s by a kind of witchery; while the subtile interlocking of
each successive novelty leaves it no choice, but, seducing it onward,
still keeps it in motion, till the giddy sense seems to call on the
imagination to join in the revel; and every poetic temperament answers
to the call, bringing visions of its own, that mingle with the painted
crowd, exchanging forms, and giving them voice, like the creatures of a
dream.

To those who have never seen this picture, our account of its effect
may perhaps appear incredible when they are told, that it not only
has no story, but not a single expression to which you can attach a
sentiment. It is nevertheless for this very reason that we here cite
it, as a triumphant verification of those immutable laws of the mind
to which the principles of Composition are supposed to appeal; where
the simple technic exhibition, or illustration of _Principles_,
without story, or thought, or a single definite expression, has
still the power to possess and to fill us with a thousand delightful
emotions.

And here we cannot refrain from a passing remark on certain
criticisms, which have obtained, as we think, an undeserved currency.
To assert that such a work is solely addressed to the senses (meaning
thereby that its only end is in mere pleasurable sensation) is to give
the lie to our convictions; inasmuch as we find it appealing to one
of the mightiest ministers of the Imagination,--the great Law of
Harmony,--which cannot be _touched_ without awakening by its
vibrations, so to speak, the untold myriads of sleeping forms that lie
within its circle, that start up in tribes, and each in accordance
with the congenial instrument that summons them to action. He who
can thus, as it were, embody an abstraction is no mere pander to the
senses. And who that has a modicum of the imaginative would assert
of one of Haydn's Sonatas, that its effect on him was no other than
sensuous? Or who would ask for the _story_ in one of our gorgeous
autumnal sunsets?

In subjects of a grave or elevated kind, the Variety will be found to
diminish in the same degree in which they approach the Sublime. In the
raising of Lazarus, by Lievens, we have an example of the smallest
possible number of parts which the nature of such a subject would
admit. And, though a different conception might authorize a much
greater number, yet we do not feel in this any deficiency; indeed, it
may be doubted if the addition of even one more part w