No. XVII.
NEW YORK, FEBRUARY, 1788.
On the REGULARITY of the City of PHILADELPHIA.
"Well, how do you like Boston?" said an American to a Londoner, who had just arrived, and walked thro the town. "Extremely," replied the Englishman; "it resembles London in the crookedness and narrowness of the streets; I am always pleased with a careless irregularity and variety."
"How do you like Boston," says a nativ of the town to a Philadelphian. "I am much pleased with the people," replies the gentleman; "but the streets are so crooked, narrow and irregular, that I have good luck to find my way, and keep my stockings clean."
An Englishman and a Bostonian, walking together in Philadelphia, were heard to say, "how fatiguing it is to pass thro this town! such a sameness in the whole! no variety! when you have seen one street, you have seen the whole town!"
These remarks, which are heard every day, illustrate most strikingly the force of habit and tradition. The influence of habit is every where known and felt; any prepossessions therefore in favor of our nativ town, is not a matter of surprise. But that a traditionary remark or opinion should be handed from one generation to another, and lead nations into error, without a detection of its falsity, is a fact as astonishing as it is real. Such is the opinion of the writers on the fine arts; "that variety is pleasing;" an opinion embraced without exception, and applied promiscuously to the works of nature and of art. I have rarely met with a person, not an inhabitant of Philadelphia, who would not say he was disgusted with its regularity; and I am confident that the opinion must proceed from that common place remark, that variety is pleasing; otherwise men could not so unanimously condemn what constitutes its greatest beauty.
That in the productions of nature, variety constitutes a principal part of beauty, and a fruitful source of pleasure, will not be denied: But the beauty and agreeableness of works of art depend on another principle, viz. utility or convenience. The design of the work, or the end proposed by it, must be attentivly considered before we are qualified to judge of its beauty.
This kind of beauty is called by Lord Kaim,[60] relativ beauty. He observes very justly, that "intrinsic beauty is a perception of sense merely; for to perceive the beauty of a spreading oak, or of a flowing river, no more is required but singly an act of vision. Relativ beauty is accompanied with an act of understanding and reflection; for of a fine instrument or engine, we perceive not the relativ beauty, until we are made acquainted with its use and destination." A plow has not the least intrinsic beauty; but when we attend to its use, we are constrained to consider it as a beautiful instrument, and such a view of it furnishes us with agreeable sensations.
The single question therefore, with respect to a town or city, is this: Is it planned and constructed for the greatest possible convenience? If so, it is completely beautiful. If wide and regular streets are more useful and convenient than those that are narrow and crooked, then a city constructed upon a regular plan is the most beautiful, however uniform the streets in their directions and appearance.