Essays, Moral, Political, and Literary - Faculty of Social Sciences

ESSAYSHORAL, POLITICAL, AND LITERBRYBY DAVID HUMEEDITED, WITH PRELIMINARY DI&SBRTATION8 AND NOTES, BYT. H. GREEN AND T. H. GROSELATI EELLOW AND TUTOR OF BdLGUlLFELTOW AND TUTOR OF QUEEN'@COLLEGE, OmORD O O ~ E ,oxmmIN TWO VOLUMI0Vote I.London 1882

ADVERTISEMENT.MOST of the principles, and reasonings, contained in thisvolume, were published in a work in three volumes, calledA Treatise of Human Natzcre : A work which the Autllor hadprojected before he left College, and which he wrote andpublished not long after. But not finding it successful, hewas sensible of his error in going to the press tco early, andhe cast the whole anew in the following pieces, where somenegligences in his former reasoning and more irl the expression,are, he hopes, corrected. Yet several writers, who havehonoured the Author's Philosophy with answers, have takencare to direct all their batteries agaiust the juvenile work,which the Author never acknowledged, and have affected totriumph in any advantages, which, they imagined, they hadobtained over it: A practice very contrary to all rules ofcandour and hir-dealing, and a strong instance of thosepolemical artifices, which a bigotted zeal thinks itself axthorisedto employ. Henceforth, the Autllor desires, that thefollowing Pieces may alone be regarded as containing hisphilosophical sentiments and princip1es.l1 [For the history of this Advertisement, which was first published in the secondvolume of tho posthumoas Edition of 1777, see Vol. 111. p. 38.-Ed.]

CONTENTSOFTHE FIRST VOLUME .. . . . . . . . . .. ........... . . .PAQBMYOWNLIFE 1I*b?m F~OY ADAM SMITE. LTA.D., m WILLUY STMEAN. E84, 9~~T~RYOFT~EEDITI~~S 16LIST OF E~xnoas 85PART I .. . . . .. . . ..8 UYI Of the Delicacy of Taste and Paesion11 Of the Liberty of the Press . . . . . . .I11 Th& Politics may be reduced to a ScienceIV Of the First Principles of Government . . . . V Of the Origin of Government . . . . VI On the Independency of Parliament . . . . . .VII . Whether the British Government inclines more to AbsoluteMonarchy. or to a Republic . . . . VIII. Of Parties in General . . . . . IX Of the Partiea of Great Britain . . . . X Of Superetition and Enthusiasm . . . . XI Of the Dignity or Meanness of Human Nature . . XI1 Of Civil Liberty . . . . .. . . . . . .... XI11 Of Eloquence.XIV Of the Riae and Progrese of the Arts and Science8. . . . . . ....XV The Epicurean XVI The Stoic . . . . . . . . XVII The Platonist . . . . . . . XVIII The Sceptic . . . . . . . XIX Of Polygamy and Divorces . . . . . . XX Of Simplicity and hfinement in Writing . . . XXI Of Nationd Characters . . . . . XXII Of Tragedy . . . . . . . . . XXIII . Of the Standard of Taste . . . . . . .

. . .v1 uCONTENTS OF THE FIRST VOLUME.PART IT.ESSAYI. Of Commerce. . . . . .11. Of Refinement in the Arb . . .1lI.OfAIoney . , . . , .IV. Of 'Interest. . . . . ,V. Of the Balance of Trade . . .VI. Of the Jealousy of Trade . . ,VII. Of the Balance of Power , . ,VIII. Of Taxes . . . . .19. Of Public Credit . . . . .X. Of Some Remarlcable Customs . .XI. Of the Populousness of Ancient NationsXII. Of the Original Contract . . ,XIII. Of Passive Obedience . . . .XIV. Of the Coalition of Pmtiee . ,XV. Of the Protestant Succession . . ,XVI. Idea of a Perfect Commonwealth .MY OWN LIFE.'IT is difficult for a man to speak long of himself withoutvanity; therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought aninsta,nce of vanity that I pretend at all to write my life; butthis Narrative shall contain little more than the History ofmy Writings; as, indeed, almost all my life has been spentin literary pursuits and occupations. The first success. ofmost of my writings was not such as to be an object ofvanity.I was born the 26th of April 1711, old style, at Edinburgh.I was of a good hmily, both by father and mother: myfather's family is a branch of the Earl of Home's, or Hume's;and my ancestors had been proprietors of the estate, whichmy brother possesses, for several generations. My motherwas daughter of Sir David Falconer, President of the Collegeof Justice : the title of Lord Halkerton came by successionto her brother.My family, however, was not rich, and being myself ayounger brother, iny patrimony, according to the mode ofmy country, was of course very slender. My father, whopassed for a man of parts, died when I was an infant, leavingme, with an elder brother and a. sister, under the care of ourmother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young andhandsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educatingof her children. I passed through the ordinary courseof education with success, and was seized very early wit11 apassion for literature, which has been t'he ruling pasaion olmy life, and the great source of iny enjoyments. My studious ,IFor the circuinoLtnces attending tllepublicatiori of this autobiography, see p. 80,--Ep.]

2 MY OWN LIFE. MY OWN LIFE. 3disposition, my sobriety, and nly industry, gave nly family anotion that the law was a proper profession for me ; but Ifound an unsurmountable aversion to every thing but thepursuits of philosophy and general learning ; and while theyfancied I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero andVirgil were the authors which I was secretly devouring.My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to thisplan of life, and my health being a little broken by my ardentapplication, I was tempted, or rather forced, to make a veryfeeble trial for entering into a more active scene of life. In1734, I went to Bristol, with some recommendations toeminent merchants, but in a few months found that scenetotally unsuitable to me. I went over to France, with a viewof prosecuting my studies in a country retreat ; and I therelaid that plan of life, which I have steadily and successfullypursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supplymy deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency,and to regard every object as contemptible, exceptthe improvement of my talents in literature.During my retreat in France, first at Reims, but chiefly atLa Fleche, in Anjou, I composed my Treatise of HumanNature. After passing three years very agreeably in thatcountry, I came over to London in 1737. In the end of1738,' I published my Treatise, and immediately went downto my mother and my brother, who lived at his countryhouse, and was employiug himself very judiciously and successfullyin the improvement of his fortune.Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than myTreatise of Human Nature. It fell dead-born from the press,without reaching such distinction, as even to excite a murmuramong the zealots. But being naturally of a cheerful andsanguine temper, I very soon recovered the blow, and prosecutedwith great ardour my studies in the country. In 1742 'I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays : the workwas favourably received, and soon made me entirely forgetmy former disappointment. I continued with my motherand brother in the country, and in that time recovered theknowledge of the Greek language, which I had too muchneglected in my early youth.In 1745, I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale,inviting me to come and live with him in England; I found' [Vob. i. and ii., in 1739. Vol. iii.in 1740.-ED.] [Yol. i. in 1741.-Ep.]also, that the friends and family of that young noblemanwere desirous of putting him under my care and direction,for the state of his mind and health required it. I lived withhim a twelvemonth. My appointments during that timemade a considerable accession to my small fortune. I thenreceived an invitation from General St. Clair to attend himas a secretary to his expedition, which was at first meantagainst Canada, but ended in an incursion on the coast ofFrance. Next year, to wit, 1747, I received an invitationfrom the General to attend him in the same station in hismilitary embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. I thenwore the uniform of an officer, and was introduced at thesecourts as aide-de-camp to the general, along with Sir HarryErskine and Captain Grant, now General Grant. These twoyears were almost the only interruptions which my studieshave received during the course of my life : I passed themagreeably and in good company; and my appointments, withmy frugality, had made me reach a fortune, which I calledindependent, though most of my friends were inclined tosmile when I said so ; in short, I was now master of near athousand pounds.I had always entertained a notion, that my want of successin publishing the Treatise of Human Nature, had proceededmore from the manner than the matter, and that I had beenguilty of a very usual indiscretion, in going to the press tooearly. I, therefore, cast the first part of that work anew inthe Enquiry concerning Human Understanding, which waspublished while I was at Turin.' But this piece was at firstlittle more successful than the Treatise of Human Nature.On my return from Italy, I had the mortification to find allEngland in a ferment, on account of Dr. Middleton's FreeEnquiry, while my performance was entirely overlooked andneglected. A new edition, which had been published atLondon, of my Essays, moral and political, met not with amuch better reception.=Snch is the force of natural temper, that these disappointments made little or no impression on me. I went down in1749, and lived two years with my brother at his countryhonse, for my mother was now dead. I there composed thesecond part of my Essays, which I called Political Discourses,and also my Enquiry concerning the Principles of Morals,[In April, before starting for Turin.-ED.][In Norember.-ED.]

4 MY OWN LIFE.which is another part of niy treatise that I cast anew.Meanwhile, my bookseller, A. Millar, informed me, that myformer publications (all but the unfortunate Treatise) wereb3ginning to be the subject of conversation ; that the sale ofthem was gradually increasing, and that new editions weredemanded. Answers by Reverends, and Right Reverends,came out two or three in a year; and I found, by Dr. Warburton'srailing, that the books mere beginning to be esteemedin good company. However, I had fixed a resolution, whichIBinflexibly maintained, never to reply to anybody ; and notbeing very irascible in my temper, I have easily kept myselfclear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of a risingreputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposedto see the favourable than unf'avourable side ofthings ; a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess,than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year.In 1751, I removed from the country to the town, the truescene for a man of letters. In 1752, were published at Edinburgh,where I then lived, my Political Discourses, the onlywork of mine that was successful on the first publication.It was well received abroad and at home. In the same year1was published at London, my Enquiry concernirlg the Principlesof Morals ; which, in my own opinion (who ought notto judge on that subject), is of all my writings, historical,philosophical, or literary, incomparably the best. It cameunnoticed and unobserved into the world.In 1752, the Faculty of Advocates chose me their Librarian,an office from which I received little or no emolument, butwhich gave me the command of a large library. I thenformed the plan of writing the History of England ; but beingfrightened with the notion of continuing a narrative througha period of 1700 years, I commenced with the acce~sion ofthe House of Stuart, an epoch when, I thought, the misrepresentationsof factibn began chiefly to take place. I wak, Iown, aanguine in my expectations of the success of this work.I thought that I was the only historian, that had at onceiieglec~ed present power, interest, and authority, and the cryof popular prejudices ; and as the subject was suited to every(!aprtcity, T expected proportional applause. But miserablewas my disappointment : I was assailed by one cry of reproach,disapprobation, and even detestation ; English, Scotch,[IL 1751 .-EnMY OWN LIFE. 5and Irish, Whig and Tory, churchman and sectary, freehhinkerand religionist, patriot and courtier, united in theirrage against the man, who had presumed to shed a generoustear for the fate of Charles I. and the Earl of Strafford; andafter the first ebullitions of their fury were over, what wasstill more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion.Mr. Millar told me, that in a twelvemonth he sold only fortyfivecopies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in thethree kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that couldendure the book. I must only except the primate of England,Dr. Herring, and the primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, whichseem two odd exceptions. These dignified prelates separatelysent me messages not to be discouraged.I was, however, I confess, discouraged ; and had not thewar been at that time breaking out between France andEngland, I had certainly retired to some provincial townof the fornier kingdom, have changed my name, and nevermore have returned to my native country. But as thisscheme was not now practicable, and the subsequent volumewas considerably advanced, I resolved to pick up courageand to persevere.In this interval,' I published at London my Natural Historyof Religion, along with some other small pieces : itspublic entry was rather obscure, except only that Dr. Hurdwrote a pamphlet against it, with all the illiberal petulance,a,rrogance, and scurrility which distinguish the Warburtonianschool. This pamphlet gave me some consolation for theotherwise indifferent reception of my performance.%In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, waspublished the second volume of my History, containing theperiod from the death of Charles I. till the Revolution. Thisperformance happened to give less displeasure to the Whigs,and was better received. It not only rose itself, but helpedto buoy up its unfortunate brother.But though I had been taught by experience, that theWhig party were in possession of bestowing all places, bothin the state and in literature, I was so little inclined to yieldto their senseless clamour, that in about a hundred alterations,which farther study, reading, or reflection engaged meto niake in the reigns of the first two Stuarts, I hare madeall of them invariably to the Tory side. It is ridiculous toIn 1767.[See p. 62.-ED.]

6 MY OWN LIFE. MY OWN LIFE. 7consider the English constitution before that period as aregular plan of liberty.In 1759, I published my History of the House of Tudor.The clamour against this performance was almost equal tothat against the History of the two first Stuarts. The reignof Elizabeth was particularly obnoxious. But I was nowcallous against the impressions of public folly, and continuedvery peaceably and contentedly in my retreat at Edinburgh,to finish, in two volumes, the more early part of the EnglishHistory, which I gave to the public in 1761, with tolerable,and but tolerable success.But, notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, towhich my writings had been exposed, they had still beenmaking such advances, that the copy-money given me bythe booksellers, much exceeaed any thing forinerly known inEngland ; I was become not only independent, but opulent.I retired to my native country of Scotland, determined nevermore to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfactionof never having preferred a request to one great man, or evenmaking advances of friendship to any of them. As I wasnow turned of fifly, I thought of passing al.1 the rest of mylife in this philosophical manner, when I received, in 1763,an invitation from the Earl of Hertford, with whom I waspot in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy toPalis, with a near prospect of being appointed secretary tothe embassy; and, in the meanwhile, of perforrhing thefunctions of that office. This offer, however inviting, I atfirst declined, both because I was reluctant to begin connexionswith the great, and because I was afraid that the civilitiesand gay company of Paris, would prove disagreeable toa person of my age and humour : but on his lordship's repeatingthe invitation, I accepted of it. I have every reason,both of pleasure and interest, to think myself happy in myconnexions with that nobleman, as well as afterwards withhis brother, General Conway.Those who have not seen the strange effects of modes,will never imagine the reception I met with at Paris, frommen and woinen of all ranks and stations. The more Iresiled fron their excessive civilities, the more I was loadedwith them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in living atParis, from the great number of sensible, knowing, andpolite company with which that city abounds above dllaces in the universe. I thought once of settling there forlife.I was appointed secretary to the embassy ; and in suinrner1765, Lord Hertford left me, being appointed Lord Lieiltenantof Ireland. I was charge' d'afaires till the arrival ofthe Duke of Ilichmond, towards the end of the year. In thebeginning of 1766, I left Paris, and next summer went toEdinburgh, with the same view as formerly, of buryingmyself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place,not richer, but with much more money, and a much largerincome, by means of Lord Rertford's friendship, than I leftit; and I was desirous of trying what sliperfluity couldproduce, as I had formerly made an experiment of a competency.But in 1767, I received from Mr. Conway an invitat,ionto be Under-secretary; and this invitation, both thecharacter of the person, and my connexions with Lord Hertford,prevented me from declining. I returned to Edinburghin 1769, very opulent (for I possessed a revenue of 1,0001. ayear), healthy, and though somewhat stricken in years, withthe prospect of enjoying long my ease, and of seeing theincrease of nly reputation,In spring 1773, I was struck with a disorder in my bowels,which at first gave me no alarm, but has since, as I apprehendit, beconie nlortal and incurable. I now reckon u ona speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain P rommy disorder; and what is more strange, have, notwithstandingthe great decline of my person, never suffered a moment'sabatement of my spirits ; insomuch, that were I to namethe period of my life, which I should most choose to passover again, I might be tempted to point to this latter period.I possess tlle salne ardour as ever in study, and the samegaiety in company. I consider, beside's, that a nlan ofsixty-five, by dying, cuts off only a few years of infirmities ;and though I see many syny~toms of my literary reputation'sbreaking out at last with ;~dditional lustre, I knew that Icould have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to bemore detached from life than I am at present.To conclude historically with my owns character. I am,or rather was (for that is the style I must now use in speakingof myself, which emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man of mild dispositions, of colnmalldof temper, of an open, social. and cl~ecrfill hluinou~-, capable of

8 MY OWN LIFE.attachment, but little suscept,ible of enmity, and of greatmoderation in all my passions. Even my love of literaryfame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstandingmy frequent disapp~int~ments. My company wasnot unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to thestudious and literary ; and as I took a particular pleasure inthe company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeasedwith the reception I met with from them. In aword, though most men anywise eminent, have found reasonto complain of calun~ny, I never was touched, or even attackedby her baleful tooth : and though, I wantonly exposedmyself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, theyseemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted fury.My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstanceof my character and conduct : not but that the zealots,we may well suppose, would have been glad to inventand propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they couldnever find any which they thought would wear the face ofprobability. I cannot say there is no vanity in making thisfuneral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplacedone; and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared andascertained.LETTER FROM ADAM SMI!CH,TOWILLIAM STRAHAN, ESQ.'LL,D,,Kirkaldy, Fifeshire, Nov. 0, 1776.DEAR SIB,-It is with a real, though e very melancholypleasure, that I sit down to give you some account of thebehaviour of our late excellent friend, Mr. Hume, during hislast illness.Though, in his own judgment, his disease was mortal andincurable, yet he allowed himself to be prevtiled upon, bythe entreaty of his friends, to try what might be the effectsof a long journey. A few days before he set out, he wrotethat account of his own life, which, together with his otherpapers, he has left to your care. My account, therefore, shallbegin where his ends.He set out for Lrndon towards the end of April, and atMorpeth met with Mr. John Home and myself, who had bothcome down from London on purpose to see him, expectingto have found him at Edinburgh. Mr. Home returned withhim, and at'tended hiin during the whole of his stay in England,wit11 that care and attention which might be expectedfrom a temper so perfectly friendly and affectionate. As Ihad written to my mother that she might expect me in Scotland,I was under the necessity of continuing my journey:His disease seemed to yield to exercise and change of air,and when he arrived in London, he was apparently in muchbetter health than when he left Edinburgh. He was advised' [For the circumstances attending the publication of this letter, we p. 80.-ED.]

10 LETTER FROM DR. ADAM SMITH. 11to go to Bath to drinh the wat2rs, which appeared for sometime to have so good an effect upon him, that even he himselfbegan to entertain, what he was not apt to do, a betteropinion of his own health. His sgmptoins, however, soon returnedwith their usual violence, and from that moment hegave up all thoughts of recovery, but submitted with theutmost cheerfulness, and the most perfect complacencyand resignation. Upon his return to Edinburgh, though hefound himself much weaker, yet his cheerfulness neverabated, and he coiitinued to divert himself, as usuad, withcorrecting his own works for a new edition, with readingbooks of amusement, with the conversation of his friends ;and, sometimes in the evening, with a party at his favouritegame of whist; His cheerfulness was so great, his conversationand amusements run so much in their usual strain,that, notwithstanding all bad symptoms, many people couldnot believe he wa$ dying. ' I shall tell your friend, ColonelEdmondstone,' said Doctor Dundas to him one day, 'that Ileft you much better, and in a fair way of recovery.' ' Doctor,'said he, 'as I believe you would not chuse to tell anything but the truth, you had better tell him, that I amdying as fast as my enemies, if I have any, could wish, andas easily and cheerfully as my best friends could desire.'Colonel Edmondstone soon afterwards came to see him, andtake leave of him ; and on his way home, he could not forbearwriting hiin a letter bidding him once more an eternaladieu, and applying to him, as to a dying man, the beautifulFrench verses in which the Abb6 Chaulieu, in expectation ofhis own death, laments his approaclling separation from hisfriend, the Marquis de la Fare. Mr. Hume's magnanimity*and firmness were such, that his most affectionate friendsknew, that they hazarded nothing in talking or writing tohim as to a dying man, and that so far from being hurt bythis frankness, he was rather pleased and flattered by it. Ihappened to come into his room while he was reading thisletter, which he had just received, and which he immediatelyshowed me. I told him, that though I was sensible howvery much he was weakened, and ,that a.ppearances were inmany respects very bad, yet his cheerfulness was still sogreat, the spirit of life seemed still to be so veq- strong inhim, that I could not help entertaining some faint hopes.He answered, 'Your hopes are groulldless. An habitualdiarrhoea of more than a year's standing, would be a verybad disease at any age : at my age it is a mortal one. WhenI lie down in the evening, I feel niyself wealrer than whenI rose in the morning; and when I rise in the morning,wealser than when I lay down in the evening. I am sensible,besides, tlrat some of' my vital parts are affected, so that Imust soon die.' ' Well,' said I, ' if it must be so, you haveat least the satisfaction of leaving all your friends, yourbrother's family in particular, in great prosperity.' He saidthat he felt that satisfaction so sensibly, that when he wasreading, a few days before, Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead,among all the excuses which are alleged to Charon for notentering readily into his boat, he could not find one thatfitted him ; he had no house to finish, he had no daughterto provide for, he had no enemies upon whom he wished torevenge himself. ' I could not well imagine,' said he, ' whatexcuse I could make to Chmon in order to obtain a little delay.I have done every thing of consequence which I ever meant todo ; and I could at no tinle expect to leave my relations andfriends in a better situation than that in which I am nowlikely to leave tllein ; I, therefore, have all reasoil to die contented.'He then diverted hiinself with inventing severaljocular excuses, which he supposed he might make to Charon,and with imagining the very surly answers which it mightsuit the character of Charon to return to thern. ' Upon furtherconsideration,' said he, ' I thought I might say to him,Good Charon, I have been correcting my works for a newedition. Allow me a little time, that I may see how thePublic receives the alterations.' But Charon would answer,'When you have seen the effect of these, you will be formaking other alterations. There will be, no end of suchexcuses; so, honest friend, please step into the boat.' RutI might still urge, ' Have a little patience, good Charon ; Ihave been endeavouring to open the eyes of the Public. If Ilive a few years longer, I inay have the satisfaction of seeingthe downfall of some of the prevailing systems of superstition.'But Charon would then lose all temper and decency.' You loitering rogue, that will not happen these many hundredyears. Do you 6~ncy I will grant you a lease for solong a terln? Get into the boat this instant, you lazyloitering rogue.'But, though Mr. Hume;~lways talked of his approaching

14 LETTER FROM DR. ADAM SMI'I'H.meaning of his raillery to mortify; and therefore, far fromoffending, it seldom failed to please and delight, even thosewho were the objects of it. To his friends, wllo were frequentlythe objects of it, there was not perhaps any one of allhis great and amiable qualities, which contributed more toendear his coaversation. And that gaiety of temper, soagreeable in society, but which is so often accompanied withfrivolous and superficial qualities, was in him certainly attendedwit'h the xilost severe application, the most extensivelearning, the greatest depth of thought., and a capacity inevery respect the most comprehensive. Upon the whole, Ihave always considered him, both in his lifetime and sincehis death, as approaching as nearly to the idea of a perfectlywise and virtuous Inan, as perhaps the nature of humanfrailty will permit.I ever am, dear Sir,Moat affectionately your's,ADAM SMITH.HISTORY OF THE EIIITIONS.HUME has told us in his autobiography, that very early inlife he was seized with a passion for literature : an exprgssionwhich, strong as it is, does not err on the side of exaggeration.From the time of leaving school, he seems to havebeen absorbed in literary pursuits and ambitions. He wasincessantly engaged in working at questions suggested bythe writings of Locke and Berkeley. He came to believethat he had discovered new truths ; and he dreamed of ageneral recognition of his genius. Mingling with theseambitious aspirations, there was a set purpose to curb alrirritable, excited temper, and to realize the calm elev a t' 1011of the philosopher.In the hope of achieving these results, he declined to trainhimself for the law or for business. His income, thoughsmall, was sufficient for the time ; and he expected that hiswritings would bring wealtli as well as fame.The following letter1 to his friend Michael Ramsay, writtenshortly after his seventeenth birthday, is the earliest recordwhich we possess, and it gives a picture, equally graphic andastonishing, of his boyhood.'July 4, 1727.' DR 11.-I received all the books you writ of, and yourMilton among the rest. When I saw it, I perceived therevr7as a difference betwixt preaching and practising ; youaccuse me of niceness, and yet practise it most egregiouslyyourself. What was tlie necessity of sending your Nilton,which I knew you mere so fond of P Why, I lent your's andcan't get it. But would you not, in the same manner, have1 Life and Correspondence of D;tvicl Hume. Sy John Hill Burton, EY~., Advo.cate. Vol. i., p. 12.

1G HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. IIISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 17lent your own ? Yes. Then, why this ceremony and goodbreeding '3 I write all this to show you how easily any actionmay be brought to bear the countenance of a fault. You mayjustify yourself very well, by saying it was kindness ; and Iam satisfied with it, and thank you for it. So, in the samemanner, I may justify myself fro111 your reproofs. You saythat I would not send in my papers, because they were notpolished nor brought to any form : which you say is nicety.But was if not reasonable ? Would you have me send in myloose incorrect thoughts ? Were such worth the transcribing 2All the progress that T made is but drawing the outlines, onloose bits of paper : here a hint of a passion ; tiiere a phenomenonin the mind accounted for : in another the alterationof these accounts ; sometirnes a remark upon an author Ihave been reading ; and none of them worth to any body,and I believe scarce to myself. The only design I had ofmentioning any of them at all, was to see what you wouldhave said of your own, whether they were of the same kind,and if you would send any ; and I have got niy end, for youhave given a most satisfactory reason for not communicatingthem, by promising they shall be told vivd voce-a muchbetter way indeed, and in which I proliiise myself muchsatisfaction ; for the free conversation of a friend is what I:would prefer to any entertainment. Just now I am entirelyconfined to myself and library for diversion since we parted.-- ea sola voluptus,Solamenque mali-And indeed to me they are not a small one : for I take nomore of them than I please ; for I hate task-reading, and Idiversifj- them at pleasnre--sometimes a philosopher, sometimesa poet-which change is not unpleasant nor disserviceableneither; for what will more surely engrave upon mymind a Tusculan disputation of Cicero's De BgritudineLenienda, than an eclogue or georgick of Virgil's 2 Thephilosopher's wise man and the poet's husbandman agree inpeace of mind, in a liberty and independency on fortune, andcontempt of riches, power, and glory. Every thing is placidand quiet in both : nothing perturbed or disordered.At secura quies, et nescia fallere vita-Speluncs, vivique laci ; at frigida Tempe,Mugit,usque bourn, mollesque sub arbore somniNon absint.' These lines will, in my opinion, come nothing short ofthe instruction of the finest sentence in Cicero : and is moreto me, as Virgil'a life is more the subject of my ambition,being what I can apprehend to be more within my power. Forthe perfectly wise man, that outbraves fortune, is surelygreater than the husbandman who slips by her ; and, indeed,this pastoral and saturnian happiness I have in a great measurecome at just now. I live like a king, pretty much bymyself, neither full of action nor perturbation,--molles somnos.This state, however, I can foresee is not to be relied on. Mypeace of mind is not sufficiently confirmed by philosophy towithstand the blows of fortune. This greatness and elevationof soul is to be found only in study and contemplatiou-thiscan alone teach us to look down on human accidents. Youmust allow [me] to talk thus, like a philosopher: 'tis a subjectI think much on, and could talk all day long of. But Iknow I must not trouble you. Wherefore I wisely practisemg rules, which prescribe to check our appetite ; and, for amortification, shall descend from these superior regions to16w and ordinary life; and so far as to tell you, that Johnhas bought a horse : he thinks it neither cheap nor dear. Itcost six guineas, but will be sold cheaper against winter,which he is not resolred on as yet. It has no fault, butbogles a little. It is tolerably well favoured, and paces naturally.Mamma bids me tell you, that Sir John Home ia notgoing to town ; but he saw Eccles in the country, who sayshe will do nothing in that affair, for he is only taking off oldadjudications, so it is needless to let him see the papers. Hedesires you would trouble yourself to inquire about the Earle'saffairs, and advise us what to do in this affair.If it were not breaking the formal rule of connexions Ihave prescribed myself in this letter-and it did not seemunnatural to raise myself from so low ahirs as horses andpapers, to so high and elevate things as books and study-Iwould tell you that I read some of Longiuus already, andthat I an1 mightily delighted with him. I think he doesreally aiiswer the character of being the great sublime hedescribes. He delivers his precepts with such force, as if hewere enchanted with the subject ; and is himself an authorthat may be cited for an example to his own rules, by anyone who shall be so adventurous as to write upon his subject.'

18 HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS, HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 19*Thus he was occupied for four years: devouring books,cross-examining the English metaphysicians, and jottingdown his desultory doubts and criticisms. So he describeshimself in a letter of a later date :' 'Tis not long ago that I burned an old manuscript book,wrote before I was twenty, which contained, page after page,the gradual progress of my thoughts on that head. It beganwith an anxious search after arguments, to confirm the cornmonopinion ; doubts stole in, dissipzted, returned ; wereagain dissipated, returned again ; and it was a, perpetualstruggle of a restless imagination against inclination, perhapsagainst reason.'At last his healt'h wa.s a little broken. He appears t,o havesuffered from torpidity of liver, caused by sedentary occupationsand poor-food. In a letter2 to a physician, neverdespatched, but found by Mr. Burton among the papers inthe possession of the Royal Society of Edinburgh, Humedescribes minutely his manner of life, his hopes and his fears.The letter appears to have been written in 1734, when hewas twenty-three years of age : and, with the exception ofthe medical details, it is here printed in full.' SIR,-Not being acquainted with this handwriting, youwill probably look to the bsttonl to find the subscription, andnot finding any; will certainly wonder at this strange methodof addressing you. I must here in tlie beginning beg youto excuss it, and, to persuade you to read what follovrrswith some attention, must tell you, that this gives youan opportunity to do a very good-natured action, which Ibelieve is the most powerful argument I can use. I need nottell you, that I am )-our countryman, a Scotsman ; for withontany such tie, I dare rely upon your humanity even to aperfect stranger, such as I am. The favour I beg of yon isyour advice, and the reason why I address myself in particularto you, need not be told,-as one must be a skilfnl physician,a n~an of letters, of wit, of good sense, and of great humanity,to give me a satisfying answer. I wish fame had pointed olltto nie illore persons, in whom these qualities are united, inorder to have kept me some time in suspense. This I sa,yin the sincerity of my heart, and without any intention ofMarch 10. 1751. Life. Vol. i., p. 332. The immediate reference is to theargnment of Clcanthes. in tlie ' Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion.'Life. Vol. i., p. 30.making a compliment ; for though it may seem necessary,that, in the beginning of so unusual a letter, I should saysome fine things, to bespeak your good opinion, and removeany prejudices you may conceive at it, yet such an endeavourto be witty, would ill suit with the present condition of mymind ; which, I must confess, is not without anxiety concerningthe judgment you will form of me. Trusting, however,to your candour and generosity, I shall, without furtherpreface, proceed to open up to you the present condition ofIUY health, and to do that the more effectually, shall give youa kind of history of my life, after which you will easily learnwhy I keep my name a secret.You must know then that, from my earliest infancy, Ifound always n strong inclination to books and letters. Asour college education in Scotland, extending little furtherthan the languages, ends coinnionly when we are about fourteenor fifteen years of age, I was after that left to my ownchoice in my reading, and found it incline me almost equallyto books of reasoning and philosophy, and to poetry and thepolite authors. Every one who is acquain~ted either with thephilosophers or critics, knows that there is nothing yet establishedin either of these two sciences, and that they containlittle more than endless disputes, even in the most fundamentalarticles. Upon examination of these, I found acertain boldness of temper growing iii me, which was notinclined to submit to any authority in these subjects, but lednze to seek out some new medium, by which truth might beestablished. After much study and reflection on this, atlast, when I mas about eighteen years of age, there seemedto be opened up to me a new scene of thought, which transportedme beyond measure, and made me, with an ardournatural to young men, throw up every other pleasure orbusiness to apply entirely to it. The law, which was thebusiness I designed to follow, appeared nauseous to me, andI could think of no other way of pushing my fortune in theworld, but that of a scholar and philosopher. I was infinitelyhappy in this course of life for some months; till at last,about; the beginning of September, 1729, all my ardourseemed in a moment to be extinguished, and 1 could no longerraise my mind to that pitch, which formerly gave me suchexcessive pleasure. I felt no uneasiness or want of spirits,when I laid aside my book; and therefore never imagined

HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 21there was any bodily distemper in the case, but that mycoldness proceeded from a laziness of temper, whieh must beovercome by redoubling my application. In this condition Iremained for nine months, very uneasy to myself, as you maywell imagine, but without growing any worse, which was amiracle. There was another particular, which contributed,more than any thing, to waste my spirits and bring on methis distemper, which was, that having read many books ofmorality, such as Cicero, Seneca, and Plutarch, and beingsmit with their beautiful representations of virtue and philosophy,I undertook the improvement of my temper andwill, along with my reason and understanding. I was continuallyfortifying myself with reflections against death, andpoverty, and shame, and pain, and all the other calamities oflife. These no doubt are exceeding useful, when joined withan active life, because the occasion being presented alongwith the reflection, works it into the soul, and makes it takea deep impression; but in solitude they serve to little otherpurpose, than to waste the spirits, the force of the mindmeeting with no resistance, but wasting itself in the air, likeour arm when it misses its aim. This, however, I did notlearn but by experience, and till I had already ruined myhealth, though I was not sensible of it. * * *' Though I was sorry to find myself engaged with sotedious a distemper, yet the knowledge of it set me verymuch at ease, by satisfying me that my former coldness pro-ceeded not from any defect of temper or genius, but from adisease to which any one may be subject. I now began totake some indulgence to myself; studied moderately, andonly when I found my spirits at their highest pitch, leavingoff before I was weary, and trifling away the rest of my timein the best manner I could. In this way, I lived with satisfactionenough ; and on my return to town next winter foundmy spirits very much recruited, so that, though they sankunder me in the higher flights of genius, yet I was able tomake considerable progress in my former designs. I wasvery regular in my diet and wa.y of life from the beginning,and all that winter made it a constant rule to ride twice orthrice a-week, and walk every day. For these reasons I expected,when Ireturned to the country, and could renew myexercise with less interruption, that I would perfectly recover.But in this I was much mistaken. * * *' Thus I have given you a full account of the condition ofmy body ; and without staying to ask pardon, as I ought todo, for so tedious a story, shall explain to you how my mindstood all this time, which 011 every occasion, especially in thisdistemper, have a very near connexion together. Havingnow time and leisure to cool my inflamed imagination, Ibegan to consider seriously how I should proceed in my philosophicalinquiries. I found that the moral philosophytransmitted to us by antiquity laboured under the same inconveniencethat has been found in their natural philosophy,of being entirely hypothetical, and depending more uponinvention than experience : every one consulted his fancy inerecting schemes of virtue and of happiness, without regardinghuman nature, upon which every moral conclusion mustdepend. This, therefore, I resolved to make my principalstudy, and the source from which I would derive every truthin criticism as well as morality. I believe it is a certain fact,that most of the philosophers who have gone before us, havebeen overthrown by the greatness of their genius, and thatlittle more is required to make a man succeed in this study,than to throw off all prejudices either for his own opinionsor for those of others. At least this is all I have to dependon for the truth of my reasonings, which I have multipliedto such a degree, that within these three years, I find I havescribbled many a quire of paper, in which there is nothingcontained but my own inventions. This, with the readingmost of the celebrated books in Latin, French, and English,and acquiring the Italian, you may think a sufficient businessfor one in perfect health, and so it would had it been done toany purpose ; but my disease was a cruel encumbrance onme. I found that I was not able to follow out any train ofthought, by one continued stretch of view, but by repeatedinterruptions, and by refreshing my eye from time to timeupon other objects. Yet with this inconvenience I havecollected the rude materials for many volumes; but in reducingthese to words, when one must bring the idea hecomprehended in gross, nearer to him, so as to contemplateits minutest parts, and keep it steadily in his eye, so as tocopy these parts in order,-this I found impracticable for me,nor were my spirit^ equal to so severe an employment. Herelay my greatest cala.mity. I had no hopes of delivering myopinions with such elegance and neatness, as to draw to ulc

22 I-IISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 23the attention of the world, and I would rather live and diein obscurity than produce them inaimed and imperfectl.' Such a miserable disappointment I scarce ever rememberto have heard of. The small distance betwixt me and perfecthealth makes me the more uneasy in my present situation.It is a weakness rather than a lowness of spirits whichtroubles me, and there seems to be as great a differencebetwixt my distemper and comnlon vapours, as betwixtvapours and madness. I have noticed in the writings of theFrench mystics, and in those of our fanatics here, that whenthey give a history of the situation of their souls, they mentiona coldness and desertion of the spirit, which frequentlyreturns; and some of them, at the beginning, have beentormented with it many years. As this kind of devotiondepends entirely on the force of passion, a.nd consequently ofthe animal spirits, I have often thought that their case andmine were pretty parallel, and that their rapturous admirationsmight discompose the fabric of the nerves and brain, asmuch as profound reflections, and that warmth or enthusiasmwhich is inseparable from them.' However this may be, I have not come out of the cloudso well as they commonly tell us they have done, or ratherbegan to despair of ever recovering. To keep myself frombeing melancholy on so dismal a prospect, my only securitywas iil peevish reflections 011 the vanity of the world and ofall hlunan glory ; which, however just sentiments they maybe esteemed, I have found can never be sincere, except inthose who are possessed of them. Being sensible that allmy philosophy would never make me contented in my presentsituation, I began to rouse up myself; and being encouragedby instances of recovery from worse degrees of this distemper,as well as by the assurances of my physicians, I began tothink of something more effectual than I had hitherto trizd.I found, that as there are two things very bad for this distemper,study and idleness, so there are two things very good,business and diversion; and that my whole time was spentbetwixt the bad, with little or no share of the good. Forthis reason I resolved to seek out a more active life, andthough I could not quit nly pretensions in learning but withmy last breath, to lay them aside for some time, in order themore effectually to resume them. Upon examination, I foundmy choice confined to two kinds of life, that of a travellinggovernor, and that of a merchant. The first, besides that itis in some respects an idle life, was, I found, unfit for me ;and that because from a sedentary and retired way of living,from a bashful temper, and fiom a narrow fortune, I had beenlittle accustomed to general companies, and had not confidenceand knowledge enough of the world to push my fortune, orto be serviceable in that way. I therefore fixed my choiceupon a merchant; and having got recommendation to a considerabletrader in Bristol, I am just now hastening thither,with a resolution to forget myself, and every thing that ispast, to engage myself, as far as is possible, in that course oflife, and to toss about the world, from the one pole to theother, till I leave this distemper behind me.'In consequence of this indisposition, his friends inducedhim to enter a merchant's office at Bristol ; but after a brieftrial he returned to his favourite pursuits, and crossing toFrance, and settling ' first at Reims, but chiefly at La Flbchein Anjou,' he occupied three years in collecting the passagesin his manuscripts which dealt with the philosophies of Lockeand Berkeley, and in preparing them for the press. Towardsthe close of 1737 he left France, and came to London, tonegotiate for the publication of two volumes of a ' Treatiseof Human Nature.' The following letters to Henry Home,afterwards Lord Kames, deserve to be quoted :-' London, December 2, 1737.' DEAR SIR,-I am sorry I ail1 not able to satisfy yourcuriosity by giving you some general notion of the plan uponwhich I proceed. But my opinions are so new, and evensome terms that I am obliged to make use of, that I couldnot propose, by any abridgment, to give my system an air oflikelihood, or so much as make it intelligible. It is a thingI have in vain attempted already, at a gentleman's request inthis place, who thought it would help him to comprehend andjudge of my notions, if he saw thein all at once before him.I have had a greater desire of commnnicating to you theplan of the whole, that I believe it will not a,ppear in publicbefore the beginning of next winter. For, besides that itwould be difficult to have it printed before the rising of theparliament, I must confess I am not ill pleased with a litt,ledelay, that it may appear with as few inlperfections as possible.I have been here near three months, always within a

24 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIOKS. 25 .week of agreeing with my printers ; and SOU may imagine Idid not forget the work itself during that time, where I beganto feel some passages weaker for the style and diction thanI could have wished. The nearness and greatness of theevent roused up my attention, and made me more difficult toplease, than when I was alone in perfect tranquillity in France.But here I must tell you one of my foibles. I have a greatinclination to go down to Scotland this spring to see myfriends ; and have your advice concerning tny philosophicaldiscoveries ; but cannot overcome a certain sha,me-fhcednessI have to appear among you at my years, without having yeta settlement, or so much as attempted any. How happens itthat we philosophers cannot as heartily despise the world asit despises us PI think in my conscience the contempt wereas well founded on our side as on the other. * * *' Your thoughts and mine agree with respect to Dr. Butler,and I would be glad to be introduced to him. I am at presentcastrating my work, that is, cutting off its nobler parts ;that is, endeavouring it shall give as little offence as possible,before which, I could not pretend to put it into the Doctor'shands. This is a piece of cowardice, for which I blame myself,though I believe none of my friends will blame me. But Iwas resolved not to be an enthusiast in philosophy, while Iwas blaming other enthusiasms.'Again, on March 4, 1738, he writes :-' I shall not trouble you with any formal compliments orthanks, which would be but an ill return for the kindness- you have done me in writing in my behalf, to one you are solittle acquainted with as Dr. Butler; and, I am afraid,stretching the truth in favour of a friend. I have calledupon the Doctor, with a design of delivering him your letter,but find he is at present in the country. I am a little anxiousto have the Doctor's opinion. My own I dare not trust to;both because it concerns myself, and because it is so variable,that I know not how to fix it. Sometimes it elevates meabove the clouds ; at other times, it depresses me with doubtsand fears; so that; whatever be my success, I cannot beentirely disappointed. Somebody has told me that you mightperhaps be in London this spring. I shottld esteem this avery lucky event ; and notwithstanding all ,the pleasures ofLife. Vol. i., p. 62.the town, I would certainly engage you to pass some philosophicalevenings with me, and either correct my judgment,where you differ fioin me, or confirm it where we agree. Ibelieve I have some need of the one, as well as the other ;and though the propensity to diffidence be an error on thebetter side, yet 'tis an error, and dangerous as well as disagreeable."On September 26, 1738, he sold the copyright of the twovolumes for 501. to John Noone, of Cheapside, and they appearedin January 1739, with the following advertisement :-' ADVERTISEMENT.'MY design in the present Work is sufficiently explainedin the Introduction. The reader must only observe, that allthe subjects I have there planned out to myself are not treatedin these two volumes. The subjects of the Understandingand Passions make a complete chain of reasoning by them-selves ; and I was willing to take advantage of this naturaldivision, in order to try the taste of the Public. If I havethe good fortune to meet with success, I shall proceed to theexamination of Morals, Politics, and Criticism, which willcomplete this Treatise of Human Nature. The approbationof the Public I consider as the greatest reward of my labours;but am determined to regard its judgment, whatever it be, asmy best instruction.'On February 13, he wrote to H. Home :-' SIR,-~ thought to have wrote this from a place neareryou than London, but have been detained here by contrarywinds, which have kept all Berwick ships from sailing. 'Tisnow a fortnight since my book was published ; and, besidesmany other considerations, I thought it would contributevery much to my tranquillity, and might spare me many mortifications,to be in the country while the success of the workwas doubtful. I am afraid 'twill remain so very long. Thosewho are accustomed to reflect on such abstract subjects, arecommonly full of prejndices ; and those who are unprejudicedare unacquainted with metaphysical reasonings. My principlesare also so remote from all the vulgar sentiments onthe subject, that were they to take place, they would producealmost a total alteration in philosophy; and you know, revolutionsof this kiild are not easily brought about. I amLifo. Val. i., p. 64.

26 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. IIISTORY OF TIIE EDITIOSS. 2 7young enough to see what will become of the matter; butam apprehensive lest the chief rewsrd I shall have for sometime mill be the pleasure of studying on such important subjects,and the approbation of a few judges. Among the rest,you may believe I aspire to your approbation; and next tothat, to your free censure and criticism. I shall present youwith a copy as soon as I conie to Scotland ; and hope yourcuriosity, as well as friendship, will make you take the painsof perusing it.'If you know anybody that is a judge, you would do mea sensible pleasure in engaging him to a serious perusal ofthe book. 'Tis so rare to meet with one that will take painson a book, that does not come recommended by some greatname or authority, that I must confess I am as fond ofmeeting with such a one as if I were sure of his approbation.I am, however, so doubtful in that particular, that I haveendeavoured all I could to conceal my name; though Ibelieve I have not been so cautious in this respect as I oughtto have beer,.' I have sent the Bishop of Bristol a copy, but could notwait on him with your letter after he had arrived at thatdignity. At least I thought it would be to no purpose afterI began the printing. You'll excuse the frailty of an authorin writing so long a letter about nothing but his own performances.Authors have this privilege in common withlovers ; and founded on the same reason, that they are bothbesotted with a blind fondness of their object. I have beenupon my guard -against this frailty ; but perhaps this hasrather turned to my prejudice. The reflection on our cautionis apt to give us a more implicit confidence afterwards, whenwe come to form a judgment.'About the saule time, he wrote to Michael Ramsay.' As to myself, no alteration has happened to my fortune :uor have I taken the least step towards it. I hope thingswill be riper next winter ; and I would not aim at any thingtill I could judge of my success in my grand undertaking,and see upon what footing I shall stand in the world. I amafraid, however, that I shall not have any great success of asudden. Such performances make their way very heavily ?tfirst, when they are not recommended by any great name orauthority.'Life. Vol. i., p. 105. Life. Vol. i., p. 107.The nexh letter is dated June 1, and is addressed toH. Home.' DEAR SIR,-YOU see I am better than my word, havingsent you two papers instead of one. I have hints for two orthree more, which I shall execute at my leisure. I am notmuch in the humour of such co~npositions at present, havingreceived news from London of the success of my Philosophy,which is but indifferent, if I may judge by the sale of thebook, and if I may believe my bookseller. I am now out ofhumour with myself; but doubt not, in a little time, to beonly out of humour with the world, like other unsuccessfulauthors. After all, I am sensible of my folly in entertainingany discontent, much more despair, upon this account, sinceI could not expect any better froin such abstract reasoning;nor, indeed, did I promise myself much better. My fondnessfor what I imagined new discoveries, made me overlook allcommon rules of prudence; and, having enjoyed the usualsatisfaction of projectors, 'tis but just I should meet withtheir disappointnlents. However, as 'tis observed with suchsort of people, one project generally succeeds another, Idoubt not but in a day or two I shall be as easy as ever, inhopes that truth will prevail at last over the indifference andopposition of the world.' You see I might at present subscribe myself your mosth~imble servant with great propriety : but, notwithstanding,shall presume to call myself your most affectionate friend aswell as humble servant.'Nevertherless, he would not abandon hope, and busiedhimself with preparing a third volume for the press. Thishe submitted to Francis IIutcheson, then Professor of MoralPhilosophy in the University of Glasgow. On receivingHutcheson's coinrnents, lie replied as follows :-' Ninewells, 17th Sept., 1730.' SIR,-I am much obliged to you for your reflections onmy papers. I have perused them with care, and find theywill be of use to me. You have mistaken my meaning insome passages, which, upon examination, I have found toproceed from some ambiguity or defect in my expression.' what affected me most in your remarks, is your observingthat there wants a certa,in warmth in the cause of virtue,' Life. Vol. i., p. 108.

