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lifting up both his arms, and pouring out the thunder of his rhetoric amidst an audience of pagan philosophers.

dumb man, and therefore may be thought a very improper person to give rules for oratory: but I will believe every one will agree with me in this, that we ought either to lay aside all kinds of gesture (which seems to be very suitable to the genius of our nation), or at least to make use of such only as are graceful and expressive.-O.

Decet affectus animi neque se nimium erigere, nec subjacere serviliter.-TULL. de Finibus.

It is certain that proper gestures and vehement exertions of the voice cannot be too much studied by a public orator. They are a kind of comment to what he utters, and enforce every thing he says, with weak hearers, better than the strongest argumeut he can make use of. They keep the audience awake, and fix their attention to what is delivered to them, at the same tinie that they show the speaker No. 408.] WEDNESDAY, JUNE 18, 1712. is in earnest, and affected himself with what he so passionately recommends to others. Violent gestures and vociferation naturally shake the hearts of the ignorant, and fill them with a kind of religious horror. Nothing is more frequent than to see women stand and tremble at the sight of a moving preacher, though he is placed quite out of their hearing; as in England we very frequently see people lulled asleep with solid and elaborate discourses of piety, who would be warmed and transported out of themselves by the bellowing and distortions of enthusiasm.

If nonsense, when accompanied with such an emotion of voice and body, has such an influence on, men's minds, what might we not expect from many of those admirable discourses which are printed in our tongue, were they delivered with a becoming fervour, and with the most agreeable graces of voice and gesture!

We are told that the great Latin orator very much impaired his health by the laterum contentio, the vehemence of action, with which he used to deliver himself. The Greek orator was likewise so very famous for this particular in rhetoric, that one of his antagonists, whom he had banished from Athens, reading over the oration which had procured his banishment, and seeing his friends admire it, could not forbear asking them, if they were so much affected by the bare reading of it, how much more they would have been alarmed, had they heard him actually throwing out such a storm of eloquence?

How cold and dead a figure, in comparison of these two great men, does an orator often make at the British bar, holding up his head with the most insipid serenity, and stroking the sides of a long wig that reaches down to his middle! The truth of it is, there is often nothing more ridiculous than the gestures of an English speaker: you see some of them running their hands into their pockets as far as ever they can thrust them, and others looking with great attention on a piece of paper that has nothing written on it; you may see many a smart rhetorician turning his hat in his hands, moulding it into several different cocks, examining sometimes the lining of it, and sometimes the button, during the whole course of his harangue. A deaf man would think he was cheapening a beaver, when perhaps he is talking of the fate of the British nation. I remember when I was a young man, and used to frequent Westminster-hall, there was a counsellor who never pleaded without a piece of packthread in his hand, which he used to twist about a thumb or finger all the while he was speaking: the wags of those days used to call it "the thread of his discourse," for he was not able to utter a word without it. One of his clients, who was more merry than wise, stole it from him one day in the midst of his pleading; but he had better have let it alone, for he lost his cause by his jest.

I have all along acknowledged myself to be a

The affections of the heart ought not to be too much indulged, nor servilely depressed.

"MR. SPECTATOR,

"I HAVE always been a very great lover of your speculations, as well as in regard to the subject as to your manner of treating it. Human nature I always thought the most useful object of human reason; and to make the consideration of it pleasant and entertaining, I always thought the best employment of human wit: other parts of philosophy may perhaps make us wiser, but this not only answers that end, but makes us better too. Hence it was that the oracle pronounced Socrates the wisest of all men living, because he judiciously made choice of human nature for the object of his thoughts; an ́ inquiry into which as much exceeds all other learning, as it is of more consequence to adjust the true nature and measures of right and wrong, than to settle the distances of the planets, and compute the times of their circumvolutions.

"One good effect that will immediately arise from a near observation of human nature is, that we shall cease to wonder at those actions which men are used to reckon wholly unaccountable; for, as nothing is produced without a cause, so, by observing the nature and course of the passions, we shall be able to trace every action from its first conception to its death. We shall no more admire at the proceedings of Catiline or Tiberius, when we know the one was actuated by a cruel jealousy, the other by a furious ambition: for the actions of men follow their passions as naturally as light does heat, or as any other effect flows from its cause; reason must be employed in adjusting the passions, but they must ever remain the principles of action.

