added to, as more space was wanted, without any plan in others, the same kind of irregularity is originally designed; and all these an admirer of pure architecture would probably condemn as deformed, though they are in general considered as only irregular. Where, however, the architecture is regular, if any part be taken away so as to interrupt the symmetry, or any thing added that has no connection with its character, the building is manifestly deformed. I have here supposed that the building, whether a part be taken away, or a part added, is left in an entire and finished state, and that the deformity solely arises from the destruction of its symmetry; for any breach or chasm in a finished building, whether regular or irregular, must always be a deformity. Ruins, therefore, of all kinds, are at first deformed; and afterwards, by means of vegetation and of various effects of time and accident, become picturesque.

With respect to colours, it appears to me that as transparency is one essential quali

ty of beauty, so the want of transparency, or what may be termed muddiness, is the most general and efficient cause of ugliness. A colour, for instance, may be harsh, glaring, tawdry, yet please many eyes, and by some be called beautiful: but a muddy colour, no one ever was pleased with, or honoured with that title. If this idea be just, there seems to be as much analogy between the causes of ugliness in colour, and in form, as the two cases could well admit; in the first, ugliness is said to arise from the thickening of what should be pure and transparent; in the second, from clogging and filling up those nicely marked variations, of which beauty and purity of outline are the result. It is hardly necessary to say, that I have here been speaking of colours as considered separately; not of those numberless beauties and effects, which are produced by their numberless connections and oppositions.

Ugliness, like beauty, has no prominent features it is in some degree regular and uniform; and at a distance, and even on a

slight inspection, is not immediately striking. Deformity, like picturesqueness, makes a quicker impression; and the moment it appears, strongly rouses the attention. On this principle, ugly music is what is composed according to rule and common proportion; but which has neither that selection of sweet and softly varying melody and mo-, dulation, which answers to the beautiful, nor that marked character, those sudden and masterly changes, which correspond with the picturesque. If such music be executed in the same style in which it is composed, it will cause no strong emotion; but if played out of tune, it will become deformed, and every such deformity will make the musical hearer start. The enraged musician stops both his ears against the deformity of those sounds, which Hogarth has so powerfully conveyed to us through another sense, as almost to justify the bold expression of Æschylus, dɛdogna KTUTOV. Mere ugliness in visible objects, is looked upon without any violent emotion; but

deformity, in any strong degree, would probably cause the same sort of action in the beholder, as in Hogarth's musician; by making him afraid to trust singly to those means of exclusion which nature has placed over the sight.

The picturesque, when mixed with the sublime, or the beautiful, has been already considered it will be found as frequently mixed with ugliness; and when so mixed will appear to be perfectly consistent with all that has been mentioned of its effects and qualities. Ugliness, like beauty, in itself is not picturesque, for it has, simply considered, no strongly marked features: but when the last-mentioned character is added either to beauty or to ugliness, they become more striking and varied; and whatever may be the sensations they excite, they always, by means of that addition, more strongly attract the attention. We are amused and occupied by ugly objects, if they be also picturesque, just as we are by a rough, and in other respects

a disagreeable mind, provided it has a marked and peculiar character; without it, mere outward ugliness, or mere inward rudeness, are simply disagreeable. An ugly man or woman, with an aquiline nose, high cheek bones, beetle brows, and strong lines in every part of the face, is, from these picturesque circumstances, which might all be taken away without destroying ugliness, much more strikingly ugly, than a man with no more features than an oyster. It is ugliness of this kind which may very justly be styled picturesque ugliness; and it is that which has been most frequently represented on the canvas. Those who have been used to admire such picturesque ugliness in painting, will look with pleasure (for we have no other word to express the degree, or character of that sensation) at the original in nature; and one cannot think slightly of the power and advantage of that art, which makes its admirers often gaze with such delight on some ancient lady, as by the help of a little