28 IIISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.which you think all good men would relish, and could notdisplease amidst abstract inquiries. I must own this has nothappened by chance, but is the effect of a reasoning eithergood or bad. There are different ways of examining themind, as well as the body. One may consider it either as ananatomist or as a painter: either to discover its most secretsprings and principles, or to describe the grace and beautyof its actions. I imagine it impossible to conjoin these twoviews. Where you pull off the skin, and display all theminute parts, there appears something trivial, even in thenoblest attitudes and most vigorous actions; nor can yoaever render the object graceful or engaging, but by clothingthe parts again with skin and flesh, and presenting on11 theirbare outside. An anatomist, however, can give very goodadvice to a painter or statuary. And, in like manner, I ampersuaded that a metaphysician may be very helpful to amoralist, though I cannot easily conceive these two charactersunited in the same work. Any warm sentiment of morals,I am afraid, would have the air of declamation amidst abstractreasonings, and would be esteemed contrary to good taste.And though I arn much more ambitious of being esteemed afriend to virtue than a writer of taste, yet I must always carrythe latter in my eye, otherwise I must despair of ever beingserviceable to virtue. I hope these reasons will satisfy you;though at the same time I intend to make a new trial, if itbe possible to make the moralist and metaphysician agree alittle better.' I cannot agree to your sense of natural. 'Tis founded onfinal causes, which is a consideration that appears to mepretty uncertain and unphilosophical. For, pray, what is theend of man ? Is he created for happiness, or for virtue ? forthis life, or for the next? for himself, or for his Maker?Your definition of natural depends upon solving these questions,which are endless, and quite wide of my purpose. Thare never called justice unnatural, but only artificial." Atque ipsa utilitas, justi prope muter et aqui," says one ofthe best moralists of antiquity. Grotius and Puffendolf, tobe consistent, must assert the same.Whether natural abilities be virtue, is a dispute of words.I think I follow the common use of language ; virtus signifiedchiefly courage among the Romans. I was just now readingthis character of Alexander VI. in Guicciardin. " In Alcs-HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.sandr~ sesto fu solertia et saga&& singulare : consiglioeccellente, efficacia a persuadere maravigliosa, et a tutte lefaccende gravi, sollicitudine, et destrezza incredibile. Maerano queste virta avanzate di grande intervallo da vitii."Were benevolence the only virtue, no characters could bemixed, but would depend entirely on their degrees of benevolence.Upon the whole, I desire to take my catalogue ofvirtues from " Cicero's Offices," not from " The Whole Duty ofMan." I had indeed the former book in my eye in all myreasonings.' I have many-other reflections to communicate to you ;but it would be troublesome. I shall therefore conclude withtelling you, that I intend to follow your advice in alteringmost of those passages you ha~e remarked as defective inpoint of prudence ; though, I must own, I think you a littletoo delicate. Except a man be in orders, or be imnlediatelyconcerned in the instruction of youth, I do not think hischaracter depends upon his philosophical speculations, as theworld is now modelled; and a little liberty seems requisiteto bring into the public notice a book that is calculated forfew readers. I hope you will allow me the freedom of consultingyou when I am in any difficulty, and believe me, &c.' P.8.-I cannot forbear recommending another thing toyour consideration. Actions are not virtuous nor vicious, butonly so far as they are proofs of certain qualities or durableprii~ciples in the mind. This is a point I should haveestablished more expressly than I have done. Now, I desireyou to consider if there be any quality that is virtuous, withouthaving a tendency either to the public good or to thegood of the person wbo possesses it. If there be none withoutthese tendencies, we may conclude that their merit isderived from sympathy. I desire you would only consider thetendencies of qualities, not their actual operations, whichdepend on chance. Brutus riveted the chains of Rome fasterby his opposition; but the natural tendency of his nobledispositions - his public spirit and magnanimity - was toestablish her liberty.' You are a great admirer of Cicero as well as I am. Pleaseto review the fourth book De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum:where you find him prove against the stoics, that if there beno other goods but virtue, 'tis impossible there can be anyvirtue, because the mind would then want all motives to

30 HISTORY OF TTIE EDITIONS. IIISTORY OF THE EDTTTONS. 31begin its actions upon ; and 'tis on the goodness or badnessof the motives that the virtue of the action depends. Thisproves, that to every virtuous action there must be a motiveor impelling passion distinct from the virtue, and that virtuecan never be the sole motive to any action. You do notassent to this : though I think there is no proposition morecertain or important. I must own my proofs were not distinctenough and must be altered. You see with what reluctanceI part with you, though I believe it is time I shouldask your pardon for so much trouble.''When this volume was ready, Hume changed his publisher.Although, as Mr. Burton observes, 501. was a fair sum 'foran edition of a new metaphysical work, by an unknown andyoung author, born and brought up in a remote part of theempire,' and although Noone reported that the book did notsell, Hume was suspicious, and, looking back upon it as abad bargain, availed himself of Hutcheson's good offices toobtain an introduction to Thomas Longrnan. Upon tllissubject he wrote to Hutcheson,-' 16th Narch, 1740.' DEAR SIR,-I must trouble you to write that letter youwas so kind as to offer to Longman the bookseller. I concludedsomewhat of a hasty bargain with iny bookseller,from indolence and an aversion to bargaining : as also becauseI was told that few or no booksellers ~vould engage for oneedition with a new author. I was also determined to keepmy name a secret for some time, though I find I have failedin that point. I sold one edition of these two volumes for- fifty guineas, and also engaged myself Zleedlessly in a clause,which map prove troublesome, viz. that upon printing 6second edition I shall take all tlle copies remaining uponhand at the bookseller's price at the time. 'Tis in order fohave some check upon my bookseller, that I would willinglyengage with another : and I doubt not but your recommendationwould be very serviceable to me, even though you benot personally acquainted with him.' I wait with some impatience for a second edition, principallyon account of alterations I intend to mnlce in my performance.This is an advantage that we authors possesssince the invention of printing, and renders the nonzcmprematwr irz ccnnum not so necessary to us as to the ancients.' Life. Val. i., p. 112.Without it I should have been guilty of a very great temerity,to publish at my years so many novelties in so delicate a partof ; and at any rate, I am afraid that I mustplead as my excuse that very circumstance of youth whichnlay be urged against me. I assure you, that without runningany of the heights of scepticism, I am apt in a coolhour to suspect, in general, that most of my reasonings willbe more useful by furnishing hints and exciting people's.curiosity, than as containing any principles that will augmentthe stock of knowledge, that must pass to future ages. Iwish I could discover more fully the particulars wherein Ihave failed. I admire so much the candour I ]lave observedin Mr. Locke, yourself, and a very few more, that I would beextremely alnbltious of imitating it, by frankly confessingmy errors. If I do not imitate it, it must proceed neitherfrol-(1 my being free from errors nor want of inclination, butfrom my real unasected ignorance. I shall c~nsider morecarefully all the particulars you mention to me : though withregard to abstract ideas, 'tis with difficulty I can entertain adoubt on that head, notwithstanding your authority. Ourconversation together has furnished me a hint, with whichI shall augment the second edition. 'Tis this-the wordsimple idea is an abstract term, comprehending different individualsthat are similar. Yet the point of their similarity,from the very nature of such ideas, is not distinct nor separablefrom the rest. Is not this a proof, among many others,that there may be a similarity without any possible separationeven in thought ?'I niust consult you i11 a point of prudence. I have concludeda reasoning with these two sentences : "When youpronounce any action or character to be vicious, you meannothing but that, from tlle particular constitution of yournature, you have a feeling or sentiment of blame from theconterrlplation of it. Vice and virtue, therefore, may becompared to sou~lds, colours, beat, and cold, which, accordingto modern philosophy, are not qualities in objects, but perceptionsin the mind. And this discovery in morals, like thatother in physics, is to be regarded as a mighty advancementof the speculative sciences, though like that too it has littleor no influence on practice.' '1 ' Sre this passage in the'' Treatise of where it appears with no other variit-Huma~i Natnre," Fmk iii. Part i. sect. 1. tion than tlie substitution of the word

32 IIISTORP OF TH33 EDITIONS.1s not this laid a little too strong P I desire yonr opinionof it, though I cannot entirely promise to conform myself toit. I wish fro111 my heart I could avoid concluding, thatsince morality, according to your opinion, as well as mine,is determined merely by sentiment, it regards only humannature and human life. This has been often urged againstyou, and the consequences are very momentous. If you makeany alterations in your performahces, I can assure you, thereare many who desire you would more fully consider this point,if you think that the truth lies on the popular side. Otherwisecommon prudence, your character, and situation, forbidyou [to] touch upon it. If morality were determined byreason, that is the same to all rational beings; but nothingbut experience can assure us that the sentiments are thesame. What experience have we with regard to superiorbeings P How can we ascribe to them any sentiments at all 3They have implanted those sentiments in us for the conductof life like our bodily sensations, which they possess notthemselves. I expect no answer to these difficulties in thecompass of a letter. 'Tis enough if you have patience toread so long a letter as this.'Mr. Longman published the volume; on what terms, is notknown.The following advertisement was prefixed to it :-I think it proper to inform the public, that tho' this be athird volume of the " Treatise of Human Nature," yet 'tis insome measure independent of the other two, and requires notthat the reader shou'd enter into all the abstract reasoningscontain'd in them. I am hopeful it may be understood byordinary readers, with as little attention as is usually givento any books of reasoning. It must only be observ'd, that Icontinue to make use of the terms, impressions and ideas, inthe same sense as formerly; and that by impressions I meanour stronger perceptions, such as our sensations, affectionsand ~entinlent~s; and by ideas the fainter perceptions, or thecopies of these in the memory and imagination.'In the letter to Hutcheson last quoted, it will be noticedthat Hume still anticipated a second edition. But although66 considerable," for mighty. It thus ap- as to induce the author materially topoars that whateyer remarks Iiutcheson alter it.'--Mr BURTON.made on the passage, they were not suchLife. Vol. i., y. 117.IIISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 33his hopes were not quenched, n tone of disappointment can bedetected in the third volume. In 1739, he had spoken favourablyof the attention paid to Philosopl-ly in England.Reckoning fro~n Thales to Socrates, the space of tiwe isnearly equal to that betwixt my Lord Bacon and some latein England, (Mr. Locke, my Lord Shaftsbury,Dr. Mandeville, Mr. Hutchinson, Dr. Butler, &c.), who havebegun to put the science of man on a new footing, and haveengaged the atten! ion, and excited the cl~riosity of the public.So true it is, that however other nations may rival us inpoetry, and excel us in some other agreeable arts, the improvementsin reason and philoaoplly can only be owing to aland of toleration and of liberty." ' We now proceed toexplain the nature of personal identity, which has becomeso great a question in philosophy, especially of late years, inEngland, where all the abstruser sciences are studied witha peculiar ardour and application.' But in the third volumehe wrote: ' Without this advantage, I never should haveventured upon a third volume of such abstruse philosophy,in an age wherein the greatest part of men seem agreed toconvert reading into an amuseinent and to reject every thingthat requires any considerable degree of attention to be com-~rehended.'~ And, further, it inay be observed that theAdvertisement attempts to dissociate this volume from thepreceding ones, and to secure for it a wider audience.Belbre long his hopes were finally dashed to the gronnd.As he says in his autobiography, 'Never literary attemptwas inore unf~rtnnate than my " Treatise of Human Nature."It fell dead-born from the press, without rea~hing such distinctionas even to excite a murmur ainong the zealots.' Thelast statement adillits of a trifling correction. In a lette14 toHutcheson dated March 4., 1740, he says :-' My bookseller has sent to Mr. Smiths a copy of my book,which I hope he has received, as well as your letter. I Bnrenot yet heard what he has clone with the abstract ; perhapsyou have. I have got it printed in Londoil, but not in 'I'IteWorks of the Learned, ther. having been a11 article withregitrd to my book, somewhat abusive, printed in that work,before I sent up the wb~tract.'~' Vol i., y. 308.Vol. i , y. 639." Vol ii.. p. 234.' lift,. vol. i.. p 11 6.VOL. 111.T r . Burton believes that t,liis witsAdam Smith.MS. R.S.E. Of this abstract tl~eEditor has discovercd no tri~ce.

34 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 35The review in question, one of the longest in this magazine,consists of two notices in the numbers for November andDecember, 1789, occupying in a11 51 pages. 'the object of thereviewer is not to discuss the argument of the book, but togive a synopsis of its contents, and, as far as possible, to leavethe author to speak for himself in lengthy quotations, which,however, are accompanied by an ironical comment. At theoutset the reviewer remarks upon the no st prominent blemishin style. ' This work abounds throughout with Eyotisms. TheAuthor could scarcely use that Form of Speech Inore frequently,if he had written his own Memoirs.'He is delighted, as might be expected, with the passage inwhich mistaken reasoning is explained by the blunders ofthe animzl spirits in rummaging among the cells of thebrain. The ~nelanclloly confessions of the Conclusion of theFourth Part of Book I. receive a fair share of compassion :and the article ends with the following paragraplis :' I will take Leave of our Author while he is in this chewfulMood, in this agreeable Situation; for, by looking forward,I perceive him extremely ready to relapse into profoundMeditations on incomprehensible Subjects, and so into Scepticism,Chagrin, and all that gloomy frightful Train of Ideasfrom whence he is but this Moment emerged. Whether Ishall wait upon him any more, and venture with him intothose immense Depths of Philosophy which he launches intoin his second Volume, I am not yet determined. Perhaps Ihave already and sufficiently answered the End of this Article,which is to make the Treatise it refers to more generally- known than I think it has been ; to bring it, as far as I amable, into the Observation of the Learned, who are the properJudges of its Contents, who will give a Sanction to its Doctrines,where they are true and useful, and who have Authorityto correct the Mistakes where they are of s differentNature ; and lastly, to hint to the ingenious Writer, whoeverhe is, some Particulars in his Performance, that may requirea very serious Reconsideration. It bears indeed incontestableiUarks of a great Capacity, of a soaring Genius, butyoung, and not yet thoroughly practired. The Subject isvast and noble as any that can exercise the Understanding;but it requires a very mature Judgment to handle it as becomesits Dignity and Importance; the lltmost Prudence,'I'enderness and Delicacy, are requisite to this desirable Issue.Tiille :1,11(1 Use may ripe11 these Qualities in our Antllor ; andwe shall probably have Reason to consider this, comparedwith his later Productions, in the same Light as we viewthe Jz~venile Works of Milton, or the first Manner of aRaphael, to other celebmted Painters.'Two passages in the article may be quoted, as illustratingthe xepute in which Locke and Berkeley were held at the time.A man, who has never had the pleasure of reading Mr.Locke's incomparable Essay, will peruse our Author withmuch less Disgust, than those can who have been used to theirresistible ~essonin~ and wonderful Perspicuity of that ad-mirable Writer.' . . . .' It is above twenty Years since I looked over that Piece ofDr. Berkeley's, which contains this most precious discovery,land, if I reniember right, that Gentleman himself boasts ofsome mighty Advantages that would accrue from it to theCow monwealth of Learning. The Acquisition of Sciencewas to become exceeding easy, and several Difficulties, thatwere used grievously to perplex Mathematicians and Metaphysicians,were to aink before it: In short, it was to dosuch Feats in behalf of Knowledge, as no Principle besidewas able to perform. But notwithstanding all these Benefitsthat were to accompany it, I do not find it has met with anyfavourable Reception among the Literati; or that manyPersons of Ability and Penetration are become Disciples :Its Fortune may now perhaps be more prosperous under theAuspices of its new Patron, who, we see, undertakes to raiseit above all Opposition.'The intiention to return to t'he subject was never fulfilledby the reviewer: neither the second nor the third volume ismentioned in the History of the Works of the Learned.With the exception of this criticism the Treatise was unnoticed,and Hume believed that the labour of his life had beenthrown away. This was the severest blow that Hunle everexperienced; and its history supplies the clue to the devrlopmentof his character.Henceforth, by a natural revulsion of sentiment, he re-garded the ~reatise with aversion. This feeling was strengthenedby a growing dislike to the many faults of style whichdisfigure it. The abundant Scotticisms2 became more andBerkeley's doctrirle of Abstract "I wonder (said Johnson) that he shouldGone~~il Ideas. find them." '-Boswell. The collectictll' I told him that David Hume h ~ d of Scotticisms is printod in Vol. iv.made ;t short collectio~~ of Scotticisnis.

36 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EIIITIONS. 3 7more repugnant to a writer, who ardently desired to be ~nistickenfor an Englishman in grammar and diction. Theconstant repetition of such egotisms as ' I think' and ' I amconvinc'd' disgusted a critic, who fastidiously weighed everyphrase of his Essays as they passed through successiveeditions. The frzgmentary nature of the argument: thelack of literary finish : the traces of a recluse, who had mixedlittle in society: the dogmatic tone of the argument: thedry, a priori mode of reasoning : the close adherence to thelines marked out by Locke and Berkeley, owing to whichthe Treatise can hardly stand alone : a certain want of coherencebetween the various trains of thought : all these werefurther considerations which tended to inflame a bitter senseof mortification. Few men of letters have been at heart sovain and greedy of fame as was Hulne. In all other respectshe learned to school his temper; but his appetite for applausewas insatiable, and even his publisher had on occasionto rebuke the philosopher.Of his feelings at the time we possess no record ; but thefollowing letter, written long afterwards, exhibits his maturerjudgment.' I believe the Philo~opllica~l Essays contain every thing ofconsequence relating to the understanding, which youmeet with in the Treatise ; and I give you my advice againstreading the latter. By shortening and simplifying thequestions, I: really render t'hem much more complete.Addo durn mil~uo. The philosophical principles are the samein both ; but I was carried away by the heat of youth andinvention to publish too precipitately.--So vast an undertaking,planned before I was one-and-twenty, and composedbefore twenty-five, must necessarily be very defective. Ihave repented my haste a hundred, and a hundred times."Another letter may be quoted ; to whom written, and when,is not known : Mr. Burton conjqctures, at an advanced periodof life.'That you may see I would no way scruple of owning mymistakes in argument, I shall acknowledge (what is infinitelymore material) a very great mistake in conduct, vie. my publishingat all the " Treatiae of Human Nature," a book whichpretended to innovate in all the sublimest paths of philosophy,and which I composed before 1 was five-and-twenty ; aboveLetter to Gilbert Elliot of Mlnto, 1751. Life. Vol. i., p. 337.%l1, the positive air which prevails in that book, and whichmay be imputed to the ardour of youth, so much displeasesme, that I have not patience to review it. But what successthe same doctrines, better illustrated and expressed, maymeet with, adhuc sub jzcdice lis est. The arguments have beenlaid before the world, and by some philosophical minds havebeen attended to. I am willing to be instructed by thepublic ; though human life is so shcrt, that I despair of everseeing the decision. I wish I had always confined myself tothe more easy parts of erudition; but you will excuse mefrom submitting to a proverbial decision, let it even be inGreek.'From these extracts it appears that theTreatise was writtenbetrreen one-and-twenty and five-and-twenty. In the Advertisementto the posthumous edition of his Essays, liepublished the statement,, that it was projectcd before he leftcollege, and written and published ' not long after.' Thereis some difficulty in these dates. Hume entered the Universityof Edinburgh in 1723, when he was nearly twelveyears of age. There is no direct, evidence as to the timewhen he ' left college.' Mr. Burton says, ' We find himspeaking of hapving received the usual college education ofScotland, which terininates when the student is fourteen orfifteen years old.'5 In a 1et)ter already quoted (p. 19) Hun~ehas spoken as if this had been his own case. If so, he leftcollege, at latest, early in 1727, and as the Treatise waspublished in 1739, the interval was not a short one. It appearsprobable that Hume confounded the date of leavingcollege with the year in which, as the same letter informsus, he first discovered a ' new niediurn, by which truth mightbe established.' This happened in 1729, when he waseighteen ; the next eight years were occupied in elaboratingthe discovery, and the work was definitely finished in 1736,before he ' was five-and-twenty,' and a year before he quittedLat FlBche.It was in the Advertisement from which this statementhas been quoted, that Hume expressed his desire, that theTreztise might no longer be regarded as expressing hissentiments. It runs as fnllows :' Most of the principles, and reasonings, contained in thisvolullle, were published in a work in three voluxnes, calledA Treatise of Human Na.ture: A work which the AuthorLife. Vol. i., p. 98. 2 Life. Vol. i., p. 10.

38 IPISTORY OF TIIE EDITlONS. IIIS'L'OK Y OF TIIE E1)lTIONS. 3!)had projected before he left College, and which he wrote andpublished not long after. But not finding it successful, hewas sensible of his error in going to the press too early, andhe cast the whole anew in the following pieces, where somenegligences in his former reasoning and more in the expression,are, he hopes, corrected. Yet several writers, who havehonoured the Author's Philosophy wi5h answers, have takencare to direct all their batteries against that juvenile work,which the Author never acknowledged, and have affected totriumph in any advantages, which, they imagined, they hadobtained over it: A practice very contrary to all rules ofcandour and fair-dealing, and a strsng instance of thosepolemical artifices, which a bigotted zeal thinks itself authorisedto employ. Henceforth, the Author desires, that thefollowing Pieces may alone be regarded as containirlg hisphilosophical sentiments and principles.'This Advertisement was first printed by way of preface tothe posthumous and authoritat'ive edition of 1777. Oneblunder has already been examined. Another occurs in theassertion, that the whole had been cast anew in the 111-quiries. Without going into details, cve may nientioil thatVol. i., Part II., Of the Ideas of Space and Time, wasindeed re-written, but the monograph never appeared ; andthat Part IV. of the same volume, in many respects Lhe mostinteresting portioil of the Treatise, was never resumed.In the Life of Hume Mr. Burton appears, if not to havemade a mistake about this Advertisement, at least to havewritten what is calculated to mislead. Speaking of the- publication of the Inquiry concerning the Human Understandingin 1748, he says : ' He now desired that the "Treatiseof Human Nature " should be treated as a work blotted outof literature, and that the " Inquiry" should be substitluted inits place. In the subsequent editions of the latter work, hecomplained that this had not been complied with; that theworld still looked at those forbidden volumes of which he haddictated the suppression.' The only reference to the Treatisein Hu~ne's writings is that in the Advertisement to the posthumousedition, which has just been quoted.But we quite agree with Mr. Burton, that it is impossible' to detach this book from general literature.' In deferenceto Hume's wishes, an author should always remind hisLife. Vol. i., p. 273.andicl.llce, if they require the warning, that the Treatise doesnot represent Humc's later sentiments ; and to those whoitre interested in the biographies of philosophers, this episodeis interesting. But it would be ridiculous to consign such abook to oblivion out of respect to its author's change offeeling. By so doing, we should wilfully ignore some of theacutest speculations of one of our acutest thinkers ; andthose, too, on points which are not discussed in any of hissubsequent writings. We should miss the instructive lessonwhich is gained by observing how closely the course of hisspeculations was determined for him by Locl e and Berkeley.We should lose the key to much philosophy, both Scotch andGerman.It would not appear requisite to say much on this head,but that, men of mark, like Professor Fowler and Mr. Hunt,appear to pride themselves on ignorance of the Treatise.The former says (' Inductive Logic,' p. 24) : ' In quotingor referring to Hume, I have employed only his Essays.Many writers persist in making references to his Treatise ofHz~rnan Nature, a work whi:h he himself repudiated, ascontaining an inlmat~x~e expression of his opinions. In theAdvertisement to his Essays, he desires that " the followingpieces may alone be regarded as containing the author'ssentiments and principles." ' Mr. Hunt is more violent(' Conternporarly Review,' May 1869 ; p. 79) : ' Hume's firstpublication was the " Treatise of Human Nature." As thiswork was afterwards disowned by its author, we need notdo more than mention it. Its place was supplied by the" Essays," in which the chief questions were treated withmore accuracy and clearness, while many of the more intricateand ingenious but less important reasonings wereomitted.' After this one is prepared to learn that ProfessorFowler never quotes the Bneid as Virgil's, and that Mr. Huntnever quotes it at all.It might, perhaps, have been expected that Hume's residencein France would have exercised a perceptible irifluenceupon the reasonings of the Treatise. Yet it is not tc:) muchto say, that, with a few unimportant exceptions, the: e is notlSace of it. The writer was little acquainted with, and is' From Mia. Hunt's cstinlate of tile hint that thr. atlvcrti*emel~- was therclrLtirc: III~I-I~ 5 of I he Trccltlw .t.lld tlie pok~ IILIIIIUU~ I I ~~'~.LIICL~ uf .I -plenet~cFTL-JY~ n ca ~~~Y~~IIIIIC tl, d ; f i b 1 . r7r fofo i11v~111cll't-~Jf~h~l!r l7O\, 1, r ,.cx,lcl< 1% Lt< ttlv,s I,"

4 0 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 4 1little interested in, any foreign school of philosophy. Hisknowledge of Spinoza was derived from Bayle's dictionary.Twice he gives a direct reference to ' Malbranch.' He refersin one paragraph to the Port Royal Logic, whence, too, heborrows the instance of the chiliagon. There is no trace of adirect knowledge of Des Cartes. The only French writer,besides, whom he quotes for other than ornamental purposes,is Malezieu, and this reference, no doubt, owes its origin toHume's residence at La FlBche. At least, the ' ElBments deGQom6trie de M. le duc de Bourgoyne' does not seem tohave been generally known in ~ngland; and at the presentday no copy of it is to be found in the British Museum, or inBodley's Library. I11 short, the Treatise from beginning toend is the work of a solitary Scotchman, who has devotedhimself to the critical study of Locke and Berkeley. Thathe lived for three years in France, was an accident which hasleft no trace either in the tone or in the matter of his book.I11 style, however, so far as the structure of sentences isconcerned, no doubt he was already influenced by the literatureof France.' The style of the Treatise is indeed immature,but it reveals the tendencies which were ripened by incessantlabour, until Hume beca~ne the one master of philosophicEnglish.Whatever disappointment had fallen to Hume's share, soactive and sanguine a mind could not lie quiet. In 1741he published arlonymouslly a volume of ' Essays; Moral andPolitical ;' which ran into a ' Second Edition, Corrected,' inthe following year, when also a second volume was added.Unlike the ill-starred Treatise this venture was successful.Hume himself says in his Autobiography :' In 1742 Iprinted at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays : the workwas favourably received, and soon made me entirely forgetmy former disappointment.' And in a letter to Henry Home,dated June 13, 1742, he adds : ' The Essays are all sold inLondon, as I am informed by two letters froin Englisiigent'lemen of my acquaintance. There is a demand for'The conversation now turned upon allow that the English language isMr. David Hump's style. Johnson : established, he is wrong. My name" Why, bir, his style i6 not English ; the might origirially have been Nicholson,btructure of his be~itences jb French. as z~ ell as Johnson, but were yon to callNow tlie French structurcand the Eng- mo Nicholson, you would call me verylish structure may, in the nature of a1)surdly."'-Hosaell.things, be cqually good. But ~f yuu Life. Vu1.-i., p. 143.them ; and, as one of thein tells me, Innys, the great booksellerin Paul's Churchyard, wonders there is not a newedition, for that he cannot find copies for his customers. Iam also told that Dr. Butler has everywhere recommendedthem; so that I hope they will have some success. Theymay prove like dung with marl, and bring forward the restof my Philosophy, which is of a more durable, though of aharder and more stubborn nature. You see I czn talk to youin your own style.' It appears that Hunle was recoveringfrom his disappointment, and was gratified to have won theear of Bp. Butler, wl~ose judgment on the ' Treatise' hehad been so anxious to obtain.But how were these Essays to bring forward the rest ofhis Philosophy? Like the Treatise, they were pnbllshedanonymously: in the Advertisement he assumed the ch.aracterof an author who is making his first appearance.There is no evidence to decide this question : but the conjec -ture is almost certain, that he had already determined toabandon the Treatise, and to reproduce portions of it in amore popular form.The Preface to the original volume of Essays, runs asfollows :-' Most of these ESSAYS were wrote with a View of being publishedas WEEKLY-PAPERS, and were intended to comprehendt'he Designs both of the SPECTATORS & CRAFTSMEN. Buthaving dropt that Undertaking, partly from LAZINESS, partlyfrom WANT of LEISURE, and being willing to make Trial ofmy Talents for Writing, before 1 ventur'd upon any moreserious Compositions, I was induced to comniunicate theseTrifles to the Judgment of the Public. Like most newAuthors, I must confess, I feel some Anxiety concerning theSuccess of my Work: But one Thing makes me moresecure; That the READER may condemn my Abilities, butmust approve of my Moderation and Impartiality ill myMethod of handling POLITICAL SUBJECTS : And as long asmy IIoral Character is in Safety, I can, with less Anxiety,abandon my Learning and Capacity to the most severe Censureand Examination. Public Spirit, methinlts, shou'd engageus to love the Public, and to bear an equal Affection to allour Country-Men ; not to hate one Half of them, under P1.etextof loving the Whole. This PARTY-RAGE I have endeavour'dto repress, as far as possible ; and I hope this Desigl~

42 IlISTORY 01: THE J

44 1JISTOHY OF THE EDITIONS.deiforln fund of tlre soul, the passive unions of nothing withllothiilg, or any other of those mystical points, which Iwould endeavour to clear up, and render perspicuous to themeanest readers.'With this Essay six others may be classed, apparentlydesigned to attract the attention of ladies, and marked bythe mannerisms of what was then a fashionable literature.The paper ' Of Moral Prejudices ' contains the character of511 imaginary Eugenius, and a narrative of French gallantry,which a purer taste rejected. That on the 'Middle Station ofLife' cannot have cost much pains, and abounds in expressionsof personal opinion. These three were never reprinted.The next to go were those on ' Impudence,' on ' Loveand Marriage,' and on the ' Study of History,' lingering,however, to the Edition of 1764 : that they survived sd long,is, perhaps, surprising. Lastly, the ' Essay on Avarice ' wasdropt in the Edition of 1770.The ' Political Essays ' are the most valuable part of thesetwo volumes. It is probable that portions of them existedin manuscript, before tbe publication of the Treatise, andthat in printing thern Hume was redeeming his conditionalpromise, made in the Advertisement to the first volume ofthe ' Treatise,' to ' proceed to the examination of Morals,Politics, and Criticism.' Of Morals he had treated in thevolume of 1740 ; t'he Essays of 1741-2 handle political, and,tlo some extent, critical questions.The Political Essays do not attempt to found a system :they are entirely special in their character, dealing with thetopics of the day. It is true that Hume enriches them withbrief discussions of political principles, and with a copiousfund of historical illustration. But these episodes wereconventional, suiting the fashion cjf an age which delightedin references to the statesmanship of Athens and Rome, ardto the fortunes of Venice and Poland. What is peculiarto the author, will be found in his treatment of tli~ debatedquestions of the Freedom of the Press, the Illdependency ofParliament, and the nature of Parties. In this choice of subjectshe followed the ' Craftsman '; and the best illustration ofthese papers is to be found in the numbers of that journnl.They frequently~read like a running criticism upon the argumentsof the ' Craftsman,' and even particular phrases andLatin quotations are borrowed thence. But their passionlessLife. Vol. i.. p. 159.HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 46rnoderatrion contrasts strongly with the savage invectives of6 &fist's Journal ' and the ' Craftsman,' and must have recommendeditself to Dr. Butler quite apart from the penetratinginsight which divides so sharply the contemporaneousquestions of politics.Of this group of Essays perhaps the best remembered isthe Character of Sir Robert Walpole. Of this Hume said inthe Advertisement :' The character of SIR ROBERT WALPOLE was drawn somemonths ago, when that Great MAN was in the Zenith of hisPower. I must confess, that, at present, when he seems tobe upon the Decline, I am inclin'd to think more favourablyof him, and to suspect, that the Antipathy, which every trueborn Briton naturally bears to Ministers of State, inspir'dme with some Prejudice against him. The impartialREADER, if any such there be; or Posterity, if such a Triflecan reach them, will be best able to correct any Mistakesin this Particular.'In the edition of 1748, this Essay was degraded to therank of a foot-note, and appended to the paper headed ThatPolitics may be reduced to a Science.' The Advertisementhaving disappeared, it was prefaced as follows : ' What ourauthor's opinion was of the famous minister here pointedat, may be learned from that essay, printed in the formereditions,'-it only so occurs in Edition C-' under the title ofA Character of Sir ROBERT WALPOLE. It was as follows.'The Essay will be found in vol. iv. ' The author ispleased to find, that after animosities are laid, and calumnyhas ceased, the whole nation almost have returned to thesame moderate sentiments with regard to this great inan, ifthey are not rather become more favourable to him, by a verynatural transition, from one extreme to another. Theauthor would not oppose those humane sentiments towardsthe dead ; though he cannot forbear observing that the notpaying inore of our public debts was, as hinted in thischaracter, a great, and the only great error in t,l~at longadministration.' In 1770, the whole was omitted.After .tlreae may be placed a group of Essays, on which theauthor had expended more than ordinary care, ornamentingthem with florid imagery, and polishing the sentences withsuch precision, thak the subsequent editions made scarcelyan alteration in their language. Of these he says in theAdvertisement :''Tis proper to illfornl the READER, that, in

tl~ose Ess~ YS, intitled, the Epicurean, Stoic, &c., a certaii,Character is personated; and therefore, no Offence ought tobe taken at any Sentimeuts contain'd in them.' Offence isnot likely to be taken; but the question has been mooted,whether any: one of them gives evidence of a bias in theauthor's mind. Mr. Burton decides in favour of ' The Stoic' :'The reader expects to find an attempt to draw his ownpicture in " The Sceptic," but it is not to be found there.The sceptic of the essays is not a man analyzing the principlesof knowledge, to find wherein they consist, but onewho is dissatisfied with rules of morality, and who, examiningthe currerit codes one after another, tosses them aside as unsatisfactory.It is into " The Stoic" that the writer hastllrown most of his heart and synlpathy ; and it is in thatslietcli that, t1iough probably without intention, sonle of thefeatures of his own character are portrayed. There arepassages wl~icti have considerable unison of tone with thoseautobiographical documents already quoted, in which hedescribes liimself as having laboured to subdue the rebelliouspassiol~s, to reduce the mind to a regulated system, to drivefrom it the infln ence of petty impressions,-to hold one greatobject of life in view, and to sacrifice before that objectwhatever stood in the way of his firmly settled purpose." Itis true that there are sentences in ' The Stoic ' which justifythis statement.It is also true that the opening pa19agraphsof ' The Sceptic ' do not represent Hulne's habitual state ofmind. On reviewing the Treatise and the Inquiries, a remarkabledifference will be found between his treatment ofmetapllysical and of moral questions. I11 discnssing thefor~ner, he is uniformly sceptical; in discussing the latter, heassuines an opposite attitude, and becomes doginatic in hisenunciations. He not ilzerely dissents from those who denythe reality of moral distinctioils ; he brands them with thecharacter of disingenuous disputants. The saliie ililpatiencebreaks out wlien he considers tlie fasllioi~able belief whichresolved all the virtues into niodes of self-love. So hr, then,as ' The Sceptic ' tosses aside the curl-cnt codes as unsatisfactory,without substituting a better system, it is writtenin ch:~racter, axid the author is not cliargeable with its sentiment,~.It may be added that a strong tendency to materialisticexplanations pervades these portions, whereas illLife. Vol. i., p. 142.' Tlie Treatise ' Hnme only resorts to that hypothesis whenbe is driven to tbxtreu~ities. But after allowance has beeumade for these points of divergence from his usual methods,it cannot filil to be renla~*Bcd, that whereas in the companionEssays IIunle adopted s higli-flown style which is unique inhis writings, in ' The Sceptic ' he returns to that sober andquiet English, which was not more in accordance with theimmediate occasion, than with his habit n d tolie of tliought.The practical maxiiris for the rule of life agree as closelywith his biography as the scattered sentences in ' The Stoic.'The pungent criticism of Pope's argument expressed brieflywhat he wrote at large in his Inquiry concerning the Principlesof Morals ; and lastly, whereas ' Tlie Stoic,' ' Thetonist,' and ' The Epicurean ' are dismissed without comnient,a note is added to ' The Sceptic ' for the express purpose ofsetting out the whole truth, in which t,he prececliag pnragraphsare only corrected because they are incomplete.For three years IIume continued to reside in Edinburgli,and made an attempt to succeed Dr. Yringle in tl~e chair ofEthics and Pneumatic Philosophy. Then, in 1745, Ile acceptedan engageinent to act as tutor to the Marquis ofAnnandale, an irritable invalid, ' who was,' accorcling to anexpression used by Sir Jttnles Johnstone, when writillg toHume, ' charmed with something contained in his Essays.'The narrative of the disputes and intrigues wliicli finallydrove Huine away in April '46, will be foulid ill Mr. Burton's' Life of Hume.' In the same year he wellt ;LS secretary withGeneral St. Clair on an expedition which sailed from PlymouthSeptember 14, to attack Port L'Orient, zu~d wasappointed Judge Advocate of all tlie forces under comniand.011 their return, he passed a few rnontlis at Nintl-rvells, itl~clthen, in February, 17 18, accepted a11 invitatioil froill G~lleriilSt. Clair again to accompnny hirrl as secretary 011 a, dil)lornaticmission to the court of Turin, which lusted till the e11c1of the year.But during the quiet time which preceded his engagementswith General St. Clair, Hnme had not been idle. Fro111 expressionsdropt in his correspondence it appeam that as t~:lrlyas 1746 lie had for~ried tEe project of ~vriting Ilistory. Forthe present tliese plans were allowed to stand over. Rnt,during the year 1748 two n-orks appeared, of mliicli he tlii~ssl~cnlcs in a letter to 11. Jfome, Fet)rllarj 9 :

48 HISTORY OF 'ME EDTTIOI\JS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 49' I leave here two works going on : a new edition of myEssays, all of which you have seen, except one, "Of theProtestant Succession," where I treat that subject as coollyand indifferently as I would the dispute between Cesar andPompey. The conclusion shows me a Whig, but a verysceptical one. Some people would frighten me with theconsequences that may attend this candour, considering mypresent stattion ; but I own I cannot apprehend any thing.' The other work is the '' Philosophical Essays," which youdissuaded me from printing. I won't justify the prudenceof this step, any other way than by expressing my indifferenceabout all the consequences that may follow.''It will be convenient to consider the new edition first, ~rhichis advertised in the Gentleman's Magazine' for November,1748, abont Olle date of Hunle's ret1uril from Tilrin. Thisreprint was the first of his publications that bore the Author'sname. Accorcling to the autobiography the sale was indifferent.Few changes had been made. As has alreadybeen said, the character of Sir R. Walpole was now given asa foot-note ; and three papers, Of Essay Writing, Of MoralPrejudices, and Of the Middle Station of Life were omitted.In their place three new Essays were inserted.Those on Original Contract and on Passive Obediencepursue the same vein of political inquiry which had been sosuccessfully worked in the first edition. 'I'hey are distinguishedby the same tone of impartial criticism, and applythe same principles: but this judicial attitude causes lesssurprise where the controversy is one that had ceased to rage,- and that occupied but a secondary place in public debate.The Essay 'Of the Protestant Succession,' which ~vi~s spokenof in the last extract from his correspondence, 11-as notprinted. It was held over until the publication of llis PoliticalDiscourses in 1752, where it appeared illcongruouslyenough. The result disappointed his fears. I11 a letter toDr. Clephane, dated February 4, 1752, he says :' About a fortnight before, I had published a Discourseof the Protestant Succession, wherein I had very liberallyabused both Whigs and Tories ; yet I elljoyed the favour ofboth parties.'The third Essay, which was now printed for the first tirne,: Of Ni~tional Characters,' is of some interest, because itLife. Vol. i., p. 239. ' Life. Vol. i., p. 372.,directly enters upon a topic which is rarely mentioned inHume's philosophical writings, although they frequently suggestit. In it he examined the influence of physical conditionson the temper and genius of men : but although hewas always delighted to point out the extravagant variationsin moral customs and religious observances which existainong neighbouring races, he distinctly asserted on thisoccasion that ' physical causes have no discernible operationon the human mind :' and that 'if we run over the globe, orrevolve the annals of history, we shall discern everywheresigns of a sympathy or contagion of manners, none of theinfluence of air and climate :' and the only exceptions to thkstatement are the jealous love of southern climates and thepropensity of northern races to drinking.In the A.pril of the same year, before starting for Turin,he had published ' Philosophical Essays concerning HumanUnderstanding by the Author of The Essays Moral and Political,'--anew edition of which appeared, as we have seen, witht,he author's nanie in the following November. There is nopreface or advertisement to these Essays. It is a rare book,not to be found in the British Museum, the Bodleian, or theAdvocates' Library. This then was the first instalment ofhis design to recast the unfortunate Treatise piece by piece.Of this he says in his Autobiography :' I had always entertained a notion, that my want of successin publishing the Treatise of Human Nature, had proceededmore from the manner than the matter, and that Ihad been guilty of a very usual indiscretion, in going to thepress too early. I, therefore, cast the first part of that workanew in the Enquiry concerning Human Understanding,which was published while I was at Turin.'-Here his memoryfailed him.-‘ But this piece was at first little moresuccessful than the Treatise of H-uman Nature. On myreturn from Italy, I had the mortification to find all Englandin a ferment, on account of Dr. Middleton's Free Enquiry,while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected.'The rarity of the book confirms these statements; butthere are circumstances which indicate that, although thework was neglected at first, it began to sell before long,assisted, perhaps, by the revelation of the author's name inNovember. In a letter dated April 18, 1750, Hume says :' You'll scarcely believe what I an1 going to tell you; but itVOL. 111.

HISTORY OF THE E1)ITIOSS.is literally true. Millar had printed off, some months ago, anew edition of certain philosophical essays, but he tells inevery gravely that he has delayed publishing because of theearthquakes.' In his Autobiography, lie says further :' Meanwhile,my bookseller, A. Millar, informed me that my forlnerpublications (all but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginningto be the subject of conversation ; that the sale of themwas graduaUy increasing, and that new editions were demanded.Answers by Reverends and Right Reverends, cameout two or three in a year ; and I found, by Dr. Warburton'srailing, that the books were beginning to be esteemed ingood company.' A specimen of ' Dr. Warburton's railing' isgiven by Bishop Hurd : ' In a letter of September 28, ofthat year (1749), to a friend at Cambridge, he says, I amtempted to have a stroke at Hume in parting. He is theauthor of a little book called Philosophical Essays: In onepart of which he argues against the being of a GOD, and inanother (very needlessly, you will say) against the possibilityof miracles. He has crowned the liberty of the press. Andyet he has a considerable post under tlie government. I havea great mind to do justice on his arguments against iniracles,which I think might be done in few words. But doeshe deserve this notice? Is he known amongst you? Pray,answer me these questions. For if his own weight keepsl~ini down, I: should be sorry to contribute to his advancementto any place, but the pillory." No encouraging answer,I suppose, was returned to this letter ; and so the author ofthe Essays escaped for this time.'A few words' from the ' arguments against miracles' appearamong Warburton's Unfinished Papers, p. 311.The Essay on Miracles has a history of its own. In aletter to Principal Campbell, dated February 7, 1762, Hulnegives an account of the circumstances which first led him tothat train of thought.'It may perhays amuse you to learn the first hint, whichsuggested to me that argument which you have so strenuouslyattacked. I was walking in the cloisters of the Jesuits'College of La Fl&che, a town in which I passed two ye:?rs ofmy ~outh, and engaged in a conversation with a Jesuit ofsome parts and learning, who was 1.elating to me, and urgingsome nonsensical miracle yerforinecl lately in their con vent,when I was tempted to dispute against lliill; and as my lieaclLifr, rol. i. p. 3 0~. JIi~rci's Ltfe Jr7fir/,~trIc,?l.was full of the topics of my Treatise of Huinan Nature,which I was at that time composing, this arguinent immediatelyoccurred to me, and I thought it very much gravelledmy companion ; but at last he observed to me, that it wasimpossible for that argument to have any solidity, because itoperated equally against the Gospel as the Catholic miracles ;-which observation I thought proper to admit as a su%cientanswer. I believe you will allow, that the freedom at leastof this reasoning ~nakes it solnewhat extraordinary to havebeen the produce of a convent of Jesuits, though perhapsyou may think the sophistry of it savours plainly of theplace of its birth.' *Again in the letter to H. Home of December 2,1737, fromwhich an extract has already been given,2 he says further :' Having a franked letter, I was resolved to make use of~t ; and accordiiigly enclose some '' Reasonings conceruingJliracles," which I once thought of publishing with the rest,but which I am afraid-will give too much offence, even as theworld is disposed at present. There is something in the turnof thought, and a good deal in the turn of expression, whichwill not perhaps appear so proper, for want of knowing thecontext : but the force of the argument you'll be judge of, asit stands. Tell me your thoughts of it. Is not the style toodiffuse? though, as that was a popular argument, I havespread it out much more than the other parts of the work.1 beg of you to show it to nobody, except to Mr. Hamilton,if he pleases ; and let me know at your leisure that you havereceived it, read it, and burnt it.'3The second edition of the Pl~ilosopliical Essays, which hadbeen delayed by the earthquakes, appeared in 1751, and borethe author's name on the title-page. Few changes weremade. Section xi. now received the heading Of a ParticularProvidence and of a Future State, having previouslybeen called Of the Practical Consequences of Natural Religion.These two editions contain tlie unguarded statement,' upon the whole, then, it appears, that no testimony for anykind of miracle can evev amou?lt to a probability, much lessto a proof.' For the words in italics he subsequently wrote,has ever amounted.'In the December of the same year he published an En-Life, rol. i. p. 57. Il)i(l. p. 1s. Ibid. p. 63.

62 HISTOIiY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 53quiry concerning the Principles of Morals : 'which in myown opinion (who ought not to judge on that subject) is ofall my writings, historical, philosophical, or literary, incornparablythe best. It came unlioticed and unobserved intothe world.'The Dialogue which is contained in this volume, was a,very favourite piece with its author. In a letter to GilbertElliot (February 10, 1751), he says :' About six week ago, I gave our friend, Jack Stuart, thetrouble of delivering you a letter, and some papers enclosed,which I was desirous to submit to your criticism and exaini-nation.I say not this by way of compliment and ceremonial,but seriously and in good earnest: it is pretty usual forpeople to be pleased with their own performance, especiallyin the heat of composition; but I have scarcely wrote anything more whimsical, or whose merit I am more diffidentof.' 'Elliot's reply may be quoted as an additional illustration ofthe difference in Hume's handling of ethical questions.' I have read over your Dialogue, with all the application1 am master of. Though I have never looked into any thingof your writing, which did not either entertain or instructme ; yet, I must freely own to yon, that I have received fromthis last piece an additional satisfaction, and what indeed Ihave a thousand times wished for in some of your other performances,In the first part of this work, you have givenfull scope to the native bent of your genius. The ancientsand moderns, how opposite soever in other respects, equallycombine in favour of the most unbounded scepticism. Principles,customs, and manners, the most contradictory, allseemingly lead to the same end; and agreeably to yourlaudable practice, the poor reader is left in the most dis-consolate state of doubt and uncertainty. When I had gotthus far, what do you think were my sentiments ? I will notbe so candid as to tell you ; but how agreeable was my surprise,when I found you had led me into this maze, with noother view, than to point out to me more clearly the directroad. Why can't you always write in this manner P Indulgepurself as much as you will in starting difficulties, and perplexingreceived opinions : but let us be convinced at length,tllat you have not less ability to establish true principles,thtin subtlety to detect false ones. This unphilosophical, or,Life, vol. i. p. 321.if you will, this lazy disposition of mine, you are at libertyto treat as you think proper; yet I am no enemy to free enquiry,and I would gladly flatter myself, no slave to prejudiceor a.uthority. I admit also that there is no writing or talkingof any subject that is of importance enough to become theobject of reasoning, without having recourse to some degreeof subtlety or refinement. The only question is, where tostop,-how far we can go, and why no farther. To thisquestion I should be extremely happy to receive a satisfactoryanswer. I can't tell if I shall rightly express what I havejust now in my mind : but I often imagine to myself, that Iperceive within me a. certain instinctive feeling, which shovesaway at once all subtle refinements, and tells me with nuthority,that these air-built notions are inconsistent with lifeand experience, and, by consequence, cannot be true or solid.From this I am led to think, that the speculative principlesof our nature ought to go hand in hand with the practicalones ; and, for nly own part, when the former are so farpushed, as to leave the latlter quite out of sight, I am alwaysapt to suspect tlhat we have transgressed our limits. If itshould be asked-how far will these practical principles go ?I can only answer, that the former diflCiculty will recur, unlessit be found that there is something in the intellectual part ofour nature, resembling the moral sentiment in the moralpart of our nature, which determines this, as it were, instinctively.Very possibly I have wrote nonsense. However,this notion first occurred to me at London, in conversationwith a Inan of some depth of thinking ; and talking of itsince to your friend H. Home, he seems to entertain somenotions nearly of the same kind, and to have pushed themmuch farther.' This is but an idle digression, so I return to the Dialogue.'With regard to the composition in general, I have nothingto observe, as it appears to me to be conducted with thegreatest propriety, and the artifice in the beginning occasions,I think, a very agreeable surprise. I don't know, if, in theaccount of the modern manners, you [had] an eye toBruyere's introduction to his translation of Theophrastes.If you had not, as he has a thought handled pretty much inthat manner, perhaps looking into it might furnish somefarther hints to embellish that part of your work.'l Life, vol. i. p. 323.

54 IllSTORY OF THE EDITIONS,Hume replies :' Your notion of correcting subtlety of sentiment, is certainlyvery just with regard to morals, which depend uponsentiment; and in politics and natural philosophy, whatevercoiiclusion is contrary to certain matters of fact, mustcertainly be wrong, and there must some error lie somewherein the argutnent, whether we be able to show it or not. Butin metaphysics or theology, I cannot see how either ofthese plain and obvious standards of truth can have place.Nothing there can correct bad reasoning but good reasoning,and sophistry must be opposed by syllogisms. About seventyor eighty years ago, I observe, a principle like that whichyou advance prevailed very much in France alllong soiizephilosophers and beaux esprits. The occasion of it was fhis :Tle famous Mons. Nicole of the Port Royal, in his Pe~pe'tuite'de la Poi, pushed the Protestants very hard upon the impossibilityof the people's reaching a conviction of theirreligion by the way of private judgment ; which required somany disquisitions, reasonings, researches, eruditions, impartiality,and penetration, as not one in a hundred evenamong men of education, is capable of. Mons. Claude andthe Protestants answered him, not by solving his difficulties(which seeins impossible), but by retorting them (which isvery easy). They showed that to reach the way of authoritywhich the Catholics insist on, as long a trail1 of acute reasoning,and as great erudition, was requisite, as would besufficient for a Protestant. We must first prove all thetruths of natural religion, the foundation of morals, thedivine authority of the Scripture, the deference which itcommands to the church, the tradition of the church, &c.The comparison of these controversial writings begot an ideain some, that it was neither by reasoning nor autllority welearn our religion, but by sentiment : and certainly this werea very convenient way, and what a philosopher would be verywell pleased to comply with, if lie could distinguish sentimentfrom education. BLI~ to .all appearance the sentiment ofStockholm, Geneva, Xome ancient and modern, Athens aliclMemphis, have the same characters ; and no sensible innucall iinplicitly assent to ally of them, but from the genent 1ln-i~lc~il~lt~, that as the truth in these subjects is beyoiicll~nn~al~c~kpilc.itj. ; L I I ~ that ils for one's own ease he must actopt solnthI t'i~ct~. t l~tlrcb is lost s:ltisfitctiol~ ;l,ild convcnieilcc in Iw!clit I!:HISTORY OF THE EDTTIONS. 55to the Catholicism we have been first taught.Now this Ihave nothing to say against. I have only to observe, thatsuch a conduct is founded on the most uiliversal and deterrniiiedscepticism, joined to a little indolence ; for morecuriosity and research gives a direct opposite turn from thesame principles.'During the same period Hume composed the ' Dialoguesconceriling Natural Religion,' of which Mr. Burton says :' The manuscript of this work is full of emendations andcorrections ; and while the sentiments appear to be substantiallythe same as whenthey were first set down, the alterationsin the method of announcing them are a register of theimprovements in their author's style, for a period apparentlyof twenty-seven years. Here at least he could not plead theexcuse of youth and indiscretion. The work, penned in thefull vigour of his faculties, comes to us with the sanction ofhis mature years, and his approval when he was within sightof the grave. Whatever sentiments, therefore, in this work,may be justly found to excite censure, carry with them areproach from which their author's name cannot escape.'Hume's friends prevailed on him not to publish the Dialogues,fearing that the odium under which be laboured,would be fanned to a flame, and the prospects of the authormaterially injured. In a letter to Elliot, dated March 12,1763, he complains: ' Is it not hard and tyrannical in you,more hard and tyrannical than any act of the Stuarts, not toallow me to publish nly Dialogues P Pray, do you not thinkthat a proper dedication may atone for what is exceptionablein them P I am become of my friend Corbyn Morrice's mind,who says, that he writes all his books for the sake of thededications.' Such cauti~n was unnecessary, when Hu~nesettled down to pass the remainder of his days in ease andconlfort at Edinburgh, enjoying an abundant income, andsurrounded by a society of agectionate friends, familiar withhis tenets and not likely to be estranged by any new publi-cation of them. Yet the Dialogues remained in manuscript.The history of their posthumous publication will be foundat p. .77.These four years must have been the busiest period ofHume's lifetime. Not content with preparing the new editionof the Essay on the Human Understanding, and writingLife, rol. i. p. 3115. Ibid. p. 328. ILid. rol. ii, p. 146.

66 HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS. HISTOItY OF THE EI>IT10?\7S. 57the companion treatise on Moral Philosophy, and with CO~Ipletingthe Dialogues, he was all the while, as his corn!-spondence shows, actively employed upon the PoliticalDiscourses, which were published in February 1752 : 'theonly work of mine that was successful on the first publica-tion.'A reprint appeared before the close of the year.After remarking on the value and fame of these essays,Mr. Burton proceeds to say :' The " Political Discourses " introduced Hume to the ,literature of the continent. The works of Quesnay, Ridre, .Mirabeau, Raynal, and Turgot, had not yet appeared, but thepublic mind of France had been opened for novel doctrinesby the bold appeal of Vauban, and by the curious andoriginal enquiries of Montesquieu. The Discourses appearto have been first translated by Elkazer Mauvillon, a nativeof Provence, and private secretary to Frederic Augustus,King of Poland, who published his translation in 1753.Another, and better known translation, by the Abbe LeBlanc, was published in 1754."Perhaps, however, the Essay which is best known at thepresent day, is that on the Populousness of Ancient Nations: no inadequate monument of the author's readingand judgment. The first mention of it in his correspondenceoccurs in the letter to Dr. Clephane, April 18, 1750 :' You would perhaps ask, how I employ my time in thisleisure and solitude, and what are my occupations? Pray,do you expect I should convey to you an encyclopedia, in thecompass of a letter? The last thing I took my hand fromwas a very learned, elaborate discourse, concerning the populousnessof antiquity ; not altogether in opposition to Vossiusand Montespuiezc, who exaggerate that affair infinitely ; but,starting some doubts, and scruples, and difficulties, sufficientto make us suspend our judgment on that head.Amongst other topics, it fell in my way to consider thegreatness of ancient Rome ; and in looking over t'he discourse,I find the following period. ''If we may judge by theyounger Pliny's account of his house, and by the plans ofancient buildings in Dr. Mead's collection, the men of qualityhad very spacious palaces, and their 'buildings were like theChinese houses, where each apartment is separate from therest, and rises no higher than a single story." Pray, onLife, rol. i. p. 365.what authority are those plans founded? If I rememberright, I was told they were discovered on the walls of thebaths, and other subterraneous buildings. Is this the propermethod of citing them? If you have occasion to communicatethis to Dr. Mead, I beg that my sincere respects may bejoined.' 'On February 18, 175 1, he enquires again :' When I take a second perusal of your letter, I find youresemble the Papists, who deal much in penitence, but neglectextremely les bonnes ceuvres. I asked you a question withregard to the plans of ancient buildings in Dr. Mead's collection.Pray, are they authentic enough to be cited in adiscourse of erudition and reasoning ? have they never beenpublished in any collection P and what are the proper termsin which I ought to cite them ? I know you are a great proficientin the virtu, and consequently can resolve my doubts.This word I suppose you pretend to speak with an (e), whichI own is an improvement : but admitting your orthography,you must naturally have a desire of doing a good-naturedaction, and instructing the ignorant.'In the Essay Bartoli's name appears, not Dr. Mead's.On February 19, 1751, he writes to Elliot:' I have amused myself lately with an essay or dissertationon the populousness of antiquity, which led me into manydisquisitions concerning both the public and domestic life ofthe ancients. Having read over almost all the classics bothGreek and Latin, since I formed that plan, I have extractedwhat served most to my purpose. But I have not a Strabo,and know not where to get one in this neighbourhood. Heis an author I never read. I know your library-I mean theAdvocates'-is scrupulnus of lending classics ; but perhapsthat difficulty nlay be got over. I should be much obligedto you, if you could procure me the loan of a copy, either inthe original language or even in a good translation.'Later on he returns Strabo, whom he has 'found veryjudicious and useful.'The Essay was accolnpanied by the following note :' An eminent clergyman in Edinburgh, having wrote, someyears ago, a discourse on the same question with this, of thepopulousness of antient nations, was pleas'd lately to communicateit to the author. It maintiain'd the opposite sideLife, vol. i. p. 397. ILid. p. 316. Ibid. p. 326.

