in its nudity, but to elevate it to a higher sphere, into one which, while it corresponds to truth, at the same time transfigures it.

Dramatic Poesy, Bacon continues, which has the theatre for its world, is of excellent use, if well directed. For the stage is capable of no small influence both of discipline and corruption. It has been regarded by learned men and great philosophers as a kind of "Plectrum" (musician's bow, Jack), by which men's minds may be played upon.

And the third kind of poesy, the parabolical or allusive poesy, what about that? Is it really one which we may separate from narrative or dramatic poesy? Never. We consider it impossible to do so. For parabolical poesy, i.e., parabolical "feigned history" (Bacon speaks of no other), must be either narrative or dramatic; what else can it be? It must either, as a story, treat of the past, or must present the events as dramatic history. It cannot hover in mid-air. Francis Bacon would appear to have purposely afforded us but a veiled description of the position which parabolical poesy holds, in order to be allowed to avoid speaking of that which he had most at heart, of Parabolico-dramatic Poesy.

Let us hear his own words on this third kind of poesy. To him parabolical poesy appears as an intensified quality of poesy; he calls it a History in Types, which presents mental images to the senses, rendering them visible, audible, tangible (Historia cum Typo, quae Intellectualia deducit ad Sensum). This parabolical or allusive poesy, Bacon says, is employed for two several purposes. It is resorted to, on the one hand, to infold things, which must or may

not be said too publicly, on the other hand, it serves to reveal things concealed.

But this poesy, representing ideas, must, as we said before, surely be either narrative or dramatic in what it represents. How else can it represent anything whatever to the senses, rendering it audible and visible? The fundamental idea, therefore, which underlies what Bacon would say, is this: Poesy is either narrative or dramatic. But it may also be raised to parabolico-allusive poesy, and as such it becomes parabolico-narrative or parabolico-dramatic. The parabolic element is by no means one contradictory to the narrative or dramatic form, nor does it form a third element, but is one which, by virtue of its intensifying nature, produces higher species of the two fore-named kinds.

All that we have so far heard is contained in Book II. of the work, "De Augmentis Scientiarum." That which now follows (thoughts on the treatment of parabolical poesy) is contained in the preface to the work entitled, "De Sapientia Veterum.'

It is not difficult, Bacon says in the last-named work, to produce parabolical poesy (Allegoriae, Parabolae) in an age so rich as our own in stories and events affording material for stories. Thus we hear Bacon himself confess that also parabolical poesy narrates stories. He then goes on to say, literally: "Nor is it concealed from me how versatile a matter the Fable is, and that it may be shifted to and fro, yea, even directed differently." (Neque me latet quam versatilis materia sit Fabula, ut huc illuc trahi, imò et duci possit.) Then he goes on to say that one may give characteristic names to the persons appearing in the

fable, as the ancients did in their time. But the persons appearing in the fable" Bacon designates directly as "personae, sive Actores Fabulae" (persons or Actors of the Fable). As in the time of the Romans, the word "fabula" was used to designate both dramatic and narrative fable or history, and as, moreover, the words " personae and Actores," purely theatrical terms, both occur here, we have the certain proof that Francis Bacon meant parabolical poesy to be used and treated, not only as narrative, but also as dramatic poesy, yea probably more in the latter than in the former sense. And, Bacon continues, if it suited him to come forward as a poet, he would himself readily undertake to treat fables in that

manner.

So much about what Bacon says regarding the various kinds of poesy.

Should anybody, however, raise the objection, that : if poesy alter things arbitrarily, it cannot be a science, but a distortion of science, we reply in the words of Francis Bacon in his Essay, "Of Truth":

"Truth is a Naked, and Open day light, that doth not shew, the Masques, and Mummeries, and Triumphs of the world, halfe so Stately, and daintily, as Candlelights." (Bacon evidently had in mind the lighting or illumination of the theatre stage.) The desire to blend truth with fiction or the lie of the poet-such is the continued train of thoughts briefly expressed in the Essay-is deep-rooted in human nature. "Doth any

man doubt, that if there were taken out of Mens Mindes, Vaine Opinions, Flattering Hopes, False valuations, Imaginations as one would, and the like; but it would leave the Mindes, of a Number of Men,

poore shrunken Things; full of Melancholy, and Indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves?" And though zealots have called poesy a "devil's wine," because it inflames the imagination and inebriates it with lies, yet such wine fills the minds but with the 'shadow of a Lie"; and that shadow does not, like the lie itself sink into the mind, but only glides through, it does not degrade nor corrupt, but comforts and refreshes the heart of man.

I challenge anybody to point out a passage in the whole Literature of mankind containing anything more true about the relation of truth and poesy. I know of none.

But where the science of memory, where the science of reason, where history and philosphy fail us, where positive investigation or research has not yet obtained a footing, there poesy has the glorious right to step in, and to dream on into the distant future revealing the germs of a science of the future. Francis Bacon expresses these thoughts (re-echoed by one of our most modern writers, Emile Zola, in his "Le Docteur Pascal ") in most beautiful language: "Poesis autem Doctrinae tanquam Somnium" (Poesy is as a Dream of Learning), a dream that has "aliquid Divini" (something of the Divine) in it.

This sentence is also taken from the work "De Augmentis Scientiarum." The (earlier and shorter) English edition of that book, "The Advancement of Learning," concludes its chief reflection on the subject with the sentences:

Being as a plant, that cometh of the lust of the earth, without a formal seed, it hath sprung up and spread abroad

more than any other kind. But to ascribe unto it that which is due; for the expressing of affections, passions, corruptions, and customs, we are beholding to poets more than to the philosophers' works; and for wit and eloquence not much less than to orators' harangues. But it is not good to stay too long in the theatre.

Thus Bacon, the philospher and orator, deliberately places the poet in many respects above the philosopher and orator. And when he concludes this glowing panegyric on the poets, with the words: "But it is not good to stay too long in the theatre," we are afforded a discrete but distinct proof as to what thoughts were uppermost in Bacon's mind, when he spoke of poets, and what locality he was thinking of more than any other, when he assigned so high a rank to poets. The words "But it is not good," which, as it were, blur the sense, belong to those phrases, which, according to a later chapter in the book, he was in the habit of using, whenever he thought to express something that appeared of vital importance, but in such manner, that none but the attentive reader should notice it. It is a hint, a stylistic note of exclamation, such as he will learn to notice, who has dived into the depths of Francis Bacon's style of writing.

As regards morality, Bacon says, philosophers' works have furnished us, as it were, with a lifeless statue, whereas it is the historians and poets that endow that statue with life.

But the poets and writers of histories are the best doctors of this knowledge; where we may find painted forth with great life, how affections are kindled and incited; and how pacified and refrained; and how again contained from act and further degree; how they disclose themselves; how they work, how