ourselves and others, although in its original for ever invisible,—if it is the intuitive anticipation of this which so endears and consecrates each of its symbols in our eyes, then the nearer do we approach to this original essence in contemplating the image of its restlessly-impellent energy. We commune with it in a language which is indeed difficult, and often misinterpreted, but which often startles us with the surest gleams and premonitions of truth, whilst the form and image of that energy are still more remote from that truth which we thus guess at.
This is the peculiar soil, moreover, on which the beautiful springs up and flourishes, and still more especially the sublime, which brings us yet nearer to Deity. The necessity for some purer satisfaction, far removed in its objects from all preconceived design and without conception, points out to man his descent from the invisible; and the feeling of his utter inadequateness to the surpassing fulness of the object, blends together, in a union at once the most human and divine, infinite greatness with the most devoted humility. Were it not for his feeling for the beautiful, man would cease to love things for their own sake; were it not for the sublime, he would lose that sense of dutiful submission which disdains every recompense, and ignores unworthy fear. The study of the beautiful bestows taste; that of the sublime (if it also may be studied, and the feeling and representation of it is not the fruit of genius) brings justly-balanced greatness. But taste alone, which must always repose on greatness as its basis (since it is only the great which requires measure, and only the powerful, composure), blends all the tones of a perfectly-adjusted being into exquisite harmony. It induces in all our impressions, even those which are purely spiritual, something so concordant, so composed, so concentrated into one focal point. Where taste is wanting, sensual desire is rude and unre-