68 IIISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.of the argument, to what is here insisted on, and containedmnch erudition and good reasoning. The author acknowledgesto have borrow'd, with some variations, from that discourse,two coinputations, that with regard to the number ofiiihabitants in Belgium, and that with regard to those inEpirus. If this learned gentleman be prevail'd on to publishhis dissertation, it will serve to give great light into the presentquestion, the most curious and important of all questionsof erudition.'Dr. Wallace accepted the invitation, and published hisdiscourse the year following anonymously: 'A dissertationon the numbers of mankind in antient and modern times ;with an appendix containing observations on the same subject,and remarks on Mr. Hume's discourse on the populousnessof antient nations.' Hence in the editions from 1756 to1768 another note was substituted for the preceding :' An ingenious writer has honoured this discourse with ananswer, full of politeness, erudition, and good sense. Solearned a refutation would have made the author suspect,that his reasonings were entirely overthrown, had he notused the precaution, from the beginning, to keep himself onthe sceptical side ; and having taken this advantage of theground, he was enabled, tho' with much inferior forces, topreserve himself from a total defeat. That Reverend gentlemanwill always find, where his antagonist is so entrenched,that it will be difficult to force him. VARRO, in such a situation,could defend himself against HANNIBAL, PHARNACESagainst CZSAR. The author, however, very willingly acknowledges,that his antagonist has detected many mistakes bothin his authorities and reasonings ; and it was owing entirely.to that gentleman's indulgence, that many more errors werenot remarked. In this edition, advantage has been taken ofhis learned animadversions, and the Essay has been renderedless imperfect than formerly.'Nevertheless, the corrections introduced at Dr. Wallace'ss~lggestion are very few, and the vast majority of the ' animadversions'were passed orer in silence. A misquotationfrom Livy was omitted : l a paragaph was inserted quotingJustin a ; a new note was given to strengthen the argumentabout Tllebes :3 and a trifling correction was introduced in aI Page 386. Page 425. a Page 422.HISTORY OF TEIE IIDI'I'IONS. 69reference to Diodorus.* Perhaps this list exliausts the alterationswhich were due to Dr. Wallace."The circumstances under which the paper, Of the ProtestantSaccession, was inserted in this volume, have alreadybeen detailed.3In 1752 Hume was appointed Keeper of the Advocates'Library. This position, giving him ' the coinmand of a largelibrary,' finally determined hiin to gratify his long cherisheddesign of writing history, and froin this time he almostabandoned philosophy. The first volume of the History ofGreat Britain, containing the reigns of James I. andCharles I., appeared in the autumn of 1754. Previously,however, he had collected the varied labours of thirteen yearsin a uiiiform edition, in four volumes ; the first three beingpublished in 1753, and the fourth in 1754. In a letter toAdam Smith, September 24, 1752, he says :I am just now diverted for a moment, by correcting my"Essays Moral and Political," for a new edition. If anything occur to you to be inserted or retrenched, I shall beobliged to you for the hint. In case you should not have thelast edition by you, I shall send you a copy of it. In thatedition I was engaged to act contrary to my judgment, inretaining the sixth and seventh Essays, which I had resolvedto throw out, as too frivolous for the rest, and not very agreeableneither, even in that trifling manner : but Millar, mybookseller, made such protestations against it, and told mehow much he had heard them praised by the best judges,that the bowels of a parent melted, and I preserved themalive.'For the second time Hume relented ; no change was madein the list of contents, but the numerous notes added in thisedition, abounding in references to Greek and Latin literature,show how well he used the Advocates' Library.About this period Hume began a translation of Plntarch'sLives, but so011 laid it aside. He declined an invitationfroin Millar to edit a newspaper ill London. In 1756 thesecond volume of the History brought down the narrativeto tlle Revolut~ion.' Page 424.was taken of the objection.* He also olljected. tliat he co~lltl not Vol. i. p. 440.firid thc jla's,1gfs r( ft.1.1.cltl to in I~ocarilt ob' Life. 1-01. i. p. 375.l'ari~g~rrt- (1101~ 6 p :if)( ). but 110 tlotita~

60 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.In 1755 Hume wrote to Millar :' I give you a great many thanks for thinking of me inyour project of a weekly paper. I approve very much of thedesign, as you explain it to me ; and there is nobody I wouldmore willingly engage with. But, as I have another work inhand, which requires great labour and care to finish, I cannotthinlr of entering on a new undertaking, till I have broughtthis to a conclusion. Your scheme would require me immediatelyto remove to London ; and I live here, at present, ingreat tranquillity, with all my books around me; and I cannotthink of changing while I have so great a work in handas the finishing of my History.' There are four short Dissertations, which I have keptsome years by me, in order to polish them as much as possible.One of them is that which Allan Ramsay mentionedto you. Another, of the Passions ; a third, of Tragedy ; afourth, some Considerations previous to Geometry andNatural Philosophy. The whole, I think, would make avolume, a fourth less than my Inquiry, as nearly as I cancalculate ; but it would be proper to print it in a larger type,in order to bring it to the same size and price. I would haveit published about the new year; and I offer you the propertyfor fifty guineas, payable at the publication. You mayjudge, by my being so moderate in my demands, that I donot propose to make any words about the bargain. It wouldbe more convenient for me to print here, especially one of theDissertations, where there is a good deal of literature ; but,as the manuscript is distinct and accurate, it would not beimpossible for me to correct it, though printed at London.I leave it to your choice ; though I believe that it might beas cheaply and conveniently and safely executed here.However, the matter is pretty near indifferent to me.'The volume was not completed until early in 1757, whenit appeared with the following title ' Four Dissertions. 1.The Natural History of Religion. 2. 0i the Passions. 3.Of Tragedy. 4. of the standard of Taste. By David Hume,Esq.'From this list of contents ' the Considerations previous toGeometry and Natural Philosophy ' will be missed : theywere never published. There can be no doubt that theyembodied Part 11. Book I. of the Treatise. Why they werewithdranrn, we can only conjecture : perhaps the authorLife, vol. i. p. 421.'I-ZISTOItY OF THE EDITIONS. 61despaired of the subject being popular. The dissertationon the Passions is a series of extracts verbatim from thesecond volume of the Treatise. The Natural History ofReligion is no doubt the Dissertation, 'where there is agood deal of literature,-which Allan Ramsay mentioned toyou.' The periphrasis under which Hume alludes to it,was probably due to his presentiment that its argumentswould be offensive to many readers.Dr. Warburton saw a copy of the book, before it was published,and wrote to Millar, a*sking for its suppression.l' February 7, 1757.'SIR,--I supposed you would be glad to know what sort ofbook it is which you are about to publish with Hume's nameand yours to it. The design of the first essay is the verysame with all Lord Bolingbroke's, to establish naturalism, aspecies of atheism, instead of religion ; and he employs oneof Bolingbroke's capital arguments for it. All the differenceis, it is without Bolingbroke's abusive language.' All the good his mutilation and fitting it up for the publichas done, is only to add to its other follies that of contradiction.He is establishing atheism ; and in one singleline of a long essay professes to Believe Christianity. A11this I shall show in a very few words on a proper occasion.'In the mean time, if you think you have not moneyenough, and can satisfy your conscience, you will do well topublish it ; for there is no doubt of the sale among a peopleso feverish, that to-day they burn with superstition, and tomorrowfreeze with atheism. But the day of the publicationand the fast day will be an admirable contrast to one another.' I dare say you knew nothing of the contents ; but thecaution of poor Mr. K. was admirable on a like occasionwith this very man, Hume. He wrote to Mr. K. to offerhim a copy, that had nothing to do with religion, as he said.Mr. K. replied, that might be; but as he had given greatoffence, and he (Mr. K.) was himself no judge of these matters,he desired to be excused.'You have often told me of this man's moral virtues. Hemay have many, for aught I know; but let me observe toyou, there are vices of the mind as well as of the body ; and Ithink a wickeder mind, and more obstinately bent on publicmischief, I never knew.W, W.'Of this book Hume says in his Autobiography :llTarburton'b Ynpul-)l~~hed I'apers, p. 309.

G 2 HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS. HIRTOEY OF 'I'HE EDITIONS. 63' In this interval, I published at London my NaturalHistory of Religion, along with some other small pieces : itspublic entry was rather obscure, except only that Dr. Hurdwrote a pamphlet against it, with all the illiberal petulance,arrogance, and scurrility, which distinguish the Warburtonianschool. This pamphlet gave me some consolation forthe otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.'The pamphlet in question, which was anonymous anddedicated to Warburton, was the joint product of Warburtonand Hurd. The latter tells the narrative of their piousfraud with great simplicity :' This book came out early in 1757, and falling into thehands of Dr. Warburton, provoked him, by its uncommonlicentiousness, to enter on the margin, as he went along,such remarks as occurred to him ; and when that was toonarrow to contain them all, he put down the rest on loosescraps of paper, wllicli he stuck between the leaves. In thisstate the book was shown to me (as I chanced at that time tobe in Lolidoil with the author) merely as matter of curiosity,and to give me an idea of the contents, how mischievous andextravagant they were. He had then written remarks onabout two-thirds of the volume : And I liked thew so well,that I advised him, b~ all means, to carry them on through theremaining parts of it, and then to fit, them up, in what wayhe thought best, for public use, which I told hiin they verywell deserved. He put by this proposal slightly; but, whenI pressed him again on this head, some time &fter, in aletter from Cambridge, he wrote me the following answer:" As to Hume, I hr,d laid it aside ever since you were here.I will now, however, finish my skeleton. It will be hardLythat. If then you think anything can be made of it, andwill give yourself the trouble, we nlay perhaps between usdo a little good, which I dare say, we shall both think willbe worth a little pains. If I have any force in the first rudebeating out the mass, you are best able to give it the eleganceof form and splendour of polish. This will answermy purpose, to labour together in a joint work to do a littlegood. I will tell you fairly, it is no more the thing it shouldbe, than the Dantzick iron at the forge is the gilt and paintedware at Birmingham. It will make no more than a pamphlet;but you shall take your own time, and make it yoni*summer's amuse~nent, if you will. I propose ,it bear some-thing like this title-' Rt~marks on Mr. Hunle's late Essay,called, The Natu?.al IIistory of Religion, by a, Gentlemanof Canibridge, in a Letter to the Rev. Dr. Warburton.'-Ipropose the address shoultl be with the dryness and reserveof a stranger, who likes the metliod of the Letters on Bolingbroke'sphilosophy, and follows it here, against the samesort of writer, inculcating the same impiety, Naturalism,and employing the same kind of arg~ulnents. The addresswill remove it from me; the author, a Geiitlemnn ofCambridge, from you ; and the secrecy of printing, from usboth." I saw by this letter, he was not disposed to takemuch trouble about the thing. Accordingly his papers w3resoon after sent down to me at Cambridge, pretty muchin the state I had seen them in at London, so far as theythen went, only with additional entries in the latter part ofthe book. However, in this careless detached fornl, Ithought his observations too good to be lost. And the hintof the Address suggested the means of preserving thein,without any injury to his reputation, and indeed withoutmuch labour to myself. Having, therefore, transcribed theRemarks, with little alteration, I only wrote a short iiitroductionand condusion, merely to colour the proposdfiction, and in this form, sent them to the press. WhenDr. Warburton saw the pamphlet, he said, I should havedone much more, and worked up his hasty remarks in myown way. He doubted, also, whether the contrivance, as Ihad managed it, trould not be seen through. But in thishe was mistaken; for the disguise, as thin as it was, answeredits purpose in keeping the real author out of sight.Mr. Hulne in particular (understanding, I suppose, from hisbookseller, w b was also mine, that the manuscript camefrom me) was the first to fall into the trap. He was ~liuchhurt, and no wonder, by so lively an attack upon hini, andcould not help confessing it in what he calls his own L-fe ;in which he has thought fit to honour me with greatermarlcs of his resentment, than any other of the writersagainst him : nay the spiteful man goes so far as to upbraic!me with being a folloziqer (indeed, a closer, in this in~tanct,than he apprehended) of the Jl7c~~burto~ziu~~ school. This idlestory would not have been worth the telling, but for thereason already given, Tliat I could not, in justice to theauthor, the the inerit of so fine a work to myself. And jet

64 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.in disclaiming it, the reader sees, I make but an awkwardfigure, as being obliged to open the secret of our littlestratagem, in which the grace of it mainly consists.'The thin disguise ' was more than suapected by Hume,who wrote to Nillar, September 3, 1757.' Apropos to anger; I am positively assured, that Dr.Warburton wrote that letter to himself, which you sent me ;and indeed the style discovers him sufficiently. I should answerhim; but he attacks so small a corner of my building, thatI can abandon it without drawing great consequences after it.If he would come into the field and dispute concerning theprincipal topics of my philosophy, I should probably acceptthe challenge : at present nothing could tempt me to takethe pen in hand but anger, of which I feel myself incapable,even upon this provocation. . . . .' I should not be displeased that you read to Dr. War-burton, the paragraph in the first page of my letter, withregard to himself. The hopes of getting an answer, mightprobably engage him to give us something farther of thesame kind ; which, at least, saves you the expense of advertising.I see the doctor likes a literary squabble.'At the time when the Dissertations were printing, Humemas in ecstasies over the merit of 'Douglas,' and wrote aDedication to Home. But before the volume appeared, hewithdrew it for fear of injuring Home's prospects in theKirk. Shortly afterwards Home resigned his living, andHume directed that the Dedication should be restored. Itis found in some copies, and not in others. Hume's correspondencecontains the following passages on the subject :To Adam Srnitl~.' The dedication to John Home, you have probably seen ;for I find it has been inserted in some of the weekly papers,both here and in London. Some of nly friends thought itwas indiscreet in me to make myself responsible to the public,for the productions of another. But the author had lainunder such singular and unaccountable obstructions in hisroad to fame, that I thought it incumbent on his well-wishersto go as much out of the cornillon road to assist him. Ibelieve the composition of the dedication will be esteemedvery prudent, and not inelegant.'Hurd's Lifc of IVrrrh?brton. 2 Life, vol. ii. p. 35. Ibid. p. 17.To Andrew Millar.'The dedication of my Dissertations to Mr. Hume wasshown to some of his friends here, men of very good sense,who were seized with an apprehension that it would hurt thatparty in the church, with which he had always been connected,and would involve him, and them of consequence, inthe suspicion of infidelity. Neither he nor I were in theleast affected with their pnnic ; but to satisfy them, we agreedto stand by the arbitration of one person, of great rank andof known prudence ; and I promised them to write to you tosuspend the publication for one post, in case you should haveresolved to publish it presently. Next post you shall be suretlo hear from tne; and if we be obliged to suppress it, you'llbe pleased to place the charges of print and paper to myaccount.'To William Mure.' Pray, whether do you pity or blame me most, with regardto this dedication of my Dissertations to my friend, the poet 2I am sure I never executed any thing which was either moreelegant in the composition, or more generous in the intention ;yet such an alarm seized some fools here, (men of very goodsense, but fools in that particular,) that they assailed bothhim and me with the utmost violence; and engaged us tochange our intention. I wrote to Millar to suppress thatdedication ; two posts after, I retracted that order. Canany thing be inore unlucky than that, in the interval of thesefour days, he should have opened his sale, and disposed ofeight hundred copies, without %hat dedication, whence, Iimagined, 111y friend would reap some advantage, and myselfso much honour ? I have not been so heartily vexed at anyaccident of a long tiale. However, I have insisted that thededication shall still be published.'The Preface, which was not reprinted, runs thus :To the Reverend Mr. Hume, Aut7~or of ' Douglas,' a Tragedy.' MY DEAR SIR,-It was the pra,ctice of the antients to addresstheir compositions only to friends and equals, and torender their dedications monulnents of regard and affection,Life. vol. ii. p. 18. 2 1l)id. p. 21.

66 IIISTOIiY OF TIIE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 67not of servility and flattery. In those days of ingenuous a11dcandid liberty, a dedication did honour to the person towhom it was addressed, without degrading the author. Ifany partiality appeared towards the patron, it was at leastthe partiality of friendship and affection.' Another instance of true liberty, of which antient tinlescan alone afford us an example, is the liberty of thought,which engaged nien of letters, however different in theirabstract opinions, to maintain a mutual friendship and regard;and never to quarrel about principles, while theyagreed in inclinations and manners. Science was often thesubject of disputation, never of animosity. Cicero, an academic,addressed his phil'osophical treatises, so~netimes toBrutzcs, a stoic ; sometimes to Atticus, an epicurean. ,' I have been seized with a strong desire of renewing theselaudable- practices of antiquity, by addressing the followingdisseirtations to you, my good friend : For such I will evercall and esteem you, notwithstanding the opposition, whichprevails between us, with regard to many of our speculativetenets. These differences of opinion I have only found toenliven our conversation ; while our common passion forscience and letters served as a cement to our friendship. Istill admired your genius, even when I imagined, that youlay under the influence of prejudice; and you sometimestold me, that you excused my errors, on account of thecandor and sincerity, which, you thought, acconlpanied them.'But to tell truth, it is less my admiration of your finegenius, which has engaged me to make this address to you,- than my esteem of your character and my affection to yourperson. That generosity of mind which ever accompaniesyou ; that cordiality of friendship, that spirited hoilour andintegrity, have long iilterested ine strongly in your behalf,and have made me desirous, that a monument of our mutualamity sllould be publicly erected, and, if possible, be preservedto posterity.I own too, that I have the ambition to be the first whoshall in public express his admiration of your noble tragedy ofDOUGLAS ; one of the most interesting and pathetic pieces,tliat was ever exhibited on any theatre. Should I yive itthe preference to the Mcrope of Ilfciflei, and to that of Voltaire,which it resembles in its subject ; should I affirm, that itcontained more fire aid spirit than the former, inore tender-ness and simplicity than the latter; I might be accused ofpartiality : And how could I entirely acquit myself, after theprofessions of friendship, which 1 have made you ? But theunfeigned tears which flowed from every eye, in the numerousrepresentations which were made of it on this theatre ; theunparalleled command, which you appeared to have overevery affection of the human breast! : These are incontestibleproofs, that you possess the true theatric genius of Shakespearand Otway, refined from the unhappy ba,rbarism of the one,and licentiousness of the other.My enemies, you know, and, I own, even sonletimes myfriends, have reproached me with the love of paradoxes andsingular opinions ; and I expect to be exposed to the sameimputation, on account of the character which I have heregiven of your DOUGLAS. I shall be told, no doubt, that I hadartfully chosen the only time, when this high esteem of thatpiece could be regarded as a paradox, to wit, before its publication;and that not being able to contradict in this particularthe sentiments of the public, I have, at least, resolved to gobefore them. But I shall be amply compensated for all thesepleasantries, if you accept this testimony of my regard, andbelieve me to be, with the greatest sincerity,' Dear Sir,' Your most affectionate Friend,and humble Servant,'EDINRUW: 3 January, 1757.'' DAVID HUME.The history of this volume is not yet concluded. It isnow proved that Huine originally intended to include in itEssays on Suicide and on the Immortality of the Soul, andthat they were already in print, when he yielded to his disliketo stirring a nest of hornets, and sent orders for them tobe expunged.He was extremely anxious that no copy containing theseEssays shollld reinain in existence : what then was hisaniloyance on finding that Wilkes was possessed of one ? Hewrites to Millar, April 23, 1764 :'I never see Mr. Wilkes here but at chapel, where he isa most regular, and devout, and edifying, and pious attendant ;I ti~kc lliin to be entirely regenerate. He told me last Sunday,

68 HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS. 69that you had given him a copy of my Dissertations, with thetwo which I had suppressed ; and that he, foreseeing danger,from the sale of his library, had wrote to you to find out thatcopy, and to tear out the two obnoxious dissertations. Prayhow stands that fact? It was imprudent in you to intrusthim with that copy : it was very prudent in him to use thatprecaution. Yet I do not naturally suspect you of imprudence,nor him of prudence. I must hear a little fartherbefore I pronounce.'Millar replied :' I take Mr. Wilkes to be the same man he was,-actinga part. He has forgot the story of the two dissertations.The fact is, upon importunity, I lent to him the only copy Ipreserved, and for years never could recollect he had it, tillhis boolis came to be sold; upon this I went immediately tothe gentleman that directed the sale, told him the fact, andreclaimed tlle two dissertations which were my property.Mr. Coates, who was the person, immediately delivered methe volume ; and so soon as I got home, I tore them out andburnt them, that I: might not lend thein to any for the future.Two days after, Mr. Coates sent nle a note for the volume, asMr. Wilkes had desired it should be sent to him at Paris ; Ireturned the volume, but told hiin the two dissertations, I 'tiadtorn out of the volunle and burnt, being my property. Thisis the truth of the matter, and nothing but the truth. Itwas certainly imprudent for me to lend then1 to him.'It was no secret', however, that some Essays had been snppressed.The volume itself preserves the traces of mutilation,and Dr. Warburton, in his letter to Millar, alluded to it. Sqtoo Dr. Horlle, in his letter to Adam Smith, dated 1777,enquired, ' when the great work of benevolence and charity,of wisdom and virtue, shall be crowned by the publication ofa treatise designed to prove the SOUL'S MORTALITY, andanother to justify and recommend SELF-MURDER ; forwhich, without doubt, the present and every future agewill bless the name of the gentle and amiable author.' Fromthe ' Gentleman's Magazine' for July 1777, it appears thatrumour had magnified the num'ber and the wickedness ofthe Essays : the reviewer speaks of :the tracts in defence ofsuicide, adultery, &c., whose publication, if we are rightlyinformed, authority has hitherto prevented.' A correspondentLife, vol. ii.,p. 202. 2 Ibid.ill the same number (p. 326) instances suicide and adulteryas two virtues that are praiseworthy according to Hume'ssystem : and he proceeds to say : ' If report says true, andsometiines it does, the Essay on Suicide has beer1 published,and was suppressed by public authority. A great legacy masleft to an eminent bookseller to publish it again, and, on hisrefusal, was offered to others ; and when the mol-e generousof the trade in Britain refused to give birth to such a nntionalevil, it was dispatched into Holland, to return hither,again, and scatter its pestilential influence over the fellowsubjectsand fellow-citizens of the good, the humane, thesocial Mr. Hnme.' The story of the legacy is evidently dueto a confusion of the 'tracts ' with the Dialogues concerningNatural Religion, for the publication of which Hume hadprovided in his will, but which had not yet appeared. Thestatement that the 'tracts' had once been published, andwere suppressed by public authority, is no doubt an error,although it is repeated with great circumstantiality in the' Gentleman's Magazine ' for August 1784 : p. 607. ' TheseEssays, it is well known, were printed and advertised byMr. Millar, with some others by Mr. Hume, near thirty yearsago ; but before the day of publication, being intimidated bythreats of a prosecution, the bookseller called in some copiesthat he had dispersed, cancelled the two Essays, and (withdifficulty) prevailed on Mr. Hume to substitute sonle othersless obnoxious.' This story does not appear to be consistentwith Hume's mention of the suppression in his letter to Millar;and nothing in ' the Life of Hume ' renders it probable.In 1734 a book was published with the following titlepage: ' Essays on Suicide and the Imlllortality of the Soul,ascribed to the late David Hume, Esq. Never beforepublished. With REMARKS, intended as an Antidote to thePoison contained in these Performances, by the Editor; Towhich is added, Two letters on Suicide, from Rosseatl'sEloiaa. London: Printed for M. Smith ; and sold by theBooksellers in Piccadilly, Fleet Street, and Paternoster Row.1783. Price 3s. 6d. sewed.'The Editor's Preface runs as follows :'These two Essays on SzLicide and the Immortality of theSoul, though not published in any edition of his works, aregenerally attributed to the late ingenious Mr. Hume.' The well-known contempt of this eminent philosopher for

70 IFISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. IIldTORY OF TIIE Ei>l'l'IONS. 7 1the common convictions of mankind, raised an apprehensionof the contents from the very title of these pieces. But thecelebrity of the author's name, renders them, notwithstanding,in some degree objects of great curiosity.' Owing to this circunlstance, a few copies have been clandestinelycirculated, at a large price, for some time, butwithout any comment. The very mystery attending thismode of selling them, made them more an object of requestthan they would otherwise have been.' The present publication comes abroad under no such restraint,and possesses very superior advantages. The hTotesannexed are intended to expose the sophistry contained illthe original Essays, and niay show how little we have to fearfrom the adversaries of these great truths, from the pitifulfigure which even Mr. Hume makes in thus violently exhaustinghis last strength in an abortive attempt to traduceor discredit them.'The two very masterly Letters from the Eloisa of Rosseauon the subject of Suicide, have been much celebrated,and we hope will be considered as materially increasing thevalue of this curious collection.' The admirers of Mr. Hme will be pleased with seeing theremains of a favourite author rescued in this manner fromthat oblivion, to which the prejudices of his countrymen had,in all appearance, consigned them ; and even the religiouspart of mankind have some reason of triumph, from thestriking instance here given of truth's superiority to error,even when error has all the advantage of an elegant genius,and a great literary reputation to recommend it.'The third paragraph probably alludes to copies of -the originalproof-sheets ; but the statement of the title-page, thatthe Essays had not previously been printed, is untrue. Theyhad been published in 1777, without the printer's name. Acopy in the British Museum has for title-page : 'TwoEssays. London. M.DCC.LXVI1. Price Five Shillings.'There is no preface, note, or comment. The Essays areword for word the same with those of 1784. It is possiblethat this is the Edition, printed in Holland, to which thewriter in the ' Gentleman's Magazine ' referred : but, if so, hehad not seen the book, for he only knows the subject of oneof the Essays.These ' tracts,' as they appear in these two editiolls, hadgenerally been accepted as genuine, partly on the evidenceof style, and partly because of the silence of Hume's friends,who were challenged to disavow them. Bat no direct evidencewas known to exist, until the Advocates' Librarybecame possessed of a bound copy of proof-sheets of the originalvolun~e ; corrected, it appears, by Hume, and containing oneof the Essays in question. The book has the following note :'This book contains a piece of Mr. D. Hume's, of whichthere is, I believe, but another copy existing. Having printedthe volume as it here stands, Mr. Hume was advised by afriend, to suppress the Dissertation upon Suicide ; whichhe accordingly did. A copy, however, had somehow got inti,the hands of Mr. Muirhead, a man of letters, who had madea very valuable collection of books. Mr. Huine, after thedeath of Mr. Muirhead, employed me to beg that copy froinhis nephew, who very politely delivered it up. Upon thisMr. Hume gave me leave to keep the present copy, which liehad lent me : I promising not to show it to any body.' A. R.'These are believed to be the initials of Allan Ramsay.There is no title-page ; but at the beginning there is written,perhaps in Hume's handwriting : ' Five Dissertations, towit, The Natural History of Religion. Of the Passions. OfTragedy. Of Suicide. Of the Ilnmortality of the Soul.'In this copy tile Essay on Suicide has been cut out; butthe companion Essay remains in its entirety. Allan Ramsay'snote informs us, that it was the former of these whichHume's friend called in question :-andhis phrase confirmsthe belief that the writers in the ' Gentleman's Magazine 'blundered in stating that the book was published and suppressedby public authority; but he leaves it doubtfillwhether the copy, when Hume gave it him, contained bothEssays, or not; and when and by whom the Dissertation onSuicide was cut out. However this may be, as the Essayon the Immortality of the Soul in this copy is identicalwith that which was published under the same title, first in1777, and then again in 1783, there can be no reasonabledoubt that the Essay on Suicide, which was printed withit on both occasions, is also genuine.As has been said, the ' Four Dissertations ' is a volume,which shows signs of mmltilation : and, in brief, its history

72 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. TIISTOl',Y OF THE EDITIONS. 73seems to have been this. (i.) The Dissertations on Geometry,on the Natural History of Religion, on Tragedy, a.ndon the Passions were in manuscript in 1755. (ii.) Thefirst of these never went to the press. (iii.) Between 1753 and1757 Hume wrote the two Essays on Suicide and on t.heImmortality of the Soul. (iv.) The five remaining Dissertationswere then printed in the above order, the first threeoccupying 200 pages, and ending with the fourth sheetof signature K. The Essay on Suicide began on K 5 ;and was followed by the Essay on the Immortality of theSoul. (v.) First, the Essay on Suicide was cut out ;leaving the next Essay to begin in Allan Ramsay's copy atL 4. Afterwards, this was also destroyed, and, to make avolunie of decent size, a new Dissertation, On the Standardof Taste, was written, and printed on a new signature, L ;so that K 4 to 6 appear as mutilated strips of leaves. Theten missing sheets in Ramsa9yys copy would exactly accom-modate the Essay on Suicide.In 1758 the Four Dissertations were combined with therest of Hume's literary works, and published in a quart'oedition of one volume, with the title-page, ' Essays andTreatises on several Subjects, by David Hume, Esq. ; a newedition : ' and with the following Advertisement : ' SomeAlterations are made on the Titles of the Treatises, containedin the following Volume. What in former Editions wascalled Essays Moral and Political, is here entitled Essays,Moral, Political and Literary, Part I. The Political Discoursesform the second Part. What in former Editionswas czlled, Philosophical Essnys concerning Human Understandhgis here entitled An Enquiry concerning Human*Understnndin.g. The Fowr Dissertations lately publishedare dispersed thro' different Pads of this Volume.' None ofthe contents of the previous editions were omitted, with theexception of the Dedication to John Home ; but after thebook had been printed and paged, two new Essnys werebound up with it, arriving too late to be inserted in the listof contents. These are the papers on the Jealousy ofTrade and on t,he Coalition oS Parties. This was thefirst cclition that added an Index, 'which cost him moretrouble than he was aware of when he began it.' 'From this tiiile the editions assume a settled shape, andLife, vol. ii. p. 36.may be enumerated briefly. In 1760 tbey were published infour volumes, duodecimo : in 1764, in two volumes, octavo ;when the three Essays on Impudence and Modesty, onLove and Marriage, and on the Study of History, whosefate had long been trembling on the balance, were omitted ;and Section VI. Part I. of the Enquiry concerning thePrinciples of Morals was degraded to the Appendix, whereit appeared with the heading, Of some Verbal Disputea.In 1768, there was a quarto edition of two volumes, with a,portrait of the Author by Donaldson. In 1770, the editionconsisted of four volumes, octavo ; the Essay on Avarice wasomitted; and the whole of the contents had been carefullyrevised, so that this ranks with the edition of 1754 as containingmore important changes than any of the intermediateones. Finally, in 1777 appeared the posthumous andauthoritative edition, in which there were few changes ofexpression : on the other hand, a new Essay, on the Originof Government, and the famous Advertisement, which hasbeen quoted at page 37, were added : and what had hithertobeen Section 11. Part I. of the Enquiry concerning the Priuciplesof Morals was transferred to the Appendix with thetitle, Of Self Love.It has already been observed that Hume bestowed extraordinarypains upon preparing the various editions of hisEssays for the press, and a few of the changes have beennoted. It may be interesting to review briefly the variationsof sentiment which come to the surface. In politics, forinstance, ass he grew older, he became a confirmed opponentof the Whigs, and the successive editions of his History weremarked by an effort to be rid of 'the plaguy prejudices ofWhiggism,' 1 which shows itself particularly in the narrativeof the seventeenth century.The Essays were from time totime modified in the same direction. In Editions A to P thesecond Essay, ' Of the Liberty of the Press,' contained a longdiscussion of the question, ' Whether the unlimited exerciseof this liberty be advantageous or prejudicial to the public ;'and decided strongly in the former sense: Edition Q, in1770, dropt the discussion. This, however, is the strongestinstance : most of the other omissions or corrections, so faras concerned English politics, were due to the fact, that thepublic had ceased to discuss such points as instructions, nlldLife, vol. ii. p. 144.

74 HISTORY 011' 'I'IIE EIIITLONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 75thah iiilpartial observation on the history and conduct of theCourt and Country Parties was obsolete.The study of English History appears to have occasionedbut few alterations in statements of fiact : the clearest beingnu the first page of 'The Balance of Trade," where EditionsN and 0 vimy with the progress of his 'History.' Thecourse of conteinporary politics relieved him of the fear thatEarope would be s~vallo~ved up by enormous monarchies ;"ant1 in 1770 lie omitted passages which boasted of Englandas the bulwark against French aggre~sion.~ As regards theRoman Catholic religion, and indeed religion generally, hesoftened or witlldre~v offensive expressions, though the generaltenor of his sentiments remained unchanged, auci in 1770lle added a paragraph on the doctrine of the Intention ofthe Priest, characterizing it as positive, a,rrogant, and dog-~natioal.~ There is a rnarked change in his opinion of LordBolingbroke, who, up to 1748, was instanced as ' a cultivatedgenius for oratory:' the citation was changed in thenext edition, when also praise of his oratory was modified in~trlotlier yas~age.~ At the same time he omitted an invectiveagainst Dr. Swift, a.s an author, ' who has Inore humour thank tio wledge, Inore taste than judgment, and more spleen,prejudice, and passion than any of these qualities :' howeverto the last he was called the first Englishman to write politeprose.6 Rapin had a sudden downfall in his good graces.In the edition of 1752 he is styled 'the most judicious ofhistorians ;' Edition K in 1754-the year in which the firstvolume of the History of the Stuarts was published-censureshis ' usual malignity and partial it^.'^The general development of style may easily be seen, bycomparing either the Treatise or the Essays which o111y appearedin Edition A with the language of the text, as hefilially left it. A few words and phrases deserve specialnotice. For some years he invariably wrote Britain, notGreat Britain. ' Sonlething of the Misanthrope ' wns struckout in 1770. From 1742 to 1748 he wrote, ' to the mstrumor- Verve of the poets :' Vrom 1754 to 1768 it is their' U3st)rurn or native enthusiasm :,' in 1770 the barbarousVol. iii. p. 331. Vol. iii. pp. 170, 173.Vol. iii. p. 355. Vol. iii. pp. 332, 159.1-01. iii. pp. 353. 476. Vol. iii. p. 473.In a note to the Enqi~iry Concerning Vol. iii. p. 151.the Pri~~ciples of Morals. scc. iii. "01. iii. p. 197.word disappeared. In 1748 he replaced Gaietk de Caur 'by g-aiety of heart." Up to 1754 he apologized for speak-ing of the absurd naivety of Sancho Panza, ' a word which Illape borrow'd froin the French, and which is wanted in ourlanguage : ' in 1758 the apology was thought unnecessary.Lastly, we may notice that in 1770 he dropt the obsoletephrase, ' the stated clubs at the inns.'3On reriewing the history of Hume's literary and philosophicalworks, we are at once struck by the suddenness withwhich his labours in philosopliy came to an end. The Trentiseon Human Nature was written when he was five-andtwenty: that is, in the beginning of 1736 ; it mas publisl~edin 1739-40, and after that date he wrote little that was new.The Essay on Miracles was already drafted in manuscript.The Enquiries are for the most part popular reproductions.Even a large portion of the Essays appears to have beenwritten before 1730. The only additions which philosophyreceived from Hume, are to he found in the Natural Historyof Religion and the Dialogues concerning Natural Reli,' ("1011 :the latter were written before 1751, and the former ' he hadkept some years by him ' in 1755. To be brief: Hume's contributionsto metaphysics were written by 1736, when he wasfive-and-twenty : his contribution to the philosophy of religion,by 1750, when he was thirty-nine : and after this datehe added nothing.Various theories have been invented to account for this.It has been suggested that the negative character of Hume'sspeculation reacted upon their author, chilling the earnestspirit of enquiry which had composed the Treatise, and reconcilinghim to lazy acquiescence. It is said that indifferenceof this sort explains the candour and impartiality withwhich Hume treated the political disputes of his day. Thesame supposition has been adduced to explain the habitualirony with which he wrote on religious topics. Mr. Hunt,following the late Professor Maurice, adopts language to asimilar effect.'The title generally applied to Hume is that of Sceptic,and this both in philosopliy and religion. He follows experiencetill he finds there is something beyond experience.Then he either acknowledges that we must fall back upoilnatural instincts, and trust to reason, such as it is, or hevol. iji. y. 230. Vol, iii. I). 240. Val, ill. p 320.

7 C; I-IISTORY OF TIIE EDITIOXS. IIISTORY OF TIIE EDLTIONS. 77gives way to despair, and with an easy indifference flings thoproblem aside as insoluble, bidding us be content with ourignorance, for all is an enigma, a riddle, and a mystery.These two states of mind are clearly distinguishable in Hume.They are both called Scepticism, yet they are so differentthat the one leads to inquiry, the ot'her to indolence. Theone was a quality of his own keen intellect, the other waslearned in France.' Ilad this evil scepticism been attributedto the effect of French literature, the charge would have beenmore difficult to prove or disprove : worded as it is, it throwsa burden of proof upon Mr. Hunt. He has already promisedthat he will not refer to the Treat'ise ; his allusion, therefore,is to the Enquiry concerning the Human Understanding,which was published eleven years after Hume's return fromFrance. Neither the Treatise nor the Essays which followedare characterised by indolent scepticism ; the malady, therefore,was latent for these eleven years.A more coinmonplace explanation may be suggested.Hume had brought his criticism of the rhilosophy of euperienceto a point, where, as he saw clearly, negation had doneits work, and either he n~ust leave the subject, or else attempta reconstruction. For the latter Hume certainly lacked thedisposition, and probably the a>bility : few philosophers havebeen at once critical and constructive. He turned to thephilosophy of religion, a subject which throughout his lifeexercised a strong fascination upon him; but his friendswould not suffer him to publish his maturest questionings.Meanwhile an early taste for politics and history was growingupon him. His discussion of political questions gainedthe praise of Bishop Butler: the Political Discourses raninto a second edition within the year. Yet he retained afirm belief in the value of his metaphysical speculations : hewas willing to explain points here and there in letters topersonal friends, and he was determined that at. least someportion of his discoveries should win the ear of the public.It must also be borne in mind that he was by no meansrich ; that from early life he had looked to his pen to win acompetency: and that on various occasions he showed aScotch tenacity in the pursuit of money. On reviewing theTreatise, he must have seen that the general result gave hima vantage-ground from which he could ply the weapons ofCoiltemporary Reriew, Nay, 1 SGO ; p. SO.scepticism and irony in a novel and popular fashion; butthat if he maintained the earllest spirit of his youth, he mustbe content to reinaiii unread. He se1ect)ed for ' recasting 'precisely those portions which lent themselves to this manner,and which were likely to excite public attention. To thisday, althougll his fame is established, few students of philosophyturn to the Treatise.The candour of the political Essays is also capable ofexplanation from his life and character. Naturally of asensitive, irrihble disposition, the ideal which he: set beforehimself, was all that was dignified and judicial.The following narrative of the circumstances attending theposthumous publication of the Dialogues concerning NaturalReligion is borrowed from Mr. Burton :-He appointed Smith his literary executor, in the followingterms : '' To my friend Dr. Adam Smith, late Professorof Moral Philosophy in Glasgow, I leave all mymanuscripts without exception, desiring him to publish myDialogues on Natural Religion,' which are comprehended inthis present bequest ; but to publish no other papers whichhe suspects not to have been written within these five years,but to destroy them all at his leisure. And I even leave himfull power over all my papers, except the Dialogues abovementioned; and though I can trust to that intimate andsincere friendship, which has ever subsisted between us, forhis faithful execution of this part of my will, yet, as a smallrecompense of his pains in correcting and publishihg thiswork, I leave him two hundred pounds, to be paid imnlediatelyafter the publication of it." . . . .' Previous to his journey to Bath, Hume appears to haveinformed Srnith of the desire expressed in his will, that heshould undertake the publication of the " Dialogues onNatural Religion." The intimation was probably verbal, asit does not form part of any letter anlong Hume's papers.Elliot was opposed to the publication of this work. Blairpleaded strongly for its suppression; and Smith, who hadmade up his mind that he would not edit the work, seems tohave desired that the testamentary injunction laid on himmight be revoked. Hume, however, before his death, tookeffectual steps to guard against its suppression.' Thus, after having good-naturedly abstained, for nearlyLife, 1-01. ii. p. 489.

78 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. TI IS'I'OHY OF THE EDITIONS. 79tliirt'y years, from the publication of a worlc, which ~nig-llt~give pain and umbrage to his dearest friends ; at the close oflifk, and wheil the lapse of time since it was written mighthave been supposed to render him indifferent to its fate,--because there appeared some danger of its final suppression,he took decided and well-pondered steps to avert from it thisfate. Such was the character of the man !Hurne to Adam Smith." London, May 3, 1776.cc MY DEAR FRIEND,-I send you enclosed an ostensibleletter, conformably to your desire. I think, however, yourscruples groundless. Was Mallet any wise hurt by hispublication of, Lord Bolingbrolce P He received an officeafterwards fi-om the present king and Lord Bute, the mostprndieb men in the world ; and he always justified himselfby his sacred to the will of a dead friend. At thesame time, I own that your scruples have a specious appearance.But rny opinion is, that if upon my death you determinenever to publish these papers, you should leave themsealed up with my brother and Family, with some inscriptionthat you reserve to yourself the power of reclaiming themwhenever yon think proper. If I live a few years longer, 1shall publish them myself. I consider an observation ofRacllefuucault, that a wind, though it extinguishes a candle,blows up a fire"'. . . . .' The " ostensible lettter" which was to serve as Smith'sjustification, if he should decline to follow the injunctions ofthe will, is as follows :-'" London, May 3, 1776,'" MY DEAR SIR,-After reflecting Inore maturely on thatarticle of my will by which I left you the disposal of allmy papers, with a request that you should publish my' Dialogues concerning Natural Religion,' I have becomesensible that;, both on account of the nature of the work,and of your situation, it niay be improper to hurry on thatpublication. I therefore take the present opportunity ofqualifying that friendly request. ,I am content to leave itentirely to your discretion, at what time you will publishthat piece, or whether you will publish it at all.'" You will find among my papers a very inoffensive piece,Life, vol. ii. p. 491.called ' my own Life,' which I coinposed a few days before Ileft Edinburglr ; wlren I thought, as did all my friends, thatmy life was despaired of. There can be no objection, thatthe bmall piece should be sent to Messrs. Strahan and Cadell,and the proprietors of nly other works, to be prefixed to a.nyfuture edition of them,"Smith did not absolutely refuse to edit the " Dialogues,"but Hume saw pretty clearly t,hat it was a task that wouldnot be performed by him. That he was correct in this supposition,appears by a letter from Smith to Strahan afterHume's death, where he says :' cc I once had persuaded him to leave it entirely to my discretioneither to publish them at what time I thought proper,or not to publish them at all. Had he continued of thismind, the manuscript should have been most carefully preserved,and upon my decease restored to his falllily ; but itnever should have been published in rny lifetime. When youhave read it, you will perhaps think it not unreasonable toconsult some prudent friend about what you ought to do."' By a codicil to his will, dated 7th August,, he thus alteredthe arrangement referred to in these letters. "In mylater will and disposition, I made some destinations wit,hregard to my manuscripts : All these I now retract, and leatemy manuscripts to the care of Mr. William Strahan ofLondon, member of Parliament, trusting to the friendshipthat has long subsisted between us; for his careful and faithfulexecution of my intentions. I desire that my 'Dialoguesconcerning Natural Religion' may be printed and pnblished,any time within two years nft,er my death." . . .There is then a new paragraph appended as follows :' " I do ordain that if my ' Dialogues,' from whatever cause,be not published within two years and a half after my death,as also the account of my life, the property shall return tomy nephew, David, whose duty in publishing them, as, thelast request of his uncle, must be approved of by all theworld."' Both Hun~e and Smith seem to have thought that Strahanwould undertake the publication as a mere matter of business.But this book, like the little hunchback in the "ArabianNights," was a commodity which every one seemed anxiousto transfer to his neighbour. Strahan declined to undertake

PO HISTORY OF TIIE EDITIONS. HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS, 81the task, and the " Dialogues" did not appear until 1779,when they were published by their author's nephew.'The title-page consists simply of the words ' Dialoguesconcerning Natural Religion, by David Hume, Xsq.,' andbears no publisher's name.The book is noticed in 'The Gentleman's Magazine,'October, 1779. Although, perhaps, the most finished of itsauthor's productions, it has not excited general attention ;there seerns to be a deep-seated reluctance to discuss suchfundamental questions.The larger toleration, which characterises the present age,makes it, perhaps, difficult to understand why Adam Smithwas so reluctant to put the book through the press for hisfriend. Unhappily, it is too certain, that, if he desiredpeace, he was prudent in declining to do so. A storm ofobloquy burst upon him for his share in publishing Hume'sautobiography and for the letter which accompanied it.The autobiography in question, dated April 18, 1776-Humedied August 25-appeared in 1777, as ' The Life of DavidITume, Esq. Written by himself. Price 1s. Gd. London :Printed for W. Strahan; and T. Cadell in the Strand.' ThePreface runs as follows :-' Mr. Hume, a few months beforehis death, wrote the following short account of his ownLife ; and, in a codicil to his will, desired that it mightbe prefixed to the next edition of his Works. That editioncannot be published for a considerable time.2 TheEditorY3 in the mean while, in order to serve the purchasersof the former editions ; and, at the sarne time, togratify the impatience of the public curiosity ; has thoughtproper to publish it separately, without altering even thetitle or superscription, which was written in Mr. Hume'sown hand on the cover of the manuscript.'The Autobiography and Letter are printed at the beginningof this volunle. Adam Smith was prornptly taken to task. Inthe same year was written 'A Letter to Adam Smith, LL.D.on the Life, Death, and Philosophy of his friend DavidHume, Eaq. By One of the People called Christians.Ibant obscuri, sola sub nocte, per umbram,Perque domos Ditis vacuas, et inania rcgna.'In the Advertisement the author declines to give his name,1 Life, vol. ii. pp. 491-405. same year.2 Nevertheless it appeared in the Ad:~m Smith.which can have no bearing on the argument; and, as hiabook costs only a shilling, deprecates the anger of thosereaders who will disagree with him ; while he entreats thefriends of Religion, in so critical t ~, time, to speak well of it.But for a desire to be anonymous, he would have prefixedhis portrait, with an effort to wear as happy an expression asHume himself. The letter begins : ' Sir,-You have beenlately employed in embalming a philosopher; his body, Ibelieve I must say; for concerning the other part of him,neither you nor he seem to have entertained an idea, sleepingor waking. Else, it surely might have claimed a little ofyour care and attention ; and one would think, the belief ofthe soul's existence and immortality could do no harm, if itdid no good, in a Theory of Moral Se~timents. But every gen-tleman understands his own business best.'After assertingthat his own good humour and literary tastes are such as tomake him an impartial judge, he proceeds to state his point ;that since the social qualities of David, however amiable, byno means prevented him from being guilty of the atrociouswickedness of diffusing atheism through the land, it was ascandal for Doctor Smith to pronounce him one who approachedas nearly to the idea of a perfectly wise and virtuousman, as perhaps the nature of human frailty will permit.The letter, which is devoid of argument, repeats this pointfrom time to time with a variety of scurrilous jests andcoarse comparisons. It places Hume in the same categorywith John the Painter, who may have played whist well, inspite of an odd fancy of firing all the dockyards in the kingdom.Returning to the charge, it says that only on atheisticalprinciples is it right in our last hours to read Lucian,to play at whist, to droll upon Charon and his boat, to die asfoolish and insensible, as much like our brother philosophers,the calves of the field, and the asses of the desert, as we can,for the life of us. Still further to illustrate so shocking a,death-bed, the ' drollery ' is paraphrased as follows : ' LOEI~,1 have only one reason why P should wish to live. Sufferme so to do, I most humbly beseech Thee, yet a little while,till mine eyes shall behold the success of my undertaking tooverthrow, by my metaphysics, the faith which thy SONdescended from heaven to plant, and to root out the knowledgeand the love of thee from the earth.'After reprobating the inhumanity of an author who could

82 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS. IHSTORY OF THE EDITIONS. 83impugn the comfortable doctrines of the Christian Faith,Bishop Horne insinuates that Hume was by no means so insensibleto attack as his Life pretends, asking if there wasnot an author-meaning Beattie ; he has already assured Dr.Smith that his own name does not begin with B.-whosename could not be mentioned t.o Hume, or else he would' fly out into a transport of passion and swearing ' PWaxing hot with indignation at Smith's approval ofHume's manner of death, the Bishop tells him that he whocan behold with complacency such a mischievous life, so evil adeath, may smile over Babylon in ruins, esteem the earthquakewhich destroyed Lisbon an agreeable occurrence, andcongratulate the hardened Pharaoh on his overthrow in theRed Sea. Drollery in such circumstances is neither morenor less thanMoody Madness, laughing wild,Amid severest woe.Would we know the baneful and pestilential influences offalse philosophy on the human heart, we need only contemplatethem in this most deplorable instance of Mr. Hume.That this ' drolling upon Charon and his boat ' gave direoffence, appears also from a sermon of John Wesley's :' Did that right holiourable wretch, compared to whomSir R-- was a saint, know the heart of man,-he that soearnestly advised his own son, " never to speak the truth, tolie or dissemble as often as he speaks, to wear a mask continuallyP " that earnestly counselled him, " not to debauchsingle women," (because some inconveniences might follow)," but always married women P " Would one imagine thisgrovelling animal ever had a wife or- a married daughter ofhis own P 0 rare Lord C- ! Did ever man so well deserve,though he was a Peer of the realm, to die by the side ofNewgate P Or did ever book so well deserve to be burnedby the common hangman, as his Letters ? Did Mr. DavidHume, lower, if pussible, than either of the former, know theheart of man P No more than a worm or a beetle does.After CC playing so idly with the darts of death," do you nowfind it a laughing matter ? What think you now of Charon 2Has he ferried you over Styx ? At length he has taught youto know a little of your own heart ! At length you know, itis a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God 1 'No. 123. Preached at H:ilifax, April 21, 1790.Human Heart.On the Deceitfulness of theOne or two passages inay be cited from Boswell in furtherillustration of the bitker feeling with which Hume's deathwas expected. ' When we were alone, I introduced the subjectof death, and endeavoured to maintain that the fear ofit might be got over. I told him that David Hume said tome, he was no more uneasy to think he should not be afterhis life, than that he had not been before he began to exist.Johnson: '( Sir, if he really thinks so, his perceptions aredisturbed ; he is mad : if he does not think so, he lies. Hemay tell you, he holds his finger in the flame of a candle,without feeling pain ; would you believe him 2 When hedies, he at least gives up all he has." Boswell : " Foote, Sir,told me, that when he was very ill he was not afraid to die P "Johnson : " It is not true, Sir.Hold a pistol to Foote'sbreast, or to Hume's breast, and threaten to kill them, andyou'll see how they behave." ' . . . Letter from Boswellto Johnson: ' Withoct, doubt you have read what is called"The Life of David Hume," written by himself, with theletter from Dr. Adam Smith subjoined to it. Is not this anage of daring effrontery ? My friend Mr. Anderson, Professorof Natural Philosophy at Glasgow, &t whose house youand I supped, and to whose care Mr. Windham, of Norfolk,was intrusted at that University, paid me a visit lately ; andafter we had talked with indignation and contempt of thepoisonous productions with which this age is infested, hesaid there was now an excellent opportunity for Dr. Johnsonto step forth. I agreed with him that you might knoclcHume's and Smith's heads together, and make vain andostentatious infidelity exceedingly ridiculous.Would it notbe worth your while to crush such noxious weeds in themoral garden ? ' . . . ' I mentioned to Dr. Johnson, thatDavid Hume's persisting in his infidelity, when he was dying,shocked me much. Johnson : "Why should it shock you,Sir P Hume owned he had never read the New Testamentwith attention. Here then was a man who had been at nopains to inquire into the truth of religion, and had contiaua)lyturned his mind the other way. It was not to beexpected that the prospect of death would alter his way ofthinking, ullless God should send an angel to set him right."I said, I had reason to believe that the thought of aunihila-tion gave Hume no pain. Johnson: "It was not so, Sir.He 11i~Cl a vanity in being thought easy. It is more probable

84 HISTORY OF THE EDITIONS.that he should assume an appearance of ease, than so veryimprobable a thing should be, as a man not afraid of going(as, in spite of his delusive theory, he cannot be sure but hemay go) into an unknown state, and not being uneasy atleaving all he knew. And you are to consider, that upon hisown principle of annihilation he had no motive to speak thetruth." 'According to the author of the Supplement to the Life ofDavid Hume ' (1 7 77), it was thought necessary that his graveshould be watched by two men for eight nights, and thedroppings of grease from their lanterns were long visible onthe tomb.In this Edition the text of the Treatise of Human Naturehas been followed in all its curiosities of spelling andpunct~lation. In the Essays the posthunious edition of 1 7 7 7has been reprinted ; the variations of earlier editions aregiven in the notes, which in all cases adopt the latest text.The Essays, which did not survive, will be found at the endof Vol. IV. Many thanks are due to Mr. Burton, both forpersonal kindness, and for permission to make free use of his' Life of Hume.'T. H. Gaos~.Q~EN'S C O ~ : Feb. R 2, 1874.LIST OF EDITIONS.Essays Moral and Political.-Tros Rutulusve fuat, nllllo discrimine habebo.-VIRG. :Edinburgh : Printed by R. FLEMING and A. ALISON, for A.KINCAID, Bookseller, and sold at his shop above the Cross.MDCCXLI. One vol. octavo. 2s. 6d. Gent. Mag., March1742. Erit. Mus. and Bodl. Edition A.The Second lidition, Corrected. MDCCXLII. Brit. Mus. EditionB.Essays Moral and Political.-Volume 11. MDCCXLII. Brit. Mus.Edition C.Essays Moral and Political.-By David HUME, Esq. The ThirdEdition, Corrected with Additions. London : Printed for A.MILLAR, over against Catharine Street, in the Strand, and A.KINCAID in Edinburgh. MDCCXLVIII. One vol. octavo.3s. Gent. Mag., Nov. 1748. Bodl. Edition D.Philosophical Essays concerning Human Understanding.-By theAuthor of the Essays Moral and Political. London : A. MILLAR.MDCCXLVIII. One vol. octavo. 3s. Gent. Mag., April1748. (The only copy the Editor has seen is in Mr. Burton'spossession.) Edition E;Ditto. The Second Edition, with Additions and Corrections. ByMr. Huam, Author of the Essays Moral and Political. London :Printed for M. COOPER, at the Globe in Paternoster Row.MDCCLI. Bodl. Edition E'.An Enquiry co~tcerning the Princ@les of Morals.-By DAVID HUME,Esq. London : A. MILLAR. 1751. One vol. octavo. 3s. Bodl.Edition G.Potitical Discortrses.-By DAVID HUME, Esq. Edinburgh : Printed byR. FLEMING, for A. KINCAID and A. DONALDSON. MDCCLII.One vol. octavo. Gent. Mag. Feb. 1742. Bodl. Edition H.Ditto. The Second Edition. Bodl. Edition I.Essap and Treatises on Several Subjects.-By DAVID HUME, Esq. ; inFour Volumes. London : A. MILLAR. Edinburgh : A. KIN-CAID and A. DONALDSON. MDCCLIII-IV. Octavo. Edition K.