"The strange and absurd variety that is so apparent in men's actions, shows plainly they can never proceed immediately from reason; so pure a fountain emits no such troubled waters. They must necessarily arise from the passions, which are to the mind as the winds to a ship; they only can move it, and they too often destroy it: if fair and gentle, they guide it into the harbour: if contrary and furious, they overset it in the waves. In the same manner is the mind assisted or endangered by the passions; reason must then take the place of pilot, and can never fail of securing her charge if she be not wanting to herself. The strength of the passions will never be accepted as an excuse for complying with them; they were designed for subjection; and if a man suffers them to get the upper hand, he then betrays the liberty of his own soul.

"As nature has framed the several species of beings as it were in a chain, so man seems to be placed as the middle link between angels and brutes. Hence he participates both of flesh and spirit by an admirable tie, which in him occasions a perpetual war of passions; and as a man inclines to the angelic or brute part of his constitution, he is then leno

And surely it is a mighty mistake that the passiona should be so entirely subdued: for little irregu larities are sometimes not only to be borne with, but to be cultivated too, since they are frequently attended with the greatest perfections. All great geniuses have faults mixed with their virtues, and resemble the flaming bush which has thorns among

minated good or bad, virtuous or wicked; if love,
mercy, and good-nature prevail, they speak him of
the angel: if hatred, cruelty, and envy predominate,
they declare his kindred to the brute. Hence it
was, that some of the ancients imagined, that as
men in this life inclined more to the angel or the
brute, so after their death they should transmigrate
into the one or the other; and it would be no un-lights.
pleasant notion to consider the several species of
brutes, into which we may imagine that tyrants,
misers, the proud, malicious, and ill-natured, might
be changed.

"As a consequence of this original, all passions are in all men, but all appear not in all; constitution, education, custom of the country, reason, and the like causes, may improve or abate the strength of them; but still the seeds remain, which are ever ready to sprout forth upon the least encouragement. I have heard a story of a good religious man, who, having been bred with the milk of a goat, was very modest in public by a careful reflection he made on his actions: but he frequently had an hour in secret, wherein he had his frisks and capers: and if we had an opportunity of examining the retire. ment of the strictest philosophers, no doubt but we should find perpetual returns of those passions they so artfully conceal from the public. I remember Machiavel observes, that every state should entertain a perpetual jealousy of its neighbours, that so it should never be unprovided when an emergency happens; in like manner, should the reason be perpetually on its guard against the passions, and never suffer them to carry on any design that may be destructive of its security: yet at the same time it must be careful that it do not so far break their strength as to render them contemptible, and consequently itself unguarded.

"The understanding being of itself too slow and lazy to exert itself into action, it is necessary it should be put in motion by the gentle gales of the passions, which may preserve it from stagnating and corruption; for they are as necessary to the health of the mind, as the circulation of the animal spirits is to the health of the body: they keep it in life, and strength, and vigour; nor is it possible for the mind to perform its offices without their assistance. These motions are given us with our being; they are little spirits that are born and die with us; to some they are mild, easy, and gentle; to others wayward and unruly, yet never too strong for the reins of reason and the guidance of judgment.

"We may generally observe a pretty nice proportion between the strength of reason and passion; the greatest geniuses have commonly the strongest affections, as, on the other hand, the weaker understandings have generally the weaker passions; and it is fit the fury of the coursers should not be too great for the strength of the charioteer. Young men, whose passions are not a little unruly, give small hopes of their ever being considerable; the fire of youth will of course abate, and is a fault, if it be a fault, that mends every day; but surely, unless a man has fire in youth, he can hardly have warmth in old age. We must therefore be very cautious, lest, while we think to regulate the passions, we should quite extinguish them, which is putting out the light of the soul; for to be without passion, or to be hurried away with it, makes a man equally blind. The extraordinary severity used in most of our schools has this fatal effect, it breaks the spring of the mind, and most certainly destroys more good geniuses than it can possibly improve.

