importance the Epicurean;' how thoroughly that beautiful fiction, though destitute of the ornament of verse, bore witness to the undiminished vigour of the poetical faculties of the writer-we feel that the public has some further claims upon him, before he finally relinquishes the Lyre. Thus much, most assuredly, we would not say, did we feel that with him/ the period of excellence had past. Nothing is more painful than the exhibition of genius in decay. Nothing is more distressing than to witness those who have already won for themselves a safe and lofty eminence, descending again into the arena with decayed strength and fires, and seemingly unconscious of their own decline-making a poor profit of the popularity of their well-known names, to the utter loss of all that peculiar dignity which belongs to self-respecting retirement. But, as we have said before, this appears to us to be a destiny which Mr. Moore has no reason whatever to fear. He has rather withdrawn from the field with his powers, if we may so express ourselves, not yet fully developed; for poets of a highly imaginative order do indeed grow very prematurely old. The richest outpourings of their genius are commonly the earliest, and the decline is soon perceptible. Not so with poets of quick wit, sensibility, and graceful thought-the class in which Mr. Moore holds so very distinguished a position. With them there are generally two very distinct epochs of perfection: they ripen twice, if we may so express ourselves. The first has the character of youthful fire; the second, that of pathos and reflection. Their task has been chastised by time; the luxuriance of their imagery repressed. They have lost something, probably, in buoyancy as well as in brilliancy; but those intellectual powers which lie at the foundation of excellence of this description remain the same, or rather improved and mellowed by age; for these faculties are not of the same exhausting character as imagination, and do, not react with its restless and terrible power on the mind and the body.

We cannot but think that the reader of these collected poems, now placed for the first time in the order of their production, will be able to trace in them the details of the little history which we have endeavoured to sketch out. From

the youthful poems, full of fire and freshness, he passes to the author's first work of importance, and as yet his greatest, 'Lalla Rookh;' written, it should seem, about the mid-way of this our life's career,' although not published until later. Here he will find that brilliancy of thought and diction, which in so remarkable a degree characterize the author, carried even to excess. As we proceed onwards, we perceive his occasional poetry becoming more and satisfying; until at last we find the gradual change of tone completed in the 'Epicurean' -in our view, the most perfect of all Mr. Moore's compositions as a work of art; and which probably, if it had not wanted the ornament of verse, would have been the most popular.

On this account, we cannot avoid expressing our earnest hope that the expectations vaguely held out, as we have above observed, in some parts of the prefaces, may be fulfilled. For instance, we have no doubt that out of the rejected materials for Lalla Rookh,' which Mr. Moore describes as lying by him, it is in his power to produce what might not perhaps attain the almost incredible popularity reached at once by that poem, but might prove even more acceptable to genuine lovers of poetry. There is, perhaps, no other bard alive (except one) to whom we could honestly give this advice-to vanquish the temptation, whether, of indolence or diffidence, and write more; and we shall resolutely refuse to consider these ten volumes as a fait accompli, until the time for making 'farther observations' is hopelessly gone by.

We have said that we do not regard Mr. Moore as a poet of the high imaginative order; nor do we suppose that this is a point which will be much contested even by his warmest admirers, amongst whom we rank ourselves; but in adding that we cannot either attribute to him the characteristic of much fancy, in the higher and more poetical sense, we shall probably encounter more opposition. And this leads us to devote a few pages to that much-vexed question, what is really meant by the term Fancy' in poetical criticism?

No point in the metaphysics of poetry appears to have given English critics so much trouble, as the establishment of

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the distinction between Imagination and Fancy. And this difficulty, it is to be observed, is one which perplexes English critics only; for in no other language does the distinction in question exist. Neither the French Fantaisie, nor Italian Fantasia, has any resemblance at all to our word Fancy, in the sense in which we attribute it as a quality to poetical or romantic compositions. The Germans, those learned analysts, do indeed recognize very minute and refined contrasts between their Einbildungskraft and Phantasie; but then they appear to mean something widely different from ourselves by the attributes thus designated ;—the first being rather the power of the mind to concentrate its attention on its own imaginary creations; the latter, a quick and keen perception of lively images, suggesting themselves spontaneously. And this very circumstance, namely, the absence of any distinction similar to our own in foreign languages, might perhaps suggest to us a doubt whether we are not sometimes a little seduced, by an accident of the dictionary, into drawing visionary contrasts where no real difference exists a suspicion which will be råther increased than lessened, when we observe the odd perplexities into which the endeavour to define and analyze these supposed antagonists, has led some of our chief authorities on the subject.