8sLIST 01: EDITTOWS.Four Dissertations. I. The Natural Ilistory of Religion. 11. Of thePassions. 111. Of Tragedy. IV. Of the Standtlrd.of Taste.-ByDAVID HUME, Esq. London : A. MILLAR. MDCCLVII. Onevol. octavo. 3s. Gent. Mag., Feb. 1757. Bodl. Edition L.First Proof of the Above. No Title-page : but in (?) Hume'shandwriting-Five Dissertations, to wit, The Natural Histof*?jqf Religion : Of the Passions : Of Tragedy : Of Suicide :Of the Immortality of the Soul. In the Advocates' Library,Edinburgh.Essays and Treatises on Several Subjects.-By DAVID HUME, Esq.A New Edition. London : A. MILLAR. Edinburgh : A. KINCAIDand A. DONALDSON. MDCCLVIII. Brit. Mus. Edition M.Ditto, MDCCLX. Four vols. duodecimo. Brit. Mus. Edition N.Ditto, MDCCLXIV. Two vols. octavo. Brit. Mus. Edition 0.Ditto. London : Printed for A. MILLAR, A. KINCAID, J. BELL, and A.DONALDSON, in Edinburgh. And sold by T. CADELL, in the Strand.MDCCLXVIII. Two vols. quarto. Brit. Mus. Edition P.Ditto. Printed for T. CADELL, (Successor to Mr. MILLAR), in theStrand; and A. KINCAID and A. DONALDSON, at Edinburgh.MDCCLXX. Four vols. octavo. Brit. Mus. Edition Q.Ditto, Printed for T. CADELL, in the Strand; and W. DONALDSONand W. CREECH, at Edinburgh. MDCCLXXVII. 2 vols. octavo.Brit. Mus. and Bodl. Edition R.Two Essa9s.-London. MDCCLXVII. Price Five Shillings. (OnSuicide and the Immortality of the Soul.)Dicilogues concerning Natural Religion.-By DAVID HUME, Esq.1779.This list exhausts the Editions : all have been collated by thepteeent Editor.E S S A Y SA N DT R E A T I S E S0 NSEVERAL SUBJECTS.IN TWO VOLUMES.By DAVID IIUME, Esq;UONTAIIINGESSA98, MORAL, POLITICAL, and LITEMRY.A NEW EDITION.

ESSAYS,MORAL, POLITICAL,ANDLITERARY.*PUBLISHED in 1742. [This Note was added in Ed. M, 17581.

ESSAYS.ESSAY I.-OfPART I.the Delicacy of Taste and Passiort.SOME People are subject to a certain delicacy of passion,which makes them extremely sensible to all the accidents oflife, and gives them a lively joy upon every prosperous event, aswell as a piercing grief, when they meet with misfortunes andadversity. Favours and good offices easily engage their friendship; while the srriallest injury provokes their resentment.Any honour or mark of distinction elevates them above measure; but they are as sensibly touched with contempt. Peopleof this character have, no doubt, more lively enjoyments, aswell as more pungent sorrows, than men of cool and sedatetempers : But, I believe, when every thing is balanced, thereis no one, who would not rather be of the latter character,were he entirely master of his own disposition. Good or illfortune is very little at our disposal: And when a person,that has this sensibility of temper, meets with any misfortune,his sorrow or resentment takes entire possession of him, anddeprives him of all relish ill the common occurrences of life ;the right enjoyment of which forms the chief part of ourhappiness. Great pleasures are much less frequent thangreat pains; so that a sensible temper must meet with fewertrials in the fornler way than in the latter. Not to mention,that men of such lively passions are apt to be transportedbeyond all bounds of pr~~cleiice and discretion, and to takefalse steps in t'he conduct of life, which are often irretrievable.Thcrc is a rlelicucy qj' lusta observable in sorne ~ C I I which ,

03 ESSAY I. DELICACY OF TASTE.very much resembles this delicacy of passion, and producesthe same sensibility to beauty and deformity of every kind,as that does to prosperity and adversity, obligations andinjuries. When you present a poem or a picture to a manpossessed of this talent, the delicacy of his feeling makeshim be sensibly touched with every part of it ; nor are themasterly strokes perceived with more exquisite relish andsatisfaction, than the negligences or absurdities with disgustand uneasiness. A polite and judicious conversation affordshim the highest entertainment; rudeness or impertinence isas great a punishment to him. In short, delicacy of tastehas the same effect as delicacy of passion : It enIa,rges thesphere both of our happiness and misery, and makes ussensible to pains as well as pleasures, which esca,pe the restof mankind.I believe, however, every one will agree with me, that,notwithstanding this resemblance, delicacy of taste is asmuch to be desired and cultivated as delicacy of passion is tobe lamented, and to be remedied, if possible. The good orill accidents of life are very little at our disposal; but we arepretty much ~nasters what books we shall read, what diversionswe shall partake of, and what company we shall keep.Philos6phers hnve endeavoured to render happiness entirelyindependent of every thing external. That degree of perfectionis impossible to be attained: But every wise man willendeavour to- place his happiness on such objects chiefly asdepend upon himself: and that is not to be attained so muchby any other means as by this delicacy of sentiment. Whena nian is possessed of that talent, he is more happy bywhat pleases his taste, than by what gratifies his appetites,and receives more enjoyment from a poem or a pieceof reasoning than the most expensive luxury can afford.'Whatever connexion there may be originally betweenthese two speciea of delicacy, I am persuaded, that nothingis so proper to cure us of this delicacy of passion, as thecultivating of that higher and more refined taste, which1 [How far delicacy of taste, and that the ornaments of life, of dress, equipage,of passion, are connected together in and the ordinary decencies of behaviour.the original frame of the mind, it is Any excellency in these hits their tastehard to determine. To me there appears much sooner than ours ; and when youa very considerable connexion between please their taste, yon soon engage theirt\l,em. For we may observe that women, affections.-Editions A to Q; the latterwho have more delicttte passions than omite the last sentence.]Inen, have also a more delicate taste ofenables us to judge of the characters of men, of compo~itionsof genius, and of the productions of the nobler arts. Agreater or less relish for those obvious beauties, which strikethe senses, depends entirely upon the greater or less sensibilityof the temper : But with regard to the sciences andliberal arts, a fine taste is, in some measure, the same withstrong sense, or at least depends so much upon it, that theyare inseparable. In order to judge aright of a compositionof genius, there are so many views to be taken in, so manycircumstances to be compared, and such a knowledge ofhuman nature requisite, that no man, who is not possessedof the soundest judgment, will ever make a tolerable criticin such performances. And this is a new reason for cultivatinga relish in the liberal arts. Our judgment willstrengthen by ibis exercise : We shall form juster notionsof life : Many things, which please or afflict others, willappear to us too frivolous to engage our attention : And weshall lose by degrees that sensibility and delicacy of passion,which is so incommodious.But perhaps I hnve gone too far in saying, that a cultivatedtaste for the polite arts extinguishes the passions, andrenders us indifferent to those objects, which are so fondlypursued by the rest of mankind. On farther reflection, I find,that it rather improves our sensibility for all the tender andagreeable passions; at the same time that it renders themind incapable of the rougher and more boisterous emotions.Iqenuas didicissefideliter artes,Emollit morps, nee sinit esse .feros.For this, I think there may be assigned two very naturalreasons. In the first place, nothing is so improving to thetemper as the study of the beauties, either of poehry, eloquence,music, or painting. They give a certain elegance ofsentiment to which the rest of mankind are strangers. Theemotions which they excite are oft and tender. They drawoff the mind from the hurry of business and interest;cherish reflection ; dispose to tranquillitg. ; and produce anagreeable melancholy, which, crf all dispositions of the mind,is the best suited to love and friendship.In the second place, a delicacy of taste is favourable tolove and friendship, by confining our choice to few people,and making us indifferent to the company and conversation

94 ESSAY I. 1,iBERTY OF TTTE PRESS. 95of the greater part of men. You will seldom find, that meremen of the world, whatever strong sense they may be endowedwith, are very nice in distinguishing characters, or inmarking those insensible differences and gradations, whichmake one man preferable to another. Any one, that hascompetent sense, is sufficient for their entertainment : Theytalk to him, of their pleasme and affairs, with the samefrankness that they would to another ; and finding many,who are fit to supply his place, they never feel any vacancyor want in his absence. But to make use of the allusion ota celebrated French1 author, the judgment may be comparedto a clock or watch, where the most ordinary machine issufficient to tell the hours ; but the most elaborate alone(:an point out the minutes and seconds, and distinguish thesmallest differences of time. One that has well digested hisknowledge both of books and men, has little enjoyment bulin the coinpany of a few select companions. He feels toosensibly, how much all the rest of mankind fall short of thenotions wliich he has entertained. And, his affections beingthus confined within a narrow circle, no wonder he carricbsthem further, than if they were more general and undistinguished.The gaiety and frolic of a bottle coinpanionimproves with him into a solid friendship : And the ardoursof a youthful appetite become an elegant passion.ESSAY 11.-Of the Liberty of the Press.NOTHING is more apt to surprize a foreigner, than the ex-- treme liberty, which we enjoy in this coontry, of communicatingwhatever we pleme to the public, and of openlycensuring every measure, entered into by the king or hisministers. If the administration resolve upon war, it isaffirmed, that, either wilfully or ignorantly, they mistakethe interests of the nation, and that peace, in the presentsituation af affairs, is infinitely preferable. If the passionof the ministers lie towards peace, our political writersbreathe nothing but war and devastation, and represent thepacific conduct of the government as mean and pusillanimous.As this liberty is not indulged in any other government,either republican or monarchical ; in HOLLAND and VENICE,Mons. FONTENELLE, Pluralitd des Mondes. Soir. 6.Inore than in FRANCE or SPAIN ; it may very naturally giveoccasion to a question, How it huppefis that GREAT BRITAINenjoys this pecz~liar privilege ?The reason, why the laws indulge us in such a libertyseems to be derived from our mixed form of government,which is neither wholly monarchical, nor wholly republican.It will be found, if I mistake not, a true observation inpolitics, that the two extremes i11 gorernment, liberty andslavery, commonly approach nearest to each other; andthat, as you depart from the extremes, and mix a littleof monarchy with liberty, the government becomes alwaysthe more free; and on the other hand, when you mix a littleof liberty with monarchy, the yoke becomes always the moregrievous and int~lerable.~ In a government, such as that ofFRANCE, which is absolute, and where law, custom, andreligion concur, all of them, to make people fully satisfiedwith their condition, the monarch cannot entertain anyjealousy against his subjects, and therefore is apt to indulgethem in great liberties both of speech and action. In agovernment altogether republican, such as that of HOLLAND,where there is no magistrate so eminent as to give jealousyto the state, there is no danger in intrusting the magistrateswith large discretionary powers ; and though many advantagesresult from such powers, in preserving peace andorder, yet they lay a considerable restraint on men's actions,and make every private citizen pay a great respect to thegovernment. Thus it seems evident, that the two extremesof absolute monarchy and of a republic, approach near toeach other in some material circumstances. In the first, themagistrate has no jealousy of the people : in the second, thepeople have none of the magistrate : Which want of jealousybegets a mutual confidence and trust in both cases, and producesa species of liberty in monarchies, and of arbitrarypower in republics.To justify the other part of the foregoing observation,that, in every government, the means are most wide of eachother, and that the mixtures of monarchy and liberty renderthe yoke more easy or more grievous; I must take notice ofa remark in TACITUS with regard to the ROMANS under the'[And whether the unlimited exercise [I shall endeavour to explain myofthis liberty be advantageous or pre- self.-Editions D to Y.]judicial to the public?-- Editions A to P.]

9% ESSAY 11.em.perors, that they neither could bear total slavery nor totalliberty, Nec totam servitutem, nec totam libertatern pati possunt.This remark a celebrated poet has translated and applied tothe ENGLISH, in his lively description of queen ELIZABETH'Spolicy and government,Et fit aimer sonjoug a Z'AngZoM indomptd,Qui ne peut ni seruir, ni vivre en libertd.HENRIADE, liv. 1.According to these remarks, we are to consider the ROMANgovernment under the emperors as a mixture of despotismand liberty, where the despotism prevailed ; and the ENGLISHgovernment as a mixtllre of the same kind, where the libertypredominates. The consequences are conformable to theforegoing observation; and such as may be expected fromthose mixed forms of government, which beget a mutualwatchfulness and jealousy. The ROMAN emperors were,many of them, the most frightful tyrants that ever disgracedhuman nature ; and it is evident, that their cruelty waschiefly excited by their jealousy, and by their observing thatall the great Inen of ROME bore with impatience the dominionof a family, which, but a little before, was rro wise superiorto their own. On the other hand, as the republican part ofthe government prevails in ENGLAND, though wit'h a grea*tmixture of monarchy, it is obliged, for its own preservation,to maintain a watchful jealousy over the magistrates, to removeall discretianary powers, and to secure every one's lifeand fortune by general and inflexible laws. No action mustbe deemed a crime but what the law has plainly determinedto be such : No crime must be imputed to a man but fromSL legal proof before his judges ; and even these judges mustbe his fellow-subjects, who are obliged, by their own interest,to have a watchful eye over the encroachments andviolence of the ministers. Froiiz these causes it proceeds,that there is as much liberty, and, even, perhaps, licentiousnessin GREAT BRITAIN, as there were formerly slavery andtyranny in ROME.These principles account for the great liberty of the pressin these kingdoms, beyond what is indulged in any othergovernment. It is apprehended, that arbitrary power wouldsteal in upon us, were we not careful to prevent its progress,STis su5cicntly known.-EditionsA to P.]LIBERTY OF THE PRESS. 97and were there not an easy method of conveying the alarinfiom one end of the kingdom to the other. The spirit ofthe people must frequently be rouzed, in order to curb theambition of the court ; and the dread of rouzing this spiritmust be employed to prevent that ambition. Nothing soeffectual to this purpose as the liberty of the press, by which .all the learning, wit, and genius of the nation may be em-~loyed on the side of freedom, and every one be animated toits defence. As long, therefore, as the republican part ofour government can maintain itself against the monarchical,it will naturally be careful to keep the press open, as of importanceto its own preservation.lt must however be allowed, that the unbounded liberty[Edition Q omits the concludingsentence. Editions A to P have in placeof it the following :-Since therefore that liberty is soessential to the support of our mixedgovernment ; this sufficiently decidesthe second question, Whether such aliberty be advantageous or prejudicial ;there being nothing of greater importancein every state than the preservationof the ancient government, especiallyif it be a free one. But I wouldfain go a step farther, and assert, thatthis liberty is attended with so fewinconveniencies, that it may be claimedas the common right of mankind, andought to be indulged them almost inevery government: except the ecclesiastical,to which indeed it would provefatal. We need not dread from thisliberty any such ill consequences asfollowed from the harangues of thepopular demagogues of ATHENS andtribunes of ROME. A man reads a bookor pamphlet alone and coolly. Thereis none present from whom he cancatch the passion by contagiou. He isnot hurried away by the force andenergy of action. And should he bewrought up to ever so seditious ahumour, there is no vialent resolutionpresented to him, by which he can immediatelyvent his passion. The libertyof the press, therefore, however abused,can scarce ever excite popular tumult6or rebellion. And as to those murmursor secret discontents ~t may occasion,'tis better they should get vent in words,that they may come to the knowledge ofthe magistrate before it be too late, inorder to his providing a remedy againetthem. Mankind, it is true, hare alwaysa greater propension to believe whatis said to the disadvantage of theirgovernors, than the contrary ; but thisinclination is inseparable from them,whether they have liberty or not. Awhisper may fly as quick, and be aspernicious as a pamphlet. Nay, it willbe more pernicious, where men are notaccustomed to think freely, or distinguishbetween truth and falshood.It has also been found, as the experienceof mankind increases, that thepeople are no such dangerous monster asthey have been represented, and that itis in every respect better to guide them,like rational creatures, than to lead ordrive them, like brute beasts. Beforethe United Provinces set the example,toleration was deemed incompatiblewith good gorernment; and it wasthought impossible, that a number ofreligious sects could live together inharmony and peace, and have all ofthem an equal affection to their commoncountry, ant1 to each other. ENGLANDhas set a like example of civil liberty ;and though this liberty seems to occasionsome small ferment at present, ithas not as yet produced any pernicioueeffects ; and it is to be hoped, that men,being every day more accustomed tothe free discussion of public affairs,will improve in the judgment of them,and be with greater difficulty seducedby every idle rumour and popularclamour.It is a very comfortable reflection tothe lovers of liberty, that this peculiarprivilege of BRITAIN is of a kind thatcannot easily be wrested from us, but

98 ESSAY 111. POLITICS A SCIENCE. 99of the press, though it be difficult, perhaps impossible, topropose a suitable remedy for it, is one of the evils, attendingthose nlixt forms of government.ESSAY 111.-ThatPolitics may be reduced to a Science.IT is a question with several, whether there be any essentialdifference between one form of government and another?and, whether every form may not become good or bad, accordingas it is well or ill administered P Were it onceadmitted, that all go~ernments are alike, and that the onlydifference consists in the character and conduct of thegovernors, most political disputes would be at an end, and allZeal for one constitution above another, must be esteemedmere bigotry and folly. But, though a friend to moderation,I cannot forbear condemning this sentiment, and should besorry to think, that human affairs admit of no greaterstability, than what they receive from the casual Bumoursand chaiacters of particular men.It is true; those who maintain, that the goodness ofall government consists in the goodness of the administration,may cite some particular instances in history,where the very same government, in different hands, hasvaried suddenly into the two opposite extremes of good andbad. Compare the FRENCH government under HENRY 111.and under HENRY IV. Oppressioii, levity, artifice on tlhepart of the rulers ; faction, sedition, treachery, rebellion,disloyalty on the part of the subjects : These composethe character of the former micjerable zra. But when thepatriot and heroic prince, who succeeded, .was once finnlyseated on the throne, the government, the people, everymust last as long as our governmentremains, in any degree, free and independent.It is seldom, that liberty ofany kind is lost all at once. Slaveryhas so frightful an aspect to men ac- bare-facedcustomed to freedom, that it must stealupon them by degrees, and must disguiseitself in a thousand shapes, inorder to be receired. But, if the libertyof the press ever be lost, it must be lostat once. Tho general laws againstsedition and libelling are at present asstrong as they possibly can be made.Nothing can impose a farther restraint,but either the clapping an IMPRIMATURupon the press, or the giving to thecourt very large discretionary powersto punish whatever displeases thenl.But these concessions xvould be such aviolation of liberty, thatthey will probably\ be the last efforts ofa despotic gorernmont. We may conclude,that the liberty of Britain is gonefor erer when these attempts shnllsucceed.]1 For forms of govcrnnlelzt let foolsCO?? test,Whnte'er is hcsf nclmivtiste~'d is hcst.ESSAY ON MAN, ROO^ S.thing seemed to be totally changed ; and all from the differenceof the temper and conduct of these two sovereigns.Instances of this kind may be multiplied, alm~st withoutnumber, from ancient as well as modern history, foreign aswell as domestic.But here it may be proper to make a distinction. All absolutegovernmentsZ must very much depend on the administration;and this is one of the great inconveniences attendingthat form of government. But a republican and free governmentwould be an obvious absurdity, if the partioular checksand coiitrouls, provided by the constitution, had really noinfluence, and made it not the interest, even of bad men, toact for the public good. Such is the intention of theseforms ofand such is their real effect, wherethey are wisely constituted : As on the other hand, they arethe source of all disorder, and of the blackest crimes, whereeither skill or honesty has been wanting in their originalframe and institution.So great is the force of laws, and of particular forms ofgovernment, and so little dependence have they on thehumours and tempers of men, that consequences almost asgeneral and certain may sometimes be deduced from them.as any which the mathematical sciences afford us.The constitution of the ROMAN republic gave the wholelegislative power to the people, without allowing a negativevoice either to the nobility or consuls. This unboundedpower they possessed in a collective, not in a representativebody. The consequences were: When the people, by successand conquest, had become very numerous, and hadspread themselves to a great distance from the capital, thecity-tribes, though the most contemptible, carried almostevery vote : They were, therefore, most cajoled by every onethat affected popularity : They were supported in idlenessby the general distribution of corn, and by particular bribes,~hich they received from almost every candidate: By thismeans, they became every day more licentious, and the[Editions A to P insert the follow- [Editions A to Q insert: And such,ing:-An equal difference of a contrary in a great measnre, was that of ENGkind,may be found on comparing the LAZTD, till the middle of the last cenreignsof ELIZABETH and JAMBS, at least tury, notwithstanding tho numerouswith regard to foreign afiiirs.panegyrics on ancient ENGLISH liberty.They omit t,he words 'foreign as well Editions A and B stop at the wordas domestic ' in the noxt sentence.] century.]

100 ESSAY 111.CAMPUS MARTIUS was a perpetual scene of tumult and sedition:Arined slaves were introduced among these rascallycitizens ; so that the whole government fell into anarchy,and the greatest happiness, which the ROMANS could lookfor, was the despotic power of the CASARS. Such are theeffects of democracy without a representative.A Nobility may possess the whole, or any part of the legislativepower of a state, in two different ways. Either everynobleman shares the power as part of the whole body, or thewhole body enjoys the power as composed of parts, whichhave each a distinct power and authority. The VENETIANaristocracy is an instance of the first kind of government :The POLISH of the second. In the VENETIAN kovernmentthe whole body of nobility possesses the whole power, and nonobleman has any autjliority which he receives not from thewhole. In the POLISH government every nobleman, by meailsof his fiefs, has a distinct hereditary authority over his vassals,and the whole body has no authority but what it receivesfrom the concurrence of its parts. The differentoperations and tendencies of these two species of governmentmight be made apparent even & priori. A VENETIAN nobilityis preferable to a POLISH, let the humours and education ofmen be ever so much varied. A nobility, who possess theirpower in common, will preserve peace and order, both amongthemselves, and their subjects; and no member can haveauthority enough to controul the laws for a moment. Thenobles will preserve their authority over the people, butwithout any grievous tyranny, or any breach of private property; because such a tyrannical government promotes notthe interests of the whole body, however it may that of someindividuals. There will be a distinction of rank between thenobility and people, but this will be the only distinction inthe state. The whole nobility will form one body, and thewhole people another, without any of those private feuds andanimosities, which spread ruin and desolation every where.It is easy to see the disadvantages of a POLISH nobility inevery one of these particulars.It is possible so to constitute a free government, as thata single person, call him doge, prince, or king, shall possessa large share of power, and shall form a proper ba1a;nce orcounterpoise to the other parts of the legislature. Thischief magistrate ma!y be either elective or hereditary ; andPOLITICS A SCTENCE.Gough the former institution may, to a superficial view,appear the most advantageous ; yet a more accurate inspectionwill discover in it greater inconveniencies than in thelatter, and such as are founded on causes and principleseternal and immutable. The filling of the throne, in such agovernment, is a poilit of too great aid too general interest,not to divide the whole people into factions : Whence a civilwar, the greatest of ills, rnay be apprehended, allnost withcertainty, upon every vacancy. The prince elected must beeither a Foreigner or a Native : The fornier will be ignorantof the people whom he is to govern ; suspicious of his newsubjects, and suspected by them ; giving his confidence en- .tirely to strangers, who will have no other care but of enrichingthemselves in the quickest manner, while their master'sfavour and authority are able to support them. A nativewill carry into the throne all his private animosities andfriendships, and will never be viewed in his elevation, withoutexciting the seatiment of envy in those, who formerlyconsidered him as their equal. Not to mention that a crownis too high a reward ever to be given to merit alone, andwill always induce the candidates to employ force, or money,or intrigue, to procure the votes of the electors: So thatsuch an election will give no better chance for superior meritin the prince, than if the state had trusted to birth alone fordetermining their sovereign.It niay therefore be pronounced as an universal axiom inpolitics, That an hereditary prince, a nobility without vassals,und u people voting by their represe~ztatives, form the bestMONARCHY, ARISTOCRACY, and DEMOCRACY. But in order toprove more fully, that politics adniit of general truths, whichare invariable by the humour or education either of subjector sovereign, it may not be a'lniss to observe some other principlesof this science, which may seem to deserve thatcharacter.It nla'y easily be observed, that, though free governmentshave been comnlonly the most happy for those who partakeof their freedom; yet are they the most ruinous and oppressiveto their provinces: And this observation may, Ibelieve, be fixed as a maxim of the kind we are here speakingof* When a monarch extends his dominions by conquest, hesoon learns to collsider his old and his new subjects as onthe saiile footing; because, in reality, all his subjects are to

I oa ESSAY TII. POLITlCS A SCIENCE. 103him the same, except the few friends and favourites, withwhom he is personally acquainted. He does not, therefore,make any distinction between them in his general laws ; and,at the same time, is careful to prevent all particular acts ofoppression on the one as well as on the other. But a freestate necessarily niakes a great distinction, and must alwaysdo SO, till men learn to love their neighbours as well asthemselves. The conquerors, in such a government, are alllegislators, and will be sure to contrive matters, by restrictionson trade, and by taxes, so as to draw some private, aswell as public, adrantage from their conquests. Provincialgovernors have also a better chance, in a republic, to escapewit11 their plunder, by means of bribery or intrigue ; andtheir fellow-citizens, who find their own state to be enrichedby the spoils of the subject provinces, will be more inclinedto tolerate such abuses. Not to mention, that it is a necessaryprecaution in a free state to change the governors frequently ;which obliges these temporary tyrants to be more expeditiousand rapacious, that they may accumulate sufficientwealth before they give place to their successors. Whatcruel tyrants were the ROMANS over the world during thetime of their commonwealth ! It is true, they had laws toprevent oppression in their provincial magistrates ; butCICERO informs US, that the ROMANS could not better consultthe interests of the provinces than by repealing these verylaws. For, in that case, says he, our magistrates, havingentire impunity, would plunder no more than mould satisfytheir own rapaciousness ; whereas, at present, they mustalso satisfy that of their judges, and of all the great men inROME, of whose protection they stand in need Who canread of the cruelties and oppressions of VERRES withouthorror and astonishment? And who is not touched with indignationto hear, that, after CICERO had exhausted on thatabandoned criminal all the thunders of his eloquence, andhad prevailed so far as to get him condemned to the utmostextent of the laws ; yet that cruel tyrant lived peaceably toold age, in opulence and ease, and, thirty years afterwards,was put into the proscription by MARK ANTHONY, on accountof his exorbitant wealth, where he fell with CICERO himself,.and all the most virtuous men of ROME ? After the dissolutionof the commonwealth, the RONAN yoke became easierupon the provinces, as TACITUS informs US ; and it may be&served, that niany of the worst emperors, DO MI TI AN,^ forinstance, were careful to prevent all oppression on the provinces.In TIBERIUS'S time, GAUL was esteemed richer thanITALY itself: Nor, do I find, during the whole time of theROMAN monarchy, that the empire became less rich or populousin any of its provinces; though indeed it's valour andmilitary discipline were always upon the decline. The oppressionand tyranny of the CABTHAGINIANS over their subjectstates in AFRICA went so far, as we learn from POLYBIUS,~that, not content with exacting the half of all the produce ofthe land, which of it'self was a very high rent, they alsoloaded theill with many other taxes. If we pass fron ailcientto modern times, we shall still find the observation to hold.The provinces of absolute monarchies are always better treatedthan those of free states. Compare the Pa% conpuis ofFRANCE with IRELAND, and you will be convinced of thistruth ;-though this latter kingdom, being, in a good measure,peopled from ENGLAND, possesses so many rights and privilegesas should naturally make it challenge better treatmentthan that uf a conquered province. CORSICA is also anobvious instance to the same purpose.There is ail observation in MACHIAVEL, wit11 regard to theconquests of ALEXANDER the Great, which 1 think, may beregarded as one of those eternal political truths, which notime nor accidents can vary. It may seem strange, says thatpolitician, that such sudden conquests, as those of ALEX-ANDER, should be possessed so peaceably by his successors,and that the PERSIANS, during all the confusions and civilwars among the GREEKS, never made the smallest efforttowards the recovery of their former independent government.To satisfy us concerning the cause of this remarkableevent, we may consider, that a monarch may govern hiss~lbjects in two different ways. He may either follow thenlaxinls of the eastern princes, and stretch his authority sofar as to leave no distinction of rank among his subjects, butAnn. lib. 1. cap. 2.cogitarent. TACIT. Ann. lib. 3. 40. [Ed.SUET. in vita DOMIT. C. 8. A reads Vespasian's, and gives no re-= Egregium reszrmende libertati tern- ference.]pus, si Qsi jlorentes, qzlnnz i?zops ITALIA, [This sentence and the notes 1 and 2quanb imbcllis urbana plebs, nihil vali- were added in Edition K.]duln na exercitibus, l~isi quod cxtemc~n Lib. 1. cap. 72.

104 ESSAY 111. POLITICS SCIENCE. 105what proceeds immediately from liiniself : no advantages ofbirth; no hereditary honours and possessions ; and, in sword, no credit! among the people, except from his commissionalone. Or a monarch may exert his power after a mildermanner, like other EUROPEAN princes; and leave othersources of honour, beside hia smile and favour: Birth, titles,possessions, valour, integrity, knowledge, or great and fortunateatchievements. In the former species of government,after a conquest, it is impossible ever to shake off the yoke ;since no one possesses, among the people, so much personalcredit and authority as to begin such an enterprize :Whereas, in the latter, the least misfortune, or discordamong the victors, will encourage the vanquished to takearms, who have leaders ready to prompt and conduct themin every undertaking.'1 I have taken it f ~ granted, r accord- Hist. GRBC. lib. iv. 1, being desirous ofing to the supposition of MACHIAVEL, mdking a marriage betwixt king COTYSthat the ancient PERSIANS had no no- his ally, and the daughter of SPITHRIbility; though there is reason to suspect, DATES, a PERSIAN of rank, who hadthat the FLOI~ENTINE secretary, who deserted to him, first asks COTYS whatseems to ha\-e been better acquainted family ~PITHRI~ATES is of. One of thewith the ROMAN than the GREEK most considerable in PERSIA, says COTYS.authors, was mistaken in this parti- ARIBUS, when off'ered the sovereigntycular. The more ancient PERSIANS, by CLEARCHUS and the ten thousandwhose manners are described by XENO- GREEKS, refused it as of too low a rank,PHON, were a free people, and had nobi- and said, that so many eminent PERlity.Their dpdripoi were preserved SIANS would never endure his rule. Id.even after the extending of their con- de exped. lib. ii. Some of the familiesquests and the consequent change of descended from the seven PERSIANStheir government. ARRIAN mentions abovementioned remained during allthem in DARTUS'S time, De exp~d. ALEX, ALEXANDER'S successors ; and MITEIRIlib.ii. 11. IIistorians also speak often of DATES, in ANTIOCHUS'S time, is said bytho persons in colnmi~ld as men of POLYBIUS to be descended from one offamily. TYGRANBS, who was general of them, lib. v. cap. 43. ARTABAZUS wasthe Bhn~s under XERXES, was of the esteemed, as ARRIAN says, 2v 70;srace of 1 1 ~ HEROD. ~ lib. ~ vii. cap. ~ ~ nepuijv. ~ lib. ~ iii. , 23. And when ALXX-62. ARTACHZAS, who directed tho ANDER married in one day 80 of hiscutting of the canal allout mount ATHOS, captains to PERSIAN women, his intenwasof the same fitnlily. Id. cap. 117.tion plainly was to ally the MACEDO->~EGABYZUS was one of the seven emi- NIANS with the most eminent PERSIANnent PERSIANS who conspired against families. Id. lib. vii. 4. DIODORUS SICUthoMAGI. His son, ZOYYRUS, was in LUS says they were of the most noblethe highest command under DARIIJS, birth in PERSIA, lib. xvii. 107. The goand delivered BABYLON to him. His vernment of PERSIA was despotic, andgmndson, MXGABYZUS, commanded the conducted in many respects, after thearmy, defeated at MARATHON. His eastern manner, but was not carried sogreat-grandson, ~;OPYRUS, was SO emi- far as to extirpate all nobility, and connent,and was banished PERSIA. HEROD. found all ranks and orders. It left menlib. iii. 160. THUC. lib. i. 100. ROSACES, who were still great, by themselves andwho comnlandeil an army in EGYPT under their family, independcnt of their officeARTAXRRXRS, was also descended frorr and commission. And tlic reason whyonc of the seven conspir;ttors, DIOD. SIC. the MACEDONIANS kept so easily clonli -lib. xvi. 47. BGES~LAUS, in XENOPHON, nion over them was owing to other1 ~ ~ ~ 6 ~ 0 ~ sSuclr is the reasoning of MACHIAVEL, which seems solid andconclusive ; though I wish he had not mixed falsehood withtruth, in asserting, that monarchies, governed according topolicy, though more easily kept when once subdued,yet are the most difficult to subdue; since they cannot containany powerful subject, whose discontent and faction mayfacilitate the enterprizes of an army. For besides, that sucha tyrannical government enervates the courage of men, andrenders them indifferent towards the fortunes of their sovereign; besides this, I say, we find by experience, that eventhe temporary and delegated authority of the generals andmagistrates ; being always, in such governments, as absolutewithin its sphere, as that of the prince himself; is able, withbarbarians, accustomed to a blind submission, to produce themost dangerous and fatal revolutions. So that, in every respect',a gentle government is preferable, and gives thegreatest security to the sovereign as well as to the subject.Legislators, therefore, ought not to trust the future governmentof a state entirely to chance, but ought to provide asystem of laws to regulate the administration of public affairsto the latest posterity. Effects will always correspond tocauses ; and wise regulations in tvny commonwealth are themost valuable legacy that can be left to future ages. In thesmallest court or office, the stated forms and methods, bywhich business must be conducted, are found to be a considerablecheck on the natural depravity of manlciild. Whyshould not the case be the same in public affairs ? Can weascribe the stability and wisdom of the VENETIAN government,through so many ages, to any thing but the form ofgovernment? And is it not easy to point out those defectsin the original constitution, which produced the tumultuousgovernments of ATHENS and ROME, and ended at last in theruin of these two famous republics ? And so little dependancehas this affair on the humours and education of particularmen, that one part of the same republic may be wisely conducted,and another wealcly, by the very sanie men, merelyon account of the difference of the forms and institutions, bywhich these parts are regulated. Historians inform us thatthis was actually the case with GRNOA. For while the st:>ttec.:luqes e;~sy t~, be found In the histo- however doubtful its ;lppiicntion to t::erians ; though it mubt be owned that present case. [This uote was added iuMACHIAVEL'S rcasoniiig is, in itself, just, Edition K.]

106 ESSAY ~n. POLITICS A SCLENCE. 107was always full of sedition, and tumult, and disorder, thebank of St. GEORGE, which had become a considerable partof the people, was conducted, for several ages, with theutmost integrity and wisdom.2The ages of greatest public spirit are not always mosteminent for private virtue. Good laws may beget order andmoderation in the government, where the manners and customshave instilled little humanity or justice into the tempersof men. The most illustrious period of the ROMAN history,considered in a political view, is that between the begii~ningof the first and end of the last PUNIC war ; the due balancebetween the nobility and people being then fixed by thecontests of the tribunes, and not being yet lost by the extentof conquests. Yet at this very time, the horrid practice ofpoisoning was so common, that, during part of a season, aPrcetor punished capitally for this crime above three thousand3persons in a part of ITALY ; and found informations of thisnature still multiplying upon him. There is a similar, orrather a worse in~tance,~the more early times of thecommonwealth. So depraved in private life were that people,whom in their histories we so much admire. I doubt notbut they were really more virtuous during the time of theTriumvirates ; when they were tearing their common countryto pieces, and spreading slaughter and desolation orer theface of the earth, merely for the choice of tyrants.Here, then, is a sufficient inducement to maintain, withthe utmost ZEAL, in every free state, those forms and institutions,by which liberty is secured, the public good consulted,and the avarice or ambition of particular men restrained andpunished. Nothing does more honour to human nature, thanto see it susceptible of so noble a passion ; as nothing canbe a greater indication of meanness of heart in any man,than to see him destitute of it. A man who loves only him-' Essempio veramente raro, & daFilosoj intante loro imaginate 4 veduteRepzcbliche mai non trovnto, vedere dentroad un medec.imo cerchio, fra medesinzicittadini, la liberta la tirannide, lavita civile 4 In corotta, la giustitin lalicenza ; perche quello ordine solo mantiereqzcella cittn piena di costurni antichi$ venernbili. E s'egli az~venisse(che co2 tempo in ogni mod0 auverra) queSAN GIORGIO tzrtta quel la cittb owupasse,sarrehhe qzcclla zrna Kepublica piudnlla VENETIANA mmdrabile. DellaHist,. FlorentinB. lib. 8.[This paragraph ;as added in EditionD.]3. LIVII, lib. 40. cap. 43.* Id. lib. 8. cap. 18.L'Aigle contre L'AigZe, ROMAIN~contre ROMAINS,Combatnns seulement pour Ze choixde tyrans.CORNEILLE.self, without regard to friendship and desert, merits theseverest blame ; and a man, who is only susceptible of friendship,without public spirit, or a regard to the community, isdeficient in the most material part of virtue.But tllis is a subject which needs not be longer insisted onat present. There are enow of zealots on both sides whokindle up the passions of their partizans, and under pretenceof public good, pursue the interests and ends of their particularfaction. For my part, I shall always be more fond ofpromoting moderation than zeal ; though perhaps the surestway of producing moderation in every party is to increaseour zeal for the public. Let us therefore try, if it be possible,from the foregoing doctrine, to draw a lesson of moderatioilwith regard to the parties, into which our country is at present1divided; at the same time, that we allow not thismoderation to abate the industry and passion, with whichevery individual is bound to pursue the good of his country.Those who either attack or defend a minister in such agovernment as ours, where the utmost liberty is allowed,always carry matters to an extreme, and exaggerate his meritor demerit with regard to the public. His enemies are sureto charge him with the greatest enormities, both in domesticand foreign management ; and there is no meanness or crime,of which, in their account, he is not capable. Unnecessarywars, scandallous treaties, profusion of public treasure, oppressivetaxes, every kind of mal-administration is ascribedto him. To aggravate the charge, his pernicious conduct, itis said, will extend its baleful influence even to posterity, byulldermining the best constitution in the world, and disorderingthat wise system of laws, institutions, and customs,by which our ance~tors, during so many centuries, have beenso happily governed. He is not only a wicked minister inhimself, but has removed every security provided againstwicked ministers for the future.On the other hand, the partizans of the minister make hispanegyric run as high as the accusation against him, andcelebrate his wise, ~teady, and moderate conduct in everypart of his administration. The honour and interest of thenation supported abroad, public credit maintained at home,Persecution restrained, faction subdued ; the merit of allthese blessiilgs is ascribed solely to the minister. At the[Editions D to N give the date 1742.1

108 ESSAY 111. POLITICS A SCIENCE.same time, he crowns all his other merits by a religious careof the best constitution in the world, which he has preservedin all its parts, and has transmitted entire, to be the happinessand security of the latest posterity.When this accusation and panegyric are received by thepartizans of each party, no wonder they beget an extraordinaryferment on both sides, and fill the nation with violentanimosities, But 1 would fain persuade these party-zealots,that there is a flat contradiction both in the accusation andpanegyric, and that it were impossible for either of then1 torun so high, were it not for this contradiction. If our constitutionbe really that noble fabric, the pride of BRITAIN, theenvy of our neigkbours, raised by the labour of so many centuries,repaired at the expence of so many rwillions, and cementedby such a profkon of blood ; 1 say, if our constitution doesin any degree deserve these 2eulogies, it would never havesuffered a wicked and weak minister to govern triu~nphantlyfor a course of twenty years, when opposed by the greatestgeniuses in the nation, who exercised the utmost liberty oftongue and pen, in parliament, and in their frequent appealsto the people. But, if the minister be wicked and weak, tothe degree so strenuously insisted on, the constitution must befaulty in its original principles, and he cannot consistently becharged with undermining the best form of government inthe world. A constitution is only so far good, as it providesa remedy against mal-administration ; and if the BRITISH,when in its greatest vigour, and repaired by two such remarkableevents, as the Revolution and Accession, by whichour ancient royal family was sacrificed to it; if our constitution,I say, with so great advantages, does not, in fact,provide any ,such remedy, we are rather beholden to anyminister who undermines it, and affords us an opportunityof erecting a better in its place.I would employ the same topics to moderate the zeal ofthose who defend the minister. Is our constitution so excellent? Then a change of ministry can be no such dreadfulevent; since it is essential to such a constitution, in everyministry, both to preserve itself from violation, and toprevent all enormities in the administration. Is our constitutionvery bad ? Then so extraordinary a jealousy and ap-1 Dissertatkm on parties, Letter 10. word is frequently so written in the* [Elogiums : Editions A to D. The Treatise.]prehension, on account of changes, is ill placed ; and il manshould no more be anxious in this case, than a husband, whohad married a woman from the stews, should be watchful toprevent her infidelity. Public affairs, in such a government,must necessarily go to confusion, by whatever hands they areconducted; and the eeal of patriots is in that case much lessrequisite than the patience and submission of philosophers.The virtue and good intentions of CATO and BRUTUS arehighly laudable ; but, to what purpose did their eeal serve 9Only to hasten the fatal period of the RONAN government,and render its convulsions and dying agonies more violentand painful.I would not be understood to mean, that public affairsdeserve no care and attention at all. Would men be moderateand consistent, their claims niight be admitted ; atleast might be examined. The country-party might stillassert, that our constitution, though excellent, will admit ofmal-administration to a certain degree ; and therefore, ifthe minister be bad, it is proper to oppose him with asuitable degree of zeal. And, on the other hand, the court-partymay be allowed, upon the supposition that the minister weregood, to defend, and with some zeal too, his administration.I would only persuade men not to contend. as if they werefighting pro aris & focis, and change a good constitution intoa bad one, by the violence of their factions.'I have not here considered any thing that is personal inthe present controversy. In the best civil constitution,where every man is constrained by the most rigid laws, it iseasy to discover either the good or bad intentions of aminister, and to judge, whether his personal characterdeserve love or hatred. But such questions are of little importanceto the public, and lay those, who employ their pensupon them, under a just suspicion either of malevolence or3f flattery.ESSAY 1V.-Ofthe First Principles of Govement.NOTHING appears more surprizing to those, who considerhumail affairs with a philosophical eye, than the easinesswith which the many are governed by the few; and the[Editions D to P give in a note the Walpole. It will be found in the con-Well-known Character of Sir Robert cluding section of Vol. IV.-ED.]

11 0 ESSAY N. PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 111implicit submission, with which men resign their own sentimentsand passions to those of their rulers. When weenquire by what means this wonder is effected, we shall find,that, as FORCE is always on the side of the governed, thegovernors have nothing to support them but opinion. Itis therefore, on opinion only that government is founded ;and this maxim extends to the most despotic and mostmilitary governments, as well as to the most free and mostpopular. The soldan of EGYPT, or the emperor of ROME,might drive his harmless subjects, like brute beasts, againsttheir sentiments and inclination : But he must, at leaat, haveled his rnamal~kes, or praetorian bands, like men, by theiropinion.Opinion is of two kinds, to wit, opinion of INTEREST, andopinion of RIGHT. By opinion of interest, I chiefly understandthe sense of the general advantage which is reapedfrom government ; together with the persaasion, that theparticular government, which is established, is equally advantageouswith any other that could easily be settled.When this opinion prevails among the generality of a state,or among those who have the force in their hands, it givesgreat security to any government.Right is of two kinds, right to POWER and right to PRO-PERTY. What prevalence opinion of the first kind has overmankind, may easily be understood, by observing the attachmentwhich all nations have to their ancient government,and even to those names, which have had the sanction ofantiquity. Antiquity always begets the opinion of right ;and whatever disadvantageous sentiments me may entertainof mankind, they are always found to be prodigal both ofblood and treasure in the maintenance of public justice.'There is, indeed, no particular, in which, at first sight, theremay appear a greater contradiction in the frame of thehuman mind than the present. VSThen men act in a faction,they are apt, without shame or remorse, to neglect all theties of honour and morality, in order to serve their party ;and yet, when a faction is formed upon a point of right orprinciple, there is no occasion, where men discover a greater[Editions 9 to P insert as follows :-This passion we may denominate enthusiasm,or we may give it what appellationwe please ; but a politician,who should overlook its influence onhuman affairs, would prove himself butof a very limited understanding.Editions A and B omit tho remainderof tho paragraph.]obstinacy, and a more determined sense of justice andequity. The same social disposition of inankind is the causeof these contradictory appearances.It is sufficiently understood, that the opinion of right toproperty is of moment in all matters of government. Anoted autliorl has made property the foundation of allgovernment ; and most of our political writers seem inclinedto follow him in that particular. This is carrying thematter too far; but still it must be owned, that the opinionof right to property has a great influence in this subject.Upon these three opinions, therefore, of public interest,of right to power, and of right to property, are all governmentsfounded, and all authority of the few over the many.There are indeed other principles, which add force to these,and determine, limit, or alter their operation; such as selfinterest,fear, and afection: But still we may assert, thatthese other principles can have no influence alone, but supposethe antecedent influence of those opinions abovementioned.They are, therefore, to be esteemed the secondary,not the original principles of government.For, first, as to self-interest, by which I mean the expectationof particular rewards, distinct from the general protectionwhich we receive from government, it is evident thatthe aiagistrate's authority must be antecedently established,at least be hoped for, in order to produce this expectation.The prospect of reward may augment his authority withregard to some particular persons ; but call *:ever give birthto it, with regard to the public. Men naturally look for thegreatest favours from their friends and acquaintance ; andtherefore, the hopes of any considerable number of the statewould never center in any particular set of men, if thesemen had no &her title to magistracy, and had no separateinfluence over the opinions of mankind. The same observationmay be extended to the other two principles of fearand afection. No man would have any reason to fear thefury of a tyrant, if he had no authority over any but fromfear; since, as a single man, his bodily force can reach buta small way, and all the farther power he possesses must befounded either on our own opinion, or on the presumedopinion of others. And though afection to wisdonl andvirtue in a sovereign extends very far, and has great in-[Harrington : see p. 122.--E~.]

11 2 ESSAY TV. PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 113fluence ; yet he must antecedently be supposed invested witha public character, otherwise the public esteem w'l servehim in no stead, nor will his virtue have any influencebeyond a narrow sphere.A government may endure for several ages, though thebalance of power, and the balance of property do not coincide.This chiefly happens, where any rank or order of the statehas acquired a large share in the property; but from theoriginal coi~stitution of the government, has no share in thepower. Under what pretence would any individual of thatorder assume authority in public affairs P As men are corn- .monly much attached to their ancient government, it is notto be expected, that the public would ever favour suchusurpations. But where the original constitution allowsany share of power, though small, to an order of men,who possess a large share of the propehy, it is easy forthem gradually to stretch their authority, and bring thebalance of power to coincide with that of property. This .has been the case with the house of commons in ENGLAND.Most writers, that have treated of the BRITISH government,have supposed, that, as the lower house represents allthe commons of GREAT BRITAIN, its weight in the scaleis proportioned to the property and power of all whom itrepresents. But this principle must not be received asabsolutely true. For though the people are apt to attachthemselves more to the house of commons, than to anyother member of the constitution ; that house being chosenby them as their representatives, and as the public guardiansof their liberty ; yet are there instances where thehouse, even when in oppogition to the crown, has not beenfollowed by the people ; as we may particularly observe ofthe tory house of commons in the reign of king WILLIAM.Were the members obliged to receive instructions fromtheir constituents, like the DUTCH deputies, this wouldentirely alter the case; and if such immense power andriches, as those of all the commons of GREAT BRITAIN, werebrought into the scale, it is not easy to conceive, that thecrown could either influence that multitude of people, orwithstand that overbalance of property. It is true, thecrown has great influence over the collective body in theelections of members ; but were this influence, which atpresent is only exerted once in seven years, to be employedin bringing over the people to every vote, it would soon bewasted ; and no skill, popularity, or revenue, could supportit. I must, therefore, be of opinion, that an alteration inthis particular would introduce a total alteration in oura.government, and would soon reduce it to a pure republic;and, perhaps, to a republic of no inconvenient form. Forthough the people, collected in a body like the ROMAN tribes,be quite unfit for government, yet when dispersed in smallbodies, they are more susceptible both of reason and order ;the force of popular currents and tides is, in a great measure,broken; and the public interest may be pursued with somemethod and constancy. But it is needless to reason anyfarther concerning a -form of government, which is neverlikely to have place in GREAT BRITAIN, and which seemsnot to be the aim of any party amongst us. Let us cherishand improve our ancient government as much as possible,without encouraging a passion for such dangerous nove1ties.lESSAY V.2-0f the Origin, of Government.MAN, born in a family, is compelled to maintain society,from necessity, from natural inclination, and from habit.The same creature, in his farther progress, is engaged toestablish political society, in order to administer justice ;without which there can be no peace among them, nor safety,nor lnutual intercourse. We are, therefore, to look upon allthe vast apparatus of our government, as having ult~mately[Editions A to N add the followingparagraph :-I shall conclude thissubject with observing, that the presentpolitical controversy, with regard to instructions,is a very frivolous one, andc:tn never be brought to any-decision,as it is managed by both parties. Thecountry-party pretend not, that a memberis absolutely bound t,o follow instructions,as an ambassador or generalis confined by his orders, and that hievote is not to be received in the house,but so far as it is conformable to them.The court-party again, pretend not, thatthe sentiments of the people ought tohave no weight with erery member;much less that he ought to despise thesentiments of those he represents, andwith whom he is more particularly connectad.And if their sentiments be ofweight, why ought they not t? expnxssthpee sentiments? The question, then,is only concerning the clegrsas of weight,which ought to be plac'd on instructions.But such is the nature of language,that it is imyossikde for it toexpress distinctly these different degrees; and if men will carry on a controversyon this head, it may wellhappen, that they differ in their languttge,and yet agree in their sentiments ;or differ in their sentiments, and yetagree in their language. Besides, howis it possible to find these degrees, consideringthe variety of affairs , whichcome before the house, and the varietyof places which mambors reprerrent?Ought the instructions of TOTN~S tohave the same weight as those ofLONDON ? or instructions, with regardto the Conueution, which respectedforeign politics, to have the same weightas those with regard to the excise, whichrespected only our domestic affair8 ? ][This Essay was added in the lastEdition.]

