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My son, th' instruction that my words impart, Grave on the living tablet of thy heart: And all the wholesome precepts that I give, Observe with strictest reverence, and live. Let all thy homage be to Wisdom paid, Seek her protection, and implore her aid; That she may keep thy soul from harm secure, And turn thy footsteps from the harlot's door, Who with curs'd charms lures the unwary in, And soothes with flattery their souls to sin.

Once from my window, as I cast mine eye On those that passed in giddy numbers by, A youth among the foolish youths I spied, Who took not sacred wisdom for his guide.

Just as the sun withdrew his cooler light,
And evening soft led on the shades of night,
He stole in covert twilight to his fate,

And passed the corner near the harlot's gate,
When lo! a woman comes!-

Loose her attire, and such her glaring dress,
So aptly did the harlot's mind express:
Subtile she is, and practic'd in the arts
By which the wanton conquers heedless hearts:
Stubborn and loud she is; she hates her home;
Varying her place and form, she loves to roam:
Now she's within, now in the street doth stray,
Now at each corner stands and waits her prey.
The youth she seiz'd; and laying now aside
All modesty, the female's justest pride,
She said, with an embrace, "Here at my house
Peace-offerings are, this day I paid my vows.
I therefore came abroad to meet my dear,
And, lo! in happy hour, I find thee here.
My chamber I've adorn'd, and o'er my bed
Are cov'rings of the richest tap'stry spread;
With linen it is deck'd from Egypt brought,
And carvings by the curious artist wrought;
It wants no glad perfume Arabia yields
In all her citron groves and spicy fields;
Here all her store of richest odors meets,
I'll lay thee in a wilderness of sweets;
Whatever to the sense can grateful be

I have collected there- -I want but thee.

My husband's gone a journey far away,
Much gold he took abroad, and long will stay,
He named for his return a distant day."

Upon her tongue did such smooth mischief dwell,
And from her lips such welcome flatt'ry fell,
Th'unguarded youth, in silken fetters tied,
Resign'd his reason, and with ease complied.
Thus does the ox to his own slaughter go,
And thus is senseless of th' impending blow;
Thus flies the simple bird into the snare,
That skillful fowlers for his life prepare.
But let my sons attend. Attend may they
Whom youthful vigor may to sin betray;

Let them false charmers fly, and guard their hearts
Against the wily wanton's pleasing arts;
With care direct their steps, nor turn astray
To tread the paths of her deceitful way;
Lest they too late of her fell pow'r complain,
And fall, where many mightier have been slain.

No. 411.] SATURDAY, JUNE 21, 1712.





The perfection of our sight above our other senses. pleasures of the imagination arise originally from sight. The pleasures of the imagination divided under two heads. The pleasures of the imagination in some respects equal to those of the understanding. The extent of the pleasures of the imagination. The advantages a man receives from a relish of these pleasures. In what respect they are pre

ferable to those of the understanding.

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante
Trita solo: juvat integros accedere fontes,
Atque haurire
-LUCR. i. 925.

In wild unclear'd, to Muses a retreat,
O'er ground untrod before, I devious roam,
And deep enamor'd into latent springs
Presume to peep at coy virgin Naiads.

OUR sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our senses. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converses with its objects at the greatest distance, and continues the longest in action without being tired or satiated with its proper enjoyments. The sense of feeling can


indeed give us a notion of extension, shape, and all other ideas that enter at the eye, except colors; but at the same time it is very much straitened, and confined in its operations to the number, bulk, and distance of its particular objects. Our sight seems designed to supply all these defects, and may be considered as a more delicate and diffusive kind of touch, that spreads itself over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the largest figures, and brings into our reach some of the most remote parts of the universe.

It is this sense which furnishes the imagina

the imagination," or fancy" (which I shall use promiscuously), I here mean such as arise from visible objects, either when we have them actually in our view, or when we call up their ideas into our minds by painting, statues, descriptions, or any the like occasion. We cannot indeed have a single image in the fancy that did not make its first entrance through the sight; but we have the power of retaining, altering, and compounding those images which we have once received, into all the varieties of picture and vision that are most agreeable to the imagination: for by this faculty, a man in a dungeon is capable of entertaining himself with scenes and landscapes more beautiful than any that can be found in the whole compass of nature.

There are few words in the English language which are employed in a more loose and uncircumscribed sense than those of the fancy and the imagination, I therefore thought it necessary to fix and determine the notion of these two words, as I intend to make use of them in the thread of my following speculations, that the reader may conceive rightly what is the subject which I proceed upon. I must therefore desire him to reImember, that by "the pleasures of the imagination," I mean only such pleasures as arise originally from sight, and that I divide these pleasures into two kinds: my design being first of all to discourse of those primary pleasures of the imagination, which entirely proceed from such objects as are before our eyes; and in the next place to speak of those secondary pleasures of the imagination which flow from the ideas of visible objects, when the objects are not actually before the eye, but are called up into our memories, or formed into agreeable visions of things that are either absent or fictitious.

