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imagination of all the good poets that have of the imagination are of a wider and more
come after him. I shall only instance Ho-universal nature than those it has when
race, who immediately takes fire at the first joined with sight; for not only what is great,
hint of any passage in the Iliad or Odyssey, strange, or beautiful, but any thing that is
and always rises above himself when he disagreeable when looked upon, pleases us
has Homer in his view. Virgil has drawn in an apt description. Here, therefore, we
together, into his Æneid, all the pleasing must inquire after a new principle of plea
scenes his subject is capable of admitting, sure, which is nothing else but the action
and in his Georgics has given us a collec- of the mind, which compares the ideas that
tion of the most delightful landscapes that arise from words with the ideas that arise
can be made out of fields and woods, herds from objects themselves; and why this
of cattle, and swarms of bees.
operation of the mind is attended with so
much pleasure, we have before considered.
For this reason, therefore, the description
of a dunghill is pleasing to the imagination,
if the image be represented to our minds
by suitable expressions; though, perhaps,
this may be more properly called the plea-
sure of the understanding than of the fancy,
because we are not so much delighted with
the image that is contained in the descrip
tion, as with the aptness of the description
to excite the image.

Ovid, in his Metamorphoses, has shown
us how the imagination may be affected by
what is strange. He describes a miracle
in every story, and always gives us the
sight of some new creature at the end of it.
His art consists chiefly in well-timing his
description, before the first shape is quite
worn off, and the new one perfectly finish-
ed; so that he every where entertains us
with something we never saw before, and
shows us monster after monster to the end
of the Metamorphoses.

If I were to name a poet that is a perfect master in all these arts of working on the imagination, I think Milton may pass for one: and if his Paradise Lost falls short of the Æneid or Iliad in this respect, it proceeds rather from the fault of the language in which it is written, than from any defect of genius in the author. So divine a poem in English, is like a stately palace built of brick, where one may see architecture in as great a perfection as one of marble, though the materials are of a coarser nature. But to consider it only as it regards our present subject: What can be conceived greater than the battle of angels, the majesty of Messiah, the stature and behaviour of Satan and his peers? What more beautiful than Pandemonium, Paradise, Heaven, Angels, Adam and Eve? What more strange than the creation of the world, the several metamorphoses of the fallen angels, and the surprising adventures their leader meets with in his search after Paradise? No other subject could have furnished a poet with scenes so proper to strike the imagination, as no other poet could have painted those scenes in more strong and lively colours.


But if the description of what is little, common, or deformed, be acceptable to the imagination, the description of what is great, surprising, or beautiful is much more so; because here we are not only delighted with comparing the representation with the original, but are highly pleased with the original itself. Most readers, I believe, are more charmed with Milton's description of Paradise, than of hell; they are both, per haps, equally perfect in their kind; but in the one the brimstone and sulphur are not so refreshing to the imagination, as the beds of flowers and the wilderness of sweets in the other.

There is yet another circumstance which recommends a description more than all the rest; and that is, if it represents to us such objects as are apt to raise a secret fer ment in the mind of the reader, and to work with violence upon his passions. For, in this case, we are at once warmed and enlightened, so that the pleasure becomes more universal, and is several ways quali fied to entertain us. Thus in painting, it is pleasant to look on the picture of any face where the resemblance is hit; but the pleasure increases if it be the picture of a face that is beautiful; and is still greater, if the beauty be softened with an air of melan choly or sorrow. The two leading passions which the more serious parts of poetry en deavour to stir up in us, are terror and pity. ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. And here, by the way, one would wonder Contents.-Why any thing that is unpleasant to behold how it comes to pass that such passions as pleases the imagination when well described. Why are very unpleasant at all other times, are the imagination receives a more exquisite pleasure from the description of what is great, now, or beauti. Very agreeable when excited by proper ful. The pleasure still heightened, if what is described descriptions. It is not strange, that we raises passion in the mind. Disagreeable passions should take delight in such passages as are pleasing when raised by apt descriptions. Why ter- apt to produce hope, joy, admiration, love, never rise in the mind without an inward or the like emotions in us, because they pleasure which attends them. But how Comes it to pass, that we should take delight in being terrified or dejected by a description, when we find so much uneasiness in

No. 418.] Monday, June 30, 1712.


ror and grief are pleasing to the mind when excited
poetry and fiction have to please the imagination.
by description. A particular advantage the writers in

What liberties are allowed them.