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The distinction between Imagination and Fancy is simply,' as one writer tells us, that the former altogether changes and remodels the original idea, impregnating it with something 'extraneous. The latter leaves it undisturbed, but associates it with things to which, in some view or other, it bears a ' resemblance.'

This distinction seems to us to represent the real difference which exists between the effects of a stroke of Imagination and a stroke of quick Thought, or wit-a concetto, turn, or point. When Homer terms the morn rosy-fingered,' we recognize at once the true poetical imagination, remodelling,' in our critic's language, the original idea, and impregnating it with something extraneous.' In Butler's well-known comparison,

When, like a lobster boil'd, the morn
From black to red began to turn,'

we discover a clever effort of wit, associating the original idea with a thing to which, in some view of another, it 'bears a resemblance.' But to cite this as an instance of Fancy, and at the same time to call such creations as Titania, Ariel, Caliban, fanciful, and the mental faculty which conceived them, Fancy, would be to render analysis useless, and criticism ridiculous.

Let us hear a very eminent philosopher, the late Dugald Stewart, on the same subject

'Fancy is Imagination at a lower point of excitement-not dealing with passions, or creating character; not pouring out unconsciously, under the influence of strong feeling, images as they arise massed and clustered-but going in search of comparisons and illustrations; and when it invests them with personality, as in metaphor, still adhering much more closely to the logical fitness and sequence which govern similar ornaments in prose. It seems to act like a colder and weaker species of imagination furnishing the thoughts which play round the head, but do not touch the heart; pleasing the eye and ear; creating or heightening the idea of the beautiful much more than the sublime.'

This is indeed criticism conveyed in exquisite language; but when we come to examine the philosophy of the passage, we fear it will be found indeterminate, and inconsistent with itself. The first sentence is striking, and, whether it will bear close analysis or not, it certainly conveys to our mind something nearly resembling the popular notion of the difference between the two words. But Mr. Stewart, unfortunately, Ioses sight forthwith of his first distinction, and goes after another. Having defined Fancy as identical with Imagination, only at a lower 'point of excitement,' he proceeds to describe its functions as altogether inconsistent with those of the other faculty; for surely there can be no process more different from any exercise of Imagination, than that of going in search of comparisons and illustrations.' Here he seems to approach the notion which indentifies Fancy with Wit,' in the older and more general sense of that word. Yet presently afterwards he returns again to something more resembling his original

distinction. Fancy, he says, creates or heightens the idea of the beautiful much more than the sublime.' Surely the process of going in search of comparisons and illustrations,' is just as likely to end in producing the one as the other. But if the reader will forgive our presumptuous attempt at dissection Mr. Stewart does not give us, in this passage, a much clearer notion of the functions of Imagination (which he has elsewhere beautifully defined), than of Fancy. Imagination does not deal with the passions,' any more than Fancy that is, it does so only incidentally its own empire is elsewhere. Neither can it be properly said to create characters: that is the proper function of the Dramatic Faculty - a faculty constantly exhibited in the highest degree by writers who are not poets in any sense of the word. Το give the same name to the distinguishing characteristic of Milton, and the distinguishing characteristics of De Foe and Le Sage, could surely serve no purpose but to show how completely over-refined analysis ends in confounding objects, instead of discriminating between them.

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Let us next see whether a great poet will afford us any assistance in getting out of the labyrinth in which our æsthetic philosophers have involved us.

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Fancy, says Mr. Wordsworth, depends upon the rapidity and profusion with which she scatters her thoughts and images, trusting that their number, and the felicity with which they are linked together, will make amends for the want of individual value; or, she prides herself on the curious subtilty and the succesful elaboration with which she can detect their lurking affinities. If she can win you over to her purposes, and impart to you her feelings, she cares not how mutable and transitory may be her influence, knowing that it will not be out of her power to resume it on an apt occasion. But the imagination is conscious of an indestructible dominion; the soul may fall away from it, not being able to sustain its grandeur; but if once felt and acknowledged, by no act of any other faculty of the mind can it be relaxed, impaired, or diminished. Fancy is given to quicken and to beguile the temporal part of our nature, imagination to incite and support the eternal. Yet it is not less true, that fancy, as she is an active, is also, under her own laws and in her own spirit, a creative faculty. In what manner fancy ambitiously aims at rivalship with the imagination, and imagination stoops to rwok with the materials of fancy, might be illustrated from the com