The pleasures of the imagination, taken in their full extent, are not so gross as those of sense, nor so refined as those of the understanding. The last are indeed more preferable, because they are founded on some new knowledge or improvement in the mind of man; yet it must be confessed, that those of the imagination are as great and as transporting as the other. A beautiful prospect delights the soul as much as a demonstration; and a description in Homer has charmed more readers than a chapter in Aristotle. Beside, the pleasures of the imagination have this advantage above those of the understanding, that they are more obvious and more easy to be acquired. It is but opening the eye, and the scene enters. The colors paint themselves on the fancy, with very little attention of thought or application of mind in the beholder. We are struck, we know not how, with the symmetry of anything we see, and immediately assent to the beauty of an object, without inquiring into the particular causes and occasions of it.

A man of a polite imagination is let into a great many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a picture, and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets


with a secret refreshment in a description, and or beautiful. There may, indeed, be something .. often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of terrible or offensive, that the horror or loath fields and meadows, than another does in the pos-ness of an object may overbear the pleasure which session. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property results from its greatness, novelty, or beauty; but in everything he sees, and makes the most rude still there will be such a mixture of delight in the uncultivated parts of nature administer to his very disgust it gives us, as any of these three pleasures; so that he looks upon the world as it qualifications are most conspicuous and prevailwere in another light, and discovers in it a multi-ing. tude of charms, that conceal themselves from the generality of mankind.

There are indeed but very few who know how to be idle and innocent, or have a relish of any pleasures that are not criminal; every diversion they take is at the expense of some one virtue or another, and their very first step out of business is into vice or folly. A man should endeavor, therefore, to make the sphere of his innocent plea sures as wide as possible, that he may retire into them with safety, and find in them such a satisfaction as a wise man would not blush to take. Of this nature are those of the imagination, which do not require such a bent of thought as is necessary to our more serious employments, nor, at the same time, suffer the mind to sink into that negligence and remissness, which are apt to accompany our more sensual delights, but, like a gentle exercise to the faculties, awaken them from sloth and idleness, without putting them upon any labor or difficulty.

By greatness, I do not only mean the bulk of any single object, but the largeness of a whole. view, considered as one entire piece. Such are the prospects of an open champaign country, a vast uncultivated desert, of huge heaps of mountains, high rocks and precipices, or a wide expanse of waters, 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 anything that is too big for its capacity. We are flung into a pleasing astonishment at such unbounded views, and feel a delightful stillness and amazement in the soul at the apprehension of them. The mind of man naturally hates everything that looks like a restraint upon it, and is apt to fancy itself under a sort of confinement, when the sight is pent up in a narrow compass, and shortened on every side by the neighborhood of walls or mountains. On the contrary, a spacious horizon is an image of liberty, where the eye has room to range abroad, to expatiate at large on the immensity of its views, and to lose itself amid the variety of objects that offer themselves to its observation. Such wide and undetermined prospects are as pleasing to the fancy as the p culations of eternity or infinitude are to the under standing. But if there be a beauty or uncommon ness joined with this grandeur, as 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 prine ple

We might here add, that, the pleasures of the fancy are more conducive to health than those of the understanding, which are worked out by dint of thinking, and attended with too violent a labor of the brain. Delightful scenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the body as well as the mind: and not only serve to clear and brighten the imagination, but are able to disperse grief and melancholy, and to set the animal spirits in pleasing and agreeable motions. For this reason, Sir Francis Bacon, in his Essay upon Health, has not thought it improper to prescribe to his reader a poem or a prospect, where he particularly dissuades him from knotty and subtile disquisitions, and advises him to pursue studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables, and contem-osity, and gives it an idea of which it was not be plations of nature.

I have in this paper, by way of introduction, settled the notion of those pleasures of the imagination which are the subject of my present undertaking, and endeavored, by several considerations, to recommend to my reader the pursuit of those pleasures. I shall in my next paper examine the several sources from whence these pleasures are derived.-O.

No. 412.] MONDAY, JUNE 23, 1712.



Three sources of all the pleasures of the imagination, in our
survey of outward objects. How what is great pleases the
imagination. How what is new pleases the imagination.