-ferat et rubus asper amomum. Virg. Ecl. iii. 89.

The rugged thorn shall bear the fragrant rose.

THE pleasures of these secondary views

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he fear or grief which we receive from any ther occasion?

If we consider, therefore, the nature of his pleasure, we shall find that it does not rise so properly from the description of hat is terrible, as from the reflection we nake on ourselves at the time of reading it. When we look on such hideous objects, we re nct a little pleased to think we are in o danger of them.* We consider them at he same time, as dreadful and harmless; so at the more frightful appearance they nake, the greater is the pleasure we reeive from the sense of our own safety. In hort, we look upon the terrors of a descripon with the same curiosity and satisfaction hat we survey a dead monster.

-Informe cadaver

rotrahitur: nequeunt expleri corda tuendo
erribiles oculos, vultum villosaque setis
ectora semiferi atque extinctos faucibus ignes.
Virg. Æn. viii. 264.

-They drag him from his den.
he wond'ring neighbourhood, with glad surprise,
ehold his shagged breast, his giant size,
is mouth that flames no more, and his extinguish'deyes.

beautiful than the eye ever saw, and is still sensible of some defect in what it has seen; on this account it is the part of a poet to humour the imagination in our own notions, by mending and perfecting nature where he describes a reality, and by adding greater beauties than are put together in nature, where he describes a fiction.

He is not obliged to attend her in the slow advances which she makes from one season to another, or to observe her conduct in the successive production of plants and flowers. (He may draw into his description all the beauties of the spring and autumn, and make the whole year contribute something to render it the more agreeable. His rosetrees, woodbines, and jasmines, may flower together, and his beds be covered at the same time with lilies, violets, and amaranths. His soil is not restrained to any particular set of plants, but is proper either for oaks or myrtles, and adapts itself to the products of every climate. Oranges may grow wild in it; myrrh may be met with in every hedge; and if he thinks it proper to have a grove of spices, he can quickly command sun enough to raise it. If all this will not furnish out an agreeable scene, he can make several new species of flowers, with richer scents and higher colours than any that grow in the gardens of nature. His concerts of birds may be as full and harmoniIn the like manner, when we read of tor-ous, and his woods as thick and gloomy as ments, wounds, deaths, and the like dismal he pleases. He is at no more expense in a accidents, our pleasure does not flow so long vista than a short one, and can as easily properly from the grief which such melan-throw his cascades from a precipice of half holy descriptions give us, as from the a mile high, as from one of twenty yards. ecret comparison which we make between He has the choice of the winds, and can urselves and the person who suffers. Such epresentations teach us to set a just value pon our own condition, and make us prize ur good fortune, which exempts us from he like calamities. This is, however, such kind of pleasure as we are not capable of eceiving, when we see a person actually ying under the tortures that we meet with na description; because, in this case, the bject presses too close upon our senses, and

It is for the same reason that we are deighted with the reflecting upon dangers hat are past, or in looking on a precipice t a distance, which would fill us with a lifferent kind of horror, if we saw it hangng over our heads.

turn the course of his rivers in all the variety of meanders that are most delightful to the reader's imagination. In a word, he ha: the modelling of nature in his own hands, and may give her what charms he pleases, provided he does not reform her too much, and run into absurdities by endeavouring to excel.


ears so hard upon us, that it does not give No. 419.] Tuesday, July 1, 1712.
s time or leisure to reflect on ourselves.
Our thoughts are so intent upon the miseries
of the sufferer, that we cannot turn them
pon our own happiness. Whereas, on the
contrary, we consider the misfortunes we
ead in history or poetry, either as past or
s fictitious;
so that the reflection upon our-
elves rises in us insensibly, and overbears
he sorrow we conceive for the sufferings
of the afflicted.

But because the mind of man requires
more perfect in matter than what
finds there, and can never meet with any
ight in nature which sufficiently answers
s highest ideas of pleasantness; or, in other
words, because the imagination can fancy
itself things more great, strange, or

*Suave mare dulci turbantibus æquora ventis,' &c.



ON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. Contents. Of that kind of poetry which Mr. Dryden calls the fairy way of writing. How a poet should be qualified for it. The pleasures of the imagination that arise from it. In this respect why the moderns excel the ancients. Why the English excel the mo derns. Who the best among the English. Of emblematical persons.

-Mentis gratissimus error.

Hor. 2. Ep. ii. Lib. 2. 140. The sweet delusion of a raptur'd mind.