"Since therefore the passions are the principles of human actions, we must endeavour to manage them so as to retain their vigour, yet keep them under strict command; we must govern them rather like free subjects than slaves, lest, while we intend to make them obedient, they become abject, and unfit for those great purposes to which they were designed. For my part I must confess I could never have any regard to that sect of philosophers who so much insisted upon an absolute indifference and vacancy from all passion: for it seems to me a thing very inconsistent, for a man to divest himself of humanity in order to acquire tranquillity of mind; and to eradicate the very principles of action, because it is possible they may produce ill effects. "I am, Sir, your affectionate Admirer,

Z.

"T. B."

No. 409.] THURSDAY, JUNE 19, 1712.
-Museo contingere cuncta lepore-Luca. i. 933.
To grace each subject with enliv'ning wit.
GRATIAN very often recommends fine taste as the
utmost perfection of an accomplished man.

As this word arises very often in conversation, I shall endeavour to give some account of it, and to lay down rules how we may know whether we are possessed of it, and how we may acquire that fine taste of writing which is so much talked of among the polite world.

Most languages make use of this metaphor, to express that faculty of the mind which distinguishes all the most concealed faults and nicest perfections in writing. We may be sure this metaphor would not have been so general in all tongues, had there not been a very great conformity between that mental taste, which is the subject of this paper, and that sensitive taste, which gives us a relish of every different flavour that affects the palate. Accordingly we find there are as many degrees of refinement in the intellectual faculty as in the sense which is marked out by this common denomination.

I knew a person who possessed the one in so great a perfection, that, after having tasted ten different kinds of tea, he would distinguish, without seeing the colour of it, the particular sort which was offered him; and not only so, but any two sorts of them that were mixed together in an equal proportion; nay, he has carried the experiment so far, as, upon tasting the composition of three different sorts, to name the parcels from whence the three several ingredients were taken. A man of a fine taste in writing will discern, after the same manner, not only the general beauties and imperfections of an author, but discover the several ways of thinking and expressing himself, which diversify him from all other authors, with the several foreign infusions of thought and language, and the particular authors from whom they were borrowed.

After having thus far explained what is generally meant by a fine taste in writing, and shown the propriety of the metaphor which is used on this

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ocasion, I think I may define it to be that faculty of the soul, which discerns the beauties of an author with pleasure, and the imperfections with dislike." If a man would know whether he is possessed of this faculty, I would have him read over the celebrated works of antiquity, which have stood the test of so many different ages and countries, or those works among the moderns which have the sanction of the politer part of our contemporaries. If, upon the perusal of such writings, he does not find himself delighted in an extraordinary manner, or if, upon reading the admired passages in such authors, he finds a coldness and indifference in his thoughts, he ought to conclude, noi (as is too usual among tasteless readers) that the author wants those perfections which have been admired in him, but that he himself wants the faculty of discovering them.

have inade, that men of great genius in the same way of writing seldom rise up singly, but at certain periods of time appear together, and in a body; as they did at Rome in the reign of Augustus, and in Greece about the age of Socrates. I cannot think that Corneille, Racine, Moliere, Boileau, La Fontaine, Bruyere, Bossu, or the Daciers, would have written so well as they have done, had they not been friends and contemporaries.

It is likewise necessary for a man who would form to himself a finished taste of good writing, to be well versed in the works of the best critics, both ancient and modern. I must confess that could wish there were authors of this kind, who, besides the mechanical rules, which a man of very little taste may discourse upon, would enter into the very spirit and soul of fine writing, and show He should, in the second place, be very careful to us the several sources of that pleasure which rises observe, whether he tastes the distinguishing per- in the mind upon the perusal of a noble work. fections, or, if I may be allowed to call them so, Thus, although in poetry it be absolutely necessary the specific qualities of the author whom he peruses; that the unities of time, place, and action, with whether he is particularly pleased with Livy for his other points of the same nature, should be tho manner of telling a story, with Sallust for his en-roughly explained and understood, there is still tering into those internal principles of action which something more essential to the art, something that arise from the characters and manners of the per-elevates and astonishes the fancy, and gives a great. sons he describes, or with Tacitus for displayingness of mind to the reader, which few of the critics those outward motives of safety and interest which besides Longinus have considered. gave birth to the whole series of transactions which he relates.

He may likewise consider, how differently he is affected by the same thought which presents itself in a great writer, from what he is when he finds it delivered by a person of an ordinary geuius; for there is as much difference in apprehending a thought clothed in Cicero's language, and that of a common author, as in seeing an object by the light of a taper, or by the light of the sun.

