DUM FORIS SUNT, NIHIL VIDETUR MUNDIUS, TER.EUN. ACT. V. SC. 4. WHEN THEY ARE ABROAD, NOTHING IS 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 POVERTY AT HOME, THEIR GLUTTONY, AND HOW THEY DEVOUR BLACK CRUSTS DIPPED IN YESTERDAY'S BROTH, IS A PERFECT ANTIDOTE AGAINST WENCHING. WILI ILL Honeycomb, who difguifes his prefent decay by vifiting the wenches of the town only by way of humour, told us, that the last rainy night, he with Sir Roger de Coverley was driven into the Temple Cloifter, whither had efcaped alfo a lady moft exactly dreffed from head to foot. Will made no fcruple to acquaint us, that the faluted him very familiarly by his name; and turning immediately to the knight, fhe faid, the fuppofed that was his good friend Sir Roger de Coverley upon which nothing lefs could follow than Sir Roger's approach to falutation, with Madam, the fame at your fer'vice.' She was dreffed in a black tabby mantua and petticoat, without ribbons; her linen ftriped muflin, and in the whole in an agreeable second mourning; decent dreffes being often affected by the creatures of the town, at once confulting cheapnefs and the pretenfions to modefty. She went on with a familiar eafy air-Your friend, • Mr. Honeycomb, is a little furpaifed to fee a woman here alone and unat⚫tended; but I difmiffed my coach at the gate, and tripped it down to my ⚫ counfel's chamber; for lawyers fees ⚫ take up too much of a finall difputed jointure to admit any other expences but mere neceffaries. Mr. Honeycomb begged they might have the honour of fetting her down, for Sir Roger's fervant 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 trufting herself with Mr. Honeycomb and his friend to wait at the tavern at the gate for a conch, or to be fubje&ted to all the impertinence the must meet with in that public place. Mr. Honeycomb being a man of honour, determined the choice of the firft; and Sir Roger, as the better man, took the lady by the hand, leading her through all the fhower, covering her with his hat, and gallanting a familiar acquaintance through rows of young fellows, who winked at Sukey in the itate fhe marched off, Will Honeycomb bringing up the rear. Much importunity prevailed upon the fair one to admit of a collation, where, after declaring the had no ftomach, and eaten a couple of chickens, devoured a trufs of fallad, and drank a full bottle to her fhare, fhe fung the Old Man's Wih to Sir Roger. The knight left the room for fome time after fupper, 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. MADAM, Am not fo mere a country gentleman, but I can guels at the lawbulinefs you had at the Temple. If you would go down to the country, and leave off all your vanities but your finging, let me know at my lodgings in Bow Bow Street, Covent Garden, and you fhall be encouraged by your humble fervant, ROGER DE COVERLEY. cure, And turn thy footsteps from the harlot's door, Once from my window as I caft mine eye And pafs'd the corner near the harlot's gate; Loofe her attire, and fuch her glaring dress, Subtle fhe is, and practis'd in the arts I therefore came abroad to meet my dear, • stay: He nam'd for his return a diftant day.' dwell, And from her lips fuch welcome flatt'ry fell, Against the wily wanton's pleasing arts; N° CCCCXI. SATURDAY, JUNE 21. AVIA PIERIDUM PERAGRO LOCA, NULLIUS ANTE T INSPIR'D I TRACE THE MUSES SEATS, UR fight is the most perfect and molt delightful of all our fenfes. It fills the mind with the largest variety of ideas, converfes with it's objects at the greateft diftance, and continues the longeft in action without being tired or fatiated with it's proper enjoyments. The fenfe of feeling can indeed give us a no 822 THE SPECTATOR. a notion of extension, shape, and all There are few words in the English into our memories, or formed into agreeable vifions of things that are ci- The pleafures of the imagination, A man of a polite imagination is let quire of the imagination, which do not re quire fuch a bent of thought as is neceffary to our more ferious employments; nor, at the fame time, fuffer the mind to link into that negligence and remiffnefs, which are apt to accompany our more fenfual delights, but, like a gentle exercife to the faculties, awaken them from floth and idlenefs, without putting them upon any labour or difficulty. We might here add, that the pleafures of the fancy are more conducive to health than thofe of the understanding, which are worked out by dint of thinking, and attended with too violent a labour of the brain. Delightful fcenes, whether in nature, painting, or poetry, have a kindly influence on the body, as well as the mind, and not only ferve to clear and brighten the imagination, but are able to difperfe grief and melancholy, and to let the animal fpirits in pleafing and agreeable motions. For this reafon Sir Francis Bacon, in his Effay upon Health, has not thought it improper to prescribe to his reader a poem or a profpect, where he particularly diffuades him from knotty and fubtile difquifitions, and advifes him to pursue ftudies that fill the mind with fplendid and illuftrious objects, as hiftories, fables, and contemplations of nature. I have in this paper, by way of introduction, fettled the notion of those pleafures of the imagination which are the subject of my prefent undertaking; and endeavoured, by feveral confiderations, to recommend to my reader the pursuit of thofe pleafures. I fhall, in my next paper, examine the feveral fources from whence thefe pleasures are derived. N° CCCCXII. MONDAY, JUNE 23. DIVISUM SIC BREVE FIET OPUS. MART. EP. LXXXIII. LIB. 4. THE WORK, DIVIDED APTLY, SHORTER GROWS. Shall first confider thofe pleasures of the actual view and furvey of outward objects: and thefe, I think, all proceed from the fight of what is great, uncommon, or beautiful. There may, indeed, be fomething fo terrible or offenfive, that the horror or loathfomeness of an object may overbear the pleasure which refults from it's greatnefs, novelty, or beauty; bat fill there will be fuch a mixture