"Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball;
And now their odours armed against them fly.
Some preciously by shattered porcelain fall,
And some by aromatic splinters die."

The poet should place his readers, as nearly as possible, in the
situation of the sufferers or the spectators. His narration
ought to produce feelings similar to those which would be excited
by the event itself. Is this the case here? Who, in a sea-
fight, ever thought of the price of the china which beats out the
brains of a sailor; or of the odour of the splinter which
shatters his leg? It is not by an act of the imagination, at
once calling up the scene before the interior eye, but by painful
meditation,--by turning the subject round and round,--by tracing
out facts into remote consequences,--that these incongruous
topics are introduced into the description. Homer, it is true,
perpetually uses epithets which are not peculiarly appropriate.
Achilles is the swift-footed, when he is sitting still. Ulysses
is the much-enduring, when he has nothing to endure. Every spear
casts a long shadow, every ox has crooked horns, and every woman
a high bosom, though these particulars may be quite beside the
purpose. In our old ballads a similar practice prevails. The
gold is always red, and the ladies always gay, though nothing
whatever may depend on the hue of the gold, or the temper of the
ladies. But these adjectives are mere customary additions. They
merge in the substantives to which they are attached. If they at
all colour the idea, it is with a tinge so slight as in no
respect to alter the general effect. In the passage which we
have quoted from Dryden the case is very different. "Preciously"
and "aromatic" divert our whole attention to themselves, and