may enjoy what will never be ours, or anticipate the enjoyment of what we may afterwards possess. By its power, sorrow may be soothed, and pain and sickness lulled to rest. Even the thoughts of death may become delightful, by a pleasing anticipation of the joys of eternity.

Perhaps there are few calmer and more real pleasures than those which arise from occasional seclusion, in which Imagination ranges uncontrolled through the future scenes of life. This generates not unfrequently a species of mental abstraction, which gave rise to a laughable incident in the life of Sir Isaac Newton. This philosopher, one very cold evening, indulged himself by drawing close to his study fire, which, being newly lighted, in a short time became intensely hot. Sir Isaac, however, being deeply involved in thought, rang his bell with uncommon violence; and some delay occurring, by the time the domestic appeared, the former was almost literally roasted. "Remove the grate, you lazy rascal! (he exclaimed in a tone of irritation very uncommon with that amiable and bland philosopher,) remove the grate before I am burnt to death!" "And pray, master, (said the servant) might you not rather draw back your chair?" "Upon my word, (said Sir Isaac, smiling,) I never thought of that precaution."

Of the pleasures arising from a cultivated Imagination, Akenside has spoken in elegant verse. Of the man of cultivated mind, he observes,

His the city's pomp,

The rural honour his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column and the arch,
The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him the spring
Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him.

Th' attentive mind
By this harmonious action on her pow'rs,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont, so oft,
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,

This fair-inspir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs
Refine at length, and every passion wears

A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.

It has been the pride of many writers to choose subjects apparently the most barren or insignificant, in order to shew off to the greater advantage their powers of imagination and description. Homer sung the wars of the frogs and the mice; Apuleius, the sensibility of the ass; Lucian, the rambles of a fly; Julius Scaliger, the wisdom of the goose. A parasitical life had its eulogist in Lucian; folly, an apologist in Erasmus; and the mad freaks of the tyrant Nero, a vindicator in Cardan. While Libanius selects the ox for his theme, Michael Pfellus is content with a gnat. And Antonius Majoragius, who deems nothing worthier of his praise than the clay from which all are sprung, and to which all must sooner or later return, is outrivalled by Janus Dousa, the son, who sees in a shadow the essence of all human pursuits, since time begun, until time shall be no more.

It is, however, amongst the noble and stupendous objects of nature, that the Imagination is most powerfully excited, and the pleasure created thereby most acutely felt. And in what region of the world could such multiplied objects for exercising the Imagination be found, as in those desolate regions, bound with everlasting frost, where piles upon piles of congealed fluid, rivalling the fairy palaces of the Arabian Nights, present their glittering summits to the god of day, reflecting the most exquisite variety of tints, and assuming, to the fancy of the spectator, the varied character of temples, woods, or living creatures. allusion to this power of excitation, Captain Ross thus spoke of an iceberg, forty feet high, and a thousand long, which he encountered in the Arctic regions.

In

Imagination painted it in many grotesque figures: at one time it looked something like a white lion and horse rampant, which the quick fancy of the sailors, in their harmless fondness for omens, naturally enough shaped into the lion and unicorn of the king's arms, and they were delighted accordingly with the good luck it seemed to augur. And truly, our first introduction to one of these huge masses, with which we were afterwards to grow so familiar, was a sort of epoch in our voyage, that might well excuse a sailor's divination, particularly when the aspect with which it was invested, tended to inspire confidence, and keep up the energies of the men; a feeling so requisite for an enterprise like ours, where even their curiosity might be chilled for want of excitement."

There is another species of Imagination productive of much amusement to some persons, which, however, originating in disease, and being attended with painful effects to others, can scarcely be comprehended in a chapter expressly on the pleasures resulting from fancy. Still, in many instances, it has led to results so ludicrous, that we cannot refrain adverting to it in a brief manner.

A diseased Imagination shews itself in nothing more laughably than in the conceits of hypochondriacs. Some have fancied they were tea-pots-others that they were town-clocks-one that he was extremely ill, ---and another that he was actually dying. Dr. Stevenson, of Baltimore, had a patient whose extravagance in this respect was never matched. The Doctor having been sent for one morning by the wife of his patient, hastened to his bedside, where he found him stretched out at full length, his hands across his breast, his toes in contact, his eyes and mouth closely shut, and his looks cadaverous. "Well, sir, how do you do, how do you this morning?" asked Dr. Stevenson in a jocular way. "How do I do ?" replied the hypochondriac faintly; "a pretty question to ask a dead man!” "Dead!" replied the Doctor. "Yes, sir, dead, quite dead. I died last night about twelve o'clock." Dr. Stevenson, putting his hand gently upon the forehead of the hypochondriac, as if to ascertain whether it was cold, and also feeling his pulse, exclaimed in a doleful note, "Yes, the poor man is dead enough; 'tis

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all over with him, and now the sooner he can be buried the better." Then stepping up to his wife, and whispering to her not to be frightened at the measures which he was about to take, he called to the servant : My boy, your poor master is dead, and the sooner he is buried the better. Run to Cm, for I know he always keeps New England coffins by him ready made; and, do you hear, bring a coffin of the largest size, for your master makes a stout corpse, and having died last night, and the weather being warm, he will not keep long." Away went the servant, and soon returned with a proper coffin. The wife and family having got their lesson from the Doctor, gathered round him, and howled not a little while they were putting the body in the coffin. Presently the pallbearers, who were quickly provided and let into the secret, started with the hypochondriac for the church-yard. They had not gone far, before they were met by two of the townspeople, who, having been properly drilled by Stevenson, cried out, "Ah! Doctor, what poor soul have you got there?" "Poor Mr. B (sighed the Doctor) left us last night." "Great pity he had not left us twenty years ago, (replied the other;) he was a bad man." Presently another of the townsmen met them with the same question, " And what poor soul have you got there, Doctor?" "Poor Mr. B (answered the Doctor again) is dead." "Ah! indeed, (said the other) and so he is gone to meet his deserts at last!" "Oh! villain!" exclaimed the man in the coffin. Soon after this, while the pall-bearers were resting themselves near the church-yard, another stepped up with the old question again: "What poor soul have you got there, Doctor?" "Poor Mr. B(he replied) is gone." Yes, and to the bottomless pit, (said the other;) for if he is not gone there, I see not what use there is for such a place." Here the dead man, bursting off the lid of the coffin, which had been purposely left loose, leaped out, exclaiming, "O you villain! I am gone to the bottomless pit, am I? Well, I have come back again, to pay such ungrateful rascals as you are." A chase was immediately com

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menced by the dead man after the living, to the petrifying consternation of many of the spectators at the sight of a corpse, in all the horrors of a winding-sheet, running through the streets. After having exercised himself into a copious perspiration by the fantastic race, the hypochondriac was brought home by Dr. Stevenson, freed from all his complaints; and by strengthening food, generous wine, cheerful company, and moderate exercise, was soon restored to perfect health.

The Imagination has often been found a most important adjunct to the efforts of the physician; indeed, it will often effect a cure when his remedies fail of producing it. What but it could ever have invested the kingly touch with such medicinal powers on those afflicted with the evil? There never was a more palpable instance of its beneficial intervention than at the siege of Breda, in 1625, when the garrison was afflicted with a most deadful scurvy. The Prince of Orange, being informed of the prevalence of the malady, and that the city was in danger of being delivered up to the enemy by the soldiers, wrote letters to the men, promising relief, and accom panying them with medicines against the scurvy, said to be of great price, but of still greater efficacy. The effects of this deceit were truly astonishing. Three small phials of medicine were given to each physician, not enough for the recovery of two patients. It was publicly given out, that three or four drops were sufficient to impart a healing virtue to a gallon of liquor Even the commanders were not let into the secret of the cheat put upon the soldiers. The soldiers flocked in crowds, each one desiring that part might be reserved for him. Cheerfulness again appeared on every countenance, and a universal faith prevailed in the sovereign virtues of the remedy. The effect of the delusion was truly astonishing; for many were quickly and perfectly recovered. Such as had not moved their limbs for a month before, were seen walking the streets, sound, straight, and whole. They boasted of their cure by the Prince's remedy. Many,