of delight in the very difguft it gives us, as any of these three qualifications are moit confpicuous and prevailing. By greatness I do not only mean the bulk of any fingle object, but the large nefs of a whole view, confidered as one entire piece. Such are the profpects of an open champaign country, a vast uncultivated defart, of huge heaps of mounttains, high rocks and precipices, or a wide expanfe of waters, where we are not ftruck with the novelty or beauty of the fight, but with that rude kind of magnificence which appears in many of thefe ftupendous works of nature. Our imagination loves to be filled with an object, or to grafp at any thing that is too big for it's capacity. We are flung into a pleafing aftonishment at fuch un bounded views, and feel a delightful the apprehenfions of them. The mind of man naturally hates every thing that looks like a restraint upon it, and is apt to fancy itself under a fort of confinement, when the fight is pent up in a narrow compafs, and thortened on every fide by the neighbourhood of walls of mountains. On the contrary, a fpacious horizon is an image of liberty, where the eye das room to range abroad, to expatiate at large on the immenfity of it's views, and to lofe itself amidit the variety of objects that offer themselves to it's obfervation, Such wide and undetermined profpe&ts are as pleafing to the fancy, as the fpeculations of eternity or infinitude are to the understanding. But if there be a beauty or uncommonnefs joined with this grandeur, as in the troubled ocean, a heaven adorned with stars and meteors, or a spacious landfkip cut out into rivers, woods, rocks, and meadows, the pleafure ftill grows upon us, as it arifes from more than a fingle principle. Every thing that is new or uncommon raifes a pleasure in the imagination, because it fills the foul with an agreeS M able able furprize, gratifies it's curiofity, and gives it an idea of which it was not before poffefed. We are indeed fo often converfant with one fet of objects, and tired out with fo many repeated fhows of the fame things, that whatever is new or uncommon contributes a little to vary human life, and to divert our minds, for a while, with the ftrangeness of it's appearance: it ferves us for a kind of refreshment, and takes off from that fatiety we are apt to complain of in our ufual and ordinary entertainments. It is this that beftows charms on a mon fter, and makes even the imperfections of nature pleafe us. It is this that recommends variety, where the mind is every instant called off to fomething new, and the attention not fuffered to dwell too long, and waste itself on any particular object. It is this, likewife, that improves what is great or beautiful, and makes it afford the mind a double entertainment. Groves, fields, and meadows, are at any feafon of the year pleafant to look upon, but never fo much as in the opening of the spring, when they are all new and fresh, with their first glofs upon them, and not yet too much accustomed and familiar to the eye. For this reafon there is nothing that more enlivens a profpect than rivers, jetteaus, or falls of water, where the fcene is perpetually fhifting, and entertaining the Tight every moment with fomething that is new. We are quickly tired with looking upon hills and valleys, where every thing continues fixed and settled in the iame place and pofture, but find our thoughts a little agitated and relieved at the fight of fuch objects as are ever in motion, and siding away from beneath the eye of the beholder. But there is nothing that makes it's way more directly to the foul than beauty, which immediately diffufes a fecret fatisfaction and complacency through the imagination, and gives a finishing to any thing that is great or uncommon. The very firft difcovery of it ftrikes the mind with an inward joy, and spreads a chearfulness and delight through all it's faculties. There is not perhaps any real beauty or deformity more in one piece of matter than another, because we might have been fo made, that whatsoever now appears loathfome to us, might have fhewn itself agreeable; but we find by experience that there are feveral modifications of matter which the mind, without any previous confideration, pro nounces at first fight beautiful or deformed. Thus we fee that every different fpecies of fenfible creatures has it's different notions of beauty, and that each of them is moft affected with the beauties of it's own kind. This is no where more remarkable than in birds of the fame fhape and proportion, where we often fee the male determined in his courtship by the fingle grain or tincture of a feather, and never difcovering any charms but in the colour of it's fpecies. Connubii leges; non illum in peɛtore cander Scit thalamo fervare fidem, fanétafque 'veretur Sollicitat niveus; neque pravum accendit amo rem fanda. Hinc Merula in nigro se oble&at nigramarito, Hinc focium lafciva petit philomela canorum, Agnofcitque pares fonitus, binc noctua tetram Canitiem alarum, et glaucos miratur ocellos. Nempe fibi femper conftat, crefcitque quotannis Lucida progenies, caftos confeffa parentes; Dum virides inter faltus lucofque fonoros Sere novo exultat, plumasque decora juventus Explicat ad folem, patriifque coloribus ardet. The feather'd husband, to his partner true, Preferves connubial rites inviolate. With cold indifference every charm he fees, The fhining down, proud creft and purple The milky whiteness of the ftately neck, wings: But cautious with a fearching eye explores, The female tribes, his proper mate to find, With kindred colours mark'd: did he not so, The grove with painted monsters would abound, Th' ambiguous product of unnatural love. The black-bird hence felects her footy spouse; The nightingale her musical compeer, Lur'd by the well-known voice: the bird of Smit with his dulky wings and greenish eyes, There is a fecond kind of beauty that we find in the feveral products of art and nature, which does not work in the imagination with that warmth and vio Jence |