the general impression made by his published books upon the reader is, despite the splendour of many passages, most strange and chaotic. They can only be compared, for power and for obscureness, to the Book of Revelation. One might call them the misty recollections of a dream; a sort of twilight in which the wildest and most fantastic visions succeed each other: brilliant colours and sombre forms, living creatures side by side with shadowy phantoms, children's prattle and the hum of innumerable insects, the roaring of lions, and voices like the sound of mighty waters; a kind of concert, all harmonies and discords, attracting and at the same time offending by its strangeness. And when, after resting for a time, or after a fresh and prolonged effort, the eye and the ear have become accustomed to this chaos, if we try to seize one of the forms that seem to pass before us, to listen to one of the voices sounding vaguely in our ears, we find ourselves in the presence of something incomprehensible, something utterly unseizable, in a state of perpetual flux. Our sight has scarcely grasped the outline of some form when all at once we see it change, shrink away, and disappear into obscurity. We think we are following a light, and it is only a Will-o'-the-wisp. We seem to be in utter darkness, and are suddenly dazzled by a flood of blinding light. Every moment, indeed, light and darkness succeed each other, like the shadows of clouds passing overhead. The visions seem to entice only that they may evade us, as did those apparitions which Blake used to draw, and which vanished before he could transfer their outlines to his paper.

Is it all, then, only a madman's dream? Many have declared it to be so. And yet, are there not, all through it, signs of life, flashes of genius, rays of pure illumination, which check the words before they have passed our lips? Blake has that " method in his madness which even a Polonius could not help recognizing in Hamlet, and which puts us on our guard against forming any rash judgment. And when, one by one, certain obscure words and incomprehensible details have been set aside provisionally, and all the passages we can understand collected and put in order, we become more and more convinced that the obscurity of his mind is apparent only, and not real. Blake marched boldly upon his way, and never stumbled in the darkness. But, like the seer of Patmos, he had a light to guide him that we know not of; perhaps that very light which of old "shined in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not." And so we remember his visions, and realize that his mind was not like ours.

We feel that, to appreciate his work, we must cast aside for the moment our own mental tendencies, free ourselves from all our scientific, philosophical and religious beliefs; must forget, above all, our scepticism and our incredulity, and enter into closer communion with his soul. We must trust ourselves to him, as Dante did to Virgil, and let him lead us through realms that no human foot has ever trod.

As one reads his books, one sees his theories becoming gradually clearer and more complete. Different works explain each other. None of them is complete in itself: all must be known and borne in mind if any one is to be read properly. Even when he wrote the first, Blake had dimly in his mind the ideas which were to fill his latest books. His theories do not seem to have changed as he grew older. They undergo development: they are expressed in different terms; but at bottom they remain the same. Just as a seed contains all the germs from which the plant will receive its shape, the flowers their colours, and the fruit its flavour, so it is with Blake and with the development of his genius.

His work can be studied in either of two quite different ways. We might take his books one by one and examine, in each successively, his philosophical ideas, his prophetic theories, and the manner of their expression. We should thus follow step by step the development of his mind. We should see how his thought becomes more and more complex, while still keeping its original direction, and how, at the same time, his symbolic exposition of it becomes more and more enigmatic, as if, by a strange perversity, in proportion as the prophet found more to say, the artist were seeking more obscure forms of expression, to make his meaning more and more incomprehensible. We should find, at the beginning, ideas that are relatively simple and natural, and human feelings common to all, expressed clearly and with much poetic talent-at times even with flashes of genius. Later on, this genius becomes entangled in the complexities of mystical vision, and its splendid gifts are, so far as true poetry is concerned, entirely lost. At the outset, the breath of mysticism fans the poetic fire in the end, it becomes a tempest, scattering the flames, which it lifts here and there into huge columns, but gradually extinguishing them and leaving only a vast pile of ashes smouldering in darkness.