114 ESSAY V. ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT. 115no other object or purpose but the distribution of justice,or, in other words, the support of the twelve judges. Kingsand parliaments, fleets and armies, officers of the court andrevenue, ambassadors, ministers, and privy-counsellors, areall subordinate in their end to this part of administration.Even the clergy, as their duty leads them to inculcatemorality, may justly be thought, so far as regards this world,to have no other useful object of their institution.All men are sensible of the necessity of justice to maintainpeace and order; and all men are sensible of thenecessity of peace and order for the maintenance of society.Yet, notwithstanding this strong and obvious necessity, suchis the frailty or perverseness of our nature ! it is impossibleto keep men, faithfully and unerringly, in the paths ofjustice. Some extraordinary circumstances may happen, inwhich a man finds his interests to be more promoted byfraud or rapine, than hurt by the breach which his injusticemakes in the social union. But inuch more frequently, heis seduced from his great and important, but dista4nt interests,by the allurement of present, though often very frivoloustemptations. This great weakness is incurable inhuman nature.Men must, therefore, endeavour to palliate what theycannot cure. They must institute some persons, under theappellation of magistrates, whose peculiar office it is, topoint out the decrees of equity, to punish transgressors, tocorrect fraud and violence, and to oblige mzn, however reluctant,to consult their own real and permanent interests.Ixr a word, OBEDIENCE is a new duty which must be inventedto support that of JUSTICE ; and the tyes of equitymust be corroborated by those of allegiance.But still, viewing matters in an abstract light, it may bethought, that nothing is gained by this alliance, and thatthe factitious duty of obedience, froni its very nature, laysas feeble a hold of the human mind, as the primitive andnatural duty of justice. Peculiar interests and presenttemptations may overcome the one as well as the other.They are equally exposed to the same inconvenience. Andthe man, who is inclined to be a bad neighbour, must be led bythe same motives, well or ill understood, to be a bad citizenand subject. Not to mention, that the magistrate himself iuayoften be negligent, or partial, or unjust in his administration.Experience, however, proves, that there is a great difference between the cases. Order in society, we find, is muchbetter inaintained by means of government ; and our duty tothe Iliagistrate is more strictly guarded by the principles ofhuman nature, than our duty to our fellow-citizens. The loveof doillinion is so strong in the breast of man, that many,ll~t only submit to, but court all the dangers, and fatigues, andcares of government; and men, once raised to that station,though often led astray by private passioas, find, in ordinarycases, a visible interest in the impartial administration ofjustice. The persons, who first attain this distinction bythe consent, tacit or express, of the people, must be endowedwith superior personal qualities of valour, force, integrity,or prudence, which command respect and confidence: andafter government is established, a regard to birth, rank, andstation has a mighty iiifluence over men, and enforces thedecrees of the magistrate. The prince or leader exclaimsagainst every disorder, which disturbs his society. Hesummons all his partizans and all men of probity to aidhini irf correcting and redressing it : and he is readily followedby all indifferent persons in the execution of his office.He soon acquires the power of rewarding these services ; andin the progress of society, he establishes subordinate ministersand often a military force, who find an immediate and avisible interest, in supporting his authoritj. Habit soonconsolidates what other principles of human nature had imperfectlyfounded ; and men, once accustomed to obedience,never think of departing from that path, in which they andtheir ancestors have coilstantly trod, and to which they areconfined by so many urgent and visible motives.But though this progress of human affairs may appearcertain and inevitable, and though the support which allegiancebrings to justice, be founded on obvious principles ofhuman nature, it cannot be expected that men should beforehandbe able to discover them, or foresee their operation.Government cominences more casually and more imperfectly.It is probable, that the first ascendant of one man overmultitudes begun during a state of war ; where the superiorityof courage and of genius discovers itself most visibly, whereunanimity and concert .are most requisite, and where thepernicious effects of disorder are most sensibly felt. Thelong continuance of that state, an incident common amolrgsavage tribes, enured the people to sllbnlission ; and if the

ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT. 117chieftain possessed as much equity as prudence and vslour,he became, even during peace, the arbiter of all differences,and could gradually, by a niisture of force and consent,establish his authority. The benefit sensibly felt froin liisinfluence, made it be cherished by the people, at least by thepeaceable and well disposed among thern ; and if his son enjoyedthe same good qualities, government advanced thesooner to maturity and perfection; but was still in a feeblestate, till the farther progress of improvement procured themagistrate a revenue, and enabled him to bestow rewards ontlie several instruments of his adlninistration, and to inflictpunishlnents on the refractory and disobedient. Before tliatperiod, each exertion of his iiifluence must have been psrticular,and founded on the peculiar circuinstarlces of thecase. After it, subinissioii was no longer a matter of choicein the bulk of the community, but was 'igorously exactedby the authority of the supreme magistrate.In all governments, there is a perpetual intestine struggle,dpen or secret, between AUTHORITY and LIBERTY; andneither of them can ever absolutely prevail in the contest.A great sacrifice of liberty must necessarily be made in everygovernment ; yet even the authority, which confines liberty,can never, and perhaps ought never, in any constituttion, tobecome quite entire and uncontroulable. The sultan ismaster of the life arid fortune of any individual; but willnot be permitted to impose new taxes on his subjects : aFrench nlonarch can impose taxes at pleasure; but wouldfind it dangerous to attempt the lives and fortunes of individuals.Religion also, in most countries, is commonlyfound to be a very intractable principle ; and other prirlciplesor prejudices frequently resist all the authority of tlie civilmagistrate ; whose power, being founded on opinion, cannever subvert other opinions, equally rooted with that of hi^title to doniinion. Tlle government, which, in common appellation,receives the appellation of free, is that which admitsof a partition of power among several members, whoseunited authority is no less, or is commonly greater than thatof any xnonarcll ; but who, in the usual course of administration,must act by general and equal laws, that are previouslyknown to all the members and to all their subjects. In thissense, it must be owned, that liberty is the perfection ofcivil society ; but still authority mnst be acknowledgedessential to its very existence : and in those contests, whichso often take place between the one and the other, the lattermay, on that account, challenge the preference. Unlessperhaps one inay say (and it may be said with some reason)that s circumstance, which is essential to the existence ofcivil society, must always support itself, and needs be guardedwith less jealousy, than one that contributes only to its perfection,which tlie indolence of rnen is so apt to neglect, ortheir ignorance to overlook.ESSAY TI.-On the Inclependency of P~rliarnent.~POLITICAL writers have established it as a maxim, that, incontriving any system of government, and fixing the severalchecks a.nd coi~trouls of the constitution, every man ought to1 [In Editions A to N this Essay isir~troduced by the following examinationof the spirit of parties.I hare frequently observed, in comparingthe conduct of the court andcozrntry parties, that the former arecommonly less assuming and dogmaticaliu con\-ersation, more apt to makeroncessic~ns; and tho' not, perh~ips,more susceptible of conviction, yet moroable to bear contricliction than tholatter ; wl~o are apt to fly out upon anyopposition, and to regard one as amercen;tr-y designing fellow, if heargues with any coolness and imp:trtiality,or makes ;iny concessions totheir ;tc\versaries. This is a fact, which,I believe, every o~le may hare oCserred,\vho has been much in companies wherepo1itic;ll questions hare been discussed ;t~io',~were one to ask the reason of thisdifference, every party would 1~ apt toassign a different reason. Gentlemenin the Opposition will ascribe it to thevery nature of thrir party, which,being founded on pu!,lic spirit, and nzeal for the constitution, cannot easilyendure such doctrines, as are of perniciousconsequence to liberty. The courtiers,on the other hand, will be apt toput us in mind of the clown mentionedhp lord SIXAFTSBURY. " A clo\vn," S;l-Sthat excellent author,' "once took afmcy to hearthe Lntifz disputesofdoctorsat an university. He v7n.as asked whatpleasure he could take in viewing suchcombatants, when he could never knowso much, as which of the parties hadthe better. For that ~nntfer, repliedthe clown, I n'dt such a fool neither,but 1 can see who's the jifirst thut putst'othcr into a passio~t. Nature herselfdictated this lesson to the clown, thathe who had the better of the argumentwould be easy and well-humoured:But. he who was unal~le to support hiscause by reason would naturally losehis temper and grow violent."To which of these reasons shall weadhere ? To neither of them, in myopinion ; unless we have a mind toenlist ourselves aud become zealots ineither party. I Ijelieve I can assignthe reason of this different conrluc!t ofthe two parties, without offendingeither. The country party are plainlymost popular at present. and perhapsh:t~-e beer1 so in most administrations :So that, being accuston;ed to prevail incompany, they cannot endure to heartheir opinions controverted, but are asconfident on the public farour, as ifthey were supported in all their sentimentsby tho most infallible demon-stration. The courtiers, on the otherhnnd, are commonly so run down bypopular talkers, that if you speak tothem with acy moderation, or makethern the sm:tllest concessions, th~ythink themselves extremely belloldento you, and are apt to return the favourby a like rnnderation and facilitj 011Miscellaneous Rcflcctions, 107.their part. To be furious and passicnate,they know, would only gain them

118 ESSAY VI.be supposed a knave, and to have no other end, in all llisactions, than private interest. By this interest we mustgovern him, and, by means of it, uuake him, notwithstandinghis insatiable avarice and ambition, co-operate to publicgood. Without this, say they, we shall in vain boast of theadvantages of any constitution, and shall find, in the end,that we have no security for our liberties or possessions, exceptthe good-will ~f our rulers; that is, we shall have nosecurity at all.It is, therefore, a just political maxim, that every Inan mustbe supposed a knave : Though at the same time, it appearssomewhat strange, that a maxim should be true in polities,the character of shameless mercenaries ;not that of zealous patriots, which isthe character that such a warm behaviouris apt to acquire to the otherparty.In all controversies, we find, withoutregarding the truth or falshood oneither side, that those who defend theestablished and popular opinions, arealways the most dogmatical and imperiousin their stile: while their adversariesaffect almost extraordinarygentleness and moderation, in order tosoften, as much as possible, any prejudicesthat may lye against them. Considerthe behaviour of our-free-thinkersof all denominations, whether they besuch as decry all revelation, or onlyoppose the exorbitant power of theclergy ; Collilts, TinJal, Foster, Hoadley.Compare their moderation and goodmanners with the fcrious zeal andscurrility of their adversaries, and youwill be convinced of the truth ofmy observation. A like difference maybe observed in the conduct of thoseFrench writers, who maintained thecontroversy with regard to ancient andmodern learning. Boibau, Monsieuri~ntl Madame Dacier, 1'AbbB de Bos,\rho defended the party of the ancients,mixed their reasonings with satire andi~~vcctire ; while Fontenclle, la Motte,Cllarpenti~r, and even Perrault, nevertransgressed the bounds of moderation,t11(1 good breeding ; though provokedby the most injurious treatment oftheir adversaries.[I must. howerer, observe, that thisI:t'~l~i~l'k with regard to the seemingModeration of the Court Party, is entirelyconfin'd to Convcrsation, andto Gentlemen, who h:~re been engag'ciby Interest or Inclination in thatParty. For as to the Court-Writers,being commonly hir'd Scriblers, thclyare altogether as scurrilous as theMercenaries of the other Party; norhas the Gazeteer any Adrantt~ge, inthis Respect, above Com9j~on Sense. Aman of Education will, in any P;trty,discover himself to be such, by hisGood-breeding and Decency ; as aScoundrel will always bctrliy tlieopposite Qualities. The false Accz~sersaccus'd, &c. is very scurrillous, tho'that Side of the Question, being leastpopular, shou'd be defended with mostModeration. When L - d B - e,L - d M - t, Mr. L - 12 take thePen in Hand, tho' they write withWarmth, they presume rot upon theirPopularity so far as to transgress theBounds of Decency.llI am led into this train of reflection,by considering some papers wrote uponthat grand topic of court i~l~flzte?zce azdparliamentary dependence, where, in myhumble opinion, the country party,besides rehemence and satyre, shew toorigid an inflexibility, ancl too grent ajealousy of making concessions to theiradversaries. Their reasonings 1c.etheir force by being carried too far ; nil.1the popularity of their opinions h;lssetlucecl them to neglect in some measuretheir justness and solidity. The followingreason will, I hope, serve to justifyme in this opinion.][Tliis yai.ag~.spli is ouly found in E~lit~ions A and H.1INDEPENDENCY OF PA1iLIAMENl1.which is false in fact. Rut to satisfy us on this head, welnay consider, that men are generally more honest in theirmivate than in their public capacity, and will go greateriengths to serve a party, than when their own private interestis alone concerned. Hononr is a great check upon inankind :But where a considerable body of men act together, thischeck is, in a great measure, removed ; since a man is sureto be approved of by his own party, for what proinotes thecolnmon interest ; and he soon learns to despise the clamoursofTo which we may add, that every court orsenate is determined by the greater number of voices; sothat, if self-interest influences only the majority, (as it willalways do1) the whole senate follows the allurements of thisseparate interest, and acts as if it contained not one member,who had any regard to public interest and liberty.When there offers, therefore, to our censure and examination,any plan of government, real or imaginary, where thepower is distributed among several courts, and several ordersof men, we should always consider the separate interest ofeach court, and each order; and, if we find that, by theskilful division of power, this interest must necessarily, in itsoperation, concur with public, we may pronounce that governmentto be wise and happy. If, on the contrary, separateinterest be not checked, and be not directed to the public,we ought to look for nothing but faction, disorder, andtyranny from such a government. In this opinion I amjustified by experience, as well as by the authority of allphilosophers and politicians, both antient and modern.How much, therefore, would it have surprised such agenius as CICERO, or TACITUS, to have been told, that, in afuture age, there should arise a very regular system of mixedgovernment, where the a.ut1iority was so distributed, that onerank, whenever it pleased, might swallow up all the rest, andengross the whole power of the constitution. Such a government,they would say, will not be a mixed government. Forso great is the natural ambition of men, that they are neversatisfied with power; and if one order of men, by pursuingits own interest, can usurp upon every other order, it ivillcertainly do so, and render itself, as far as possible, absoluteand uncontroulable.But, in this opinion, experience shews they would haveEditioils A 10 D.][In the prcscint tlelbr;tvcd state of n~;~~iki~ld.

120 ESSAY VI. INDEPENDENCY OF PARIJIAMENT. 121been mistaken. For this is actually the case with the BRITISIIconstitution. The share of power, allotted by our constitutionto the house of commons, is so great, that it absolutelycomrilands all the other parts of the government. The king'slegislative power is plainly no proper check to it. For thoughthe king has a negative in framing laws; yet this, in fact, isesteemed of so little moment, that whatever is voted by thetwo houses, is always sure to pass into a law, and the royalassent is little better than a form. The principal weight ofthe crown lies in the executive power. But besides that theexecutive power in every government is altogether subordinateto the legislative ; besides this, I Lay, the exercise of thispower requires an immense expence ; and the commons haveassumed to themselves the sole right of granting money.How easy, therefore, would it be for that house to wrest fronlthe crown all these powers, one after another; by makingevery grant conditional, and choosing their time so well, thattheir refusal of supply should only distress the government,without giving foreign powers any advantage over us 2 Didthe house of commons depend in the same manner on theking, and had none of the members any property but fromhis gift, would not he command all their resolutions, a d befrom that mcment absolute? As to the house of lord:, theyare a very powerful support to the Crown, so long as theyare, in their turn, supported by it; but both experience andreason shew, that they have no force or authority sufficientto maintain themselves alone, without such support.How, therefore, shall we solve this paradox? And by whatmeans is this member of our constitution confined within theproper limits ; since, from our very constitution, it mustnecessarily have as much power as it demands, and can onlybe confined by itself P How is this consistent with our experienceof human nature ? I answer, that the interest ofthe body is here restrained by that of the individuals, andthat the house of commons stretches not its power, becausesuch an usurpation would be contrary to the interest of thelnajority of its members. The crown has so many offices atits disposal, that, when assisted by the honest and disinterestedpart of the house, it will always command the resolutionsof the whole so far, at least, as to preserve the antientconstitution fro~n danger. We may, therefore, give to thisinfluenco w11at rume we please ; we may call it by theinvidious appellations of co~ruption and dependence ; but sorrledegree and some kind of it are inseparable fkom the verynature of the constitution, and necessary to the preservatiorlof our mixed government.Instead then of asserting1 absolutely, that the dependenceof parliament, in every degree, is an infringement of BRITISHliberty, the country-party should have made some concessionsto their adversaries, -and- have only examined what was theproper degree of this dependence, beyond which it becamedangerous to liberty. But such a m~dera~tion is not to beexpected in party-men of any kind. After a concession ofthis nature, all declamation must be abandoned ; and a calmenquiry into the proper degree of court-influenee and parliamentarydependence would have been expected by thereaders. ~ n dthough - the advantage, in sucG a controversy,might possibly remain to the country-party ; yet the victorywould not be so compleat as they wish for, nor would a truepatriot .have given an entire loose to his zeal, for fear ofrunning matters into a contrary extreme, by diminishing toofar the influence of the crown. It was, therefore, thoughtbest to deny, that this extreme could ever be dangerousUtothe constitution, or that the crown could ever have-too littleinfluence over members of parlianient.All questions concerning the proper medium betweenextremes are difficult to be decided; both because it is noteasy to find words proper to fix this medium, and because thegood and ill, in such cases, run so gradually into each other,as even to render our sentiments doubtful and uncertain. ~ u tthere is a peculiar difficulty in the present case, which wouldembarrass the most knowing and most impartial examiner.The power of the crown is always lodged in a single person,either king or minister; and as this person may have eithera greater or less degree of ambition, capacity, courage, popularity,or fortune, the power, which is too great in one hand,See Dissertation on Parties, throughout.By that injluence of the crown,which I would justify, I mean only,that arisihg from the offices and honourswhich are at the disposal of the crown.AS to private briber.y, it may be consideredin the same light ;IS thc priLcticeof employing spies, which is scarcejustifiable in a good millister, and isinfamous in a bad one: But to bc aspy, or to be corrupted, is always infamousunder all ministers, and is to beregarded as a shameless prostitution.POLYBIUS justly esteen~s the pecuniaryinfluence of tlie senate and censors tobe one of the regular and constitutionalweights, which preserved the balance ofthe ROA~AN government, Lib. 6, cap.15. [The reference to PolyLius wasaclded in Edition K.]

THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT, 123may become too little in another. In pure republics, wherethe authority is distributed among several assemblies orsenates, the checks and controuls are more regular in theiroperation ; because the members of such numerous assembliesmay be presumed to be always nearly equal in capacity andvirtue; and it is only their number, riches, or authority,which ent,er into consideration. But a limited monarchyadmits not of any such stability; nar is it possible to assignto the crown such a determinate degree of power, as will, inevery hand, form a proper counterbalance to the other partsof the constitution. This is an unavoidable disadvantage,among the niany advantages, at'tending that species ofgovernment.ESSAY VI1.-Whether the British Government inclines moreto Absolute Monarchy,, or to a Republic.IT affords a violent prejudice against almost every science,that no prudent man, however sure of his principles, daresprophesy concerning any event, or foretel the remote consequencesof things. A physician will not venture to pronounceconcerning the condition of his patient a fortnightor month after : And still less dares a politician foretel thesituation of public affairs a few years hence. HARRINGTONthought himself so sure of his general principle, that t7zebalance of power depends on that of property, that he venturedto pronounce it impossible ever to re-establish ino~larclly inENGLAND : But his book was scarcely published when theking was restored ; and we see, that monarch? has evek sincesubsisted upoil the same footing as before. Notwithstandingthis unlucky example, I will venture to examine an irnportantquestion, to wit, W7~ether the BRITISH gvuernment inclinesmore to absolute monarclry, or to a republic; and in which ofthese tzuo species of yove~nment it will most probablp terminate ?As there seems not to be any great danger of a sudden revolutioneither way, I shallat least escape the shame attendingmy temerity, if I should be found to have been mistaken.Those who assert, that the balance of our governlneilt inclinestowards absolube monarchy, may support their opinionby the following reasons. That property has a great influenceon power cannot possibly be denied ; but yet the general~naxin~, that the bcclclr~ce qf one dc21encb on the balance of t7ieother, must be received with several limitations. It is evident,that much less property in a single hand will be ableto connterbalance a greater property in several; not onlybecause it is difficult to make many persons combine in thesame views and measures ; but because property, when,ited, causes much greater dependence, than the same property,when dispersed. A hundred persons, of 10001. a yeara-piece, can consume all their income, and no body shallever be the better for them, except their servants and tradesmen,who justly regard their profits as the product of theirown labour. But a man possessed of 100,0001. a year, if hehas either any generosity or any cunning, may create a greatdependence by obligations, and still a greater by expectations.Hence we may observe, that, in all free governments,any subject exorbitantly rich has always created jealousy,even though his riches bore no proportion to those of thestate. CRASSUS'S fortune, if I remember well, amounted lonly to2 about two millions and a half of our money ; yet wefind, that, though his genius was nothing extraordinary, hewas able, by means of his riches alone, to counterbalance,during his lifetime, the power of PONPEY as well as that ofCBSAR, who afterwards became master of the world. Thewealth of the MEDICI made then1 masters of FLORENCE;though, it is probable, it was not considerable, compared tothe united property of that opulent republic.These consideratiolls are apt to make one entertain a magnificentidea of the BRITISH spirit and love of liberty; sincewe could maintain our free government, during so many centuries,against our sovereigns, who, besides the power anddignity and majesty of the crown, have always been possessedof much more property than any subject has ever enjoyed inany commonmealth. But it may be said, that this spirit,however great, will never be able to support itself againstthat immense property, which is now lodged in the king, andwhich is still encreasing. Upon a moderate computation,there are near three millions a year at the disposal of thecrown. The civil list amounts to near a million ; the collectionof all taxes to another; and the employments in the' [Editions A and B: to Three ThousandTalents rt Year, about ~oo,0001.~t~rlin~.--mi~i~~~ D to Q, : only t,oabout sixteen h~uldred thousand poundsin our money.]2 [Editions D to Q add: As interestin Rome was higher tliwn with US, thismight yield above 100,0001. it yeilr.1

ESSAY VIT.army and navy, together with ecclesiastical preferments, toabove a third million : An enormous sum, and what mayfairly be computed to be more than a thirtieth part of thewhole income and labour of t'he kingdom. When we add tothis great property, the encreasing luxury of the nation, ourproneness to corruption, together with the great power andprerogatives of the crown, and the command of military force,there is no one but must despair of being able, without extraordinaryefforts, to support our free government much -longzr under these disadvantages.On the other hand, those who maintain, that the byass ofthe BRITISH government leans towards a republic, may supporttheir opinion by specious arguments. It may be said,that, though this immense property in the crown, be joinedto the dignity of first magistrate, and to many other legalpowers and prerogatives, which should naturally give itgreater influence ; yet it really becomes less dangerous toliberty upon that very account. Were ENGLAND a republic,and were ally private man possessed of a revenue, a third, oreven a tenth part as large as that of the crown, he wouldvery justly excite jealousy ; because he would infallibly havegreat authority, in the government : And such an irregularauthority, not avowed b-j the laws, is always more dangeroustl~an a much greater authority, derived from them. A man,possessed of usurped power, can set no bounds to his pretensions:l His partizans have liberty to hope for every thing inhis favour : His enemies provoke his ambition, with his fears,by the violence of their opposition: And the governmentbeing thrown into a ferment, every corrupted hun;our in thestate naturally gathers to him. On the contrary, a legalauthority, thong11 great, has always some bounds, which terminateboth the hopes and pretensions of the person possessedof it: The laws must have provided a remedy against itsexcesses : Such an eminent ii~agistrate has much to fear,and little to hope from his usnrpations : And as liis legalallthority is quietly submitted to, he has small temptationand small opportunity of extending it farther. Besides, ithappens, with regard to ambitious aims and projects, whatmay be observed with regard to sects of pllilosophy and reli-[E(!itions A to K have the note:011 nr rnontt: ,jiti~ldi$-i l ~ u ((11~ t qui~nc!on ne scait pds ou 011 VP, said C'ron~n-ellto the President de Be1lieme.-DeReti* JIemoirs.]THE BRITlSH GOVERNMENT.gion. a ne-N sect excites such a ferment, and is both oyanddefended with such vehemence, that it alwaysfaster, and multiplies its partizans with greaterrapidity, tl~sn any old established opinion, re-ommended by.the sanction of tile laws and of antiquity. Such is the natureof novelty, that, where any thing pleases, it becomes doublyagreeable, if new; but if it displeases, it is doubly displeasing,upon that very account. And, in most cases, the violence ofenemies is favourable to ambitious projects, as well as thezeal of partizans.It inay farther be said, that, though men be much governedby interest; yet even interest itself, and all hurnan affairs,are entirely governed by opinion. Now, there has been asudden and 'sensible change in the opinions of men ~~ithiilthese last fifty years, by the progress of learning and ofliberty. Most people, in this island, have divested theinselvesof all superstitious reverence to names and authority :The clergy have * much lost their credit : Their pretensionsand doctrines have been ridiculed ; and even religion canscarcely support itself in the world. Tlle mere narne of kingcommalids little respect; and to talk of a king as GOD'Sviceregent on earth, or to give him any of those magniGcenttitles, which formerly dazzled mankind, would but excitelaughter in every one. Though the crown, by means of itslarge revenue, may maintain its authority in times of tranquillity,upon private interest and influence ; yet, as the leastshock or convulsioil must break all these interests to pieces,the royal power, being no longer supported by the settledprinciples arid opinions of men, will immediately dissolve.Had men been in the same disposition at the revolution, asthey are at present, monarchy would have run a great risqueof being entirely lost in this island.Durst I venture to deliver my own sentiments anlidst theseopposite arguments, I would assert, that, unless there happensome extraordinary convulsion, the power of the crowli, bymeans of itAs large revenue, is rather upon the encrease;though, at the same time I own, that its progress seemsvery slow, and allnost insensible. The tide has run long,and with some rapidity, to the side of popular government,and is just beginning to turn towards monarchy.It is well known, that every government must come to a' [Editions A torend : h:~vr entiroly lost.]

126 ESSAY VTI. OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. 127period, and that death is unavoidable to the political as wellas to the animal body. But, as one kind of death may belxeferable to another, it may be enquired, whether it belrlore desirable for the BRITISH constitution to terminate ina popular government, or in absolute monarchy ? Here Iwould frankly declare, that, though liberty be preferable toslavery, in almost every case; yet I should rather wish tosee an absolute monarch than a republic in this island. For,let us consider, what kind of republic we have reason to expect.The question is not concerning any fine imaginaryrepublic, of which a man may form a plan in his closet.There is no doubt, but a popular government may be iinaginedmore perfect than absolute monarchy, or even thanour present constitution. But what reason have we to expectthat any such government will ever be established inGREAT BRITAIN, upon the dissolution of our monarchy ? Ifany single person acquire power enough to take our constitutionto pieces, and put it up a-new, he is really an absoluterrlonarch ; srld we have already had an instailce of thiskind, sufficient to convince us, that such a person mill neverresign his power, or establish any free government. Matters,therefore, must be trusted to their natural progress andoperation ; and the house of commons, according to its pre-~ent constitution, must be the only legislature in such apopular government. The inconveniencies attending such asituation of affairs, present themselves by thousands. If thehouse of cominons, in such a case, ever dissolve itself, whichis not to be expected, we may loolc for a civil war everyelection. If it continue itself, we shall suffer all the tyrannyof a faction, subdivided into new factions. And, as such aviolent government cannot long subsist, we shall, at last,after many convulsions, and civil wars, find repose in absolutemonarchy, which it would have been happier for us tohave established peaceably from the beginning. Absolutemonarchy, therefore, is the easiest death, the true Euthanasiaof the BRITISH constitution.Thus, if we have reason to be more jealous of monarchy,because the danger is more imminent from that quarter ; wehave also reason to be rnore jealous of popular government,because that danger is more terrible. This may teach us alesson of moderation in all our political controversies.ESSAY VII1.-Of Parties in General.OF men, that distinguish themselves by memorableatchievernent~, the first place of honour seems due to LEGIS-LATORS and founders of states, who transmit a, system of lawsillstitution~ to secure the peace, happiness, and libertyof future generations. The influence of useful inventions inthe arts and sciences may, perhaps, extend farther than thatof wise laws, whose effects amre limited both i11 time andplace ; but the benefit arising from the former, is not so sensibleas that which results from the latter. Speculativesciences do, indeed, improve the mind ; but this advantagereaches only to a few persons, who have leisure to applythemselves to them. And as to practical arts, which encreasethe commodities and enjoynients of life, it is wellknown, that men's happiness consists not so much in anabundance of these, as in the peace and security with whichthey possess them ; and those blessings can only be derivedfrom good government. Not to mention, that general virtueand good morals in a state, which are so requisite to happiness,can never arise from the most refined precepts of philosophy,or even the severest injunctions of religion ; but mustproceed entirely from the virtuous education of youth, theeffect of wise laws and institutions. I must, therefore, presumeto differ from Lord BACON in this particular, and mustregard antiquity as somewhat unjust in its distribution ofhonours, when it made gods of all the inventors of usefularts, such as CEBES, BACCHUS, XSCULAPIUS ; and dignifylegislators, such as ROMULUS and THESEUS, only with theappellation of demigods and heroes.A.s much as legislators and founders of states ought to behonoured and respected among men, as much ought thefounders of sects and factions to be detested and hated;because the influence of faction is directly contrary to thatof laws. Factions subvert government, render laws impotent,and beget the fiercest animosities anlong men of thesame nation, who ought to give mutual assistance and protectionto each other. And what should render the foundersof parties more odious is, the difficulty of extirpating theseweeds, when once they have taken root in any state. Theynatuwlly propagate themselves for many centuries, andseldom end but by the total dissolution of that government,

128 ESSAY VIII. OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. 109in which they are sown. They are, besides, plants wllichgrow most plentifully in the richest soil-; and though absolutegovernments be not wholly free from them, it nlust beconfessed, that they rise more easily, and propagate themselvesfaster in free governments, where they always infect,the legislature itself, ~ hich alone could be able, by tlie steadyapplication of rewards a,nd punishnlents, to eradicate them.Factions may be divided into PER~ONAL and REAL ; thatis, into factions, founded on personal friendship or animosityamong such as compose the contending parties, and intothose founded on some real difference of sentiment or interest.The reason of this distinction is obvious ; though Imust acknowledge, that parties are seldom found pure andunmixed, either of tlie one kina or the other. It is not oftenseen, that a government divides into factions, where there isno difference in the views of the constituent members, eitherreal or apparent, trivial or nzsterial : And in those factions,which are founded on the most real and inost material difference,there is always observed a great deal of persolla1 animosityor affection. But notwithstanding this mixture, aparty may be denominated either personal or real, accordingto that principle which is predominant, and is found to havethe greatest influence.Personal factious arise most easily in snlall republics.Every dome.:tic quarrel, there, becomes an :,ffair of state.Love, vanity, emulation, any passion, as well as ambitionand resentment, begets public division. The NERI andBIANCHI of FLORENCE, the FREGOSI and ADORNI of GENOA,the COLONEST and ORSINI of modern ROME, were parties ofthis kind.Men have such a propensity to divide into personal factions,that the smallest appearance of real difference willproduce them. What can be imagined more trivial thanthe difference between one colour of livery and another inhorse races ? Yet this difference begat two most inveteratefactions in the GREEK empire, the YRASINI and VENETI, whonever suspended their animosities, till they ruined that unhappygovernment.' We find in the ROMAN history a remarkable dissensionbetween two tribes, the POLLIA and PAPIRIA, which continuedfor the space of near three hundred years, and discovered[This paragraph was added in Fdition B.]itself in their suffrages at every election of n~agistmtrs.~Tllis faction was the mom remarkable, as it coul(1 continuefor so long a tract of tiine; even tliough it did not spreaditself, nor draw any of the other tribes into a slmre of theql~arrel. If mankiird liad not a strong propensity to suchclivisions, tlie indifferellce of the rest of the coinlntlnitynlust hare suppressed this foolish animosity, that had notally ali~llent of new benefits and injuries, of general sy121-pathy and antipathy, which never hi1 to take place, whenthe whole state is relit into two equal factions.Nothing is more usual than to see parties, wllich llavcbegun upon a real difference, continue even after that differenceis lost. When men are once inlisted on opposilesides, they contract an affection to the persons with wlloiilthey are united, and an animosity against their antagonists :And these passions they often transmit to their posterity.The real difference between GUELF and GHIBBELLINE waslong lost in Italy, before these fkctioiis were extingnished.The GUELFS adhered to the pope, the GHIBBELLINES to theemperor; yet the fanlily of SFORZA, who mere in alliancewith the emperor, though they were GUELFS, being expelledMILAN by the king2 of FRANCE, assisted by JACOMO TRIVULZIOand the GHIBBELLINES, the pope concurred with the latter,and they formed leagues with the pope against the emperor.The civil wars which arose some few years ago in Mo-ROCCO, between tlie blacks and whites, merely on account oftheir complexion, are founded on a pleasant difl'ertnce.MTe laugh at them ; but I believe, were things rightly examined,we afford much more occasion of ridicule to theMOORS. For, what are all the wars of religion, which havcprevailed in this polite and knowing part of the world?They are certainly more absurd than the Aloonrs~ civil wars.' As this fact has not been much corona kge he7li vejtire : ,4ie1norinn1qlteot~served by antiquaries or politicians, US ire TU~CULANIY 2iZ l)a?ll(E. tolitI shall deliver it in the worcls of the ntrocis u/tctorcs mcl,lsi.cse nd patrr.9ROMAN historian. popuiz(s TU~C~LANVS etatern conatnt ; ~tcc yllemquam .fcre rxcunz conjugihus nc liberis ROMAX vc~~it : Po~~r~trihti cnnd/dntzc.t,~ PAPI~IA\~ fcrre$,'a ?nultitudo, veste mutntn, et specie snlitnl,~, T. Lrvlr, lib. 8. 37. The CA~TI:-rfortt~n tribus circuit,gcltibzis se oinl~izi~n LASI ant1 NICOI,I.OTI are two rnoljl~ish(t~volvazs. Plus itnque ?wisericordia nd fdctions in \ T~sr~~, who frecluent,ly box~ @ I z @ cell int)~ inipetm?tdtr 111, q lcn111 cibusn together, and then lny aside tlieir(12 crililen purgn,~dlim tlcrlrtit. 7'ribu~ quarrels prp5ently. [The last sentenceol~lnea p~'(~fcr POLLIAY, antiqll~lrui,t w;is added in Edition D.]iq:clem. POLLI.~ sentpntin .fttit, pzther~s LEWI~ XII.~'erh~ruios necart, lrheros c-onjtryesque svb

130 ESSAY VIII. OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. 131The difference of complexion is a sensible and a real difference: But the controversy about an article of hith, whichis utterly absurd and unintelligible, is not a difference insentiment, but in a few phrases and expressions, which oneparty accepts of, without understanding them ; and theother refuses in the same manner.'Real factions may be divided into those from interest, fromprilzciple, and from afection. Of all factions, the first arethe most remonable, and the most excusable. When twoorders of men, such as the nobles and people, have a distinctauthority in a government, not very accurately balanced andmodelled, they naturally follow a distinct interest ; nor canwe reasonably expect a different conduct, considering thatdegree of selfishness implanted in human nature. It requiresgreat skill in a legislator to prevent such parties; and manyphilosophers are of opinion, that this secret, like the grandelizir, or perpetual motion, may amuse Inen in theory, but -can never possibly be reduced to practice. In despoticgovernments, indeed, factions often do not appear ; but theyare not the less real; or rather, they are more real andmore pernicious, upon that very account. The distinctorders of men, nobles and people, soldiers and merchants,have all a distinct interest ; but the more powerful oppressesthe weaker with impunity, and without resistance ; whichbegets a seeming tranquillity in such government^.^, Ther: has been an attempt in ENGLAND to divide thelanded and trading part of the nation; but without success.The interests of these two bodies are not really distinct,and never wiZl be so, till our pu.blic debts encrease to such adegree, as to become altogether oppressive and intolerable.Parties from principle, especially abstract speculativeprinciple, are known only to modern times, and are, perhaps,the most extraordinary and unaccountable phmnomenon, thathas yet appeared in human affairs. Where different principlesbeget a contrariety of conduct, which is the case withall different political principles, the matter may be more[Editions A to P add the following : form a real opinion, more at his disposalBesides, I do not find that the whites than his complexion? And can one bsin MOROCCO ever imposed on the blacks induced by force or fear to do moreany nece~ity of altering their com- than paint and disguise in the one caseplexion, or threatened them with inqui- as well as in the other ?Isitions and pend laws in case of obsti- [See Considerations stir le Grandeurnacy : nor have the blwks been more et stcr la Dezadtnce de Ronzclins. Ediunreasonablein this particular. But tion K.]is n man's opinion, where he is able toeasily explained. A man, who esteems the true right ofgovernment to lie in one man, or one family, cannot easilyagree with his fellow-citizen, who thinks that another manor family is possessed of this right. Each naturally wishesthat right may take place, according to his own notions ofit. But where the difference of principle is attended withno contrariety of action, but every one may follow his ownway, without interfering with his neighbour, as happens inall religious controversies : what madness, what fury canbeget such unhappy and such fatal divisions 2Two men travelling on the highway, the one east, theother west, can easily pass each other, if the way be broadenough: But two men, reasoning upon opposite principlesof religion, cannot so easily pass, without shocking ; thoughone should think, that the way were also, in that case, sufficientlybroad, and that each rnight proceed, without interruption,in his own course. But such is the nature of thehunian mind, that it always lays hold on every mind thatapproaches it; and as it is wonderfully fortified by anunanimity of sentiments, so is it shocked and disturbed byany contrariety. Hence the eagerness, which most peoplediscover in a dispute ; and hence their impatience of opposition,even in the most speculative and indifferent opinions.This principle, however frivolous it may appear, seemsto have been the origin of all religious wars and divisions.But as this principle is universal in human nature, its effectswould not have been confined to one age, and to one sectof religion, did it not there concur with other more accidentalcauses, which raise it to such a height, as to producethe greatest misery and devastation. Most religions of theancient world arose in the unknown ages of government,when men mere as yet barbarous and uninstructed, and tlleprince, as well as the peasant, was disposed to receive, withimplicit faith, every pious tale of fiction, which was offeredhim. The ma.gistrate embraced the religion of the people,and entering cordially into the care of sacred matters,naturally acquired an authority in them, and united theecclesiastical with the civil power. But the Christian1-eligion arising, while principles directly opposite to itwere firully established in the polite part of the world whodespised the nation that fildt broached this novelty ;110 wo:icler, that, in such circumstances, it was but little

132 ESSAY VIIT.countenanced by the civil magistrate, and that the priesthoodwas allowed to engross all the authority in the newsect. So bad a use did they make of this power, even inthose early times, that the primitive persecutions may,perhaps, in part,' be ascribed to the violence instilled bythem into their followers. And the same principles ofpriestly government continuing, after ~hristianit~ becamethe established religion, they have engendered a spirit ofpersecution, which has ever since been the poison of humansociety, and the source of the most invet,erate factions inevery government. Such divisions, therefore, on the part ofthe people, may justly be esteemed factions of principle ; but,on the part of the priests, who are the prime movers, theyare really factions of interest.There is another cause (beside the authority of the priests,and the separation of the ecclesiastical and civil powers)which1 has contributed to render CHRISTENDOM the kene ofreligious wars and divisions. Religions, that arise in agestotally ignorant and barbarous, consist mostly of traditionaltales and fiction.8, which may be different in every sect, witlioutbeing contrary to each other; and even when they arecontrary, every one adheres to the tradition of his own sect,without much reasoning or disputation. But as philosophywas widely spread over the world, at the time when Christianityarose, the teachers of the new sect were obliged toform a system of speculative opinions ; to divide, with-someaccuracy, their articles of faith ; and to explain. comment,* I say, in part; For it is a vulgarerror to imagine, that the ancients wereas great friends to toleratipn as theENGLISH or DUTCH are at present. Thelaws against extarnal superetition,amongst the ROMANS, were as ancient[as the time of the twelvetables] ; and the JEWS as well as CHRIS-TIANS were sometimes punished bythem ; though, in general, these lawswere not rigorously executed. Immediatelyafter the conquest of GAUL, theyforbad all but the natives to be initiatedinto the religion of the DRUIDS ;and this was a kind of persecution. Inabout a century after this conquest, [theemperor, CLAUDIUS,] quite abolishedthat superstition by penal laws ; whichwould have been a very grievous persecution,if fhe imitation of the ROMANmanners had not, before-hand, weanedthe GAULS from their ancient prejudices.SUETONIUS in vita CLAUDII. [PLJNYascribes the abolition of the Druidicalsuperstitions to TLBERIUS, probablybecause that emperor had taken somesteps towards restraining them (lib.mxx. cap. i.)] This is an instance of theusual caution and moderation of theROMANS in such cases ; and verydifferent from their violent and sanguinsrymethod of treating the Christians.Hence we may entertain a suspicion,that those f&ous persecutionsof Christianity were in some measureowing to the imprudent zeal and bigotryof the first propagators of that sect ; andEcclesiastical history affords us manyreasons to confirm this suspicion. [Thisnote is not in A. B and D read: ' werevery ancient,' ' they quite,' and omit thereference to PLINY.]OF PARTIES IN GENERAL. 133confute, and defend with all the subtilty of argument andscience. Hence naturally arose keenness in dispute, whenthe Christian religion came to be split into new divisions andheresies : And this keenness assisted the priests in theirpolicy, of begetting a mutual hatred and antipathy amongtheir deluded followers. Sects of philosophy, in the ancientworld, were more zealous than parties of religion; but i11modern times, parties of religion are more furious andthan the most cruel factions that ever arose frominterest and ambition.I hare mentioned parties from afection as a kind of realparties, beside those from interest and principle. By partiesfrom affection, I understand those which are founded on thedifferent attachments of men towards particular faillilies andpersons, whom they desire to rule over them. These factionsare often very violent ; though, I must own, it may seemunaccountable, that men should attach themselves so stronglyto persons, with whom they are no wise acquainted, whomperhaps they never saw, and from whom they never received,nor can ever hope for any favour. Yet this we often find tobe the case, and even with men, who, on other occasions,discover no great generosity of spirit, nor are found to beeasily transported by friendship beyond their own interest.We are apt to think the relation between us and our sovereignvery close and intima.te. The splendonr of majesty andpower bestows an importance on the fortunes even of asingle person. And when a man's good-nature does notgive him this imaginary interest, his ill-nature will, fromspite and opposition to persons whose sentiments are differentfrom his own.ESSAY 1X.-Of the Parties of Great Britain.WERE the British Governnient proposed as a subject ofspeculation, one: would immediately perceive in it a sourceof division and party, which it would be almost ilnpossiblefor it, under any administration, to avoid. The just balancebetween the republican and monarchical part of our constitutionis really, in itself, so extremely delicate and uncertain,that, when joined to men's passions and prejudices, it isimpossible but different opinions must arise concerning it,even among persons of the best understanding. Those of

134 ESS.4Y IX. THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. 135mild tempers, who love peace and order, and detest seditiouand civil wars, will always entertain more favourable sentimentsof monarchy, than men of bold and generous spirits,who are passionate lovers of liberty, and think no evil comparableto subjection and slavery. And tl~ough all reasonablemen agree in general to preserve our mixed government ;yet, when they come to particulars, some will incline to trustgreater powers to the crown, to bestow on it illore influence,and to guard against its encroachments with less caution,than others who are terrified at the iiiost distant approachesof tyranny and despotic power. Thus are there parties ofPRINCIPLE involved in the very nature of our constitution,which may properly enough be denominated those of COURTand COUNTRY.^ The strength and violence of each of theseparties will much depend upon the particular administration.An administration may be so bad, as to tllrow a greatmajority into the opposition ; as a good adnlinistration willreconcile to the court many of the most passionate lovers ofliberty. But however the nation iriay fluctuate betweenthem, the parties theinselves will always subsist, so long aswe are governed by a limited monarchy.But, besides this difference of Pri?~ciple, those parties arcvery much fomented by a difference of INTEREST, withoutwhich they could scarcely ever be dangerous or violent. Thecrown will naturally bestow all trust and power upon those,whose principles, real or pretended, are most favourable tomonarchical government ; and this t~mpt~ation will natui*allyengage them to go greater lengths than their principleswould otherwise carry them. Their antagonists, who weredisappointed in their ambitious aims, throw theillselves intothe party whose sentiments incline thein to be most jea,lousof royal power, and naturally carry those sentiments to agreater height than sound politics will justify. Thus Courtand Country, which are the genuine offspring of the BRITISH[Editions A to P add the following Popz~ktres; and CICERO, like a truenote : These words ha~ebecome of gene- party mitn, defines the Oytisurrtes to Lt:ral use, and therefore I shall employ such as, in all public concluct. regnlt~teilthem, ~x-ithout inteni1i::g to express by thenlselves by the sentiments of thethem an universill blame of the one best and wortliiest of the Ro~~xs: Proparty, or approbation of the other. The Slxtio, cap. 45. The tcrln of Coz(~~trycourt-partymay, no doubt, on some pnrty niay t~fford a faroural~le definitionoccasions consult best the interest of or etymology of the same kind : But itthe country, and 'he country-party would be folly to draw any argumentoppose it. In like manner, the RO~~AN from that head, and I haveeregard to itparties were denominated Ojtintntes and in employing these terms,]government, are a kind of mixed parties, and are influencedboth by principle and by interest. The heads of the factionsme coinmollly niost governed by the latter motive ; theinferior mexnbers of them by the former.'As to ecclesiastical parties; we may observe, that, in allages of the world, priests have been enemies to liberty ;'alld it is certain, that this steady conduct of theirs musthave been founded on fixed reasons of interest and ambition.Liberty of thinking, and of expressing our thoughts, isalways fatal to priestly power, and to those pious frauds, onwhich it is commonly founded ; and, by an infallible connexion,which prevails among all kinds of liberty, this privilegecan never be enjoyed, at least has never yet beenenjoyed, but in a free government. Hence it must happen,in such a constitution as that of GREAT BRITAIN, that theestablished clergy, while things are in their natural situation,will alwaj-s be of the Court-party ; as, on the contrary,dissenters of all kinds will be of the Qou?ttry-party; sincethey can never hope for that toleration, which they stand inneed of, but by means of our free government. All princes,that have aimed at despotic power, have known of what importanceit was to gain the established clergy: As theclergy, on their part, have shewn a great facility on enteringinto the views of such prince^.^GUSTAVUS VAZA was,perhaps, the only ambitious monarch, that ever depressedthe church, at the same time that he discouraged liberty.But the exorbitant power of the bishops in SWEDEN, who, itthat time, overtopped the crown itseif, together with theirattachment to a foreign family, was the reason of his embracingsuch an unusual system of politics.[Eclitions A to P add the following :I must be understood to mean this ofpersons who have motives for takingparty on any side. For, to tell thetruth, the greatest part are commonlymen who associitte themselves theyknow not why; from example, frompassim, from idleness. But still it isrequisite, that there be some source ofdivision, either in principle or interest ;otllerwise'such persons would not findpnrties, to which they could associatethemselves.]* [Editions B to P add the note:This pn)position is true, notwithstanding,that in the early times of the ENG-LISH government, the clergy were thegroat and principal opposers of thecrown : But, at that time, their possessionswere so immensely great, that theyco~nposed a considerable part of thepro~rie,ors of EXGLAND, and in manycontests were direct rivals of thecrown.]a Judaei sibi ipsi reges imposuere ;qui mobilitate vulgi expulsi, resumptaper arma dominatione ; fugns civium,urbium eversiones, fratrum, conjugam,parentum neces, aliaque solita regibusausi, superstitionem fovebant ; quiahonor sacerdotii firmamentum potentiaeassumebatur. TACIT. hist. lib. r. 8.[This note was added in Edition K.]

