novelty, or beauty; but still there will be double entertainment. Groves, fields, and such a mixture of delight in the very meadows, are at any season of the year disgust it gives us, as any of these three qualifications are most conspicuous and prevailing. water, where the scene is perpetually shifting, and entertaining the sight every moment with something that is new. We are quickly tired with looking upon hills and valleys, where every thing continues fixed and settled in the same place and posture, but find our thoughts a little agitated and relieved at the sight of such objects as are ever in motion, and sliding away from beneath the eye of the beholder. pleasant to look upon, but never so much as in the opening of the spring, when they are all new and fresh, with their first gloss By greatness, I do not only mean the bulk upon them, and not yet too much accusof any single object, but the largeness of a tomed and familiar to the eye. For this whole view, considered as one entire piece. reason there is nothing more enlivens a Such are the prospects of an open cham-prospect than rivers, jetteaus, or falls of paign country, a vast uncultivated desert, of huge heaps of mountains, high rocks and precipices, or a wide expanse of water, where we are not struck with the novelty or beauty of the sight, but with that rude kind of magnificence which appears in many of these stupendous works of Nature. Our imagination loves to be filled with an object, or to grasp at any thing that is too big for its capacity. We are flung into a pleasing astonishment at such unbounded But there is nothing that makes its way views, and feel a delightful stillness and more directly to the soul than beauty, amazement in the soul at the apprehensions which immediately diffuses a secret satisof them. The mind of man naturally hates faction and complacency through the imaevery thing that looks like a restraint upon gination, and gives a finishing to any thing it, and is apt to fancy itself under a sort of that is great or uncommon. The very first confinement, when the sight is pent up in discovery of it strikes the mind with an ina narrow compass, and shortened on every ward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and side by the neighbourhood of walls or delight through all its faculties. There is mountains. On the contrary, a spacious not perhaps any real beauty or deformity horizon is an image of liberty, where the more in one piece of matter than another, eye has room to range abroad, to expatiate because we might have been so made, that at large on the immensity of its views, and whatsoever now appears loathsome to us to lose itself amidst the variety of objects might have shown itself agreeable; but we that offer themselves to its observation. find by experience that there are several Such wide and undetermined prospects are modifications of matter, which the mind, as pleasing to the fancy as the speculations without any previous consideration, proof eternity or infinitude are to the under-nounces at first sight beautiful or deformed. standing. But if there be a beauty of un-Thus we see that every different species of commonness joined with this grandeur, as sensible creatures has its different notions in a troubled ocean, a heaven adorned with stars and meteors, or a spacious landscape cut out into rivers, woods, rocks and meadows, the pleasure still grows upon us, as it arises from more than a single principle. Every thing that is new or uncommon, raises a pleasure in the imagination because it fills the soul with an agreeable surprise, gratifies its curiosity, and gives it an idea of which it was not before possessed. We are indeed so often conversant with one set of objects, and tired out with so many repeated shows of the same things, that whatever is new or uncommon contributes a little to vary human life, and to divert our minds, for a while, with the strangeness of its appearance. It serves us for a kind of refreshment, and takes off from that satiety we are apt to complain of, in our usual and ordinary entertainments. is this that bestows charms on a monster, and makes even the imperfections of nature please us. It is this that recommends variety, where the mind is every instant called off to something new, and the attention not suffered to dwell too long, and waste itself on any particular object. It is this, likewise, that improves what is great or beautiful and makes it afford the mind a It of beauty, and that each of them is most 'Scit thalamo servare fidem, sanctasque veretur The feather'd husband, to his partner true, *It would seem from his manner of introducing them, that Mr. Addison was himself the author of these fine verses. The shining down, proud crest, and purple wings: There is a second kind of beauty that we find in the several products of art and nature, which does not work in the imagination with that warmth and violence as the beauty that appears in our proper species, but is apt however to raise in us a secret delight, and a kind of fondness for the places or objects in which we discover it. This consists either in the gaiety or variety of colours, in the symmetry and proportion of parts, in the arrangement and disposition of bodies, or in a just mixture and concurrence of all together. Among these several kinds of beauty the eye takes most delight in colours. We no where meet with a more glorious or pleasing show in nature than what appears in the heavens at the rising and setting of the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light that show themselves in clouds of a different situation. For this reason we find the poets, who are always addressing themselves to the imagination, borrowing more of their epithets from colours than from any other topic. As the fancy delights in every thing that is great, strange, or beautiful, and is still more pleased the more it finds of these perfections in the same object, so it is capable of receiving a new satisfaction by the assistance of another sense. Thus, any continued sound, as the music of birds, or a fall of water, awakens every moment the mind of the beholder, and makes him more attentive to the several beauties of the place that lie before him. Thus, if there arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasures of the imagination, and make even the colours and verdure of the landscape appear more agreeable; for the ideas of both senses recommend each other, and are pleasanter together than when they enter the mind separately; as the different colours of a picture, when they are well disposed, set off one another and receive an additional beauty from the advantages of their situation. O. No. 413.] Tuesday, June 24, 1712. PAPER III. great. The final cause of our being pleased with what is new. The final cause of our being pleased with what is beautiful in our own species. The final cause of our being pleased with what is beautiful in general. -Causa latet, vis est notissima Ovid. Met. ix. 207. The cause is secret, but th' effect is known.