ms of man. Whence I conclude, that a certain degree of
probability is necessary to prevent us from revolting with distaste from
unnatural images; unless we are otherwise so much interested in the
contemplation of them as not to perceive their improbability.

_B_. Is this reasoning about degrees of probability just?--When Sir Joshua
Reynolds, who is unequalled both in the theory and practice of his art,
and who is a great master of the pen as well as the pencil, has asserted
in a discourse delivered to the Royal Academy, December 11, 1786, that
"the higher styles of painting, like the higher kinds of the Drama, do
not aim at any thing like deception; or have any expectation, that the
spectators should think the events there represented are really passing
before them." And he then accuses Mr. Fielding of bad judgment, when he
attempts to compliment Mr. Garrick in one of his novels, by introducing
an ignorant man, mistaking the representation of a scene in Hamlet for a
reality; and thinks, because he was an ignorant man, he was less liable
to make such a mistake.

_P_. It is a metaphysical question, and requires more attention than Sir
Joshua has bestowed upon it.--You will allow, that we are perfectly
deceived in our dreams; and that even in our waking reveries, we are
often so much absorbed in the contemplation of what passes in our
imaginations, that for a while we do not attend to the lapse of time or
to our own locality; and thus suffer a similar kind of deception as in
our dreams. That is, we believe things present before our eyes, which are
not so.

There are two circumstances, which contribute to this compleat deception
in our dreams. First, because in sleep the organs of sense are closed or
inert, and hence the trains of ideas associated in our imaginations are
never interrupted or dissevered by the irritations of external objects,
and can not therefore be contrasted with our sensations. On this account,
though we are affected with a variety of passions in our dreams, as
anger, love, joy; yet we never experience surprize.--For surprize is only
produced when any external irritations suddenly obtrude themselves, and
dissever our passing trains of ideas.

Secondly, because in sleep there is a total suspension of our voluntary
power, both over the muscles of our bodies, and the ideas of our minds;
for we neither walk about, nor reason in compleat sleep. Hence, as the
trains of ideas are passing in our imaginations