exhibit the wide effulgence of a summer noon.

What they wanted, however, of the sublime, they endeavoured to supply by hyperbole; their amplification had no limits ; they left not only reason but fancy behind them ; and produced combinations, of confused magni- ficence, that not only could not be credited, but could not be imagined.

Yet great labour, directed by great abilities, is never wholly lost ; if they frequently threw away their wit upon false conceits, they like- wise sometimes struck out unexpected truth : if their conceits were far-fetched, they were often worth the carriage. To write on their plan it was at least necessary to read and think. No man could be born a metaphysical poet, nor assume the dignity of a writer, by descriptions copied from descriptions, by imi- tations borrowed from imitations, by tradi- tional imagery, and hereditary similes, by readiness of rhyme, and volubility of syll- ables.

In perusing the works of this race of authors, the mind is exercised either by recol- lection or inquiry ; either something already learned is to be retrieved, or something new is to be examined. If their greatness seldom elevates, their acuteness often surprises; if the imagination is not always gratified, at least the

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