136 ESSAY IX. TIlE RrI'IgS OF G1ti2:I'l1 Rki I'I'A IN. 127Th ia observation, concerning tlie propensity of priests tothe government of a, single person, is not true with regardto one sect only. The Presbyterian and Calvi~~istic clergy inHOLLAND were professed friends to the family of ORANGE ;as tlie Arrninians, who were esteemed heretics, were of theLOUVESTEIN faction, and zealous for liberty. But if a princehave the choice of both, it is easy to see, that he will preferthe episcopal to the presbyterian form of government, bothbecause of the greater affinity between monarchy and episcopacy,and because of the facility, which he will find, insucll a government, of ruling tlle clergy, by means of theirecclesiastical superiors.If we consider the first rise of parties in ENGLAND, duringthe great rebellion, we shall observe, that it was conforinableto this general theory, and that the species of governmentgave birth to them, by a regular and infallible operation.The ENGLISH constitutioii, before that period, had lain in akind of confusion ; yet so, as that the subjects possessedmany noble privileges, which, though not exactly boundedand secured by law, were universally deemed, from long possession,to belong to them as their birth-right. An ambitious,or rather a misguided, prince arose, who deemed all theseprivileges to be concessions of his predecessors, revokeableat pleasure ; and, in prosecution of this principle, he openlyacted in violation of liberty, during the course of severalyears. Necessity, at last, constrained him to call a parliament:The spirit of liberty arose and spread itself: Theprince, being without any support, was obliged to grant everything required of him : And his enemies, jealous and implacable,set no bounds to their pretensions. Here then beganthose contests, in which it was no wonder, that inen of thatage %ere divided into different parties ; since, even at thisday, the impartial are at a loss to decide concerning thejustice of the quarrel. The pretensions of the parliament,if yielded to, broke the bdance of the constitution, by renderingthe government almost entirely republican. If notyielded to, the nation was, perhaps, still in danger of absolutepower, from the settled principles and inveterate habits ofthe king, which had plainly appeared in every concessionthat he had been constrained to make to his people. In thisI'opuli impcrillm ,juxta libertatem : pr:prior eat.. TACIT. AIIPL. lih. vi. 41.paucorurri dolninatio reg;% libidini ['Ihis note was .adclctl in Edition K.lauestioli, so delicate and uncertain, men riatturctlly fell to t,hcii~p which was niost conforinable to their nsnai principles ;irlld the more passionate favolrrers of rnonarchy d&l;lr&d fortile king, as the zealous friends of liberty sided-with the parliament.The hopes of success being nearly equal on bothsides, interest had no general influenee in this contest : Sothat ROUND-HEAD and CAVALIER were merely parties of principles; neither of which disowned either monarchy or liGrty;but the former party inclined most to the republican part ofour government, the latter to the rnonarcliical. In thisrespect, they may be coilsidered as court and country-party,enflamed into a civil war, by an unhappy concurrence ofcircumstnrnces, and by the turbulent spirit of the age. Thecommonwealth's men, and the partizans of ahsalute power, layconcealed in both - parties, and formed but an inconsiderablepart of them.The clergy had concurred with the king's arbitrary designs;and, in return, were allowed to persecute their adversaries,whom they called heretics and schismatics. The establishedclergy were episcopal ; the non-conformists presbyterian : Sothat all things concurred to throw the former, without reserve,into the king's party; and the latter into that of thenarliamen t.IEvery one knows the event of this quarrel; fattal to theking first, to the parliament afterwards. After many confusionsand revolutions, the royal family was at last restored,and the ancient governn~ent re-established. CHARLES 11. wasnot made wiser by the example of his father; but prosecutedthe same measures, though at first, with more secrecy andcaution. New parties arose, under the appellation of Wltiyand Tory, which have continued ever since to confound anddistract our government. To determine the nature of these[For this paragraph Etlitions and the latter illto that of the purlia-A to P substitute the following: ment. The Cacaliers being the court-The clergy had concurred with party, and the Round-hrads the countrytheking's arbitrary designs, according party, the union was inf;~llible bbtweento their usud maxims in such cases : the former ant1 the rsta1,lishecl prelacy,And, in return, were allowed to perse- and between the latter and presbyteriancute hheir adversaries, whom they called non-conformists. This union is soheretics and schismatics. The estab- natural, according to tlie general prinlishedclergy were episcopal ; the non- ciples of politics, that it requires someconformist.^ presbyterian : So that all very extraordinary situation of affairsthings concurrecl tp throw the former, to break it.]without reserve, into the king's party;[In a. shi~niele~~ 111anlier : A to K.]

138 ESSAY IX. TI1E PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. 139parties is, perhaps, one of the most difficult problems, thatcan be met with, and is a proof that history niay containquestions, as uncertain as any to be found in the most abstractsciences. We have seen the conduct of the two parties,during the course of seventy years, in a vast variety of circumstances,possessed of power, and deprived of it, duringpeace, and during war : Persons, who profess themselves ofone side or other, we meet with every hour, in company, in ourpleasures, in our serious occupations : We ourselves are constrained,in a manner, to take party; and living in a countryof t'he highest liberty, every one may openly declare all hissentiments and opinions; Yet are we at a, loss to tell thenature, pretensions, and principles of the differelit factions.'When we compare the parties of WHIG and TORY withthose of ROUXD-HEAD and CAVALIER, the most obvious difference,that appears between them, consists in the principlesof passive obedience, and indefeasible right, which were butlittle heard of among the CAVALIERS, but became the universaldoctrine, and were esteemed the true characteristic of aTORY. Were these principles pushed into their most obviousconsequences, they imply a, formal renunciation of all ourliberties, and an avowal of absolute monarchy; since nothingcan be a greater absurdity than a limited power, which mustnot be resisted, even when it exceeds its liniitations. But asthe most rational principles are often but a weak counterpoiseto passion ; it is no wonder that these absurd principleswere found too weak for that effect. The TORIES, as men,mere enemies to oppression ; and also as ENGLISHMEN,they were enemies to arbitrary power. Their zeal for liberty,was, perhaps, less fervent than that of their antagonists ;but was sufficient to make them forget all their generalprinciples, when they saw themselves openly threatened witha subversion of the ancient government. From these sentidentsarose the revolution ; an event of mighty consequence,and the firmest foundation of BRITISH liberty. The conductof the TORIES, during that event, and after it, will afford us atrue insight into the nature of that party.In the Jirst place, they appear to have had the genuinesentiments of BRITONS in their affection for liberty, and in' [Editions A to P add : The question according to a celebrated author, (Dis-is, perhaps, in itself, somewhat difficult;but has been rendered more so,by the prejudice and violence of party.1[Editions A to I' add : suficient,sertation on Parties, Lette~ 2d.) to she~ckthe common sense of a HOTTENTOT orSa;\iu~~~e.]their determined resolution not to sacrifice it to any abstractprinciple whatsoever, or to any imaginary rights of princes.This part of their character might justly have been doubtedof before the revolution, froin the obvious tendency of theiravowed principles, and from their1 compliances with a court,which seemed to make little secret of its arbitrary designs.The revolution shewed them to have been, in this respect,nothing, but a genuine court-party, such as might be expectedin a BRITISH goverrlment : That is, Lovers of liberty, bzctgreater lovers oj' monarchy. It must, however, be confessed,that they carried their monarchical principles farther, evenin practice, but more so in theory, than was, in any degree,consistent with a limited government.Secondly, Neither their principles nor affections concurred,entirely or heartily, with the settlenlent made at the revolutio~c,or vyith that which has since taken place. This part oftheir character may seem opposite to the for~ner ; since anyother settlement, in those circumstances of the nation, mustprobably have been dangerous, if not fatal to liberty. Butthe heart of man is made to reconcile contradictions: andthis cont'radiction is not greater than that between passiveobedience, and the resistance employed at the revolution. ATORY, therefore, since the recolution, may be defined in afew words, to be a lover of monarchy, though without abnndonkgliberty; and a partizan of the family of STUART. As aWHIG may be defined to be a lover of liberty though withozttre~rouncing monarchy ; and a friend to the settlement in thePROTESTANT line.aThese different views, with regard to the settlement of thecrown, were accidental, but natural additions to the principles' [Editions A to K read : nln~ost U~Lboundedcompliances. M to & : greatcompliances.][Editions A to P add the followingnote : The author' above cited hasasserted, that the REAL clibtinctiun be-twixt WHIG and TORY was lost at therer.olution, and that evor since they havecontinued to be mere personal parties,like the GUELFS and GIBBELIN~.~. afterthe emperors had lost all authority inI'SALY. Such an opinion, were it received,would turn our whole historyInto an aenigma ; [and is, irldeecl, so contrarjto the strongest Evidence, that aMan must have a great Opinion of hisown Eloquence to attempt the provingof it.-A and B.]I shall first mention, as a proof of areal distinction between these parties,what every one may hare obdervedor heard concerning the conduct andconversation of all his friends and ac-quaintance on both sides. Have notthe TORIES always borne an avowedaffection to the family of STUART, andhave not their adversariss always opposedwith vigour the succession of[Celebrated writer : A, B, and D.]that family ?The TOXY principles are collfessedly

140 ESSAY Ei.of tlhe court and country parties, which are the genuinedivisions in the BRITISH government. A passionate lover ofnionarchy is apt to be displeased at any change of the succession;as savouring too much of a commonwealth : A passionatelover of liberty is-apt to think that every part of the governmentought to be subordinate to the interests of liberty.Some, who will not venture to assert, that the real differencebetween WHIG and TORY was lost at the revolution,seem inclined to think, that the difference is now abolished,and that a@airs are so far returned to their natural state, thatthere are at present no other parties among us but couqit andcountry ; that is, men, who, by interest or principle, areattached either to ~llonarchy or liberty. The TORIES havebeen so long obliged to talk in the republican stile, that theyseem to have made converts of themselves by their hypocrisy,and to have embraced the sentiments, as well as language - - oftheir adversaries. There are, however, very considerableremains of thatl party in ENGLAND, wit,h all- their old prejudices; and a proof that court and country are not our onlyparties, is, that almost all the dissenters side with the court,a4nd the lower clergy, at least, of the church of ENGLAND,with the opposition. This may convince us, that some biassstill hangs upon our constitution, some extrinsic weight,tlie most favourable to monarchy. Yetthe Tories have almost always opposedthe court these fifty years; nor werethey cordial friends to King WILI-IAM,even when employed by him. Theirquarrel, therefore, cannot be supposed. to have lain wit11 the throne, but withthe person who S3t on it.They concurred heartily with thecwrt during the four last years ofQneen ANNB. But is any one at a lossto find tlie reason ?Tlie succebsion of the crown in theBRITISH government is a point of tooprt?wt consequence to be absolutely inc.itrerent to persons who concern themselves,in any degree, about the fortuneof tlie public; much less can it besupposed that the TORY party, whoRcvr valued tllemselres upon moderation,could maintain a stoical indifferelicein a point of such impsrtance.\Irere they, therefore, zealous for thehouse of HP.XOV~:R? Or was thereany thing that kept an opposite zeal1 [This l?wragl.;~ph is not in A and I).]from openly appearing, if it did notopenly appnar, but prudence, and asense of decency ?'Tis monstrous to see an establishedepiscopal clergy in declared oppositionto the court, and a non-conformist presbyterianclergy in conjunction with it.What could have produced such an un-natural conduct in both? Nothing,but that the former espoused monarchicalprinciples too high for the presentsettlement, which is founded on principlesof liberty: And the latter, beingafraid of the prevalence of those highprinciples, adhe~d to that party fromwhom they had reason to expect libertyand toleration.The different conduct of the twoparties, with regard to foreign politics,is also a proof to the same purpose.HOLLAND has always been most favouredby one, and FRANCE by theother. In short, the prcofs of thiskind seem so palpable and evident, that'tis almost needlcss to collect them.]THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. 141which turns it from its natural course, and causes a confusionin our parties.'[So the Essay concludes.in Editions Q and R. In place ofthe last paragraph, the preceding Editions read as follows :]'Tis however remarkable, that tho' the principles of WHIGand TORY were both of them of a compou~d nature ; yet theingredients, which predominated in both, were not correspondentto each other. A TORY loved monarchy, and borean affection to the family of STUART ; but the latter affectionwas the predominant inclination of the party. A WHIGloved liberty, and was a friend to the settlement in the PEO-TESTANT line ; but the love of liberty was professedly hispredominant inclination. The TORIES have frequently actedas republicans, where either policy or revenge has engagedthe111 to that conduct ; and there was no one of that party,who, upon the supposition, that he was to be disappointed inhis views with regard to the succession, would not havedesired to impose the strictest limitations on the crown, andto bring our form of government as near republican as possible,in order to depress the family, which, according to hisapprehension, succeeded without any just title. The WHIGS,'tis true, have also taken steps dangerous to liberty, undercolour of securing the successioh and settlement of the crown,according to their views : But as the body of the party hadno passion for that succession, otherwise than as the meansof securing liberty, they have been betrayed into these stepsby .ignorance, or frailty, or the interests of their leaders.The succession of the orown was, therefore, the chief pointwith the TORIES; the security of our liberties with theWHIGS.~ Nor is this seeming irregularity at all difficult tobe accounted for, by our present theory. Court and countryparties are the true parents of TORY and WHIG. But 'tisalmost impossible, that the attachment of the court party torrlonarchy should not degenerate into an attachment to themonarch ; there being so close a connexion between them,and the latter being so much the more natural object. Howeasily does the worship of the divinity degenerate into a' Some of the opinions delirered in ment by his own preconceived opinionsthese Essays, with regard to the public and principles ; nor is he ashamed totransactions in the last century, the acknowledge his mistakes. These mis-Author, on more accurate examination, takes were indeed, at that time, almostfound reason to retract in his Historey of universal in this kingdom.GREAT BRITAIN. And as he would not (The remainder of this paragraph isenslave himself to the systems of either not in A and B.]Party, neither would hc'fetter his judg-

142 ESSAY IX. THE PARTIES OF GREAT BRITAIN. 143worship of the idol ? The connexion is not so great betweenliberty, the divinity of the old country party or WHIGS, indany monarch or royal family; nor is it so reasonable to suppose,that in that party, the worship can be so easily transferredfrom the one to the other. Tho' even that would beno great miracle.'Tis difficult to penetrate into the thoughts and sentimentsof any particular man; but 'tis almost impossible to distinguishthose of a whole party, where it often happens, thatno two persons agree precisely in the same maxims of conduct.Yet I will venture to affirm, that it was not so much PRIN-CIPLE' or aln opinion of indefeasible right, which attachedthe TORIES to the ancient royal family, as AF- rECTION, Or acertain love itlid esteem for their persons. The same causedivided ENGLAND formerly between the houses of YORE andLANCASTER, and SCOTLAND between the families of BRUCEand BALIOL; in an age, when political disputes were butlittle in fashion, and when political principles must of coursehave had but little influence on mankind. The doctrine ofpassive obedience is so absurd in itself, and so opposite toour liberties, that it seems to have been chiefly left to pulpitdeclaimers,and to their deluded followers among the vulgar.Men of better sense were guided by ufection ; and as to theleaders of this party, 'tis probable, that interest was theirchief motive, and that they acted more contrary to theirprivate sentiments, than the leaders of the opposite party.Tho' 'tis almost impossible to maintain with zeal the rightof any person or family, without acquiring a good-will tothem, and changing the principle into afection ; yet this isless natural to people of an elevated station and liberal education,who have had full opportunity of observing theweakness, folly, and arrogance of monarchs, and have foundthem to be nothing superior, if not rather inferior to the restsf mankind. The interest, therefore, of being heads of a partydoes often, with such people, supply the place both ofprincipleand afect ion.Xome, who will not venture to assert, that the real differencebetween WHIG and TORY was lost at the revolution,seem inclined to think, ihat the difference is now abolished,and that affairs are so far returned to their natural state,that there are at present no other parties amongst us but1 [The remainder of this paragraph is not in A .and B.]colcrt and country ; that is, men, who by interest or principle,are attached either to monarchy or to liberty. It must,indeed, be confest, that the To~~,party seem, of late, to havedecayed much in their numbers ; still more in their zeal ;and I may venture to say, still more in their credit andauthority. There are few men of knowledge or learning,at least, few philosophers, since.Mr. LOCKE has wrote, whowould not be ashamed to be thought of that party ; and inalmost all companies the name of OLD WHIG is mentionedas an uncontestable appellation of honour and dignity.Accordingly, the enemies of the ministry, as a reproach,call the courtiers the true TORIES; and as an honour, denominatethe gentlemen in the opposition the true WHIGS.~The TORIES have been so long obliged to talk in the republicanstile, that they seem to have made converts of themselvesby their hypocrisy, and to have embraced thesentiments, as well as language of their adversaries. Thereare, however, very considerable remains of that party inENGLAND, with all their old prejudices; and a proof thatcourt and country are not our only parties, is, that almost allthe dissenters side with the court, and the lower clergy, atleast, of the church of ENGLAND, with the opposition. Thismay convince us, that some biass still hangs upon our constitution,some intrinsic weight, which turns it from its nat8uralcourse, and causes a confusion in our par tie^.^I shall conclude this subject with observing that we neverhad any TORIES in SCOTLAND, according to the proper significationof the word, and that the division of parties in thiscountry was really into WHIGS and JACOBITES. A JACOBITEseems to be a TORY, who has no regard t,o the constitution,but is either a zealous partizan of absolute monarchy, or atleast willing. to sacrifice our liberties to the obtaining thesuccession in that family to which he is attached. The reasonof the difference between ENGLAND and SCOTLAND, I take tobe this : Political and religious divisions in the latter country,have been, since the revolution, regularly correspondent toeach other. The PRESBYTERIANS were all WHIGS withoutexception : Those who favoured episcopacy, of the oppositeparty. And as the clergy of the latter sect were turned outof the churches at the revolution, they had no motive for1 [The last two sentences were omitting ' at least - wrote.']omitted in P. A and B read no mctn, ? ['This sentence does not occur in A.]

144 ESSAY X.madking any compliances with the government in their oatlis,or their forms of prayers, but openly avowed the liighestprinciples of their party; which is the cause why their followershave been more violent than their brethren of theTORY party in ENGLAND.'ESSAY X.-OfSuperstition and E~tthusiasm.THAT the corruption of the best things produces the wor~t, isgrown into a maxim, and is coinnloilly proved, among otherinstances, by the pernicious effects of superst,ition and enthusiasm,the corruptions of true religion.These two species of false religion, though both pernicious,are yet of a very different, and even of a contrary nature.The mind of marl is subject to certain unaccountable terrorsand apprehensions, proceeding either from the unhappysituation of private or public affairs, from ill health, fro111a glooiny and inelanclioly disposition, or frorn the con-currence of all these circumstances. In such a state ofmind, infinite unknown evils are dreaded from unknowilagents ; and where real objects of terror are wanting, thesoul, active to its own prejudice, and fostering its predorni-nant inclination, finds imaginary ones, to whose power andmalevolence it sets no limits. As these enemies are entirelySome of the opinions, delivered inthese Essays, with regard to the publictransactions in the last century, theAuthor, on more accurate examination;. found reason to retract in his History, of GREAT BRITAIN. And as he wouldnot enslave hitnself to the systems ofeither party, neither would he fetterhis judgment by his own preconceivedopinions and principles; nor is heashamed to acknowledge his mistakes.'[This note does not occur in any have some Fortune and Education, andedition prior to M. A and B add the the meanest slaving Poor; without anyfollowing paragraph to 'the text :-As consic1er;tble Number of that middlingviolent Tliings have not commonly so Rank of Men, which n1)ounrls more inlong a Duration as moder;tt*e, we ENGLAND, both in Cities and in theactually find, that the Jncohite Party is Country, than in any other Part of thealmost enti rely vanish'd from among World. The slaving Poor are incapans,and that the Distinction of Court ble of any Principles : Gentlemen mayand Country, which is but creeping in he converted to true Principles, byat LONDON, is the only one that is ever Time and Experience. The middlingmention'ci in this kingdont. Beside the Rank of Men have Curiosity and Know-Violence and Openness of tho JACOBITE ledge enough to form Principles, butparty: anotlier Reason has, perhaps, not enough to form true ones, or correctcontr~buted to produce so sudden and any Prejucliccs th,~t they may haveso risible an Albration in this part of imbih'd : Ant1 'tis among the middlingRRITAIN. There are only two Ranks Rank, that TORY Principles do at preofJIen among us ; Gentlemen. who sent prevail most in E.vr;r.asn.]OF SUPERSTITION AND ENTEIUSIASM. 1-15invisible and unknown, the methods taken to appease themare equallr unaccountable, and consist in ceremonies, observances,mortifications, sacrifices, presents, or in any practice,however absurd or frivolous, which either folly or knaveryrecommends to a blind and terrified credulity. Weakness,fear, melancholy, together with ignorance, are, therefore, thetrue sources of SUPERSTITION.But the mind of mar_ is also subject to an unaccountableelevation and presunlption, arising froin prosperous success,from luxuriant health, from strong spirits, or from a boldand confident disposition. In such a state of mind, theimagination swells with great, but confused conceptions, towhich no sublunary beauties or enjoyments can correspond.Every thing mortal and perishable vanishes as unworthy ofattention. And a full range is given to the fancy ill the invisibleregions or world of spirits, where the soul is at libertyto indulge itself in every imagination, which may best suitits present taste and disposition. Hence arise raptures,transports, and surprising flights of fancy ; and confidenceand presumption still encreasing, these raptures, being altogetherunaccountable, and seeming quite beyond the reachof our ordinary faculties, are attributed to the immediateinspiration of that Divine Being, who is the object of devotion.In a little time, the inspired person comes to regardhirilself ,ts a distinguished favourite of the Divinity ; andwhen this frenzy once takes place, which is the summit ofenthusiasm, every whimsy is consecrated: Human reason,and even morality are rejected as fallacious gnides: Andthe fallatic madman delivers himself over, blindly, and withoutreserve, to the supposed illapses of the spirit, and to inspirationfrom above. Hope, pride, presuinption, a warmimagination, together with ignorance, are, therefore, the truesources of ENTHUSIASM.These two species of false religion might afford occasion tomany speculations; but I shall confi~le myself, at presentto a few reflections concerning their different influence ongovernment and society.' My first reflection is, Tl~at superstition is favourable to[In Editions A and B, this and thethree next par:tgraphs were written asfollows: My first Reflection is, that Religions,which pintake of Ent husiasm are,on their first Iiise, much nlore furiousand violent than those which partake ofSuperstition; but in n little Time bccomemuch more gentle and moderate.The Violence of this Species of Religio~~,when excited by Norelty. ;ind wnirn:ttrd

ESSAY X. OF SUPEIiSTITION AND ENTHUSIASM. 147priestly power, and enthusiasm not less or ruttber more contray-yto it, than swnd reason atnd philosophy. As superstition isfounded on fear, sorrow, and a depression of spirits, it representsthe man to himself in such despicable colours, thatby Opposition, appears from numberlessInstances; of the Anabaptists in Germany,the Camisars in France, the Levellersand other Fanaticks in England,and the Covenanters in Scotland. AsEnthusiasm is founded on strong Spiritsand a presumptuous Boldness of Character,it naturally begets the most extremeresolution^ ; especially after itrises to that Height, as to inspire thedeluded Fanaticks with the Opinion ofDivine Illuminations, and with a Contemptof the common Rules of Reason,Morality and Prudence.'Tis thus Enthusiasm produces themost cruel Desolation in human Society :But its Fury is like that of Thunderand Tempest, which exhaust themselvesin a little Time, and leave the Air morecalm and serene than before. The Reasonof this will appear e~idently, bycomparing Enthusiasm to Superstition,the other Specic.s of false Religion ; andtracing the natural Consequences ofe.tch. As Superstition is founded onFear, Sorrow, and a Depression ofSpirits, it represents the Person to himselfin such despicable Colours, that heappears unworthy, in his own Eyes, ofapproachiug the Divine Presence, andnaturally has Recourse to any otherPerson, whose Sanctity of Life, or, perhaps,Impudence and Cunning, haremade him be suppoqed to be morefavoured by the Divinity. To him they. entrust their Devotions : To his Carethey recommend their Prayers, Petitions,and Sacrifices : And, by his Means, hopeto render their Addresses acceptable totheir incensed Deity. Hence the Originof PRIESTS,~ who may justly be regardedas one of the grossest Inventions of atimorous and abject Superstition, which,ever diffident of itself, dares not offerup its own Devotions, but ignorantlythinks to recommend itself to the Divinity,by the Mediation of'his supposed1 [By Primts I understand only the who are set apart (? by the Laws) to thePretenders to Power and Dominion, care of sacred Matters, and the conductandto ti superior Sanctity of Character, ing our public Devotions with'greaterdistinct from Virtue and good Morals. Decency and Order. There is no Rank ofThese are very different from CZe~,q~/n~en. Men more to he respected than the latter.][Added in Edition B.]Friends and Servants. As Superstitioris a considerable Ingredient of almostall Religions, even the most fanatical ;there being nothing but Philosophy ableto conquer entirely these unaccountableTerrors ; hence it proceeds, that in almostevery Sect of Religion there arePriests to be found : But the strongerMixture there is of Superstition, thehigher is the Authority of the Priesthood.Modern Judaism and Popery, especiallythe latter, being the most barbarous andabsurd Superstitions that have yet beenknown in the World, are the most en-~lav'd by their Priests. As the Churchof ENGLAND may justly be said to retaina strong Mixture of Popish Superstition,it partakes also, in its original Constitution,of a Propensity topriastly Powerand Dominion ; particularly in the Re-spect it exacts to the Priest. Andthough, according to the Sentiments ofthat Church, the Prayers of the Priestmust be accompanied with those of theLaity ; yet is he the mouth of the Congregation,his Person is sacred, andwithout his Presence few would thinttheir public Devotions, or the Sacraments,and other Rit,.cn, acceptable tothe Divinity.On t1,e other Hand, it may be observed,That all Enthusiasts have beenfree from the Toke of ~cclesiashcs, andhave exprest a great Independence intheir Devotion ; with a contempt ofForms, Tradition and Authorities. TheQuakers are the most egregious, tho', atthe same Time, the most innocent, Enthusiaststhat have been yet known;and are, perhaps, the only Sect, thathave never admitted Priests amongthem. The hdependents, of all theENGLISH Sectaries, approach nearestto the QUAKERS in Fanaticism, and intheir Freedom from Priestly Bondage.The Presbyterians follow after, at anequal Distance in both these Particulars.lie appears unworthy, in his own eyes, of approaching thedivine presence, and naturally has recourse to any otherperson, whose sanctity of life, or, perhaps, impudence andcunning, have made hiin be supposed more favoured by theDivinity. To him the superstitious entrust their devotions :To his care they recornmend their prayers, petitions, andsacrifices: And by his nleans, they liope to render theiraddresses acceptable to t,heir incensed Deity. Hence theorigin of PRIESTS,' who inay justly be regarded as ail inventionof a timorous and abject superstition, which, everdiffident of itself, dares not offer up its own devotions, butignorantly thinks to recommend itself to the Divinity, byblie mediation of his supposed friends and servants. Assuperstition is a considerable ingredient in allnost all religions,even the most fanatical; there being nothing butphilosophy able entirely to conquer these unaccountableterrors; hence it proceeds, that in almost every sect ofreligion there are priests to be found : But the stronger mix-In short, this Observation is founded onthe most certain Experience; and willalso appear to be founded on Reason, ifwe consider, that as Enthusiasm arisesfrom a presumptuous Pride and Confidence,it thinks itself sufficientlyqualified to approach the Divinitywithoutany human Mediator. Its rapturousDovotions are so fervent, that it evenimagines itself actually to approach himby the Way of Contelnplation and inwardConverse ; which makes it neglectall those outward Ceremonies and Observances,to which the Assistance ofthe Priests appe:tiVs so requibite in theEyes of their superstitious V( taries.The Fanatick consecrates himself, andl~estows on his own Person a sacredCharacter, much superior to what Formsand ceremonious Institutions can conferon any other.'~ii therefore an infallible Rule, ThatSliperstition is f;tvourable to PriestlyPower, and Enthusi;ism as much, orrather more, contrary to it than soundReason and Philosophy. The Conse-quences are e\.itlent. When the firstFire of Euthusiasm is spent, Men naturally,in such fanatical Sects, sink intothe greatest Remissness and Coolness inSacre+l Matters ; there being no Body ofMen amongst t,hem, endow'd with sufficientAuthority, whose Interebt is concerned,to support the religious Spirit.Superstition, on the contrary, steals ingradually and insensibly ; renders Mentame and submissive ; is acoeptztble tothe Magistrate, and seems inoffensive tothe People: Till at last the Priest,having firmly establish'd his Authority,becomes the Tyrant and Disturber of humanSociety, by his endless Contentions,Persecutions, and religious Wars. HC U'smoothly did the Romish Church advancein their Acquisition of Power?But into what dismal Convulsions didthey throw all E~ROPE, in order to maintainit ? On the other Hand, our Sec-taries, who were formerly such clangerousBigots, are now become our greatestFree-thinkers; and the Quakers are,perhaps, the only regu1:tr Body of Deistsin the Universe, except the Litlmti orDisciples of Confucius in Chintz.][The following note is appended inEtlitions D tq N : By Priests, I heremean only tho pretenders to power anddonlinion, and to a superior sanctity ofcharacter, distinct from l-irtue andgood morals. These are very differentfrom c/er,q.yn&en, who are set apart bythe Inws, to the CiLre of sacred matters,and to the conducting our public devotionswith greater decency and order.'There is no rank of men more to berespected than the latter.][As one of the grossest inventiorta,D to N.]

ESSAY X. OF SUI'EI~STITION AND ENTHUSIASM. 149ture there is of superstition, the higher is the autllority ofthe priesthood.'On the other hand, it may be observed, that all enthusiastshave been free from the yoke of ecclesi~stics, and have expressedgreat independence in their devotion ; with a contemptof forms, ceremonies, and traditions. The quakers are themost egregious, though, at the same time, themost innocententhusiasts that have yet been known; and are, perhaps, theonlg sect, that have never admitted priests anlongst them.The independents, of all the ENGLISH sectaries, approachnearest to the quakers in fanaticism, and in their freedomfrom priestly bondage. The presbytelians follow after, at anequal distance in both particulars. In short this observationis founded in experience; and will also appear to be foundedin reason, if we consider, that, as enthusiasm arises from apresumptuous pride and confidence, it thinks itself sufficientlyqualified to approach the Divinity, without any human mediator.Its rapturous devotions are so fervent, that it evenimagines itself actually to approach him by the way of contemplationand inward converse ; which makes it neglect allthose outward ceremonies and observances, to which theassistance of the priests appears so requisite in the eyes oftheir superstitious votaries. The fanatic consecrates himself,and bestows on his own person a sacred character, muc,hsuperior to what forms arid ceremonious institutions canconfer on any other.My second reflection with regard to these species of falsereligion is, that religions, wliich partake of enthusiasm ape, ontheir Jirst rise, more furious and violent than those which purtakeof superstition ; but in a little time become more gentle andmoderate. The violence of this species of religion, when excitedby novelty, +nd animated by opposition, appears fromnumberless instances ; of the anabaptists in GERMANY, thecamisars in FRANCE, the levellers and other fanatics in ENG-[Here I> to P add: JIodernJudaism and popery, (especially thelatter) being the most anphilosoyl~icaland absurd superstitions wl~icll haroyet been known in the world, are themost enslaved by their priests. As thechurch of ENGLAND may justly 1)e s:~idto retain some mixture of Popishsuperstition; it partakes also, In itso iginal constitntion. of a prvpenqityto priestly power and doil~inio~l ; parti-cularly in the respect it exact~l to thosacerdotal character. And though,according to the sentiments of tll;~tChurch, the prayers of the priest mustbe accompanied with those of the 1t~it~ ;yet is he the mouth of the congl.eg;ttion,his person is sacred, and withouthis presence few would think theirpublic devotions. or the sacraments,and other rites, acceptable to the divinity.]LAND, and the covenanters in SCOTLAND. Enthusiasm beingfounded on strong spirits: and a presumptuous boldness ofcharacter, it naturally begets the most extreme resolutions ;especially after it rises to that height as to inspire thedeluded fanatic with the opinion of divine illuminations, andwith a contempt for the common rules of reason, morality,and prudence.It is thus enthusiasm produces the most cruel disordersin human society ; but its fury is like that of thunder andtempest, which exhaust themselves in a little time, and leavethe air more calm and pure than before. When the first fireof enthusiasm is spent,-men naturally, in all fanatical sects,sink into the greatest remissness and coolness in sacredmatters ; there being no body of men among them, endowedwith sufficient authority, whose interest is concerned tos~lpport the religious spirit : No rites, no ceremonies, noholy observances, which may enter into the common train oflife, and preserve the sacred principles from oblivion. Superstition,on the contrary, steals in gradually and insensibly;renders men tame and submissive ; is acceptable to the magistrate,and seems inoffensive to the people : Till at last thepriest, having firmly established his authority, becomes thetyrant and disturber of huiiian society, by his endless contentions,persecutions, and religious wars. How smoothlydid the ROMISH church advance in her acquisition of power E'But into what dismal convulsions did she throw all EUROPE,ill order to maintain it? On the other hand, our sectaries,who were formerly such dangerous bigots, are now becomevery free reasoners ; and the quakers seem to approach nearlyfhe o~lly regular body of deists in the universe, the literati, orthe disciples of CONFUCIUS in CHINA.'My third observation on this head is, that superstztion is anenemy to civil liberty, and entl~usiasm a friend to it. Assuperstition groans under the dominion of priests, and entlillsiasmis destructive of all ecclesiastical power, thissufficiently accounts for the present observation. Not toinelition, that enthusiasm, being the infirmity of bold andainbitious tempers, is naturally accompanied with a spirit ofliberty ; as superstition, on the contrary, renders men tame' The CHINESE Literati have no to approach nearly the only regularpriests or eccle.ci;istical establishme~~t. body of deistsin the universe, the literati,This note is not in L, and K, wllich or the disciples of C'osf~fircins in Chirtcc.]rend in tlic text : c~~ld the yn,tkers see111

150 ESSAY X. DIGNITY OR MEANNESS OF HUMAN NATURE, 161and abject, and fits them for slavery. We leatrii frorn Exc-LISH history, that, during the civil wars, the independents anddeists, though the most opposite i11 their religious prii1cij)les ;yet were united in their political ones, and were alilrepassionate for a commonwealtll. And since the origin ofwhig and tory, the leaders of the whigs have either beendeists or profest Zatilwdinarians in their principles ; that is,friends to toleration, and indifferent to any particular se.; t ofchristians : While the sectaries, who have all a strongtincture of enthusiasm, have always, without exception,concurred with that party, in defence of civil liberty. Theresemblance in their superstitions long united the highchurchtories, and the Roman catholics, in support of prerogativeand kingly power ; though experience of the toleratingspirit of the whigs seems of late to have reconciled thecatholics to that party.The molinists and jansenists in FR.ANOE have a thousandunintelligible disputes, which are not worthy the reflectionof a man of sense : But what principally distinguishes thesetwo sects, i~nd alone merits attention, is the different spiritof their religion. The molinists conducted by the jesuits, aregreat friends to superstition, rigid observers of externalforms and ceremonies, and devoted to the authority of thepriests, and to tradition. The jansenists are enthusiasts, andzealous promoters of the passionate devotion, and of theinward life ; little influenced by authority ; and, in a word,but half catholics. The consequences are exactly conformableto the foregoing reasoning. The jesuits are the tyrantsof the people, and the slaves of the court: And the jansenistspreserve alive the small sparks of the love of liberty, whichare to be found in the FBENCH nation.ESSAY XI.-Ofthe Dignity or Neanness of Hman Nnture.'THERE are certain sects, which secretly form then~selves illthe learned world, as well as factions in the political ; andthough sometimes they come not to an open rupture, theygive a different turn to the ways of thinking of those whohave taken part on either side. The most remarlcable of thiskind are the sects, founded on the different sentiments with1 [All the Editions from A to P aru headed : Of the Dignity of Hun~an Nature.]r~gnrd to the dignity of human matare; which is a point thatseems to have divided philosophers and poets, as well asdivines, from the beginning of the world to this day. Someexalt our species to the skies, and represent man as a kind ofhuman demigod, who derives his origin from hea~en, and retainsevident marks of his lineage and descent. Others insistupon the blind sides of human nature, and can discovernothing, except vanity, in which man surpasses the otheranimals, whom he affects so much to despise. If an authorpossess the talent of rhetoric and declamation, he commonlytakes part with the former : If his turn lie towards ironyand ridicule, he naturally throws himself into the otherextreme.I am far from thinking, that all those, who have depreciatedour species, have been enemies to virtue, and have exposedthe frailties of their fellow creatures with any bad intention.On the contrary, I am sensible that a delicate sense of morals,especially when attended with a splenetic temper,' is apt togive a man a disgust of the world, and to make him considerthe common course of human affairs with too much indignation.I must, however, be of opinion, that the sentiments ofthose, who are inclined to think favourably of mankind, aremore advantageous to virtue, than the contrary principles,which give us a mean opinion of our nature. When a man isprepossessed with a high notion of his rank and chara'cter inthe creation, he will naturally endeavour to act up to it, andwill scorn to do a base or vicious action, which might sinkhim below that figure which he makes in his own imagination.Accordingly we find, that all our polite and fashionablemoralists insist upon this topic, and endeavour to representvice as unworthy of man, as well as odious in it~elf.~We find few disputes, that are not founded on some ambiguityin the expression; and I am persuaded, that the presentdispute, concerning the dignity or meannees of human nature,is not more exempt from it than any other. It may, therefore,be worth while to consider, what is real, and what is, onlyverbal, in this controversy,. ' [Editions A. to P read : especially which may proceed from this roason,when attended with somewhat of the among others, that their chief point ofI).lisalzthrope.]honour is considered as much more[Editions A to P add the following : difficult than ours, and requires to beWomen are generally much more supporbed by all that decent pride,flattered in their youth than men; wllich can be instilled into them.]

ESSAY XI. DIGNITY OR MXANNESS OF HUMAN NATURE. 153That there is a natural difference between merit anddemerit, virtue and vice, wisclom and folly, no reasonableman will deny : Yet is it evident, that in affixing the term,which denotes either our approbation or blame, we are cominonlymore influenced by comparison than by any fixzdunalterable standard in the nature of things. In like manner,quantity, and extension, and bulk, are by every one acknowledgedto be real things : But when we call any animal yreator little, we always form a secret comparison between thatanimal and others of the same species ; and it is that comparisonwhich regulates our judgment concerning its greatness.A dog and a horse may be of the very same size, while theone is admired for the greatness of its bulk, and the otherfor the smallness. When I am present, therefore, at anydispute, I always consider with myself, whether it be a questionof comparison or not that is the subject of the controversy; and if it be, whether the disputants compare thesame objects together, or talk of things that are widelydifferent.In forming our notions of human nature, we are apt tomake a coinparison between men and animals, the onlycreaturerr endowed with thought that fall under our senses.Certainly this coinparison is favourable to mankind. On theone hand, we see a creature, whose thoughts are not limitedby any narrow bounds, either of place or time ; who carrieshis researches into the most distant regions of this globe, andbeyond this globe, to the planets and heavenly bodies; looksbackward to consider the first! origin, at least, the history ofhuman race ; casts his eye forward to see the influence of hisactions upon posterity, and the judgments which will beformed of his character a thousand years hence ; a creature,who traces causes and effects to a great length and intricacy;extracts general principles from particular appearances ; improvesupon his discoveries ; corrects his mistakes ; andmakes his very errors ~rofitable. On the other hand, we arepresented with a creature the very reverse of this ; limited inits observations and reasonings to a few sensible objectswhich surround it ; without curiosity, without foresight ;blindly conducted by instinct, and attaining, in a short ti~e,[Xdit,ions A to P add : As thelatter is commonly the case, I have longsince learnt to neglect such disputes asmanifecjt abuses of leisure, the mo~tvaluable presenc that could be made tomortals.]its utmqst perfection, beyond which it is never able to advancea single step. What a wide difference is there betweenthese creatures ! And how exalted a notion must we entertainof the former, in comparison of the latter !There are two means coilimonly employed to destroy thisconclusion : First, By making an unfair representation ofthe case, and insisting only upon the weaknesses of hutnannature. And secondly, By forming a new and secret comparisonbetween man and beings of the most perfect wisdom.Among the other excellencies of man, this is one, that he canform an idea of perfections much beyond what he has experienceof in himself; and is not limited i11 his conception ofwisdom and virtue. He can easily exalt his notions andconceive a degree of knowledge, whiah, when compared tohis own, will make the latter appear very contemptible, andwill cause the difference between that and the sagacity ofanimals, in a manner, to disappear and vanish. Now thisbeing a point, in which all the world is agreed, that humanunderstanding falls infinitely short of perfect wisdom ; it isproper we should know when this conzparison takes place,that we may not dispute where there is no real difference inour sentiments. Man falls much more short of perfect wisdom,and even of his own ideas of perfect wisdom, thananimals do of man; yet the latter difference is so considerable,that nothing but a comparison with the former can make itappear of little moment.It is also usual to compare one nian with another; andfinding very few whom we can call wise or virtuous, we areapt to entertain a contemptible notion of our species ingeneral. That we may be sensible of the fallacy of this wayof reasoning, we may observe, that the honourable appellationsof wise and virtuous, are not annexed to any particulardegree of those qualities of wisdom and virtue; but arisealtogether from the comparison we make between one manand another. When we find a man, who arrives at such apitch of wisdom as is very urrcommon, we pronounce hima wise man : So that to say, there are few wise men in theworld, is really to say nothing ; since it is only by theirscarcity, that'they merit that appellation. Were the lowestof our species as wise as TULLY, or lord BACON, we shouldstill have reason to say, that there are few wise men. For inthat case we should ex'c~lt our notions of wisdoiu, u11d should

164 ESSAY XI. DIGNI'SY OR MEANNESS OF IIUMAN NATURE. 1.56not pay a singular honour to any one, who was not singularlydistinguished by his talents. In like manner, I have heardit observed by thoughtless people, that there are few womenpossessed of beauty, in conlparison of those who want it ; notconsidering, that we best>ow the epithet of beautiful only onsuch as possess a degree of beauty, that is common to themwith a few. The same degree of beauty in a woman iscalled defornlity, which is treated as real beauty in one ofour sex.As it is usual, in forming a notion of our species, to compareit with the other species above or below it, or to comparethe individuals of the species among themselves ; so we oftencompare together the different motives or actuating principlesof human nature, in order to regulate our judgment concerningit. And, indeed, this is the only kind of conlparison,which is worth our attention, or decides any thing in thepresent question. Were our selfish and vicious principles somuch predominant above our social and virtuous, as is assertedby some philosophers, we ought undoubtedly to entertain acontemptible notion of human nature.There is much of a dispute of words in all this controversy.When a man denies the sincerity of all public spirit or affectionto a country and community, I am at a loss what to thinkof him. Perhaps he never felt this in so clear and distinct amanner as to remove all his doubts concerning its force andreality. But when he proceeds afterwards to reject all privatefriendship, if no interest or self-love intermix itself; I amthen confident that he abuses terms, and confounds the ideasof things ; since it is impossible for any one to be so selfish,or rather so stupid, as to make no difference between oneman and another, and give no preference to qualities, whichengage his approbation and esteem. Is he alao, say I, asinsensible to anger as he pretends to be to friendship ? Anddoes injury and wrong no more affect him than kindness orbenefits? Im~ossible : He does not know himself: He hasIforgotten the movements of his heart; or rather he makes[This paragraph does not occur inEditions A to D, which read instead ofit : I may, perhaps, treat more fully ofthi~ Subject in some future Essay. I11the moan Time, I shall observe, whathas been prov'd beyond Question byseveral greilt Morttlists of the presentAge, that tlie social Passions are by farthe most powerffil of any, and that sreuall the other Passions receive from themtheir chief Force and Influence. Whoeverdesires to see this Question treatedat large, wit.h the greatest Force ofArgument and F:loquence, may consultmy Lord SHAFTSBUECY'S Enquiry concerningVirtue.]use of a different language from the rest of his countrgnlen,and calls not thlngs by their proper names. What say youof natural affection? (I subjoin) Is that also a species of? Yes : All is self-love. Your children are lovedonly because they are yours : Your friend for a like reason :And your country engages you only so far as it has a connexionwith yourseif: Were the idea of self removed, notl~illgwould affect you: You would be altogether unrtctive andinsensible : Or, if you ever gave yourself any movenient, itwould orlly be from vanity, aiid a desire of fame and reputationto this sairle self. I am willing, reply I, to receive yourinterpretation of human actions, provided you admit tllefacts. That species of self-love, which displays itself inkindness to others, you must allow to have great iiifluei~ceover human actions, and eve11 greater, on mttily occasions,than that which remains in its original shape aiid fo~in. Forhow few are there, who, having a family, children, and relations,.do not spend more on the maiiltenance aid educationof these than on their own pleasures ? This, indeed, you justlyobserve, may proceed from their self-love, since the prosperityof their family and friends is one, or the chief of theirpleasures, as well as their chief honour. Be you also one ofthese men, arid you are sure of every one's good opinion slidgood will; or not to shock your ears with these expressions,the self-love of every one, and mine among the rest, will thenincline us to serve you, and speak well of you.In my opinion, there are two things which have led astraythose philosophers, that have insisted so much on the selfishnessof man. In the Jirst place, they found, that every actof virtue or friendship was attended with a secret pleasure ;whence they concluded, that friendship and virtue could notbe disinterested. But the f~llacy of this is obvious. Thevirtuous sentiment or passion produces the pleasure, anddoes not arise froni it. I feel a pleasure in doing good tomy friend, because I love hi111 ; but do not love him for thesake of that pleasnre.In the secov~d place, it has always been found, tllut thevirtuous are far froin being illdifferent to praise; and thereforethey have been represented as a set of vain-glorious men,who had nothing in view but the applauses of others. Butthis also is a fallacy. It is very unjust ill the world, whentlley find ally tincturc of vanity in a laudable action, to de-

150 ESSAY XII. OF CIVIL LIBERTY. 167preciate it upon that account, or ascribe it entirely to thatmotive. Tlle case is not the same with vanity, as with otherpassions. Where avarice or revenge enters into any seeminglyvirtuous action, it is difficult for us to determine howfar it enters, and it is natural to suppose it the sole actuatingprinciple. But vanity is so closely allied to virtue, and tolove the fame of laudable actions approaches so near the loveof laudable actions for their own sake, that these passionsare more capable of mixture, than any other kinds of affection; a>nd it is almost impossible to have the latter withoutsome degree of the former. Accordingly, we find, that thispassion for glory is always warped and varied according tothe particular taste or disposition of the mind on which itfalls. NERO had the same vanity in driving a chariot, thatTRAJAN had in governing the empire with justice and ability.To love the glory of virtuous deeds is a sure proof of the loveof virtue.ESSAY XI1.-Of Civil Liberty.'THOSE who employ their pens on political subjects, freefrom party-rage, and party-prejudices, cultivate a science,which, of all others, contributes most to public utility, andeven to the private satisfaction of those who addict themselvesto the study of it. I am apt, however, to entertain asuspicion, that the world is still too young to fix manygenc?ral truths in politics, which will remain true to thelatest posterity. We have not as yet had experience of threethousand years ; so that not only the art of reasoning is still. imperfect in this science, as in all others, but we even wantsufficient materials upon which we can reason. It is notfully known, what degree of refinement, either in virtue orvice, human nature is susceptible of; nor what may be expectedof mankind from any great revolution in their education,customs, or principles. MACHIAVEL was certainly agreat genius ; but having confined his study to the furiousand tyrannical governments of ancient times, or to the littledisorderly principalities of ITALY, his reasonings especiallyupon monarchical' government, have been found extremelydefective; and there scarcely is any maxim in his prince,which subsequent experience has not entirely refuted. Aweak prince, says he, is incapable of receiving good counsel;[Editions A to K have the title : Of Liberty and Despotism.]for if he consult with several, he will not be able to choose amongtheir diferent counsels. If he abandon himself to one, thathnister may, perhaps, have capacity ; but he will not long-bea minister : He will be sure to dispossess his master, and placehlnzself and his family upon the throne. I mention this, ainongmany instances of the errors of that politician, proceeding,in a great measure, from his having lived in too early an ageof the world, to be a good judge of political truth. Almostall the princes of EUEOPE are at present governed by theirministers ; and have been so for near two centuries ; and yetno such event has ever happened, or call possibly happen.SEJANUS might project dethroning the CAESARS ; but FLEURY,though ever so vicious, could not, while in his senses, entertainthe least hopes of dispossessing the BonE~oNs.Trade was never esteemed an affair of state till the lastcentury ; and there scarcely is any ancient writer on politics,who has made mention of it.' Even the ITALIANS have kepta profound silence with regard to it, though it has now en-,gaged the chief attention, as well of ministers of state, as ofspeculative reasoners. The great opulence, grandeur, andmilitary atchievements of the two maritime powers seem firstto have instructed mankind in the ;mportance of an extensivecommerce.Having, therefore, intended in this essay to make a fullcomp&rison of civil liberty and absolute government, and toshow2 the great advantages of the former above the latter ;I began to entertain a suspicion, that no man in this agewas sufficiently qualified for such an undertaking; and thatwhatever any one should advailce on that head would, in allprobability, be refuted by further experience, and be rejectedby posterity. Such mighty revolutions have happened inhuman aEairs, and so many events have arisen contrary tothe expectation of the ancients, that they are sufficient tobeget the suspicion of still fiirther changes.It has been observed by the ancients, that all the arts andsciences arose among free nations ; and, that the PERSIANSand EGYPTIANS, notwithstanding their ease, opulence, andluxury, made but faint efforts towards a relish in those finerXENOPH~N mentions it ; but with a republic De legihus. lib. iv. [This notedoubt if it be of any advantage to was added in Ed. K.]a state. Ei 6; KCL~ 4pzopia &+chei rr [Eclitions A to D rend : the Advan-"dhrv, &c. XEN. HIERO. 9. 9. PLATO tages and Disitdvantitges of each.]totally excludes it from his imaginary

158 ESSAY XII.pleasures, which were carried to such perfection by tlleGREEKS, amidst continual wars, attended with poverty, andthe greatest simplicity of life and manners. It had also beenobserved, that, when the GREEKS lost their liberty, thoughthey increased mightily in riches, by means of the concluestsof ALEXANDER; yet the arts, from that moment, declinedamong them, and have never since beell able to raise theirhead in that climate. Learning was transplanted to ROME,the only free nation at that tinie in the universe ; and havingmet with so favourable a soil, it made prodigious shoots forabove a century; till the decay of liberty produced also thedecay of letters, and spread a total barbarism over the world.Froin these two experiments, of which each was double in itskind, and shelved the fall of learning in absolute govern-~nents, as well as its rise in popular ones, LONGINUS thouglltllinlself sufficiently justified, in asserting, that the arts andsciences could never flourish, but in a free government : Andin this opinion, he has been followed by several eminentwl-iters ' in onr own country, who either confined their viewmerely- to ancient facts, or entertained too great a partialityin favour of that form of government, establishedamongst us.But what would these writers have said, to the instancesof iilodern ROME and of FLORENCE ? Of which the formercarried to perfection all the finer arts of sculpture, painting,and music, as well as poetry, though it groaned undertyranny, and under the tyranny of priests : While the lattermade its chief progress in the arts and sciences, after itbegan to lose its liberty by the usurpation of the family ofMEDICI. ARIOSTO, TASSO, GALILEO, more than RAPEAEL,and MICHAEL ANGELO, were not born in republics. Andthough the LOMBARD school was famous as well as theROMAN, yet the VENETIANS have had the smallest share inits honours, and seem rather inferior to the other ITALIANS,in their genius for the arts and sciences. RUBENS establishedhis school at ANTWERP, not at AMSTERDAM : DRES-DEN, not HAMBURGH, is the centre of politeness in GERMANY.But the nlost eminent instance of the flourishing of learningin absolute governments, is that of FRANCE, whichscarcely ever enjoyed any established libert~, and yet hasMr. ADDISON and Lo~n SI~AFTESBURY.carried the arts and sciences as near perfection as any othernation. The ENGLISH are, perhaps, greater philosophers ;the ITALIANS better painters and musicians ; the ROMANSwere greater orators : But the FRENCH are the only people,except the GREEKS, who have beell at once philosophers,poets, orators, historians, painters, architects, sculptors, andmusicians. With regard to the stage, they have excelledeven the GREEKS,~ who fdr excelled the ENGLISH. And, incommon life, they have, in a great measure, perfected thatart, the most useful and agreeable of any, Z'Art de Vivre, theart of society and conversation.If we consider the state of the sciences and polite arts inour own count'ry, HORACE'S observation, with regard to theROMANS, may, in a great measure, be applied to the BRITISH.-Sed in longzbm tamen mumManserunt, hodiepue manent restigia ruris.The elegance and propriety of style have been very muellneglected among us. We have no dictionary of our language,and scarcely a tolerable grammar. The first polite prose wehave, was writ by a man who is still alive.3 As to SPRAT,LOCKE, and even TEMPLE, they knew too little of the rulesof art to be esteemed elegant writers. The prose of BACON,HARRINGTON, and MILTON, is altogether stiff and pedantic ;though their sense be excellent. Men, in this country, havebeen so much occupied in the great disputes of Religion,Politics, and Philosophy, that they had no relish for theseemingly minute observations of grammar and criticism.And though this turn of thinking must have considerablyimproved our sense and our talent of reasoning ; it must beconfessed, that, even in those sciences above-mentioned, wehave not any standard book which we can transmit to posterity: And the utmost we have to boast of, are a few essaystowards a more just philosophy ; which, indeed, proniisewell, but have not, as yet, reached any degree of perfection.It has become an established opinion, thak commerce cannever flourish but in a free government ; and this opiniorlseenis to be founded on a longer and larger experience thanthe foregoing, with regard to the arts and sciences. If we' [N.B. This was published in 1742. [Who-English ; addedin Edition K.]SO Edition P.]Dr. SWIFT.

160 ESSAY XII.trace commerce in its progress through TYRE, ATHENS,SYRACUSE, CARTHAGE, VENICE, FLORENCE, GENOA, ANTWERP,HOLLAND, ENGLAND, &c. we shall always find it to havefixed its seat in free governments. The three greatesttowns in Europe, are LONDON, AMSTERDAM, and HAMBURGH ;all free cities, and protestant cities ; that is, enjoying adouble liberty. It must, however, be observed, that thegreat jealousy entertained of late, with regard to the comrnerceof FRANCE, seems to prove, that this maxim is nomore certain and infallible than the foregoing, and that thesubjects of an absolute prince may become our rivals incommerce, as well as in learning.Durst I deliver my opinion in an affair of so much uncertainty,I: would assert, that, notwithstanding the effortsof the FRENCH, there is something hurt'ful to conitnerce,inherent in the very nature of absolute government, and inseparablefrom itl : Though the reason I should assign forthis opinion, is somewhat different from that which is commonlyinsisted on. Private property seems to me almost assecure in a civilized EUROPEAN monarchy, as in a republic;nor is danger much apprehended in such a government,from the violence of the sovereign ; more than we commonlydread harnl from thunder, or earthquakes, or any accidentthe most unusual and extraordinary. Avarice, the spur ofindustry, is so obstinate a passion, and works its way throughso many real dangers and difficulties, that it is not likely tobe scared by an imaginary danger, which is so small, that itscarcely admits of calculation. Commerce, therefore, in my- opinion, is apt to decay in absolute governments, not becauseit is there less secure, but because it is less honourable. Asubordination of ranks is absolutely necessary to the supportof monarchy. Birth, titles, and place, tnust be honouredabove industry and riches. And while these notions prevail,all the considerable traders will be tempted to throw uptheir commerce, in order to purchase some of those employments:to which privileges and honours are annexed.Since I am upon this head, of the alterations which timehas produced, or may produce in politics, I must observe,that all kinds of government, free and absolute, seem tohave undergone, in modern times, a great change for thebetter, with regard both to foreign and domestic management.The balance of power is a secret in politics, fullyOF CIVlL LIBERTY. 1(;1born only to the present age ; and I must add, that theinternal POLICE of state^ has also received great improvementswithin the last century. We are informed by SAL-LUST, that CATILINE'S army was much augmented by theaccession of the highwaymen about ROME ; though I believe,that all of that profession, who are at present dispersed overEUROPE, would not amount to a regiment. In CICEBO'Sfor MILO, I find this argument, among others,made use of to prove, that his client had not assassinatedCLODIUB. Had MILO, said he, intended to have killedCLODIUS, he had not attacked him in the day-time, and atsuch a distance from the city : He had way-laid hiin at night,,near the suburbs, where it might have been pretended, thathe was killed by robbers ; and the frequency of the accidentwould have favoured the deceit. This is a surprizingproof of the loose police of ROME, and of the number andforce of these robbers ; since CLODIUS was at that timeattended by thirty slaves, who were completely armed, andsufficiently accustomed to blood and danger in the frequenttumults excited by that seditious trib~~ne.~But though all kinds of government be improved in moderiitimes, yet monarchical government seems to have made thegreatest advailces towards perfection. It may now beaffirmed of civilized monarchies, what was formerly said inpraise of republics alone, that they are a government of Laws,not of Hen. They are found susceptible of order, method,and constancy, to a surprizing degree. Property is theresecure; industry encouraged; the arts flourish; and theprince lives secure among his subjects, like a father amonghis children. 3There are perha>ps, and have been for twocenturies, nearly two hundred absolutc princes, great andsmall, in EUROPE ; and allowing twenty years to each reign,we may suppose, that there have been in the whole twothousand monarchs or tyrants, as the GREEKS would havecalled them : Yet of these there has not been one, not evenPHILIP 11. of SPAIN, so bad as TIBERIUS, CALIGULA, NERO,or DOMITIAN, who were four in twelve amongst the ROMANemperors. It must, however, be confessed, that, thoughmonzrchical governments have approached nearer to popular' Vide Asc. PE~. in Orat. pro Milone.[Edition A added : and, by theRo?izan Laws, answdrat~le, upon theirown Lives, for the Life of their M:isccr.]a [This sentence was added in EditionK.]

163 ESSAY SIT. OF CIVlL LIBERTY. 163ones, in gentleness and stability ; they are still iiiferior. Our'modern education and customs instil more humanity andmoderation than the ancient; but have not as yet beenable to overcome entirely the disadvantages of that form ofgovernment.But here I must beg leave to advance a conjecture, whichseems probable, but which posterity alone can fully judgeof. I am apt to think, that, in monarchical governmentsthere is a source of improvement, and in popular governmentsa source of degeneracy, which in time will bring thesespecies of civil p~lity still nearer an equality. The greatestabuses, which arise in FRANCE, the most perfect model ofpure monarchy, proceed not from the number or weight ofthe taxes, beyond what are to be met with in free countries ;but from the expensive, unequal, arbitrary, and intricatemethod of levying them, by which the industry of the poor,especially ~f the peasants and farmers, is, in a great measure,discouraged, and agriculture rendered a beggarly and slavishemployment. But to whose advantage do these abuses tend?If to that of the nobility, they might be esteemed inherentin that form of government ; since the nobility are the truesupports of monarchy ; and it is natural their interestshould be more consulted, in such a constitution, than thatof the poople. But the nobility are, in reality, the chieflosers by this oppression; since it ruins their estates, andbeggars their tenants. The only gainers by it are theFinanqiers,l a race of men rather odious to the nobility andthe whole kingdom. If a prince or minister, therefore,should arise, endowed with sufficient discernment to knowhis own and the public interest, and with sufficient force ofmind to break through the ancient customs, we might expectto see these abuses remedied; in which case, the differencebetween that absolute government and our free one,would not appear so considerable as at present.The source of degeneracy, which may be remarked in freegovernments, consists in the practice of contracting debt,and mortgaging the public revenues, by which taxes may,in time, become altogether intolerable, and all the propertyof the state be brought into the hands of the public. This1 [The cedilla is not found in B, or in some Editions of the Political Discourses,where the word occurs.]practice is of modern date. The ATHENIANS,~ thoughgoverned by a republic, paid near two hundred per Cent. forthose sums of money, which any emergence made it necessaryfor them to borrow; as we learn from XENOPHON.~Among the moderns, the DUTCH first introduced the practiceof borrowing great sums at low interest, and have wellnighruined themselves by it. Absolute princes have also contracteddebt; but as an absolute prince may make a bankruptcywhen he pleases, his people can never be oppressed byhis debts. In popular governments, the people, and chieflythose who have the highest offices, being commonly thepublic creditors, it is difficult for the state to make use ofthis remedy, which, however it may sometimes be necessary,in always cruel and barbarous. This, therefore, seems to bean inconvenience, which nearly threatens all free governments; especially our own, at the present juncture ofaffnirs. And what a strong motive is this, to encrease ourfrugality of public money ; lest for want of it, we be reduced,by the multiplicity of taxes, or what is worse, by ourpublic impotence and inability for defence, to curse our veryliberty, and wish ourselves in the same state of servitudewith all the nations that mrround us?ESSAY XII1.-OfEloquence.THOSE, who consider the periods and revolutions of humankind, as represented in history, are entertained with a, spectaclefull of pleasure and variety, and see, with surprize, themanners, customs, and opinions of the same species susceptibleof such prodigious changes in different periods of time.It may, however, be observed, that, in civil history, there isfound a 111uch greater uniformity than in the history of learn-' [The Athenians, though a Republic,paid Twentyper Cent. for Money, as welearn from Xenophon.-Edition A : andno note.The Athenians, though govern'd by aRepublic, paid Twenty per Cent. forthose sums of Money, which any emergentOccasion made it necessary forthem to borrow ; AS we loarn fron Xen-0phon.-Edition B : and no note.The Athenians, though governed bya republic. paid near two hundred perCent. for those sums of money, whichany emergent occ~sion made it necessaryfor them to borrow ; as we learn fromXenophon.-EditionsD toQ : and note.]KT~U~V 62 &?r3 OLBCV~S 6v OQTW K O A ~ ~ JKT~U~LVTO, i5ancp &+' oE hv rrpo~~~Qcrwacvsr's T~/V h~opp$v~-oi BQ ye XA~~UTOL'Aaqvaiwv ~helova h$$ovrar K~T' zvrav~dv4 8aa hv eiacviy~w~iv. oi ?by pvzvnpo7ch6uav~es, $yy&s 6uoTvpuaTv ~~d o8ov3ovcrc-8 ~OKC;T&V hvSpw?rivwv hu+ A u-7a76v 74 ~ a l ~dhu~povld~a~ov ffvai.EEN. nopol. 111. 9.10.

164 ESSL4Y XIII. OF ELOQUENCE.ing and science, and that the warm, negociations, and politicsof one age resemble more those of another, than the taste,wit, and speculative principles. Interest and ambition,honour and shame, friendship and enmity, gratitude andrevenge, are the prime movers in all public transactions;and these passions are of a very stubborn and intractablenature, in comparison of the sentiments and understanding,which are easily varied by education and example. TheGOTHS were much more inferior to the ROMANS, in taste andscience, than in courage and virtue.But not to compare together nations so widely different ;Iit may be observed, that even this later period of humanlearning is, in many respects, of an opposite character to theancient; and that, if we be superior in philosophy, we arestill, notwithstanding all our refinements, much inferior ineloquence.In ancient times, no work of genius was thought to requireso great parts and capacity, as the speaking in public;and some eminent writers have pronounced the talents, evenof a great poet or philosopher, to be of an inferior nature tothose which are requisite for such an undertaking. GREECEand ROME produced, each of them, but one accomplishedorator; and whatever praises the other celebrated speakersmight merit, they were still esteemed much inferior to thesegreat models of eloquence. It is observable, that the ancientcritics could scarcely find two orators in any age, who deservedto be placed precisely in the same rank, and possessedthe same degree of merit. CALVUS, CBLIUS, CURIO, HOR-TENSIUS, CBSAR rose one above another : But the greatestof that age was inferior to CICERO, the most eloquent speaker,that had ever appeared in RONE. Those of fine taste, however,pronounce this judgment of the ROMAN orator, as wellas of the GRECIAN, that both of them surpassed in eloquenceall that had ever appeared, but that they were far fromreaching the perfection of their art, which was infinite, andnot only exceeded human force to attain, but human imaginationto conceive. CICERO declares himself dissatisfied withhis own performances ; nay, even with those of DEMO-' [Editions C to Padd : that they may almost be esteemed of a different~pecies.]STHENES. Ita sunt avidce & capaces mece aures, says he, &semper aliquid immasum, infinitumque desideranL1Of all the polite and learned nations, ENGLAND alone possessesa popular government, or admits into the legislaturesuch numerous assemblies as can be supposed to lie underthe dominion of eloquence. But what has ENGLAND to boastof in this particular? In enumerating the great men, whohave done honour to our country, we exult in our poets andphilosophers; but what orators are ever mentioned? Orwhere are the monuments of their genius to be met with?There are found, indeed, in our histories, the names of severnl,who directed the resolutions of our parliament : But neitherthemselves nor others have taken the pains to preserve theirspeeches; and the authority, which they possessed, seems tohave been owing to their experience, wisdom, or power, morethan to their talents for oratory. At present, there are abovehalf a dozen speakers in the two houses, who, in the judgmentof the public, have reached very near the same pitchof eloquence ; and no man pretends to give any one the preferenceabove the rest. This seems to me a ,certain proof,that none of them have attained much beyond a mediocrityin their art, and that the species of eloquence, which theyaspire to, gives no exercise to the sublimer faculties of themind, but may be reached by ordinary talents and a slightapplication. A hundred cabinet-makers in LONDON can worka table or a chair equally well; but no one poet can writeverses with such spirit and elegance as Mr. POPE,We are told, that, when DEMOSTHENES was to plead, allingenious men flocked to ATHENS from the most remoteparts of GREECE, as to the most celebrated spectacle of theAt LONDON you may see men sauntering in thewurt of requests, while the most important debate is carryingon in the two houses ; and many do not think themselvessufficiently compensated, for the losing of their dinners, byall the eloquence of our most celebrated speakers. When old' [Editions C to P add: This singlecircumstance is sufficient to make usapprehend the wide difference betweenancient and modern eloquence, and tolet us see how much the latter is inferiorto the former.]Ne illud quidem intelligunt, nonmode ita memorize proditum 05~0, sedita necesse fuisse, cum DEMOSTHENESdicturus esset, ut concursus, audiendicausa, ex tota GRECIA fierent. At cumisti ATTICI dicunt, non mod0 a corona(quod est ipsum miserabile) sed etiamab advocatis relinquuntur.CICERO de Claris Oratoribus, C. 84.

166 ESSAY XIII. OF ELOQUENCE. 167C~BBER is to act, the curiosity of several is more excited, thanwhen our prime minister is to defend himself from a motionfor his removal or impeachment.Even a person, unacquainted with the noble remains ofancient orators, may judge, from a few strokes, that the stileor species of their eloquence was infinitely more sublime thanthat wllich modern orators aspire to. How absurd would itappear, in our teiuperate and calm speakers, to make use ofan Apostrophe, like that noble one of DEMOSTHENES, SO niuclicelebrated by QUINTILIAN and LONGINUS, when justifyingthe uilsuccessful battle of CHARONEA, he breaks out, No, nzyFellow-Citizens, No : You have not erred. I swea,y by themanes of those heroes, who fought for the same cause in theplains of MARATHON and PLATBA. Who could now enduresuch a bold and poetical figure, as that which CI~ERO employs,after describing in the most tragical terms the ccucifixionof a ROMAN citizen. BI~ould Ipaint the horrors of thisscene, not to ROMAN citizens, not to the allies of our state, notto those who huve ever heard of the ROMAName, not even tonlen, but to brute-creatures; or, to go farther, should I lift upmy voice in t7~most desolate solitude, to the rocka;and mountains,yet should I surely see those rude and inanimate parts ofnature moved with horror and indignation at the recital of soenormous an action.' With what a blaze of eloquence mustsuch a sentence be surrounded to give it grace, or cause itto make any impression on the hearers ? And what nobleart and sublime talents are requisite to arrive, by just degrees,at a sentiment so bold and excessive : To inflame theaudience, so as to make them accompany the speaker in suchviolent passions, and such elevated conceptions : And to conceal,under a torrent of eloquence, the artifice, by which allthis is effectuated ! Should this sentiment even appear tous excessive, as perhaps it justly may, it will at least serveto give an idea of the stile of ancient eloquence, where suchswelling expressions were not rejected as wholly monstrousand gi&tic.Suitable to this vehemence of thought and expression,The originat is; Quod si h ~ non c tudine, ad saxa & ad scopulos h ~ cad cives Romanos, non ad aliquos ami- conquori & deplorare vellem, tamoncos nostrae civitatis, non ail eos qui omllia muta atque inanima, tanta &populi Romani nomen auclissent ; deni- tam incligna rerum atrocitate commoveque,si non ad homines, verurn ad rentur Crc. in Ver. Act ii. Lib. V. C. 67.hestias ; aut vtiam, ut longi~~s pro- [This sentence was added in Edigrddin,si in aliqua desertissirna soli- tion I'.]was the.-vehemence of action, observed in the ancient orators.The supplosio pedis, or stamping with the foot, was one ofthe most usual and moderate gestures which they made useof; though that is now esteemed too violent, either for thesenate, bar, or pulpit, and is only admitted into the theatre,to accoinpany the most violent passions, whicli are thererepresented.One is somewhat at a loss to what cause we may ascribeso sensible a decline of eloquence in later ages. he geniusof mankind, at all times, is, perhaps, eqdal: The modernshave applied themselves, with great industry and success, toall the other arts and sciences : And a learned nation possessesa popular governlnent ; a circulnstance which seemsrequisite for the full display of these noble talents : But notwithstandingall these advantages, our progress in eloquenceis very inconsiderable, in comparison of the advances, whichwe have made in all other parts of learning.Shall we assert, that the strains of ancient eloquence areunsuitable to our age, as.3 ~ught not to be imitated by modernorators ? Whatever reasons may be made use of to prove this,I am persuaded that they will be found, upon examinationto be unsound and unsatisfactory.First, It may be said, that, in ancient times, during thoflourishing period of GREEK and ROMAN learning, the municipallaws, in every state, mere but few and simple, and thedecision of causes, mas, ill a great measure, left to the equityand common sense of the judges. The study of the laws wasnot then a laborious occupation, requiring the drudgery of awhole life to finish it, and incompatible with every otherjtudy or profession. The great statesmen and generalsamong the ROMANS were all lawyers ; and CICERO, to shewthe facility of acquiring this science, declares, that, in themidst of all his occupations, he would undertake, in a fewdays, to make hiinself a conlpleat civilian. Now, where apleader adaresses himself to the equity of his judges, he hasmuch more room to display his eloquence, than where bemust draw his arguments from strict laws, statntes, and precedents.In the former case, many circumstances must heUbi dolor ? Ubi ardor animi, qui mum est) nulla~supplosio. Itaque tantumetiam ex infaiitium ingeniis elicere abfuit ut inflammares nostros animor,;voces & querelas solet? nulla pertur- somnum isto loco vix tenebamus.-batio animi, riulla corporis : frons non CICERO de Claris Oratoribus, c. 80.percum, non femur ; poJis (quod ,mini-

168 ESSAY XTII. OF ELOQUENCE. 169taken in ; many personal considerations regarded ; and evenfavour and inclination, which it belongs to the orator, by hisart and eloquence, to conciliate, may be disguised under theappearance of equity. But how shall a modern lawyer haveleisure to quit his toilsome occupations, in order to gatherthe flowers of PARNASSUS? Or what opportunity shall hehave of displaying them, amidst the rigid and subtile arguments,objections, and replies, which he is obliged to makeuse of? The greatest genius, the greatest orator, whoshollld pretend to plead before the Chancellor, after a month'sstudy of the laws, would only labour to make himself ridiculous.I am ready to own, that this circumstance, of the multiplicityand intricacy of laws, is a discouragement to eloquencein modern times : But I assert, that it will notentirely account for the decline of that noble art. It maybanish oratory from WESTMINSTER-HALL, but not from eitherhouse of parliament. Among the ATHENIANS, the AREO-PAGITES expressly forbad all allurements of eloquence ;and some have pretended that in the GREEK orations, writtenin the judiciury form, there is not so bold and rhetorical astile, as appears in the ROMAN. But to what a pitch did theATHENIANS carry their eloquence in the deliberative kind,when agdirs of state were canvassed, and the liberty, happiness,and honour of the republic were the subject ofdebate ? Disputes of this nature elevate the genius aboveall others, and give the fullest scope to eloquence ; and suchdisputes are very frequent in this nation.~Yecondly, It may be pretended that the decline of eloquenceis owing to the superior good sense of the modems,who reject with disdain all those rhetorical tricks, employedto seduce the judges, and will admit of nothing but solidargument in any debate of deliberation. If a nlan be accusedof murder, the fact must be proved by witnesses andevidence ; and the lams will afterwards determine the punishmentof the criminal. It would be ridiculous to describe,in strong colours, the horror and cruelty of the action : Tointroduce the relations of the dead ; and, at a signal, makethem throw themselves at the feet of the judges, imploringjustice with tears and lamentations : And still more ridiculouswo-illd it be, to employ a picture representing thebloody deed, in order to move the judges by the display ofso tragical a spectacle : Though we know, that this artificewas sometimes practised by the pleaders of o1d.l Now, banishthe pathetic from public discourses, and you reduce thespeakers merely to modern eloquence; that is, to good sense,delivered in proper expression.Perhaps it may be acknowledged, that our modern customs,or our superior good sense, if you will, should make ourorators more cautious and reserved than the ancient, inattempting to inflame the passions, or elevate the imaginationof their audience : But, I see no reason, why it sllouldmake them despair absolutely of succeeding in that attempt.It should make them redouble their art, not abandonit entirely. The ancient orators seem also to have been ontheir pard against this jealousy of their audience ; butthey took a different way of eluding it.3 They hurriedaway with such a torrent of sublime and pathetic, that theyleft their hearers no leisure to perceive the artifice, bywhich they were deceived. Nay, to consider the matteraright, they were not deceived by any artifice. The orator,by force of his own genius and eloquence, first inflamedhimself with anger, indignation, pity, sorrow ; and thencornnlunicated those impetuous movements to his audience.Does any man pretend to have more good sense thanJULIUS CBSAR P yet that haughty conqueror, we know, wasso subdued by the charms of CICERO'S eloquence, that hewas, in a manner, constrained to change his settled purposeand resolution, and to absolve a criminal, whom, before thatorator pleaded, he was determined to condemn.a Some objections, I own, notwithstanding his vast success,may lie against some passages of the ROMAN orator. He istoo florid and rhetorical : His figures are too striking andpalpable : The divisions of his discourse are drawn chieflyfrom the rules of the schools : And his wit disdains notthe artifice even of a pun, rhyme, or jingle of words. TheGRECIAN addressed himself to an audience much less refinedthan the ROMAN senate or judges. The lowest vulgar ofATHENS were his sovereigns, and the arbiters of his eloq~ence.~Yet is his manner more chaste and austere than' QUINTIL. lib. vi. cap. 1.ATHENIAN people, not the people of theLONOINUS, cap. 15. orators. GORGIAS LEONTINUS was very'[The paragraph was added in Edi- taking with them, till they became actionK.]quainted with a better manner. HisThe orators formed the taste of tl~e figures of speech, Yilys DIODORUS S~CU-

170 ESSAY XlII.that of the other. Could it be copied, its success would beinfallible over a modern assembly. It is rapid harmony,exactly adjusted to tlie sense: It is vehement reasoning,without any appearance of art : It is disdain, anger, boldness,fl-eedom, involved in a continued stream of argument : And ofall huinan productions, the orations of DEMOSTHENES presentt'ois the models, which approach the nearest to perfection.Thirdly, It may be pretended, that the disorders of theancient governments, and the enormous crimes, of which thecitizens were often guilty, afforded much ampler matter foreloquence than can be met with among t,he moderns. Werethere no VERRES or CATILINE, there would be no CICERO. Butthat this reason can have no great influence, is evident. Itwollld be easy to find a PH~LIP in modern times ; butwhere shall we find a DEMOSTHENES PWhat remains, then, but that we lay the blame on thewant of genius, or of judgment in our speakers, who eitherfound tlie~nselves incapable of reaching the heights ofniicient eloquence, or rejected all such endeavours, as unsuitableto the spirit of modern assemblies? A few successfulattempts of this nature might rouse the genius of thenation, excite the emulation of the youth, and accustom ourears to a more sublime and more pathetic elocution, thanwhat we have been hitherto entertained with. There iscertainly something accidental in the first rise and theprogress of tlle arts in any nation. I doubt whether a verysatisfactory reason can be given, why ancient ROME, thoughit received all its refineinents froin GREECE, could attainonly to a relish for statuary, painting and architecture, withoutreaching the practice of these arts : While modern ROMEhas been excited, by a few remains found among the ruinsof antiquity, slid has produced artists of the greatest eminenceand distinction. Had such a cultivated genius for oratory,as T;VALT,ER's ' for poetry, arisen, during the civil wars, when1liberty began to be fully established, and popular assembliesto enter into all the most material points of government ; ILUS, his antithesis, his radwwhov, llis pertormances. It would be strange yre-~~OLOT~AEV~OY,which are now despised, judice in favour of antiquity, not tohsd a great effect upon the audience. allow a BRITISH parliament to be na-Lib. xii page 106, tx edttione KHOD. turally superior in judgment and deli-It is in vain therefore for modern cacy to an ATHENIAN mob,oratorb to plmd the taste uf their ' [As my Lord Bu1ingbroke.-C. andhoarors as an apology for their lame D.1OF ELOQUENCE. 171am persuaded so illustrious an exsrnyle would have givena quite different turn to BRITISH eloquence, and made usreach the perfection cjf the ancient model. Our oratorswould then have done honour to their country, as well asour poets, geometers, and philosophers, and BRITISHCICEROS have appeared, as well as BRITISH * ARCHIMEDESESand VIRGILS.~[Platos and Virgi1s.-C. D. Plu-~trchs and Virgi1s.-K. to P.]2 [C to P proceed : I have confestthat there is something acciclental inthe origin and progress of the arts inany nation; and yet I cannot forbearthinking, that if tlie other learned andpolite nations of EUROPE had possestthe sitme advrlntages of a popular government,they u-oultl probably harecarried eloquence to a greater heightthan it has yet reacliecl in BRITAIN.The Fnexc~ sermons, especially thoseof FLECHIER and BOSSUET, are muchsuperior to the ENGLISH in this particular;and ' in both these authors arefound many strokes of tlle most sublimepoetry. Nor~e but private causes, intliat country, are ever debated beforetheir parliaments or collrts of judicature; but notwit,llstnnding this tlisndvirlitage,tl~ure appears a spirit of eloquencein many of their lawyers, which,with proper cultivation ancl encouragenlunt,might rise to the greatcst height.l'lie ple;~dings of PATRU are rery elegi~nt,and gire us room to imagine wlliltso fine i~ genius coultl have pcrformuclin questions concerning pul )lit libertyur sliiverg, peace or war, who exertshimself wit11 such socceas in debatesconcerning the price of an old horse, ora gossiping story of a quarrel betweenan abbess and her nulls. For 'tis remarkable,th:~t this polite writer, tho'esteemed by :ill the men of wit in histime, was never employed in the mostconsiderable causes of their courts ofjudicature, but lived anddied in poverty :From an ancient prejudice industriouslypropagated by the dunces in all conntries,That n man qf geilizrs is zlnjt forbzui?tess. The disorders produced bythe factions against cardinal MAZAIXINE,made the parliament of PARIS enter intothe discussion of public affairs, andduring that short intend, there appearedmany syniptoms of the torival ofancient eloquence. The civocctt generalTN~ON, in an oration, inroked on hisknees, the spirit of St. LOUIS to lookdown with cornpnssiom on his dividedand unhi~ppy people, and to inspirethem, from above, with tlie love of con-cord and una~irnity.~ 'The members ofthe FICENCII acatlemy hi~ve attemptedto gire us models of eloquence in theirharangues at their admittance : But,having no subject to discourse upon,they have run altogether into a fulsoniestrain of panegyric and flattery, themost barren of all subjects. Theirstile, however, is commonly, on theseoccasions, very elevated and sublime,and might reach the grr~atest heights,were it ern~lored on a subiect moreI dfavourable and eng~gimg.There are some c~rcumstaiiccs, I con-fess, in the ENC;LISII temper ;ind genius,which are disadvantageous to the progressof eloquence, and render allattempts of tliat kind more clacgerousand difficult among them than amongany other nation. The ENGLISIT areconspicuous for good-selzse, which makesthem rery jealous of any attempts todecr~ive them by the flowers of rhetoricand elocution. 'l'hcy are also peculiarlymodest; which makes them consider itas a piece of arrogance to offor anytliing but reitson to pul~lic assemblies,or attempt to guide them 1)y pvssion orfancy. I may, perhaps, he allowed toadd, that the people in general are notremarkable fur delicacy of taste, or forsensibility to the charms of the muses.Their mzisicn2 parts, to use the expressionof a noble author, are but in-different. Hence their comic poets, tomove them, must have recourse to ob-' [C and D : and in Flechier thcre are Marechal de Turenne is a gootl infoundmany strokes of the most sublimelwetry. His funeral sornion on thestance.][I)e RETZ'S Mcrnoirs.]

172 ESSAY XIII. OF ELOQUENCE.It is seldom or never found, when a false taste in poetryor eloquence prevails among any people, that it has beenpreferred to a true, upon comparison and reflection. Itcommonly prevails merely from ignorance of the true, andfrom the want of perfect models, to lead men into a justerapprehension, and more refined relish of those productionsof genius. When these appear, they soon unite all suffragesin their favour, and, by their natural and powerful charms,gain over, even the most prejudiced, to the love and admirationof them. The principles of every passion, and of everysentiment, is in every man ; and when touched properly,they rise to life, and warm the heart, and convey that satisfaction,by which a work of genius is distinguished from theadulterate beauties of a capricious wit and fancy. And ifthis observation be true, with regard to all the liberal arts,it must be peculiarly so, with regard to eloquence ; which,being merely calculated for the public, and for men of theworld, cannot, with any pretence of reason, appeal from thepeople to more refined judges; but must submit to thepublic verdict,, without reserve or limitation. Whoever,upon comparison, is deemed by a common audience thegreatest orator, ought most certainly to be pronounced such,by inen of science and erudition. And though an indifferentspeaker may triumph for a long time, and be esteemed altogetherperfect by the vulgar, who are satisfied with hisaccon~plishments, and know not in what he is defective : Yet,whenever the true genius arises, he draws to him the attentionof every one, and immediately appears superior to hisrival.Now to judge by this rule, ancient eloquence, that is, thesublime and passionate, is of a much juster taste than themodern, or the argumentative and rational; and, if pro-scenity ; their tragic poets to blood andslaughter : And hence their orators,being depri~ed of any such resource,have abandontd altogether the hopesof moving them, and have confinedtliemselves to plain argument and reasoning.These circumstances, joined to pnrticuliiraccidents, may, perhaps, have re-~rded the growth of eloquence in thiskingdom ; but will not be able to preventils success, if ever it appe:iramongst us : ~ lnd one may safely pro-nounce, that this is a field, in whichthe most flourishing laurels may yet begathered, if any youth of accomplisl~edgenius, thoroughly acquainted with allthe polite arts, and not ignorant ofpublic business, should appear in parliament,and accustom our ears to aneloquence more cornmancling and pa-thetic. And to confirm nle in thisopinion, there occur two considerations,the one derived from ancient, the otherfrom modern times.]perly executed, will always have inore command and authorityover mankind. We are satisfied with our mediocrity,because we have had no experience of anything better : Butthe ancients had experience of both, and, upon conlparison,gave the preference to that kind, of which they have left ussuch applauded models. For, if I mistake not, our moderneloquence is of the same stile or species with that whichancient critics denominated ATTIC eloquence, that is, calm,and subtile, which instrncted the reason more thanaffected the passions, and never raised its tone above argumentor common discourse. Such was the eloquence ofLYSIAS among the ATHENIANS, and of CALVUS among theROMANS. These were esteemed in their time ; but whencompared with DEMOSTHENES and CICERO, were eclipsed likea taper when set in the rays of rt meridian sun. Thoselatter orators possessed the same elegance, and subtilty, andforce of argument, with the former ; but what rendered themchiefly admirable, was that pathetic and sublime, which, onproper occasions, they threw into their discourse, and bywhich they commanded the resolution of their audience.Of this species of eloquence we have scarcely any instancein ENGLAND, at least in our public speakers. In our writers,we have had some instances, which have met with great applause,and might assure our ambitious youth of equal orsuperior glory in attempts for the revival of ancient eloquence.Lord BOLINGBROKE'S productions, with all theirdefects in argument, method and precision, contain a forceand energy which our oratlors scarcely ever aim at ; thoughit is evident, that such an elevated stile has much bettergrace in a speaker than in a writer, anrl is assured of moreprompt and more astonishing success. It is there secondedby the graces of voice and action : The movements are mutuallycommunicated between the orator and the audience : Andthe very aspect of a large assembly, attentive to the discourseof one man, must inspire him with a peculiar elevation,sufficient to give a propriety to the strongest figuresand expressions. It is true, there is a great prejudiceagainst set speeches ; and a man cannot escape ridicule, whorepeats a discourse as a school-boy does his lesson, andtakes no notice of any thing that has been advanced in thecourse of the debate. But where is the necessity of falling' [' with-precision ' ;-this clause was added in Edition K.]

174 ESSAY XIV. TIIE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 175into this absurdity P A public speaker must know beforehandthe question under debate. He may compose all thearguments, objections, and answers, such as he thinks willbe most proper for his discourse.l If any thing new occur,he may supply it from his invention; nor will the differencebe very apparent between his elaborate and his extemporarycompositions. The mind naturally continues with the sameimpetus or force, which it has acquired by its motion ; as avessel, once impelled by the oars, carries on its course forsome time, when the original impulse is suspended.1 shall conclude this subject with observing, that, eventhough our modern orators should not elevate their stile oraspire to a rivalship with the ancient; yet is there, in mostof their speeches, a material defect, which they might correct,without departing from that composed air of argumentand reasoning, to which they limit their ambition. Theirgreat affectation of extemporary discourses has made themreject all order and method, which seems so requisite toargument, and without which it is scarcely possible to producean entire conviction on the mind. It is not, that onewould recoininend many divisions in a public discourse,unless the subject very evidently offer them : But it is easy,without this formality, to observe a method, and make thatmethod conspicuous to the hearers, who will be infinitelypleased to see the arguments rise naturally from one another,and will retain a more thorough persuasion, than canarise from the strongest reasons, which are thrown togetherin confusion,ESSAY XIV.-Of the Rise and Progress of the Arts and 'Sciences.NOTHING requires greater nicety, in our enquiries concerninghuman affairs, than to distinguish exactly what is owingto chance, and what proceeds from cau,ses; nor is there anysubject, in which an author is more liable to deceive himselfby false snbtilties and refinements. To say, that any eventis derived from chance, cuts short all farther enquiry concerningit, and leaves the writer in the same state of ignorance1 The first of the ATHENIAKS, who ypairrbv Adyov F'v 8 i ~ a o ' r ~ pF?TC,i ~ 7ijvcomposed and wrote his ~pecches, was spb (16~0; ~ ~ t f i i a ( d ~ ~ ~ ~ . - S in ~ i d 5 ~PERICLBS, a man of business and a nian ~ € ~ I K A ~ S .of senha, if ever there was one, np&roswith the rest of mankind. But when the evelit is supposedto proceed from certain and stable causes, he may then displayhis ingenuity, in assigning these causes; and as a manof any subtilty can never be at a loss in this particular, hehas thereby an opportunity of swelling his volumes, and discoveringhis profound knowledge, in observing what escapesthe vulgar and ignorant.The distinguishing between chance and causes must dependupon every particular man's sagacity, in considering everyparticular incident. But, if I were to assign any generalrule to help us in applying this distinction, it would be thefollowing, What depends upon a few persons is, in a greatmeasul.e, to be ascribed to chance, or secret and unknown causcs :What arises from a great number, may often be accountetE forby deterwlinate and known causes.Two natural reasons may be assigned for this rule. First,If you suppose a dye to have any biass, however small, to aparticular side, this biass, though, perhaps, it may not appearin a few throws, will certainly prevail in a great number,and will cast the balance entirely to that side. In likemanner, when any causes beget a particular inclination orpassion, at a certain time, and among a certain people;though many individuals may escape the contagion, and beruled by passions peculiar to themselves ; yet the multitudemill certainly be seized by the common affection, and begoverned by it in all their actions.Secondly, Those principles of causes, which are fitted tooperate on a multitude, are always of a grosser and morestubborn nature, less subject to accidents, and less influencedby whim and private fancy, than those which operate on afew only. The latter are commonly so delicate and refined,that the smallest incident in the health, education, or fortuneof a particular person, is sufficient to divert their course, andretard their operation ; nor is it possible to relce them toany general maxims or observations. Their influence at onetime will p.ever assure us concerning their influence at another; even though all the general circumstances should bethe same in both cases.To judge by this rule, the domestic and the gradual revolutionsof a state must be a more proper subject of reasoningand observation, than the foreign and the violent, which arecommonly produced by single persons, and are more influ-

I 7G ESSAY XIV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 177enced by whim, folly, or caprice, than by general passionsand interests. The depression of the lords, and rise of thecommons in ENGLAND, after the statutes of alienation andthe encrease of trade and industry, are more easily accountedfor by general principles, than the depression of the SPANISH,and rise of the FRENCH monarchy, after the death of CHARLERQUINT. Had HARRY IV. Cardinal RICHLIEU, and LOUIS XIV.been SPANIARDS ; and PHILIP 11.111. and IV. and CHARLES11. been FRENCHMEN, the history of these two nations hadbeen entirely reversed.For the same reason, it is more easy to account for therise and progress of conlnlerce in any kingdom, than for thatof learning; and a st,ate, which should apply itself to theencoura,gement of the one, would be more assured of success,than one which should cultivate the other. Avarice, or thedesire of gain, is an universal passion, which operates at alltimes, in all places, and upon all persons : But curiosity, orthe love of knowledge, has a very limited influence, and requiresyouth, leisure, education, genius, and example, tomake it govern any person. You will never want booksellers,while there are buyers of books : But there may frequentlybe readers where there are no authors. Multitudes of people,necessity and liberty, have begotten cominerce in HOLLAND :But study and application have scarcely produced any eminentwriters.We may, therefore, conclude, that there is no subject, inwhich we must proceed with more caution, than in tracingthc history of the arts and sciences; lest we assign causeswhicli never existed, and reduce what is merely contingentto stable and universal principles. Those who cultivate thesciences in any state, are always few in number : The passion,which governs them, limited: Their taste and judgmentdelicate and easily perverted : And their application disturbedwith the smallest accident. Chance, therefore, orsecret and unknown causes, must have a great influence or&the rise and progress of all the refined arts.But there is a reason, which induces me not to ascribe thematter altogether to chance. Though the persons, who cultivatethe sciences with such astonishing success, as to attractthe admiration of posterity, be always few, in all nationsand a11 ages ; it is in~possible but a share of the same spiritand genius must be ant,ecedently diffused throughout thepeople among whom they arise, in order to produce, form,and cultivate, from their earliest infancy, the taste and judgmentof those eminent writers. The mass cannot be altogetherinsipid, from which such refined spirits are extracted.There is a God w~ithin us, says OVID, who breathes that divine$re, by which we are animated.' Poets, in all ages, haveadvanced this claim to inspiration. There is not, however,any thing supernatural in the case. Their fire is not kindledfroin heaven. It only runs along the earth ; is caught fromone breast to another ; and burns brightest. where the materialsare best yrepa~ed, and most lmppily disposed. Thequestion, therefore, concerning the rise and progress of thearts and sciences, is not altogether a question concerningthe taste, genius, and spirits of a few, but concerning thoseof a whole people; and may, therefore, be accounted for, insome measure, by general causes and principles. I grant,that a man, wli~ should enquire, why such a particular poet,as HOMER, for instance, existed, at, such a place, ill such atime, would throw himself headlong into chimera, and couldnever treat of such a subject, without a multitude of falsesubtilties and refinements. He might as well pretend to givea reason, why such particular generals, as FABIUS and SCIPIO,lived in ROME at such a time, and why FABIUS came into theworld before SCIPIO. For such incidents as these, no otherreason can be given than th8t of HORACE :&it genius, natate comes, q?i temperat astrum,Nature Deus human@, mmtalis in unum--Qzlodque caput, vultu mutabilis, nlbtcs & ate?.But I am persuaded, that in many cases good reasonsmight be given, why such a nation is more pollte and learned,at a particular time, than any of, its neighbours. At least,this is so curious a subject, that It wepe a pity to abandon itentirely, before we have found whether it be susceptible ofreasoning, and can be reduced to any general principlesigMy first observation on this head is, That it is impossiblefor the arts and sciences to arise, at Jirst, umong any peopleunless that people enjoy the blessing of a free government.Ebk. Dell6 in nobis ; agitants calewirnusill0 :Impetus hic, sacrae semina mentishabet.OVID, Fast. lib. vi. 5.[Editions C to P add : I shall thereforeproceed to deliver a few observationson this subject, which I elibmit tothe censure and examination of thelearned.]

178 ESSAY XIV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES.In the first ages of the world, when men are as yet barbaronsand ignorant, they seek no farther security againstmutual violence and injustice, than the choice of some ruler^,few or many, in whom they place an implicit confidence,without providing any security, by laws or political institutions,against the violence and injustice of these rulers. Ifthe authority be centered in a single person, and if the people,either by conquest, or by the ordinary course of propagation,encrease to a great multitude, the monarch, finding it inlpossible,in his own person, to execute every office of sovereignty,in every place, must delegate his authority to inferiormagistrates, who preserve peace and order in their respectivedistricts. As experience and education have not yet refinedthe judgments of men to any considerable degree, the prince,who is himself unrestrained, never dreams of restraining hisministers, but delegates his full authority to every one, whomhe sets over any portion of the people. All general laws areattended with inconveniencies, when applied to particularcases ; and it requires great penetration and experience,both to perceive that these inconveniencies are fewer thanwhat result from full discretionary powers in every magistrate; and also to discern what general laws are, upon thewhole, attended with fewest inconveniencies. This is a matterof so great difficulty, that men may have made some advances,even in the sublime arts of poetry and eloquence,where a rapidity of genius and imagination assist their progress,before they have arrived at any great refinement intheir inunicipal laws, where frequent trials and diligentobservation can alone direct their improvements. It is not,therefore, to be supposed, that a barbarous nionarch, unrestrainedand uninstructed, will ever become a legislator, orthink of restraining his Bashaws, in every province, or evenhis Cadis in every village. We are told, that the late Czar,though actuated with a noble genius, and smit with the loveand admiration of EUROPEAN arts ; yet professed an esteem forthe TURKISH policy in this particular, and approved of suchsummary decisions of causes, as are practised in that barbarousmonarchy, where the judges are not restrained byany methods, forms, or laws. He did not perceive, howcontrary such a practice would have been to all his otherendeavours for refining his people. Arbitrary power, in allcases, is somewhat oppressive and debasing; but it is alto-gether ruinous and intolerable, when contracted into a smallcompass; and becomes still worse, when the person, whopossesses it, knows that the time of his anthoritp is limitedand uncertain. Habet subjectos tanquam suos; wiles, ut alienos.'He governs the subjects with full authority, as if they werehis own ; and with negligence or tyranny, as belonging toanother. A people, governed after such a manner, are slave8in the full and proper sense of the word ; and it is impossiblethey can ever aspire to any refinements or taste orreason. They dare not so much as pretend to enjoy thenecessaries of life in plenty or security.To expect, therefore, that tlie arts and sciences shouldtake their first rise in a monarchy, is to expect a contradiction.Bnfore these refinements have taken place, themonarch is ignorant and uninstructed ; arid not havingknowledge sufficient to make him sensible of the necessity ofbalancing his government upon general laws, he delegateshis full power to all inferior magistrates. This barbarouspolicy debases the people, and for ever prevents all improvements.Were it possible, that, before science were know11in the world, a monarch could possess so much wisdom as tobecoine a legislator, and govern his people by law, not bythe arbitrary will of their fellow-subjects, it might be possiblefor that species of government to be the first nursery ofarts arid sciences. But that supposition seems scarcely tobe consistent or rational.It may happen, that a republic, in its infant state, maybe silpported by as few laws as a barbarous monarchy, andmay entrust as unlimited an authority to its magistrates orjudges. But, besides that the frequent elections by thepeople, are a considerable check upon authority ; it is impossible,but, in time, the necessity of restraining the magistrates,in order to preserve liberty, must at last appear, andgive rise to general laws and statutes. The ROMAN Consuls,for some time, decided all causes, without being confinetlby any positive statutes, till the people, bearing this yokewith impatience, created the decemvirs, who promulgatedthe twelve tables ; a body of laws, which, though, pqrhaps,they were not equal in bulk to one ENGLISH act of yarliament,were almost the only written rules, which regulated1 TACIT. hist. lib. i. 37.

180 ESSAY XIV. THE ItlSE OF AItTS AND SCMSCI~:S. 181propertty and punishment, for some ages, in that famousrepublic. They were, however, sufficient, together with theforms of a free government, to secure the lives and propertiesof the citizens, to exenzpt one man from the dominionof another ; and to protect every one against the violence ortyranny of his fellow-citizens. In such a situation thesciences may raise their heads and flourish : But never canhave being amidst such a scene of oppression and slavery,as always results froin barbarous monarchies, where thepeople alone are restrained by the authority of the inagistrates,anci the magistrates are not restrained by any lawor statute. An unliiilited despotism of this nature, while itexists, effectually puts a stop to all improvements, and keepsmen from attaining that ki~owledge, which is requisite toinstruct them in the advantages, arising from a better police,and more moderate authority.Here then are the advantages of free states. Though arepublic should be barbarous, it necessarily, by an infallible .operation, gives rise to LAW, even before mankind have madeany considerable advances in the other sciences. From lawarises security : From security curiosity : And from curiosityknowledge. The latter steps of this progress may be moreaccidental ; but the former are altogether necessary. A republicwithout laws can never have any duration. On thecontrary, in a monarchical government, law arises not necessarilyfrom the forins of government. Monarchy, whenabsolute, contains even something repugnant to law. Greatwisdom and reflection can alone reconcile them. But such. a degree of wisdom can never be expected, before the greaterrefinements and improvements of human reason. These refinementsrequire curiosity, security, and law. The Jirstgrowth, therefore, of tlle arts and sciences can never be expectedin despotic governments.'There are other causes, which discourage the rise of therefined arts in despotic governments; though I take thewant of laws, and the delegation of full powers to everypetty magistrate, to be the principal. Eloquence certainly[Eclitions C to P add : According to cannot precede science. An absolutethe necessary progress of things, law prince, who is barbarous, renders dlmust precede mience. In republics lawm;ty preceds ecience, and may arisehis ministers and magistrates as absoluteas himself: And there needs nofrom the very nature of the govern- more to prevent, for ever, all industry,ment. In monarchies it ari~es not from curiosity, and science.]the nature of thc goveruinent, andup more naturally in popular governments : Emulationtoo in every aocomp!ishment must there be more animatedand enlivened : And genius and capacity have a fullerscope and career. All these causes render free governmentsthe only proper nursery for the arts and sciences.The next observation, wllich I shall make on this head, is,That nothing is more favourable to the rise of politeness andlearjzing, than a number of neighbouring and independent states,connected together by commerGe and policy. The emulation,which naturally arises among those neighbouring states, isan obvious source of improvement : But what I would chieflyinsist on is the stop, which such limited territories give bothto power and to authority.Extended governments, where a single person has greatinfluence, soon become absolute ; but small ones changenaturally into commonwealths. A large government is accustomedby degrees to tyranny ; because each act of violenceis at first performed upon a part, which, being distantfrom the majority, is not taken notice of, nor excites allyviolent ferment. Besides, a large government, though thewhole be discontented, may, by a little art, be kept in ubedience; while each part, ignorant of the resolutions of therest, is afraid to begin any commotion or insurrection. Notto mention, that there is a supersti'tious reverence for princes,which mankind naturally contract when they do not oftensee the sovereign, and when many of them become not acquaintedwith him so as to perceive his weaknesses. Andas large states can a.fford a great expence, in order to supportthe pomp of m+jesty ; this is a kind of fasaination 011men, and naturally contributes to the enslaving of them.In a small government, any act of oppression is immediatelyknown throughout the whole : The murmurs anddiscontents, proceeding from it, are easily communicated :And the indignation arises the higher, because the subjectsare not apt to apprehend in such states, that the distance isvery wide between themselves and their sovereign. ' No man,'said the prince of CONDE, 'is a hero to his Valet cle Chambre.'It is certain that admiration and acquaintance are altogetherincompatible towards any mortal creature. Sleep and love con-' [Editions C to K add the following : the universe, Upon that head, says he,dntzgonus, being complimented by his you may consult the person tht emptie~tlatterers, as a deity, and as the son of my close stool.]that glorious planet, which illuminates

182 ESSAY XlV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 183vinued even ALEXANDER hiillself that he was not a God : But Isuppose that suulr as daily attended him could easily, from thenuinberless weaknesses to which he was subject,~h,zve givenhim many still more convincing proofs of his humanity.But the divisiolls into sn~all states are favourable to learning,by stopping the progress of authority as well as that ofpower. Reputation is often as great a fasciilation upon menas sovereignty, and is equally destructive to the freedom ofthought and examination. But where a number of neighbouriilgstates have a great intercourse of arts and commerce,their inutual jealousy keeps them from receiving toolightly the law from each other, in matters of taste and ofreasoning, and makes them examine every work of art with thegreatest care and accuracy. The contagion of popular opinionspreads not so easily fro111 one place to another. It readilyreceives a check in some state or other, where it concurs notwith the prevailing prejudices. And nothing but natureand reason,' or, at least, what bears them a strong resernblarloe,can force its way through all obstacles, and unite themost rival nations into an esteeirl and admiration of it.GREECE was a cluster of little principalities, which soonbecame republics; and being united both by their nearneighbonrhood, and by the ties of the same language andinterest, they entered into the closest intercourse of commerceand learning. There concurred a happy climate, a soil notunfertile, and a most harmonious and compreherlsive language;so that every circumstance among that peopleseemed to fivour the rise of the arts and sciences. Each cityproduced its several artists and philosophers, who refused toyield the preference to those of the neighbouring republics :Their contention and debates sharpened the wits of men:A variety of objects was presented to the judgment, whileeach challenged the preference to the rest : and the sciences,not being dwarfed by the restraint of authority, were enabledto make such considerable shoots, as are, e,ven at this time,the objects of our admiration. After the ROMAN cl~ristict~~,or catholic church had spread itself over the civilized world,and had engrossed all the learning of the times ; being reallycine large state within itself, and united under one head ;this va.riety of sects immediately disappeared, and thoPERIPATETIC philosoplly was alone admitted into all the' [Or - rewmblnnce: ornrtted in C and D.]schools, to the utter depravation of every kind of learning.But liiankind, having at length thro~vn off this yoke, affairsare now returned nearly to the same situation as before, andEUROPE is at present a copy at large, of what GREECE wasformerly a pattern ill miniature. We have seen the advantageof this situation in several instances. What checkedthe progress of the CARTEYIAN philosophy, to which theFRENCH nation shewed such a stror~g propensity towards theend of the last century, but the opposition made to it bythe other nations of EUROPE, who soon discovered the weaksides of that philosophy? The severest scrutiny, whichNEWTOX'S theory lrm undergone, proceeded not from his owncountrymen, but fkom foreigners; and if it can overcomethe obstacles, which it meets with at present in all parts ofEUROPE, it will probably go down triumphant to the latestposterity. The ENGLISH are become sensible of the scandalouslicentiousness of their stage, from the example of theFRENCH decency and morals. The FRENCH are convinced,that their theatre has become somewhat effeminate, by toomuch love and gallantry ; and begin to approve of the inoreinasculine taste of some neighbouring nations.In CHINA, there seenis to be a pretty consideraable stock ofpoliteness and science, which, in the course of so manycenturies, might naturally be expected to ripen into somethingmore perfect and finished, than what has yet arisenfrom them. But CHINA is one vast empire, speaking onelanguage, governed by one law, and sympathizing in thesame manners. The authority of any teacher, such as CON-FUCIUS, was propagated easily from one corner of the empireto the other. None had courage to resist the torrent of popularopinion. And posterity was not bold enough to disputewhat had been universally received by their ancestors. ThisHeems to be one natural reason, why the sciences have madeso slow a progress in that nlighty empire.'l If it be asked how we can reconcileto the foregoing principles the hwppiness,riches, and good police of theCHINESE, who hare always been governedby a sole monarch, and canscarce form an iclen of a free gorernment;I wollld answer. that tho' theCHINESE government be a pure monajchy,it is not, properly speaking,ahsolute. This proceeds from a pcculiarityof the situi~tion of that country:They have no neighbours, except theTARTARS, from whom they were, in somemeasure secured, at least seemed to besecured, by their famous wall. and bythe great superiority of their numbers.By this means, military discipline hasalways been much neglected amongstthem; and their standing forces aremere militia, of the worst kind ; andunfit to suppress any general insurrectionin co~mtrieso extremely populous.