I prefer, however, to take another way of reaching the same conclusions. I shall try to sketch the broad outlines of his philosophy

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and to describe his mystical world, as far as these may be elucidated from the whole body of his work. I shall then consider his method of poetic expression, strictly from the poetic point of view, and trace the factors that conduced to its rapid growth, its wonderful flowering and its slow decay under the invading influences of mysticism and symbolism. And so I shall separate the study of his doctrines from that of their expression, without concerning myself too much with the successive developments of either, but reserving these for a shout subsequent examination of his books in their chronological order.

It should be clearly understood that I make no attempt to give a complete account of Blake's myth or of his mystical system. A task which even the poetic insight of Swinburne could only in part achieve, and which has remained unfinished, after long years of special study have been devoted to it by critics so fully qualified as Messrs. Ellis and Yeats, cannot be attempted within the limits of one short volume. still less can I offer the student a key to open the mysterious recesses at the Prophetic Books, or explain all Blake's symbolic poems. For theap a commentary proceeding line by line would scarcely suffice. The laborious analysis of Messrs. Ellis and Yeats is almost as long As the text itselt; and still it leaves many problems to be solved, many obscure lines to be explained, many myths to be made clear. A complete understanding of Blake can only be reached after a long course of preparation, which should include a knowledge of all the great matics, and thorough familiarity with the methods of pccult science, as well as a profound study of the Bible. Next, one would have to examine every word that Blake wrote, and every one the drawings, to spend, not months, as Mr. W. M. Rossetti wrote, But year in reading and re-reading his books, and nothing else, so 4 to assimilate all his images and all his symbols, and to understand the language, like a strange tongue not yet fully mastered. And even then, perhaps, the desired end might not have been reached. In any

, the reulting enrichment of human thought would be small in proportion to the labour expended.

For my purpose, which is to study the influence of mysticism upou poetry in general, and upon Blake's poetry in particular, it will be enough to give a broad outline of his system. Many of the questions it as I shall not touch upon at all: many others I shall only refer to as unsolved, if not insoluble. I shall not attempt to discuss his theories tully: this would be a task for the philosopher-especially

the metaphysician or for the theologian, and would not profit us at all from the literary point of view. Besides, his doctrines contain little or nothing that has not already been made the subject of prolonged historical and philosophical study. I shall contine myself to an examination of their sources, so as to be able to judge what personal qualities Blake brought to the work of assimilating, arranging and completing them. This will be an adequate introduction to the study of their expression in his writings, and of their influence upon his poetic genius.

VI: MYSTICISM AND ITS VARIOUS FORMS

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HE foundation of Blake's theories, as well as of his art, is his mysticism. It will not be unprofitable, therefore, in order to arrive at a better understanding of both, without being checked at every step by their strangeness, their obscurity and their contradictions, to examine into the state of mind of mystics generally, and to judge them, as one should judge Blake, without bias, and without any sceptical or narrow-minded prejudices. One will thus appreciate Blake himself more fairly, and understand better how his philosophy was formed.

Mysticism is, in its essence, a concentration of all the soul's energies upon some supernatural object, conceived of and loved as a living personality. This object may vary. It may be God Himself, Christ or the Virgin, saints or angels, or spirits different from any of these, such as abstract beauty, the forces of nature, or even spirits of evil. But whatever be the object, for the mystic it becomes a god. Upon it all his love is directed. All his intellectual faculties are bent upon grasping its essence and understanding its attributes: all the strength of his will is absorbed in the accomplishment of the duty he owes to it. Whether his mysticism be purely emotional or at the same time intellectual or active, its essence is always the concentration of the soul upon, and its abandonment to, the object of worship. Every one of the innumerable forms taken by human passion, or intelligence or activity, has its counterpart in some form of mysticism. Just as there are no two men who love, think and act in exactly the same way, so there are no two mystics whose adoration for their god is of exactly the same kind. The one characteristic shared by all is their detachment from the earth and their concentration upon some object outside our ordinary existence.

Their point of departure would seem to be the feeling that the earth and earthly things are insufficient for them, too transitory, too deceptive, too wanting in real happiness. Their souls aspire to something better, and this they find in their supernatural ideas. But not all those whom this earth has failed to satisfy are mystics. Most of us accept the world as it is, and take all the good that it can give without seeking for anything above or beyond it. Others, full of faith