Everything that is new or uncommon raises å pleasure in the imagination, because it fills the soul with an agreeable surprise, gratifies is can

fore possessed. We are indeed so often coaver-
sant 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. I
serves us for a kind of refreshment, and takes of
from that satiety we are apt to complain of, in v
usual and ordinary entertainments. It is this s
bestows charms on a monster, and makes even be
imperfections of nature please us. It is this t
recommends variety, where the mind is every
stant called off to something new, and the
tion not suffered to dwell too long, and
itself on any particular object. It is this
wise, that improves what is great or beautife!
makes it afford the mind a double entertacum si
Groves, fields, and meadows, are at any sess
the year pleasant to look upon, but never so mist
as in the opening of the spring, when they 20 ►

How what is beautiful in our species pleases the imagina-new and fresh, with their first gloss upon the
tion. How what is beautiful in general pleases the imagi-
nation. What other accidental causes may contribute to
the heightening of those pleasures.

-Divisum sic breve fiet opus.-MART. Ep. iv, 83.
The work, divided aptly, shorter grows.

and not yet too much accustomed and fanlar ✔
the eye. For this reason there is nothing s
more enlivens a prospect than rivers, jettes
falls of water, where the scene is perpet
shifting, and entertaining the sight every
with something that is new. We are quickly d
with looking upon hills and valleys, where I
thing continues fixed and settled in the same fo
and posture, but find our thoughts

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I SHALL first consider those pleasures of the imagination which arise from the actual view and survey of outward objects: and these, I think, all proceed from the sight of what is great, uncommon, ❘ ted and relieved at the sight of such objects as as


ever in motion, and sliding away from beneath the eye of the beholder.

But there is nothing that makes its way more directly to the soul than beauty, which immediately diffuses a secret satisfaction and complacency through the imagination, and gives a finishing to anything that is great or uncommon. The very first discovery of it strikes the mind with an inward joy, and spreads a cheerfulness and delight through all its faculties. There is not perhaps any real beauty or deformity more in one piece of matter than another, because we might have been so made, that whatsoever now appears loathsome to us might have shown itself agreeable; but we find by experience that there are several modifications of matter, which the mind, without any previous consideration, pronounces at first sight beautiful or deformed. Thus we see that every different species of sensible creatures has its different notions of beauty, and that each of them is most affected with the beauties of its own kind. This is nowhere more remarkable than in birds of the same shape and proportion, where we often see the male determined in his courtship by the single grain or tincture of a feather, and never discovering any charms but in the color of its species.

Scit thalamo servare fidem, sanctasque veretur
Connubii leges; non illum in pectore candor
Solicitat niveus; neque pravum accendit amorem
Splendida lanugo, vel honesta in vertice crista,
Purpureusve nitor pennarum; ast agmina late
Foeminea explorat cautus, maculasque requirit
Cognatas, paribusque interlita corpora guttis;
Ni faceret, pictis sylvam circum undique monstris
Confusam aspiceres vulgo partusque biformes,
Et genus ambiguum, et veneris monumenta nefandæ.
Hine merula in nigro se oblectat nigra marito;
Hine socium lasciva petit Philomela canorum,
Agnoscitque pares sonitus; hinc noctua tetram
Canitiem alarum, et glaucos miratur ocellos
Nempe sibi semper constat, crescitque quotannis
Lucida progenies, castos confessa parentes;
Dum virides inter saltus lucosque sonoros
Vere novo exultat, plumasque decora juventus
Explicat ad solem patriisque coloribus ardet.*

The feather'd husband, to his partner true,
Preserves connubial rites inviolate.
With cold indifference every charm he sees,
The milky whiteness of the stately neck,
The shining down, proud crest, and purple wings:
But cautious, with a searching eye explores
The female tribes, his proper mate to find,
With kindred colors mark'd; did he not so,

The grove with painted monsters would abound; Th' ambiguous product of unnatural love. The blackbird hence selects her sooty spouse; The nightingale her musical compeer, Lur'd by the well-known voice, the bird of night, Smit with his dusky wings and greenish eyes, Wooes his dun paramour. The beauteous race Speak the chaste loves of their progenitors; When, by the Spring invited, they exult In woods and fields, and to the sun unfold Their plumes, that with paternal colors glow. 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 gayety or variety of colors, 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 colors. We nowhere meet with a more glorious or pleasing show in nature, than what appears in the heavens at the rising

It would seem, from his manner of introducing them, that Mr. Addison was himself the author of these fine verses.

and setting of the sun, which is wholly made up of those different stains of light that show themselves in the 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 colors, than from any other topic.

As the fancy delights in everything 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 several beauties of the place that lie before him. beholder, and makes him more attentive to the Thus, if there arises a fragrancy of smells or perfumes, they heighten the pleasures of the imagination, and make even the colors 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 colors of a picture, when they are well disposed, set off one another, and receive an additional beauty from the advantage of their situation.-O.

