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Prose

Notes “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.” In the last Place, he has made every thing that is
beautiful in all other Objects pleasant, or rather has made so many Objects appear beautiful, that
he might render the whole Creation more gay and delightful. He has given almost every thing
about us the Power of raising an agreeable Idea in the Imagination: So that it is impossible for us
to behold his Works with Coldness or Indifference, and to survey so many Beauties without a
secret Satisfaction and Complacency. Things would make but a poor Appearance to the Eye, if we
saw them only in their proper Figures and Motions: And what Reason can we assign for their
exciting in us many of those Ideas which are different from any thing that exists in the Objects
themselves, (for such are Light and Colours) were it not to add Supernumerary Ornaments to the
Universe, and make it more agreeable to the Imagination? We are every where entertained with
pleasing Shows and Apparitions, we discover Imaginary Glories in the Heavens, and in the Earth,
and see some of this Visionary Beauty poured out upon the whole Creation; but what a rough
unsightly Sketch of Nature should we be entertained with, did all her Colouring disappear, and
the several Distinctions of Light and Shade vanish? In short, our Souls are at present delightfully
lost and bewildered in a pleasing Delusion, and we walk about like the enchanted Hero of a
Romance, who sees beautiful Castles, Woods and Meadows; and at the same time hears the
warbling of Birds, and the purling of Streams; but upon the finishing of some secret Spell, the
fantastick Scene breaks up, and the disconsolate Knight finds himself on a barren Heath, or in a
solitary Desart. It is not improbable that something like this may be the State of the Soul after its
first Separation, in respect of the Images it will receive from Matter; tho indeed the Ideas of
Colours are so pleasing and beautiful in the Imagination, that it is possible the Soul will not be
deprived of them, but perhaps find them excited by some other Occasional Cause, as they are at
present by the different Impressions of the subtle Matter on the Organ of Sight.. . .

11.4 The Art of Nature

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 shew her self so August and Magnificent in the Design. There
is something more bold and masterly in the rough careless Strokes of Nature, than in the nice
Touches and Embellishments of Art. The Beauties of the most stately Garden or Palace lie in a
narrow Compass, the Imagination immediately runs them over, and requires something else to
gratifie her; but, in the wide Fields of Nature, the Sight wanders up and down without Confinement,
and is fed with an infinite variety of Images, without any certain Stint or Number. For this Reason
we always find the Poet in Love with a Country-Life, where Nature appears in the greatest
Perfection, and furnishes out all those Scenes that are most apt to delight the Imagination.
But tho’ there are several of these wild Scenes, that are more delightful than any artificial Shows;
yet we find the Works of Nature still more pleasant, the more they resemble those of Art: For in
this case our Pleasure rises from a double Principle; from the Agreeableness of the Objects to the
Eye, and from their Similitude to other Objects: We are pleased as well with comparing their
Beauties, as with surveying them, and can represent them to our Minds, either as Copies or
Originals. Hence it is that we take Delight in a Prospect which is well laid out, and diversified
with Fields and Meadows,Woods and Rivers; in those accidental Landskips of Trees, Clouds and
Cities, that are sometimes found in the Veins of Marble; in the curious Fret-work of Rocks and
Grottos; and, in a Word, in any thing that hath such a Variety or Regularity as may seem the Effect
of Design, in what we call the Works of Chance.

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