-Addison. THOUGH in yesterday's paper we considered how every thing that is great, new, or beautiful, is apt to affect the imagination with pleasure, we must own that it is impossible for us to assign the necessary cause of this pleasure, because we know neither the nature of an idea, nor the substance of a human soul, which might help us to discover the conformity or disagreeableness of the one to the other; and therefore, for want of such a light, all that we can do in speculations of this kind, is to reflect on those operations of the soul that are most agreeable, and to range, under their proper heads, what is pleasing or displeasing to the mind, without being able to trace out the several necessary and efficient causes from whence the pleasure or displeasure arises. Final causes lie more bare and open to our observation, as there are often a greater variety that belong to the same effect; and these, though they are not altogether so satisfactory, are generally more useful than the other, as they give us greater occasion of admiring the goodness and wisdom of the first Contriver. One of the final causes of our delight in any thing that is great may be this. The Supreme Author of our being has so formed the soul of man, that nothing but himself can be its last, adequate, and proper happiness. Because, therefore, a great part of our happiness must arise from the contemplation of his being, that he might give our souls a just relish of such a contemplation, he has made them naturally delight in the apprehension of what is great or unlimited. Our admiration, which is a very pleasing motion of the mind, immediately rises at the consideration of any object that takes up a great deal of room in the fancy, and, by consequence, will improve into the highest pitch of astonishment and devotion when we contemplate his nature, that is neither circumscribed by time nor place, nor to be comprehended by the largest capacity of a created being. He has annexed a secret pleasure to the idea of any thing that is new or uncommon, that he might encourage us in the pursuit after knowledge, and engage us to search into the wonders of his creation; for every new idea brings such a pleasure along with it as rewards any pains we have taken in its acquisition, and consequently serves as a motive to put us upon fresh discoveries. ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. creatures might be tempted to multiply their kind, and fill the world with inhabit ants; for it is very remarkable, that whereever nature is crossed in the production of a monster (the result of any unnatural mixture) the breed is incapable of propagating its likeness, and of founding a new order of creatures: so that, unless all animals were allured by the beauty of their own species, generation would be at an end, and the earth unpeopled. truth which has been proved incontestibly by many modern philosophers, and is indeed one of the finest speculations in that science, if the English reader would see the notion explained at large, he may find it in the eighth chapter of the second book of Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Understanding. The following letter of Steele to Addison is, reprinted here from the original edition of the Spectator in folio. June 24, 1712. 'MR. SPECTATOR,-I would not divert the course of your discourses, when you seem bent upon obliging the world with a train of thinking, which, rightly attended to, may render the life of every man who reads it more easy and happy for the future. The In the last place, he has made every thing that is beautiful in all other objects pleasant, or rather has made so many objects appear beautiful, that he might render the whole creation more gay and delightful. He has given almost every thing about us the power of raising an agreeable idea in the imagination: so that it is impossible for us to behold his works with coldness or indifference, and to survey so many beauties without a secret satisfac-pleasures of the imagination are what betion and complacency. Things would make wilder life, when reason and judgment do but a poor appearance to the eye, if we not interpose; it is therefore a worthy action saw them only in their proper figures and in you to look carefully into the powers of motions: and what reason can we assign fancy, that other men, from the knowledge for their exciting in us many of those ideas of them, may improve their joys, and allay which are different from any thing that their griefs, by a just use of that faculty. I exists in the objects themselves (for such say, sir, I would not interrupt you in the are light and colours,) were it not to add progress of this discourse; but if you will supernumerary ornaments to the universe, do me the favour of inserting this letter in and make it more agreeable to the imagi- your next paper, you will do some service nation? we are every where entertained to the public, though not in so noble a way with pleasing shows and apparitions; we of obliging, as that of improving their discover imaginary glories in the heavens, minds. Allow me, sir, to acquaint you and in the earth, and see some of this vi- with a design (of which I am partly ausionary beauty poured out upon the whole thor,) though it tends to no greater good creation: but what a rough unsightly sketch than that of getting money. I should not of nature should we be entertained with, hope for the favour of a philosopher in this did all her colouring disappear, and the matter, if it were not attempted under all several distinctions of light and shade the restrictions