that the materials which she makes use of should be susceptible of change in their constitution, from her touch; and, where they admit of modification, it is enough for her purpose if it be slight, limited, and evanescent.  Directly the reverse of these, are the desires and demands of the Imagination.  She recoils from everything but the plastic, the pliant, and the indefinite.  She leaves it to Fancy to describe Queen Mab as coming,

  In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
  On the fore-finger of an alderman.

Having to speak of stature, she does not tell you that her gigantic Angel was as tall as Pompey’s Pillar; much less that he was twelve cubits, or twelve hundred cubits high; or that his dimensions equalled those of Teneriffe or Atlas;—­because these, and if they were a million times as high it would be the same, are bounded:  The expression is, ‘His stature reached the sky!’ the illimitable firmament!—­When the Imagination frames a comparison, if it does not strike on the first presentation, a sense of the truth of the likeness, from the moment that it is perceived, grows—­and continues to grow—­upon the mind; the resemblance depending less upon outline of form and feature, than upon expression and effect; less upon casual and outstanding, than upon inherent and internal, properties:  moreover, the images invariably modify each other.—­The law under which the processes of Fancy are carried on is as capricious as the accidents of things, and the effects are surprising, playful, ludicrous, amusing, tender, or pathetic, as the objects happen to be appositely produced or fortunately combined.  Fancy depends upon the rapidity and profusion with which she scatters her thoughts and images; trusting that their number, and the felicity with which they are linked together, will make amends for the want of individual value:  or she prides herself upon the curious subtilty and the successful elaboration with which she can detect their lurking affinities.  If she can win you over to her purpose, and impart to you her feelings, she cares not how unstable or transitory may be her influence, knowing that it will not be out of her power to resume it upon an apt occasion.  But the Imagination is conscious of an indestructible dominion;—­the Soul may fall away from it, not being able to sustain its grandeur; but, if once felt and acknowledged, by no act of any other faculty of the mind can it be relaxed, impaired, or diminished.—­Fancy is given to quicken and to beguile the temporal part of our nature, Imagination to incite and to support the eternal.—­Yet is it not the less true that Fancy, as she is an active, is also, under her own laws and in her own spirit, a creative faculty?  In what manner Fancy ambitiously aims at a rivalship with Imagination, and Imagination stoops to work with the materials of Fancy, might be illustrated from the compositions of all eloquent writers, whether in prose or verse; and chiefly from those of our own Country.  Scarcely a page of the impassioned parts of Bishop Taylor’s Works can be opened that shall not afford examples.—­Referring the Reader to those inestimable volumes, I will content myself with placing a conceit (ascribed to Lord Chesterfield) in contrast with a passage from the Paradise Lost: