UbRARt THE F H I E N »: A SERIES OF ESSAYS, TO AID IN THE FORMATION OF FIXED PRINCIPLES IN POLITICS, MORALS, AND RELIGION, WITH LITERARY AMUSEMENTS INTERSPERvS ED. BY S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ. Accipe principium rursus, formamque coactam Desere : mutata melior procede figura. claudian. FIRST AMERICAN, FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION, COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME. 4fifi77 BURLINGTON : C H A U N C E Y GOODRICH. 1831. i Av^ic: dvagr;(j'si.c, Ispoj AOFfi Ipyov bvu(fag. ZQPOA'HTPOT Aoyla. -« I • PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITIOiV. The general character and purpose of the work here offered to the American public are to some extent already known among us. Many, to whom it has itself been inaccessible, have learned enough of it to form a high estimate of its value, and the demand for it of late is such as to show that their num- ber is increasing. This state of things renders a republication of the work obviously desirable, and must be gratifying to those who are concerned for the advancement of truth, and who be- lieve this work to contain a valuable exhibition of some of its great and vital principles. When nearly two years ago the " Aids to Reflection," another work of the same author, came before the public, there were many occasions of doubt with re- gard to its probable reception. Those doubts are now remo- ved. The result has justified the most flattering anticipations, and furnishes abundant proof, that the " fit audience" to be found among us for works of this kind is not so small as had been apprehended. Indeed the manner in which that work has been received, the sentiments which it has awakened, and the class of persons whose attention has been specially direct- ed to it, are such as furnish the best security tor the success of similar works in future. The work now republished, though not fitted in some respects to excite so deep an interest, will be found, like that, concerned with the dcvelopemcnt of funda- . ' -J vi mental principles, and essentially connected with the same views of trutli. It was designed obviously for more general circulation, and great pains were taken by the author, both to render his views intelligible, and to gain the attention of all> who were capable of understanding them. To those who have become acquainted with the " Aids to Reflection," it will be acceptable both for its own sake and as a help in the study of that work. To every scholar, and indeed to every man, who would rightly apprehend the general principles and grounds of obligation in politics, morals, and religion, it will be found a safe and invaluable guide. The edition now offered is simply a reprint of the English. It was indeed intended to prefix an Essay of a general charac- ter on the philosophical system of the author ; but the design was abandoned, from a conviction that notbing worthy of the subject could be given in the limits contemplated, or without more time and labour than could now be devoted to its prepa- ration. I shall therefore merely take the occasion to remark, that his system is by no means, as some have alleged, essen- tially the same with that of Kant. Although he acknowledges his obligations to the writings of that philosopher, he is himself sufficiently careful to inform us, that in regard to points of the highest importance he follows a very diff"erent teacher. He dif- ers from him, as Cudworth and More and the Platonizing divines of the same age generally would have dilTered, and as some of the most eminent German philosophers, as well as Tholuck and other evangelical divines, of the present day, diifer from him in their philosophical and theological views. Between the views of Prof. Tholuck and those of Coleridge, indeed, there is a very striking coincidence, as must have been obvious to all, who are acquainted with the writings of both. This fact, con- sidering the high reputation which Prof. Tholuck has in this country, as an evangelical and zealous divine, I trust may serve in some degree to diminish the fears, which good men still in- dulge respecting the tendency of such speculations. The pre- Vll sent volume however contains little to excite the fears of any with regard to the doctrines of religion. But in its bearing upon the general principles of philosophy received among us, it will be found of the same character with all the works of its author, and I trust may be instrumental in hastening the change, which is already taking place, in our views of logic and meta- physics. The Essays in which he vindicates the philosophy of Lord Bacon from the prevailing misapprehensions of its charac- ter, by showing its coincidence with that of Plato, are especially valuable in this point of view ; and I could only wish, that those who read them would examine for themselves and without pre- judice the language of Lord Bacon in regard to the great princi- ples of philosophy. It is now no longer hazardous to one's reputation to call in question the authority of those philoso- phers who have been most popular among us; and the article on Brown's theory of perception in a late number of the Edin- burgh Review shows, that language and thoughts derived from German metaphysics may now be used to a much greater ex- tent, than they have been done by Coleridge — in a work, where formerly they would have been rejected with contumely. It shows, too — what is more important — the ignorance and incon- sistency betrayed in a system, that is still received in some of our schools, but which it is to be hoped will give place to works less exposed to critical reproach. A perusal of that article, and a little reflection upon this and other things of a like kind, as indicating the tendency of present inquiries in Great Britian and this country, may convince us, that one who would be thought not ignorant of philosophy hereafter, must acquaint himself with something beyond the empiricism, which has so long assumed its name among us. It need not now be inqui- red, whether the Friend and other works of Coleridge are fit- ted in the best possible manner to supply our deficiencies and guide us to a better knowledge. They are believed b}^ niany, - who are well qualified to judge, to be the best we have, and calculated at least to cherish an ingenuous and earnest love via ol the truth lor the truth's sake. As such, the present volume commends itself to all who will attentively peruse it, but es- pecially to the young men of our Colleges and higher schools. At that period, when — more than at any other — they are forming principles both of thought and action, and establishing — if they ever do so — a character of their own, they will find it a wise monitor and a faithful " Fhiend." J. Marsh. University of Vermont, November, 1831. EPISTLE DEDICATORY. Friend ! were an Author privileged to name his own judge — in addition to moral and intellectual competence, I should look round for some man, whose knowledge and opinions had for the greater part been acquired experimentally : and the practi- cal habits of whose life had put him on his guard with respect to all speculative reasoning, without rendering him insensible to the desirableness of principles more secure than the shifting rules and theories generalized from observations merely empi- rical, or unconscious in how many departments of knowledge, and with how large a portion even of professional men, such principles are still a desideratum. I would select too one who felt kindly, nay, even partially, toward me ; but one whose par- tiality had its strongest foundations in hope, and more prospec- tive than retrospective would make him quick-sighted in the detection, and unreserved in the exposure of the deficiencies and defects of each present work, in the anticipation of a more developed future. In you, honored Friend ! I have found all these requisites combined and realized : and the improvement, which these Essays have derived from your judgment and ju- dicious suggestions, would, of itself, have justified me in ac- companying them with a public acknowledgment of the same. 1 2 But knowing, as you cannot but know, that I owe in great measure the power of having written at all to your medical skill, and to the characteristic good sense which directed its exertion in my behalf; and whatever I may have written in happier vein, to the influence of your society and to the daily proofs of your disinterested attachment — knowing too, in how entire a sympathy with your feelings in this respect the partner of your name has blended the affectionate regards of a sister or daughter with almost a mother's watchful and unwearied soli- citude alike for my health, interest, and tranquillity ; — ^you will not, I trust, be pained, you ought not, I am sure, to be surpris- ed that TO MR. AND MKS. GI}Li.MAN, OF HIGHGATE, THESE VOLUMES ARE DEDICATED, IN TESTIMONY OF HIGH RESPECT AND GRATEFUL. AFFECTION, BY THEIR FRIEND, S. T. COLERIDGE. October 7, 1818. Highgate. THE FRIEND. ESSAY I. Orede mihi, non est parvceJiducuB, polliceri opem decertantibus, consilium dubiis^ lumen cwcis, spem dejectis, refrigerium fessis. Magna quidem hac sunt sijiant; parva, si promittanlur. Verum ego non tarn aliis legem ponam, quam legem vobis mece propria mentis exponam : quam qui probaverit, teneat ; cut non pla- cu£7nt, abjiciat. Optarem, fateor^ talis esse, qui prodesse possem quam pluiimis. Petrarch: "Do Vita Solitarin." Antecedent to all History, and long glimmering through it as a holy Tradition, there presents itself to our imagination an indefinite period, dateless as Eternity, a State rather than a Time. For even the sense of succession is lost in the unifor- mity of the stream. It was toward the close of this golden age (the memory of which the self-dissatisfied Race of Men have everywhere pre- served and cherished) when Conscience acted in Man with the ease and uniformity of Instinct ; when Labor was a sweet name for the activity of sane Minds in healthful Bodies, and all enjoyed in common the bounteous harvest produced, and gathered in, by common effort ; when there existed in the Sexes, and in the Individuals of each Sex, just variety enough to permit and call forth the gentle restlessness and final union of chaste love and individual attachment, each seeking and finding the beloved one by the natural afiinity of their Beings ; when the dread Sovereign of the Universe was known only as the universal Parent, no Altar but the pure Heart, and Thanks- giving and grateful Love the sole Sacrifice In this blest age of dignified Innocence one of their honored Elders, whose absence they were beginning to notice, entered with hurrying steps the place of their common assemblage at noon, and instantly attracted the general attention and wonder by the perturbation of his gestures, and by a strange trouble both in his eyes and over his whole countenance. After a short but deep silence, when the first buzz of varied inquiry was be- coming audible, the old man moved toward a small eminence, and having ascended it, he thus addressed the hushed and lis- tening company. " In the warmth of the approaching mid-day, as I was repo- sing in the vast cavern, out of which, from its northern portal, issues the river that winds through our vale, a voice powerful, yet not from its loudness, suddenly hailed me. Guided by my ear I looked toward the supposed place of the sound for some Form, from which it had proceeded. I beheld nothing but the glimmering walls of the cavern. Again, as I was turning round, the same voice hailed me : and whithersoever I turned my face, thence did the voice seem to proceed. I stood still therefore, and in reverence awaited its continuation. ' Sojourner of Earth! (these were its words) hasten to the meeting of thy Brethren, and the words which thou now hearest, the same do thou re- peat unto them. On the thirtieth morn from the morrow's sun- rising, and during the space of thrice three days and thrice three nights, a thick cloud will cover the sky, and a heavy rain fall on the earth. Go ye therefore, ere the thirtieth sun ariseth, retreat to the cavern of the river and there abide, till the clouds have passed away and the rain be over and gone. For know ye of a certainty that whomever that rain wetteth, on him, yea, on him and on his children's children will fall — the spirit of Madness.' Yes ! Madness was the word of the voice : what this be, I know not ! But at the sound of the word trembling came upon me, and a feeling which I would not have had ; and I remained even as ye beheld and now behold me." The old man ended, and retired. Confused murmurs suc- ceeded, and wonder, and doubt. Day followed day, and every day brought with it a diminution of the awe impressed. They could attach no image, no remembered sensations to the threat. The ominous morn arrived, the Prophet had retired to the ap- pointed cavern, and there remained alone during the appointed time. On the tenth morning, he emerged from his place of shelter, and sought his friends and brethren. But alas ! how affrightful the change ! Instead of the common children of one great family, working towards the same aim by reason, even as the bees in their hives by instinct, he looked and beheld, here a miserable wretch watching over a heap of hard and unnutri- tious substances, which he had dug out of the earth, at the cost of mangled limbs and exhausted faculties. This he appeared to worship, at this he gazed, even as the youths of the vale had been accustomed to gaze at their chosen virgins in the first season of their choice. There he saw a former companion speeding on and panting after a butterfly, or a withered leaf whirling onward in the breeze ; and another with pale and dis- torted countenance following close behind, and still stretching forth a dagger to stab his precursor in the back. In another place he observed a whole troop of his fellow-men famishing and in fetters, yet led by one of their brethren who had ensla- ved them, and pressing furiously onwards in the hope of fam- ishing and enslaving another troop moving in an opposite direc- tion. For the first time, the Prophet missed his accustomed power of distinguishing between his dreams and his waking perceptions. He stood gazing and motionless, when several of the race gathered around him, and enquired of each other, who is this man ? how strangely he looks ! how wild ! — a worth- less idler ! exclaims one : assuredly, a very dangerous madman! cries a second. In short, from words they proceeded to vio- lence ^^1 harassed, endangered, solitary in a world of forms like his own, without sympathy, without object of love, he at length espied in some foss or furrow a quantity of the madden- ing water still unevaporated, and uttering the last words of reason. It is in vain to be sane in a world of madmen, plunged and rolled himself in the liquid poison, and came out as mad and not more wretched than his neighbors and acquaint- ance. The plan of The friend is comprized in the motto to this Essay.* This tale or allegory seems to me to contain the ob- * {Translation.) — Believe mc, it requires no little confidence, to promise Help to the Struggling, Coiuisel to tlie Doubtful, Light to the Blind, Hope to the Despondent, Refieshment to the Weary. These are indeed great things, if they be accomplished ; trifles if they exist but in a promise. I however Eiim not so much to jirescribe a Law for others, as to set forth the Law of my own Mind ; which let the man, who shall have approved of it, abide by ; 8 jections to its practicability in all their strength. Either, says the Sceptic, you are the Blind offering to lead the Blind, or you are talking the language of Sight to those who do not pos- sess the sense of seeing. If you mean to be read, try to en- tertain and do not pretend to instruct. To such objections it would be amply sufficient, on my system of faith, to answer, that we are not all blind, but all subject to distempers of " the mental sight," differing in kind and in degree ; that though all men are in error, they are not all in the same error, nor at the , same time ; and that each therefore may possibly heal the other, even as two or more physicians, all diseased in their general health yet under the immediate action of the disease on dif- ferent days, may remove or alleviate the complaints of each other. But in respect to the entertainingness of moral writings, if in entertainment be included whatever delights the imagi- nation or affects the generous passions, so far from rejecting such a mean of persuading the human soul, my very system compels me to defend not only the propriety but the absolute necessity of adopting it, if we really intend to render our fel- low-creatures better or wiser. But it is with dullness as with obscurity. It may be posi- tive, and the author's fault ; but it may likewise be relative, and if the author has presented his bill of fare at the portal, the reader has himself only to blame. The main question then is, of what class are the persons to be entertained ? — " One of the later schools of the Grecians (says Lord Bacon) is at a stand to think what should be in it that men should love lies, where neither they make for pleasure, as with poets ; nor for advan- tage, as with the merchant; but for the lie's sake. I cannot tell why, this same truth is a naked and open day-light, that doth not shew the masques and mummeries and triumphs of the present world half so stately and daintily, as candle-lights. Truth may perhaps come to the price of a pearl, that sheweth best by day ; but it will not rise to the price of a diamond or carbuncle, which sheweth best in varied lights. A mixture of lies doth ever add pleasure. Doth any man doubt, that if there and let him, to whom it shall appear not reasonable, reject it. It is my earn- est wish, I confess, to emjjloy my understanding and acquirements in that mode and direction, in which T may be enabled to benefit the largest number possiblp of my ftllow-creaturrs. 9 were taken from men's minds vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one ivould^ and the like vinum Daemonum (as a Father calleth poetry) but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things, full of me- lancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves?" A melancholy, a too general, but not, 1 trust, a universal truth ! — and even where it does apply, yet in many instances not irremediable. Such at least must have been my persuasion : or the present volumes must have been wittingly written to no purpose. If I belived our nature fettered to all this wretched- ness of head and heart by an absolute and innate necessity, at least by a necessity which no human power, no efforts of rea- son or eloquence could remove or lessen ; I should deem it even presumptuous to aim at other or higher object than that of amusing a small portion of the reading public. And why not? whispers wordly prudence- To amuse though only to amuse our visitors is wisdom as well as good- nature, where it is presumption to attempt their amendment. And truly it would be most convenient to me in respects of no trifling importance, if I could persuade myself to take the ad- vice. Relaxed by these principles from all moral obligation, and ambitious of procuring pastime and self-oblivion for a race, which could have nothing noble to remember, nothing desirable to anticipate, I might aspire even to the praise of the critics and dilettante of the higher circles of society ; of some trusty guide of blind fashion ; some pleasant Analyst of Taste, as it exists both in the palate and the soul ; some living guage and mete-wand of past and present genius. But alas ! my former studies would still have left a wrong bias ! If instead of per- plexing my common sense with the flights of Plato, and of stiffen- ing over the meditations of the imperial Stoic, I had been labor- ing to imbibe the gay spirit of a Casti, or had employed my erudition, for the benefit of the favored few, in elucidating the interesting deformities of ancient Greece and India, what might I not have hoped from the suff"rage of those, who turn in weari- ness from the Paradise Lost, — because compared with the pru- rient heroes and grotesque monsters of Italian Romance, or even with the narrative dialogues of the melodious Metastasio, — that — "Adventurous Song, " Which justifies the ways of God to Man" 2 10 has been found a poor substitute for Grimaldi, a most inapt medicine for an occasional propensity to yawn ? For, as hath been decided, to fill up pleasantly the brief intervals of fash- ionable pleasures, and above all to charm away the dusky Gnome of Ennui, is the chief and appropriate business of the Poet and — the Novelist ! This duty unfulfilled, Appollo will have lavished his best gifts in vain ; and Urania henceforth must be content to inspire Astronomers alone, and leave the Sons of Verse to more amusive Patronesses. And yet — and yet — but it will be time to be serious, when my visitors have sat down. ESSAY II. Sic oportct ad libnim, presertim miscellanei generis^ legendum accedere ledorem, ut solet ad convivium conviva civilis. Convivaior annititur omnibus satisfacere : et tamen si quid apponitur, quod hujus aid illius palato non respondeat, et hie et ille urbane dissimidant, et alia fercida probant, ne quid contristent convivato- rem. Quis enim eum convivam ferat, qui tantum hoc animo veniat ad mensam, id carpens quce apponuntur nee vescatur ipse, nee alios vesci sinat ? et tamen his quoque reperias inciviliores, qui palam, qui sine fine damnent ac lacercnt opus, quod nunquam legerint. Jlst hoc plusquam sycoplianticuin est damnare quod nescias. Erasmus. The musician may tune his instrument in private, ere his audience have yet assembled ; the architect conceals the foun- dation of his building beneath the superstructure. But an au- thor's harp must be tuned in the hearing of those, who are to understand its after harmonies ; the foundation stones of his edifice must lie open to common view, or his friends will hesi- tate to trust themselves beneath the roof. From periodical Literature the general Reader deems him- self entitled to expect amusement, and some degree of infor- mation ; and if the Writer can convey any instruction at the same time and without demanding any additional thought (as the Irishmen, in the hackneyed jest, is said to have passed oiF a light guinea between two halfpence) this supererogatory merit will not perhaps be taken amiss. Now amusement in and for itself may be afforded by the gratification either of the curiosity or of the passions. I use the former word as distin- guished from the love of knowledge, and the latter in distinc- tion from those emotions which arise in well-ordered minds, from the perception of truth or falsehood, virtue or vice : — emotions, which are always preceded by thought, and linked with improvement. Again, all information pursued without any wish of becoming wiser or better thereby, I class among the gratifications of mere curiosity, whether it be sought for 12 in a light Novel or a grave History. We may therefore omit the word Information, as included either in Amusement or In- struction. The present Work is an experiment; not whether a writer may honestly overlook the one, or successfully omit the other, of the two elements themselves, wliich serious Readers at least persuade themselves, they pursue ; but whether a change might not be hazarded of the usual order, in which periodical writers have in general attempted to convey them. Having myself experienced that no delight either in kind or degree, was equal to that which accompanies the distinct perception of a fundamental truth, relative to our moral being ; having, long after the completion of what is ordinarily called a learned edu- cation, discovered a new world of intellectual profit opening on me — not from any new opinions, but lying, as it were, at the roots of those which I had been taught in childhood in my Cate- chism and Spelling-book ; there arose a soothing hope in my mind that a lesser Public might be found, composed of persons susceptible of the same delight, and desirous of attaining it by the same process. I heard a whisper too from within, (I trust that it proceeded from Conscience not Vanity) that a duty was performed in the endeavor to render it as much easier to them, than it had been to me, as could be effected by the united ef- forts of my understanding and imagination.* * In conformity with this anxious wish I shall make no apology for sub- joining a Translation of my Motto to this Essay. (Traiislatxon.) A reader should sit down to a book, especially of the mis- cellaneous kind as a well-behaved visitor does to a banquet. The master of the feasts exerts himself to satisfy all his guests; but if after all his care and pauis there should still be something or other put on the table that does !iot suit this or that person's taste, they j)o]itcly pass it over without noticing the circtunstance, and commend other dishes, that they may not distress their kind host, or throw any damp on his spiiits. For who could tolerate a guest tliat accepted an invitation to your table with no other purpose but that of finding faidt with eveiy thing put before him, neither eating himself; orsufTer- hig others to cat in comfort. And yet you may fall in with a still worse set than even these, — with churls that in all coni])anies and without stop or stay will condenm and ]Mdl to pieces a work which they had never read. But this sinks below the baseness of an /j!/br?«fr, yea, tiiough he were a false wit- ness to boot ! The man, who abuses a thing of which he is utterly ignorant, unites the infamy of both— and in addition to this, makes himself the i)ander and sycophant of his own and other men's envy and malignity. 13 Actuated by this impulse, the Writer wishes, in the follow- ing Essays, to convey not instruction merely, but fundamental instruction ; not so much to shew my Reader this or that fact, as to kindle his own torch for him, and leave it to himself to choose the particular objects, which he might wish to examine by its light. The Friexnd does not indeed exclude from his plan occasional interludes ; and vacations of innocent entertain- ment and promiscuous information, but still in the main he pro- poses to himself the communication of such delight as rewards the march of Truth, rather than to collect the flowers which di- versify its track, in order to present them apart from the home- ly yet foodful or medicinable herbs, among which they had grown. To refer men's opinions to their absolute principles, and thence their feelings to the appropriate objects, and in their due degrees ; and finally, to apply the principles thus ascertain- ed, to the formation of steadfast convictions concerning the most important questions of Politics, Morality, and Religion — these are to be the objects and the contents of this work. Themes like these not even the genius of a Plato or a Ba- con could render intelligible, without demanding from the reader thought sometimes, and attention generally. By THOUGHT I here mean the voluntary production in our ov/n minds of those states of consciousness, to which, as to his fun- damental facts, the Writer has referred us ; while attention has for its object the order and connection of Thoughts and Images, each of which is in itself already and familiarly known. Thus the elements of Geometry require attention only ; but the analysis of our primary faculties, and the investigation of all the absolute grounds of Religion and Morals, are impossible without energies of thought in addition to the effort of Atten- tion. The Friend will not attempt to disguise from his Readers that both Attention and Thought are Efforts, and the latter a most difficult and laborious Effort ; nor from himself, that to require it often or for any continuance of time is incompatible with the nature of the present Publication, even were it less incongruous than it unfortunately is with the present habits and pursuits of Englishmen. Accordingly I shall be on my guard to make the Numbers as few as possible, which would require from a well educated Reader any energy of thought and volun- tary abstraction. But Attention, I confess, will be requisite throughout, except 14 in the excursive and miscellaneous Essays that will be found interposed between each of the three main divisions of the Work. On whatever subject the mind feels a lively interest, attention though always an effort, becomes a delightful effort. I should be quite at ease, could I secure for the whole Work as much of it, as a card party of earnest whist-players., often ex- pend in a single evening, or a lady in the making-up of a fash- ionable dress. But where no interest previously exists, atten- tion (as every schoolmaster knows) can be procured only by terror : which is the true reason why the majority of mankind learn nothing systematically, except as school-boys or apprenti- ces. Happy shall I be, from other motives besides those of self- interest, if no fault or deficiency on my part shall prevent the Work from furnishing a presumptive proof, that there are still to be found among us a respectable number of Readers who are desirous to derive pleasure from the consciousness of be- ing instructed or ameliorated , and who feel a sufficient in/eres^ as to the foundations of their own opinions in Literature, Poli- tics, Morals, and Religion, to afford that degree of attention, without which, however men may deceive themselves, no ac- tual progress ever was or ever can be made in that knowledge, which supplies at once both strength and nourishment. ESSAY III. '--/Ar 'o)C TzaQsla^op rrfv tsxvtjv ttuqu aov" xonqofrov fiBV sv'-d'v^g Oidov'oav'vno" xofinacjfia'toiv, xai 'grj/ua'tcov, inax^w'v, "la/vavu /.lE^v -nqot'iiaTOV u'vjifv, xal to' ^ugog^acpeii^ov, 'EnvXXioic y.al nsgiTtu'TOig xui TevrXioiai fitxQoig XvXoi'v StSov'g aiianvl^uTbiV, 'ano" ^i^lioji', ^anrjd'of'v. Aristoph. Ran^. Imitation.* When I received the Muse from you, I found her puffed and pampered, With pompous sentences and terms, a cumb'rous huge virago. My first attention was applied to make her look genteelly, And bring her to a moderate bulk by dint of lighter diet. I fed her with plain household phrase, and cool familiar sallad, With water-gruel episode, with sentimental jelly, With moral mince-meat: till at length I brought her within compass. Frere. In the preceding Number I named the present undertaking an Experiment. The explanation will be found in the follow- ing Letter, written to a Correspondent during the first attempt, and before the plan was discontinued from an original error in the mode of circulation, as noticed in the Preface. To R. L. Deah Sir, When I first undertook the present Publication for the sake *This Imitation is printed here by permission of the Author, from a Series of free Translations of selected Scenes from Arisiophanes : a work, of which Ishould the Author be persuaded to make it public) it is my most dehberate judgment, and inmost conviction, that it will form an important epoch in En- glish Literature, and open out sources of metrical and rhythmical wealth in the very heart of our language, of which few, if any, among us are aware. s. T. a 16 and with the avowed object of referring men in all things to Principles or fundamental truths, I was well aware of the ob- stacles which the plan itself Avould oppose to my success. For in order to the regular attainment of this object, all the driest and least attractive Essays must appear in the first fif- teen or twenty Numbers, and thus subject me to the neces- sity of demanding effort or solicting patience in that part of the Work, where it was most my interest to secure the confi- dence of my readers by winning their favor. Though I dared warrant for the pleasantness of the journey on the whole ; though I might promise that the road would, for the far greater part of it, be found plain and easy, that it would pass through countries of various prospect, and that at every stage there would be a change of company ; ii still remained a heavy disadvantage, that I had to start at the foot of a high and steep hill : and I foresaw, not without occasional feelings of despondency, that during the slow and laborious ascent it would require no common management to keep my passengers in good humor with the vehicle and its driver. As far as this incon- venience could be palliated by sincerity and previous confes- sions, I have no reason to accuse myself of neglect. In the prospectus of The Friend, which for this cause I re-printed and annexed to the first Number, I felt it my duty to inform such as might be inclined to patronize the publication, that I must submit to be esteemed dull by those who sought chiefly for amusement: and this I hazarded as a ^eneraZ confession, though in my own mind I felt a cheerful confidence that it would apply almost exclusively to the earlier Numbers. I could not therefore be surprised, however much I may have been depressed, by the frequency with which you hear The Friend complained of for its abstruseness and obscurity ; nor did the highly flattering expressions, with which you accompa- nied your communication, prevent me from feeling its truth to the whole extent. An author's pen, like children's legs, improves by exercise. That part of the blame which rests on myself, I am exerting my best faculties to remove. A man long accustomed to silent and solitary meditation, in proportion as he increases the pow- er of thinking in long and connected trains, is apt to lose or lessen the talent of communicating liio thoughts with grace and perspicuity. Doubtless too, I have in some measure in- 17 jured my style, in respect to its facility and popularity, from having almost confined my reading, of late years, to the works of the Ancients and those of the elder Writers in the modern languages. We insensibly imitate what we habitually admire ; and an aversion to the epigrammatic, unconnected periods of the fashionable Anglogallican taste has too often made me wil- ling to forget, that the stately march and difficult evolutions, which characterize the eloquence of Hooker, Bacon, Milton, and Jeremy Taylor, are notwithstanding their intrinsic excel- lence, still less suited to a periodical Essay. This fault I am now endeavoring to correct ; though I can never so far sacrifice my judgment to the desire of being immediately popular, as to cast my sentences in the French moulds, or affect a style which an ancient critic would have deemed purposely invented for persons troubled with the asthma to read, and for those to comprehend who labor under the more pitiable asthma of a short-witted intellect. It cannot but be injurious to the hu- man mind never to be called into effort ; the habit of receiving: pleasure without any exertion of thought, by the mere excite- ment of curiosity and sensibility, may be justly ranked among the worst eff'ects of habitual novel reading. It is true that these short and unconnected sentences are easily and iustanly under- stood : but it is equally true, that wanting all the cement of thoughts as well as of style, all the connections, and (if you. will forgive too trivial a metaphor) all the hooks-and-eyes of the- memory, they are as easily forgotten : or rather, it is scarcely possible that they should be remembered. — Nor is it less true, that those who confine their reading to such books dwarf their own faculties, and finally reduce their understandings to a de- plorable imbecility : the fact you mention, and which I shall hereafter make use of, is a fair instance and a striking illustra- tion. Like idle morning visitors, the brisk and breathless pe- riods hurry in and hurry off" in quick and profitless succession ; each indeed for the moments of its stay prevents the pain of vacancy, while it indulges the love of sloth ; but all together they leave the mistress of the house (the soul I mean) flat and exhausted, incapable of attending to her own concerns, and un- fitted for the conversation of more rational guests. I know you will not suspect me of fostering so idle a hope, as that of obtaining acquittal by recrimination ; or think that I am attacking one fault, in order that its opposite may escape notice o 18 in the noise and smoke of the battery. On the contrary, I shall do my best, and even make all allowable sacrifices, to ren- der my manner more attractive and my matter more generally interesting. In the establishment of principles and fundamen- tal doctrines, I must of necessity require the attention of my reader to become my fellow-laborer. The primary facts essen- tial to the intelligibility of my principles I can prove to others only as far as I can prevail on them to retire into themselves and make their own minds the objects of their steadfast attention. But, on the other hand, I feel too deeply the importance of the convictions, which first impelled me to the present undertaking, to leave unattempted any honorable means of recommending them to as wide a circle as possible. Hitherto, my dear Sir, I have been employed in laying the foundation of my work. But the proper merit of a foundation is its massiveness and solidity. The conveniences and orna- ments, the gilding and stucco work, the sunshine and sunny prospects, will come with the superstructure. Yet I dare not flatter myself, that any endeavors of mine, compatible with the duty I owe to truth and the hope of permanent utility, will render The Friend agreeable to the majority of what is call- ed the reading public. I never expected it. How indeed could I, when I was to borrow so little from the influence of passing events, and when I had absolutely excluded from my plan all appeals to personal curiosity and personal interests ? Yet even this is not my greatest impediment. No real information can be conveyed, no important errors rectified, no widely injurious prejudices rooted up, without requiring some eflbrt or thought on the part of the reader. But the obstinate (and toward a contemporary Writer, the contem])tuous) aversion to all intel- lectual eflbrt is the mother evil of all which I had proposed to war against, the Queen Bee in the hive of our errors and mis- fortunes, both private and national. To solicit the attention of those, on whom these debilitating causes have acted to their full extent, would be no less absurd than to recommend exer- cise with the dumb bells, as the only mode of cure, to a patient paralytic in both arms. You, my dear Sir, well know, that my expectations were more modest as well as more rational. I hoped, that my readers in general would be aware of the im- practicability of suiting every ICssay to every taste in any pe- riod of the work ; and that they would not attritbute wholly to 19 " "' the author, but in part to the necessity of his plan, the austeri- ty and absence of the lighter graces in the first fifteen or twenty numbers. In my cheerful moods I sometimes flattered myself, that a few even among those, who foresaw that my lucubrations would at all times require more attention than from the nature of their own employments they could afford them, might yet find a pleasure in supporting the Friend during its infancy, so as to give it a chance of attracting the notice of others, to whom its style and subjects might be better adapted. But my main anchor was the Hope, that when circumstances gradually enabled me to adopt the ordinary means of making the publica- tion generally known, there might be found throughout the Kingdom a sufficient number of meditative minds, who, enter- taining similar convictions with myself, and gratified by the prospect of seeing them reduced to form and system, would take a warm interest in the work from the very circumstance that it wanted those allurements of transitory interests, which render particular patronage superfluous, and for the brief season of their blow and fragrance attract the eye of thousands, who would pass unregarded Flowers Of sober tint, and Herbs of medicinal powers. S. T. C. In these three introductory Numbers, The Friend has en- deavored to realize his promise of giving an honest bill of fare, both as to the objects and the style of the Work. With refer- ence to both I conclude with a prophecy of Simon Grynasus, from his premonition to the candid Reader, prefixed to Fi- cinus's translation of Plato, published at Leyden, 1557. How far it has been gradually fulfilled in this country since the revo- lution in 1688, I leave to my candid and intelligent Readers to determine. ' Ac dolet mihi quidem deliciis literarum inescatos subito jam homines adeoj esse, praesertim qui Christianos esse profitentur, ut legere nisi quod ad presentem gustum facit, sustineant nihil : unde et disciplina et philosophia ipsa jam fere prorsus etiam a doctis negliguntur. Quod quidem propositum studiorum nisi mature corrigetur, tam magnum rebus incommodum dabit, quam dedit barbaries olim. Pertinax res barbaries est fateor ; sed minus potest tamen, quam ilia persuasa literarum, prudentior si 20 RATioNE caret, sapientiae virtutisque specie misere lectores cir- cumducens. Succedet igitur, ut aihitror, baud ita multo post, pro rus- ticana sseeuli nostri ruditate captatrix ilia blandi-loquentia, ro- bur animi virilis onine, omnem virtutein masculum profligatura, nisi cavetur.' (Translation.) — In very trutb, it grieveth me that men, those especially who profess themselves to be Christians, should be so taken with the sweet Baits of Literature that tbey can endure to read nothing but v/hat gives them imme- diate gratification, no matter how low or sensual it may be. Consequently, the more austere and disciplinary branches of philosophy itself, are almost wholly neglected, even by the learned. — A course of study (if such reading, with such a pur- pose in view, could deserve that name) which, if not correct- ed in time, will occasion worse consequences than even bar- barism did in the times of our forefathers. Barbarism is, I own, a wilful headstrong thing ; but with all its blind obstina- cy it has less power of doing harm than this self-sufficient, self-satisfied plain good common-sense sort of writing, this pru- dent saleable popular style of composition, if it be deserted by Reason and scientific Insight ; pitiably decoying the minds of men by an imposing shew of aimableness, and practical Wisdom, so that the delighted Reader knowing nothing knows all about almost every thing. There will succeed therefore in my opinion, and that too within no long time, to the rude- ness and rusticity of our age, that ensnaring meretricious pojm- larness in Literature, with all the tricksy humilities of the am- bitious candidates for the favorable suffrages of the judicious Public, which i( we do not take good care will break up and scatter before it all robustness and manly vigor of intellect, all masculine fortitude of virtue. ESi^AY IV. Si modo qiUB jYaturd et Ratione concessa sint, assumpserimus, PrjESumtionis sus- picio a )iobis quam longissime abesse debet Multa Antiquitati, nohismet ni- hil, nrrogamus. JViMlne vos ? JVihil mehercule, nisi quod omnia omni aniino Veritati arrogamiis et Sanctirnonice. Ulr, Rinov. De Controversiis. (Translation.) — If we assume only what Nature and Reason have granted, with no shadow of right can we be suspected of Presumption. To Antiquity we arrogate many things, to ourselves nothing. Nothing? Aye nothing: unless indeed it be, that with all our strength we arrogate all things to Truth and Moral Purity. It has been remarked by the celebrated Haller, that we are deaf while we are yawning. The same act of drowsiness that stretches open our mouths closes our ears. It is much the same in acts of the understanding. A lazy half-attention amounts to a mental yawn. Where then a subject, that de- mands thought, has been thoughtfully treated, and with an ex- act and patient derivation from its principles, we must be wil- ling to exert a portion of the same effort, and to think with the author, or the author will have thought in vain for us. It makes little difference for the time being, whether there be an hiatus oscitans in the reader's attention, or an hiatus lacry- mabilis in the author's manuscript. When this occurs during the persual of a work of known authority and established fame, we honestly lay the fault on our own deficiency, or on the un- fitness of our present mood ; but when it is a contemporary production, over which we have been nodding, it is far more pleasant to pronounce it insufferably dull and obscure. Indeed, as charity begins at home, it would be unreasonable to expect 23 that a reader should charge himself with lack of intellect, when the effect may be equally well accounted for by declar- ing the author unintelligible ; or that he should accuse his own inattention, Avhen by half a dozen phrases of abuse, as " hea- vy stuffs metaphorical jargon^ &c., he can at once excuse his laziness, and gratify his pride, scorn, and envy. To similar impulses we must attribute the praises of a true modern rea- der, when he meets with a work in the true modern taste : videlicet, either in skipping, unconnected, short-winded asth- matic sentences, as easy to be understood as impossible to be remembered, in which the merest common-place acquires a momentary poignancy, a petty titillating sting, from affected point and wilful antithesis ; or else in strutting and rounded periods, in which the emptiest truisms are blown up into illus- trious bubbles by help of film and inflation. "Aye!" (quoth the delighted reader) " this is sense, this is genius ! this I un- derstand and admire ! I have thought the very same a hundred times myself !'''' In other words, this man has reminded me of my own cleverness, and therefore I admire him. ! for one piece of egotism that presents itself under its own honest bare face of " I myself I," there are fifty that steal out in the mask of tuisms and ille-isms. It has ever been my opinion, that an excessive solicitude to avoid the use of our first personal pronoun more often has its source in conscious selfishness than in true self-oblivion. A quiet observer of human follies may often amuse or sadden his thoughts by detecting a perpetual feeling of purest egotism through a long masquerade of Disguises, the half of which, had old Proteus been master of as many, would have wearied out the patience of Menelaus. I say, \\\e patience only: for it would ask more than the simplicity of Polypheme, with his one eye extinguished to be deceived by so poor a repetition of Nobody. Yet I can with strictest truth assure my Readers that with a pleasure combined with a sense of weariness I see the nigh approach of that point of my labors, in which I can convey my opinions and the workings of my heart without reminding the Reader obtrusively of myself. But the frequency, with which I have spoken in my own person, recalls my apprehensions to the second danger, which it was my hope to guard against ; the probable charge of Arrogance, or presumption, both for daring to dissent from the opinions of great authorities, and, in 23 my folIoAving numbers perhaps, from the general opinion con- cerning the true value of certain authorities deemed great. The word, Presumption, I appropriate to the internal feeling, and Arrogance to the way and manner of outwardly expressing ourselves. As no man can rightfully be condemned without reference to some definite law, by the knowledge of which he might have avoided the given fault, it is necessary so to define the constituent qualities and conditions of arrogance, that a reason may be assignable why we pronounce one man guilty and ac- quit another. For merely to call a person arrogant or most arro- gant can convict no one of the vice except perhaps the ac- cuser. I was once present, when a young man who had left his books and a glass of water to join a convivial party, each of whom had nearly finished his second bottle, was pronounced very drunk by the whole party — "he looked so strange and pale !" Many a man, who has contrived to hide his ruling pas- sion or predominant defect from himself, will betray the same to dispassionate observers, by his proneness on all occasions to suspect or accuse others of it. Now arrogance and Presump- tion, like all other moral qualities, must be shewn by some act or conduct : and this too must be an act that implies, if not an immediate concurrence of the Will, yet some faulty constitution of the Moral Habits. For all criminality supposes its essentials to have been within the power of the Agent. Either therefore the facts adduced do of themselves convey the whole proof of the charge, and the question rests on the truth or accuracy with which they have been stated ; or they acquire their char- acter from the circumstances. I have looked into a ponderous Review of the Corpuscular Philosophy by a Sicilian Jesuit, in which the acrimonious Father frequently expresses his doubt whether he should pronounce Boyle or Newton more impious than presumptuous^ or more presumptuous than impious. They had both attacked the reigning opinions on most important sub- jects, opinions sanctioned by the greatest names of antiquity, and by the general suflrage of their learned Contemporaries or immediate Predecessors. Locke was assailed with a full cry for his presumption in having deserted the philosophical system at that time generally received by the Universities of Europe ; and of late years Dr. Priestly bestowed the epithets of arrogant and insolent on Reid, Beattie, &c., for presuming to arraign 24 certain opinions of Mr. Locke, himself repaid in kind by many of his own countrymen for his theological novelties. It will scarcely be affirmed, that these accusations were all of them just, or that any of them were fit or courteous. Must we there- fore say, that in order to avow doubt or disbelief of a popular persuasion without arrogance, it is required that the dissentient should know himself to possess the genius, and foreknow that he should acquire the reputation, of Locke, Newton, Boyle, or even of a Reid or Beattie ? But as this knowledge and pre- science are impossible in the strict sense of the words, and could mean no more than a strong inw-ard conviction, it is manifest that such a rule, if it were universally established, would encourage the presumptuous, and condemn modest and humble minds alone to silence. And as this silence could not acquit the individual's own mind of presumption, unless it were accompanied by conscious acquiescence ; Modesty itself must become an inert quality, which even in private society never displays its charms more unequivocally than in its mode of reconciling moral deference with intellectual courage, and general diffidence with sincerity in the avowal of the particular conviction. We must seek then elsewhere for the true marks, by which Presumption or Arrogance may be detected, and on which the charge may be grounded with little hazard of mistake or in- justice. And as I confine my present observations to litera- ture, I deem such criteria neither difficult to determine or to apply. The first mark, as it appears to me, is a frequent bare assertion of opinions not generally received, without condescen- ding to prefix or annex the facts and reasons on which such opinions were formed ; especially if this absence of logical cour- tesy is supplied by contemptuous or abusive treatment of such as happen to doubt of, or oppose, the decisive ipse dixi. But to assert, however nakedly, that a passage in a lewd novel, in which the Sacred Writings are denounced as more likely to pollute the young and innocent mind than a romance notorious for its indecency — to assert, I say, that such a passage argues equal impudence and ignorance in its author, at the time of wri- ting and publisiiing it — this is not arrogance ; although to a vast majority of the decent part of our countrymen it would be su- perfluous as a truism, if it were exclusively an author's business to convey or revive knowledge, and not sometimes his duty to 25 awaken the indignation of his Reader by the expression of his own. A second species of this unamiable quality, which has been often distinguished by the name of Warburtonian arrogance, betrays itself, not as in the former, by proud or petulant omis- sion of proof or argument, but by the habit of ascribing weakness of intellect, or want of taste and sensibility, or hardness of heart, or corruption of moral principle, to all who deny the truth of the doctrine, or the sufficiency of evidence, or the fairness of the reasoning adduced in its support. This is indeed not es- sentially different from the first, but assumes a separate charac- ter from its accompaniments : for though both the doctrine and its proofs may have been legitimately supplied by the under- standing, yet the bitterness of personal crimination will resolve itself into naked assertion. We are, therefore, authorized by experience, and justified on the principle of self-defence and by the law of fair retaliation, in attributing it to a vicious tem- per, arrogant from irritability, or irrita,ble from arrogance. This learned arrogance admits of many gradations, and is palliated or aggravated, accordingly, as the point in dispute has been more or less controverted, as the reasoning bears a greater or smaller proportion to the virulence of the personal detraction, and as the persons or parties, who are the objects of it, are more or less respected, more or less worthy of respect.* *Ha(l the autlior of the Divine Legation of Moses more sliilfully appro- priated his coarse eloquence of abuse, his customary assurance of the idiotcy, both in head and heart, of all his opponents; if he had employed those vigor- ous arguments of his own vehement humor in the defence of Truths ac- knowledged and reverenced by learned men in general ; or if he had confi- ned them to the names of Chubb, Woolston, and other precursors of Mr. Thom- as Payne ; we should perhaps still characterize his mode of controversy by its rude violence, but not so often have heard his name used, even by those who have never read his writings, as a j)roverbial expression of learned Arro- gance. But when a novel and doubtful hy})othesis of his own formation was the citadel to be defended, and his mephitic hand-granados were thrown with the fury of lawless despotism at the fair reputation of a Sykes and a Lardner, we not only confirm the verdict of his inde]jendeiit contemporaries, but cease to wonder, that arrogance should rendei- Jiian an object of contempt in many, and of aversion in all instances, when it was capable of hurrying a Christian teacher of equal talents and learning into a slanderous vulgarity, which escapes our disgust only when we see the writer's own reputation the sole victim. But throughout his great work, and the pamphlets in which he 4 26 Lasth', it must be admitted as a just imputation of presump- tion when an individual obtrudes on the public eye, with all the high pretensions of originality, opinions and observations, in regard to which he must plead wilful ignorance in order to be acquitted of dishonest plagiarism. On the same seat must the writer be placed, who in a disquisition on any important subject proves, by falsehoods either of omission or of positive error, that he has neglected to possess himself, not only of the information requisite for this particular subject, but even of those ac(juirements, and that general knowledge, which could alone authorize him to commence a public instructor : this is an office which cannot be procured gratis. The industry, necessary for the due exercise of its functions, is its purchase-money ; and the absence or insufficiency of the same is so far a species of dishonesty, and implies a pi'esumption in the literal as well as the ordinary sense of the word. He has taken a thing before he had acquired any right or title thereto. If in addition to this unfitness which every man possesses the means of ascertaining, his aim should be to unsettle a gen- eral belief closely connected with public and private quiet ; and if his language and manner be avowedly calculated for the illiterate (and perhaps licentious) part of his contrymen ; dis- gusting as his presumption must appear, it is yet lost or evan- escent in the close neighbourhood of his guilt. That Hobbes translated Homer in English verse and published his translation, furnishes no positive evidence of his self-conceit, though it implies a great lack of self-knowldege and of acquaintance with the nature of poetry. A strong wish often imposes itself on the mind for an actual power; the mistake is favored by tlie innocent pleasure derived from the exercise of versification, perhaps by the approbation of intimates ; and the canditate asks from more impartial readers that sentence, which Nature has not enabled him to anticipate. But when the philosopher of Malmsbury waged war with Wallis and the fundamental truths of pure geometry, every instance of his gross ignorance and siipportpd it, ho always seems to write as if he had deemed it aduty of deco- iian to jiuhhsh hisfaneies on the Mosaic Law, as the Law itself was dehvered, that is, "in thunders and lightnings;" or as if he had applied to his own book intsead of the sac-red mount, the nietiaee — Thtrt shall not a hand touch it but he shall surely be stoned or shot through. 27 utter misconception of the very elements of the science he pro- posed to confute, furnished an unanswerable fact in proof of his high presumption ; and the confident and insulting language of the attack leaves the judicious reader in as little doubt of his gross arrogance. An illiterate mechanic, when mistaking some disturbance of his nerves for a miraculous call proceeds alone to convert a tribe of savages, whose language he can have no natural means of acquiring, may have been misled by impulses very different from those of high self-opinion ; but the illite- rate perpetrator of " the Age of Reason," must have had his very conscience stupified by the habitual intoxication of pre- sumptuous arrogance, and his common-sense over-clouded by the vapors from his heart. As long therefore as I obtrude no unsupported assertions on my Readers ; and as long as I state my opinions and the evidence which induced or compelled me to adopt them, with calmness and that diffidence in myself, w^hich is by no means incompatible with a firm belief in the justness of the opinions themselves; while I attack no man's private life from any cause, and detract from no man's honors in his public character, from the truth of his doctrines, or the merits of his compositions, without detail- ing all my reasons and resting the result solely on the argu- ments adduced ; while I moreover' explain fully the motives of duty, which influenced me in resolving to institute such inves- tigation ; while I confine all asperity of censure, and all expres- sions of contempt, to gross violations of truth, honor, and de- cency, to the base corrupter and the detected slanderer; while I write on no subject, which I have not studied with my best at- tention, on no subject which my education and acquirments have incapacitated me from properly understanding ; and above all while 1 approve myself, alike in praise and in blame, in close reasoning and in impassioned declamation, a steady rRii:>;D to the two best and surest friends of all men, Truth and Hoatestt ; I will not fear an accusation of either Presumption or Arrogance from the good and the wise : I shall pity it from the weak, and despise it from the wicked. ESSAY V. In eodem pedore nullum est hoiiestorum turphimque consortium : et cogitare optima simvl el deterrima non magis est wiius animce quam ejusdem hominis honum esse ac malum. Quintilian. There is no fellowship of honor and baseness in the same breast; and to com- bine the best and the worst designs is no more possible in one mind, than it is for the same man to be at the same instant virtuous and vicious. Cognitio veritatis omnia falsa, si mode pro/erantur, eiiam quce pi'ius inaudita eranf, et dijudicare et subvertere idonea est. Augustintjs. A knowledge of the truth is equal to the task both of discerning and of con- futing all false assertions and erroneous arguments, though never before met with, if only they may freely be brought forward. I have said, that my very system compels me to make every fair appeal to the feelings, the imagination and even the fancy. If these are to be withheld from the service of truth, virtue, and happiness, to what purpose were they given ? in whose service are they retained ? I have indeed considered the disproportion of human passions to their ordinary objects among the strongest internal evidences of our future destination, and the attempt to restore them to their rightful claimants, the most imperious duty and the noblest task of genius. The verbal enunciation of this master-truth could scarcely be new to me at any period of my life since earliest youth ; but I well remember the particular time, when the words first became more than words to me, when they incorporated with a living conviction, and took their place among the realties of my being. On some wide com- mon or open heath, peopled with Ant-hills, during some one of the grey cloudy days of the late Autumn, many of my Rea- ders may have noticed the effect of a sudden and momentary flash of sunshine on all the countless little animals within his view, aware too that the self-same influence was darted co-in- 39 stantaneously over all their swarming cities as far as his eye could reach ; may have observed, with what a kindly force the gleam stirs and quickens them all ! and will have experienced no unpleasureable shock of feeling in seeing myriads of myriads of living and sentient beings united at the same moment in one gay sensation, one joyous activity ! But awful indeed is the same appearance in a multitude of rational beings, our fellow- men, in whom too the effect is produced not so much by the ex- ternal occasion as from the active quality of their own thoughts. I had walked from Gottingen in the year 1799, to witness the arrival of the Queen of Prussia, on her visit to the Baron Von Hartzberg's seat, five miles from the University. The spa- cious outer court of the palace was crowded with men and women, a sea of heads, with a number of children rising out of it from their father's shoulders. After a buzz of two hours ex- pectation, the avant-courier rode at full speed into the Court. At the loud cracks of his long whip and the trampling of his horse's hoofs, the universal shock and thrill of emotion — I have not language to convey it — expressed as it was in such manifold looks, gestures, and attitudes, yet with one and the same feeling in the eyes of all ! Recovering from the first inevitable conta- gion of sympath}^, I involuntarily exclaimed, though in a language to myself alone intelligible, " man ! ever nobler than thy circumstances ! Spread but the mist of obscure feeling over any form, and even a woman incapable of blessing or of injury to thee shall be welcomed with an intensity of emotion ade- quate to the reception of the Redeemer of the world !" To a creature so highly, so fearfully gifted, who, alienated as he is by a sorcery scarcely less mysterious than the nature on which it is exercised, yet like the fabled son of Jove in the evil day of his sensual bewitchment, lifts the spindles and dis- taffs of Omphale with the arm of a giant. Truth is self-restora- tion : for that which is the correlative of Truth, the existence of absolute Life, is the only object which can attract towards it the whole depth and mass of his fluctuating Being, and alone therefore can unite Calmness with Elevation. But it must be Truth without alloy and unsophisticated. It is by the agency of indistinct conceptions, as the counterfeits of the Ideal and Transcendent, that evil and vanity exercise their tyranny on the feelings of man. The Powers of Darkness are politic if not wise ; but surely nothing can be more irrational in the pre- 30 tended children of Light, than to enlist themselves under the banners of Truth, and yet rest their hopes on an alliance with Delusion. Among the numerous artifices, by which austere truths are to be softened down into palateable falsehoods, and Virtue and Vice, like the atoms of Epicurus, to receive that insensible clinamen which is to make them meet each other half way, I have an especial dislike to the expression, Pious Frauds. Piety indeed shrinks from the very phrase, as an attempt to mix poison with the cup of Blessing : while the expediency of the measures which this phrase was framed to recommend or palliate, appears more and more suspicious, as the range of our experience widens, and our acquaintance with the records of History becomes more extensive and accurate. One of the most seductive arguments of Infidelity grounds itself on the numerous passages in the works of the Christian Fathers, as- serting the lawfulness of Deceit for a good purpose. That the Fathers held, almost without exception, "That wholly without breach of duty it is allowed to the Teachers and heads of the Christian Church to employ artifices, to intermix falsehoods with truths, and especially to deceive the enemies of the faith, provided only they hereby serve the interests of Truth and the advantage of mankind,"* is the unwilling confession of Rieof: (Program, de Oeconomia Patrum.) St. Jerom, as is shewn by the citations of this learned Theologian, boldly attributes this management (falsitatem dispensativam) even to the Apostles themselves. But why speak I of the advantage given to the opponents of Christianity? Alas! to this doctrine chiefly, and to the practices derived from it, we must attribute the utter * Intes^nim omnino Dodorihiis ct ccetus Christiani Antistitibus esse, id dolos versent, falsa veris intcrrniscant et imprimis religionis hostes J'uUani, elummodo veritatis commodis et idilitati inservant. — I ti'iist, I need not udd, tliat tliu iiu- j)iitatioii of such principles of actii^n to the first insjjired Propagators of Christianity, is fonndod on the gross niisconstruction of tliose passages in the writings of St. I'anl, in wliich the necessity of employing different argu- ments to men of different cajtacities and prejudices, is supposed and acceded to. In other words, St. Paul strove to speak intelligibly, willingly sacrificed indifferent things to matters of importance, and acted courteously as a man, in order to win attention as an Ai)ostlc. A traveller prefers for daily use the coin of the nation through wliich ho is passing, to bullion or th<^ mintage of his own countiy: and is this to justify n succeeding trnvelier in (ha use of counterfeit coin ? 31 corruption of the Religion itself for so many ages, and even now over so large a portion of the civilized world. By a sys- tem of accommodating Truth to Falsehood, the Pastors of the Church gradually changed the life and light of the Gospel into the very superstitions which they were commissioned to disperse, and thus paganized Christianity in order to christen Paganism. At this very hour Europe groans and bleeds in consequence. So much in proof and exemplification of the probable expedi- ency of pious deception, as suggested by its known and record- ed consequences. An honest man, however, possesses a clear- er light than that of History. He knows, that by sacrificing the law of his reason to the maxim of pretended prudence, he purchases the sword with the loss of the arm that is to wield it. The duties which we owe to our own moral being, are the ground and condition of all other duties; and to set our nature at strife with itself for a good purpose, implies the same sort of prudence, as a priest of Diana would have manifested, who should have proposed to dig up the celebrated charcoal foun- dations of the mighty Temple of Ephesus, in order to furnish fuel for the burnt-offerings on its altars. Truth, Virtue and Happiness, may be distinguished from each other, but cannot be divided. They subsist by a mutual co-inherance, which gives a shadow of divinity even to our human nature. " Will ye speak deceitfully for God ?" is a searching question, which most affectingly represents the grief and impatience of an un- corrupted mind at perceiving a good cause defended by ill means : and assuredly if any temptation can provoke a well-regu- lated temper to intolerance, it is the shameless assertion, that Truth and Falsehood are indifferent in their own natures ; that the former is as often injurious (and therefore criminal) and the latter on many occasions as beneficial (and consequently meri- torious) as the former. I feel it incumbent on me, therefore, to place immediately be- fore my Readers in the fullest and clearest light, the whole question of moral obligation respecting the communication of Truth, its extent and conditions. I would fain obviate all ap- prehensions either of my incaution on the one hand, or of any insincere reserve on the other, by proving that the more strictly we adhere to the Letter of the moral law in this respect, the more completely shall we reconcile the law with prudence ; thus securing a purity in the principle without mischief from 32 fhe practice. I would not, I could not dare, address my coun- trymen as a Friend, if I might not justify the assumption of that sacred title by more than mere veracity, by open-heartedness. Pleasure, most often delusive, may be born of delusion. Pleas- ure, herself a sorceress, may pitch her tents on enchanted ground. But Happiness (or, to use a far more accurate as well as more comprehensive term, solid Well-being) can be built on Virtue alone, and must of necessity have Truth for its foundation. Add to the known fact that the meanest of men feels himself insulted by an unsuccessful attempt to deceive him ; and hates and despises the man who had attempted it. What place then is left in the heart for Virtue to build on, if in any case we may dare practice on others what we should feel as a cruel and con- temptuous wrong in our own persons ? Every parent possesses the opportunity of observing, how deeply children resent the injury of a delusion ; and if men laugh at the falsehoods that were imposed on themselves during their childhood, it is be- cause they are not good and wise enough to contemplate the past in the present, and so to produce by a virtuous and thought- ful sensibility that continuity in their self-consciousness, which Nature has made the law of their animal life. Ingratitude, sen- suality, and hardness of heart, all flow from this source. Men are ungrateful to others only when they have ceased to look back on their former selves with joy and tenderness. They exist in fragments. Annihilated as to the Past, they are dead to the Future, or seek for the proofs of it everywhere, only not (where alone they can be found) in themselves. A contem- poraiy Poet has expressed and illustrated this sentiment with equal fineness of thought and tenderness of feeling : My heart leaps up when I l)eliold A rain-how in the sky ? So was it, when my life began ; So is it now I am a man ; So let it he, when I grow old, Or let mc die. The Child is Father of the Man, And I icoxdd tvish. my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety* Wordsworth. * I am informed, that these very lines have been rited, as a specimen of despicable puerility. So much the worse for the citer. Not willingly in his Alas ! the pernicious influence of this lax morality" t»"ii» i^^ from the nursery and the school to the cabinet and senate. It is a common weakness with men in power, who have used dis- simulation successfully, to form a passion for the use of it, dupes to the love of duping ! A pride is flattered by these lies. He who fancies that he must be perpetually stooping down to the prejudices of his fellow-creatures, is perpetually reminding and re-assuring himself of his own vast superiority to them. But no real greatness can long co-exist with deceit. The whole faculties of man must be exerted in order to noble ener- gies ; and he who is not earnestly sincere, lives in but half his being, self-mutilated, self-paralyzed. The latter part of the proposition, which has drawn me into this discussion, that 1 mean in which the morality of intention- al falsehood is asserted, may safely be trusted to the Reader's own moral sense. Is it a groundless apprehension, that the patrons and admirers of such publications may receive the pun- ishment of their indiscretion in the conduct of their sons and daughters ? The suspicion of methodism must be expected by every man of rank and fortune, who carries his examination respecting the books which are to lie on his breakfast-table, farther than to their freedom from gross verbal indecencies, and broad avowals of atheism in the title-page. For the existence of an intelligent first cause may be ridiculed in the notes of one poem, or placed doubtfully as one of two or three possible hypotheses, in the very opening of another poem, and both be considered as works of safe promiscuous reading "virginibus puerisque :" and this too by many a father of a family, who would hold himself highly culpable in permitting his child to presence would I beliold the sun setting behind our mountains, or listen to a tale of distress or virtue; I should bo ashamed of the quiet tear on my own cheek. But let the dead l)ury the dead ! The Poet sang for tlie Living, Of what value indeed, to a sane mind, are the likings or disJikings of one man, grounded on the mere assertions of another ? Opinions formed fiom opin- ions — what are they, but clouds sailing under clouds, which inij)ress shadows upon shadows ? Funguin pclle procul, jubeo ! nam quid mihi fungo? Conveninnt stomacho non minus ista suo. I was a'vvays i»leased with the motto placed under the figure of the Rose- mary in old llerbals: Sus, apage! Ilaud tibi spiro. / the praejtiits of familiar acquaintance with a person of loose ha- bits, and think it even criminal to receive into his house a private tutor without a previous inquiry concerning his opin- ions and principles, as well as his manners and outward conduct. How little I am an enemy to free inquiry of the boldest kind, and where the authors have differed the most widely from my own convictions and the general faith of mankind, provided only, the enquiry be conducted with that seriousness, which naturally accompanies the love of truth, and that it is evidently intended for the perusal of those only, who may be presumed to be capable of weighing the arguments, I shall have abund- ant occasion of proving, in the course of this work. Qiiin ipsa philosophia talibus e disputationibus non nisi beneficium recipit. Nam si vera proponit homo ingeniosus veritatisque amanSy nova ad earn accessio fiet : sin falsa, refutatione eorum priores tanto magis stabilientur .* Galilei Syst. Cosm. p. 42. The assertion, that truth is often no less dangerous than falsehood, sounds less offensively at the first hearing, only be- cause it hides its deformity in an equivocation, or double mean- ing of the word truth. What may be rightly affirmed of truth, used as synonymous with verbal accuracy, is transferred to it in its higher sense of veracity. By verbal truth we mean no more than the correspondence of a given fact to given words. In moral truth, we involve likewise the intention of the speak- er, that his words should correspond to his thoughts in the sense in which he expects them to be understood by others : and in this latter import we are always supposed to use the word, whenever we speak of truth absolutely, or as a possible subject of a moral merit or demerit. It is verbally true, that in the sacred Scriptures it is written : " As is the good, so is the sinner, and he that sweareth as he that feareth an oath. A man hath no better thing under the sun, than to eat, and to drink, and to be merry. For there is one event unto all : the living know they shall die, but the dead know not any thing, neither have they any more a reward." But he who should * (Translation.) — Moreover, Pliilosoph}' itself cannot hut derive benefit from such discussions. For if a man of genius and a lover of Truth brings just positions before the Public, there is a fiesh accession to the stock of Philo- Pf)phic Insight; but if erroneous positions, the former Truths will by their confutation be establisjied so much the jnore firnilv. 35 repeat these words, with this assurance, to an ignorant man in the hour uf his temptation, lingering at the door of the ale- house, or hesitating as to the testimony required of him in the court of justice, would, spite of this verbal truth, be a liar, and the murderer of his brother's conscience. Veracity, there- fore, not mere accuracy ; to convey truth, not merel}^ to say it ; is the point of duty in dispute : and the only difficulty in the mind of an honest man arises from the doubt, whether more than veracity (i. e. the truth and nothing but the truth) is not demanded of him by the law of conscience ; whether it does not exact simjilicity ; that is, the truth only, and the whole truth. If we can solve this difficulty, if we can deter- mine the conditions under which the law of universal reason commands the communication of the truth independently of con- sequences altogether, we shall then be enabled to judge wheth- er there is any such probability of evil consequences from such communication, as can justify the assertion of its occasional criminality, as can perplex us in the conception, or disturb us in the performance, of our duty. The conscience, or effective reason, commands the design of conveying an adequate notion of the thing spoken of, when this is practicable : but at all events a right notion, or none at all. A school-master is under the necessity of teaching a certain rule in simple arithmetic empirically, (do so and so, and the sum will always prove true) the necessary truth of the rule (i. e. that the rule having been adhered to, the sum must al- ways prove true) requiring a knowledge of the higher mathe- matics for its demonstration. He, however, conveys a right notion, though he cannot convey the adequate one. E88AY VI. Uolvfiad-lij xu'qiu i^iEV McpeXtsi, y.u'qra 8e (HaitiBno'v e'xovTa 'wcfeX6Ei> fiep TO V dt^Lo" t' "ui'dQix, ^Xu'niei, ds to' v ^rjtdiwg q)0)rev~viu nav Unog xul iv Tiavil 8 rf 1.1(0. Xqif 8e xuioov' /ust^u si8eyuf oocpiijg )'uQ ou'^iog, "oQog, "oi 8e ti.01 xutoov' Qtfaif jnovaixifv TTSTiPVftsi'Mg 'utiaojuif, d" u nuQu8exovTui iv UQyirj yro)' fjyv, uheiv 8^ (melius utiiijr) t/ovav fio)giug. Heraclitus apud Stobceum, (Serm. xxxiv. Ed. Lgd. p. 216.; ( Trcmslfdion.) — General Knowledge and ready Talent maybe of verygi'eat benefit, but they may likewise be of very great disservice to the possessor. They are highly advantageous to the man of sound judgment, and dexterous in applying thein ; but tlicy injure your fluent holder-fortli on all sulyects in all companies. It is necessary to know the measures of the time and occa- sion : for this is the very boundary of wisdom — (that by which it is defined, and distinguished from mere ability.) But he, who without regard to the un- fitness of the time and the audience "will soar in the high reason of his fan- cies with his garland and singing rjbes about him," will not acquire the credit of seriousness amidst frivolity, but will be condenmed for his silliness, as the greatest idler of the company because the most unseasonable. The Moral Law, it has J)een shewn, permits an inadequate communication of unsophisticated jruth, on the condition that it alone is practicable, and binds us to silence when neither is in our power. We must first enquire then. What is necessary to constitute, and what may allowably accompany, a right though inadequate notion .'' And secondly, what are the circumstances, from which we may deduce the impracticability of conveying even a right notion ; the presence or absence of which circum- stances it therefore becomes our duty to ascertain .'' In answer to the first question, the conscience demands : 1. That it should be the wish and design of the mind to convey the truth only ; S7 that if in addition to the negative loss implied in its inadequate- ness, the notion communicated should lead to any positive error, the cause should lie in the fault or defect of the Recipient, not of the Communicator, whose paramount duty, whose inaliena- ble right it is to preserve his own Integrity * the integral char- acter of his own moral Being. Self-respect ; the reverence which he owes to the presence of Humanity in the person of his neighbor ; the reverential upholding of the faith of man in man ; gratitude for the particular act of confidence ; and reli- gious awe for the divine purposes in the gift of language ; are duties too sacred and important to be sacrificed to the guesses of an individual, concerning the advantages to be gained by the breach of them. 2. It is further required, that the suppos- ed error shall not be such as will pervert or materially vitiate the imperfect truth, in communicating which we had unwilling- ly, though not perhaps unwittingly, occasioned it. A Barbari- an so instructed in the power and intelligence of the Infinite Being as to be left Avholly ignorant of his moral attributes, would have acquired none but erroneous notions even of the former. At the very best, he would gain only a theory to sa- tisfy his curiosity with ; but more probably, would deduce the belief of a Moloch or a Baal. (For the idea of an irresistible *The best and most forcible sense of a word is often tbat, wbich is con- tained in its Etymology. The Author of the Poems ( The Sij7iagog^ue) fre- quently affixed to Herbert's " Temple," gives the original purport of the word Integrity, in the following lines (fourth stanza of the eighth Poem.) ' Next to Sincerity, remember still, Thou must resolve upon Integrity. God will have all thou hast, thy mind, thy will. Thy thoughts, thy words, thy works. And again, after some verses on Constancy and Humility, the Poem con- cludes with — He tliat desires to sec The face of God, in his religion must Sincere, entire, constant and huml)le be. Having mentioned tiie name of Herbed, that model of a man, a Gentle- man, and a Clergyman, let me add, that the quaintness of some of his thoughts not of his diction, than which nothing can be more pure, manly, and unaffected, has blinded modern readers to the great general merit of his Poenjs, which are for tha most part exquisite in their kind. 38 invisible Being naturally produces terror in the mind of unin- structed and unprotected man, and with terror there will be associated whatever had been accustomed to excite it, as anger, vengeance, &c. ; as is proved by the Mythology of all barba- rous nations.) This must be the case with all organized truths; the component parts derive their significance from the idea of the whole. Bolingbroke removed Love, Justice, and Choice, from Power and Intelligence, and yet pretended to have left unimpaired the conviction of a Deity. He might as consistent- ly have paralyzed the optic nerve, and then excused himself by affirming, that he had, however, not touched the eye. The third condition of a right though inadequate notion is, that the error occasioned be greatly outweighed by the impor- tance of the truth communicated. The rustic would have little reason to thank the philosopher, who should give him true con- ceptions of the folly of believing in ghosts, omens, dreams, &c. at the price of abandoning his faith in Providence and in the continued existence of his fellow-creatures after their death. The teeth of the old serpent planted by the Cadmuses of French Literature, under Lewis XV. produced a plenteous crop of Philosophers and Truth-trumpeters of this kind, in the reign of his Successor. They taught many truths, historical, political, physiological, and ecclesiastical, and diffused their notions so widely, that the very ladies and hair-dressers of Paris became fluent Encyclopedists : and the sole price which their scholars paid for these treasures of new information, was to believe Christianity an imposture, the Scriptures a forgery, the worship (if not the belief) of God superstition, hell a fable, heaven a dream, our life without Providence, and our death without hope. They became as gods as soon as the fruit of this Upas tree of knowledge and liberty had opened their eyes to perceive that they were no more than beasts — somewhat more cunning per- haps, and abundantly more mischievous. What can be conceiv- ed more natural than the result, — that self-acknowledged beasts should first act, and next suffer themselves to be treated as beasts. We judge by comparison. To exclude the great is to magnify the little. The disbelief of essential wisdom and good- ness, necessarily prepares the imagination for the supremacy of cunning with malignity. Folly and vice have their appropriate religions, as well as virtue and true knowledge; and in some 39 way or other fools will dance round the golden calf, and wicked men beat their timbrels and kettle-drums To Moloch, horrid king, besmeared wiih blood Of human sacrifice and paient's tears. My feelings have led me on, and in my illustration I had almost lost from my view the subject to be illustrated. One condition yet remaims : that the error foreseen shall not be of a kind to prevent or impede the after acquirement of that knowledge which will remove it. Observe, how graciously Nature instructs her human children. She cannot give us the knowledge derived from sight without occasioning us at first to mistake images of reflection for substances. But the very con- sequences of the delusion lead inevitably to its detection ; and out of the ashes of the error rises a new flower of knowledge. We not only see, but are enabled to discover by what means we see. So too we are under the necessity, in given cir- cumstances, of mistaking a square for a round object: but ere the mistake can have any practical consequences, it is not only removed, but in its removal gives us the symbol of a new fact, that of distance. In a similar train of thought, though more fancifully, I might have elucidated the preceding condition, and have referred our hurrying enlighteners and revolutionary am- putators to the gentleness of Nature, in the oak and the beech, the dry foliage of which she pushes off only by the propulsion of the new buds, that supply its place. My friends! a cloth- ing even of withered leaves is better than bareness. Having thus determined the nature and conditions of a right notion, it remains to determine the circumstances which tend to render the communication of it impracticable, and oblige us of course, to abstain from the attempt — oblige us not to convey falsehood under the pretext of saying truth. These circumstances, it is plain, must consist either in natural or mo- ral impediments. The former, including the obA'ious gradations of constitutional insensibility and derangement, preclude all temptation to misconduct, as well as all probability of ill-con- sequences from accidental oversight, on the part of the commu- nicator. Far otherwise is it with the impediments from moral causes. These demand all the attention and forecast of the genuine lovers of truth in the matter, the manner, and the time of their communications, public and private; and these are the 40 ordinary materials of the vain and the factious, determine them in the choice of their audiences and of their arguments, and to each argument give powers not its own. They are distinguish- able into two sources, the streams from which, however, must often become confluent, viz. hindrances from ignorance (I here use the word in relation to the habits of reasoning as well as to the previous knowledge requisite for the due comprehen- sion of the subject) and hindrances from predominant pas5io?is.* From both these the law of conscience commands us to ab- stain, because such being the ignorance and such the passions of the supposed auditors, we ought to deduce the impractica- bility of conveying not onlj^ adequate but even right notions of our own convictions : much less does it permit us to avail our- selves of the causes of this impracticability in order to procure nominal proselytes, each of whom will have a difterent, and all a false, conception of those notions that were to be conveyed for their truth's sake alone. Whatever is (or but for some de- fect in our moral character would have been) foreseen as pre- venting the conveyance of our thoughts, makes the attempt an act of self-contradiction : and whether the faulty cause exist in our choice of unfit words or our choice of unfit auditors, the result is the same and so is the guilt. We have voluntarily communicated falsehood. Thus (without reference to consequences^ if only one short digression be excepted) from the sole principle of self-consist- ence or moral integrity, we have evolved the clue of right reason, which we are bound to follow in the communication of truth. Now then we appeal to the judgment and experience of the reader, whether he who most faithfully adheres to the letter of the law of conscience will not likewise act in strictest correspondence to the maxims of prudence and sound policy. I am at least unable to recollect a single instance, either in his- tory or in my personal experience, of a preponderance of in- jurious consequences from the publication of any truth, under the observance of the moral conditions above stated : much less can I even imagine any case, in which truth, as truth, can be pernicious. But if the assertor of the indifferency of truth and falsehood in their own natures, attempt to justify his position * See the Author's Secoml Lay Sermon, from p. 10 to p. 2.'5. 41 by confining the word truth, in the first instance, to the cor- respondence of given words to given facts, without reference to the total impression left by such words ; what is this more than to assert, that articulated sounds are things of moral in- differency ? and that we may relate a fact accurately and nev- ertheless deceive grossly and wickedly ? Blifil related accu- rately Tom Jones's riotous joy during his benefactor's illness, only omitting that this joy was occasioned by the physician's having pronounced him out of danger. Blifil was not the less a liar for being an accurate matter-of-fact liar. Tell-truths in the service of falsehood we find every where, of various names and various occupations, from the elderly young women that discuss the love-afi'airs of their friends and acquaintance at the village tea-tables, to the anonymous calumniators of literary merit in reviews, and the more darling malignants, who dole out discontent, innovation and panic, in political journals : and a most pernicious race of liars they are ! But who ever doubted it ? Why should our moral feelings be shocked, and the holiest words with all their venerable associations be profaned, in or- der to bring forth a Truism ? But thus it is for the most part with the venders of startling paradoxes. In the sense in which they are to gain for their author the character of a bold and original thinker, they are false even to absurdity ; and the sense in which they are true and harmless, conveys so mere a Tru- ism, that it even borders on Nonsense. How often have we heard "The Rights of Man — hurra! The Sovereign- ty OF the People — hurra !" roared out by men who, if call- ed upon in another place and before another audience, to ex- plain themselves, would give to the words, a meaning, in which the most monarchical of their political opponents would admit them to be true, but which would contain nothing new, or strange, or stimulant, nothing to flatter the pride or kindle the passions of the populace. 6 E8SAY YII. .^/ profanum vvlgiis lectorum quomodo arcendum est ? Lihnsne nostris juhca- mit^, ut coram indignu obmutescant ? Si Unguis, ut dicitur, emoiluis utamWy eheu ! ingenium quoque nobis emortuum jacet : sin aliter, Mmervce secreta eras- sis ludihrium divtdgamus, d Dianam nostrum impuris hvjus swcidi Adaonihns nudam proferimus. Rtspondeo : — ad incommoditates knjusmodi evitandas, ntc Greece nee Latini scrihere opus est. SiiJUciet, nos sicca luce usos fuisse et stnctiore argumentandi methodo. Siifficiet, innoeenter, utUiter scripsisse : even- tus est apud lectorem. JVuper eynptum est a nobis Ciceronianum istud " de ojficiis,'" opus quod semper pwne Christiano dignum putabamus. Mirinn ! libel- lus factum J'uerat famosissimus. Credisne ? Vix : at quomodo ? Maligna quodam, nescio quem, plena margine et super tergo, annotatum est et exeinplis, calwmiiis potius, superfmtatum ! Sic et qui introrsum xiritur hiflammationes aninii vel Catonianis (ne dicam, sacrosanctis) paginis accipit. Omni aiwd mons, omnibus scriptis mens, igniia vcscitur. RuDOLPHi Langii Epist: ad Amicuin qnemdam Italicum in qua Lingute patrifie et hodierna> usiim dcfenilit et cniditis coinmendat. JVec me fcdlit, ut in corponbus hominum sic in animis multiplici passione affectis, medicamenta verborum multis inefficacia visum in. Sed nee illud quoque me pndeiit, ut inviiihihs animorum 7norbos, sic invisibilia esse rcmedia. Falsis opinionibus circumventi veris senteidiis liberandi sunt, ut qui audiendo ceci- dcrant audiendo consurgant. Petrarcha : Piefat. in lib. de renied. utriusqiie fortima?. (Translation.) But liow are we to jruard against tlie herd of promiscuous Readers? Can we bid our books he silent in the presence of the unworthy? If we employ what are called the dead languages, our own geuiu.'^, alas! becomes fljit and t]v;\i\ : and if we emi)ody our thoughts in the words native to them or in which they were conceived, we divulge the secrets of Miner- va to the ridicule of blockheads, and expose our Diana to tlic Actirons of a sensual age. I reply : that in order to avoid inconvejiienccs of this kind, we need write neither in Greek or in Latin. It will be enougli, if we abstain from ajtpealing to the bad passions and low appetites, and confine ourselves to a strictly consequent method of reasoning. To iiave written innocently, and for wise purj)oses, is all that can be re- quired of us: the event lies with the Reader. I purchased lately Cicero's 4n O work, de officiis, which I had always considered us iihiiost worthy of a Christian. To my surprize it had i)econie a most flagrant hbel. Nay ! but liow? — Some one, I know not who, out of the fruitfulness of his own maUg- nity had tilled all the margins and other blank spaces with annotations — a true supeifatation of examples, that is, of false and slanderous tales! In like manner, the slave of impure desires will turn the pages of Cato, not to say. Scripture itself, into occasions and excitements of wanton imaginations. There is no wind but feeds a volcano, no work but feeds and fans a combus- tible mind. I am well aware, that words will appear to many as inefficacious medi- cines when administered to minds agitated with manifold passions, as when they are muttered by way of charm over bodily ailments. But neither does it escape me, on the other hand, tliat as the diseases of the mind are invisi- ble, invisble must the remedies likewise be. Those who have been entrapped by false opinions are to be liberated by convincing truths: that thus having im- bibed the poison through the car they may receive the antidote by the same channel. That our elder writers, to Jeremy Taylor inclusive, quoted to excess, it would be the very blindness of partiality to deny. More than one might be mentioned, whose works might be char- acterized in the words of Milton, as "a paroxysm of citations, pampered metaphors, and aphorisming pedantry." On the oth- er hand, it seems to me that we now avoid quotations with an anxiety that oil'ends in the contrary extreme. Yet it is the beau- ty and independent worth of the citations far more than their appropriateness which have made Johnson's Dictionary popular even as a reading book — and the niottos with the translations of them are known to add considerably to the value of the Spectator. With this conviction I have taken more than com- mon pains in the selection of the mottos for the Friend : and of two mottos equally appropriate prefer always that froin the book which is least likely to have come into my Reader's hands. For I often please myself with the fancy, now that I may have saved from oblivion the only striking passage in a whole volume, and now that I may have attracted notice to a writer undeserve- dly forgotten. If this should be attributed to a silly ambition in the display of various reading, I can do no more than deny any consciousness of having been so actuated : and for the rest, I must console myself by the reflection, tltat if it be one of the most foolish, it is at the same time one of the most harmless, of human vanities. 44 The passages prefixed lead at once to the question, which will probably have more than once occurred to the reflecting reader of the preceding Essay. How will these rules apply to the most important mode of communication ? to that, in which one man may utter his thoughts to myriads of men at the same time, and to myriads of myriads at various times and through successions of generations ? How do they apply to authors, whose foreknowledge assuredly does not inform them who, or how many, or of what description their Readers will be ? How do these rules apply to books, which once published, are as likely to fall in the way of the incompetent as of the judi- cious, and will be fortunate indeed if they are not many times looked at through the thick mists of ignorance, or amid the glare of prejudice and passion ? — We answer in the first place, that this is not universally true. The readers are not seldom picked and chosen. Relations of certain pretended miracles performed a few years ago, at Holywell, in consequence of prayers to the Virgin Mary, on female servants, and these relations moralized by the old Roman Catholic arguments without the old protest- ant answers, have to my knowledge been sold by travelling pedlars in villages and farm-houses, not only in a form which placed them within the reach of the narrowest means, but sold at a price less than their prime cost, and doubtless, thrown in occasionally as the make-weight in a bargain of pins and stay- tape. Shall I be told, that the publishers and reverend au- thorizers of these base and vulgar delusions had exerted no choice as to the purchasers and readers? But waiving this, or rather having first pointed it out, as an important exception, we further reply : that if the Autlior have clearly and rightly es- tablished in his own mind the class of readers, to which he means to address his communications ; and if both in this choice, and in the particulars of the manner and matter of his work, he conscientiously observes all the conditions which rea- son and conscience have been shewn to dictate, in relation to those for whom the work was designed ; he will, in most in- stances, have effected his design and realized the desired cir- cumscription. 'J'he posthumous work of Spinoza [Ethica or- dine geometrico demonstrata) may, indeed, accidentally fall into the hands of an incompetent reader. But (not to mention, that it is written in a dead language) it will be entirely harm- less, because it must needs be utterly unintelligible. I ven- 45 ture to assert, that the whole first book, De Deo, might be read in literal English translation to any congregation in the kingdom, and that no individual, who had not been habituated to the strictest and most laborious processes of reasoning, would even suspect its orthodoxy or piety, however heavily the few who listened would complain of its obscurity and want of interest. This, it may be objected, is an extreme case. But it is not so for the present purpose. We are speaking of the probability of injurious consequences from the communication of Truth. This I have denied, if the right means have been adopted, and the necessary conditions adhered to, for its actual communica- tion. Now the truths conveyed in a book are either evident of themselves, or such as require a train of deductions of proof: and the latter will be either such as are authorized and gener- ally received ; or such as are in opposition to received and au- thorized opinions ; or lastly, truths presented for the appropri- ate test of examination, and still under trial (adhuc sub lite.) Of this latter class I affirm, that in neither of the three sort can an instance be brought of a preponderance of ill-consequences, or even of an equilibrium of advantage and injury from a work, in which the understanding alone has been appealed to, by re- sults fairly deduced from just premises, in terms strictly appro- priate. Alas ! legitimate reasoning is impossible without severe thinking, and thinking is neither an easy nor an amusing em- ployment. The reader, who would follow a close reasoner to the summit and absolute principle of any one important subject, has chosen a Chamois-hunter for his guide. Our guide will, indeed, take us the shortest way, will save us many a weari- some and perilous wandering, and warn us of many a mock road that had formerly led himself to the brink of chasms and preci- pices, or at best in an idle circle to the spot from whence he started. But he cannot carry us on his shoulders : we must strain our own sinews, as he has strained his ; and make firm footing on the smooth rock for ourselves, by the blood of toil from our own feet. Examine the journals of our humane and zealous missionaries in Hindostan. How often and how feel- ingly do they describe the ditiicuUy of maicing the simplest chain of reasoning intelligible to the ordinary natives : the ra- pid exhaustion of their whole power of attention, and with what pain and distressful effort it is exerted, while it lasts. Yet it is among this class, that the hideous practices of self-tortur« chief- 46 ly, indeed almost exclusively, prevail. if folly were no easier than wisdom, it being often so very much more grievous, how certainly might not these miserable men be converted to Chris- tianity ? But alas ! to swing by hooks passed through the back, or to walk on shoes with nails of iron pointed upward on the soles, all this is so much less ditficult, demands so very inferior an exertion of the w ill than to tfmik, and by thought to gain Knowledge and Tranquility ! It is not true, that ignorant persons have no notion of the advantages of Truth and Knowledge. They confess, they see those advantages in the conduct, the immunities, and the supe- rior powers of the possessors. Were these attainable by Pil- grimages the most toilsome, or Penances the most painful, we should assuredly have as many Pilgrims and as many Self-tor- mentors in the service of true Religion and Virtue, as now ex- ist under the tyranny of Papal or Brahman superstition. This inefficacy of legitimate Reason, from the want of fit objects, this its relative weakness and how narrow at all times its im- mediate sphere of action must be, is proved to us by the impos- tors of all professions. What, I pray, is their fortress, the rock which is both their quarry and their foundation, from which and on which they are built ? The desire of arriving at the end without the effort of thought and will, which are the ap- pointed means. Let us look backwards three or four centuiies. Then, as now, the great mass of mankind were governed by the three main wishes, the wish for vigor of body, including the absence of painful feelings : for wealth, or the power of procur- ing the internal conditions of bodily enjoyment: these during life — and security from pain and continuance of happiness after death. Then, as now, men were desirous to attain them by some eaiser means than those of Temperance, Industry, and strict Justice. They gladly therefore applied to the Priest, who could ensure them happiness hereafter without the performance of their duties here ; to the Lawyer who could make money a substitute for a right cause ; to the Physician, whose medicines promised to take the sting out of the tail of their sensual indul- gences, and let them fondle and play wath vice, as with a charmed serpent ; to the Alchemist, whose gold-tincture would enrich them without toil or economy ; and to the Astrologer, fioni whom they could purchase foresight without knowledge or reflection. The established professions were, without exception, no other than licensed modes of witchcraft. The Wizards, 41 who would now find their due reward in Bridewell, and their appropriate honors in the pillory, sate then on episcopal thrones, candidates for Saintship, and already canonized in the belief of their deluded contemporaries ; while the one or two real teach- ers and Discoverers of Truth were exposed to the hazard of fire and faggot, a dungeon the best shrine that was vouchsafed to a Roger Bacon and a Galileo ! ESSAY VIII. Pray, Avhy is it, that people say that men are not such fools now-a-days as they were in the days of yore ? I would fain know, whether you would have us understand by this same saying, as indeed you logically may, that formerly men were fools, and in this generation are grown wise ? How many and what disjjositions made them fools ? How many and what dispositions were wanting to make 'em wise ? Why were those fools ? How should these be wise? Pray, how came you to know that men were formerly fools ? How did you find, that they are now wise ? Who made them fools ? Who in Heaven's name made us wise ? Who d'ye think are most, those that loved mankind foolisii, or those that love it wise? How long has it been wise? How long otherwise? Whence proceeded the foregoing fol- ly ? Whence the following wisdom ? Why did the old folly end now and no later ? Why did the noodern wisdom begin now and no sooner ? What were we the worse for the former folly ? What the better for the suc- ceeding wisdom ? How should the ancient folly have come to nothing? How siiould this same new wisdom be started up and established ? Now answer me, an't please you ! Fr. Rabelais' Preface to his 5th Book. Monsters and Madmen canonized and Galileo blind in a dungeon! It is not so in our times. Heaven be praised, that in this respect, at least, we are, if not better, yetbetter off than our foretathers. But to what, and to whom (under Provi- dence) do we owe the improvement? To any radical change in the moral affections of mankind in general ? Perhaps the 48 great majority of men are now fully conscious that they are born with the god-like faculty of Reason, and that it is the bu- siness of life to develope and apply it ? The Jacob's ladder of Truth, let down from heaven, with all its numerous rounds, is now the common highway, on which we are content to toil up- ward to the object of our desires ? We are ashamed of expect- ing the end without the means ? In order to answer these questions in the affirmative, I must have forgotten the Animal Magnetists ; the proselytes of Brothers, and of Joanna South- cot ; and some hundred thousand fanatics less original in their creeds, but not a whit more rational in their expectations ! I must forget the infamous Empirics, whose advertisements pol- lute and disgrace all our Newspapers, and almost paper the walls of our cities ; and the vending of whose poisons and poi- sonous drams (with shame and anguish be it spoken) support a shop in every market-town? I must forget that other oppro- brium of the nation, that Mother-vice^ the Lottery ! I must for- get that a numerous class plead Prudence for keeping their fellow-men ignorant and incapable of intellectual enjoyments, and the Revenue for upholding such temptations as men so ig- norant will not withstand — yes! that even senators and officers of state hold forth the Revenue as a sufficient plea for uphold- ing, at every fiftieth door throughout the kingdom, temptations to the most pernicious vices, which fill the land with mourning, and fit the laboring classes for sedition and religious fanaticism! Above all I must forget the first years of the French Revolu- tion, and the millions throughout Europe who confidently ex- pected the best and choicest results of Knowledge and Virtue, namely, Liberty and universal Peace, from the votes of a tu- multuous Assembly — that is, from the mechanical agitation of the air in a large room at Paris — and this too in the most light, unthinking, sensual and profligate of the European nations, a nation, the very phrases of whose language are so composed, that they can scarcely speak without lying ! — No ! Let us not deceive ourselves. Like the man who used to pull off his hat with great demonstration of respect whenever he spoke of himself, we are fond of styling our own the enlightened age : though as Jortin, I think, has wittily remarked, the golden age would be more appropriate. But in spite of our great scien- tific discoveries, for which praise be given to whom the praise is due, and in spite of that general indifference to all the truths 49 and all the principles of truth, that belong to our permanent being, and therefore do not lie within the sphere of our senses, (that same indifference which makes toleration so easy a virtue with us, and constitutes nine-tenths of our pretended illumina- tion) it still remains the character of the mass of mankind to seek for the attainment of their necessary ends by any means rather than the appointed ones ; and for this cause only, that the latter imply the exertion of the Reason and the Will. But of all things this demands the longest apprenticeship, even an apprenticeship from Infancy ; which is generally neglected, because an excellence, that may and should belong to all men, is expected to come to every man of its own accord. To whom then do we owe our ameliorated condition ? To the successive Few in every age (more indeed in one genera- tion than in another, but relatively to the mass of mankind al- ways few) who by the intensity and permanence of their ac- tion have compensated for the limited sphere, within which it is at any one time intelligible ; and whose good deeds pos- terity reverence in their result, though the mode, in which we repair the inevitable waste of time, and the style of our addi- tions, too generally furnish a sad proof, how little we under- stand the principles. I appeal to the Histories of the Jewish, the Grecian, and the Roman Republics, to the Records of the Christian Church, to the History of Europe from the Treaty of Westphalia (1648). What do they contain but accounts of noble structures raised by the wisdom of the few, and gradual- ly undermined by the ignorance and profligacy of the many? If therefore the deficiency of good, which every- where sur- rounds us, orginate in the general unfitness and aversions of men to the process of thought, that is, to continuous reasoning, it must surely be absurd to apprehend a preponderance of evil from works which cannot act at all except as far as they call the reasoning faculties into full co -exertion with them. Still, however, there are truths so self-evident or so imme- diately and palpably deduced from those that are, or are ac- knowledged for such, that they are at once intelligible to all men, who possess the common advantages of the social state ; although by sophistry, by evil habits, by the neglect, false persuasions, and impostures of an anti-christian priesthood join- ed in one conspiracy with the violence of tyrannical governors, the understandings of men may become so darkened and their 7 50 consciences so lethargic, that there may arise a necessity for the republication of these truths, and this too with a voice of loud alarm, and impassioned warning. Such were the doc- trines proclaimed by the first Christians to the Pagan world ; such were the lightnings flashed by Wickliff, Huss, Luther, Calvin, Zuinglius, Latimer, &c. across the Papal darkness ; and such in our own times the agitating truths, with which Thomas Clarkson, and his excellent confederates, the Quakers, fought and conquered the legalized banditti of men-stealers, the numer- ous and powerful perpetrators and advocates of rapine, murder, and (of blacker guilt than either) slavery. Truths of this kind being indispensable to man, considered as a moral being, are above all expedience, all accidental consequences : for as sure as God is holy, and man immortal, there can be no evil so great as the ignorance or disregard of them. It is the very madness of mock prudence to oppose the removal of a poison- ed dish on account of the pleasant sauces or nutritious viands which would be lost with it ! The dish contains destruction to that, for which alone we ought to wish the palate to be grati- fied, or the body to be nourished. The sole condition, therefore, imposed on us by the law of conscience in these cases is, that we employ no unworthy and heterogeneous means to realize the necessary end, that we en- trust the event wholly to the full and adequate promulgation of the truth, and to those generous aifections which the constitu- tion of our moral nature has linked to the full perception of it. Yet evil may, nay it will be occasioned. Weak men may take offence, and wicked men avail themselves of it; though we must not attribute to the promulgation, or to the truth promul- gated, all the evil, of which wicked men (predetermined, like the wolf in the fable, to create some occasion) may choose to make it the pretext. But that there ever was or ever can be a preponderance of evil, I defy either the Historian to instance or the philosopher to prove. " Let* it fly away, all that chaff of light faith that can fly off" at any breath of temptation ; the cleaner will the true grain be stored up in the granary of the Lord," we are entitled to say with Tertullian : and to ex- * Avolent quantum volent palese levis fidei quocunque afflatu tentatinnum ! eo purior nriassa frumenti in horrea doinini reponetur. Tebtclliak. 51 claim with heroic Luther, " Scandal* and offence ! Talk not to me of scandal and offence. Need breaks through stone- walls, and recks not of scandal. It is my duty to spare weak consciences as far as it may be done without hazard of my soul. Where not, I must take counsel for my soul, though half or the whole world should be scandalized thereby." Luther felt and preached and wrote and acted, as beseemed a Luther to feel and utter and act. The truths, which had been outraged, he re-proclaimed in the spirit of outraged truth, at the behest of his conscience and in the service of the God of truth. He did his duty, come good, come evil : and made no question, on which side the preponderance would be. In the one scale there was gold, and the impress thereon the image and super- scription of the Universal Sovereign. In all the wide and ev- er widening commerce of mind with mind throughout the world, it is treason to refuse it. Can this have a counter-weight ? The other scale indeed might have seemed full up to the very balance-yard ; but of what worth and substance were its con- tents ? Were they capable of being counted or weighed against the former? The conscience indeed is already violated when to moral good or evil we oppose things possessing no moral in- terest. Even if the conscience dared waive this her preven- tive veto, yet before we could consider the twofold results in the relations of loss and gain, it must be known whether their kind is the same or equivalent. They must first be valu- ed, and then they may be weighed or counted, if they are worth it. Rut in the particular case at present before us, the loss is contingent, and alien ; the gain essential and the tree's own natural produce. The gain is permanent, and spreads through all times and places ; the loss but temporary and, owing its very being to vice or ignorance, vanishes at the approach of knowledge and moral improvement. The gain reaches all good men, belongs to all that love light and desire an increase of light: to all and of all times, who thank Heaven for the gra- cious dawn, and expect the noon-day ; who welcome the first gleams of spring, and sow their fields in confident faith of the * Aergerniss hin, Aergerniss her! Noth bricht Eisen, und hat kein Aerger- niss. Ich soil der solnvachen Gewisseii schonen so fern es ohne Gefahr meiner Seelen geschehn mag. Wo nicht, so soil ich meiuer Seelen rath«n« ©8 argere 6ich daran die ganze oder halba Walt. 52 ripening summer and the rewarding harvest-tide ! But the los^ is confined to the unenlightened and the prejudiced — say rather, to the weak and the prejudiced of a single generation. The prejudices of one age are condemned even by the prejudiced of the succeeding ages: for endless are the modes of folly, and the fool joins with the wise in passing sentence on all modes but his own. Who cried out with greater horror against the mur- derers of the Prophets, than those who likewise cried out, cruci- fy him ! crucify him ! The truth-haters of every future genera- tion will call the truth-haters of the preceding ages by their true names: for even these the stream of time carries onward. In fine, Truth considered in it itself and in the eifects natural to it, may be conceived as a gentle spring or water-source, warm from the genial earth, and breathing up into the snow drift that is piled over and around its outlet. It turns the ob- stacle into its own form and character, and as it makes its way increases its stream. And should it be arrested in its course by a chilling season, it suffers delay, not loss, and waits only for a change in the wind to awaken and again roll onwards. / semplici pastori Sul Vesolo nevoso Fatti curvi e canuti, Z)' alto stupor son viuti Mirando alfonte omhroso 11 Po con pochi umori , Poscia udendo gli onori DelV urna angusta e stretta, * C/^e7 Adda che'l Tesino Soverchia in siio camnwio, Che ampio al mar'' s affrdta Che si spimia, e si suona, Che gli si da corona! * Chiabrera. Literal Translation. " Tlie simple shepherds grown bent and hoary-head- ed on the snowy Vesolo, are mute witli deep astonislinient, gazing in the overshadowed fountain on the Po with his scanty waters ; then liearing of the honors of his confined and narrow urn, how he receives as a sovereign the Adda and the Tesino in liis course, how ample he hastens on to the sea, how he foams, how mighty his voice, and that to liini the crown is assigned." * I give literal translations of my poetic as well as prose quotations: be- cause the propriety of their introduction often depends on the exact sense and order of the words : which it is impossible always to retain in a metrical ver- sion. ESSAY IX. Great men have livM among us, Heads tliat plann'd And Tongues that utter'd Wisdom — better none. ********* Even so doth Heaven protect us ! Wordsworth. In the preceding Number I have explained the good, that is, the natural consequences of the promulgation to all of truths which all are bound to know and to make known. The evils occasioned by it, with few and rare exceptions, have their ori- gin in the attempts to suppress or pervert it ; in the fury and violence of imposture attacked or undermined in her strong holds, or in the extravagances of ignorance and credulity rous- ed from their lethargy, and angry at the medicinal disturbance — awakening not yet broad awake, and thus blending the mon- sters of uneasy dreams with the real objects, on which the drowsy eye had alternately half-opened and closed, again half- opened and again closed. This re-action of deceit and super- stition, with all the trouble and tumult incident, I would com- pare to a fire which bursts forth from some stifled and ferment- ing mass on the first admission of light and air. It roars and blazes, and converts the already spoilt or damaged stuff" with all the straw and straw-like matter near it, first into flame and the next moment into ashes. The fire dies away, the ashes are scattered on all the winds, and what began in worthlessness ends in nothingness. Such are the evil, that is, the casual con- sequences of the same promulgation. It argues a narrow or corrupt nature to lose the general and lasting consequences of rare and virtuous energy, in the brief accidents, which accompanied its first movements — to set light- 54 \y by the emancipation of the human reason from a legion of devils, in our complaints and lamentations over the loss of a herd of swine ! The Cranmers, Hampdens, and Sidneys : the counsellors of our Elizabeth, and the friends of our other great Deliverer, the third William, — is it in vain, that these have been our countrymen ? Are we not the heirs of their good deeds ? And what are noble deeds but noble truths realized ? As Protestants, as Englishmen, as the inheritors of so ample an estate of might and right, an estate so strongly fenced, so rich- ly planted, by the sinewy arms and dauntless hearts of o-ur forefathers, we of all others have good cause to trust in the truth, yea, to follow its pillar of lire through the darkness and the desart, even though its light should but suffice to make us certain of its own presence. If there be elsewhere men jeal- ous of the light, who prophecy an excess of evil over good from its manifestation, we are entitled to ask them, on what ex- perience they ground their bodings ? Our own country bears no traces, our own history contains no records, to justify them. From the great seras of national illumination we date the com- mencement of our main national advantages. The tangle of delusions, which stifled and distorted the growing tree, have been torn away ; the parasite Aveeds, that fed on its very roots, have been plucked up with a salutary violence. To us there remain only quiet duties, the constant care, the gradual im- provement, the cautious unhazardous labors of the industrious though contented gardener — to prune, to engraft, and one by one to remove from its leaves and fresh shoots the slug and the caterpillar. But far be it from us to undervalue with light and senseless detraction the conscientious hardihood of our pre- decessors, or even to condemn in them that vehemence, to which the blessings it won for us leave us now neither tempta- tion or pretext. That the very terms, with which the bigot or the hireling would blacken the first publishers of political and religious Truth, are, and deserve to be, hateful to us, we owe to the effects of its publication. We ante-date the feelings in order to criminate the authors of our tranquility, opulence, and security. But let us be aware. Effects will not, indeed, im- mediately disappear with their causes ; but neither can they long continue without them. If by the reception of Truth in the spirit of Truth, we became what we are: only by the re- tention of it in the same spirit, can we remain what we are. 55 The narrow seas that form our boundaries, what were they in times of old ? The convenient highway for Danish and Nor- man pirates. What are they now? Still but "a Span of Wa- ters." — Yet they roll at the base of the inisled Ararat, on which the Ark of the Hope of Europe and of Civilization rested ! Even so doth God protect us, if we be Virtuous and Wise. Winds blow and Waters roll, Strength to the Brave, and Power and Deity: Yet in tiiemselves are nothing ! One Decree Spake Laws to them, and said that by the Sold Only the Nations shall be great and free ! Wordsworth. ESSAY X. I deny not but that it is of greatest concernment in the church and com- monwealth to have a vigilant eye how books demean themselves as well as men. For books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a pro- geny of life in them to be as active as that soul was v\ hose progeny the}'^ are. I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth: and being sown up and down may chance to spring up arm- ed men. And 3'et on the other liand, unless wariness be used, as good al- most kill a man as kill a good book. Many a man lives a burthen to the earth ; but a good book is the precious life-blood of a master spirit, em- balmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. — Miltoj^'s Speech for the Liberty of unlicensed Pnnting. Thus far then I have been conducting a cause between an individual and his own mind. Proceeding on the conviction, that to man is entrusted the nature, not the result of his ac- tions, I have presupposed no calculations. I have presumed no foresight. — Introduce no contradiction into thy own con- sciousness. Acting or abstaining from action, delivering or withholding thy thoughts, whatsoever thou dost, do it in single- ness 0/ heart. In alt things therefore let thy means correspond 56 to thy purpose, and let the purpose be one with the purport. — To this principle I have referred the supposed individual, and from this principle solely I have deduced each particular of his conduct. As far, therefore, as the court of Conscience ex- tends, (and in this court alone I have been pleading hitherto) I have won the cause. It has been decided, that there is no just ground for apprehending mischief from Truth communica- ted conscientiously, (i. e. with a strict observance of all the conditions required by the Conscience) — that what is not so communicated, is falsehood, and that to the Falsehood, not to the Truth, must the ill consequences be attributed. Another and altogether different cause remains now to be pleaded ; a different cause, and in a different court. The par- ties concerned are no longer the well-meaning Individual and his Conscience, but the Citizen and the State — The Citizen, who may be a fanatic as probably as a philosopher, and the State, which concerns itself with the Conscience only as far as it appears in the action, or still more accurately, in the fact ; and which must determine the nature of the fact not merely by a rule of Right formed from the modification of particular by general consequences, not merely by a principle of compromise, that reduces the freedom of each citizen to the common mea- sure in which it becomes compatible with the freedom of all ; but likewise by the relation which the facts bear to its (the State's) own instinctive principle of self-preservation. For erery depository of the Supreme Power must presume itself rightful : and as the source of law not legally to be endanger- ed. A form of government may indeed, in reality, be most pernicious to the governed, and the highest moral honor may await the patriot who risks his life in order by its subversion to introduce a better and juster constitution ; but it would be absurd to blame the law by which his life is declared forfeit. It were to expect, that by an involved contradiction the law should allow itself not to be law, by allowing the State, of which it is a part, not to be a State. For as Hooker has M^ell observed, the law of men's actions is one, if they be respected only as men ; and another, when they are considered as parts of a body politic. But though every government subsisting inlaw (for pure lawless despotism grounding itself wholly on terror precludes all consideration of duty) — though every government subsist- 57 ing in law must, and ought to, regard itself as the life of the body politic, of which it is the head, and consequently must pun- ish every attempt against itself as an act of assault or murder, i. e. sedition or treason ; yet still it ought so to secure the life as not to prevent the conditions of its growth, and of that adapta- tion to circumstances, without which its very life becomes in- secure. In the application, therefore, of these principles to the public communication of opinions by the most efficient means, the Press — we have to decide, whether consistently with them there should be any liberty of the press ; and if this be answered in the affirmative, what shall be declared abuses of that liberty, and made punishable as such ; and in what way the general law shall be applied to each particular case. First then, should there be any liberty of the press .'' we will not here mean, whether it should be permitted to print books at all; (for our Essay has little chance of being read in Turkey, and in any other part of Europe it cannot be supposed questionable ) but whether by the appointment of a Censorship the Government should take upon itself the responsibility of each particular publication. In Governments purely monarchical (i. e. oligarchies under one head) the balance of the advan- tage and disadvantage from this monopoly of the press will un- doubtedly be affected by the general state of information ; though after reading Milton's " Speech for the liberty of unli- censed Printing*" we shall probably be inclined to belive, that the best argument in favor of licensing, &c. under any constitu- tion is that, which supposing the ruler to have a different inter- est from that of his country, and even from himself as a rea- sonable and moral creature, grounds itself on the incompatibili- ty of knowledge with folly, oppression, and degradation. What our prophetic Harrington said of religious, applies eqally to li- terary toleration. " If it be said that in France there is liberty of conscience in part, it is also plain that while the hierarchy is standing, this liberty is falling ; and that if on the contrary, * II y a un voile qui doit toujour couvrir tout ce que I'on peut du-e et tout ce qu' on peut croire du Droit des peuples et de celui des princes, que ne s' accordent jamais si bien ensemble que dans le silence. Menu du Card. de. Retz. How severe a satire where it can be justly applied! how false and calum- nious if meant as a general mnxim! 8 58 it comes to pull down the Hierarchy, it pulls down that Mon- archy also ; wherefore the Monarcliy or Hierarchy will be be- forehand with it, if they see their true interest." On the other hand, there is no slight danger from general ignorance; and the only choice, which providence has graciously left to a vi- cious Government, is either to fall by the People, if they are suffered to become enlightened, or ivith them, if they are kept enslaved and ignorant. The nature of our Constitution, since the revolution, the state of our literature, and the wide diilusion, if not of intellectual yet of literary power, and the almost universal interest in the productions of literature, have set the question at rest relative- ly to the British press. However great the advantages of pre- vious examination might be under other circumstances, in this country it would be both impracticable and inefficient. I need only suggest in broken sentences — the prodigious number of licensers that would be requisite — the variety of their attain- ments, and (inasmuch as the scheme must be made consistent with our religious freedom) the ludicrous variety of their prin- ciples and creeds — their number being so great, and each ap- pointed censor being himself a man of letters, quis custodiet ipsos ciistodes ? — If these numerous licensers hold their offices for life, and independent of the ministry pro tempore, a new heterogeneous, and alarming power is introduced, which can never be assimilated to the constitutional powers already ex- isting: — if they are removeable at pleasure, that which is he- retical and seditious in 1809, may become orthordox and loj^il in 1810 — and what man, whose attainments and moral respec- tability gave him even an endurable claim to this awful trust, would accept a situation at once so invidious and so precarious ? And what institution can retain any useful influence in so free a nation, when its abuses have made it contemptible? — Lastly, and which of itself would suffice to justify the rejection of such a plan — unless all proportion between crime and punishment were abandoned, what penalties could the law attach to the assumption of a liberty, which it had denied, more severe than those which it now attaches to the abuse of the liberty, which it grants ? In all those instances at least, which it would be most the inclination — perhaps the duty — of the State to prevent, namely, in seditious and incendiary publications (whether ac- tually such, or only such as the existing Government chose so 69 to denominate, makes no difference in the argument) the pub- lisher, who hazards the punishment now assigned to seditious publications, would assuredly hazard the penalties of unlicens- ed ones, especially as the very practice of licensing would na- turally diminish the attention to the contents of the works pub- lished, the chance of impunity therefore be so much greater, and the artifice of prefixing an unauthorised license so likely to escape detection. It is a fact, that in many of the former German States in which literature flourished, notwithstanding the establishment of censors or licensors, three fourths of the books printed were unlicensed — even those, the contents of which were unobjectionable, and where the sole motive for eva- ding the law, must have been either the pride and delicacy of the author, or the indolence of the bookseller. So difficult was the detection, so various the means of evasion, and worse than all, from the nature of the law and the affront it offers to the pride of human nature, such was the merit attached to the breach of it — a merit commencing perhaps with Luther's Bible, and other prohibited works of similar great minds, published with no dissimilar purpose, and thence by many an intermedi- ate link of association finally connected with books, of the very titles of which a good man would wish to remain ignorant. The interdictory catalogues of the Roman hierarchy always pre- sent to my fancy the muster-rolls of the two hostile armies of Michael and Satan printed promiscuously, or extracted at hap- hazard, save only that the extracts from the former appear somewhat the more numerous. And yet even in Naples, and in Rome itself, whatever difficulty occurs in procuring any ar- ticle catalogued in these formidable folios, must arise either from the scarcity of the work itself, or the absence of all inter- est in it. Assuredly there is no difficulty in procuring from the most respectable booksellers the vilest provocatives to the ba- sest crimes, though intermixed with gross lampoons on the heads of the Church, the religious orders, and on religion it- self. The stranger is invited into an inner room, and the loath- some wares presented to him with most significant looks and gestures, implying the hazard, and the necessity of secrecy. A creditable English bookseller would deem himself insulted, if such works were even inquiied after at his shop. It is a well-known fact, that with the mournful exception indeed of political provocatives, and the titillations of vulgar envy provi- 60 ded by our anonymous critics ; the loathsome articles are among us vended and offered for sale almost exclusively by Foreign- ers. Such are the purifying effects of a free Press, and the dignified habit of action imbibed from the blessed air of Law and Liberty, even by men who neither understand the princi- ple or feel the sentiment of the dignified purity, to which they yield obeisance from the instinct of character. As there is a national guilt which can be charged but gently on each indi- vidual, so are there national virtues, which can as little be im- puted to the individuals, — no where, however, but in countries where Liberty is the presiding influence, the universal medi- um and menstruum of all other excellence, moral and intellec- tual. Admirably doth the admirable Petrarch* admonish us : Nee sibi vero quisquam falso persuadeat, eos qui pro lieer- TATE excubant, alienum agere negotium non suum. In hac una reposita sibi omnia n«5rint omnes, securitatem mercator, gloriam miles, utilitatem agricola. Postremo, in eadem libertate Re- ligiosi caerimonias, otium studiosi, requiem senes, rudimenta disciplinarum puez'i, nuptias et castitatem puellas, pudicitiam matronoe, pietatem et antiqui laris sacra patres familias spem atque gaudium omnes invenient. Huic uni igitur reliquse ce- dant curae ! Si hanc omittitis, in quanta libet occupatione nihil agitis : si huic incumbitis, et nihil agere videmini, cumulate ta- men et civium et virorum implevistis officia. Petrarch^ Horta. (Translation.) — Nor let any one falsely persuade himself, that those who keep watch and ward for liberty, are med- *I qiioto Petrarch often in the hope of drawing the attention of Scholars to his inestiniahlc Latin Writings. Let me add, in the wish likewise of re- comtncnding a Translation of select passages from his Treatises and Letters to the London rnblishers. If I except tJie German writings and origina] Letters of the heroic Luthei-, I do not remetnher a work from which so de- lightful and instructive a volume might be compiled. To give the true bent to the above extract, it is necessary to bear in mind, that he who keeps watch and ward for Freedom, has to guard against two enemies, t\n\ Despotism of the Few and the nesi)otism of the Many — but es- pecially in the present day against the Syco|)hants of the Populace. Licence thky mean, when tli(\y cry Liberty! For who loves that, must first be wise and good. 61 diino' with things that do not concern them, instead of minding their own business. For all men should know, that all bles- sings are stored and protected in this one, as in a common re- pository. Here is the tradesman's security, the soldier's honor, the agriculturist's profit. Lastly, in this one good of Liberty the Religious will find the permission of their rites and forms of worship, the students their learned leisure, the aged their re- pose, boys the rudiments of the several branches of their edu- cation, maidens their chaste nuptials, matrons their womanly honor and the dignity of their modesty, and fathers of families the dues of natural affection and the sacred privileges of their ancient home. To this one solicitude therefore let all other cares yield the priority. If you omit this, be occupied as much and sedulously as you may, you are doing nothing: If you ap- ply your heart and strength to this, though you seem to be do- ing nothing, you will, nevertheless, have been fulfilling the du- ties of citizens and of men, yea, in a measure pressed down and running over. ESSAY XI. Nemo vero fallatur, quasi minora sint animonun coiitagia quatu corporum. Majora sunt; gravius Isedunt ; altius descendunt, serpuntque latent] us. Petrarch, de Fit. Solit. L. 1. s. 3. c. 4. (Translation.) — And let no man be deceived as if the contagions of the soul were less than those of the body. They are yet greater ; they convey more direful diseases ; they sink deeper, and creep on more unsuspectedly. We have abundant reason then to infer, that the Law of England has done well and concluded wisely in proceeding on the principle so clearly worded by Milton ; that a book should be as freely admitted into the world as any other birth ; and if it prove a monster, who denies but that it may justly be burnt or sunk into the sea ? We have reason then, I repeat, to rest 62 satisfied with our Laws, which no more prevent a book from coming into the world unlicensed, lest it should prove a libel, than a traveller from passing unquestioned through our turn- pike-gates, because it is possible he may be a highwayman. Innocence is presumed in both cases. The publication is a part of the otience, and its necessary condition. Words are moral acts, and words deliberately made public the law consid- ers in the same light as any other cognizable overt-act. Here however a difficulty presents itself. Theft, Robbery, Murder, and the like, are easily defined : the degrees and circumstances likewise of these and similar actions are defin- ite, and constitute specific offences, described and punishable each under its own name. We have only to prove the fact and identify the offender. The intention too, in the great majority of cases, is so clearly implied in the action, that the Law can safely adopt it as its universal maxim, that the proof of the malice is included in the proof of the fact : especially as the few occasional exceptions have their remedy provided in the prerogative of pardon entrusted to the supreme Magis- trate. But in the case of Libel, the degree makes the kind, the circumstances constitute the criminality ; and both degrees and circumstances, like the ascending shades of color or the shooting hues of a dove's neck, die away into each other, inca- pable of definition or outline. The eye of the understanding, indeed, sees the determinate difference in each individual case, but language is most often inadequate to express what the eye perceives, much less can a general statute anticipate and pre-de- fine it. Again : in other overt-acts a charge disproved leaves the Defendant either guilty of a different fault, or at best simply blameless. A man having killed a fellow-citizen is acquitted of murder — the act was Manslaughter only, or it was justifiable Homicide. But when we reverse the iniquitous sentence passed on Algernon Sidney, during our perusal of his work on Govern- ment; at the moment we deny it to have been a traiterous Libel, our beating hearts declare it to have been a benefaction to our country, and under the circumstances of those times the perform- ance of an heroic duty. P^rom this cause therefore, as well as from a Libel's being a thing made up of degrees and circumstan- ces (and these too discriminating oifence from merit by such dim and ambulant boundaries) the intention of the agent, wherever it can be independently or inclusively ascertained, must be al- C3 lowed a great share in determining the character of the action, unless the Law is not only to be divorced from moral Justice,* but to wage open hostility against it. Add too, that Laws in doubtful points are to be interpreted according to the design of the legislator, where this can be certainly inferred. But the Laws of England, which owe their own present supremacy and absoluteness to the good sense and generous dispositions diffused by the Press more, far more, than to any other single cause, must needs be presumed fa- vorable to its general influence. Even in the penalties attached to its abuse, we must suppose the Legislature to have been ac- tuated by the desire of preserving its essential privileges. The Press is indifferently the passive instrument of Evil and of Good ; nay, there is some good even in its evil. " Good and Evil," says Milton, in the Speech from which I have selected the Mot- to of the preceding Essay, "in the field of this world, grow up together almost inseparably : and the knowledge of Good is so in- tervolved and interwoven with the knowledge of Evil, and in so many cunning resemblances hardly to be discerned, that those confused seeds which were imposed on Psyche as an incessant labor to cull out and sort asunder, were not more intermixed. As, therefore, the state of man now is, what wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear, without the knowl- edge of Evil ? He that can apprehend and consider Vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true way-faring Christian. I cannot praise a fugitive and clois- tered virtue, that never sallies out and sees her adversary : — that which is but a youngling in the contemplation of Evil, and knows not the utmost that Vice promises to her followers, and rejects it, is but a blank Virtue, not a pure. — Since, therefore, the knowledge and survey of Vice is in this world so necessa- ry to the constituting of human Virtue, and the scanning of Error to the confirmation of Truth, how can we more safely and with less danger scout into the regions of Sin and Falsity, than by reading all manner of Tractates, and hearing all man- ner of reason ?" Again — but, indeed the whole Treatise is one * Ar.conling to the old adage: you are not hung for stealing a horse, but that horses may not be stolen. To what extent this is true, we shaJi have occasion to examine hereafter. 64 strain of moral wisdom and political prudence — " Why should we then affect a rigor contrary to the manner of God and of Na- ture, by abridging or scanting those means, which Books, free- ly permitted, are both to the trial of Virtue and the exercise of Truth ? It would be better done to learn, that the Law must needs be IVivolous, which goes to restrain things uncertainly, and yet equally working to Good and to Evil. And were I the chooser, a dram of well-doing should be preferred before many times as much the forcible hindrance of Evil-doing. For God sure esteems the growth and completion of one virtuous person, more than the restraint of ten vicious." The evidence of History is strong in favor of the same prin- \y ciplcs, even in respect of their expediency. The average re- sult of the Press from Henry VIII. to Charles I. was such a diffusion of religious light as first redeemed and afterwards saved this nation from the spiritual and moral death of Popery ; and in the following period it is to the Press that we owe the gradual ascendency of those wise political maxims, which cast- ing philosophic truth in the moulds of national laws, customs, and existing orders of society, subverted the tyranny without suspending the government, and at length completed the mild and salutary revolution by the establishment of the House of Brunswick. To what must we attribute this vast over-balance of Good in the general effects of the Press, but to the over- balance of virtuous intention in those who employed the Press ? The Law, therefore, will not refuse to manifest good intention a certain weight even in cases of apparent error, lest it should discourage and scare away those, to whose efforts we owe the comparative infrequency and weakness of error on the whole. The Law may however, nay, it must demand, that the external proofs of the author's honest intentions should be supported by the general style and matter of his work, and by the circum- stances, and mode of its publication. A passage, which in a grave and regular disquisition would be blameless, might be- come highly libellous and justly punishable, if it were applied to present measures or persons for immediate purposes, in a cheap and popular tract. I have seldom felt greater indigna- tion than at finding in a large manufactory a sixpenny pamph- let, containing a selection of inflamatory paragraphs from the prose-writings of Milton, without a hint given of the time, oc- casion, state of government, &c. under which they were written 65 not a hint, that the Freedom, which we now enjoy, exceeds all that Milton dared hope for, or deemed practicable ; and that his political creed sternly excluded the populace, and indeed the majority of the population, from all pretensions to political power. If the manifest bad intention would constitute this publication a seditious Libel, a good intention equally manifest can not justly be denied its share of influence in producing a contrary verdict. Here then is the difficulty. From the very nature of a libel it is impossible so to define it, but that the most meritorious works will be found included in the description. Not from any defect or undue severity in the particular Statute, but from the very nature of the off'ence to be guarded against, a work recommending reform by the only rational n ode of recommend- ation, that is, by the detection and exposure of corruption, abuse, or incapacity, might, though it should breathe the best and most unadulterated English feelings, be brought within the definition of libel equally with the vilest incendiary Brochure^ that ever aimed at leading and misleading the multitude. Not a paragraph in the Morning Post during the peace of Amiens, (or rather the experimental truce so called) though to the im- mortal honour of the then editor, that newspaper was the chief secondary means of producing the unexampled national una- nimity, with which the war re-commenced and has since been continued — not a paragraph warning the nation, as need was and most imperious duty commanded, of the perilous designs and unsleeping ambition of our neighbor, the mimic and cari- caturist of Charlemagne, but was a punishable libel. The sta- tute of libel is a vast aviary, which incages the awakening cock and the geese whose alarum preserved the capitol, no less than the babbling magpye and ominous screech-owl. And yet will we avoid this seeming injustice, we throw down all fence and bulwark of public decency and public opinion; political calum- ny will soon join hands with private slander ; and every prin- ciple, every feeling, that binds the citizen to his country and the spirit to its Creator, will be undermined — not by reasoning, for from that there is no danger ; but — by the mere habit of hearing them reviled and scoffed at with impunity. Were we to contemplate the evils of a rank and unweeded press only in its eff"ects on the manners of a people, and on the general tone of thought and conversation, the greater the love, which we 9 66 bore to literature and to all the means and instruments of hu- man improvement, the greater would be the earnestness with which we should solicit the interference of law : the more anxiously should we wisli for some Ithureal spear, that might remove from the ear of the public, and expose in their own fiendish shape those reptiles, which inspiring venom and for- ging illusions as they list^ thence raise, At least distempered discontented thoughts, Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires. Paradise Lost. ESSAY XIT. QuomoJo antem idfidunim sit, ne qitis mcredihUe arbUretur, osfendam. In pri- mis viidtiplicabitur regnum, et summa rentm potestas per plurimos dissipata et co7icisa mitiuttur. Tunc discordice civiles serentur, ntc idla reqxdes bellis exifi- alibus erit, dum exercitibiis in immensum coactis, reges disperdent omnia, et com- minuent : donee adversus eos dux potenlissimus a plebe orietui\ et assumetur in socictatem a caicris, et princeps omnium consiituetur. Hie ins^tstentabili domi- natione vexahit orbem, diinna et hnmana miscebit : infanda dictii et execrabilia molietur : nova consUia in pectore stio vohdabit, id proprium sibi constituat im- perium : leges commutabit, et siias sanciet, contaminabit, diripiet, spcliahit, occi- det. Denique immutatis nomiyiibus, et impeiii sede iranslata, confusio ac per- turbatio kumayii generis consequetiu: Turn vere dctestabile, et atqne abominan- dum tcmpus cxistet, quo nidli hominum sit vita jucimda. Lactantius de Vita Beata, lAb. vii. c. 16. 7 But lest this should be deemed incredible, I shew the manner in which it is to take place. First, there will be a multiplication of independent sove- reignties ; and the supreme magistracj' of the Empire, scattered and cut up in- to fragments, will be enfeebled ui the exercise of power by law and authority. Then will be sowed the seeds of civil discords, nor will there be any rest or pause to wasteful and ruinous wars, while the solditiy kept together in im- mense standing armies, the Kings will crash and lay waste at their will ; — un- til at length there will rise uj) against them a most puissant military chieftain of low birth, who will have acceded to him a fellowship with the other Sove- reigns of the earth, and will finally be constituted the head of all. This-man will hanoss the civilized world witli an insujiponable despotism, he will con- 67 found and commix all things spiritual and temporal. He will form plans and preparations of the most execrable and sacrilegious nature. He will be for- ever restlessly turning over new schemes in his imagination, in order that he may fix the imperial power over all in his own name and possessions. He will change the former laws, he will sanction a code of his own, he wll contaminate, pillage, lay waste and massacre. At length, when he has suc- ceeded in the change of names and titles, and in the transfer of the seat of Empire, there will follow a confusion and perturbation of the human race ; then will there be for a while an sera of horror and abomination, during which no man will enjoy his Ufe in quietness. I interpose this Essay as an historical comment on the words " mimic and caricaturist of Charlemagne," as applied to the despot, whom since the time that the words were first printed, we have, thank heaven ! succeeded in incaging. The Motto contains the most striking instance of an uninspired prophecy fulfilled even in its minutiae, that I recollect ever to have met with : and it is hoped, that as a curiosity it will reconcile my readers to its unusual length. But though my chief motive was that of relieving (by the variety of an historical parallel) the series of argument on this most important of all subjects, the communicability of truth, yet the Essay is far from being a di- gression. Having in the preceding number given utterance to quicquid in rem tarn malejicam indignatio dolorque dictarcnt^ concerning the mischiefs of a lawless Press, I held it an act of justice to give a portrait no less lively of the excess to which the remorseless ambition of a government might accumulate its oppressions in the one instance before the discovery of Print- ing, and in the other during the suppression of its freedom. I have translated the following from a voluminous German work, Michael Ignuz Schmidt's History of the Germans ; in which this Extract forms the conclusion of the second chapter of the third book, from Charles the Great to Conrade the First. The late Tyrant's close imitation of Charlemagne was suffi- ciently evidenced by his assumption of the Iron Crown of Italy ; by his imperial coronation with the presence and authority of the Holy Father; by his imperial robe embroidered with bees in order to mark him as a successor of Pepin ; and even by his ostentatious revocation of Charlemagne's grants to the Bishop of Rome. But that the differences might be felt likewise, I 68 prefaced the translation here re-printed with the few following observations. Let it be remembered then, that Charlemagne, for the great- er part, created for himself the means of which he availed himself; that his very education was his own work, and that unlike Peter the Great, he could find no assistants out of his own realm; that the unconquerable courage and heroic dispo- sitions of the nations he conquered, supplied a proof positive of real superiority, indeed the sole positive proof of intellectual power in a warrior : for how can we measure force but by the resistance of it ? But all was prepared for Buonaparte ; Europe weakened in the very heart of all human strength, namely, in moral and religious principle, and at the same time accidentally destitute of any one great or commanding mind : the French people, on the other hand, still restless from revolutionary fana- ticism ; their civic enthusiasm already passed into military pas- sion and the ambition of conquest ; and alike by disgust, terror, and characteristic unfitness for freedom, ripe for the reception of a despotism. Add too, that the main obstacles to an unlimi- ted system of conquest, and the pursuit of universal monarchy had been cleared away for him by his pioneers the Jacobins, viz. the influence of the great land-holders, of the privileged and of the commercial classes. Even the naval successes of Great Britain, by destroying the trade, rendering useless the colonies, and almost annihilating the navy of France, were in some respects subservient to his designs by concentrating the powers of the French empire in its armies, and supplying them out of the wrecks of all other employments, save that of agri- culture. France had already approximated to the formidable state so prophetically described by Sir James Stuart, in his Po- litical Economy, in which the population should consist chiefly of soldiers and peasantry : at least the interests of no other classes were regarded. The great merit of Buonaparte has been that of a skillful steersman, who with his boat in the most violent storm still keeps himself on the summit of the waves, which not he, but the winds had raised. I will now proceed to my translation. That Charles was an hero, his exploits bear evidence. The subjugation of the Lombards, protected as they were by the Alps, by fortresses and fortified towns, by numerous armies, and by a great name ; of the Saxons, secured by their savage reso- 69 lutenees, by an untameable love of freedom, by their desart plains and enormous foiests, and by their own poverty ; the humbling of the Dukes of Bavaria, Aquitania, Bretagne, and Gascony ; proud of their ancestry as well as of their ample domains ; the ^ almost entire extirpation of the Avars, so long the terror of Eu- rope ; are assuredly works which demand a courage and a firmness of mind such as Charles only possessed. How great his reputation was, and this too beyond the limits of Europe, is proved by the embassies sent to him out of Persia, Palestine, Mauritania, and even from the Caliphs of Bagdad. If at the present day an embassy from the Black or Caspian Sea comes to a prince on the Baltic, it is not to be wondered at, since such are now the political relations of the four quarters of the world, that a blow which is given to any one of them is felt more or less by all the others. Whereas in the times of Charlemagne, the inhabitants in one of the known parts of the world scarcely knew what was going on in the rest. Nothing but the extraordinary, all-piercing report of Charles's exploits could bring this to pass. His greatness, which set the world in astonishment, was likewise, without doubt, that which begot in the Pope and the Romans the first idea of the re-es- tablishment of their empire. Is it true, that a number of things united to make Charles a great man — favorable circumstances of time, a nation already disciplined to warlike habits, a long life, and the consequent acquisition of experience, such as no one possessed in his whole realm. Still, however, the principal means of his greatness Charles found in himself. His great mind was capable of ex- tending its attention to the greatest multiplicity of afi'airs. In the middle of Saxony he thought on Italy and Spain, and at Rome he made provisions for Saxony, Bavaria, and Pannonia. He gave audience to the Ambassadors of the Greek emperor and other potentates, and himself audited the accounts of his own farms, where every thing was entered even to the number of the eggs. Busy as his mind was, his body was not less in one continued state of motion. Charles would see into every thing himself, and do every thing himself, as far as his powers extended : and even this it was too, w hich gave to his under- takings such a force and energy. But with all this the government of Charles was the gov- ernment of a conqueror, that is splendid abroad and fearfully 70 oppressive at home. What a grievance must it not have been for the people that Charles for forty years together dragged them now to the Elbe, then to the Ebro, after this to the Po, and from thence back again to the Elbe, and this not to check an invading enemy, but to make conquests which little profited the French nation ! Tliis must prove too much, at length, for a hired soldier : how much more for conscripts, who did not live only to fight, but who were fathers of families, citizens, and proprietors? But above all, is it to be wondered at, that a nation like the French, should suffer themselves to be used as Charles used them. But the people no longer possessed any considerable share of influence. All depended on the great chieftains, who gave their willing suffiage for endless wars, by which they were always sure to win. They found the best opportunity, under such circumstances, to make themselves great and mighty at the expense of the freemen resident with- in the circle of their baronial courts; and when conquests were made, it was far more for their advantage than that of the monarchy. In the conquered provinces there was a necessity, for dukes, vassal kings, and different high offices : all this fell to their share. I would not say this if we did not possess incontrovertible original documents of those times, which prove clearly to us that Charles's government was an unhappy one for the people, and that this great man, by his actions, labored to the direct subversion of his first principles. It was his first pretext to es- tablish a greater equality among the members of his vast com- munity, and to make all free and equalsub jects under a common sovereign. And from the necessity occasioned by continual war, the exact contrary took place. Nothing gives us a better notion of the interior state of the French Monarchy, than the third capitular of the year 811. [compare with this the four or five quarto vols, of the present French Conscript Code.) All is full of complaint ; the Bishops and Earls clamouring against the freeholders, and these in their turn against the Bishoj)S and Earls. And in truth the freeholders had no small reason to be discontented and to resist, as far as they dared, even the imperial levies. A dependant must be content to fol- low his lord without further questioning : for he was paid for it. But a free citizen, who lived wholly on his own property, might reasonably object to suffer himself to be dragged about n in all quarters of the world, at the fancies of his lord : espe- cially as there was so much injustice intermixed. Those who gave up their properties entirely, or in part, of their own ac- cord, were left undisturbed at home, while those, who refused to do this, were forced so often into service, that at length, be- coming impoverished, they were compelled by want to give up, or dispose of their free tenures to the Bishops or Earls. (It loould require no great ingenuity to discover j^orallels, or at least^ equivalent hardships to these^ in the treatment of, and regulations concerning the reluctant conscripts.) It almost surpasses belief to what a height, at length, the aversion to war rose in the French nation, from the multitude of the campaigns and the grievances connected with them. The national vanity was now satiated by the frequences of vic- tories ; and the plunder which fell to the lot of individuals, made but a poor compensation for the losses and burthens sus- tained by their families at home. Some, in order to become exempt from military service, sought for menial employments in the establishments of the Bishops, Abbots, Abbesses, and Earls. Others made over their free property to become te- nants at will of such Lords, as from their age or other circum- stances, they thought would be called to no further military services. Others, even privately took away the life of their mothers, aunts, or other of their relatives, in order that no family residents might remain through whom their names might be known, and themselves traced ; others voluntarily made slaves of themselves, in order thus to render themselves inca- pable of the military rank. When this Extract was first published, namely, September 7, 1809, I prefixed the following sentence. "This passage con- tains so much matter^br j>olitical anticipation and well-ground- ed hope., that I feel no apprehension of the Reader's being dis- satisfied with its length." I trust, that I may derive the same confidence from his genial exultation, as a Christian ; and from his honest ])ride as a Briton ; in the retrospect of its comple- tion. In this belief I venture to conclude the Essay with the following Extract from a " Comparison of the French Republic, under Buonaparte, with the Roman Empire under tlie first Cajsars," published by mc in the Morning Post, Tuesday, 21 Sept. 1802. If then there is no counterpoise of dissimilar circumstances, 73 the prospect is gloomy indeed. The commencement of the public slavery in Rome was in the most splendid sera of human genius. Any unusually flourishing period of the arts and sci- ences in any country, is, even to this day, called the Augustan age of that country. The Roman poets, the Roman historians, the Roman orators, rivalled those of Greece ; in military tac- tics, in machinery, in all the conveniences of private life, the Romans greatly surpassed the Greeks. With few exceptions, all the emperors, even the worst of them, were, like Buona- parte,* the liberal encouragers 'of all great public works, and of every species of public merit not connected with the asser- tion of political freedom. O Juvenes, circumspicit ct agitat vos, Materiamque sibi Ducis indulgentia qujerit It is even so, at this present moment, in France, Yet, both in France and in Rome, we havepearned, that the most abject dispositions to slavery rapidly trod on the heels of the most outrageous fanaticism for an almost anarchical liberty. Ruere in servitium patres et populnm. Peace and the coadunation of all the civilized provinces of the earth were the grand and plau- sible pretexts of Roman despotism : the degeneracy of the hu- man species itself, in all the nations so blended, was the melan- choly effect. To-morrow, therefore, we shall endeavour to de- * Imitators succeed l)etter in copying the vices tlian the excellences or their archetypes. Where shall we find in the First Consul of France a counter- part to the generous and dreadless clemency of the first Caesar? Acerbe lo- quentibus satis habuit pro concione denunciare, ne persevarent. Aulique CtEcinte criminosissinio libro, et Pitholai canniniljus malcdicentissimis lacera- tam existiniationcm suani civili animo tiilit. It deserves translation, for our English readers. " If any spoke bitterly against him, he held it sufficient to conif)laiji of it publicly, to prevent them from persevering in the use of such language. His character had been man- gled in a most libellous work of Anlus C.vcina, and he had been grossly lam- pooned in some verses by Pitholaus; but he boie both with the temper of a good citizen." For this part of the First Consul's character, if common report speaks the truth, we must seek a parallel in tlie dispositions of the third Caesar, who dreaded the pen of a paragraph writer, hlntin«- aught against his morals and measures, with as great anxiety, and witli as vindiclive feelings, as if it h.id been the dagger of an assassin lifted up against his life. From the third Ctesar, too, he adopted the abrogation of all poj)ulor elections. \ 7i tect all those points and circumstances of dissimilarity, which, though they cannot impeach the rectitude of the parallel, for the present, may yet render it probable, that as the same Con- stitution of Government has been built up in France with in- comparably greater rapidity, so it may have an incomparably shorter duration. We are not conscious of any feelings of bit- terness towards the First Consul ; or, if any, only that venial prejudice, which naturally results from the having hoped proud- ly of any individual, and the having been miserably disappoint- ed. But we will not voluntarily cease to think freely and speak openly. We owe grateful hearts, and uplifted hands of thanks- giving to the Divine Providence, that there is yet one Europe- an country (and that country our own) in which the actions of public men may be boldly analyzed, and the result publicly stated. And let the Chief Consul, who professes in all things to follow his FATE, learn to submit to it if he finds that it is still his FATE to struggle with the spirit of English freedom, and the virtues which are the offspring of that spiiit ! If he finds, that the Genius of Great Britain, which blew up his Egyptian navy into the air, and blighted his Syrian laurels, still follows him with a calm and dreadful eye ; and in peace, equal- ly as in war, still watches for that liberty, in which alone the Genius of our Isle lives, and moves, and has his being ; and which being lost, all our commercial and naval greatness would instantly languish, like a flower, the root of which had been silently eat away by a worm ; and without which, in any coun- try, the public festivals, and pompous merriments of a nation present no other spectacle to the eye of Reason, than a mob of maniacs dancing in their fetters. 10 ESSAY XIII. Must there be still some discord mixt among The harmony of men, whose mood accords Best with contention tun'd to notes of wrong ? That when War fails, Peace must make war with words. With w ords unto destruction arm'd more strong Than ever were our foreign Foemans' swords: Making as deep, tho' not yet Weeding wounds ? What War left scarless. Calumny confounds. Truth lies entrapp'd where Cunning finds no har : Since no proportion can there he betwixt Our acti<jns which in endless motions are, And ordinances which are always fixt. Ten thousand Laws more cannot reach so far, But Malice goes beyond, or lives conmiixt So close with Goodness, that it ever will CoiTupt, disguise, or counterfeit it still. And therefore would our glorious Alfred, who Join'd with the King's the good man's Majesty, Not leave Law's labyrinth withont a clue — Gave to deep Skill its just authority, — But the lost .Tiidgnifiit (this his .Tury's jil.ui) Left to the natural sense of Work-ilay IVfan. Mapted from an elder Poet. We recur to the dileinina stated in our eighth number. How shall we solve this pro])lcni ? Its solution is to be found in that spirit which, like the universal menstruum sought for by the old alchemists, can blend and harmonize the most discordant ele- ments — it is found to be in the spirit of a rational Freedom dif- fused and become national, in the consequent influence and control of public opinion, and in its most precious organ, the 7S jury. It is to be found, wherever Juries are sufficiently en- lightened to perceive the difference, and to comprehend thi. origin and necessity of the difference, between libels and other criminal overt-acts, and are sufficiently independent to act upon the conviction, that in a charge of libel, the degree, the circum- stances, and intention, constitute (not merely modify^) the of- fence, give it its Being, and determine its legal name. The words '■'■maliciously and advisedly," must here have a force of their own and a proof of their own. They will consequently consider the written law as a blank power provided for the pun- ishment of the offender, not as a light by which they are to deter- mine and discriminate the ojfence. The understanding and con- science of the Jury are the Judges, in toto : the statute a blank conge d'elire. The Statute is the Clay and those the Potter's wheel. Shame fall on that Man, who shall labor to confound what reason and nature have put asunder, and who at once, as far as in him lies, would render the Press ineffectual and the Law odious ; who would lock up the main river, the Thames of our intellectual commerce ; would throw a bar across the stream, that that must render its navigation dangerous or partial, using as his materials the very banks, that were intended to deepen its chan- nel and guard against its inundations ! Shame fall on him, and a a participation of the infamy of those, who misled an English Jury to the murder of Algernon Sidney ! But though the virtuous intention of the writer must be al- io wed a certain influence in facilitating his acquittal, the degree of his moral guilt is not the true index or mete-wand of his condemnation. For Juries do not sit in a Court of Conscience, but of Law ; they are not the representatives of religion, but the guardians of external tranquillity. The leading principle, the Pole Star, of the judgment in its decision concerning the libellous nature of a published writing, is its more or less re- mote connection with after overt-acts, as the cause or occasion of the same. Thus the publication of actual facts may be, and most often will be, criminal and libellous, when directed against private characters : not only because the charge will reach the minds of many who cannot be competent judges of the truth or falsehood of facts to which themselves were not witnesses, against a man whom they do not know, or at best know imper- fectly ; but because such a publication is of itself a very serious overt-act, by which the author without authority and without tri- .7# al, has inflicted punishment on a fellow subject, himself being witness and jury, judge and executioner. Of such publications there can be no legal justification, though the wrong may be palliated by the circumstance that the injurious charges are not only true but wholly out of the reach of the law. But in libels on the government there are two things to be balanced against each other : first, the incomparably greater mischief of the overt-acts, supposing them actually occasioned by the libel — (as for instance, the subversion of government and property, if the principles taught by Thomas Paine had been realized, or if even an attempt had been made to realize them, by the ma- ny thousands of his readers;) and second, the very great im- probability that such effects will be produced by such writings. Government concerns all generally, and no one in particular. The facts are commonly as well known to the readers, as to the writer : and falsehood therefore easily detected. It is proved, likewise, by experience, that the frequency of open political discussion, with all its blameable indiscretion, indisposes a na- tion to overt-acts of practical sedition or conspiracy. They talk ill, said Charles the Fifth, of his Belgian Provinces, but they suffer so much the better for it. His successor thought differently: he determined to be master of their words and opinions, as well as of their actions, and in consequence lost one half of those provinces, and retained the other half at an expense of strength and treasure greater than the original worth of the whole. An enlightened Jury, therefore, will require proofs of some more than ordinary malignity of intention, as furnished by the style, price, mode of circulation, and so forth; or of punishable indiscretion arising out of the state of the times, as of dearth, for instance, or of whatever other calamity is likely to render the lower classes turbulent and apt to be al- ienated from the government of their country. For the absence of a right disposition of mind must be considered both in law and in morals, as nearly equivalent to the presence of a wrong disposition. Under such circumstances the legal paradox, that a libel may be the more a libel for being true, becomes strictly just, and as such ought to be acted upon. Concerning the right of punishing by law the authors of he- retical or deistical writings, 1 reserve my remarks for a future Essay, in which I hope to state the grounds and limits of tole- ration more accurately than they seem to me to have been hith- 75 erto traced. There is one maxim, however, which T am tempted to seize as it passes across me. If I may trust my own memory, it is indeed a very old truth : and yet if the fash- ion of acting in apparent ignorance thereof be any presumption of its novelty, it ought to be new, or at least have become so by courtesy of oblivion. It is this : that as far as human prac- tice can realize the sharp limits and exclusive proprieties of Science, Law and Religion should be kept distinct. There IS, strictly speaking, no proper opposition but between the TWO POLAR forces OF ONE AND THE SAME POWER.* If I Say then, that Law and Religion are natural opposites, and that the latter is the requisite counterpoise of the former, let it not be interpreted, as if I had declared them to be contraries. The Law has rightfully invested the Creditor with the power of arresting and imprisoning an insolvent Debtor, the Farmer with the Power of transporting, mediately at least, the Pillagers of his Hedges and Copses ; but the Law does not compel him to exercise that power, while it will often happen, that Religion commands him to forego it. Nay, so well was this understood by our Grandfathers, that a man who squares his conscience by the Law was a common paraphrase or synonyme of a wretch without any conscience at all. We have all of us learnt from History, that there was a long and dark period, during which the Powers and the Aims of Law were usurped * Every Power in Nature and in Spirit must evolve an opposite, as the sole means and condition of its manifestation: and all opposition is a tendencit TO Re-union. This is the universal Law of Polarity or essential Dualism, first i)rornulgated by Heraclilus, 2000 years afterwards re-published, and made tlie foundation both of Logic, of Physics, and of Metaphysics by Giordano linino. The Principle may be thus cxi)ressed. The Identity of Thesis and Antithesis is the substance of all Being; their Opposition the condition of all Existeiice, or Being manifested; and every Thing or Vhsenontenon is the Ex- ponent of a Synthesis as long as the oi)posite energies are retained in that Syntliesis. Thus Water is neither Oxygen nor Hydrogen, nor yet is it a commixture of both ; but the Synthesis or Indifference of the two: and as long as the copula endures, by which it becomes Water, or rather which alone is Water, it is not less a simple Body than either of the imaginary Ele- ments improperly called its Ingredients or Components. It is the ohj(!Ct of the mechanical atomistic Psilosophy to •confound Synthesis with synartesis, or rather with mere juxta-position of Corpuscles separated by inviiiible In- terspaces. I find it difficult to determine, whether tliis theory contradicts tlie Reason or tlie Senses most: for it is alike inconceivable and unimaginable. 78 in the name of Religion by the Clergy and the Courts Spiritu- al : and we all know the result. Law and Religion thus in- terpenetrating neutralized each other ; and the baleful product, or tertium Aliquid, of this union retarded the civilization of Europe for Centuries. Law splintered into the minutiae of Re- ligion, whose awful function and prerogative it is to take ac- count of every ^Hdle ivord,^^ became a busy and inquisitorial tyranny : and Religion substituting legal terrors for the eno- bling influences of Conscience remained Religion in name only. The present age appears to me approaching fast to a similar usurpation of the functions of Religion by Law : and if it were required, I should not want strong presumptive proofs in favor of this opinion, whether I sought for them in the Charges from the Bench concerning Wrongs, to which Re- ligion denounce the fearful penalties of Guilt, but for which the Law of the Land assigns Damages only : or in sundry sta- tutes, and (all praise to the late Mr. Wyndham, Romanorum ultimo) in a still greater number of attempts towards new sta- tutes, the authors of which displayed the most pitiable igno- rance, not merely of the distinction between perfected and im- perfected Obligations but even of that still more sacred dis- tinction between Things and Persons. What the Son of Si- rach advises concerning the Soul, everj^ Senator should apply to his legislative capacity — Reverence it in meekness, know- ing how feeble and how mighty a Thing it is ! From this hint concerning Toleration, we may pass by an easy transitition to the, perhaps, still more interesting subject of Tolerance. And here 1 fully coincide with Frederic H. Jacobi, that the only true spirit of Tolerance consists in our conscientious toleration of each other's intolerance. Whatever pretends to be more than this, is either the unthinking cant of fashion, or tl;ie soul-palsying narcotic of moral and religious in- difference. All of us without exception, in the same mode though not in the same degree, are necessarily subjected to the risk of mistaking positive opinions for certainty and clear in- sight. From this yoke we cannot free ourselves, but by ceas- ing to be men ; and this too not in order to transcend but to sink below our human nature. For if in one point of view it be the mulct of our fall, and of the corruption of our will ; it is equally true, that contemplated from another point, it is the jprice and consequence of our progressiveness. To him who 79tf is compelled to pace to and fro within the high walls and in tlic narrow courtyard of a prison, all objects may appear clear and distinct. It is the traveller journeying onward, full of heart and hope, with an ever-varying horrizon, on the boundless plain, that is liable to mistake clouds for mountains, and the mirage of drouth for an expanse of refreshing waters. But notwithstanding this deep conviction of our general fal- libility, and the most vivid recollection of my own, I dare avow with the German philosopher, that as far as opinions, and not motives ; principles, and not men, are concerned ; I neither am tolerant^ nor wish to be regarded as such. Accor- ding to my judgment, it is mere ostentation, or a poor trick that hypocrisy plays with the cards of nonsense, when a man makes protestation of being perfectly tolerant in respect of all principles, opinions and persuasions, those alone excepted which render the holders intolerant. For he either means to say by this, that he is utterly indifl'erent towards all truth, and finds nothing so insufferable as the persuasion of their being any such mighty value or importance attached to the profession of the Truth as should give a marked preference to any one convic- tion above any other ; or else he means nothing, and amuses himself with articulating the pulses of the air instead of inha- ling it in the more healthful and profitable exercise of yawning. That which doth not withstand, hath itself no standing place. To Jill a station is to exclude or repel others, — and this is not less the definition of moral, than of material, solidity. We live by continued acts of defence, that involve a sort of offensive warfare. But a man's principles, on which he grounds his Hope and his Faith, are the life of his life. We live by Faith, says the philosophic Apostle ; and faith without principles is but a flattering phrase for wilful positiveness, or fanatical bodily sensation. Well, and of good right therefore, do we maintain with more zeal, than we should defend body or e'state, a deep and inward conviction, which is as the moon to us ; and like the moon with all its massy shadows and deceptive gleams, it yet lights us on our way, poor travellers as we are, and benight- ed pilgrims. With all its spots and changes and temporary eclipses, with all its vain halos and bedimming vapors, it yet reflects the light that is to rise on us, which even now is rising, though intercepted from our immediate view by the mountains that enclose and frown over the vale of our mortal life. This again is the mystery and the dignity of our human nature, that we cannot give up our reason, without giving up at the same time our individual personality. For that must appear to each man to be his reason which produces in him the highest sense of certainty; and yet it is 7iot reason, except as far as it is of universal validity and obligatory on all mankind. There is a one heart for the whole mighty mass of Humanity, and eve- ry pulse in each particular vessel strives to beat in concert with it. He who asserts that truth is of no importance except in the sense of sincerity, confounds sense with madness, and fhe word of God with a dream. If the power of reasoning be the Gift of the Supreme Reason, that we be sedulous, yea, and militant in the endeavor to reason aright, is his implied Com- mand. But what is of permanent and essential interest to one man must needs be so to all, in proportion to the means and op- portunities of each. Woe to him by whom these are neglected, and double woe to him by whom they are withheld ; for he robs at once himself and his neighbor. That man's Soul is not dear to himself, to whom the Souls of his Brethren are not dear. As far as they can be influenced by him, they are parts and properties of his own soul, their faith his faith, their errors his burthen, their righteousness and bliss his righteousness and his reward — and of their Guilt and Misery his own will be the echo! As much as I love my fellow-men, so much and no more will I be intolerant of their Heresies and Unbelief — and I will honor and hold forth the right hand of fellowship to every individual who is equally intolerant of that which he conceives such in me. We will both exclaim — I know not, what antidotes among the complex views, impulses and circumstances, that form your moral Being, God's gracious Providence may have vouchsafed to you against the serpent fang of this Error — but it is a viper, and its poison deadly, although through higher influences some men may take the reptile to their bosom, and remain unstung. In one of these viperous Journals, which deal out Profane- ness, Hate, Fury, and Sedition throughout the Land, I read the following Paragraph. " The Brahman believes that every man will be saved in his own persuasion, and that all religions are equally pleasing to the God of all. The Christian confines salvation to the Believer in his own Vedahs and Shasters. Which is the more humane and philosophic creed of the two ?" Let question answer question. Self-complacent Scoffer ! 81 Whom meanest thou by God ? The God of Truth ? and can He be pleased with falsehood and the debasement or utter sus- pension of the Reason which he gave to man that he might re- ceive from him the sacrifice of Truth ? Or the God of love and mercy ? And can He be pleased with the blood of thousands poured out under the wheels of Juggernaut, or with the shrieks of children offered up as fire offerings to Baal or to Moloch ? Or dost thou mean the God of holiness and infinite purity ? and can He be pleased with abominations unutterable and more than brutal defilements ? and equally pleased too as with that religion, which commands us that we have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness but to reprove them ? With that religion, which strikes the fear of the Most High so deeply, and the sense of the exceeding sinfulness of sin so inwardly, that the Believer anxiously enquires : " Shall I give my first- born for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul ?" — and which makes answer to him. — " He hath shewed thee, man, what is good ; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to walk justly, and to love mercy, and to walk hum~ bly with thy God." But I check myself. It is at once folly and profanation of Truth, to reason with the man who cart place before his eyes a minister of the Gospel directing th& eye of the widow from the corse of her husband upward to his and her Redeemer, (the God of the living and not of the dead) and then the remorseless Brahmin goading on the disconsolate victim to the flames of her husband's funeral pile, abandoned by, and abandoning, the helpless pledges of their love — and yet dare ask, which is the more humane and philosophic creed of the two ? No ! No ! when such opinions are in question I neither am, or will be, or wish to be regarded as, tolerant. \\ ESSAY XIV. Knowing the heart of Man is set to be The centre of this world, about the which These revohitions of disturbances Still roll ; where al! th' aspects of misery Predominate ; whose strong effects are such, As he must bear, being powerless to redress : And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is Man ! Daniel. I have thus endeavoured, with an anxiety which may per- haps have misled me into prolixity, to detail and ground the conditions under which the communication of truth is com- manded or forbidden to us as individuals, by our conscience; and those too, under which it is permissible by the law wiiich controls our conduct as members of the state. But is the subject of suificient importance to deserve so minute an ex- amination ? that my readers would look round the world, as it now is, and make to themselves a faithful catalogue of its many miseries! From what do these proceed, and on what do they depend for their continuance ? Assuredly for the great- er part on the actions of men, and those again on the want of y a vital principle of action. We live by faith. The essence of virtue consists in the principle. And the reality of this, as well as its importance, is belived by all men in fact, few as there may be who bring the truth forward into the light of dis- tinct consciousness. Yet all men feel, and at times acknow- ledge to themselves, the true cause of their misery. There is no man so base, but that at some time or other, and in some way or other, he admits that he is not what he ought to be, though 83 by a curious art of self-delusion, by an effort to keep at peace with himself as long and as much as possible, he will throw off the blame from the amenable part of his nature, his moral prin- ciple, to that which is independent of his will, namely, the degree of his intellectual faculties. Hence, for once that a man exclaims, how dishonest I am, on what base and unwor- thy motives I act, we may hear a hundred times, what a fool I am ! curse on my folly?* and the like. Yet even this implies an obscure sentiment, that with clearer conceptions in the understanding, the principle of action would become purer in the will. Thanks to the image of our Maker not wholly obliterated from any human soul, we dare not pur- chase an exemption from guilt by an excuse, which would place our amelioration out of our own power. Thus the very man, who will abuse himself for a fool but not for a villian, would rather, spite of the usual professions to the contrary, be con- demned as a rogue by other men, than be acquitted as a block- head. But be this as it may, out of himself, however, he sees plainly the true cause of our common complaints. Doubtless, there seem many physical causes of distress, of disease, of po- verty and of desolation — tempests, earthquakes, volcanoes, wild or venomous animals, barren soils, uncertain or tyrannous cli- mates, pestilential swamps, and death in the very air we breathe. Yet when do we hear the general wretchedness of mankind attributed to these? In Iceland, the earth opened and sent forth three or more vast rivers of fire. The smoke and va- pour from them dimmed the light of Heaven through all Eu- rope, for months- even at Cadiz, the sun and moon, for sever- al weeks, seemed turned to blood. What was the amount of the injury to the human race ? sixty men were destroyed, and of these the greater part in consequence of their own inspru- dence. Natural calamities that do indeed spread devastation wide, (for instance, the Marsh Fever,) are almost without ex- ception, voices of Nature in her all-intelligible language — do this I or cease to do that ! By the mere absence of one su- * We do not consider as exceptions the tliousands tliat abuse themselves by rote w'nh lii)-j)eniteiice, or the wild ravin<;s of fanaticism: for tJiese per- sons at the very time they speak so vehemently of the wickedness and rot- teness of their hearts, are then connnonly the warmest in their own good opinion, covered round and comfortable in the wrap-rascal of self-hypocrisy. 84 perstition, and of the sloth engendered by it, the Plague would cease to exist throughout Asia and Africa. Pronounce medita- tively the name of Jenner, and ask what might we not hope, what need we deem unattainable, if all the time, the effort, the skill, which we waste in making ourselves miserable through vice, and vicious through misery, were embodied and mar- shalled to a systematic war against the existing evils of na- ture ? No, " It is a wicked loorld /" This is so generally the solution, that this very wickedness is assigned by selfish men, as their excuse for doing nothing to render it better, and for op- posing those who would make the attempt. What 'have not Clarkson, Granville Sharp, Wilberforce, and the Society^of the Friends, effected for the honor, and if we believe in a retribu- tive providence, for the continuance of the prosperity of the English nation, imperfectly as the intellectual and moral facul- ties of the people at large are developed at present ? What may not be effected, if the recent discovery of the means of educating nations (freed, however, from the vile sophistications and mutilations of ignorant mountebanks,) shall have been ap- plied to its full extent ? Would I frame to myself the most in- spiriting representation of future bliss, which my mind is ca- pable of comprehending, it would be embodied to me in the idea of Bell receiving, at some distant period, the appropri- ate reward of his earthly labours, when thousands and ten thousands of glorified spirits, Avhose reason and conscience had, through Ms efforts, been unfolded, shall sing the song of their own redemption, and pouring forth praises to God and to their Saviour, shall repeat his " New name" in Heaven, give thanks for his earthly virtues, as the chosen instruments of divine mer- cy to themselves, and not seldom perhaps, turn their eyes to- ward hiin^ as from the sun to its image in the fountain, with se- condary gratitude and the perm.itted utterance of a human love ! Were but a hundred men to combine a deep conviction that virtuous habits may be formed by the very means by which knowledge is communicated, that men may be made better, not only in consequence, but by the mode and in the process, of instruction : were but an hundred men to combine that clear conviction of this, which I myself at this moment feel, even as I feel the certainty of my being, with the perseverance of a Clarkson or a Bell, the promises of ancient prophecy would disclose themselves to our faith, even as when a noble castle 85 hidden Irom us by an intervening mist, discovers itself by its reflection in the tranquil lake, on the opposite shore of which we stand gazing. What an awful duty, what a nurse of all other, the fairest virtues, does not hope become ! We are bad ourselves, because we despair of the goodness of others. If then it be a truth, attested alike by common feeling and common sense, that the greater part ot human misery depends directly on human vices and the remainder indirectly, by what means can we act on men so as to remove or preclude these vices and purify their principle of moral election ? The ques- tion is not by what means each man is to alter his own charac- ter — in order to this, all the means prescribed and all the aid- ances given by religion, may be necessary for him. Vain, of themselves, may be, the sayings of the wise III ancient and in modern books inroUed ******** Unless he feel within Some source of consolation from above — Secret refreshings, that repair his strength And fainting spirits uphold. Samson Agomstes. This is not the question. Virtue would not be virtue, could it be given by one fellow-creature to another. To make use ol all the means and appliances in our power to the actual attain- ment of Rectitude, is the abstract of the Duty which we owe to ourselves ; to supply those means as far as we can, comprizes our Duty to others. The question then is, what are these means? Can they be any other than the communication of knowledge, and the removal of those evils and impediments which prevent its reception ? It may not be in our power to combine both, but it is in the power of every man to contribute to the former, who is sufficiently informed to feel that it is his duty. If it be said, that we should endeavour not so much to remove ignorance, as to make the ignorant religious : Religion herself, through her sacred oracles, answers for me, that all effective faith pre-supposes knowledge and individual convic- tion. If the mere acquiescence in truth, uncomprehended and unfathomed, were sufficient, few indeed would be the vicious and the miserable, in this country at least where speculative infidelity is, Heaven be praised, confined to a small number. 86 Like bodily deformity, there Is one instance here and another there ; but three in one place are already an undue proportion. It is highly worthy of observation, that the inspired writings received by Christians are distinguishable from all other books pretending to inspiration, from the scriptures of the Bramins, and even from the Koran, in their strong and frequent recom- mendations of truth. I do not here mean veracity, which can- not but be enforced in every code which appeals to the reli- gious principle of man; but knowledge. This is not only ex- tolled as the crown and honor of a man, but to seek after it is again and again commanded us as one of our most sacred du- ties. Yea, the very perfection and final bliss of the glorified spirit is represented by the Apostle as a plain aspect, or intui- tive beholding of truth in its eternal and immutable source. Not that knowledge can of itself do all ! The light of religion is not that of the moon, light without heat ; but neither is its warmth that of the stove, warmth without light. Religion is the sun, whose warmth indeed swells, and stirs, and actuates the life of nature, but who at the same time beholds all the growth of life with a master eye, makes all objects glorious on which he looks, and by that glor}^ visible to all others. But though knowledge be not the only, yet that it is an in- dispensable and most effectual agent in the direction of our ac- tions, one consideration will convince us. It is an undoubted fact of human nature, that the sense of impossibility quenches all will. Sense of utter inaptitude does the same. The man shuns the beautiful flame, which is eagerly grasped at by the infant. The sense of a disproportion of certain after-harm to present gratification — produces effects almost equally uniform : though almost perishing with thirst, we should dash to the earth a goblet of wine in which we had seen a poison infused, though the poison, were without taste or odour, or even added to the pleasures of both. Are not all our vices equally inapt to the universal end of human actions, the satisfaction of the agent ? Are not their pleasures equally disproportionate to the after-harm? Yet many a maiden, who will not grasp at the fire, will yet purchase a wreath of diamonds at the price of her health, her honor, nay (and she herself knows it at the mo- ment of her choice) at the sacrifice of her peace and happiness. The sot would reject the poisoned cup, yet the trembling hand with which he raises his daily or hourly draught to his lips, 87 has not left him ignorant that this too is altogether a poison. I know it will be objected, that the consequences foreseen are less immediate ; that they are diffused over a larger space of time ; and that the slave of vice hopes where no hope is. This, however, only removes the question one step further : for why should the distance or diffusion of known consequences produce so great a difference ? Why are men the dupes of the present moment ? Evidently because the conceptions are in- distinct in the one case, and vivid in the other ; because all confused conceptions render us restless ; and because restless- ness can drive us to vices that promise no enjoyment, no not even the cessation of that restlessness. This is indeed the dread punishment attached by nature to habitual vice, that its impulses wax as its motives wane. No object, not even the light of a solitary taper in the far distance, tempts the benight- ed mind from before ; but its own restlessness dogs it from be- hind, as with the iron goad of Destiny. What then is or can be the preventive, the remedy, the counteraction, but the ha- bituation of the intellect to clear, distinct, and adequate con- ceptions concerning all things that are the possible objects of clear conception, and thus to reserve the deep feelings which belong, as by natural right to those obscure ideas* that are neces- sary to the moral perfection of the human being, notwithstand- ing, yea, even in consequence, of their obscurity — to reserve these feelings, I repeat, for objects, which their very sublimity renders indefinite, no less than their indefiniteness renders them sublime : namely, to the Ideas of Being, Form, Life, the Rea- son, the Law of Conscience, Freedom, Immortality, God ! To connect with the objects of our senses the obscure notions and consequent vivid feelings, which are due only to immaterial and pennanent things, is profanation relatively to the heart, * I have not expressed myself as clearly as I could wish. But the truth of the assertion, that deep feeling has a tendency to combine with obscure ideas, in preference to distinct and clear notions, may be proved by the history of I'"'auatics and Fanaticism in all ages and countries. The odiuni theologicum is even proverbial: and it is the common complaint of Philosophers and phi- losophic Historians, that the passions of the disputants are commonly violent in proportion to the subUety and obscurity of the questions in dispute. Nor is this fact confined to professional theologians : for whole nations have dis- played the same agitations, and have sacrificed national policy to the more powerful interest of a controverted obscurity. 88 and superstition in the understanding. It is in this sense, that the philosophic Apostle calls Covetousness Idolatry. Could we emancipate ourselves from the bedimming influences of custom, and the transforming witchcraft of early associations, we should see as numerous tribes o( Fetish- Worshippers in the streets of London and Paris, as we hear of on the coasts of Africa. ESSAY XV, A palace when 'tis that which it Bhoiild be Leaves growing, aiul stands such, or else decays With him who dwells there, 'tis not so : for he Should still urge upward, and his fortune raise. Our bodies had their morning, have their noon, And shall not better — the next change is night ; But their fair larger guest, t'whom sun and moon Are spai-ks and short-lived, claims another right. The noble soul by age grows lustier. Her aj)petite and her digestion mend ; We must not starve nor hope to pamper her With woman's milk and pap unto the end. Provide you manlier diet ! Donne. I am fully aware, that what I am writing and have written (in these latter Essays at least) will expose me to the censure of some, as bewildering myself and readers with JMetaphysics ; to the ridicule of others as a school-boy declaimer on old and worn-out truisms or exploded fancies ; and to the objection of most as obscure. The last real or supposed defect has already re- ceived an answer both in the preceding Numbers, and in page 34 of the Appendix to the Author's First Lay-Sermon, entitled / 89 the Statesman's Manual. Of the two former, I shall take the present opportunity of declaring my sentiments : especially as I have already received a hint that my " idol, Milton, has represented Metaphysics as the subjects which the bad spirits in hell delight in discussing." And truly, if I had exerted my / subtlety and invention in persuading myself and others that we are but living machines, and that (as one of the late followers of Hobbes and Hartley has expressed the system) the assassin and his dagger are equally fit objects of moral esteem and ab- horrence ; or if with a writer of wider influence and higher authority, I had reduced all virtue to a selfish prudence eked out by superstition, (for assuredly, a creed which takes its cen- tral point in conscious selfishness, whatever be the forms or names that act on the selfish passion, a ghost or a constable, can have but a distant relationship to that religion, which places its essence in our loving our neighbor as ourselves, and God above all) I know not, by what arguments I could repel the sarcasm. But what are my metaphysics ? merely the referring of the mind to its own consciousness for truths indispensable to its own happiness ! To what purposes do I, or am I about to employ them ? To perplex our clearest notions and living moral in- stincts ? To deaden the feelings of will and free power, to extinguish the light of love and conscience, to make myself and others worthless, soul-less, God-less ? No ! to expose the folly and the legerdemain of those who have thus abused the blessed machine of language ; to support all old and vener- able truths ; and by them to support, to kindle, to project the spirit ; to make the reason spread light over our feelings, to make our feelings, with their vital warmth, actualize our reason ; — these are my objects, these are my subjects, and are these the metaphysics which the bad spirits in hell delight in ? But how shall I avert the scorn of those critics who laugh at the oldness of my topics, Evil and Good, Necessity and Arbi- trament, Immortality and the Ultimate Aim ? By what shall I regain their favor ? My themes must be new, a French con- stitution ; a balloon ; a change of ministry ; a fresh batch of kings on the Continent, or of peers in our happier island ; or who had the best of it of two parliamentary gladiators, and whose speech, on the subject of Europe bleeding at a thousand wounds, or our own country struggling for herself and all hu- man nature, was cheered by the greatest number of laughs, loud 12 90 laughs, and very loud laughs ; ( which, carefully marked by italics, form most conspicuous and strange parentheses in the newspaper reports.) Or if I must be philosophical, the last chemical discoveries, provided I do not trouble ray reader with the principle which gives them their highest interest, and the character of intellectual grandeur to the discoverer ; or the last shower of stones, and that they were supposed, by certain phi- losophers, to have been projected from some volcano in the moon, taking care, however, not to add any of the cramp rea- sons for this opinion ! Something new, however, it must be, • quite new and quite out of themselves ! for whatever is within them, whatever is deep within them, must be as old as the first dawn of human reason. But to find no contradiction in the union of old and new, to contemplate the ancient of days with feelings as fresh, as if they then sprung forth at his own fiat, this characterizes the minds that feel the riddle of the world, and may help to unravel it! To carry on the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood, to combine the child's sense of wonder and novelty with the appearances which every day for perhaps forty years had rendered familiar, With Sun and Moon and Stars throughout the year, And Man and Woman- • this is the cbaracter and privilege of genius, and one of the marks which distinguish genius from talents. And so to pre- sent familiar objects as to awaken the minds of others to a like freshness of sensation concerning them (that constant accom- paniment of mental, no less than of bodily, convalescence) — to the same modest questioning of a self-discovered and intelli- gent ignorance, which, like the deep and massy foundations of a Roman bridge, forms half of the whole structure [prudens in- terrogatio dimidium sciential, says Lord Bacon ) — this is the prime merit of genius, and its most unequivocal mode of mani- festation. Who has not, a thousand times, seen it snow upon water ? who has not seen it with a new feeling, since he has read Burns' comparison of sensual pleasure. To snow that falls \\\wn a river, A moment white — then jjone for ever! o^ In philosophy equally, as in poetry, genius produces the strongest impressions of novelty, while it rescues the stalest 91 and most admitted truths from the impotence caused by the very circumstance of their universal admission. Extremes meet — a proverb, by the bye, to collect and explain all the in- stances and exemplifications of which, would constitute and ex- haust all philosophy. Truths, of all others the most awful and mysterious, yet being at the same time of universal interest, are too often considered as so true that they lose all the powers of truth, and lie bed-ridden in the dormitory of the soul, side by side with the most despised and exploded errors. But as the class of critics, whose contempt I have anticipa- ted, commonly consider themselves as men of the world, in- stead of hazarding additional sneers by appealing to the au- thorities of recluse philosophers, ( for such in spite of all histo- ry, the men who have distinguished themselves by profound thought, are generally deemed, from Plato and Aristotle to Tully, and from Bacon to Berkeley) I will refer them to the Darlingyaf the polished Court of Augustus, to the man, whose works hav& been in all ages deemed the models of good sense, and are still the pocket-companion of those who pride them- selves on uniting the scholar with the gentleman. This ac- complished man of the world has given us an account of the subjects of conversation between himself and the illustrious statesman who governed, and the brightest luminaries who then adorned the empire of the civilized world : Semio oiilur non de villis domibusve almiis JVec, nude, nee ne lepus saltet. Sed quod inagis ad nos Pertinet, et nescire mcdum est, agUamus : idrumne Divitm homines, an sint virtide becdi'? Et quo sit natura boni ? summumqiie quid eius ? - HoRAT. Serm. L. 11. Sat. 6. v. 78.* Berkeley indeed asserts, and is supported in his assertion by the great statesmen, Lord Bacon and Sir Walter Raleigh, that without an habitual interest in these subjects, a man may be a dexterous intriguer, but never can be a statesman. Would to Heaven that the verdict to be passed on my labors depended * (Literal Translation.) Conversation arises not concerning the country Beats or families of strangers, nor wlicther the dancing hare performed well or ill. But we discuss what more nearly concerns ue, and which it is an evil ^ not to know : whether men are made happy by riches or by \ irtue ? And hi what consists the nature of good ? and whet is the ultimate or suj remo ? (i. e. the Sumnmm Bomtm.) I \ 93 on those who least needed them ! The water lilly in the midst of waters lifts up its broad leaves, and expands its petals at the first pattering of the shower, and rejoices in the rain with a quicker sympathy, than the parched shrub in the sandy desart. God created man in his own image. To be the image of his own eternity created he man ! Of eternity and self-existence what other likeness is possible in a finite being, but immortali- ty and moral self-determination ! In addition to sensation, per- ception, and practical judgment (instinctive or acquirable) concerning the notices furnished by the organs of perception, all which in kind at least, the dog possesses in common with his master ; in addition to these, God gave us reason, and with reason he gave us reflective self-consciousness ; gave us PRINCIPLES, distinguished from the maxims and generaliza- tions of outward experience by their absolute and essential universality and necessity ; and above all, by superadding to reason the mysterious faculty of free-will and consequent per- sonal amenability, he gave us conscience — that law of con- science, which in the power, and as the indwelling word, of an holy and omnipotent legislator commands us — from among the numerous ideas mathematical and philosophical, which the reason by the necessity of its own excellence creates for itself, unconditionally commands us to attribute reality, and actual ex- istencCy to those ideas and to those only, without which the con- science itself would be baseless and contradictory, to the ideas of Soul, of Free-will, of Immortality, and of God ! To God, as the reality of the conscience and the source of all obligation ; to Free-will, as the power of the human being to maintain the ob^L-L'Jti^ce, which God through the conscience has commanded, against all the might of nature ; and to the Immortality of the Soul, as a state in which the weal and woe of man shall be proportioned to his moral worth. With this faith all nature, ■ all the mighty world Of eye and ear- presents itself to us, now as the aggregated material of duty, and now as a vision of the Most High revealing to us the mode, and time, and particular instance of applying and realizing that universal rule, pre-established in the heart of our reason ! " The displeasure of some Readers may, perhaps, be incur- 93 red by my having surprized them into certain reflections and inquiries, for which they have no curiosity. But perhaps some others may be pleased to find themselves carried into ancient times, even though they should consider the hoary maxims, de- fended in these Essays, barely as Hints to awaken and exer- cise the inquisitive Reader, on points not beneath the atten- tion of the ablest men. Those great men, Pythagoras, Plato, and Aristotle, men the most consummate in politics, who found- ed states, or instructed princes, or wrote most accurately on public government, were at the same time the most acute at all abstracted and sublime speculations : the clearest Hght being ever necessary to guide the most important actions. And what- ever the world may opine^ he who hath not much meditated up^ on God^ the Human Mind, and the Summum Bonum, may pos- sibly make a thriving Earth-worm, but will most indubitably make a blundering Patriot and a sorry statesman.''^ SiRis, § 350. ESSAY XVI. Blind is that soul wliicli from this truth can swerve, No state stands sure, but on the grounds of right, Of virtue, knowledge ; judgment to presei-ve, And all the powers of learning requisite ! Though other shifts a present turn may serve, Yet in the trial they will weigh too light. Daniel. I earnestly entreat the reader not to be dissatisfied eithei with himself or with the author, if he should not at once under- stand every part of the preceding Number ; but rather to con- sider it as a mere annunciation of a magnificent theme, the dif- ferent parts of which are to be demonstrated and developed, explained, illustrated, and exemplified in the progress of the 94 work. I likewise entreat him to peruse with attention and with candor, the weighty extract from the judicious Hooker, prefix- ed as the motto to a following Number of the Friend. In works of reasoning, as distinguished from narration of events or state- ments of facts ; but more particularly in works, the object of which is to make us better acquainted with our own nature, a writer, whose meaning is every where comprehended as quick- ly as his sentences can be read, may indeed have produced an amusing composition, nay, by awakening and re-enlivening our recollections, a useful one ; but most assuredly he will not have added either to the stock of our knowledge, or to the vigor of our intellect. For how can we gather strength, but by exercise } JHow can a truth, new to us, be made our own without examin- ation and self-questioning — any new truth, I mean, that relates to the properties of the mind, and its various faculties and af- fections ! But whatever demands effort, requires time. Igno- rance seldom vaults into knowledge, but passes into it through an intermediate state of obscurity, even as night into day through twilight. All speculative Truths begin with a Postu- late, even the Truths of Geometry. They all suppose an act of the Will ; for in the moral being lies the source of the intel- lectual. The first step to knowledge, or rather the previous condition of all insight into truth, is to dare commune with our very and permanent self. It is Warburton's remark, not the Friend's, that " of all literary exercitations, whether designed for the use or entertainment of the world, there are none of so much importance, or so. immediately our concern, as those which let us into the knowledge of our own nature. Others may ex- ercise the understanding or amuse the imagination ; but these only can improve the heart and form the human mind to wis- dom." The recluse Hermit oft'times more doth know Of the woild's inmost wheels, than worldlings can. As Man is of the World, the Heart of Man Is an Epitome of God's great Book Of Creatures, and Men need no further look. Donne. The higher a man's station, the more arduous and full of peril his duties, the more comprehensive should his Foresight be, the more rooted his tranquillity concerning Life and Death. But these are gifts which no experience can bestow, but the ex- 95 perience from within : and there is a nobleness of the whole personal being, to which the contemplation of all events and phsenomena in the Light of the three Master Ideas, announced in the foregoing pages, can alone elevate the spirit. Anima sapiens^ (says Giordano Bruno, and let the sublime piety of the passage excuse some intermixture of error, or rather let the words, as they well may, be interpreted in a safe sense) Anima sapiens non timet mortem^ immo interdum illam ultro appetite illi ultro occurrit. Manet quippe substantiam omnem pro Du- ratione Eternitas, pro Loco Immensitas, pro Actu Omniformi- tas. Non levem igitur acfutilem, atqui gr avis simam p erf ecto- que Homine dignissimam Contemplationis Partem persequimur uhi divinitatiSj naturceque splendorem, fusionem, et communi- cationem, non in Cibo, Potu, et ignobiliore quadam materia cum attonitorum seculo perquirimus ; sed in augustd Omnipo- tentis Regia^ immenso cetheris spacio, in injinita naturce gemi- ncB omnia fientis et omnia facientis potentia, unde tot astrorumy mundorum inquam et numinum, uni altissimo concinentium at- que saltantium absque numero atquefine juxta propositos ubique fines atque ordines^ contemplamur. Sic ex visibilium cBterno^ immenso et innumerabili ejfectu, sempiterna immensa ilia Ma- jestas atque bonitas intellecta conspicitur, proque sua dignitate innumerabilium Deorum (mundorum. dico) adsistentia^ conci- nentia, et gloria, ipsius enarratione, immo ad occulos expressa condone glorificatur. Cui Immenso mensum non quadrabit Domicilium atque Temjjlum — ad cujus majestatis plenitudinem a^noscendam atque percoleiidam, numerabilium ministorum nullus esset ordo. Eia igitur ad omniformis Dei omniformem Imaginem conjectemus oculos, vivum et magnum illius admire- mar simulacrum ! — Hinc miraculum magnum a Trismegisto appellabatur Homo, qui in Deum transeat quasi ipse sit Deus qui conatur omnia fieri sicut Deus est omnia ; ad objectum sine fine, ubique tamem finiendo, contendit, sicut infinitus est Deus immensus, ubique totus.* * Tmnslation. — A wise spirit does not fear death, nay, sometimes, [as in ca- ses of voluntary martyrdom) seeks and goes forth to meet it, of its own accord. For there awaits all actual beings, for duration and eternity, for place immen- sity, for action onmiformity. We pursue, therefore a species of contemplation not light or futile, but the weightiest and most worth j' of an accomplished man, while we examine and seek for the splendor, the interfusion, and com- munication of the Divinity and of Nature, not in meats or drink, or in any yet 96 If this be regarded as the fancies of an enthusiast, by such as deem themselves most' free, When they within this gross and visable sphere Chain down the winged soul, scoffing ascent. Proud in then- meanness, by such as pronounce every man out of his senses who has not lost his reason; even such men may find some weight in the historical fact tliat from persons, who had previously strength- ened their intellects and feelings by the contemplation of Prin- ciples — Principles, the actions correspondent to which involve one half of their consequences, by their ennobling influence on the agent's own soul, and have omnipotence, as the pledge for the remainder — we have derived the surest and most general maxims of prudence. Of high value are they all. Yet there is one among them Avorth all the rest, which in the fullest and primary sense of the word, is indeed, the Maxim^ (i. e. the Maximum) of human Prudence ; and of which History itself in all that makes it most worth studying, is one continued comment and exemplification. It is this : that there is a Wisdom higher ignohlor matter, with tlie race of the thunder-stricken ; but in the august palace of the Omnipotent, in the illimitable etherial space, in the infinite power, that creates all things, and is the abiding being of all things. There we may contemplate the Host of Stars, of Worlds and their guardi- an Deities, numbers without number, each in its appointed sphere, singing together, and dancing in adoration of the One Most High. Thus from the perpetual, immense, and innumerable goings on of the visible world, that sem- piternal and absolntply infinite Majesty is intellectually beheld, and is glorifi- ed according to his gloiy, by the attendance and choral synii)honies of innu- merable gods, who utter forth the glory of their ineffable Creator in the ex- pressive language of Vision ! To him illimitable, a limited temple will not correspond — to the acknowledgement and due worship of the Plentitude of his Majesty there would be no ])roportion in any niunerable army of minis- trant spirits. Let us then cast our eyes upon the omniform image of the At- tributes of the all-creating Sufweme, nor admit any rejiresentation of his Ex- cellency but the living Universe, which he has created! — Thence Was man entitled by Trismegistus, "the gn at INliraclc, "inasmuch as he has been made capable of entering into imion with God, as if he were himself a divine na- tm"e ; tries to become all things, even as in God all things are; and in limitless progression of limited Statis of Being, urges onward to the ultimate aim, even as God is sinniltaneously infinite, and every where All! In the last volume of the work, announced and its nature and objects ex- plained, at the dose of the present, 1 purpose, to give an account of the life of Giordano Bruno, the friend of Sir Philip Sidney, who was bunit under jho- 97 than Prudence, to which Prudence stands in the same relation as the Mason and Carpenter to the genial and scientific Archi- tect : and from the habits of thinking and feeling, that in this Wisdom had their first formation, our Nelsons and Wellingtons inherit that glorious hardihood, which completes the under- taking, ere the contemptuous calculator (who has left nothing omitted in his scheme of probabilities, except the might of the human mind) has finished his pretended proof of its impossi- bility. You look to Facts and profess to take Experience for your guide. Well ! I too appeal to Experience : and let Facts be the ordeal of my position! Therefore, although I have in this and the preceding Numbers quoted more frequently and copiously than I shall permit myself to do in future, I owe it to the cause I am pleading, not to deny myself the gratification of supporting this connection of practical heroism with previous habits of philosophic thought, by a singularly appropriate pas- sage from an author whose works can be called rare only from their being, I fear, rarely read, however commonly talked of. It is the instance of Xenophon as stated by Lord Bacon, who would himself furnish an equal instance, if there could be found an equal commentator. " It is of Xenophon the Philosopher, who went from Socra- tes's School into Asia, in the expedition of Cyrus the younger, against King Artaxerxes. This Xenophon, at that time, was very young, and never had seen the wars before ; neither had any command in the army, but only followed the war as a vol- unteer, for the love and conversation of Proxenus, his friend. He was present when Falinus came in message from the king tence of Atheism, at Rome, in the year IGOO; and of hig works, which are perhaps the scarcest books ever printed. They are singularly interesting as portraits of a vigorous mind struggling after truth, amid inany prejudices, which from the state of the Roman Cliurch, in which he was born, have a claim to much indulgence. One of them (entitled Ember Week) is curious for its hvelyaccounts of the rude state of London, at that time, both as to the streets and the manners of the citizens. The most industrious Historians of speculative Philosophy, have not been able to procure more than a few of his works. Accidentally I have been more fortunate in this respect, than those who have written hitherto on the unhappy Philosopher of JVola : as out of eleven works, the titles of which are preserved to us, I have had an op- portunity of perusing six. I was told, when in Germany, that there is a com- plete collection of them in the Royal Libraiy at Copenhagen. If so, it ia unique. 13 98 to the Grecians, after that Cyrus was slain in the Field, and they, a handful of men, left to themselves in the midst of the King's territories, cut off from their country by many navigable rivers, and many hundred miles. The message imported, that they should deliver up their arms and submit themselves to the King's mercy. To v*'hich message, before answer was made, di- vers of the army conferred familiarly with Falinus, and amongst the rest Xenophon happened to say: Why, Falinus! we have now but two things left, our arras and our virtue ; and if we yield up our arms, how shall we make use of our virtue ? Where- to Falinus, smiling on him, said, 'If I be not deceived. Young Gentleman, you are an Athenian, and I believe, you study Philosophy, and it is pretty that you say ; but you are much abused, if you think your virtue can withstand the King's pow- er.' Here was the scorn : the wonder followed — which was, that this young Scholar or Philosopher, after all the Captains were murdered in parly, by treason, conducted those ten thou- sand foot through the heart of all the King's high countries from Babylon to Grecia, in safety, in despight of all the King's forces, to the astonishment of the world, and the encouragement of the Grecians, in times succeeding, to make invasion upon the kings of Persia ; as was after purposed by Jason the Thessalian, at- tempted by Agesilaus the Spartan, and achieved by Alexander the Macedonian, all upon the ground of the act of that young Scholar.'*^ Often have I reflected with awe on the great and dispropor- tionate power, which an individual of no extraordinary talents or attainments may exert, by merely throwing off all restraint of conscience. What then must not be the power, where an individual, of consummate wickedness, can organize into the unity and rapidity of an individual will all the natural and arti- ficial forces of a populous and wicked nation ? And could we bring within the field of imagination, the devastation eflTected in the moral world, by the violent removal of old customs, fa- miliar sympathies, willing reverences, and habits of subordina- tion almost naturalized into instinct; of the mild influences of reputation, and the other ordinary props and aidances of our infirm virtue, or at least, if virtue be too high a name, of our well-doing; and above all, if we could give form and body to all the effects produced on the principles and dispositions of nations by the infectious feelings of insecurity, and the soul- sickening sense of unsteadiness in the whole edifice of civil 99 society ; the horrors of battle, though tlie miseries of a whole war were brought together before our eyes in one disastrous field, would present but a tame tragedy in comparison. Nay, it would even present a sight of comfoit and of elevation, if this field of carnage were the sign and result of a national resolve, of a general will, so to die, that neither deluge nor fire should take away the name of Country from their graves, rather than to tread the same clods of earth, no longer a country, and them- selves alive in nature, but dead in infamy. What is Greece at this present moment ? It is the country of the Heroes from Codrus to Philopaemen ; and so it w^ould be, though all the sands of Africa should cover its corn fields and olive gardens, and not a flower were left on Hymettus for a bee to murmur in. If then the power wdth which wickedness can invest the hu- man being be thus tremendous, greatl}^ does it behove us to enquire into its source and causes. So doing we shall quickly discover that it is not vice, as vice, which is thus mighty ; but systematic vice! Vice self-consistent and entire; crime corres- ponding to crime ; villainy entrenched and barricadoed by vil- lainy ; this is the condition and main constituent of its power. The abandonment of all principle of right enables the soul to choose and act upon a principle of wrong, and to subordinate to this one principle all the various vices of human nature. For it is a mournful truth, that as devastation is incomparably an easier w'ork than production, so may all its means and instru- ments be more easily arranged into a scheme and system. Even as in a seige every building and garden, which the faithful go- vernor must destroy, as impeding the defensive means of the garrison, or furnishing means of offence to the besieger, occa- sions a wound in feelings which virtue herself has fostered : and virtue, because it is virtue, loses perforce part of her ener- gy in the reluctance with which she proceeds to a business so repugnant to her wishes, as a choice of evils. But He, who has once said with his whole heart. Evil, be thou my Good ! has removed a world of obstacles by the very decision, that he will have no obstacles but those of force and brute matter. The road of Justice " Curves round the coni-fickl and the hill of vines "Honoring the holy bounds of property! But the path of the lightning is straight : and straight the fear- ful path 100 "Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rajjid " Shatt'ring tiiatit wiai/ reacli, and shatt'ring what it reaches."* Happily for mankind, however, the obstacles which a consist- ently evil mind no longer finds in itself, it finds in its own un- suitableness to human nature. A limit is fixed to its power: but within that limit, both as to the extent and duration of its influence, there is little hope of checking its career, if giant and united vices are opposed only by mixed and scattered vir- tues : and those too, probably, from the want of some combining Principle, which assigns to each its due place and rank, at civil war with themselves, or at best perplexing and counteract- ing each other. In our late agony of glory and of peril, did we not too often hear even good men declaiming on the horrors and crimes of war, and softening or staggering the minds of their brethren by details of individual wretchedness ? Thus under pretence of avoiding blood, they were withdrawing the will from the defence of the very source of those blessings without which the blood would flow idly in our veins ! thus lest a few should fall on the bulwarks in glory, they were preparing us to give up the whole state to baseness, and the children of free ancestors to become slaves, and the fathers of slaves ! Machiavelli has well observed, " Sono di tre generazione Cer- velli : Puno intende per se ; Valtro intende quanto da altri gli e mostro ; il terzo non intende ne per se stesso neper demostra- zione d^altri.''^ " There are brains of three races. The one understands of itself; the second understands as much as is shewn it by others ; the third neither understands of itself nor w^hat is shewn it by others." I should have no hesitation in placing that man in the third Class of Brains, for whom the History of the last twenty years has not supplied a copious comment on the preceding Text. The widest maxims of pru- dence are like arms without hearts, disjoined from those feelings which flow forth from princijile as from a fountain. So little *Wallenstein, from Schiller, by S. T. Coleridge. I return my thanks to the unknown Author of Waverly, Guy Mannering, &c., for having (juoted tliis free Translation from Schiller's best ;and therefore most neglected) Drama with applause : and am not ashamed to avow, that I have derived a peculiar gratification, that the first men of our age have united in giving no ordinary praise to a work, which our anonymous critics were equally unanimous in abusing as below all criticism : though they charitably added, that the fault was, doubtless, chiefly if not wholly, in the Translator's dullness and inca- pacity. 101 are even the genuine maxims of expedience likely to be per- ceived or acted upon by those who have been habituated to ad- mit nothing higher than expedience, that I dare hazard the as- sertion, that in the whole Chapter-of-Contents of European Ruin, every article might be unanswerably deduced from the neglect of some maxim that had been repeatedly laid down, demonstrated, and enforced with a host of illustrations, in some one or other of the works of Machiavelli, Bacon, or Harring- ton.* Indeed I can remember no one event of importance which was not distinctly foretold, and this not by a lucky prize drawn among a thousand blanks out of the lottery wheel of con- jecture, but legitimately deduced as certain consequences from established premises. It would be a melancholy, but a very profitable employment, for some vigorous mind, intimately ac- quainted with the recent history of Europe, to collect the weightiest Aphorisms of Machiavelli alone, and illustrating by appropriate facts the breach or observation of each, to render less mysterious the present triumph of lawless violence. The apt motto to such a work would be, — " The Children of Dark- ness are wiser in their Generation than the Children of Light." So grievously, indeed, have men been deceived by the showy mock theories of unlearned mock thinkers, that there seems a tendency in the public mind to shun all thought, and to expect help from any quarter rather than from seriousness and reflec- tion : as if some invisible power would think for us, when we gave up the pretence of thinking for ourselves. But in the first place, did those, who opposed the theories of invocators, | conduct their untheoretic opposition with more wisdom or to a/ happier result ? And secondly, are societies now constructed on principles so few and so simple, that we could, even if we wished it, act as it were by instinct, like our distant Forefa- thers in the infancy of States ? Doubtless, to act is nobler than to think : but as the old man doth not become a child by means of his second childishness, as little can a nation exempt itself from the necessity of thinking, which has once learnt to think. Miserable was the delusion of the late mad Realizer of mad Dreams, in his belief that he should ultimately succeed in trans- forming the nations of Europe into the unreasoning hordes of a Babylonian or Tartar Empire, or even in reducing the age to the simplicity, (so desirable for tyrants) of those times, when * See The Statesman's Manual : a Lay Sermon by the Author. 102 the sword and the plough were the sole implements of human skill. Those are epochs in the history of a people which hav- ing been can never more recur. Extirpate all civilization and all its arts by the sword, trample down all ancient Institutions, Rights, Distinctions, and Privileges, drag us backward to our old Barbarism, as beasts to the den of Cacus — deemed you that thus you could re-create the unexamining and boisterous youth of the world when the sole questions were — "What is to be conquered ? and who is the most famous leader !" In an age in which artificial knowledge is received almost at the birth, intellect, and thought alone can be our upholder and judge. Let the importance of this Truth procure pardon for its repetition. Only by means of seriousness and medita- tion and the free infliction of censure in the spirit of love, can the true philanthropist of the present time, curb-in himself and his contemporaries ; only by these can he aid in preventing the evils which threaten us, not from the terrors of an enemy so much as from our fears of our own thoughts, and our aversion to all the toils of reflection ? For all must now be taught in sport — Science, Morality, yea. Religion itself. And yet few now sport from the actual impulse of a believing fancy and in a happy delusion. Of the most influensive class, at least, of our literary guides, (the anonymous authors of our periodical publications) the most part assume this character from cowar- dice or malice, till having begun with studied ignorance and a premeditated levity, they at length realize the lie, and end in- deed in a pitiable destitution of all intellectual power. To many I shall appear to speak insolently, because the PUBLIC, (for that is the phrase which has succeeded to " The Town," of the wits of the reign of Charles the Second) — the public is at present accustomed to find itself appealed to as the infallible Judge, and each reader complimented with excellen- cies, which if he really possessed, to what purpose is he a reader, unless, perhaps, to remind himself of his own superiori- ty ! I confess that I think widely difl"erent. 1 have not a deep- er conviction on earth, than that the principles both of Taste, Morals, and Religion, which are taught in the commonest books of recent composition, are false, injurious, and debasing. If these sentiments should be just, the consequences must be so important, that every well-educated man, who professes them in sincerity, deserves a patient hearing. He may fairly appeal 103 even to those whose persuasions are most opposed to his own, in the words of the Philosopher of Nola : " Ad ist hocc qiiceso vos, qvaliaciinquc primo videantur aspectu^ adtendite, ut qui vohisforsan insanire videar, saltern quihus insaniamrationihus cognoscatis.^'' What I feel deeply, freely will I utter. Truth is not detraction ; and assuredly we do not hate him, to whom we tell the Truth. But with whomsoever we play the deceiv- er and flatterer, him at the hottom we despise. We are, in deed, under a necessity to conceive a vileness in him, in or- der to diminish the sense of the wrong we have committed, by the worthlessness of the object. Through no excess of confidence in the strength of my tal- ents, but with the deepest assurance of the justice of my cause, I bid deiiance to all the flatterers of the folly and foolish self- opinion of the half-instructed Many ; to all who fill the air with festal explosions and false fires sent up against the lightnings of Heaven, in order that the people may neither distinguish the warning Flash nor hear the threatening thunder ! How re- cently did we stand alone in the word .'' And though the one storm has blown over, another may even now be gathering : or haply the hollow murmur of the Earthquake within the Bowels of our own Commonweal may strike a direr terror than ever did the Tempest of foreign Warfare. Therefore, though the first quatrain is no longer applicable, yet the moral truth and the sublime exhortation of the following Sonnet can never be superannuated. With it I conclude this Number, thanking Heaven ! that I have communed with, honored, and loved its wise and high-minded author. To know that such men are among us, is of itself an antidote against despondence. Another year ! — another deadly blow ! Another mighty Emj)iro overthrown! And we are left, or shall be left, alone ; The last that dares to strnggle with the Foe. 'Tis well ! from this day forward we shall know ' ^ • That in ourselves our safety must be sought; That by our own right hands it must be wrought; That we must stand unpropt or be laid low. O Dastard! whom such foretaste doth not cheer! We shall exult, if They, who rule the land, Be Men who hold its many blessings dear, Wise, upright, vahant ; not a venal Band, Who are to judge of danger which they fear, And honour, which they do not understand. Wordsworth. THE L.ANDINCJ-PL.ACE: OR ESSAYS INTERPOSED FOR AMUSEMENT, RETROSPECT, AND PREPARATION. MISCELLANY THE FIRST. Etiairi a mtisis si qimndo aninuun paulisper abducanius, apud Musas nihil- ominus feriamur : at reclines quideiri, at otioeas, at de his et illis inter se li- bere colloquentee. w 14 ESSAY r. O blessed Letters ! that combine iii one All ages past, and make one live with all : By you we do confer with who are gone And the Dead-living unto Council call! By you the Unborn shall have communion Of what we feel and what doth us befall. Since Writings are the Veins, the Arteries, And undecaying Life-strings of those Hearts, That still shall pant and still shall exercise Their mightiest powers when Nature none imparts: And the strong constitution of their Praise Wear out the infection of distemper'd days. Daniel's Musophilus. The Intelligence, which produces or controls human actions and occurrences, is often represented by the Mystics under the name and notion of the supreme Harmonist. I do not myself approve of these metaphors: they seem to imply a restlessness to understand that which is not among the appointed objects of our comprehension or discursive faculty. But certainly there is one excellence in good music, to which, without mysticism, .' we may find or make an analogy in the records of History. I allude to that sense of recognition^ which accompanies our sense of novelty in the most original passages of a great com- poser. If we listen to a Symphony of Cimarosa, the present strain still seems not only to recal, l)ut almost to renew^ some past movement, another and yet the same ! Each present movement bringing back, as it were, and embodying the spirit of some lijelody that had gone before, anticipates and seems trying to overtake something that is to come : and the musician has reached the summit of his art, when having thus modified the y. 108 Present by the Past, he at the same time weds the Past in the Present to some prepared and corresponsive Future. The audi- tor's thoughts and feelings move under the same influence : re- trospection blends with anticipation, and Hope and Memory (a female Janus) become one power with a double aspect. A simi- lar effect the reader may produce for himself in the pages of His- ory, if he will be content to substitute an intellectual compla- cency for pleasurable sensation. /-The events and characters of one age, like the strains in music, recal those of another, and the variety by which each is individualized, not only gives a charm and poignancy to the resemblance, but likewise renders the whole more intelligible J Meantime ample room is afforded for the exercise both of the judgment and the fancy, in distin- guishing cases of real resemblance from those of intentional imitation, the analogies of nature, revolving upon herself, from the masquerade figures of cunning and vanity. It is not from identity of opinions, or from similarity of events and outward actions, that a real resemblance in the radical char- acter can be deduced. fOn the contrary, men of great and stir- ring powers, who are destined to mould the age in which they are born, must first mould themselves upon it,^ Mahomet born twelve centuries later, and in the heart of Europe, would not have been a false Prophet ; nor would a false Prophet of the present generation have been a Mahomet in the sixth century. I have myself, therefore, derived the deepest interest from the comparison of men, whose characters at the first view appear widely dissimilar, who yet have produced similar eff'ects on their different ages, and this by the exertion of powers which on examination will be found far more alike, than the altered drapery and costume would have led us to suspect. Of the heirs of fame few are more respected by me, though for very different qualities, than Erasipus and Luther : scarcely any one has a larger share of my aversion than Voltaire ; and even of the better-hearted Rousseau I was never more than a very lukewarm admirer. I should perhaps too rudely affront the general opinion, if I avowed my whole creed concerning the proportions of real talent between the two purifiers of revealed Religion, now neglected as obsolete, and the two modern con- spirators against its authority, who are still the Alpha and Ome- ga of Continental Genius. Yet when I abstract the questions of evil and good, and measure only the effects produced and the 109 mode of producing them, I have repeatedly found the idea of Voltaire, Rosseau, and Robespierre, recal in a similar cluster and connection that of Erasmus, Luther, and Munster. Those who are familiar with the works of Emsmu s, and who know the influence of his wit, as the pioneer of the reformation ; and who likewise know, that by his wit, added to the vast va- riety of knowledge communicated in his works, he had won over by anticipation so large a part of the polite and lettered world to the Protestant party ; will be at no loss in discovering the intended counterpart in the life and writings of the veteran Frenchman, t^^hey will see, indeed, that the knowledge of the one was solid through its whole extent, and that of the other extensive at a cheap rate, by its superficiality ; that the wit of the one is always bottomed on sound sense, peoples and enriches the mind of the reader with an endless variety of distinct images and living interests : and that his broadest laughter is every where translatable into grave and weighty truth; while the wit of the Frenchman, without imagery, with- out character, and without that pathos which gives the magic charm to genuine humor, consists, when it is most perfect, in happy turns of phrase, but far too often in fantastic incidents, outrages of the pure imagination, and the poor low trick of combining the ridiculous with the venerable, where he, who does not laugh, abhorSy Neither will they have forgotten, that the object of the one was to drive the thieves and mummers out of the temple, while the other was propelling a worse banditti, first to profane and pillage, and ultimately to raze it. Yet not the less will they perceive, that the effects remain par- allel, the circumstances analagous, and the instruments the same. In each case the effects extended over Europe, were at- tested and augmented by the praise and patronage of thrones and dignities, and are not to be explained but by extraordinary industry and a life of literature ; in both instances the circum- stances were supplied by an age of hopes and promises — the age of Erasmus restless from the first vernal influences of real knowledge, that of Voltaire from the hectic of imagined supe- riority. In the voluminous works of both, the instruments em- ployed are chiefly those of v/it and amusive erudition, and alike in both the errors and evils (real or imputed) in Religion and Politics are the objects of the battery. And here we must stop. The two Men were essentially different. Exchange no mutually their dates and spheres of action, yet Voltaire, had he been ten-fold a Voltaire, could not have made up an Erasmus ; and Erasmus must have emptied himself of half his greatness and all his goodness, to have become a Voltaire. Shall we succeed better or worse with the next pair, in this our new dance of death, or rather of the shadows which we have brought forth — two by two — from the historic ark ? In our first couple we have at least secured an honorable retreat, and though we failed as to the agents, we have maintained a fair analogy in the actions and the objects. Byt the heroic Luther, a Giant awaking in his strength ! and the crazy Rousseau, the Dreamer of love-sick Tales, and the spinner of speculative Cobwebs; shy of light as the Mole, but as quick- eared too for every whisper of the public opinion ; the Teacher of stoic Pride in his principles, yet the victim of morbid Vani- ty in his feelings and conduct. From what point of likeness can we commence the comparison between a Luther and a Rousseau? And truly had 1 been seeking for characters that, taken as they really existed, closely resemble each other, and this too to our first apprehensions, and according to the com- mon rules of biographical comparison, I could scarcely have made a more unlucky choice : unless I had desired that my parallel of the German " Son of Thunder" and the Visionary of Geneva, should sit on the same bench with honest Fluellin's of Alexander the Great and Harry of Monmouth. Still, how- ever, the same analogy would hold as in m}- former instance : the effects produced on their several ages by Luther and Rous- seau, were commensurate with each other, and were produced in both cases by (what their contemporaries felt as) serious and vehement eloquence, and an elevated (one of moral feel- ing : and Luther, not less than Rousseau, was actuated by an almost superstitious hatred of superstition, and a turbulent pre- judice against prejudices. In the relation too which their wri- tings severally bore to those of Erasmus and Voltaire, and the way in which the latter co-operated with them to the same general end, each finding its own class of admirers and Prose- lytes, the parallel is complete. I cannot, however, rest here ! Spite of the apparent incon- gruities, I am disposed to plead for a resemblance in the Men themselves, for that similarity in their radical natures, which I abandoned all pretence and desire of shewing in the instances '^ in of Voltaire and Erasmus. But then my readers must think of Luther not as he really was, hut as he might have been, if he had been born in the age and under the circumstances of the Swiss Philosopher. For this purpose I must strip him of many advantages which he derived from his own times, and must contemplate him in his natural weaknesses as well as in his original strength. Each referred all things to his own ideal. The ideal was indeed widely different in the one and in the other : and this was not the least of Luther's many advantages, or (to use a favorite phrase of his own) not one of his least favors of preventing grace. Happily for him he had derived his standard from a common measure already received by the good and wise : I mean the inspired writings, the study of which Erasmus had previously restored among the learned. To know that we are in sympathy with others, moderates our feelings, as well as strengthens our convictions : and for the mind, which opposes itself to the faith of the multitude, it is more especially desirable, that there should exist an object out of itself, on which it may fix its attention, and thus balance its own energies. Rousseau, on the contrary in the inauspicious spirit of his age and birth-place,* had slipped the cable of his faith, and steer- ed by the compass of unaided reason, ignorant of the hidden currents that were bearing him out of his course, and too proud to consult the faithful charts prized and held sacred by his forefathers. But the strange influences of his bodily tempera- ment on his understanding ; his constitutional melancholy pam- pered into a morbid excess by solitude ; his wild dreams of suspicion ; his hypochondriacal fancies of hosts of conspirators all leagued against him and his cause, and headed by some arch-enemy, to whose machinations he attributed every trifling mishap, (all as much the creatures of his imagination, as if in- stead of Men he had conceived them to be infernal Spirits and Beings preternatural) — these, or at least the predisposition to them, existed in the ground-work of his nature : they were * Infidelity was so common in Geneva about that time, that Voltaire in one of his Letters exults, that in this, Calvin's own City, some half dozen on- ly of the most ignorant believed in Christianity under any form. This was, no doubt, one of Voltaire's usual lies of exaggeration : it is not however to be denied, that here, and throughout Switzerland, he and the dark Master in whose service he employed himself, had ample grounds of triumph. 112 parts of Rousseau himself. And what corresponding in kind to these, not to speak of degree, can we detect in the character of his supposed parallel ? This difficulty will suggest itself at the first thought, to those who derive all their knowledge of Luther from the meagre biography met with in " The Lives of eminent Reformers," or even from the ecclesiastical Histories of Mosheim or Milner : for a life of Luther, in extent and style of execution proportioned to the grandeur and interest of the subject, a Life of the Man Luther, as well as of Luther the Theologian, is still a desideratum in English Literature, though perhaps there is no subject for which so many unused materi- als are extant, both printed and in manuscript.* *Tlie affectionate respect in which I hold the name of Dr. Joitin (one of the many iUustrious Nurslings of the College to which I deem it no small honor to have belonged — Jesus, Cambridge) renders it painful to me to assert, that the above remark holds almost equally true of a Life of Erasmus. But every Scholai* well read in the writings of Erasmus and his illustrious Con- temporaries, must have discovered, that Jortin had neither collected sufficient, nor the best, materials for his work : and (jjerhaps from that very cause) he grew weary of his task, before he had made a fidl use of the scanty materi- als which ho had collected. ESSAY II. Is it, I ask, most itnportant to the best interests of Mankind, temporal aa Avell as spiritual, tliat certain Works, the names and number of which are fixed and unalterable, should be distinguished from all other Works, not in a degree only but even in kind'} And that these, collectively should form THE Book, to which in all the concerns of Faith and Morality the last re- course is to be made, antl from the decisions of which no man dare appeal? If the mere existence of a Book so called and charactered be, as the Koran itself suffices to evince, a mighty Bond of Union, among nations whom all other causes tend to separate ; if moreover the Book revered by us and our forefathers has been the Foster-nurse of Learning in the darkest, and of Civilization in the rudest, times; and lastly, if this so vast and wide a Bless- ing is not to be founded in a Delusion, and doomed therefore to the Im- permanence and Scorn in which sooner or later all delusions must end ; how, I pray you, is it conceivable that this should be brought about and se- cured, otherwise than by a special vouchsafement to this one Book, exclu- sively, of that Divine Mean, that uniform and perfect middle ivay, which in all points is at safe and equal distance from all errors whether of excess or de- fect ? But again if this be true, (and what Protestant christian worthy of his baptismal dedication will deny its truth) surely we ought not to be hard and over-stern in our censures of the mistakes and infirmities of those, who pre- tending to no wan'ant of extraordinaiy Inspiration have yet been raised up- by God's providence to be of highest power and eminence in the reformation of his Church. Far rather does it behove us to consider, in how many in- stances the peccant humor native to the man had been wi'ought upon by tho faithful study of that only faultless Model, and corrected into an unsinning, or at least a venial, Predominance in the Writer or Preacher. Yea, that not seldom the Infirmity of a zealous Soldier in the Warfare of Christ has been made the very mould and ground-work of that man's peculiar gifts and vir- tues. Grateful too we should be, that the very Faults of famous Men have been fitted to the age, on which they were to act: and that thus the folly of man has proved the wisdom of God, and been made the instrument of his mercy to mankind. Anon. Whoever has sojourned in Eisenach,* will assuredly have *Durchflage durch Deutchland, die Niederlnnde und Frankreich : zweit. — Theil. ]). 12fi. 15 114 visited the Warteburg, interesting by so many historical asso- ciations, which stands on a high rock, about two miles to the south from the City Gate. To this Castle Luther was taken on his return from the imperial diet, where Charles the Fifth had pronounced the ban upon him, and limited his safe convoy to one and twenty days. On the last but one of these days, as he was on his way to Waltershausen (a town in the dutchy of Saxe Gotha, a few leagues to the south-east of Eisenach) he was stopped in a hollow behind the Castle Altenstein, and carried to the Warteburg. The Elector of Saxony, who could not have refused to deliver up Luther, as one put in the ban by the Emperor and the Diet, had ordered John of Berleptsch the governor of the Warteburg and Burckhardt von Hundt, the governor of Altenstein, to take Luther to one or the other of these Castles, without acquainting him which ; in order that he might be able, with safe conscience, to declare, that he did not know where Luther was. Accordingly they took him to the Warteburg, under the name of the Chevalier (Ritter) George. To this friendly imprisonment the reformation owes many of Luther's most important labours. In this place he wrote his works against auricular confession, against Jacob Latronum, the tract on the abuse of Masses, that against clerical and monastic vows, composed his Exposition of the 22, 27, and 68 Psalms, finished his Declaration of the Magnificat, began to write his Church Homilies, and translated the New Testament. Here too, and during this time, he is said to have hurled his ink-stand at the Devil, the black spot from which yet remains on the stone wall of the room he studied in ; which surely, no one will have visited the Warteburg without having had pointed out to him by the good Catholic who is, or at least some few years ago was, the Warden of the Castle. He must have been either a very supercilious or a very incurious traveller if he did not, for the gratification of his guide at least, inform himself by means of his pen-knife, that the said marvellous blot bids defiance to ail the toils of the scrubbing brush, and is to remain a sign for ever ; and with this advantage over most of its kindred, that being capable of a double interpretation, it is equally flattering to the Protestant and the Papist, and is regarded by the won- der-loving zealots of both parties, with equal faith. Whether the great man ever did throw his ink-stand at his Satanic Majesty, whether he ever boasted of the exploit, and 115 himself declared the dark blotch on his Study-Wall in the VVarteburg, to be the result and relict of this author-like hand- grenado, (happily for mankind he used his ink-stand at other times to better purpose, and with more effective hostility against the arch-fiend) I leave to my reader's own judgment ; on con- dition, however, that he has previously perused Lutlier's table- talk, and other writings of the same stamp, of some of his most illustrious contemporaries, which contain facts still more strange and whimsical, related by themselves and of themselves, and accompanied with solemn protestations of the Truth of their statements. Luther's table-talk, which to a truly philosophic mind, will not be less interesting than Rousseau's confessions, I have not myself the means of consulting at present, and can- not therefore say, whether this ink-pot adventure is, or is not, told or referred to in it ; but many considerations incline me to give credit to the story. Luther's unremitting literary labor and his sedentary mode of life, during his confinement in the Warteburg, where he was treated with the greatest kindness, and enjoyed every liberty consistent with his own safety, had begun to undermine his for- mer unusually strong health. He suffered many and most dis- tressing effects of indigestion and a deranged state of the di- gestive organs. Melancthon, whom he had desired to consult the Physicians at Erfurth, sent him some de-obstruent medi- cines, and the advice to take regular and severe exercise. At first he followed the advice, sate and laboured less, and spent whole days in the chase ; but like the younger Pliny, he strove in vain to form a taste for this favorite amusement of the " Gods of the earth," as appears from a passage in a letter to George Spalatin, which I translate for an additional reason : to prove to the admirers of Rousseau, (who perhaps will not be less af- fronted by this biographical parallel, than the zealous Luther- ans will be offended) that ii' my comparison should turn out groundless on the whole, the failure will not have arisen either from the want of sensibility in our great reformer, or of angry aversion to those in high places, whom he regarded as the op- pressors of their rightful equals. " I have been," he writes^ " employed for two days in the sports of the field, and was wil- ling myself to taste this bitter-sweet amusement of the great heroes : we have caught two hares, and one brace of poor lit- tle partridges. An employment this which does not ill suit quiet leisurely folks : for even in the midst of the ferrets and 116 dogs, I have had theological fancies. But as much pleasure as the general appearance of the scene and the mere looking on occasioned me, even eo much it pitied me to think of the mys- tery and emblem which lies beneath it. For what does this symbol signify, but that the Devil, through his godless hunts- man and dogs, the Bishops and Theologians to wit, doth privily chase and catch the innocent poor little beasts ? Ah ! the simple and credulous souls came thereby far too plain before my eyes. Thereto comes a yet more frightful mystery : as at my earnest entreaty we had saved alive one poor little hare, and I had con- cealed it in the sleeve of my great coat, and had strolled off a short distance from it, the dogs in the mean time found the poor hare. Such, too, is the fury of the Pope with Satan, that he destroys even the souls that had been saved, and troubles him- self little about my pains and entreaties. Of such hunting then 1 have had enough." In another passage he tells his corres- pondent, "you know it is hard to be a Prince, and not in some degree a Robber, and the greater a Prince the more a Robber." Of our Henry the Eighth, he says, " I must answer the grim Lion that passes himself oft" for King of England. The igno- rance in the Book is such as one naturally expects from a King ; but the bitterness and impudent falsehood is quite leonine." And in his circular letter to the Princes, on occasion of the Peasant's War, he uses a language so inflammatory, and holds forth a doctrine which borders so near on the holy right of in- surrection, that it may as well remain untranslated. Had Luther been himself a Prince, he could not have de- sired better treatment than he received during his eight months stay in the Warteburg ; and in consequence of a more luxuri- ous diet than he had been accustomed to, he was plagued with temptations both from the "Flesh and the Devil." It is evi- dent from his letters* that he suffered under great irritability of his nervous system, the common eff'ect of deranged digestion in men of sedentary habits, who are at the same time intense thinkers : and this irritability added to, and revivifying, the * I can scarcely conceive a more delightful Volume than might be made from Luther's Letters, especially from those that were written from the War- teburg, if they were translated in the simple, sinewy, idiomatic, Aear^i/ mother- tongue of the original. A difficult task I admit — and scarcely possible for any man, however great hie talents in other respects, whose favorite reading has not lain among the English writers fj-oni Edward the Sixth to Charles ths First. 117 impressions made upon him in early life, and fostered by the theological systems of his manhood, is abundantly sufficient to explain all his apparitions and all his nightly combats with evil spirits. I see nothing improbable in the supposition, that in one of those unconscious half sleeps, or rather those rapid alternations of the sleeping with the half-waking state, which is the true witching time, " the season Wherein tlie spirits hold their wont to walk," the fruitful matrix of Ghosts — I see nothing improbable, that in some one of those momentary slumbers, into which the sus- pension of all Thought in the perplexity of intense thinking so often passes ; Luther should have had a full view of the Room in which he was sitting, of his writting Table and all the Im- plements of Study, as they really existed, and at the same time a brain-image of the Devil, vivid enough to have acquired apparent Outness, and a distance regulated by the proportion of its distinctness to that of the objects really impressed on the outward senses. If this Christian Hercules, this heroic Cleanser of the Au- gean Stable of Apostacy, had been born and educated in the present or the preceding generation, he would, doubtless, have held himself for a man of genius and original power. But with this faith alone he would scarcely have removed the mountains which he did remove. The darkness and super- stition of the age, which required such a Reformer, had mould- ed his mind for the reception of ideas concerning himself, bet- ter suited to inspire the strength and enthusiasm necessary for the task of reformation, ideas more in sympathy with the spir- its whom he was to influence. He deemed himself gifted with supernatural influxes, an especial servant of Heaven, a chosen Warrior, fighting as the General of a small but faithful troop, against an Army of evil Beings headed by the Prince of the Air. These were no metaphorical beings in his apprehension. He was a Poet indeed, as great a Poet as ever lived in any age or country ; but his poetic images were so vivid, that they mastered the Poet's own jnind ! Pie was j^ossessed with them, as with substances distinct from himself: Luther did not write, he acted Poems. The Bible was a spiritual indeed but not a figurative armoury in his belief; it was the magazine 118 of his warlike stores, and from thence he was to arm himself, and supply both shield and sword, and javelin, to the elect. Methinks 1 see him sitting, the heroic Student, in his Cham- ber in the VVarterburg, with his midnight Lamp before him, seen by the late Traveller in the distant Plain of Bischqfsroda, as a Star on the Mountain ! Below it lies the Hebrew Bible open, on which he gazes his brow pressing on his palm, brood- ing over some obscure Text, which he desires to make plain to the simple Boor and to the humble Artizan, and to transfer its whole force into their own natural and living Tongue. And he himself does not understand it ! Thick darkness lies on the original Text , he counts the letters, he calls up the roots of each separate word, and questions them as the familiar Spirits of an Oracle. In vain ! thick darkness continues to cover it! not a ray of meaning dawns through it. With sullen and an- gry hope he reaches for the Vulgate, his old and sworn ene- my, the treacherous confederate of the Roman Antichrist, which he so gladly, when he can, re-rebukes for idolatrous falsehoods, that had dared place " Within the sanctuary itself their shrines, Abominations!" Now — thought of humiliation — he must entreat its aid. See ! there has the sly spirit of apostacy worked-in a phrase which favors the doctrine of purgatory, the intercession of Saints, or the efficacy of Prayers for the Dead. And what is worst of all, the interpretation is plausible. The original Hebrew might be forced into this meaning : and no other meaning seems to lie in it, none to hover above it in the heights of Allegory, none to lurk beneath it even in the depths of Caba- la ! This is the work of the Tempter ! it is a cloud of dark- ness conjured up between the truth of the sacred letters and the eyes of his understanding, by the malice of the evil one, and for a trial of his faith ! Must he then at length con- fess, must he subscribe the name of Luther to an Exposition which consecrates a weapon for the hand of the idolatrous Hie- rarchy ? Never ! never ! There still remains one auxiliary in reserve, the translation of the seventy. The Alexandrine Greeks, anterior to the Church itself, could extend no support to its corruptions — the Septuagint will have profaned the Altar of Truth with no in- cense for the Nostrils of the universal Bishop to snuff up. 119 And here again his hopes are baffled ! Exactly at this per- plexed passage had the Greek Translator given his understand- ing a holiday, and made his pen supply its place. O honored Luther ! as easily mightest thou convert the whole City of Rome, with the Pope and the conclave of Cardinals inclusive as strike a spark of light from the words, and nothing but ivords, of the Alexandrine Version. Disappointed, despondent, en- raged, ceasing to think, yet continuing his brain on the stretch in solicitation of a thought ; and gradually giving himself up to angry fancies, to recollections of past persecutions, to uneasy fears and inward defiances and floating Images of the evil Be- ing, their supposed personal author ; he sinks, without perceiv- ing it, into a trance of slumber : during which his brain retains its waking energies, excepting that what would have been mere thoughts before now (the action and counterweight of his senses and of their impressions being withdrawn ) shape and condense themselves into things, into realities ! Repeatedly half-wakening, and his eye-lids as often re-closing, the objects which really surrounded him form the place and scenery of his- dream. All at once he sees the Arch-fiend coming forth on the wall of the room, from the very spot perhaps, on which his eyes had been fixed vacantly during the perplexed moments of his former meditation : the Ink-stand, which he had at the same time been using, becomes associated with it : and in that strug- gle of rage, which in these distempered dreams almost constant- ly precedes the helpless terror by the pain of which we are finally awakened, he imagines that he hurls it at the intruder, or not improbably in the first instant of awakening, while yet both his imagination and his eyes are possessed by the dream, he actually hurls it. Some weeks after, perhaps, during which interval he had often mused on the incident, undetermined whether to deem it a visitation of Satan to him in the body or out of the body, he discovers for the first time the dark spot on his wall, and receives it as a sign and pledge vouchsafed to him of the event having actually taken place. Such was Luther under the influences of the age and coun- trv in and for which he was born. Conceive him a citizen of Geneva, and a contemporary of Voltaire : suppose the French language his mother tongue, and the political and moral philos- ophy of English Free-thinkers re-modelled by Parisian Fort Esprits, to have been the objects of his study ; — conceive this 120 change of circumstances, and Luther will no longer dream of Fiends or of Antichrist — but will we have no dreams in their place ? His melancholy will have changed its drapery ; but will it find no new costume wherewith to clothe itself? His impetuous temperament, his deepworking mind, his busy and vivid imaginations — would they not have been a trouble to him in a world, where nothing was to be altered, where nothing was to obey his power, to cease to be that which had been, in order to realize his pre-conceptions of what it ought to be ? His sensibility, which found objects for itself, and shadows of human suii'ering in the harmless Brute, and even the Flowers which he trod upon — might it not naturally, in an unspiritual- ized age, have wept, and trembled, and dissolved, over scenes of earthly passion, and the struggles of love with duty? His pity, that so easily passed into rage, would it not have found in the inequalities of mankind, in the oppressions of govern- ments and the miseries of the governed, an entire instead of a divided object ? And might not a perfect constitution, a gov- ernment of pure reason, a renovation of the social contract, have easily supplied the place of the reign of Christ in the new Jerusalem, of the restoration of the visible Church, and the union of all men by one faith in one charity? Hencefor- ward then, we will conceive his reason employed in building up anew the edifice of earthly society, and his imagination as pledging itself for the possible realization of the structure. We will lose the great reformer, who was born in an age which needed him, in the Philosopher of Geneva, who was doomed to misapply his energies to materials the properties of which he misunderstood, and happy only that he did not live to witness the direful effects of his system. X' i ESSAY III. Pectora cui credam ? quis me leniro docebit Monlaces ciiras, quis longas falleie noctes Ex quo summa dies tulerit Dauwna sub umbras ? Omnia paulatim consumit longior aetas, Viveudoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo. Ite tamen, lacryma? ! purum colis sethera, Damon ! Nee mihi conveniunt lacryma?. Non omnia terrae Obruta ! vivit amor, vivit dolor ! era negatur Dulcia conspicere : flere et meminisse relictum est. The two following Essays I devote to elucidation, the first of the theory of Luther's Apparitions stated perhaps too briefly in the preceding Number : the second for the purpose of re- moving the only difficulty, which I can discover in the next section of the Friend to the Reader's ready comprehension ot the principles, on which the arguments are grounded. First, \ will endeavor to make my Ghost-Theory more clear to those of my readers, who are fortunate enough to find it obscure in conse- quence of their own good health and unshattered nerves. The window of my library at Keswick is opposite to the fire-place, and looks out on the very large garden that occupies the whole slope of the hill on which the house stands. Consequently, the rays of the light transmitted through the glass, (i. e. the rays from the garden, the opposite mountains, and the bridge, river, lake, and vale interjacent) and the rays reflected yrom it, (of the fire-place, &c.) enter the eye at the same moment. At the coming on of evening, it was my frequent amusement to watch the image or reflection of the fire, that seemed burn- ing in the bushes or between the trees in diftercnt parts of the garden or the fields beyond it, according as there was more or less light ; and which still arranged itself among the real objects 16 122 of vision, with a distance and magnitude proportioned to its greater or lesser faintness. For still as the darkness encreased, the image of the fire lessened and grew nearer and more dis- tinct ; till the twilight had depened into perfect night, when all outward objects being excluded, the window became a per- fect looking-glass : save only that mj books on the side shelves of the room were lettered, as it were, on their backs with stars, more or fewer as the sky was more or less clouded, (the rays of the stars being at that time the only ones transmitted.) Now substitute the Phantom from Luther's brain for the ima- ges of re^ec^ed light (the fire for instance) and the forms of his room and his furniture for the transmitted rays, and you have a fair resemblance of an apparition, and a just conception of the manner in which it is seen together with real objects. I have long wished to devote an entire work to the subject of Dreams, Visions, Ghosts, Witchcraft, &c. in which I might first give, and then endeavor to explain the most interesting and best attested fact of each, Avhich has come within my knowledge, either from books or from personal testimony. I might then explain in a more satisfactory way the mode in which our thoughts, in states of morbid slumber, become at times perfectly drmnatic (for in certain sorts of dreams the dullest Wight becomes a Shakespeare) and by what law the Form of the vision appears to talk to us its own thoughts in a voice as audible as the shape is visible ; and this too often- times in connected trains, and not seldom even with a concen- tration of power which may easily impose on the soundest judgements, uninstructed in the Optics and Acoustics of the inner sense, for Revelations and gifts of Prescience. In aid of the present case, I will only remark, that it would appear in- credible to persons not accustomed to these subtle notices of self observation, what small and remote resemblances, what mere hints of likeness from some real external object, especi- ally if the shape be aided by colour, will suffice to make a vivid thought consubstantiate with the real object, and derive from it an outward perceptibility. Even when we are broad awake, if we are in anxious expectation, how often will not the most confused sounds of nature be heard by us as articu- late sounds? For instance, the babbling of a brook will appear for a moment the voice of a Friend, for whom we are waiting, calling out our own names, &c. A short meditation, there- 123 fore, on the great law of the imagination, that a likeness in part tends to become a likeness of the whole, will make it not on- ly conceivable but probable, that the ink-stand itself, and the dark-coloured stone on the wall, which Luther perhaps had never till tiien noticed, might have a considerable influence in the production of the Fiend, and of the hostile act by which his obtrusive visit was repelled. A lady once asked me if I believed in ghosts and apparitions. I answered with truth and simplicity : No^ madam I I have seen far too many myself. I have indeed a whole memorandum book filled with records of these Phajnomena, many of them interesting as facts and data for Psychology, and affording some valuable materials for a theory of preception and its dependence on the memory and imagination. " In omnem actum Percep- tionis imaginatio influet efiicienter." — Wolfe. But He is no more, who would have realized this idea : who had already established the foundations and the law of the theory ; and for whom I had so often found a pleasure and a comfort, even during the wretched and restless nights of sickness, in watch- ing and instantly recording these experiences of the world within us, of the " gemina natura, quae fit et facit, et creat et creatur !" He is gone, my friend ! my munificent co-patron, and not less the benefactor of my intellect ! — He who, beyond all other men known to me, added a fine and ever-wakeful sense of beauty to the most patient accuracy in experimental Philoso- phy and the profounder researches of metaphysical science ; he who united all the play and spring of fancy with the subtlest discrimination and an inexorable judgement; and who control- led an almost painful exquisiteness of taste by a warmth of heart, which in the practical relations of life made allowances for faults as quick as the moral taste detected them; a warmth of heart, which was indeed noble and pre-eminent, for alas ! the genial feelings of health contributed no spark toward it ! Of these qualities I may speak, for they belonged to all man- kind. — The higher virtues, that were blessings to his friends, and the still higher that resided in and for his own soul, are themes for the energies of solitude, for the awfulness of pray- er ! — virtues exercised in the barrenness and desolation of his animal being ; while he thirsted with the full stream at his lips, and yet with unwearied goodness poured out to all around him, like the master of a feast among his kindred in the day of his 124 own gladness ! Were it but for the remembrance of him alone and of his lot here below, the disbelief of a future state would sadden the earth around me, and blight the very grass in the field. ESSAY IV. Xuls^io" I', U)' Saiiio' rie, fuj" TraQudei'/'jiiacri, ^fgo/juevof ixuvurg epdfixpua- O'ui It fw »■ i.ihi'Cfi' vi»v. xirdvrev'ei, yuQ rf fxotv txuqog oiov ''ovuq, eidut^g '''uTTiefiu, Tiufi' u~v Tiu'lti' vj"a7itQ"v7iuQ u'yi'oeiv. Plato, Polit. p. 47. Ed. Bip. Translation. — It is iliflicult, excellent friend! to make any comprehensive tnilh completely intelligible, unless we avail ourselves of an example. Otiierwise we may as in a dream, seem to know all, and then as it were, awaking find that we know nothing. Plato. Among my earliest impressions I still distinctly remember that of my first entrance into the mansion of a neighboring Baronet, awfully known to me by the name of The Great House, its exterior having been long connected in my childish imagination with the feelings and fancies stirred up in me by the perusal of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments.* Beyond * As 1 iiad read one volume of these tales over and over again before my fifth birth-day, it may be readily conjectured of what sort these fancies and f(.'elings mnf^t have been. Tlie Ijook, I well remember, used to lie in a cor- ner of the parlour window at my dear Father's Vicarage-house : and lean never forg(!t with what a strange mixUn-e of obscure dread and intense de- sire I used to look at the volume and tvatch it, till the morning sunshine had reached and nearly covered it, whfen, and not before, I felt the courage given me to seize the precious treasure and hurry off with it to some sunny corner in our play-ground. 125 all other objects, I was most struck with the magnificent stair- case, relieved at well proportioned intervals by spacious land- ing-places, this adorned with grand or shewy plants, the next looking out on an extensive prospect through the stately window with its side panes of rich blues and saturated amber or orange tints : while from the last and highest the eye com- manded the whole spiral ascent with the marbled pavement of the great hall from which it seemed to spring up as if it merely used the ground on which it rested. My readers will find no difficulty in translating these forms of the outward senses into their intellectual analogies, so as to understand the purport of the Friend's jlanding-places, and the objects, he proposed to himself, in the small groups of Essays interposed under this ti- tle bet\w;en the main divisions of the work. My best powers would have sunk within me, had I not sooth- ed my solitary toils with the anticipation of many readers — ( whether during the Writer's life, or when his grave shall have shamed his detractors into a sympathy with its own silence, formed no part in this self-flattery ) who would submit to any reasonable trouble rather than read " as in a dream seeming to know all, to find on awaking that they know nothing." Hav- ing, therefore in the three preceding numbers selected from my conservatory a few plants, of somewhat gayer petals and a live- lier green, though like the Geranium tribe of a sober character in the whole physiognomy and odor, I shall first devote a few sentences to a catalogue raisonne of my introductory lucubra- tions, and the remainder of the Essay to the prospect, as far as it can be seen distinctly from our present site. Within a short distance, several ways meet : and at that point only does it ap- pear to me that the reader will be in danger of mistaking the road. Dropping the metaphor, I would say that there is one term, the meaning of which has become unsettled. To differ- ent persons it conveys a different idea, and not seldom to the same person at different times ; while the force, and to a cer- tain extent, the intelligibility of the following sections depend on its being interpreted in one sense exclusively. Essays from I. to IV. inclusive convey the design and con- tents of the work ; the Friend's judgement respecting the style, and his defence of himself from the charges of Arrogance and Presumption. Say rather, that such are the personal threads of the discourse : for it will not have escaped the Reader's ob- 126 servation, that even in these prefatory pages principles and truths of general interest form the true contents, and that amid all the usual compliments and courtesies of the The Friend's first presentation of himself to his Reader's acquaintance the substantial object is still to assert the practicability, without disguising the difficulties, of improving the morals of mankind by a direct appeal to their Understandings ; to shew the dis- tinction between Attention and Thought, and the necessity of the former as a habit or discipline without which the very word. Thinking, must remain a thoughtless substitute for dream- ing with our eyes open ; and lastly, the tendency of a certain fashionable style with all its accommodations to paralyse the very faculties of manly intellect by a series of petty stimulants. After this preparation The Friend proceeds at once t» lay the foundations common to the whole work by an inquiry into the duty of communicating Truth, and the conditions under which it may be communicated with safety, from the Fifth to the Sixteenth Essay inclusive. Each Essay will, he believes, be found complete in itself, yet an organic part of the whole con- sidered as one disquisition. First, the inexpediency of pious Frauds is proved from History, the shameless assertion of the indifference of Truth and Falsehood exposed to its deserved infamy, and an answer given to the objection derived from the impossibility of conveying an adequate notion of the truths, we may attempt to communicate. The conditions are then de- tailed, under which, right though inadequate notions may be taught without danger, and proofs given, both from facts and from reason, that he, who fulfils the conditions required by Conscience, takes the surest way of answering the purposes of Prudence. This is, indeed, the main characteristic of the mor- al system taught by the Friend throughout, that the distinct foresight of Consequences belongs exclusively to that infinite Wisdom which is one with that Almighty Will, on which all consequences depend ; but that ybr Man — to obey the simple unconditional commandment of eschewing every act that im- plies a self-contradiction, or in other words, to produce and maintain the greatest possible Harmony in the component im- pulses and faculties of his nature, involves the effects of Pru- dence. It is, as it were. Prudence in short-hand or cypher. A pure Conscience, that inward something, that &£&? oixsjof, which being absolutely unique no man can describe^ because 127 every man is bound to know, and even in the eye of the Law is held to be a person no longer than he may be supposed to know it — the Conscience, I say, bears the same relation to God, as an accurate Time-piece bears to the Sun. The Time- piece merely indicates the relative path of the Sun, yet we can regulate our plans and proceedings by it with the same con- fidence as if it was itself the efficient cause of light, heat, and the revolving seasons; on the self-evident axiom, that in what- ever sense two things (for instance, A. and c D E-) are both equal to a third thing (B.) they are in the same sense equal to each other. Cunning is circuitous folly. In plain English, to act the knave is but a round about way of playing the fool ; and the man, who will not permit himself to call an action by its proper name without a previous calculation of all its probable consequences, may be indeed only a coxcomb, who is looking at his fingers through an opera glass ; but he runs no small risk of becoming a knave. The chances are against him. Though he should begin by calculating the consequences with regard to others, yet by the mere habit of never contemplating an action in its own proportions and immediate relations to his moral be- ing it is scarcely possible but that he must end in selfishness : for the YOU, and the they will stand on different occasions for a thousand different persons, while the I is one only, and recurs in every calculation. Or grant that the principle of expedien- cy should prompt to the same outward deeds as are commanded by the law of reason ; yet the doer himself is debased. But if it be replied, that the re-action on the agent's own mind is to form a part of the calculation, then it is a rule that destroys it- self in the very propounding, as will be more fully demonstra- ted in the second or ethical division of the Friend, when we shall have detected and exposed the equivoque between an ac- tion and the series of motions by which the determinations of the Will are to be realized in the world of the senses. What modification of the latter corresponds to the former, and is en- titled to be called by the same name, will often depend on time, place, persons, and circumstances, the consideration of which requires an exertion of the judgement ; but the action itself re- mains the same, and like all other ideas pre-exists in the rea- son,* or (in the more expressive and perhaps more precise and 'See the Statesman's Manual, p. 2.3. 128 philosophical language of St. Paul) in the spirit, unalterable because unconditional, or with no other than that most awful condition, as sure as God liveth, it is so ! These remarks are inserted in this place, because the prin- ciple admits of easiest illustration in the instance of veracity and the actions connected with the same, and may then be in- telligibly applied to other departments of morality, all of which Wollaston indeed considers as only so many different forms of truth and falsehood. So far the Friend has treated of oral communication of the truth. The applicability of the same principle is then tried and affirmed in publications by the Press, first as between the individual and his own conscience and then between the publisher and the state : and under this head the Friend has considered at large the questions of a free Press and the law of libel, the anomalies and peculiar difficulties of the latter, and the only possible solution com- patible with the continuance of the former : a solution rising out of and justified by the necessarily anomalous and unique nature of the law itself. He confesses, that he looks back on this discussion concerning the Press and its limits with a satis- faction unusual to him in the review of his own labours : and if the date of their first publication (September, 1809) be re- membered, it will not perhaps be denied on an impartial com- parison, that he has treated this most important subject (so es- pecially interesting in the present times) more fully and more systematically than it had hitherto been. Interim tum recti conscientia, tum illo me consolor, quod octimis quibusque certe non improbamur, fortassis omnibus placituri, simul atque livor ab obitu conquieverit. Lastly, the subject is concluded even as it commenced, and as beseemed a disquisition placed as the steps and vestibule of the whole work, with an enforcement of tlie absolute necessi- ty of principles grounded in reason as the basis or rather as the living root of all genuine expedience. Where these are de- spised or at best regarded as aliens from the actual business of life, and consigned to the ideal world of speculative philosophy and Utopian politics, instead of state-wisdom we shall have state-craft, and for the talent of the governor the cleverness of an embarrassed spendthrift — which consists in tricks to shift off difficulties and dangers when they are close upon us, and to keep them at arm's length, not in solid and grounded courses 129 to preclude or subdue them. We must content ourselves with expedient-makers — with fire-engines against fires, Life-boats against inundations : but no houses built fire-proof, no dams that rise above the water-mark. The reader will have observ- ed that already has the term, reason, been frequently contra- distinguished from the understanding, and the judgement. If the Friend could succeed in fully explaining the sense in which the word Reason, is employed by him, and in satisfying the reader's mind concerning the grounds and importance of the distinction, he would feel little or no apprehension concerning the intelligibility of these Essays from first to last. The fol- lowing section is in part founded on this distinction : the which remaining obscure, all else will be so as a system, however clear the component paragraphs may be, taken separately. In "y the appendix to his first Lay Sermon, the Author has indeed "^ treated the question at considerable length, but chiefly in rela- tion to the heights of Theology and Metaphysics. In the next number he attempts to explain himself more popularly, and trusts that with no great expenditure of attention the reader will satisfy his mind, that our remote ancestors spoke as men acquainted with the constituent parts of their ow^n moral and intellectual being, when they described one man as being out his senses, another as out of his ivits, or deranged in his un~ derstanding, and a third as having lost his reason. Observe, the understanding may be deranged, weakened, or perverted ; but the reason is either lost or not lost, that is, wholly present or wholly absent. 17 ESSAY V. Man may rather be defined a religious than a rational character, in regard that in other creatures there majf be something of Reason, but there ia nothing of Religion. Harrington. If the Reader will substitute the word " Understanding" for " Reason," and the word " Reason" for " Religion," Harring- ton has here completely expressed the Truth for which the Friend is contending. But that this was Harrington's meaning is evident. Otherwise instead of comparing two faculties with each other, he would contrast a faculty with one of its own ob- jects, which would involve the same absurdity as if he had said, that man might rather be defined an astronomical than a seeing animal, because other animals possessed the sense of Sight, but were incapable of beholding the satellites of Saturn, or the nebulae of fixed stars. If further confirmation be necessary, it may be supplied by the following reflections, the leading thought of which I remember to have read in the works of a continen- tal Philosopher. It should seem easy to give the definite dis- tinction of the Reason from the Understanding, because we constantly imply it when we speak of the difference between ourselves and the brute creation. No one, except as a figure of speech, eA'er speaks of an animal reason;* but that many *I have this moment looked over a Translation of Bhnvicnbach's Physiolo- gy by Dr. Elliotson, which forms a glaring exception, p. 45. I do not know Dr. Elliotson, but I do know Professor Bhuncnbach, and was an assiduous attendant on the Lectures, of whicli this classical work was tlie text-book: and I know that that good and great man woukl start back with surprize and indignation at the gross materialism morticed on to his work : the moro so because during the whole period, in which the identification of Man with tho 131 animals possess a share of Understanding, perfectly distinguisha- ble from mere Instinct, we all allow. Few persons have a fa- vorite dog without making instances of its intelligence an oc- casional topic of conversation. They call for our admiration of the individual animal, and not with exclusive reference to the Wisdom in Nature, as in the case of the storge or maternal in- stinct of beasts ; or of the hexangular cells of the bees, and the wonderful coincidence of this form with the geometrical demon- stration of the largest possible number of rooms in a given space. Likewise, we distinguish various degrees of Understanding there, and even discover from inductions supplied by the Zoo- logists, that the Understanding appears (as a general rule) in an inverse proportion to the Instinct. We hear little or noth- ing of the instincts of "the half-reasoning elephant," and as little of the Understanding of Caterpillars and Butterflies. (N. B. Though KEASONiNG does not in our language, in the lax use of words natural in conversation or popular writings, imply scientific conclusion, yet the phrase "half-reasoning" is evidently used by Pope as a poetic hyperbole.) But Reason is wholly denied, equally to the highest as to the lowest of the brutes ; otherwise it must be wholly attributed to them, and with it therefore Self -consciousness, and personality^ or Moral Being. I should have no objection to define Reason with Jacobi, and with his friend Hemsterhuis, as an organ bearing the same re- lation to spiritual objects, the Universal, the Eternal, and the Necessary, as the eye bears to material and contingent phseno- mena. But then it must be added, that it is an organ identical with its appropriate objects. Thus, God, the Soul, eternal Truth, &c. are the objects of Reason; but they are themselves reason. We name God the Supreme Reason; and Milton says, "Whence the Soul i?e«son receives, and Reason is her Being." Brute in kind wsLSihe. fashion of Naturalists, Bluiucnbach remained ari/e?i< and instant in controverting the opinion, and exposing its fallacy and falsehood, both as a man of sense and as a Naturalist. I may truly say, that it was up- permost in his htiart and foremost in his speech. Therefore, and from no hos- tile feeling to Dr. Elliotson (wiiom I hear spoken of with great regard and respect, and to whom I myself give credit for his manly openness in the avowal of his opinions) I have felt the present aniniadversion a duty of justice asj well as gratitude. S. T. C. 8 April, 1817. 132 Whatever is conscious /S'eZ/'-knowledge is Reason ; and in this sense it may be safely defined the organ of the Supersensuous ; even as the Understanding wherever it does not possess or use the Reason, as another and inward eye, may be defined the conception of the Sensuous, or tlie faculty by which we gener- alize and arrange the phrenomena of perception : that faculty, the functions of which contain the rules and constitute the pos- sibility of outward Experience. In short, the Understanding supposes something that is understood. This may be merely its own acts or forms, that is, formal Logic; but real objects, the materials of substantial knowledge, must be furnished, we might safely say revealed^ to it by Organs of Sense. The un- derstanding of the higher Brutes has only organs of outward sense, and consequently material objects only ; but man's un- derstanding has likewise an organ of inward sense, and there- fore the power of acquainting itself with invisible realities or spiritual objects. This organ is his Reason. Again, the Un- derstanding and Experience may exist* without Reason. But Reason cannot exist without Understanding ; nor does it or can it manifest itself but in and through the understanding, which in our elder writers is often called discourse, or the discursive faculty, as by Hooker, Lord Bacon, and Hobbes : and an un- derstanding enlightened by reason Shakspeare gives as the con- tra-distinguishing character of man, under the name discourse of reason. In short, the human understanding possesses two distinct organs, the outward sense, and " the mind's eye" which is reason: wherever we use that phrase (the mind's eye) in its proper sense, and not as a mere synonyme of the memory or the fancy. In this way we reconcile the promise of Revelation, that the blessed will see God, with the decla- ration of St. John, God hath no one seen at any time. We will add one other illustration to prevent any misconcep- * Of this no one would feel inclined to doubt, who had seen the poodle dog whom the celebrated BLUMErs'BACH,/a name so dear to science, as a pliytJiolo- gist and Comparative Aiiatoinist, and not less dear as a man, to all Ihiglish- nien who have ever resi<ic(l at Gottingen in the coiu'se of their education, trained u]), not only to hach the eggs of the hen with all the mother's care and patience, but to attend the chicken atlerwards, and find the food for them. I have myself known a Newfcjundland dog, who watched and guarded a family of young children with ail the intelligence of a nurse, during tlieir walks. 133 tion, as it" we were dividing the human soul into different es- sences, or ideal persons. In this piece of steel I acknowledge the properties of hardness, brittleness, high polish, and the capability of forming a mirror. 1 find all these likewise in the plate glass of a friend's carriage ; but in addition to all these, I find the quality of transparency, or the power of transmitting as well as of reflecting the rays of light. The application is obvious. If the reader therefore will take the trouble of bearing in mind these and the following explanations, he will have re- moved before hand every possible difficulty from the Friend's political section. For there is another use of the word, Rea- son, arising out of the former indeed, but less definite, and more exposed to misconception. In this latter use it means the understanding considered as using the Reason, so far as by the organ of Reason only we possess the ideas of the Necessa- ry and the Universal ; and this is the more common use of the word, when it is applied with any attempt at clear and distinct conceptions. In this narrower and derivative sense the best de- finition of Reason, which, I can give, will be found in the third member of the following sentence, in which the under- standing is described in its three-fold operation, and from each receives an appropriate name. The sense, (vis sensitiva vel intuitiva) perceives: Vis regulatrix (the understanding, in its own peculiar operation) conceives: Vis rationalis (the Reason or rationalized understanding) comprehends. The first is im- pressed through the organs of sense, the second combines these multifarious impressions into individual Notions^ and by reducing these notions to Rules, according to the analogy of all its former notices, constitutes Experience : the third subordi- nates both these notions and the rules of Experience to abso- lute Principles or necessary Laws : and thus concerning ob- jects, which our experience has proved to have real existence, it demonstrates moreover, in what v/ay they are possible^ and in doing this constitutes Science. Reason therefore, in this secondary sense, and used, not as a spiritual Organ but as a Faculty (namely, the Understanding or Soul enlightened by that organ) — Reason, I say, or the scientific Faculty, is the In- tellection of the possibility or essential properties of things by means of the Laws that constitute them, 'i'hus the rational 134 idea of a Circle is that of a figure constituted by the circum- volution of a straight line with its one end fixed. Every man must feel, that though he may not be exerting different faculties, he is exerting his faculties in a different way, when in one instance he begins with some one self-evi- dent truth, (that the radii of a circle, for instance, are all equal,) and in consequence of this being true sees at once, without any actual experience, that some other thing must be true like- wise, and that, this being true, some third thing must be equal- ly true, and so on till he comes, we will say, to the properties of the lever, considered as the spoke of a circle ; which is capa- ble of having all its marvellous powers demonstrated even to a savage who had never seen a lever, and without supposing any other previous knowledge in his mind, but this one, that there is a conceivable figure, all possible lines from the middle to the circumference of which are of the same length : or when, in the second instance, he brings together the facts of experience, each of which has its own separate value, neither encreased nor diminished by the truth of any other fact which may have preceded it ; and making these several facts bear upon some particular project, and finding some in favor of it^ and some against the project, according as one or the other class of facts preponderate: as, for instance, whether it would be better to plant a particular spot of ground with larch, or with Scotch fir, or with oak in preference to either. Surely every man will acknowledge, that his mind was very differently em- ployed in the first case from what it was in the second, and all men have agreed to call the results of the first class the truths of science, such as not only are true, but which it is impossible to conceive otherwise : while the results of the second class are called facts, or things of experience : and as to these latter we must often content ourselves with the greater probability, that they are so, or so, rather than otherwise — nay, even when we have no doubt that they are so in the particular case, we never presume to assert that they must continue so always, and under all circumstances. On the contrary, our conclusions de- pe7id altogether on conting-ent circumstances. Now when the mind is employed, as in the case first-mentioned, I call it Rea- isoning, or the use of the pure Reason ; but, in the second (Ease, the Understanding or Prudence. IhiS i^ason applied to the motives of our conduct, aiid coiu- - «• 135 billed with the sense of our moral responsibility, is the condi- tional cause of Conscience^ which is a spiritual sense or testi- fying state of the coincidence or discordance of the free will with the REASON. But as the Reasoning consists wholly in a man's power of seeing, whether any two ideas, which happen to be in his mind, are, or are not in contradiction with each other, it follows of necessity, not only that all men have reason, but that every man has it in the same degree. For Reasoning (or Reason, in this its secondary sense) does not consist in the Ideas, or in their clearness, but simply, when they are in the mind, in seeing whether they contradict each other or no. And again, as in the determinations of Conscience the only knowledge required is that of my own intention — whether in doing such a thing, instead of leaving it undone, I did what I should think right if any other person had done it ; it follows that in the mere question of guilt or innocence, all men have not only Reason equally, but likewise all the materials on which the reason, considered as Conscience, is to work. But when we pass out of ourselves, and speak, not exclusively of the agent as meaning well or ill, but of the action in its con- sequences, then of course experience is required, judgement in making use of it, and ail those other qualities of the mind which are so differently dispensed to different persons, both by nature and education. And though the reason itself is the same in all men, yet the means of exercising it, and the materials (i. e. the facts and ideas) on which it is exercised, being pos- sessed in very different degrees by different persons, the practical Result is, of course, equally different — and the whole ground work of Rousseau's Philosophy ends in a mere No- thingism. — Even in that branch of knowledge, on which the ideas, on the congruity of which with each other, the Reason is to decide, are all possessed alike by all men, namely, in Ge- ometry, (for all men in their senses possess all the component images, viz. simple curves and straight lines) yet the power of attention required for the perception of linked Truths, even i oi such Truths, is so very different in A and in B, that Sir Isaac Newton professed that it was in this power only that he was superior to ordinary men. In short, the sophism is as gross as if I should say — The Souls of all men liave the faculty of sight in an equal degree — forgetting to add, that this faculty cannot be exercised without eyes, and that some men are blind 136 and others short-sighted, &c. — and should then take advantage of this my omission to conclude against the use or necessity of spectacles, microscopes, &;c. — or of choosing the sharpest sight- ed men for our guides. Having exposed this gross sophism, I must warn against an opposite error — namely, that if Reason, distinguished from Prudence, consists merely m knowing that Black cannot be White — or when a man has a clear conception of an inclosed figure, and another equally clear conception of a straight line, his Reason teaches him that these two conceptions are incom- patible in the same object, i. e. that two straight lines cannot include a space the said Reason must be a very insignifi- cant faculty. But a moment's steady self-reflection will shew us, that in the simple determination " Black is not White" — or " that two straight lines cannot include a space" — all the pow- ers are implied, that distinguish Man from Animals — first, the power oi reflection — 2d. of comparison — 3d. and therefore of suspension of the mind — 4th. therefore of a controlling will, and the power of acting from notions, instead of mere images exciting appetites ; from motives, and not from mere dark m- stincts. Was it an insignificant thing to weigh the Planets, to determine all their courses, and prophecy every possible rela- tion of the Heavens a thousand years hence ? Yet all this mighty chain of science is nothing but a linking together of truths of the same kind, as, the ivhole is greater than its part : — or, if A and B = C, then A = B — or 3 -*- 4 = 7, therefore 7 -*- 5 = 12, and so forth. X is to be found either in A or B, or C or D : It is not found in A, B, or C, therefore it is to be found in D. — What can be simpler? Apply this to an animal — a Dog misses his master where four roads meet — he has come up one, smells to two of the others, and then with his head aloi't darts forward to the third road without any examination. If this was done by a conclusion, the Dog would have Reason — how comes it then, that he never shews it in his ordinary habits ? Why does this story excite either wonder or increduli- ty .^ — If the story be a fact, and not a fiction, I should say — the Breeze brought his Master's scent down the fourth Road to the Dog's nose, and that therefore he did not put it down to the Road, as in the two former instances. So aweful and almost miraculous does the simple act of concluding, that take 2> from 4, there remains one, appear to us when attributed to the most sagacious of all animals. THE FRIEND. SECTION THE FIRST. ON THE PRINCIPLES O F POLITICAL KNOWLEDGE. 18 Hoc potissimum pacto felicem ac magnum regem se fore judicans : non si quam plurimis sed si quam oplimis imperet. Proinde parum esse putat justis prsesidiis regnum suum muniisse, nisi idem viris eriiditione juxta ac vitse integ- ritate prJKcellentibus ditet atque honestet. Nimirum intelligit , haec demum esse vera regni decora, has veras opes. Erasmus : epist. ad Episc, Paris. ESSAY I. Dum PoLiTici scppiuscvle hominibus magis iiisidiaiitur quant consulunt, potius callidiquam sapientcs ; Theoretici e contrano se rem divinam facere et sapi- entim culmen attingcre credunt, qiwmdo humanam naturam, qua nvllihi est, mvltis modis laudare, et earn, qua re vera est, didis lacessere nonmt. Unde factum est, ut nunquatn Politicain concepennt qua. possit ad uswn revocari ; sed qua in Utopia vel in illo poetarum aureo saculo, ubi scilicet minime necesse erat, institui potuisset. At mild plane persuadeo, Experientiam omnia civita- tum genera, qua concipi possunt id homines concorditer vivant, et siinul me- dia, quibus midtitudo dirigi, seu quibus intra cetios limites contineri debeat, ostendisse : ita ut non credam, nos posse aliquid, quod ab experientia sive, praxi non abhorreat, cogitatione de hoc re assequi, quod nondum expertum com- pertumque sit. Cum igitur animum ad Pcliticam applicuerim, nihil quod novum vel inauditum est ; sed tantw7i ea qua cum praxi optime conveniunt, certa et indubitata ra- tixme demonstrare aid ex ipsa humana naiura conditione deducere, intendi. Et ut ea quae ad hanc scientiam spectant, eadem animi libertate, qua res mathcma- ticas solemus, inquirerem, sedulo ciiravi humanas actiones non ridere, non lugere, neque detestari ; sed intelligere. JVec ad imperii securitatem refert quo animo homines inducantur ad res recte administrandum, modo res recte ad- ministrentur. Animi eniin libertas, seu fortitudo, privata virtus est; at impe- rii virtus securitas. Spinoza, op. Post. p. 267. Translation. — While the mere practical Statesman too often rather plots against mankind, than consults their interest, crafty not wise; the mere The- orists, on the oTIicr hand, imagine that they are employed in a glorious work, and believe themselves at the very summit of earthly Wisdom, when they are able, in set and varied language, to extol that Hunian Nature, which exists no where (except indeed hi their own fancy) and to accuse and vilify our nature as it really is. Hence it has happened, that these men have never conceived a practicable scheme of civil policy, but, at best, such forms of Government onl}', as might have been instituted in Utopia, or during the gol- den age of the poets : that is to say, forms of government excellently ada[)tcd for those who need no government at all. But I am fully persuaded, that ex- perience has already brought to light all conceivable sorts of political Institu- tions under which human society can be maintained in concord, and like- wise the chief means of directing the multitude, or retaining them within given boundaries: so that I can hardly believe, that on this subject the deep- est research would arrive at any result, not abhorrent tiom expei'ience and f)ractice, which has not been already tried and jiroved. 140 When, therefore, I applied my thoughts to the study of Political Econo- my, I ])roposed to myself nothing original or strange as the fruits of my re- flections ; but simply to demonstrate from plain and undoubted principles, or to deduce from the very condition and necessities of human nature, those plans and maxims which square the best with piactice. And that in all things which relate to this province, I might conduct my investigations with the same freedom of intellect with which we jiroceed in questions of pure science, I sedulously disciplined my mind neither to laugh at, or bewail, or detest, the actions of men ; but to understand them. For to the safety of the state it is not of necessaiy importance, what motives induce men to adminis- ter public affairs rightly, provided only that public affairs be rightly adminis- tered. For moral strength, or freedom from the selfish passions, is the virtue of individuals; but security is the virtue of a state. ON THE PRINCIPLES OF POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY. All the different philosophical systems of political justice, all the Theories on the rightful Origin of Government, are re- ducible in the end to three classes, correspondent to the three different points of view, in which the Human Being itself may be contemplated. The first denies all truth and distinct mean- ing to the words, Right and Duty, and affirming that the hu- man mind consists of nothing, but manifold modifications of passive sensation, considers men as the highest sort of ani- mals indeed, but at the same time the most wretched ; inas- much as their defenceless nature^ forces them into society, while such is the multiplicity of wants engendered by the social state, that the wishes of one are sure to be in contra- diction with those of some otlicr. The assertors of this sys- tem consequently ascribe the origin and contii^ance of Gov- ernment to fear, or the power of the stronger, aided by the force of custom. This is the systein of Hobbes. Its state- ment is its confutation. It is, indeed, in the literal sense of the word preposterous : for fear pre-supposes conquest, and conquest a previous union and agreement between the con- querors. A vast Empire ma?/ perhaps be governed by fear; at least the idea is not absolutely inconceivable, under circum- stances which prevent the consciousness of a common strength. A million of men united by mutual confidence and free inter- course of thoughts form one power, and this is as much a real thing as a steam engine ; but a million of insulated individuals is only an abstraction of the mind, and but one told so many 141 times over without addition, as an ideot would tell the clock at noon — one, one, one, &c. But when, in the tirst instances, the descendants of one family joined together to attack those of another family, it is impossible that their chief or leader should have appeared to them stronger than all the rest together : thej must therefore have chosen him, and this as for particular purposes, so doubtless under particular conditions, expressed or understood. Such we know to be the case with the North American tribes at present ; such we are informed by History, was the case with our own remote ancestors. Therefore, even on the system of those who, in comtempt of the oldest and most authentic records, consider the savages as the first and natural state of man, government must have originated in j choice and an agreement. The apparent exceptions in Africa and Asia are, if possible, still more subversive of this system : for they will be found to have originated in religious imposture, and the first chiefs to have secured a willing and enthusiastic obedience to themselves, as Delegates of the Deity. But the whole Theory is baseless. We are told by History, we learn from our experience, we know from our own hearts, that fear, of itself, is utterlj^ incapable of producing any regu- lar, continuous and calculable effect, even on an individual ; and that the fear, which does act systematically upon the mind always presupposes a sense of duty, as its cause. The most cowardly of the European nations, the Neapolitans and Sicili- ans, those among whom the fear of death exercises the most tyrannous influence relatively to their own persons, are the ve- ry men who least fear to take away the life of a fellow citizen by poison or assassination ; while in Great Britain, a tyrant who has abused the power, which a vast property has given him, to oppress a whole neighborhood, can walk in safety un- armed, and unattended, amid a hundred men, each of whom feels his heart burn with rage and indignation at the sight of him. " It was this Man who broke my Father's heart" — or " it is through Him that my Children are clad in rags, and cry for the Food which I am no longer able to provide for them." And yet they dare not touch a hair of his head ! Whence does this arise ? Is it from a cowardice of sensihility that makes the injured man shudder at (he thought of shedding blood ? Or from a cowardice of selfishness which makes him afraid of hazarding his own life ! Neither the one or the 142 other ! The Field of Waterloo, as the most recent of an hun- dred equal proofs, has borne witness, That " bring a Briton fra his hill, ***** Say, such is Royal George's will, And there's the foe, He has nae thought but how to kill Twa at a blow. Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him ; Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees him , Wi' bloody hand, a welcome gies him ; And when he fa's His latest draught o' breathin leaves him In faint huzzas." Whence then arises the difference of feeling in the formei case ? To what does the oppressor owe his safety ? To the spirit-quelling thought the laws of God and of my country have made his life sacred ! I dare not touch a hair of his head ! — " Tis Conscience that makes Cowards of us all," — but ! oh ! it is Conscience too which makes Heroes of us all. ESSAY II. ht plus fort ri'est jamais assezfort pour Hre toujours le Tuaitre, s^U ne transforme sa force en droit et Vobeissance en devoir. Rousseau. Wr'ihus parantur provincia, ]nre retinentur. Igitur breve iff gaudium, qidppe Gemiani victi magis, quam domiti. Flor. iv 12. Translation. — The strongest is never strong enough to be alivm/s the mas- ter, unless he transform his Power into Right and Obedience into Duty. Rousseau. Provinces are taken by force, but they are kept by right. This exultation therefore was of brief continuance, inasmuch as the Germans had been overcome, but not subdued. Florus. A TRULT great man, (the best and greatest public character that I had ever the opportunity of making myself acquainted with) on assuming the command of a man of war, found a mu- tinous crew, more than one half of them uneducated Irishmen, and of the remainder no small portion had become sailors by compromise of punishment. What terror could effect by se- verity and frequency of acts of discipline, had been already effected. And what was this effect ? Something like that of a polar winter on a flask of brandy. The furious spirit concen- tered itself with tenfold strength at the heart ; open violence was changed into secret plots and conspiracies ; and the con- sequent orderliness of the crew, as far as they were orderly, was but the brooding of a tempest. The new commander in- stantly commenced a system of discipline as near as possible to that of ordinary law — as much as possible, he avoided, in his own person, the appearance of any will or arbitrary power to vary, or to remit, punishment. The rules to be observed were afiixed (o a conspicuous part of the ship, with the particu- lar penalties for the breach of each particular rule ; and care was taken that every individual of the ship should know and 144 understand this code. With a single exception in the case of mutinous behavior, a space of twenty-four hours was appointed between the first charge and the second hearing of the cause, at which time the accused person was permitted and required to bring forward whatever he thought conducive to his defence or palliation. If, as was commonly the case (for the officers well knew that the commander would seriously resent in them all caprice of will, and by no means permit to others what he denied to himself) if no answer could be returned to the three questions — Did you not commit the act ? Did you not know that it was in contempt of such a rule, and in defi- ance of such a punishment.^ And was it not wholly in your own power to have obeyed the one and avoided the other.' — the sentence was then passed with the greatest solemnity, and another, but shorter, space of time was again interposed be- tween it and its actual execution. During this space the feel- ings of the commander, as a man, were so well blended with his inflexibility, as the organ of the law ; and how much he suffered previous to and during the execution of the sentence was so well known to the crew, that it became a common say- ing with them, when a sailor was about to be punished, " The captain takes it more to heart than the fellow himself." But whenever the commander perceived any trait of pride in the off'ender, or the germs of any noble feeling, he lost no oppor- tunity of saying, " It is not the pain that you are about to suf- fer which grieves me ! You are none of you, I trust, such cowards as to turn faint-hearted at the thought of that ! but that, being a man and one who is to fight for his king and coun- try, you should have made it necessary to treat you as a vi- cious beast, it is this that grieves me." I have been assured, both by a gentleman who was a lieu- tenant on board that ship at the time when the heroism of its captain, aided by his characteristic calmness and foresight, greatly influenced the decision of the most glorious battle re- corded in the annals of our naval glory ; and very recently by a grey-headed sailor, who did not even know my name, or could have suspected that I was previously acquainted with the circumstances — I have been assured, I say, that the success of this plan was such as astonished the oldest officers, and convin-^ ced the most incredulous. Ruffians, who like the old Buccan- eers, had been used to inflict torture on themselves for sport, or 145 in order to harden themselves beforehand, were tamed and overpowered, how or why they themselves knew not. From the fiercest spirits were heard the most eaniest entreaties for the forgiveness of their commander : not before the punish- ment, for it was too well known that then they would have been to no purpose, but days after it, when the bodily pain was remembered but as a dream. An invisible power it was, that quelled them, a power, which was therefore irresistible, be- cause it took aw^ay the very will of resisting. It was the awe- ful power of Law, acting on natures pre-configured to its influ- ences. A faculty was appealed to in the Offender's own being; a Faculty and a Presence, of which he had not been previously made aware — but it answered to the appeal ! its real existence therefore could not be doubted, or its reply rendered inaudible! and the very struggle of the wilder passions, to keep upper- most counteracted its own purpose, by wasting in internal con- test that energy, which before had acted in its entirenes on external resistance or provocation. Strength may be met with strength ; the power of inflicting pain may be baffled by the pride of endurance ; the eye of rage may be answered by the stare of defiance, or the downcast look of dark and revengeful resolve;, and with all this there is an outward and determined object to which the mind can attach its passions and purposes, and bury its own disquietudes in the full occupation of the senses. But who dares struggle with an invisible combatant ? with an enemy which exists and makes us know its existence but where it is, we ask in vain. — No space contains it — time promises no control over it — it has no ear for my threats — it has no substance, that my hands can grasp, or my weapons find vulnerable — it commands and cannot be commanded — it acts and is insusceptible of my reaction — the more I strive to sub- due it, the more am I compelled to think of it — and the more I think of it, the more do I find it to possess a reality out of myself, and not to be a phantom of my own imagination ; that all, but the most abandoned men, acknowledge its authority, and that the whole strength and majesty of my country are pledged to support it ; and yet that for me its power is the same with that of my own permanent Self, and that all the choice, which is permitted to me, consists in having it for my Guardian Angel or my avenging Fiend ! This is the Spirit of Law ! the Lute of Amphion, the Harp of Orpheus ! This is the true necessity, which compels man into the social state, 19 146 now and always, by a still-beginning, nerer-ceasing force of moral cohesion. Thus is man to be governed, and thus only can he be gov- erned. For from his creation the objects of his senses were to become his subjects, and the task allotted to him was to sub- due the visible world within the sphere of action circumscribed by those senses, as far as they could act in concert. What the eye beholds the hand strives to reach ; what it reaches, it conquers and makes the instrument of further conquest. We can be subdued by that alone which is analogous in kind to that by which we subdue: therefore by the invisible powers of our nature, whose immediate presence is disclosed to our inner sense, and only as the symbols and language of which all shapes and modifications of matter become formidable to us. A machine continues to move by the force which first set it in motion. If only the smallest number in any state, pro- perly so called, hold together through the influence of any fear that does not itself presuppose the sense of duty, it is evident that the state itself could not have commenced through animal fear. We hear, indeed, of conquests ; but how does History represent these ? Almost without exception as the substitu- tion of one set of governors for another : and so far is the con- queror from relying on fear alone to secure the obedience of the conquered, that his first step is to demand an oath of feal- ty from them, by which he would impose upon them the be- lief, that they become subjects : for Avho would think of ad- ministering an oath to a gang of slaves? But what can make the difference between slave and subject, if ^lot the existence of an implied contract in the one case, and not in the other.-* And to what purpose would a contract serve if, however it might be entered into through fear, it were deemed binding only in consequence of fear .'' To repeat my former illustra- tion — where fear alone is relied on, as in a slave ship, the chains that bind the poor victims must be material chains : for these only can act upon feelings which have their source wholly in the material organization. Hobbes has said that Laws with- out the sv/ord are but bits of parchment. Plow far this is true, every honest man's heart will best tell him, if he will content himself with asking his own heart, and not falsify the answer by his notions concerning the hearts of other men. But were it true, still the fair answer would be — Well ! but without the Laws the sword is but a piece of iron. The wretched tyrant, 147 who disgraces the present age and human nature itself, had exhausted the whole magazine of animal terror, in order to consolidate his truly satanic Government. But look at the new French catechism, and in it read the misgivings of the mon- ster's mind, as to the insufiiciency of terror alone ! The sys- tem, which I have been confuting, is indeed so inconsistent with the facts revealed to us by our own mind, and so utterly unsupported by any facts of History, that I should be censura- ble in wasting my own time and my Reader's patience by the exposure of its falsehood, but that the arguments adduced have a value of themselves independent of their present application. Else it would have been an ample and satisfactory reply to an assertor of this bestial Theory — Government is a thing which relates to men, and what you say applies only to beasts. Before I proceed to the second of the three Systems, let me remove a possible misunderstanding that may have arisen from the use of the word Contract : as if I had asserted, that the whole duty of obedience to Governors is derived from, and dependent on, the fact of an original Contract. I freely ad- mit, that to make this the cause and origin of political obliga- tion, is not only a dangerous but an absurd Theory ; for what could give moral force to the Contract ? The same sense of Duty which binds us to keep it, must have pre-existed as im- pelling us to make it. For what man in his senses would re- gard the faithful observation of a contract entered into to plun- der a neighbor's house but as a treble crime ? First the act, which is a crime of itself: — secondlv, the enterina; into a Con- tract which it is a crime to observe, and yet a weakening of one of the main pillars of human confidence not to observe, and thus voluntarily placing ourselves under the necessity of choosing between two evils ; — and thirdly, the crime of chusing the greater of the two evils, by the unlawful observance of an un- lawful promise. But in my sense, the word Contract is mere- ly synonimous with the sense of duty acting in a specific direc- tion, i. e. determining our moral relations, as members of a body politic. If I have referred to a supposed origin of Gov- ernment, it has been in courtesy to a common notion : for I myself regard the supposition as no more than a means of sim- plifying to our apprehension the ever-continuing causes of social union, even as the conservation of the world may be represented as an act of continued Creation. For, what if an original Contract had really been entered into, and formally recorded ? 148 Still it could do no more than bind the contracting parties to act for the general good in the best manner, that the existing relations among themselves, (state of property, religion, &c.) on the one hand, and the external circumstances on the other (ambitious or barbarous neighbors, &c.) required or permit- ted. In after times it could be appealed to only for the gen- eral principle, and no more than the ideal Contract, could it affect a question of ways and means. As each particular age brings with it its own exigencies, so must it rely on its own prudence for the specific measures by which they are to be encountered. Nevertheless, it assuredly cannot be denied, that an original (in reality, rather an ever-originating) Contract is a very natu- ral and significant mode of expressing the reciprocal duties of subject and sovereign. We need only consider the utility of a real and formal State Contract, the Bill of Rights for in- stance, as a sort of est demonstraium in politics ; and the con- tempt lavished on this notion, though sufficiently compatible with the tenets of a Hume, will seem strange to us in the wri- tings of a Protestant clergyman, who surely owed some respect to a mode of thinking which God himself had authorized by his own example, in the establishment of the Jewish constitu- tion. In this instance there was no necessity for deducing the will of God from the tendency of the Laws to the general hap- piness : his will was expressly declared. Nevertheless, it seemed good to the divine wisdom, that there should be a co- venant, an original contract, between himself as sovereign, and the Hebrew nation as subjects. This, I admit, was a wriHen and formal Contract ; but the relations of mankind, as mem- bers of a body spiritual, or religious commonwealth, to the Saviour, as its head or regent — is not this too styled a covenant, though it would be absurd to ask for the material instrument that contained it, or the time when it was signed or voted by the members of the church collectively.* * It is ])crl)aps to be regretted, that the words, Old and New Testament, they having lost llie sense intended by the translators of the Bible, have not been changed into the Old and New Covenant. We cannot too carehUly keep in sight a notion, which appeared to the primitive church the fittest and mopt scrij)tiiral uio<lo of representing the f>nm of the contents of the sacred wri- tingp. 149 With this explanation, the assertion of an original (still bet- ter, of a perpetual) Contract is rescued from all rational ob- jection ; and however speciously it may be urged, that History can scarcely produce a single example of a state dating its pri- mary establishment from a free and mutual covenant, the answer is ready : if there be any difference between a Government and a band of robbers, an act of consent must be supposed on the part of the people governed. ESSAY Human institutions cannot be whollj^ constructed on principles of Science, which is proper to immutable olyccts. In the government of the visible world the supreme Wisdom itself submits to be the Author of the J3etter: not of the Best, but of tlie Best possible in the subsisting Relations. Much more must all human Legislators give way to many Evils rather than en- courage the Discontent that would lead to worse Remedies. If it is not in the power of man to construct even the arch of a Bri«'!ge that shall exact- ly correspond in its strength to the cal ulations of Geometry, how much less can human Science construct a Constitution excef)t by rendering it- self flexible to Experience and Exj)ediency : where so many things must fall out SccidentaHy. and come not into any com])liance with the precon- ceived ends; but men are forced to comply subsequently, and to strike in with thnigs as they fall out, by after applications of them to their puri)osea, or by framing their purposes to them. South. Thk second system corresponds to the second point of view under which the human being may be considered, namely, as an animal gifted with understanding, or the faculty of suiting measures to circumstances. According to this theory, every institution of national origin needs no other justitution than a 160 proof, that under the particular circumstances it is expedient. Having in my former Numbers expressed myself (so at least I am conscious I shall have appeared to do to many persons) with comparative slight of the understanding considered as the sole guide of human conduct, and even with something like con- empt and reprobation of the maxims of expedience, when represented as the only steady light of the conscience, and the absolute foundation of all morality; 1 shall perhaps seem guilty of an inconsistency, in declaring myself an adherent of this sec- ond system, a zealous advocate for deriving the origin of all gov- ernment from human prudence^ and of deeming that to be just which experience has proved to be expedient. From this charge of inconsistency* I shall best exculpate myself by the full statement of the third systera,^and by the exposition of its grounds and consequences. The third and last S}'»tem-4hen denies all rightful origin to ^Distinct notions do not suppose difterent things. WJicn we make a three- fold distinction in Inurian nature, we are fully aware, that it is a distinction not a division, and that in every act of Mind the Man unites the properties of Sense, Understanding, and Reason. Nevertheless, it is of great practical im- portance, that these distinctions should he made and understood, the igno- rance or perversion of them being alike injurious; as the tirst French Con- stitution has most lamentably proved. It was fashion in the profligate times of Charles the Second, to laugh^at the Presbyterians, for distinguishing be- tween the Person and the King; wiiile in fact they were ridiculing the most venerable maxims of English Law ; — (the King never dies — the King can do no wrong, &c.) and subverting the principles of genuine loyalty, in ord(U' to prepare the minds of the peo])le for despotism. Under the term Semse, I comprise, whatever is passive in our being, with- out any reference to ths questions of ]\Iaterialism or Inmiaterialism ; all that man is in conuncn with animals, in Jdnd at least — his sensations,' and impress- ions, whether of his outward senses, or the inner sense of imagination. This in the language of tlie Schools, was called the vis receptiva, or recipient pro- perty of the soul, from the original constitution of which we perceive and imagine all things under the forms of sp.ace and time. Byjhe u>'derstand- iNG, 1 mean the facidty of thinking and forming judgments on the notices furnished by the sense, according to certain rules existing in itself, which rules constitute its distinct natm-e. By the pure Keasox, 1 mean the power by which we become possess(!d of piinciple, (tiie eternal verities of Plato and Descartes) and of ideas, (N. B. not images) as the ideas of a j)oint, a line, a circle, in Mathematics; .and of Justice, Holiness, Free- Will, &c. in Mo- rals. Hence in works of pure science the definitions of necessity precede the reasoning, in other works the}' more a])tlyform the conclusion. To marjy of my readers it will, I trust, be somc-reconimendation of these 151 government, except as far as they are derivable from principles contained in the reason of Man, and judges all the relations of men in Society by the Laws of moral necessity, according to IDEAS (I here use the word in its highest and primitive sense, \ and as nearly synonimous with the modern word ideal) accord- ing to archetypal ideas co-essential with the Reason, and the consciousness of which is the sign and necessary product of its full developement. The following then is the fundamental principle of this theory: Nothing is to be deemed rightful in civil society, or to be tolerated as such, but what is capable of being demonstrated out of the original laws of the pure Rea- son. Of course, as there is but one system of Geometry, so according to this theory there can be but one constitution and one system of legislation, and this consists in the freedom, which is the common right of all men, under the control of that | moral necessity, which is the common duty of all men. What- ever is not every ivhere necessary, is no where right. On this . assumption the whole theory is built. To state it nakedly is to/ confute it satisfactorily. So at least it should seem! But in how winning and specious a manner this system may be repre- sented even to minds of the loftiest order, if undisciplined and unhumuled by practical experience, has been proved by the general impassioned admiration and momentous effects of Rou- seau's Du Contrat Social^ and the writings of the French economists, or as they more appropriately entitled themselves, distinctions, that they are more than once expressed, and every where sup- posed, in the writings of St. Paul. I have no hesitation in undertaking to prove, that every Heresy which has disquieted the Christian Churcli, from Tritheism to Socinianisni, has originated in, and supported itself by, argu- ments rendered plausible only by tlie confusion of these faculties, and thus deznanding for the objects of one, a sort of evidence appropriated to those of another faculty. — These disquisitions have the misfortune of being in ill-re- I)ort, as dry and unsatisfactory ; but I hope, in the com-se of the work, to gain tlieni a better character — and if elucidations of their practical impor- tance from the most momentous events of History, can render them interesting, to give them that interest at least. Besides, there is surely some good in the knowledge of Truth, as Truth — (we were not made to live by Bread alone) and in the strengthening of the intellect. It is an exellent Remark of Sca- liger's — " Harum indagatio Subtilitafum, elsi non est idilis ad maclmias J'ari- nuAas conficiendas, exuit animuvi tamen insciticB ruiigiiie acuitque ad aha." ScALiG. Exerc. 307. §§ 3. i. e. The investigation of these subtleties, tliough it is of no use to the construction of machines to grind corn with, yet clears the mind from the rust of ignorance, and sharpens it for other thing* 152 Physiocratic Philosophers : and in how tempting and danger- ous a manner it maybe represented to the populace, has been made too evident in our own country by the temporary effects of Paine's Rights of Man. Relatively, however, to this latter work it should be observed, that it is not a legitimate offspring of any one theory, but a confusion of the immorality of the first system with the misapplied universal principles of the last : and in this union, or rather lawless alternation, consists the essence of Jacobinism, as far as Jacobinism is any thing but a term of abuse, or has any meaning of its own distinct from de- mocracy and sedition. A constitution equally suited to China and America, or to Russia and Great Brittain, must surely be equally unfit for both, and deserve as little respect in political, as a quack's panacsea in medical practice. Yet there are three weighty motives for a distinct exposition of this theory,* and of the ground on which its pretentions are bottomed: and I care aflirm, that for the same reasons there are few subjects which in the present state of the world have a fairer claim to the attention of every serious Englishman, who is likely, directly or indirectly, as partizan or as opponent, to interest himself in schemes of Re- form. The first motive is derived from the propensity of mankind to mistake the feelings of disappointment, disgust, and abhor- ance occasioned by the unhappy effects or accompaniments of a particular system for an insight into the falshood of its princi- ples which alone can secure its permanent rejection. For by a wise ordinance of nature our feelings have no abiding-place in our memory, nay the more vivid they are in the moment of their existence the more dim and difScult to be remembered do they make the thoughts which accompanied them. Those of my readers who at any tinie of their life have been in the habit of reading novels may easily convince themselves of this Truth *As"MKTAPiiysics" aro the science wliich dotennincs what can, and what cannot, be known of Being and the Laws of J5eing, a priori (that is from those necessities of the mind or forms of tiiiiiking, wliich, though first re- vealed to us by experience, must yet have pre-existed in order to make ex- perience itself possi!)lc, even as the eye must exist previous to any particular act of seeing, thnugli by sight only can we know that we have eyes) — so might the philosophy of Rousseau and his followers not inaptly bo entitled METAPOLrncs, and the Doctors of this School, 3Ietapoliticians. 153 by comparing their recollections of those stories, which inosl excited their curiosity and even painfully affected their feel- ings, with their recollections of the calm and meditative pathos of Shakspeare and Milton. Hence it is that human experi- ence, like the stern lights of a ship at sea, illumines only the path which we have passed over. The horror of the Peasant's War in Germany, and the direful effects of the Anabaptist te- nets, which were only nominally different from those of Jacobin- ism by the substitution of religious for philosophical jargon, struck all Europe for a time with affright. Yet little more than a century was sufficient to obliterate all effective memory of those events: the same principles budded forth anew and pi'o- duced the same fruits from the imprisonment of Charles the First to the restoration of his Son. In the succeeding genera- tions, to the follies and vices of the European Courts, and to the oppressive privileges of the nobility, were again transfer- ed those feelings of disgust and hatred, which for a brief while the multitude had attached to the crimes and extravagances of political and religious fanaticism : and the same principles aid- ed by circumstances, and dressed out in the ostentatious garb of a. fashionable philosophy, once more rose triumphant, and ef- fected the French Revolution. That man has reflected little on human nature who does not perceive that the detestable maxims and correspondent crimes of the existing French des- potism, have already dimmed the recollections of the democrat- ic phrenzy in the minds of men ; by little and little, have drawn off to other objects the electric force of the feelings, which had massed and upheld those recollections; and that a favourable concurrence of occasions is alone wanting to awak- en the thunder and precipitate the lightning from the opposite quarter of the political Heaven.* The true origin of human events is so little susceptible of that kind of evidence which can compel our belief even against our will ; and so many are the disturbing forces which modify the motion given by the first projection ; and every age has, or imagines it has, its own circumstances which render past experience no longer applica- ble to the present case ; that there will never be wanting an- swers and explanations, and specious flatteries of hope. I *The Reailer will recollect that thes^ Essays were first published in 1809. 20 154 well remember, that when the examples of former Jacobins, Julius Caesar, Cromwell, &c. were adduced in France and En- gland at the commencement of the French Consulate, it was ridiculed as pedantry and pedants' ignorance, to fear a repeti- tion of such usurpation at the close of the enlightened eighteenth century. Those who possess the Monitew^s of that date will find set proofs, that such results were little less than impossible, and that it was an insult to so philosophical an age, and so en- lightened a nation, to dare direct the public eye towards them as lights of admonition and warning. It is a common foible with official statesmen, and with those who deem themselves honored by their acquaintance, to at- tribute great national events to the influence of particular per- sons, to the errors of one man and to the intrigues of another, to any possible spark of a particular occasion, rather than to the true cause, the predominant state of public opinion. I have known men who, with most significant nods, and the civil con- tempt of pitying half smiles, have declared the natural expla- nation of the French Revolution, to be the mere fancies of Gar- (/ retteers, and then with the solemnity of Cabinet Ministers, have proceeded to explain the whole by anecdotes. It is so stimulant to the pride of a vulgar mind, to be persuaded that it knows what few others know and that it is the impor- tant depository of a sort of state secret, by communicating which it confers an obligation on others ! But I have like- wise met with men of intelligence, who at the commence- ment of the Revolution were travelling on foot through the French provinces, and they bear witness, that in the remo- test villages every tongue was employed in echoing and en- forcing the doctrines of the Parisian Journalists, that the pub- lic highways were crowded with enthusiasts, some shouting the watch-words of the revolution, others disputing on the most abstract principles of the universal constitution, which they fully believed, that all the nations of the earth were short- ly to adopt ; the most ignorant among them confident of his fitness for the highest duties of a legislator; and all prepared to shed their blood in the defence of the inalienable sovereign- ty of the self-governed people. The more abstract the notions were, with the closer affinity did they combine with the most fervent feelings and all the immediate impulses to action. The Lord Chancellor Bacon lived in an age of court intrigues, and was familiarly acquainted with all the secrets of personal 155 influence. He, if any man, was qualified to take the guage and measurement of their comparative power, and he has told us, that there is one, and but one infallible source of political prophecy, the knowledge of the predominant opinions and the speculative principles of men in general, between the age of twenty and thirty. Sir Philip Sidney, the favorite of Queen Elizabeth, the paramount gentleman of Europe, the nephew, and (as far as a good man could be) the confidante of the in- triguing and dark-minded Earl of Leicester, was so deeply convinced that the principles diffused through the majority of a nation are the true oracles from whence statesmen are to learn wisdom, and that " when the people speak loudly it is from their being strongly possessed either by the godhead or the daemon," that in the revolution of the Netherlands he con- sidered the universal adoption of one set of principles, as a proof of the divine presence. "If her majesty," '»ays he " were the fountain, I would fear, considering what I daily find, that we should wax dry. But she is but a means which God useth." But if my Readers wish to see the question of the efficacy of principles and popular opinions for evil and for good proved and illustrated with an eloquence worthy of the subject, I can refer them with the hardiest anticipation of their thanks, to the late work " concerning the relations of Great Britain, Spain and Portugal, by my honored friend, William Wordsworth* quern quoties lego^ non verba mihi vi- deor audire^ sed tonitrua ! * I consider this reference to, and strong recommendation of the Works above mentioned, not as a vokmtary tribute of admiration, but as an act of mere justice both to myself and to the readers of The Friend. I\ly own heart bears me witness, that I am actuated by the deepest sense of the truth of the principles, whicli it has been and still more will be my endeavor to enforce, and of their paramoiuit importance to tlie well-being of Society at tlie present juncture; and that the duty of making the attempt, and the hope of not wholly falling in it, are, far more than the wish for the doubtful good of literary reputation, or any yet meaner object, my great and ruling motives. Mr. Wordsworth I deem a fellow-laborer in the same vineyard, actuated i)y the same motives and teaching the same jjrinciples, but witli far greater pow- ers of mind, and an eloquence more adequate to the importance and majesty of the cause. I am strengthened too i)y the knowledge, that I am not un- authorized by the sympathy of many wise and good men, and men acknow- ledged as such by the Public, in my admiration of his pami)hlet, — JVcque enim debet operibus ejit^ obesse, quod vivil. An si inter cos, quos nunquam vidimus. 156 That erroneous political notions (they having become general and a part of the popular creed,) have practical consequences, and these, of course, of a most fearful nature, is a truth as cer- tain as historic evidence can make it : and that when the feel- ings excited by these calamities have passed away, and the in- terest in them has been displaced by more recent events, the same errors are likely to be started afresh, pregnant with the same calamities, is an evil rooted in Human Nature in the pre- sent state of general information, for which we have hitherto found no adequate remedy. (It may, perhaps in the scheme of Providence, be proper and conducive to its ends, that no ade- quate remedy should exist : for the folly of men is the wisdom of God.) But if there be any means, if not of preventing, yet JJoruisset, vo7i solum libros ejus, verum etiam imagines conquireremiis, cjiisdem nunc honb'r prasentis, et gratia quasi satietale languescet? Jit hoc pravum, mal- ignumque est, non adniirari hominem admiratione dignissimum, quia videre^ complect! , nee laudare iantum, verum etiam amare contingit, PLi?f. E[)ist. Lib. I. It is hardly possible for a man of ingenuous mind to act under the fear that it shall be suspected by honest men of the vileness of praising a work to the public, nieroly because he happens, to be personally acquainted Avith the Author. That this is so commonly done in Reviews, furnishes only an addi- tional proof of the morbid hardness produced in the moral sense by the habit of writing anonymous criticisms, especially under the further disguise of a pretended board or association of Critics, each man expressing himself, to use the words of Andrew Marvel, as a syncdical individuum. With regard however, to the probability of the judgment being warped by partiality, I can only say that I judge of all Works indifferently by certain fixed rules previ- ously formed in my mind with all the power and vigilance of my judgment ; and that I should certainly of the two apply them with greater rigor to the production of a friend than that of a person indifllrent to me. But \a herever I find in any Work all the conditions of excellence in its kind, it is not the accider.t of the Author's being my cotemporary or even my friend, or the sneers of bad-hearted men, that shall prevent me from speaking of it, as in my inmost convictions I deem it deserves. no, friend ! Though it be now the fashion to commend. As men of strong minds, those alone who can Censure with judgment, no such piece of man Makes up my spirit : where desert does live. There will I plant my wonder, and there give My best endeavors to build up his glory, That truly merits ! Recommendatory n?rse» to one of the old Plays' 157 of palliating the disease and, in the more favored nations, of checicing its progress at the first symptoms ; and if these means are to be at all compatible with the civil and intellectual free- dom of mankind ; they are to be found only in an intelligible and tiiorough exposure of the error, and, thiough that discove- ry, of the source, from which it derives its speciousness and powers of influence on the human mind. This therefore is my first motive for undertaking tlie disquisition. The second is, that though the French code of revolutionary principles is now generally rejected as a system, yet everywhere in the speeches and writings of the English reformers, nay, not seldom in those of their opponents, I find certain maxims assert- ed or appealed to, which are not tenable, except as constituent parts of that system. INIanj^ of the most specious arguments in proof of the imperfection and injustice of the present constitu- tion of our legislature will be found, on closer examination, to pre-suppose the truih of certain principles, from which the ad- ducers of these arguments loudly profess their dissent. But in political changes no permanence can be hoped for in the ed- ifice, without consistency in the foundation. The third motive is, that by detecting the true source of the influence of these principles, we shall at the same time discover their natural place and object : and that in themselves they are not only Truths, but most important and sublime Truths ; and that their falsehood and their danger consist altogether in their misapplication. Thus the dignity of Human Nature will be secured, and at the same time a lesson of humility taught to each individual, when we are made to see that the universal, necessary Laws, and pure ideas of Reason, were given us, not for the purpose of flattering our Pride and enabling us to be- come national legislators ; but that by an energy of continued self-conquest, we might establish a free and yet absolute gov- ernment in our own spirits. ESSAY IV. Albeit therefore, much of that we are to speak in this present cause, may seem to a number perhaps tedious, j)erhaps obscure, dark and intricate, (for many talk of the Truth, which never sounded the depth from whence it springeth : and therefore, when they are led thereunto, they are soon weary, as men drawn from those beaten paths, wherewith they have been inured ;) yet this may not so far prevail, as to cut off that which the matter itself re- quireth, howsoever the nice, humour of some be therewith pleased or no. They unto whom we shall seem tedious, are in no wise injured by us, be- cause it is in their own hands to spare that labor which they are not willing to endure. And if any com})lain of obscurity, they must consider, that in these matters it cometh no otherwise to pass, than in sundry the works both of Art, and also of Natiue, where that which hath greatest force in the very things we see, is, notwithstanding, itself oftentimes not seen. The stateliness of houses, the goodliness of trees, when we behold them, delighteth the eye : but the foundation which beareth up the one, that root which ministereth unto the other nourishment and life, is in the bosom of the earth concealed, and if there be occasion at any time to search into it, such labor is then more ne- cessary than pleasant,]both to them which undertake it and for the lookers-on. In like maimer, the use and benefit of good laws, all that live under them, may enjoy with delight and comfort, albeit the grounds and first original causes from whence they have sprung, be unknown, as to the greatest part "of men they are. But when they who withdraw their obedience, pretend that ihe laws which they should obey are corrupt and vicious: for better ex- amination of their quality, it behoveth the very foimdation and root, the high- est well-spring and fountain of them to be discovered. Which because we are not oftentimes accustomed to do, when we do it, the pains we take are more needful a great deal than acceptable, and the matters which we handle, seem by reason of newness, (till ihe mind grow better acquainted with thcni) dark, intricate, and unfiimiliar. For as much help whereof, as may be in this case, I have endeavored throughout the body of this whole Discourse, that every former part might give strength to all that follow, and every latter bring some light to all before: so that if the judgments of men do but hold them- selves in suspense, as touching tlicse first more general Meditations, till in or- der they have i)erused the rest that ensue, what may seem dark at the first, will afterwards be found more plain, even as the latter particular decisions will appear, I doubt not, more strong when the other have been read before. Hooker's Ecdcsiast. PoUty. 159 ON THE GROUNDS Or GOVERNMENT AS LAID EXCLUSIVELY IN THE PURE reason; OR A STATEMENT AND CRITIQUE OF THE THIRD SYSTEM OF POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY, VIZ. THE THEO- RY OF ROUSSEAU AND THE FRENCH ECONOMISTS. I return to my promise of developing from its embryo prin- ciples the Tree of French Liberty, of which the declaration of the Rights of Man, and the Constitution of 1791 were the leaves, and the succeeding and present state of France the fruits. Let me not be blamed, i(^ in the interposed Essays, introduc- tory to this Section, I have connected this system, though on- ly in the imagination, though only as a possible case, with a name so deservedly reverenced as that of Luther. It is some excuse, that to interweave with the Reader's recollections a certain life and dramatic interest, during the perusal of the ab- stract reasonings that are to follow, is the only means I pos- sess of bribing his attention. We have most of us, at some period or other of our lives, been amused with dialogues of the dead. Who is there, that wishing to form a probable opinion on the grounds of hope and fear for an injured people warring against mighty armies, would not be pleased with a spirited fiction, which brought before him an old Numantian discours- ing on that subject in Elysium, with a newly-arrived spirit from the streets of Saragossa or the Walls of Gerona ? But I have a better reason. I wished to give every fair ad- vantage to the opinions, which I deemed it of importance to confute. It is bad policy to represent a political system as ha- ving no charms but for robbers and assassins, and no natural origin but in the brains of fools or mad-men, when experience has proved, that the great danger of the system consists in the peculiar fascination it is calculated to exert on noble and ima- ginative spirits ; on all those, who in the amiable intoxication of youthful benevolence, are apt to mistake their own best virtues and choicest powers for the average qualities and attributes of the human character. The very minds, which a good man would most wish to preserve or disentangle from the snare, are by these angry misrepresentations rather lured into it. Is it wonderful, that a man should reject the arguments unheard, when his own heart proves the falsehood of the assumptions by which they are prefaced ? or that he should retaliate on the aggressors their own evil thoughts ? I am well aware, that the IGO provocation was great, the temptation almost inevitable ; yet still I cannot repel the conviction from my mind, that in part to this error and in part to a certain inconsistency in his funda- mental principles, we are to attribute the small number of con- verts made by Burke during his life time. Let me not be misunderstood. I do not mean, that this great man supported different principles at different aeras of his political life. On the contrary, no man was ever more like himself ! From his first pub- lished speech on the American colonies to his last posthumous Tracts, we see the same man, the same doctrines, the same uniform wisdom of practical councils, the same reasoning and the same prejudices against all abstract grounds, against all de- duction of Practice from Theory. The inconsistency to which I allude, is of a different kind : it is the want of congruity in the principles appealed to in different parts of the same Work, it is an apparent versatility of the principle with the occasion. If his opponents are Theorists, then every thing is to be found- ed on Prudence, on mere calculations of Expediency: and every man is represented as acting according to the state of his own immediate self-interest. Are his opponents calculators .'* T/tCTi calculation itself is represented as a sort of crime. God has given us Feelings, and we are to obey them ! and the most absurd prejudices become venerable, to which these Feelings have given consecration. I have not forgotten, that Burke himself defended these half contradictions, on the pre- text of balancing the too much on the one side by a too much on the other. But never can 1 believe, but that the straight line must needs be the nearest ; and that where there is the most, and the most unalloyed truth, there will be the greatest and most permanent power of persuasion. But the fact was, that Burke in his public character found himself, as it were, in a Noah's Ark, with a very few men and a great many beasts ! He felt how much his immediate power was lessened by the very circumstance of his measureless superiority to those about him : he acted, therefore, under a perpetual system of com- promise — a compromise of greatness with meanness ; a com- promise of comprehension with narrowness; a compromise of the philosopher (who armed with the twofold knowledge of History and the Laws of Spirit, as with a telescope, looked far around and into the far distance) with the mere men of busi- ness, or with yet coarser intellects, who handled a truth, which 161 they were required to receive, as they would handle an ox, which they were desired to purchase. But why need I repeat what has been already said in so happy a manner by Goldsmith, of this great man : "Who, bom for the universe narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up wliat was meant for mankind. TJio' fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townsend to give him a vote; Who too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, And tliought of convincing, while they thought of dining." And if in consequence it was his fate to " cut blocks with a razor^^^ I may be permitted to add, that in respect of Truth though not of Genius, the weapon was injured by the misappli- cation. The Friend, however, acts and will continue to act under the belief, that the whole truth is the best antidote to falsehoods which are dangerous chiefly because they are half-truths : and that an erroneous system is best confuted, not by an abuse of Theory in general, nor by an absurd opposition of Theory to Practice, but by a detection of the errors in the particular The- ory. For the meanest of men has his Theory : and to think at all is to theorize. With these convictions I proceed immedi- ately to the system of the economists and to the principles on which it is constructed, and from which it must derive all its strength. The system commences with an undeniable truth, and an im- portant deduction therefrom equally undeniable. All voluntary actions, say they, having for their objects, good or evil, are moral actions. But all morality is grounded in the reason. Every man is born with the faculty of Reason : and whatever is without it, be the shape what it may, is not a man or person, but a THING. Hence the sacred principle, recognized by all Laws, human and divine, the principle indeed, which is the ground-ivork of all law and justice, that a person can never become a thing, nor be treated as such without wrong. But the distinction between person and thing consists herein, that the latter may rightfully be used, altogether and merely, as a means ; but the former must always be included in the end, and form a part of the final cause. We plant the tree and we cut it down, we breed the sheep and we kill it, wholly as means to our own ends. The wood-cutter and the hind are likewise em- 21 162 ployed as means, but on an agreement of reciprocal advantage, ■which includes them as well as their employer in the end. Again : as the faculty of Reason implies free-agency, morality (i. e. the dictate of Reason) gives to every rational being the right of acting as a free agent, and of finally determining his conduct by his own will, according to his own conscience : and this right is inalienable except by guilt, which is an act of self- forfeiture, and the consequences therefore to be considered as the criminal's own moral election. In respect of their Reason* all men are equal. The measure of the Understanding and of all other faculties of man, is different in different persons : but Reason is not susceptible of degree. For since it merely de- cides whether any given thought or action is or is not in con- tradiction with the rest, there can be no reason better, or more reason, than another. Reason ! best and holiest gift of Heaven and bond of union with the Giver ! The high title by which the majesty of man claims precedence above all other living creatures ! Myste- rious faculty, the mother of conscience, of language, of tears, and of smiles ! Calm and incorruptible legislator of the soul, without whom all its other powers would " meet in mere oppugnancy." Sole principle of permanence amid endless change ! in a world of discordant appetites and imagined self- interests the one only common measure ! which taken away, "Force sliould be riglit ; or, rather right and wrong (Between whose endless jar justice resides) Should lose their names and so should justice too. Then eveiy thing includes itself in power, Power into will, will into appetite ; And appetite, an universal wolf, So doubly seconded with will and po\ver, Must make perforce an universal prey !" Thrice blessed faculty of Reason ! all other gifts, though goodly and of celestial origin, health, strength, talents, all the powers and all the means of enjoyment, seem dispensed by chance or sullen caprice — thou alone, more than even the sunshine, more than the common air, art given to all men, and to every man alike ! To thee, who being one art the same in all, we owe *Thi3 position has been already explained, and the sophistiy grounded on it detected and exposed, in the last Essay of the Landing-Place, in this vol- ume. 163 the privilege, that of all we can become one, a living whole! that we have a Country ! Who then shall dare prescribe a law of moral action for any rational Being, which does not flow immediately from that Reason, which is the fountain of all mor- ality ? Or how without breach of conscience can we limit or coerce the powers of a free agent, except by coincidence with that law in his own mind, which is at once the cause, the con- dition, and the measure, of his free agency ? Man must be free ; or to what purpose was he made a Spirit of Reason, and ' not a Machine of Instinct? Man must obey ; or wherefore has^ he a conscience ? The powers, which create this difficulty, contain its solution likewise : for their service is perfect free- dom. And whatever law or system of law compels any other service, disennobles our nature, leagues itself with the animal against the godliiie, kills in us the very principle of joyous well-doing, and fights against humanity. By the application of these principles to the social state there arises the following system, which as far as respects its first grounds is developed the most fully by J. J. Rousseau in his work Du Contrat Social. If then no individual possesses the right of prescribing any thing to another individual, the rule of which is not contained in their common Reason, Society, which is but an aggregate of individuals, can communicate this right to no one. It cannot possibly make that rightful which the higher and inviolable law of human nature declares con- tradictory and unjust. But concerning Right and Wrong, the Reason of each and every man is the competent judge : for how else could he be an amenable Being, or the proper subject of any law ? This Reason, therefore, in any one man, cannot even in the social state be rightfully subjugated to the Reason ; of any other. Neither an individual, nor yet the whole multi- tude which constitutes the state, can possess the right of com- pelling him 10 do any thing, of which it cannot be demonstrated that his own Reason must join in prescribing it. If therefore society is to be under a rightful constitution of government, and one that can impose on rational Beings a true and moral obligation to obey it, it must be framed on such principles that every individual follows his own Reason while he obeys the laws of the constitution, and performs the will of the state while he follows the dictates of his own Reason. This is ex- pressly asserted by Rousseau, who states the problem of a per- 164 feet constitution of government in the following words : Ti'ou- verune forme d^ Association — par laquelle chacun s^ tmissant dtous, n'oheisse pourtant qu* a lui meine, et reste aussi libre qu' auparavant, i. e. To find a form of society according to which each one uniting with the whole shall yet obey himself only and remain as free as before. This right of the individu- al to retain his w|iole natural independence, even in the social state, is absolutely inalienable. He cannot possibly concede or compromise it : for this very Right is one of his most sacred Duties. He would sin against himself, and commit high trea- son against the Reason which the Almighty Creator has given him, if he dared abandon its exclusive right to govern his ac- tions. Laws obligatory on the conscience, can only therefore pro- ceed from that Reason which remains always one and the same, whether it speaks through this or that person : like the voice of an external Ventriloquist, it is indifferent from whose lips it appears to come, if only it be audible. The individuals indeed are subject to errors and passions, and each man has his own defects. But when men are assembled in person or by real representatives, the actions and re-actions of individual Self-love balance each other ; errors are neutralized by oppo- site errors ; and the winds rushing from all quarters at once with equal force, produce for the time a deep calm, during which the general will arising from the general Reason dis- plays itself. "It is fittest," says Burke himself, (see his Note on his Motion relative to the Speech from the Throne, Vol. H. Page 647, 4to. Edit.) " It is fittest that sovereign authority should be exercised where it is most likely to be attended with the most effectual correctives. These correctives are furnished by the nature and course of parliamentary proceed- ings, and by the infinitely diversified characters who compose the two Houses. The fulness, the freedom, and publicity of discussion, leave it easy to distinguish what are acts of power, and what the determinations of equity and reason. There prejudice corrects prejudice, and the different asperities of par- ty zeal mitigate and neutralize each other." This, however, as my readers will have already detected, is no longer a demonstrable deduction from Reason. It is a mere probability, against which other probabilities may be weighed : as the lust of authority, the contagious nature of enthusiasm, ^'^. 165 and other of the acute or chronic diseases of deliberative as- semblies. But which of these results is the more probable, the correction or the contagion of evil, must depend on cir- cumstances and grounds of expediency : and thus we already find ourselves beyond the magic circle of the pure Reason, and within the sphere of the understanding and the prudence. Of this important fact Rousseau was by no means unaware in his theory, though with gross inconsistency he takes no notice of it in his application of the theory to practice. He admits the possibility, he is compelled by History to allow even the pro- bability^ that the most numerous popular assemblies, nay even whole nations, may at times be hurried away by the same pass- ions, and under the dominion of a common error. This will of all is then of no more value, than the humours of any one in- dividual : and must therefore be sacredly distinguished from the pure will which ilows from universal Reason. To this point then I entreat the Reader's particular attention : for in this distinction, established by Rousseau himself between the Volontc de Tous and the Volonte generate, (i. e. between the collective will, and a casual overbalance of wills) the falsehood or nothingness of the whole system becomes manifest. For hence it follows, as an inevitable consequence, that all which is said in the Contrat Social of that sovereign will, to which the right of universal legislation appertains, applies to no one Human Being, to no Society or assemblage of Human Beings, and least of all to the mixed multitude that makes up the Peo- ple : but entirely and exclusively to Reason itself, which, it is true, dwells in every man potentially ^ but actually and in perfect purity is found in no man and in no body of men. This distinction the latter disciples of Rousseau chose completely to forget and, (afar more melancholy case!) the constituent le- gislators of France forgot it likewise. With a wretched par- rotry they wrote and harrangued without ceasing of the Volon- te generate — the inalienable sovereignty of the people : and by these high-soundding phrases led on the vain, ignorant, and in- toxicated populace to wild excesses and wilder expectations, which entailing on them the bitterness of dissappointment cleared the way for military despotism, for the satanic Govern- ment of Horror under the Jacobins, and of Terror under the Corsican. Luther lived long enough to see the consequences of the 166 doctrines into which indignant pity and abstract ideas of right had hurried hiin — to see, to retract and to oppose them. If the same had been the lot of Rousseau, I doubt not that his conduct would have been the same. In his whole system there is beyond controversy much that is true and well reason- ed, if only its application be not extended farther than the na- ture of the case permits. But then we shall find that little or nothing is won by it for the institutions of society ; and least of all for the constitution of Governments, the Theory of which it was his wish to ground on it. Apply his principles to any ease, in which the sacred and inviolable Laws of Morality are immediately interested, all becomes just and pertinent. No power on earth can oblige me to act against my conscience. No magistrate, no monarch, no legislature, can without tyranny compel me to do any thing which the acknowledged law^s of God have forbidden me to do. So act that thou mayest be able, without involving any contradiction, to will that the max- im of thy conduct should be the law of all intelligent Beings — is the one universal and sufficient principle and guide of mo- rality. And why ? Because the object of morality is not the outward act, but the internal maxim of our actions. And so far it is infallible. But with what shew of Reason can we pretend, from a principle by which we are to determine the purity of our motives, to deduce the form and matter of a rightful Government, the main office of which is to regulate the outward actions of particular bodies of men, according to their particular circumstances ? Can we hope better of con- stitutions framed by ourselves, than of that which was given by Almighty Wisdom itself? The laws of the Hebrew^ common- wealth, which tlowed from the pure Reason, remain and are immutable ; but the regulations dictated by Prudence, though by the Divine prudence, and though given in thunder from the Mount, have passed away ; and while they lasted, were binding only for that one state, the particular circumstances of which rendered them expedient. Rousseau indeed asserts, that thereis an inalienable sove- reignty inherent in every human being possessed of Reason : and from this the framers of the constitution of 1791 deduce, that the people itself is its own sole rightful legislator, and at most dare only recede so far from its right as to delegate to chosen deputies the power of representing and declaring the 167 general will. But this is wholly without proof; for ft has al- ready been fully shewn, that according to the principle out of .which this consequence is attempted to be drawn, it is not the actual man, but the abstract Reason alone, that is the sovereign and rightful Lawgiver. The confusion of two things so differ- ent is so gross an error, that the Constituent Assembly could scarce proceed a step in their declaration of rights, without some glaring inconsistency. Children are excluded from all political power — are they not human beings in whom the faculty of Reason resides ! Yes ! but in them the faculty is not yet adequately developed. But are not gross ignorance, invete- rate superstition, and the habitual tyranny of passion and sen- suality, equal preventives of the developement, equal impedi- ments to the rightful exercise of the Reason, as childhood and early youth ? Who would not rely on the judgment of a well-' educated English lad, bred in a virtuous and enlightened fami- ly, in preference to that of a brutal Russian, who believes that he can scourge his wooden idol into good humor, or attributes to himself the merit of perpetual prayer, when he has fastened the petitions, which his priest has written for him, on the wings of a windmill ? Again : women are likewise excluded — a full half, and that assuredly the most innocent, the most amiable half, of the whole human race, is excluded, and this too by a constitution which boasts to have no other foundations but those of universal Reason ! Is Reason then an affair of sex ? No ! But women are commonly in a state of dependance, and are not likely to exercise their Reason with freedom. Well! and does not ihis ground of exclusion apply with equal or greater force to the poor, to the infirm, to men in embarrassed circumstances, to all in short whose maintenance, be it scanty or be it ample, de- pends on the will of others ? How far are we to go ? Where must we stop ? What classes should we admit ? Whom must we dis- franchise ? The objects, concerning whom we are to determine these questions, are all human beings and differenced from each other by degrees only, these degrees too oftentimes changing. Yet the principle on which the whole system rests is, that Rea- son is not susceptible of degree. Nothing therefore, which subsists wholly in degrees, the changes of which do not obey any necessary law, can be subjects of pure science, or deter- minable by mere Reason. For these things we must rely on our Understandings, enlightened by past experience and ira- 168 mediate observation, and determining our choice by comparisons of expediency. It is therefore altogether a mistaken notion, that the theory which would deduce the social Rights of Man and the sole rightful form of government from principles of Reason, in- volves a necessary preference of the democratic, or even the representative, constitutions. Accordingly, several of the French economists, although devotees of Rousseau and the physiocratic system, and assuredly not the least respectable of their party either in morals or in intellect ; and these too, men who lived and wrote under the unlimited monarchy of France, and who were therefore well acquainted with the evils connect- ed with that system ; did yet declare themselves for a pure monarchy in preference to the aristocratic, the popular, or the mixed form. These men argued, that no other laws being al- lowable but those which are demonstrably just, and founded in the simplest ideas of Reason, and of which every man's reason is the competent judge, it is indifferent whether one man, or one or more assemblies of men, give form and publicity to them. For being matters of pure and simple science, they require no experience in order to see their Truth, and among an enlight- ened people, by whom this system had been once solemnly adopted, no sovereign would dare to make other laws than those of Reason. They further contend, that if the people were not enlightened, a purely popular government could not co-exist with this system of absolute justice; and if it were adequately enlightened, the influence of public opinion would supply the place of formal representation, while the form of the govern- ment would be in harmony with the unity and simplicity of its principles. This they entitle le Despotisme legal sous V Em- pire de V Evidence. (The best statement of the theory thus modified, may be found in Mercier de la Riviere, Vordre naturel el essentiel des societcs politiques.) From the proofs adduced in the preceding paragrapli, to which many others might be added, I have no hesitation in affirming that this latter party are the more consistent reasoners. It is worthy of remark, that the influence of these writings contributed greatly, not indeed to raise the present emperor, but certainly to reconcile a numerous class of politicians to his unlimited authority : and as far as his lawless passion for war and conquest allows him to govern according to any prin- ciples, he favors those of the phystocratlo philosophers. His early education must have given him a predilection for a theory conducted throughout with mathematical precision ; its very simplicity promised the readiest and most commodious machine for despotism, for it moulds a nation into as calculable a power as an army ; while the stern and seeming greatness of the whole, and its mock-elevation above human feelings, flattered his pride, hardened his conscience, and aided the efforts of self-delusion. Reasoiv is the sole sovereign, the only rightful legislator : but Reason to act on man must be impersonated. The Providence which had so marvellously raised and supported him, had marked him out for the representative of Reason, and had armed him with irresistible force, in order to realize its laws. In Him therefore Might becomes Right, and his cause and that of destiny (or as the wretch now chooses to word it, ex- changing blind nonsense for staring blasphemy) his cause and the cause of God are one and the same. Excellent postulate for a choleric and self-willed tyrant ! What avails the im- poverishment of a few thousand merchants and manufacturers ? What even the general wretchedness of millions of perishable men, for a short generation? vShould these stand in the way of the chosen conqueror, the " Innovator Mundi^ et Stupor Soe- culorum,^^ or prevent a constitution of things, which erected on intellectual and perfect foundations, " groweth not old," but like the eternal justice, of which it is the living image, ■ " may despise " The strokes of Fate and see tlie World's last boiir !" For Justice, austere unrelenting Justice, is every where held up as the one thing needful : and the only duty of the citizen, in fulfilling which he obeys all the laws, is not to encroach on another's sphere of action. The greatest possible happiness of a people is not, according to this system, the object of a gov- ernor ; but to preserve the freedom of all, by coercing within the requisite bounds the freedom of each. Wliatever a gov- ernment does more than this, comes of evil : and its best em- ployment is the repeal of laws and regulations, not the estab- lishment of them. Each man is the best judge of his own hap- piness, and to himself must it therefore be entrusted. Remove all the interferences of positive statutes, all monopoly, all boun- ties, all prohibitions, and all encouragements of importation and 22 170 exportation, of particular growth and particular manufactures : let the Revenues of the State be taken at once from the Produce of the Soil ; and all things will find their level, all irregularities will correct each other, and an indestructible cycle of harmoni- ous motions take place in the moral equally as in the natural world. The business of the Governor is to watch incessantly, that the State shall remain composed of individuals, acting as individuals, by which alone the freedom of all can be secured. Its duty is to take care that itself remain the sole collective power, and that all the citizens should enjoy the same rights, and without distinction be subject to the same duties. Splendid promises ! Can any thing appear more equitable than the last proposition, the equality of rights and duties ? Can any thing be conceived more simple in the idea ? But the exe- cution — ? let the four or five quarto volumes of the Conscript Code be the comment! But as briefly as possible I shall prove, that this system, as an exclusive total, is under any form impracticable ; and that if it were realized, and as far as it were realized, it would necessarily lead to general barbarism and the most grinding oppression ; and that the final result of a general attempt to introduce it, must be a mil- itary despotism inconsistent with the peace and safety of man- kind. That Reason should be our guide and governor is an undeniable Truth, and all our notion of right and wrong is built thereon : for the whole moral nature of man originated and subsists in his Reason. From Reason alone can we derive the principles which our Understandings are to apply, the Ideal to which by means of our Uunderstandings we should endeavor to approximate. This however gives no proof that Reason alone ought to govern and direct human beings, either as Indi- viduals or as States. It ought not to do this, because it can- not. The Laws of Reason are unable to satisfy the first condi- tions of Human Society. We will admit that the shortest code of law is the best, and that the citizen finds himself most at ease where the Government least intermeddles with his affairs, and confines its efforts to the preservation of public tranquillity — we will suffer this to pass at present undisputed, though the examples of England, and before the late events, of Holland and Switzerland, (surely the three happiest nations of the world) to which perhaps we might add the major part of the former German free towns, furnish stubborn facts in presump- tion of the contrary — yet still the proof is wanting that the first 171 and most general applications and exertions of the power ol man can be definitely regulated by Reason unaided by the posi- tive and conventional laws in the formation of which the Un- derstanding must be our guide, and which become just because they happen to be expedient. The chief object for which men first formed themselves into a State was not the protection of their lives but of their prop- erty. Where the nature of the soil and climate precludes all property but personal, and permits that only in its simplest forms, as in Greenland, men remain in the domestic state and form Neighbourhoods, but not Governments. And in North America, the Chiefs appear to exercise government in those tribes only which possess individual landed property. Among the rest the Chief is their General ; but government is exer- cised only in Families by the Fathers of Families. But where individual landed property exists, there must be inequality of property : the nature of the earth and the nature of the mind unite to make the contrary impossible. But to suppose the Land the property of the State, and the labor and the produce to be equally divided among all the Members of the State, in- volves more than one contradiction : for it could not subsist without gross injustice, except where the Reason of all and of each was absolute master of the selfish passions of sloth, envy, &c.: and yet the same state v/ould preclude the greater part of the means by which the Reason of man is developed. In whatever state of society you would jilace it, from the most savage to the most refined, it would be found equally unjust and impossible ; and were there a race of men, a country, and a climate, that permitted such an order of things, the same causes would render all Government superfluous. To proper- ty, therefore, and to its inequalities, all human laws directly or indirectly relate, which would not be equally laws in the state of Nature. Now it is impossible to deduce the Right of Property* from pure Reason. The utmost which Reason could give would be a property in the forms of things, as far as the forms w^ere produced by individual power. In the matter it *I mean, practically and with the incqualitiad inseparable from the actual existence of Property. Abstractedly, the Right to Property is deducilde from the Frec-ageucy of man. If to act freely be a Right, a sphere of action must lie 60 too. 1T2 could give no property. We regard angels, and glorified spir- its as Beings of pure Reason : and whoever thought of Proper- ty in Heaven ? Even the simplest and most moral form of it, namely, Marriage, (we know from the highest authority) is excluded from the state of pure reason. Rousseau himself expressly admits, that Property cannot be deduced from the Laws of Reason and Nature ; and he ought therefore to have admitted at the same time, that his whole theory was a thing of air. In the most respectable point of view he could regard his system as analogous to Geometry. (If indeed it be pure- ly scientific, how could it be otherwise?) Geometry holds forth an Ideal which can never be fully realized in Nature, even be- cause it is Nature : because bodies are more than extension, and to pure extension, of space only the mathematical theorems wholly correspond. In the same manner the moral laws of the intellectual world, as far as they are deducible from pure Intel- 'lect, are never perfectly applicable to our mixed and sensitive nature, because Man is something besides Reason ; because his Reason never acts by itself, but must clothe itself in the sub- stance of individual Understanding and specific Inclination, in order to become a reality and an object of consciousness and experience. It wuU be seen hereafter that together with this, the key-stone of the arch, the greater part and the most spe- cious of the popular arguments in favour of universal suffrage fall in and are crushed. I will mention one only at present. Major Cartwright, in his deduction of the Rights of the Sub- ject from Principles "not susceptible of proof, being self-evi- dent — if one of which be violated all are shaken," aiTirms (Principle 98th; though the greater part indeed are moral aphorisms, or blank assertions, not scientific principles) "that a power which ought never to be used ought never to exist." Again he affirms that " Laws to bind all must be assented to by all, and consequently every man, even the poorest, has an equal right to suffrage :" and this for an additional reason, be- cause " all without exception are capable of feeling happiness or misery, accordingly as they are well or ill governed." But are they not then capable of feeling happiness or misery ac- cording as they do or do not possess the means of a comforta- ble subsistence ? and who is the judge, what is a comfortable subsistence, but the man himself? Might not then, on the same or equivalent principles a Leveller construct a right to equal 17S property? The inhabitants of this country witnout property form, doubtless, a great majority : each of these has a right to a suffrage, and the richest man to no more : and the object of this suffrage is, that each individual may secure himself a true efficient Representative of his Will. Here then is a legal power of abolishing or equalizing property : and according to himself, a power which ought never to he used ought not to exist. Therefore, unless he carries his system to the whole length of common labour and common possession, a right to universal suffrage cannot exist ; but if not to universal ^suffrage, there can exist no natural right to suffrage at all. In whatever way he would obviate this objection, he must admit expedience founded on Experience and particular circumstances, which will vary in every different nation, and in the same nation at different times, as the maxim of all Legislation and the ground of all Legislative Power. For his universal principles, as far as they are principles and universal, necessarily suppose uni- form and perfect subjects, which are to be found in the Ideas of pure Geometry and (I trust) in the Realities of Heaven, but never, never, in creatures of flesh and blood. THE rMIE ESSAY I.* ON THE ERRORS OF PARTY SPIRIT: OR EXTREMES MEET. " And it was no wonder if some good and innocent men, especially such as lie (Lightfoot) who was generally more concerned about what was done in Judea many centiu'ies ago, than what was transacted in his own time in his own country — it is no wonder if some such were for a while borne away to the approval of opinions which they after more sedate reflection disowned. Yet his innocency fi-om any self-interest or design, together with his learning, secured him from the extravagancies of tlemagogues, the people's oracles." — Lightfoot's fForks, Publisher's Pre/ace to the Reader. I have never seen Major Cartwright, much less enjoy the honour of his acquaintance ; but I know enougli of his charac- ter from the testimony of others and from his own writings, to respect his talents, and revere the purity of his motives. 1 am fully persuaded, that there are few better men, few more fervent or disinterested adherents of iheir country or the laws of their country, of whatsoever things are lovely, of whatsoever *Witli this Essay commences the second volume of the English edition uf The Friend, to which the ibllovving (piotation is prefixed as a motto : Imolcns, vichercule foret, omnia urhis alicujus cediftcia dirucrc, ad hoc solum id, iisdem postea indiori ordine ct forma cxtrudi^, ejus platem pulchiores cvaderent. Jit ccrte non insokns est dominum rmius domus ad illa^n destruendam adhortari, ut ejus loco meliorem wdifwet. Immo sccpe vmlti hoc facere cogunlur nempe cum (cdes hahent vclustate jam faliacentes, vel qtue injirmis fundamentis superslructie ruinam mirumlur. Cartesius De Methodo. 175 things are honorable ! It would give mo great pain should I be supposed to have introduced, disrespectfully, a name, which from my early youth I never heard mentioned without a feel- ing of affectionate admiration. I have indeed quoted from this venerable patriot, as from the most respectable English advo- cate for the Theory, which derives the rights of government, and the duties of obedience to it, exclusively from principles of pure Reason. It was of consequence to my cause that I should not be thought to have been waging war against a straw image of my own setting up, or even against a foreign idol that had neither worshippers nor advocates in our own country ; and it was not less my object to keep my discussion aloof from those passions, which more unpopular names might have excited. I therefore introduced the name of Cartwright, as 1 had previ- ously done that of Luther, in order to give every fair advan- tage to a theory, which I thought it of importance to confute ; and as an instance that though the system might be made tempt- ing to the Vulgar, yet that, taken unmixed and entire, it was chiefly fascinating for lofty and imaginative spirits, who mistook their own virtues and powers for the average character of men in general. Neither by fair statements nor by fair reasoning, should I ever give offence to Major Cartv/right himself, nor to his judi- cious friends. If I am in danger of offending them, it must arise from one or other of two causes ; either that I have falsely represented his principles, or his motives and the ten- dency of his writings. In the book from which I quoted ("The People's Barrier against undue Influence, &c." the only one of Major Cartwright's which I possess) I am conscious that there are six foundations stated of constitutional Government. There- fore, it may be urged, the Author cannot be justly classed with those who deduce our social Rights and correlative Duties exclusively from principles of pure Reason, or unavoidable conclusions from such. My answer is ready. Of these six foundations three ire but dift'erent words for one and the same, viz. the Law of Reason, the Law of God, and first Principles: and the three that remain cannot be taken as different, in- asmuch as they are afterwards aflirmed to be of no validity except as far as they are evidently deduced from the former ; that is, from the Principles implanted by God in the universal Reason of man. These three latter foundations are, the gen- 176 eral customs of the realm, particular customs, and acts of Par- liament. It might be supposed that the Author had not used his terms in the precise and single sense in which they are de- fined in my former Essay : and that self-evident Principles may be meant to include the dictates of manifest Expedience, the Inductions of the Understanding as well as the Prescripts of the pure Reason. But no ! Major Cartwright has guarded against the possibility of this interpretation, and has expressed himself as decisively, and with as much warmth, against found- ing Governments on grounds of Expedience, as the Editor of The Friend has done against founding Morality on the same. Euclid himself could not have defined his words more sternly within the limit of pure Science : For instance, see the 1st. 2d. 3d. and 4th. primary Rules. " A Principle is a manifest and simple proposition comprehending a certain Truth. Prin- ciples are the proof of every thing : but are not susceptible of external proof, being self-evident. If one Principle be viola- ted, all are shaken. Against him, who denies Principles, all dispute is useless, and reason unintelligible, or disallowed, so far as he denies them. The Laws of Nature are immutable." Neither could Rousseau himself (or his predecessors, the fifth Monarchy Men) have more nakedly or emphatically identified the foundations of government in the concrete with those of religion and morality in the abstract : see Major Cartwright's Primary Rules from 31 to 39, and from 44 to 83. In these it is affirmed : that ihe legislative Rights of Every Citizen are inherent in his nature ; that being natural Rights they must be equal in all men ; that a natural right is that right which a Citi- zen claims as being a Man, and that it hath no other foundation but his Personality or Reason : that Property can neither in- crease or modify any legislative Right ; that every one Man shall have one Vote however poor, and for any one Man, how- ever rich, to have any more than one Vote, is against natural Justice, and an evil measure ; that it is better for a nation to endure all adversities, than to assent to one evil measure ; that to be free is to be governed by Laws, to which we have our- selves assented, either in Person or by Representative, for whose election we have actually voted : that all not having a right of Suffrage are Slaves, and that a vast majority of the People of Great Britain are Slaves ! To prove the total coinci- dence of Major Cartwright's Theory with that which I have 177 stated (aiid I trust confuted) in the preceding Number, it only remains for me to prove, that the former, equally v/ith the lat- ter, confounds the sufficiency of the conscience to make every person a moral and amenable Being, with the sufficiency of judgment and experience requisite to the exercise of political Riglit. A single quotation will place this out of all doubt, which from its length I shall insert in a Note.* Great stress, indeed, is laid on the authority of our ancient Laws, both in this and the other works of our patriotic author ; and whatever his system may be, it is impossible not to feel, that the autlior himself possesses the heart of a genuine English- man. But still his system can neither be changed nor modi- * "But the equality (observe, that Major Cartwright ia here speaking of the ncUural riglit to universal Suffrage and consequently of the universal right of (."iigihility, as well as of election, independent of character or property) — the ('([uality and dignity of human nature in all men, whether rich or poor, is placed in the highest point of view by St. Paul, when he reprehends the Co- rinthian believers for their litigations one with another, in the Courts of Law where unbelievers presided ; and as an argument of the competency of all men to judge for theinsalves, he alludes to that elevation in the kingdom of heaven which is promised to every man Vvfho shall bo virtuous, in the language of that time, a Saint. ' Do ye not know,' says he, ' that the Sainta shall judge the world ? And if the world shall be judged by you, are yo unworthy to judge the smallest matters ? Know ye not that ye shall judge the angels ? How much more thi7}gs that pcHain to this life T If after such autlioritics, such manifestations of truth as these, any Christian through those prejudices, which ai-e the etFccts of long habits of injustice and oppression, and teach us to ' despise the poor,* shall still think it right to exclude tliat part of the com- monalty, consisting of ' Tradesmen, Artificers, and Laborers,'' or any of them, from voting in elections of members to serve in parliament, I must sincerely lament such a persuasion as a misfortune both to himself and his country. And if any man, (not having given himself the trouble to consider Avhether or not the Scripture bo nn authority, but who, nevertheless, is a friend to the rights of mankind) u[)on grounds of mere prudence, policy, or expedien- cy, shall think it advisable to go against the whole current of our constitu- tional and law maxims, by which it is self-evident that every man, as being a MAN, is created free, born to freedom, and, without it, a Thing, a Slave, a Beast ; and shall contend for dra^^■ing a line of exclusion at freeholders of forty poimtfe a year, or forty shillings a year, or liouse-holders, or pot-boilers, so that all who are below that line shall not have a vote in the election of a le- gislative guardian, — which is taking fi-om a citizen the power even of self- preservation, — such a man, I venture to say, is bolder than he who wrestled with the angel; for ho wrestles with God himself, who established </)«.?« ;?rinct- ples in the eiermd laws of nature, never to he viohded by any of his Creatures." P. 23—24. 23 178 fied by these appeals : for among the primary maxims, which form the ground-work of it, we are informed not only that Law in the abstract is the perfection of Reason : but that the Law of God and the Law of the Land are all one ! What ? The Statutes against Witches? Or those bloody Statutes against Papists, the abolition of which gave rise to the infamous Riots in 1780? Or (in the author's own opinion) the Stat- utes of Disfranchisement and for making Parliaments septen- nial ? — Nay! but (Principle 28) "an unjust Law is no Law:" and (P. 22.) against the Law of Reason neither prescription, statute, nor custom, may prevail ; and if any such be brought against it, they be not prescriptions, statute, nor customs, but things void : and (P. 29.) " What the Parliament doth shall be holdenfor naughty whensoever it shall enact that which is con- trary to a natural Right !" We dare not suspect a grave wri- ter of such egregious trifling, as to mean no more by these as- sertions, than that what is wrong is not right; and if more than this be meant, it must be that the subject is not bound to obey any Act of Parliament, which according to his convic- tion entrenches on a Principle of natural Right ; which natural Rights are, as we have seen, not confined to the man in his individual capacity, but are made to confer universal legislative privileges on every subject of every state, and of the extent of which every man is competent to judge, who is competent to be the object of Law at all, i. e. every man who has not lost his Reason. In the statement of his principles therefore, I have not mis- represented Major Cartwright. Have I then endeavored to connect public odium with his honored name, by arraigning his motives, or the tendency of his Writings ? The tendency of his Writings, in my inmost conscience I believe to be per- fectly harmless, and I dare cite them in confirmation of the opinions which it was the object of my introductory Essays to establish, and as an additional proof, that no good man commu- nicating what he believes to be the Truth for the sake of Truth and according to the rules of Conscience, will be found to have acted injuriously to the peace or interests of Society. The venerable State-Moralist (for this is his true character, and in this title is conveyed the whole error of his system ) is incapable of aiding his arguments by the poignant condiment of personal slander, incapable of appealing to the envy of the 179 multitude by bitter declamation against the follies and oppres- sions of the higher classes ! He would shrink with horror from the thought of adding a false and unnatural influence to the cause of Truth and Justice, by details of present calamity or immediate suffering, fitted to excite the fury of the multi- tude, or by promises of turning the current of the public Reve- nue into the channels* of individual Distress and Poverty, so as to bribe the populace by selfish hopes ! It does not belong to men of his character to delude the uninstructed into the belief that their shortest way of obtaining the good things of this life, is to commence busy Politicians, instead of remaining industrious Laborers. He knows, and acts on the knowledge, that it is the duty of the enlightened Philanthropist to plead for the poor and ignorant, not to them. No ! — From Works written and published under the control of austere principles, and at the impulse of a lofty and gener- ous enthusiasm, from Works rendered attractive only by the fervor of sincerity, and imposing only by the Majesty of Plain Dealing^ no danger will be apprehended by a wise man, no offence received by a good man. I could almost venture to warrant our Patriot's publications innoxious^ from the single circumstance of their perfect freedom from personal themes in this AGE OF PERSONALITY, this age of literary and political Gossiping^ when the meanest insects are worshipped with a sort of Egyptian superstition, if only the brainless head be atoned for by the sting oi personal malignity in the tail; when the most vapid satires have become the objects of a keen pub- lic interest purely from the number of contemporary characters named in the patch-work Notes (which possess, however, the comparative merit of being more poetical than the Text), and because, to increase the stimulus, the Author has sagaciously left his own 7iame for whispers and conjectures ! — In an age, when even Sermons are published with a double Appendix stuffed with names — in a generation so transformed from the * I must again remind the Reader, that these Essays were Vv'ritten October 1809. If Major Cartwright however, since then acted in a different si)irit, and tampered pei-sonally with the distresses, and consequent irritabihty of the ignorant, tlie inconsistency is his, not the Author's. If M'hat I then bc- heved and avowed should now appear a severe satire in tl)0 sliapo of a false prophecy, any siianie I might feel for my luck of penetration would be lost in the sincerity of my regret. characteristic reserve of Britons, that from the ephemeral sheet of a London Newspaper to the everlasting Scotch Professorial Quarto, almost every publication exhibits or flatters the epidemic distemper ; that the very " Last year's Rebuses" in the Lady's Diary, are answered in a serious Elegy " On my Father'^s Beath.,^'' with the name and habitat of the elegiac (Edipus sub- scribed ; — and ^^ other ingenious solutions were likeioise given'''' to the said Rebuses — not, as heretofore, by Crito, Philander, A B, X Y, &c. but by fifty or sixty plain English Sirnames at full length, with their several places of abode ! In an age, when a bashful Philalethes or Phileleutheros is as rare on the title-pages and among the signatures of our Magazines, as a real name used to be in the days of our shy and notice-shunning grandfathers! When (more exquisite than all) I see an Epic Poem ( Spirits of Maro and M«onides, make ready to welcome your new compeer!) advertised with the special recommenda- tion, that the said Epic Poem contains more than a hundred names of living persons ! No — if Works as abhorrent, as those of Major Cartwright, from all unworthy provocatives to the vanity, the envy, and the selfish passions of mankind, could acquire a sufficient influence on the public mind to be mis- chievous, the plans proposed in his pamphlets would cease to be altogether visionary : though even then they could not ground their claims to actual adoption on self-evident principles of pure Reason, but on the happy accident of the virtue and good sense of that public, for whose suffrages they were presented. (Indeed with Major Cartwright's p/ans I have no present con- cern ; but with the principles, on which he grounds the obliga- tions to adopt them.) But I must not sacrifice Truth to my reverence for individual purity of intention. The tendency of one good man's writ- ings is altogether a different thing from the tendency of the sys- tem itself, when seasoned and served up for the unreasoning multitude, as it has been by men whose names I would not honor by writing them in the same sentence with Major Cart- wright's. For this system has two sides, and holds out very different attractions to its admirers that advance towards it from different points of the compass. It possesses qualities, that can scarcely fail of winning over to its banners a numerous host of shallow heads and restless tempers, men who without learning (or, as one of my Friends has forcibly expressed it, " Strong 181 Book-mindedness*^ ) live as alms-folks on the opinions of their contemporaries, and who, ( well pleased to exchange the humil- ity of regret for the self-complacent feelings of contempt) re- concile themselves to the sans-culotterie of their Ignorance, by Bcoffing at the useless fox-brush of Pedantry.* The attach- ment of this numerous class is owing neither to the solidity and depth of foundation in this theory, or to the strict coherence of its arguments ; and still less to any genuine reverence of humanity in the abstract. The physiocratic system promises to deduce all things, and every thing relative to law and govern- ment, with mathematical exactness and certainty, from a few individual and self-evident principles. But who so dull, as not to be capable of apprehending a simple self-evident principle, and of following a short demonstration ? By this system, the SYSTEM, as its admirers were wont to call it, even as they na- med the writer who first applied it in systematic detail to the whole constitution and administration of civil policy, D. Ques- noy to wit, le Docteur, or the Teacher ; — by this system the observation of Times, Places, relative Bearings, History, na- tional Customs and Character, is rendered superfluous : all, in short, which according to the common notion makes the attain- ment of legislative prudence a work of difficulty and long-con- tinued effort, even for the acutest and most comprehensive minds. The cautious balancing of comparative advantages, the painful calculation of forces and counter-forces, the preparation of circumstances, the lynx-eyed watching for opportunities, are all superseded ; and by the magic oracles of certain axioms and definitions it is revealed how the world with all its concerns should be mechanised, and then let go on of itself. All the positive Institutions and Regulations, which the prudence of our ancestors had provided, ai'e declared to be erroneous or in- *"Hc (Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk) knowing that learning hath no enemy hut Ignorance, did susjject always tlic want of it in those men who derided the habit of it in others: like the Fox in the Fable, who being without a Tail, woukl persuade others to cutoff theirs as a burthen. But he liked well the Philosoi)hcr's division of men into three ranks — some who knew good and were willing to teach others ; those he said were like Gods among men — others who tlK>ugh they knew not much yet were willing to learn ; these ho said were like Men among Beasts — arid some who know not good and yet de- spised such us should teach them ; these he esteemed as Beasts among Men." LloycPs State Ivorthica, p. 3o. 182 terested perversions of the natural relations of man ; and the whole is delivered over to the faculty, which all men possess equally, i. e. the common sense or universal Reason. The sci- ence of Politics, it is said, is but the application of the common sense, which every man possesses, to a subject in which every man is concerned. To be a Musician, an Orator, a Painter, a Poet, an Architect, or even to be a good Mechanist, presuppo- ses Genius ; to be an excellent Artizan or Mechanic, requires more than an average degree of Talent ; but to be a legislator requires nothing but common Sense. The commonest human intellect therefore suffices for a perfect insight in the whole sci- ence of civil Polity, and qualifies the possessor to sit in judg- ment on the constitution and administration of his own country, and of all other nations. This must needs be agreeable tidings to the great mass of mankind. There is no subject, which men in general like better to harangue on, than Politics : none, the de- ciding on which more flatters the sense of self-importance. For as to what Doctor Johnson calls plebeian envy, I do not believe that the mass of men are justly chargeable with it in their po- litical feelings ; not only because envy is seldom excited except by definite and individual objects, but still more because it is a painful passion, and not likely to co-exist with the high delight and self-complacency with v/hich the harangues on States and Statesmen, Princes and Generals, are made and listened to in ale-house circles or promiscuous public meetings. A certain portion of this is not merely desirable, but necessary in a free country. Heaven forbid ! that the most ignorant of my coun- trymen should be deprived of a subject so well fitted to -"impart I" An hour's importance to the poor man's heait ! But a system which not only flatters the pride and vanity of men, but which in so plausible and intelligible a manner persuades them, not that this is wrong and that that ought to have been managed otherwise ; or that Mr. X. is worth a hundred of Mr. Y. as a Minister or Parliament Man, &c. &e. ; but that all is wrong and mistaken, nay, all most unjust and wicked, and that every man is competent, and in contempt of all rank and prop- erty, on the mere title of iiis Personality, possesses the Right, and is under the most solemn moral obligation, to give a help- ing hand toward overthrowing it : this confusion of political 183 with religious claims, this transfer of the rights of Religion dis- joined from the austere duties of self-denial, with which reli- gious rights exercised in their proper sphere cannot fail to be accompanied ; and not only disjoined from self-restraint, but united with the indulgence of those passions (self-will, love of power, &c.) which it is the principal aim and hardest task of Religion to correct and restrain — this, I say, is altogether dif- ferent from the Village Politics of Yore, and may be pronoun- ced alarming and of dangerous tendency by the boldest Advo- cates of Reform not less consistently, than the most timid es- chewers of popular disturbance. Still, however, the system had its golden side for the noblest minds : and I should act the part of a coward, if I disguised my convictions, that the errors of the Aristocratic party were full as gross, and far less excusable. Instead of contenting themselves with opposing the real blessings of English law to the splendid promises of untried theory, too large a part of those, who called themselves Aiiti- Jacobins^ did all in their power to suspend those blessings ; and thus furnished new arguments to the advocates of innovation, when they should have been an- swering the old ones. The most prudent, as well as the most honest mode of defending the existing arrangements, would have been, to have candidly admitted what could not with truth be denied, and then to have shewn that, though the things complained of were evils, they were necessary evils ; or if they were removable^ yet that the consequences of the heroic medicines recommended by the Revolutionists would be far more dreadful than the disease. Now either the one or the other point, by the double aid of History and a sound Philoso- phy, they might have established with a certainty little short of demonstration, and with such colours and illustrations as would have taken strong hold of the very feelings which had attached to the democratic system all the good and valuable men of the party. But instead of this they precluded the possi- bility of being listened to even by the gentlest and most in- genuous among the friends of the French Revolution, denying or attempting to palliate facts, that were equally notorious and unjustifiable, and supplying the lack of brain by an overflow of gall. While they lamented with tragic outcries the injured Mon- arch and the exiled Noble, they displayed the most disgusting insensibility to the privations, sufferings, and manifold oppress- 184 ions of the great mass of the Continental population, and a blindness or callousness still more offensive to the crimes* and unutterable abominations of their oppressors. Not only was the Bastile justified, but the Spanish Inquisition itself — and this in a pamphlet passionately extolled and industriously circu- lated by the adherents of the then ministry. Thus, and by their infatuated panegyrics on the former state of France, they played into the hands of their worst and most dangerous antag- onists. In confounding the conditions of the English and the French peasantry, and in quoting the authorities of Milton, Sidney, and their immortal compeers, as applicable to the pres- ent times and the existing government, the Demagogues ap- peared to talk only the same language as the Anti-jacobins them- selves employed. For if the vilest calumnies of obsolete big- ots were applied against these great men by the one party, with equal plausibility might their authorities be adduced, and their arguments for increasing the power of the people be reapplied to the existing government, by the other. If the most dis- gusting forms of despotism were spoken of by the one in the same respectful language as the executive power of our own country, what wonder if the irritated partizans of the other were able to impose on the populace the converse of the prop- osition, and to confound the executive branch of the English sovreignty with the despotisms of less happy lands ? The first duty of a wise advocate is to convince his opponents, that he understands their arguments and sympathizes with their just feelings. But instead of this, these pretended Constitutional- ists recurred to the language of insult, and to measures of per- secution. In order to oppose Jacobinism they imitated it in its worst features ; in personal slander, in illegal violence, and even in the thirst for blood. They justified the corruptions of the state in the same spirit of sophistry, by the same vague ar- guments of general Reason, and the same disregard of ancient ordinances and established opinions, with which the state it- self had been attacked by the Jacobins. The wages of state- dependence were represented as sacred as the property won by industry or derived from a long line of ancestors. * I do not incnn tlio Sovereigns, but the old Nobility of both Germany nnd i'^rancc. The extravagantly false ;uul flattering i)ictur(>, which IJurke gave of the French Nobility and llisrarrhy, has alwayw a]>i)ear<'d to me the greatest dcli'ct of his, in po many rcsjx'ctri, mvaluable Work. 185 It was, indeed, evident to thinking men, that both parties were playing the same game with ditl'erent counters. If the Jacobins ran wild with the Rights of Man, and the abstract sovereignty of the people, their antagonists flew off" as extrav- agantly from the sober good sense of our forefathers, and idol- ized as mere an abstraction in the Rights of Sovereigns. Nor was this confined to Sovereigns. They defended the exemp- tions and privileges of all privileged orders on the presumption of their inalienable right to them, however inexpedient they might have been found, as universally and abstractly as if these privileges had been decreed by the Supreme Wisdom, instead of being the offspring of chance or violence, or the inventions of human prudence. Thus, while they deemed themselves de- fending, they were in reality blackening and degrading the un- injurious and useful privileges of our English nobility, which (thank Heaven !) rest on nobler and securer grounds. Thus too, the necessity of compensations for dethroned princes was affirmed as familiarly, as if kingdoms had been private estates : and no more disapprobation was expressed at the transfer of five or ten millions of men from one proprietor to another, than of as many score head of cattle. This most degrading and su- perannuated superstition, or rather this ghost of a defunct ab- surdity raised up by the necromancy of a violent re-action (such as the extreme of one system is sure to occasion in the adherents of its opposite ) was more than once allowed to reg- ulate our measures in the conduct of a war on which the inde- pendence of the British empire and the progressive civilization of all mankind depended. I could mention possessions of par- amount and indispensable importance to first-rate national in- terests, the nominal sovereign of which had delivered up all his sea-ports and strong-holds to the French, and maintained a French army in his dominions, and had therefore, by the law of nations, made his territories French dependencies — which poss- essions were not to be touched, though the natural inhabitants were eager to place themselves under our permanent protec- tion — and why ? — They were the property of the king of ! All the grandeur and majesty of the law of nations, which taught our ancestors to distinguish between a European sove- reign and the miserable despots of oriental barbarism, and to consider the former as the representative of the nation which he governed, and as inextricably connected with its fortunes as 24 186 Sovereign, were merged in the basest personality. Instead of the interest of mighty nations, it seemed as if a mere law-suit were carrying on between John Doe and Richard Roe ! The happiness of millions was light in the balance, weighed against a theatric compassion for one individual and his family, who, (I speak from facts that I myself know) if they feared the French more, hated us worse. Though the restoration of good sense commenced during the interval of the peace of Amiens, yet it was not till the Spanish insurrection that Englishmen of all parties recurred, m toto, to the old English principles, and spoke of their Hampdens, Sidneys and Miltons, with the old enthusiasm. During the last war, an acquaintance of mine (least of all men a political zealot) had christened a vessel which he had just built — The Liberty ; and was seriously admonished by his aristocratic friends to change it for some other name. What? replied the owner very innocently — should I call it The Freedom ? That (it was replied) would be far beter, as people might then think only of Freedom of Trade ; Whereas Liberty has a Jacobinical sound with it ! Alas! (and this is an observation of Sir J. Denham and of Burke) is there then no medium between an ague-fit and a frenzy-fever ? I have said that to withstand the arguments of the lawless, the Anti-jacobins proposed to suspend the Law, and by the interposition of a particular statute to eclipse the blessed light of the universal Sun, that spies and informers might tyrrannize and escape in the ominous darkness. Oh ! if these mistaken men intoxicated with alarm and bewildered by that panic of property, which they themselves were the chief agents in ex- citing, had ever lived in a country where there was indeed a general disposition to change and rebellion ! Had they ever travelled through Sicily, or through France at the first coming on of the Revolution, or even alas ! through too many of the provinces of a sister-island, they could not but have shrunk from their own declarations concerning the state of feeling and opinion at that time predominant throughout Great Britain. There was a time ( Heaven grant that that time may have pass- ed by) when by crossing a narrow strait they might have learnt the true symptoms of approaching danger and have secured themselves from mistaking the meetings and idle rant of such sedition as shrunk appalled from the sight of a constable, for 187 the dire murmuring and strange consternation which precedes the storm or earthquake of national discord. Not only in Cof- fee-houses and public Theatres, but even at the tables of the wealthy, they w^ould have heard the advocates of existing Gov- ernment defend their cause in the language and with the tone of men, who are conscious that they are in a minority. But in England, when the alarm was at the highest, there was not a city, no, not a town in which a man suspected of holding dem- ocratic principles could move abroad without receiving some unpleasant proof of the hatred in which his supposed opinions were held by the great majority of the people : and the only instances of popular excess and indignation were on the side of the Government and the Established Church. But why need I appeal to these invidious facts ? Turn over the pages of His- tory, and seek for a single instance of a revolution having been effected witliout the concurrence of either the Nobles, or the Ecclesiastics, or the monied classes, in any country in which the influences of property had ever been predominant, and where the interests of the proprietors were interlinked ! Examine the revolution of the Belgic provinces under Philip the Second ; the civil wars of France in the preceding generation, the his- tory of the American revolution, or the yet more recent events in Sweden and in Spain ; and it will be scarcely possible not to perceive, that in England, from 1791 to the peace of Amiens, there were neither tendencies to confederacy nor actual confe- deracies, against which the existing Laws had not provided both sufficient safeguards and an ample punishment. But alas ! the panic of property had been struck in the first instance for party purposes : and when it became general, its propagators caught it themselves, and ended in believing their own lie : even as • our bulls in Burrowdale sometimes run mad with the echo of their own bellowing. The consequences were most injurious. Our attention was concentrated to a monster which could not survive the convulsions in which it had been brought forth, even the enlightened Burke himself too often talking and rea- soning as if a perpetual and organized anarchy had been a pos sible thing ! Thus while we were warring against French doc- trines, we took little heed whether the means by which we at- tempted to overthrow them, were not likely to aid and augment the far more formidable evil of French ambition. Like chil- 188 dren we ran away from the yelping of a cur and took shelter at the heels of a vicious war horse. The conduct of the aristocratic party was equally unwise in private life and to individuals, especially to the young and inex- perienced, whowere surely to be forgiven for having had their imagination dazzled, and their enthusiasm kindled, by a novelty so specious, that even an old and tried Statesman had pro- nounced it " a stupendous monument of human wisdom and human happiness." This was indeed a gross delusion, but as- suredly for young men at least, a very venial one. To hope too boldly of Human Nature is a fault which all good men have an interest in forgiving. Nor was it less removable than venial, if the party had taken the only way by which the error could be, or even ought to have been, removed. Having first sym- pathized with the warm benevolence and the enthusiasm for Liberty, which had consecrated it, they should have then shewn the young Enthusiasts that Liberty was not the only blessing of Society ; that though desirable, even for its own sake, it yet derived its main value as the means of calling forth and securing other advantages and excellencies, the activities of Industry, the security of Life and Property, the peaceful energies of Genius and manifold Talent, the development of the moral virtues, and the independence and dignity of the nation in its relations to foreign powers : and that neither these nor Liberty itself could subsist in a country so various in its soils, so long inhabited and so fully peopled as Great Britain, without difference of ranks and without laws which recognized and protected the privileges of each. But instead of thus winning them back from the snare, they too often drove them into it by angry contumelies, which being in contradiction with each other could only excite contempt for those that uttered them. To prove the folly of the opinions, they were repre- sented as the crude fancies of unfledged wit and school-boy statesmen; but when abhorrence was to be expressed, the self- same unfledged school-boys were invested with all the attri- butes of brooding conspiracy and hoary-headed treason. Nay, a sentence of absolute reprobation was passed on them ; and the speculative error of Jabobinism was equalized to the mys- terious sin in Scripture, which in some inexplicable manner excludes not only mercy but even repentance. It became the watch-word of the party, " once a Jacobin always a Jacob- 189 IN." And wherefore ?* (We will suppose this question asked by an individual, who in his youth or earliest manhood had been enamoured of a system, which for him had combined the austere beauty of science, at once with all the light and colours of imagination, and with all the warmth of wide religious chari- ty, and who, ov'erlooking its ideal essence, had dreamt of ac- tually building a government on personal and natural rights alone.) And wherefore ? " Is Jacobinism an absurdity, and have we no understanding to detect it with ? Is it productive of all misery and all horrors, and have we no natural humanity to make us turn away with indignation and loathing from it ? Up- roar and confusion, insecurity of person and of property, the tyranny of mobs or the domination of a soldiery; private houses changed to brothels, the ceremony of marriage but an initiation to harlotry, and marriage itself degraded to mere con- cubinage — these, the wiser advocates of Aristocracy have said, and truly said, are the effects of Jacobinism ! In private life, an insufi'erable licentiousness, and abroad an intolerable despot- ism ? " Once a Jacobin, always a Jocobin^^ — wherefore ? Is it because the Creed which we have stated is dazzling at first sight to the young, the innocent, the disinterested, and those, who judging of men in general from their own uncorrupted hearts, judge erroneously, and expect unwisely ? Is it, be- cause it decieves the mind in its purest and most flexible pe- riod ? Is it, because it is an error, that every day's experience aids to detect ? An error against which all history is full of warning examples ? Or is it because the experiment has been tried before our eyes and the error made palpable .'' From what source are we to derive this strange phasnomenon, that the young and the enthusiastic, who, as our daily exper- ience informs us, are deceived in their religious antipathies, and * The passage which follows was first published in the Morning Post, in the year 1800, and contained, if I mistake not, the fii-st philosophical appopria- tion of a precise import to the word Jacobin, as distinct from Republican, Democrat, and Demagogue. The whole Essay has a peculiar interest to my- self at the present moment, (1 May 1817) from the recent notorious publica- tion of Mr. Southey's juvenile Drama, the Wat Tyler, and the consequent assault on his character by an M. P. in his senatoiial capacity, to whom the Publishers are doubtless knit by the two-fold tie of sympathy and gratitude. The names of the Pubhshers are Sherwood, Nealy and Jones ; their bene- factor's name is William Smith. 190 grow wiser ; in their friendships, and grow wiser ; in theii- modes of pleasure, and grow wiser; should, if once deceived in a question of abstract politics, cling to the error for ever and ever? And this too, although in addition to the natural growth of judgment and information with increase of years, they live in the age in which the tenets have been acted upon ; and though the consequences have been such, that every good man's heart sickens, and his head turns giddy at the retrospect. ESSAY II. Truth I pursued, as Fancy sketcli'd the way, \ And wiser men than I went worse astray. MSS. I was never myself, at any period of my life, a convert to the system. From my earliest manhood, it was an axiom in Politics with me, that in every country where property prevailed, property must be the grand basis of the government ; and that that government was the best, in which the power or political influence of the individual was in proportion to his property, provided that the free circulation of property was not impeded by any positive laws or customs, nor the tenden- cy of wealth to accumulate in abiding masses undul}^ encoura- ged. 1 perceived, that if the people at large were neither ig- norant nor immoral, there could be no motive for a sudden and violent change of government ; and if they were, there could be no hope but of a change for the worse. " The Tem- ple of Despotism, like that of the Mexican God, would be re- built with human skulls, and more firmly, though in a different 191 architecture."* Thanks to the excellent education which I had received, my reason was too clear not to draw this " circle of power " round me, and my spirit too honest to attempt to break through it. My feelings, however, and imagination did not remain unkindled in this general conflagration ; and I con- fess I should be more inclined to be ashamed than proud of myself, if they had ! I was a sharer in the general vortex, though my little world described the path of its revolution in an orbit of its own. What I dared not expect from constitutions of government and whole nations, I hoped from Religion and a small company of chosen individuals, and formed a plan, as harmless as it was extravagant, of trying the experiment of hu- man perfectibility on the banks of the Susquehannah ; where our little society, in its second generation was to have com- bined the innocence of the patriarchal age with the knowledge and genuine refinements of European culture : and where I dreamt that in the sober evening of my life, I should behold the Cottages of Independence in the undivided Dale of Industry, "And oft, soothed sadly by some dirgefiil wind, Muse on the sore ills I had left behind !" Strange fancies ! and as vain as strange ! yet to the intense in- terest and impassioned zeal, which called forth and strained every faculty of my intellect for the organization and defence of this scheme, I owe much of whatever I at present possess, my clearest insight into the nature of individual man, and my most comprehensive views of his social relations, of the true uses of trade and commerce, and how far the wealth and re- lative power of nations promote or impede their welfare and inherent strength. Nor were tliey less serviceable in securing myself, and perhaps some others, from the pitfalls of sedition : and when we gradually alighted on the firm ground of common sense, from the gradually exhausted balloon of youthful en- thusiasm, though the air-built castles, which we had been pur- suing, had vanished with all their pageantry of shifting forms and glowing colours, we were yet free from the stains and im- purities which might have remained upon us, had we been tra- velling with the crowd of less imaginative malcontents, through the dark lanes and foul bye roads of ordinary fanaticism. * To the best of my recollection, these were Mr. Southey's words in the year 1794. 192 But oh ! there were thousands as young and as innocent as myself who, not like me, sheltered in the tranquil nook or in- land cove of a particular fancy, were driven along with the general current ! Many there were, young men of loftiest minds, yea the prime stuff out of which manly wisdom and practicable greatness is to be formed, who had appropriated their hopes and the ardour of their souls to mankind at large, to the wide expanse of national interests, which then seemed fermenting in the French Republic as the main outlet and chief crater of the revolutionary torrents ; and who confidently be- lieved, that these torrents, like the lavas of Vesuvius, were to subside into a soil of inexhaustible fertility on the circum- jacent lands, the old divisions and mouldering edifices of which they had covered or swept away — Enthusiasts of kindliest tem- perament, who to use the words of the Poet (having already borrowed the meaning and the metaphor) had approached " the shield Of human nature from the golden side, And would have fought even to the death to attest The quality of the metal which they saw." My honored friend has permitted me to give a value and relief to the present Essay, by a quotation from one of his unpublish- ed Poems, the length of which I regret only from its forbidding me to trespass on his kindness by making it yet longer. I trust there are many of my Readers of the same age with myself who will throw themselves back into the state of thought and feeling in which they were when France was reported to have solemnized her first sacrifice of error and prejudice on the bloodless altar of Freedom, by an oath of peace and good-will to all mankind. Oh ! pleasant exercise of hope and joy ! For mighty were the auxijiars, which then stood Upon our side, we who were strong in love ! BHss was it in that dawn to bo alive, But to be yoinig was very heaxen ! oh ! times, In wliich the meagre stale forl)idding ways Of custom, law, and statute, took at once The attraction of a coiuitry in Romance ! When Reason secm'd tlic most to assert her rights, When most intent on making of herself A prime Enchanter to assist the work, 193 Which then was going forward in her name ! Not favor'd spots alone, but the whole earth The beauty wore of promise — that which sets (To take an image which was felt no doubt Among the bowers of Paradise itself) The budding rose above the rose full blown. What temper at the prospect did not wake To ha})phiess unthougt of? The inert Were roused, and lively natures rapt away ! Tliey who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The play-fellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Then* ministers, used to stir in lonily wise Among the grandest objects of the sense And deal with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lin-king right To yield it ; — they too, who of gentle mood Had watch'd all gentle motions, and to these Had fitted their own thoughts, scliemers more mild And m the region of their peaceful selves; — Now was it that both found, the Meek and Lofty Did both find helpers to their heart's desire And stuff at hand, jilastic as they could wish !— Were call'd upon to exercise their skill Not in Utopia, subterraneous fields. Or some secreted island, heaven knows where! But ill the veiy world, which is the world Of all of us, the place where in the end We find our happiness, or not at all 1 Wordsworth. The Peace of Amiens deserved the name of peace, for it gave us unanimity at home, and reconciled Englishmen with each other. Yet it would be as wild a fancy as any of which we have treated, to expect that the violence of party spirit is never more to return. Sooner or later the same causes, or their equivalents, will call forth the same opposition of opinion, and bring the same passions into play. Ample would be my recom- pense, could I foresee that this present Essay would be the means of preventing discord and unhappiness in a single fami- ly ; if its words of warning, aided by its tones of sympathy, should arm a single* man of genius against the fascinations of his own ideal world, a single philanthropist against the enthusi- asm of his own heart ! Not less would be my satisfaction, dared I flatter myself that my lucubrations would not be altogether without effect on those who deem themselves Men of Judgment, 23 194 faithful to the light of Practice and not to be led astray by the wandering fires of Theory ! If I should aid in making these aware, that in recoiling with too incautious an abhorrence from the bugbears of innovation, they may sink all at once into the slough of slavishness and corruption. Let such persons recol- lect that the charms of hope and novelty furnish some pallia- tion for the idolatry to which they seduce the mind ; but that the apotheosis of familiar abuses and of the errors of selfishness is the vilest of superstitions. Let them recollect too, that no- thing can be more incongruous than to combine the pusillani- mity, which despairs of human improvement, with the arro- gance, supercilious contempt, and boisterous anger, which have no pretensions to pardon except as the overflowings of ardent anticipation and enthusiastic faith ! And finally, and above all, let it be remembered by both parties, and indeed by controver- sialists on all subjects, that every speculative error which boasts a multitude of advocates, has its golden s.s well as its dark side ; that there is always some Truth connected with it, the exclu- sive attention to which has misled the Understanding, some mo- ral beauty which has given it charms for the heart. Let it be remembered, that no Assailant of an Error can reasonably hope to be listened to by its Advocates, who has not proved to them that he has seen the disputed subject in the same point of view, and is capable of contemplating it with the same feel- ings as themselves : (for why should we abandon a cause at the persuasions of one who is ignorant of the reasons which have attached us to it ?) Let it be remembered, that to write, how- ever ably, merely to convince those who are already convin- ced displays but the courage of a boaster ; and in any subject to rail against the evil before we have inquired for the good, and to exasperate the passions of those who think with us, by caricaturing the opinions and blackening the motives of our an- tagonists, is to make the Understanding the pander of the pas- sions ; and even though we should have defended the right cause, to gain for ourselves ultimately, from the good and the wise no other praise than the supreme Judge awarded to the friends of .Job for their partial and uncharitable defence of his Justice : " My wrath is kindled against you, for ye have not spoken of me rightfully.''^ ESSAY III. ON THE VULGAR ERRORS RESPECTING TAXES AND TAXATION* ' OnsQ yuQ 'oi T(e'; ey/eXeig ■d-rjQd)' j-ievoi nsnov&u;- " Oiav fiep 'ij Xi/iiri] xuiui^if, Xa^iHu I'ovcnv o'vdev Ea'v 8" ci'vb} re kui yu'rwio'v ^ooBooov xvyo) aiv, yfl'oovar xui, av XuitSu'retg, ifr rrfv no'Xiv laou'rirjg. Translation. — It is with you as with those that are hunting for eels. While the pond is clear and settled, they take nothing ; but if they stir up the mud high and low, then, they bring up the fish : — and you succeed only as far as you can set the State in tumult and confusion. In a passage in the last Essay, I referred to the second part of the " Rights of Man," in which Paine assures his Readers that their Poverty is the conseqtience of Taxation : that taxes are rendered necessary only by wars and state corruption ; that war and corruption are entirely owing to monarchy and aristo- cracy ; that by a revolution and a brotherly alliance with the French Republic, our land and sea forces, our revenue officers, and three-fourths of our pensioners, placemen, &c. &c. would be rendered superfluous ; and that a small part of the expences thus saved, would suffice for the maintenance of the poor, the infirm, and the aged, throughout the kingdom. Would to hea- ven ! that this infamous mode of misleading and flattering the lower classes were confined to the writings of Thomas Paine. But how often do we hear, even from the mouths of our par- liamentary advocates for popularity, the taxes stated as so much money actually lost to the people ; and a nation in debt repre- * For the moral effects of our present System of Finance, and its conse- quences on the ivelfare of the Nation, as distinguished from its wealth, the Reader is referred to the Author's Second Lay Sermon, and to the Section of Morals in the Thkd Volume of this Work. 196 8€nted as the eame both in kind and consequences, aB an indi- vidual tradesman on the brink of bankruptcy ? It is scarcely- possible, that these men should be themselves deceived ; that they should be so ignorant of history as not to know that the freest nations, being at the same time commercial, have been at all times the most heavily taxed : or so void of common sense as not to see that there is no analogy in the case of a tradesman and his creditors, to a nation indebted to itself. Surely, a much fairer instance would be that of a husband and wife playing cards at the same table against each other, where what the one loses the other gains. Taxes may be indeed, and often are injurious to a country : at no time, however, from their amount merely, but from the time or injudicious mode in which they are raised. A great Statesman, lately deceased, in one of his antiministerial harangues against some proposed im- post, said : the nation has been already bled in every vein, and is faint with loss of blood. This blood, however, was circu- lating in the mean time through the whole body of the state, and what was received into one chamber of the heart was in- stantly sent out again at the other portal. Had he wanted a metaphor to convey the possible injuries of Taxation, he might have found one less opposite to the fact, in the known disease of aneurism, or relaxation of the coats of particular vessels, by a disproportionate accumulation of blood in them, which sometimes occurs when the circulation has been suddenly and violently changed, and causes helplessness, or even mortal stag- nation, though the total quantity of blood remains the same in the system at large. But a fuller and fairer symbol of Taxation, both in its possi- ble good and evil effects, is to be found in the evaporation of waters from the surface of the planet. The sun may draw up the moisture from the river, the morass, and the ocean, to be given back in genial showers to the garden, the pasture; and the corn-field ; but it may likewise force away the moisture from the fields of tillage, to diop it on the stagnant pool, the saturated swamp, or the un])rofitable sand-waste. The gar- dens in the south of Europe supply, perhaps, a not less apt illustration of a system of Finance judiciously conducted, where the tanks or reservoirs would represent the capital of a nation, and the hundred rills hourly varying their channels and direc- tions under the gardener's spade, give a pleasing image of the 197 dispersion of that capital through the .whole population, by the joint effect of Taxation and Trade. For Taxation itself is a part of Commerce, and the Government may be fairly consid- ered as a great manufacturing house carrying on in different places, by means of its partners and overseers, the trades of the ship-builder, the clother, the iron-founder, &c. &c. There are so many real evils, so many just causes of com- plaint in the Constitution and Administration of Governments, our own not excepted, that it becomes the imperious Duty of every Well-wisher of his country, to prevent, as much as in him lies, the feelings and efforts of his compatriots from losing themselves on a wrong scent. Whether a Svstem of Taxation is injurious or beneficial on the whole, is to be known, not by the amount of the sum taken from each individual, but by that which remains behind. A War will doubtless cause a stagna- tion of certain branches of Trade, and severe temporary dis- tress in the places where those branches are carried on ; but are not the same effects produced in time of Peace by prohi- bitory edicts and commercial regulations of foreign powers, or by new rivals with superior advantages in other countries, or in different parts of the same ? Bristol has, doubtless, been inju- red by the rapid piosperity of Liverpool and its superior spirit of Enterprize ; and the vast Machines of Lancashire have over- whelmed and rendered hopeless the domestic industry of the females in the Cottages and small farm-houses of Westmoreland and Cumberland. But if Peace has its stagnations as well as War, does not War create or re-enliven numerous branches of Industry as well as Peace ? Is it not a fact, that not only our own military and naval forces, but even a part of those of our enemy are armed and clothed by British manufacturers ? It cannot be doubted, that the whole of our immense military force is better and more expensively clothed, and both these and our sailors better fed than the same persons would be in their individual capacities : and this forms one of the real ex- pences of War. Not, I say, that so much more money is rai- sed, but that so much more of the means of comfortable exist- ence are consumed, than would otherwise have been. But does not this, like all other luxury, act as a stimulus on the pro- ducing classes, and this in the most useful manner, and on the most important branches of production, on the tiller, on the grazier, the clothier, and the maker of arms ? Had it been oth- 198 ervvise, is it possible that the receipts from the Property Tax should have increased instead of decreased, notwitlistanding all the rage of our enemy ? Surely, never from the beginning of the world was such a tribute of admiration paid by one power to another, as Bona- parte within the last years has paid to the British Empire ! With all the natural and artificial powers of almost the whole of con- tinental Europe, with all the fences and obstacles of all public and private morality broken down before him, with a mighty empire of fifty millions of men, nearly two-thirds of whom speak the same language, and are as it were fused together by the in- tensest nationality ; with this mighty and swarming empire, or- ganized in all its parts for war, and forming one huge camp, and himself combining in his own person the two-fold power of Monarch and Commander in Chief, with all these advantages with all these stupendous instruments and inexhaustible resour- ces of offence, this mighty Being finds himself imprisoned by the enemy whom he most hates and would fain despise, insult- ed by every wave that breaks upon his shores, and condemned to behold his vast flotillas as worthless and idle as the sea-weed that rots around their keels ! After years of haughty menace and expensive preparations for the invasion of an island, the trees and buildings of which are visible from the roofs of his naval store-houses, he is at length compelled to make open confession, that he possesses one mean only of ruining Great Britain. And what is it ? The ruin of his own enslaved sub- jects ! To undermine the resources of one enemy, he reduces the Continent of Europe to the wretched state in which it was before the wide difiiisions of Trade and Commerce, de- prives its inhabitants of comforts and advantages to which they and their fathers had been for more than a century, habituated, and thus destroys, as far as his power extends a principal source of civilization, the origin of a middle class throughout Christendom, and with it the true balance of society, the parent of international law, the foster-nurse of general humanity, and (to sum up all in one) the main principle of attraction and re- pulsion, by which the nations were rapidly though insensibly drawing together into one system, and by which alone they could combine the manifold blessings of distinct character and and national independence, with the needful stimulation and general influences of intercommunity, and be virtually united 190 without being crushed together by conquest, in order to waste away under the tabes and slow putrefaction of a universal mon- archy. This boasted Pacificator of the World, this earthly Pro- vidence* as "his Catholic Bishops blasphemously call him, pro- fesses to entertain no hope of purchasing the destruction of Great Britain at a less price than that of the barbarism of all Europe ! By the ordinary war of government against govern- ment, fleets against fleets, and armies against armies, he could eff"ect nothing. His fleets might as well have been built at his own expence in our Dock-yards, as tribute-oflerings to the Mas- ters of the Ocean : and his Army of England lay encamped on his Coasts like Wolves baying the Moon ! Delightful to humraie and contemplative minds was the idea of countless individual efforts working together by common in- stinct and to a common object, under the protection of an un- written code of religion, philosoph}^ and common interest, which made peace and brotherhood co-exist with the most ac- tive hostility. Not in the untamed Plains of Tartary, but in the very bosom of civilization, and himself indebted to its fos- tering care for his own education and for all the means of his elevation and power, did this genuine offspring of the old ser- pent warm himself into the fiend-like resolve of waging war against mankind and the quiet growth of the world's improve- ment, in an emphatic sense the enemy of the human race ! By these means only he deems Great Britain assailable, (a strong presumption, that our prosperity is built on the common inter- ests of mankind !) — this he acknowledges to be his only hope — and in this hope he has been utterly baffled ! To what then do we owe our strength and our immunity ? The sovereignty of law: the incorruptness af its administra- tion ; the number and political importance of our religious sects, which in an incalculable degree have added to the dig- nity of the establishment ; the purity, or at least the decorum *It Jias been well remarked, tliat there is something far more shocking in the tyrant's pretentions to tlic gracious attribntes of the Supreme Ruler, than in his most remorseless cruelties. There is a sort of wild granduer, not im- gratifying to the imagination, in the answer of Timur Khan to one who re- monstrated with him on tlje inhumaniii/ of his devastations: cur mo hominem putas, et uon polius irani Dei in terris agentem ob perniciem humani generis ? Why do you deem mo a man, and not rather the incarnate wrath of God act- ing on the eai'th for the ruin of mankind ? 200 of private morals, and the independence, activity, and weight, of public opinion ? These and similar advantages are doubt- less the materials of the fortress, but what has been the ce- ment ? What has bound them together ? What has rendered Great Britain, from the Orkneys to the Rocks of Scilly, in- deed and with more than metaphorical propriety a body poli- tic, our Roads, Rivers, and Canals being so truly the veins, ar- teries, and nerves, of the state ; that every pulse in the metro- polis produces a correspondent pulsation in the remotest village on its extreme shores ! What made the stoppage of the na- tional Bank the conversation of a day without causing one ir- regular throb, or the stagnation of the commercial current in the minutest vessel ? I answer without hesitation, that the cause and mother principle of this unexampled confidence, of this system of credit, which is as much stronger than mere positive possessions, as the soul of man is than his body, or as the force of a mighty mass in free motion, than the pressure of its seperate component parts would be in a state of rest — the main cause of this, I say, has been our national debt. What its injurious effects on the Literature, the Morals, and religious Principles, have been, I shall hereafter develope with the same boldness. But as to our political strength and circumstantial prosperity, it is the national debt which has wedded in indisso- luble union all the interests of the state, the landed with the commercial, and the man of independent fortune with the stir- ring tradesman and reposing annuitant. It is the National Debt, which by the rapid nominal rise in the value of things, has made it impossible for any considerable number of men to retain their own former comforts without joining in the common industry, and adding to the stock of national produce ; which thus first necessitates a general activity, and then by the immediate and ample credit, which is never wanting to him, who has any object on which his activity can employ itself, gives each man the means not only of preserving but of en- creasing and multiplying all his former enjoyments, and all the symbols of the rank in Avhich he was born. It is this which has planted the naked hills and enclosed the bleak wastes, in the lowlands of Scotland not less than in the wealthier dis- tricts of South Britain : it is this, which leaving all the other causes of patriotism and national fervor undiminished and un- injured, has added to our public duties the same feeling of ne- 201 cessity, the same sense of immediate self-interest, which in other countries actuates the members of a single family in their conduct toward each other. Somewhat more than a year ago, I happened to be on a visit with a friend, in a small market town in the South- West of England, when one of the company turned the conversation to the weight of Taxes and the consequent hardness of the times. 1 answered, that if the Taxes were a real weight, and that in proportion to their amount, we must have been ruined long ago : for Mr. Hume, who had proceeded, as on a self-evident axiom, on the hypothesis, that a debt of a nation was the same as a debt of an individual, had declared our ruin arithmetical- ly demonstrable, if the national debt encreased beyond a cer- tain sum. Since his time it has more than quintupled that sum, and yet — True, answered my Friend, but the principle might be right though he might have been mistaken in the time. But still, I rejoined, if the principle were right, the nearer we came to that given point, and the greater and the more active the pernicious cause became, the more manifest would its effects be. We might not be absolutely ruined, but our embarrassments would encrease in some proportion to their cause. Whereas instead of being poorer and poorer, we are richer and richer. Will any man in his senses contend, that the actual labor and produce of the country has not only been decupled within half a century, but increased so prodigiously beyond that decuple as to make six hundred millions a less weight to us than fifty millions were in the days of our grandfa- thers ? But if it really be so, to what can we attribute this stu- pendous progression of national improvement, but to that sys- tem of credit and paper currency, of which the National Debt is both the reservoir and the water-works ? A constant cause should have constant effects ; but if you deem that this is some anomaly, some strange exception to the general rule, explain its mode of operation, make it comprehensible, how a cause acting on a whole nation can produce a regular and rapid en- crease of prosperity to a certain point, and then all at once pass from an Angel of Light into a Daemon of Destruction ? That an individual house may live more and more luxuriously upon borrowed funds, and that when the suspicions of the creditors are awakened, and their patience exhausted, the luxurious spendthrift may all at once exchange his Palace for a Prison — ■ 26 202 this I can understand perfectly : for I understand, whence the luxuries could be produced for the consumption of the individu- al house, and who the creditors might be, and that it might be both their inclination and their interests to demand the debt, and to punish the insolvent Debtor. But who are a Nation's Creditors? The answer is, every Man to every Man. Whose possible interest could it be either to demand the Principal, or to refuse his share toward the means of paying the Interest ? Not the Merchant's : for he would but provoke a crash of Bankruptcy, in which his own House would as necessarily be included, as a single card in a house of cards ! Not the land- holder's : for in the general destruction of all credit, how could he obtain payment for the Produce of his Estates ? Not to mention the improbability that he would remain the undisturbed Possessor in so direful a concussion — not to mention, that on him must fall the whole weight of the puplic necessities — not to mention that from the merchant's credit depends the ever-en- creasing value of his land and the readiest means of improving it. Neither could it be the laborer's interest : for he must be either thrown out of employ, and lie like the fish in the bed of a River from which the water has been diverted, or have the value of his labor reduced to nothing by the inruption of eager competitors. But least of all could it be the wish of the lovers of liberty, which must needs perish or be suspended, either by the horrors of anarchy, or by the absolute Power, with which the Govern- ment must be invested, in order to prevent them. In short, with the exception of men desperate from guilt or debt, or mad with the blackest ambition, there is no class or description of men who can have the least Interest in producing or permit- ting a Bankruptcy. If then, neither experience has acquainted us with any national impoverishment or embarrassment from the increase of National Debt, nor theory renders such eflorts com- prehensible, (for the predictions of Hume went on the false assumption, that a part only of the Nation was interested in the preservation of the Public Credit) on what authority are we to ground our apprehensions? Does History record a single Na- tion, in which relatively to Taxation there were no privileged or exempted classes, in which there Avere no compulsory prices of labor, and in which the interest of all the different classes and all the different districts, were mutually dependent and vi- tally co-organized, as in Great Britain — has History, I say, re- corded a single instance of such a Nation ruined or dissolved 20S by the weight of Taxation ? In France there was no publie credit, no communion of Interests : its unprincipled Govern- ment and the productive and taxable Classes were as two Indi- viduals with separate Interests. Its Bankruptcy and the con- sequences of it are sufficiently comprehensible. Yet the Ca'ii- ers, or the instructions and complaints sent to the National As- sembly, from the Towns and Provinces of France, (an immense mass of documents indeed, but without examination and patient perusal of which, no man is entitled to write a History of the French Revolution) these proved, beyond contradiction, that the amount of the Taxes was one only, and that a subordinate cause of the revolutionary movement. Indeed, if the amount of the Taxes could be disjoined from the mode of raising them, it might be fairly denied to have been a cause at all. Holland was taxed as heavily and as equally as ourselves ; but was it by Taxation that Holland was reduced to its present miseries? The mode in which Taxes are supposed to act on the mar- ketableness of our manufactures in foreign marts, I shall exa- mine on some future occasion, when I shall endeavor to explain in a more satisfactory way than has been hitherto done, to my apprehension at least, the real mode in which Taxes act, and how and why and to what extent they affect the wealth, and what is of more consequence, the well-being of a nation. But in the present exigency, when the safety of the nation depends, on the one hand, on the sense which the people at large have of the comparative excellencies of the Laws and Government, and on the firmness and wisdom of the legislators and enlight- ened classes in detecting, exposing, and removing its many particular abuses and corruptions on the other, right views on this subject of Taxation are of such especial importance ; and I have besides in my inmost nature such a loathing of factious falsehoods and moh-sycophancy^ i. e, the flattering of the mul- titude by informing against their betters ; that I cannot but re- vert to that point of the subject from which I began, namely, that THE WEIGHT OF TaXES IS TO BE CALCULATED NOT BY WHAT IS PAID, BUT BY WHAT IS LEFT. What matteis it to a man, that he pays six times more Taxes than his father did, if, notwithstanding, he with the same portion of exertion enjoys twice the comforts which his father did ? Now this I solemnly affirm to be the case in general, throughout England, according to all the facts which I have collected during an examination of 204 years, wherever I have travelled, and wherever I have been re- sident. (I do not speak of Ireland, or the lowlands of Scot- land : and if I may trust to what I myself saw and heard there, I must even except the Highlands.) In the conversation which I have spoken of as taking place in the south-west of England, by the assistance of one or other of the company, we went through every family in the town and neighborhood, and my assertion was found completely accurate, though the place had no one advantage over others, and many disadvantages, that heavy one in particular, the non-residence and frequent change of its Rectors, the living being always given to one of the Ca- nons of Windsor, and resigned on the acceptance of better pre- ferment. It was even asserted, and not only asserted but pro- ved, by my friend (who has from his earliest youth devoted a strong, original understanding, and a heart warm and benevo- lent even to enthusiasm, to the service of the poor and the la- boring class,) that every sober Laborer, in that part of England at least, who should not marry till thirty, might, without any hardship or extreme self-denial, commence house-keeping at the age of thirty, with from a hundred to a hundred and twenty pounds belonging to him. I have no doubt, that on seeing this Essay, my friend will communicate to me the proof in detail. But the price of labor in the south-west of England is full one-third less than in the greater number, if not all, of, the Northern Counties. What then is wanting ? Not the re- peal of Taxes ; but the increased activity both of the gentry and clergy of the land, in securing the instruction of the lower classes. A system of education is wanting, such a system as that discovered, and to the blessings of thousands realized, by Dr. Bell, which I never am, or can be weary of praising, ■while my heart retains any spark of regard for Human Nature, or of reverence for Human Virtue — A system, by which in the very act of receiving knowledge, the best virtues and most useful qualities of the moral character are awakened, develo- ped, and formed into habits- Were there a Bishop of Durham (no odds whether a temporal or a spiritual Lord) in every county or half county, and a Clergyman enlightened with the views and animated with the spirit of Dr. Bell, in every par- ish, we might bid defiance to the present w^eight of Taxes, and boldly challenge the whole world to shew a Peasantry as well fed and clothed as the English, or with equal chances of im- 205 proving thetr situation, and of securing an old age of repose and comfort to a life of cheerful industry. I will add one other anecdote, as it demonstrates, incontro- vertibly, the error of the vulgar opinion, that Taxes make things really dear, taking in the whole of a man's expen- diture. A friend of mine, who had passed some years in Ame- rica, was questioned by an American Tradesman, in one of their cities of the second class, concerning the names and num- ber of our Taxes and Rates. The answer seemed perfectly to astound him : and he exclaimed, " How is it possible that men can live in such a country ? In this land of liberty we never 866 the face of a Tax-gatherer, nor hear of a duty except in our sea-ports." My friend, who was perfect master of the question, made semblance of turning off the conversation to another subject : and then, without any apparant reference to the former topic, asked the American, for what sum he thought a man could live in such and such a style, with so many ser- vants, in a house of such dimensions and such a situation (still keeping in his mind the situation of a thriving and respectable shop-keeper and householder in different parts of England,) first supposing him to reside in Philadelphia or New York, and then in some town of secondary importance. Having received a detailed answer to these questions, he proceeded to convince the American, that notwithstanding all our Taxes, a man might live in the same style, but with incomparably greater comforts, on the same income in London as in New York, and on a con- siderably less income in Exeter or Bristol, than in any Ameri- can provincial town of the same relative importance. It would be insulting my Readers to discuss on how much less a person may vegetate or brutalize in the back settlements of the repub- lic, than he could live as a man, as a rational and social being, in an English village ; and it would be wasting time to inform him, that where men are comparatively few, and unoccupied land is in inexhaustible abundance, the Laborer and common Mechanic must needs receive (not only nominally but really) higher wages than in a populous and fully occupied country. But that the American Laborer is therefore happier, or even in possession of more comforts and conveniences of life than a sober or industrious English Laborer or Mechanic, remains to be proved. In conducting the comparison we must not how- ever exclude the operation of moral causes, when these causes 206 are not accidental, but arise out of the nature of the country and the constitution of the Government and Society. This being the case, take away from the American's wages all the Taxes which his insolence, sloth, and attachment to spiritous liquors impose on him, and judge of the remainder by his house, his household furniture, and utensils — and if I have not been grie- vously deceived by those whose veracity and good sense I have found unquestionable in all other respects, the cottage of an honest English husbandman, in the service of an enlighten- ed and liberal Farmer, who is paid for his labor at the price usual in Yorkshire or Northumberland, would in the mind of a man in the same rank of life, who had seen a true account of America, excite no ideas favourable to emigration. This how- ever, I confess, is a balance of morals rather than of circum- stances : it proves, however, that where foresight and good mo- rals exist, the Taxes do not stand in the way of an industrious man's comforts. Dr. Price almost succeeded in persuading the English nation (for it is a curious fact, that the fancy of our calamitous situa- tion is a sort of necessary sauce without which our real prospe- rity would become insipid to us) Dr. Price, I say, alarmed the country with pretended proofs that the island was in a rapid state of depopulation, that England at the Revolution had been, Heaven knows how much ! more populous ; and that in queen Elizabeth's time or about the Reformation (!!!) the number of inhabitants in England, might have been greater than even at the Revolution. My old mathematical master, a man of an un- commonly clear head, answered this blundering book of the worthy Doctor's, and left not a stone unturned of the pompous cenotaph in which the efhgy of the still living and bustling English prosperity lay interred. And yet so much more suita- ble was the Doctor's book to the purposes of faction, and to the November mood of (what is called) the Public, that Mr. Wales's pamphlet, though a master piece of perspicacity as well as persi)icuity, was scarcely heard of. This tendency to politi- cal night-mares in our countrymen reminds me of a supersti- tion, or rather nervous disease, not uncommon in the highlands of Scotland, in which men, though broad awake, imagine they see themselves lying dead at a small distance from them. The act of Parliament for ascertaining the population of the empire has laid forever this uneasy ghost : and now, forsooth ! we are 207 on the brink of ruin from the excess of population, and he who would prevent the poor from rotting away in disease, misery, and wickedness, is an enemy to his country ! A lately decea- sed miser, of immense wealth, is reported to have been so de- lighted with this splendid discovery, as to have offered a hand- some annuity to the Author, in part of payment, for this new and welcome piece of heart-armour. This, however, we may deduce from the fact of our increased population, that if cloth- ing and food had actually become dearer in proportion to the means of procuring them, it would be as absurd to ascribe this effect to increased Taxation, as to attribute the scantiness of fare, at a public ordinary, to the landlord's bill, when twice the usual number of guests had sat down to the same number of dishes. But the fact is notoriously otherwise, and every man has the means of discovering it in his own house and in that of his neighbors, provided that he makes the proper allowances for the disturbing forces of individual vice and imprudence. If this be the case, I put it to the consciences of our literary dem- agogues, whether a lie, for the purposes of creating public dis- union and dejection, is not as much a lie, as one for the purpose of exciting discord among individuals. I entreat my readers to recollect, that the present question does not concern the effects of taxation on the public independence and on the supposed balance of the free constitutional powers, (from which said ba- lance, as well as from the balance of trade, I own, I have ne- ver been able to elicit one ray of common sense.) That the nature of our constitution has been greatly modified by the funding system, I do not deny : whether for good or for evil, on the whole, will form part of my Essay on the British Constitu- tion as it actually exists. There are many and great public evils, all of which are to be lamented, some of which may be, and ought to be removed, and none of which can consistently with wisdom or honesty be kept concealed from the public. As far as these originate in false Principles, or in tlie contempt or neglect of right ones (and as such belonging to the plan of The Friend,) I shall not hesitate to make known my opinions concerning them, with the same fearless simplicity with which I have endeavoured to expose the errors of discontent and the artifices of faction. But for the very reason that there are great evils, the more does it behove us not to open out on a false scent. 208 I will conclude this Essay with the examination of an arti- cle in a provincial paper of a recent date, which is now lying before me ; the accidental perusual of which, occasioned the whole of the preceding remarks. In order to guard against a possible mistake, I must premise, that I have not the most dis- tant intention of defending the plan or conduct of our late ex- peditions, and should be grossly calumniated if I were repre- sented as an advocate for carelessness or prodigality in the management of the public purse. The money may or may not have been culpably wasted. I confine myself entirely to the general falsehood of the principle in the article here cited; for I am convinced, that any hopes of reform originating in such notions, must end in disappointment and public mockery. « OJ^LY A FEW MILLIOXS! We have unfortunately of late been so much accustomed to read of mil- lions being spent in one expedition, and millions being spent in another, that a comparative insignificance is attached to an immense sum of money, by cal- ling it only a few millions. Perhaps some of our readers may liave their judg- ment a little improved by making a few calculations, like those below, on the millions which it has been estimated will be lost to the nation by the late expedition to Holland ; and then perhaps, they will be led to reflect on the many millions which are annually expended in expeditions, which have almost invariably ended in absolute loss. In the first j)lace, with less money than it cost the nation to take Walcbe- ren, &c. with the view of taking or destroying the French fleet at Antwerp, consisUng of nine sail of the line, we could have completely built and equip- ped, ready for sea, a fleet of ujiwards of one hundred sail of the line. Or, secondly, a new town could be built in every county of England, and each town consist of upwards of 1,000 substantial houses for a less sum. Or, thirdly, it would have been enough to give 100/. to 2.000 i)oor fanjilies in every county in England and Wales. Or, fourtiily, it would be more than sufficient to give a handsome marriage portion to 200,000 young women, who probably, if they had even less than 50Z. woidd not long remain unsolicited to enter the hajipy state. Or, fifthly, a much less sum would enable the legislature to establish a life boat in every port in the United Kingdom, and provide for 10 or 12 men to be kept in constant attendance on each; and 100,000/. couKl be fimded, the interest of which to be ajjplied in premiums, to those who should prove to be particularly active in saving lives from wrecks, &c. and to provide for the widows and children of those men who may accidentally lose dieir lives in the cause of humanity. This interrstiiig apjnopriation of 10 millions sterling, may lead our rea- ders to think of the great good that can be done by only a few millions." The exposure of this calculation will require but a few sen- tences. These ten millions were expended, I presume, in arms, J0» artillery, ammunition, clothing, provision, &c. &e. for about one hundred and twenty thousand British subjects : and I presume that all these consumables were produced by, and purchased from, other British subjects. Now during the building of these new towns for a thousand inhabitants each in every county, or the distribution of the hundred pound bank notes to the two thousand poor families, were the industrious ship-builders, cloth- iers, charcoal-burners, gunpowder-makers, gunsmiths, cutlers, cannon-founders, tailors, and shoemakers, to be left unemploy- ed and starving ? or our brave soldiers and sailors to have re- mained without food and raiment ? And where is the proof, that these ten millions, which (obseive) all remain in the king- dom, do not circulate as beneficially in the one way as they would in the other ? Which is better ? To give money to the idle, the houses to those who do not ask for them, and towns to counties which have already perhaps too many ? Or to afford opportunity to the industrious to earn their bread, and to the en- terprizing to better their circumstances, and perhaps found new families of independent proprietors ? The only mode, not abso- lutely absurd, of considering the subject, would be, not by the calculation of the money expended, but of the labour o( which the money is a symbol. But then the question would be remo- ved altogether from the expedition : for assuredly, neither the armies were raised, nor the fleets built or manned for the sake of conquering the Isle of Walcheren, nor would a single regi- ment have been disbanded, or a single sloop paid off, though the Isle of Walcheren had never existed. The whole dispute, therefore, resolves itself to this one question: whether our sol- diers and sailors would not be better employed in making canals for instance, or cultivating waste lands, than in fighting or in learning to fight ; and the tradesman, &c. in making grey coats instead of red or blue — and ploughshares, &c. instead of arms. When I reflect on the state of China and the moral character of the Chinese, I dare not positively affirm that it icould be better. When the fifteen millions, which form our present population, shall have attained to the same purity of morals and of primi- tive Christianity, and shall be capable of being governed by the same admirable discipline, as the Society of the Friends, I doubt not that we should be all Quakers in this as in the other points of their moral doctrine. But were this transfer of employment desirable, is it practicable at present, is it in our power ? These 27 210 men know, that it is not. What then does all their reasoning amount to ? Nonsense ! ESSAY IV. I have not intentionally either hidden or disguised the Truth, like an advocate ashamed of his client, or a bribed accomptant who falsifies the quotient to make the bankrupt's ledgers square with the creditor's inventory. My con- science forbids the use of falsehood and the arts of concealment: and were it otherwise, yet I am persuaded, that a system which has produced and pro- tected so great prosperity, cannot stand in need of them. If therefore Ho- nesty and the Knowledge of the whole Truth be the things you aim at, you will find my principles suited to your ends : and as I like not the demo- cratic forms, so am I not fond of any others above the rest. That a suc- ession of wise and godly men may be secured to the nation in the highest power is that to which I have directed your attention in this Essay, which if you will read, perhaps you may see the error of those j)rinciples which have led you into errors of practice. I wrote it purposely for the use of the multitude of well-meaning people, that are tempted in these times to usurp authority and meddle with government before they have any call from duty or tolerable understanding of its principles. I never intended it for learned men versed in politics ; but for such as will be jjractitioners before they have been students." Baxter's Holy Commontvealth, or Political Aphorisms. The metaphysical (or as I have proposed to call them, meta- political) reasonings hitherto discussed, belong to Government in the abstract. But there is a second class of Reasoners, who argue for a change in our Government from former usage, and from statutes still in force, or which have been repealed, (so these writers affirm ) either through a corrupt influence, or to ward off temporary hazard or inconvenience. This class, which is rendered illustrious by the names of many intelligent and virtuous patriots, are advocates for reform in the literal sense of 211 the word. They wish to bring hack the Government of Great Britain to a certain /orm, which they affirm it to have once pos- sessed ; and would melt the bullion anew in order to recast it in the original mould. The answer to all arguments of this nature is obvious, and to my understanding appears decisive. These Reformers assume the character of Legislators or of Advisers of the Legislature, not that of Law Judges or appellants to Courts of Law. Sun- dry statutes concerning the rights of electors (we will suppose) still exist ; so likewise do sundry statutes on other subjects (on witchcraft for instance) which change of circumstances have rendered obsolete, or increased information shewn to be absurd. It is evident, therefore, that the expediency of the regulations prescribed by them, and their suitableness to the existing cir- cumstances of the kingdom, must first be proved : and on this proof must be rested all rational claims for the enforcement of the statutes that have not, no less than for the re-acting of those that have been, repealed. If the authority of the men, who first enacted the Laws in question, is to weigh with us, it must be on the presumption that they were wise men. But the wis- dom of Legislation consists in the adaptation of Laws to cir- cumstances. If then it can be proved, that the circumstances*, under which those laws were enacted, no longer exist ; ana that other circumstances altogether dift'erent, and in some in- stances opposite, have taken their place ; we have the best grounds for supposing, that if the men were now alive, they would not pass the same statutes. In other words, the spirit of the statute interpreted by the intention of the Legislator would annul the letter of it. It is not indeed impossible, that by a rare felicity of accident the same law may apply to two sets of circumstances. But surely the presumption is, that regulations well adapted for the manners, the social distinctions, and the state of property, of opinion, and of external relations of Eng- land in the reign of Alfred, or even in that of Edward the First, will not be well suited to Great Britain at the close of the reign of George the Third. For instance : at the time when the greater part of the cottagers and inferior farmers were in a state of villenage, when Sussex alone contained seven thousand, and the Isle of Wight twelve hundred families of bondsmen, it was the law of the land that every /ree»ian should vote in the Assembly of the Nation personally or by his re- 212 presentative. An act of Parliament in the year 1660 confirm- ed what a concurrence of causes had previously effected : — ^ every Englishman is now born free, the laws of the land are the birth-right of every native, and with the exception of a few honorary privileges all classess obey the same Laws. Now, ar- gues one of our political writers, it being made the constitution of the land by our Saxon ancestors, that every freeman should have a vote, and all Englishmen being now born free, there- fore, by the constitution of the land, every Englishman has now a right to vote. How shall we reply to this without breach of that respect, to which the Reasoner at least, if not the Reason- ing, is entitled ? If it be the definition of a pun, that it is the confusion of two ditferent meanings, under the same or similar sound, we might almost characterize this argument as being grounded on a grave pun. Our ancestors established the right of voting in a particular class of men, forming at that time the middle rank of society, and known to be all of them, or almost all, legal proprietors — and these were then called the Freemen of England : there/ore they established it in the lowest classes of society, in those who possess no property, because these too are now called by the same name !! Under a similar pretext, grounded on the same precious logic, a Mameluke Bey extort- ed a large contribution from the Egyptain Jews : " These books (the Pentateuch ) are authentic ?" — Yes ! " Well, the debt then is acknowledged : — and now the receipt, or the money, or your heads! The Jews borrowed a large treasure from the Egyp- tians ; but you are the Jews, and on you, therefore, I call for the repayment." Besides, if a law is to be interpreted by the known intention of its makers, the Parliament in 1660, which declared all the natives of England freemen, but neither altered nor meant thereby to alter the limitations of the right of elec- tion, did to all intents and purposes except that right from the common privileges of Englishmen, as Englishmen. A moment's reflection may convince us, that every single Statute is made under the knowledge of all the other Laws, with which it is meant to co-exist, and by which its action is to be modified and determined. In the legislative as in the religious code, the text must not be taken without the context. Now, I think, we may safely leave it to the Reformers them- selves to make choice between the civil and political privileges of Englishmen at present, considered as one sum total, and 213 those of our Ancestors in any former period of our History, considered as another, on the old principle, take one and leave the other ; hut whichever you take, take it all or none. Laws seldom become obsolete as long as they are both useful and practicable ; but should there be an exception, there is no other way of reviving its validity but by convincing the exist- ing Legislature of its undiminished practicability and expedi- ence ; which in all essential points is the same as the recom- mending of a new Law. And this leads me to the third class of the advocates of Reform, those, namely, who leaving an- cient statutes to Lawyers and Historians, and universal princi- ples with the demonstrable deductions from them to the Schools of Logic, Mathematics, Theology, and Ethics, rest all their measures, which they wish to see adopted, wholly on their expediency. Consequently, they must hold themselves pre- pared to give such proof, as the nature of comparative expe- diency admits, and to bring forward such evidence, as experi- ence and the logic of probability can supply, that the plans which they recommend for adoption, are : first, practicable ; secondly, suited to the existing circumstances ; and lastly, ne- cessary or at least requisite, and such as will enable the Gov- ernment to accomplish more perfectly the ends for which it was instituted. These are the three indispensable conditions of all prudent change, the credentials, with which Wisdom never fails to furnish her public envoys. Whoever brings for- ward a measure that combines this threefold excellence, wheth- er in the Cabinet, the Senate, or by means of the Press, mer- its emphatically the title of a prtriotic Statesman. Neither are they without a fair claim to respectful attention as State-Coun- sellors, who fully aware of these conditions, and with a due sense of the difficulty of fulfilling them, employ their time and talents in making the attempt. An imperfect plan is not ne- cessarily a useless plan : and in a complex enigma the great- est ingenuity is not always shewn by him who first gives the complete solution. The dwarf sees farther than the giant, when he has the giant's shoulders to mount on. Thus, as perspicuously as I could, I have exposed the erro- neous principles of political Philosophy, and pointed out the one only ground on which the constitution of Governments can be either condemned or justified by wise men. If I interpret aright the signs of the times, that branch of 214 politios which relates to the necessity and practicability of in- fusing new life into our Legislature, as the best means of secu- ring talent and wisdom in the Cabinet, will shortly occupy the public attention with a paramount interest.* I would gladly therefore suggest the proper state of feeling and the right pre- paratory notions with which this disquisition should be entered upon : and I do not know how I can eifect this more naturally, than by relating the facts and circumstances which influenced my own mind. I can scarcely be accused of egotism as in the communications and conversations which I am about to mention as having occurred to me during my residence abroad, I am no otherwise the hero of the tale, than as being the pas- sive receiver or auditor. But above all, let it not be forgotten, that in the following paragraphs I speak as a Christian Moralist, not as a Statesman. To examine any thing wisely, two conditions are requisite : first, a distinct notion of the desirable ends, in the complete accomplishment of which would consist the perfection of such ;a thing, or its ideal excellence ; and, secondly, a calm and Itindly mode of feeling, without which we shall hardly fail ei- ther to overlook, or not to make due allowances for, the cir- cumstances which prevent these ends from being all perfectly realized in the particular thing which we are to examine. For instance, we must have a general notion what a Man can be and ought to be, before we can fitly proceed to determine on the merits or demerits of any one individual. For thg examina- tion of our own Government, 1 prepared my mind, therefore, by a short Catechism, which I shall commum'cate in the next Essay, and on which the letter and anecdotes that follow, will, I flatter myself, be found an amusing, if not an instructive com- mentary. *I am ill doubt whether the five hundred petitions, presented at the same time to the House of Commons by tlie Member for VV^estminster, are to he considered as a fulfihncnt of this prophecy. I have heard the echoes of a single bhmderbuss, on one of our Cumberland lakes, imitate the volley from a whole regiment. ESSAY V . Hoc potissimum pacio felicem ac magnum regem se fore jitdicans : 7ion si quam plurimis sed si quam optimis imperet. Proinde parum esse putal jiistis proesi- diis rtgnum suum nmniisse, Jiisi idem viris eruditione juxta ac vita integritate prczcellentihus ditet aique honestet. J^/imirum inttUigit hcsc demum esse vera regni decora, has veras opes : hunc veram et mdlis unquam secidis cessuram glo- riam. — Eras. Rot. R. S. Poncherio, Episc. Parisien. Ejtistola. Translation. — Judging that he will have employed the most effectual means of being a happj^ and powerful king, not by governing the most numerous but the most moral people. He deemed of small sufficiency to have pro- tected the country by fleets and garrison, unless he should at the same time: enrich and ornament it with men of eminent learning and sanctity. In what do all States agree.'' A number of men — exert — power — in union. Wherein do they differ ? 1st. In the qua- lity and quantity of the potvers. One possesses Chemists, Me- chanists, Mechanics of all kinds, Men of Science ; and the arts of war and peace ; and its Citizens naturally strong and of habitual courage. Another State may possess none or a few only of these, or the same more imperfectly . Or of two States possessing the same in equal perfection the one is more numer- ous than the other, as France and Switzerland. 2d. In the more or less perfect union of these powers. Compare Mr. Leckie^s valuable and authentic documents respecting the state of Sicily with the preceding Essay on Taxation. 3dly. In the greater or less activity of exertion. Think of the ecclesiasti- cal State and its silent metropolis, and then of the county of Lancaster and the towns of Manchester and Liverpool. What is the condition of powers exerted in union by a number of men .'' A Government. What are the ends of Government .-* They are of two kinds, negative and positive. The negative ends of Government are the protection of life, of personal 216 freedom, of property, of reputation, and of religion, from for- eign and from domestic attacks. The positive ends are, 1st. to make the means of subsistence more easy to each individual : 2d. that in addition to the necessaries of life he should derive from the union and division of labour a share of the comforts and conveniences which humanize and ennoble his nature ; and at the same time the power of perfecting himself in his own branch of industry by having those things which he needs pro- vided for him by others among his fellow-citizens ; including the tools and raw or manufactured materials necessary for his own employment. / knew a profound mathematician in Sici- ly, who had devoted a full third of his life to the perfecting the discovery of the Longitude, and who had convinced not on- ly himself but the principal mathematicians of Messina and Palermo that he had succeeded ; hut neither throughout Sicily or Naples could he find a single Artist capable of constructing the instrument which he had invented.* 3dly. The hope of bettering his own condition and that of his children. The civil- ized man gives up those stimulants of hope and fear which constitute the chief charm of the savage life : and yet his ma-- her has distinguished him from the brute that perishes, by ma- king Hope an instinct of his nature and an indispensable con- dition of his moral and intellectual progression. But a natu- ral instinct constitutes a natural right, as far as its gratifica- tion is compatible with the equal rights of others. Hence our ancestors classed those who were bound to the soil (addicti gle- bce) and incapable by law of altering their condition from that of their parents, as bondsmen or villeins, however advantage- *The good nirtn, wlio is ])oor. old, and blind, universally esteemed for the innocence and austerity of his hfe not less than for his learning, and yet uni- versally neglected, except hy persons almost as poor as himself, strongly i-e- miiided me of a German epigram on Kepler, which may be thus translated :: No mortal spirit yet had clomb so high As Kepler — yet his country saw him die For very want ! the ininds alone he fed, And so the bodies left him without bread. The good old man presented me with the book in which he has described and demonstrated his invention: and I should with great pleasure transmit it to any mathematician who would feel an interest in examining it and com- niunicnting his opinions on ita merits. 217 ously they might otherwise he situated. Reflect on the direful effects of casts in Hindostan, and then trasfer yourself infan- cy to an English cottage^ " Where o'er the cradled Infant bending Hope has fix'd her wishful gaze," and the fond mother dreams of her child^s future fortunes — who knows but he may come home a rich merchant, like such a one 9 or be a bishop or a judge ? The prizes are indeed few and rare ; but still they are possible : and the hope is univer- sal, and perhaps occasions more happiness than even its fulfil- ment. Lastly, the developement of those faculties which are essential to his human nature by the knowledge of his moral and religious duties, and the increase of his intellectual powers in as great a degree, as is compatible with the other ends of social union, and does not involve a contradiction. The poor- est Briton possesses much and important knowledge, ivhich he would not have had, if Newton, Luther, Calvin, and their com-^ peers had not existed ; but it is evident that the means of sci- ence and learning could not exist, if all men had a right to be- made profound Mathematicians or men of extensive erudition.. Still instruction is one of the ends of Government : for it is- that only which makes the abandonment of the savage state an ABSOLUTE DUTY : and that Constitution is the best, under which the average sum of useful knowledge is the greatest, and the causes that aivaken and encourage talent and genius, the most powerful and various. These were my preparatory notions. The influences under which I proceeded to re-examine our own Constitution, were the following, which I give, not exactly as they occurred, but in the order in which they will be illustrative of the different articles of the preceding paragraph. That we are better and happier than others is indeed no reason for our not becoming still better ; especially as with states, as well as individuals, not to be progressive is to be retrograde. Yet the comparison will usefully temper the desire of improvement with love and a sense of gratitude for what we already are. 218 I. A Letter received, at Malta from an Amej'ican officer of high rank, ivho has since received the thanks and rewards of the congress for his services in the Mediterranean. Grand Cairo, Dec. 13, 1804. Sir, — The same reason, which induced me to request letters of introduction to his Britannic Majesty's Agents here, sug- gested the propriety of shewing an English jack at the main topgallant mast head, on entering the port of Alexandria on the 26th ult. The signal was recognized ; and Mr. B was immediately on board. We found in port, a Turkish Vice Admiral, with a ship of the line, and six frigates ; a part of which squadron is station- ed there to preserve the tranquillity of the country ; with just as much influence as the same number of Pelicans would have on the same station. On entering and passing the streets of Alexandria, I could not but notice the very marked satisfaction, which every ex- pression and every countenance of all denominations, of peo- ple, Turks and Frenchmen only excepted, manifested under an impression that we were the avant-courier of an English army. They had conceived this from observing the English jack at our main, taking our flag perhaps for that of a saint, and because as is common enough every where, they were rea- dy to believe what they wished. It would have been cruel to have undeceived them : consequently without positively assum- ing it, we passed in the character of Englishmen among the middle and lower orders of society, and as their allies among those of better information. Wherever we entered or where- ever halted, we were surrounded by the wretched inhabitants ; and stunned with their benedictions and prayers for blessings on us. " Will the English come ? Are they coming ? God grant the English may come ! we have no commerce — we have no money — we have no bread ! When will the English ar- rive !" My answer was uniformly. Patience ! The same tone was heard at Rosetta as among the Alexandrians, indicative of the same dispositions; only it was not so loud, because the in- habitants are less miserable, although without any traits of hap- piness. On the fourth we left that village for Cairo, and for our security as well as to facilitate our procurement of accom- modations during our voyage, as well as our stay there, the resident directed his secretary, Capt. V , to accompa- 219 ny us, and to give us lodgings in his house. We ascended the Nile leisurely, and calling at several villages, it was plainly perceivable that the rational partiality, the strong and open ex- pression of which proclaimed so loudly the feelings of the Egyptians of the sea coast, was general throughout the coun- try : and the prayers for the return of the English as earnest as universal. On the morning of the sixth we went on shore at the village of Sabour. The villagers expressed an enthusiastic gladness at seeing red and blue uniforms and round hats (the French, I believe, wear three-cornered ones.) Two days befoie, five hundred Albanian deserters from the Viceroy's army had pilla- ged and left this village ; at which they had lived at free quar- ters about four weeks. — The famishing inhabitants were now distx-essed with apprehensions from another quarter. A com- pany of wild Arabs were encamped in sight. They dreaded their ravages and apprised us of danger from them. We were eighteen in the party, well armed ; and a pretty brisk fire which we raised around the numerous flocks of pigeons and other small fowl in the environs, must have deterred them from mischief, if, as is most probable, they had meditated any against us. Scarcely, however, were we on board and under weigh, when we saw these mounted marauders of the desert fall furiously upon the herds of camels, buffaloes, and cattle of the village, and drive many of them off wholly unannoyed on the part of the unresisting inhabitants, unless their shrieks could be deemed an annoyance. They afterwards attacked and robbed several unarmed boats, which were a few hours astern of us. The most insensible must surely have been moved by the situation of the peasants of that village. The while we were listening to their complaints, they kissed our hands, and with prostrations to the ground, rendered more af- fecting by the inflamed state of the eyes almost universal amongst them, and which the new traveller might venially im- agine to have been the immediate effect of weeping and an- guish, they all implored English succour. Their shrieks at the assault of the wild Arabs seemed to implore the same still more forcibly, while it testified what multiplied reasons they had to implore it. I confess, I felt an almost insurmountable impulse to bring our little party to their relief, and might per- haps have done a rash act, had it not been for the calm and 220 just observation of Captain V 's that " these were common occurrences, and that any relief which we could afford, would not merely be only tem])orary, but would exasperate the plun- derers to still more atrocious outrages after our departure." On the morning of the seventh we landed near a village. At our approach the villagers fled : signals of friendship brought some of them to us. When they were told that we were En- glishmen, they flocked around us with demonstrations of joy, offered their services, and raised loud ejaculations for our esta- blishment in the country. Here we could not procure a pint of milk for our coffee. The inhabitants had been plundered and chased from their habitations by the Albanians and Desert Arabs, and it was but the preceding day, they had returned to their naked cottages. Grand Cairo differs from the places already passed, only as the presence of the tyrant stamps silence on the lips of misery with the seal of terror. Wretchedness here assumes the form of melancholy ; but the few whispers that are hazarded, con- vey the same feelings and the same wishes. And wherein does this misery and consequent spirit of revolution consist ? Not in any form of government but in a formless despotism, an anarchy indeed ! for it amounts literally to an annihilation of every thing that can merit the name of government or justify the use of the word even in the laxest sense. Egypt is under the most frightful despotism, yet has no master ! The Turkish soldiery, restrained by no discipline, seize every thing by vio- lence, not only all that their necessities dictate, but whatever their caprices suggest. The Mamelukes, who dispute with these the right of domination, procure themselves subsistence by means as lawless though less inssupportably oppressive. And the wild Arabs availing themselves of the occasion, plun- der the defenceless wherever they find plunder. To finish the whole, the talons of the Viceroy fix on every thing which can be changed into currency, in order to find the means of sup- porting an ungoverned, disorganized banditti of foreign troops, who receive the harvest of his oppression, desert and betray him. Of all this rapine, robbery, and extortion, the wretched cultivators of the soil are the perpetual victims. — A spirit of revolution is the natural consequence. The reason the inhabitants of this country give for prefer- ring the English to the French, whether true or false, is as na- 221 tural as it is simple, and as influential as natural. " The En- glish," say they, "pay for every thing — the French pay noth- ing, and take every thing." They do not like this kind of de- liverers. Well, thought I, after the perusal of this Letter, the Slave Trade (which had not then been abolished) is a dreadful crime, an English iniquity ! and to sanction its continuance under full conviction and parliamentary confession of its injustice and in- humanity, is, if possible, still blacker guilt. Would that our discontents were for a while confined to our moral wants ! whatever may be the defects of our Constitution, we have at least an eflfective Government, and that too composed of men who were born with us and are to die among us. We are at least preserved from the incursions of foreign enemies ; the in- tercommunion of interests precludes a civil war, and the volun- teer spirit of the nation equally with its laws, give to the dark- est lanes of our crowded metropolis that quiet and security which the remotest villager at the cataracts of the Nile prays for in vain, in his mud hovel ! JVot yet enslaved nor wholly vile, O Albion, O my mother isle ! Thy vallies fair, as Eden's bowers. Glitter green with sunny showers ; Thy grassy uplands' gentle swells Echo to the bleat of flocks ; (Those grassy hills, those glitt'ring dulls Proudly ramparted with rocks) And ocean mid his uproar wild Speaks safety to his island-child. Hence for many a fearless age Has social quiet lov'd thy shore ; Nor ever sworded warrior's rage Or sack'd thy towers or stain'd thy fields with gore. Coleridge's Poems. II. Anecdote of Buonaparte. Buonaparte, during his short stay at Malta, called out the Maltese regiments raised by the Knights, amounting to fifteen hundred of the stoutest young men of the islands. As they were drawn up on the parade, he informed them, in a bombastic harangue, that he had restored them to liberty ; but in proof that 222 his attachment to them was not bounded by this benefaction, he would now give them an opportunity of adding glory to free- dom — and concluding by asking who of them would march for- ward to be his fellow-soldier on the banks of the Nile, and con- tribute a flower of Maltese heroism to the immortal wreaths of fame, with which he meant to crown the pyramids of Egypt! Not a man stirred : all gave a silent refusal. They were in- stantly surrounded by a regiment of French soldiers, marched to the Marino, forced on board the transports, and threatened with death if any one of them attempted his escape or should be discovered in any part of the islands of Malta or Goza. At Alexandria they were always put in front, both to save the French soldiery, and to prevent their running aw ay: and of the whole number, fifty only survived to revisit their native coun- try. From one of these survivors I first learned this fact which was afterw^ards confirmed to me by several of his remaining comrades, as well as by the most respectable inhabitants of Vi- lette. This anecdote recalled to my mind an accidental conversation with an old countryman in a central district of Germany. I purposely omit names because the day of retribution has come and gone by. I was looking at a strong fortress in the distance, which formed a highly interesting object in a rich and varie4 landscape, and asked the old man, who had stopped to gaze at me, its name, &c. adding — how beautiful it looks ! It may be well enough to look at, answered he, but God keep all chris- tians from being taken thither! He then proceeded to gratify the curiosity which he had thus excited, by informing me that the Baron had been taken out of his bed at midnight and carried to that fortress — that he was not heard of for nearly two years, when a soldier who had fled over the boundaries sent in- formation to his family of the place and mode of his imprison- ment. As I have no design to work on the feelings of my readers, I pass over the shocking detail: had not the language and countenance of my informant precluded such a suspicion, I might have supposed that he had been repeating some tale of horror from a Romance of the dark ages. What was his crime ! I asked — The report is, said the old man, that in his capacity as minister he had remonstrated with the concerning the extravagance of his mistress, nn outlandish countess ; and that 223 she in revenge persuaded the sovereign, that it was the Baron w^ho had communicated to a professor at Gottingen the particu- lars of the infamous sale of some thousand of his subjects as soldiers. On the same day I discovered in the landlord of a small public house one of the men who had been thus sold. He seemed highly delighted in entertaining an English gentleman, and in once more talking English after a lapse of so many years. He w'as far from regretting this incident in his life, but his account of the manner in which they were forced away, ac- corded in so many particulars with Schiller's empassioned de- scription of the same, or a similar scene, in his Tragedy of Cabal, and Love, as to leave a perfect conviction on my mind, that the dramatic pathos of that description was not greater than its historic fidelity. As I was thus reflecting, I glanced my eye on the leading paragraph of a London newspaper, containing much angry de- clamation, and some bitter truths, respecting our military ar- rangements. It were in vain, thought I, to deny that the in- fluence of parliamentary interest, which prevents the immense patronage of the crown from becoming a despotic power, is not the most likely to secure the ablest commanders or the fit- test persons for the management of our foreign empire. How- ever, thank heaven ! if we fight, we fight for our own king and country : and grievances which may be publicly complained of, there is some chance of seeing remedied. HI. A celebrated Professor in a German University, shewed me a very pleasing print, entitled, " Toleration." — A Catholic Priest, a Lutheran Divine, a Calvinist Minister, a Quaker, a Jew, and a Philosopher, were represented sitting round the same Table, over which a winged figure hovered in the atti- tude of protection. For this harmless print, said my friend, the artist was imprisoned, and having attempted to escape, was sentenced to draw the boats on the banks of the Danube, with robbers and murderers : and there died in less than two months, from exhaustion and exposure. In your happy country, sir, this print w ould be considered as a pleasing scene from real life : for in every great town throughout your empire you may meet with the original. Yes, I replied, as far as the the negative ends of Government are concerned we have no reason to com- plain. Our Government protects us from foreign enemies, and 234 our Laws secure our lives, our personal freedom, our property, reputation, and religious rights, from domestic attacks. Our taxes, indeed are enormous — Oh ! talk not of taxes, said my friend, till you have resided in a country where the boor dis- poses of his produce to strangers for a foreign mart, not to bring back to his family the comforts and conveniences of foreign ma- nufactures, but to procure that coin which his lord is to squan- der away in a distant land. Neither can I with patience hear it said, that your laws act only to the negative ends of govern- ment. They have a manifold positive influence, and their in- corrupt administration gives a colour to all your modes of think- ing, and is one of the chief causes of your superior morality in private as well as public life.* My limits compel me to strike out the different incidents which I had written as a commentary on the three former of the positive ends of Government. To the moral feelings of my Readers they might have been serviceable; but for their un- derstandings they are superfluous. It is surely impossible to peruse them, and not admit that all three are realized under our Government to a degree unexampled in any other old and long peopled country. The defects of our Constitution (in which word I include the Laws and Customs of the Land as well as its scheme of Legislative and Executive Power) must exist, therefore, in the fourth, namely, the production of the highest average of general information, of general moral and religious principles, and the excitements and opportunities which it affords to paramount genius and heroic power in a *"The administration of justice throughout the Continent is partial, venal and infamous. I have, in conversation with many sensible men, met with sometliing of content with their governments in all other respects than this ; but upon the question of expecting justice to be really and fairly administer- ed every one confessed there was no such thing to be looked for. The con- duct of the judges is profligate and atrocious. Upon almost every cause that comes before them interest is openly made with the judges; and woe betide tlie man, who, with a cause to support had no means of conciliating favour, either by the beauty of a handsome wife, or by other methods." — This quo- tation is confined in the original to France under the monarchy ; I have ex- tended the application, and adopted the words as comprizing the result of my own experience: and I take this opportunity of declaring, that the mosi im- portant parts of Mr. Leckie's statement concerning Sicily I myself A;nou» to be accurate, and am authorized by what I myself saw there, to rely on the whole »s R fair and unexaggerated representation. 225 sufficient number of its citizens. These are points in which it would be immorality to rest content with the presumption, however well founded, that we are better than others, if we are not what we ought to be ourselves, and not using the means of improvement. The fii*st question then is, what is the fact ? The second, supposing a defect or deficiency in one or all of these points, and that to a degree which may affect our power and prosperity, if not our aboslute safety, are the plans of Leg- islative Reform that have hitherto been proposed fit or likely to remove such defect, and supply such deficiency ? The third and last question is — Should there appear reason to deny or doubt this, are there then any other means, and what are they ? — Of these points in the concluding Essay of this Sec- tion. A French gentleman in the reign of Lewis the 14th, was comparing the French and English writers with all the boast- fulness of national prepossession. Sir ! ( replied an Englishman better versed in the principles of Freedom than the canons of criticism) there are but two subjects worthy the human intel- lect: Politics and Religion, our state here and our state hereafter ; and on neither of these dare you write. Long may the envied privilege be preserved to my countrymen of wri- ting and talking concerning both ! Nevertheless, it behoves us all to consider, that to write or talk concerning any suject, without having previously taken the pains to understand it, is a breach of duty which we owe to ourselves, though it may be no offence against the laws of the land. The privilege of talking and even publishing nonsense is necessary in a free state ; but the more sparingly we make use of it the better. 29 ESSAY VI. Then we may thank ourselves, Who spell-bound by the magic name of Peace Dream golden dreams. Go, warlike Biitain, go. For the grey olive-branch change thy green laurels : Hang up thy rusty helmet, that the bee May have a hive, or spider find a loom ! Instead of doubling drum and thrilling fife Be lull'd in lady's lap with amorous flutes. But for Najjoleon, know, he'll scorn this calm : The ruddy ])lanet at his birth bore sway. Sanguine, a dust his htunor, and wild fire His ruling clement. Rage, revenge, and cunning Make up the temper of tliis captain's valor. Adapted from an old Play. Little prospective wisdom can that man obtain, who hurrying onward with the current, or rather torrent, of events, feels no interest in their importance, except as far as his curiosity is ex- cited by their novelty ; and to whom all reflection and retro- spect are wearisome. If ever there were a time when the formation of just public principles becomes a duty of private morality ; when the principles of morality in general ought to be made to bear on our public sufiVages, and to affect every great national determination ; when, in short, his country should have a place by every Englishman's fire-side ; and when the feelings and truths which give dignity to the fire-side and tran- quillity to the death-bed, ought to be present and influencive in the cabinet and in the senate — that time is now with us. As an introduction to, and at the same time as a commentary on, the subject of international law, I have taken a review of the cir- rumstances that led to the Treaty of Amiens, and the recom- 227 mencement of the war, more especially with regard to the oc- cupation of Malta. In a rich commercial state, a war seldom fails to become un- popular by length of continuance. The first, or revolution war which toivards its close^ had become just and necessary, per- haps beyond any former example, had yet causes of unpopular- ity peculiar to itself. Exhaustion is the natural consequence of excessive stimulation, in the feelings of nations equally as in those of individuals. Wearied out by overwhelming novelties ; stunned, as it were, by a series of strange explosions ; sick too of hope long delayed ; and uncertain as to the real object and motive of the war, from the rapid change and general failure of its ostensible objects and motives ; the public mind for many months preceding the signing of the preliminaries, had lost all its tone and elasticity. The consciousness of Pxiutual errors and mutual disappointments, disposed the great majority of all par- ties to a spirit of diffidence and toleration, which, amiable as it may be in individuals, yet in a nation, and above all in an opu- lent and luxurious nation, iy c.lways too nearly akin to apathy and selfish indulgence. An unmanly impatience for peace be- came only not universal. After as long a resistance as the na- ture of our Constitution and national character permitted or even endured, the government applied at length the only remedy adequate to the greatness of the evil, a remdey which the mag- nitude of the evil justified, and which nothing but an evil of that magnitude could justify. At a high price they purchased for us the name of peace, at a time when the views of France became daily more and more incompatible with our vital inte- rests. Considering the peace as a mere truce of experiment, wise and temperate men regarded with complacency the Trea- ty of Amiens, for the very reasons that would have ensured the condemnation of any other treaty under any other circum- stances. Its palpable deficiencies were its antidote : or rather they formed its ver}^ essence, and declared at first sight, what alone it was, or was meant to be. Any attempt at that time and in this Treaty to have secured Italy, Holland, and the Ger- man Empire, would have been in the literal sense of the word, preposterous. The Nation would have withdrawn all faith in the pacific intentions of the ministers, if the negociation had been broken off on a plea of this kind : for it had taken for granted the extreme desirableness, nay, the necessity of a 228 peace, and, this once admitted, there would, no doubt, have been an absurdity in continuing the war for objects which the war furnished no means of realizing. If the First Consul had entered into stipulations with us respecting the Continent they would have been observed only as long as his interests from oth- er causes miglit have dictated ; they would have been signed with as much sincerity and observed with as much good faith as the article actually inserted in the Treaty of Amiens, re- specting the integrity of the Turkish empire. This article in- deed was wisely insisted on by us, because it affected both our national honor, and the interests of our Indian empire immedi- ately ; and still more, perhaps, because this of all others was the most likely to furnish an early proof of the First Consul's real dispositions. But deeply interested in the fate oi the Con- tinent, as we are thought to be, it would nevertheless have been most idle to have abandoned a peace, supposing it at all desirable, on the ground that the French government had re- fused that which v/ouid have been of no value had it been granted. Indeed there results one serious disadvantage from insisting on the rights and interests of Austria, the Empire, Switzerland, &c. in a treaty between England and France : and, as it should seem, no advantage to counterbalance it. For so, any attack on those rights instantly pledges our character and national dignity to commence a war, however inexpedient it might happen to be, and however hopeless : while if a war were expedient any atttack on these countries by France furnishes a justifiable cause of war in its essential nature, and independently of all positive treaty. Seen in this light, the defects of the treaty of Amiens become its real merits. If the government of France made peace in the spirit of peace, then a friendly intercourse and the humanizing influences of commerce and reciprocal hospitality would gradually bring about in both countries the dispositions necessary for the calm discussion and sincere conclusion of a genuine, efficient, and comprehensive treaty. If the contrary proved the fact, the Treaty of Amiens contained in itself the principles of its own dissolution. It was what it ought to be. If the First Consul had both meant and dealt fairly by us, the treaty would have led to a true settlement : but he acting as all prudent men expected that he would act, it supplied just rea- sons for the commencement of war — and at its decease left us, as a legacy, blessings that assuredly far outweighed our losses 229 by the peace. It left us popular enthusiasm, national unani- mity, and simplicity of object : and removed one inconvenience which cleaved to the last war, by attaching to the right objects, and enlisting under their proper banners, the scorn and hatred of slavery, the passion for freedom, all the high thoughts and high feelings that connect us with the honored names of past ages ; and inspire sentiments and language, to which our Hamp- dens, Sidneys, and Russels, might listen without jealousy. The late Peace then was negociated by the Government, ra- tified by the Legislature, and received by the nation, as an ex- periment: as the only means of exhibiting such proof as would be satisfactory to the people in their then temper ; whether Buonaparte devoting his ambition and activity to the re-esta- blishment of trade, colonial tranquillity, and social morals, in France, would abstain from insulting, alarming and endanger- ing the British empire. And these thanks at least were due to the First Consul, that he did not long delay the proof. With more than papal insolence he issued edicts of anathema against us, and excommunicated us from all interferrence in the affairs of the Continent. He insulted us still more inde- cently by pertinacious demands respecting our constitutional Laws and Rights of Hospitality ; by the official publication of Sebastiani's Report; and by a direct personal outrage offered in the presence of all the foreign ministers to the king, in the person of his ambassador. He both insulted and alarmed us by a display of the most perfidious ambition in the subversion of the independence of Switzerland, in the avowal of designs against Egypt, Syria, and the Greek Islands, and in the mission of military spies to Great Britain itself. And by forcibly maintaining a French army in Holland, he at once insulted, alarmed, and endangered us. What can render a war just (pre-supposing its expedience) if insult, repeated alarm, and danger do not ? And how can it be expedient lor a rich, uni- ted, and powerful Island-empire to remain in nominal peace and unresenting passiveness with an insolent neighbor, who has proved that to wage against it an unmitigated war of insult, alarm, and endangerment is both his temper and his system? Many attempts were made by Mr, Fox to explain away the force of the greater number of the facts here enumerated : but the great fact, for which alone they have either force or mean- ing, the great ultimate fact, that Great Britain had been insult- ed, alarmed, and endangered by France, Mr. Fox himself ex- 230 pressly admitted. But the opposers of the present war con- centre the strength of their cause in the following brief argu- ment. Supposing, say they, the grievances set forth in our manifesto to be as notorious as they are asserted to be, yet more notorious they cannot be than that other fact which utter- ly annuls them as reasons for a war — the fact, that ministers themselves regard them only as the pompous garnish of the dish. It stands on record, that Buonaparte might have purchas- ed our silence for ever, respecting these insults and injuries, by a mere acquiescence on his part in our retention of Malta. The whole treaty of Amiens is little more than a perplexed bond of compromise respecting Malta. On Malta we rested the peace : for Malta we renewed the war. So say the oppos- ers of the present war. As its advocates we do not deny the fact as stated by them ; but we hope to achieve all, and more than all the purposes of such denial, by an explanation of the fact. The difficulty then resolves itself into two questions : first, in what sense of the words can we be said to have gone to war for Malta alone ? Secondly, wherein does the impor- tance of Malta consist ? The answer to the second will be found in the third volume, in the Life of the Liberator and Political Father of the Maltese : while the attempt to settle the first question, so at the same time to elucidate the Law or Nations and its identity with the Law of Conscience, will oc- cupy the remainder of the present Essay. L In what sense can we he offirmed to have renewed the war for Malta alone ? If we had known or could reasonably have believed, that the views of France were and would continue to be friendly or negative toward Great Britain, neither the subversion of the independence of Switzerland, nor the maintenance of a French army in Holland, would have furnished any prudent ground for war. For the only way by which we could have injured France, namely, the destruction of her commerce and navy, would in- crease her means of continental conquests, by concentrating all the resources and energies of the French empire in her military powers : while the losses and miseries which the French peo- ple would suffer in consequence, and their magnitude, compa- red with any advantages that might accrue to them from the extension of the name France, were facts which, we knew by experience, would weigh as nothing with the existing Govern- 231 ment. It3 attacks on the independence of its continental neigh- bors become motives to us for the recommencement of hostility, only as far as they give proofs of a hostile intention toward ourselves, and facilitate the realizing of such intention. If any events had taken place, increasing the means of injuring this country, even though these events furnished no moral ground of complaint against France, (such for instance, might be the great extension of her population and revenue, from freedom and a wise government) much more, if they were the fruits of iniquitous ambition, and therefore in themselves involved the probability of an hostile intention to us — then, I say, every after occurrence becomes important, and both a just and expe- dient ground of war, in proportion, not to the importance of the thing in itself, but to the quantity of evident proq/ afford- ed by it of an hostile design in the Government, by whose power our interests are endangered. If by demanding the im- mediate evacuation of Malta, when he had himself done away the security of its actual independence (on his promise of pre- serving which our pacific promises rested as on their sole found- ation) and this too, after he had openly avowed such designs on Egypt, as not only in the opinion of our ministers, but in his own opinion, made it of the greatest importance to this country, that Malta should not be under French influence ; if by this conduct the First Consul exhibted a decisive proof of his inten- tion to violate our rights and to undermine our national inte- rests ; then all his preceding actions on the Continent became proofs likewise of the same intention ; and any one* of these *An hundred cases might be imagined which v.ould place this assertion in its true light. Su[)pose, for instance, a country according to the laws of which a parent might not disinherit a son without having first convicted him of some one of sundiy crimes enumerated in a specific statute. Caius, by a series of vicious actions has so nearly convinced his father of his utter worthlessness, that the father resolves on the next provocatiou to use the ve- ly first opportunity of legally disinheriting this son. The provocation occurs, and ill itself furnishes this op])orrunity, and Caius is disinherited, though for an action much less glaring and intolerahle than most of his preceding de- Jinqnencies had been. The advocates of Caius complain that he should be thus punished for a comparative trifle, so many worse misdemeanors iiaving been passed over. The father replies : " This, his last action, is not the cause of the disinheritance ; but the means of disinheriting him. I pimished him hy it rather than /or it. In truth it was not for any of his actions that I have thut 232 aggressions involves the meaning of the whole. Which of them is to determine as to war must be decided by other and pru- dential considerations. Had the First Consul acquiesced in our detention of Malta, he would thereby have furnished such proof of pacific intentions, as would have led to further hopes, as would have lessened our alarm from his former acts of ambition, and relatively to us have altered in some degree their nature- It should never be forgotten, that a Parliament or national Council is essentially different from a Court of Justice, alike in its objects and its duties. In the latter, the Juror lays aside his private knowledge and his private connections, and judges exclusively according to evidence adduced in the Court : in the former, the Senator acts upon his own internal convictions, and oftentimes upon private information, which it would be imprudent or criminal to disclose. Though his ostensible Reason ought to be a true and just one, it is by no means necessary that it should be his sole or even his chief reason. In a Court of Justice, the Juror attends to the character and general inten- tions of the accused party, exclusively, as adding to the proba- bility of his having or not having committed the one particular action then in question. The Senator, on the contrary, when he is to determine on the conduct of a foreign power, attends to particular actions, chiefly in proof of characler and existing intentions. Now there were many and very powerful Reasons why, though appealing to the former actions of Buonaparte, as confirmations of his hostile spirit and alarming ambition, we should nevertheless make Malta the direct object and final de- terminant of the war. Had we gone to war avowedly for the independence of Holland and Switzerland, we should have fur- nished Bounaparte with a colourable pretext for annexing both countries immediately to the French empire,* which, if he punished liiin, but for his vices; tliat is, not so much for the injuries whicli I have suffered, as for the dispositions which these actions evinced ; for the in- solent and alaniiiiig intentions of which they are proofs. Now of this liabitu- al temper, of these dangerous piu'poses, his last action is as true and complete a manifestation as any or all of his preceding offences ; and it therefore may and must be taken as their common representative.'''' ' * This disquisition was written in the year 1804, in Malta, at the request of Sir Alexander Ball, [with the exception of the latter paragraphs, which I have therefore included in crotchets.] 233 should do (as if his power continues he most assuredly will sooner or later) by a mere act of violence, and undisguised ty- ranny, there will follow a moral weakening of his power in the minds of men, which may prove of incalculable advantage to the independence and well-being of Europe; but which, un- fortunately, for this very reason, that it is not to be calculated, is too often disregarded by ordinary Statesmen. At all events, it would have been made the plea for banishing, plundering, and perhaps murdering numbers of virtuous and patriotic indi- viduals, as being the partizans of " the Enemy of the Conti- new^." Add to this, that we should have appeared to have rushed into a war for objects which by war we could not hope to realize ; we should have exacerbated the misfortunes of the countries of which we had elected ourselves the champions ; and the war would have appeared a mere w^ar of revenge and reprisal, a circumstance always to be avoided where it is possi- ble. The ablest and best men in the Batavian Republic, those who felt the insults of France most acutely, and were suffering from her oppressions the most severely, entreated our Govern- ment, through their minister, that it would not make the state of Holland the great ostensible reason of the war. The Swiss patriots too believed, that we could do nothing to assist them at that time, and attributed to our forbearance the comparatively timid use which France has hitherto made of her absolute pow- er over that country. Besides Austria, whom the changes on the Continent much more nearly concerned than England, ha- ving refused all co-operation with us, there is reason to fear that an opinion (destructive of the one great blessing purcha- sed by the peace, our national unanimity) would have takert root in the popular mind, that these changes were mere pretexts. Neither should we forget, that the last war had left a dislike in our countrymen to continental interference, and a not unplausi- ble persuasion, that where a nation has not sufficient sensibility to its wrongs to commence a war against the aggressor, unbri- bed and ungoaded by Great Britain, a war begun by the Go- vernment of such a nation, at the instance of our Government, has little chance of other than a disastrous result, considering the character and revolutionary resources of the enemy. What- ever may be the strength or weakness of this argument, it is however certain, that there was a strong predilection in the British people for a cause indisputably and peculiarly British. 30 234 And this feeling is not altogether ungrounded. In practical po- litics and the great expenditures of national power, we must not pretend to be too far-sighted : otherwise even a transient peace would be impossible among the European nations. To future and distant evils we may always oppose the various un- foreseen events that are ripening in the womb of the future. Lastly, it is chiefly to immediate and unequivocal attacks on our own interests and honour, that we attach the notion of Right with a full and efficient feeling. Now, though we may be first stimulated to action by probabilities and prospects of advantage, and though there is a perverse restlessness in human nature, which renders almost all wars popular at their com- mencement, yet a nation always needs a sense of positive Right to steady its spirit. There is always needed some one reason, short, simple, and independent of complicated calculation in or- der to give a sort of muscular strength to the public mind, when the power that results from enthusiasm, animal spirits, and the charm of novelty, has evaporated. There is no feeling more honourable to our nature, few that strike deeper root when our nature is happily circumstanced, than the jealousy concerning a positive right, independent of an immediate interest. To surrender, in our national charac- ter, the merest trifle, that is strictly our right, the merest rock on which the waves will scarcely permit the seafowl to lay its eggs, at the demand of an insolent and powerful rival, on a shop- keeper's calculation of loss and gain, is in its final, and assured- ly not very distant consequences, a loss of every thing — of na- tional spirit, of national independence, and with these, of the very wealth for which the low calculation was made. This feel- ing in individuals, indeed, and in private life, is to be sacrific- ed to religion. Say rather, that by religion, it is transmuted into a higher virtue, growing on an higher and engrafted branch, yet nourished from the same root : that it remains in its essence the same spirit, but Made pure by Thought, and naturalized in Heaven ; and he who cannot perceive the moral diff'erences of national and individual duties, comprehends neither the one or the other, and is not a whit the better Christian for being a bad patriot. Considered nationally, it is as if the captain of a man of war should strike and surrender his colours under the pre- 235 tence, that it would be folly to risk the lives of so many good Christian sailors for the sake of a/ew yards of coarse canvass ! Of such reasoners we take an indignant leave in the words of an obscure poet. Fear never wanted arguments : you do Reason yourselves into a careful bondage, Circumspect only to your Misery. I could urge Freedom, Charters, Country, Laws, Gods, and Religion, and such precious names — Nay, what you value higher, Wealth ! But that You sue for bondage, yielding to demands As impious as they're insolent, and have Only this sluggish name — to perish full ! Cartwright. • And here we find it necessary to animadvert on a principle asserted by Lord Minto, (in his speech, June 6th, 18U3, and afterwards published at full length) that France had an un- doubted right to insist on our abandonment of Malta, a right not given, but likewise not abrogated, by the Treaty of Amiens. Surely in this effort of candor, his Lordship must have forgot- ten the circumstances on which he exerted it. The case is sim- ply thus : the British government was convinced, and the French government admitted the justice of the conviction, that it was of the utmost importance to our interests, that Malta should re- main uninfluenced by France. The French government binds itself down by a solemn treaty, that it will use its best endea- vors in conjunction with us, to secure this independence. This promise was no act of liberality, no generous free-gift on the part of France, No ] we purchased it at a high price. We dis- banded our forces, we dismissed our sailors, and we gave up the best part of the fruits of our naval victories. Can it there- fore with a shadow of plausibility be affirmed, that the right to insist on our evacuation of the island was unaltered by the Treaty of Amiens, when this demand is strictly tantamount to our surrender of all the advantages which we had bought of France at so high a price ? Tantamount to a direct breach on her part, not merely of a solemn treaty, but of an absolute bar- gain? It was not only the perfidy of unprincipled ambition — the demand was the fraudulent trick of a sharper. For what did France ? She sold us the independence of Malta: then exerted her power, and annihilated the very possibility of that indepen- 236 dence, and lastly, demanded of us that we should leave it bound hand and foot for her to seize without trouble, wdienever her ambitious projects led her to regard such seizure as expedient. We bound ourselves to surrender it to the Knights of Malta — not surely to Joseph, Robert or Nicolas, but to a known order, clothed with certain powers, and capable of exerting them in consequence of certain revenues. We found no such order. The men indeed and the name we found : and even so, if we Jiad purchased Sardinia of its sovereign for so many millions of money, which through our national credit, and from the equiva- lence of our national paper to gold and silver, he had agreed to receive in bank notes, and if he had received them — doubt- less, he would have the bank notes, even though immediately after our payment of them we had for this very purpose forced the Bank Company to break. But would he have received the debt due to him ? It is nothing more or less than a practical 2nm, as wicked though not quite so ludricrous, as the (in all senses) execrable pun of Earl Godwin, who requesting basium (i. e. a kiss) from the archbishop, thereupon seized on the archbishop's manor of Baseham. A Treaty is a writ of mutual promise between two independ- ent States, and the Law of Promise is the same to nations as to indivdiuals. It is to be sacredly performed by each party in that sense in which it knew and permitted the other party to understand it, at the time of the contract. Any thing short of this is criminal deceit in individuals, and in governments impi- ous perfidy. After the conduct of France in the affair of the guarantees, and of the revenues of the order, we had the same right to preserve the island independent of France by a British garrison, as a lawful creditor has to the household goods of a fugitive and dishonest debtor. One other assertion of his Lordship's, in the same speech, bears so immediately on the plan of The Friend, as far as it proposed to investigate the principle of international, no less than of private morality, that I feel myself in some degree un- der an obligation to notice it. A Treaty (says his Lordship) ought to be strictly observed by a nation in its literal sense, even though the utter ruin of that nation should be the certain and fore-know'n consequence of that observance. Previous to any remarks of my own on this high llight of diplomatic virtue, we will hear what Harrington has said on this subject. " A 237 man may devote himself to death or destruction to save a na- tion ; but no nation will devote itself to death or destruction to save mankind. Machiavel is decried for saying, "that no consideration is to be had of what is just or unjust, of what is merciful or cruel, of what is honorable or ignominous, in case it be to save a state or to preserve liberty :' which as to the manner of expression may perhaps be crudely spoken. But to immagine that a nation will devote itself to death or destruc- tion any more after faith given, or an engagement thereto tend- ing, than if there had been no engagement made or faith giv- en, were not piety but folly." Crudely spoken indeed ! and not less crudely thought : nor is the matter much mended by the commentator. Yet every man, who is at all acquainted with the world and its past history, knows that the fact itself is truly stated : and what is more important in the present ar- gument, he cannot find in his heart a full, deep, and downright verdict, that it should be otherwise. The consequences of this perplexity in the moral felings, are not seldom extensively injurious. For men hearing the duties which would be bind- ing on two individuals living under the same laws, insisted on as equally obligatory on two independent states, in extreme cases, where they see clearly the impracticability of realizing such a notion ; and having at the same time a dim half-con- sciousness, that two States can never be placed exactly on the same ground as two individuals ; relieve themselves from their perplexity by cutting what they cannot untie, and assert that national policy cannot in all cases be subordinated to the laws of morality : in other words, that a government may act with injustice, and yet remain blameless. This assertion was hazarded (I record it with unfeigned regret) by a Minister of State, on the affair of Copenhagen. Tremendous assertion ! that would render every complaint, which we make, of the abominations, of the French tyrant, hypocrisy, or mere incen- diary declamation for the simple-headed multitude ! But, thank heaven ! it is as unnecessary and unfounded, as it is tremend- ous. For what is a treaty ? a voluntary contract between two nations. So we will state it in the first instance. Now it is an impossible case, that any nation can be supposed by any oth- er to have intended its own absolute destruction in a treaty, which its interests alone could have prompted it to make. The verj> thought is self-contradictory. Not only Athens (we - 238 will say ) could not have intended this to have been under- stood in any specific promise make to Sparta ; but Sparta could never have imagined that Athens had so intended it. And Athens itself must have known, that had she even affirmed the contrary, Sparta could not have believed — nay, would have been under a moral obligation not to have believed her. Were it possible to suppose such a case — for instance, such a treaty made by a single besieged town, under an independent gov- ernment as that of Numantium — it becomes no longer a state, but the act of a certain number of individuals voluntarily sac- rificing themselves, each to preserve his separate honor. For the state was already destroyed by the circumstances which alone could make such an engagement conceivable. — But we have said, nations. — Applied to England and France, relative- ly to treaties, this is but a form of speaking. The treaty is re- ally made by some half dozen, or perhaps half a hundred indi- viduals, possessing the government of these countries. Now it is a universally admitted part of the Law of Nations, that an engagement entered into by a minister with a foreign power, when it was known to this power that the minister in so doing had exceeded and contravened his instructions, is altogether nugatory. And is it to be supj)osed for a moment, that a whole nation, consisting of perhaps twenty millions of human souls, could ever have invested a few individuals — whom, altogether for the promotion of its welfare, it had intrusted with its gov- ernment — with the right of signing away its existence ? ESSAY VTI. Arnicas reprehensiones gratissime accipiamiis, oportet : etiam si reprehendi nort meruit opinio nostra, vel Jianc propter causam, quod recte defendi potest. Si vero iiifirmitas vel humana vel propria, etiam cum veraciter arguitur, non potest non aliquantulum conlristari, melius tumor dolet cum curatur, quam duni ei parcitur et non sanatur. Hoc enim est quod acute vidit, qui dixit : utiliores esse Imvd raro inimicos objurgantes, quam arnicas objurgare metuentes. llli enim dwm rixantur, dicimt aliquando vera qitce corrigamus : isti autem minoremy quam oportet, exhibent justitice libertatem, dum amicitice timent exasperare dul- cedinem. — Augustinus Hieronymo : Epist. xciii. Hierou Opera. To/ii. ii. p> 233. Translation — Censures offered in friendliness, we ought to receive with grati- tude : yea, though our o])inions did not merit censure, we should still be thankful for tlie attack on them, were it only that it gives us an opportu- nity of successfully defending the same. (For never doth an impoHant truth spread its roots so uide or clasp the soil so stuhhornly, as when it has braved the winds of controversy. There is a stirring and a far-heard music sent forth from the tree of sound knoioledge, when its branches are fighting ivith the storm, which passing onward shrills out at once TrutKs tnumph and its own defeat.) But '\€ the infirmity of human nature, or of our own constitutional temperament, cannot, even when we have been fairly convicted of error, but suffer some small mortification, yet better suffer pain from its extirpation, than from the consequences of its continuance, and of the false teridemess that had with- held the remedy. This is what the ^oHto ol>&erver had in his mind, who said, that upbraiding enemies were not seldom more profitable than friends afraid to find fault. For the former amidst their quarrelsome invectives may chance on some home truths, which we may amend in consequence ; while the latter from an over delicate a])prehension of ruflling the smooth surface of friendship shrink from its duties, and from the manly fi-eedom which Truth and Justice demand. Only a few privileged individuals are authorized to pass into the theatre without stopping at the door-keeper's hox ; but ev- ery man of decent appearance may put down the play-price there, 240 and thenceforward has as good a right as the managers them- selves not only to see and hear, as far as his place in the house, and his own ears and eyes permit him, but likewise to express audibly his approbation or disapprobation of what may be go- ing forv/ard on the stage. If his feelings happen to be in uni- son with those of the audience in general, he may without breach of decorum persevere in his notices of applause or dis- like, till the wish of the house is complied with. If he finds himself unsupported, he rests contented with having once ex- erted his common right, and on that occasion at least gives no further interruption to the amusement of those who feel differ- ently from him. So it is, or so it should be, in Literature. A few extraordinary minds may be allowed to pass a mere opin- ion : though in point of fact those, vvho alone are entitled to this privilege, are ever the last to avail themselves of it. Add too, that even the mere opinions of such men may in general be regarded either as promissory notes, or as receipts referring to a former payment. But every man's opinion has a right to pass into the common auditory, if his reason for the opinion is paid down at the same time : for arguments are the sole cur- rent coin of intellect. The degree of influence to which the opinion is entitled, should be proportioned to the weight and value of the reasons for it ; and whether these are shillings or pounds sterling, the man, who has given them, remains blameless, provided he contents himself with the place to which they have entitled him, and does not attempt by the strength of lungs to counterbalance its disadvantages, or expect to exert as „„ -c i''"*i" «i^ influence in the back seats of the upper eallerv, as il he haa p..,^ . , ^ , , , . , , n . r ^ , ;i gold and been seated in the stage box. But unfortunateh , , , , , ..? ♦ ^^ I , , , ' ^nd here commence ^^-o r<-'inis oi dilier- ence between the theatric and the Literary Public) in the o-reat theatre of Literature there are no authorized door-keepers • for our anonymous critics are self-elected. I shall not fear the charge oi calumny if I add, that they have lost all credit with wise men, by unfair dealing: such as their refusal to receive an honest man's money, (that is, his argument) because they anticipate and dislike his opinion, while others of suspicious character and the most unseemly appearance, are suffered to pass without payment, or by virtue of orders which they have themselves distributed to known partisans. Sometime, the honest's man's intellectual coin is refused under pretence that 241 it is light or counterfeit, without any proof given either by the money scales, or by sounding the coin in dispute together with one of known goodness. We may carry the metaphor still far- ther. It is by no means a rare case, that the money is return- ed because it had a different sound from that of a counterfeit, the brassy blotches on which seemed to blush for the impudence of the silver wash in which they were inisled, and rendered the mock coin a lively emblem of a lie self-detected. Still oftener does the rejection take place by a mere act of insolence, and the blank assertion that the candidate's money is light or bad, is justified by a second assertion, that he is a fool or knave for offering it. The second point of difference explains the preceding, and accounts both for the want of established door-keepers in the auditory of Literature, and for the practices of those, who un- der the name of Reviewers volunteer this office. There is no royal mintage for arguments, no ready means by which all men alike, who possess common sense, may determine their value and intrinsic worth at the first sight or sound. Certain forms of natural Logic indeed there are, the inobservance of which is decisive against an argument; but the strictest adhe- rence to them is no proof of its actual (though an indispensable condition of its possible) validity; in the arguer's own con- science there is, no doubt, a certain value, and an infallible cri- terion of it, which applies to all arguments equally : and this is the sincere conviction of the mind itself. But for those to whom it is offered, these are only conjectural marks ; yet such as will seldom mislead any man of plain sense, who is both honest and observant. These characteristics the Friend at- tempted to comprize in the concluding paragraph of the Fourth Essay of the Volume, and has described them more at large in the Essays that follow, "On the communicating of Truth." If the honest warmth, which results from the strength of the par- ticular conviction, be tempered by the modesty which belongs to the sense of general fallibility; if the emotions, which ac- company all vivid perceptions, are preserved distinct from the expression of personal passions, and from appeals to them in the heart of others ; if the Reasoner asks no respect for the opinion, as his opinion, but only in proportion as it is acknowledged by that Reason, which is common to all men ; and, lastly, if he supports an opinion on no subject which he has not previously 31 242 examined, and furnishes proof both that he possesses the means of enquiry by his education or the nature of his pursuits, and that he has endeavored to avail himself of those means ; then, and with these conditions, every human Being is authorized to make public the gi'owids of any opinion which he holds, and of course the opinion itself, as the object of them. Conse- quently, it is the duty of all men, not always indeed to attend to him, but, if they do, to attend to him with respect, and with a sincere as well as apparent toleration. I should offend against my own Laws, if I disclosed at present the nature of my con- victions concerning the degree, in which this virtue of tolera- tion is possessed and practised by the majority of my contem- poraries and countrymen. But if the contrary temper is felt and shewn in instances where all the conditions have been ob- served, which have been stated at full in the preliminary num- bers that form the Introduction of this Work, and the chief of which I have just now recapitulated; I have no hesitation in declaring that whatever the opinion may be, and however op- posite to the hearer's or reader's previous persuasions, one or other or all of the following defects must be taken for granted. Either the intolerant person is not master of the grounds on which his own faith is built: which therefore neither is or can be his own faith, tbough it may very easily be his imagined intei'est, and his habit of thought. In this case he is angry, not at the opposition to Truth, but at the interruption of his own indolence and intellectual slumber, or possibly at the apprehen- sion, that his temporal advantages are threatened, or at least the ease of mind, in which he had been accustomed to enjoy them. Or, secondly, he has no love of Truth for its own sake ; no re- verence for the divine command to seek earnestly after it, which command, if it had not been so often and solemnly given by Revelation, is yet involved and expressed in the gift of Reason and in the dependence of all our virtues on its developement. He has no moral and religious awe for freedom of thought, though accompanied both by sincerity and humility ; nor for the right of free communication which is ordained by God, to- gether with that freedom, if it be true that God has ordained us to live in society, and has made the progressive improvement of all and each of us depend on the reciprocal aids, which di- rectly or indirectly each supplies to all, and all to each. But if his alarm and his consequent intolerance, are occasioned by his CM^^ 243 eternal rather than temporal interests, and if as is most com- monly the case, he does not deceive himself on this point, gloomy indeed, and erroneous beyond idolatry, must have been his notions of the Supreme Being ! For surely the poor Heathen who represents to himself the divine attributes of wisdom, jus- tice, and mercy, under multiplied and forbidden symbols in the powers of Nature or the souls of extraordinary men, practises a superstition which (though at once the cause and effect of blindness and sensuality) is less incompatible with inward pie- ty and true religious feeling, than the creed of that man, who in the spirit of his practice, though not in direct words, loses sight of all these attributes, and substitutes " servile and thrall- like fear instead of the adoptive and cheerful boldness, which our new alliance with God requires of us as Christians."* Such fear-ridden and thence angry believers, or rather acquiescents^ would do well to re-peruse the book of Job, and observe the sentence passed by the all-just on the friends of the sufferer, who had hoped, like venal advocates, to pwchase the favor of deity by uttering truths of which in their own hearts they had neither conviction nor comprehension. The Truth from the LIPS DID NOT ATONE FOR THE LIE IN THE HEART, wllilo the rashness of agony in the searching and bewildered complainant, was forgiven in consideration of his sincerity and integrity in not disguising the true dictates of his Reason and Con- science, but avowing his incapability of solving a problem by his Reason, which before the Christian dispensation the Al- mighty was pleased to solve only by declaring it to be beyond the limits of human Reason. Having insensibly passed into a higher and more serious style than I had first intended, I will venture to appeal to these self-obscurants, whose faith dwells in the Land of the Shadow of Darkness, these Papists without * Milton'' s Rifonnation hi England. " For in very deed, the superstitious man by liis good will is an Atheist ; but being scared from thence by the pangs of conscience, shuffles up to himself such a God and such a Worship as is most accordant to his fear : which fear of his as also his hope, being fix- ed only ui)on the flesh, renders likewise the whole faculty of his ai)prehension carnal, and all the inward acts of worship issuing from the native strength of the Soul, j-un out lavishly to the upper skin, and there harden into a cruM of for- mality. Hence men came to scan the Scriptures by the letter, ani in the co- venant of our redemption magnified the external signs more than the quick- ening power of the Spirit. 244 Pope, and Protestants who protest only against all protesting ; and will appeal to them in words which yet more immediately concern them as Christians, in the hope that they will lend a fearless ear to the learned apostle, when he both assures and labors to persuade them that they were called in Christ to all perfectness in spiritual knowledge and full assurance of un- derstanding in the mystery of God. There can be no end without means : and God furnishes no means that exempt us from the task and duty of joining our own best endeavors. I'he original stock, or wild-olive tree of our natural powers, was not given us to be burnt or blighted, but to be grafted on. We are not only not forbidden to examine and propose our doubts, so it be done with humility and proceed from a real desire to know the Truth ; but we are repeatedly commanded so to do : and with a most unchristian spirit must that man have read the preceding passages, if he can interpret any one sen- tence as having for its object to excuse a too numerous class, who, to use the words of St. Augustine, qucerunt non ut fidem sed ut infidelitatem inveniant : i. e. such as examine not to find reasons for faith, but pretexts for infidelity. ESSAY VIII. Such is the iniquity of men, that they euck in opinions as wild asses do the wind, without distinguishing the wholesome from the comipted air, and then hve upon it at a venture : and when all their confidence is huilt upon zeal and mistake, yet therefore because they are zealous and mistake n they are impatient of contradiction. Taylor's Epist. Dedic. to the Lib- erty of Prophesying. "If," (observes the eloquent Bishop in the 13th section of the work, from which my motto is selected) " an opinion plain- ly and directly brings in a crime, as if a man preaches treason or sedition, his opinion is not his excuse. A man is neverthe- less a traitor because he believes it lawful to commit treason ; and a man is a murtherer if he kills his brother unjustly, al- though he should think that he was doing God good service thereby. Matters of fact are equally judicable^ whether the principle of them he from within or from without^ To dogmatize a crime, that is, to teach it as a doctrine, is it- self a crime, great or small as the crime dogmatized is more or less palpably so. You say (said Sir John Cheke, addressing himself to the Papists of his day) that you rebel for your reli- gion. First tell me, what religion is that which teaches you to rebel. As my object in the present section is to treat of Tolerance and Intolerance in the public bearings of opinions and their propagation, I shall embrace this opportunity of se- lecting the two passages, which I have been long inclined to consider as the most eloquent in our English Literature, though each in a very different style of eloquence, as indeed the au- thors were as dissimilar in their bias, if not in their faith, as two bishops of the same church can well be supposed to have been. I think too, I may venture to add, that both the ex- 246 tracts will be new to a very great majority of my readers. For the length I make no apology. It was part of my plan to allot two numbers of The Friend, the one to a selection from our prose writers, and the other from our poets; but in both cases Irom works that do not occur in our ordinary reading. The following passages are both on the same subject : the first from Taylor's Dissuasive from Popery : — the second from a Letter of Bishop Bedell's to an unhappy friend who had de- serted the church of England for that of Rome. 1. The Rise and Progress of a controversy, from the specu- lative Opinion of an Individual to the Revolution or Intestine War of a Nation. This is one of the inseparable characters of an heretic ; he sets his whole communion and all his charity upon his article ; for to be zealous in the schism, that is the characteristic of a good man, that is his note of Christianity ; in all the rest he ex- cuses you or tolerates you, provided you be a true believer ; then you are one of the faithful, a good man and a precious, you are of the congregation of the saints, and one of the god- ly. All Solifidians do thus ; and all that do thus are Solifidians, the church of Rome herself not excepted ; for though in words she proclaims the possibility of keeping all the commandments ; yet she dispenses easier with him that breaks them all, than with him that speaks one word against any of her articles, though but the least ; even the eating of fish and forbidding flesh in Lent. So that it is faith they regard more than chari- ty, a right belief more than a holy life ; and for this you shall be with them upon terms easy enough, provided you go not a hair's breadth from any thing of her belief. For if you do, they have provided for you two deaths and two fires, both in- evitable and one eternal. And this certainly is one of the greatest evils, of which the Church of Rome is guilty : for this in itself is the greatest and un worthiest uncharitableness. But the procedure is of great use to their ends. For the greatest part of Christians are those that cannot consider things leisure- ly and wisely, searching their bottoms and discovering their causes, or foreseeing events which are to come after ; but are carried away by fear and hope, by affection and prepossession : and therefore the Roman doctors are careful to govern them as they will be governed. If you dispute, you gain, it may be, one, and lose five ; but if ye threaten them with damnation, 247 you keep them in fetters ; for they that are, Hn fear of death, are all their life time in bondage^* (saith the Apostle:) and there is in the world nothing so potent as fear of the two deaths, which are the two arms and grapples of iron by which the church of Rome takes and keeps her timorous or conscien- tious proselytes. The easy Protestant calls upon you from scripture to do your duty, to build a holy life upon a holy faith, the faith of the Apostles and first disciples of our Lord ; he tells you if you err, and teaches ye the truth ; and if ye will obey it is well, if not, he tells you of your sin, and that all sin deserves the wrath of God ; but judges no man's person, much less any states of men. He knows that God's judg- ments are righteous and true ; but he knows also, that his mer- cy absolves many persons, Avho, in his just judgment, were condemned : and if he had a warrant from God to say, that he should destroy all the papists, as Jonas had concerning the Ninevites; yet he remembers that every repentance, if it be sincere, will do more, and prevail greater, and last longer than God's anger will. Besides these things, there is a strange spring, and secret principle in every man's understanding, that it is oftentimes turned about by such impulses, of which no man can give an account. But we all remember a most won- derful instance of it, in the disputation between the two Rey- nolds's, John and William ; the former of which being a Papist, and the latter a Protestant, met and disputed, with a purpose to confute, and to convert each other. And so they did : for those arguments, which were used, prevailed fully against their adversary, and yet did not prevail with themselves. The Papist turned Protestant, and the Protestant became a Papist, and so remained to their dying day. Of which some ingen- ious person gave a most handsome account in the following ex- cellent Epigram, Bella, inter geminos, plusquarn civilia, fratres Traxerat ambiguiis Religionis apex. Ille lefonnatae fidei propartibus instat : Iste reformandain denegat esse fidem. Propositis causae rationibus ; alter utrinque ConcuiTere pares, et cecidere pai-es. Quod fuit in votis, fratrem capit alter uterq ; * Hebrews, ii. 15. 248 Quod fuit in fatis, perdit uterque fidem. Captivi gemini sine captivante fuerunt, Et victor victi transfuga castra petit. Quod genTis hoc pugnae est, ubi victus gaudet uterq ; Et tamen alteruter se superasse dolet ? But further yet, he considers the natural and regular infirmi- ties of mankind ; and God considers them much more ; he knows that in man there is nothing admirable but his ignorance and weakness ; his prejudice,^ and the infallible certainty of being deceived in many things ; he sees, that wicked men of- tentimes know much more than many very good men ; and that the understanding is not of itself considerable in morality, and effects nothing in rewards and punishments ; it is the will only that rules man, and can obey God. He sees and deplores it, that many men study hard, and understand little , that they dis- pute earnestly, and understand not one another at all; that affections creep so certainly, and mingle with their arguing, that the argument is lost, and nothing remains but the conflict of two adversaries' affections ; that a man is so willing, so easy, so ready, to believe what makes for his opinion, so hard to under- stand an argument against himself, that it is plain, it is the prin- ciple within, not the argument without, that determines him. He observes also that all the world (a few individuals except- ed ) are unalterably determined to the religion of their country, of their family, of their society ; that there is never any con- siderable change made, but what is made by war and empire, by fear and hope. He remembers that it is a rare thing, to see a Jesuit of the Dominican opinion ; or a Dominican ( until of late) of the Jesuit; but every order gives laws to the under- standing of their novices, and they never change. He consid- ers there is such ambiguity in words, by which all Lawgivers express their meaning ; that there is such abstruseness in mys- teries of religion, that some things are so much too high for us, that we cannot understand them rightly ; and yet they are so sacred, and concerning, that men will think they are bound to look into them, as far as they can ; that it is no wonder if they quickly go too far, where no understanding, if it were fitted for it, could go far enough ; but in these things it will be hard not to be deceived ; since our words cannot rightly express those things. That there is such variety of human understandings, that men's faces differ not so much as their souls; and that if there were not so much difFicnlty in things, yet they could not 249 but be variously apprehended by several men. And hereto he considers, that in twenty opinions, it may be that not one of them is true ; nay, whereas Varro reckoned, that among the old Philosophers there were eight hundred opinions concerning the summum bonum, that yet not one of them hit the right. He sees also that in all religions, in all societies, in all families, and in all things, opinions differ ; and since opinions are too often begot by passion, by passions and violence they are kept ; and every man is too apt to overvalue his own opinion ; and out of a desire that every man should conform his judgment to his that teaches, men are apt to be earnest in their persuasion, and overact the proposition ; and from being true as he supposes, he w ill think it profitable ; and if you warm him either with con- fidence or opposition, he quickly tells you it is necessary ; and as he loves those that think as he does, so he is ready to hate them that do not ; and then secretly from wishing evil to him, he is apt to believe evil will come to him ; and that it is just it should ; and by this time the opinion is troublesome, and puts other men upon their guard against it ; and then while passion reigns, and reason is modest and patient, and talks not loud like a storm, victory is more regarded than truth, and men call God into the party, and his judgments are used for arguments, and the threatnings of the Scripture are snatched up in haste, and men throw arrows, fire-brands, and death, and by this time all the world is in an uproar. All this, and a thousand things more the English protestants considering deny not their communion to any Christian who desires it, and believes the Apostles' Creed, and is of the religion of the four first general councils ; they hope well of all that live well ; they receive into their bo- som all true believers of w-hat church soever ; and for them that err, they instruct them, and then leave them to their liber- ty, to stand or fall before their own master. — 2. A Doctrine not the less safe for being the more charitable. " Christ our Lord hath given us, amongst others, two infalli- ble notes to know the church." "My sheep," saith he, " hear my voice :" and again, " By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, if ye love one another." — What, shall we stand upon conjectural arguments from that which men say? We are partial to ourselves, malignant to our opposites. Let Christ be heard who be his, who not. And for the hearing of his voice — O that it might be the issue ! But I see you decline it, there- 32 250 fore I leave it also for the present. That other is that which now I stand upon : "the badge of Christ's sheep." Not a like- lihood, but a certain token whereby every man may know them ; "by this," saith he, "shall all men know that ye are my disci- ples, if ye have charity one towards another." — Thanks be to God, this mark of our Saviour is in us which you with our schismaticks and other enemies want. As Solomon found the true mother by her natural affection, that chose rather to yield to her adversary's plea, claiming her child, than endure that it should be cut in pieces ; so may it soon be found at this day whether is the true mother. Ours, that saith, give her the living child and kill him not ; or yours, that if she may not have it, is content it be killed rather than want of her will. Alas! (saith ours even of those that leave her) these be my children ! I have borne them to Christ in baptism : I have nour- ished them as I could with mine own breasts, his testaments. I would have brought them up to man's estate, as their free birth and parentage deserves. Whether it be their lightness or discontent, or her enticing words and gay shews, they leave me : they have found a better mother. Let them live yet, though in bondage. I shall have patience; I permit the care of them to their father, I beseech him to keep them that they do no evil. If they make their peace with him, I am satisfied : they have not hurt me at all. Nay, but saith yours, I sit alone as Queen and Mistress of Christ's Family, he that hath not me for his Mother, cannot have God for his Father. Mine there- fore are these, either born or adopted : and if they will not be mine they shall be none. So without expecting Christ's sen- tence she cuts with the temporal sv.ord, hangs, burns, draM^s, those that she perceives inclined to leave her, or have left her already. So she kills with the spiritual sword those that sub- ject not to her, yea thousands of souls that not only have no means so to do, but many which never so much as have heard, whether there be a Pope of Rome or no. Let our Solomon be judge between them, yea, judge you, Mr. Waddesworth ! more seriously and maturely, not by guesses, but by the very mark of Christ, which wanting yourselves you have unawares disco- vered in us : judge, I say, without passion and partiality, ac- cording to Christ's word : which is his flock, which is his church. ESSAY IX. ON THE LAW OF NATIONS. riQO'g Ttolsojg svduifioi'iuv xui dixuioav'vrjv itu via idico'rov tfinoaod-ev riraytTui (pv'asi- to'vto)v de tu pei' "" av&Q(x)' mva dig tu x^iicc, la 8s ■d-eia eig lo'v 'r]ye/jo^ra No'vv Sv'finavTa dsi: ^Xiiteiv, o'v/ 'wg nQog ageiyg il fiOQior, alXa nqo'g aQSiijf if ugsraig ast 'v7to/iBi'ou~(ruP, 'wi; Tiqo'g vo\uoi' livu fOf^tod'SioTvi'iu. nluiMV Tiegl Noi.imv. Translation. — For all things that regard the well-being and justice of a State are pre-ordained and established in the nature of the individual. Of these it behoves that the merely human (the temporal andjluxional) should be re- ferred and subordinated to the Divine in rnan, and the Divine hi like man- ner to the Supreme Mind, so however that the State is not to regulate its actions by reference to any particular form and fragment of virtue, but must fix its eye on that virtue, which is the abiding spirit and (as it were) substratum in all the virtues, as on a law that is itself legislative. It were absurd to suppose, that individuals should be under a law of Moral obligation, and yet that a million of the same individuals acting collectively or through representatives, should be exempt from all law : for morality is no accident of human nature, but its essential characteristic. A being absolutely without morality is either a beast or a fiend, according as we conceive this want of conscience to be natural or self-produ- ced ; or (to come nearer to the common notion, though with the sacrifice of austere accuracy) according as the being is conceived without the law, or in unceasing and irretrievable rebellion to it. Yet were it possible to conceive a man wholly immoral, it would remain impossible to conceive him without a moral obligation to be otherwise ; and none, but a madman, will imagine that the essential qualities of any thing can be al- tered by its becoming part of an aggregate ; that a grain of corn, for instance, shall cease to contain flour, as soon as it is 252 part of a peck or bushel. It is therefore grounded in the na- ture of the thing, and not by a mere fiction of the mind, that wise men, who have written on the h\w of nations, have al- ways consideied the several states of the civilized world, as so many individuals, and equally with the latter under a moral obligation to exercise their free agency within such bounds, as render it compatible with the existence of free agency in oth- ers. We may represent to ourselves this original free agency, as a right of commonage, the formation of separate states as an enclosure of this common, the allotments awarded severally to the co-proprietors as constituting national rights, and the law of nations as the common register office of their title deeds. But in all morality, though the principle, which is the abiding spirit of the law, remains perpetual and unaltered, even as that supreme reason in whom and from whom it has its being, yet the letter of the law, that is, the application of it to particular instances, and the mode of realizing it in actual practice, must be modified by the existing circumstances. What we should desire to do, the conscience alone will inform us ; but how and when we are to make the attempt, and to what extent it is in our power to accomplish it, are questions for the judgment, and require an acquaintance with facts and their bearings on each other. Thence the improvement of our judgment, and the increase of our knowledge, on all subjects included within our sphere of action, are not merely advanta- ges recommended by prudence, but absolute duties imposed on us by conscience. As the circumstances then, under which men act as States- men, are different from those under which they act as individu- als, a proportionate difference must be expected in the practical rules by which their public conduct is to be determined. Let me not be misunderstood : I speak of a difference in the prac- tical rules, not in the moral law itself which these rules point out, the means of administering in particular cases, and under given circumstances. The spirit continues one and the same, though it may vary its form according to the element into which it is transported. This dift'erence with its grounds and consequences it is the province of the philosophical juspublic- ist to discover and display : and exactly in this point (I speak with unfeigned diffidence ) it appears to me that the Writers 253 on the Law of Nations,* whose works I have had the oppor- tunity of studying, have been least successful. In what does the Law of Nations differ from the Laws enacted by a particu- lar State for its own subjects ? The solution is evident. The Law of Nations, considered apart from the common principle of all morality, is not fixed or positive in itself, nor supplied with any regular means of being enforced. Like those duties in private life which, for the same reasons, moralists have enti- tled imperfect duties (though the most atrocious guilt may be involved in the omission or violation of them,) the Law of Nations appeals only to the conscience and prudence of the parties concerned. Wherein then does it differ from the moral laws which the Reason, considered as Conscience, dictates for the conduct of individuals ? This is a more difficult question ; but my answer would be determined by, and grounded on the obvious differences of the circumstances in the two cases. Re- member then, that we are now reasoning, not as sophists or system-mongers, but as men anxious to discover what is right in order that we may practice it, or at least, give our suffrage and the influence of our opinion in recommending its practice. We must therefore confine the question to those cases, in which honest men and real patriots can suppose any controversy to exist between real patriotism and common honesty. The ob- jects of the patriot are, that his countrymen should as far as circumstances permit, enjoy what the Creator designed for the enjoyment of animals endowed with reason, and of course de- veloped those faculties which were given them to be developed. He would do his best that every one of his countrymen should possess whatever all men may and should possess, and that a sufficient number should be enabled and encouraged to acquire those excellencies which, though not necessary or possible for all men, are yet to all men useful and honorable. He * Grotius, Bykenshoek, Puffendorf. Wolfe, and Vatel ; to wliose works I must add, as coinj>rizing wliatever is most valuable in the preceding Authors, with many important inipi-ovemcnts and additions, Robinson's Re- ports of the Causes of tlie Court of Admiralty under Sir W. Scott: to whom international law is under no less obligation than the law of commercial pro- ceedings was to the late Lord Mansfield. As I have never seen Sir VV. Scott, nor either by myself or my connections enjoy the honor of the remotest ac- quaintance with him, I trust that even by those who may think my opinion erroneous, I shall at least not be suspected of intentional flatteiy. 254 knows, that patriotism itself is a necessary link in the golden chain of our affections and virtues, and turns away with indig- nant scorn from the false Philosophy or mistaken Religion, which would persuade him that Cosmopolitism is nobler than Nationality, and the human race a sublimer object of love than a people ; that Plato, Luther, Newton, and their equals, formed themselves neither in the market nor the senate, but in the world, and for all men of all ages. True ! But where, and among whom are these giant exceptions produced ? In the wide empires of Asia, where millions of human beings acknowledge no other bond but that of a common slavery, and are distin- guished on the map but by a name which themselves perhaps never heard, or hearing abhor? No ! In a circle defined by hu- man affections, the first firm sod within which becomes sacred beneath the quickened step of the returning citizen — here, where the powers and interests of men spread without confu- sion through a common sphere, like the vibrations propagated in the air by a single voice, distinct yet coherent, and all uni- ting to express one thought and the same feeling ! here, where even the common soldier dares force a passage for his comrades by gathering up the bayonets of the enemy into his own breast : because his country ^^ expected every man to do his duty /" and this not after he has been hardened by habit, but, as probably, in his first battle ; not reckless or hopeless, but braving death from a keener sensibility to those blessings which make life dear, to those qualities which render himself worthy to enjoy them ? Here, where the royal crown is loved and worshipped as a glory around the sainted head of Freedom ! Where the rustic at his plough whistles with equal enthusiasm, " God save the King^^'' and " Britons never shall he Slaves ;" or, perhaps, leaves one thistle unweeded in his garden, because it is the sym- bol of his dear native land !* Here, from within this circle de- * I cannot here refuse myself the pleasure of recording a speech of the Poet Burns, related to nie by the lady to whom it was addressed. Having been asked by her, why in his more serious jjoems he had not changed the two or three Scotch words which seemed only to disturb the purity of the style ? the Poet ^vitll great sweetness, and in his usual hajipiness in reply answered why in truth it would have been better, but — The rough bur-thistle spreading wide Aniang the bearded bear, 255 fined, as light by shade, or rather as light within light, by its intensity, here alone, and only within these magic circles, rise up the awful spirits, whose words are oracles for mankind, whose love embraces all countries, and whose voice sounds through all ages ! Here, and here only, may we confidently expect those mighty minds to be reared and ripened, whose names are naturalized in foreign lands, the sure fellow-travel- lers of civilization ! and yet render their o-vvn country dearer and more proudly dear to their own countrymen. This is in- deed Cosmopolitism, at once the nursling and the nurse of pa- triotic affection ! This, and this alone, is genuine Philanthro- py, which like the olive tree, sacred to Concord and to Wis- dom, fattens not exhausts the soil, from which it sprang, and in which it remains rooted. It is feebleness only which cannot be generous without injustice, or just without ceasing to be gene- rous. Is the morning star less brilliant, or does a ray less fall on the golden fruitage of the earth, because the moons of Sa- turn too feed their lamps from the same Sun ? Even Germany,, though curst with a base and hateftd brood of nobles and prince- lings, cowardly and ravenous jackals to the very flocks en- trusted to them as to shepherds, who hunt for the tiger and whine and wag their tails for his bloody offal — even Germany,, whose ever-changing boundaries superannuate the last year's map, and are altered as easily as the hurdles of a temporary sheep-fold, is still remembered with filial love and a patriot's pride, when the thoughtful German hears the names of Luther and Leibnitz. "Ah! why," he sighs, "why for herself in vain should my country have produced such a host of immortal minds !" Yea, even the poor enslaved, degraded, and barbarized Greek, can still point to the harbour of Tenedos, and say, " there lay our fleet when we were besieging Troy." Reflect a moment on the past history of this wonderful people ! What were they while they remained free and independent ? when Greece re- sembled a collection of mirrors set in a single frame, each having its own focus of patriotism, yei all capable, as at Marathon and I tiirn'd the weeder-clips aside An' spar'd the symbol dear. An author may be allowed to quote from his own poe;ns, when he does it with as much modesty and felicity as Burns did in this instance. 256 Platea, of converging to one point and of consuming a common foe ? What were they then ? The fountains of light and civil- ization, of truth and of beauty, to all mankind ! they were the thinking head, the beating heart of the whole world ! They lost their independence, and with their independence their pat- riotism ; and became the cosmopolites of antiquity. It has been truly observed (by the author of the work for which Palm was murdered) that, after the first acts of severity, the Romans treated the Greeks not only more mildly than their other slaves and dependants, they behaved to them even affectionately and with munificence. The victor nation felt reverentially the pre- sence of the visible and invisible deities that give sanctity to every grove, every fountain, and every forum. " Think (writes Pliny to one of his friends) that you are sent into the province of Achaia, that true and genuine Greece, where civilization, letters, even corn, are believed to have been discovered; that you are sent to administer the affairs of free states, that is, to men eminently free, who have retained their natural right by valor, by services, by friendship, lastly by treaty and by religion. Revere the Gods, their founders, the sacred influences repre- sented in those Gods, revere their ancient glory and this very old age which in man is venerable, in cities sacred. Cherish in thyself a reverence of antiquity, a reverence for their great exploits, a reverence even for their fables. Detract nothing from the proud pretensions of any state ; keep before thine eyes that this is the land which sent us our institutions, which gave us our laws, not after it was subjugated, but in compli- ance with our petition."* And what came out of these men, who were eminently free without patriotism, because with- out national independence? (which eminent freedom, how- ever, Pliny himself, in the very next sentence, styles the shadow and residuum of liberty.) While they were intense patriots, they were the benefactors of all mankind, legisla- tors for the very nation that afterwards subdued and ensla- ved them. When, therefore, they became pure cosmopolites, and no partial aflections interrupted their philanthropy, and when yet they retained their country, their language, and their arts, what noble works, what mighty discoveries may we not expect from them ? If the applause of a little city (a first rate Plin. Epist. Lib. VIII. 257 town of a country not much larger than Yorkshire) and the encouragement of a Pericles, produced a Phidias, a Sopho- cles, and a constellation of other stars scarcely inferior in glo- ry, what will not the applause of the world effect, and the boundless munificence of the world's imperial master? Alas! no Sophocles appeared, no Phidias was born ! individual genius fled with national independence, and the best products were cold and laborious copies of what their fathers had thought and invented in grandeur and majesty. At length nothing remain- ed, but dastardly and cunning slaves, who avenged their own ruin and degradation by assisting to degrade and ruin their con- querors ; and the golden harp of their divine language remain- ed only as the frame on which priests and monks spun their dirty cobwebs of sophistry and superstition ! If then in order to be men we must be patriots, and patriot- ism cannot exist without national independence, we need no new or particular code of morals to justify us in placing and preserving our country in that relative situation which is more favorable to its independence. But the true patriot is aware that this subject is not to be accomplished by a system of gen- eral conquest, such as was pursued by Philip of Macedon and his son, nor yet by the political annihilation of the one state, which happens to be its most formidable rival : the unwise measure recommended by Cato, and carried into effect by the Romans, in the instance of Carthage. Not by the latter: for rivalry between two nations conduces to the independence of both, calls forth or fosters all the virtues by which national se- curity is maintained. Still less by the former : for the victor nation itself must at length, by the very extension of its own conquests, sink into a mere province ; nay, it v*'ill most probably become the most abject portion of the Empire, and the most cru- elly oppressed, both because it will be more feared and sus- pected by the common tyrant, aiid because it will be the sink and centre of his luxury and corruption. Even in cases of ac- tual injury and just alarm the Patriot sets bounds to the repri- sal of national vengeance, and contents himself with such se- curities as are compatible with the welfare, though not with the ambitious projects of the nation, whose aggressions had given the provocation : for as patriotism inspires no super-hu- man faculties, neither can it dictate any conduct which would require such. He is too conscious of his own ignorance of the S3 258 future, to dare extend his calculations into remote periods ; nor, because he is a statesman, arrogates to himself the cares of Providence and the government of the world. How does he know, but that the very independence and consequent vir- tues of the nation, which in the anger of cowardice he would fain reduce to absolute insignificance, and rob even of its an- cient name, may in some future emergence be the destined guardians of his own country ; and that the power which now alarms, may hereafter protect and preserve it? The experi- ence of History authorizes not only the possibility, but even the probability of such an event. An American commander, who has deserved and received the highest honors which his grateful country, through her assembled Representatives, could bestow upon him, once said to me with a sigh : In an evil hour for my country did the French and Spaniards abandon Louisiana to the United States. We were not sufficiently a country before ; and should we ever be mad enough to drive the English from Canada and her other North American Prov- inces, we shall soon cease to be a country at all. Without lo- cal attachment, without national honour, we shall resemble a swarm of insects that settle on the fruits of the eaith to cor- rupt and consume them, rather than men who love and cleave to the land of their forefathers. After a shapeless anarchy, and a series of civil wars, we shall at last be formed into ma- ny countries ; unless the vices engendered in the process should demand further punishment, and we should previously fall be- neath the despotism of some military adventurer, like a lion, consumed by an inward disease, prostrate and helpless, be- neath the beak and talons of a vulture, or yet meaner bird of prey. ,--- ^ "u V ESSAY X. 0,Ti jUEv TTQo'g ro'p tS d'lov nlo'viov, ftu IXov 8e ttqo" cjlcpuvjaa^u noXebig anu'uTjg, o" nurruxv ^■'^' ovdu/ntf tci, (f^^si f.iu'ii'ijfiu xul eniTj/ devfiUf Tov'xo xoifcfifiov y.ui aoipov tI do^ua&ijatTur jofv ds m'AAojj' xuruysXa' o' TToliJixog- jnv'irjv nfv uniuv %Qif qa ranov' (ji]'ts u'D.o xaXor, fAj/rs Tu ngo'g jo'v no'lef^oJ' (leyul.ongenwg "uaxeTr zug no'keig, Tofv noXl- TWJ' jua'V ei'ioTB 'ovx uifuw'r d'l'TUjr, dv(TTV-(ov'rToi i' ye /"/''• Hufg Xsyeig; JJuTg /iiey ov~v "uvrovg o' u Xeyoifi' av to naqa nuv du(nv;(fig, olg ys ara'yxTj dlu Biov netvoj at nfv cpv;(ifv usi rifv <xvTi]r dia^eX- ■&EIV. JJluTQJV, Translation. — Whatever study or doctrine bears upon the wealth of the whole, say rather on a certain Phantom of a State in toto, whicJi is every where and no where, this shall be deemed most useful and wise ; and all else is the state-craftman's scorn. Tliis we dare pronounce the cause why nations torpid on their dignity in general, conduct their wars so little in a grand and magnanimous spirit, while the Citizens are too often wretched, though endowed with high capabilities by Nature. Hoiv say you? Nay, how should I not call them wretched, who are under the luirelenting neces- sity of wasting away their life in the mere search after tlie means of sup- porting it? Plato, de Legibus, viii. In the preceding Essay we treated of what may be wisely desired in respect to our foreign relations. The same sanity of mind will the true Patriot display, in all that regards the internal prosperity of his country. He will reverence not only what- ever tends to make the component individuals more happy, and more worthy of happiness : but likewise whatever tends to bind them more closely together as a people ; that as a multi- tude of parts and functions make up one human body, so the whole multitude of of his countrymen may, by the visible and invisible influences of religion, language, laws, customs, and 260 the reciprocal dependence and re-action of trade and agri- culture, be organized into one body politic. But much as he desires to see all become a whole, he places limits even to this wish, and abhors that system of policy, which would blend men into a state by the dissolution of all those virtues which make them happ}' and estima])le as individuals. Sir James Stuart (Poiit. Econ. Vol. I. p. 8S.) after stating the case of the vine-dresser, who is proprietor of a bit of land, on which grain (enough, and no more) is raised for himself and family — and who provides for their other wants of clothing, salt, &c. by his extra labor, as a vine dresser, observes — " From this example we discover the difference between Agriculture exercised as a trade, and as a direct means of subsisting. We have the two species in tlie vine-dresser : he labours the vineyard as a trade, and his spot of ground for subsistence. We may farther conclude, that as to the last part he is only useful to himself; but as to the first, he is useful to the societv and becomes a member of it ; consequently were it not for his trade the State would lose nothing, although the vine-dresser and his land were both swallowed up by an earthquake." Now this contains the sublime philosophy of the sect of Economists. They worship a kind of non-entity under the different words, the State, the Whole, the Society, &c. and to this idol they make bloodier sacrifices than ever the Mexicans did to Tescalipoca. All, that is, each and every sentient Be- ing in a given tract, are made diseased and vicious, in order that eacli may become useful to all, or the State, or the Socie- ty, — that is, to the word, all, the Word, State, or the word. So- ciety. The absurdity may be easily perceived by omitting the words relating to this idol — as for instance — in a former para- graph of the same (in most respects) excellent work: " If it therefore happens that an additional number produced do more than feed themselves, then I perceive no advantage gained from their production." What no advantage gained by, for instance, ten thousand happy, intelligent, and immortal Be- ings having been produced ? — yes ! but no advantage " to this Society. — What is this Society ? this " Whole ?" this " State ?" Is it any thing else but a word of convenience to express at once the aggregate of confederated individuals liv- ing in a certain district ? Let the sum total of each man's hap- piness be supposed — 1000 ; and suppose ten thousand men pro- duced, who neither made swords or poison, or found corn or 261 clothes for those who did — but who procured by their labor food and raiment for themselves, and for their children — would not that Society be richer by 10,000,000 parts of happiness? And think you it possible, that ten thousand happy hu.-.ian Be- ings can exist together without increasing each others happi- ness, or that it will not overHow into countless channels,* and diffuse itself througli the rest of the Society. The poor vine-dresser rises from sweet sleep, worships his Maker, goes with his wife and children into his little plot — re- turns to his hut at noon, and eats the produce of the similar labor of a former day. Is he useful? No ! not yet. Suppose then, that during the remaining hours of the day he endea- voured to provide for his moral and intellectual appetites, by physical experiments and philosophical research, by acquiring knowledge for himself, and communicating it to his wife and children. Would he be useful then ? " He useful ? The state would lose nothing although the vine-dresser, and his land were both swallowed up by an earthquake !" Well then, in- stead of devoting the latter half of each day to his closet, his laboratory, or to neighborly conversation, suppose he goes to the vineyard, and from the ground which would maintain in health, virtue, and wisdom, twenty of his fellow-creatures, helps to raise a quantity of liquor that will disease the bodies, and de- bauch the souls of an hundred — Is he useful noio ? — yes ! — a very useful man, and a most excellent citizen !! In what then does the law between state and^ state differ from that between man and man ? For hitherto we seem to have discovered no variation. The law of nations is the law of common honestj^, modified by the circumstances in which States differ from individuals. According to the friend's best un- derstanding, the differences may be reduced to this one point: that the influences of example in any extraordinary case, as the possible occasion of an action apparently like, though in real- * Well, and in the spirit of genuine philosopliy, does the poet describe such beings as men " Who being innocent do for that cause Bestir them in good deeds" Wordsworth. Providence, by the ceaseless activity which it has implanted in our natm-e, has sufficiently guarded against an innocence without virtue. 262 ity very different, is of considerable importance in the moral calculations of an individual ; but of little, if any, in those of a nation. The reasons are evident. In the first place, in cases concerning which there can be any dispute between an honest man and a true patriot, the circumstances, which at once authorize and discriminate the measure, are so marked and peculiar and notorious, that it is incapable of being drawn into a precedent by any other state under dissimilar circumstances ; except perhaps as a mere pretext for an action, w'hich had been predetermined without reference to this authority, and which w^ould have taken place, though it had never existed. But if so strange a thing slioidd happen, as a second coincidence of the same circumstances, or of circumstances sufficiently similar to render the piior measure a fair precedent ; then if the one action Avas justifiable, so will the other be ; and without any reference to the former, which in this case may be useful as a light, but cannot be requisite as an authority. Secondly, in extraordinary cases it is ridiculous to suppose that the conduct of states v/ill be determined by example. We know that they neither will, nor in the nature of things can be determined by any other consideration but that of the imperious circumstances which render a particular measure advisable. But lastly, and more important than ail, individuals are and must be under po- sitive lavvs : and so very great is the advantage which results from the regularity of legal decisions, and their consequent ca- pability of being foreknown and relied upon, that equity itself must sometimes be sacrified to it. For the very letter of a positive law is part of its spirit. But states neither are, nor can be, under positive laws. The only fixed part of the law of nations is the spirit : the letter of the law consists wholly in the circumstances to which the spirit of the law is applied. It is mere puerile declamation to rail against a country, as having imitated the very measures for which it had most blamed its ambitious enemy, ii that enemy had previously changed all the relative circumstr.nces which had existed for him^ and there- fore rendered his conduct iniquitous ; but w hich, having been remover^, however iniquitously, cannot w^ithout absurdity be supposed any longer to control the measures of an innocent nation, necessitated to struggle for its own safety : especially when the measures in question were adopted for the very pur- pose of restoring those circumstances. 263 There are times when it would be wise to regard patriotism as a light that is in danger of being blown out, rather than as a fire which needs to be fanned by the winds of party spirit. There are times when party spirit, w^ithout any unwonted ex- cess, may yet become faction ; and though in general not less useful than natural in a free government, may under particular emergencies prove fatal to freedom itself. I trust I am writing to those who think with me, that to have blackened a ministry, however strong or rational our dislike may be of the persons who compose it, is a poor excuse and a miserable compensation for the crime of unnecessarily blackening the character of our country. Under this conviction, I request my reader to cast his eye back on my last argument, and then to favor me with his patient attention while I attempt at once to explain its pur- port and to shew its cogenc}^ Let us transport ourselves in fancy to the age and country of the Patriarchs, or, if the reader prefers it, to some small colony uninfluenced by the mother country, which has not or- ganized itself into a state, or agreed to acknowledge any one par- ticular governor. We will suppose this colony to consist of from twenty to thirty households or separate establishments, differing greatly from each other in the number of retainers and in ex- tent of possessions. Each household, however, possesses its own domain, the least equally with the greatest, in full right ; and its master is an independent sovereign within his own boun- daries. This mutual understanding and tacit agreement we may well suppose to have been the gradual result of many feuds, which had produced misery to all and real advantage to none : and that the same sober and reflecting persons, dispersed through the different establishments, who had brought about this state of things, had likewise coincided in the propriet}^ of some other prudent and humane regulations, which from the authority of these wise men on points, in which they were unanimous, and from the evident good sense of the rules themselves, were ac- knowledged throughout the whole colony, though they were never voted into a formal law, though the determination of the cases, to which these rules were applicable, had not been en- trusted to any recognized judge, nor their enforcement delega- ted to any particular magistrate. Of these virtual laws this, we may safely conclude, would be the chief: that as no man ought to interfere in the aff"airs of another against his will, so if 264 any master of a household, instead of occupying himself with the improvement of his own fields and flocks, or with the bet- ter regulation of his own establishment, should be foolish and wicked enough to employ his children and servants in breaking down the fences and taking possession of the lands and pro- perty of a fellow-colonist, or in turning the head of the family out of his house, and forcing those that remained to acknow- ledge himself as their governor instead, and to obey whomever he might please to appoint as his deputy — that it then became the duty and interest of the other colonists to join against the aggressor, and to do all in their power to prevent him from accomplishing his bad purposes, or to compel him to make restitution and compensation. The mightier the aggressor, and the weaker the injured party, the more cogent would the mo- tive become for restraining the one and protecting the other. For it was plain that he who was suflered to overpower, one by one, the weaker proprietors, and render the members of their establishment subservient to his will, must soon become an overmatch for those who were formerly his equals : and the mightiest would differ from the the meanest only by being the last victim. This allegoric fable faithfully pourtrays the law of nations and the balance of power among the European states. Let us proceed with it in the form of History. In the second or third generation the proprietors too generally disregarded the good old opinion, that what injured any could be real advantage to none ; and treated those, who still professed it, as fit only to instruct children in their catechism. Ry the avarice of some, the cowardice of others, and by the corruption and want of foresight in the greater part, the former state of things had been completely changed, and the tacit compact set at nought the general acknowledgment of which had been so instrumen- tal in producing this state and in preserving it, as long as it lasted. The stronger had preyed on the weaker, whose wrongs, however, did not remain long unavenged. For the same sel- fishness and blindness to the future, which had induced the wealthy to trample on the rights of the poorer proprietors, pre- vented them from assisting each other effectually, when they were themselves attacked, one after the other, by the most powerful of all : and from a concurrence of circumstances at- tacked so successfully, that of the whole colony few remained, 265 that were not, directly or indirectly, the creatures and depen- dents of one overgrown establishment. Say rather, of its new master, an adventurer whom chance and poverty had brought thither, and who in better times w^ould have been employed in the swine-yard, or the slaughter-house, from his moody tem- per and his aversion to all tiie Arts that tended to improve either the land or those that were to be maintained by its produce. He was however eminent for other qualities, which w^ere still better suited to promote his power among those degenerate co- lonists: for he feared neither God nor his own conscience- The most solemn oaths could not bind him ; the most deplorable ca- lamities could not a^vaken his pity ; and when others were asleep, he was either brooding over some scheme of robbery and murder, or with a part of his banditti actually employed in laying waste his neighbor's fences, or in undermining the walls of their houses. His natural cunning, undistracted by any honest avocations, and meeting with no obstacle either in his head or heart, and above all, having been quickened and strengthened by constant practice and favored by the times with all conceiva- ble opportunities, ripened at last into a surprising genius for op- pression and tyranny : and, as we must distinguish him by some name we will call him IMisetes. The only estate, which remain- ed able to bid defiance to this common enemy, w as that of Pam- PHiLus, superior to Misetes in wealth, and his equal in strength ; though not in the power of doing mischief, and still less in the wish. Their characters were indeed perfectly contrasted : for it may be truly said, that throughout the whole colony there was not a single establishment which did not owe some of its best buildings, the increased produce of its fields, its improved im- plements of industry, and the general more decent appearance of its members, to the information given and the encourage- ments afforded by Pamphilus and those of his household. Who- ever raised more than they wanted for their own establishment, were sure to find a ready purchaser in Pamphiltis, and often- times for articles which they had themselves been before accus- tomed to regard as worthless, or even as nuisances : they recei- ved in return things necessary or agreeable, and always in one re- spect at least useful, that they roused the purchaser to industry and its accompanying virtues. In this intercommunionall were benefited : for the wealth of Pamphilus was increased by the in- creasing industry of his fellow-colonists, and their industry need- 34 266 ed the support and encouraging influences of Pamphilus's capital. To this good man and his estimable household Misetes bore the most implacable hatred, and had publicly sworn that he would root him out ; the only sort of oath which he was not likely to break by any want of will or effort on his own part. But for- tunately for Pamphilus, his main property consisted of one com- pact estate divided from Misetes and the rest of the colony by a wide and dangerous river, with the exception of one small plantation which belonged to an independent proprietor whom we will name Lathrodacnus : a man of no influence in the colony, but much respected by Pamphilus. They were indeed relations by blood originally and afterwards by intermarriages ; and it was to the power and protection of Pamphilus that Lathrodacnus o\%ed his independence and prosperity, amid the general distress and slavery of the other proprietors. Not less fortunately^ did it happen, that the means of passing the river were possessed exclusively by Pamphilus and his above men- tioned kinsman ; and not only the boats themselves, but all the means of constructing and navigating them. As the very ex- istence of Lathrodacnus, as an independent colonist, had no solid ground, but in the strength and prosperity of Pamphilus ; and as the interests of the one in no respect interfered with those of the other; Pamphilus for a considerable time remained without any anxiety, and looked on the river-craft of Lathro- dacnus with as little alarm, as on those of his own establishment. It did not disquiet him, that Lathrodacnus had remained neutral in the quarrel. Nay, though many advantages, which in peace- ful times w^ould have belonged to Pamphilus, were now trans- ferred to his Neighbor, and had more than doubled the extent and profit of his concern, Pamphilus, instead of repining at this, was glad that some good at least to some one came out of the general evil. Great then was his surprise, when he discover- ed, that without any conceivable reason Lathrodacnus had em- ployed himself in building and collecting a very unusual num- ber of such boats, as were of no use to him in his traffic, but designed exclusively as ferry-boats: and what was still stran- ger and more alarming, that he chose to keep these in a bay on the other side of the river, opposite to the one small plant- ation, along side of Pamphilus' estate, from which plantation Lathrodacnus derived the materials for building them. Willing to believe this conduct a transient whim of his neighbor's, oc- 267 casioned partly by his vanity, and partly by envy ( to which latter passion the want of liberal education, and the not suffi- ciently cotuprehending the g'ounds of his own prosperity, had rendered huu subject) Pamphilus contented himself for awhile with urgent yet friendly remonstrances. The only answer, which Lathrodacnus vouchsafed to return, was, that by the law of the colony, which Pamphilus had made so many professions of revering, every proprietor was an independent sovereign within his own boundaries ; that the boats were his own, and the opposite shore, to which they were fastened, part of a field which belonged to him ; and, in short, that Pamphilus had no right to interfere with the management of his property, which, trifling as it might be, compared with that of Pamphilus, was no less sacred by the law of the colony. To this uncourteous rebuff Pamphilus replied with a fervent wish, that Lathrodacnus could with more propriety have appealed to a law, as still sub- sisting, which, he well knew, had been effectually annulled by the unexampled tyranny and success of Misetes, together wi;h the circumstances which had given occasion to the Lw, and made it wise and practicable. He further urged, that this law was not made for the benefit of any one man, but for the common safety and advantage of all : that it was absurd to suppose that either he (Pamphilus) or that Lathrodacnus himself, or any other proprietor, ever did or could acknowledge this law in the sense that it was to survive the very circumstances, of which it was the mere reflex. Much less could they have even tacitly assented to it, if they had ever understood it as authorizing one neighbor to endanger the absolute ruin of another, who had perhaps fifty times the property to lose, and perhaps ten times the number of souls to answer for, and yet forbidding the in- jured person to take any steps in his own defence ; and lastly, that this law gave no right without imposing a corresponding duty. Therefore if Lathrodacnus insisted on the 7'ights given him by the law, he ought at the same time to perform the duties which it required, and join heart and hand with Pamphilus in his endeavors to defend his independence, to restore the former state of the colony, and with this to re-enforce the old law in opposition to Misetes who had enslaved the one and set at nought the other. So ardently was Pamphilus attached to the law, that excepting his own safety and independence there was no price which he would not pay, no sacrifice Avhich he would 268 not make for its restoration. His reverence for the very me- mory of the law was such, that the mere appearance of trans- gressing it would be a heavy affliction to him. In hope there- fore of gaining from the avarice of Lathrodacnus that consent w^hich he could not obtain from his justice or neighborly kind- ness, he offered to give hira in full right a plantation ten times the value of all his boats, and yet, whenever the colony should once more be settled, to restore the boats : if he would only permit Pamphilus to secure them during the present state of things, on his side of the river, retaining whatever he really wanted for the passage of his own household. To all these per- suasions and entreaties Lathrodacnus turned a deaf ear ; and Pamphilus remained agitated and undetermined, till at length he received certain intelligence that Lathrodacnus had called a council of the chief members of his establishment, in conse- quence of the threats of Misetes, that he would treat him as the friend and ally of Pamphilus, if he did not declare himself his enemy. Partly for the sake of a large meadow belonging to him on the other side of the river which it was not easy to secure from the tyrant, but still more from envy and the irrita- ble temper of a proud inferior, Lathrodacnus, and with him the majority of his advisers (though to the great discontent of the few wise heads among them) settled it finally that if he should be again pressed on this point by Misetes, he would join him and commence hostilities against his old neighbor and kinsman. It is indeed but too probable that he had long brooded over this scheme : for to what other end could he have strained his in- come, and over-worked his servants in building and fitting up such a number of passage-boats ? As soon as this information was received by Pamphilus, and this from a quarter which it was impossible for him to discredit, he obeyed the dictates of self-preservation, took possession of the passage-boats by force, and brought them over to his own grounds ; but without any fur- ther injury to Lathrodacnus, and still urging him to accept a com- pensation and continue in that amity which was so manifestly their common interest. Instantly a great outcry was raised against Pamphilus, who was charged in the bitterest terms with having first abused Misetes, and then imitated him in his worst acts of violence. In the calmness of a good conscience Pam- philus contented himself with the following reply : "Even so, if I were out on a shooting party with a quaker for my com- 269 panion, and saw coming on towards us an old footpad and murderer, who had made known his intention of killing me wherever he might meet me ; and if my companion the Quaker would neither give me up his gun, nor even discharge it as (we will suppose) I had just before unfortuatelj discharged my own ; if he would neither promise to assist me nor even promise to make the least resistance to the robber's attempt to disarm him- self; you might call me a robber for wresting this gun from my companion, though for no other purpose but that I might at least do for by myself, what he ought to have done, but would not do either for or with me ! Even so, and as plausibly, you might exclaim, O the hypocrite Pamphilus ! Who has not been deafened with iiis complaints against robbers and footpads ? and lo ! he himself has turned footpad, and commenced by rob- bing his peaceful and unsuspecting companion of his double- barrelled gun !" It is the business of The Friend to lay down principles not to make the applications of them to particular, much less to recent cases. If any such there be to which these principles are fairly applicable, the reader is no less master of the facts than the Writer of the present Essay. If not, the principles remain ; and The Friend has finished the task which the plan of his work imposed on him, of proving the identity of international law and the law of morali(y in spirit, and the reasons of their difference in practice, in those extreme cases in which alone they have been allowed to differ. POSTSCRIPT. The preceding Essay has more than its natural interest for the author from the abuse, which it brought down on him as the defender of the attack on Copenhagen, and the seizure of the Danish fleet. The odium of the measure rested wholly on the commencement of hostilities without a previous proclamation of war. Now it is remarkable, that in a work published ir.any years before this event Professor Beck had made this very point the subject of a particular chapter in his admirable Com- ments on the Law of Nations : and every one of the circum- stances stated by him as forming an except to the moral ne- cessity of previous proclamation of war, concurred in the Co- penhagen expedition. I need mention two only. First by the act or acts, which provoked the expedition, the party attacked 270 had knowingly placed himself in a state of war. Let A stand for the D.^nish, B for the British, government. A had done that which he himself was iuHj aware would produce immedi- ate hostilities on the p.u t of B, the moment it came to the knowledge of the latter. Tae act itse f was a waging of war against B on the part of A. B therefore was the party attack- ed : and common sense dictates, that to resist and baiile an ag- gression requires no proclamation to justify it. 1 perceived a dagger aimed at my back, in consequence of a warning given me, just time enough to prevent the blow, knock the assassin down, and disarm him : and he reproaches me with treachery, because forsooth I had not sent hiai a challenge ! Secondly, when the object which justifies and necessitates the war would be frustrated by the proclamation. For neither State or Indi- vidual can be presumed to have given either a formal or a tacit assent to any such modification of a positive Right, as would suspend and virtually annul the Right itself: the Right of self- preservation, for instance. This second exception will often depend on the existence of the first, and must alv ays receive additional strength and clearness from it. That both of these exceptions appertained to the case in question, is now notori- ous. But at the time 1 found it necessary to publish the fol- lowing comment, which 1 adapt to the present rifacciamento of The Friend, as illustrative of the fundamental principle of public justice ; viz. that personal and national morality, ever one and the same, dictate the same measures under the same circumstances, and diderent measures only as far as the circum- stances are dilferent. As my limits will not allow me to do more in the second, or ethical section of The Friend, than to propose and develope my own system, without controverting the systems of others, I shall therefore devote the Essay, which follows this Postscript, to the consideration of the problem : How far is the moral na- ture of an action constituted by its individual circumstances? It was once said to me, when the Copenhagen affair was in dispute, "Vou do not see the enormity, because it is an affair between state and state : conceive a similar case between man and man, and you would both see and abhor it." Now, I was neither defending or attacking the measure itself. My argu- ments were confined to the grounds which had been taken both in the arraigning of that measure and in its defence, be- 271 cause I thought both equally untenable. I was not enough master of facts to form a decisive opinion on the enterprize, even for my own mind ; but I had no hesitation in affirming, that the principles^ on which it was defended in the legislature, appeared to me fitter objects of indignant reprobation than the act itself. This having been premised, I replied to the asser- tion above stated, by asserting the direct contrary : namely, that were a similar case conceived between man and man, the severest arraigners of the measure, would, on their grounds^ find notbing to blame in it. How was I to prove this assertion ? Clearly, by imagining some case between individuals living in the same relations toward each other, in which the several states of Europe exist or existed. My allegory, therefore, so far from being a disguise, was a necessary part of the main ar- gument, a case in jjoint^ to prove the identity of the law of nations with the law of conscience. We have only to conceive Individ lals in the same relations as states, in order to learn that the rules emanating from international law, diff"er from those of private honesty, solely through the difference of the circumstances. But why did not the Friend avow the application of the principle to the seizure of tlie Danish fleet ! Because I did not possess sufficient evidence to prove to otheis, or even to decide for myself, that my principle was applicable to this par- ticular act. In (he case of Pamphilus and Lathrodacnus, the prudence and necessity of the measure was certain ; and, this taken for granted, I shewed its perfect rightfulness. In the aft'air of Copenhagen, 1 had no doubt of our right to do as we did, supposing the necessity, or at least the extreme prudence of the measure; taking for granted that there existed a mo- tive adequate to the action, and that the action was an ade- quate means of realizing the motive. But this I was not authorized to take for granted in the real, as I had been in the imaginary case. I saw many reasons for the affirmative, and many for the negative. For the former, the certainty of an hostile design on the part of the Danes, the alarming state of Ireland, that vulnerable heel of the British Achilles ! and the immense difference between military and na- val superiority. Our naval power collectively might have defi- ed that of t!ie whole world ; but it was widely scattered, and a combined operation from the Baltic, Holland, Brest, and Lisbon, 272 might easily bring together a fleet double to that which we could have brought against it during the short time that might be ne- cessary to convey thirty or forty thousand men to Ireland. On the other hand, it seemed equally clear that Buonaparte needed sailors rather than ships ; and that we took the ships and left him the Danish sailors, whose presence in the fleet at Antwerp turned the scale, perhaps, in favor of the worse than disastrous expedition to Walcheren. But I repeat, that the Friend had no concern with the mea- sure itself; but only with the grounds or principles on which it had been attacked or defended. Those who attacked it de- clared that a right had been violated by us, and that no motive could justify such violation, however imperious that motive might be. In opposition to such reasoners, I proved that no such right existed, or is deducible either from international law or the law of private morality. Those again who defended the seizure of the Danish fleet, conceded that it was a violation of right; but afiirmed, that such violation was justified by the urgency of Ihe motive. It was asserted (as I have before no- ticed in the introduction to the subject) that national policy cannot in all cases be subordinated to the laws of morality ; in in other words, that a government may act with injustice, and yet remain blameless. To prove this assertion as groundless and unnecessary as it is tremendous, formed the chief object of the whole disquisition. I trust then, that my candid judges will rest satisfied that it is not only the profession and pretext of The Friend, but his constant plan and actual intention, to establish Principles ; that he refers to particular facts for no other purpose than that of giving illustration and interest to those principles : and that to invent principles with a view to particular cases, whether with the motive of attacking or ar- raigning a transitory cabinet, is a baseness which will scarcely be attributed to the The Friend by any one who understands the work, even though the suspicion should not have been pre- cluded by a knowledge of the author. ESSAY XI. Ja, ich bin der Atheist und Gottlose, der einer imagiiiaren Berechnungslehre, einer blosen Eiiiliildiing von allgemeinen Folgen, die nie folgen konnen, zuwider — lugen will, wie Desdemoxa sterbend log ; lugen undbetrilgen will, wie der fur Orest sich darstellende Pylades ; Tempelraul) unternehmen, wie David; ja, Aehren aiisiaiifen am Saljbath, audi nur darum, weil mich hungert, und das Gesetz um des menschen tvillen gemacht ist, nicht derMensch um des Gezdzes willen. Jacobi an Fichte. Translation. — Yes, I am that Atheist, that godless person, who in opposition to an imaginary Doctrine of Calculation, to a mere ideal Fabric of gen- eral Consequences, that can never be realized, would lie, as the djdng Des- DEMOXA lied;* lie and deceive as Pylades when he personated Orestes; would conmiit saorilcge with David; yea and pluck ears of corn on the Sabbath, for no other reason than that I was fainting from lack of food, and that the Law was made for Man and not Man for the Law. Jacobi's letter to Fichte. If there be no better doctrine, I would add — Much and of- ten have I suffered from having ventured to avow my doubts concerning the truth of certain opinions, which had been sanc- tified in the minds of many hearers, by the authority of some reigning great name ; even though in addition to my own rea- sons, I had all the greatest names from the Reformation to the * (Emilia. — O who hath done This deed ? Desd. Nobody. I myself. Farewell. Commend me to my kind Lord. — O — farewell. Othello. — You heard her say yourself, It was not I. (Emilia. — She said so. I must needs report the truth. Othello. — She's like a liar gone to burning hell ! 'Twas I that killed her! (EmUia. — The more angel she! 35 274 Revolution on my side. I could not, therefore, summon cour- age, without some previous pioneering, to declare publicly, that the principles of morality taught in the present work will be in direct opposition to the system of the late Dr. Paley. This confession I should have deferred to future time, if my opin- ions on the grounds of international morality had not been con- tradictory to a fundamental point in Paley's System of moral and political Philosophy. I mean that chapter which treats of GENERAL, CONSEQUENCES, as the chief and best criterion of the right or wrong of particular actions. Now this doctrine I con- ceive to be neither tenable in reason nor safe in practice : and the following are the grounds of my opinion. First ; this criterion is purely ideal, and so far possesses no advantages over the former systems of Morality : while it la- bours under defects, with which those are not justly chargea- ble. It is ideal : for it depends on, and must vary with, the notions of the individual, who in order to determine the nature of an action is to make the calculation of its general conse- quences. Here, as in all other calculation, the result depends on that faculty of the soul in the degrees of which men most vary from each other, and which is itself most affected by acci- dental advantages or disadvantages of education, natural tal- ent, and acquired knowledge — the faculty, I mean, of foresight and systematic comprehension. But surely morality, which is of equal importance to all men, ought to be grounded, if pos- sible, in that part of our nature which in all men may and ought to be the same : in the conscience and the common sense. Secondly : this criterion confounds morality with law ; and when the author adds, that in all probability the divine Justice will be regulated in the final judgment by a similar rule, he draws away the attention from the will, that is, from the inward motives and impulses which constitute the essence of morality, to the outward act : and thus changes the virtue commanded by the gospel into the mere legality, which was to be enlivened by it. One of the most persuasive, if not one of the strongest, arguments for a future state, rests on the be- lief, that although by the necessity of things our outward and temporal welfare must be regulated by our outward actions, which alone can be the objects and guides of human law, there must yet needs come a juster and more appropriate sentence hereafter, in which our intentions will be considered, and our 275 happiness and misery made to accord with the grounds of our actions. Our fellow-creatures can only judge what we are by what we do ; but in the eye of our Maker what we do is of no worth, except as it flows from what we are. Though the fig-tree should produce no visible fruit, yet if the living sap is in it, and if it has struggled to put forth buds and blossoms which have been prevented from maturing by inevitable con- tingencies of tempests or untimely frosts, the virtuous sap will be accounted as fruit : and the curse of barrenness will light on many a tree, from the boughs of which hundreds have been satisfied, because the omniscient judge knows that the fruits were threaded to the boughs artificially by the outward work- ing of base fear and selfish hopes, and were neither nourished by the love of God or of man, nor grew out of the graces engraft- ed on the stock by religion. This is not, indeed, all that is meant in the apostle's use of the word, faith, as the sole prin- ciple of justification, but it is included in his meaning and forms an essential part of it, and I can conceive nothing more ground- less, than the alarm, that this doctrine may be prejudicial to outward utility and active well-doing. To suppose that a man should cease to be beneficent by becoming benevolent^ seems to me scarcely less absurd, than to fear that a fire may prevent heat, or that a perennial fountain may prove the occasion of drought. Just and generous actions may proceed from bad mo- tives, and both may, and often do, originate in parts and as it were fragments of our nature. A lascivious man may sacri- fice half his estate to rescue his friend from prison, for he is constitutionally sympathetic, and the better part of his nature happened to be uppermost. The same man shall afterwards exert the same disregard of money in an attempt to seduce that friend's wife or daughter. But faith is a total act of the soul : it is the whole state of the mind, or it is not at all ! and in this consists its power, as well as its exclusive Avorth. This subject is of such immense importance to the welfare of all men, and the understanding of it to the present tranquillity of many thousands at this time and in this country, that should there be one only of all my Readers, who should receive con- viction or an additional light from what is here written, I dare hope that a great majority of the rest would in consideration of that solitary effect think these paragraphs neither wholly unin- teresting or altogether without value. For this cause I will 276 endeavor so to explain this principle, that it maybe intelligible to the simplest capacity. The apostle tells those who would sub- stitute obedience for faith (addiessing the man as obedience per- sonified) " Know that thou bearest not the Root, but the ROOT thee'''' — a sentence which, methinks, should have rendered all disputes concerning faith and good woiks impossible among those who profess to take the Scriptures for their guide. It would appear incredible, if the fact were not notorious, that two sects should ground and justify their opposition to each other, the one on the words of the apostle, that we are justified by faith, i. e. the inward and absolute ground of our actions ; and the other on ti;e declaration of Christ, that he will judge us according to our actions. As if an action could be either good or bad disjoined from its principle ! as if it could be, in the christian ar.d only proper sense of the word, an action at all, and not rather a mechanic series of lucky or unlucky mo- tions ! Yet it rany be well worth the while to shew the beauty and harmony of these twin truths, or rather of this one great truth considered in its two prin-wipal bearings. God will judge each man before all men : consequently he will judge us rela- tively to man. But man knows not the heart of man ; scarcely / does any one know his own. There must therefore be outward ' and visible signs, by which men may be able to judge of the inward state : and thereby justify the ways of God to iheir own spirits, in the reward or punishment of themselves and their fellow-men. Now good works are these signs, and as such be- come necessary. In short there are two parties, God and the human race : and both are to be satisfied ! first, God, who seeth the root and knoweth the heart : therefore there must be faith, or the entire and absolute principle. Then man, who can judge only by the fruits : therefore that faith must bear fruits of right- eousness, that principle must mrnifest itself by actions. But that which God sees, that alone justifies ! V/liat man sees, does in this life shew^ that the justifying principle may be the root of the thing seen; but in the final judgment the acceptance of these actions will shew, that this principle actually ivas the root. In this world a good life is a jxresumption of a good man : his virtuous actions are the only possible, though still ambigu- ous, manifestations of his virtue : but the absence of a good life is not only a presumption, but a proof of the contrary, as long as it continues. Good works may exist without saving 277 principles, and therefore cannot contain in themselves the prin- ciple of salvation ; but saving principles never did, never can, exist without good works. On a subject of such infinite impor- tance, I have feared prolixity less than obscurity. Men often talk against faith, and make strange monsters in their imagina- tion of those who profess to abide by the words of the Apostle interpreted literally: and yet in their ordinary feelings they themselves judge and act by a similar principle. For what is love without kind offices, wherever they are possible ? (and they are always possible, if not by actions commonly so called, yet by kind words, by kind looks ; and, where even these are out of our power, by kind thoughts and fervent prayers ! ) yet what noble mind would not be offended, if he were suppo- sed to value the serviceable offices equally with the love that produced them ; or if he were thought to value the love for the sake of the services, and not the services for the sake of the love ? I return to the question of general consequences, considered as the criterion of moral actions. The admirer of Paley's Sys- tem is required to suspend for a short time the objection, which, I doubt not, he has already made, that general consequences are stated by Paley as the criterion of the action, not of the agent. I will endeavor to satisfy him on this point, when I have completed my present chain of argument, it has been shewn, that this criterion is no less ideal than that of any for- mer system : that is, it is no less incapable of receiving any ex- ternal experimental proof, compulsory on the understandings of all men, such as the criteria exhibited in chemistry. Yet, unlike the elder Systems of Morality, it remains in the world of the senses, without deriving any evidence therefrom. The agent's mind is compelled to go out of itself in order to bring back conjectures^ the probability of which will vary with the shrewdness of the individual, Rut this criterion is not only ideal : it is likewise imaginary. If we believe in a scheme of Providence, all actions alike work for good. There is not the least ground for supposing that the crimes of Nero were less instrumental in bringing about our present advantages, than the virtues of the Antonines. Lastly : the criterion is either nugatory or false. It is demonstrated, that the ouly real conse- quences cannot be meant. The individual is to imagine what 278 the general consequences would be, all other things remaining the same, if all men were to act as he is about to act. I scarcely need remind the reader, what a source of self delusion and sophistry is here opened to a mind in a state of temptation. Will it not say to itself, I know that all men will not act so: and the immediate good consequences, which I shall obtain, are reaZ, while the bad consequences are imaginary and improba- ble ? When the foundations of morality have once been laid in outward consequences, it will be in vain to recall to the mind, what the consequences would be, were all men to reason in the same way : for the very excuse of this mind to itself is, that neither its action nor its reasoning is likely to have any conse- quences at all, its immediate object excepted. But suppose the mind in its sanest state. How can it possibly form a notion of the nature of an action considered as indefinitely multiplied, unless it has previously a distinct notion of the nature of the single action itself, which is the multiplicand ? If I conceive a crown multiplied a hundred fold, the single crown enables me to understand what a hundred crowns are ; but how can the notion hundred teach me what a crown is ? For the crown sub- stitute X. Y. or abracadabra, and my imagination may multiply it to infinity, yet remain as much at a loss as before. But if there be any means of ascertaining the action in and for itself, what further do we want ? Would we give light to the sun, or look at our fingers through a telescope ? The nature of every action is determined by all its circumstances : alter the circum- stances and a similar set of motions may be repeated, but they are no longer the same or similar action. What would a sur- geon say, if he were advised not to cut off a limb, because if all men were to do the same, the consequences would be dread- ful ? Would not his answer be — " Whoever does the same un- der the same circumstances, and with the same motives, will do right ; but if the circumstances and motives are different, what have I to do with it ?" I confess myself unable to divine any possible use, or even meaning, in this doctrine of general consequences, unless it be, that in all our actions we are bound to consider the effect of our example, and to guard as much as possible against the hazard of their being misunderstood. I will not slaughter a lamb, or drown a litter of kittens in the pre- sence of ray child of four years old, because the child cannot understand my action, but will understand that his father has 279 inflicted pain, and taken away life from beings that had never offended him. All this is true, and no man in his senses ever thought otherwise. But methinks it is strange to state that as a criterion of morality, which is no more than an accessary ag- gravation of an action bad in its own nature, or a ground of caution as to the mode and time in which we are to do or sus- pend what is in itself good or innocent. The duty of setting a good example is no doubt a most im- portant duty ; but the example is good or bad, necessary or un- necessary, according as the action may be, which has a chance of being imitated. I once knew a small, but (in outward cir- cumstances at least) respectable congregation, four-fifths of whom professed that they went to church entij'ely for the ex- ample's sake ; in other words to cheat each other and act a common lie ! These rational Christians had not considered, that example may increase the good or evil of an action, but can never constitute either. If it was o. foolish thing to kneel when they were not inwardly praying, or to sit and listen to a discourse of which they believed little and cared nothing, they were setting a foolish example. Persons in their respectable circumstances do not think it necessary to clean shoes, that by their example they may encourage the shoe-black in continuing his occupation : and Christianity does not think so meanly of herself as to fear that the poor and afflicted will be a whit the less pious, though they should see reason to believe that those, who possessed the good things of the present life, were deter- mined to leave all the blessings of the future for their more humble inferiors. If I have spoken with bitterness, let it be recollected that my subject is hypocrisy. It is likewise fit, that in all our actions we should have con- sidered how far they are likely to be misunderstood, and from superficial resemblances to be confounded with, and so appear to authorize actions of a very different character. But if this caution be intended for a moral rule, the misunderstanding must be such as might be made by persons who are neither very weak nor very wicked. The apparent resemblances between the good action we were about to do and the bad one which might possibly be done in mistaken imitation of it, must be ob- vious : or that which makes them essentially different, must be subtle or recondite. For what is there which a wicked man blinded by his passions may not, and which a madman will not, 280 misunderstand ? It is ridiculous to frame rules of morality with a view to those who are fit objects only for the physician or the magistrate. The question may be thus illustrated. At Florence there is an unfinished bust of Brutus, by Michael Angelo, under which a Cardinal wrote the following distich: Diim Bruti effigicm sculptor tie luarmore finxit, In menteni sceleris venit ; et absdnuit. As the Sculptor ivas forming the effigy of Brutus, in marble, he recollected his act of guilt and refrained. An English Nobleman, indignant at this distich, wrote immedi- ately under it the following : Briitiun efRiixisset sculptor, sed mente recursat Multa viri virtus; stetit et obstupuit. The Scidptor looidd have framed a Brutus, but the vast and manifold virtue of the man flashed upon his thought : he stopped and remained in astonished admiration. Now which is the nobler and more moral sentiment, the Ita- lian Cardinal's, or the English Nobleman's ? The Cardinal would appeal to the doctrine of general consequences, and pro- nounce the death of Caesar a murder, and Brutus an assassin. For (he would say) if one man may be allowed to kill another because he thinks him a tyrant, religious or political phrenzy may stamp the name of tyrant on the best of kings ; regicide will be justified under the pretence of tyrannicide, and Brutus be quoted as authority for the Clements and Ravilliacs. From kings it may pass to generals and statesmen, and from these to any man whom an enemy or enthusiast may pronounce unfit to live. Thus we may have a cobbler of Messina in every city, and bravos in our common streets as couimon as in those of Naples, with the name Brutus, on their stilettos. The Englishman would commence his answer by comment- ing on the words "because he thinks him a tyrant." No ! he would reply, not because the patriot thinks him a tyrant ; but because he knows him to be so, and knows likewise, that the vilest of his slaves cannot deny the fact, that he has by violence raised himself above the laws of his country — because he knows that all good and wise men equally with himself abhor the fact ! If there be no such state as that of being broad awake, or no means of distinguishing it when it exists ; if because men 281 sometimes dream that they are awake, it must follow that no man, when awake, can be sure that he is not dreaming ; if be- cause an hypochondriac is positive that his legs are cylinders of glass, all other men are to learn modesty, and cease to be so positive that their legs are legs ; what possible advantage can your criterion of general, consequences possess over any other rule of direction ? If no man can be sure that w^hat he thinks a robber with a pistol at his breast demanding his purse, may not be a good friend enquiring after his health ; or that a ty- rant (the son of a cobbler perhaps, who at the head of a regiment of perjured traitors, has driven the representatives of his coun- try out of the senate at the point of the bayonet, subverted the constitulion which had trusted, enriched and honored him, tram- pled on the laws which before God and Man he had sworn to obey, and finally raised himself above all law) may not, in spite of his own and his neighbors' knowledge of the contrary be a lawful king, who has received his power, however despotic it may be, from the kings his ancestors, who exercises no other power than what had been submitted to for centuries, and been acknowledged as the law of the country ; on what ground can you possibly expect less fallibility, or a result more to be relied upon in the same man's calculation of your general conse- quences ? Would A,e, at least, find any difficulty in converting your criterion into an authority for his act ? What should pre- vent a man, whose perceptions and judgments are so strangely distorted, from arguing, that nothing is more devoutly to be wished for, as a general consequence, than that every man, who by violence places himself above the laws of his country, should in all ages and nations be considered by mankind as placed by his own act out of the protection of law, and be treated by them as any other noxious wild beast would be? Do you think it necessary to try adders by a jury ? Do you hesitate to shoot a mad dog, because it is not in your power to have him firil ii.'ed and condemned at the Old Bailey? On the other hand, what consequence can be conceived more detestable, than one which w^ould set a bounty on the most enormous crime in human na- ture, and establish as a law of religion and morality that the accomplishment of the most atrocious guilt invests the perpe- trator with impunity, and renders his person forever sacred and inviolable ? For madmen and enthusiasts what avail your mo- ral criterions ? But as to your Neapolitan Bravos, if the act 36 282 of Brutus who " In pity to the general ivrong of Rome, Sleia his best lover for the good of Rome,'''' authorized by the laws of his country, in manifest opposition to all selfish interests in the face of the Senate, and instantly presenting himself and his cause first to that Senate, and then to the assembled Com- mons, by them to stand acquitted or condemned — if such an act as this, with all its vast out-jutting circumstances of distinc- tion, can be confounded by any mind, not frantic, with the crime of a cowardly skulking assassin who hires out his dagger for a few crowns to gratify a hatred not his own, or even with the deed of that man who makes a compromise between his revenge and his cowardice, and stabs in the dark the enemy whom he dared not meet in the open field, or summon before the laws of his country — what actions can be so different, that they may not be equally confounded ? The ambushed soldier must not fire his musket, lest his example should be quoted by the villain who, to make sure of his booty, discharges his piece at the unsuspicious passenger from behind a hedge The phy- sician must not administer a solution of arsenic to the lep- rous, lest his example should be quoted by professional poi- soners. If no distinction, full and satisfactory to the con- science and common sense of mankind be afforded by the de- testation and horror excited in all men, (even in the meanest and most vicious, if they are not wholly monsters) by the act of the assassin, contrasted with the fervent admiration felt by the good and wise in all ages when they mention the name of Brutus ; contrasted with the fact that the honor or disrespect with which that name w^as spoken of, became an historic crite- rion of a noble or a base age ; and if it is in vain that our own hearts answer to the question of the Poet " Is tliere among the adamantine spheres Wheehng unshalien through tlie boundless void, Aught that witli half such majesty can fill The human bosom, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate Amid the croud of Patriots ; and his arm Aloft fxtoiidjng, hke eteriialJove, When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd idoud On Tully's name, and shook his crimson sword, And bade the Father of his Country, Hail ! For lo the Tyrant prostrate on the dust And Rome again is free !" 283 If, I say, all this be fallacious and insufficient, can we have any firmer reliance on a cold ideal calculation of imaginary gen- eral CONSEQUENCES, wliich, if they were general, could not bo consequences at all : for they would be eft'ects of the frenzy or frenzied wickedness, which alone could confound actions so ut- terly dissimilar? No ! (would the ennobled descendant of our Russels or Sidneys conclude) No! Calumnious bigot! never yet did a human being become an assassin from his own or the general admiration of the hero Brutus; but I dare not warrant, that villains might not be encouraged in their trade of secret murder, by finding their own guilt attributed to the Roman patriot, and might not conclude, that if Brutus be no better than an assassin, an assassin can be no worse than Brutus. I request that the preceding be not interpreted as my own judgment on tyranicide. I think.with Machiaveland with Spin- osa for many and weighty reasons assigned by those philoso- phers, that it is diificult to conceive a case, in which a good man would attempt tryrannieide, because it is difficult to con- ceive one, in which a wise man would recommend it. In a small state, included within the walls of a single city, and where the tyranny is maintained by foreign guards, it may be other- wise ; but in a nation or empire it is perhaps inconceivable, that the circumstances which made a tyranny possible, should not likewise render the removal of the tyrant useless. The patriot's sword may cut off the Hydra's head ; but he possesses no brand to stanch the active corruption of the body, which is sure to re-produce a successor. I must now in a few words ansv/er the objection to the for- mer part of my argument (for to that part only the objection applies,) namely, that the doctrine of general consequences was stated as the criterion of the action, not of the agent. I might answer, that the author himself had in some measure jus- tified me in not noticing this distinction by holding forth the probability, that the Supreme Judge will proceed by the same rule. The agent may then safely be included in the action, if ])oth here and hereafter the action only and its general conse- quences will be attended to. Rut my main ground of justification is that the distinction itself is merely logical, not real and vital. The character of the agent is determined by his view of the action ; and that system of morality is alone true and suited to human nature, which unites the intention and the motive, the 284 warmth and the light, in one and the same act of mind. This alone is worthy to be called a moral principle. Such a prin- ciple may be extracted, though not without difficulty and dan- ger, from the ore of the stoic philosophy ; but it is to be found unalloyed and entire in the Christian system, and is there call- ed Faith. ESSAY XII. The following Address was delivered at Bristol, in the year 1794-95. Tlie only omissions regard the names of persons : and I insert them here in sup- port of the assertion made by me, p, 190 — 194, and because this very Lectnre has been referred to in an infamons Libel in proof of the Author's former Jacobinism. Different as my present convictions are on the subject of philo- sophical Necessity, I have for tliis reason left the last page unaltered. Aet ynQ Tt]Q Elevd-e.Qutg ecpie^iur noXla de sr xai, TOtg q)t}.£Xsvd-eQOis fiiarjiEtt, ui'islev&eQu. Translation. — For I am always a lover of Liberty ; but in those who would appropriate the Title, I find too many points destructive of Liberty and hateful to her genuine advocates. Companies resembling the present will, from a variety of circumstances, consist chiefly of the zealous Advocates for Freedom. It will therefore be our endeavor, not so much to excite the torpid, as to regulate the feelings of the ardent : and above all, to evince the necessity of bottoming on fixed Principles, that so we may not be the unstable Pal riots of Pas- sion or Accident, nor hurried away by names of which we have not sifted the meaning, and by tenets of which we have not 285 examined the consequences. The Times are trying; and in order to be prepared against their difficulties, we should have acquired a prompt facility of adverting in all our doubts to some grand and comprehensive Truth. In a deep and strong soil must that tree fix its roots, the height of which is to " reach to Heaven, and the sight of it to the ends of all the Earth." The examj5le of France is indeed a " Warning to Britain." A nation wading to their rights through blood, and marking the track of Freedom by Devastation ! Yet let us not embattle our Feelings against our Reason. Let us not indulge our malig- nant passions under the mask of Humanity. Instead of railing with infuriate declamation against these excesses, we shall be more profitably employed in developing the sources of them. French Freedom is the beacon which if it guides to Equality should shew us likewise the dangers that throng the road. The annals of the French Revolution have recorded in let- ters of blood, that the knowledge of the few cannot counter- act the ignorance of the many ; that the light of philosophy, when it is confined to a small minority, points out the possessors as the victims, rather than the illuminators, of the multitude. The patriots of France either hastened into the dangerous and gigantic error of making certain evil the means of contingent good, or were sacrificed by the mob, with whose prejudices and ferocity their unbending virtue forbade them to assimilate. Like Sampson, the people w^ere strong — like Sampson, the people were blind. Those two massy pillars of the temple of Oppression, their Monarchy and Aristocracy, With horrible Convulsion to and fro They tugg'rl, tliey shook — till down they came and drew The whole roof after them with burst of thunder Upon the heads of all who sat beneath, Lords, Ladies, Captains, Counsellors, and Priests, Their choice nobility ! Milton. Sam. Agon. The Girondists, who were the first republicans in power, were men of enlarged views and great literary attainments ; but they seem to have been deficient in that vigour and daring activity, which circumstances made necessary. Men of genius are rarely either prompt in action or consistent in general conduct. Their early habits have been those of contemplative indolence ; and the day-dreams, with which they have been accustomed to amuse their solitude adapt them for splendid speculation 286 not temperate and practicable counsels. Brissot, the leader of the Gironde party, is entitled to the character of a virtuous man, and an eloquent speaker ; but he was rather a sublime visionary, than a quick-eyed politician ; and his excellences equally with his faults rendered him unfit for the helm in the stormy hour of Revolution. Eobespierre, who displaced him, possessed a glowing ardor that still remembered the end, and a cool feroci- ty that never either overlooked, or scrupled the means. What that end was, is not known : that it was a wicked one, has by no means been proved. I rather think, that the distant pros- pect, to which he was travelling, appeared to him grand and beautiful ; but that he fixed his eye on it with such intense ea- gerness as to neglect the foulness of the road. If however his intentions were pure, his subsequent enormities yield us a me- lancholy proof, that it is not the character of the possessor which directs the power, but the power which shapes and depraves the character of the possessor. In Robespierre, its influence was as- sisted by the properties of his disposition. — Enthusiasm, even in the gentlest temper, v.^ili frequently generate sensations of an un- kindly order. If Vve clearly perceive any one thing to be of vast and infinite importance to ourselves and all mankind, our first feelings impel us to turn with angry contempt from those, who doubt and oppose it. The ardor of undisciplined benevo- lence seduces us into malignity : and whenever our hearts are warm, and our objects great and excellent, intolerance is the sin that does most easily beset us. But this enthusiasm in Robes- pierre was blended with gloom, and suspiciousness, and inor- dinate vanity. His dark imagination v.'as still brooding over supposed plots against freedom — to prevent tyranny he became a tyrant — and having realized the evils which he suspected, a wild and dreadful tyrant. — Those loud tongued adulators, the mob, overpowered the lone whispered denunciations of con- science — he despotized in all the pomp of patriotism, and mas- queraded on the bloody stage of revolution, a Caligula with the cap of liberty on his head. It has been afiSrmed, and I believe with truth, that the sys- tem of Terrorism by suspending the struggles of contrariant factions communicated an energy to the operations of the Re- public, which had been hitherto unknown, and without which it could not have been preserved. The system depended for its existence on the general sense of its necessity and when it 287 had answered its end, it was soon destroyed by the same power that had given it birth — popular opinion. It must not however be disguised, that at all times, but more especially when the public feelings are wavy and tumultuous, artful demagogues may create this opinion : and they, who are inclined to tolerate evil as the means of contingent good, should reflect, that if the excesses of terrorism gave to the Republic that efficiency and repulsive force which its circumstances made necessary, they likewise afforded to the hostile courts the nxost powerful sup- port and excited that indignation and horror, which every where precipitated the subject into the designs of the ruler. Nor let it be forgotten that these excesses perpetuated the war in La Vendee and made it more terrible, both by the accession of numerous partizans, who had fled from the persecution of Robespierre, and by inspiring the Chouans with fresh fury, and an unsubmitting spirit of revenge and desperation. Revolutions are sudden to the unthinking only. Political disturbances happen not without their warning harbingers. Strange rumblings and confused noises still precede these earth- quakes and hurricanes of the moral vrorld. The process of revolution in France has been dreadful, and should incite us to examine with an anxious eye the motives and manners of those, whose conduct and opinions seem calculated to forward a similar event in our own country. The oppositionists to " things as they are," are divided into many and difl'erent class- es. To delineate them with an unflattering accuracy may be a delicate, but it is a necessary task, in order that we may en- lighten, or at least beware of the misguided men who have en- listed under the banners of liberty, from no principles or with bad ones; whether they be those, who admire they know not wliat, And know not wlioni, but as one leads to the other : or whether those, Whose end is private hate, not help to fieedoni. Adverse and turbulent when she would lead To virtue. The majority of democrats appear to me to have attained that portion of knowledge in politics, which infidels possess in re- ligion. 1 would by no means be supposed to imply, that the 288 objections of both are equally unfounded, but that they both attribute to the system which they reject, a'l the evils existing under it; and that both contemphiting truth and justice "in the nakedness of abstraction," condemn constitutions and dispensa- tions without having suificiently examined the natures, circum- stances and capacities of their recipients. The first class among the professed friends of liberty is composed of men, who un- accustomed to the labor of thorough investigation, and not par- ticularly oppressed by the burthens of state, are yet impelled by their feelings to disapprove of its grosser depravities, and prepared to give an indolent vote in favor of reform. Their sensibilities unbraced by the co-operation of fixed principles, they offer no sacrifices to the divinity of active virtue. Their political opinions depend with weather-cock uncertainty on the the winds of rumor, that blow from France. On the report of French victories they blaze into republicanism, at a tale of French excesses they darken into aristocrats. These dovgh-ba- ked patriots are not however useless. This oscillation of political opinion will retard the day of revolution, and it will operate as a preventive to its excesses. Indecisiveness of character, though the effect of timidity, is almost always associated with benevo- lence. Wilder ieatures characterize the second class. Sufficiently possessed of natural sense to despise the priest, and of natural feeling to hate the oppressor, they listen only to the inflamma- tory harangues of some mad-headed enthusiast, and imbibe from them poison, not food ; rage, not liberty. Unillumined by phi- losophy, and stimulated to a lust of revenge by aggravated wrongs, they would make the altar of freedom stream with blood, while the grass grew in the desolated halls of justice. We contemplate those principles with horror. Yet they pos- sess a kind of wild justice well calculated to spread them among the grossly ignorant. To unenlightened minds, there are terrible charms in the idea of retribution, however savagely it be incul- cated. The groans of the oppressors make fearful yet pleasant music to the ear of him, whose mind is darkness, and into whose soul the iron has entered. This class, at present, is comparatively small — Yet soon to form an overwhelming majority, unless great and immediate efforts are used to lessen the intolerable grievances of our poor brethren, and infuse into their sorely wounded hearts the healing ^9 qualities of knowledge. For can we wonder that men should want humanity, who want all the circumstances of life that humanize ? Can we wonder that with the ignorance of brutes they should unite their ferocity ? Peace and comfort be with these ! But let us shudder to hear from men of dissimilar opportunities senti- I ments of similar revengefulness. The purifying alchemy of ed- / ucation may transmute the fierceness of an ignorant man into ' virtuous energy — but what remedy shall we apply to him, whom plenty has not softened, whom knowledge has not taught bene- volence ? This is one among the many fatal efifects which re- sult from the want of fixed principles. ^ There is a third class among the friends of freedom, who possess not the wavering character of the first description, nor the ferocity last delineated. They pursue the interests of free- dom steadily, but with narrow and self-centering views : they anticipate with exultation the abolition of privileged orders, and of acts that persecute by exclusion from the right of citizen- ship. They are prepared to join in digging up the rubbish of mouldering establishments, and stripping off the tawdry pa- geantry of governments. Whatever is above them they are most willing to drag dowai ; but every proposed alteration that would elevate the ranks of our poorer brethren, they regard with suspicious jealousy, as the dreams of the visionary ; as if there were any thing in the superiority of Lord to Gentleman, so mortifying in the barrier, so fatal to happiness in the con- sequences, as the more real distinction of master and servant, of rich man and of poor. Wherein am I made worse by my en- nobled neighbor ? Do the childish titles of Aristocracy detract from my domestic comforts, or prevent my intellectual acquisi- tions ? But those institutions of society which should condemn me to the necessity of twelve hours daily toil, would make my soul a slave, and sink the rational being into the mere animal. It is a mockery of our fellow creatures' wrongs to call them equal in rights, when by the bitter compulsion of their wants we make them inferior to us in all that can soften the heart, or dignify the understanding. Let us not say that this is the work of time — that it is impracticable at present, unless we each in our individual capacities do strenuously and perseveringly en- deavor to diffuse among our domestics those comforts and that illumination which far beyond all political ordinances are the true equalizers of men. 37 290 We turn with pleasure to the contemplation of that small but glorious band, whom we may truly distinguish by the name of thinking and disinterested patriots. These are the men who have encouraged the sympathetic passions till they have become irresistible habits, and made their duty a necessary part of their self-interest, by the long-continued cultivation of that moral taste which derives our most exquisite pleasures from the con- templation of possible perfection, and proportionate pain from the perception of existing depravation. Accustomed to regard all the affairs of man as a process, they never hurry and they never pause. Theirs is not that twilight of political knowledge which gives us just light enough to place one foot before the other ; as they advance the scene still opens upon them, and they press right onward with a vast and various landscape of existence around them. Calmness and energy mark all their actions. Convinced that vice originates not in the man, but in the sur- rounding circumstances ; not in the heart, but in the under- standing ; he is hopeless concerning no one — to correct a vice or generate a virtuous conduct he pollutes not his hands with the scourge of coercion ; but by endeavouring to alter the circum- cumstances would remove, or by strengthening the intellect, disarms the temptation. The unhappy children ot vice and fol- ly, whose tempers are adverse to their own happiness as well as to the happiness of others, will at times awaken a natural pang : but he looks forward with gladdened heart to that glo- rious period when justice shall have established the universal fraternity of love. These soul-ennobling views bestow the virtues which they anticipate. He whose mind is habitually imprest with them soars above the present state of humanity, and may be justly said to dwell in the presence of the Most High. would the forms Of servile custom cramp the patriot's power ? Would sordid policies the barbarous growth Of ignorance and rapine, bow him down To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ? Lo ! he appeals to nature, to the winds And roUing waves, the sun's lui wearied course The elements and seasons — all declare For wiiat the Eternal Maker has ordained The powers of man : we ftcl within ourselves His energy divnie: he tells the heart 291 He meant, he made us to behold and love What he beholda and loves, the general orb Of life and being — to be great like him, Beneficent and active. Akensidb. That the general illumination should precede revolution, is a truth as obvious, as that the vessel should be cleansed be- fore we fill it with a pure liquor. But the mode of diffusing it is not discoverable with equal facility. We certainly should never attempt to make proselytes by appeals to the selfish feel- ings — and consequently, should plead ybr the oppressed, not to them. The author of an essay on political justice considers private societies as the sphere of real utility — that (each one illuminating those immediately beneath him,) truth by a gra- dual descent, may at last reach the lowest order. But this is rather plausible than just or practicable. Society as at present constituted does not resemble a chain that ascends in a contin- uity of links. Alas ! between the parlour and the kitchen, the tap and the coffee-room — there is a gulph that may not be pass- ed. He would appear to me to have adopted the best as well as the most benevolent mode of diffusing truth, who uniting the zeal of the Methodist with the views of the Philosopher, should be personally among the poor, and teach them their duties in order that he may render them susceptible of their rights. Yet by what means can the lower classes be made to learn their duties, and urged to practise them ? The human race may perhaps possess the capability of all excellence ; and truth, I doubt not, is omnipotent to a mind already disciplined for its reception ; but assuredly the over- worked labourer, skulking into an ale-house, is not likely to exemplify the one, or prove the other. In that barbarous tumult of inimical interests, which the present state of society exhibits, religion appears to offer the only means universally efficient. The perfectness of future men is indeed a benevolent tenet, and may operate on a few visionaries whose studious habits supply them with em- ployment, and seclude them from temptation. But a distant prospect which we are never to reach, will seldom quicken our footsteps, however lovely it may appear ; and a blessing, which not ourselves but posterity are destined to enjoy, will scarcely influence the actions of any — still less of the ignorant, the pre- judiced, and the selfish. Go preach the Gospel, to the poor." By its simplicity it (.(. 292 will meet their comprehension, by its benevolence soften their affections, by its precepts it will direct their conduct, by the vastness of its motives ensure their obedience. The situation of the poor is perilous : they are indeed both " fiom within and from without Unarmed to all temptations." Prudential reasonings will in general be powerless with them. For the incitements of this world are weak in proportion as we are wretched — The world is not my friend, nor the world's law. The world has got no law to make me rich. They too, who live from hand to mouthy will most frequently become improvident. Possessing no stock of happiness they ea- gerly seize the gratifications of the moment, and snatch the froth from the wave as it passes by them. Nor is the desolate state of their famih'es a restraining motive, unsoftened as they are by education, and benumbed into selfishness by the torpedo touch of extreme want. Domestic affections depend on asso- ciation. We love an object if, as often as we see or recollect it, an agreeable sensation arises in our minds. But alas ! how should he glow with the charities of father and husband, who gaining scarcely more than his own necessities demand, must have been accustomed to regard his wife and children, not as ^^he soothers of finished labor, but as rivals for the insufficient meal ! In a man so circumstanced the tyranny of the Present can be overpowered only by the ten-fold inightiness of the Fu- ture. Religion will cheer his gloom with her promises, and by habituating his mind to anticipate an infinitely great Revolution hereafter, may prepare it even for the sudden reception of a less degree of amelioration in this world. But if we hope to instruct others, we should familiarize our own minds to some fixed and determinate principles of action. The world is a vast labyrinth, in which almost every one is running a different way, and almost every one manifesting ha- tred to those who do not run the same way. A few indeed stand motionless, and not seeking to lead themselves or others out of the maze, laugh at the failures of their brethren. Yet with little reason : for more grossly than the most bewildered wanderer does he err, who never aims to go ri^ht. It is more 293 honorable to the head, as well as to the heart, to be misled by our eagerness in the pursuit of Truth, than to be safe from blundering by contempt of it. The happiness of mankind is the end of virtue, and truth is the knowledge of the means; which he will never seriously attempt to discover, who has not habitu- ally interested himself in the welfare of others. The searcher after truth must love and be beloved ; for general benevolence is a necessary motive to constancy of pursuit ; and this general benevolence is begotten and rendered permanent by social and domestic affections. Let us beware of that proud philosophy, which affects to inculcate philanthropy while it denounces every home-born feeling by which it is produced and nurtured. The paternal and filial duties discipline the heart and prepare it for the love of all mankind. The intensity of private attachments encourages, not prevents, universal Benevolence. The nearer we approach to the sun, the more intense his heat : yet what corner of the system does he not cheer and vivify ? ~\. The man who would find Truth, must likewise seek it with an humble and simple heart, otherwise he will be precipitant and overlook it ; or he will be prejudiced, and refuse to see it. To emancipate itself from the tyranny of association, is the most arduous effort of the mind, particularly in religious and political disquisitions. The assertors of the system have asso- ciated with it the preservation of order and public virtue ; the oppugner of imposture and wars and rapine. Hence, when they dispute, each trembles at the consequences of the other's opinions instead of attending to his train of arguments. Of this however we may be certain, whether we be Christians or Infidels, Aristocrats or Republicans, that our minds are in a state unsusceptible of Knowledge, when we feel an eagerness to detect the falsehood of an adversary's reasonings, not a sin- cere wish to discover if there be Truth in them ; — when we ex- amine an argument in order that we may answer it, instead of answering because we have examined it. Our opponents are chiefly successful in confuting the Theory of Freedom by the practices of its advocates : from our lives they draw the most forcible arguments against our doctrines. Nor have they adopted an unfair mode of reasoning. In a science the evidence suffers neither diminution or increase from the actions of its professors ; but the comparative wisdom of political systems depends necessarily on the manners and ca- 294 , pacities of the recipients. Why should all things be thrown in- to confusion to acquire that liberty which a faction of sensual- ists and gamblers will neither be able or willing to preserve ? A system of fundamental Reform will scarcely be effected by massacres mechanized into Revolution. We cannot therefore inculcate on the minds of each other too often or with too great earnestness the necessity of cultivating benevolent affections. We should be cautious how we indulge the feelings even of virtuous indignation. Indignation is the handsome brother of Anger and Hatred. The temple of Despotism, like that of Tes- calipoca, the Mexican deity is built of human skulls, and ce- mented with human blood ; — let us beware that we be not transported into revenge while we are levelling the loathsome pile ; lest when we erect the edifice of Freedom we but vary the style of architecture, not change the materials. Let us not wantonly offend even the prejudices of our weaker brethren, nor by ill-timed and vehement declarations of opinion excite in t?iem malignant feelings towards us. The energies of mind are wasted in these intemperate effusions. Those materials of projectile force, which now carelessly scattered explode with an offensive and useless noise, directed by wisdom and union might heave rocks from their base, — or perhaps (dismissing the metaphor) might produce the desired effect without the jconvulsion. For this " subdued sobriety" of temper a practical faith in the doctrine of philosophical necessity seems the only prepara- tive. That vice is the effect of error and the offspring of sur- rounding circumstsnces, the object therefore of condolence not of anger, is a proposition easily understood, and as easily dem- onstrated. But to make it spread from the understanding to the affections, to call it into action, not only in the great exer- tions of patriotism, but in the daily and hourly occurrences of social life, requires the most watchful attentions of the most energetic mind. It is not enough that we have once swallowed these truths — we must feed on them, as insects on a leaf, till the whole heart be coloured by their qualities, and shew its food in every the minutest fibre. Finally; in the words of an Apostle, Watch ye ! Stand fast in the principles of which ye have been convinced : Quit yourselves like men ! Be strong ! Yet let all things be done in the spirit of love. THE SECOND li A N D I K G-F L. A C E OR ESSAYS INTERPOSED FOR AMUSEMENT, RETROSPECT, AND PREP AR ATIO N. MISCELLANY THE SECOND. Etiam a musis si quando animum paulisper abducamus, apud Musas nihil- ominus feriamur: at reclines quidem, at otiosas, at de his etillis inter se libere coUoquentes. ESSAY 1 . It were a wantonness anil would demand Severe reproof if we were men whose hearts Could hold vain dalliance with the misery l']ven of the dead ; contented thence to draw A momentary pleasure, never mark'd By reason, barren of all future good. But we have known that there is often found In mournful thoughts, and always might be found A power to virtue friendly. Wordsworth. MSS. I know not how I can better commence my second Landing Place, as joining on to the section of Politics, than by the fol- lowing proof of the severe miseries which misgovernment may occasion in a country nominally free. In the homely ballad of the Three Graves (published in my Sybilline Leaves) I have attempted to exemplify the effect, which one painful idea vividly impressed on the mind under unusual circumstances, might have in producing an alienation of the understanding ; and in the parts hitherto published, I have endeavored to trace the progress to madness, step by step. But though the main incidents are facts, the detail of the circumstances is of my own invention : that is, not what I knew, but what I con- ceived likely to have been the case, or at least equivalent to it. In the tale that follows, I present an instance of the same causes acting upon the mind to the production of conduct as wild as that of madness, but without any positive or permanent loss of the Reason or the Understanding ; and this in a real occurrence, real in all its parts and particulars. But in truth this tale overflows with a human interest, and needs no philo- sophical deduction to make it itnpressive. The account was pub- lished in the city in which the event took place, and in the same year I read it, when I was in Germany, and the impres- 38 298 sion made on my memory was so deep, that though I relate it in my own language, and with my own feelings, and in reliance on the fidelity of my recollection, I dare vouch for the accura- cy of the narration in all important particulars. The imperial free towns of Germany are, with only two or three exceptions, enviably distinguished by the virtuous and primitive manners of the citizens, and by the parental charac- ter of their several governments. As exceptions, however ,we must mention Aix la Chapelle, poisoned by French manners, and the concourse of gamesters and sharpers; and Nurem- berg, whose industrious and honest inhabitants deserve a better fate than to have their lives and properties under the guardian- ship of a wolfish and merciless oligarchy, proud from ignorance, and remaining ignorant through pride. It is from the small States of Germany, that our writers on political economy might draw their most forcible instances of actually oppressive, and even mortal, taxation, and gain the clearest insight into the causes and circumstances of the injury. One other remark, and I proceed to the story. I well remember, that the event I am about to narrate, called forth, in several of the German periodical publications, the most passionate (and in more than one instance, blasphemous) declamations, concerning the in- comprehensibility of the moral government of the world, and the seeming injustice and cruelty of the dispensations of Provi- dence. But, assuredly, every one of my readers, however deeply he may sympathize with the poor sufferers, will at once answer all such declamations by the simple reflection, that no one of these awful events could possibly have taken place un- der a wise police and humane government, and that men have no right to complain of Providence for evils which they them- selves are competent to remedy by mere common sense, join- ed with mere common humanity. Maria Eleonora Schoning, was the daughter of a Nu- remberg wire-drawer. She received her unhappy existence at the price of her mother's life, and at the age of seventeen she followed, as the sole mourner, the bier of her remaining parent. From her thirteenth year she had passed her life at her father's sick-bed, the gout having deprived him of the use of his limbs : and beheld the arch of heaven only when she went to fetch food or medicines. The discharge of her filial duties occupied 299 €ae whole of her time and all her thoughts. She was his only nurse, and for the last two years they lived without a servant. She prepared his scanty meal, she bathed his aching limbs, and though weak and delicate from constant confinement and the poison of melancholy thoughts, she had acquired an unusual power in her arms, from the habit of lifting her old and suffer- ing father out of and into his bed of pain. Thus passed away her early youth in sorrow : she grew up in tears, a stranger to the amusements of youth, and its more delightful schemes and imaginations. She was not, however unhappy : she attributed, indeed, no merit to herself for her virtues, but for that reason were they the more her reward. The peace which passeih all understanding , disclosed itself in all her looks and movements. It lay on her countenence, like a steady unshadowed moon- light ; and her voice, which was naturally at once sweet and sub- tle, came from her, like the fine flute-tones of a masterly perfor- mer which still floating at some uncertain distance, seem to be created by the player, rather than to proceed from the instru- ment. If you had listened to it in one of those brief sabbaths of the soul, when the activity and discursiveness of the thoughts are suspended, and the mind quietly eddies round, instead of flowing onward — (as at late evening in the spring I have seen a bat wheel in silent circles round and round a fruit-tree in full blossom, in the midst of which, as within a close tent of the purest white, an unseen nightingale was piping its sweetest notes) — in such a mood you might have half-fancied, half-felt, that her voice had a separate being of its own — that it was a living something, whose mode of existence was for the ear on- ly : so deep was her resignation, so entirely had it become the unconscious habit of her nature, and in all she did or said, so perfectly were both her movements and her utterance without efibrt and without the appearance of effort ! Her dying father's last words, addressed to the clergyman who attended him, were his grateful testimony, that during his long and sore trial his good Maria had behaved to him like an angel : that the most disagreeable offices and the least suited to her age and sex, had never drawn an unwilling look from her, and that whenev- er his eye had met her's, he had been sure to see in it either the tear of pity or the sudden smile expressive of her affection and wish to cheer him. God (said he) will reward the good girl for all her long dutifulness to me ! He departed during the in- C) 300 ward pi^yer, which followed these his last words. His wfsh will be fulfilled in eternity ; but for this world the prayer of the dying man was not heard ! Maria sate and wept by the grave, which now contained her father, her friend, the only bond by which she was linked to life. But while yet the last sound of his death-bell was mur- muring away in the air, she was obliged to return with two Revenue Officers, who demanded entrance into the house, in order to take possession of the papers of the deceased, and from them to discover whether he had always given in his income, and paid the yearly income tax according to his oath, and in proportion to his property.* After the few documents had been looked through and collated with the registers, the officers found, or pretended to find, sufficient proofs, that the deceased had not paid his tax proportionably, which imposed on them the duty to put all the effects under lock and seal. They therefore desired the maiden to retire to an empty room, till the Ransom Office had decided on the afiair. Bred up in suffering, and ha- bituated to immediate compliance, the affrighted and weeping maiden obeyed. She hastened to the empty garret, while the Revenue Officers placed the lock and seal upon the other doors, and finally took away the papers to the Ransom Office. Not before evening did the poor faint Maria, exhausted with weeping, rouse herself with the intention of going to her bed : but she found the door of her chamber sealed up and must pass the night on the floor of the garret. The officers had had the humanity to place at the door the small portion of food that hap- pened to be in the house. Thus passed several days, till the * This tax called the Losung or Ransom, in Niiremhiirir, was at first a vo- luntary contrihution : every one gave aceordingto his liking or circumstances but in the beginning of the 15th centui-y the heavy contribution levied for the sei-vice of the empire, forced the magistiates to determine the proportions and make the payment compulsory. At the time in which this event took place, 1787, every citizen must yearly take what was called his Ransom Oath (Los- ungseid) that the sum paid by him had been in the strict determinate propor- tion to his property. On the death of any citizen, the Ransom Office, or commissioners for this income or projjeity tax, possess the right to examine his books and papers, and to compare his yearly payment as found in their registers with the j)roperty he appears to have possessed during that time. If any disproportion ajipeared, if the yearly declarations of the deceased should have been inaccurate in the least degree, his whole effects are confiscated, and though ho should have left wife and child the state treasury becomes his heir. 301 officers returned with an order that Maria Elenora Schoiving should leave the house without delay, the commission Court having confiscated the whole property to the City Treasury. The father before he was bed-ridden had never possessed any considerable property; but yet, by his industry, had been able not only to keep himself free from debt, but to lay up a small sum for the evil day. Three years of evil days, three whole years of sickness, had consumed the greatest part of this ; yet still enough remained not only to defend his daughter from im- mediate want, but likewise to maintain her till she could get into some service or employment, and have recovered her spi- rits sufficiently to bear up against the hardships of life. With this thought the dying father comforted himself, and this hope too proved vain ! A timid girl, whose past life had been made up of sorrow and privation, she went indeed to solicit the commissioners in her own behalf; but these were, as is mostly the case on the Con- tinent, advocates — the most hateful class, perhaps, of human society, hardened by the frequent sight of misery, and seldom superior in moral character to English pettifoggers or Old Bai- ley attornies. She went to them, indeed, but not a word could she say for herself. Her tears and inarticulate sounds — for these her judges had no ears or eyes. Mute and confounded, like an unfledged dove fallen out from its mother's nest, Maria betook herself to her home, and found the house door too now shut up- on her. Her whole wealth consisted in the clothes she wore. She had no relations to whom she could apply, for those of her mother had disclaimed all acquaintance with her, and her father was a Nether Saxon by birth. She had no acquaintance, for all the friends of old Schoning had forsaken him in the first year of his sickness. She had no play-fellow, for who was likely to have been the companion of a nurse in the room of a sick man ? Surely, since the creation never was a human being more soli- tary and forsaken, than this innocent poor creature, that now roamed about friendless in a populous city, to the whole of whose inhabitants her filial tenderness, her patient domestic goodness, and all her soft yet difficult virtues, might well have been the model. " But homeless near n thousand homes she stood, And near a thousand tables pin'd and wanted food !" 302 The night came, and Maria knew not where to find a shelter. She tottered to the ehurch-jard of the St. James' church in Nuremberg, where the body of her father rested. Upon the yet grassless grave she threw herself down ; and could anguish have prevailed over youth, that night she had been in heaven. The day came, and like a guilty thing, this guiltless, this good being, stole away from the crowd that began to pass through the church-yard, and hastening through the streets to the city gate, she hid herself behind a garden hedge just beyond it, and there wept away the second day of her desolation. The evening clo- sed in : the pang of hunger made itself felt amid the dull ach- ing of self-wearied anguish, and drove the sufferer back again into the city. Yet what could she gain there ? She had not the courage to beg, and the very thought of stealing never occurred to her innocent mind. Scarce conscious whither she was going, or why she went, she found herself once more by her father's grave, as the last relict of evening faded away in the horizon. I have sate for some minutes with my pen resting : I can scarce summon the courage to tell, what I scarce know, whether I ought to tell. Were I composing a tale of fiction, the reader might justly suspect the purity of my own heart, and most cer- tainly would have abundant right to resent such an incident, as an outrage wantonly offered to his imagination. As I think of the circumstance, it seems more like a distempered dream : but alas ! what is guilt so detestable other than a dream of madness, that worst madness, the madness of the heart ? I cannot but be- lieve, that the dark and restless passions must first have drawn the mind in upon themselves, and as with the confusion of im- perfect sleep, have in some strange manner taken away the sense of reality, in order to render it possible for a human being to perpetrate what it is too certain that human beings have per- petrated. The church-yards in most of the German cities, and too often, I fear in those of our own country, are not more injuiious to health than to morality. Their former venerable character is no more. The religion of the place has followed its super- stitions, and their darkness and loneliness tempt worse spirits to roam in them than those whose nightly wanderings appalled the believing hearts of our biave fore-fathers ! It was close by the new-made grave of her father, that the meek and spotless daugh- ter became the victim to brutal violence, which weeping and watching and cold and hunger had rendered her utterly unable 303 to resist. The monster left her in a trance of stupefaction, and into her right hand, which she had clenched convulsively, he had forced a half-dollar. It was one of the darkest nights of autumn : in the deep and dead silence the only sounds audible were the slow blunt tick- in"- of the church clock, and now and then the sinking down of bones in the nigh charnel house. Maria, when she had in some degree recovered her senses, sate upon the grave near which — not her innocence had been sacrificed, but that which, from the frequent admonitions, and almost the dying words of her father, she had been accustomed to consider as such. Guiltless, she felt the pangs of guilt, and still continued tp grasp the coin, which the monster had left in her hand, with an anguish as sore as if it had been indeed the wages of voluntary prostitution. Giddy and faint from want of food, her brain became feverish from sleeplessness, and this unexampled concurrence of calami- ties, this complication and entanglement of misery in misery ! she imagined that she heard her father's voice bidding her leave his sight. His last blessings had been conditional, for in his last hours he had told her, that the loss of her innocence would not let him rest quiet in his grave. His last blessings now sounded in her ears like curses, and she fled from the church- yard as if a dsemon had been chasing her; and hurrying along the streets, through which it is probable her accursed violator had walked with quiet and orderly step* to his place of rest *It must surely have been after hearing of or witnessing some similar event or scene of wretchedness, thattlie most eloquent of our Writers (I had almost said of our Poets) Jeremy Taylor, wrote the following paragraph, which at least in Longinus's sense of the word, we may place among the most suhlime ])assages in English Literature. "He that is no fool, but can consider wisely, if he be in love with this world we need not despair but that a witty man might reconcile him with tortures, and make him think charira])ly of the rack, and be brought to admire the liarmony that is made by a herd of eve- ning wolves when they miss their draught of blood in their midnight revels. The groans of a man in a fit of the stone are worse than all these ; and the distractions of a troubled conscience are woise than those groans : andyet a careless merry sinner is worse than all that. Rut if we could from one of the battlements of Heaven espy, how many men and women at this time lie fainting and dying for want of bread, how many young men are hewn down by the sword of war ; how many orphans ai-e now weeping over the graves of their fiither, by whose life they were enabled to eat ; if we could but hear how many mariners and passengers are at this present time in a storm, and 304 and security, she was seized by the watchman of the night — a welcome prey, as they receive in Nuremburg half a gulden from the police chest, for every woman that they fmd^in the streets after ten o'clock at night. It was midnight, and she was taken to the next watch-house. The sitting magistrate, before whom she was carried the next morning, prefaced his first question with the most opprobrious title that ever belonged to the most hardened street-walkers, and which man born of woman should not address even to these, were it but for his own sake. The frightful name awakened the poor orphan from her dream of guilt, it brought back the consciousness of .her innocence, but with it the sense likewise of her wrongs and of her helplessness. The cold hand of death seemed to grasp her, she fainted dead away at his feet, and was not without difficulty recovered. The magistrate was so far softened, and only so far, as to dismiss her for the present ; but with a menace of sending her to the House of Correction if she were brought before him a second time. The idea of her own innocence now became uppermost in her mind ; but min- gling with the thought of her utter forlornness, and the image of her angry father, and doubtless still in a state of bewilderment, she formed the resolution of drowning herself in the river Peg- nitz — in order (for this was the shape which her fancy had ta- ken) to throw herself at her father's feet, and to justify her in- nocence to him in the World of Spirits. She hoped that her father would speak for her to the Saviour, and that she should be forgiven. But as she was passing through the suburb, she was met by a soldier's wife, who during the life-time of her father had been occasionally employed in the house as a chare- woman. This poor woman was startled at the disordered ap- parel, and more disordered looks of her young mistress, and questioned her with such an anxious and heartfelt tenderness, as at once brought back the poor orphan to her natural feelings Khri(;k out b('raMS(^ their koel dashes against a rock, or bulges under them ; how many peoi)lo there are that weep with want, and are mad with o])j)res- sion, or are desperate by a too quick sense of a constant infehcity ; in all rea- son we should be glad to be out of the noise and participation of so many evils. This is a place of sorrows and tears, of great evils and constant cala- mities: let us remove hence, ut least in aftl;cti(jns and prci)arations of u)ind. Holy Dying, Chap. 1. Sect 5 305 and the obligations of religion. As a frightened child throws' itself into the arras of its raother, and hiding its head on her breast, half tells amid sobs what has happened to it, so did she throw herself on the neck of the woman who had uttered the the first words of kindness to her since her father's death, and with loud weeping she related what she had endured and what she was about to have done, told her all her affliction and mise- ry, the wormwood and the gall ! Her kind-hearted friend min- gled tears with tears, pressed the poor forsaken-one to her heart ; comforted her with sentences out of the hymn-book ; and with the most affectionate entreaties conjured her to give up her horrid purpose, for that life was short, and heaven was forever. Maria had been bred up in the fear of God : she now trem- bled at the thought of her former purpose, and followed her friend Harlin, for that was the name of her guardian angel, to her home hard by. The moment she entered the door she sank down and lay at her full length, as if only to be motion- less in a place of shelter had been the fulness of delight. As when a withered leaf, that has been long whirled about by the gusts of autumn, is blown into a cave or hollow tree, it stops suddenly, and all at once looks the very image of quiet — such might this poor orphan appear to the eye of a meditative ima- agination. A place of shelter she had attained, and a friend willing to comfort her, all that she could : but the noble-hearted Harlin was herself a daughter of calamity, one who from year to year must lie down in weariness and rise up to labour ; for whom this world provides no other comfort but sleep which enables them to forget it ; no other physician but death, which takes them out of it ! She was married to one of the city guards, who, like Maria's father, had been long sick and bed-ridden. Him, herself, and two little children, she had to maintain by wash- ing and charing;* and sometime after Maria had been do- mesticated with them, Harlin told her that she herself had been once driven to a desperate thought by the cry of her hungry children, during a want of employment, and that she had been * I am ignorant, whether there be any classical authority for this word ; but I know no other word that expresses occasional day labor in the houses of others. 39 306 on the point of killing one of the little-ones, and then surren- dering herself into the hands of justice. In this manner, she had conceived, all would be well provided for ; the surviving child would be admitted, as a matter of course, into the Orphan House, and her husband into the Hospital ; while she herself would have atoned for her act by a public execution, and together with the child that she had destroyed, would have passed into a state of bliss. All this she related to Maria, and those tragic ideas left but too deep and lasting impression on her mind. Weeks after, she herself renewed the conversation, by express- ing to her benefactress her inability to conceive how it was possible for one human being to take away the life of another, especially that of an innocent little child. For that reason, replied Harlin, because it was so innocent and so good, I wish- ed to put it out of this wicked world. Thinkest thou then that I would have my head cut off for the sake of a wicked child ? Therefore it was little Nan, that I meant to have taken with me, who, as you see, is always so sweet and patient ; little Frank has already his humours aud naughty tricks, and suits better for this world. This was the answer. Maria brooded awhile over it in silence, then passionately snatched the child- ren up in her arms, as if she would protect them against their own mother. For one whole year the orphan lived with the soldier's wife, and by their joint labors barely kept off absolute want. As a little boy (almost a child in size, though in his thirteenth year) once told me of himself, as he was guiding me up the Brocken, in the Hartz Forest, they had but " little of that, of which a great deal tells but for little. But now came the second win- ter, and with it came bad times, a season of trouble for this poor and meritorious household. The wife now fell sick: too constant and too hard labor, too scanty and too innutritions food, had gradually wasted away her strength. Maria redoubled her efforts in order to provide bread and fuel for their washing which they took in; but the task was above her powers. Be- sides, she was so timid and so agitated at the sight of stran- gers, that sometimes, with the best good-will she was left with- out employment. One by one, every article of the least value which they possessed was sold off, except the bed on which the husband lay. He died just before the approach of spring ; but about the same time the wife gave signs of convalescence. The 307 physician, though ahnost as poor as his patients, had been kind to them : silver and gold had he none, but he occasionally brought a little wine, and often assured them that nothing was wanting to her perfect recovery, but better nourishment and a little wine every day. This, however, could not be regularly procured, and Harlin's spirits sank, and as her bodily pain left her she became more melancholy, silent, and self-involved. And now it was that Maria's mind was incessantly racked by the frightful apprehension, that her friend might be again medita- ting the accomplishment of her former purpose. She had grown as passionately fond of the two children as if she had borne them under her own heart ; but the jeopardy in which she con- ceived her friend's salvation to stand — this was her predomin- ant thought. For all the hopes and fears, which under a hap- pier lot would have been associated with the objects of the senses, were transferred, by Maria, to her notions and images of a future state. In the beginning of March, one bitter cold evening, Maria star- ted up and suddenly left the house. The last morsel of food had been divided betw^ixt the two children for their breakfast ; and for the last hour or more the little boy had been crying for hunger, while his gentler sister had been hiding her face in Maria's lap, and pressing her little body against her knees, in order by that mechanic pressure to dull the aching from empti- ness. The tender-hearted and visionary maiden had watched the mother's eye, and had interpreted several of her sad and steady looks according to her preconceived apprehensions. She had conceived all at once the strange and enthusiastic thought, that she would in some way or other offer her own soul for the salvation of the soul of her friend. The money, which had been left in her hand, flashed upon the eye of her mind, as a single unconnected image : and faint with hunger and shivering with cold, she sallied forth — in search of guilt ! Awful are the dispensations of the Supreme, and in his sever- est judgments the hand of mercy is visible. It was a night so wild with wind and rain, or rather rain and snow mixed toge- ther, that a famished wolf would have stayed in his cave, and listened to a howl more fearful than his own. Forlorn Maria ! thou wert kneeling in pious simplicity at the grave of thy fa- ther, and thou becamest the prey of a monster ! Innocent thou wert and without guilt didst thou remain. Now thou goest 308 forth of thy own accord — hut God will have pity on thoe ! Poor bewildered innocent ! in thy spotless imagination dwelt no distinct conception of the evil which thou wentest forth to brave ! To save the soul of thy friend was the dream of thy feverish brain, and thou wert again apprehended as an outcast of shameless sensuality, at the moment when thy too spirit- ualized fancy was busied with the glorified forms of thy friend and of her little ones interceding for thee at the throne of the Redeemer ! At this moment her perturbed fancy suddenly suggested to her a new mean for the accomplishment of her purpose : and she replied to the night-watch, who with a brutal laugh bade her expect on the morrow the unmanly punishment, which to the disgrace of human nature the laws of Protestant states (alas! even those of our own country,) inflict on female vagrants, that she came to deliver herself up as an infanticide. She was in- stantly taken before the magistrate, through as wild and pitiless a storm as ever pelted on a houseless head ! through as black and " tyrannous a night,^'' as ever aided the workings of a heat- ed brain ! Here she confessed that she had been delivered of an infant by the soldier's wife, Harlin, that she deprived it of life in the presence of Harlin, and according to a plan pre- concerted with her, and that Harlin had buried it somewhere in the wood, but where she knew not. During this strange tale she appeared to listen with a mixture of fear and satisfaction, to the howling of the wind ; and never sure could a confession of real guilt have been accompanied by a more dreadfully ap- propriate music ! At the moment of her apprehension she had formed the scheme of helping her friend out of the world in a state of innocence. When the soldier's widow was confronted with the orphan, and the latter had repeated her confession to her face, Harlin answered in these words, " For God's sake, Maria ! how have I deserved this of thee ?" Then turning to the magistrate, said, " I know nothing of this." This was the sole answer which she gave, and not another word could they extort from her. The instruments of torture were brought, and Harlin was warned, that if she did not confess of her own ac- cord, the truth would be immediately forced from her. This menace convulsed Maria Schoning with aff"right: her intention had been to emancipate herself and her friend from a life of unmixed suffering, without the crime of suicide in either, and 309 with no guilt at all on the part of her friend. The thought of her friend's being put to the torture had not occurred to her. Wildly and eagerly she pressed her friend's hands, already bound in preparation for the torture — she pressed them in ago- ny between her own, and said to her, " Anna ! confess it ! Anna, dear Anna ! it will then be well with all of us ! all, all of us ! and Frank and little Nan will be put into the Orphan House !" Maria's scheme now passed, like a flash of lightning through the widow's mind, she acceded to it at once, kissed Ma- ria repeatedly, and then serenely turning her face to the judge, acknowledged that she had added to the guilt by so obstinate a denial, that all her friend had said, had been true, save only that she had thrown the dead infant into the river, and not bu- ried it in the wood. They were both committed to prison, and as they both perse- vered in their common confession, the process was soon made out and the condemnation followed the trial : and the sentence, by which they were both to be beheaded with the sword, was or- dered to be put in force on the next day but one. On the mor- ning of the execution, the delinquents were brought together, in order that they might be reconciled with each other, and join in common prayer for forgiveness of their common guilt. But now Maria's thoughts took another turn. The idea that her benefactress, that so very good a woman, should be violent- ly put out of life, and this with an infamy on her name which would cling forever to the little orphans, overpowered her. Her own excessive desire to die scarcely prevented her from discovering the whole plan ; and when Harlin Was left alone with her, and she saw her friend's calm and affectionate look, her fortitude was dissolved : she burst into a loud and passion- ate weeping, and throwing herself into her friend's arms ; with convulsive sobs she entreated her forgiveness. Harlin pressed the poor agonized girl to her arms; like a tender mother, she kissed and fondled her wet cheeks, and in the most solemn and emphatic tones assured her, that there was nothing to forgive. On the contrary, she was her greatest benefactress and the in- strument of God's goodness to remove her at once from a mise- rable world and from the temptation of committing a heavy crime. In vain ! Her repeated promises, that she would answer before God for them both, could not pacify the tortured con- science of Maria, till at length the presence of a clergyman and 310 the preparations for receiving the sacrament occasioning the widow to address her thus — " See, Maria ! this is the Body and Blood of Christ, which takes away all sin ! Let us partake to- gether of this holy repast with full trust in God and joyful hope of our approaching hyppiness." These words of comfort, ut- tered with cheering tones, and accompanied with a look of inexpressible tenderness and serenity, brought back peace for a while to her troubled spirit. They communicated together, and on parting, the magnanimous woman once more embraced her young friend : then stretching her hand toward Heaven, said, "Be tranquil, Maria ! by to-morrow morning we are there, and all our sorrows stay here behind us." I hasten to the scene of execution : for I anticipate my read- er's feelings in the exhaustion of my own heart. Serene and with unaltered countenance the lofty-minded Harlin heard the strokes of the death bell, stood before the scaffold while the staff was broken over her, and at length ascended the steps, all with a steadiness and tranquillity of manner which was not more distant from fear than from defiance and bravado. Alto- gether different was the state of poor Maria : with shattered nerves and an agonizing conscience that incessantly accused lier as the murderess of her friend, she did not walk but stag- gered towards the scaffold, and stumbled up the steps. While Harlin, who went first, at every step turned her head round and still whispered to her, raising her eyes to heaven, — "but a few minutes, Maria ! and we are there !" On the scaffold she again bade her farewell, again repeating " Dear Maria ! but one mi- nute now, and we are together with God." But when she knelt down and her neck v/as bared for the stroke, the unhap- py giri lost all self-command, and with a loud and piercing shriek she bade them hold and not murder the innocent. " She is innocent ! I have borne false witness ! I alone am the mur- deress !" She rolled herself now at the feet of the execution- er, and now at those of the clergyman, and conjured them to stop the execution : that the whole story had been invented by herself; that she had never brought forth, much less destroyed, an infant ; that for her friend's sake she had made this discove- ry ; that for herself she wished to die, and would die gladly, if they would take away her friend, and promise to free her soul from the dreadful agony of having murdered her friend by false witness. The executioner asked Harlin, if there were any 311 truth in what Maria Schoning had said. The Heroine answer- ed with manifest reluctance : " most assuredly she has said the truth: I confessed myself guilty, because I wished to die and thought it best for both of us : and now that my hope is on the moment of its accomplishment, I cannot be supposed to declare myself innocent for the sake of saving my life — but any wretch- edness is to be endured rather than that poor creature should be hurried out of the world in a state of despair." The outcry of the attending populace prevailed to suspend the execution : a report was sent to the assembled magistrates, and in the mean time one of the priests reproached the widow in bitter words for her former false confession. " What," she replied sternly but without anger, " what could the truth have availed ? Before I perceived my friend's purpose I did deny it : my assurance was pronounced an impudent lie : I was already bound for the torture, and so bound that the sinews of my liands started, and one of their worships in the large white peruke^ threatened that he would have me stretched till the sun shone through me ! and that then I should cry out, Yes, when it was too late." The priest was hard-hearted or superstitious enough to continue his reproofs, to which the noble woman condescen- ded no further answer. The other clergyman, however, was both more rational and more humane. He succeeded in silen- cing his colleague, and the former half of le long hour, which the magistrates took in making speeches on the improbability: of the tale instead of re-examining the culprits in person, he employed in gaining from the widow a connected account of all the circumstances, and in listening occasionally to Maria's passionate descriptions of all her friend's goodness and magna- nimity. For she had gained an influx of life and spirit from the assurance in her mind, both that she had now rescued Har- lin from death and was about to expiate the guilt of her purpose by her own execution. For the latter half of the time the cler- gyman remained in silence, lost in thought, and momentlj^ ex- pecting the return of the messenger. All which during the deep silence of this interval could be heard, was one exciama- mation of Harlin to her unhappy friend — " Oh ! Maria ! Maria ! couldst thou but have kept up thy courage but for another mi- nute, we should have been now in heaven ! The messenger came back with an order from the magistrates to proceed with the execution ! With re-animated countenance Harlin 312 placed her neck on the block and her head was severed from her body amid a general shriek from the crowd. The execu- tioner fainted after the blow, and the under hangman was or- dered to take his place. He was not wanted. Maria was al- ready gone : her body was found as cold as if she had been dead for some hours. The flower had been snapped in the storm, before the scythe of violence could come near it. ESSAY II. Tlie History of Times representetli the magnitude of actions and the pub- lic faces or deportment of persons, and passeth over in silence the smaller passages and motions of men and matters. But such being the workman- ship of God, that he doth hang the greatest weight upon the smallest wires, maxima e minimis suspendens : it comes therefore to pass, that Histories do rather set fortii the pomp of business than the true and inward resorts thereof But Lives, if they be well written, propounding to themselves a person to represent in \ ',.0111 actions botii greater and smaller, public and private, have a commixture, must of necessity contain a more true, native, and lively representation. — Lord Bacon. Mankind in general are so little in the habit of looking steadily at their own meaning, or of weighing the words by which they express it, that the writer, who is careful to do both, will sometimes mislead his readers through the very excellence which qualifies him to be their instructer : and this with no other fault on his part, than the modest mistake of supposing in those, to whom he addresses himself, an intellect as watchful as his own. The inattentive Reader adopts as unconditionally true or per- haps rails at his Author for having stated as such, what upon examination would be found to have been duly limited, and would so have been understood, if opaque spots and false re- fractions were as rare in the the mental as in the bodily eye. 313 The motto, for instance, to this Paper has more than once ser- ved as an excuse and authority for huge volumes of hiographi- cal minutiae, which render the real character almost invisible, like clouds of dust on a portrait, or the counterfeit frankincense which sinoke-blacks the favorite idol of a Catholic village. Yet Lord Bacon, by the words which I have marked in italics, evi- dently confines the Biographer to such facts as are either sus- ceptible of some useful general inference, or tend to illustrate those qualities which distinguish the subject of them from or- dinary men ; while the passage in general was meant to guard the Historian against considering, as trifles, all that might ap- pear so to tlioso who recognize no greatness in the mindj and can conceive no dignity in any incident, which does not act on their senses by its external accompaniments, or on their curiosity by its immediate consequences. Things apparently insignificant are recommended to our notice, not for their own sakes, but for their bearings or influences on things of impor- tance : in other words, when they are insignificant in appear- ance only. An inquisitiveness into the minutest circumstances and cas- ual sayings of eminent contemporaries, is indeed quite natural', but so are all our follies and the more natural they are, the more caution should we exert in guarding against them. To scribble trifles even on thj perishable glass of an inn window, is the mark of an idler ; but to engrave them on the marble monument, sacred to the memory of the departed Great, is something worse than idleness. The spirit of genuine Biog- raphy is in nothing more conspicuous, than in the firmnees with which it withstands the cravings of worthless curiosity, as dis- tinguished from the thirst after useful knowledge. For, in the first place, such anecdotes as derive their whole and sole inter- est from the great name of the person concerning whom they are related, and neither illustrate his general character nor his particular actions, would scarcely have been noticed or reraem- bei'ed except by men of weak minds ; it is not unlikely there- fore, that they were misapprehended at the time, and it is most probable that they have been related as incorrectly, as they were noticed injudiciously. Nor are the consequences of such garrulous Biography merely negative. For as insignificant sto- ries can derive no real respectability from the eminence of the person who happens to be the subject of them, but rather an 40 314 additional deformity of disproportion, they are apt to have their insipidity seasoned by the same bad passions that accompany the habit of gossiping in general ; and the misapprehension of weak men meeting with the misinterpretations of malignant men, have not seldom formed the ground of the most grievous calumnies. In the second place, these trifles are subversive of the great end of Biography, which is to fix the attention, and to interest the feelings, of men on those qualities and actions which have made a particular life worthy of being recorded. It is, no doubt, the duty of an honest Biographer, to portray the pro- minent imperfections as well as excellencies of his Hero ; but I am at a loss to conceive how this can be deemed an excuse for heaping together a multitude of particulars, which can prove nothing of any man that might not have been safely taken for granted of all men. In the present age (emphatically the age of personality !) there are more than ordinary motives for with- holding all encouragement from this mania of busying ourselves with the names of others, which is still more alarming as a symptom, than it is troublesome as a disease. The Reader must be still less acquainted with contemporary literature than myself — a case not likely to occur — if he needs me to inform him, that there are men, who trading in the silliest anecdotes, in unpro- voked abuse and senseless eulogy, think themselves neverthe- less employed both worthily and honorably, if only all this be done " wi good set ierms,''^ and Irom the press, and of public characters : a class which has increased so rapidly of late, that it becomes difficult to discover what characters are to be consi- dered- as private. Alas ! if these wretched misusers of lan- guage, and the means of giving wings to thought, the means of multiplying the presence of an individual mind, had ever known, how great a thing the possession of any one simple truth is, and how mean a thing a mere fact is, except as seen in the light of some comprehensive truth ; if they had but once experienced the unborrowed complacency, the inward independence, the home-bred strength, with which every clear conception of the reason is accompanied : they would shrink from their own pa- ges as at the remembrance of a crime. For a crime it is, (and the man who hesitates in pronouncing it such, must be ignorant of what mankind owe to books, what he himself owes to them in spite of his ignorance ) thus to introduce the spirit of vulgar scandal and personal inquietude into the Closet and the Library, 315 environing with evil passions the very Sanctuaries, to which we should flee for refuge from them ! For to what do these Publi- cations appeal, whether they present themselves as Biography or as anonymous Criticism, but to the same feelings which the scandal-bearers and time-killers of ordinary life seek to gratify in themselves and their listeners ? And both the authors and admirers of such publications, in what respect are they less tru- ants and deserters from their own hearts, and from their ap- pointed task of understanding and amending them, than the most garrulous female Chronicler, of the goings-on of yesterday in the families of her neighbors and townsfolk ? The Friend has reprinted the following Biographical sketch, partly indeed in the hope that it may be the means of introdu- cing to the Reader's knowledge, in case he should not have formed an acquaintance with them already, two of the most in- teresting biographical Works in our language, both for the weight of the matter, and the mcuriosa felicitas of the style. I refer to Roger North's Examen, and the Life of his brother, the Lord Chancellor North. The pages are all alive with the genuine idioms of our mother-tongue. -4- A fastidious taste, it is true, will find offence in the occasion- al vulgarisms, or what we now call slang, which not a few of our writers, shortly after the Restoration of Charles the Sec- ond, seem to have affected as a mark of loyalty. These in- stances, however, are but a trifling drawback. They are not sought for, as is too often and too plainly done by L'Estrange, Collyer, Tom Brown, and their imitations. North never goes out of his wav either to seek them or to avoid them ; and in the main his language gives us the very nerve, pulse, and sinew of a hearty healthy conversational English. This is The Friend's first reason for the insertion of this Extract. His other and principal motive may be found in the kindly good-tempered spirit of the passage. But instead of troubling the Reader with the painful contrast which so many recollections force on my own feelings, I will refer the charac- ter-makers of the present day to the Letters of Erasmus and Sir Thomas More to Martin Dorpius, that are commonly annex- ed to the Encomium Moriae ; and then for a practical comment on the just and affecting sentiments of these two great men, to the works of Roger North, as proofs how alone an English scholar and gentleman will permit himself to delineate his contempora- 316 rjes even imdtir the strongest prejudices of party spirit, and though employed on the coarsest subjects. A coarser subject than L. C.J. Saunders cannot well be imagined ; nor does North use his colors with a sparing or very delicate hand. And yet the final impression is that of kindness. EXTRACT FROM NORTH's EXAMEN. The Lord Chief Justice Saunders succeeded in the room of Pemberton. His character, and his beginning were equally strange. He was at first no better than a poor boy, if not a parish-foundling, without knowing parents or relations. He had found a way to live by obsequiousness in Clement's Inn, as I remember, and courting the attorney's clerks for scraps. The extraordinary observance and diligence of the boy, made the society willing to do him good. He appeared very ambi- tious to learn to write, and one of the attorneys got a board knocked up ai a window on the top of a stair-case; and that was his desk, where he sat and wrote after copies of court, and other hands the clerks gave him. He made himself so expert a writer that he took in business, and earned some pence by hackney-writing. And thus by degrees he pushed his faculties and fell to forms, and by books that were lent him, became an exquisite entertaining clerk ; and by the same course of improve- ment of himself, an able counsel, first in special pleading, then at large : after he was called to the Bar, had practice in the King's Bench Court equal with any there. As to his person he was very corpulent and beastly, a mere lump of morbid tiesh. He used to say, by his troggs, (such an humorous way of talking he af- fected) none could say he wanted issue of his body, for he had nine in his back. He was a fetid mass, that offended his neigh- bors at the bar in the sharpest degree. Those whose ill for- tune it was to stand near him, were confessors, and in the sum- mer time, almost martyrs. This hateful decay of his carcase came upon him by continual sottishness ; foi- to say nothing of brandy, he was seldom without a pot of ale at his nose, or near him. That exercise was all that he used ; the rest of his life was sitting at his desk or piping at home ; and that home was a tailor's house, in Butcher Row, called his lodging, and the man's wife was his nurse or worse ; but by virtue of his money, of which he had made little account, tliough he got a great deal he soon became master of the family; and being no changling 317 he never removed, but was true to his friends, and they to him to the last hour of his life. So much for his person and education. As for his parts none had them more lively than he ; wit and repartee in an aflected rusticity were natural to him. fie was ever ready and never at a loss ; and none came so near as he to be a match for sergeant Mainerd. His great dexterity was in the art of special pleading, and he would lay snares that often caught his superiors who were not aware of his traps. And he was so fond of success for his clients, that rather than fail, he would set the court with a trick ; for which he met, sometimes, with a reprimand which he would ward off, so that no one was much ollended with him. But Hales could not bear his irregularity of life ; and for that, and suspicion of his tricks, used to bear hard upon him in the court. But no ill-usage from the bench was too hard for his hold of business, being such as scarce any could do but himself. With all this he had a goodness of nature and disposition in so great a degree, that he maybe deservedly styled a Philanthrope. He was a very Silenus to the boys, as in this place I may term the students of the law, to make them merry whenever they had a mind to it. He had nothing of rigid or austere in him. If any near him at the bar grumbled at his stench, he ever converted the complaint into content and laughing with the abundance of his wit. As to his ordinary dealing, he was as honest as the driven snow w^as white ; and why not, having no regard for money, or desire to be rich ? And for good nature and conde- scension there was not his fellow. I have seen him for hours and half-hours together, before the court sat, stand at the bar, with an audience of Students over against him, putting of ca- ses, and debating so as suited their capacities, and encouraged their industry. And so in the Temple, he seldom moved with- out a parcel of youths hanging about him, and he merry and jesting with them. It will be readily conceived that this man was never cut out to be a Presbyter, or any thing that is severe and crabbed. In no time did he lean to Inaction, but did his business without of- fence to any. He put off officious talk of government or poli- tics with jests, and so made his wit a catholicon or shield to co- ver all his weak places or infirmities. When the court fell into a steady course of using the law against all kinds of offenders, this man was taken into the king's business; and had the part 318 of drawing, and perusal of almost all indictments and informa- tions that were then to be prosecuted, with the pleadings there- on, if any were special ; and he had the settling of the large pleadings in the quo Warranto against London. His Lordship had no sort of conversation with him but in the way of business and at the bar ; but once, after he was in the king's business, he dined with his Lordship, and no more. And there he shew- ed another qualification he had acquired, and that was to play jigs upon an harpsichord ; having taught himself with the op- portunity of an old virginal of his landlady's ; but in such a manner, not for defect, but figure, as to see him were a jest. The king observing him to be of a free disposition, loyal, friend- ly, and without greediness or guile, thought of him to the Chief Justice to the King's Bench at that nice time. And the minis- try could not but approve of it. So great a weight was then at stake, as could not be trusted to men of doubtful principles, or such as any thing might tempt to desert them. While he sat in the Court of King's Bench, he gave the rule to the general satisfaction of the lawyers. But his course of life was so dif- ferent from what it had been, his business incessant and withal crabbed ; and his diet and exercise changed, that the constitu- tion of his body, or head rather, could not sustain it, and he fell into an apoplexy and palsy, which numbed his parts ; and he never recovered the strength of them. He outlived the judg- ment in the quo Warranto ; but was not present otherwise than by sending his opinion by one of the judges, to be for the king, who at the pronouncing of the judgment, declared it to the court accordingly, which is frequently done in like cases. ESSAY III. Proinde si videbilur, Jingant istl me latruncidis inteiim anhni causa Ittsisse, aut si malint, equitdsse in anindine longa. JVam qua tandem est iiiiquitas, cum omni vitce instituto suos lusus concedamus, studiis nullum omnino lusumpermit- tere : maxime si ita tractentur ludicra, ut ex his aliquando plu^ frrigis rejerat lector non omnino naris obesce quam ex quonmdum tetricis ac splendidis argu- mentis. Erasjii Praif. ad Mor. Enc. Translation. — They may pretend, if they like, that I amuse myself with playing Fox and Goose, or, if they prefer it, equitasse in arundine longa, that I ride the cock-horse on my grandam's crutch. But wliercin, I pray, consists the unfairness or impropriety, when every trade and profession is allowed its own sport and travesty, in extending the same permission to literature : esiiecially if trifles are so handled, that a reader of tolerable quickness may occasionally derive more food for {)rofitable reflection than from many a work of grand or gloomy argument.^ Irus, the forlorn Irus, whose nourishment consisted in bread and water, whose clothing of one tattered mantle, and whose bed of an arm-full of straw, this same Irus, by a rapid transition of fortune, became the most prosperous mortal under the sun. It pleased the Gods to snatch him at once out of the dust, and to place him by the side of princes. He beheld himself in the possession of incalculable treasures. His palace excelled even the temple of the gods in the pomp of its ornaments ; his least sumptuous clothing was of purple and gold, and his table might well have been named the compendium of luxury, the summary of all that the voluptuous ingenuity of men had invented for the gratification of the palate. A numerous train of admiring de- pendents followed him at every step ; those to whom he vouch- safed a gracious look, were esteemed already in the high road of fortune, and the favored individual who was permitted to kiss his hand, appeared to be the object of common envy. The 320 name of Irus sounding in his ears an unwelcome memento and perpetual reproach of liis former poverty, lie for this reason na- med himself Ceraunius, or the Lightning-flasher, and the whole people celebrated this splendid change of title by public rejoic- ings. The poet, who a few years ago had personified poverty it- self under his former name of Irus, now made a discovery which had till that moment remained a profound secret, but was now re- ceived by all with implicit faith and warmest approbation. Ju- piter, forsooth, had become enamored of the mother of Ceraun- ius, and assumed the form of a mortal in order to enjoy her love. Henceforward they erected altars .to him, they swore by his name, and the priests discovered in the entrails of the sacrifi- cial victim, that the great Ceraunius, this worthy son of Jupiter, was the sole pillar of the western world. Toxaris, his former neighbor, a man whom good fortune, unwearied industry, and rational frugality, had placed among the richest citizens, became the first victim of the pride of this new demi-god. In the time of his poverty Irus had repined at his luck and pros- perity, and irritable from distress and envy, had conceived that Toxaris had looked contemptuously on him ; and now was the time that Ceraunius would make him feel the power of him whose father grasped the thunder-bolt. Three advocates, newly admitted into the recently established order of the Cygnet gave evidence that Toxaris had denied the gods, committed pecula- tions on the sacred Treasury, and increased his treasure by acts of sacrilege. He was hurried off to prison and sentenced to an ignominious death, and his v/ealth confiscated to the use of Ceraunius, the earthly representative of the deities. Ceraunius now found nothing wanting to his felicity but a bride worthy of his rank and blooming honors. The most illustrious of the land were candidates for his alliance. Euphorbia, the daughter of the noble Austrius, v/as honored with his final choice. To no- bility of birth nature had added for Euphorbia a rich dowry of beauty, a nobleness both of look and stature. The flowing ringlets of her hair, her lofty forehead, her brilliant eyes, her stately figure, her majestic gait, had enchanted the haughty Ceraunius : and all the bards told what the inspiring muses had revealed to them, that Venus more than once had pined with jealousy at the sight of her superior charms. The day of es- pousal arrived, and the illustrious son of Jove was proceeding in pomp to the temple, when the anguish-stricken wife of Toxa- 321 aris, with his innocent children, suddenly threw themselvee at his feet, and with loud lamentations entreated him to spare the life of her husband. Enraged by this interruption, Ceraunius spurned her from him with his feet and — Irus awakened, and found himself lying on the same straw on which he had lain down, and with his old tattered mantle spread over him. With his returning reason, conscience too returned. He praised the gods and resigned himself to his lot. Ceraunius indeed had vanished, but the innocent Toxaris was still alive, and Irus poor yet guiltless. Can my reader recollect no character now on earth, who sometime or other will awake from his dream of empire, poor as Irus, with all the guilt and impiety of Ceraunius .'' P. S. The reader will bear in mind, that this fable was writ- ten and iirst published at the close of 1809. Qe-/d^ev 8s Ts PTj'niog eyi'Ct). CHRISTMAS WITHIN DOORS, IN THE NORTH OF GERMANY. EXTRACTED FROM SATYRANE's LETTERS. Ratzehurg. There is a Christmas custom here which pleased and interested me. — The children make little presents to their parents, and to each other ; and the parents to their children. For three or four months before Christmas the girls are all busy, and the boys save up their pocket-money, to make or purchase these pre- sents. What the present is to be is cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a world of contrivances to conceal it — such as working when they are out on visits and the others are not with them ; getting up in the morning before day-light, &c. Then on the evening before Christmas day one of the parlors is light- ed up by the children, into which the parents must not go. A great yew bough is fastened on the table at a little distance from the wall, a multitude of little tapers are fastened in the bough, but so as not to catch it till they are nearly burnt out, and co- loured paper, &c. hangs and flutters from the twigs. — Under this bough the children lay out in great order the presents they mean for their parents, still concealing in their pockets what they intend for each other. Then the parents are introduced^-r- and each presents his little gift — and then bring out the rest one 41 322 by one from their pockets, and present them with kisses and embraces. — Where I witnessed this scene, there were eight or nine children, and the eldest daughter and the mother wept aloud for joy and tenderness ; and the tears ran down the face of the father, and he clasped all his children so tight to his breast — it seemed as if he did it to stifle the sob that was rising within him. — I was very much affected. — The shadow of the bough and its appendages on the wall, and arching over on the ceiling, made a pretty picture — and then the raptures of the very little ones, when at last the twigs and their needles began to take fire and snap — it was a delight for them ! — On the next day, in the great parlor, the parents lay out on the table the presents for the children ; a scene of more sober joy succeeds, as on this day, after an old custom, the mother says privately to each of her daughters, and the father to his sons, that which he has observed most praise-worthy and that which was most faulty in their conduct. — Formerly, and still in the smaller towns and villages throughout North Germany, these presents were sent by ail the parents to some one fellow who in high buskins, a white robe, a mask, and an enormous flax wig, per- sonates Knecht Rupert, i. e. the servant Rupert. On Christ- mas night he goes round to every house and says, that Jesus Christ his master sent him thither — the parents and elder chil- dren receive him with great pomp of reverence, while the little ones are most terribly frightened — He then enquires for the children, and according to the character which he hears from the parent, he gives them the intended present as if they came out of heaven from Jesus Christ. — Or, if they should have been bad children, he gives the parents a rod, and in the name of his master recommends them to use it frequently. — About seven or eight years old the children are let into the secret, and it is curious how faithfully they keep it ! CHRISTMAS OUT OF DOORS. The whole Lake of Ratzeburg is one mass of thick transpa- rent ice — a spotless mirror of nine miles in extent ! The low- ness of the hills, which rise from the shore of the lake, pre- clude the awful sublimity of Alpine scenery, yet compensate for the want of it by beauties, of which this very lowness is a 323 necessary condition. Yester-morning I saw the lesser lake com- pletely hid by mist ; but the moment the sun peeped over tho hill, the mist broke in the middle, and in a few seconds stood divided, leaving a broad road all across the lake ; and between these two walls of mist the sunlight bitrnt upon the ice, forming a road of golden fire, intolerably bright ! and the mist-walls themselves partook of the blaze in a multitude of shining co- lours. This is our second frost. About a month ago, before the thaw came on, there was a storm of wind ; during the whole night, such were the thunders and bowlings of the breaking ice, that they have left a conviction on my mind, that there are sounds more sublime than any sight can be, more absolutely sus- pending the power of comparison, and more utterly absorbing the mind's self-consciousness in its total attention to the object working upon it. Part of the ice which the vehemence of the wind had shattered, was driven shore-ward and froze anew. On the evening of the next day, at sun-set, the shattered ice thus frozen, appeared of a deep blue and in shape like an agi- tated sea ; beyond this, the water, that ran up between the great islands of ice which had preserved their masses entire and smooth, shone of a yellow green : but all these scattered ice-islands, themselves, were of an intensely bright blood co- lour — they seemed blood and light in union ! On some of the largest of these islands, the fishermen stood pulling out their immense nets through the holes made in the ice for this pur- pose, and the men, their net-poles, and their huge nets, were a part of the glory ; say rather, it appeared as if the rich crimson light had shaped itself into these forms, figures, and attitudes, to make a glorious vision in mockery of earthly things. The lower lake is now all alive with scaters, and with ladies driven onward by them in their ice cars. Mercury, surely, was the first maker of scates, and the wings at his feet are symbols of the invention. In seating there arc three pleasing circumstan- ces : the infinitely subtle particles of ice which the scate cuts up, and which creep and run before the scate like a low mist, and in sun-rise or sun-set become coloured ; second, the shadow of the scater in the water, seen through the transparent ice ; and third, the melancholy undulating sound from the scate, not with- out variety; and when very many are seating together, the sounds and the noises give an impulse to the icy trees, and the woods all round the lake tinkle. 324 Here I stop, having in truth transcribed the preceding in great measure, in order to present the lovers of poetry with a descriptive passage, extracted, with the author's permission, from an unpublished Poem on the Growth and Revolutions of an Individual IMind, by Wordsworth. an Orphic tale indeed, A tale divine of high and passionate thoughts To their own music chaunted ! S. T. C. GROWTH OF GENIUS FROM THE INFLUENCES OF NATURAL OB- JECTS, ON THE IMAGINATION IN BOYHOOD, AND EARLY YOUTH. Wisdom ! and Spirit of the Universe ! Thou Soul, that art the Eternity of Thought ! And giv'st to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion ! not in vain, By day or star-light, thus from my first dawn Of Childhood didst Thou intertwine for me The passions that build up our human Soul, Nor with the mean and vulgar works of man But with high objects, with enduring things, With Life and Nature : purifying thus The elements of feeUng and of thought, And sanctifying by such discipline Both pain and fear, until we recognize A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. Nor was this fellowship vouchsaf 'd to me ^ With stinted kuidness. In November days When vapors rolling down the vallies made A lonely .scene more lonesome ; among woods At noon, and mid the calm of summer nights, When by the margin of the trembling lake, Beneath the gloomy hills I homeward went In solitude, such intercoui-se was mine ; 'Twas mine among the fields both day and night And by the waters all the summer long. And in the fi'osty season when the sun Was set, and, visible for many a mile The cottage windows through the twihght blazed, I heeded not the summons : — happy time It was indeed for all of us, to me It was a time of rapture ! clear and loud The village clock toU'd sLx! I wheel'd about, Proud and exulting, like an untir'd horse Thai car'd not for ita home. — All shod with stoel W« hisa'd along the polish'd ice, iu games 325 Confederate, imitative of tlio chace And woodland pleasures, the resounding horn, The pack loud bellowing, and the liunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle : with the din Meanwhile the precipices rang aloud. The leafless trees and every icy crag Tinkled like iron, while the distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien sound Of melancholy — not unnoticed, while the stars Eastward, were spai-kling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening died away. Not seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay or sportively Glanc'd sideway, leaving the tumultuous throng To cut across the image of a star That gleam'd upon the ice : and oftentimes When we had given our bodies to the wind, And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweeping through the darkness spinning still The rapid line of motion, then at once Have I reclining back upon my heels Stopp'd short : yet still the solitaiy cliflfs Wheel'd by me even as if the earth had roU'd With visible motion her diurnal round ! Behind me did they stretch in solemn train Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watch'd Till all was tranquil as a summer sea. ESSAY I y. Es ist fast traurig zu sehen, line man von der Hebraischen Quellen so ganz sich ahgewendet hat. In JEgyptens selbst dunkeln unentrathselbaren Hieroglyphen hoi man den Schliissel alter Weislieit suchen wollen ; jetzt ist von nichts als In- diens Sprache und Weisheit die Rede ; aher die Rabbinische Schriften liegen nnerforscht. Schelling. Translation. — It is mournful to observe, how entirely we have turned our backs oil the Hebrew sources. In the obscure iiisolvable riddles of the Egyp- tian Hieroglyphics the Learned have been hoping to find the key of an- cient doctrine, and now we hear of nothing but the language and wisdom of India, while tlie writings and traditions of the Rabbins are consigned to neglect witliout examination. The lord helpeth man and beast. During his march to conquer the world, Alexander the Ma- cedonian, came to a people in Africa, who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner in peaceful huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their Chief, who re- ceived him hospitably and placed before him golden dates, gol- den figs, and bread of gold. Do you eat gold in this country .'' said Alexander. I take it for granted (replied the Chief) that thou wert able to find eatable food in thine own country. For what reason then art thou come among us .'' Your gold has not tempted me hither, said Alexander, but I would willingly be- come acquainted with your manners and customs. So be it, rejoined the other, sojourn among us as long as it pleaseth thee. At the close of this conversation two citizens entered as into their Court of Justice. The plaintilTsaid, I bought of this man a piece of land, and as I was making a deep drain through it I found a treasure. This is not mine, for I only bargained for the land, and not for any treasure that might be concealed be- 327 neath it : and yet the former owner of the land will not re- ceive it. The defendant answered : I hope I have a con- science as well as my fellow-citizen. I sold him the land with all its contingent, as well as existing advantages, and conse- quently the treasure inclusively. The Chief, who was at the same time their supreme judge, recapitulated their words, in order that the parties might see whether or no he understood them aright. Then after some reflection said : Thou hast a Son, Friend, I believe ? Yes ! And thou (addressing the other) a Daughter? Yes! — Well then, let thy Son marry thy Daughter, and bestow the trea- sure on the young couple for their marriage portion. Alexan- der seemed surprized and perplexed. Think you my sentence unjust ? the Chief asked him — O no, replied Alexander, but it astonishes me. And how, then rejoined the Chief, would the case have been decided in your country ? — To confess the truth, said Alexander, we should have taken both parties into custo- dy and have seized the treasure for the king's use. For the king's use ! exclaimed the Chief, now in his turn astonished. Does the sun shine on that country ? — Yes ! Does it rain there ? — Assuredly. Wonderful ! but are there tame Animals in the country that live on the grass and green herbs ? Very many, and of many kinds. — Aye, that must be the cause, said the Chief: for the sake of those innocent Animals the All- gracious Being continues to let the sun shine and the rain drop down on your country. WHOSO HATH FOUND A VIRTUOUS WIFE HATH A GREATER TREA- SURE THAN COSTLY PEARLS. Such a treasure had the celebrated Teacher Rabbi Meir found. He sate during the whole of one sabbath day in the public school, and instructed the people. During his absence from his house his two sons died, both of them of uncommon beauty and enlightened in the law. His wife bore them to her bed-chamber, laid them upon the marriage-bed, and spread a white covering over their bodies. In the evening Rabbi Meir came home. Where are my two sons he asked, that I may give them my blessing ? They are gone to the school, was the answer. I repeatedly looked round the school, he replied, and 328 I did not see them there. She reached to him a goblet, he praised the Lord at the going out of the Sabbath, drank and again asked : where are my Sons that they too may drink of the cup of blessing ? They will not be far off, she said, and plac- ed food before him that he might eat. He was in a glad- some and genial mood, and when he had said grace after the meal, she thus addressed him. Rabbi, with thy permission I would fain propose to thee one question. Ask it then my love ! he replied : A few days ago, a person entrusted some jewels to my custody, and now he demands them again : should I give them back again ? This is a question, said Rabbi Meir, which my wife should not have thought it necessary to ask. What, wouldst thou hesitate or be reluctant to restore to every one his own ? — No, she replied ; but yet I thought it best not to restore them without acquainting thee therewith. She then led him to their chamber, and stepping to the bed, took the white covering from the dead bodies. — Ah, my Sons, my Sons, thus loudly lamented the Father, my Sons, the Light of mine Eyes and the Light of my Understanding, I was your Father, but ye were my Teachers in the Law. The mother turned away and wept bitterly. At length she took her husband by the hand and said. Rabbi didst thou not teach me that we must not be reluctant to restore that which was entrusted to our keeping ? See the Lord gave, the Lord has taken away, and blessed be the name of the Lord ! Blessed be the name of the Lord ! echoed Rabbi Meir, and blessed be his name for thy sake too ! for well is it written ; whoso hath found a virtuous Wife hath a greater Treasure than costly Pearls ; She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kind- ness. CONVERSATION OF A PHILOSOPHER WITH A RABBI. Your God in his Book calls himself a jealous God, who can endure no other God beside himself, and on all occasions makes manifest his abhorrence of idolatry. How comes it then that he threatens and seems to hate the W'orshippers of false Gods more than the false Gods themselves. A certain king, replied the Rabbi, had a disobedient Son. Among other worthless tricks of various kinds, he had the baseness to give his Dogs 329 his Father's names and titles. Should the King show his anger on the Prince or the Dogs ? — Well turned, rejoined the Philoso- pher : but if your God destroyed the objects of idolatry he would take away the temptation to it. Yea, retorted the Rabbi, if the Fools worshipped such things only as were of no further use than that to which their Folly applied them, if the Idol were always as worthless as the Idolatry is contemptible. But they worship the Sun, the Moon, the Host of Heaven, the Rivers, the Sea, Fire, Air, and what not ? Would you that the Creator, for the sake of these Fools, should ruin his own Works, and disturb the laws appointed to Nature by his own Wisdom ? If a man steals grain and sows it, should the seed not shoot up out of the earth, because it was stolen ? no ! the wise Creator lets Nature run her own course ; for her course is his own appoint- ment. And what if the children of folly abuse it to evil ? The day of reckoning is not far off, and men Avill then learn that human actions likewise re-appear in their consequences by as certain a law as the green blade rises up out of the buried corn-seed. 42 INTRODUCTION.* Jlaqa He^rov Tifv ivvoiav to~v xaTa (pvaiv tifv, iioX ro" ae^ivov u'tx- Xu'gojg, o/'ce xoluy.eiag /lifp Ttc/ai/g ngoaaregsgni' sii'at rifi' 'ojuiXiai' uvTO'v, a tSeatuoi'TUTOf de tcuq' avjo'v exeu'ov to'v xu'iqop eivut- Kal u f.ia fief cC nud-equrov eiyai, a fia de cpiXogoqyo'iaiov xcxi to" I8eiv u vd-QMTtov aixqpoj'g tku' /igoi' jm'p suvto'v •Auloff ifyovfisvov tj^V av- lo'v TTolvjUu&iijv. M. ANTSIN. ^i^. a. Translation. — From Sextus, and from the contemplation of his cliaracter, I learnt what it was to live a life in harmony with nature ; and that seemli- ness and dignity of deportment, which ensured the profoundest reverence at the very same time that his company was more winning tlian all the flat- teiy in the world. To him I owe likewise that I have known a man at once the most dispassionate, and the most affectionate, and who of all his attractions set the least value on the multiplicity of his literary acquisitions. M. Anton. Book I. To THE Editor of The Friend. Sir, I hope you will not ascribe to presumption, the liberty I take in addressing you, on the subject of your Work. I feel deeply interested in the cause you have undertaken to support ; and my object in writing this letter is to describe to you, in * With this introduction commences the third volume of the English edi- tion of The Friend ; to which volume the following lines are prefixed as a motto : Now for the writing of this werke, I, who am a lonesome clerke, Piu'poscd for to write a book After the world, that whilomc took Its course in old(^ days long passed : But for men sayn, it is now lasaed 331 j>art from my own feelings, what I conceive to be the state of many minds, which may derive important advantage from your instructions. I speak, Sir, of those who, though bred up under our unfavora- ble system of education, have yet held at times some intercourse with nature, and with those great minds whose works have been moulded by the spirit of nature : who, therefore, when they pass from the seclusion and constraint of early study, bring with them into the new scene of the world, much of the pure sen- sibility which is the spring of all that is greatly good in thought and action. To such the season of that entrance into the world is a season of fearful importance ; not for the seduction of its passions, but of its opinions. Whatever be their intellectual powers, unless extraordinary circumstances in their lives, have been so favorable to the growth of meditative genius, that their speculative opinions must spring out of their early feelings, their minds are still at the mercy of fortune ; they have no inward impulse steadily to propel them : and must trust to the chances of the world for a guide. And such is our present moral and intellectual state, that these chances are little else than variety of danger. There will be a thousand causes con- spiring to coznplete the work of a false education, and by en- closing the mind on every side from the influences of natural feeling, to degrade its inborn dignity, and finally bring the heart itself under subjection to a corrupted understanding. I am anxious to describe to you what I have experienced or seen of the dispositions and feelings that will aid every other cause of danger, and tend to lay the mind open to the infection of all those falsehoods in opinion and sentiment, which constitute the degeneracy of the age. Though it would not be difficult to prove, that the mind of the country is much enervated since In worser plight than it was tho, I thougiit me for to touch also The woi'ld which neweth every day — So, as I can, so as I may, Albeit I sickness have and pain, And long have had, yet would I fain Do my mind's hest and bcsiness, That in some part, so as I guess, The gentle mind may be advised. GowER, Pro. to tke Confess. JlmanUs. 332 the days of her strength, and brought down from its moral dig- nity, it is not yet so forlorn of all good, — there is nothing in the face of the times so dark and saddening, and repulsive — as to shock the first feelings of a generous spirit, and drive it at once to seek refuge in the elder ages of our greatness. There yet survives so much of the character bred up through long years of liberty, danger, and glory, that even what this age produces bears traces of those that are past, and it still yields enough of beautiful, and splendid, and bold, to captivate an ardent but untutored imagination. And in this real excellence is the be- ginning of danger : for it is the first spring of that excessive admiration of the age which at last brings down to its own le- vel a mind born above it. If there existed only the general disposition of all who are formed with a high capacity for good, to be rather credulous of excellence than suspiciously and sev- erely just, the error would not be carried far: — but there are to a young mind, in this country and at this time, numerous powerful causes concurring to inflame this disposition, till the excess of the afi:ection above the worth of its object, is beyond all computation. To trace these causes it will be necessary to follow the history of a pure and noble mind from the first mo- ment of that critical passage from seclusion to the world, which changes all the circumstances of its intellectual existence, shews it for the first time the real scene of living men, and calls up the new feeling of numerous relations by which it is to be connected with them. To the young adventurer in life, who enters upon his course with such a mind, every thing seems made for delusion. He comes with a spirit whose dearest feelings and highest thoughts have sprung up under the influences of nature. He transfers to the realities of life the high wild fancies of visionary boyhood : he brings with him into the world the passions of solitary and untamed imagination, and hopes which he has learned from dreams. Those dreams have been of the great and wonderful, and lovely, of all which in these has yet been disclosed to him : his thoughts have dwelt among the wonders of nature, and among the loftiest spirits of men — heroes, and sages, and saints ; — those whose deeds, and thoughts, and hopes, were high above ordinary mortality, have been the familiar companions of his soul. To love and to admire has been the joy of his ex- 333 istence. Love and admiration are the pleasures he will de- mand of the world. For these he has searched eagerly into the ages that are gone : but with more ardent and peremptory ex- pectation he requires them of that in which his own lot is cast : for to look on life with hopes of happiness is a necessity of his nature, and to him there is no happiness but such as is sur- rounded with excellence. See first how this spirit will affect his judgment of moral character, in those with whom chance may connect him in the common relations of life. It is of those with Avhom he is to live, that his soul first demands this food of her desires. From their conversation, their looks, their actions, their lives, she asks for excellence. To ask from all and to ask in vain, would be too dismal to bear : it would disturb him too deeply with doubt and perplexity, and fear. In this hope, and in the revol- ting of his thoughts from the possibility of disappointment, there is a preparation for self-delusion : there is an unconscious de- termination that his soul shall be satisfied ; an obstinate will to find good every where. And thus his first study of mankind is a continued effort to read in them the expression of his own feelings. He catches at every uncertain shew and shadowy resemblance of what he seeks ; and unsuspicious in innocence, he is first won with those appearances of good which are in fact only false pretensions. But this error is not carried far : for there is a sort of instinct of rectitude, which like the pres- sure of a talisman given to baffle the illusions of enchantment, warns a pure mind against hypocrisy. — There is another delu- sion more difficult to resist and more slowly dissipated. It is when he finds, as he often will, some of the real features of excellence in the purity of their native form. For then his rapid imagination will gather round them all the kindred features that are wanting to perfect beauty ; and make for him, where he could not find, the moral creature of his expectation : — peopling, even from this human world, his little circle of af- fection, with forms as fair as his heart desired for its love. But when, from the eminence of life which he has reached, he lifts up his eyes, and sends out his spirit to range over the great scene that is opening before him and around him, — the whole prospect of civilized life — so wide and so magnificent: — when he begins to contemplate, in their various stations of power or splendor, the leaders of mankind — those men on 334 wbos^e wisdom are hung the fortunes of nations — those whose genius and valor wield the heroism of a people ; — or those, in no inferior "pride of place," whose sway is over the mind of society, — chiefs in the realm of imagination, — interpreters of the secrets of nature, — rulers of human opinion what won- der, when he looks on all this living scene, that his heart should burn with strong affection, that he should feel that his own happiness will be forever interwoven with the interests of man- kind ? — Here then the sanguine hope with which he looks on life, will again be blended with his passionate desire of excellence ; and he will still be impelled to single out some, on whom his imagination and his hopes may repose. To whatever department of human thought or action his mind is turned with interest, ei- ther by the sway of public passion or by its own impulse, among statesmen, and warriors, and philosophers, and poets, he will distinguish some favored names on which he may satisfy his ad- miration And there, just as in the little circle of his own ac- quaintance, seizing eagerly on every merit they possess, he will supply more from his own credulous hope, completing real with imagined excellence, till living men, with all their imperfec- tions, become to him the representatives of his perfect ideal creation : — Till, multiplying his objects of reverence, as he enlarges his prospect of life, he will have surrounded himself with idols of his own hands, and his imagination will seem to discern a glory in the countenance of the age, which is but the reflection of its own effulgence. He will possess, therefore, in the creative power of gene- rous hope, a preparation for illusory and exaggerated admira- tion of the age in which he lives : — and this pre-disposition will meet with many favoring circumstances, when he has grown up under a system of education like ours, which (as perhaps all education must that is placed in the hands of a distinct and em- bodied class, who therefore bring to it the peculiar and heredi- tary prejudices of their order) has controled his imagination to a reverence of former times, with an unjust contempt of his own. — For no sooner does he break loose from this control, and begin to feel, as he contemplates the world for himself, how much there is surrounding him on all sides, that gratifies his noblest desires, than there springs up in him an indignant sense of injustice, both to the age and to his own mind : and he is impelled warmly and eagerly to give loose to the feelings 335 that have been held in bondage, to seek out and to delight in finding excellence that will vindicate the insulted world, while it justifies too, his resentment of his own undue subjection, and exalts the value of his new found liberty. Add to this, that secluded as he has been from knowledge, and, in the imprisoning circle of one system of ideas, cut off from his share in the thoughts and feelings that are stirring among men, he finds himself, at the first steps of his liberty, in a new intellectual world. Passions and powers which he knew not of, start up in his soul. The human mind, which he had seen but under one aspect, now presents to him a thousand unknown and beautiful forms. He sees it, in its varying pow- ers, glancing over nature with restless curiosity, and with impe- tuous energy striving for ever against the barriers which she has placed around it ; sees it with divine power creating from dark materials living beauty, and fixing all its high and transported fancies in imperishable forms. — In the world of knowledge, and science, and art, and genius, he treads as a stranger : — in the confusion of new sensations, bewildered in delights, all seems beautiful ; all seems admirable. And therefore he en- gages eagerly in the pursuit of false or insufficient philosophy ; he is won by the allurements 'of licentious art ; he follows with wonder the irregular transports of undisciplined imagina- tion. — Nor where the objects of his admiration are worthy, is he yet skilful to distinguish between the acquisitions which the age has made for itself, and that large proportion of its wealth which it has only inherited ; but in his delight of discovery and growing knowledge, all that is new to his own mind seems to him new-born to the world, — To himself every fresh idea appears instruction : every new exertion, acquisition of power: he seems just called to the consciousness of himself, and to his true place in the intellectual world ; and gratitude and rever- ence towards those to whom he owes this recovery of his dig- nity, tends much to subject him to the dominion of minds that were not formed by nature to be the leaders of opinion. All the tumult and glow of thought and imagination, which seizes on a mind of power in such a scene, tends irresistibly to bind it by stronger attachment of love and admiration to its own age. And there is one among the new emotions which belong to its entrance on the world — one — almost the noblest of all — in which this exaltation of the age is essentially min- 336 gled. The faith in the perpetual progression of human nature towards perfection, gives birth to such lofty dreams, as se- cure to it the devout assent of imagination ; and it will be yet more grateful to a heart just opening to hope, flushed with the consciousness of new strength, and exulting in the prospect of destined achievements. There is, therefore, almost a compul- sion on generous and enthusiastic spirits, as they trust that the future shall transend the present, to believe that the pre- sent transends the past. It is only on an undue love and ad- miration of their own age, that they can build their confidence in the amelioration of the human race. Nor is this faith, — which in some shape, will always be the creed of virtue, — without apparent reason, even in the erroneous form in which the young adopt it. For there is a perpetual acquisition of knowledge and art, — an unceasing progress in many of the modes of exertion of the human mind, — a perpetual unfolding of virtues with the changing manners of society : — and it is not for a young mind to compare what is gained with what has passed away ; to discern that amidst the incessant intellectual activity of the race, the intellectual power of individual minds may be falling off; and that amidst accumulating knowledge lofty science may disappear ; — and still less, to judge, in the more complicated moral character of a people, what is progres- sion, and what is decline. Into a mind possessed with this persuasion of the perpetual progress of man, there may even imperceptibly steal both from the belief itself, and from many of the views on which it rests — something like a distrust of the wisdom of great men of for- mer ages, and with the reverence — which no delusion will ever overpower in a pure mind — for their greatness, a fancied dis- cernment of imperfection; — of incomplete excellence, which wanted for its accomplishment the advantages of later improve- ments : there will be a surprize, that so much should have been possible in times so ill prepared ; and even the study of their works may be sometimes rather the curious research of a specu- lative enquirer, than the devout contemplation of an enthusiast; the watchful and obedient heart of a disciple listening to the in- spiration of his master. Here then is the power of delusion that will gather round the first steps of a youthful spirit, and throw enchantment over the world in which it is to dwell. Hope realizing its own 3^7 dreams : — Ignorance dazzled and ravished with sudden sun- shine : — Power awakened and rejoicing in its own conscious- ness : — Enthusiasm liindling among multiplying images of great- ness and beauty; and enamored, above all, of one splendid error: and, springing from all these, such a rapture of life and hope, and joy, that tlie soul, in the power of its happiness, transmutes things essentially repugnant to it, into the excellence of its own nature : — these are the spells that cheat the eye of the mind with illusion. It is under these influences that a young man of ardent spirit gives all his love, and reverence, and zeal, to productions of art, to theories of science, to opinions, to sys- tems of feeling, and to characters distinguished in the world, that are far beneath his own original dignity. Now as this delusion springs not from his worse but his bet- ter nature, it seems as if there could be no warning to him from within of his danger : for even the impassioned joy which he draws at times from the works of Nature, and from those of her mightier sons, and which would startle him from a dream of unworthy passion, serves only to fix the infatuation : — for those deep emotions, proving to him that his heart is uncorrupt- ed, justify to him all its workings, and his mind confiding and delighting in itself, yields to the guidance of its own blind im- pulses of pleasure. His chance, therefore, of security, is the chance that the greater number of objects occurring to attract his honorable passions, may be worthy of them. But we have seen that the whole power of circumstances is collected to ga- ther round him such objects and influences as will bend his high passions to unworthy enjoyment. He engages in it with a heart and understanding unspoiled : but they cannot long be misapplied with impunity. They are drawn gradually into clo- ser sympathy with the falsehoods they have adopted, till, his very nature seeming to change under the corruption, there dis- appears from it the capacity of those higher perceptions and pleasures to which he was born : and he is cast off from the communion of exalted minds, to live and to perish with the age to which he has surrendered himself. If minds under these circumstances of danger are preserved from decay and overthrow, it can seldom, I think, be to them- selves that they owe their deliverance. It must be to a fortu- nate chance which places them under the influence of some more enlightened mind, from which they may first gain suspi- 43 338 cioii and afterwards wisdom. There is a philosophy, which, leading them by the light of their best emotions to the princi- ples which should give life to thought and law to genius, will discover to them in clear and perfect evidence, the falsehood of the errors that have misled them ; and restore them to them- selves. And this philosophy they will be willing to hear and wise to understand ; but they must be led into its mysteries by some guiding hand ; for they want the impulse or the power to penetrate of themselves the recesses. If a superior mind should assume the protection of others just beginning to move among the dangers I have described, it would probably be found, that delusions springing from their own virtuous activity, were not the only difficulties to be en- countered. Even ai'ter suspicion is awakened, the subjection to falsehood may be prolonged and deepened by many weak- nesses both of the intellectual and moral nature ; weaknesses that will sometimes shake the authority of acknowledged truth. There may be intellectual indolence ; an indisposition in the mind to the effort of combining the ideas it actually possesses, and bringing into distinct form the knowledge, which in its ele- ments is already its own : — there may be, where the heart re- sists the sway of opinion, misgivings and modest self-mistrust, in him who sees, that if he trusts- his heart, he must slight the judgment of all around him : — there may be too habitual yield- ing to authority, consisting, more than in indolence or diffi- dence, in a conscious helplessness, and incapacity of the mind to maintain itself in its own place against the weight of general opinion ; — and there may be too indiscriminate, too undiscipli- ned a sympathy with others, which by the mere infection of feeling will subdue the reason. — There must be a weakness in dejection to him who thinks, with sadness, if his faith be pure, how gross is the error of the multitude, and that multitude how vast : — a reluctance to embrace a creed that excludes so many whom he loves, so many whom his youth has revered : — a diffi- culty to his understanding to believe that those whom he knows to be, in much that is good and honorable, his superiors, can be beneath him in this which is the most impoitant of all : — a sym- pathy pleading importunately at his heart to descend to the fel- lowship of his brothers, and to take their faith and wisdom for his own. — How often, when under the impulses of those solemn hours, in which he has felt with clearer insight and deeper faith 339 his sacred truths, he labors to win to his own belief thoso whom he loves, will he be checked by their indifference or their laugh- ter ! and will he not bear back to his meditations a painful and disheartening sorrow, — a gloomy discontent in that faith which takes in but a portion of those whom he wishes to include in all his blessings? Will he not be enfeebled by a distraction of in- consistent desires, when he feels so strongly that the faith which fills his heart, the circle within which he would embrace all he loves — would repose all his wishes and hopes, and enjoy- ments, is yet incommensurate with his affections ? Even when the mind, strong in reason and just feeling united, and relying on its strength, has attached itself to Truth, how much is there in the course and accidents of life that is for ever silently at work for its degradation. There are pleasures deem- ed harmless, that lay asleep the recollections of innocence : — there are pursuits held honorable, or imposed by duty, that op- press the moral spirit • — above all there is that perpetual con- nection with ordinary minds in the common intercourse of so- ciety ; — that restless activity of frivolous conversation, where men of all characters and all pursuits mixing together, nothing mav be talked of that is not of common interest to all — nothina;, therefore, but those obvious thoughts and feelings that float over the surface of things : — and all which is drawn from the depth of Nature, all which impassioned feeling has made original in thought, would be misplaced and obtrusive. The talent that is allowed to shew itself is that which can repay admiration by furnishing entertainment : — and the display to which it is invi- ted is that which flatters the vulgar pride of society, by aba- sing what is too high in excellence for its sympathy. A dan- gerous seduction to talents — which would make language — that was given to exalt the soul by the fervid expression oi its pure emotions — the instrument of its degradation. And even when there is, as the instance I have supposed, too much uprightness to choose so dishonorable a triumph, there is a necessity of manners, by which every one must be controled w"ho mixes much in society, not to offend those with whom he converses by his superiority ; and whatever be the native spirit of a mind, it is evident that this perpetual adaptation of itself to others — this watchfulness against its own rising feelings, this studied sympathy with mediocrity — must pollute and impoverish the sources of its strength. 340 From much of its own vreaknees, and from all the errors of its misleading activities, may generous youth be rescued by the interposition of an enlightened mind ; and in some degree it may be guarded by instruction against the injuries to which it is exposed in the world. His lot is happy who owes this protection to friendship: who has found in a friend the watch- ful guardian of his mind. He will not be deluded, having that light to guide : he will not slumber with that voice to inspire ; he will not be desponding or dejected, with that bosom to lean on. — But how many must there be whom Heaven has left un- provided, except in their own strength ; who must maintain themselves, unassisted and solitary, against their own infirmi- ties and the opposition of the world ! For such there may be yet a protector. If a teacher should stand up in their genera- tion, conspicuous above the multitude in superior power, and yet more in the assertion and proclamation of disregarded Truth — to Him — to his cheering or summoning voice all hearts would turn, whose deep sensibility has been oppressed by the indifference, or misled by the seduction of the times. Of one such teacher who has been given to our own age, you have de- scribed the power when you said, that in his annunciation of truths he seemed to speak in thunders. I believe that mighty voice has not been poured out in vain : that there are hearts that have received into their inmost depthsallits varying tones : and that even now, there are many to whom the name of Words- worth calls up the recollection of their weakness, and the consciousness of their strength. To give to the reason and eloquence of one man, this com- plete control over the minds of others, it is necessary, I think, that he should be born in their own times. For thus what- ever false opinion of pre-eminence is attached to the Age, be- comes at once a title of reverence to him: and when with dis- tinguished powers he sets himself apart from the Age, and above it as the Teacher of high but ill-understood Truths, he will appear at once to a generous imagination, in the dignity of one whose superior mind outsteps the rapid progress of socie- ty, and will derive from illusion itself the power to disperse illusions. It is probable too, that he who labors under the er- rors I have described, might feel the power of Truth in a wri- ter of another age, yet fail in applying the full force of his principles to his own times : but when he receives them from 341 a Kving Teacher, there is no room for doubt or misapplica- tion. It is the errors of his own generation that are denounc- ed ; and whatever authority he may acknowledge in the ins- tructions of his Master, strikes, with inevitable force, at his veneration for the opinions and characters of his own times.-^ And finally there will be gathered round a living Teacher, who speaks to the deeper soul, many feelings of human love, that will place the infirmities of the heart peculiarly under his con- trol ; at the same time that they blend with and animate the attachment to his cause. So that there will flow from him something of the peculiar influence of a friend : while his doctrines will be embraced and asserted, and vindicated with the ardent zeal of a disciple, such as can scarcely be carried back to distant times, or connected with voices that speak only from the grave. I have done what I proposed. I have related to you as much as I have had opportunities of knowing of the difficulties from within and from without, which may oppose the natural devel- opement of true feeling and right opinion, in a mind formed with some capacity for good : and the resources which such a mind may derive from an enlightened contemporary writer. — If what I have said be just, it is certain that this influence will be felt more particulary in a work, adapted by its mode of pub- lication to address the feelings of the time, and to bring to its readers repeated admonition and repeated consolation. I have perhaps presumed too far in trespassing on your at- tention, and in giving way to my own thoughts : but I was unwilling to leave any thing unsaid which might induce you to consider with favor the request I was anxious to make, in the name of all whose state of mind I have described, that you would at times regard us more particularly in your instructions. I cannot judge to what degree it may be in your power to give the Truth you teach, a control over understandings that have matured their strength in error : but in our class I am sure you will have docile learners. Mathetes. The Friend might rest satisfied that his exertions thus far have not been wholly unprofitable, if no other proof had been given of their influence, than that of having called forth the foregoing letter, with which he has been so much interested, that he could not deny himself the pleasure of communica- ting it to his readers. — In answer to his Corresdondent, it need 343 scarcely here be repeated, that one of the main purposes of his work is to weigh, honestly and thoughtfully, the moral worth and intellectual power of the age in which we live ; to ascertain our gain and our loss; to determine what we are in ourselves positively, and what we are compared with our an- cestors ; and thus, and by every other means within his power, to discover what may be hoped for future times, what and how lamentable are the evils to be feared, and how far there is cause for fear. If this attempt should not be made wholly in vain, my ingenuous Correspondent, and all who are in a state of mind resembling that of which he gives so lively a picture, will be enabled more readily and surely to distinguish false from legitimate objects of admiration : and thus may the per- sonal errors which he would guard against, be more elfectually prevented or removed, by the developeraent of general truth for a general purpose, than by instructions specifically adapted to himself or to the class of which he is the able representa- tive. There is a lii'e and spirit in knowledge which we ex- tract from truths scattered for the benefit of all, and which the mind, by its own activity, has appropriated to itself — a life and .spirit, which is seldom found in knowledge communicated by formal and direct precepts, even when they are exalted and endeared by reverence and love for the teacher. Nevertheless, though I trust that the assistance which my Correspondent has done me the honor to request, will in course of time flow naturally from my labors, in a manner that will best serve him, I cannot resist the inclination to connect, at present, with his letter a few remarks of direct application to the subject of it — remarks^ I say, for to such I shall con- fine myself, independent of the main point out of which his complaint and request both proceed, I mean the assumed infe- riority of the present age in moral dignity and intellectual pow- er, to those which have preceded it. For if the fact were true, that we had even surpassed our ancestors in the best of what is good, the main part of the dangers and impediments which my Correspondent has feelingly portrayed, could not cease to exist for minds like his, nor indeed would they be much diminished ; as they arise out of the constitution of things, from the nature of youth, from the laws that govern the growth of the faculties, and from the necessary condition of the great body of mankind. Let us throw ourselves back to the age of Elizabeth, and call up to mind the heroes, the warriors, the 343 statesmen, the poets, the divines, and the moral philosophers, with which the reign of the virgin queen was illustrated. Or if we be more strongly attracted by the moral purity and greatness, and that sanctity of civil and religious duty, with which the tyranny of Charles the First was struggled against, let us cast our eyes, in the hurry of admiration, round that circle ot glorious patriots — but do not let us be persuaded, that each of these, in his course of discipline, was uniformly helped forward by those with whom he associated, or by those whose care it was to direct him. Then as now, existed objects, to which the wisest attached undue importance; then, as now, judgement was misled by factions and parties — time wasted in controversies fruitless, except as far as they quickened the faculties ; then as now, minds were venerated or idolized, which owed their influence to the weakness of their contem- poraries rather than to their own power. Then, though great actions were wrought, and great works in literature and sci- ence produced, yet the general taste was capricious, fantasti- cal, or groveling : and in this point as in all others, was youth subject to delusion, frequent in proportion to the liveliness of the sensibility, and strong as the strength of the imagination. Every age hath abounded in instances of parents, kindred, and friends, who, by indirect influence of example, or by positive injunction and exhortation have diverted or discouraged the youth, who, in the simplicity and purity of nature, had deter- mined to follow his intellectual genius through good and through evil, and had devoted himself to knowledge, to the practice of virtue and the preservation of integrity, in slight of temporal rewards. Above all, have not the common duties and cares of common life, at all times exposed men to injury, from causes whose action is the more fatal from being silent and unremitting, and which, wherever it was not jealously watched and steadily opposed, must have pressed upon and consumed the diviner spirit. There are two errors, into which we easily slip when thinking of past times. One lies in forgetting in the excellence of what remains, the large overbalance of worthlessness that has been swept away. Ranging over the wide tracts of antiquity, the situation of the mind may be likened to that of a traveller* in * Vide Ashe's Travels in America. 344 some unpeopled part of America, who is attracted to the burhil place of one of the primitive inhabitants. It is conspicuous upon an eminence, " a mount upon a mount!" He digs into it, and finds that it contains the bones of a man of mighty sta- ture : and he is tempted to give way to a belief, that as there were giants in those days, so that all men weie giants. But a second and wiser thought may suggest to him, that this tomb would never have forced itself upon his notice, if it had not contained a body that was distinguished from others, that of a man who had been selected as a chieftain or ruler for the very reason that he surpassed the rest of his tribe in stature, and who now lies thus conspicuously inhumed upon the mountain- top, while the bones of his followers are laid unobtrusively together in their burrows upon the plain below. The second habitual error is, that in this comparison of ages we divide time merely into past and present, and place these into the balance to be weighed against each other, not considering that the pre- sent is in our estimation not more than a period of thirty years, or half a century at most, and that the past is a mighty accumu- lation of many such periods, perhaps the whole of recorded time, or at least the whole of that portion of it in which our own country has been distinguished. We may illustrate this by the familiar use of the words Ancient and Modern, when applied to poetry — what can be more inconsiderate or unjust than to compare a few existing writers with the whole succes- sion of their progenitors ? The delusion, from the moment that our thoughts are directed to it, seems too gross to deserve men. tion ; yet men will talk for hours upon poetry, balancing against each other the words Ancient and Modern, and be unconscious that they have fallen into it. These observations are not made as implying a dissent from the belief of my Correspondent, that the moral spirit and in- tellectual powers of this country are declining; but to guard against unqualified admiration, even in cases where admiration has been rightly fixed, and to prevent that depression, which must necessarily follow, where the notion of the peculiar un- favorableness of the present times to dignity of mind, has been carried too far. For in proportion as we imagine obstacles to exist out of ourselves to retard our progress, will, in fact, our progress be retarded. Deeming then, that in all ages an ar- dent mind will be baffled and led astray in the manner under 345 contctn])lation, though in various degrees, I shall at present content myself with a few practical and desultory comments upon some of those general causes, to which my correspondent justly attributes the errors in opinion, and the lowering or dead- ening of sentiment, to which ingenuous and aspiring youth is exposed. And first, for the heart-cheering belief in the perpe- tual progress of the species towards a point of unattainable perfection. If the present age do indeed transcend the past in what is most beneficial and honourable, he that perceives this, being in no error, has no cause for complaint; but if it be not so, a youth of genius might, it should seem, be preserved from any wrong influence of this faith, by an insight into a simple truth, namely, that it is not necessary, in order to satisfy the desires of our nature, or to reconcile us to the economy of providence, that there should be at all times a continuous ad- vance in what is of highest worth. In fact it is not, as a wri- ter of the present day has admirably observed, in the power of fiction, to pourtray in words, or of the imagination to conceive in spirit, actions or characters of more exalted virtue, than those which thousands of years ago have existed upon earth, as we know from the records of authentic history. Such is the inhe- rent dignity of human nature, that there belong to it sublimities of virtues which all men may attain, and which no man can transcend : and though this be not true in an equal degree, of intellectual power, yet in the persons of Plato, Demosthenes, and Homer, — and in those of Shakespeare, Milton, and Lord Bacon, — were enshrined as much of the divinity of intellect as the inhabitants of this planet can hope wall ever take up its abode among them. But the question is not of the power or worth of individual minds, but of the general moral or intel- lectual merits of an age — or a people, or of the human race. Be it so — let us allow and believe that there is a progress in the species towards unattainable perfection, or whether this be so or not, that it is a necessity of a good and greatly-gifted na- ture to believe it — surely it does not follow, that this progress should be constant in those virtues, and intellectual qualities, and in those departments of knowledge, which in themselves absolutely considered are of most value — things indepcndant and in their degree indispensable. The progress of the species neither is nor can be like that of a Roman road in a right line. It mav be more justly co'.upared to that of a river, which both 44 346 in its smaller reaches and larger turnings, is frequently forced back towards its fountains, by objects which cannot otherwise be eluded or overcome ; yet with an accompanying impulse that will ensure its advancement hereafter, it is either gaining strength every hour, or conquering in secret some difficulty, by a labor that contributes as effectually to further it in its course, as when it moves forward uninterrupted in a line, direct as that of the Roman road with which we began the comparison. It suffices to content the mind, though there may be an ap- parent stagnation, or a retrograde movement in the species, that something is doing which is necessary to be done, and the effects of which, will in due time appear; — that something is unremittingly gaining, either in secret preparation or in open and triumphant progress. But in fact here, as every where, we are deceived by creations which the mind is compelled to make for itself: w^e speak of the species not as an aggregate, but as endued with the form and separate life of an individual. But human kind, what is it else than myriads of rational beings in various degrees obedient to their Reason ; some torpid, some aspiring ; some in eager chace to the right hand, some to the left ; these wasting down their moral nature, and these feeding it for immortality ? A w'hole generation may appear even to sleep, or may be exasperated with rage — they that compose it, tearing each other to pieces with more than brutal fury. It is enough for complacency and hope, that scattered and solitary minds are always laboring somewhere in the ser- vice of truth and virtue ; and that by the sleep of the multitude, the energy of the multitude may be prepared ; and that by the fury of the people, the chains of the people may be broken. Happy moment was it for England when her Chaucer, who has rightly been called the morning star of her literature, appeared above the horizon — when her Wickliff, like the sun," shot ori- ent beams" through the night of Romish superstition ! — Yet may the darkness and the desolating hurricane which immedi- ately followed in the wars of York and Lancaster, be deemed in their turn a blessing, with which the land has been visited. May I return to the thought of progress, of accumulation, of increasing light, or of any other image by which it may please us to represent the improvement of the species ? The hundred years that followed the usurpation of Henry the Fourth, were a hurling-back of the mind of the country, a dilapidation, an 347 extinction ; yet institutions, laws, customs, and habits, were then broken down, which would not have been so readily, nop perhaps so thoroughly destroyed by the gradual influence of increasing knowledge ; and under the oppression of which, if they had continued to exist, the virtue and intellectual prowess of the succeeding century could not have appeared at all, much less could they have displayed themselves with that eager haste, and with those beneficent triumphs which will to the end of time be looked back upon with admiration and gratitude. If the foregoing obvious distinctions be once clearly perceived, and steadily kept in view, I do not see why a belief in the pro- gress of human nature towards perfection, should dispose a youth- ful mind, however enthusiastic, to an undue admiration of his own age, and thus tend to degrade that mind. But let me strike at once at the root of the evil complained of in my Correspondent's letter. — Protection from any fatal effect of seductions, and hindrances which opinion may throw in the way of pure and high-minded youth, can only be obtain- ed with certainty at the same price by which every thing great and good is obtained, namely, steady dependence upon volun- tary and self-originating effort, and upon the practice of self-ex- amination, sincerely aimed at and rigorously enforced. But how is this to be expected from youth ? Is it not to demand the fruit when the blossom is barely put forth, and is hourly at the mer- cy of frosts and winds ? To expect from youth these virtues and habits, in that degree of excellence to which in mature years they 'may be carried, would indeed be preposterous. Yet has youth many helps and aptitudes, for the discharge of these difficult duties, which are withdrawn for the most part from the more advanced stages of life. For youth has its own wealth and independence ; it is rich in health of body and animal spirits, in its sensibility to the impressions of the natural uni- verse, in the conscious growth of knowledge, in lively sympa- thy and familiar communion with the generous actions recorded in history, and with the high passions of poetry; and, above all, youth is rich in the possession of time, and the accompany- ing consciousness of freedom and power. The young man feels that he stands at a distance from the season when his harvest is to be reaped, — that he has leisure and may look around — may defer both the choice and the execution of his purposes. If he makes an attempt and shall fail, new hopes immediately 348 rush in, and new promises. Hence, in the happy confidence of his feelings, and in the elasticity of his spirit, neither world- ly ambition, nor the love of praise, nor dread of censure, nor the necessity of wordly maintenance, nor any of those causes which tempt or compel the mind habitually to look out of itself for support ; neither these, nor the passions of envy, fear, ha- tred, despondency, and the rankling of disappointed hopes, (all which in after life give birth to, and regulate the efforts of men, and determine their opinions) have power to preside over the choice of the young, if the disposition be not natural- ly bad, or the circumstances have not been in an uncommon degree unfavorable. In contemplation, then, of this disinterested and free condi- tion of the youthful mind, I deem it in many points peculiarly capable of searching into itself, and of profiting by a few sim- ple questions — such as these that follow. Am I cliiefly gratified by the exertion of my power from the pleasure of intellectual activity, and from the knowledge thereby acquired ? In other words, to what degree do I value my faculties and my attain- ments for their own sakes ? or are they chiefly prized by me on account of the distinction which they confer, or the superi- ority which they give me over others ? Am I aware that im- mediate influence and a general acknowledgement of merit, are no necessary adjuncts of a successful adherence to study and meditation, in those departments of knowledge which are of most value to mankind ? that a recompence of honors and emol- lumenls is far less to be expected — in fact, that there is little natural connection between them ? Have I perceived this truth ? and, perceiving it, does the countenance of philosophy conti- nue to appear as bright and beautiful in my eyes .'' — Has no haze bedimmed it ? has no cloud passed over and hidden from me that look which was before so encouraging ? Knowing that it is my duty, and feeling that it is my inclination, to mingle as a social being with my fellow men ; prepared also to submit cheer- fully to the necessity that will probably exist of relinquishing, for the purpose of gaining a livelihood, the greatest portion of my time to employments where I shall have little or no choice how or when I am to act ; have I, at this moment, when I stand as it were upon the threshold of the busy world, a clear intui- tion of that pre-eminence in which virtue and truth (involving in this latter word the sanctities of religion) sit enthroned above 349 all denominations and dignities which, in various degrees of exaltation, rule over the desires of men ? — Do I feel that, if their solemn mandates shall be forgotten, or disregarded, or de- nied the obedience due to them when opposed to others, I shall not only have lived for no good purpose, but that I shall have sa- crificed my birth-right as a rational being ; and that every other acquisition will be a bane and disgrace to me ? This is not spoken with reference to such sacrifices as present themselves to the youthful imagination in the shape of crimes, acts by which the conscience is violated ; such a thought, I know, would be recoiled from at once, not without indignation ; but I WTite in the spirit of the ancient fable of Prodicus, representing the choice of Hercu- les — Here is the wort.d, a female figure approaching at the head of a train of willing or giddy followers : — her air and deportment arc at once careless, remiss, self-satisfied, and haughty : — and there is Intellectual, Prowess, with a pale cheek and serene brow, leading in chains Truth, her beautiful and modest captive. The one makes her salutation with a discourse of ease, pleas- ure, freedom, and domestic tranquillity ; or, if she invite to la- bor, it is labor in the busy and beaten tract, with assurance of the complacent regards of parents, friends, and of those with whom we associate. The promise also may be upon her lip of the huzzas of the multitude, of the smile of kings, and the mu- nificent rewards of senates. The other does not venture to hold forth any of these allurements ; she does not conceal from him w hom she addresses the impediments, the disappointments, the ignorance and prejudice which her followsr will have to en- counter, if devoted when duty calls, to active life ; and if to contemplative, she lays nakedly before him, a scheme of solita- ry and unremitting labor, a life of entire neglect perhaps, or assuredly a life exposed to scorn, insult, persecution, and ha- tred ; but cheered by encouragement from a grateful few, by applauding conscience, and by a prophetic anticipation, perhaps, of fame — a late, though lasting consequence. Of these two, each in this manner soliciting you to become her adherent, you doubt not w^hich to prefer, — but oh ! the thought of moment is not preference, but the degree of preference ; the passionate and pure choice, the inward sense of absolute and unchangea- ble devotion. I spoke of a few simple questions — the question involved in this deliberation is simple ; but at the same time ii is high and 350 awful : and I would gladly know whether an answer can be re- turned satisfactory to the mind. — We will for a moment suppose that it cannot ; that there is a startling and a hesitation. — -Are we then to despond ? to retire from all contest ? and to recon- cile ouiselves at once to cares without a generous hope, and to efforts in which there is no more moral life than that which is found in the business and labors of the unfavored and unaspi- ring many ? No — but if the inquiry have not been on just grounds satisfactorily answered, we may refer confidently our youth to that nature of which he deems himself an enthusias- tic follower, and one who wishes to continue no less faithful and enthusiastic. — We would tell him that there are paths which he has not trodden ; recesses which he has not penetrated, that there is beauty which he has not seen, a pathos which he has not felt — a sublimity to v.'hich he hath not been raised. If he have trembled because there has occasionally taken place in him a lapse of which he is conscious ; if he foresee open or secret attacks, which he has had intimations that he will neither be strong enough to resist, nor watchful enough to elude, let him not hastily ascribe this weakness, this deficiency, and the painful apprehensions accompanying them, in any degree to the virtues or noble qualities with which youth by nature is fur- nished ; but let him first be assured, before he looks about for the means of attaining the insight, the discriminating powers, and the confirmed wisdom of manhood, that his soul has more to demand of the appropriate excellencies of youth, than youth has yet supplied to it ; — that the evil under which he labors is not a superabundance of the instincts and the animating spirit of that age, but a falling short, or a failure. — But what can he gain from this admonition ? he cannot recall past time ; he can- not begin his journey afresh ; he cannot untwist the links by which, in no undelightful harmony, images and sentiments are wedded in his mind. Granted that the sacred light of child- hood is and must be for him no more than a remembrance. Pie may, notwithstanding, be remanded to nature ; and with trust- worthy hopes ; founded less upon his sentient than upon his in- tellectual being — to nature, as leading on insensibly to the society of reason ; but to reason and will, as leading back to to the wisdom of nature. A re-union, in this order accomplish- ed, will bring reformation and timely support ; and the two powers of reason and nature, thus reciprocally teacher and 351 taught, may advance together in a track to where there is no limit. We have been discoursing (by implication at least) of in- fancy, childhood, boyhood, and youth, of pleasures lying upon the unfolding intellect plenteously as morning dew-drops — of knowledge inhaled insensibly like the fragrance — of disposi- tions stealing into the spirit like music from unknown quarters — of images uncalled for and rising up like exhalations — of hopes plucked like beautiful wild flowers from the ruined tombs that border the highways of antiquity, to make a garland for a living forehead : — in a word, we have been treating of na- ture as a teacher of truth through joy and through gladness, and as a creatress of the faculties by a process of smoothness and delight. We have made no mention of fear, shame, sor- row, nor of ungovernable and vexing thoughts ; because, al- though these have been and have done mighty service, they are overlooked in that stage of life when youth is passing in- to manhood — overlooked, or forgotten. We now apply for succor which we need, to a faculty that works after a different course : that faculty is Reason : she gives more spontaneously, but she seeks for more ; she works by thought, through feeling ; yet in thoughts she begins and ends. A familiar incident may elucidate this contrast in the opera- tions of nature, may render plain the manner in which a process of intellectual improvements, the reverse of that which nature pursues is by reason introduced : There never perhaps existed a school-boy who, having when he retired to rest, carelessly blown out his candle, and having chanced to notice, as he lay upon his bed in the ensuing darkness, the sullen light which had survived the extinguished flame, did not, at some time or other, watch that light as if his mind were bound to it by a spell. It fades and revives — gathers to a point — seems as if it would go out in a moment — again recovers its strength, nay becomes brighter than before : it continues to shine with an endurance, which in its apparent weakness is a mystery — it protracts its existence so long, clinging to the power which supports it, that the observer, who had laid down in his bed so easy-minded, becomes sad and melancholy : his sympathies are touched — it is to him an intimation and an image of depart- ing human life, — the thought comes nearer to him — it is the life of a venerated parent, of a beloved brother or sister, or of 352 an aged domestic ; who are gone to the grave, or whose desti- ny it soon may be thus to linger, thus to hang upon the last point of mortal existence, thus finally to depart and be seen no more. This is nature teaching seriously and sweetly through the affections — melting the heart, and, through that instinct of tenderness, developing the understanding. — In this instance the object of solicitude is the bodily life of another. Let us ac- company this same boy to that period between youth and man- hood, when a solicitude may be awakened for the moral life of himself. — Are there any powers by which, beginning with a sense of inward decay that affects not however the natural life, he could call to mind the same image and hang over it with an equal interest as a visible type of his own perishing spir- it ? — Oh ! surely, if the being of the individual be under his own care — if it be his first care — if duty begin from the point of accountableness to our conscience, and through that, to God and human nature ; — if without such primary sense of duty, all secondary care of teacher, of friend, or parent, must be base- less and fruitless ; if, lastly, the motions of the soul transcend in worth those of the animal functions, nay give to them their sole value ; then truly are there such powers : and the image of the dying taper may be recalled and contemplated, though with no sadness in the nerves, no disposition to tears, no un- conquerable sighs, yet with a melancholy in the soul, a sink- ing inward into ourselves from thought to thought, a steady remonstrance, and a high resolve. — Let then the youth go back, as occasion will permit, to nature and to solitude, thus admon- ished by reason, and relying upon this newly acquired support. A world of fresh sensations will gradually open upon him as his mind puts off its infirmities," and as instead of being pro- pelled restlessly towards others in admiration, or too hasty love, he makes it his prime business to understand himself. New sensations, 1 afiirm, will be opened out — pure, and sanctioned by that reason which is their original author ; and precious feelings of disinterested, that is self-disregarding joy and love may be regenerated and restored : — and, in this sense, he may be said to measure back the track of life he has trod. In such disposition of mind let the youth return to the visi- ble universe : and to conversation with ancient books ; and to those, if such there be, which in the present day breathe the ancient spirit : and let him feed upon that beauty which un- 353 folds itaelf, not to his eye as it sees carelessly the things which cannot possibly go unseen, and are remembered or not as acci- dent shall decide, but to the thinking mind ; which searches, discovers, and treasures up, — infusing by meditation into the objects with which it converses an intellectual life ; whereby they remain planted in the memory, now, and for ever. Hith- erto the youth, I suppose, has been content for the mostp art to look at his own mind, after the manner in which he ranges along the stars in the firmament with naked unaided sight : let him now apply the telescope of art — to call the invisible stars out of their hiding places; and let him endeavor to look through the system of his being, with the organ of reason ; sum- moned to penetrate, as far as it has power, in discovery of the impelling forces and the governing laws. These expectations are not immoderate : they demand no- thing more than the perception of a few plain truths ; namely, that knowledge efficacious for the production of virtue is the ultimate end of all effort, the sole dispenser of complacency and repose. A perception also is implied of the inherent su- periority of contemplation to action. The Friend does not in this contradict his own words, where he has said heretofore, tliat " doubtless it is nobler to act than to think." In those words, it was his purpose to censure that barren contemplation, which rests satisfied with itself in cases where the thoughts are of such quality that they may be, and ought to be embodied in action. But he speaks now of the general superiority of thought to ac- tion ; — as proceeding and governing all action that moves to salutary purposes ; and, secondly, as leading to elevation, the absolute possession of the individual mind, and to a consis- tency or harmony of the being within itself, which no outward agency can reach to disturb or to impair : — and lastly, as pro- ducing works of pure science ; or of the combined faculties of imagination, feeling, and reason ; — works which, both from their independence in their origin upon accident, their nature, their duration, and the wide spread of their influence, are enti- tled rightly to take place of the noblest and most beneficent deeds of heroes, statesmen, legislators, or warriors. Yet, beginning from the perception of this established supe- riority, we do not suppose that the youth, whom we wish to guide and encourage, is to be insensible to those influences of wealth, or rank, or station, by which the bulk of mankind are 45 354 Swayed. Our eyes have not been fixed upon virtue which lies apart from human nature, or transcends it. In fact there is no such virtue. "vVe neither suppose nor wish him to undervalue or slight these distinctions as modes of power, things that may enable him to be more useful to his contemporaries ; nor as gratifications that may confer dignity upon his living person ; and, through him, upon those who love him ; nor as they may connect his name, through a family to be founded by his suc- cess, in a closer chain of gratitude with some portion of poste- rity, who shall speak of him, as among their ancestry, with a more tender interest than the mere general bond of patriotism or humanity would supply. We suppose no indiff"erence to, much less a contempt of, these rewards ; but let them have their due place ; let it be ascertained, when the soul is searched into, that they are only an auxiliary motive to exertion, never the princi- pal or originating force. If this be too much to expect from a youth who, I take for granted, possesses no ordinary endowments, and whom circumstances with respect to the more dangerous passions have favored, then, indeed, must the noble spirit of the country be wasted away : then would our institutions be deplorable ; and the education prevalent among us utterly vile and debasing. But my Correspondent, who drew forth these thoughts, has said rightly, that the character of the age may not without in- justice be thus branded : he will not deny that, without speak- ing of other countries, there is in these islands, in the depart- ments of natural philosophy, of mechanic ingenuity, in the ge- neral activities of the country, and in the particular excellence of individual minds, in high stations civil or military, enough to excite admiration and love in the sober-minded, and more than enough to intoxicate the youthful and inexperienced. — I will compare, then, an aspiring youth, leaving the schools in which he has been disciplined, and preparing to bear a part in the con- cerns of the world, I will compare him in this season of eager admiration, to a newly-invested knight appearing with his blank unsignalized shield, upon some day of solemn tournament, at the Court of the Fairy-queen, as that sovereignty was concei- ved to exist by the moral and imaginative genius of our divine Spenser. He does not himself immediately enter the lists as a combatant, but he looks round him with a beating heart : daz- zled by the gorgeous pageantry, the banners, the impresses, the ladies of overcoming beauty, the persons of the knights — 355 now first seen by him, the fame of whose actions is carried by the traveller, like merchandize, through the world ; and re- sounded upon the harp of the minstrel. — But I am not at liberty to make this comparison. H a youth were to begin liis career in such an assemblage, with such examples to guide and to ani- mate, it will be pleaded, there should be no cause for appre- hension : he could not falter, he could not be misled. But ours, is notwithstanding its manifold excellencies, a degenerate age : and recreant knights are among us far outnumbering the true. A false Gloriana in these days imposes worthless services, which they who perform them, in their blindness, know not to be such ; and which are recorapenced by rewards as worthless — yet ea- gerly grasped at, as if they were the immortal guerdon of vir- tue. I have in this declaration insensibly overstepped the limits which I had determined not to pass ; let me be forgiven : for it is hope which hath carried me forward. In such a mixed assemblage as our age presents, v»'ith its genuine merit and its large overbalance of alloy, I may boldly ask into what errors, either with respect to person or thing, could a young man fall, who had sincerely entered upon the course of moral discipline which has been recommended, and to which the condition of youth, it has been proved, is favorable ? His opinions could no where deceive him beyond the point to which, after a season, he would find that it was salutary for him to have been de- ceived. For, as that man cannot set a right value upon health who has never known sickness, nor feel the blessing of ease who has been through his life a stranger to pain, so can there be no confirmed and passionate love of truth for him who has not experienced the hoUowness of error. — Range against each other as advocates, oppose as combatants, two several in- tellects, each strenously asserting doctrines which he sincerely believes ; but the one contending for the worth and beauty of that garment which the other has outgrown and cast away. Mark the superiority, the ease, the dignity, on the side of the more advanced mind, how he overlooks his subject, commands it from centre to circumference, and hath the same thorough knowledge of the tenets which his adversary, with impetuous zeal, but in confusion also, and thrown oxT his guard at every turn of the argument, is laboring to maintain ! If it be a ques- tion of the fine arts (poetry for instance) the riper mind not 356 ( only sees that his opponent is deceived ; but, what is of far more importance, sees how he is deceived. The imagination stands before him with all its imperfections laid open ; as duped by shews, enslaved by words, corrupted by mistaken delicacy and false refinement, — as not having even attended with care to the reports of the senses, and therefore deficient grossly in the rudiments of her ov»n power. He has noted how, as a supposed necessary condition.^ the understanding sleeps in or- der that the fancy may dream. Studied in the history of socie- ty and versed in the secret laws of thought, he can pass regu- iary through all the gradations, can pierce infallibly all the wind- ings, wdiich false taste through ages has pursued — from the very time when first, through inexperience, heedlessness, or afl^ecta- tion, she took her departure from tlie side of Truth, her origin- al parent. Can a disputant thus accoutered be withstood? — to whom, further, every movement in the thoughts of his antagonist is revealed by the light of his own experience ; who, therefore, sympathises with weakness gently, and wins his way by forbearance ; and hath, when needful, an irresistible power of onset, — arising from gratitude to the truth which he vindi- cates, not merely as a positive good for mankind, but as his own especial rescue and redemption. I might here conclude : but my Correspondent towards the close of his letter, has written so feelingly upon the advanta- ges to be derived, in his estimation, from a living instructor, that I must not leave this part of the subject without a word of direct notice. The Friend cited, some time ago, a passage IVom the prose works of Milton, eloquently describing the manner in which good and evil grow up together in the field of the world almost inseparably ; and insisting, consequently, upon the knowledge and survey of vice as necessary to the constitu- ting of human virtue, and the scanning of error to the confirma- tion of Truth. If this be so, and I have been reasoning to the same effect in the preceding paragraph, the fact, and the thoughts which it may suggest, will, if rightly applied, tend to moderate an anxiety for the guidance of a more experienced or superior mind. The advantage, where it is possessed, is far from be- ing an absolute good : nay, such a preceptor, ever at hand, might prove an oppression not to be thrown off, and a fatal hinderance. Grant that in the general tenor of his intercourse 357 with his pupil he is forbearing and circumspect, inasmuch as he is rich in that knowledge (above all other necessary for a teacher) which cannot exist without a liveliness of memory, preserving for him an unbroken image of the winding, excur- sive, and often retrograde course, along which his own intel- lect has passed. Grant that, furnished with these distinct re- membrances, he wishes that the mind of his pupil should be free to luxuriate in the enjoyments, loves, and admirations ap- propriated to its age ; that he is not in haste to kill what he knows will in due time die of itself; or be transmuted, and put on a nobler form and higher faculties otherwise unattainable. In a word, that the teacher is governed habitually by the wis- dom of patience waiting with pleasure. Yet perceiving how much the outward help of art can facilitate the progress of na- ture, he may be betrayed into many unnecessary or pernicious mistakes where he deems his interference warranted by sub- stantial experience. And in spite of all his caution, remarks may drop insensibly from him which shall wither in tlie mind of his pupil a generous sympathy, destroy a sentiment of appro- bation or dislike, not merely innocent but salutary; and for the experienced disciple how many pleasures may thus be cut off, what joy, what admiration and what love ! while in their stead are introduced into the ingenuous mind misgivings, a mistrust of its own evidence, dispositions to affect to feel where there can be no real feeling, indecisive judgments, a super- structure of opinions that has no base to support it, and words, uttered by rote with the impertinence of a parrot or a mocking- biid, yet which may not be listened to with the same indiffe- rence, as they cannot be heard without some feeling of moral disapprobation. These results, I contend, whatever ma}^ be the benefit to be derived from such an enlightened Teacher, are in their degree inevitable. And by this process, humility and docile disposi- tions may exist towards the Master, endued as he is with the power which personal presence confers ; but at the same time they will be liable to over-step their due bounds, and to dege- nerate into passiveness and prostration of niind. This towards him ! while, with respect to other living men, nay even to the mighty spirits of past times, there may be associated with such weakness a want of modesty and humility. Insensibly may steal in presumption and a habit of sitting in judgment in cases 358 where no sentiment ought to have existed but diffidence or ve- neration. Such virtues are the sacred attributes of Youth; its appropiiate calling is not to distinguish in the fear of being de- ceived or degraded, not to analyze with scrupulous minuteness, but to accumulate in genial confidence ; its instinct, its safety, its benefit, its glory, is to love, to admire, to feel, and to labor. Nature has irrevocably decreed, that our prime dependence in all stages of life after Infancy and Childhood have been passed through (nor do I know that this latter ought to be excepted) must be upon our own minds ; and that the way to knowledge shall be long, difficult, winding, and oftentimes returning upon itself. What has been said is a mere sketch ; and that only of a part of the interesting country into which we have been led : but my Correspondent will be able to enter the paths that have been pointed out. Should he do this and advance steadily for a while, he needs not fear any deviations from the truth which will be finally injurious to him. He will not long have his ad- miration fixed upon unworthy objects ; he will neither be clog- ged nor drawn aside by the love of friends or kindred, betray- ing his understanding through his affections ; he will neither be bowed down by conventional arrangements of manners produ- -cing too often a lifeless decency : nor will the rock of his spirit wear away in the endless beating of the waves of the world : neither will that portion of his own time, which he must surren- der to labors by which his livelihood is to be earned or his social •duties performed, be unprofitable to himself indirectly, while it is directly useful to others : for that time has been primarily surrendered through an act of obedience to a moral law estab- lished by himself, and therefore he moves then also along the orbit of perfect liberty. Let it be remembered, that the advice requested does not relate to the government of the more dangerous passions, or to the fundamental principles of right and wrong as acknow- ledged by the universal conscience of mankind. I may there- fore assure my youthful Correspondent, if he will endeavor to look into himself in the manner which I have exhorted him to do, that in him the wish will be realized, to him in due time the prayer granted, which was uttered by that living Teacher of whom he speaks with gratitude as a benefactor, when, in his character of a philosophical Poet, having thought of Mora- 359 tity as implying in its essence voluntary obedience, and produ- cing the effect of order, he transfers in the transport of imagi- nation, the law of moral to physical natures, and having con- templated, through the medium of that order, all modes of ex- istence as subservient to one spirit, concludes his address to the power of Duty in the following words : To humbler functions, awful Power ! I call thee : I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour ; Oh, let my weakness have an end ! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice ; The confidence of reason give ! And in the light of Truth thy Bondman let me live ! W. W. THE FRIEND SECTION THE SECOND. ON THE GROUND S or MORALS AND RELIGION, AND THE DISCIPLINE OF THE MIND REQUISITE FOR A TRUE UNDER- STANDING OF THE SAME. 46 I know, tho seeming and self-pleasing wisflom of our times consists much in cavilling and unjustly carping at all tilings that see hght, and that there are many who earnestly hunt after the publicke fame of Learning and Judg- ment by this easily trod and desjiicable path, which, notwithstanding, they tread with as much confidence as folly : for that, ofltimes, which they vainly and unjustly brand with opprobrie, outlives their fate, and flourisheth when it is forgot that ever any such, as they, had Being. — Dedication to Lord Herbert of Ambrose Farcy's Works by Tliomas Johison^ the Translator, 1634. v^^ ESSAY I . We cannot but look up with reverence to the advanced natures of the natu- ralists and moralists in highest repute amongst us: and wish they had been heightened by a more noble ])nneiple, which had crowned all their various sciences with the principal science, and in their brave strayings after truth helpt them to better fortune than only to meet with her hand- maids, and kept them from the fate of Ulysses, who wandering through the shades met all the ghosts, yet could not see the queen. J. H. (John Hall?) hi^ Motion to the Parllameirt of Eng- land'f concerning the Advancement of Learning. The preceding section had for its express object the princi- ples of our duty as citizens, or morality as applied to politics. According to his scheme there remained for the friend first, to treat of the principles of morality generally, and then on those of religion. But since the commencement of this edi- tion, the question has repeatedly arisen in my mind, whether morality can be said to have any principle distinguishable from religion, or religion any substance divisible from morality ? Or should I attempt to distinguish them by their objects, so that morality were the religion which we owe to things and persons of this life, and religion our morality toward God and the per- manent concerns of our own souls, and those of our brethren : yet it would be evident, that the latter must involve the for- mer, while any pretence to the former without the latter would be as bold a mockery as, if having withheld an estate from the rightful owner, we should seek to appease our conscience by the plea, that we had not failed to bestow alms on him in his beg- gary. It was never my purpose, and it does not appear to be the want of the age, to bring together the rules and induce- ments of worldly prudence. But to substitute these for the SG4 laws of reason and conscience, or even to confound them un- der one name, is a prejudice, say rather a profanation, which I became more and more reluctant to flatter by even an appear- ance of assent, though it were only in a point of form and tech- nical arrangement. At a time, when my thoughts were thus employed, I met with a volume of old tracts, published during the interval from the captivity of Charles the First to the restoration of his son. Since my earliest manhood it had been among my fondest re- grets, that a more direct and frequent reference had not been made by our historians to the books, pamphlets, and flying sheets of that momentous period, during which all the possible forms of truth and error (the latter being themselves for the greater part caricatures of truth) bubbled up on the surface of the pub- lic mind, as in the ferment of a chaos. It would be difficult to conceive a notion or a fancy, iu politics, ethics, theology, or even in physics and physiology, which had not been anticipated by the men of that age : in this as in most other respects sharply contrasted with the products of the French revolution, which was scarcely more characterized by its sanguinary and sensual abominations than (to borrow the words of an eminent living poet) by A dreary want at once of books and men. The parliament's army was not wholly composed of mere fana- tics. There was no mean proportion of enthusiasts : and that enthusiasm must have been of no ordinary grandeur, which could draw from a common soldier, in an address to his com- rades, such a dissuasive from acting in " the cruel spirit of fear !" such words and such sentiments, as are contained in the following extract which I would fain rescue from oblivion,* both for the honor of our fore-fathers, and in proof of the intense difference between the republicans of that period, and the democrats, or rather demagogues, of the present. " I judge it ten times more honorable for a single person, in witnessing a truth to oppose * Tlie more so bccanse every year consumes its quota. The late Sir Wil- fred Lawson'rf predecessor, from some pique or other, left a large and unique collection, of the paniphlets''publi.shed from the commencement of the Parlia- ment war to the restoration, to liis butler, and it supplied tlie chandlers' and dniggists' shops of Penrith and Kendal for many years. 365 the world in its power, wisdom and authority, this standing tn its full strength, and he singly and nakedly, than fighting many battles by force of arms, and gaining them all. I have no life but truth : and if truth be advanced by my suffering, then mj life also. If truth live, I live : if justice live, I live : and these cannot die, but by any man's suffering for them are enlarged, enthroned. Death cannot hurt me. I sport with him, am above his reach. I live an immortal life. What we have within, that only can we see without. I cannot see death : and he that hath not this freedom is a slave. He is in the arms of that, the phan- tom of which he beholdeth and seemeth to himself to flee from. Thus, you see that the king hath a will to redeem his present loss. You see it by means of the lust after power in your own hearts. For my part I condemn his unlawful seeking after it. I condemn his falsehood and indirectness therein. But if he should not endeavor the restoring of the kingliness to the realm, and the dignity of its kings, he were false to his trust, false to the majesty of God that he is intrusted with. The desire of recovering his loss is justifiable. Yea, I should condemn him as unbelieving and pusillanimous, if he should not hope for it. But here is his misery and yours too at pre- sent, that ye are unbelieving and pusillanimous, and are, both alike, pursuing things of hope in the spirit of fear. Thus you condemn the parliament for acknowledging the king's pow- er so far as to seek to him by a treaty ; while by taking such pains against him you manifest your own belief that he hath a great power — which is a wonder, that a prince despoiled of all his authority, naked, a prisoner, destitute of all friends and helps, wholly at the disposal of others, tied and bound too with all obligations that a parliament can imagine to hold him, should yet be such a terror to you, and fright you into such a large re- monstrance, and such perilous proceedings to save yourselves from him. Either there is some strange power in him, or you are full of fear that are so affecled with a shadow. But as you give testimony to his power, so you take a course to advance it ; for there is nothing that hath any spark of God in it, but the more it is suppressed, the more it rises. If you did indeed believe, that the original of power were in the peo- ple, you would believe likewise that the concessions extorted from the king would rest with you, as doubtless, such of them as in righteousness ought to have been given, would do ; but that your violent courses disturb the natural order of thinga, 3^6 an which they still tend to their centre : and so far from being the way to secure what we have got, they are the way to lose them, and (for a time at least) to set up princes in a higher form than ever. For all things by force compelled from their nature will fly back with the greater earnestness on the removal of that force : and this, in the present case, must soon weary itself out, and hath no less an enemy in its own satiety than in the disap- pointment of the people. Again : you speak of the king's reputation — and do not con- sider that the more you crush him, the sweeter the fragrance that comes from him. While he suffers, the spirit of God and glory rests upon him. There is a glory and a freshness spark- ling in him by sufFering, an excellency that was hidden, and which you have drawn out. And naturally men are ready to pity sufferers. When nothing will gain me, affliction will. I confess his sufferings make me a royalist, who never cared for him. He that doth and can suffer shall have my heart: you had it while you suffered. But now your severe punishment of him for his abuses in government, and your own usurpations, will not only win the hearts of the people to the oppressed suf- fering king, but provoke them to rage against you, as having robbed them of the interest which they had in his royalty. For the king is in the people, and the people in the king. The king's being is not solitary, but as he is in union with his people, who are his strength in which he lives ; and the people's being is not naked, but an interest in the greatness and wisdom of the king who is their honor which lives in them. And though you will disjoin yourselves from kings, God will not, neither will I, God is King of kings, kings' and princes' God, as well a peo- ple's, theirs as well as ours, and theirs eminently (as the speech enforces, God of Israel, that is, Israel's God above all other nations : and so king of kings,) by a near and especial kindred and communion. Kingliness agrees with all Christians, who are indeed Christians. For they are themselves of a royal na- ture, made kings with Christ, and cannot but be friends to it, being of kin to it : and if there were not kings to honor, they would want one of the appointed objects to bestow that fulness of honor which is in their breasts. A virtue would lie unem- ployed vi-ithiu them, and in prison, pining and restleps from the want of it3 outv/ard correlative, it is a bastard religion, that is inconsistent with the majesty and the greatness of the most 367 splendid monarch. Such spirits are strangers from the king- dom of heaven. Either they know not the glory in which God lives : or they are of narrow minds that are corrupt them- selves, and not able to bear greatness, and so think that God will not, or cannot, qualify men for such high places with cor- respondent and proportionable power and goodness. Is it not enough to have removed the malignant bodies which eclipsed the royal sun, and mixed their bad influences with his.-' And would you extinguish the sun itself to secure yourselves ? this is the spirit of bondage to fear, and not of love and a sound mind. To assume the office and the name of champions for the common interest, and of Christ's soldiers, and yet to act for self safety is so poor and mean a thing that it must produce most vile and absurd actions, the scorn of the old pa- gans, but for Christians who in all things are to love their neighbor as themselves, and God above both, it is of all affec- tions the unworthiest. Let me be a fool and boast, if so I may shew you, while it is yet time, a little of that rest and security which I and those of the same spirit enjoy, and which you have turned your backs upon ; self, like a banished thing, Vv^andering in strange ways. First, then, I fear no party, or interest, for I love all, I am reconciled to all, and therein I lind all reconciled to me. I have enmity to none but the son of perdition. It is enmity begets insecurity : and while men live in the flesh, and in enmity to any party, or interest, in a private, divided, and self good, there will be, there cannot but be, perpetual wars : except that one particular should quite ruin all other parts and live alone, which the universal must not, will not suffer. For to admit a part to devour and absorb the others, were to de- stroy the whole, which is God's presence therein ; and such a mind in any part doth not only fight with another part, but against the whole. Every faction of men, therefore, striving to make themselves absolute, and to owe their safety to their strength, and not to their sympathy, do directly war against God who is love, peace, and a general good, gives being to all and cherishes all, and, therefore, can have neither peace or se- curity. But we being enlarged into the largeness of God, and comprehending all things in our bosoms by the divine spirit, are at rest with all, and delight in all ; for we know nothing but what is, in its essence, in our own hearts. Kings, nobles, are much beloved of us, because they are in us, of us, one with ua, 368 we 36 Christians being kings and lords by the anointing af God." But such sentiments, it will be said, are the flights of Spe- culative Minds. Be it so ! Yet to soar is nobler than to creep. We attach, likewise, some value to a thing on the mere score of its rarity ; and Speculative Minds, alas ! have been rare, though not equally rare, in all ages and countries of civi- lized man. With us the very word seems to have abdicated its legitimate sense. Instead of designating a mind so constituted and disciplined as to find in its own wants and instincts an interest in truths for their truth's sake, it is now used to signify a practical schemer, one who ventures beyond the bounds of experience in the formation and adoption of new ways and means for the attainment of wealth, or power. To possess the end in the means, as it is essential to morality in the moral world, and the contra-distinction of goodness from mere prudence, so is it, in the intellectual world, the moral con- stituent of genius, and that by which true genius is contra-dis- tinguished from mere talent. (See the postsci'ipt at the end of this essay.) The man of talent, who is, if not exclusively, yet chiefly and characteristically a man of talent^ seeks and values the means wholly in relation to some object not therein contained. His means may be peculiar ; but his ends are conventional, and com- mon to the mass of mankind. Alas ! in both cases alike, in that of genius, as well as in that of talent, it too often happens, that this diversity in the " moruW of their several intellects, ex- tends to the feelings and impulses properly and directly morale to their dispositions, habits, and maxims of conduct. It char- acterizes not the intellect alone, but the whole man. The one substitutes prudence for virtue, legality in act and demeanor, for warmth and purity of heart : and too frequently becomes jealous, envious, a coveter of other men's good gifts, and a de- tractor from their merits, open or secretly, as his fears or his passions chance to preponderate.* * According to the principles of Spurzhcim's Crauioscopy (a scheme, the indicative or gnomoiik parts of vvliich have a stronger support in facts than the theory in reason or common sense) we should find in the skull of such an inflividunl the organs of circumspection and appropriation disproportionately lar^e and prominent compared with those of ideality and benevolence. It is 359 The other, on the contrary, might remind us of the zealots for legitimate succession after the decease of our sixth Edward, who not content with having placed the rightful sovereign on the throne, would wreak their vengeance on " the meek usurp- er," who had been seated on it by a will against which she had herself been the first to remonstrate. For with that unhealth- ful preponderance of impulse over motive, which, though no part of genius, is too often its accompaniment, he lives in con- tinued hostility to prudence, or banishes it altogether ; and thus deprives virtue of her guide and guardian, her prime functionary, yea, the very organ of her outward life. Hence a benevolence that squanders its shafts and still misses its aim, or like the charmed bullet that, levelled at the wolf brings down the shepherd ! Hence desultoriness, extremes, exhaustion And thereof comes in the end despondency and madness ! Wordsworth. Let it not be forgotten, however, that these evils are the dis- ease of the man, while the records of biography furnish ample proof, that genius, in the higher degree, acts as a preservative against them : more remarkably, and in more frequent instan- ces, when the imagination and preconstructive power have ta- ken a scientific or philosophic direction : as in Plato, indeed in almost all the first-rate philosophers — in Kepler, Milton, Boyle, Newton, Leibnitz, and Berkley. At all events, a certain num- ber of speculative minds is necessary to a cultivated state of society, as a condition of its progressiveness : and nature her- self has provided against any too great increase in this class of her productions. As the gifted masters of the divining Rod to the ordinary miners, and as the miners of a country to the husbandmen, mechanics, and artisans, such is the proportion of the Trismegisti, to the sum total of speculative minds, even of those, I mean, that are truly such ; and of these again, to the remaining mass of useful laborers r.nd " operatives''^ in science, literature, and the learned professions. certain that the organ of appropriation, or (more correctly) the part of the skull asserted to be significant of that tendency anc. cciVespondent to the or- gan, is strikingly large in a cast of the head of the famous Dr. Dodd ; and it was found of equal dimension in a literary man, whose skull puzzled the cranioscopist more than it did me. Nature, it should seem, makes no dis- tinction between manuscripts and money-drafts, though the law does. 47 370 This train of thought brings to ray recollection a conversation with a friend of my youth, an old man of humble estate ; but in whose society I had great pleasure. The reader will, I hope, pardon me if I embrace the opportunity of recalling old affections, afforded me by its fitness to illustrate the present subject. A sedate man he was, and had been a miner from his boyhood. Well did he represent the old " lo7ig syne,^^ when every trade was a mystery and had its own guardian saint ; when the sense of self-importance was gratified at home^ and Ambition had a hundred several lotteries, in one or other of which every freeman had a ticket, and the only blanks were drawn by Sloth, Intemperance, or inevitable Calamity ; when the detail of each art and trade (like the oracles of the proph- ets, interpretable in a double sense) was ennobled in the eyes of its professors by being spiritually improved into symbols and mementos of all doctrines and all duties, and every craftsman had, as it were, two versions of his Bible, one in the common language of the country, another in the acts, objects, and pro- ducts of his own particular craft. There are not many things in our elder popular literature, more interesting to me than those contests, or Amoibean eclogues, between workmen for the superior worth and dignity of their several callings, which used to be sold at our village fairs, in stitched sheets, neither untitled nor undecorated, though without the superfluous costs of a separate title-page. With this good old miner I was once walking through a corn- field at harvest-time, when that part of the conversation, to which I have alluded, took place. At times, said I, when you were delving in the bowels of the arid mountain or foodless rock, it must have occurred to your mind as a pleasant thought, that in providing the scythe and the sword you were virtually reaping the harvest and protecting the harvest-man. Ah! he replied with a sigh, that gave a fuller meaning to his smile, out of all earthly things there come both good and evil : the good through God, and the evil from the evil heart. From the look and weight of the ore I learnt to make a near guess, how much iron it would yield ; but neither its heft, nor its hues, nor its breakage would prophecy to me, whether it was to become a thievish pick-lock, a murderer's dirk, a slave's collar, or the woodman's axe, the feeding ploughshare, the defender's sword, or the mechanic's tool. So perhaps, my young friend ! I have 371 cause to be thankful, that the opening upon a fresh vein gives me a delight so full as to allow no room for other fancies, and leaves behind it a hope and a love that support me in my labor, even for the labor's sake. As, according to the eldest philosophy, life being in its own nature aeriform, is under the necessity of renewing itself by inspiring the connatural, and therefore assimilable air, so is it with the intelligential soul with respect to truth : for it is itself of the nature of truth, revo.as'vv) hx hsupias^ y.ai 'hia\WL Ssrov, (fiidiv ex^iM (piXo'hsoLiJ.ova u*ap5(ii. Plotinus. But the occasion and brief history of the decline of true speculative philosophy, with the origin of the separation of ethics from religion, I must defer to the following number. POSTSCRIPT. As I see many good, and can anticipate no ill consequences, in the attempt to give distinct and appropriate meanings to words hitherto synonymous, or at least of indefinite and fluctu- ating application, if only the proposed sense be not passed up- on the reader as the existing and authorized one, I shall make no other apology for the use of the word. Talent, in this pre- ceding Essay and elsewhere in my works than by annexing the following explanation. I have been in the habit of consider- ing the qualities of intellect, the comparative eminence in which characterizes individuals and even countries, under four kinds — Genius, Talent, Sense, and Cleverness. The first I use in the sense of most general acceptance, as the faculty which adds to the existing stock of power, and knowledge by new views, new combinations, &c. In short, I define Genius, as originality in intellectual construction : the moral accompa- niment, and actuating principle of which consists, perhaps, in the carrying on of the freshness and feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood. By Talent, on the other hand, I mean the comparative fa- cility of acquiring, arranging, and applying the stock furnished by others and already existing in books or other conservato- ries of intellect. By Sense I understand that just balance of the faculties which is to the judgment what health is to the body. The mind seems 372 to act en masses by a synthetic rather than an analytic process : even as the outward senses, from which the metaphor is taken, perceive immediately, each as it were by a peculiar tact or intuition, v/ithout any consciousness of the mechanism by which the perception is realized. This is often exemplified in well-bred, unallected, and innocent women. I know a lady, on whose judgment, from constant experience of its rectitude, I could rely almost as on an oracle. But when she has some- times proceeded to a detail of the grounds and reasons for her opinion — then, led by similar experience I have been tempted to interrupt her with — " I will take your advice," or, " I shall act on your opinion : for I am sure, you are in the right. But as to the jO}'s and becauses^ leave them to me to find out." The general accompaniment of Sense is a disposition to avoid extremes, whether in theory or in practice, with a desire to remain in sympatiiy with the general mind of the age or coun- try, and a feeling of the necessity and utility of compj'omise. If Genius be the initiative, and Talent the administrative, Sense is the conservative^ branch, in the intellectual re- public. By Clt:verness (which I dare not with Dr. Johnson call a lota word, while there is a sense to be expressed which it alone expresses) I mean a comparative readiness in the invention and use of moans, for the realizing of objects and ideas — often of such ideas, which the man of genius only could have origina- ted, and which the clever man perhaps neither fully compre- hends nor adequately appreciates, even at the moment that he is prompting or executing the machinery of their accomplish- ment. In short. Cleverness is a sort of genius for instrumen- tality. It is the brain in the hand. In literature Cleverness is more frequently accompanied by wit, Genius and Sense by hu- mor. If I take the three great countries of Europe, in respect of intellectual character, namely, Germany, England, and France, I should characterize them thus — premising only that in the first line of the two first tables I mean to imply that Genius, rare in all countries, is equal in both of these, the instances equally numerous — and characteristic therefore not in relation to each other, but in relation to the third country. The other qualities are more general characteristics. 373 GEmMjVY. Genius, Talent, Fancy. The latter chiefly as exhibited in wild combination and in pomp of ornament. N. B. Imagination is implied in Genius. E^GLJUVD. Genius, Sense, Humor. FIL/IJVCE. Cleverness, Talent, Wit. So again with regard to the forms and effects, in which the qualities manifest themselves, i. e. intellectually. GERMANY. Idea, or Law anticipated,* Totality,! Distinctness. EMGLAJVD. Law discovered,! Selection, Clearness. * This as co-ordinate witii Genius in the first table, applies likewise to tho few only: and conjoined with the two following qualities, as genera) charac- teristics of German intellect, includes or supposes, as its consequences and accompaniments speculation, system, method ; which in a somewhat lower class of minds appear as notionality (or a predilection for noumena, mundua intelligibilis, as contra-distinguished from phenomena, or mundus sensibilis) scheme; arrangement; orderliness. f In totality I imply encycloptedic learning, exhaustion of the subjects treat- ed of, and the passion for completing and the love of the complete. XSee the following Essays on Method. It might have been expressed — as the contemplation of ideas objectively, as existing powers, while the German of equal genius is predisposed to contemplate law subjectively, with anticipation of a correspondent in nature. 374 FRAXCE. Theory invented, Particularity.* Palpability. Lastly, we might exhibit the same qualities in their moral, religious, and political manifestations : in the cosmopolitism of Germany, the contemptuous nationality of the Englishman, and the ostentatious and boastful nationality of the Frenchman. The craving of sympathy marks the German : inward pride the Eng- lishman : vanity the Frenchman. So again, enthusiasm, vision- ariness seems the tendency of the German : zeal, zealotry of the English : fanaticism of the French. But the thoughtful reader will find these and many other characteristicj points contained in, and deducible from the relations in which the mind of the three countries bears to Time. GEmMMY. Past and Future. EMGLAJSTD. Past and Present. FRA^rCE. The Present. A whimsical friend of mine, of more genius than discretion, characterizes the Scotchman of literature (confining his remark, however, to the period since the Union) as a dull Frenchman and a superficial German. But when I recollect the splendid ex- ceptions of Hume, Robertson, Smollett, Reid, Thomson (if * Tendency to individualize, embody, insulate, ex.gr. the vitreous and the resinous fluids instead of the positive and negative forces of the power of electricity. Thus too, it was not sufficient that oxygen was the principal, and with one exception, the only then known acidifying substance ; the pow- er and principle of acidification must be embodied and as it were impersona- ted and hypostasized in this gas. Hence the idolism of the French, here ex- pressed in one of its results, viz. palpability. Ideas are here out of the ques- tion. I had almost said, that Ideas and a Parisian Philosopher are incompa- tible terms, since the latter half, I mean, of the reign of Lewis XVI. But even the Conceptions of a Frenchman, whatever lie admits to be conceivable must be imageable, and the imageable must be fancied tangible — the non-appa- rency of either or both being accounted for by the disproportion of our senses, not by the nature of the conceptions. 375 this last instance be not objected to as savoring of geographical pedantry, that truly amiable man, and genuine poet having been born but a few furlongs from the English border,) Dugald Stewart, Burns, Walter Scott, Hogg and Campbell — not to mention the very numerous physicians and prominent dis- senting ministers, born and bred beyond the Tweed — I hesitate in recording so wild an opinion, which derives its plausibility, chiefly from the circumstance so honorable to our northern sis- ter, that Scotchmen generally have more, and a more learned, education than the same ranks in other countries, below the first class ; but in part likewise, from the common mistake of confounding the general character of an emigrant, whose ob- jects are in one place and his best affections in another, with the particular character of a Scotchman : to which we may add, perhaps, the clannish spirit of provincial literature, fostered un- doubtedly by the peculiar relations of Scotland, and of which therefore its metropolis may be a striking, but is far from being a solitary, instance. ESSAY II. 'H. "odog y.urio' The road downward, Heraclit. Fragment. Amour de moi meme ; mais bien calcule : was the motto and maxim of a French philosopher. Our fancy inspirited by the more imaginative powers of hope and fear enables us to present to ourselves the future as the present : and thence to accept a scheme of self-love for a system of morality. And 376 doubtless, an enlightened self-interest would recommend the same course of outward conduct, as the sense of duty would do ; even though the motives in the former case had respect to this life exclusively. But to show the desirableness of an ob- ject, or the contrary, is one thing: to excite the desire, to con- stitute the aversion, is another : the one being to the other as a common guide-post to the " chariot instinct with spirit," which at once directs and conveys, or (to use a more trival image) as the hand, and hour-plate, or at the utmost the regulator, of a watch to the spring and wheel work, or rather to the whole watch. Nay, where the sufficiency and exclusive validity of the former are adopted as the maxim (regula maxima) of the moral sense, it would be a fairer and fuller comparison to say, that it is to the latter as the dial to the sun, indicating its path by intercepting its radiance. But let it be granted, that in certain individuals from a hap- py evenness of nature, formed into a habit by the strength of education, the influence of example, and by favorable circum- stances in general, the actions diverging from self-love as their center should be precisely the same as those produced from the Christian principle, which requires of us that we should place our self and our neighbor at an equi-distance, and love both alike as modes in which we realize and exhibit the love of God above all : wherein would the difference be then? I answer boldly : even in that, for which all actions have their whole worth and their main value — in the agents themselves. So much indeed is this of the very substance of genuine morality, that wherever the latter has given way in the general opinion to a scheme of ethics founded on utility, its place is soon chal- lenged by the spirit of honor. Paley, who degrades the spir- it of honor into a mere club-law among the higher classes ori- ginating in selfish convenience, and enforced by the penalty of excommunication from the society which habit had rendered indispensable to the happiness of the individuals, has miscon- strued it not less than Shaftsbury, who extols it as the noblest influence of noble natures. The spirit of honor is more in- indeed than a mere conventional substitute for honesty ; but on the other hand instead of being a finer form of moral life, it may be more truly described as the shadow or ghost of virtue deceased. For to take the word in a sense, which no man of honor would acknowledge, may be allowed to the writer of sa- 377 ttres, but not to the moral philosopher. Honor implies a rer- erence for the invisible and supersensual in our nature, and so far it is virtue ; but it is a virtue that neither understands it- self or its true source, and therefore often unsubstantial, not seldom fantastic, and always more or less capricious. Abstract the notion from the lives of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, or Henry the Fourth of France : and then compare it with the 1 Corinth, xiii. and the epistle to Philemon, or rather with the realization of this fair ideal in the character of St. Paul* him- self. I know not a better test. Nor can I think of any inves- tigation, that would be more instructive where it would be sa/e, but none likewise of greater delicacy from the probability of misinterpretation, than a history of the rise of konor in the European monarchies as connected with the corruptions of Christianity ; and an inquiry into the specific causes of the in- efficacy which has attended the combined efforts of divines and moralists against the practice and obligation of duelling. Of a widely different character from this moral K)ps(?J5, yet as a derivative from the same root, we may contemplate the heresies of the Gnostics in the early ages of the church, and of the fa- * This has struck tlie better class even of infidels. Collins, one of the most learned of our English Deists, is said to have declared, that contradic- tory as miracles appeared to his reason, he would believe in them notwith- standing, if it could be proved to him that St. Paul had asserted any one as having been worked hy himself in the modern sense of the word, miracle ; adding, "S. Paul tvas so perfect a gerdlemun and a man of honor!" When I call duelling, and similar aberrations of honor, a moral heresy; I refer to the force of the Greek 'aiQeaig as signifying a principle or opinion taken up by THE WILL for the wilVs sake, as a proof and pledge to itself of its own power of self-determination, independent of all other motives. In the gloomy grat- ification derived or ruiticipated from the exercise of this aweful power — the condition of all moral good while it is latent, and hidden, as it were, in the center ; but the essential cause of fiendish guilt, v/hen^it makes itself exist- ential and peripheric — si quando in circumferentiam erumpat: (in both cases I have purposely adopted the language of the old mystic thcosophers)— I find the only explanation of a moral phcenornenon not very uncommon in the last moments of condemned felons — viz. the obstinate denial, not of the main guilt, which might be accounted for by ordinai-y motives, but of some paiticularact which had been proved beyond all ])ossibility of doubt, and attested by the criminal's own accomplices and fellow sufferers in their last confessions: and this too an act, the non-perpetration of wliich, if believed, could neither mit- igate the sentence of the law, nor even the opinions of men after the sen- " tence had been carried into execution. 48 378 mily of love, with other forms of Antinomianism, since the Reformation to the present day. But lest in uttering truth I should convey falsehood and fall myself into the error which it is my object to expose, it will be requisite to distinguish an apprehension of the whole of a truth, even where that appre- hension is dim and indistinct, from a partial perception of the same rashly assumed^ as a perception of the whole. The first is rendered inevitable in many things for many, in some points for all, men from the progressiveness no less than from the im- perfection of humanity, which itself dictates and enforces the precept. Believe that thou mayest understand. The most knowing must at times be content with the facit of a sum too complex or subtle for us to follow nature through the antece- dent process. The Greek verb, rfuvi'svai, which we render by the word, understand, is literally the same as our own idiomat- ic phrase, to go along with. Hence in subjects not under the cognizance of the senses wise men have always attached a high value to general and long-continued assent, as a presumption of truth. After all the subtle reasonings and fair analogies which logic and induction could supply to a mighty intellect, it is yet on this ground that the Socrates of Plato mainly rests his faith in the immortality of the soul, and the moral Government of the universe. It had been held by all nations in all ages, but with deepest conviction by the best and wisest men, as a belief connatural with goodness and akin to prophecy. The same ar- gument is adopted by Cicero, as the principal ground of his ad- herence to divination. Gentem quidem nullam video neque tam immanem tamque barbaram, quae non significari futura et a quibusdam intelligi prsedicique posse censeat.* I confess, I *= (Translation) — I find indeed no people or nation, however civilized and cultivated, or however wild and barbarous, but have deemed tliat there are antecedent signs of future events, and some men ca])able of understanding and predicting them. I am tempted to add a passage from my own translation of Sciiiller's Wallenstein, the more so that the work has been long ago ii^ed up, as ^^ wind- ing sheets for pilchards," or extant only by (as I would fain flatter myself) the kind partiality of tiie trunk-makers : though with rxcp|)tion of works for which pubhc adniiration supersedes or includes individual commendations, I scarce remember a book that has been more honored by the cxiuess attesta- tions in its favor of eminent and even of pojjular literati, among whom I take this oi)portunity of expressing my acknowledgements to the author of 379 can never read the De Divinatione of this great orator, states- man, and patriot, without feeling myself inclined to consider this opinion as an instance of the second class, namely, of fractional truths integrated by fancy, passion, accident, and that preponderance of the positive over the negative in the memo- ry, vrhich makes it no less tenacious of coincidences than for- getful of failures. Countess. What? dost thou not believe, that oft in dreaina A. voice of warning si)eaks prophetic to us ? Wallenstein. I will not doubt that there have been such voices; Yet I would not call them Voices of ivarning, that announce to us Only the inevitable. As the sun, * Ere it is risen, sometimes paints its image In the atmosphere : so often do the spirits Of great events stride on before events And in to-day already ivalks to-morrow. That which we read of the Fourth Henry's death Did ever vex and haunt me, like a tale Of my own future destiny. The king Felt iu his breast the phantom of the knife. Long ere Ravaillac arm'd himself therewith. His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in his Louvre, chaced him forth Into the open air. Like funeral knells Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of tliose feet, that even then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris. Wallenstein, part ii. act v. scene i. ^O' I am indeed firmly persuaded, that no doctrine was ever widely diffused, among various nations through successive ages, Waverly, Guy Mannering, &c. How (asked Ulysses, addressing his guar- dian goddess) shall I be aiile to recognize Proteus, in the swallow that skims round our houses whom I have been accustomed to behold as a swan of Phcebus, measuring his movements to a celestial music ? In both alike, she replied, thou canst I'ecognize the god. So supported, I dare avow that I have thought my translation worthy of a more favorable reception from the public and their literary guides and pur- veyors. But when I recollect, that a much better and very far more valua- ble work, the Rev. IMr. Carey's incomparable translation of Dante, had very nearly met with the same fate, I lose all right, and, I trust, all inclinauon to complain: an inchnation, which the mere sense of its folly and uselessneas will not always sufBce to preclude. 380 and onder different religions (such, for instance, as the tenets of original sin and of redemption, those fundamental articles of every known religion professing to have been revealed), which is not founded either in the nature of things, or in the necessi- ties of human nature. Nay, the more strange and irreconcile- able such a doctrine may appear to the understanding, the judgments of which are grounded on general rules abstracted from the world of the senses, the stronger is the presumption in its favor. For whatever satirist may say, or sciolists ima- gine, the human mind has no predilection for absurdity. I would even extend the principle (proportionately I mean) to sundry tenets, that from their strangeness or dangerous tenden- cy, appear only to be generally reprobated, as eclipses in the belief of barbarous tribes are to be frightened away by noises and execrations; but which rather resemble the luminary itself in this one respect, that after a longer or shorter interval of occultation, they are still found to re-emerge. It is these, the re-appearance of which (nomine lantum mutato), from age to age, gives to ecclesiastical history a deeper interest than that of romance and scarcely less wild, for every philosophic mind. I am far from asserting that such a doctrine (the Antinomian, for instance, or that of a latent mystical sense in the words of Scripture, according to Emanuel Swedenborg) shall be always the best possible, or not a distorted and dangerous, as well as partial, representation of the truth, on which it is founded. For the same body casts strangely different shadows in different positions and different degrees of light. But I dare, and do, affirm that it always does shadow out some important truth, and from it derives its main influence over the faith of its adher- ents, obscure as their perception of this truth may be, and though they may themselves attribute their belief to the super- natural gifts of the founder, or the miracles by which his preaching had been accredited. See Wesley^s Journal. But we have the highest possible authority, that of Scripture itself, to justify us in putting the question: Whether miracles can, of themselves, work a true conviction in the mind ? There are spiritual truths which must derive their evidence from within, which whoever rejects, " neither will he believe though a man were to rise from the dead" to confirm them. And under the Mosaic law a miracle in attestation of a false doctrine subjected ^he miracle-worker to death : whether really or only seemingly 381 supernatural, makes no difference in the present argument, its power of convincing, whatever that power may be, whether great or small, depending on the fulness of the belief in its miraculous nature. Est quibus esse videtur. Or rather, that I may express the same position in a form less likely to offend, is not a true efficient conviction of a moral truth, is not "the cre- ating of a new heart," which collects the energies of a man's whole being in the focus of the conscience, the one essential miracle, the same and of the same evidence to the ignorant and learned, which no superior skill can counterfeit, human or dae- moniacal ? Is it not emphatically that leading of the Father, without which no man can come to Christ ? Is it not that im- plication of doctrine in the miracle, and of miracle in the doc- trine, which is the bridge of communication between the senses and the soul ? That predisposing warmth that renders the un- derstanding susceptible of the specific impression from the his- toric, and from all other outward, seals of testimony ? Is not this the one infallible criterion of miracles, by which a man can know whether they be of God? The abhorrence in which the most savage or barbarous tribes hold witchcraft, in which how- ever their belief is so intense* as even to control the springs of life, — is not this abhorrence of witchcraft under so full a conviction of its reality a proof, how little of divine, how little fitting to our nature, a miracle is, when insulated from spiritual truths, and disconnected from religion as its end ? What then can we think of a theological theory, which adopting a scheme of prudential legality, common to it with " the sty of Epicurus" as far at least as the S2)rings of moral action are concerned, makes its whole religion consist in the belief of miracles ! As well might the poor African prepare for himself a fetisch by plucking out the eyes from the eagle or the lynx, and enshri- ning the same, worship in them the power of vision. As the tenet of professed christians (I speak of the principle not of the men, whose hearts will always more or less correct the er- rors of their understandings) it is even more absurd, and the pretext for such a religion more inconsistent than the religion itself. For they profess to derive from' it their whole faith in * I refer the reader to Hearne'a Travels among the Copper Indians, and to Bryan Edwards's account of the Oby in the West Indies, grounded on judicial docAimentfl and personal observation. 383 that futurity, which if they had not previously believed on the evidence of their own consciences, of Moses and the Prophets, they are assured by the great Founder and Object of Christian- ity, that neither will they believe it, in any spiritual and profit- able sense, though a man should rise from the dead. For myself, I cannot resist the conviction, built on particular and general history, that the extravagances of Antinomianism and Solifidianism are little more than the counteractions to this Christian paganism : the play, as it were, of antagonist muscles. The feelings will set up their standard against the understand- ing, whenever the understanding has renounced its allegiance to the reason : and what is faith but the personal realization of the reason by its union with the will ? If we would drive out the de- mons of fanaticism from the people, we must begin by exorcising the spirit of Epicureanism in the higher ranks, and restore to their teachers the true Christian enthusiasm,* the vivifying influences of the altar, the censer, and the sacrifice. They must neither be ashamed of, nor disposed to explain away, the articles of preve- nient and auxiliary grace, nor the necessity of being born again to the life from which our nature had become apostate. They must administer indeed the necessary medicines to the sick, the motives of fear as well as of hope ; but they must not withhold from thera the idea of health, or conceal from them that the medicines for the sick are not the diet of the healthy. Nay, they must make it a part of the curative process to induce the patient, on the first symptoms of recovery, to look forward with prayer and aspiration to that state, in which perfect love shut- teth out fear. Above all, they must not seek to make the mysteries of faith what the world calls rational by theories of original sin and redemption borrowed analogically from the im- perfection of human law-courts and the coarse contrivances of state expedience. Among the numerous examples with which I might enforce this warning, I refer, not without reluctance, to the most elo- quent, and one of the most learned of our divines ; a rigorist, indeed, concerning the authority of the Church, but a Latitudi- narian in the articles of its f^iith ; who stretched the latter almost * The oiiginal meaning of the Greek, Enthousiasmos, is ; the influence of the divinity such as was supposed to take possession of the priest during tlie performance of the services at the altar. *^ 38^ to the advancea posts of Socinianism, and strained the former to a hazardous conformity with the assumptions of the Roman hierarchy. With what emotions must not a pious mind peruse such passages as the following : — " Death reigned upon them whose sins could not be so imputed as Adam's was ; but although it was not wholly imputed upon their own account, yet it was imputed upon their's and Adam's. For God was so exaspera- ted with mankind^ that being angry he would still continue that punishment to lesser sins and sinners, which he had first threatened to Adam only. The case is this ; Jonathan and Mi- chael were Saul's children. It came to pass, that seven of Saul's issue were to be hanged ; all equally innocent — equally culpa- ble.* David took the five sons of Michael, for she had left him unhandsomely. Jonathan was his friend, and therefore he spared his son, Mephibosheth. Here it was indifferent as to the guilt of the persons [observe^ no guilt was attached to either of them) whether David should take the sons of Michael or of Jonathan ; but it is likely that, as upon the kindness which David had to Jonathan, he saved his son, so upon the just pro- vocation of Michael, he made that evil to fall upon them, which, it may be, they should not have suffered, if their mother had been kind. Adam was to god, as Michael to David !!! (Tay- lor's Polem. Tracts, p. 711.) And this, with many passages equally gross, occurs in a refutation of the doctrine of original sin, on the ground of its incongruity with reason, and its in- compatibility with God's justice ! Exasperated with those whom the Bishop has elsewhere, in the same treatise, declared to have been " innocent and most unfortunate" — the two things that most conciliate love and pity ! Or, if they did not re- main innocent, yet, those whose abandonment to a mere na- ture, while they Avere subjected to a law above nature, he af- firms to be the irresistible cause that they, one and all did sin ! — and this at once illustrated and justified by one of the worst actions of an imperfect mortal ! So far could the resolve to coerce all doctrines within the limits of reason (i. e. the indi- vidual's power of comprehension) and the prejudices of an Arminian against the Calvinist preachers, carry an highly-gift- * These two words are added without the least ground in scrii>turc, accord- ing to which (2 Samuel, xxi.) no charge was laid to them but that they wore the children of Saul ! and sacrificed to a point of state expedience. 364 cd and excmpUiy divine. Let us be on our guard, lest similar effects should resist from the zeal, however well-srounded in some respects, against the Church Calvinisis of our davs. The writer s belief is perhaps, equi-distant from that of both parties the Grotian and the Genevan. But, confinins mv re- mark exclusively to the doctrines and the practical deductions from them, I could never read Bishop Tavlor's Tract on the doctrine and practice of Repentance, without being tempted to characterize high Calvinism as ( comparatively) a lamb in woll^s skin, and strict Arminianism as approachins to the reverse. Actuated bv these motives, I have devoted the followins es- say to a brief history of the rise and occasion of the Latitudin- arian system in its first birth-place in Greece, and a faithful ex- hibition both of its parentage and its offspring. The reader will find it strictly correspondent to the motto of both essays, h hccc —the wav downwards. ESSAY III. OS THE ORIGI5^ A3>D PHOGHESs OF THE SECT OF SOPHISTS LS GREECE. 'H "oSo; xartb*. The road dofmwaid. H£&ACLiT. Pragatad. As Pythagoras, f5S4 a. c.) declining the title of the wise man, is said to have first named himself Philosopheb. or lo- ver of wisdom, so Protagoras, followed by Gorgias, Prodicus, . (444 A. c.) found even the former word too narrow for his opinion of himself, and fir^ assumed the titie of Sophist ; 385 this word originallr signityins: one who professes the power of making others wise, a wholesale and retail dealer in wisdom — a wisdom-monger, in the same sense as we say, an iron-mon- ger. In this and not in their abuse of the arts of reasoning, hare Plato and Aristotle placed the essential of the sophistic character. Their sophisms were indeed its natural products and accompaniments, but must yet be distinguished from it, as the fruits from the tree. 'Ex-'.^jC r.c, xirrX?^, a-T;^J.>.ri: TTji -X TTC •-L'>7/ y^rT^Liarc — a vender, a market-man. in moral and intellect- ual knowledges ( connoissances j — one who hires himself out or puts himself up at auction, as a carpenter and upholsterer to the heads and hearts of his customers — such are the phrases, by which Plato at once describes and satyrizes the proper so- phist. Nor does the StagArite fall short of his great master and rival in the reprobation of these professors of wisdom, or differ from him in the sn'ounds of it. He too s^^es the base- ness of the motives joined with the impudence and delusive na- ture of the pretence as the generic character. Xext to this pretence of selling wisdom and eloquence, they were distinguished by their itinerancy. Athens was. indeed, their great emporium and place of rendezvous : but by no means their domicile. Such were Protagoras. Gorgias. Prodicus, Hip- pias, Polus, Callicles, Thrasymachus, and a whole host of so- phists minorum gentium : and though many of the tribe, like the Euthydemus and Dionysiodoras so dramatically portrayed by Plato, were mere emty disputants, sleight -ot'-icord jugslers, this was far from being their common character. Both Plat« and Aristotle repeatedly admit the brilliancy of their talents and the extent of their acquirements. The following passage from the Timjeus of the former will be my best commentary as well as authority. " The race of sophists, again, I acknow- ledge for men of no common powers, and of eminent skill and experience in many and various kinds of knowledge, and these too not seldom truly fair and ornamental of our nature ; but I tear that somehow, as being itinerants from city to city, loose from all permanent ties of house and home, and everA"where aliens, they shoot wide of the proper aim of man whether as philosopher or as citizen." The few remains of Zeno the Eleatic, his paradoxes against the reality of motion, are mere identical propositions spun out into a sort of whimsical conundrums, as in the celebrated paradox euiiikd Achilles and 49 386 the Tortoise, the whole plausibility of which rests on the trick ef assuming a minimum of time while no minimum is allowed to space, joined with that of exacting from Intelligibilia (N^fxsva) the conditions peculiar to objects of the senses {(pumixsvu.) The passages still extant from the works of Gorgias, on the other hand, want nothing but the form* of a premise to undermine by a legitimate deductio ad absurdum all the philosophic sys- tems that had been hitherto advanced with the exception of the Heraclitic, and of that too as it was generally understood and interpreted. Yet Zeno's name was and ever will be held in reverence by philosophers ; for his object was as grand as his motives were honorable — that of assigning the limits to the claims of the senses, and of subordinating them to the pure reason : while Gorgias will ever be cited as an instance of pro- stituted genius from the immoral nature of his object and the baseness of his motives. These and not his sophisms constitu- ted him a sophist, a sophist whose eloquence and logical skill rendered him only the more pernicious. Soon after the repulse of the Persian invaders, and as a heavy counter-balance to the glories of Marathon and Platsea, we may date the commencement of that corruption first in pri- vate and next in public life, which displayed itself more or less in all the free states and communities of Greece, but most of all in Athens. The causes are obvious, and such as in popular republics have always followed, and are themselves the effects of, that passion for military glory and political preponderance, which may be well called the bastard and the parricide of liberty. In reference to the fervid but light and sensitive Athenians, we may enumerate, as the most operative, the gid- diness of sudden aggrandizement ; the more intimate connec- tion and frequent intercourse with the Asiatic states ; the in- trigues with the court of Persia ; the intoxication of the citi- zens at large, sustained and increased by the continued allusions to their recent exploits, in the flatteries of the theatre, and the funereal panegyrics ; the rage for amusement and public shows ; and lastly the destruction of the Athenian constitution by the * Viz. If either the world itself as an animated whole, according to the Italian school ; or if atoms, according Democritus ; or any one primal ele- ment, as water or fii'c, according to Thalcs or Empedocles, or if a nous, as eict'lsijied by Anaxagoras ; be assumed as the absolutely first ; then, &c. 387 ascendancy of its democratic element, During the operation pf these causes, at an early period of the process, and no unr important part of it, the Sophists made their first appearance^ Some of these applied the lessons of their art in their own per- sons, and traded for gain and gainful influence in the character of demagogues and public orators ; but the greater number of- fered themselves as instructors, in the arts of persuasion and temporary impression, to as many as could come up to the high prices, at which they rated their services. Nswv xai 'h-XojCicajv sjj.- fji-iffSoi 2rr)^euTai (these are Plato^s ivords) — Hireling hunters of the young and rich, they offered to the vanity of youth and the ambition of wealth a substitute for that authority, which by the institutions of Solon had been attached to high birth and pro- perty, or rather to the moral discipline, the habits, attainments, and directing motives, on which the great legislator had calcu- lated (not indeed as necessary or constant accompaniments, but yet) as the regular and ordinary results of comparative opulence and renowned ancestry. The loss of this stable and salutary influence was to he sup- plied by the arts of popularity. But in order to the success of this scheme, it was necessary that the people themselves should be degraded into a populace. The cupidity for dissipation and sensual pleasure in all ranks had kept pace with the increasing inequality in the means of gratifying it The restless spirit of republican ambition, engendered by their success in a just war, and by the romantic character of that success, had already form- ed a close alliance with luxury in its early and most vigorous state, when it acts as an appetite to enkindle, and before it has exhausted and dulled the vital energies by the habit of enjoy- ment. But this corruption was now to be introduced into the citadel of the moral being,'^and to be openly defended by the very arms and instruments, which had been given for the pur- pose of preventing or chastising its approach. The understand- ing was to be corrupted by the perversion of the reason, and the feelings through the medium of the understanding. For this purpose all fixed principles, whether grounded on reason, religion, law or antiquity, were to be undermined, and then, as now, chiefly by the sophistry of submitting all positions alike, however heterogeneous, to the criterion of the mere under- standing, disguising oi concealing the fact, that the rules which alone they applied, were abstracted from the objects of the 38b senses, and applicable exclusively to things of quantity and re- lation. At ail events, the minds of men were to be sensualiz- ed; and even if the arguments themselves failed, yet the prin- ciples so attacked were to be brought into doubt by the mere frequency of hearing all things doubted, and the most sacred of all now openly denied, and now insulted by sneer and ridi- cule. For by the constitution of our nature, as far a« it is hu- man nature, so awful is truth, that as long as we have faith in its attainability and hopes of its attainment^ there exists no bribe strong enough to tempt us wholly and permanently from our allegiance. Religion, in its widest sense, signifies the act and habit of reverencing the Invisible, as the highest both in ourselves and in nature. To this the senses and their immediate objects are to be made subservient, the one as its organs, the other as its exponents : and as such therefore, having on their own ac- count no true value, because no inherent ivorth. They are a language, in short: and taken independently of their represen- tative function, from words they become mere empty sounds, and differ from noise only by exciting expectations which they cannot gratify — lit ingredients of the idolatrous charm, the po- tent Abracadabra, of a sophisticated race, who had sacrificed the religion of faith to the superstition of the senses, a race of animals, in whom the presence of reason is manifested solely by the absence of instinct. The same principle, which in its application to the whole of our being becomes religion, considered speculatively is the ba- sis of metaphysical science, that, namely, which requires an evidence beyond that of sensible concretes, which latter the an- cients generalized in the word, physica, and therel'ore (prefix- ing the preposition, meta, i. e. beyond or transcending) named the superior science, metaphysics. The Invisible was assumed as the supporter of the apparent, -uv (paivof^s'vwv — as their substance, a term which, in any other interpretation, expresses only the striving of the imaginative power under conditions that involve the necessity of its frustration. If the Invisible be denied, or (which is equivalent) considered invisible from the defect of the senses and not in its own nature, the sciences even of ob- servation and experiment lose their essential copula. The com- ponent parts can never be reduced into an harmonious whole, but must owe their systematic arrangement to accidents of an 389 ever-shifting perspective. Much more then must this apply to the moral world disjoined from religion. Instead of morality, we can at best have only a scheme of prudence, and tliis too a prudence fallible and short-sighted : for were it of such a kind as to be bona fida coincident with morals in reference to the agent as well as to the outward action, its first act would be that of abjuring its own usurped primacy. By celestial ob- servations alone can even terrestrial charts he constructed sci- entifically. The first attempt therefore of the sophists was to separate ethics from the faith in the Invisible, and to stab morality through the side of religion — an attempt to which the idolatrous polytheism of Greece furnished too many facilities. To the zeal with which he counteracted this plan by endeavours to pu- rify and ennoble that popular belief, which, from obedience to the laws, he did not deem himself permitted to subvert, did Socrates owe his martyr-cup of hemlock. Still while any one principle of morality remained, religion in some form or other must remain inclusively. Therefore, as they commenced by assailing the former through the latter, so did they continue their warfare by reversing the operation. The principle was confounded with the particular acts, in which under the guid- dance of the understanding or judgment it was to manifest itself. Thus the rule of expediency, which properly belonged to one and the lower part of morality, was made to be the whole. And so far there was at least a consistency in this : for in two ways only could it subsist. It must either be the mere servant of religion, or its usurper and substitute. Viewed as princi- ples^ they were so utterly heterogeneous, that by no grooving could tlie two be fitted into each other — by no intermediate could they be preserved in lasting adhesion. The one or the other was sure to decompose the cement. We cannot have a stronger historical authority for the truth of this statement, than the words of Polybius, in which he attributes the ruin of the Greek states to the frequenc}^ of perjur}^, which they had learnt from the sophists to laugh at as a trifle that broke no bones, nay, as in some cases, an expedient and justifiable ex- ertion of the power given us by nature over our own words, without which no man could have a secret that might not be extorted from him by the will of others. In the same spirit. 390 the sage and observant historian attributes the growth and strength of the Roman republic to the general reverence of tho invisible powers, and the consequent horror in which the break- ing of an oath was held. This he states as the causa causa- rum, as the ultimate and inclusive cause of Roman grandeur. Under such convictions therefore as the sophists labored with such fatal success to produce, it needed nothing but the excite- ment of the passions under circumstances of public discord to turn the arguments of expedience and self-love against the whole scheme of morality founded on them, and to procure a favorable hearing of the doctrines, which Plato attributes to the sophist Callicles. The passage is curious, and might be enti- tled, a Jacobin Head, a genuine antique, in high preservation. " By nature," exclaims this Napoleon of old, " the ivorse off is always the more infamous, that, namely, which suffers wrong ; but according to the law it is the doing of wrong. For no man of noble spirit will let himself be wronged : this a slave only endures, who is not worth the life he has, and under in- juries and insults can neither help himself or those that belong to him. Those, who first made the laws, were, in my opinion, feeble creatures, which in fact the greater number of men are ; or they would not remain entangled in these spider-webs. Such, however, being the case, laws, honor, and ignominy were all calculated for the advantage of the law makers. But in order to frighten away the stronger, whom they could not coerce by fair contest, and to secure greater advantages for themselves than their feebleness could otherwise have procur- ed, they preached up the doctrine, that it was base and contra- ry to right to wish to have any thing beyond others ; and that in this wish consisted the essence of injustice. Doubtless it was very agreeable to them, if being creatures of a meaner class they were allowed to share equally with their natural su- periors. But nature dictates plainly enough another code of right, namely, that the nobler and stronger should possess more than the weaker and more pusillanimous. Where the power is, there lies the substantial right. The whole realm of animals, nay the human race itself as collected in independent states and nations, demonstrate, that the stronger has a right to control the weaker for his own advantage. Assuredly, they have the genuine notion of right, and follow the law of nature, though truly not that which is held valid in our govern- 391 ments. But the minds of our youths are preached aw ay from them by declamations on the beauty and fitness of letting them- selves be mastered, till by these verbal conjurations the no- blest nature is tamed and cowed, like a young lion born and bred in a cage. Should a man with full untamed force but once step forward, he would break all your spells and conjura- tions, trample your contra-natural laws under his feet, vault in- to the seat of supreme power, and in a splendid style make the right of nature be valid among you." It would have been well for mankind, if such had always been the language of sophistry ! A selfishness, that excludes partner- ship, all men have an interest in repelling. Yet the principle is the same ; and if for power we substitute pleasure and the means of pleasure it is easy to construct a system well fitted to corrupt natures, and the more mischievous in proportion as it is less alarming. As long as the spirit of philosophy reigns in the learned and highest class, and that of religion in all classes, a ten- dency to blend and unite will be found in all objects of pursuit and the whole discipline of mind and manners will be calcu- lated in relation to the worth of the agents. With the preva- lence of sophistry, when the pure will (if indeed the existence of a will be admitted in any other sense than as the temporary main current in the wide gust-eddying stream of our desires and aversions) is ranked among the means to an alien end, instead of being itself the one absolute end, in the participation of which all other things are worthy to be called good — with this revolu- tion commences the epoch of division and separation. Things are rapidly improved, persons as rapidly deteriorated ; and for an indefinite period the powers of the aggregate increase, as the strength of the individual declines. Still, however, sciences may be estranged from philosophy, the practical from the spe- culative, and one of the two at least may remain. Music may be divided from'poetry, and both may continue to exist, though with diminished influence. But religion and morals cannot be disjoined without the destruction of both : and that this does not take place to the full extent, we owe to the frequency with which both take shelter in the heart, and that men are always better or worse than the maxims which they adopt or concede. To demonstrate the hollowness of the present system, and to deduce the truth from its sources, is not possible for me without a previous agreement as to the principles of reasoning in gene- 392 ral. The attempt could neither be made within the limits of the present work, nor would its success greatly affect the immediate moral interests of the majority of the readers for whom this work was especially written. For as sciences are systems on principles, so in the life of practice is morality a principle with- out a system. Systems of morality are in truth nothing more than the old books of casuistry generalized, even of that casuis- try, which the genius of protestantism gradually worked off from itself like an heterogeneous humor, together with the practice of auricular confession : a fact the more striking, because in both instances it was against the intention of the first teachers of the reformation : and the revival of both was not only urged, but provided for, though in vain, by no less men than Bishops Saunderson and Jeremy Taylor. But there is yet another prohibitory reason — and this I can- not convey more effectually than in the words of Plato to Dionysius — AXXw, iroliv Ti fxvjV tovt' sg'iv^ d Tf'a Ai'^jvurfiou xai Aw^j'(5o<:, to ipui-v^yM. K Twv-rwv fij-riov ip xay.Cjv ; fj:<aXXcv (5i f; tsp; To'jrou wr5,y sv rij ■^v'XlJ syynvoij.s- nXarwv Aiuvvo'uo s-Tfig" Ssjt. (Translation) — But M'hat a question is lliis, wliich you propose, Oh son of Dionysius and Doris! — ^\liJit is the origin and cause of all evil? But rather is the darkness and tra^ail concerning this, that thorn in the sou] whicli luiless a man shall have had removed, never can he partake of the truth that is verily and indeed truth. Yet that I may fulfil the original scope of the Friend, I shall attempt to provide the preparatory steps for such an investiga- tion in the following Essays on the Principles of Method com- mon to all investigations : which I here present, as the basis of my future philosophical and theological writings, and as the ne- cessary introduction to the same. And in addition to this, I can conceive no object of inquiry more appropriate, none which, commencing with the most familiar truths, with facts of hourly experience, and gradually winning its way to positions the most comprehensive and sublime, will more aptly prepare the mind for the reception of specific knowledge, than the full exposition of a ])rinciplc which is the condition of all intellectual progiess, and which may be said even to constitute the science of educa- tion, alike in the narrowest and in the most extensive sense of 393 the word. Yet as it is but fair to let the public know before- hand, what the genius of my philosophy is, and in what spirit it will be applied by me, whether in politics, or religion, I con- clude with the following brief history of the last 130 years, by a lover of Old England : Wise and necessitated confirmation and explanation of the law of England, erroneously entitled The English Revohition of 1G88 — Mechanical Philosophy, hailed as a kindred revolu- tion in philosophy, and espoused, as a common cause, by the partizans of the revolution in the state. The consequence is, or was, a system of natural rights instead of social and hereditary privileges — acquiescence in histoi;ic tes- timony substituted for faith — and yet the true historical feeling, the feeling of being an historical people, generation linked to generation by ancestral repution, by tradition, by heraldry — this noble feeling, I say, openly stormed or perilously undermined. Imagination excluded from poesy ; and fancy paramount in physics ; the eclipse of the ideal by the mere shadow of the sensible — subfiction for supposition. Plehs pro Senatu Popu- loque — the wealth of nations for the well-being of nations, and of man ! Anglo-mania in France ; followed by revolution in America — constitution of America appropriate, perhaps, to America ; but elevated from a particular experiment to an universal model. The word constitution altered to mean a capitulation, a treaty, imposed by the people on their own government, as on a con- quered enemy — hence giving sanction to falsehood, and uni- versality to anomaly ! ! ! Despotism ! Despotism ! Despotism ! of finance in statis- tics — of vanity in social converse — of presumption and over- weening contempt of the ancients in individuals ! French Revolution ! — Pauperism, revenue laws, govern- ment by clubs, committees, societies, reviews, and newspapers I Thus it is that nation first sets fire to a neighbouring nation ; then catches fire and burns backward. Statesmen should know that a learned class is an essential element of a state — at least of a Christian state. But you wish for general illumination ! You begin with the attempt to popu- larize learning and philosophy ; but you will end in the plehifi- caiton of knowledge. A true philosophy in the learned class is essential to a true religious feeling in all classes. 50 394 In fine, religion, true or false, is and ever has been the moral centre of gravity in Christendom, to which all other things must and will accommodate themselves. ESSAY IV. " O 8s Siy.aiov igt noieiv, u'aovs nofg /g?^ b/f.iv s/us y.ui as ngo^g^aXXj]- Xovg. El fisv "oAwg (fiXoaocpiag xaruTtccpqo' vijy.ag, ear xaiqeiv ii ds ttocq' steqov ^ay.jf y.oag if ^avjo'g ^elriova e'vQrjy.ag toTv ttuq^ ifid'i, sk- Biva xifia- ii d' "aga tu nag'' 'jjfiw'i' aol 'ugecrxsi, ti,fii]Teov xal ifiB fiu'i.iqa. UAATJllV- JISIN: enic,- dsvrsga. Translation. — ^Hear then what are the terms on which you and I ought to stand toward each other. If you hold philosophy altogether in contempt, bid it farewell. Or if you have heard from any other person, or have your- self found out a better than mine, then give honor to that, whichever it be. But if the doctrine taught in these our works please you, then it is but just tliat you should honor nic too m the same proportion. Plato's 2d Letter to Dion. What is that which first strikes us, and strikes us at once, in a man of education? And which, among educated men, so instantly distinguishes the man of superior mind, that (as was observed with eminent propriety of the late Edmund Burke) " we cannot stand under the same arch-way during a shower of rain, without finding him out 9^^ Not the weight or novelty of his remarks ; not any unusual interest of facts communicated by him ; for we may suppose both the one and the other preclu- ded by the shortness of our intercourse, and the triviality of the subjects. The difference will be impressed and felt, though the conversation should be confined to the state of the weather 396 or the pavement. Still less will it arise from any peculiarity in his words and phrases. For if he be, as we now assume, a well- educated man as well as a man of superior powers, he will not fail to follow the golden rule of Julius Csesar, Insolens verbum^ tanquam scopulum^ evitare. Unless where new things neces- sitate new terms, he will avoid an unusual word as a rock. It must have been among the earliest lessons of his youth, that the breach of this precept, at all times hazardous, becomes ridicu- lous in the topics of ordinary conversation. There remains but one other point of distinction possible ; and this must be, and in fact is, the true cause of the impression made on us. It is the unpremeditated and evidently habitual arrangement of his words, grounded on the habit of foreseeing, in each integral part, or (more plainly) in every sentence, the whole that he then intends to communicate. However irregular and desul- tory his talk, there is method in the fragments. Listen, on the other hand, to an ignorant man, though per- haps shrewd and able in his particular calling ; whether he be describing or relating. We immediately perceive, that his me- mory alone is called into action ; and that the objects and events recur in the narration in the same order, and with the same accompaniments, however accidental or impertinent, as they had first occurred to the narrator. The necessity of tak- ing breath, the efforts of recollection, and the abrupt rectifica- tion of its failures, produce all his pauses ; and v/ith exception of the '■'•and then,^^ the ^'' and iliere,'^ and the still less signi- ficant, '■^and so," they constitute likewise all his connections. Our discussion, however, is confined to Method as employed in the formation of the understanding, and in the constructions of science and literature. It would indeed be superfluous to attempt a proof of its importance in the business and economy of active or domestic life. From the cotter's hearth or the workshop of the artizan, to the palace of the arsenal, the first merit, that which admits neither substitute nor equivalent, is that every thing is in its place. Where this charm is wanting, every other merit either loses its name, or becomes an addi- tional ground of accusation and regret. Of one, by whom it is eminently possessed, we say proverbially, he is like clock- work. The resemblance extends beyond the point of regular- ity, and yet falls short of the truth. Both do, indeed, at once divide and announce the silent and otherwise indistinguishable 396 lapse of time. But the man of methodical industry and honor- able pursuits, docs more : he realizes its ideal divisions, and gives a character and individuality to its moments. If the idle are described as killing time, he may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct ob- ject not only of the consciousness, but of the conscience. He organizes tlie hours, and gives them a soul : and that, the very essence of which is to ileet away, and evermore to have been, he takes up into his ow^i permanence, and communicates to it the imperishableness of a spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant, whose energies, thus directed, are thus metho- dized, it is less truly affirmed, that He lives in time, than that Time lives in him. His days, months, and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the records of duties performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when time it- self shall be no more. But as the importance of Method in the duties of social life is incomparably greater, so are its practical elements propor- tionably obvious, and such as relate to the will far more than to the understanding. Henceforward, therefore, we contemplate its bearings on the latter. The difference between the products of a wxll-disciplined and those of an uncultivated understanding, in relation to what we will now venture to call the Science of Method, is often and admirably exhibited by our Dramatist. We scarcely need re- fer our readers to the Clown's evidence, in the first scene of the second act of " Measure for Measure," or the Nurse in " Romeo and Juliet." But not to leave the position, without an instance to illustrate it, we will take the " easy-yielding " Mrs. Quickley's relation of the circumstances of Sir John Fal- staff's debt to her. Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee ? Mrs. QuicKLEY. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and the money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in iny dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal tire, on Wednesday in Whitsun week when the prince broke thy head for likening his father to a singing-man in Windsor — thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me and make me my lady thy wife. C mst thou deny it? Did not good- wife Keech, the butcher's wife, come in then and call me gossip Quickley ? — coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar: telling us she had a good dish of prawns— whcrel)y thou didst desire to cat some— whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound, &c. &c. &c. Henry IV 1st. pt. act ii. ec. 1. 397 And this, be it observed, is so far from being carried beyond the bounds of a fair imitation, that " the poor soul's" thoughts and sentences are more closely interlinked than the truth of nature would have required, but that the connections and se- quence, which the habit of Method can alone give, have in this instance a substitute in the fusion of passion. For the absence of Method, which characterizes the uneducated, is occasioned by an habitual submission of the understanding to mere events and images as such, and independent of any power in the mind to classify or appropriate them. The general accompaniments of time and place are the only relations which persons of this class appear to regard in their statements. As this constitutes their leading feature, the contrary excellence, as distinguishing the well-educated man, must be referred to the contrary habit. Method, therefore, becomes natural to the mind which has been accustomed to contemplate not things only, or for their own sake alone, but likewise and chiefly the relations of things, either their relations to each other, or to the observer, or to the state and apprehension of the hearers. To enumerate and analyze these relations, with the conditions under which alone they are discoverable, is to teach the science of Method. The enviable results of this science, when knowledge has been ripened into those habits which at once secure and evince its possession, can scarcely be exhibited more forcibly as well as more pleasingly, than by contrasting with the former extract from Shakspeare the narration given by Hamlet to Horatio of the occurrences during his proposed transportation to England, and the events that interrupted his voyage. Ham. Sir, in my heart there was a kind of fighting That would not let me sleep : niethoiight I lay Worse than the mutines in the bilboes. Rashly, And prais'd be rashness for it Ld us know, Our indiscretion sometimes serves us ivell. When our deep plots do /ail: and that shotdd teach us. There's a divinity that shapes our ends. Rough-hew them hoiv we ivill. HoR. That is most certain. Ham. Up from my cabin, My sea-gown scarf 'd about me, in the dark Gro])'d I to find out them ; had my desire ; Fingcr'd their pocket; and, in fine, withdrew To my own room again : rnakuig so bold, My feurs forgetting munners, to unseal 398 Their grand commission ; where / found, Horatio, A royal knavcr}'— an exact coniiiiand. Larded tcith many several sorts of reasons, Importing Denmark'' s health, and England's too, Witii, ho! such bugs and goblins iu ?ft?/ life, That on the supervize, no leisure bated, No, not to stay the grinding of the axe, My head should be struck off! HoR. Is't possible ? Ham. Here's the commission, — Read it at more leisure. Act V. so. 2. Here the events, with the circumstances of time andfplace, are all stated with equal compression and rapidity, not one in- troduced which could have been omitted without injury to the intelligibility of the whole process. If any tendency is dis- coverable, as far as the mere facts are in question, it is the ten- dency to omission : and, accordingly, the reader will observe, that the attention of the nanator is called back to one material circumstance, which he was hurrying by, by a direct question from the friend to whom the story is communicated, " How WAS THIS SEALED ?" But by a trait which is indeed peculiarly characteristic of Hamlet's mind, ever disposed to generalize, and meditative to excess (but which, with due abatement and reduction, is distinctive of every powerful and methodizing in- tellect), all the digressions and enlargements consist of reflec- tions, truths, and principles of general and permanent interest, either directly expressed or disguised in playful satire. -I sat me down ; Devis'd a new commission ; wrote it fair, I once did hold it, as our statists do, A baseness to write fair, and laboured much Hoiv to forget that learning: but, sir, now It did me yeoman's service. Wilt thou know The effect of what I wrote ? HoR. Aye, good my lord. Ham. An earnest conjuration from the king. As England was his faithful tributary ; As love between them, like the palm, might flourish ; As peace should still her ivheaten garland ivear, And vmny such like As's of great charge — That On the view and knowing of these contents He should the bearers put to sudden death. No shriving time allowed. HoR. How was tliis sealed ? Ham. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant. 399 I had my father's signet in my purse. Which was the model of that Danish seal: Folded the wxit up in the form of the other ; Subscribed it ; gave't the impression ; placed it safely, The changeling never known. Now, the next day Was our sea-fight ; and what to this was sequent, Tliou knowest already. HoR. So Guildenstern and Rosencrantz go to't ? Ham. Why, man, they did make love to this emi)loyinont They are not near my conscience : their defeat Doth by their own insinuation grow. 'TYs dangerous when the baser nature cornea Between the pass and fell incensed points Of mighty apposites. It would, perhaps, be sufficient to remark of the preceding passage, in connection with the humorous specimen of narration, " Fermenting o'er with frothy circumstances," in Henry IV. ; that if overlooking the different value of the matter in each, we considered the form alone, we should find both immethodical ; Hamlet from the excess, Mrs. Quickley from the want, of reflection and generalization ; and that Method, therefore, must result from the due mean or balance between our passive impressions and the mind's own re-action on the same. (Whether this re-action do not suppose or imply a pri- mary act positively oi'iginating in the mind itself, and prior to the object in order of nature, though co-instantaneous in its manifestation, will be hereafter discussed.) But we had a fur- ther purpose in thus contrasting these extracts from our " myriad- minded Bard," (;j.u^iovous avvjp.) We wished to bring forward, each for itself, these two elements of Method, or (to adopt an arithmetical term) its two main/actors. Instances of the want of generalization are of no rare occur- rence in real life : and the narrations of Shakspeare's Hostess and the Tapster, differ from those of the ignorant and unthink- ing in general, by their superior humor, the poet's own gift and infusion, not by their want of Method, which is not greater than we often meet with in that class, of which they are the dramatic representatives. Instances of the opposite fault, aris- ing from the excess of generalization and reflection in minds of the opposite class, will, like the minds themselves, occur less frequently in the course of our own personal experience. Yet they will not have been wanting to our readers, nor will 400 they have passed unobserved, though the great poet himself ( T-rjv savTou •vJ'^X''^^ '^'^^^ uXr,v Tiva d^ojiJMTov /J.opoai^ ntom'Kug fj.oP(pCi<jac:* ) has more conveniently supplied the illustrations. To complete, therefore, the purpose aforementioned, that of presenting each of the two components as separately as possible, we chose an instance in which, by the surplus of its own activity, Hamlet's mind disturbs the arrangement, of v/hich that very activity had been the cause and impulse. Thus exuberance of mind, on the one hand, interferes with the forms of Method ; but ste- rility of mind, on the other, wanting the spring and impulse to mental action, is w^holly destructive of Method itself. For in attending too exclusively to the relations which the past or passing events and objects bear to general truth, and the moods of his own Thought, the most intelligent man is sometimes in danger of overlooking that other relation, in which they are likewise to be placed to the apprehension and sympathies of his hearers. His discourse appears like soliloquy intermixed with dialogue. But the uneducated and unreflecting talker over- take all mental relations, both logical and psychological ; and consequently precludes all Method, that is not purely acci- dental. Hence the nearer the things and incidents in time and place, the more distant, disjointed, and impertinent to each other, and to any common purpose, will they appear in his nar- ration : and this from the want of a staple, or starting-post, in the narrator himself; from the absence of the leading Thought, which, borrowing a phrase from the nomenclature of legisla- tion, we may not inaptly call the Initiative. On the contra- ry, where the habit of Method is present and efiective, things the most remote and diverse in time, place, and outward cir- cumstance, are brought into mental contiguity and succession, the more striking as the less expected. But while we would impress the necessity of this habit, the illustrations adduced give proof that in undue preponderance, and when the prero- gative of the mind is stretched into despotism, the discourse may degenerate into the grotesque or the fantastical. With what a proiound insight into the constitution of the hu- man soul is this exhibited to us in the chararter of the Prince of Denmark, where Hying from the sense of reality, and seek- TVanslation. — He that moulded his own soul, as some incorporeal material, into various forms. Themistius. 401 ing a reprieve from the pressure of its duties, in that ideal ac- tivity, the overbalance of which, with the consequent indispo- sition to action, is his disease, he compels the reluctant good sense of the high yet healthful-minded Horatio, to follow him in his wayward meditation amid the graves ? " To what base uses we may return, Horatio ! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander, till he find it stopping a bung- hole 9 HoR. It were to consider too curiously to consider so. Ham. No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty enough and likelihood to lead it. As thus : Alexan- der died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust — the dust is earth ; of earth lue make loam : and why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer^ barrel ? Imperial Casar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away /" But let it not escape our recollection, that when the objects thus connected are proportionate to the connecting energy, re- latively to the real, or at least to the desirable sympathies of mankind ; it is from the same character that we derive the ge- nial method in the famous soliloquy, " To be 9 or not to be ?'*" which, admired as it is, and has been, has yet received only the first-fruits of the admiration due to it. We have seen that from the confluence of innumerable im- pressions in each moment of time the mere passive memory must needs tend to confusion — a rule, the seeming exceptions to which (the thunder-bursts in Lear, for instance) are really con- firmations of its truth. For, in many instances, the predomi- nance of some mighty Passion takes the place of the guiding Thought, and the result presents the method of Nature, rather than the habit of the Individual. For Thought, Imagination (and we may add. Passion,) are, in their very essence, the 'first, connective, the latter co-adunative : and it has been shown, that if the excess lead to Method misapplied, and to connec- tions of the moment, the absence, or marked deficiency, either precludes Method altogether, both form and substance : or (as the following extract will exemplify) retains the outward form only. My lii'ge and madam! to expostulate What inajeMy shmdd he, what duty is, 51 402 Mliy day is day, night night, and time is time, Were nothing hut to ivaste night, day and time. Tlierefore — since brevity is the soul of unt, And tediousness the limbs and outward Jlourishes, I loill be brief. Your noble son is mad : Mad call I it— for to define true madness, What isH, but to be nothing else but mad! But let that go. Queen. More matter loith less art. Pol. Madam! I swear, I use no art at all. That he is mad, 'tis true : His true, His pity : And pity His, His true (a foolish figure ! But farewell it, for I will use no art.) Mad let us grant him then : and now remains, Tltat tve find out the cause of this efi'ect : Or rather say the cause of this defect : For this effect defective comes by cause. Thus it remains, and the remainder thus Perpend ! Hamlet, act ii. scene 2. Does not the irresistible sense of the ludicrous in this flourish of the soul-surviving body of old Polonius's intellect, not less than in the endless confirmations and most undeniable matters of fact, of Tapster Pompey or " the hostess of the tavern " prove to our feelings, even before the word is found which pre- sents the truth to our understandings, that confusion and forma- lity are but the opposite poles of the same null-point. It is Shakspeare's peculiar excellence, that throughout the whole of his splendid picture gallery (the reader Avill excuse the confest inadequacy of this metaphor), we find individuality every where, mere portrait no where. In all his various cha- racters, we still feel ourselves communing with the same human nature, which is every where present as the vegetable sap in the branches, sprays, leaves, buds, blossoms, and fruits, their shapes, tastes, and odours. Speaking of the effect, i. e. his works themselves, we may define the excellence of their method as consisting in that just proportion, that union and interpenetra- tion of the universal and the particular, which must ever per- vade all works of decided genius and true science. For Method implies a progressive transition^ and it is the meaning of the word in the original language. Tiie Greek MsSoVc, is literally a way, or path of Transit. Thus we extol the Elements of Eu- clid, or Socrates' discourse with the slave in the Menon, as me- thodical, a term which no one who holds himself bound to think 403 or speak correctly, would apply to the alphabetical order or ar- rangement of a common dictionary. But as, without continu- ous transition, there can be no Method, so without a pre-con- ception there can be no transition with continuity. The term, Method, cannot therefore, otherwise than by abuse, be applied to a mere dead arrangement, containing in itself no principle of progression. ESSAY V. ScienUis idem quod planfis. Si plantd aliqua uti in animo habeas, de radice quid- fiat, nil reftrt : si vero transferre cnpias in aliud solum, tidius est radicibus idi quam surculis. Sic tradiiio, qua nunc in «Sii est, exhihct plane tanquam truncos (pulchros illos quidem) scientiarum ; sed tanien absque radicibus fahro lignario certe commodos, at plantaton inuiiks. (^uod si, disciplinoi ut crescant, tibi cordi sit, de truncis minus sis solicitus : ad id curam adhibe, id radices illwscR etiam cum aliquantulo terras adficerentis, extrahantur : dummodo hoc pacto et scientiam propiiam revisere, vestigia que cognitionis luce remetiri possis ; ej earn sic iransplantare in animum alienum, siciU crevit in tuo. Baco de Augment. Sclent. 1. vi. c. ii. [Translation.) — It is with science as with trees. If it be your purpose to make some particular M5e of the tree, you need not concern yourself about the roots. But if you wish to transfer it into another soil, it is then safer to em- ploy the roots, than the scyons. Thus the mode of teaching most conunon at present exhibits clearly enough the trunks, as it were, of the sciences, and those too of handsome growth; but nevertheless, without the roots, valuable and convenient as they undoubtedly are to the carpenter, they are useless to the i)lanter. But if you have at heart the advancement of edu- cation, as that which proposes to itself the general discipline of the mind for its end and aim, be less anxious concerning the trunks, and let it be your care, that the roots should l)e extracted entire, even though a small portion of the soil should adhere to them : so tliat at all events you may be able, by this means, both to review your own scientific acquirements, re- ineasuring as it were the steps of your knowledge for your own satisfaction, and at the same time to transplant it into the minds of others, just as it grew in your own. 404 It has been observed, in a preceding page, that the rela- tions of objects are prime materials of Method, and that the contemplation of relations is the indispensable condition of thinking methodically. It becomes necessary therefore to add, that there are two kinds of relation, in which objects of mind may be contemplated. The first is that of Law, which, in its absolute perfection, is conceivable only of the Supreme Being, whose creative idea not only appoints to each thing its posi- tion, but in that position, and in consequence of that position, gives it its qualities, yea, it gives its very existence, as that particular thing. Yet in whatever science the relation of the parts to each other and to the whole is predetermined by a truth originating in the mind, and not abstracted or generalized from observation of the parts, there we affirm the presence of a law, if we are speaking of the physical sciences, as of As- tronomy for instance ; or tlie presence of fundamental ideas, if our discourse be upon those sciences, the truths of which, as truths absolute, not merely have an independent origin in the mind, but continue to exist in and for the mind alone. Such, for instance, is Geometry, and such are the ideas of a perfect circle, of asymptots, &c. We have thus assigned the first place in the science of Me- thod to Law ; and first of the first, to Laiv, as the absolute kind which comprehending in itself the substance of every possible degree precludes from its conception all degree, not by generalization but by its own plenitude. As such, there- fore, and as the sufficient cause of the reality correspondent thereto, we contemplate it as exclusively an attribute of the Supreme Being, inseparable from the idea of God : adding, how- ever, that from the contemplation of law in this, its only per- fect form, must be derived all true insight into all other grounds and principles necessary to Method, as the science common to all sciences, which in each Tvy-^uvsi uv aXko avrrig T^g h'jdsriM?- Alienated from this (intuition shall we call it ? or sted- fast faith?) ingenious men may produce schemes, conducive to the peculiar purposes of particular sciences, but no scientific system. But though we cannot enter on the proof of this assertion, we dare not remain exposed to the suspicion of having obtruded a mere private opinion, as a fundamental truth. Our authorities are such that our only difficulty is occasioned by their number. 405 The following extract from Aristocles (preserved with other interesting fragments of the same writer by Eusebius) is as ex- plicit as peremptory. 'E(piXo(j'o:pr)a's i^sv nXa-wv. si xai ris c/Xkos 'ruv ituiforSj 'yvri(fiuc: xal -sXs'iws" -i^fis 5s ihrj Sdvaff'bai <ra txvSpwTiva xariShv y){i-a4^ h i^rj Tu SsFa "n-poTs^ov ocp^s'rf). EusEB. Praep. Evan. xi. 3,* And Plato himself in his De Republica, happily still extant, evident- ly alludes to the same doctrine. For personating Socrates in the discussion of a most important problem, namely, whe- ther political justice is or is not the same as private hones- ty, after many inductions, and much analytic reasoning, he breaks off with these words — s-l 7' i'tf^n, w rXawajv, us v ^V^ <5o|a, AKPIBQ2 MEX TOXTO 'EK TOIOTTON MEGOAfiN, OIAI2; NTN EN T0I2 AOrOI2 XPfiMEGA, OT MHnOTE AABQMEN- AAAA TAP MAKPOTEPA KAI HAEIfiN 0a02 H EHI TOT TO AEOT- 2Af — not however, he adds, precluding the former (the ana- lytic, and inductive, to wit) which have their place likewise, in which (but as subordinate to the other) they are both use- ful and requisite. If any doubt could be entertained as to the purport of these words, it would be removed by the fact stated by Aristotle in his Ethics, that Plato had discussed the prob- lem, whether in order to scientific ends we must set out from principles, or ascend towards them : in other words, whether the synthetic or analytic be the right method. But as no such question is directly discussed in the published works of the great master, Aristotle must either have received it orally from Plato himself, or have found it in the c.y^acpa doyixara, the private text book or manuals constructed by his select disciples, and intelligible to these only who like themselves had been en- trusted with the esoteric (interior or unveiled) doctrines of Platonism. Comparing this therefore with the writings, which * {TVanslaiion. — Plato, wlio philosophized legitimately and perfectively if ever any man did in any age, held it for an axiom, that it is not possible for us to have an insight into things human (i. e. tlic nature and relations of man, and the objects presented by nature for his investigation,) without any previous con- templation (or intellectual vision) of things divine : that is, of truths that are to be affirmed concemiing the absolute, as far as they can be made known to us. I (Translation). — Rut know well, O Glaucon, as my firm persuasion, that by such methods, as we have liithnrto used in this inquisition, we can never attain to a satisfactory insight : for it is a longer and ampler way that con- ducts to this. — Plato De republican iv. 406 lie held it safe or not profane to make public, we may safely conclude, that Plato considered the investigation of truth a posteriori as that which is employed in explaining the results of a more scientific process to those, for whom the knowledge of the results was alone requisite and sufficient ; or in prepa- ring the mind for legitimate method, by exposing the insuffi- ciency or self-contradictions of the proofs and results obtained by the contrary process. Hence therefore the earnestness with which the genuine Platonists opposed the doctrine (that all de- monstration consisted of identical propositions) advanced by Stilpo, and maintained by the Megaric school, who denied the synthesis and as Hume and others in recent times, held geom- etry itself to be merely analytical. The grand problem, the solution of which forms, according to Plato, the final object and distinctive character of philoso- phy is this : /or all that exists conditionally (i. e. the exis- tence of which is inconceivable except under the condition of its dependency on some other as its antecedent) to find a ground that is unconditional and absolute, and thereby to re- duce the aggregate of human knowledge to a system. For the relation common to all being known, the appropriate orbit of each becomes discoverable, together with its peculiar relations to its concentrics in the common sphere of subordination. Thus the centrality of the sun having been established, and the law of the distances of the planets from the sun having been determined, we possess the means of calculating the dis- tance of each from the other. But as all objects of sense are in continual flux, and as the notices of them by the senses must, as far as they are true notices, change with them, while scientific principles (or laws) are no otherwise principles of science than as they are permanent and always the same, the latter were appointed to the pure reason, either as its products or as * implanted in it. And now the remarkable fact forces itself on our attention, viz, that the material world is found to * Which of these two (ioctriiies was Plato's own oj)ininon, it is hard to say. In many passages of liis works, tl)e latter (i. e. the doctrine of innate, or ra-, ther of connate, ideas) seems to be it ; but from the character and avowed purpose of these works, as adressed to a promiscuous public, and therefore j)reparatory and for the discipline of the mind rather than directly doctrinal, it is not improbable that Plato chose it as the more popular representation, and as belonging to the poetic drapery of his Philosophemeta, 407 obey the same laws as had been deduced independently from the reason : and that the masses act by a force, which cannot be conceived to result from the component parts, known or imagi- nable. In the phaenomena of magnetism, electricity, gal- vanism, and in chemistry generally, the mind is led instinctive- ly, as it were, to regard the working powers as conducted, transmitted, or accumulated by the sensible bodies, and not as inherent. This fact has, at all times, been the strong hold alike of the materialists and of the spiritualists, equally solva- ble by the two contrary hypotheses, and fairly solved by neither. In the clear and masterly* review of the elder philosophies, which must be ranked among the most splendid proofs of judg- ment no less than of genius; and more expressly in the critique on the atomic or corpuscular doctrine of Democritus and his followers as the one extreme, and that of the pure rationalism of Zeno and the Eleatic school as the other, Plato has proved * I can conceive no better remedy for the overweening self-complacency of of modern philosopliy, than the annulment of its pretended originality. The attempt has been made by Duiens, but he failed in it by flying to the opposite extreme. When he should have coutined himself to the jjhilosophieSj he extended his attack to the sciences and even to the main discoveries of later times: and thus instead of vindicating the ancients, he became the ca- lumniator of the moderns: as far at least as detraction is calunuiy. It is my intention to give a course of lectures in the course of the present season, com- prizing the origin, and |)rogress, the fates and fortunes of phi!oso|)liy, from Pythagoras to Locke Avitlijthe lives and succession of the philosophers in each sect: tracing the progress of speculative science chit fly in relation to the gra- dual developmeiit of the human mind, but without omitting the favourable or inauspicious iufluence of circumstance s and the accidents of individual genius. The main divisions will be, 1. From Thales and Pythagoras to the appear- ance of the Sophists. 2. And of Socrates. The character and effects of So- crates' life and doctrines, illustrated in the instances of Xenoplion, as his most faithful representative, and of Antislheues or the Cynic sect as the one par- tial view of his philosophy, and of Aristippus or the Cyrenaic sect as the other and opposite extreme. 3. Plato, and Platonism. 4. Aristotle and the Peri- patetic school. 5. Zeno, and Stoicism, Epicurus and Ej)icurianism, with the effects of these in the Roman Repuiilic and empire. G. The rise of the Eclectic or Alexjindrian philosophy, the attempt to set up a pseudo-Platonic Polytheism against Christianity, the degradation of philosophy itself into mys- ticism and magic, and its final disappearance, as philosojjhy, under Justinian. 7. The resumption of riie Aristuteliun philosophy in the tliiiteenth century, and the successive re-api)earance of the ditierent sects from the restoration of hterature to om* own times. S. T. C. 408 incontrovertiblj, that in both alike the basis is too narrow to support the superstructure ; that the grounds of both are false or disputable ; and that, if these were conceded, yet neither the one nor the other is adequate to the solution of the problem : viz. what is the ground of the coincidence between reason and experience ? Or between the laws of matter and the ideas of the pure intellect ? The only answer which Plato deemed the question capable of receiving, compels the reason to pass out of itself and seek the ground of this agreement in a supersensual essence, which being at once the ideal of the reason and the cause of the material world, is the pre-establisher of the har- mony in and between both. Religion therefore is the ultimate aim of philosophy, in consequence of which philosophy itself becomes the supplement of the sciences, both as the con- vergence of all to the common end, namely, wisdom ; and as supplying the copula, which modified in each in the comprehen- sion of its parts to one whole, is in its principles common to all, as integral parts of one system. And this is Method, itself a distinct science, the immediate offspring of philosophy, and the link or mordant by which philosophy becomes scientific and the sciences philosophical. The second relation is that of Theory, in which the exist- ing forms and qualities of objects, discovered by observation or experiment, suggest a given arrangement, of many under one point of view : and this not merely or principally in order to facilitate the remembrance, recollection, or communication of the same ; but for the purposes of understanding, and in most instances of controlling, them. In other words, all The- ory supposes the general idea of cause and effect. The sci- entific arts of Medicine, Chemistry, and Physiology in general, are examples of a method hitherto founded on this second sort of relation. Between these tv.o lies the Method in the Fine Arts, which belongs indeed to this second or external relation, be- cause the effect and position of the parts is always more or less influenced by the knowledge and experience of their pre- vious qualities ; but which nevertheless constitute a link con- necting the second form of relation with the first. For in all, that truly merits the name of Poetry in its most comprehen- sive sense, there is a necessary predominance of the Ideas (i. e. of that which originates in the artist himself, and a com- 409 parative indifference of the materials. A true musical taste is soon dissatisfied with the Harmonica, or any similar instrument of glass or steel, because the body of the sound (as the Ital- ians phrase it), or that effect which is derived from the mate- rials, encroaches too far on the effect from the proportions of the notes, or that which is given to Music by the mind. To prove the high value as well as the superior dignity of the first relation ; and to evince, that on this alone a perfect Meth- od can be grounded, and that the Methods attainable by the second are at best but approximations to the first, or tentative exercise in the hope of discovering it, form the first object of the present disquisition. These truths we have (as the most pleasing and popular mode of introducing the subject) hitherto illustrated from Shakespeare. But the same truths, namely the necessity of a mental Initiative to all Method, as well as a careful attention to the conduct of the mind in the exercise of Method itself, may be equally, and here perhaps more characteristically, pro- ved from the most familiar of the Sciences. We may draw our elucidation even from those which are at present fashiona- ble among us : from Botany or from Chemisty. In the low- est attempt at a methodical arrangement of the former science, that of artificial classification for the preparatory purpose of a nomenclature, some antecedent must have been contributed by the mind itself; some purpose must have been in view ; or some question at least must have been proposed to nature, grounded, as all questions are, upon some idea of the answer. As for instacce, the assumption, " That two great sexes animate the world." For no man can confidently conceive a fact to be universally true who does not with equal confidence anticipate its necessity , and who does not believe that necessity to be demonstrable by an insight into its nature, whenever and wherever such insight can be obtained. We acknowledge, we reverence the obliga- tions of Botany to Linnaeus, who, adopting from Bartholinus and others the sexuality of plants, grounded thereon a scheme of classific and distinctive marks, by which one man's experience may be communicated to others, and the objects safely reasoned on while absent, and recognized as soon as and whenever they are met with. He invented an universal character for the lan- 32 V> 410 guage of Botany chargeable with no greater imperfections than are to be found in the alphabets of every particular language-. As for the study of the ancients, so of the works of nature, an accidence and a dictionary are the first and indispensable requi- sites : and to the illustrious Swede, Botany is indebted for both. But neither was the central idea of vegetation itself, by the light of which we might have seen the collateral relations of the vegetable to the inorganic and to the animal world ; nor the constitutive nature and inner necessity of sex itself, revealed to Linnseus.* Hence, as in all other cases where the master- * The word Nature has been used in two senses, viz. actively and pas- sively ; enei-getic (^zfornia fonnans), and material (^forma fommta). In the first (the sense in which the word is used in the text) it signifies the inward principle of whatever is reqviisit^ fi)r the reality of a thing, as existent : while the essence, or essential property, signifies the inner principle of all that ap- pertains to the possihilitij of a thing. Hence, in accurate language we say the essence of a niatheuiatica! circle or other geometrical figure, not the nature : because in the conception of forms purely geometrical there is no expression or implication of their real existence. In the second, or material sense, of the word Nature, we mean by it the sum total of all things, as far as they are objects of our senses, and consequently of possible experience — the aggre- gate of phaeaomena, whether existing for our outward senses, or for our inner sense. The doctrine concerning material nature would therefore (the word Physiology being both ambiguous in itself, and already otherwise ap- propriatedj be more properly entitled Phsenomenology, distinguished into its two grand divisions, Somatalogy and Psychology. The doctrine concerning enei'getic nature is comprised in the science of Dv^amics ; the union of which with Phajnomenology, and the alliance of both with tlie sciences of the Pos- sible, or of the Conceivable, viz. Logic and Mathematics, constitute Natural Philosophy. Having thus explained the term Nature, we now more especially entreat the reader's attention to the sense, in vvhich here, and every where through this Essay, we use the word Idea. We assert, that the very impulse to uni- versalize any phtenomenoii involves the prior assumption of some cflicicnt law in nature, which in a thousand different forms is evermore, one and the same; entn-e in each, yet com]>re bending all ; and incapable of being abstract- ed or generalized from any number of pliccnomena, because it is itself pre- supposed in each and all as their common ground and condition ; and because every definition of a genus is the adequate definition of the lowest sjiecies alone, while the efficient law must contain the ground of all in all. It is attri- butedf never derived. The utmost we ever venture to say is, that the falling of an apple suggested the law of gravitation to Sir I. Newton. Now a law and an idea are correlative terms, and differ only as object and sui)ject, as being and truth. Such is the doctrine of tlie Novum Organum of Lord Bacon, agreeing 411 light is missing, so in this : the reflective mind avoids Scylla only to lose itself on Chaiybdis. If we adhere to the general notion af sex, as abstracted from the more obvious modes and forms in which the sexual relation manifests itself, we soon meet with whole classes of plants to which it is fouiid inapplicable. If arbitrarily, we give it infinite extension, it is dissipated into the barren truism, that all specific products suppose specific means of production. (as we sliall more largely show in tlie text) in all essential points with the true doctrine of Plato, the apparent difibrenccs being for the greater part occasion- ed by the Grecian sage having ajiplied his principles chiefly to the investiga- tion of the mind, and the method of evolving its powers, and tlje English philosojdier to the devlo}>enient of natare. That our great countryman speaks too often detractingly of the divine philosopher must: be explained, jjartly by the tone given to thinking minds by the Reformation, the founders and fathers of which saw in the Aristotelians, or schoolmen, the antagonists of Protestant- ism, and in the Italian Platonists the despissrs and secret enemies of Christi- anity itself; and partly, by his having formed his notions of Plato's doctrines from the absurdities and phantasms of his misinterpreters, rather than fi-om an unprejudiced study of "the original works. ESSAY VI. Seeking the reason of all things from without, they preclude reason. Theoph. in Mel. Thus a growth and a birth are distinguished by the mere verbal definition, that the latter is a whole in itself, the former not : and when we would apply even this to nature, we are baffled by objects (the flower polypus, &c. &c.) in which each is the other. All that can be done by the most patient and ac- tive industry, by the widest and most continuous researches ; all that the amplest survey of the vegetable realm, brought un- der immediate contemplation by the most stupendous collections of species and varieties, can suggest ; all that minutest dissec- tion and exactest chemical analysis, can unfold ; all that varied experiment and the position of plants and of their component parts in every conceivable relation to light, heat, (and what- ever else we distinguish as imponderable substances) to earth, air, water, to the supposed constituents of air and water, sepa- rate and in all proportions — in short all that chemical agents and re-agents can disclose or adduce ; — all these have been brought, as conscripts, into the field, with the completest accou- trement, in the best discipline, under the ablest commanders. Yet after all that was effected by Linnaeus himself, not to men- tion the labours of Caesalpinus, Ray, Gesner, Tournefort, and the other heroes who preceded the general adoption of the sexual system, as the basis of artificial arrangement — after all the successive toils and enterprises of Hedwig, Jussieu, Mir- BEL, Smith, Knight, Ellis, &c. &c. — what is Botany at this present hour ? Little more than an enormous nomenclature ; a huge catalogue, hien arrange^ yearly and monthly augmented, 413 in various editions, each with its own scheme of technical me- mory and its own conveniences of reference ! A dictionary in which (to carry on the metaphor) an Ainsworth arranges the contents by the initials ; a Walker by the endings ; a Sca- pula by the radicals ; and a Cominius by the similarity of the uses and purposes ! The terms system, method, science, are mere improprieties of courtesy, when applied to a mass enlarging by endless oppositions, but without a nerve that oscillates, or a pulse that throbs, in sign oi growth or inward sympathy. The innocent amusement, the healthful occupation, the ornamental accomplishment of amateurs (most honorable indeed and de- serving of all praise as a preventive substitute for the stall, the kennel, and the subscription-room), it has yet to expect the devotion and energies of the philosopher. So long back as the first appearance of Dr. Darwin's Phy- tonomia, the writer, then in earliest manhood, presumed to ha- zard the opinion, that the physiological botanists were hunting in a false direction ; and sought for analogy where they should have looked for antithesis. He saw, or thought he saw, that the harmony between the vegetable and animal world, was not a harmony of resemblance, but of contrast ; and their relation to each other that of corresponding opposites. They seemed to him (whose mind had been formed by observation, unaided, but at the same time unenthralled, by partial experiment) as two streams from the same fountain indeed, but flowing the one due west, and the other direct east ; and that consequently, the resemblance would be as the proximity, greatest in the first and rudimental products of vegetable and animal organiza- tion. Whereas, according to the received notion, the highest and most perfect vegetable, and the lowest and rudest animal forms, ought to have seemed the links of the two systems, which is contrary to fact. Since that time, the same idea has dawned in the minds of philosophers capable of demonstrating its objective truth by induction of facts in an unbroken series of correspondences in nature. From these men, or from minds enkindled by their labors, we hope hereafter to receive it, or rather the yet higher idea to which it refers us, matured into laws of organic nature ; and thence to have one other splendid proof, that with the knowledge of Law alone dwell Power and Prophesy, decisive Experiment, and, lastly, a scientific method, that dissipating with its earliest rays the gnomes of 414 hypothesis and the mists of theory may, within a single gener- ation, open out on the philosophic Seer discoveries that had baflled the gigantic, but blind and guideless industry of ages. Such, too, is the case with the assumed indecomponiblc sub- stances of the Laboratory. They are the symbols of ele- mentary powers and the exponents of a law, which, as the root of all these powers, the chemical philosopher, whatever his theory may be, is instinctively laboring to extract. This in- stinct, again, is itself but the form, in which the idea, the mental Correlative of the law, first announces its incipient ger- mination in his own mind : and hence proceeds the striving af- ter unity of principle through all the diversity of forms, with a feeling resembling that which accompanies our endeavours to reccoUect a forgotten name ; when we seem at once to have and not to have it ; which the memory feels but cannot find. Thus, as " the lunatic, the lover, and the poet," suggest each other to Shakespeare's Theseus, as soon as his thoughts pre- sent him the one form, of which they are but varieties ; so water and flame, the diamond, the charcoal, and the mantling champagne, with its ebullient sparkles, are convoked and fra- ternized by the theory of the chemist. This is, in truth, the first charm of chemistry, and the secret of the almost univer- sal interest excited by its discoveries. The serious compla- cency which is aftbrded by the sense of truth, utility, perma- nence, and progression, blends with and enobles the exhilira- ting suiprize and the pleasurable sting of curiosity, which ac- company the propounding and the solving of an Enigma. It is the sense of a principle of connection given by the mind, and sanctioned by the correspondency of nature. Hence the strong - hold which in all ages chemistry has had on the imagination. If in Shakespeare v.e find nature idealized into poetry, through the creative powder of a profound yet observant meditation, so through the meditative observation of a Davy, a Woollas- TON, or a Hatchett ; " By some connatural force, Powerful at greatest distance to unite With secret amity things of like kind," we find poetry, as it were, substantiated and realized in nature: yea, nature itself disclosed to us, geminam istam naturam, qucB flit et facit, et creat et creafur, as at once the poet and the poem! ESSAY VII. Tavirf Tolri'v dicclgu) /o'^tc /^e>', ov^g vv~v dif tlF.ysg cpilo&su f.iova. g re, xui (filore/iovg, y.cd nQuxTixovg, xul x^^'Q'S ^^~ '^^Q'' ^>'' '" Ao yog, ov g fio' rovg ut' rig o'g&iog nqoaeinoi, cpiloao (povg, w'g ^liv yiyvwaxuvjug, ili'og tc,i>' BTn^ifiiij iy.it c,}} tov'zmv toj v emcrjjULO)', o' Tvy/u'vei d'v alio avTifg Tifgcnigrj' /^irjg. FIAATRN. (Translation-) — In the following then I distinguish, first, those whom you in- deed may call Philotheorists, or Philotechnists, or Practicians, and se- condly those whom alone you may rightly denominate Philosophers, as knowing what the science of all these branches of science is, which may prove to be something more than the mere aggregate of the knowledges in any particular science. — Plato. From Shakspeare to Plato, from the philosophic poet to the poetic philosopher, the transition is easy, and the road is crowd- ed with illustrations of our present subject. For of Plato's works, the larger and more valuable portion have all one com- mon end, which comprehends and shines through the particular purpose of each several dialogue ; and this is to establish the » sources, to evolve the principles, and exemplify the art of Me- / THOD. This is the clue, without which it would be difficult to / to exculpate the noblest productions of the divine philosopher from the charge of being tortuous and labyrinthine in their pro- gress, and unsatisfactory in their ostensible results. The latter indeed appear not seldom to have been drawn for the purpose of starting a new problem, rather than that of solving the one proposed as the subject of the previous discussion. But with the clear insight that the purpose of the v.'riter is not so much to establish any particular truth, as to remove the obstacles, the continuance of which is preclusive of all truth ; the whole scheme assumes a different aspect, and justifies itself in all its dimensions. We sec, that to open anew a v.-ell of springing 416 water, not to cleanse the stagnant tank, or fill, bucket by buck- et, the leaden cistern ; that the Education of the intellect, by awakening the principle and method of self-developement, was his proposed object, not any specific information that can be conveyed in it from without : not to assist in storing the passive mind with the various sorts of knowledge most in request, as if the human soul were a mere repository or banqueting-room, but to place it in such relations of circumstance as should gradually excite the germinal power that craves no knowledge but what it can take up into itself, what it can appropriate, and re-pro- duce in fruits of its own. To shape, to dye, to paint over, and to mechanize the mind, he resigned, as their proper trade, to the sophists, against whom he waged open and unremitting war. For the ancients, as well as the moderns, had their machinery for the extemporaneous mintage of intellects, by means of which, off-handy as it were, the scholar was enabled to make a figure on any and all subjects, on any and all occasions. They too had their glittering vapors, that (as the comic poet tells us) fed a host of sophists — fieya'Xav &eai, avSqa aiv agyotg Alneq yrco/iijjv xal diaXe^iv xul vov v if fiiv nage^ovaiVj Kul leqajEiav xal nsgiXa^iv xui xqov'aiv xal xona'h^xpiv. ^ API^TOlJ. Nscp. 2x. d. IMITATED. Great goddesses are they to lazy folks, Who pour down on us gifts of fluent speech, Sense most sententious, wonderful fine effect, And how to talk ahout it and ahout it, Thoughts brisk as bees, and pathos soft and thawy. In fine, as improgressive arrangement is not Method, so nei- ther is a mere mode or set fashion of doing a thing. Are fur- ther facts required ? We appeal to the notorious fact that Zoology, soon after the commencement of the latter half of the last century, was falling abroad, weighed down and crush- ed, as it were, by the inordinate number and manifoldness of facts and pha^nomena apparently separate, without evincing the least promise of systematizing itself by any inward combination, any vital interdependence of its parts* John Hunter, who appeared at times almost a stranger to the grand conception, which yet never ceased to work in him as his genius and go- 417 verning spirit, rose at length in the horizon of physiology and comparative anatomy. In his printed works, the one directing thought seems evermore to flit before him, twice or thrice on- ly to have been seized, and after a momentary detention to have been again let go : as if the words of the charm had been incomplete, and it had appeared at its own will only to mock its calling. At length, in the astonishing preparations for his museum, he constructed it for the scientific apprehension out of the unspoken alphabet of nature. Yet notwithstanding the imperfection in the annunciation of the idea, how exhilarating have been the results ! We dare appeal to* Abernethy, to EvERARD Home, to Hatchett, whose communication to Sir Everard on the egg and its analogies, in a recent paper of the latter (itself of high excellence) in the Philosophical Trans- actions, we point out as being, in the proper sense of the term, the development of a fact in the history of physiology, and to which we refer as exhibiting a luminous instance of what we mean by the discovery of a central phenomenon. To these we appeal, whether whatever is grandest in the views of Cu- viER be not either a reflection of this light or a continuation of its rays, well and wisely directed through fit media to its ap- propriate object. f We have seen that a previous act and conception of the mind is indispensable even to the mere semblances of Method ; that neither fashion, mode, nor orderly arrangement can be produc- ed without a prior purpose, and " a pre-cogitation ad intentio- nem ejus quod queer itur^'''' though this purpose may have been it- * Since the first delivery of this sheet, Mr. Abernethy has realized this an- ticipation, dictated solely by the writer's wishes, and at that time justified on- ly l)y his general admiration of Mr. A's talents and princii)les ; but composed without the least knowledge that he was then actually engaged in proving tlie assertion here hazarded, at large and in detail. See his eminent "Phy- siological Lectures," lately published in one \olume octavo. f Nor should it be wholly unnoticed, that Ciivier, who, we understand, was not born in France, and is not of unmixed French exti-action, had prepared himself for his illustrious lal)ors (as we learn from a reference in the first chapter of his great work, and should have concluded from the general style of thinking, though the language betrays suppression, as one who doubted the symi)athy of his readers or audience) in a very different school of metho- dology and philosophy than Paris could have afforded. 53 418 self excited, and this " pre-cogitation" itself abstracted from the perceived likenesses and differences of the objects to be arrang- ed. But it has likewise been shown, that fashion, mode, or- donnance, are not Method, inasmuch as all Method supposes a PRINCIPLE or UNITY WITH PROGRESSION ; iu othor words, pro- gressive transition without breach of continuity. But such a principle, it has been proved, can never in the sciences of ex- periment or in those of observation be adequately supplied by a theory built on generalization. For what shall determine the mind to abstract and generalize one common point rather than another ? and within what limits, from what number of indivi- dual objects, shall the generalization be made .'' The theory must still require a prior theory for its own legitimate construc- tion. With the mathematician the definition makes the object, and pre-establishes the terms which, and which alone, can oc- cur in the after-reasoning. If a circle be found not to have the radii from the centre to the circumference perfectly equal, which in fact it would be absurd to expect of any material circle, it fol- lows that it was not a circle : and the tranquil geometrician would content himself with smiling at the Quid pro Quo of the simple objector. A mathematical theoria seu contemplatio may there- fore be perfect. For the mathematician can be certain, that he has contemplated all that appertains to his proposition. The ce- lebrated EuLER, treating on some point respecting arches, makes this curious remark, " All experience is in contradiction to this ; sed potius fidendum est analysi ; i. e. but this is no reason for doubting the analysis." The words sound paradoxical ; but in truth mean no more than this, that the properties of space are not less certainly the properties of space because they can never be entirely transferred to material bodies. But in physics, that is, in all the sciences which have for their objects the things of nature, and not the entia rationis — more philosophically, intellectual acts and the products of those acts, existing exclusively in and for the intellect itself — the definition must follow, and not precede the reasoning. It is representative not constitutive, and is in- deed little more than an abbreviature of the preceding obser- vation, and the deductions therefrom. But as the observation though aided by experiment, is necessarily limited and imper- fect, the definition must be equally so. The history of theories, 419 and the frequency of their subversion by the discovery of a single new fact, supply the best illustrations of this truth.* As little can a true scientific method be grounded on an hy- pothesis, unless where the hypothesis is an exponential image or picture-language of an idea which is contained in it more or less clearly ; or the symbol of an undiscovered law, like the characters of unknown quantities in algebra, for the purpose of submitting the ph£enomena to a scientific calculus. In all other instances, it is itself a real or supposed pha^nomenon, and there- fore a part of the problem which it is to solve. It may be among the foundation-stones of the edifice, but can never be the ground. But in experimental philosophy, it may be said how much do we not owe to accident ? Doubtless : but let it not be for- gotten, that if the discoveries so made stop there ; if they do * The following extract from a most respectable scientific Journal contains an exposition of the impossibility of a perfect Theory in Physics, the more striking because it is directly against the purpose and izitention of the writer. We content ourselves with one question, What if Kepler, what if Newton in his investigations concerning the Tides, had held tiieniselves bound to this canon, and instead of propounding a law, had employed themselves exclu- sively in collecting materials for a Theory? " The magnetic influence has long been known to have a variation which is constantly changing ; but that change is so slow, and at the same time so different in various (different'}) parts of the world, that it v.'ould be in vain to seek for the t-^eans of reducing it to established rules, until all its local and particular cir' umstances are clearly ascertained and recorded bj" accurate ob- servations made in various parts of tJie globe. The necessity and importance of such observations are now pretty generally understood, and they have been actually cainying on for some years past ; but these {and by pcuity of reason the incomparably greater number thai remain to be made) must be collected, collated, proved, and afterwards brought together into one focus before ever a founda- tion can be f()rmcd upon which any thing like a sound and stable Theory can be constituted for the explanation of such changes." — Journal of Science and the Arts, No, vii. p. 103. An intelligent friend, on reading the words " into one focus," observed : But wliat and where is the lens ? I however fully agree with the writer. All this and much more must have been atchieved before " a sound and stable Theory" could be " constituted'' — which even then (except as far as it might occasion the discovery of a law) might possibly explain ( ex \)\^\c\s plana red- dere\ but never account for, the facts in question. But the most satisfactory comment on these and similar assertions woidd be afforded by a matter of fact history of the rise and progress, tlie accelerating and retarding momenta, of science in the civilized world. 420 not excite to some master idea ; if they do not lead to some LAW (in what ever dress of theory or hypotheses the fashion and prejudices of the time may disguise or disfigure it:) the discoveries may remain for ages limited in their uses, insecure and unproductive. How many centuries, we might have said millennia, have passed, since the first accidental discovery of the attraction and repulsion of light bodies by rubbed amber, &c. Compare the interval with the progress made within less than a century, after the discovery of the phsenomena that led immediately to a theory of electricity. That here as in many other instances, the theory was supported by insecure hypothe- ses ; that by one theorist two heterogeneous fluids are assumed, the vitreous and the resinous ; by another, a plus and minus of the same fluid ; that a third considers it a mere modification of light ; while a fourth composes the electrical aura of oxygen, hydrogen, and caloric : this does but place the truth we have been evolving in a stronger and clearer light. For abstract from all these suppositions, or rather imaginations, that which is common to, and involved in them all ; and we shall have nei- ther notional fluid or fluids, nor chemical compounds, nor ele- mentary matter, — but the idea of two — opposite— for-ces^ tend- ing to rest by equilibrium. These are the sole factors of the calculus, alike in all the theories. These give the law^ and in it the method^ both of arranging the phsenomena and of sub- stantiating appearances into facts of science ; with a success proportionate to the clearness or confusedness o£' the insight into the law. For this reason, we anticipate the greatest im- provements in the method^ the nearest approaches to a system of electricity from these philosophers, who have presented the law most purely, and the correlative idea as an idea : those, namely, who, since the year 1798, in the true spirit of experi- mental dynamics, rejecting the imagination of any material sub- strate, simple or compound, contemplate in the pbsenomena of electricity the operation of a law which reigns through all na- ture, the law of polarity, or the manifestation of one pow- er by opposite forces : who trace in these appearances, as the most obvious and striking of its innumerable forms, the agency of the positive and negative poles of a power essential to all material construction ; the second, namely, of the three prima- ry principles, for which the beautiful and most appropriate sym- bols are ^ven by the mind in three ideal dimensions of space. 491 The time is, perhaps, nigh at hand, when the same compari- son between the results of two unequal periods ; the interval be- tween the knowledge of a fact, and that from the discovery of the law, will be applicable to the sister science of magnetism. But how great the contrast between magnetism and electricity, at the present moment ! From the remotest antiquity, the attrac- tion of iron by the magnet was known and noticed ; but cen- tury after century, it remained the undisturbed property of poets and orators. The fact of the magnet and the fable of phoenix stood on the same scale of utility. In the thirteenth century, or perhaps earlier, the polarity of the magnet and its communicability to iron was discovered ; and soon suggested a purpose so grand and important, that it may well be deemed the proudest trophy ever raised by accident * in the service of mankind — the invention of the compass. But it led to no idea, to no law, and consequently to no Method : though a variety of phsenomena, as startling as they are mysterious, have forced on us a presentiment of its intimate connection with all the great agencies of nature ; of a revelation, in ciphers, the key to which is still wanting. We can recall no incident of human history that impresses the imagination more deeply than the moment when Columbus, f on an unknown ocean, first perceiv- * If accident it were : if the compass did not obscurel}' travel to us from the remotest east : if its existence tiiere docs not point to an a<,^e and a race, to which scholars of liighest rank in the world of letters, Sir W. Jones, Bailly, Schlegel have attached faith ! That it was known before the sera gen- erally assumed for its invention, and not spoken of as a novelty, has been proved by Mr. Southey and others. fit cannot be deemed alien from the purposes of this disquisition, if we are anxious to attract the attention of our readers to the importance of spe- culative meditation, even for tlie loorlUy interests of mankind ; and to that concurrence of nature and historic event with the great revolutionaiy move- ■ ments of individual genius, of which so many instances occur in tlie study of History— how nature (why should we licsitate in saying, that which in nature itself is more than nature ?) J5ccms to come forward in order to meet, to aid, and to reward everj' idea excited by a contemplation of her methods in the spirit of filial care, and with the humility of love ! It is with this view tliat we extract from an ode of Chiabrera's the following lines, which, in the strength of the thought and the lofty majesty of the poetiy, has but "few peers in ancient or in modern song." Columbus. Oei?to dal cor, eh' alto Destin non ecelse, 423 ed one of these startling facts, the change of the magnetio needle ! In what shall we seek the cause of this contrast between the rapid progress of electricity and the stationary condition of magnetism? As many theories, as many hypotheses, have been advanced in the latter science as in the former. But the theories and fictions of the electricians contained an idea^ and all the same idea, which has necessarily led to Method ; im- plicit indeed, and only regulative hitherto, which requires lit- tle more than the dismission of the imagery to become constit- uent like the ideas of the geometrician. On the contrary, the assumptions, of the magnetists (as for instance, the hypothe- sis that the planet itself is one vast magnet, or that an im- mense magnet is concealed within it ; or that of a concentric ;globe within the earth, revolving on its own independent axis) are but repetions of the same fact or phsenomenon looked at through a magnifying glass ; the reiteration of the problem, not its solution. The naturalist, who cannot or will not see, ihat one fact is often worth a thousand, as including them all Son 1' imprese magnanime neglette ; Ma le bell' aline alle bell' opre elette Sanno gioir nelle fatiche eccelse : Ne biasmo popolar, frale catena, Spirto d' onore il suo cammin rafFrena. Cosi liinga stagion per modi indegni Emopa disprezzo 1' inclita spenie : Schernendo il vulgo (e seco i Regi insieme) Nudo nocchier promettitor di regni ; Ma per le sconosciute onde marine L' inviua prora ei pur sospinse al fine. Qual uom, die torni al gentil consorte, Tal ei da sua magion spiego 1' antenne ; L' ocean corse, e i turbini sostenne, Vinse le crude iinagini di morte ; Poscia, dell' ami)io mar spenta la guerra, Scorse la dianzi favolosa Terra. Alior dal cavo Pin scende veloce E di grand' Orma il nuovo mondo imprime ; Ne men ratto per I'Aria crge sublime, Segno del Ciel, insuperabil Croce ; E porse umile esempio, onde adorarla Debba sua Gente. Chiabrera, vol. i. 423 in itself, and that it first makes all the others facts ; who has not the head to comprehend, the soul to reverence, a central experiment or observation (what the Greeks would perhaps have called a protophcBuomon); will never receive an auspicious answer from the oracle of nature. ESSAY VIII. The sun doth give Brightness to the eye: and some may say, that the sun If not enlightened by the intelligence That doth inhaliit it, would shine no more Than a dull clod of earth. Cartwright. It is strange, yet characteristic of the spirit that was at work during the latter half of the last century, and of which the French revolution was, we hope the closing monsoon^ that the writings of Plato should be accused of estranging the mind from sober experience and substantial matter-of-fact^ and of debauch- ing it by fictions and generalities. Plato, whose method is in- ductive throughout, who argues on all subjects not only from, but in and 61/, inductions of facts ! Who warns us indeed against that usurpation of the senses, which quenching the " lumen sic- cum " of the mind, sends it astray after individual cases for their own sakes ; against that tenuem et manipularem experuntiamP^ which remains ignorant even of the transitory relations, to which the " pauca particularia" of its idolatory not seldom owe their fluxional existence ; but who so far oftener, and with such un- mitigated hostility, pursues the assumptions, abstractions, gene- 434 ralities, and verbal legerdemain of the sophists ! Btrange, but still more strange, that a notion so groundless should be entitled to plead in its behalf the authority of Lord Bacon, from whom the Latin words in the preceding sentence are taken, and whose scheme of logic, as applied to the contemplation of nature, is Platonic throughout, aud differing only in the mode : which in Lord Bacon is dogmatic, i. e. assertory, in Plato tentative, and (to adopt the Socratic' phrase) obstetric. We are not the first, or even among the first, who have considered Bacon's studied depreciation of the ancients, with his silence, or worse than silence, concerning the merits of his contemporaries, as the least amiable, the least exhilarating side in the character of our illustrious countryman. His detractions from the Divine Plato it is more easy to explain than to justify or even than to palliate : and that he has merely retaliated Aristotle's own unfair treatment of his predecessors and contemporaries, may lessen the pain, but should not blind us by the injustice of the aspersions on the name and works of this philosopher. The most eminent of our recent zoologists and mineralogists have acknowledged with respect, and even with expressions of won- der, the performances of Aristotle, as the first clearer and breaker-up of the ground in natural history. It is indeed scarce- ly possible to peruse the treatise on colors, falsely ascribed to Theophrastus, the scholar and successor of Aristotle, after a due consideration of the state and means of science at that time, without resenting the assertion, that he had utterly enslaved his investigations in natural history to his own system of logic (lo- gicse suae prorsus mancipavit). Nor let it be forgotten that the sunny side of Lord Bacon's character is to be found neither in his inductions, nor in the application of his own method to par- ticular phajnomena, or particular classes of physical facts, which are at least as crude for the age of Gilbert, Galileo, and Kepler, as Aristotle's for that of Philip and Alexander. Nor is it to be found in his recommendation (which is wholly independent of scientific method ) of tabular collections of particulars. Let any unprejudiced naturalist turn to Lord Bacon's questions and pro- posals for the investigation of single problems ; to his Discourse on the Winds ; or to the almost comical caricature of this scheme in the " Method of improving Natural Philosophy;" (page 22 to 48), by Robert Hooke (the history of whose multifold inven- tions, and indeed of his whole philosophical life, is the best 4^6 answer to the scheme, if a scheme so palpably impracticable needs any answer), and put it to his conscience, whether any desira- ble end could be hoped for from such a process ; or inquire of his own experience, or historical recollections whether any im- portant discovery was ever made in this way.* For though Bacon never so far deviates from his own principles, as not to admonish the reader that the particulars are to be thus collect- ed, only that by careful selection they may be concentrated into universals ; yet so immense is their number, and so various and almost endless the relations in which each is to be separately considered, that the life of an ante-deluvian patriarch would be expended, and his strength and spirits have been wasted, in merely polling the votes, and long before he could commence * We refer the reader to the Posthumous Works of Robert Hooke, M. D. F. R. S. &c. Folio, published under the auspices of the Royal Society, by Richard Waller: and especially to die pages from p. 22 to 42 inclusive, as con- containing the preluninary knowledges requisite or desirable for the naturalist, before he can form " even a foundation upon which any thing like a sound and stable Theory can be constituted." As a small specimen of this appalling catalogue of preliminaries with which he is to make himself conversant, take the following : — " The history of potters, tobacco-pipe-makers, glaziers, glass- grinders, looking-glass-makers or foilers, spectacle-makers, and optic-glass- makers, makers of counterfeit pearl and precious stones, bugle-makers, lamp- blowers, colour-makers, colour-grinders, glass-painters, enamellers, vamishers, colour-sellers, painters, limners, picture-drawers, makers of baby-heads, of little bowling-stones or marbles, fustian-makers, (query whether poets are included in this trade ?) music-masters, tinsey-makers, and taggers. — The histoiy of schoolmasters, writ-ng-masters, printers, book -binders, stage-players, dancing- masters, and vaulters, apothecaries, chirurgeons, seamsters, butchers, barbers, laun-dressers, and cosmetics .' &c. &c. &c. &c. (the true nature of which be- ing actually detcrmmed) will hugely facilitate our inquiries m philo- sophy ! ! !" As a summary of Dr. R. Ilooke'smidtifarious recipe for the growth of Sci- ence may he fairly placed that of the celebrated Dr. Watts for the improve- ment of the mind, which was thought by Dr. Knox, to be worthy of inser- tion in the Elegant Extracts, Vol. ii. p. 456, under the head of Directions concerning our Ideas. "Furnish yourselves with a rich variety of Ideas. Acquaint yourselves with things ancient and modern ; things natural, civil, and religious ; things of your native land, and of foreign countries ; things domestic and national ; things pre- sent, past, and future ; and above all, be well acquainted witli God and your- selves ; with animal nature, and the workings of your own spirits. Such a general acquaintance with tMngs will be qf very great advanlage.'^ 54 426 the process of simplification, or have arrived in sight of the law which was to reward the toils of the over-tasked Psyche.* We yield to none in our grateful veneration of Lord Bacon's philosophical writings. We are proud of his very name, as men of science : and as Englishmen, we are almost vain of it. But we may not permit the honest workings of national attach- ment to degenerate into the jealous and indiscriminate partial- ity of clanship. Unawed by such as praise and abuse by wholesale, we dare avow that there are points in the character of our Verulam, from which we turn to the life and labors of John Kepler,f as from gloom to sunshine. The beginning and the close of his life were clouded by poverty and domestic troubles, while the intermediate years were comprised within the most tumultuous period of the history of his country, when the furies of religious and political discord had left neither eye, ear, nor heart for the Muses. But Kepler seemed born to prove that true genius can overpower all obstacles. If he gives an account of his modes of proceeding, and of the views under which they first occurred to his mind, how unostentatious- ly and in transitu^ as it were, does he introduce himself to our notice : and yet never fails to present the living germ out of which the genuine method, as the inner form of the tree of science, springs up ! With what affectionate reverence does he express himself of his master and immediate predecessor, Tycho Brake ! with what zeal does he vindicate his services iagainst posthumous detraction ! How often and how gladly does he speak of Copernicus ! and with what fervent tones of faith and consolation does be proclaim the historic fact that the great men of all ages have prepared the way for each other, as pioneers and heralds ! Equally just to the ancients and to his contemporaries, how circumstantially, and with what exactness of detail, does Kepler demonstrate that Elucid copernicises — ws 'Jf^o Tou Ko'jrs^v/xou xoits^vixi^si EuxX£i(5>is ! and how elegant the com- pliments which he addresses to Porta ! with wliat cordiality * See the beautiful allegoric tale of Cupid and Psyche, in the original of Apuleius. The tasks imposed on her by the jealousy of her mother-in-law, and the agcncj^ by which they are at length self-pcrfonned, are noble instan- ces of that hidden wisdom, " where more is meant than meets the ear." fBorn 1571, ton years after Lord Bacon: died 1630, four years after the death of Bacon. 427 he thanks him for the invention of the camera obscura, as en- larging his views into the laws of vision ! But while we can- not avoid contrasting this generous enthusiasm with Lord Ba- con's cold invidious treatment of Gilbert, and his assertion that the works of Plato and Aristotle had been carried down the stream of time, like straws, by their levity alone, when things of weight and worth sunk to the bottom : still in the Foun- der of a revolution, scarcely less important for the scientific, and even for the commercial world, than that of Luther for the world of religion and politics, we must allow much to the heat of protestation, much to the vehemence of hope, and much to the vividness of novelty. Still more must we attrib- ute to the then existing and actual state of the Platonic and Peripatetic philosophy, or rather to the dreams or verbiage which then passed current as such. Had he but attached to their proper authors the schemes and doctrines which he con- demns, our illustrious countryman would, in this point at least, have needed no apology. And surely no lover of truth, con- versant with the particulars of Lord Bacon's life, with the ve- ry early, almost boyish age, at which he quitted the university, and the manifold occupations and anxieties in which his public and professional duties engaged, and his courtly, — alas ! his servile, prostitute, and mendicant — ambition, entangled him in his after years, will be either surprised or oilended, though we should avow our conviction, that he had derived his opinions of Plato and Aristotle from any source, rather than from a dispassionate and patient study of the originals themselves. At all events it will be no easy task to reconcile many passages in the De Augmen- tis, and the Redargutio Philosophiarum, with the author's own fundamental principles, as established in his Novum Organum, if we attach to the words the meaning which they may bear, or even, .in some instances, the meaning which might appear to us, in the present age, more obvious ; instead of the sense in which they were employed by the professors, whose false premises and barren methods Bacon was at that time contro- verting. And this historical interpretation is rendered the more necessary by his fondness for point and antithesis in his style, where we must often disturb the sound in order to arrive at the sense. But with these precautions ; and if, in collating the philosophical works of Lord Bacon with those of Plato, we, in both cases alike, seperate tiie grounds and essential 428 principles of their philosophic systems from the inductions themselves ; no inconsiderable portion of which, in the British sage, as well as in the divine Athenian, is neither more nor less crude and erroneous than might be anticipated from the infant state of natural history, chemistry, and physiology, in their several ages ; and if we moreover separate their princi- ples from their practical application, which in both is not sel- dom impracticable, and, in our countryman, not always recon- cileable with the principles themselves : we shall not only ex- tract that from each, which is for all ages, and which consti- tutes their true systems of philosophy, but shall convince our- selves that they are radically one and the same system : in that namely, which is of universal and imperishable worth ! — the science of Method, and the grounds and conditions of the sci- ence of Method. ESSAY IX. A great authority may be a poor proof, but it is an excellent presumption : ami few tilings give a wise man a truer delight than to reconcile two gi-eat authorities, that had been commonly but falsely held to be dissonmit. Stapylton. Under a deep impression of the importance of the truths we have essayed to develope, we would fain remove every preju- dice that does not originate in the heart rather than in the un- derstanding. For Truth, says the wise man, will not enter a malevolent spirit. To offer or to receive names in lieu of sound arguments, is only less reprehensible than an ostentatious contempt of the great men of former ages ; but we may well and wisely avail ourselves of authorities, in confirmation of truth, and above all, in the removal of prejudices founded on imperfect information. 429 We do not see, therefore, how we can more appropriately con- clude this first, explanatory and controversial section of our inquiry, than by a brief statement of our renowned country- man's own principles of Method, conveyed for the greater part in his own words. Nor do we see, in what more precise form we can recapitulate the substance of the doctrines asserted and vindicated in the preceding pages. For we rest our strongest pretensions to a calm and respectful perusal, in the first in- stance, on the fact, that we have only re-proclaimed the coin- ciding prescripts of the Athenian Verulam, and the British Plato — genuinam scilicet Platonis Dialecticem ; et Methodo- logiam Principialem FRANCISCI DE VERULAMIO. In the first instance, Lord Bacon equally with ourselves, de- mands what we have ventured to call the intellectual or mental initiative, as the motive and guide of every philosophical ex- periment ; some well-grounded purpose, some distinct impres- sion of the probable results, some self-consistent anticipation as the ground of the *■'- prudens qumstio''' (the fore-thoughtful query), which he affirms to be the prior half of the knowl- edge sought, dimidium scienticB. With him, therefore, as with us, an idea is an experiment proposed, an experiment is an idea realized. For so, though in other words, he himself informs us : " neque scientiam molimur tam sensu vel instru- mentis quam expeiHmentis ; etenim experimentorum longe ma- jor est subtilitas quam sensus ipsius, licit instrumentis exquisitis adjuti. Nam de Us loquimur experimentis qua ad intentionem ejus quod qcBvitur perite et secundum artem excogitata et ap- posita sunt. Itaque pereeptioni sensus immediatae et propriae non multum tribuimus : sed eo rem deducimus, ut sensus tan- tum de experimento, experimentum de rejudicet^ This last sentence is, as the attentive reader will have himself detected one of those faulty verbal antitheses, not unfrequent in Lord Bacon's writings. Pungent antitheses, and the analogies of wit in which the resemblance is too often more indebted to the double or equivocal sense of a word, than to any real con- formity* in the thing or image, form the dulcia vitia of his style, * Thus (to take the first instance tliat occurs), Bacon says, that some knowl- edges, Uke the stars, are so high that they give no light. Where the word "high," means deep or sublime, "in the one case and distant" in the other. 430 the Dalilahs of our philosophical Sampson. But in this in- stance, as indeed throughout all his works, the meaning is clear and evident — namely, that the sense can apprehend, through the organs of sense, only the phaenomena evoked by the experiment: vis vero mentis ea, quie experimentum excogitaverat, de Re ju- dicet : i. e. that pov/er which, out of its own conception had shaped the experiment, must alone determine the true import of the phaenomena. If again we ask, what.it is which gives birth to the question, and then ad intentionem quffistionis suae experi- mentum excogitat, unde de Re judicet, the answer is : Lux In- tellectiis, lumen siccimi, the pure and impersonal reason, freed from all the various idols enumerated by our great legislator of science [idola tribuc, specus^ fori, theatri) ; that is, freed from the limits, the passions, the prejudices, the peculiar ha- bits of the human understanding, natural or acquired ; but above all, pure from the r\rrogance, which leadsman to take the forms and mechanism of his own mere reflective faculty, as the measure of nature and of Deity. In this indeed we find the great object both of Plato's and of Lord Bacon's labors. They both saw that there could be no hope of any fruitful and secure method, while forms merely subjective, were pi-esumed as the true and proper moulds of objective truth. This is the sense in which Lord Bacon uses the phrases, — intellectus humanus, mens hominis, so profoundly and justly characterized in the preliminary (Distributio Operis) of his De Augment. Scient. And with all right and propriety did he so apply them : for this was, in fact, the sense in which the phrases were applied by the teachers, whom he is controverting ; by the doctors of the schools ; and the visionaries of the laboratory. To adopt the bold but happy phrase of a late ingenious French writer, it is the homme particulier, as contrasted with I'homme generate ; against which, Ileraclitus and Plato, among the ancients, and among the moderns, Bacon and Stewart (rightly under- stood), warn and pre-admonish the sincere inquirer. Most truly, and in strict consonance with his two great predecessors, does our immortal Verulam teach — that the human understand- ing, even independent of the causes that always, previously to its purification by philosophy, render it more or less turbid or une- ven, "ipsa sua natura radios ex figura et sectione propria immu- tat :" that our understanding not only reflects the objects subjec- tively, that is, substitutes, for the inherent laws and properties of 431 the objects the relations which the objects bear to its own par- ticular constitution ; but that in all its conscious presenta- tions and reflexes, it is itself only a phaenomenon of the inner sense, and requires the same corrections as the appearances transmitted by the outward senses. ' But that there is poten- tially, if not actually, in eA^ery rational being, a somewhat, call it what you will, the pure reason, the spirit, lumen siccura, vou?, cpug vofc-^^ov, intellectual intuition, $ic. kc. ; and that in this are to be found the indispensable conditions of all science, and scientific research, whether meditative, contemplative, or ex- perimental ; is often expressed, and every where supposed, by Lord Bacon. And that this is not only the right but the possi- ble nature of the human mind, to which it is capable of being restored, is implied in the various remedies prescribed by him for its diseases, and in the various means of neutralizing or converting into useful instrumentality the imperfections which cannot be removed. There is a sublime truth contained in his favorite phrase — Idola intellectus. He thus tells us, that the mind of man is an edifice not built with human hands, which needs only be purged of its idols and idolatrous services to become the temple of the true and living Light. Nay, he has shown and established the true criterion between the ideas and the idola of the mind — namely, that the former are mani- fested by their adequacy to those ideas in nature, which in and through them are contemplated. " Non leve quiddam interest inter humanse mentis idola et divinse mentis ideas, hoc est, inter placita quaedam inania et veras signaturas atque impress- iones factas in creaturis, prout Ratione sana et sicci luminis^ quam docendi causa interpretem naturse vocare consuevimus, inveniuntur." Novum Organum xxiii. & xxvi. Thus the difference, or rather distinction between Plato and Lord Bacon is simply this : that philosophy being necessarily bi-polar, Pla- to treats principally of the truth, as it manifests itself at the ideal pole, as the science of intellect (i. e. de mundo intelligi- bili); while Bacon confines himself, for the most part, to the same truth, as it is manifested at the other, or material pole, as the science of nature (i. e. de mundo sensibili). It is as necessary, therefore, that Plato should direct his inquiries chiefly to those objective truths that exist in and for the intel- lect alone, the images and representatives of which we con- struct for ourselves by figure, number, and word ; as that Lord 432 Bacon should attach his main concern to the truths which have their signatures in nature, and which (as he himself plainly and often asserts) may indeed be revealed to us through and withj but never by the senses, or the faculty of sense. Other- wise, indeed, instead of being more objective than the former (which they are not in any sense, both being in this respect the same), they would be less so, and, in fact, incapable of be- ing insulated from the " Idola tribus quae in ipsa natura fun- data sunt, atque in ipsa tribu seu gente hominum : cum omnes perceptiones tam sensus quam mentis, sunt ex analogia hominis non ex analogia universi." (N. 0. xli.) Hence too, it will not surprise us, that Plato so often calls ideas living laws, in which the mind has its whole true being and permanence ; or that Bacon, vice versa, names the laws of nature, ideas ; and represents what we have, in a former part of this disquisition, called /acis of science and central phcenomena^ as signatures, impresssions, and symbols of ideas. A distinguishable power self-affirmed, and seen in its unity with the Eternal Essence, is, according to Plato, an Idea : and the discipline, by which the human mind is purified from its idols (tifJwXa) and raised to the contemplation of Ideas, and thence to the secure and ever pro- gressive, though never-ending, investigation of truth and real- ity by scientific method, comprehends what the same philoso- pher so highly extols under the title of Dialectic. According to Lord Bacon, as describing the same truth seen from the oppo- site point, and applied to natural philosophy, an idea would be defined as — Intuitio sive inventio, quae in perceptione sensus non est (ut quae purse et sicci luminis Intellectioni est propria) idearum divinae mentis, prout in creaturis per signaturus suas sese patefaciant. That (saith the judicious Hooker) which doth assign to each thing the kind, that which determines the force and power, that which doth appoint the form and measure of working, the same we term a Law. We can now, as men furnished with fit and respectable cre- dentials, proceed to the historic importance and practical appli- cation of Method, under the deep and solemn conviction, that without this guiding Light neither can the sciences attain to their full evolution, as the organs of one vital and harmonious body, nor that most weighty and concerning of all scien- ces, the science of Education, be understood in its first ele- 433 ments, much less display its powers, as the nisus formativus* of social man, as the appointed protoplast of true humanity. * So our medical writere commonly translate Professor Bliimenbach's BU- dungstrieb, the vis plastica, or vis vJta3 formatrix of the eldest ])hysiologists, and the life or living principle of John Hunter, the profoundest, we had al- most saifl the only, ])hysiological philosopher of the latter half of the ])rece- ding century. For in what other sense can ivc understand either his asser- tion, that this principle or agent is "independent of organization," which yet it animates, sustains, and repairs, or the purport of that magnificent commen- taiy on his system, the Hunterian MusfBum, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. The Hunterian idea of a life or vital principle, "independent of the organization" yet in each organ working instuictively towards its preservation, as the ants or termites in repairing the nests of their own fabrication, demonstrates that John Hunter did not, as Stahl and others had done, individualize, or make an hypostasis of the principles of life, as a somewhat manifestable per se, and consequently itself a Phsenomenon ; the latency of which was to be attribu- ted to accidental, or at least contingent causes, ex. gr. ; the limits or imper- fection of our senses, or the inaptness of the media: but that herein he phi- losophized in the spirit of the purest Newtonians, who in like manner refu- sed to hypostasize the law of gravitation into an ether, which even if its ex- istence were conceded, would need another gravitation for itself. The Hun- terian position is a genuine philosophic idea, the negative test of which as of all Ideas is, that it is equi-distant from an ens logicum (= an abstraction,) an ens reprsesentativum (= a generalization,) and an ens phantosticum (= an imaginary thing or pheenomenon.) Is not the progressive enlargement, the boldness without temerity, of chi- rurgical views and chirurgical practice since Hunter's time to the present day, attributable, in almost every instance, to his substitution of what may per- haps be called experimental Dynamic, for the mechanical notions, or the less injurious traditional empiricism, of his predecessors? And this, too, though the light is still struggling through a cloud, and though it is shed on many who see either dimly or not at all the Idea from which it is eradicated? Willingly would we designate, what we have elsewhere called the mental initiative, by some term less obnoxious to the a)iti-Platonic reader, than this of Idea — ob- noxious, we mean, as soon as any ])recise and peculiar sense is attached to the sound. Willingly would we exchange the Term, might it be done with- out sacrifice of the Import: and did we not see, too, clearty, that it is the meaning, not the word, that is the object of that aversion, which, fleeing from inward alarm, tries to shelter itself in outward contempt — that is at once folly and a stumbling-l)Iock to the partizans of a crass and sensual materialism the advocates of the Nihil nisi ab extra. They, like moles. Nature's mute monks, live mandrakes of the ground, Shrink fi-om the light, then listen for a sound ; Sue but to dread, and dread they know not why, The natural alien of their negative eye ! S. T. C. h5 434 Never can society comprehend fully, and in its whole practical extent, the permanent distinction, and the occasional contrast, between cultivation and civilization ; never can it attain to a due insight into the momentous fact, fearfully as it has been, and even now is exempiiiied in a neii^hbor country, that a na- tion can never be a too cultivated, but may easily becom.e an over-civilized, race: while we oppose ourselves voluntarily to that gr:\nd prerogative of our nature, a hungering and thirst- ing AFTER TRUTH, as tlie appropriate end of our intelligential, and its point of union with, our moral nature ; but therefore after truth, that must be found within us before it can be infel- ligibly reflected back on the mind from without, and a religious regard to which is indispensable, both as a guide and object to the just formation of the human being, poor and rich : while, in a word, we are blind to the master-light, which we have al- ready presented in various points of view, and recommended by whatever is of highest authority with the venerators of the ancient, and the adherents of modern philosophy. ESSAY X. I7o).uua\}irj I'oov ov 8it)aoy.fi- eivui yao ev to aoqor^ Fni^ua&ui vvo^trfV 'tjts tyy.vSa^t'Tjai'.i rruviu 8iu ttuitvii-'. (Trandation.) — The effsctive education of th?; reason is not to be supplied by multifarious accpiirements ; for tliere is but one knowledge that merits to be called ^visdonl, a knowledge that is !-ne with a law which shall govern all ill and through all. IIerac. aj)ud Diogenem Laert. ix. § 1 HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE. There is still preserved in the Royal Observatory at Rich- mond the model of a bridge, constructed by the late justly celebrated Mr. Atwood (at that time, however, in the decline of life), in the confidence, that he had explained the wonder- ful properties of the arch as resulting from compound action of simple wedges, or of the rectilinear solids of which the mate- rial arch was composed : and of which supposed discovery, his model was to exhibit ocular proof. Accordingly, he took a suffi- cient number of wedges of brass highly polished. Arranging these at first on a skeleton arch of wood, he then removed this scaffolding or support ; and the bridge not only stood firm, without any cement between the squares; but he could take away any given portion of them, as a third and a half, and ap- pending a correspondent weight, at either side, the remaining part stood as before. Our venerable sovereign, who is known to have had a particular interest and pleasure in all works and discoveries of niechanic science or ingenuity, looked «t it for awhile steadfastly, and, as his manner was, with quick and bro- ken expressions of praise and courteous approbation, in the form of answers to his own quesiions. At length turning to the constructor, he said, " But, Mr. Atwood, you have presum- ed the figure. You have put the arch first in this wooden ske- 436 leton. Can you build a bridge of the same wedges in any oth- er figure ? A straight bridge, or with two lines touching at the apex ? If not, is it not evident, that the bits of brass derive their continuance in the present position from the property of the arch, and not the arch from the property of the wedge ?" The objection was fatal ; the justice of the remark not to be resist- ed ; and we have ever deemed it a forcible illustration of the Aristotelian axiom, with respect to all just reasoning, that the whole is of necessity prior to its parts ; nor can we conceive a more apt illustration of the scientific principles we have already laid down. All method supposes a union of several things to a common end, either by disposition, as in the works of man ; or by con- vergence, as in the operations and products of nature. That we acknowledge a method^ even in the latter, results from the religious instinct which bids us " find tongues in trees ; books in the running streams; sermons in stones: and good (that is, some useful end answering to some good purpose) in every thing." In a self-conscious and thence reflecting being, no instinct can exist, without engendering the belief of an object corresponding to it, either present or future, real or capable of being realized : much less the instinct, in which humanity itself is grounded : that by vvhich, in every act of conscious perception, we at once identify our being with that of the world without us and yet place ourselves in contra-distinction to that world. Least of all can this mysterious pre-disposition exist without evolving a belief that the productive power, which is in nature as nature, is essentially one (i. e. of one kind) with the intel- lio-ence, which is in the human mind above nature : however disfigured this belief may become, by accidental forms or ac- companiments, and though like heat in the thawing of ice, it may appear only in its eflects. So universally has this convic- tion leavened the ver}^ substance of all discourse, that there is no language on earth in winch a man can abjure it as a preju- dice, without employing terms and conjunctions that suppose its reality, with a feeling very different from that which accom- panies a figurative or metaphorical use of words. In all aggre- '■•ates of construction, therefore, which we contemplate as wholes, whether as integral parts or as a system, we assume an intention, as the initiative, of which the end is the correla- tive. \ 437 Hence proceeds the introduction of final causes in the works of nature equally as in those of man. Hence their assumption, as constitutive and explanatory by the mass of mankind ; and the employment of the presumption, as an auxiliary and regula- tive principle, by the enlightened naturalist, whose office it is to seek, discover, and investigate the efficient causes. Without denying, that to resolve the efficient into the final may be the ultimate aim of philosophy, he, of good right, resists the sub- stitution of the latter for the former, as premature, presumptu- ous, and preclusive of all science ; well aware, that those sci- ences have been most progressive, in which this confusion has been either precluded by the nature of the science itself, as in pure mathematics, or avoided by the good sense of its cultivator. Yet even he admits a teleological ground in physics and physiolo- gy : that is, the presumption of something analogous to the caus- ality of the human will, by which, without assigning to nature, as nrture, a conscious purpose, he may yet distinguish her agency from a blind and lifeless mechanism. Even he admits its use, and, in many instances, its necessity, as a regulative principle ; as a ground of anticipation, for the guidance of his judgment and for the direction of his observation and experiment : brief- ly in all that preparatory process, which the French language so happily expresses by s''orienter, i. e. to find out the east for one's self. When the naturalist contemplates the structure of a bird, for instance, the hollow cavity of the bones, the position of the wings for motion, and of the tail for steering its course, &c. he knows indeed that there must be a correspondent me- chanism, as the nexus effectivus. But he knows, likewise, that this will no more explain tho particular existence of the bird, than the principles of cohesion, &c. could inform him why of two buildings, one is a palace, and the other a church. Nay, it must not be overlooked, that the assumption of the nexus ef- fectivus itself originates in the mind, as one of the laws under which alone it can reduce the manifold of the impression from without into unity, and thus contemplate it as one thing ; and could never (as hath been clearly proved by Mr. Hume) have been derived from outward experience, in which it is indeed presupposed, as a necessary condition. Notio nexus causalis non oritur, sed supponitur, a sensibus. Between the purpose and the end the component parts are included, and thence re- ceive their position and character as means, i. e. parts contem- \ \ 438 plated as parts. It is in this sense, we will affirm, that the parts, as means to an end, derive their position, and therein their qualities (or character) nay, we dare add, their very ex- istence — as particular things — from the antecedent method, or self-organizing purpose ; upon which therefore we have dwelt so long. We are aware, that it is with our cognitions as with our children. Ti.ere is a period in which the method of nature is working for them ; a period of aimless activity and unregula- ted accumulation, during which it is enough if we can pre- serve them in health and out of harm^s way. Again, there is a period of orderliness, of circumspection, of discipline, in which we purify, separate, deflne, select, arrange, and settle the nomenclature of communication. There is also a period of dawning and twilight, a period of anticipation, afibrding trials of strength. And all these, both in the growth of the sciences, and in the mind of a jightly-educated individual, will precede the attainment of a scientific Method. But, notwith- standing this, unless the importance of the latter be felt and acknowledged, unless its attainment be looked forward to and from the very beginning prepared for, there is little hope and small chance that any education will be conducted aright ; or will ever prove in reality worth the name. Much labor, much wealth may have been expended, yet the final result will too probably warrant the sarcasm of the Scythian traveller : " Vse ! quantum nihili !" and draw from a w ise man the earnest recommendation of a full draught from Lethe, as the first and indispensable preparative for the waters of the true Helicon. Alas ! how many examples are now present to our memory, of young men the most anxiously and expensive- ly be-schoolmastered, be-tutored, be-lectured, any thing but educated ; who have received arms and ammunition, instead of skill, strength, and courage ; varnished rather than polished ; perilously over-civilized, and most pitiably uncultivated ! And all from inattention to the method dictated by nature herself, to the simple truth, that as the forms in all organized existence, so must all true and living knowledge proceed fiom within ; that it may be trained, supported, fed, excited, but can never be infused or impressed. Look back on the history of the Sciences. Review the Me- thod in which Providence has brought the more favored portion 439 of mankind to the present state of Arts and Sciences. Lord Bacon has justly remarked, Antiquitas temporis juventus mun- di et ScienticB — Antiquity of time is the youth of the world and of Science. In the childhood of the human race, its education commenced with the cultivation of the moral sense ; the object proposed being such as the mind only could apprehend, and the principle of obedience being placed in the will. The appeal in both was made to the inward man. "Through faith we un- derstand that the worlds were framed by the word of God ; so that things which were seen were not made of things which do appear." (The solution of Phmiomena can never be derived from Phcenomena.) Upon this ground, the writer of the epis- tle to the Hebrews (chap, xi.) is not less philosophical than eloquent. The aim, the method throughout was, in the first place, to awaken, to cultivate, and to mature the truly human in human nature, in and through itself, or as independently as possible of the notices derived from sense, and of the motives that had reference to the sensations ; till the time should arrive when the senses themselves might be allowed to present sym- bols and attestations of truths, learnt previously from deeper and inner sources. Thus the first period of the education of our race was evidently assigned to the cultivation of humanity itself; or of that in man, which of all known embodied crea- tures he alone possesses, the pure reason, as designed to regu- late the will. And by what method was this done? First, by the excitement of the idea of their Creator as a spirit, of an idea which they were strictly forbidden to realize to themselves under any image ; and, secondly, by the injunction of obedi- ence to the will of a super-sensual Being. Nor did the method stop here. For, unless we are equally to contradict Moses and the New Testament, in compliment to the paradox of a War- burton^ the rewards of their obedience were placed at a dis- tance. For the time present they equally with us were to " endure^ as seeing him who is invisible." Their bodies they were taught to consider as fleshly tents, which as pilgrims they were bound to pitch wherever the invisible Director of their route should appoint, however barren or thorny the spot might appear. " Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been," says the aged Israel. But that life was but "his pilgrimage ; and he trusted in the promises^ Thus were the very first lessons in the Divine School assign- 440 ed to the cultivation of the reason and of the will : or rather of both as united in Faith. The common and ultimate object of the will and of the reason was purely spiritual.^ and to be present in the mind of the disciple — /xo'vov Iv Io='*/, [j/qdaiui] iiSuXixus i. e. in the idea alone, and nevei" as an image or imagination. The means too, by which the idea was to be excited, as well as the symbols by which it was to be communicated, were to be, as far as possible, intellectual. Those, on the contrary, who willfully chose a mode opposite to this method, who determined to shape their convictions and deduce their knowledge from without, by exclusive observa- tion of outward and sensible things as the only realities, be- came, it appears, rapidly civilized ! They built cities, invent- ed musical instruments, were artificers in brass and in iron, and refined on the means of sensual gratification, and the conven- iences of courtly intercourse. They became the great masters of the AGREEABLE, which fraternized readily with cruelty and rapacity : these being, indeed, but alternate moods of the same sensual selfishness. Thus, both before and after the flood, the vicious of mankind receded from all true cultivation, as they hurried towards civilization. Finally, as it was not in their power to make themselves wholly beasts, or to remain without a semblance of religion ; and yet continuing faithful to their original maxim, and determined to receive nothing as true, but what they derived, or believed themselves to derive from their senses, or (in modern phrase) what they could prove a posteriori, — they became idolaters of the Heavens and the material elements. From the harmony of operation they concluded a certain unity of nature and design, but were incapable of finding in the facts any proof of a unity of per- son. They did not, in this respect, pretend to find what they must themselves have first assumed. Having thrown away the clusters, which had grown in the vineyard of revelation, they could not — as later reasoners, by being born in a Christian country, have been enableld to do — hang the grapes on thorns, and then pluck them as the native growth of the bushes. But the men of sense, of the patriarchal times, neglecting reason and having rejected faith, adopted what the facts seemed to in- volve and the most obvious analogies to suggest. They ac- knowledged a whole bee-hive of natural Gods ; but while they 441 were employed in building a temple* consecrated to the mate- rial Heavens, it pleased divine wisdom to send on them a con- fusion of lip^ accompanied with the usual embitterment of con- troversy, where all parties are in the wrong, and the grounds of the quarrel are equally plausible on all sides. As the modes of error are endless, the hundred forms of Polytheism had each its group of partizans who, hostile or alienated, henceforward formed separate tribes kept aloof from each other by their am- bitious leaders. Hence arose, in the course of a few centuries, the diversity of languages, which has sometimes been confoun- ded with the miraculous event that was indeed its first and principal, though remote, cause. Following next, and as the representative of the youth and approaching manhood of the human intellect, we have ancient Greece, from Orpheus, Linus, Musseus, and the other mytholo- gical bards, or perhaps the brotherhoods impersonated under those names, to the time when the republics lost their indepen- dence, and their learned men sunk into copyists and commenta- tors of the works of their forefathers. That we include these as educated under a distinct providential, though not miraculous, dispensation, will surprise no one, who reflects that in whatever has a permanent operation on the destinies and intellectual con- dition of mankind at large — that in all which has been mani- festly employed as a co-agent in the mightiest revolution of the moral world, the propagation of the Gospel ; and in the intel- lectual progress of mankind, the restoration of Philosophy, Science, and the ingenuous Arts — it were irreligion not to ac- knowledge the hand of divine Providence. The periods, too, join on to each other. The earliest Greeks took up the religious *AVe are fur from being Hiitchinsonians, nor have we found much to res- pect in the twelve volumes of Hutchinson's works, either as biblical com- ment or natural ])liilos()]iliy: though we give him credit for orthodoxy and good intentions. But his interpretation of the first nine verses of Genesis xi. seems not only rational in itself, and consistent with after accounts of the sacred historian, but proved to be the literal sense of the Hebrew text. His explanation of the cherubim is pleasing and plausible: we dare not say more. Those who would wish to learn the most important points of the Hutchin- sonian doctrine in the most favorable form, and in the shortest possil)le space, we can refer to Duncan Forbes's Letter to a bishop. If our own judgement did not withhold our assent, we should never be ashamed of a conviction held, professed, and advocated by so good, and wise a man, as Duncan Forbes. 56 442 and lyrical poetry of the Hebrews ; and the schools of the Prophets were, however partially and imperfectly, represented by the mysteries, derived through the corrupt channel of the Phoenicians. With these secret schools of physiological theo- logy the mythical poets were doubtless in connection : and it was these schools, which prevented Polytheism from producing all its natural barbarizing effects. The mysteries and the my- thical Hymns and Pagans shaped themselves gradually into epic Poetry and History on the one hand, and into the ethical Tragedy and Philosophy on the other. Under their protection, and that of a youthful liberty secretly controlled by a species of internal Theocracy, the Sciences and the sterner kinds of the Fine Arts ; viz. Architecture and Statuary, grew up together : followed, indeed, by Painting, but a statuesque and austerely idealized painting, which did not degenerate into mere copies of the sense, till the process, for which Greece existed, had been completed. Contrast the rapid progress and perfection of all the products, which owe their existence and character to the mind's own acts, intellectual or imaginative, with the rude- ness of their application to the investigation of physical laws and phsenomena: then contemplate the Greeks (Feaio' «£' irai5sg) as representing a portion only of the education of man : and the conclusion is inevitable. In the education of the mind of the race, as in that of the indi- vidual, each different age and purpose requires dift'erent objects and different means : though all dictated by the same principle, tending toward the same end, and forming consecutive parts of the same method. But if the scale taken be sufficiently large to neutralize or render insignificant the disturbing forces of acci- dent, the degree of success is the best criterion by which to appreciate, both the wisdom of the general principle, and the fitness of the particular objects to the given epoch or period. Now it is a fact, for the greater part of universal acceptance, and attested as to the remainder by all that is of highest fame and authority, by the great, wise, and good, during a space of at least seventeen centuries — weighed against whom the opinions of a few distinguished individuals, or the fashion of a single age, must be held light in the balance,— that whatever could be educed by the mind out of its own essence, by attention to its own acts and laws of action, or as the products of the same ; and whatever likewise could be reflected from material masses 443 transformed as it were into mirrors, the excellence of which is to reveal, in the least possible degree, their own original forms and natures — all these, whether arts or sciences, the ancient Greeks carried to an almost ideal perfection : while in the appli- cation of their skill and science to the investigation of the laws of the sensible world, and the qualities and compositio«i of ma- terial concretes, chemical, mechanical, or organic, their essays' were crude and improsperous, compared with those of the mo- derns during the early morning of their strength, and even at the first re-ascension of the light. But still more striking will the difference appear, if we contrast the physiological schemes and fancies of the Greeks with their own discoveries in the re- gion of the pure intellect, and with their still unrivalled success in arts of imagination. In the aversion of their great men from any jiractical use of their philosophic discoveries, as in the well- known instance of Archimedes, " the soul of the world" was at work ; and the few exceptions were but as a rush of billows driven shoreward by some chance gust before the hour of tide, instantly retracted, and leaving the sands bare and soundless long after the momentary glitter had been lost in evaporation. The third period, that of the Romans, was devoted to the preparations for preserving, propagating, and realizing the la- bors of the preceding ; to war, empire, law ! To this we may refer the defect of all originality in the Latin poets and philo- sophers, on the one hand, and on the other, the predilection of the Romans for astrology, magic, divination, in all its forms. It was the Roman instinct to appropriate by conquest and to give fixture by legislation. And it was the bewilderment and pre- matur'ity of the same instinct which restlessly impelled them to materialize the ideas of the Greek philosophers, and to ren- der them practical by superstitious uses. Thus the Hebrews may be regarded as the fixed mid point of the living line, toward which the Greeks as the ideal pole, and the Romans as the material, were ever approximating ; till the co-incidence and final synthesis took place in Christianity, of which the Bible is the law, and Christendom the phsenome- non. So little confirmation from History, from the process of education planned and conducted by unerring Providence, do those theorists receive, who would at least begin (too many, alas! both begin and end) with the objects of the senses ; as if nature herself had not abundantly performed this part of 444 the task, by continuous, irresistible enforcements of attention to her presence, to the direct beholding, to the apprehension and observation, of the objects that stimulate the senses! as if the cultivation of the mental powers, by methodical exercise of their own forces, were not the securest means of forming the true correspondents to them in the functions of comparison, judgment, and interpretation. ESSAY XI. Sapiinus aniino, fruimur anima : sine ammo anima est debilis. L. Accii Fragmenta. As there are two wants connatural to man, so are therp main directions of human activity, pervading in modern .-v;S the whole civilized world ; and constituting and sustaining that nationality which yet it is their tendency, and, more or less, their effect^ to transcend and to moderate — Trade and Litera- ture. These were they, which, after the dismemberment of the old Roman world, gradually reduced the conquerors and the conquered at once into several nations and a common Chris- tendom. The natural law of increase and the instincts of fam- ily may produce tribes, and under rare and peculiar circum- stances, settlements and neighborhoods : and conquest may form empires. But without trade and literature, mutually commin- gled, there can be no nation ; without commerce and science, no bond of nations. As the one hath for its object the wants of the body, real or artificial, the desires for which are for the greater part, nay, as far as respects the origination of trade and commerce, altogether excited from without ; so the other bas for its origin, as well as for its object, the wants of the mind. 445 the gratification of which is a natural and necessary condition of its growth and sanity. And the man (or the nation, considered according to its predominant character as one man) may be re- garded under these circumstances, as acting in two forms of me- thod, inseparably co-existent, yet producing very different effects according as one or the other obtains the primacy.* x\s is the rank assigned to each in the theory and practice of the governing classes, and, according to its prevalence in forming the foundation of their public habits and opinions, so will be the outward and inward life of the people at large : such will the nation be. In tracing the epochs, and alternations of their relative sover- eignty or subjection, consists the Philosophy of History. In the power of distinguishing and appreciating their several re- sults consists the historic Sense. And that under the ascen- dency of the mental and moral character the commercial rela- tions may thrive to the utmost desirable point, while the re- verse is ruinous to both, and sooner or later effectuates the fall or debasement of the country itself — this is the richest truth obtained for mankind by historic Research : though unhappily it is the truth, to which a rich and commercial nation listens with most reluctance and receives with least faith. Where the brain and the immediate conductors of its influence re- main healthy and vigorous, the defects and diseases of the eye will most often admit either of a cure or a substitute. And so is it with the outward prosperity of a state, where the well-be- ing of the people posesses the primacy in the aims of the governing classes, and in the public feeling. But what avails the perfect state of the eye, Tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, where the optic nerve is paralyzed by a pressure on the brain ? And even so is it not only with the well-being, but ultimately with the prosperity of a people, where the former is consider- ed (if it be considered at all) as subordinate and secondary to wealth and revenue. In the pursuits of commerce the man is called into action * The senses, the memory, and the nnderstaiiding (i. e. tlie retentive, reflec- tive, and judicial functions of his mind) l)eing common to both methods. 446 from without, in order to appropriate the outward world, as far as he can bring it within his reach, to the purposes of his sen- ses and sensual nature. His ultimate end is — appearance and enjoAMiient. Where on the other hand the nurture and evolu- tion of humanity is the final aim, there will soon be seen a general tendency toward, an earnest seeking after, some ground common to the w'orld and to man, therein to find the one prin- ciple of permanence and identity, the rock of strength and re- fuge, to which the soul may cling amid the fleeting surge-like objects of the senses. Disturbed as by the obscure quickening of an inward birth ; made restless by swarming thoughts, that, like bees when they first miss the queen and mother of the hive, with vain discursion seek each in the other what is the common need of all ; man sallies forth into nature — in na- ture, as in the shadows and reflections of a clear river, to dis- cover the originals of the forms presented to hira in his own intellect. Over these shadows, as ii they were the substantial powers and presiding spirits of the stream. Narcissus like, he hangs delighted : till finding nowhere a representative of that free agency w'hich yet is a fact of immediate consciousness sanctioned and made fearfully significant by his prophetic con- science, he learns at last that what he seeks he has left behind and but lengthens the distance as he prolongs the search. Un- der the tutorage of scientific analysis, haply first given to him by express revelation (e ccelo descendit, rNQQI liEATTON) he separates the relations that are wholly the creatures of his own abstracting and comparing intellect, and at once discovers and recoils from the discovery, that the reality, the objective truth, of the objects he has been adoring, derives its whole and sole evidence from an obscure sensation, which he isalike unable to resist or to comprehend, which compels him to con- template as without and independent of himself what yet he could not contemplate at all, were it not a modification of his nwn beinK. ■ 'O* Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own ; Yearnings she liath in her own natural kiud, And, even with something of a Mother's mind, And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can To make her Foster-child, hor Inmate Man, Forget the glories lie Ijath known, 447 And tliat iniporial palace whence he came. * * * * * O joy ! that in our embers Is something that doth liv^e, Tliat nature yet remembers What was so fugitive ! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Peqietual benedictions : not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest ; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast : — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise , But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outwaid things, Fallings from us, vanishings ; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts, before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guilty Thing surprized ! But for those first affections, Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may. Are yet the fountain light of all our day. Are yet a master light of all our seeing ; Uphold us — cherish — and have ]50wer to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence : truths that wake. To perish never ; Which neither hstlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all tliat is at enmity with joy. Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather. Though inland fiir we be. Our soids have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither ; Can in a moment travel thither — And see the Children sjjort upon the shore. And hear the mighty waters rolhng evermore. Wordsworth. * * During my residence ui Rome I had the pleasure of reciting this sublime ode to the illustrious Baron Von Humboldt, then the Prussian minister at the papa] court, and now at the court of St. James's. By those who knew and 448 Long indeed will man strive to satisfy the inward querist with the phrase, laws of nature. But though the individual may rest content with the seemly metaphor, the race cannot. If a law of nature he a mere generalization, it is included in the above as an act of the mind. But if it be other and more, and yet manifestable only in and to an intelligent spirit, it must in act and substance be itself spiritual : for things utterly heteroge- neous can have no intercommunion. In order therefore to the recognition of himself in nature man must first learn to com- prehend nature in himself, and its laws in the ground of his own existence. Then only can he reduce Phsenomenato Prin- ciples — then only will he have achieved the method, the self- unravelling clue, which alone can securely guide him to the conquest of the former — when he has discovered in the basis of their union the necessity of their differences ; in the prin- ciple of their continuance the solution of their changes. It is the idea of the common centre, of the universal law, by which all power manifests itself in opposite yet interdependent forces (t) ya^ ATA2 a;i ira^a Movcc5i xa&rjra;, y.ai vos^aig c.g'^a'TfTEi roaaic: ) that en- lightening enquiry, multiplying experiment, and at once inspir- ing humility and perseverance will lead him to comprehend gradually and progressively the relation of each to the other, of each to all, and of all to each. Such is the second of the two possible directions in which the activity of man propels itself: and either in one or other of the sechannels — or in some one of the rivulets which not with- standing their occasional refluence (and though, as in successive schematisms of Becher, Stahl, and Lavoisier, the varying stream honored both the brothers, tl)e talents of the ])lenipotenti<'xry were held equal to those of the scientific traveller, his judgment superior. I can only say, that I know few Englishmen, whom I could compare with him in the extensive knowledge and just ai)preciation of English literature and its various epochs. He listened to the ode with evident delight, and as evidently not wi hoiit sur- prise, and at the close of the recitation exclaimed, " And is this the work of a living English poet? I should have attributed it to the age of Elizabeth not that 1 recollect any writer, whose style it resembles ; but rather with wonder; that so great and original a poet should have escaped my notice." — Often as I repeat passages from it 1o myself" I recur to the words of Dante: Canzon ! io eredo, che saraimo radi Che tua ragione bene intenderanno : Tanto lor sei faticoso ed alto. 449 may for a time appear to comprehend and inisle some particular department of knowledge which even then it only peninsulates) are yet flowing towards this mid channel, and will ultimately fall into it — all intellectual method has its bed, its banks, and its line of progression. For be it not forgotten, that this discourse is confnied to the evolutions and ordonnance of knowledge, as pre- scribed by the constitution of the human intellect. Whether there be a correspondent reality, whether the Knowing of the Mind has its correlative in the Being of Nature, doubts may be felt. Never to have felt them, would indeed betray an unconscious unbelief, which traced to its extreme roots will be seen ground- ed in a latent disbelief. How should it not be so ? if to conquer these doubts, and out of the confused multiplicity of seeing with which " the films of corruption" bewilder us, and out of the unsubstantial shows of existence, which, like the shadow of an eclipse, or the chasms in the sun's atmosphere, are but nega- tions of sight, to attain that singleness of eye, with which ^^ the whole body shall be full of light,'''' be the purpose, the means, and the end of our probation, the method which is "profitable to all things, and hath the promise in this life and in the life to come!" Imagine the unlettered African, or rude yet musing Indian, poring over an illumined manuscript of the inspired vo- lume, with the vague yet deep impression that his fates aud for- tunes are in some unknown manner connected with its contents. Every tint, every group of characters has its several dream. Say that after long and dissatisfying toils, he begins to sort, first the paragraphs that appear to resemble each other, then the lines, the words — nay, that he has at length discovered that the whole is formed by the recurrence and interchanges of a limited number of cyphers, letters, marks, and points, which, however, in the very height and utmost perfection of his attain- ment, he makes twenty fold more numerous than they are, by classing every different form of the same character, intentional or accidental, as a separate element. And the whole is with- out soul or substance, a talisman of superstition, a mockery of science : or employed perhaps at last to feather the arrows of death, or to shine and flutter amid the plumes of savage vanityj The poor Indian too truly represents the state of learned and systematic ignorance — arrangement guided by the light of no leading idea, mere orderliness without method ! But see ! the friendly missionary arrives. He explains to him 57 450 the nature of written words, translates them for him into his native sounds, and thence into the thoughts of his heart — how many of these thoughts then first evolved into consciousness, which yet the awakening disciple receives, and not as aliens ! Henceforward, the book is unsealed for him ; the depth is opened out ; he communes with the spirit of the volume as a living oracle. The words become transparent, and he sees them as though he saw them not. We have thus delineated the two great directions of man and society with their several objects and ends. Concerning the conditions and principles of method appertaining to each, we have affirmed (for the facts hitherto adduced have been ra- ther for illustration than for evidence, to make our position distinctly understood rather than to enforce the conviction of its truth ) that in both there must be a mental antecedent ; but that in the one it may be an image or conception received through the senses, and originating from without, the inspirit- ing passion or desire being alone the immediate and proper offspring of the mind ; while in the other the initiative thought, the intellectual seed, must itself have its birth-place within, whatever excite ;ent from without may be necessary for its germination. Will the soul thus awakened neglect or under- value the outward and conditional causes of her growth ? For rather, might we dare borrow a wild fancy from the Mantuan bard, or the poet of Arno, will it be with her, as if a stem or trunk, suddenly endued with sense and reflection, should con- template its green shoots, their leaflets and budding blossoms, wondered at as then .first noticed, but welcomed nevertheless as its own growth : while yet with undiminished gratitude, and a deepend sense of dependency, it would bless the dews and the sunshine from without, deprived of the awakening and fos- tering excitement of which, its own productivity would have remained for ever hidden from itself, or felt only as the ob- scure trouble of a bafiled instinct. Hast thou ever raised thy mind to the consideration of ex- istence, in and by itself, as the mere act of existing? Hast thou ever said to thyself thougiitfully, it is ! heedless in that moment, whether it were a man before thee, or a flower, or a grain of sand ? Without reference, in short, to this or that par- ticular mode or form of existence ? If thou hast indeed at- tained 10 this, thou wilt have felt the presence of a mystery, 451 which must have fixed thy spirit in awe and wonder. The ve- ry words, There is nothing ! or, There was a time, when there was nothing ! are self-contradictory. There is that within us which repels the proposition with as full and instantaneous light, as if it bore evidence aginst the fact in the right of its own eternity. Not TO BE, then, is impossible : TO, BE, incomprehensi- ble. If thou hast mastered this intuition of absolute existence, thou wilt have learnt likewise, that it was this, and no other, which in the earlier ages seized the nobler minds, the elect among men, with a sort of sacred horror. This it was which fust caused them to feel within themselves a something ineffa- bly greater than their own individual nature. It was this which, raising them aloft, and projecting them to an ideal dis- tance from themselves, prepared them to become the lights and awakening voices of other men, the founders of law and re- ligion, the educators and foster-gods of mankind. The power, which evolved this idea of Being, Being in its essence, Be- ing limitless, comprehending its own limits in its dilatation, and condensing itself into its own apparent mounds — how shall we name it? The idea itself, which like a mighty billow at once overwhelnjs and bears aloft — what is it ? Whence did it come ? In vain would we derive it from the organs of sense : for these supply only surfaces, undulations, phantoms ! In vain from tiie instruments of sensation : for these furnish only the chaos, the shapeless elements of sense ! And least of all may we hope to find its origin, or sufficient cause, in the moulds and mechanism of the understanding, the whole purport and functions of which consists in individualization, in outlines and differ encings by quantity, quality and relation. It were wiser to seek substance in shadow, than absolute fulness in mere ne- gation. We have asked then for its birth-place in all that constitutes our relative individuality, in all that each man calls exclusively himself. It is an alien of which they know not : and for them the question itself is purposeless, and the very words that con- vey it are as sounds in an unknown language, or as the vision of heaven and earth expanded by the rising sun, which falls but as warmth on the eye-lids of the blind. To no class of phenomena or particulars can it be referred, itself being none : therefore, to no faculty by which these alone are apprehend- 453 ed. As little dare we refer it to any form of abstraction or gen- eralization : for it has neither co-ordinate or analogon ! It is ab- solutely one, and that it is, and affirms itself to be, is its only predicate. And yet this power nevertheless, is! In eminence of Being it IS ! And he for whom it manifests itself in its adequate idea, dare as little arrogate it to himself as his own, can as little appropriate it either totally or by partition, as he can claim owneiship in the breathing air, or make an enclo- sure in the cope of heaven.* He bears witness of it to his own mind, even as he describes life and light : and, with the silence' of light, it describes itself and dwells in us only as far as we dwell in it. The truths which it manifests are such as it alone can manifest, and in all truth it manifests itself. By what name then canst thou call a truth so manifested ? Is it not REVELATION ? Ask thysclf whether thou canst attach to that latter word any consistent meaning not included in the idea of the former. And the manifesting power, the source and the correlative of the idea thus manifested — is it not GOD .'' Either thou knowest it to be GOD, or thou hast called an idol by that awful name ! Therefore in the most appropriate, no less than in the highest, sense of the word were the earliest teachers of humanity inspired. They alone were the true seers of GOD, and therefore prophets of the human race. Look round you and you behold every where an adaptation of means to ends. Meditate on the nature of a Being whose ideas are creative, and consetjuently more real, more substan- tial than the things that, at the height of their creaturely state, aie but their dim reflexes :f and the intuitive conviction will a- *Sec p. 11 — 19 of the Appendix to the Statesman's Manual ; and p. 47 — 59 of the second Lat-Sermon. f If we may not rathei- resem])le them to the resurgent ashes, with which (according to the tales of the later alchemists) the substantial forms of bird and flower made themselves visible, '/2c Tu y.dxtfg "vh]g fiXagi]' /taia )(g7]gu y.itl eaO^lu'. A.nd let me be permitted to add, in especial reference to this passage, a pre- monition quoted from the same work (Zoroastri Oracula, Francisci Patririi) "A Nov~; IsyPt, tco voo'vi'Tt d)f nn leys v. Of the flower apparitions so solemnly aflii-med by Sir K. Bigby, Kcrcher, Ilclmont, &:r. see a full and most interesting account in Southey's Omniana, with a probable solution of this chemical marvel. 453 rise that in such a Being there could exist no motive to the cre- ation of a machine for its own sake ; that therefore, the mate- rial work! must have been made for the sake of man, at once the high-priest and representative of the Creator, as far as he partakes of that reason in which the essences of all things co- exist in all their distinctions yet as one and indivisible. But I speak of man in his idea, and as subsumed in (he divine hu- manity, in whom alone God loved the world. If then in all inferior things, from the grass on the house top to the giant tree of the forest, to the eagle which builds in its summit, and the elephant which browses on its branches, we behold — first, a subjection to the universal laws by which each thing belongs to the Whole, as interpenetrated by the powers of the Whole ; and, secondly the intervention of particular laws by which the universal laws are suspended or tempered for the weal and sustenance of each particular class, and by which each species, and each individual of every species, be- comes a system in and for itself, a world of its own — if we behold this economy everywhere in the irrational creation, shall we not hold it probable that a similar temperament of uni- versal and general laws by an adequate intervention of appro- priate agency, will have been effected for the permanent inter- est of the creature destined to move progressively towards that divine idea which we have learnt to contemplate as the final cause of all creation, and the centre in which all its lines con- verge ? To discover the mode of intervention requisite for man's de- velopement and progression, we must seek then for some gen- eral law by the untempered and uncounteracted action of which both would be prevented and endangered. But this we shall find in that law of his understanding and fancy, by which he is impelled to abstract the outward relations of matter and to ar- range these phenomena in time and space, under' the form of causes and eff"ects. And this was necessary, as being the con- dition under which alone experience and intellectual growth are possible. But, on the other hand, by the same law he is inevitably tempted to misinterpret a constant precedence into positive causation, and thus to break and scatter the one divine and invisible lii'e of nature into countless idols of the sense ; and falling prostrate before lifeless images, the creatures of his own abstraction, is himself sensualized, and becomes a slave 454 to the things of which he was formed to be the conqueror and sovereign. From the fetisch of the imbruted African to the soul debasing errors of the proud fact-hunting materialist we may trace the various ceremonials of the same idolatry, and shall find selfishness, hate and servitude as the results. If, therefore, by the over-ruling and suspension of the phantom- cause of this superstition ; if by separating effects from their natural antecedents ; if by presenting the phenomena of time (as far as is possible) in the absolute forms of eternity ; the nurs- ling of experience should, in the early period of his pupilage, be compelled, by a more impressive experience, to seek in the invisible life alone for the true cause and invisible Nexus of the things that are seen, we shall not demand the evidences of or- dinary experience for that which, if it ever existed, existed as its antithesis and for its counteraction. Was it an appropriate mean to a necessary end ? Has it been attested by lovers of truth ; has it been believed by lovers of wisdom ? Do we see throughout all nature the occasional intervention of particular agencies in counter-check of universal laws? (And of what other definition is a miracle susceptible ?) These are the ques- tions : and if to these our answer must be affirmative, then we too will acquiesce in the traditions of humanity, and yielding, as to a high interest of our own being, will discipline ourselves to the reverential and kindly faith, that the guides and teachers of mankind were the hands of power, no less than the voices of inspiration : and little anxious concerning the particular forms and circumstances of each manifestation we will give an histoiic credence to the historic fact, that men sent by God have come with signs and wonders on the earth. If it be objected, that in nature, as distinguished from man, this intervention of particular laws is, or with the increase of science will be, resolvable into the universal laws which they had appeared to counterbalance — we will reply : Even so it may be in the case of miracles ; but wisdom forbids her children to antedate their knowledge, or to act and feel otherwise, or further than they know. But should that time arrive, the sole difference, that could result Irom such an enlargement of our view, would be this : that what we now consider as miracles in opposition to ordinary experience, we should then reverence with a yet higher devotion as harmonious parts of one great complex miracle, when the antithesis between experience and 455 belief would itself be taken up into the unity of intuitive rea- son. And what purpose o{ philosophy can this acqiescence answer ? A gracious purpose, a most valuable end : if it prevent the en- ergies of philosophy from being idly wasted, by removing the opposition without confounding the distinction between philoso- phy and faith. The philosopher will remain a man in sympa- thy with his fellow men. The head will not be disjoined from the heart, nor will speculative truth be alienated from practical wisdom. And vainly without the union of both shall we ex- pect an opening of the inward eye to the glorious vision of that existence which admits of no question out of itself, ac- knowledges no predicate but the I AM IN THAT I AM ! 0aufJ!.a^ovT£g (piXorfocpSfxev (piXorfoip'Jja'avTSg Sa|x/3S(xsv. \\\ wonder [tco "^om- (jia^siv) says Aristotle does philosophy begin : and in astound- ment (tm aajx/Ssiv) says Plato, does all true philosophy .^nisA-. As every faculty, with every the minutest organ of our nature, owes its whole reality and comprehensibility to an existence incomprehensible and groundless, because the ground of all comprehension : not without the union of all that is essential in all the functions of our spirit, not without an emotion tran- quil from its very intensity, shall we worthily contemplate in the magnitude and integrity of the world that life-ebullient stream which breaks through every momentary embankment, again, indeed, and evermore to embank itself, but within no banks to stagnate or be imprisoned. But here it behooves us to bear in mind, that all true reality has both its ground and its evidence in the will, without which as its complement science ilself is but an elaborate game of shadows, begins in abstractions and ends in perplexity. For considered merely intellectually, individuality, as individuality, is only conceivable as with and in the Universal and Infinite, neither before or after it. No transition is possible from one to the other, as from the architect to the house, or the watch to its maker. The finite form can neither be laid hold of, nor is it any thing of itself real, but merely an apprehension, a frame- work which the human imagination forms by its own limits, as the foot measures itself on the snow; and the sole truth of which we must again refer to the divine imagination, in virtue of its omniformity ; even as thou art capable of beholding the transparent air as little during the absence as during the pre- 456 sence of light, so canst thou behold the finite things as actually existing neither with nor without the substance. Not without, for then the forms cease to be, and are lost in night. Not with it, for it is the light, the substance shining through it, which thou canst alone really see. The ground-work, therefore, of all true philosophy is the full apprehension of the difference between the contemplation of reason, namely, that intuition of things, which arises when we possess ourselves, as one with the whole, which is substantial knowledge, and that which presents itself when transferring reality to the negations of reality, to the evervarying frame- work of the uniform life, we think of ourselves as separated beings, and place nature in antithesis to the mind, as object to subject, thing to thought, death to life. This is abstract know- ledge, or the science of mere understanding. By the former, we know that existence is its own predicate, self-affirmation, the one attribute in which all others are contained, not as parts, but as manifestations. It is an eternal and infinite self-rejoi- cing, self-loving, with a joy unfathomable, with a love all com- prehensive. It is absolute ; and the absolute is neither singly that which affirms, nor that which is affirmed ; but the identity and living copula of both. On the other hand, the abstract knowledge which belongs to us as finite beings, and which leads to a science of delusion then only, when it would exist for itself instead of being the instrument of the former — instead of being, as it were, a trans- lation of the living word into a dead language, for the purpos- es of memory, arrangement, and general communication — it is by this abstract knowledge that the understanding distinguishes the affirmed from the affirming. Well if it distinguish without dividing ! Well ! if by distinction it add clearness to fulness, and prepare for the intellectual re-union of the all in one, in that eternal reason whose fullness hath no opacity, whose transparency hath no vacuum. Thus we prefaced our inquiry into the Science of Method with a principle deeper than science, more certain than demon- stration. For that the very ground, saith Aristotle, is ground- less or self-grounded, is an identical proposition. From the in- demonstrable flows the sap, that circulates through every branch and spray of the demonstration. To this principle we referred the choice of the final object, the control over time — or, to 457 comprize all in one, the Method of the will. From this Wv started (or rather seemed to start: for it still moved before us, as an invisible guardian and guide), and it is this whose re-ap- pearance announces the conclusion of our circuit, and wel- comes us at our goal. Yea (saith an enlightened physician), there is but one principle, which alone reconciles the man with himself, with others and with the world ; which regulates all relations, tempers all passions, and gives power to overcome or support all suffering ; and which is not to be shaken by aught earthly, for it belongs not to the earth — namely, the principle of religion, the living and substantial faith "which passeth all understanding^'''' as the cloud piercing rock, which overhangs the strong-hold of which it had been the quarry and remains the foundation. This elevation of the spirit above the sem- blances of custom and the senses to a world of spirit, this life in the idea, even in the supreme and godlike, which alone merits the name of life, and without which our organic life is but a state of somnambulism ; this it is which affords the sole sure anchorage in the storm, and at the same time the substan- tiating principle of all true wisdom, the satisfactory solution of all the contradictions of human nature, of the whole riddle of the world. This alone belongs to and speaks intelligibly to all alike, the learned and the ignorant, if but the heart listens. For alike present in all, it may be awakened, but it cannot be given. But let it not be supposed, that it is a sort of knowl- edge : No ! it is a form of being, or indeed it is the only knowledge that truly ««, and all other science is real only as far as it is symbolical of this. The material universe, saith a Greek pjiiloscpher, is but one vast con)plex Mythos (i. e. symbolical representation) : and mythology the apex and com- plement of all genuine physiology. But as this principle can- not be implanted by the discipline of logic, so neither can it be excited or evolved by the arts of rhetoric. For it is an immu- table truth, that what comes fkom the heart that alone GOES TO the heart : WHAT PROCEEDS FROM A DIVINE IM- PULSE, THAT THE GODLIKE ALONE CAN AWAKEN. 68 THE THIRD L. A N D I N G-P LACE: OR ESSAYS MISCELLANEOUS. Etiam a musis si quando animum paulieper abducamus, apud Musas nihil- ominus feriamur; at reclines quidem, at otiosas, at de his et illis inter se libe- ra colloquentes. ESSAY 1. Fortuna plerurnque est veluti Galaxia qiiarundarn obscurarum Viftutum sine nomine. Verulam. (Translation.) — Fortune is for tJie most part but a galaxy or milky way, as it were, of certain obscure virtues without a name. ^^ Does fortune favor fools? or how do you explain the ori- gin of the proverb, which, differently worded, is to be found in all the languages of Europe ?" This proverb admits of various explanations, according to the mood of mind in which it is used. It may arise from pity, and the soothing persuasion that Providence is eminently watchful over the helpless, and extends an especial care to those who are not capable of caring for themselves. So used, it breathes the same feeling as " God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb" — or, the more sportive adage, that " the fairies take care of children and tipsy folk." The persuasion itself, in addition to the general religious feeling of mankind, and the scarcely less general love of the marvellous, may be account- ed for from our tendency to exaggerate all effects, that seem disproportionate to their visible cause, and all circumstances that are in any way strongly contrasted with our notions of the persons under them. Secondly, it arises from the safety and success which an ignorance of danger and difficulty sometimes actually assists in procuring ; inasmuch as it precludes the despondence, which might have kept the more foresighted from undertaking the enterprize, the depression which would retard its progress, and those overwhelming influences of terror in cases where the vivid perception of the danger constitutes the greater part of the danger itself. Thus men are said to have swooned and even died at the sight of a narrow bridge, ov»r 462 which they had rode, the night hefoie, in perfect safety ; or at tracing the footmarks along the edge of a precipice which the darkness had concealed from them. A more obscure cause, yet not wholly to be omitted, is afforded by the undoubted fact, that the exertion of the reasoning faculties tends to extinguish or bedim those mysterious instincts of skill, which, though for the most part latent, we nevertheless possess in common with other animals. Or the proverb may be used invidiously : and folly in the vocabulary of envy or baseness may signify courage and mag- nanimity. Hardihood and fool-hardiness are indeed as different as green and yellow, yet will appear the same to the jaundiced eye. Courage multiplies the chances of success by sometimes making opportunities, and always availing itself of them : and in this sense fortune may be said to favor fools by those, who, however prudent in their own opinion, are deficient in valor and enterprize. Again : an eminently good and wise man, for whom the praises of the judicious have procured a high reputation even with the world at large, proposes to himself certain objects, and, adapting the right means to the right end, attains them ; but his objects not being what the world calls fortune, neither money nor artificial rank, his admitted inferiors in moral and intellectual worth, but more prosperous in their wordly concerns, are said to have been favored by for- tune and he slighted : although the fools did tlie same in their line as the w ise man in his ; they adapted the appropriate means to the desired end and so succeeded. In this sense the proverb is current by a misuse, or a catachresis at least, of both the words, fortune and fools. How seldom friend ! a good great man inherits Honor or wealth with all his worth and pains ! It sounds, like stories from the land of spirits, if any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which be obtains. REPLY. For shame, dear friend ! renounce this canting strain What would'st thou have a good gi*eal man obtain .' Place? titles ? salaiy ? a gilded chain.'' Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain ? Greatness ^nd goo.lness ai'e iiot means but cnda! Ilath he not always treasures, always friend% 463 The good great man? Threo treasures, love and LIGHT, And CALM THOUGHTS fcgular as infant's hreatli : J And three firm friends, more sure than day and uight^ Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. s. T, c. But, lastly, there is, doubtless, a true meaning attached to fortune, distinct both from prudence and from cour- age ; and distinct too from that absence of depressing or bewildering passions, which (according to my favorite pro- verb, " extremes meet,") the fool not seldom obtains in as great perfection by his ignorance, as the wise man by the highest energies of thought and self-discipline. Luck has a real existence in human affairs from the infinite number of powers, that are in action at the same time, and from the co-existence of things contingent and accidental (such as to MS at least are accidental) with the regular appearances and general laws of nature. A familiar instance will make these words intelligible. The moon waxes and wanes according to a necessary law. — The clouds likewise, and all the manifold appearances connected with them, are governed by certain laws no less than the phases of the moon. But the laws which de- termine the latter, are known and calculable : while those of the former are hidden from us. At all events, the number and variety of their effects baffle our powers of calculation : and that the sky is clear or obscured at any particular time, we speak of, in common language, as a matter of accident. Well ! at the time of full moon, but when the sky is completely cov- ered with black clouds, I am walking on in the dark, aware of no particular danger : a sudden gust of wind rends the cloud for a moment, and the moon emerging discloses to me a chasm or precipice, to the very brink of which I had advanced my foot. This is what is meant by luck, and according to the more or less serious mood or habit of our mind we exclaim, how lucky I or, how providential ! The co-presence of numberless phsenomena, which from the complexity or subtlety of their determining causes are called contingencies , and the co-exis- tence of these with any regular or necessaiy phaenomenon (as the clouds with the moon for instance) occasion coincidences^ which, when they are attended by any advantage or injury, and are at the same time incapable of being calculated or fore- seen by human prudence, fori© good or ill luck. On a hot sunshiny afternoon came on a sudden storm and spoilt the far- 464 raer's hay : and this is called ill luck. We will suppose the event to take place, when meteorology shall have been perfect- ed into a science, provided with unerring instruments; but which the farmer had neglected to examine. This is no longer ill luck, but imprudence. Now apply this to our proverb. Unforeseen coincidences may have greatly helped a man, yet if they have done for him only what possibly from his own abili- ities he might have effected for himself, his good luck will ex- cite less attention and the instances be less remembered. That clever men should attain their objects seems natural, and we neglect the circumstances that perhaps produced that suc- cess of themselves without the intervention cf skill or foresight ; but we dwell on the fact and remember it, as something strange, when the same happens to a weak or ignorant man. So too, though the latter should fail in his undertakings from concur- rences that might have happened to the wisest man, yet his failure being no more than might have been expected and ac- counted for from his folly, it lays no hold on our attention, but fleets away among the other undistinguished waves in which the stream of ordinary ilfe murmurs by us, and is forgotten. Had it been as true as it was notoriously false, that those all-em- bracing discoveries, which have shed a dawn of science on the art of chemistry, and give no obscure promise of some one great constitutive law, in the light of which dwell dominion and the power of prophecy ; if these discoveries, instead of having been as they really were preconcerted by meditation, and evolved out of his own intellect, had occured by a set of lucky accidents to the illustrious father and founder of philosopic alchemy ; if they had presented themselves to Professor Davy exclusively in consequence of his luck in possessing a particular galvanic battery; if this battery, as far as Davy was concerned, had itself been an accident^ and not (as in point of fact it was) desired and obtained by him for the purpose of ensuring the testimony of experience to his principles, and in order to bind down material nature under the inquisition of reason, and force from her, as by torture, unequivocal answer io prepared and pre- conceived questions — ^yet still they would not have been talked of or described, as instances of luck^ but as the natural results of his admitted genius and known skill. But should an acci- dent have disclosed similar discoveries to a mechanic at Bir- mingham or Sheffield, and if (he man should grow rich in con- 4Go sequence, and partly by the envy of his niegbors, and partly with good reason, be considered by them as a man below par in the general powers of his understanding ; then, " O what a lucky fellow ! — Well, Fortune does favor fools — that's for cer- tain ! — It is always so !" — And forthwith the exclaimer relates half a dozen similar instances. Thus accumulating the one sort of facts and never collecting the other, we do, as poets in their diction, and quacks of all denominations do in their rea- soning, put a part for the whole, and at once soothe our envy and gratify our love of the marvellous, by the sweeping pro- verb, " Fortune favors fools." ESSAY II Quod me non movet eestimationc : Verum, est fivijfioovvov mei sodalis. Catull xii. (Translalion.) — It interested not by any conceit of its value ; but it is a remembrance of my honored friend. The philosophic ruler, who secured the favors of fortune by seeking wisdom and knowledge in preference to them, has pa- thetically observed — " The heart knoweth its own bitterness ; and there is a joy in which the stranger intermeddleth not." A simple question founded on a trite proverb, with a discur- sive answer to it, would scarcely suggest, to an indifferent per- son, any other notion than that of a mind at ease, amusing it- self with its own activity. Once before (I believe about this time last year) I had taken up the old memorandum book, from which I transcribed the preceding Essay, and that had then attracted my notice by the name oi the illustrious chemist mentioned in the last illustration. Exasperated by the base 59 4G6 and cowardly attempt, that had been made, to detract from the honors due to his astonishing genius, I had slightly altered the concluding sentences, substituting the more recent for his ear- lier discoveries ; and without the most distant intention of pub- lishing what I then wrote, I had expressed my own convictions for the gratification of my own feelings, and finished by tran- quilly paraphrasing into a chemical allegory ,the Homeric ad- venture of Menelaus with Proteus. Oh ! with what difierent feelings, with what a sharp and sudden emotion did I re-peruse the same question yester-morning, having by accident opened the book at the page, upon which it was written. I was mov- ed : for it was Admiral Sir Alexander Ball, who first proposed the question to me, and the particular satisfaction, which he expressed, had occasioned me to note down the substance of my reply. I was moved : because to this conversation, I was indebted for the friendship and confidence with which he af- terwards honored me ; and because it recalled the memory of one of the most delightful mornings I ever passed ; when as we were riding together, the same person related to me the prnicipal events of his own life, and introduced them by ad- verting to this conversation. It recalled too the deep impres- sion left on my mind by that narrative, the impression, that I had never known any analogous instance, in which a man so successful, had been so little indebted to fortune, or lucky ac- cidents, or so exclusively both the architect and builder of his own success. The sum of his history may be comprised in this one sentence : Hcee, sub numine, nobismet fecimus, sapientia duce, fortuna permittente. (i. e. These things, under God, we have done for ourselves, through the guidance of wisdom, and with the permission of fortune.) Luck ^aye him nothing: in her most generous moods, she only worked with him as with a friend, not for him as for a fondling : but more often she simply stood neuter and suff'ered him to work for himself. Ah ! how could I be otherwise than affected, by whatever re- minded me of that daily and familiar intercourse with him which made the fifteen months from May 1801, to October 1805, in many respects, the most memorable and instructive period of my life ? — Ah ! how could I be otherwise than most deeply af- fected : when there w^as still lying on ray table the paper which, the day before, had conveyed to me the unexpected and most awful tid'ngs of this man's death ! his death in the fulness of all 467 his powers, in the rich autumn of ripe yet undecaying man- hood! I once knew a lady, who after the loss of a lovely child con- tinued for several days in a state of seeming indifference, the weather, at the same time, as if in unison with her, being calm, though gloomy : till one morning a burst of sunshine breaking in upon her, and suddenly lighting up the room where she was sitting, she dissolved at once into tears, and wept passion- ately. In no verj- dissimilar manner, did the sudden gleam of recollection at the sight of this memorandum act on myself. I had been stunned by the intelligence, as by an outward blow, till this trifling incident startled and disentranced me : (the sud- den pang shivered through my whole frame : ) and if I repress- ed the outward shows of sorrow, it was by force that I repres- sed them, and because it is not by tears that I ought to mourn for the loss of Sir Alexander Ball. He was a man above his age : but for that very reason the age has the more need to have the master-features of his character portrayed and preserved. This I feel it my duty to attempt, and this alone : for having received neither instructions nor permission from the family of the deceased, I cannot think myself allowed to enter into the particulars of his private his- tory, strikingly as man}^ of them would illustrate the elements and composition of his mind. For he was indeed a living con- futation of the assertion attributed to the Prince of Conde, that no man appeared great to his valet de chambre — a saying which, I suspect, owes it's currency less to it's truth, than to the envy of mankind and the misapplication of the word, great, to actions unconnected with reason and free will. It will be sufficient for my purpose to observe, that the purity and strict propriety of his conduct, which precluded rather than silenced calumny, the evenness of his temper and his attentive and af fectionate manners, in private life, greatly aided and increased his public utility : and, if it should please Providence, that a portion of his spirit should descend with his mantle, the virtues of Sir Alexander Ball, as a master, a husband, and a pa- rent, will form a no less remarkable epoch in the moral history of the Maltese than his wisdom, as a governor, has made in that of their outward circumstances. That the private and per- sonal qualities of a first magistrate should have political effects, will appear strange to no reflecting Englishman, who has at- tended to the workings of men's minds during the first ferment 468 of revolutionary principles, and must therefore have witness- ed the influence of our own sovereign's domestic character in counteracting them. But in Malta there were circumstances which rendered such an example peculiary requisite and bene- ficent. The very existence, for so many generations, of an Order of Lay Cselibates in that island, who abandoned even the outward shows of an adherence to their vow of chastity, must have had pernicious effects on the morals of the inhabi- tants. But when it is considered too that the Knights of Malta had been for the last fifty years or more a set of use- less idlers, generally illiterate,* for they thought literature no part of a soldier's excellence ; and yet effeminate, for they were soldiers in name only : when it is considered, that they were, morover, all of them aliens^ who looked upon them- selves not merely as of a superior rank to the native nobles, but as beings of a different race (I had almost said, species)^ from the Maltese collectively ; and finally that these men pos- sessed exclusively the government of the Island : it may be safely concluded that they were little better than a perpetual influenza, relaxing and diseasing the hearts of all the families within their sphere of influence. Hence the peasantry, who fortunately were below their reach, notwithstanding the more than childish ignorance in which they were kept by their priests, yet compared with the middle and higher classes, were both in mind and body, as ordinary men compared with dwarfs. Every respectable family had some one night for their patron, as a matter of course ; and to him the honor of a sister or a daughter was sacrificed, equally as a matter of course. But why should I thus disguise the truth ? Alas ! in nine in- stances out of ten, this patron was the common paramour of ev- ery female in the family. Were I composing a state memo- rial, I should abstain from all allusion to moral good or evil, as not having now first to learn, that with diplomatists, and *The personal effects of every kniglit were, after his death, appropriated to the Order, and his books, if he had any, devolved to the i)iihlic library. This library therefore, which has been accumulating from the time of their first settlement in the island, is a fair criterion of the nature and degree of their literary studies, as an average. Even in respect to works of military science, it is contemptible — as the sole publicjibrary of so numerous and opulent an order, most contemptible — ard in all other departments of litera- ture it is below contempt. 469 with practical statesmen of every denomination, it would pre- clude all attention to its other contents, and have no result but that of securing for its author's name the official private mark of exclusion or dismission, as a weak or suspicious person. But among those for whom I am novv writing, there are, I trust, many who will think it not the feeblest reason for rejoicing in our possession of Malta, and not the least worthy motive for wishing its retention, that one source of human misery and cor- ruption has been dried up. Such persons will hear the name of Sir Alexander Ball with additional reverence, as of one who has made the protection of Great Britain a double bless- ing to the Maltese, and broken, " the bonds of iniquity'''' as well as unlocked the fetters of political oppression. When we are praising the departed by our own fire-sides, we dwell most fondly on those qualities which had won our personal affection, and which sharpen our individual regrets. But when impelled by a loftier and more meditative sorrow, we would raise a public monument to their memory, we praise them appropriately when we relate their actions faithfully : and thus preserving their example for the imitation of the liv- ing, alleviate the loss, while we demonstrate its magnitude. My funeral eulogy of Sir Alexander Ball, must therefore be a narrative of his life : and this friend of mankind will be de- frauded of honor in proportion as that narrative is deficient and fragmentary. It shall, however, be as complete as my information enables, and as prudence and a proper respect for the feelings of the living permit me to render it. His fame (1 adopt the words of our elder writers) is so great throughout the world that he stands in no need of an encomi- um : and yet his worth is much greater than his fame. It is impossible not to speak great things of him, and jet it will be very difficult to speak what he deserves. But custom requires that something should be said : it is a duty and a debt which we owe to ourselves and to mankind, not less than to his memo- ry ; and I hope his great soul, if it hath any knowledge of what is done here below, will not be offended at the small- ness even of my offering. Ah ! how little, when among the subjects of The Friend I promised " Characters met with in Real Life," did I antici- pate the sad event, which compels me to weave on a cypress branch, those sprays of laurel, which I had destined for his bust, 470 not his monument ! He lived as we should all live ; and, I doubt not, left the world as we should all wish to leave it. Such is the power of dispensing blessings, which Providence has attached to the truly great and good, that they cannot even die without advantage to their fellow-creatures : for death con- secrates their example ; and the wisdom, which might have been slighted at the council-table, becomes oracular from the shrine. Those rare excellencies, which make our grief poign- ant, make it likewise profitable ; and the tears, which wise men shed for the departure of the wise, are among those that are preserved in heaven. It is the fervent aspiration of my spir- it, that I may so perform the task which private gratitude, and public duty impose on me, that " as God hath cut this tree of paradise down, from its seat of earth, the dead trunk may yet support a part of the declining temple, or at least serve to kindle the fire on the altar."* *Ei). .Ter. Taylor. ESSAY III. Si partem tactiisse veliin, qiiodeunique relinqiiani, Majus erit. Veteres actus, primainquc juventani Prosequar? Ad sese mentem proesentia ducunt. Narrem justitian? Resplendet gloria Martis. Ai'mati referam vires ? Plus egit inermis. CLAUDI.4jy DE LACD. STIL. (Translation.) — If I desire to pass over a part in silence, whatever I omit, will seem the most worthy to have been recorded. Shall I pursue his old ex- ploits and early youth ? His recent merits recall the mind to them- selves. Shalt I dwell on his justice ? The glory of the warrior rises before me resplendent. Shall I relate his strength in arms ? He performed yet greater things unarmed. There is something (says Harrington in the Preliminaries of the Oceana) first in the making of a commonwealth, then in the governing of it, and last of all in the leading of its armies, ■which though there be great divines, great lawyers, great men in all ranks of life, seems to be peculiar only to the genius of a gentleman. For so it is in the universal series of history that if any man has founded a commonwealth, he was first a gentleman. Such also he adds as have got any fame as civil governors have been gentlemen, or persons of known descent. Sir Alexander Ball was a gentleman by birth ; a younger brother of an old and respectable family in Gloucestershire. He went into the navy at an early age from his own choice, and as he himself told me, in consequence of the deep iafpression and vivid images left on his mind by the perusal of Robinson Crusoe. It is not my in- tention to detail the steps of his promotion, or the services in which he was engaged as a subaltern. I recollect many par- ticulars indeed, but not the dates with such distinctness as would 472 enable me to state them (as it would be necessary to do if I stated them at all) in the order of time. These dates might perhaps have been procured from the metropolis : but incidents that are neither characteristic nor instructive, even such as would be expected with reason in a regular life, are no part of my plan ; while those which are both interesting and illustra- tive I have been precluded from mentioning, some from motives which have been already explained, and others from still higher considerations. The most important of these may be deduced from a reflection with which he himself once concluded a long and affecting narration : namely that no body of men can for any length of time be safely treated otherwise than as rational be- ings ; and that therefore the education of the lower classes was of the utmost consequence to the permanent security of the empire, even for the sake of our navy. The dangers apprehended from the education of the lower classes, arose (he said) entirely from its not being universal, and from the unusualness in the lowest classes of those accomplishments, which He, like Doctor Bell, regarded as one of the means of education, and not as edu- cation itself.* If, he observed, the lower classes in general pos- sessed but one eye or one arm, the few who were so fortunate as to possess two, would naturally become vain and restless, and consider themselves as entitled to a higher situation. He illustrated this by the faults attributed to learned women, and that the same objections were formerly made to educating wo- men at all : namely, that their knowledge made them vain, af- fected, and neglectful of their proper duties. Now that all women of condition are well-educated, we hear no more of these apprehensions, or observe any instances to justify them. Yet if a lady understood the Greek one-tenth part as well as the whole circle of her acquaintances understood the French language, it w-ould not surprise us to find her less pleasing from the consciousness of her superiority in the possession of an un- usual advantage. Sir Alexander Ball quoted the speech of an old admiral, one of whose two great wishes was to have a ship's * Which consists in educing, or to adopt Dr. Boll's own expression, eliciting the faculties of the luiinan mind, and at the same time subordinating them to the reason and conscience ; varying the means of this common end accor- ding to the sphere and particular mode in which the individual is likely to act and become useful. 473 crew composed altogether of serious Scotchmen. He spoke with great reprobation of the vulgar notion, the worse man, the better sailor. Courage, he said, was the natural product of fa- miliarity with danger, which thoughtlessness would oftentimes turn into fool-hardiness; and that he had always found the most usefully brave sailors the gravest and most rational of his crew. The best sailor, he had ever had, first attracted his notice by the anxiety which he expressed concerning the means of re- mitting some money which he had received in the West Indies^ to his sister in England ; and this man, without any tinge of me- thodisra, was never heard to swear an oath, and was remarkable for the firmness with which he devoted a part of every Sunday to the reading of his Bible. I record this with satisfaction as a testimony of great weight, and in all respects unexceptionable ; for Sir Alexander Ball's opinions throughout life remained un- warped by zealotry, and were those of a mind seeking after truth, in calmness and complete self-possession. He was much pleased with an unsuspicious testimony furnished by Dampier. (Vol. ii. Part 2, page 89). " I have particularly observed," writes this famous old navigator, " there and in other places, that such as had been well-bred, were generally most careful to im- prove their time and would be very industrious and frugal where there was any probability of considerable gain ; but on the con- trary, such as had been bred up in ignorance and hard labor when they came to have plenty would extravagantly squander away their time and money in drinking and making a bluster.'''* Indeed it is a melancholy proof, how strangely power warps the minds of ordinary men, that there can be a doubt on this subject among persons who have been themselves educated. It tempts a suspicion, that unknown to themselves they find a com- fort in the thought that their inferiors are something less than men;: or that they have an uneasy half-consciousness that, if this were not the case, they would themselves have no claim to be their superiors. For a sober education naturally inspires self-respect. But he who respects himself will respect others, and he who respects both himself and others, must of necessity be a brave man. The great importance of this subject, and the increasing interest which good men of all denominations feel in the bring- ing about of a national education, must be my excuse for having entered so minutely into Sir Alexander Ball's opinions on this head, in which, however, I am the more excusable, being now 60 474 on that part of his life which I am obliged to leave almost a blank. During his lieutenancy, and after he had perfected himself in the knowledge and duties of a practical sailor, he was compel- led by the state of his health to remain in England for a consid- erable length of time. Of this he industriously availed himself to the acquirement of substantial knowledge from books ; and during his whole life afterwards, he considered those as his happiest hours, which, without any neglect of olficial or profes- sional duty, he could devote to reading. He preferred, indeed he almost confined himself to, history, political economy, voy- ages and travels, natural history, and latterly agricultural W'orks : in short, to such books as contain specific facts, or prac- tical principles capable of specific application. His active life, and the particular objects of immediate utility, some one of which he had always in his view, precluded a taste for works of pure speculation and abstract science, though he highly hon- ored those who were eminent in these respects, and considered them as the benefactors of mankind, no less than those who af- terwards discovered the mode of applying their principles, or ■who realized them in practice. Works of amusement, as nov- els, plays, &c. did not appear even to amuse him : and the on- ly poetical composition, of which I have ever heard him speak, was a manuscript* poem written by one of my friends, which I read to his lady in his presence. To my surprise he after- wards spoke of this with warm interest ; but it was evident to me, that it was not so much the poetic merit of the composition that had interested him, as the truth and psychological insight with which it represented the practicability of reforming the most hardened minds, and the various accidents which may awaken the most brutalized person to a recognition of his no- bler being. I will add one remark of his own knowledge ac- quired from books, which appears to me both just and valuable. The prejudice against such knowledge, he said, and the custom of opposing it to that which is learnt by practice, originated in those times when books w^ere almost confined to theology, and to logical and metaphysical subtleties; but that at present there is scarcely any practical knowledge, which is not to be found * Though it remains, I believe, iny:)ubHsliecl, I cannot resist the temptation of recording tJiat it was Mr. Wordsworth's Peter Bell. 475 in books : The press is the means by which intelligent men now converse with each other, and persons of all classes and all pursuits convey, each the contribution of his individual ex- perience. It was therefore, he said, as absurd to hold book- knowledge at present in contempt, as it would be for a man to avail himself only of Ins own eyes and ears, and to aim at no- thing which could not be performed exclusively by his own arms. The use and necessity of personal experience consisted in the power of choosing and applying what had been read, and of discriminating by the light of analogy the practicable from the impracticable, and probability from mere plausibility. Without a judgment matured and steadied by actual experience, a man would read to little or perhaps to bad purpose ; but yet that experience, which is exclusion of all other knowledge has been derived from one man's life, is in the present day scarce- ly worthy of the name — at least for those who are to act in the higher and wider spheres of duty. An ignorant general, he said, inspired him with terror ; for if he were too proud to take advice he would ruin himself by his own blunders ; and if he were not, by adopting the worst that was offered. A great genius may indeed form an exception ; but we do not lay down rules in expectation of wonders. A similar remark I remem- ber to have heard from a gallant officer, who to eminence in professional science and the gallantry of a tried soldier, adds all the accomplishments of a sound scholar, and the powers of a man of genius. One incident, which hapened at this period of Sir Alexan- der's life, is so illustrative of his character, and furnishes so strong a presumption, that the thoughtful humanity by which he was distinguished, was not wholly the growth of his latter years, that though it may appear to some trilling in itself, I will insert it in this place, with the occasion on which it was com- municated to me. In a large party at the Grand Master's pal- ace, I had observed a naval officer of distinguished merit lis- tening to Sir Alexander Ball, whenever he joined in the con- versation, with so marked a pleasure, that it seemed as if his very voice, independent of what he said, had been delightful to him : and once as he fixed his eyes on Sir Alexander Ball, I could not but notice the mixed expression of awe and affection, which gave a more than common interest to so manly a counte- nance. During his stay in the island, this ofl&cer honored me 476 not unfrequently with his visits ; and at the conclusion of my last conversation with him, in which I had dwelt on the wisdom of the Governor's* conduct in a recent and difficult emergency, he told me that he considered himself as indebted to the same excellent person for that which was dearer to him than his life. Sir Alexander Ball, said he, has (I dare say) forgotten the cir- cumstance ; but v/hen he was Lieutenant Ball, he was the offi- cer whom I accompanied in my first boat expedition, being then a midshipman and only in my fourteenth year. As we were rowing up to the vessel which we were to attack, amid a dis- charge of musquetry, I was overpowered by fear, my knees trembled under me, and I seemed on the point ot fainting away. Lieutenant Ball, who saw the condition I was in, placed himself close beside me, and still keeping his countenence directed toward the enemy, took hold of my hand, and pressing it in the most friendly manner, said in a low voice, " Courage, my dear boy don't be afraid of yourself ! you will recover in a minute or so — I was just the same, when I first went out in this w^ay." Sir, added the officer to me, it was as if an angel had put a new soul into me. With the feeling, that I was not yet dis- honored, the whole burthen of agony was removed ; and from that moment I was as fearless and forward as the oldest of the boat's crew, and on our return the lieutenant spoke highly of me to our captain. I am scarcely less convinced of my own being, than that I should have been what I tremble to think of, if, in- stead of his humane encouragment, he had at that moment scoff- ed, threatened, or reviled me. And this was the more kind in him, because, as I afterwards understood, his own conduct in his first trial, had evinced to all appearances the greatest fearless- ness and that he said this therefore only to give me heart, and restore me to my own good opinion. — This anecdote, I trust, will ^' Such Sir Alexander Ball was in reality, and such was his general appel- lation in the Mediterranean: I adopt this title therefore, to avoid the un- graceful repetition of his own name on the one hand, and on the other the confusion of ideas, which might arise from the use of his real title, viz. "His Majesty's civil Commissioner for the Island of Malta and its dependencies; and Minister Plcnipotentiaiy to the Order of St. John." This is not the place to expose tlie timid and unsteady pohcy which continued the latter title, or the petty jealousies which interfered to prevent Sir x\lexander Ball from having the title of Govenor from one of the very causes which rendered him fitted for the oflic 477 hare some weight with those who may have lent an ear to any of those vague calumnies from which no naval commander can secure his good name, who knowing the paramount necessity of regularity and strict discipline in a ship of war, adopts an ap- propriate plan for the attainment of these objects, and remains constant and immutable in the execution. To an Athenian, who, in praising a public functionary had said, that every one either applauded him or left him without censure, a philoso- pher replied — " How seldom then must he have done his duty !" Of Sir Alexander Ball's character, as Captain Ball, of his measures as a disciplinarian, and of the wise and dignified prin- ciple on which he grounded those measures, I have already spoken in a former part of this work, and must content myself therefore with entreating the reader to re-peruse that passage as belonging to this place, and as a part of the present narration. Ah ! little did I expect at the time I wrote that account, that the motives of delicacy, which then impelled me to withhold the name, would so soon be exchanged for the higher duty which now justifies me in adding it ! At the thought of such events the language of a tender superstition is the voice of na- ture itself, and those facts alone presenting themselves to our memory which had left an impression on our hearts, we assent to, and adopt the poet's pathetic complaint : " O Sir ! the good die, And those whose hearts are diy as summer dust Burn to the socket." ' Thus the humane plan described in the pages now referred to, that a system in pursuance of which the captain of a man of war uniformly regarded his sentences not as dependent on his own will, or to be affected by the state of his feelings at the moment, but as the pre-established determinations of known laws, and himself as the voice of the law in pronouncing the sentence, and its delegate in enforcing the execution, could not but furnish occasional food to the spirit of detraction, must be evident to every reflecting mind. It is indeed little less than impossible, that he, who in order to be effectively humane determines to be inflexibly just, and v.ho is inexorable to his own feelings when they would interrupt the course of justice ; who looks at each particular act by the light of all its conse- 478 quenees, and as the representative of ultimate good or evil ; should not sometimes be charged with tyranny by weak minds. And it is too certain that the calunmny will be willingly be- lieved and eagerly propagated by all those, who would shun the presence of an eye keen in the detection of imposture, in- capacity, and misconduct, and of a resolution as steady in their exposure. We soon hate the man whose qualities we dread, and thus have a double interest, an interest of passion as well as of policy, in decrying and defaming him. But good men will rest satisfied with the promise made to them by the divine Comforter, that by her children shall wisdom be justi- fied. ESSAY lY. the generous spirit, who, when brought Among the tasks of real Hfe, hath wrouglit Upon the plan that pleas'd his childish thought: Whose higli endeavors are an inward light That make the path before him always bright ; Who doom'd to go in company with Pain, And Fear and Bloodshed, miserable train ! Turns his necessity to glorious gain ; By objects, which might force the soul to abate Her feeling, render d more compassionate Wordsworth. At the close of the American war, Captain Ball was en- trusted with the protection and convoying of an immense mer- cantile fleet to America, and by his great prudence and unex- ampled attention to the interests of all and eaeh, endeared his name to the American merchants, and laid the foundation of that hi"-h respect and predilection which both the Americans and their government ever afterwards entertained for him. My recollection does not enable me to attempt any accura- cy in the date or circumstances, or to add the particulars of 479 his services in the West Indies ; and on the coast of America, I now therefore merely allude to the fact with a prospec- tive reference to opinions and circumstances, which I shall have to mention hereafter. Shortly after the general peace was established, Captain Ball, who was now a married man, passed some time with his lady in France, and, if I mistake not at Nantz. At the same time, and in the same town, among the other English visitors Lord (then Captain) Nelson, hap- pened to be one. In consequence of some punctilio, as to whose business it was to pay the compliment of the first call, they never met, and this trifling affair occasioned a coldness be- tween the two naval commanders, or in truth a mutual preju- dice against each other. Some years after, both their ships being together close off Minorca and near Port Mahon, a vio- lent storm nearly disabled Lord Nelson's vessel, and in addi- tion to the fury of the wind, it was night-time and the thickest darkness. Captain Ball, however, brought his vessel at length to Nelson's assistance, took his in tow, and used his best en- deavors to bring her and his own vessel into Port Mahon. The difficulties and the dangers increased. Nelson considered the case of his own ship as desperate, and that unless she was imme- diatly left to her own fate, both vessels would inevitably be lost. He, therefore, with the generosity natural to him, repeat- edly requested Captain Ball to let him loose ; and on Captain Ball's refusal, he became impetuous, and enforced his demand with passionate threats. Captain Ball then himself took the speaking-trumpet, which the fury of the wind and the waves rendered necessary, and with great solemnity and without the least disturbance of temper, called in reply, " I feel confident that I can bring you in safe ; I therefore must not, and, by the help of Almighty God ! I will not leave you !" What he pro- mised he performed ; and after they were safely anchored, Nelson came on board of Ball's ship, and embracing him with all the ardor of acknowledgement, exclaimed — " a friend in need is a friend indeed !" At this time and on this occasion commenced that firm and perfect friendship between these two great men, which was interrupted only by the death of the former. The pleasing task of dwelling on this mutual attachment I defer to that part of the present sketch which will relate to Sir Alexander Ball's opinions of men and things. It will be sufficient for the present to say, that the two men, whom Lord 480 Nelson especially honored, were Sir Thomas Troubridge and Sir Alexander Ball ; and once, when they were both present, on some allusion made to the loss of his arm, he replied, " Who shall dare to tell me that I want an arm, when I have three right arms — this (putting forward his own) and Ball and Troubridge ?" In the plan of the battle of the Nile it was Lord Nelson's de - sign, that Captains Troubridge and Ball should have led up the attack. The former was stranded ; and the latter, by accident of the wind, could not bring his ship into the line of battle till some time after the engagement had become general. With his characteristic forecast and activity of (what may not im- properly be called ) practical imagination, he had made arrange- ments to meet every probable contingency. All the shrouds and sails of the ship, not absolutely necessary for its immediate man- agement, were thoroughly wetted and so rolled up, that they were as hard and as little inflammable as so many solid cylinders of wood ; every sailor had his appropriate place and function and a certain number were appointed as the firemen, whose sole duty it was to be on the watch if any part of the vessel should take fire : and to these men exclusively the charge of extinguishing it was committed. It was already dark when he brought his ship into action, and laid her alongside I'Orient. One particular only I shall add to the known account of the memorable engagement between these ships, and this I received from Sir Alexander Ball himself. He had previously made a combustible prepara- tion, but which from the nature of the engagement to be ex- pected, he had purposed to reserve for the last emergency. But just at the time when, from several s3^mptoms, he had every rea- son to believe that the enemy would soon strike to him, one of the lieutenants, without his knowledge, threw in the combustible matter ; and this it was that occasioned the tremendous explo- sion of that vessel, which, with the deep silence and interruption of the engagement which succeeded to it, has been justly deemed the sublimest war incident recorded in history. Yet the incident which followed, and which has not, I believe, been publicly made known, is scarcely less impressive, though its sublimity is of a different character. At the renewal of the battle Captain Ball, though his ship was then on fire in three different parts laid her alongside a French eighty-four: and a second longer obstinate contest began. The firing on the part 481 and then altogether ceased, and yet no sign given of surrender, the senior lieutenant came to Captain Ball and informed him, that the hearts of his men were as good as ever, but that they were so completely exhausted, that they were scarcely capable of lifting an arm. He asked, therefore, whether, as the enemy had now ceased firing, the men might be permitted to lie down by their guns for a short time. After some reflection, Sir Alex- ander acceded to the proposal, taking of course the proper pre- cautions to rouse them again at the moment he thought requi- site. Accordingly, with the exception of himself, his officers, and the appointed watch, the ship's crew lay down, each in the place to which he was stationed, and slept for twenty minutes. They were then roused ; and started up, as Sir Alexander expres- sed it, more like men out of an ambush than from sleep, so coin- stantaneously did they all obey the summons ! They recommen- ced their fire, and in a few minutes the enemy surrendered ; and it was soon after discovered, that during that interval, and almost immediately after the French ship had first ceased firing, the crew had sunk down by their guns, and there slept almost by the side, as it were, of their sleeping enemy. ESSAY V. Whose powers shed round him m the common strife, Or mild concerns, of ordinaiy hfe A constant influence, a peculiar gi-ace ; But who if he be call'd upon to face Some awful moment, to which heaven has join'd Great issues, good or bad for human kind, Is happy as a lover, is attired With sudden brightness like a man inspired ; And through the heat of conflict keeps the law In calnmess made, and sees what he foresaw. Wordsworth. An accessibility to the sentiments of others on subjects of importance often accompanies feeble minds, yet it is not the less a true and constituent part of practical greatness, when it exists wholly free from that passiveness to impression which renders 61 482 counsel itself injurious to certain characters, and from that weak- ness of heart which, in the literal sense of the word, is always craving advice. Exempt from all such imperfections, say rather in perfect harmony with the excellencies that preclude them, this openness to the influxes of good sense and information, from whatever quarter they might come, equally characterized both Lord Nelson and Sir Alexander Ball, though each displayed it in the way best suited to his natural temper. The former with easy hand collected, as it passed by him, whatever could add to his own stores, appropriated what he could assimilate, and levied subsidies of knowledge from all the accidents of social life and familiar intercourse. Even at the jovial board, and in the height of unrestrained merriment, a casual suggestion, that flashed a new light on his mind, changed the boon companion into the hero and the man of genius ; and with the most graceful transi- tion he would make his company as serious as himself. When the taper of his genius seemed extinguished, it was still sur- rounded by an inflammable atmosphere of its own and rekind- led at the first approach of light, and not seldom at a distance which made it seem to flame up self-revived. In Sir Alexander Ball, the same excellence was more an aff'air of system : and he would listen, even to weak men with a patience, which, in so careful an economist of time, always demanded my admira- tion, and not seldom excited my wonder. It was one of his maxims, that a man may suggest what he cannot give : adding that a wild or silly plan had more than once, from the vivid sense, and distinct perception of its folly, occasioned him to see what ought to be done in a new light, or with a clearer in- sight. There is, indeed, a hopeless sterility, a mere negation of sense and thought, which, suggesting neither difference nor contrast, cannot even furnish hints for recollection. But on the other hand, there are minds so whimsically constituted that they may sometimes be profitably interpreted by contraries, a process of which the great Tycho Brache is said to have avail- ed himself in the case of the little Lackwit, who used to sit and mutter at his feet while he was studying. A mind of this sort we may compare to a magnetic needle, the poles of which had been suddenly reversed by a flash of lightning, or other more ob- scure accident of nature. It may be safely concluded, that to those whose judgment or information he respected, Sir Alexan- 483 der Ball did not content himself with giving access and atten- tion. No ! he seldom failed of consulting them whenever the subject permitted any disclosure ; and where secrecy was ne- cessary, he well knew how to acquire their opinion without exciting even a conjecture concerning his immediate object. Yet, with all this readiness of attention, and with all this zeal in collecting the sentiments of the well informed, never was a man more completely uninfluenced by authority than Sir Alex- ander Ball, never one who sought less to tranquillize his own doubts by the mere suffrage and coincidence of others. The ablest suggestions had no conclusive weight with him, till he had abstracted the opinion from its author, till he had reduced it into a part of his own mind. The thoughts of others were always acceptable as affording him at least a chance of adding to his materials for reflection ; but they never directed his judg- ment, much less superseded it. He even made a point of guarding against additional confidence in the suggestions of his own mind, from finding that a person of talents had formed the same conviction : unless the person, at the same time, furnished some new argument or had arrived at the same conclusion by a different road. On the latter circumstance he set an especial value, and, I may almost say, courted the company and conver- sation of those, whose pursuits had least resembled his own, if he thought them men of clear and comprehensive faculties. During the period of our intimacy, scarcely a week passed in which he did not desire me to think on some particular subject, and to give him the result in writing. Most frequently by the time I had fulfilled his request, he would have written down his own thoughts, and then, with the true simplicity of a great mind, as free from ostentation, as it was above jealousy, he would collate the two papers in my presence, and never ex- pressed more pleasure than in the few instances in which I had happened to light on all the arguments and points of view which had occurred to himself, with some additional reasons which had escaped him. A single new argument delighted him more than the most perfect coincidence, unless, as before stated the train of thought had been very different from his own and jct just and logical. He had one quality of mind, which I have heard attributed to the late Mr. Fox, that of deriving a keen pleasure from clear and powerful reasoning for its own sake, a 484 quality in the intellect which is nearly connected with veracity and a love of justice in the moral character.* Valuing in others merits which he himself possessed, Sir Al- exander Ball felt no jealous apprehension of great talent. Un- like those vulgar functionaries, whose place is too big for them, a truth which they attempt to disguise from themselves, and yet feel, he was under no necessity of arming himself against the natural superiority of genius by factitious contempt and an industrious association of extravagance and impracticability, with every deviation from the ordinary routine ; as the geogra- phers in the middle ages used to designate on their meagre maps, the greater part of the world, as desarts or wildernesses, inhabited by griffins and chimseras. Competent to weigh each system or project by its own arguments, he did not need these preventive charms and cautionary amulets against delusion. He endeavored to make talent instrumental to his purposes in what- ever shape it appeared, and with whatever imperfections it might be accompanied ; but wherever talent was blended with moral worth, he sought it out, loved and cherished it. If it had pleased Providence to preserve his life, and to place him on the same course on which Nelson ran his race of glory, there are two points in which Sir Alexander Ball would most closely have resembled his illustrious friend. The first is, that in his enterprizes and engagements he would have thought nothing done, till all had been done that was possible: " Nil actum I'eputans, si quid superesset agendum." The second, that he would have called forth all the talent and * It may not be amiss to add, tliat the pleasure from the perception of truth was so well poised and regulated by the equtil or greater delight in utility, that his love of real accuracy was accompanied with a proportionate disUke of that hollow appearance of it, which may be produced by tmns of phrase, words placed in balanced antithesis and those epigrammatic points that pass for subtle and luminous distinctions with ordinary readers, but are most com- monly translatable into mere truisms or trivialities if indeed they contain any meaning at all. Having observed in some casual conversation, that though there were doutbless masses of matter unorganized, I saw no ground for asserting a mass of unorganized maiter ; Sir A. B. paused and then said to me, with that frankness of manner which maile his very rebukes gratifying, " The distinction is just; and now 1 understand you, abundantly obviousj but hardly worth tho trouble of your inventing a puzzle of worda to make it op^ pear otherwise." I Uiist the relwike waa not lost on me. 485 virtue that existed within his sphere of influence, and created a band of heroes, a gradation of officers, strong in head and strong in heart, worthy to have been his companions and his successors in fame and public usefulness. Never was greater discernment shown in the selection of a fit agent, than ^vhen Sir Alexander Ball was stationed off the coast of Malta to intercept the supplies destined for the French garrison, and to watch the movements of the French com- manders, and those of the inhabitants who had been so basely betrayed into their power. Encouraged by the well-timed promises of the English captain, the Maltese rose through all their casals (or country towns) and themselves commenced the work of their emancipation, by storming the citadel at Ci- vita Vecchia, the ancient metropolis of Malta, and the central height of the island. Without discipline, without a military leader, and almost without arms, these brave peasants succeed- ed, and destroyed the French garrison by throwing them over the battlements into the trench of the citadel. In the course of this blockade, and of the tedious siege of Vallette, Sir Alexander Ball displayed all that strength of character, that variety and versatility of talent, and that sagacity, derived in part from ha- bitual circumspection, but which, when the occasion demand- ed it, appeared intuitive and like an instinct ; at the union of which, in the same man, one of our oldest naval commanders once told me, "he could never exhaust his wonder." The citizens of Vallette v/ere fond of relating their astonishment, and that of the French, at Captain Ball's ship wintering at an- chor out of the reach of the guns, in a depth of fathom unex- ampled, on the assured impracticability of which the garrison had rested their main hope of regular supplies. Nor can I forget, or remember without some portion of my original feeling, the so- lemn enthusiasm with which a venerable old man, belonging to one of the distant casals, showed me the sea coombe, where their father Ball, (for so they commonly called him) first landed ; and aftervtards pointed out the very place, on which he first stepped on their island, while the countenances of his townsmen, v»'ho accompanied him, gave lively proofs, that the old man's enthusiasm was the repiesentative of the common feeling. There is no reason to suppose, that Sir Alexander Ball was at any time chargeable with that weakness so frequent in En- 48G glishraen, and so injurious to our interests abroad, of despising the inhabitants of other countries, of losing all their good qualities in their vices, of making no allowance for those vi- ces, from their religious or political impediments, and still more of mistaking for vices, a mere difference of manners and customs. But if ever he had any of this erroneous feeling, he completely freed himself from it, by living among the Maltese during their arduous trials, as long as the French continued masters of the capital. He witnessed their virtues, and learnt to understand in what various shapes and even disguises the valuable parts of human nature may exist. In many individu- als, whose littleness and meanness in the common intercourse of life would have stamped them at once as contemptible and w^orthless, with ordinary Englishmen, he had found such vir- tues of disinterested patriotism, fortitude, and self-denial, as would have done honor to an ancient Roman. There exists in England, a gentlemanly character, a gentle- manly feeling, very different even from that, which is the most like it, the character of a well-born Spaniard, and unexampled in the rest of Europe. This feeling probably originafedin the for- tunate circumstance, that the titles of our English nobility fol- low the law of their property, and are inherited by the eldest sons only. From this source, under the influences of our con- stitution, and of our astonishing trade, it has diffused itself in dif- ferent modifications through the Avhole country. The uniformity of our dress among all classes above that of the day laborer, while it has authorized all classes to assume the appearance of gentlemen, has at the same time inspired the wish to conform their manners, and still more their ordinary actions in social intercourse, to their notions of the gentlemanly ,^ the most com- monly received attribute of which character, is a certain gener- osity in trifles. On the other hand, the encroachments of the lower classes on the higher, occasioned, and favored by this resemblance in exteriors, by this absence of any cognizable marks of distinction, have rendered each class more reserved and jealous in their general communion, and far more than our climate, or natural temper, have caused that haughtiness and re- serve in our outward demeanor, which is so generally complain- ed of among foieigners. Far be it from me to depreciate the value of this gentlemanly feeling : I respect it under all its forms and varieties, from the House of Commons to the gentle- 487 men in the one shilling gallery. It is always the ornament of virtue, and oftentimes a support ; but it is a wretched substitute for it. Its ivo7'th, as a moral good, is by no means in proportion to its value, as a social advantage. These observations are not irrelevant : for to the want of reilxion, that this didusion of gentlemanly feeling among us, is not the growth of our moral ex- cellence, but the effect of various accidental advantages peculiar to England ; to our not considering that it is unreasonable and un- charitable to expect the same consequences, where the same causes have not existed to produce them : and, lastly, to our proneness to regard the absence of this character (which, as I have before said, does, for the greater part, and, in the common apprehension, consist in a certain frankness and generosity in the detail of action) as decisive against the sum total of personal or national worth ; we must, I am convinced, attribute a large portion of that conduct, which in many instances has left the in- habitants of countries conquered or appropriated by Great Bri- tain, doubtful whether the various solid advantages which they derived from our protection and just government, were not bought dearly by the wounds inflicted on their feelings and pre- judices, by the contemptuous and insolent demeanor of the En- glish as individuals. The reader who bears this remark in mind, will meet, in the course of this narration, more than one; passage that will serve as its comment and illustration. It was, I know, a general opinion among the English in the Mediterranean, that Sir Alexander Ball thought too well of the Maltese, and did not share in the enthusiasm of Britons, concern- ing their own superiority. To the former part of the charge, I shall only reply at present, that a more venial, and almost de- sirable fault, can scarcely be attributed to a governor, than that of a strong attachment to the people whom he was sent to govern. The latter part of the charge is false, if we are to understand by it, that he did not think his countrymen superior on the whole to the other nations of Europe ; but it is true, as far as relates to his belief, that the English thought themselves still better than they are ; that they dwelt on, and exaggerated their national virtues, and weighed them by the opposite vices of foreigners, instead of the virtues which those foreigners pos- sessed, and they themselves wanted. Above all, as statesmen, we must consider qualities by their practical uses. Thus — he entertained no doubt, that the English were superior to all 488 others in the kind, and the degree of their courage, which is marked by far greater enthusiasm, than the courage of the Ger- mans and northern nations, and by a far greater steadiness and selfsubsistence, than that of the Fiench. It is more closely connected with the character of the individual. The courage of an English army (he used to say) is the sum total of the courage which the individual soldiers bring with them to it, rather than of that which they derive from it. This remark of Sir Alex- ander's was forcibly recalled to my mind, when I was at Na- ples. A Russian and an English regiment were drawn up to- gether in the same square — " See," said a Neapolitan to me, who had mistaken me for one of his countrymen, " there is but one face in that whole regiment while in thaV^ (pointing to the English) " every soldier has a face of his own." On the other hand, there are qualities scarcely less requisite to the completion of the military character, in which Sir A. did not hesitate to think the English inferior to the continental nations: as for instance, both in the power and the disposition to endure privations ; in the friendly temper necessary, when troops of different nations are to act in concert ; in their obedience to the regulations of their commanding officers, respecting the treatment of the inhabitants of the countries through which they are marching ; as well as in many other points, not imme- diately connected with their conduct in the field : and, above all, in sobriety and temperance. During the siege of Vallette, especially during the sore distress to which the besiegers were for some time exposed from the failure of provision, Sir Alex- ander Ball had an ample opportunity of observing and weigh- ing the separate merits and demerits of the native, and of the English troops ; and surely since the publication of Sir John Moore's campaign, there can be no just offence taken, though I should say, that before the walls of Vallette, as well as in the plains of Gallicia, an indignant commander might, with too great propriety, have addressed the English soldiery in the words of an old Dramatist — Will you still owe your virtues to your bellies ? And only then think nobly when y'arc full? Doth fodder keep you lionest? Arc you bad When out of Flesh ? And think you't an excuse Of vile and ignominious actions, that Y' are lean and out of liking ? Cartwkight's Love's Convert. 489 From the first insurrectionary movement to the final depart- ure of the French from the Island, though the civil and milita- ry powers and the whole of the Island, save Vallette, were in the hands of the peasantry, not a single act of excess can be charged against the Maltese, if we except the razing of one house at Civita Vecchia belonging to a notorious and abandon- ed traitor, the creature and hireling of the French. In no in- stance did they injure, insult, or plunder, any one of the na- tive nobility, or employ even the appearance of force toward them, except in the collection of the lead and iron from their houses and gardens, in order to supply themselves with bul- lets : and this very appearance was assumed from the gener- ous wish to shelter the nobles from the resentment of the French, should the patriotic efforts of the peasantry prove un- successful. At the dire command of famine the Maltese troops did indeed once force their wav to the ovens, in which the bread for the British soldiery was baked, and were clamorous that an equal division should be made. I mention this unpleas- ant circumstance, because it brought into proof the firmness of Sir Alexander Ball's character, his presence of mind, and gen- erous disregard of danger and personal responsibility, where the slavery or emancipation, the misery or the happiness, of an innocent and patriotic people were involved ; and because his conduct in this exigency evinced, that his general habits of circumspection and deliberation were the result of wisdom and complete self-possession, and not the easy virtues of a spirit constitutionally timorous and hesitating. He was sitting at table with the principal British ofiicers, when a certain gen- eral addressed him in strong and violent terms concerning this outrage of the Maltese, reminding him of the necessity of ex- erting his commanding influence in the present case, or the consequences must be taken. " What," replied Sir Alexander Ball, " would you have us do ? Would you have us threaten death to men dying with famine ? Can you suppose that the hazard of being shot will weigh with whole regiments acting under a common necessity ? Does not the extremity of hun- ger take away all difference between men and animals ? and is it not as absurd to appeal to the prudence of a body of men starving, as to a herd of famished wolves ? No, general, I will not degrade myself or outrage humanity by menacing famine with massacre ! More effectual means must be taken." With 62 490 these words he rose and left the room, and having first consult- ed with Sir Thomas Troubridge, he determined at his own risk on a step, which the extreme necessity warranted, and which the conduct of the Neapolitan court amply justified. For this court, though terrror-stricken by the French, was still ac- tuated by hatred to the English, and a jealousy of their pow- er in the Mediterranean : and this in so strange and senseless a manner, that we must join the extremes of imbecility and treachery in the same cabinet, in order to find it comprehensi- ble.* Though the very existence of Naples and Sicily, as a nation, depended Avholely and exclusively on British support ; though the royal family owed their personal safety, to the Brit- ish fleet ; though not only their dominions and their rank, but the liberty and even the lives of Ferdinand and his family, were interwoven with our success ; yet with an infatuation scarcely credible, the most affecting representations of the dis- tress of the besiegers, and of the utter insecurity of Sicily if the French remained possessors of Malta, were treated with ne- glect ; and the urgent remonstrances for the permission of im- porting corn from Messina, were answered only by sanguinary edicts precluding all supply. Sir Alexander Ball sent for his senior lieutenant, and gave him orders to proceed immediately to the port of Messina, and there to seize and bring with him to Malta the ships laden with corn, of the number of which Sir Alexander had received accurate information. These or- ders were executed without delay, to the great delight and profit of the ship owners and proprietors ; the necessity of rai- sing the siege was removed ; and the author of the measure * It cannot be doubted, that the sovereign himself was kept in a state of delusion. Both his undcistanding and his moral principles are far better than could reasonably be expected from the infamous mode of his education : if indeed the systematic preclusion of all knowledge, and the unrestrained in- dulgence of his passions, adopted by the Spanish court for the purposes of preserving liim dependent, can be called by the name of education. Of the other influencing persons in the Neapolitan government, Mr. Leckie has given us a true and lively account. It will be greatly to the advantage of the present narration, if the i-eader should have previously iJerused Mr. Leckie's pamphlet on the state of Sicily : the facts which I shall have occasion to mention hereafter will reciprocally confirm and be confirmed by the docu- ments I'urnishcd in that most interesting work ; in which I sec but one blem- ish of importance, namely, that the author appears too frequently to consider justice and tiue policy as capabable of being contradistinguished. 491 wafted in calmness for the consequences that might result to himself personally. But not a complaint, not a murmur pro- ceeded from the court of Naples. The sole result was, that the governor of Malta became an especial object of its hatred, its fear, and its respect. The whole of this tedious siege, from its commencement to the signing of the capitulation, called forth into constant activity the rarest and most difficult virtues of a commanding mind ; virtues of no show or splendor in the vulgar apprehehsion, yet more infallible characteristics of true greatness than the most unequivocal displays of enterprize and active daring. Scarce- ly a day passed, in which Sir Alexander Ball's patience, for- bearance, and inflexible constancy, were not put to the severest trial. He had not only to remove the misunderstandings that arose between the Maltese and their allies, to settle the differ- ences among the Maltese themselves, and to organize their efforts: he was likewise engaged in the more difficult and un- thankful task of counteracting the weariness, discontent, and despondency, of his own countrymen — a task however, which he accomplished by management and address, and an alternation of real firmness with apparent yielding. During many months he remained the only Englishman who did not think the siege hopeless and the object worthless. He often spoke of the time in which he resided at the country seat of the grand master at St. Antonio, four miles from Vallette, as perhaps the most trying period of his life. For some weeks Captain Vivian was his sole English companion, of whom., as his partner in anxiety, he always expressed himself with affectionate esteem. Sir Al- exander Ball's presence was absolutely necessary to the Mal- tese, who, accustomed to be governed by him, became incapable of acting in concert without his immediate influence. In the out-burst of popular emotion, the impulse, which produces an insurrection, is for a brief while its sufficient pilot : the attrac- tion constitutes the cohesion, and the common provocation, sup- plying an immediate object, not only unites, but directs, the multitude. But this first impulse had passed away, and Sir Al- exander Ball was the one individual who possessed the general confidence. On him they relied with implicit faith : and even after they had long enjoyed the blessings of British government and protection, it was still remarkable with what child-like help- lessness they were in the habit of applying to him, even in 492 their private concerns. It seemed as if they thought him made on purpose to think for them all. Yet his situation at St. An- tonio was one of great peril : and he attributed his preservation to the dejection, wliich had now begun to prey on the spirits of the French garrison, and which rendered them unenterpri- zing and almost passive, aided by the dread which the nature of the country inspired. For subdivided as it was into small fields, scarcely larger than a cottage garden, and each of these little squares of land enclosed with substantial stone walls ; these too from the necessity of having the fields perfectly level, rising in tiers above each other; the whole of the inhabited part of the island was an effective fortification for all the purposes of annoyance and offensive warfare. Sir Alexander Ball exer- ted himself successfully in procuring information respecting the state and temper of the garrison, and by the assistance of the clergy and the almost universal fidelity of the Maltese, contriv- ed that the spies in the pay of the French should be in truth his own most confidential agents. He had already given splen- did proofs that he could outfight them ; but here, and in his af- ter diplomatic intercourse previous to the recommencement of the war, he likewise out-witted them. He once told me with a smile, as we were conversing on the practice of laying wa- gers, that he was sometimes inclined to think that the final perseverance in the siege was not a little indebted to several valuable bets of his ov/n, he well knowing at the time, and from information which himself alone possessed, that he should certainly lose them. Yet this artifice had a considerable effect in suspending the impatience of the officers, and in supplying topics for dispute and conversation. At length, however, the two French frigates, the sailing of which had been the subject of these wagers, left the great harbour on the 24th of August, 1800, with a part of the garrison: and one of them soon be- came a piizc to the English. Sir Alexander Ball related to me the circumstances which occasioned the escape of the oth- er ; but I do not reccollect them with sufficient acuracy to dare repeat them in this place. On the 15th of September follow- ing, the capitulation was signed, and after a blockade of two years the English obtained possession of Valette, and remain- ed masters of the whole island and its dependencies. Anxious not to give offence, but more anixous to communi- cate the truth, it is not without pain that I find myself under 493 the moral obligation of remonstrating against the silence con- cerning Sir Alexander Ball's services or the transfer of them to others. More than once has the latter roused my indigna- tion in the reported speeches of the house of Commons; and as to the former, I need only state that in Rees's Cyclopaedia there is an historical article of considerable length under the word Malta, in which vSir Alexander's name does not once oc- cur ! During a residence of eighteen months in that island, I possessed and availed myself ot the best possible means of information, not only from eye-witnesses, but likewise from the principal agents themselves. And I now thus publicly and unequivocally assert, that to Sir A. Ball i^re-eminently — and if I had said, to Sir A. Ball alone, the ordinary use of the word under such circumstances would bear me out — the capture and the preservation of Malta was owing, with every blessing that a powerful mind and a wise heart could confer on its docile and grateful inhabitants. With a similar pain I proceed to avow my sentiments on this capitulation, by which Malta was delivered up to his Britannic Majesty and allies, without the least mention made of the Maltese. With a warmth honorable both to his head and his heart. Sir Alexander Ball pleaded, as not less a point of sound policy than of plain justice, that the Maltese, by some representatives, should be made a party in the capitulation, and a joint subscriber in the signature. They had never been the slaves or the property of the knights of St. John, but freemen and the true landed proprietors of the coun- try, the civil and military government of which, under certain restrictions, had been vested in that order; yet checked by the rights and influences of the clergy and the native nobility, and by the customs and ancient laws of the island. This trust the knights had, with the blackest treason and the most profligate perjury, betrayed and abandoned. The right of government of of course reverted to the landed proprietors and the clergy. Animated by a just sense of this right, the Maltese had risen of their own accord, had contended for it in defiance of death and danger, had fought bravely, and endured patiently. With- out undervaluing the military assistance afterwards furnished by Great Britain (though how scanty this was before the arrival of General Pigot is well known,) it remained undeniable, that the Maltese had taken the greatest share both in the fatigues and in the privations consequent on the siege ; and that had 494 not the greatest virtues and the most exemplary fidelity been uniformly displayed by them, the English troops (they not be- ing more numerous than they had been for the greater part of the two years) could not possibly have remained before the fortifications of Valette, defended as that city was by a French garrison, that greatly outnumbered the British besiegers. Still less could there have been the least hope of ultimate success ; as if any part of the Maltese peasantry had been friendly to the French, or even indiilerent, if they had not all indeed been most zealous and persevering in their hostility towards them, it would have been impracticable so to blockade that island as to have precluded the arrival of supplies. If the seige had pro- ved unsuccessful, the Maltese were well aware that they should be exposed to all the horrors which revenge and woun- ded pride could dictate to an unprincipled, rapacious, and san- guinary soldiery ; and now that success has crowned their ef- forts, is this to be their reward, that their own allies are to bargain for them with the French as for a herd of slaves, whom the French had before purchased from a former proprie- tor ? If it be urged, that there is no established government in Malta, is it not equally true, that through the whole popu- lation of the island there is not a single disentient ? and thus that the chief inconvenience, which an established authority is to obviate, is virtually removed by the admitted fact of their unanimity ? And have they not a bishop, and a dignified cler- gy, their judges and municipal magistrates, who were at all times sharers in the power of the government, and now, sup- ported by the unaniinous suffrage of the inhabitants, have a rightful claim to be considered as its representatives ? Will it not be oftener said than answered, that the main difference be- tween French and English injustice rests in this point alone, that the French seized on the Maltese without any previous pretences of friendship, while the English procured possession of the island by means of their friendly promises, and by the co-operation of the natives afforded in confident reliance on these promises ? -The impolicy of refusing the signature on the part of the Maltese was equally evident : since such re- fusal could answer no one purpose but that of alienating their affections by a wanton insult to their feelings. For the Mal- tese were not only ready but desirous and eager to place them- selves at the same time under British protection, to take the 495 oaths of loyalty as subjects of the British crown, and to ac- knowledge their island to belong to it. These representations, however, were over- ruled : and I dare affirm, from my own experience in the Mediterranean, that our conduct in this in- stance, added to the impression which had been made at Cor- sica, Minorca, and elsewhere, and was often referred to by men of reflection in Sicily, who have more than once said to me, " a connection with Great Britain, with the consequent extension and security of our commerce, are indeed great bless- ings : but who can rely on their permanence ? or that we shall not be made to pay bitterly for our zeal as partizans of En- gland, whenever it shall suit its plans to deliver us back to our old oppressors?" ESSAY VI. The way of ancient ordinance, though it winds Is yet no devious way. Straight forward goes Tlie hghtning's path ; and straight the fearful path Of the cannon-ball. Direct it flies and rapid, Shattering that it may reach, and shattering what it reaches. My son! the road, the human being travels. That on which Blessing conies and goes, doth follow The river's course, the valley's playful windings. Curves round the corn-field and the hill of vines, Honoring the holy boiuuls of property! There exists An higher than the warrior's excellence. Wallje>"stein. Captain Ball's services in Malta were honored wih his sovereign's approbation, transmitted in a letter from the Secreta- ry Dundas and with a baronetcy. A thousand pounds * were at * I scarce know whether it be worth mentioning, that this sum remained undemanded till the spring of the year 1805 : at which time the writer of these sketches, during an examination of the treasui-y accounts, observed the circumstance and noticed it to the Governor, who had suffered it to escape 496 the same time directed to be paid him from the Maltese trea- sury. The best and most appropriate addition to the applause of his king and his country, Sir Alexander Ball found in the feelings and faithful affection of the Maltese. The enthusiasm manifested in reverential gestures and shouts of triumph when- ever their friend and deliverer appeared in public, was the ut- terance of a deep feeling, and in no wise the mere ebullition of animal sensibility ; which is not indeed a part of the Maltese character. The truth of this observation will not be doubted by any person, v/ho has witnessed the religious processions in honor of the favorite saints, both at Vallette and at Messina or Palermo, and who must have been struck with the contrast between the apparent apathy, or at least the perfect sobriety, of the Maltese, and the fanatical agitations of the Sicilian po- pulace. Among the latter each man's soul seems hardly con- tainable in his body, like a prisoner, whose jail is on fire, flying madly from one barred outlet to another ; while the former might suggest the suspicion, that their bodies were on the point of sinking into the same slumber with their under- standings. But their political deliverance was a thing that came home to their hearts, and intertwined with their most empassioned recollections, personal and patriotic. To Sir Al- exander Ball exclusively the Maltese themselves attributed their emancipation : on him too they rested their hopes of the future. Whenever he appeared in Vallette, the passengers on each side, through the whole length of the street stopped, and remained uncovered till he had psssed : the very clamors of the altogether from his memory, for the latter years at least. The value attach- ed to the present by tlie receiver, must have depended on his construction of its purpose and meaning: for in a pecuniaiy point of view, the sum was not a moiety of what Sir Alexander had expended from his private fortune during the blockade. His innnediate appointment to tiie government of the island, so earnestly prayed for by the Maltese, would doubtless have furnish- ed a less questionable proof that his services were as highly estimated by the minsitry as they were graciously accepted by his sovereign. But this was ■withheld as long as it remained possible to doubt,whether great talents, join- ed to local experience, and the confidence and affection of the inhabitants, miglit not be dispensed with in the ])er.son entrusted with that government. Crimen ingrati animi quod magnis Ingeniis hand raro objicitur, saepius nil aliud est quam perspicacia quaedam in causam beneficii collati. See VVal- liENSTEiiV, Part I. p. 177. 497 market-place were hushed at his entrance, and then exchanged for shouts of joy and welcome. Even after the lapse of years he never appeared in any one of their casals,* ^vhich did not lie in the direct road between Vallette and St. Antonio, his summer residence, but the women and children, with such of the men who were not at labor in their fields, fell into ranks, and followed, or preceded him, singing the Maltese song which had been made in his honor, and which was scarcely less fami- liar to the inhabitants of Malta and Goza, than God save the King to Britons. W/ien he went to the gate through the city, the youns; men refrained talking ; and the aged arose and stood up. When the ear heard, then it blessed him ; and when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him : because he delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and those that had none to help them. The blessing of them that were ready to perish come upon\him ; and he caused the widow'' s heart to sing for joy. These feelings were afterwards amply justified by his admin- istration of the government ; and the very accesses of their gratitude on their first deliverance proved, in the end, only to be acknowledgments antedated. For some time after the de- parture of the French, the distress was so general and so se- vere, that a large proportion of the lower classes became mendicants, and one of the greatest thorough fares of Vallette still retains the name of the " Nix Mangiare Stairs,''^ from the crowd who used there to assail the ears of passengers with cries of " nix mangiare," or " nothing to eat," the former word nix being the low German pronunciation of nichts, nothing. By what means it was introduced into Malta, I know not ; but it became the common vehicle both of solicitation and refusal, the Maltese thinking it an English word, and the English sup- posing it to be Maltese. I often felt it as a pleasing remembrancer of the evil day gone by, when a tribe of little children, quite naked, as is the custom of that climate, and each with a pair * It was the Governor's custom to visit every ca.sal througliout the island once, if not twice, in the course of each summer ; and during my residence there, I had the honor of being his constant, and most often, liis only com- l)anion in these rides ; to which I owe some of the happiest and most instruc- tive hours of my hfe. In the poorest house of the most distant casal two rude paintings were sure to be found : A picture of the Virgin and Child ; and a portrait of Sir Alexander Ball. 63 498 of gold ear-rings in its ears, and all fat and beautifully propor- tioned, would suddenly leave their play, and, looking round to see that their parents were not in sight, change their shouts of moiriment for " nix mangiare /" awkwardly imitating the plaintive tones of mendicancy ; while the white teeth in their little swarthy faces gave a splendor to the happy and confes- sing laugh, with which they received the good-humored re- buke or refusal, and ran back to their former sport. In the interim between the capitulation of the French garri- son and Sir Alexander Ball's appointment as his Majesty's civil commissioner for Malta, his zeal for the Maltese was neither suspended nor unproductive of important benefits. He was enabled to remove many prejudices and misunderstandings ; and to persons of no inconsiderable influence gave juster notions of the true importance of the island to Great Britain. He dis- played the magnitude of the trade of the Mediterranean in its existing state ; showed the immense extent to which it might be carried, and the hollowness of the opinion, that this trade was attached to the south of France by any natural or indissoluble bond of connection. I have some reason likewise for believing, that his wise and patriotic representations prevented Malta from being made the seat and pretext for a numerous civil establish- ment, in hapless imitation of Corsica, Ceylon, and the Cape of Good Hope. It was at least generally rumoured, that it had been in the contemplation of the ministry to appoint Sir Ralph Abercrombie as governor, with a salary of 10,000Z. a year; and to reside in England, while one of his countrymen was to be the lieutenant-governor, at 5,000Z. a year ; to which were added a long et cetera of other offices and places of proportional emolument. This threatened appendix to the state calendar may have existed only in the imaginations of the re- porters, yet inspired some uneasy apprehensions in the minds of many well-wishers to the Maltese, who knew that — for a foreign settlement at least, and one too possessing in all the ranks and functions of society an ample population of its own — such a stately and wide-branching tree of patronage, though de- lightlul to the individuals who are to pluck its golden apples, sheds, like the manchinecl, unwholesome and corrosive dews on the multitude who are to rest beneath its shade. It need not however, be doubted, that Sir Alexander Ball would exert himself to preclude any such intention, by stating and evincing 499 the extreme impolicy and injustice of the plan, as well as its utter inutility, in the case of Malta. With the exception of the governor, and of the public secretary, both of whom undoubtedly should be natives of Great Britain, and appointed by the British government, there was no civil office that could be of the remo- test advantage to the island which was not already filled by the natives and the functions of which none could perform so well as they. The number of inhabitants (he would state) was prodi- gious compared with the extent of the island, though from the fear of the Moors one-fourth of its surface remained unpeopled and uncultivated. To deprive, therefore, the middle and low- er classes of such places as they had been accustomed to hold, would be cruel ; while the places held by tlie no- bility, wcie, for the greater part, such as none but natives could perform the duties of. By any innovation we should affront the higher classes and alienate the affections of all, not only without any imaginable advantage but with the cer- tainty of great loss. Were Englishmen to be employed, the salaries must be increased four-fold, and would yet be scarce- ly worth acceptance ; and in higher offices such as those of the civil and criminal judges, the salaries must be augment- ed more than ten-fold. For, greatly to the credit of their patriotism and moral character, the Maltese gentry sought these places as honorable distinctions, which endeaied them to their fellow-countrymen, and at the same time rendered the yoke of the order somewhat less grievous and galling. With the exception of the Maltese secretarj', whose situation was one of incessant labor, and who at the same time performed the duties of law counsellor to the government, the highest salaries scarcely exceeded lOOl. a year, and were barely sufficient to defray the increased expenses of the functionaries for an addi- tional equipage, or one of more imposing appearance. Besides, it was of importance that the person placed at the head of that government, should be looked up to by the natives, and possess the means of distinguishing and rewarding those who had been most faithful and zealous in their attachment to Great Britain, and hostile to their former tyrants. The number of the em- ployments to be conferred would give considerable influence to his Majesty's civil representative, while the trifling amount of the emolument attached to each precluded all temptation of abusing it. 500 Sir Alexander Ball would likewise, it is probable, urge that the commercial advantages of Malta, which were most intelli- gible to the English public, and best fitted to render our reten- tion of the island popular, must necessarily be of very slow growth, though finally they would become great, and of an ex- tent not to be calculated. For this reason, therefore, it was highly desirable, that the possession should be, and appear to be, at least inexpensive. After the British Government had made one advance for a stock of corn sufficient to place the island a year before-hand, the sum total drawn from Great Britain need not exceed 25, or at most 30,000/. annually ; ex- cluding of course the expenditure connected with our own military and navy, and the repair of the fortifications, which latter expense ought to be much less than at Gibraltar, from the multitude and low wages of the laborers in Malta, and from the softness and admirable quality of the stone. Indeed much more might safely be promised on the assumption, that a wise and generous system of policy were adopted and persevered in. The monopoly of the Maltese corn-trade by the govern- ment formed an exception to a general rule, and by a strange, yet valid, anomaly in the operations of political economy, was not more necessary than advantageous to the inhabitants. The chief reason is, that the produce of the island itself ha 'Ay suffices for one-fourth of its inhabitants, although fruits ana vege- tables form so large a part of their nourishment. Meantime the harbors of Malta, and its equi-distance from Europe, Asia, and Africa, gave it a vast and unnatural importance in the pre- sent relations of the great European powers, and imposed on its government, whether native or dependent, the necessity of considering the whole island as a single garrison, the provis- ioning of which could not be trusted to the casualties of ordi- nary commerce. What is actually necessary is seldom injuri- ous. Thus in Malta bread is better and cheaper on an aver- age than in Italy or the coast of Barbary : while a similar in- terference with the corn trade in Sicily impoverishes the inha- bitants and keeps the agriculture in a state of barbarism. But the point in question is the expense to Great Britain. Wheth- er the monopoly be good or evil in itself, it remains true, that in this established usage, and in the gradual enclosure of the uncultivated district, such resources exist as without the least oppression might render the civil government in Valette inde- 501 pendent of the Treasury at home, finally taking upon itself even the repair of the fortifications, and thus realize one in- stance of an important possession that cost the country noth- ing. But now the time arrived, which threatened to frustrate the patriotism of the Maltese themselves and all the zealous efforts of their disinterested friend. Soon after the war had for the first time become indisputably just and necessary, the people at large and a majority of independent senators, incapable, as it might seem, of translating their fanatical anti-jacobinism into a well grounded, yet equally impassioned, anti-Gallicanism, grew impatient for peace, or rather for a nanie^ under which the most terrific of all war would be incessantly waged against us. Our conduct was not much wiser than that of the weary traveller, who having proceeded half way on his journey, pro- cured a short rest for himself by getting up behind a chaise which was going the contrary road. In the strange treaty of Amiens, in which we neither recognized our former relations with France or with the other European powers, nor formed any new ones, the compromise concerning Malta formed the prominent feature : and its nominal re-delivery to the Order of St. John was authorized in the mind of the people, by Lord Nelson's opinion of its worthlessness to Great Britain in a po- litical or naval view. It is a melancholy fact, and one that must often sadden a reflective and philanthropic mind, how little moral considerations weigh even with the noblest nations, how vain are the strongest appeals to justice, humanity, and national hon- or, unless v.'hen the public mind is under the immediate influ- ence of the cheerful or vehement passions, indignation or av- aricious hope. In the whole class of human infirmities there is none, that makes such loud appeals to prudence, and yet sO; frequently outrages its plainest dictates, as the spirit of fear. The worst cause conducted in hope is an overmatch for the no- blest managed by despondence : in both cases an unnatural conjunction that recals the old fable of Love and Death, taking each the arrows of the other by mistake. When islands that had courted British protection in reliance upon British honor, are with their inhabitants and proprietors abandoned to the re- sentment wiiich we had tempted them to provoke, what wonder, if the opinion becomes general, that alike to England as to France, the fates and fortunes of other nations are but the 502 counters, with which the bloody game of war is played : and that notwithstanding the great and acknowledged difference be- tween the two governments during possession, yet the protec- tion of France is more desirable because it is more likely to endure ? for what the French take, they keep. Often both in Sicily and Malta have I heard the case of Minorca referred to, where a considerable portion of the most respectable gentry and mercbants (no provision having been made for their pro- tection on the re-delivery of that island to Spain) expiated in dungeons the warmth and forwardness of their predilection for Great Britain. It has been by some persons imagined, that Lord Nelson was considerably influenced, in his public declaration concerning the value of Malta, by ministerial flattery, and his own sense of the great serviceableness of that opinion to the persons in ofiice. This supposition is, however, wholly false and ground- less. His lordship's opinion was indeed greatly shaken after- wards, if not changed ; but at that time he spoke in strictest cor- respondence with his existing convictions. He said no more than he had often previously declared to his private friends : it was the point on which, after some amicable controversy, his , lordship and Sir Alexander Ball had '■^agreed to differ''\ Though the opinion itself may have lost the greatest part of its inter- est, and except for the historian is, as it were, superannuated; yet the grounds and causes of it, as far as they arose out of Lord Nelson's particular character, and may perhaps tend to re-enliven our recollection of a hero so deeply and justly be- loved, will for ever possess an interest of their own. In an essay, too, which purports to be no more than a series of sketches and fragments, the reader, it is hoped, will readily ex- cuse an occasional digression, and a more desultory style of narration than could be tolerated in a work of regular biography. Lord Nelson was an admiral every inch of him. He looked at every thing, not merely in its possible relations to the na- val service in general, but in its immediate bearings on his squadron ; to his officers, his men, to the particular ships them- selves, his affections were as strong and ardent as those of a lover. Hence, though his temper was constitutionally irritable and uneven, yet never was a commander so enthusiastically loved by men of all ranks, from the Captain of the fleet to the youngest ship-boy. Hence too the unexampled harmony which 503 reigned in his fleet, year after year, under circumstances that might well have undermined the patience of the best-balanced dispositions, much more of men with the impetuous character of British sailors. Year after year, the same dull duties of a wearisome blockade, of doubtful policy — little if any oppor- tunity of making prizes ; and the few prizes, which accident might throw in the way, of little or no value — and when at last the occasion presented itself which would have compensated for all, then a disappointment as sudden and unexpected as it was unjust and cruel, and the cup dashed from their lips ! — Add to these trials the sense of enterprizes checked by fee- bleness and timidity elsewhere, not omitting the tiresomeness of the Mediterranean sea. sky, and climate ; and the unjarring and cheerful spirit of affectionate brotherhood, which linked together the hearts of that whole squadron, will appear not less wonderful to us than admirable and affecting. When the resolution was taken of commencing hostilities against Spain,^ before any intelligence was sent to Lord Nelson, another ad- miral, with two or three ships of the line, was sent into the Mediterranean, aud stationed before Cadiz, for the express purpose of intercepting the Spanish prizes. The admiral dis- patched on this lucrative service gave no information to Lord Nelson of his arrival in the same sea, and five weeks elapsed before his lordship became acquainted with the circumstances. The prizes thus taken were immense. A month or two sufficed to enrich the commander and officers of this small and highly- favored squadron : while to Nelson and his fleet the sense of hav- ing done their duty, and the consciousness of the glorious ser- vices which they had performed, were considered, it must be presumed, as an abundant remuneration for all their toils and long suffering! It was indeed an unexampled circumstance, that a small squadron should be sent to the station which had been long occupied by a large fleet, commanded by the darling of the navy, and the glory of the British empire, to the station where this fleet had for years been wearing away in the most barren, repulsive, and spirit-trying service, in Avhich the navy can be employed ! and that this minor squadron should be sent independent of, and without any communication with the commander of the former fleet, for the express and solitary purpose of stepping between it and the Spanish prizes, and as soon as this short and pleasant service was performed, of bring- 504 fng home the unshared booty with all possible caution and dis- patch. The substantial advantages of naval service were per- haps deemed of too gross a nature for men already rewarded with the grateful affections of their own countrymen, and the admiration of the whole world ! They were to be awarded, therefore, on a principle of compensation to a commander less rich in fame, and whose laurels, though not scant}^, were not yet sufficiently luxuriant to hide the golden crown, which is the appropriate ornament of victory in the bloodless war of com- mercial capture ! Of all the wounds which were ever inflicted on Nelson's feelings (and there were not a few), this was the deepest ! this rankled most ! " I had thought," (said the gallant man, in a letter written on the first feelings of the affront) — " I fancied — but nay, it must have been a dream, an idle dream — yet, I confess it, I did fancy, that I had done my country service — and thus they use me. Jt was not enough to have robbed me once before of my West-India harvest — now they have taken away the Spanish — and under what circumstances, and with what pointed aggravations ! Yet, if I know my own thoughts, it is not for myself, or on my own account chiefly, that I feel the sting and the disappointment ; no ! it is for my brave officers ! for my noble-minded friends and comrades — such a gallant set of fellows ! such a band of brothers ! My heart swells at the thought of them !" ■ This strong attachment of the heroic admiral to his fleet, faithfully repaid by an equal attachment on their part to their admiral, had no little influence in attuning their hearts to each other ; and when he died it seemed as if no man was a stran- ger to another : for all were made acquaintances by the rights of a common anguish. In the fleet itself, many a private quar- rel was forgotten, no more to be remembered ; many, who had been alienated, became once more good friends ; yea, many a one was reconciled to his very enemy, and loved, and (as it were) thanked him, for the bi(terness of his grief, as if it had been an act of consolation to himself in an intercourse of pri- vate sympathy. The tidings arrived at Naples on the day that I returned to that city from Calabria : and never can I forget the sorrow and consternation that lay on every countenance. Even to this day there are times when I seem to see, as in a vision, separate groupes and individual faces of the picture. Numbers stopped and shook hands with me, because they had 505 seen the tears on my cheek, and conjectured, that 1 was an En- glishman ; and several, as they held my hand, burst, themselves, into tears. And though it may awake a smile, yet it pleased and affected me, as a proof of the goodness of the human heart struggling to exercise its kindness in spite of prejudices the most obstinate, and eager to carry on its love and honor into the life beyond life, that it was whispered about Naples, that Lord Nelson had become a good Catholic before his death. The absurdity of the fiction is a sort of measurement of the fond and affectionate esteem which had ripened the pious wish of some kind individual through all the gradations of possibility and probability into a confident assertion believed and affirmed by hundreds. The feelings of Great Britain on this awful event, have been described well and worthily by a living poet, who has happily blended the passion and wild transitions of lyric song with the swell and solemnity of epic narration. Thou art fall'n ! fall'n, in the lap Of victoiy. To thy country thou cam'st back, Thou conqueror, to tiiumphal Albion caui'st A corse ! I saw before tliy hearse pass on The comrades of thy perils and renown. The frequent tear upon their dauntless breasts Fell. I beheld the pomp thick gather'd round The trophy'd car that bore thy grac'd remaina Thro' arm'd ranks, and a nation gazing on. Bright glow'd the sun, and not a cloud distain'd Heaven's arch of gold, but all was gloom beneath. A holy and untterable pang Thrill'd on the soul. Awe and mute anguish fell On all, — Yet high the public bosom throbb'd With triumjjh. And if one, 'mid that vast pomp, If but the voice of one bad shouted forth The name of Nelson : Thou hadst past along, Thou in thy hearse to burial past, as oft Before the van of battle, proudly rode Thy prow, down Britain's hne, shout after shout Rending the air with triumph, ere thy hand Had lanc'd the bolt of victory. SoTHEBY (Saul, p. 80.) I introduced this digression with an apology, yet have ex- tended so much further than I had designed, that I must once more request my reader to excuse me. It was to be expected 64 506 (I have said) that Lord Nelson would appreciate the isle of Malta from its relations to the British fleet on the Mediterra- nean station. It was the fashion of the day to style Egypt the key of India, and Malta the key of Egypt. Nelson saw the hoUowness of this metaphor : or if he only doubted its appli- cability in the former instance, he was sure that it was false in the latter. Egypt might or might not be the key of India ; but Malta was certainly not the key of Egypt. It was not intend- ed to keep constantly two distinct fleets in that sea ; and the largest naval force at Malta would not supersede the necessity of a squadron off" Toulon. Malta does not lie in the direct course from Toulon to Alexandria : and from the nature of the winds (taking one time with another) the comparative length of the voyage to the latter port will be found far less than a view of the map would suggest, and in truth of little practical importance. If it were the object of the French fleet to avoid Malta in its passage to Egypt, the port-admiral at Val- lette would in all probability receive his first intelligence of its course from Minorca or the squadron off" Toulon, instead of communicating it. In what regards the refitting and provis- ioning of the fleet, either on ordinary or extraordinary occa- sions, Malta was as inconvenient as Minorca was advantage- ous, not only from its distance (which yet was sufficient to render it almost useless in cases of the most pressing necessi- ty, as after a severe action or injuries of tempest) but likewise from the extreme difficulty, if not impracticability, of leaving the harbour of Valette with a N. W. wind, which often lasted for weeks together. In all these points his lordship's observa- tions were perfectly just : and it must be conceded by all per- sons acquainted with the situation and circumstances of Malta, that its importance, as a British possession, if not exaggerated on the whole, was unduly magnified in several important par- ticulars. Thus Lord Minto, in a speech delivered at a county meeting and afterwards published, affirms, that supposing (what no one could consider as unlikely to take place) that the court of Naples should be compelled to act under the influence of France, and that the Barbary powers were unfriendly to us ei- ther in consequence of French intrigues or from their own ca- price and insolence, there would not be a single port, harbor, bay, creek, or road-stead in the whole Mediterranean, from which our men of war could obtain a single ox or an hogshead 507 of fresh water : unless Great Britain retained possession of Malta. The noble speaker seems not to have been aware, that under the circumstances supposed by him, Odessa too being closed against us by a Russian war, the island of Malta itself would be no better than a vast almshouse of 75,000 persons, exclusive of the British soldiery, all of whom must be regu- larly supplied with corn and salt meat from Great Britain or Ireland. The population of Malta and Goza exceeds 100,000 : while the food of all kinds produced on the two islands would barely suffice for one-fourth of that number. The deficit is procured by the growth and spinning of cotton, for which corn could not be substituted from the nature of the soil, or were it attempted, would produce but a small proportion of the quan- tity which the cotton raised on the same fields and spun* into thread, enables the Maltese to purchase, not to mention that the substitution of grain for cotton would leave half of the in- habitants without employment. As to live stock, it is quite out of the question, if we except the pigs and goats, which per- form the office of scavengers in the streets of Valette and the towns on the other side of the Porto Grande. Against these arguments Sir A. Ball placed the following considerations. It had been long his conviction, that the Medi- terranean squadron should be supplied by regular store- ships, the sole business of which should be that of carriers for the fleet. This he recommended as by far the most economic plan, in the first instance. Secondly, beyond any other it would secure a system and regularity in the arrival of supplies. And, lastly, it would conduce to the discipline of the navy, and prevent both ships and officers from being out of the way on any sudden emergence. If this system were introduced, * The Maltese cotton is naturally of a deep buff, or dusky orange color, and by the laws of the island, must be spun before it can be exported. I have heard it asserted, by persons apparently well informed on the subject, that the raw material would fetch as high a price as the thread, weight for weight : the thread from its coarseness being applicable to few purposes. It is manufactured likewise for the use of the natives themselves into a coarse nankin, which never loses its color by washing, and is durable beyond any cloathing I have ever known or heard of. The cotton seed is used as a food for the cattle that are not immediately wanted for the market: it is very nu- tritious, but changes the fat of the animal into a kind of guct, congealing quickly, of an adhesive substance. 508 the objections to Malta, from its great distance, &c. would have little force. On the other hand, the objections to Min- orca he deemed irre move able. The same disadvantages which attended the getting out of the harbor of Vallette, applied to vessels getting into Port Mahon ; but while fifteen hundred or two thousand British troops might be safely entrusted with the preservation of Malta, the troops for the defence of Minorca must ever be in proportion to those which the enemy may be supposed likely to send against it. It is so little favored by nature or by art, that the possessors stood merely on the level with the invaders. Cseteris paribus, if there 12,000 of the enemy landed, there must be an equal number to repel them ; nor could the garrison, or any part of it be spared for any sud- den emergence without risk of losing the island. Previously to the battle of Marengo, the most earnest representations were made to the governor and commander at Minorca, by the British admiral, who offered to take on himself the whole re- sponsibility of the measure, if he would permit the troops at Minorca to join our allies. The governor felt himself com- pelled to refuse his assent. Doubtless, he acted wisely, for re- sponsibility is not transferable. The fact is introduced in proof of the defenceless state of Minorca, and its constant liability to attack. If the Austrian Army had stood in the same rela- tion to eight or nine thousand British soldiers at Malta, a sin- gle regiment would have precluded all alarms, as to the island itself, and the remainder have perhaps changed the destiny of Europe. What might not, almost I would say, what must not eight thousand Britons have accomplished at the battle of Ma- rengo, nicely poised as the fortunes of the two armies are now known to have been ? Minorca too is alone useful or desirable during a war, and on the supposition of a fleet off Toulon. The advantages of Malta are permanent and national. As a second Gibraltar, it must tend to secure Gibraltar itself; for if by the loss of that one place we could be excluded from the Mediterranean, it is diificult to say what sacrifices of blood and treasure the enemy would deem too high a price for its con- quest. Whatever Malta may or may not be respecting Egypt, its high importance to the indej)endence of Sicily cannot be doubted, or its advantages, as a central station, for any portion of our disposable force. Neither is the influence which it will enable us to exert on the Barbary powers, to be wholly 609 neglected. I shall only add, that during the plague at Gibral- ter, Lord Nelson himself acknowledged that he began to see the possession of Malta in a different light. Sir Alexander Ball looked forward to future contingencies as likely to increase the value of Malta to Great Britain. He foresaw that the whole of Italy would become a French pro- vince, and he knew, that the French government had been long intriguing on the coast of Barbary. The Dey of Algiers was believed to have accumulated a treasure of fifteen millions sterling, and Buonaparte had actually duped him into a treaty, by which the French were to be permitted to erect a fort on the very spot where the ancient Hippo stood, the choice be- tween which and the Hellespont as the site of New Rome, is said to have perplexed the judgment of Constantino. To this he added an additional point of connection with Russia, by means of Odessa, and on the supposition of a war in the Baltic, a still more interesting relation to Turkey, and the Morea, and the Greek islands. — It has been repeatedly signified to the Brit- ish government, that from the Morea and the countries adjacent, a considerable supply of ship timber and naval stores might be obtained, such as would at least greatly lessen the pressure of a Russian war. The agents of France were in full activity in the Morea and the Greek islands, the possession of which, by that government, would augment the naval resources of the French to a degree of which few are aware, who have not made the present state of commerce of the Greeks, an ( bject of par- ticular attention. In short, if the possession of Malta were ad- vantageous to England solely as a convenient watch-tower, as a centre of intelligence, its importance would be undeniable. Although these suggestions did not prevent the signing away of Malta at the peace of Amiens, they doubtless were not with- out effect, when the ambition of Buonaparte had given a full and final answer to the grand question : can we remain in peace with France ? I have likewise reason to believe, that Sir Alex- ander Ball, baffled by exposing an insidious proposal of the French government, during the negociations that preceded the re-commencement of the war — that the fortifications of Malta should be entirely dismantled, and the island left to its inhabi- tants. Without dwelling on the obvious inhumanity and flagi- tious injustice of exposing the Maltese to certain pillage and slavery, from their old and inveterate enemies, the Moors, ho 510 showed that the plan would promote the interests of Buonaparte even more than his actual possession of the islands, which France had no possible interest in desiring, except as the means of keeping it out of the hands of Great Britain. But Sir Alexander Ball is no more. The writer still clings to the hope, that he may yet be enabled to record his good deeds more fully and regularly ; that then with a sense of com- fort not without a subdued exultation, he may raise heavenward from his honored tomb the glistening eye of an humble, but ever grateful Friend. ^§7 -J< jLOS ANGELK^ I I 3 11 58 00850 1586 A UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY nil mil mil mil mil mil HI AA 000 368 762 • 'nar • — ■