THERE is a kind of writing wherein the

poet quite loses sight of nature, and entertains his reader's imagination with the characters and actions of such persons as have many of them no existence but what he bestows on them. Such are fairies, witches, magicians, demons, and departed spirits.

This Mr. Dryden calls the fairy way of try among them; for, indeed, almost the
writing,' which is indeed more difficult whole substance of it owes its original to
than any other that depends on the poet's
fancy, because he has no pattern to follow
in it, and must work altogether out of his
own invention.

There is a very odd turn of thought re-
quired for this sort of writing; and it is
impossible for a poet to succeed in it, who
has not a particular cast of fancy, and an
imagination naturally fruitful and super-
stitious. Besides this, he ought to be very
well versed in legends and fables, antiquated
romances, and the traditions of nurses and
old women, that he may fall in with our
natural prejudices, and humour those no-
tions which we have imbibed in our infancy.
For otherwise he will be apt to make his
fairies talk like people of his own species,
and not like other sets of beings, who con-
verse with different objects, and think in a
different manner from that of mankind.

Sylvis deducti caveant, me judice, fauni,
Ne velut innati triviis, ac pene forenses,
Aut nimium teneris juvenentur versibus.

Hor. Ars Poet. v. 244.

Let not the wood-born satyr fondly sport
With am'rous verses, as if bred at court.-Francis.
I do not say, with Mr. Bays in the Re-
hearsal, that spirits must not be confined to
speak sense: but it is certain their sense
ought to be a little discoloured, that it may
seem particular, and proper to the person
and condition of the speaker.

the darkness and superstition of later ages, when pious frauds were made use of to amuse mankind, and frighten them into a sense of their duty. Our forefathers looked upon nature with more reverence and hor ror, before the world was enlightened by learning and philosophy; and loved to astonish themselves with the apprehensions of witchcraft, prodigies, charms, and enchantments. There was not a village in England that had not a ghost in it, the church-yards were all haunted; every large common had a circle of fairies belonging to it; and there was scarce a shepherd to be met with who had not seen a spirit.

Among all the poets of this kind our English are much the best, by what I have yet seen; whether it be that we abound with more stories of this nature, or that the genius of our country is fitter for this sart of poetry. For the English are naturally fanciful, and very often disposed, by that gloominess and melancholy of temper which is so frequent in our nation, to many wild notions and visions, to which others are not so liable.

Among the English, Shakspeare has incomparably excelled all others. That noble extravagance of fancy, which he had in so great perfection, thoroughly qualified him to touch this weak superstitious part of his reader's imagination; and made him capable of succeeding, where he had nothing to support him besides the strength of his own genius. There is something so wild, and yet so solemn, in the speeches of his ghosts, fairies, witches, and the like ima ginary persons, that we cannot forbear thinking them natural, though we have no rule by which to judge of them, and must confess if there are such beings in the world, it looks highly probable they should talk and act as he has represented them.

These descriptions raise a pleasing kind of horror in the mind of the reader, and amuse his imagination with the strangeness and novelty of the persons who are represented to them. They bring up into our memory the stories we have heard in our childhood, and favour those secret terrors and apprehensions to which the mind of man is naturally subject. We are pleased with surveying the different habits and behaviours of foreign countries: how much more must we be delighted and surprised There is another sort of imaginary bewhen we are led, as it were, into a new ings, that we sometimes meet with among creation, and see the person and manners the poets, when the author represents any of another species! Men of cold fancies passion, appetite, virtue or vice, under a and philosophical dispositions, object to this visible shape, and makes it a person or an kind of poetry, that it has not probability actor in his poem. Of this nature are the enough to affect the imagination. But to descriptions of Hunger and Envy in Ovid, this it may be answered, that we are sure, of Fame in Virgil, and of Sin and Death in in general, there are many intellectual Milton. We find a whole creation of the beings in the world besides ourselves, and like shadowy persons in Spencer, who had several species of spirits, who are subject an admirable talent in representations of to different laws and economies from those this kind. I have discoursed of these em of mankind: when we see, therefore, any blematical persons in former papers, and of these represented naturally, we cannot shall therefore only mention them in this look upon the representation as altogether place. Thus we see how many ways po impossible; nay, many are prepossessed try addresses itself to the imagination, as it with such false opinions, as dispose them to has not only the whole circle of nature for believe these particular delusions; at least its province, but makes new worlds of its we have all heard so many pleasing relations own, shows us persons who are not to be in favour of them, that we do not care for found in being, and represents even the fa seeing through the falsehood, and willingly culties of the soul, with the several virtues give ourselves up to so agreeable an im- and vices, in a sensible shape and character posture. I shall in my two following papers, consiThe ancients have not much of this poe-der, in general, how other kinds of writing

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qualified to please the imagination; with | veral planets that lie within its neighbourich I intend to conclude this essay.

