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way for Fox-hall. Sir Roger obliged the Waterman to give us the history of his right leg, and hearing that he had left it at La Hogue, with many particulars which passed in that glorious

action, the Knight in the triumph of his heart made several 5 reflections on the greatness of the British nation; as, that one

Englishman could beat three Frenchmen ; that we could never be in danger of popery so long as we took care of our fleet; that the Thames was the noblest river in Europe; that Londonbridge was a greater piece of work than any of the seven wonders of the world ; with many other honest prejudices which naturally cleave to the heart of a true Englishman.

After some short pause, the old Knight turning about his head twice or thrice, to take a survey of this great Metropolis,

bid me observe how thick the city was set with churches, and 15 that there was scarce a single steeple on this side Temple-bar.

A most heathenish sight ! says Sir Roger: There is no religion at this end of the town. The fifty new churches will very much mend the prospect; but church-work is slow, church-work is slow!

I do not remember I have any where mentioned in Sir ROGER's character, his custom of saluting every body that passes by him with a good-morrow or a good-night. This the old man does out of the overflowings of humanity, though at the same time it renders him so popular among all his country

neighbours, that it is thought to have gone a good way in mak25 ing him once or twice Knight of the shire. He cannot forbear

this exercise of benevolence even in town, when he meets with any one in his morning or evening walk. It broke from him to several boats that passed by us upon the water; but to the

Knight's great surprize, as he gave the good-night to two or 30 three young fellows a little before our landing, one of them,

instead of returning the civility, asked us what queer old Putt we had in the boat, and whether he was not ashamed to go a wenching at his years ? with a great deal of the like Thamesribaldry. Sir ROGER seemed a little shocked at first, but at


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length assuming a face of magistracy, told us, That if he were a Middlesex Justice, he would make such vagrants know that her Majesty's subjects were no more to be abused by water than by land.

We were now arrived at Spring-garden, which is exquisitely pleasant at this time of year. When I considered the fra 5 grancy of the walks and bowers, with the choirs of birds that sung upon the trees, and the loose tribe of people that walked under their shades, I could not but look upon the place as a kind of Mahometan paradise. Sir Roger told me it put him in mind of a little coppice by his house in the country, which his Chaplain used to call an Aviary of Nightingales. You must understand, says the Knight, there is nothing in the world that pleases a man in love so much as your Nightingale. Ah, Mr. SPECTATOR! the many moonlight nights that I have walked by my self, and thought on the widow by the musick of the Night- 15 ingale! He here fetched a deep sigh, and was falling into a fit of musing, when a mask, who came behind him, gave him a gentle tap upon the shoulder, and asked him if he would drink a bottle of Mead with her? But the Knight being startled at so unexpected a familiarity, and displeased to be interrupted in his thoughts of the widow, told her, She was a wanton baggage, and bid her go about her business.

We concluded our walk with a glass of Burton-ale, and a slice of Hung-beef. When we had done eating our selves, the Knight called a Waiter to him, and bid him carry the remainder 25 to a Waterman that had but one leg. I perceived the fellow stared upon him at the oddness of the message, and was going to be saucy; upon which I ratified the Knight's commands with a peremptory look.

As we were going out of the garden, my old friend thinking 30 himself obliged, as a member of the Quorum, to animadvert upon the morals of the place, told the Mistress of the house, who sat at the bar, That he should be a better customer to her garden, if there were more Nightingales and fewer Strumpets.


N° 4II.

Saturday, June 21. [1712.]

Avia Pieridum peragro loca, nullius ante
Trita solo; juvat integros accedere fonteis;
Atque haurire:



Our sight is the most perfect and most delightful of all our

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 5 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 streightned and confined in its operations, to the number,

bulk, and distance of its particular objects. Our Sight seems 10 designed to supply all these defects, and may be considered as

a more delicate and diffusive kind of touch, that spreads it self over an infinite multitude of bodies, comprehends the largest figures, and brings into our reach some of the most remote

parts of the universe. 15 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 Paintings, 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 25 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 landskips 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 remember, 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 confest, 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 easie 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 enquiring 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 descrip5 tion, 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 expence of some 15 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


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 facul25 ties, awaken them from sloth and idleness, without putting

them upon any labour or difficulty.

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 30 a labour 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


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