which you sages put upon vanish? In short, our souls are at present private acquisitions. The first purpose delightfully lost and bewildered in a pleas- which every good man is to propose to himing delusion, and we walk about like the self, is the service of his prince and counenchanted hero in a romance, who sees try; after that is done, he cannot add to beautiful castles, woods, and meadows; and, himself, but he must also be beneficial to at the same time, hears the warbling of them. This scheme of gain is not only conbirds, and the purling of streams; but, sistent with that end, but has its very being upon the finishing of some secret spell, the in subordination to it; for no man can be a fantastic scene breaks up, and the discon- gainer here but at the same time he himsolate knight finds himself on a barren self, or some other, must succeed in their heath, or in a solitary desert. It is not im- dealings with the government. It is called probable that something like this may be The Multiplication Table,' and is so far the state of the soul after its first separa- calculated for the immediate service of her tion, in respect of the images it will receive majesty, that the same person who is forfrom matter; though indeed the ideas of tunate in the lottery of the state may recolours are so pleasing and beautiful in the ceive yet further advantage in this table. imagination, that it is possible the soul will And I am sure nothing can be more pleasnot be deprived of them, but perhaps finding to her gracious temper than to find out them excited by some other occasional cause, as they are at present by the different impressions of the subtle matter on the organ of sight. I have here supposed that my reader is acquainted with that great modern discovery, which is at present universally acknowledged by all the inquirers into natural philosophy: namely, that light and colours, as apprehended by the imagination, are only ideas in the mind, and not qualities that have any existence in matter. As this is a additional methods of increasing their good fortune who adventure any thing in her service, or laying occasions for others to become capable of serving their country who are at present in too low circumstances to exert themselves. The manner of executing the design is by giving out receipts for half guineas received, which shall entitle the fortunate bearer to certain sums in the table, as it is set forth at large in the proposals printed the twenty-third instant. There is another circumstance in this de sign which gives me hopes of your favour to it, and that is what Tully advises, to wit, that the benefit is made as diffusive as possible. Every one that has half a guinea is put into the possibility, from that small sum to raise himself an easy fortune: when these little parcels of wealth are, as it were, thus thrown back again into the redonation of providence, we are to expect that some who live under hardships or obscurity may be produced to the world in the figure they deserve by this means. I doubt not but this last argument will have force with you; and I cannot add another to it, but what your severity will, I fear, very little regard; which is, that I am, sir, your greatest admirer, No. 414.] RICHARD STEELE.' Wednesday, June 25, 1712. PAPER IV. ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. Contents.-The works of nature more pleasant to the imagination than those of art. The works of nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of art. The works of art more pleasant, the more they resemble those of nature. Our English plantations and gardens considered in the foregoing light. Alterius sic Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice. Hor. Ars Poet. v. 414. But mutually they need each other's help. Roscommon. If we consider the works of nature and art as they are qualified to entertain the imagination, we shall find the last very defective in comparison of the former; for though they may sometimes appear as beautiful or strange, they can have nothing in them of that vastness and immensity, which afford so great an entertainment to the mind of the beholder. The one may be as polite and delicate as the other, but can never show herself so august and magnificent in the design. There is something more bold and masterly in the rough careless strokes of nature, than in the nice touches and embellishments of art. The beauties of the most stately garden or palace lie in a narrow compass, the imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to gratify her; but in the wide fields of nature, the sight wanders up and down without confinement, and is fed with an infinite variety of images, without any certain stint or number. For this reason we always find the poet in love with the country life, where nature appears in the greatest perfection, and furnishes out all those scenes that are most apt to delight the imagination. Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus, et fugit urbes. -To grottos and to groves we run, Hic secura quies, et nescia fallere vita, Pope. Speluncæ, vivique lacus; hic frigida Tempe, Here easy quiet, a secure retreat, A harmless life that knows not how to cheat, But though there are several of those wild scenes, that are more delightful than any artificial shows, yet we find the works of nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of art: for in this case our pleasure rises from a double principle; from the agreeableness of the objects to the eye, and from their similitude to other objects. We are pleased as well with comparing their beauties, as with surveying them, and can represent them to our minds, either as copies or originals. Hence it is that we take delight in a prospect which is well laid out, and diversified with fields and meadows, woods and rivers; in those accidental landscapes of trees, clouds, and cities, that are sometimes found in the veins of marble; in the curious fret-work of rocks and grottos; and, in a word, in any thing that hath such a variety or regularity as may seem the effect of design in what we call the works of chance. If the products of nature rise in value according as they more or less resemble those of art, we may be sure that artificial works receive a greater advantage from their resemblance of such as are natural; because