420.] Wednesday, July 2, 1712.



THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. tents. What authors please the imagination. Who ave nothing to do with fiction. How history pleases e imagination. How the authors of the new philoOphy please the imagination. The bounds and deects of the imagination. Whether these defects are sential to the imagination.

-Quocunque volunt mentem auditoris agunto. Hor. Ars Poct. v. 100. and raise men's passions to what height they will. Roscommon.

As the writers in poetry and fiction Tow their several materials from outard objects, and join them together at eir own pleasure, there are others who e obliged to follow nature more closely, d to take entire scenes out of her. Such e historians, natural philosophers, trallers, geographers, and, in a word, all o describe visible objects of a real ex


hood, we are filled with a pleasing astonishment, to see so many worlds hanging one above another, and sliding round their axles in such an amazing pomp and solemnity. If, after this, we contemplate those wild. fields of æther that reach in height as far as from Saturn to the fixed stars, and run abroad almost to an infinitude, our imagination finds its capacity filled with so immense a prospect; and puts itself upon the stretch to comprehend it. But if we yet rise higher, and consider the fixed stars as so many vast oceans of flame, that are each of them attended with a different set of planets, and still discover new firmaments and new lights that are sunk farther in those unfathomable depths of æther, so as not to be seen by the strongest of our telescopes, we are lost in such a labyrinth of suns and worlds, and confounded with the immensity and magnificence of nature.

Nothing is more pleasant to the fancy, than to enlarge itself by degrees, in its contemplation of the various proportions which its several objects bear to each other, when it compares the body of man to the bulk of the whole earth, the earth to the It is the most agreeable talent of an his- circle it describes round the sun, that circle ian to be able to draw up his armies to the sphere of the fixed stars, the sphere d fight his battles in proper expressions, of the fixed stars to the circuit of the whole set before our eyes the divisions, cabals, creation, the whole creation itself to the infijealousies of great men, to lead us step nite space that is every where diffused about step into the several actions and events it; or when the imagination works downward, his history. We love to see the subject and considers the bulk of a human body in folding itself by just degrees, and break-respect of an animal a hundred times less Supon us insensibly, so that we may be than a mite, the particular limbs of such an pt in a pleasing suspense, and have time animal, the different springs that actuate en us to raise our expectations, and to the limbs, the spirits which set the springs le with one of the parties concerned in a-going, and the proportionable minuteness e relation. I confess this shows more the of these several parts, before they have than the veracity of the historian; but arrived at their full growth and perfection; m only to speak of him as he is qualified but if, after all this, we take the least parplease the imagination; and in this re-ticle of these animal spirits, and consider ect Livy has, perhaps, excelled all who its capacity of being wrought into a world ent before him, or have written since his that shall contain within those narrow dine. He describes every thing in so lively mensions a heaven and earth, stars and manner that his whole history is an ad- planets, and every different species of livrable picture, and touches on such pro-ing creatures, in the same analogy and r circumstances in every story, that his ader becomes a kind of spectator, and ls in himself all the variety of passions ich are correspondent to the several Tts of the relations.

among this set of writers there are
he who more gratify and enlarge the
agination than the authors of the new
ilosophy, whether we consider their
eories of the earth or heavens, the disco-
ries they have made by glasses, or any
er of their contemplations on nature.
e are not a little pleased to find every
een leaf swarm with millions of animals,
t at their largest growth are not visible
the naked eye. There is something
y engaging to the fancy, as well as to
reason, in the treatises of metals, mi-
als, plants, and meteors. But when we
vey the whole earth at once, and the se-

proportion they bear to each other in our own universe; such a speculation, by reason of its nicety, appears ridiculous to those who have not turned their thoughts that way, though at the same time it is founded on no less than the evidence of a demonstration. Nay, we may yet carry it farther, and discover in the smallest particle of this little world a new inexhausted fund of matter, capable of being spun out into another universe.