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The cause is secret, but the effect is known.-ADDISON.

THOUGH in yesterday's paper we considered how everything 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 anything 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 for 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 is a truth which has been proved incontestably by rises at the consideration of any object that takes many modern philosophers, and is indeed one of up a great deal of room in the faney, and, by con- the finest speculations in that science, if the Engsequence, will improve into the highest pitch of lish reader would see the notion explained at large. astonishment and devotion when we contemplate he may find it in the eighth chapter of the second his nature, that is neither circumscribed by time book of Mr. Locke's Essay on Human Under nor place, nor to be comprehended by the largest standing.-O. capacity of a created being.

He has annexed a secret pleasure to the idea of anything 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 with it, as rewards any pains we have taken in its acquisition, and consequently serves as a motive to put us upon fresh discoveries.

The following letter of Steele to Addison is reprinted here from the original edition of the Spectator in folio.


June 24, 1712.

"I would not divert the course of your discourses, when you seem bent upon obliging the world with a train of thinking, which, rightly He has made everything that is beautiful in our attended to, may render the life of every one that own species pleasant, that all creatures might be reads it more easy and happy for the future. The tempted to multiply their kind, and fill the world pleasures of the imagination are what bewilder with inhabitants; for it is very remarkable that life, when reason and judgment do not interpose; wherever nature is crossed in the production of a it is therefore, a worthy action in you, to look monster (the result of any unnatural mixture), the carefully into the powers of fancy, that other men, breed is incapable of propagating its likeness, and from the knowledge of them, may improve their of founding a new order of creatures; so that, un-joys, and allay their griefs, by a just use of that less all animals were allured by the beauty of their faculty. I say, Sir, I would not interrupt you own species, generation would be at an end, and in the progress of this discourse; but if you will do the earth unpeopled. me the favor of inserting this letter in your next In the last place, he has made everything that paper, you will do some service to the public, is beautiful in all other objects pleasant, or rather though not in so noble a way of obliging, as that has made so many objects appear beautiful, that of improving their minds. Allow me, Sir, to ac he might render the whole creation more gay and quaint you with a design (of which I am partly delightful. He has given almost everything about author), though it tends to no greater a good than us the power of raising an agreeable idea in the that of getting money. I should not hope for the imagination so that it is impossible for us to be- favor of a philosopher in this matter if it were not hold his works with coldness or indifference, and attempted under the restrictions which you sages to survey so many beauties without a secret satis- put upon private acquisitions. The first purpose faction and complacency. Things would make which every good man is to propose to himself, is but a poor appearance to the eye, if we saw them the service of his prince and country: after that only in their proper figures and motions; and what is done, he cannot add to himself, but he wust reason can we assign for their exciting in us many also be beneficial to them. This scheme of gam of those ideas which are different from anything is not only consistent with that end, but has its that exists in the objects themselves (for such are very being in subordination to it; for no man eza light and colors), were it not to add supernume- be a gainer here but at the same time he himself, rary ornaments to the universe, and make it more or some other, must succeed in their dealings with agreeable to the imagination We are every where the government. It is called The Multiplication entertained with pleasing shows and apparitions: Table,' and is so far calculated for the immediate we discover imaginary glories in the heavens and service of her majesty, that the same person vào in the earth, and see some of this visionary beauty is fortunate in the lottery of the state, may receive poured out upon the whole creation: but what a yet further advantage in this table. And I rough, unsightly sketch of nature should we be en- sure nothing can be more pleasing to her gracious tertained with, did all her coloring disappear, and temper than to find out additional methods of inthe several distinctions of light and shade vanish? creasing their good fortune who adventure azyIn short, our souls are at present delightfully lost thing in her service, or laying occasions for others and bewildered in a pleasing delusion, and we walk to become capable of serving their country who about like the enchanted hero of a romance, who are at present in too low circumstances to exert sees beautiful castles, woods and meadows; and, themselves. The manner of executing the desga at the same time, hears the warbling of birds, and is by giving out receipts for half guineas re the purling of streams: but upon the finishing of ceived, which shall entitle the fortunate bearer to some secret spell the fantastic scene breaks up, certain sums in the table, as is set forth at large and the disconsolate knight finds him on a barren in the proposals printed on the 23d instant. There heath, or in a solitary desert. It is not improbable is another circumstance in this design which gives that something like this may be the state of the me hopes of your favor to it, and that is whe soul after its first separation, in respect of the im- Tully advises, to wit, that the benefit be made t ages it will receive from matter; though indeed, diffusive as possible. Every one that has bail the ideas of colors are so pleasing and beautiful guinea, is put into the possibility, from that so all in the imagination, that it is possible the soul sum, to raise himself an easy fortune: when le will not be deprived of them, but perhaps find little parcels of wealth are, as it were, thus throws them excited by some other occasional cause, back into the redonation of Providence, we are ja as they are at present by the different impres-expect that some who live under hardships az eb sions of the subtile matter on the organ of sight. scurity may be produced to the world in the fin I have here supposed that my reader is ac- they deserve by this means. I doubt not but as quainted with that great modern discovery, which last argument will have force with you; ali is at present universally acknowledged by all the cannot add another to it, but what your se inquirers into natural philosophy; namely, that will, I fear, very little regard, which is, that light and colors, as apprehended by the imagina am, tion, are only ideas in the mind, and not qualities that have any existence in matter. As this