Our general taste in England is for epigram, turns of wit, and forced conceits, which have no manner of influence either for the bettering or en larging the mind of him who reads them, and have been carefully avoided by the greatest writers, both among the ancients and moderns. I have endea. voured, in several of my speculations, to banish this Gothic taste which has taken possession among us, I entertained the town for a week together with an essay upon wit, in which I endeavoured to detect

in the different ages of the world, and at the same
time to show wherein the nature of true wit con-
sists. I afterward gave an instance of the great
force which lies in a natural simplicity of thought
to affect the mind of the reader, from such vulgar
pieces as have little else besides this single quali-
fication to recommend them. I have likewise exa-
mined the works of the greatest poet which our
nation, or perhaps any other, has produced, and
particularized most of those rational and manly
beauties which give a value to that divine work. İ
shall next Saturday enter upon an essay on
"The
Pleasures of the Imagination," which, though it
shall consider that subject at large, will perhaps
suggest to the reader what it is that gives a beauty
to many passages of the finest writers both în prose
and verse. As an undertaking of this nature is
entirely new, I question not but it will be received
with candour.-0.

It is very difficult to lay down rules for the ac-several of those false kinds which have been admired quirement of such a taste as that I am here speaking of. The faculty must in some degree be born with us; and it very often happens, that those who have other qualities in perfection, are wholly void of this. One of the most eminent mathematicians of the age has assured me, that the greatest pleasure he took in reading Virgil was in examining Eneas's voyage by the map; as I question not but many a modern compiler of history would be delighted with little more in that divine author than the bare matters of fact. But, notwithstanding this faculty must in some measure be born with us, there are several methods for cultivating and improving it, and without which it will be very uncertain, and of little use to the person that possesses it. The most natural method for this purpose is to be conversant among the writings of the most polite authors. A man who has any relish for fine writing, either discovers new beauties, or receives stronger impressions, from the masterly strokes of a great author, every time he peruses him; besides that he naturally wears himself into the same manner of speaking and thinking.

Conversation with men of a polite genius is another method for improving our natural taste. It is impossible for a man of the greatest parts to consider anything in its whole extent, and in all its variety of lights. Every man, besides those general observations which are to be made upon an author, forms several reficetions that are peculiar to his own manner of thinking; so that conversation will naturally furnish us with hints which we did not attend to, and make us enjoy other men's parts ard reflections as well as our own. This is the best reason I can give for the observation which several

No. 410.] FRIDAY, JUNE 20, 1712.
- Dum foris sunt, nihil videtur mundius,
Nec magis compositum quidquam, nec magis elegans;
Quæ, cum amatore suo cum conant, liguriunt.
Harum videre ingluviem sordes, inopiam:
Quam inhonestæ solæ sint domi, atque avidæ cibi:
Quo pacto ex jure hesterno panem atrum vorent.
Nosse omnia hæc, salus est adolescentulis.

TER. Eum. act v. sc. 4.

When they are abroad, nothing so clean and nicely dressed; and when at supper with a gallant, they do but piddle, and pick the choicest bits: but to see their nastiness and po verty at home, their gluttony, and how they devour black crusts dipped in yesterday's broth, is a perfect antidoye against wenching.

WILL HONEYCOMB, who disguises his present de

cay by visiting the wenches of the town only by way of humour, told us, that the last rainy night, he, with Sir Roger de Coveriey, was driven into the Temple cloister, whither had escaped also a lady most exactly dressed from head to foot. Will made no scruple to acquaint us, that she saluted him very familiarly by his name, and turning immediately to the knight, she said, she supposed that was his good friend Sir Roger de Coverley: upon which nothing less could follow than Sir Koger's approach to salutation, with "Madam, the same, at your service." She was dressed in a black tabby mantua and petticoat, without ribands; her linen striped muslin, and in the whole in an agreeble second mourning; decent dresses being often affected by the creatures of the town, at once consulting cheapness and the pretension to modesty. She went on with a familiar easy air, "Your friend, Mr. Honeycomb, is a little surprised to see a woman here alone and unattended; but I dismissed my coach at the gate, and tripped it down to my counsel's chambers; for lawyers' fees take up too much of a small disputed jointure to admit any other expenses but mere necessaries." Mr. Honeycomb begged they might have the honour of setting her down, for Sir Roger's servant was gone to call a coach. In the interim the footman returned with "no coach to be had;" and there appeared nothing to be done but trusting herself with Mr. Honeycomb and his friend, to wait at the tavern at the gate for a coach, or be subjected to all the impertinence she must meet with in that public place. Mr. Honeycomb, being a man of honour, determined the choice of the first, and Sir Roger, as the better man, took the lady by the hand, leading her through all the shower, covering her with his hat, and gallanting a familiar acquaintance through rows of young fellows, who winked at Sukey in the state she marched off, Will Honeycomb bringing up the rear.