I have dwelt the longer on this subject, because I think it may show us the proper limits, as well as the defectiveness of our imagination; how it is confined to a very small quantity of space, and immediately stopt in its operation, when it endeavours to take in any thing that is very great or

* Vid. ed. in folio.

very little. Let a man try to conceive the them their similitudes, metaphors, and al-
different bulk of an animal, which is twenty, legories. By these allusions, a truth in the
from another which is an hundred times understanding is, as it were, reflected by
less than a mite, or to compare in his the imagination; we are able to see some-
thoughts a length of a thousand diameters thing like colour and shape in a notion,
of the earth, with that of a million, and he and to discover a scheme of thoughts traced
will quickly find that he has no different out upon matter. And here the mind re-
measures in his mind adjusted to such ex-ceives a great deal of satisfaction, and has
traordinary degrees of grandeur or minute- two of its faculties gratified at the same time,
ness. The understanding, indeed, opens while the fancy is busy in copying after the
an infinite space on every side of us; but understanding, and transcribing ideas out
the imagination, after a few faint efforts, is of the intellectual world into the material
immediately at a stand, and finds herself
swallowed up in the immensity of the void
that surrounds it. Our reason can pursue a
particle of matter through an infinite va-
riety of divisions; but the fancy soon loses
sight of it, and feels in itself a kind of
chasm, that wants to be filled with matter
of a more sensible bulk. We can neither
widen nor contract the faculty to the di-
mension of either extreme. The object is
too big for our capacity, when we would
comprehend the circumference of a world;
and dwindles into nothing when we endea-
vour after the idea of an atom.

The great art of a writer shows itself in the choice of pleasing allusions, which are generally to be taken from the great or beautiful works of art or nature; for, though whatever is new or uncommon is apt to delight the imagination, the chief design of an allusion being to illustrate and explain the passages of an author, it should be always borrowed from what is more known and common than the passages which are to be explained.

Allegories, when well chosen, are like so many tracks of light in a discourse, that make every thing about them clear and It is possible this defect of imagination beautiful. A noble metaphor, when it is may not be in the soul itself, but as it acts placed to an advantage, casts a kind of glory in conjunction with the body. Perhaps round it, and darts a lustre through a whole there may not be room in the brain for such sentence. These different kinds of allusion a variety of impressions, or the animal are but so many different manners of similispirits may be incapable of figuring them tude; and that they may please the imagi in such a manner as is necessary to excite so nation, the likeness ought to be very exact very large or very minute ideas. However or very agreeable, as we love to see a picit be, we may well suppose that beings of a ture where the resemblance is just, or the higher nature very much excel us in this posture and air graceful. But we often find respect, as it is probable the soul of man eminent writers very faulty in this respect; will be infinitely more perfect hereafter in great scholars are apt to fetch their com this faculty, as well as in all the rest; inso-parisons and allusions from the sciences in much that, perhaps, the imagination will which they are most conversant, so that a be able to keep pace with the understand-man may see the compass of their learning ing, and to form in itself distinct ideas of all the different modes and quantities of space.

No. 421.] Thursday, July 3, 1712.



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Ignotis errare locis, ignota videre,

Flumina gaudebat; studio minuente laborem.
Ovid. Met. vi. 294.

He sought fresh fountains in a foreign soil:
The pleasure lessen'd the attending toil.-Addison.

THE pleasures of the imagination are not
wholly confined to such particular authors
as are conversant in material objects, but
are often to be met with among the polite
masters of morality, criticism, and other
speculations abstracted from matter, who,
though they do not directly treat of the
visible parts of nature, often draw from

in a treatise on the most indifferent subject. I have read a discourse upon love, which none but a profound chymist could under stand, and have heard many a sermon that should only have been preached before a congregation of Cartesians. On the contrary, your men of business usually have recourse to such instances as are too mean and familiar. They are for drawing the reader into a game of chess or tennis, or for leading him from shop to shop, in the cant of particular trades and employments. It variety of very agreeable allusions in both is certain, there may be found an infinite these kinds; but, for the generality, the most entertaining ones lie in the works of nature, which are obvious to all capacities, and more delightful than what is to be found in

arts and sciences.

It is this talent of affecting the imagina tion that gives an embellishment to good sense, and makes one man's composition more agreeable than another's. It sets off all writings in general, but is the very life and highest perfection of poetry, where it shines in an eminent degree: it has pre served several poems for many ages, that have nothing else to recommend them; and


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