picture, it is a condition of all genuine delight that we should not be
deceived; in the latter, stage-scenery, (inasmuch as its principal end
is not in or for itself, as is the case in a picture, but to be an
assistance and means to an end out of itself) its very purpose is to
produce as much illusion as its nature permits. These, and all other
stage presentations, are to produce a sort of temporary half-faith,
which the spectator encourages in himself and supports by a voluntary
contribution on his own part, because he knows that it is at all times
in his power to see the thing as it really is. I have often observed
that little children are actually deceived by stage-scenery, never by
pictures; though even these produce an effect on their impressible
minds, which they do not on the minds of adults. The child, if strongly
impressed, does not indeed positively think the picture to be the
reality; but yet he does not think the contrary. As Sir George Beaumont
was shewing me a very fine engraving from Rubens, representing a storm
at sea without any vessel or boat introduced, my litte boy, then about
five years old, came dancing and singing into the room, and all at once
(if I may so say) 'tumbled in' upon the print. He instantly started,
stood silent and motionless, with the strongest expression, first of
wonder and then of grief in his eyes and countenance, and at length
said, "And where is the ship? But that is sunk, and the men are all
drowned!" still keeping his eyes fixed on the print. Now what pictures
are to little children, stage-illusion is to men, provided they retain
any part of the child's sensibility; except, that in the latter
instance, the suspension of the act of comparison, which permits this
sort of negative belief, is somewhat more assisted by the will, than in
that of a child respecting a picture.

The true stage-illusion in this and in all other things consists--not in
the mind's judging it to be a forest, but, in its remission of the