Much importunity prevailed upon the fair one to admit of a collation, where, after declaring she had no stomach, and having eaten a couple of chickens, devoured a truss of salad, and drank a full bottle to her share, she sung the Old Man's Wish to Sir Roger. The knight left the room for some time after supper, and writ the following billet, which he conveyed to Sukey, and Sukey to her friend Will Honeycomb. Will has given it to Sir Andrew Freeport, who read it last night to the club :

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MADAM,

"I am not so mere a country gentleman, but I can guess at the law business you had at the Temple. If you would go down to the country, and leave off all your vanities but your singing, let me know at my lodgings in Bow-street, Covent-garden, and you shall be encouraged by your humble servant, "ROGER DE COVERLEY."

My good friend could not well stand the raillery which was rising upon him; but to put a stop to it, I delivered Will Honeycomb the following letter, and desired him to read it to the board:

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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 pass'd in giddy numbers by,
A youth among the foolish youths I spy'd,
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 pass'd 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:
Subule she is, and practis'd in the arts

By which the wanton conquer heedless hearts:
Stubborn and loud she is; she hates her home;
Varying her place and form, she loves to roan;
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 odours 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,
Aud from her lips such welcome flatt'ry fell,
Th' unguarded youth, in silken fetters ty'd,
Resign'd his reason, and with ease comply'd
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 skilful fowlers for his life prepare.
But let my sons attend. Attend may they
Whom youthful vigour 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.

PAPER I.

ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.
CONTENTS.

The perfection of our sight above our other senses. The plea sures 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 preferable to those of the understanding.

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante
Trita solo: juvat integros accedere fontes,
Atque haurire
LUCK. L. 925

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tion 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 colours; 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.

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It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with its ideas; so that by the pleasures of 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.

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 often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows, than another does in the possession. It gives him, indeed, a kind of property in every thing he sees, and makes the most rude uncultivated parts of nature administer to his pleasures; so that he looks upon the world as it were in another light, and discovers in it a multitude 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 endeavour, therefore, to make the sphere of his innocent pleasures 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

There are few words in the English language which are employed in a more loose and uncircum-upon any labour or difficulty. scribed sense than those of the fancy and the ima- We might here add, that the pleasures of the gination. I therefore thought it necessary to fix fancy are more conducive to health than those of and determine the notion of these two words, as I the understanding, which are worked out by dint of intend to make use of them in the thread of my thinking, and attended with too violent a labour of following speculations, that the reader may conceive the brain. Delightful scenes, whether in nature, rightly what is the subject which I proceed upon. painting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the I must therefore desire him to remember, that by body as well as the mind: and not only serve to "the pleasures of the imagination," I mean only clear and brighten the imagination, but are able to such pleasures as arise originally from sight, and disperse grief and melancholy, and to set the animal' that I divide these pleasures into two kinds: my spirits in pleasing and agreeable motions. For this design being first of all to discourse of those primary reason, Sir Francis Bacon, in his Essay upon Health, pleasures of the imagination, which entirely pro- has not thought it improper to prescribe to his ceed from such objects as are before our eyes; and reader a poem or a prospect, where he particularly in the next place to speak of those secondary plea-dissuades him from knotty and subtle disquisitions, sures 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. Besides, 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 colours 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 any thing we see, and immediately assent to the beauty of an object, without inquiring into the particular causes and occasions of it.

and advises him to pursue studies that fill the mind with splendid and illustrious objects, as histories, fables and contemplations 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 endeavoured, 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. 412.1 MONDAY, JUNE 23, 1712.

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