rays; nor does it give us the idea of labor uselessly employed, but, on the contrary, the idea of delicacy, which I have before stated to be a cause of beauty. It is full of regular figures, neatly cut, which it is not easy to make of stone. The whole is a regular figure, and bears a just proportion to the size of the building. As to the different orders of architecture, it is quite impossible to assent to the observations of those who would contend that their proportions are absolutely beautiful,that nature has made these proportions originally a cause of that feeling, independent of any utility to which those proportions may be subservient, and of any association with which they may be connected. The common sense of the business appears to me to be this-I see a pillar; I conceive it, as erected, to support something. I know the nature of stone, and its strength. If the proportions are so managed that I conceive the thing to be supported, will fall, it gives me the idea of weakness and frailty, which is unpleasant: if they are such as to indicate a much greater degree of strength than is wanted, then I am equally disgusted. Between these two extremes, all proportions are naturally of equal beauty; the rest is done by Pericles, Miltiades, the battle of Thermopyla, and all the military and literary glory of the Greeks. There is an excellent chapter in Mr. Alison's book, upon the orders of architecture, in which he, to my mind, sets this matter in the clearest point of view, and shows that in this instance, as well as in all others, the pleasure arising from the proportions of the orders, is to be referred to the utility of those proportions, or to the associations which they excite. "The proportions of these orders," says Mr. Alison, "it is to be remembered, are distinct subjects of beauty from the ornaments with which they are embellished, from the magnificence with which they are executed, from the purposes of elegance they are intended to serve, or the scenes of grandeur they are destined to adorn. It is in such scenes, however, and with such additions, that we are accustomed to observe them and while we feel the effect of all these accidental associations, we are seldom willing to examine what are the causes of the complex emotions we feel; and readily attribute to the nature of the architecture itself, the whole pleasure which we enjoy. But, beside these, there are other associations we have with these forms, that still more powerfully serve to command our admiration, for they are the Grecian orders they derive their origin from those times, and were the ornaments of those countries, which are most hallowed in our imaginations; and it is difficult for us to see them, even in their modern copies, without feeling them operate upon our minds as relics of those polished nations where they first arose, and of that greater people by whom they were afterward borrowed. "While this species of architecture is attended with so many and so pleasing associations, it is difficult, even for a man of reflection, to distinguish between the different sources of his emotion; or, in the moments in which this delight is felt, to ascertain what is the exact portion of his pleasure which is to be attributed to these proportions alone. And two different causes combine to lead us to attribute to the style of architecture itself, the beauty which arises from many other associations. In the first place, while it is under our eye, this architecture itself is the great object of our regard, and the central object of all these associations. It is the material sign, in fact, of all the various affecting qualities which are connected with it; and it disposes us in this, as in every other case, to attribute to the sign, the effect which is produced by the qualities signified. "When we reflect, upon the other hand, in our calmer moments, upon the source of our emotion, another motive arises to induce us to consider these proportions as the sole, or the principal, cause of our pleasure; for these proportions are the only qualities of the object which are perfectly or accurately ascertained. They have received the assent of all ages since their discovery; they are the acknowledged objects of beauty; and, having thus got possession of one undoubted principle, our natural love of system induces us to ascribe the whole of the effect to this principle alone, and easily satisfies our minds, by saving us the trouble of a long and tedious investigation. "That this cause has had its full effect in this case, will, I believe, appear very evident to those who attend to the enthusiasm with which, in general, the writers on architecture speak of the beauty of proportion, and compare it with the common sentiments of men, upon the subject of this beauty. Both these causes conspire to mislead our judgment in this point, and to induce us to attribute to one quality, in such objects, that beauty which, in truth, results from many united qualities.' In my next lecture I shall conclude this subject of the beautiful, and sum up all that I have said upon it. If any man feel himself inclined to think that I have pushed this subject of the beautiful too far, and that its importance does not merit such long discussion, I would desire him to reflect upon the immense effect which it produces on human life. What are half the crimes in the world committed for? What brings into action the best virtues? The desire of possessing. Of possessing what?-not mere money, but every species of the beautiful which money can purchase. A man lies hid in a little, dirty, smoky room for twenty years of his life, and sums up as many columns of figures as would reach round half the earth, if they were laid at length;-he gets rich; what does he do with his riches? He buys a large, well-proportioned house in the arrangement of his furniture, he gratifies himself with all the beauty which splendid colors, regular figures, and smooth surfaces, can convey; he has the beauties of variety and association in his grounds; the cup out of which he drinks his tea is adorned with beautiful figures; the chair in which he sits is covered with smooth, shining leather; his table-cloth is of the most beautiful damask; mirrors reflect the lights from every quarter of the room; pictures of the best masters feed his eye with all the beauties of imitation. A million of human creatures are employed in this country in ministering to this feeling of the beautiful. It is only a barbarous, ignorant people that can ever be occupied by the necessaries of life alone. * Alison, pp. 367–369. If to eat, and to drink, and to be warm, were the only passions of our minds, we should all be what the lowest of us all are at this day. The love of the beautiful calls man to fresh exertions, and awakens him to a more noble life; and the glory of it is, that as painters imitate, and poets sing, and statuaries carve, and architects rear up the gorgeous trophies of their skill, as every thing becomes beautiful, and orderly, and magnificent,-the activity of the mind rises to still greater, and to better objects. The principles of justice are sought out; the powers of the ruler, and the rights of the subject, are fixed; man advances to the enjoyment of rational liberty, and to the establishment of those great moral laws, which God has written in our hearts, to regulate the destinies of the world. LECTURE XV. ON THE BEAUTIFUL-PART III. I WISH, for the completion of the subject on which I have been engaged, to consider what causes produce the feeling of the beautiful in poetry. I must observe here, as I observed before, that there is a lax and general usage of the word beautiful, to which I am not now referring. We might say of Milton's Paradise Lost, that it is a beautiful poem, though its characteristic is rather grandeur and sublimity, than beauty. It is a general term, standing for every species of excellence; but I am speaking now of that which is properly beautiful, as distinguished from what is sublime or excellent in any other kind. The first reason, then, why poetry is beautiful, is, because it describes natural objects, or moral feelings, which are themselves beautiful. For an example, I will read to you a beautiful sonnet of Dr. Leyden's upon the Sabbath morning, which has never been printed: "With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, Which slowly wakes while all the fields are still; The skylark warbles in a tone less shrill. The sun, a placid yellow luster shows; I |