"Sir, your greatest Admirer,

No. 414.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 25, 1712.




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. 410.

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 pretwalls of a dark room, which stood opposite on tiest landscape I ever saw, was one drawn on the 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 colors, with the 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 color and figure, but the motion of the things it represents.

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 We have before observed, that there is generally and magnificent in the design. There is something in nature something more grand and august than more bold and masterly in the rough, careless strokes what we meet with in the curiosities of art. of nature, than in the nice touches and embellish- When, therefore, we see this imitated in any ments of art. The beauties of the most stately measure, it gives us a nobler and more exalted garden or palace lie in a narrow compass; the im- kind of pleasure than what we received from the agination immediately runs them over and requires nicer and more accurate productions of art. something else to gratify her; but in the wide fields this account our English gardens are not so enof nature, the sight wanders up and down with- tertaining to the fancy as those in France and out confinement, and is fed with an infinite variety Italy, where we see a large extent of ground of images, without any certain stint or number. covered over with an agreeable mixture of garden For this reason we always find the poet in love and forest, which represent everywhere au artiwith the country life, where nature appears in the ficial rudeness, much more charming than that greatest perfection, and furnishes out all those neatness and elegancy which we meet with in those scenes that are most apt to delight the imagina-of our own country. It might indeed be of ill contion.

Scriptorum chorus omnis amat nemus, et fugit urbes.

HOR, 2 Ep. ii. 77.

-To grottoes and to groves we run,
To ease and silence, every Muse's son.-POPE.
Hic secura quies, et nescia fallere vita,
Speluncæ, vivique lacus; hic frigida Tempe,
Dives opum variarum: hic latis otia fundis,"
Mugitusque boum, mollesque sub arbore somni.
VIRG. Georg. ii. 467.

Here easy quiet, a secure retreat,
A harmless life that knows not how to cheat,
With home bred plenty the rich owner bless,
And rural pleasures crown his happiness.
Unvex'd with quarrels, undisturb'd with noise,
The country king his peaceful realm enjoys:
Cool grots and living lakes, the flow'ry pride

Of meads, and streams that through the valley glide;
And shady groves, that easy sleep invite,
And, after toilsome days, a sweet repose at night.



sequence to the public, as well as unprofitable to private persons, to alienate so much ground from pasturage and the plow, 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.

But though there are several of those wild Writers who have given us an account of China, scenes that are more delightful than any artifi- tell us the inhabitants of that country laugh at the cial shows, yet we find the works of nature still plantations of our Europeans, which are laid out more pleasant, the more they resemble those of by the rule and line; because, they say, any perart: for in this case our pleasure rises from a son may place trees in equal rows and uniform double principle; from the agreeableness of the figures. They choose rather to show a genius in objects to the eye, and from their similitude to works of this nature, and therefore always conother objects. We are pleased as well with com- ceal the art by which they direct themselves. paring their beauties, as with surveying them, and They have a word, it seems, in their language, by can represent them to our minds, either as copies which they express the particular beauty of a or originals. Hence it is that we take delight in plantation that thus strikes the imagination at a prospect which is well laid out, and diversified first sight, without discovering what it is that with fields and meadows, woods and rivers; in has so agreeable an effect. Our British gardeners, those accidental landscapes of trees, clouds, and on the contrary, instead of humoring nature, love cities, that are sometimes found in the veins of to deviate from it as much as possible. Our marble; in the curious fretwork of rocks and grot- trees rise in cones, globes, and pyramids. We toes; and, in a word, in anything that hath such a see the marks of the scissors upon every plant variety or regularity as may seem the effect of de- and bush. I do not know whether I am singular sign in what we call the works of chance. in my opinion, but for my own part, I would raIf the products of nature rise in value according ther look upon a tree in all its luxuriancy and

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