here the similitude is not only pleasant, but the pattern more perfect. The prettiest landscape I ever saw, was one drawn on the walls of a dark room, which stood opposite on one side to a navigable river, and on the other to a park. The experiment is very common in optics. Here you might discover the waves and fluctuations of the water in strong and proper colours, with a picture of a ship entering at one end, and sailing by degrees through the whole piece. On another there appeared the green shadows of trees, waving to and fro with the wind, and herds of deer among them in miniature, leaping about upon the wall. I must confess the novelty of such a sight may be one occasion of its pleasantness to the imagination; but certainly its chief reason is its nearest resemblance to nature, as it does not only, like other pictures, give the colour and figure, but the motions of the things it represents. We have before observed, that there is generally in nature something more grand and august than what we meet with in the curiosities of art. When, therefore, we see this imitated in any measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted kind of pleasure than what we receive from the nicer and more accurate productions of art. On this PAPER V. account our English gardens are not so en- | No. 415.] Thursday, June 26, 1712. tertaining to the fancy as those in France and Italy, where we see a large extent of ground covered over with an agreeable mixture of garden and forest, which repre- Contents. Of architecture, as it affects the imagination. sent every where an artificial rudeness, much more charming than that neatness and elegancy which we meet with in those of our own country. It might indeed be of ill consequence to the public, as well as unprofitable to private persons, to alienate so much ground from pasturage and the plough, in many parts of a country that is so well peopled, and cultivated to a far greater advantage. But why may not a whole estate be thrown into a kind of garden by frequent plantations, that may turn as much to the profit as the pleasure of the owner? A marsh overgrown with willows, or a mountain shaded with oaks, are not only more beautiful but more beneficial, than when they lie bare and unadorned. Fields of corn make a pleasant prospect; and if the walks were a little taken care of that lie between them, if the natural embroidery of the meadows were helped and improved by some small additions of art, and the several rows of hedges set off by trees and flowers that the soil was capable of receiving, a man might make a pretty landscape of his own possessions. ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. Greatness in architecture relates either to the bulk or Dryden. HAVING already shown how the fancy is affected by the works of nature, and afterwards considered in general both the works of nature and of art, how they mutually assist and complete each other in forming such scenes and prospects as are most apt to delight the mind of the beholder, I shall in this paper throw together some reflections on that particular art, which has a more immediate tendency, than any other, to produce those primary pleasures of the imagination which have hitherto been the subject of this discourse. The art I mean is that of architecture, which I shall consider only with regard to the light in which the foregoing speculations have placed it, without entering into those rules and maxims which the great masters of architecture have laid down, and explained at large in numberless treatises upon that subject. Greatness, in the works of architecture, may be considered as relating to the bulk and body of the structure, or to the manner in which it is built. As for the first, we find the ancients, especially among the eastern nations of the world, infinitely superior to the moderns. Writers, who have given us an account of China, tell us the inhabitants of that country laugh at the plantations of our Europeans, which are laid out by the rule and line; because they say, any one may place trees in equal rows and uniform figures. They chose rather to show a genius in works of this nature, and therefore always conceal the art by which they direct themselves. They have a word, it seems, in their language, by which they express the particular beauty of a plantation that thus strikes the imagination at first sight, without discovering what it is that has so agreeable an effect. Our British gardeners, on the contrary, instead of humouring nature, love to Not to mention the tower of Babel, of deviate from it as much as possible. Our which an old author says, there were the trees rise in cones, globes, and pyramids. foundations to be seen in his time, which We see the marks of the scissars upon every looked like a spacious mountain; what plant and bush. I do not know whether I could be more noble than the walls of Babyam singular in my opinion, but, for my own lon, its hanging gardens, and its temple to part, I would rather look upon a tree in all Jupiter Belus, that rose a mile high by eight its luxuriancy and diffusion of boughs and several stories, each story a furlong in branches, than when it is thus cut and trim-height, and on the top of which was the Bamed into a mathematical figure; and cannotbylonian observatory? I might here, likebut fancy that an orchard in flower looks infinitely more delightful than all the little labyrinths of the most finished parterre. But, as our great modellers of gardens have their magazines of plants to dispose of, it is very natural for them to tear up all the beautiful plantations of fruit-trees, and contrive a plan that may most turn to their own profit, in taking off their ever-greens, and the like moveable plants, with which their shops are plentifully stocked. O. wise, take notice of the huge rock that was cut into the figure of Semiramis, with the smaller rocks that lay by it in the shape of tributary kings; the prodigious basin, or artificial lake, which took in the whole Euphrates, till such time as a new canal was formed for its reception, with the several trenches through which that river was conveyed. I know there are persons who look upon some of these wonders of art as fabulous: but I cannot find any ground for such a suspicion; unless it be that we have no |