the Supreme Being self-existent and eternal, or to support itself in a strained elevation, finds itself more at ease in using the intercession of some saint whose piety and penances whilst on earth are supposed to have rendered him a favourite in heaven; and hence the part assigned to tutelary saints, such as St Francis and St Dominic, amongst the Roman Catholics.

Objects of sight which are not remarkably great nor elevated scarcely raise any emotion of grandeur or sublimity; and the same things hold respecting other objects; for we often find the mind roused and animated, without being carried to that height. This difference may be discerned in many sorts of music, as well as in some musical instruments. A kettle-drum rouses, and a hautboy is animating; but neither of them inspires an emotion of sublimity. Revenge animates the mind in a considerable degree; but it never produces an emotion which can be termed grand or sublime; and perhaps no disagreeable passion ever has that effect.

No desire is more universal than that of being exalted and honoured; and upon this account chiefly are we ambitious of power, riches, titles, fame, which would suddenly lose their relish did they not elevate us above others, and command submission and deference; indeed it may be thought that our attachment to things grand and lofty proceeds from their connection with our favourite passion. This connection has undoubtedly its effect; but that the preference given to things grand and lofty must have a deeper root in human nature, will appear from considering that many bestow their time upon low and trifling amusements, without having the least tincture of such a noble passion; yet these very persons talk the same language with the rest of mankind, and prefer the more elevated pleasures; they acknowledge a more refined taste, and are ashamed of their own as low and grovelling. This sentiment, constant and universal, must be the work of nature; and it plainly indicates an original attachment in human nature to every object which tends to elevate the mind. Some men may have a greater relish for an object not of the highest rank; but they are conscious of the preference given by mankind in general to things grand and sublime, and they are sensible that their own peculiar taste ought to yield to the general inclination.

What is said above suggests a rule for attaining the sublime in such works of art as are susceptible of it; and that is, to present those parts or circumstances only which make the greatest figure, keeping out of view everything low or trivial; for the mind, elevated by an important object, cannot, without reluctance, be forced down to bestow any share of its attention upon trifles. Such a judicious selection of capital circumstances is by an eminent critic styled grandeur of manner. In none of the fine arts is there so great scope for that rule as in poetry, which thus enjoys a remarkable power of bestowing upon objects and events an air of grandeur. When we are spectators, every minute object presents itself in its order; but in describing at second hand, these are laid aside, and the capital objects are brought close together. A judicious taste in thus selecting the most interesting incidents, to give them an united force, accounts for a fact which may appear surprising; namely, that we are more moved by spirited narrative at second hand, than by being spectators of the event itself, in all its circumstances.

There is another rule which chiefly regards the sublime, though it is applicable to every sort of literary performance intended for amusement; namely, to avoid as much as possible abstract and general terms. Such terms, like mathematical signs, are contrived to express our thoughts in a concise manner; but images, which are the life of poetry, cannot be raised in any perfection except by introducing particular objects. General terms, which comprehend a number of individuals, must however be excepted from this rule. Our kindred, our clan, our country, and words of the like import, though they scarcely raise any distinct image, have a wonderful power over the passions; the greatness of the complex object overbalances the obscurity of the image; and the associations, of which it is the mnemonic type, fill the mind with exalted emotions.

Grandeur being an extremely vivid emotion, is not readily produced in perfection, except by reiterated impressions. The effect of a single impression can be but momentary; and if one feel suddenly something like a swelling or exaltation of mind, the emotion vanishes as soon as felt. Single thoughts or sentiments are often cited as examples of the sublime; but their effect is far inferior to that of a grand subject displayed in its capital parts.

The straining of an elevated subject beyond due bounds, or beyond the reach of ordinary conception, is not a vice so frequent as to require the correction of criticism. But the false sublime is a rock which writers of more fire than judgment commonly split upon. One species of false sublime, known by the name of bombast, is common amongst writers of a mean genius; it is a serious endeavour, by strained description, to exalt a low or familiar subject, which, instead of becoming sublime, fails not to become ridiculous. The mind, indeed, under the influence of some animating passions, is extremely prone to magnify its objects beyond natural bounds; but such hyperbolical description has its limits, and when carried beyond the impulse of the propensity, it degenerates into burlesque. Another species of false sublime, which is still more faulty than bombast, is that of forcing elevation by introducing imaginary beings without preserving any propriety in their actions; as if it were lawful to ascribe every extravagance and inconsistency to beings of the poet's creation. In a word, exaggeration of every kind, with a view to produce a great effect, is not only contrary to the principles of good taste, but becomes disgusting or ludicrous, very probably both.