in its origin; the last being natural, the first acquired."
What we are accustomed to do, gives a facility and proneness to do on like
occasions; and there may be even an art, unperceived by themselves, in
opening and pursuing a scene of pure invention, and even in the happiest
turns of wit. One who had all the experience of such an artist has
employed the very terms we have used, of "mechanical" and "habitual." "Be
assured," says Goldsmith, "that wit is in some measure mechanical; and
that a man long habituated to catch at even its resemblance, will at last
be happy enough to possess the substance. By a long habit of writing he
acquires a justness of thinking, and a mastery of manner which holiday
writers, even with ten times his genius, may vainly attempt to equal." The
wit of BUTLER was not extemporaneous, but painfully elaborated from notes
which he incessantly accumulated; and the familiar _rime_ of BERNT, the
burlesque poet, his existing manuscripts will prove, were produced by
perpetual re-touches. Even in the sublime efforts of imagination, this
art of meditation may be practised; and ALFIERI has shown us, that in
those energetic tragic dramas which were often produced in a state of
enthusiasm, he pursued a regulated process. "All my tragedies have been
composed three times;" and he describes the three stages of conception,
development, and versifying. "After these three operations, I proceed,
like other authors, to publish, correct, or amend."

"All is habit in mankind, even virtue itself!" exclaimed METASTASIO;
and we may add, even the meditations of genius. Some of its boldest
conceptions, are indeed fortuitous, starting up and vanishing almost in
the perception; like that giant form, sometimes seen amidst the glaciers,
afar from the opposite traveller, moving as he moves, stopping as he
stops, yet, in a moment lost, and perhaps never more seen, although but
his own reflection! Often in the still obscurity of the night, the ideas,
the studies, the whole history of the day, is acted over again. There are
probably few mathematicians who have not dreamed of an interesting
problem, observes Professor Dugald Stewart. In these vivid scenes we are
often so completely converted into spectators, that a great poetical
contemporary of our country thinks that even his dreams should not pass
away unnoticed, and keeps what he calls a register of nocturnals. TASSO
has recorded some of his poetical dreams, which were often dis