184 ESSAY XTV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 186If we co:lsider the face of the globe, EUROPE, of all thefour parts of the world, is the most broken by seas, rivers,and mountains; and GREECE of all countries of EUROPE.Hence these regions were naturally divided into severaldistinct governments. And hence the sciences arose inGREECE ; and EUROPE has been hitherto the most constanthabitation of them.I have sometimes been inclined to think, that interruptionsin the periods of learning, were they not attendedwith such :L destruction of ancient books, and the records ofhistory, would be rather favourable to the arts and sciences,by breaking the progress of autllority, and dethroning thetyrannical usurpers over human reason. In this particular,they have the same influence, as interruptions in politicalgovernments and societies. Consider the blind submissiol~of the ancient philosophers to the several masters in eachschool, and you will be convinced, that little good could beexpected from a hundred centuries of such a servile philosophy.Even the ECLECTICS, who arose about the age ofAUGUSTUS, notwithstanding their professing to clluse freelywhat pleased them from every different sect, were yet, in themain, as slavish and depenaent as any of their brethrensince they sought for truth not in nature, but in the severalschools ; where they supposed she must necessarily be found,though not united in a body, yet dispersed in parts. Uponthe revival of learning, those sects of STOICS and EPI-CUREANS, PLATONISTS and PYTHAGOBICIANB, could never regainany credit or authority ; and, at the same time, by theexample of their fall, kept men from submitting, with suchblind deference, to those new sects, which have attemptedto gain an asceudant over them.The third observation, which I shall form on this, head, ofthe rise and prdgress of the arts and sciences, is, That thoughthe only proper Nursery of these noble plants be a free state;yet may they be transplanted into any government ; and that aThe sword. therefore, may properly bewid to be always in tlle hands of thepeople, which is a sufficient restraintupon the monarch, and obliges him tolay his monrlnrazs or go\*tLrnors of proriucesluitler thc restraint of generalIau~t.. in order to prevent those robellions.which ne learn from liistory tohave been so frequent' and dangerousin that government. Perhaps, a puremonarchy of this kind, were it fittntlfor n defence against foreign enemies,woulcl be the best of all governments.as hi~ving both the tri1nqnillityatten:lingkingly power, e~n~l the moderation and11Lerty of popular aese~itblies.is mosf favourable to the growth of the nciewcer. r,tcivilized inonarchy to that of the polite arts.To balance a large state or society, whether monarzhiculor republican, on general laws, is a work of so great difficulty,that no human genius, however comprehensive, is able, bythe mere dint of reason and reflection, to effect it. Thejudgments of many must unite in this work: Experiencemust guide their labour : Time must bring it to perfection :And the feeling of inconveniencies must correct the mistakes,which they inevitably fall into, in their first trials and experiments.Hence appears the impossibility, that this undertakingshould be begun and carried on in any monarchy ;since such a form of government, ere civilized, knows noother secret or policy, than that of entrusting unlimitedpowers to every gorernor or magistrate, and subdividingthe people into so many classes and orders of slavery. Fromsuch a situation, no improvement can ever be expected inthe sciences, in the liberal arts, in laws, and sc~rcely in themanual arts and manufactures. The same barbarism andignorance, with which the governnient commences, is propagatedto all poste~~ity, and can never come to a period by theefforts or ingenuity of such unhappy slaves.But though law, the source of all security and happinees,arises late in any government, and is the slow product oforder and of liberty, it is not preserved with the samedifficulty, with which it is produced; but when it has oncetaken root, is a hardy plant, which will scarcely ever perishthrough the ill culture of men, or the rigour of the seasons.The arts of luxury, and much more the liberal arts, whichdepend on a refined taste or sentiment, are easily lost ; becausethey are always relished by a few only, whose leisure,fortune, and genius fit them for such amusements. Butwhat is profitable to every mortal, and in con~nlon life, whenonce discovered, can scarcely fall into ohlivio~i, but by thetotal subversion of society, and by such furious inundationsof barbarous invaders, as obliterate all memory of formerarts and civility. Imitation also is apt to transport thesecoarser- and more useful arts from one climate to another,and make them precede the refined arts in their progress ;though perhaps they sprang after them in their first rise andpropagation. From tlr ese causes proceed civilized mo-

186 ESSAY XIV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCII

188 ESSAY XlV. THE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 189is an expression for rust,icity among the FRENCH. The ENG-LISH, in-some degree, fall Gder the same censure, notwithstandingtheir learning and genius. And if the VENETIANSbe an exception to the rule, they owe it, perhaps, to theircon~munication with the other ITALIANR, most of whosegovernments beget a dependence more than sufficient forcivilizing their manners.It is &fficult to pronounce any judgment concerning t,herefinements of the ancient republics in this particular : ButI an1 apt to suspect, that the arts of conversation were notbrought so near to perfection among thein as the arts ofwriting and composition. The scurrility of the ancient orators,in many instances, is quite shocking, and exceeds allbelief. Vanity too is often not a little offensive in authors ofthose ages '; as well as the common licentiousness and imrll~destyof their stile, Quicunpue impudicus, adulter, ganeo,manu, ventre, pene, bona patria laceraverat, says SALLUST inone of the gravest and most moral passages of his history.Nam fuit ante Helenam Cunnus teterrima belli Causa, is anexpression of HORACE, in tracing the origin of moral goodand evil. OVID and LUCRETIUR are almost as licentious intheir stile as Lord ROCHESTER ; though the former were finegentlemen and delicate writers, and the latter 3, from thecorruptions of that court, in which he lived, seems to havetllrotvn off all regard to shame and decency. JUVENAL inculctttesmodesty with great zeal ; but sets a very badexample of it, if we consider the impudence of his expressions.I shall also be bold to affirm, that among t'he ancients,there was not much delicacy of breeding, or that polite deferenceand respect, which civility obliges us either to expressor counterfeit to.wards the Dersons' with whom we converse.-LCICERO was certainly one of the finest gentlemen of his age ;1 It is needless to cite CICERO orPLINY on this head : They are toomuch noted : But one is a little surprisedto find ARRIAN, n very grave,jud ioious writer, interrupt the threadof his narration all of a sudden, to tellhis readers that he himself is as eminentamong the GRE~Y for eloquenceas ALEXANDER WRS for 81mS. Lib. i. 12.This poet (See lib. iv. 1175.) re-comnlends a very extraordinary cure forlove, and what one expects not to meetwith in so elegant and philosophical apoem. It seems to have been the originalof some of Dr. SWIFT'S images.The elegant CA~LVS and PHBDKUSfall under the same censure.[Etlitions C and D read: was anabandon'd and shamelees Profligate.]1 [C to P i~sert : beautiful and cleanly.]yet T must confess I have frequently been shocked with thepoor figure under which he represents his friend ATTICUS, inthose dialogues, where he himself is introduced as a speaker.That learned and virtuous ROMAN, whose dignity, though hewas only a private gentleman, was inferior to that of no onein ROME, i~ there shewn in rather a more pitiful light thanPHILALETHES'S friend in our modern dialogues. He is ahumble adrnirer of the orator, pays him frequent conlpliments,and receives his instructions, with all the deferencewhich-a scholar owes to his master I . Even CATO is treatedin somewhat of a cavalier manner in the dialogues de$nibus.=One of the most particular details of a real dialogue,which we meet with in antiquity, is related by POLYBIUS ;when PHILIP, king of MACEDON, a prince of wit and parts,met with TITUS FLAMIN~NUS, one of the politest of theROMANS, as we learn from PLUTARCH 5 accompanied withambassadors from almost all the GREEK cities. The BTOLIANambassador very abruptly tells the kiug, that he talked likea fool or a madman (hvps?~). That's evident, says his majesty,even to a blind man; which was a raillery on the blindness ofhis excellency. Yet all this did not pass the usual bouilds :For the conference was not disturbed ; and FLAMININUS wa.svery well diverted with these strokes of humour. At theend, when PHILIP craved a little time to consult with hisfriends, of whom he had none present, the ROMAN general,being desirous also to shew his wit, as the historian says,tells- him, that perhaps the reason, why he had none of 7~isfriends with him, was because he! had murdered them all ;which was actually the case. This unprovoked piece ofrusticity is not condemned by the historian; caused 110ATT. Non mihi videtur ad beatevivendum satis esse virtutern. MAR.At hercule BRUTO meo videtur ; cujusego juclicium, pace tua dixerim, longeantepono tuo. Tusc. Quaest. lib. Y. 5. occasions.[E,ditions C to P add the following :And tis remarkable, that CICERO,being a great sceptic in matters ofreligion, and unwilling to determineany thing on that head among thedifferent sects of philosophy, introduceshis friends disputing concerl~ing thebeing and nature of the gocls, while heis only a hearer; bemuse, forsooth, itwould have been an impropriety for sogreat a genius as himself, had he spoke,not to have said something decisive onthe subject, and have carried every tl,ii~gbefore him, as he always does on otherThere is also a spirit of tlixlogueobservecl in the eloquent I:ooks JeOratore, and a tolerable equdity m:lintitinedamong the speakers : But. tl~enthese speakers are the great men of theage preceding the author. nn(l he rccou1:tsthe conference as only from hearsay.][This paragraph is not foulid inEditions C and D.jLib. xrii. 4.111 vita FLAMIN., C. 2.

1 90 ESSAY XIV. TIIE ItISE OF -4111'S ;IS11 SCIENCES. 101farther resentment in PHILIP, than to excite a SARDONIANsmile, or what we call a grin ; and hindered him not fromrenewing the conference next day. PLUTARCH too mentionsthis raiilery amongst the witty and agreeable sayings ofPLUT. in vita FLAMIN. C. 17.2 [Editions C to P insert: 'Tis butan indifferent compliment, whichIIo~acs pays to his friend GROSPHUS,in the ode addressed to him. No one,says he, is happ*y in every respect. And1 7nay perhaps enjoy some advantages,which you are deprived of. You possessgreat riches : Your bellowing herdscocer the SIC~LIAN plains : Your chariotis drawn by the jnest horses : And youare arrayed in the richest purple. Butthe indulgent fhtes, with a small inheritcrnce,havr given ME a jine genius, andhave endowed nze with a contempt .forwould not have been guilty of such animpropriety as that which may be observedin VIRGIL'S address to AUGU~TUY,when, after a great deal of extravagantflattery, and after having deified theemperor, according to the custom ofthose times, he, at last, places this godon the same level with himself. Byyour gracious nod, says he, render my~ndertakin~y prosperous ; and takingpity, together with me, of the Swainsnorant of husbandray, bestow yourP avourable influence om. this work.3 Hadmen, in that age, been accustomed toobserve such niceties, a writer so delicatethe n~nlignnntjudgments qf the vulgar.' as VIRGIL would certainly have giveuPHEDRUS says to his patron, EUTYCH~:~, a different turn to this sentence. TheIf you intend to read my works, I shall court of AUGUSTCS, however polite, hadbe pleas, d : If not, I shall, at least, have not yet, it seems, worn off the mannersthe trdvan fago of pleasing po~terity.~ I of the republic.am apt to think that a modern poet1- Nihil est ab omniParte beatum.Abstulit clarum cita mors ACHTLI~EM,Longa TITH~NUM minuit senectus,ht mihi forsan, tibi quod negarit,Porriget hora.Te preges centnm. Siculzeque circumMugiunt vacm : tibi tollit, hinni-Tum' apta quadrigis equa : te bis AfroMurice tinctaeVestiunt lanae : mihi parva rura, &- Spiritum Grab tenuem CamcenaeParca non mendax dedit & malignumSpernere vulgns.Lib. 2. Ode 16.2 Quem xi leges, la~tabor; in autemminus,Habebunt certe quo se oblectant posteri.Lib. 3. Prol. 31.8 Ignarosque vie mecum miseratusagrestesIngredere, & votis jam nunc aesuescevwri.Georg. Lib. 1. 41.One would not say to a prince orgreat man, ' When you and I were insuch a place, we saw such a thinghappen.' But, 'When you were in sucha plsce, I attended you : And such athing happened.'Here I cannot forbe;lr mentioning apiece of delicacy observed in FRANCE,which seems to me excessive and ridiculous.You must not say, ' That is avery fine dog, Madam.' But, ' Madam,that is tt very fine dog.' They think itindecent that those words, clog andmadam, should be coupled together inthe sentence ; though they have no referenceto each other in the sense.After all, I acknowledge, that thisreasoning from single passages of ancientauthors may seein fallacious ; andthat the foregoing arguments cannothave great force, but with those whoare well acquainted with these writers,and know the truth of the generalposition. For instance, what absurditywould it be to assert, that VIRGILunderstood not the force of the termshe employs, and could not chuse hisepithets with propriety? Bemuse inthe following lines, addressed also toAuctns~us, he haa failed in that particular,and has ascribed to theINDIANS a quality, which seems, in amanner, to turn his hero into ridicule.-- Et te, maxime CBSAR,Qui nunc extromis ASIB jam victor inorisIn'ntbellem averti w Roxa~larcibus Indum.(3eorg. Lib. 2. 171.1Cardinal WOLSEY apologized for his famous piece of insolence,in saying, EGO ET REX MEUS, I and my king, by observing,that this expression ivas conformable to the Latinidiom, and that a ROMAN always named himself before theperson to whom, or of whom he spake. Yet this seems tohave: been an instance of want of civility among that people.The ancients made it a rule, that the person of the greatestdignity should be mentioned first in the discourse ; insomuch,that we find the spring of a quarrel and jealousybetween the ROMANS and XTOLIANS, to have been a poet'snaming the BTOLIANS before the ROMANS, in celebrating avictory gained by their united arms over the MACEDONIANS:Thus LIVIA disgusted TIBERIUS by placing her own namebefore his in an in~cript'ion.~No advantages in this world are pure and unmixed. Inlike manner, as modern politeness, which is natl~rally soornamental, runs often into affectation and foppery, disguiseand insincerity ; so the ancient simplicity, which is naturallyso amiable and affecting, often degenerates into rusticity andabuse, scurrility and obscenity.If the superiority in politeness should be allowed to moderntimes, the modern notions of gallantry, the natural produceof courts and monarchies, will probably be assigned as thocauses of this refinement. No one denies this invention tobe modern4 : But some of the more zealous partizans of theancients, have asserted it to be foppish and ridiculous, and areproach, rather than a credit, to the present age.5 It mayhere be proper to examine this question.Nature has implanted in all living creatures an affectionbetween the sexes, which, even in the fiercest and n~ost rapaciousanimals, is not' merely confined to the satisfaction ofthe bodily appetite, but begets a friendship and mutual sympathy,which runs through the whole tenor of their lives.Nay, even in those species, where nature limits the indulgenceof this appetife to one season and to one object, and forms akind of marriage or association between a single male andfemale, there is yet a visible complacency and benevolence,PLUT. in vita FLAMIN. C. 9. CLIN~AS, whenever he comes to town,[Th:s sentence and the paragraph instead of waiting on his mistress, sendsnext following were added in &id f6P her, to come to him.tion K.]' Lord SXAFTESBURY, see his MoralsTACIT, Ann. lib. iii. cap. 64. ists.Iu the Self-Tormentor of TERENCE:,

102 ESSAY XIV,wllich extends farther, and mutually softens the affections ofthe sexes towards each other.' How much more must thishave place in man, where the confinement of the appetite is .not natural ; but either is derived accidentally from somestrong charm. of love, or arises from reflections on dutyand convenience 3 Nothing, therefore, can proceed less fromaffectation than the passion of gallantry. It is natural inthe highest degree. Art and education, in the most elega1.tcourts, make no more alteration on it, than on all the otherlaudable passions. They only turn the mind more towardsit ; they refine it ; they polish it ; and give it a proper graceand expression..But gallantry is as generous as it is natural. To correctsuch gross vices, as lead us to commit real injury on others,is the part of morals, and the object of the most ordinaryeducation. Where that is not attended to, in some degree,no human society can subsist. But in order to render conversation,and the intercourse of minds more easy and agreeable,good-manners have been invented, and have carried thematter somewhat farther. Wherever nature has given themind a propensity to any vice, or to any passion disagreeableto others, refined breeding has taught men to throw the biasson the opposite side, and to preserve, in all their behaviour,the appearance of sentiments different from those to whichthey naturally incline. Thus, as we are commonly proud andselfish, and apt to assume the preference above others, a politeinan learns to behave with deference towards his companions,and to yield the superiority to them in all the common incidentsof society. In like manner, wherever a person'ssitoation may naturally beget any disagreeable suspicion inhim, it is the part of good-manners to prevent it, by a studieddisplay of sentiments, directly contrary to those of which heis apt to be jealous. Thus, old men know their infirmities,and naturally dread contempt from the youth : Hence, welleducatedyouth redouble the instdnces of respect and defereuceto their elders. Strangers and foreigners are withoutpotection : Hence, in all polite countries, they receive the a[Editions C to P add the following L'orsa con I'orso 81 boaco sicura err.t,quotation.I*t Leonessa apprbso il Leon giace,luLd gli altri animai che sono in terra, Con Lupo vive il Lupi sicur,~,0 cl~e vivon quieti & stanno in pace ; NB la Giuvenca ha clel Torel yaurrt.0 se rengon n rissa, & si fan guerra, ARIOSTO, Canto 5.A la femina il maschio non lit face.THE RlSE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 193highest civilities, and are entitled to the first place in everycompany. A man is lord in his own family, and his guestsare, in a manner, subject to his authority : Hence, he is alwaysthe lowest person in the company ; attentive to the wants ofevery one ; and giving himself all the trouble, in order toplease, which may not betray too visible an affectation, orimpose too much constraint on his pests.' Gallantry isnothing but an instance of the same generous attention, Asnature has given man the superiority above woman, by endowinghim with greater strength both of mind and body ;it is his part to alleviate that superiority, as much as possible,by the generosity of his behaviour, and by a studied deferenceand complaisance for all her inclinations and opinions. Barbarousnations display this superiority, by reducing theirfemales to the most abject slavery; by confining them, bybeating them, by selling them, by killing them. But themale sex, among a polite people, discover their authority in ;I,rnore generous, though not a less evident manner ; by civility,by respect, by complaisance, and, in a word, by gallantry.In good company, you need not ask, Who is the master of thefeast P The man, who sits in the lowest place, and who isalways industrious in helping every one, is certainly theperson. We must either condemn all such instances of generosity,as foppish and affected, or admit of gallantry amongthe rest. The ancient MUS~OVITES wedded their wives witha whip, instead of a ring. The same people, in their ownhouses, took always the precedency above foreigners, evenforeign ambassadors. These two instances of their generosityand politeness are much of a piece.Gallantry is not less compatible with wisdom and prudence,than with nature and generosity ; and when under properregulations, contributes more than any other invention, to theentertainment and improvement of the youth of both sexes.3Among every species of animals, nature has founded on theThe frequent mention in ancientauthors of that ill-bred custom of themaster of the family's eating betterbread or drinking better wine at table,than he afforded his guests, is but anindifferent mark of the civilit of thoseages. See juver*~, sat. 5. E?ILINII lib.riv. cap. 13. AISO PLINII Epist. Lucia*mercede condzrcti's, Satuxnalia, gc.There is scarcely any part of EUBOPBat present NO uncivilized as to admit ofsuch a custom.See Relation of three Embassies, bythe Earl of CARLISLE.[Editions C to P read : In all vegetables,'tis observable, that the flowerand the seed are always connectedtogether; and in like manner, amongevery species, &c.]

19.1 ESSAY SIV. TI-IE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 195love between the sexes their sweetest and best enjoyment.But the satisfaction of the bodily appetite is not alone sufficientto gratify the mind ; and even among brtite-creatures,we find, that their play and dalliance, and other expressions offondness, form the greatest part of the entertainment. Inrational beings, we must certainly admit the mind for a considerableshare. Were we to rob the feast of all its garnitureof reason, discourse, sympathy, friendship, and gaiety, whatremains would scarcely be worth acceptance, in the judgmentof the truly elegant and luxurious.What better school for manners, than the company ofvirtuous women ; where the mutual endeavour to please mustinsensibly polish the mind, where the example of the femalesoftness and modesty must communicate itself to theiradmirers, and where the delicacy of that sex puts every oneon his guard, lest he give offence by any breach of decency1.Among the ancients, the character of the fair-sex was consideredas altogether domestic ; nor were they regarded aspart of the polite world or of good company. This, perhaps,is the true reason why the ancients have not left us one pieceof pleasantry that is excellent, (unless one may except theBanquet of XENOPHON, and the Dialogues of LUCIAN) thoughmany of their serious compositions are altogether inimitable.HORACE condemns the coarse railleries and cold jests ofPLAUTUS: But, though the most easy, agreeable, andjudicious writer in the world, is his own talent for ridiculevery striking or refined ? This, therefore, is one considerableimprovement, which the polite arts have received from gallantry,and from courts, where it first arose.21 [C to 0 add: I must confess, Thatmy own particu1:~r choice .rather jeadsme to prefer the company of a fewselect companions, with whom I can,calmly and peaceably, enjoy the feastof reason, and try the justness of everyreflection, whether gay or serious, thatmay occur to me. But as such a delightfulsociety is not every day to bemet with, I must think, that mixt companies,without the fair-sex, are themost insipid entertainment in theworld, and destitute of gaiety andpoliteness, as much as of sense andreason. Nothing can keep them fromexcessive dulness but hard drinking ; aremedy WclrSe than the disedse.][Editions C to P insert the follow-ing : The point of howour, or duelling,is a modern invention, as well asgallantry; and by some esteemedequally useful for the refinipg ofmanners : But how it has contributedto that effect, I am at a loss to de-termine. Conversation, among thegreatest rustics, is not commonly investedwith such rutleness as can giveoccasion to duels, even accorcling to themost refined laws of this fantastichonour; and as to the other small indecencies,which are the most offensive,because the most frequent, they cannever be cured by the practice of duelling.But these notions are not onlyuseless : They are also pernicious. Byseparating the man ?f honour from theBut, to return from this digression, I shall advance it as afourth observation on this subject, of the rise and progress oftile arts and sciences, That when the arts and sciences come toin any state, f~om that moment they naturally, orrather necessarily decline, and seldom or never revive in that%ation, where they formerly flourished.It must be confessed, that this maxim, though conformableto experience, may, at first sight, be esteemed contraryto reason. If the natural genius of mankind be the same inall ages, and in almost all countries, (as seems to be the truth)it must very much forward and cultivate this genius, to bepossessed of patterns in every art, which may regulate thetaste, and fix the objects of imitation. The models left usby the ancients gave birth to all the arts about 200 years ago,and have mightily advanced their progress in every countryof EUEOPE : Why had they not a like effect during the reignof TRAJAN and his successors; when they were inuch moreentire, and were still admired and studied by the whole world '?So late as the emperor JUSTINIAN, the POET, by way of distinction,mas understood, among the GREEKS, to be HOMER;among the ROMANS, VIRGIL. Such admiration still remainedfor these divine geniuses ; though no poet had appeared formany centuries, who could justly pretend to have imitatedthem.A man's genius is always, in the beginning of life, as muchunknown to himself as to others ; and it is only after frequenttrials, attended with success, that he dares think himselfequal to those undertakings, in which those, who have succeeded,have fixed the admi-ration of mankind. If his ownnation be already possessed of many models of eloquence, heman of virtue, the greatest profligateshare got something to value themselvesupon, and have been able to keep themselvesin countenance, tho' guilty of themost shameful and most dangerous vices.They are debauchees, spendthrifts, andnever pay a farthing they owe: Butthey are men of honour ; and thereforeare to be received as gentlemen in allcompanies.The are some of the parts ofmodern honour, which are the mostessential parts of morality ; such asfidelity, the observing promises, andtelling truth. These points of honourMr. ADDISOX had in his eye when hemade JUBA say,Hoaour's a sacred t e, th law of kings,The noble mind's &tinguisAing pegectwn,TAat aids and strmyllrens virtue whnit meets her,And imitates her actions where she 6not :It ought not to be sported with.These lines are very beautiful: But Iam afraid, that Mr. ADDISON has herebeen guilty of that impropriety, of mntiment,with which, on other occasions,he has so justly reproached our poets.The ancients certainly never had anynotion of homw a8 distinct from virtue.]

196 ESSAY XIV.naturally compares his own juvenile exercises wit11 these ;and being sensible of the great disproportion, is discouragedfrom any farther attempts, and never aims at a rivalship withthose authors, whom he so much admires. A noble emulationis the source of every excellence. Admiration and modestynaturally extinguish this emulation. And no one is so liableto an excess of admiration and modesty, as a truly greatgenius.Next to emulation, the greatest encourager of the noblearts is praise and glory. A writer is animated with newforce, when he hears the applauses of the world for his formerproductions ; and, being roused by such a motive, he oftenreaches a pitch of perfection, which is equally surprizing tohimself and to his readers. But when the posts of honourare all occupied, his first attempts are but coldly received bythe public ; being compared to productions, which are both inthemselves more excellent, and have already the advantageof an established reputation, Were MOLIERE and CORNEILLEto bring upon the stage at present their early productions,which were fornierly so well received, it would discourage theyoung poets, to see the indifference and disdain of the public.The ignorance of the age alone could have given admissionto the Prince of TYRE ; but it is to that we owe the Moor :Had Every man in his humour been rejected, we had neverseen VOLPONE.Perhaps, it may not be for the advantage of any nation tohave the arts imported from their neighbours in too greatperfection. This extinguishes emulation, and sinks the- ardour of the generous youth. So many models of ITALIANpainting brought into ENGLAND, instead of exciting ourartists, is the cause of their small progress in that noble art.The same, perhaps, was the case of ROME, when it receivedthe arts from GREECE. That multitude of polite productionsin the FRENCH laaguage, dispersed all over GERMANY andthe NORTH, hinder these nations from cultivating their ownlanguage, and keep them still dependent on their neighboursfor those elegant entertainments.It is true, the ancients had left us models in every kind ofwriting, which are highly worthy of admiration. But besidesthat they were written in languages, known only to thelearned ; besides this, I say, the comparison is not so perfector entire between modern wits, and those who lived in soTHE RISE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES. 197remote an age. Had WALLER been born in ROME, duringthe reign of TIBER~US, his first productions had been despised,when compared to tlie finished odes of HORACE. But in thisisland the superiority of the ROMAN poet diminished nothingfrom the fame of the ENGLISH. We esteemed ourselvessufficiently happy, that our climate and language could producebut a faint copy of so excellent an original.In short, the arts and sciences, like some plants, require afresh soil ; and however rich the land may be, and howeveryou may recruit it by art or care, it will never, when onceexhausted, produce any thing that is perfect or finished inthe kind.ESSAY XV.- The Epicurean.'IT is a great mortification to the vanity of man, that hisutmost art and industry can never equal the meanest ofnature's productions, either for beauty or value. Art is onlythe under-workman, and is employed to give a few strokes ofembellishment to those pieces, which come from the hand ofthe master. Some of the drapery may be of his drawing;but he is not allowed to touch the principal figure. '~rt maymake a suit of clothes : But nature must produce a man.Even in those productions, commonly denominated worksof art, we find that the noblest of the kind are beholden fortheir chief beauty to the force and happy iduence of nature.To the2 native enthusiasm of the poets, we owe whatever igadmirable in their productions. The greatest genius, wherenature at any time fails him, (for she is not equal) throwsaside the lyre, and hopes not, from the rules of art, to reachthat divine harmony, which must proceed from her inspirationalone. How poor are those songs, where a happyflow of fancy has not furnished materials for art to embelishand refine !But of all the fruitless attempts of art, no one is so ridiculous,as that which the severe philosophers have undertaken,OR, The man of elegance and plea- life and of happiness. I have given eachsure. The intentiod of this and the three of them the name of the pllilosophicalfollowing essays is not so much to ex- sect, to which it bears the greatest affiplainaccurately the sentiments of the nity.ancient sects of philosophy, as tu de- ' [Eciitions C to D: TO the Oestrumlivor the sentiments of sects, that na- or Verve. K to P: TO the Oestrum orturally form themselves in the world, native enthusiasm.]and entertain different idons of human

THE EPICUREAN. I 99the producing of an art$cial happiness, and making us bcpleased by rules of reason, and by reflection. Why did noneof them claim the reward, which XERXES prdnlised to him,who should invellt a new pleasure? Unless, perhaps, theyinvented so many pleasures for their own use, that they despisedriches, and stood in no need of any enjoyments, whichthe rewards of that monarch could procure them. I am apt,indeed, to think, that they were not willing to furnish thePERSIAN court with a new pleasure, by presenting it with sonew and unusual an object of ridicule. Their speculations,when confined to theory, and gravely delivered in the schoolsof GREECE, might excite admiration in their ignorant pupils :But the attempting to reduce such principles to practicewould soon have betrayed their absurdity.You pretend to make me happy by reason, and by rules ofart. You must, then, create me anew by rules of art. Foron my original frame and structure does my happinessdepend. But you want power to effect tliis; and skill too,I am afraid : Nor can I entertain a less opinion of nature'swisdom than of yours. And let her conduct the machine,which she has so wisely framed. I find, that I should onlyspoil it by my tampering.To what purpose should I pretend to regulate, refine, orinvigorate any of those springs or principles, which naturehas implanted in lne P Is this the road by which I mustreach happiness ? But happiness implies ease, contentment,repose, and pleasure ; not watchfulness, care, and fatigue.The health of my body consists in the facility, with whichall its operations are performed. The stomach digests thealiments : The heart circulates the blood : The brain separatesand refines the spirits : And all this without .my concerningmyself in the matter. When by my will alone I canstop the blood, as it runs with inlpetuosity along its canals,then may I hope to change the course of my sentiments andpassions. In vain should I strain my faculties, and endea--vour to receive pleasure from an object, which is not fittedby nature to affect my organs with delight. I may give myselfpain by my fruitless endeavours ; but shall never reachany pleasure.Away then with all those vain pretences of making ourselveshappy within ourselves, of feasting 011 our owrntrllcughts, of being satisfied with the consciousness of well-doing, and of despising all assistance and all supplies fromexternal objects. This is the voice of PRIDE, not of NATURE.And it were well, if even this pride could support itself, andcommunicate a real ilward pleasure, however melancholyor severe. But this impotent pride can do no more thanregulate the outside ; and with infinite pains and attentioncompose the language and countenance to a philosophicaldignity, in order t'o deceive the ignorant vulgar. The heart,mean while, is empty of all enjoyment : And the mind, unsupportedby its proper objects, sinks into the deepest sorrowand dejection. Miserable, but vain mortal! Thy mind behappy within itself! With what resources is it endowed tofill so immense a void, asnd supply the place of all thy bodilysenses and faculties ? Can thy head subsist without thyother members? In such a situation,What foolish &we must kt make ?Do nothing else but sleep and ake.Into such a lethargy, or such a melancholy, muet thy mindbe plunged, wlien deprived of foreign occupations and enjoyments.Keep me, therefore, no longer in this violent constraint.Confine me not within myself; but point out to me thoseobjects and pleasures, which afford the chief enjoyment. Butwhy do I apply to you, proud and ignorant sages, to shewme the road to happiness P Let me consult my own passionsand inclinations. In t,hem must I read the dictates of'nature ; not in your frivolous discourses.But see, propitious to my wishes, the divine, the amiablePLEASURE,^ the supreme love of GODS and men, advancestowards me. At her approach, my heart beats with genialheat, and every sense and every faculty is dissolved in joy ;while she pours around me all the embellishments of thespring, and all the treasures of the autumn. The melody ofher voice charms my ears with the softest music, as sheinvites me to partake of those delicious fruits, which, with asmile that diffuses a glory on the heavens and the earth, sl~epresents to me. The sportive CUPIDS, who atitend her, orfan me with their odoriferous wings, or pour on my head themost fragrant oils, or offer me their sparkling nectar inDia Yoltqtas. LUCRET.

200 ESSAY XV. THE EPICUREAN. 201golden goblets. 0 ! for ever let me spend my limbs on thisbed of roses, and thus, thus feel the delicious ilioments withsoft and downy steps, glide along. But cruel chance !W-hither do you fly so fast P Why do my ardent wishes, andthat load of pleasures, under which you labour, rather hastenthan retard your unrelenting pace? Suffer me to enjoythis soft repose, after all my fatigues in search of happiness.Suffer me to satiate myself with tlliese delicacies, afterthe pains of so long and so foolish an abstinence.But it will not do. The roses have lost their hue: Thefruit its flavour : And that delicious wine, whose fumes, solate, intoxicated all nly senses with such delight, now solicitsin vain the sated palate. Pleasure smiles at my languor.She beckons her sister, Virtue, to come to herassistance. The gay, the frolic Yirtltce observes the call, andbrings along the whole troop of my jovial friends. Welcome,thrice welcome, my ever dear coinpanions, to these shadybowers, and to this luxurious repast. Your presence hasrestored to the rose its hue, and to the fruit its flavour.The vapours of this sprightly nectar now again play aroundmy heart; while you partake of my delights, and discoverin your cheerful looks, the pleasure which you receive frommy happiness and satisfaction. The like do I receive fromyours ; and encouraged by your joyous presence, shall againrenew the feast, with which, from too much enjoyment, mysenses were well nigh sated ; mhile the mind kept not pacewith the body, nor afforded relief to her o'er-burthenedpartner.In our cheerful discourses, better than in the formal reasoningsof the schools, is true wisdom to be found. In ourfriendly endearments, better thhn in the hollow debates ofstatesmen and pretended patriots, does true virtue displayitself. Forgetful of the past, secure of the future, let ushere enjoy the present; and while we yet possess a being,let us fix some good, beyond the power of fate or fortune.TO-~~i0rrowill bring its own pleasures along with it : Orshould it disappoint our fond wishes, we shall at least enjoythe pleasure of on the pleasures of to-day.Fear not, illy friei~ds, that the barbaroils discona~~ce ofBACCHUS, and of his revellers, should break in upon thisand confound us with their turbulent aidclalllorous pleasures. The spriglitly muses wait around ;and with their charming synlphony, sufficient to soften thewolves and tygers of the savage desert, inspire a soft joy intoevery bosom. Peace, harmony and concord reign in thisretreat ; nor is the silence ever broken but by the music ofour songs, or the cheerful accents of our friendly voices.But hark ! the favourite of the muses, the gentle DAMON,strikes the lyre ; and mhile he accompanies its harmoniousnotes with his more harinonious song, he inspires us withthe sanie happy debauch of fancy, by which he is himselftransported. ' Ye happy youth,' he sings, 'Ye favoureiiof heaven,l while the wanton spring pours upon you all herblooming honours, let not glory seduce you, with her delusiveblaze, to pass in perils and dangers this delicious season,this prime of life. Wisdom points out to you the road topleasure : Nature too beckons you to follow her in thatsmooth and flowery path. Will you shut your ears to theircommanding voice ? Will you harden your heart to theirsoft allurements? Oh, deluded mortals, thus to lose youryouth, thus to throw away so invaluable a present, to triflewith so perishing a blessing. Contemplate well your recornpence.Consider that glory, which so allures your proudhearts, and seduces you with your own praises. It is anecho, a dream, nay the shadow of a dream, dissipated byevery wind, and lost by every contrary breath of the ignorantand ill-judging multitude. You fear not that even de;,thitself shall ravish it from you. But behold ! while you areyet alive, calumny bereaves you of it; ignorance neglectsit ; nature enjoys it not; fancy alone, renouncing everypleasure, receives this airy recornpence, empty and unstableas herself.'Thus the hours passed unperceived along, and lead in theirwanton train all the pleasures of sense, and all the joys ofharmony and friendship. Smiling innocence closes the procession;and while she presents herself to our ravished eyes,she embellishes the whole scene, and renders the view ofthese pleasures as transporting, after they have past us, aswhen, with laughing countenances, they were yet advancingtoward us.' 1111 imitation of the SYREN'S song in V' ammantan di fiorit6 & verdeTasso.' 0 Gioriuetti, mentre APRILE &spoglie,' &c.Giuresalemmc lilercltn, Canto 14.Iv\IIac;u10

202 ESSAY XV. THE EPICUREAN. 203But the sun has sunk below the horizon ; and darkness,stealing silently upon us, has now buried all nature in anuniversal shade. ' Rejoice, my friends, continue your repast,or change it for soft repose. Though absent, your joy or yourtranquillity shall still be mine.' But whither do you go ? Orwhat new pleasures call you from our society ? Is there aughtagreeable without your friends ? And can aught please, inwhich we partake not ? ' Yes, my friends ; the joy which Inow seek, admits not of your participation. Here alone Iwish your absence : And here alone can I find a sufficientcompensation for the loss of your society.'But I have not advanced far through the shades of thethick wood, which spreads a double night around me, ere,methinks, I perceive through the gloom, the charming CBLIA,the mistress df my wishes, who wanders impatient throughthe grove, and preventing the appointed hour, silently chidesmy tardy steps. But the joy, which she receives from mypresence, best pleads my excuse ; and dissipating everyanxious aud every angry thought, leaves room for noughtbut mutual joy and rapture. With wha,t words, my fair one,shall I express my tenderness or describe the emotions whichnow warm my transported bosom ! Words are too faint todescribe my love ; and if, alas ! you feel not the same flamewithin you, in vain shall I endeavour to convey to you a justconception of it. But your every word and every motion sufficeto remove this doubt ; and while they express your passion,serve also to enflame mine. How amiable this solitude,this silence, his darkness ! No objects now importune the!- ravished sou . The thought, the sense, all full of nothingbut our mutual happiness, wholly possess the mind, and conveya pleasure, which deluded mortals vainly seek for in everyother enjoymentBut why1 does your bosom heave with these sighs, whiletears bathe your gloaring cheeks P Why distract your heartwith such vain anxieties P Why so often ask me, How longmy love shall yet endure ? Alas, my CBLIA ! can I resolvethis question P Do I know how long my life shall yet endure ?But does this also disturb your tender breast P And is theimage of our frail mortality for ever present with you, tothrow a damp on your gayest hours, and poison even thosejoys which love inspires ! Consider rather, that if life be[Edition C : after our tumultuous joys.]frail, if youth be transitory, we should well elnploy the presentmoment, and lose no part of so perishable an existence.Yet a little moment and these shall be no more. WTe shall be,as if we had never been. Not a menlory of us be left uponearth ; and even the fabulous shades below will not afford usa, habitation. Our fruitless anxieties, our vain projects, ouruncertain speculations shall all be swallowed up and lost. Ourpresent doubts, concerning the original cause of all things,must never, alas ! be resolved. This alone we may be certainof, that, if a~-f governing mind preside, he must bepleased to see us fulfil the ends of our being, and enjoythat pleasure, for which done we were created. Let thisreflection give ease to your anxious thoughts; but rendernot your joys too serious, by dwelling for ever upon it. Itis sufficient, once, to be acquainted with this pliilosoplzy, iuorder to give an unbounded loose to love and jollity, and removeall the scruples of a vain superstition : But while youtl-rand passion, my fair one, prompt our eager desires, we mustfind gaye: subjects of discourse, to intermix with theseamorous caresses.THERE is this obvious and material difference in the conductof nature, with regard to man and other animals, that,having endowed the former with a sublime celestial spirit,and having given hiin an affinity with superior beings, sheallows not such noble faculties to lie lethargic or idle ; buturges him, by necessity, to employ, on every emergence, hisutmost art and industry. Brute-creatures have many oftheir necessities supplied by nature, being cloathed and armedby this beneficent parent of all things : And where their ownindustry is requisite on any occasion, nature, by implantinginstincts, still supplies them with the art, and guides them totheir good by her unerring precepts. But man, exposednaked and iudigent to the rude elements, rises slowly fromthat helpless state, by the care and vigilance of his parents ;and haiiing attained his utmost growth and perfection,reaches only a capacity of subsisting, by his own care andvigilance. Every thing is sold to skill and labour ; and whereOr the man of action and virtue.

204 ESSAY XVI..nature furnishes the materials, they are still rude and unfinished,till industry, ever active and intelligent, refines themfrom their brute state, and fits them for human use and convenience.Acknowledge, therefore, 0 man, the beneficence of nature ;for she has given thee that intelligence which supplies all thynecessities. But let not indolence, under the false appearanceof gratitude, persuade thee to rest contented with her presents.Wouldest thou return to the raw herbage for thyfood, to the open sky for thy covering, and to stones and clubsfor thy defence against the ravenous animals of the desert?Then return also to thy savage manners, to thy timoroussuperstition, to thy brutal ignorance ; and sink thyself belowthose animals, whose condition thou admirest, andwouldest so fondly imitate.Thy kind parent, nature, having given thee art and iutelligence,has filled the whole globe with materials to employthese talents : Hearken to her voice, which so plainly tellsthee, that thou, thyself shouldest also be tlie object of thyindustry, and that by art and attention alone thou canstacquire that ability, which will raise thee to thy proper sta-tion in the universe. Behold this artizan, who converts arude and shapeless stone into a noble metal; and mouldingthat metal by his cunning hands, creates, as it were bymagic, every weapon for his defence, and every utensil forhis convenience. He has not this skill from nature : Useand practice have taught it him: And if thou wouldestemulate his success, thou must follow his laborious foot-- steps.But while thou ambitiously aspirest to perfecting thybodily powers and faculties, wouldest thou meanly neglect thymind, and from a preposterous sloth, leave it still rude anduncultivated, as it came from the hands of nature 2 Far besuch folly and negligence from every rational being. Ifnature has been frugal in her gifts and endowments, there isthe more need of art to supply her defects. If she has beengenerous and liberal, know that she still expects industry andapplication on our part, and revenges herself in proportion toour negligent ingratitude. The richest genius, like the mostfertile soil, when uncultivated, shoots up into the rankestweeds; and instead of vines and olives for the. pleasure andTHE STOIC. 205use of man, produces, to its slothful owner, the most abundantcrop of poisons.The great end of all human industry, is the attainment ofhappiness. For this were arts invented, sciences cultivated,laws ordained, and societies modelled, by the most profoundwisdom of patriots and legislators. Even the lonely savage,who lies exposed to the inclemency of the elements, and thefury of wild beasts, forgets not, for a moment, this grandobject of his being. Ignorant as he is of every art of life, hestill keeps in view the end of all those arts, and eagerly seeksfor felicity amidst that darkness with which he is environed.But as much as the wildest savage is inferior to the polishedcitizen, who, under the protection of laws, enjoys every conveniencewhich industry has invented ; so much is this citizenhimself inferior to the man of virtue, and the true philosopher,who governs his appetites, subdues his passions, andhas learned, from reason, to set a just value on every pursuitand enjoyment. For is there an art and an apprenticeshipnecessary for every other attainment P And is there no artof life, no rule, no precepts to direct us in this principal concern? Can no particular pleasure be attained without skill ;and can the whole be regulated without reflection or intelligence,by the blind guidance of appetite and instinct PSurely then no mistakes are ever committed in this affair ; butevery man, however dissolute and negligent, proceeds in thepursuit of happiness, with as unerring s motion, as that whichthe celestial bodies observe, when, conducted by the hand ofthe Almighty, they roll along the ethereal plains. But ifmistakes be often, be inevitably committed, let us registerthese mistakes ; let us consider their causes ; let us weightheir importance ; let us enquire for their remedies. Whenfrom this we have fixed all their rules of conduct, we arephilosophers : When we have reduced these rules to practice,we are sages.Like many subordinate artists, employed to form theseveral wheels and springs of a machine: Such are thosewho excel in all the particular arts of life. He is the masterworkman who puts those several parts together ; moves then1according to just harmony and proportion: and producestrue felicity as the result of their conspiring order.While thou hast such an alluring object in view, shall that

20G ESSAY XVI. THE STOIC. 207labour and attention, requisite to the attainment of thy end,ever seem burdensome and intolerable? Know, that thislabour itself is the chief ingredient of the felicity to whichthou aspirest, and that, every enjoyment soon becomes insipidand distasteful, when not acquired by fatigue and industry.See the hardy hunters rise from their downy couches, shakeoff the slumbers which still weigh down their heavy eye-lids,and, ere Au~ora has yet covered the heavens with her flamingmantle, hasten to the forest. They leave behind, in theirown houses, and in the neighbouring plains, animals of everykind, whose flesh fv~rnishes the most delicious fare, and whiclioffer themselves to the fatal stroke. Laborious man disdainsso easy a purchase. He seeks for a prey, which hides itselffrom his search, or flies from his pursuit, or defends itselffrom his violence. Having exerted in the chace every passionof the mind, and every member of the body, he then findsthe charms of repose, and with joy compares its pleasures tothose of his engaging labours.And can vigorous industry give pleasure to the pursuiteven of the most worthless prey, which frequently escapesour toils ? And cannot the same industry render the cultivatingof our mind, the moderating of our passions, theenlightening of our reason, an agreeable occupation ; whilewe are every day sensible of our progress, and behold ourinward features and countenance brightening incessantlywith new charms P Begin by curing yourself of this lethargicindolence ; the task is not difficult : You need but taste thesweets of honest labour. Proceed to learn the just value ofevery pursuit ; long study is not requisite : Compare, thoughbut for once, the mind to the body, virtue to fortune, andglory to pleasure. You will then perceive the advantages ofindustry : You will then be sensible what are the properobjects of your induetry.In vain do you seek repose from beds of roses : In vain doyou hope for enjoyment from the most delicious wines andfruits. Your indolence itself becomes a fatigue : Your pleasureitself creates disgust. The mind, unexercised, findsevery delight insipid and loathsome ; and ere yet the body,full of noxious humours, feels the torment of its multiplieddiseases, your nobler part is sensible of the invading poison,and seeks in vain to relieve its anxiety by new pleasures,which still augment the fatal malady.1 need not tell you, that, by this eager pursuit of pleasure,you more and more expose yourself to fortune and accidents,and rivet your affections on external objects, which chancemay, in a moment, ravish from you. I shall suppose, thatyour indulgent stars favour you still with the enjoyment ofyour riches and possessions. I prove to you, that even inthe midst of your luxurious pleasures, you are unhappy ; andthat by too much indulgence, you are incapable of enjoyingwhat prosperous fortune still allows you to possess.But surely the instability of fortune is a consideration notto be overlooked or neglected. Happiness cannot possiblyexist, where there is no security; and security can have noplace, where fortune has any dominion. Though that unstabledeity should not exert her rage against you, the dreadof it would still torment you ; would disturb your slumbers,haunt your dreams, and throw a damp on the jollity of yourlnost delicious banquets.The temple of wisdom is seated on a rock, above the rageof the fighting elements, and inaccessible to all the maliceof Fan. The rolling thunder breaks below ; and those moreterrible instruments of human fury reach not to so sublimea height. The sage, while he breathes that serene air, looksdown with pleasure, mixed with compassion, on the errors ofmistaken mortals, who blindly seek for the true path of life,and pursue riches, nobility, honour, or power. for genuinefelicity. The greater part he beholds disappointed of theirfond wishes : Some lament, that having once possessed theobject of their desires, it is ravished from them by enviousfortune : And all complain, that even their own vows, thoughgranted, cannot give them happiness, or relieve tlhe anxietyof their distracted minds.But does the sage always preserve himself in this philosophicalindifference, and rest contented with lamenting themiseries of mankind, without ever employing himself fortheir relief? Does lie constantly indulge this severe wisdom,which, by pretending to elevate him above human accidents,does in reality harden his heart, and render him careless ofthe interests of mankind, and of society ? No ; he knowsthat in this sullen Apatlby, neither true wisdom nor true happinesscan be found. He feels too strongly the charm of thesocial affections ever to counteract so sweet, so natural, sovirtuous a propensity. Eveu when, bathed in tears, he

208 ESSAY XVI. THE STOIC. 209laments the miseries of human race, of his country, of hisfriends, and unable to give succour, can only relieve them bycompassion ; he yet rejoices in the generous disposition, andfeels a satisfaction superior to that of the most indulgedsense. So engaging are the sentiments of humanity, thatthey brighten up the very face of sorrow, and operate likethe sun, which, shining on a dusky cloud or falling rain,paints on them the most glorious colours which are to befound in the whole circle of nature.But it is not here alone, that the social virtues displaytheir energy. With whatever ingredient you mix them, theyare still predominant. As sorrow cannot overcome them, soneither can sensual pleasure obscure them. The joys oflove, however tumultuous, banish not the tender sentimentsof sympathy and affection. They even derive their chief influencefrom that generous passion; and when presentedalone, afford nothing to the unhappy mind but lassitude anddisgust. Behold this sprightly debauchee, who professes acontempt of all other pleasures but those of wine and jollity:Separate him from his companions, like a spark froin a fire,where before it contributed to the general blaze : His alacritysuddenly extinguishes ; and though surrounded with everyother means of delight, he lothes the sumptuous banquet,and prefers even the most abstracted study and speculation,as more agreeable and entertaining.But the social passions never afford such transportingpleasures, or make so glorious an appearance in the eyesboth of GOD and man, as when, shaking off every earthly- mixture, they associate themselves with the sentiments ofvirtue, and prompt us to laudable and worthy actions. Asharmonious colours mutually give and receive a lustre bytheir friendly uuion ; so do these ennobling sentiments ofthe human mind. See the triumph of nature in parentalaffection ! What selfish passion; what sensual delight is amatch for it ! Whether a man exults in the prosperity andvirtue of his offspring, or flies to their succour, through themost threatening and treincndous dangers PProceed still in purifying the generous passion, you willstill the more admire its shining glories. What charms arethere in the harmony of minds, and in a friendship foundedon mutual esteem and gratitude ! What satisfaction in relievingbhe distressed, in comforting the afflicted, in raisingthe fallen, a.nd in stopping the career of cruel fortune, or of11lore cruel man, in their insults over the good and virtuous 1But what supreme joy in the victories over vice as well aslnisery, when, by virtuous exanlple or wise exhortation, ourfellow-creatures are taught to govern their passions, reformtlreir vices, and subdue their worst enemies, which inhabitwithin their own bosoms ?Rut these object& are still too limited for the human mind,which, being of celestial origin, swells with the divinest andmost enlarged affections, and carrying its attention beyondkindred and acquaintance, extends its benevolent wishes tothe most distant posterity. It views liberty and laws as thesource of human happiness, and devotes itself, with the utiilostalacrity, to their guardianship and protection. Toils,clangers, death itself carry their charms, when we bravethem for the public good, and ennoble that being, which wegeiierously sacrifice for the interests of our country. Happythe man, whom indulgent fortune allows to pay to virtuewhat he owes to nature, and to make a generous gift of whatmust otherwise be ravished from him by cruel necessity !In the true sage and patriot are united whatever can distinguishhuman nature, or elevate illortal man to a reseinblancewith the divinity. The softest benevolence, the mostundaunted resolution, the tenderest sentiments, the mostsublime love of virtue, all these animate. s.uccessively histransported bosom. What satisfaction, when he looks within,to find the niost turbulent passions turned to just harmonyand concord, and every jarring sound banished from thisenchanting music ! If the contemplation, even of inanimatebeauty, is so delightful; if it ravishes the senses, even whenthe fair form is foreign to us : What must be the effects ofulori~l beauty? Aiid what influence must it have, when itembellishes our own mind, and is the result of our. own reflectionand industry ?But where is the reward of virtue? And what recompence.ILUS nature provided for such important sacr$ce.r, as those oflife and fortune, which we must often make to it ? 011, sons ofearth ! Are ye ignorant of the value of this celestial mistress? And do ye meanly enquire for her portion, when yeobserve her genuine charms ? But know, that nature hasbeen indulgent to human weakness, and has not left thisfavourite child, naked and unendowed. She has provided

210 ESSAY XVI.virtue with the richest dowry ; but being careful, lest thea811urements of interest should engage such suitors, as wereinsensible of the native worth of so divine a beauty, she haswisely provided, that this dowry can have no charms but inthe eyes of those who are already transported with the loveof virtue. GLORY is the portion of virtue, the sweet rev~ardof honourable toils, the triumphant crown, which covers thethoughtful head of the disinterested patriot, or the dustybrow of the victorious warrior. Elevated by so sublime aprize, the man of virtue looks down with contempt on allthe allurements of pleasure, and all the menaces of danger.Death itself loses its terrors, when he considers, that itsdominion extends only over a part of him, and that, in spiteof death and time, the rage of the elements, and the endlessvicissitudes of human affairs, he is assured of an immortalfame among all the sons of men.There surelj is a being who presides over the universe ;and who, with infinite wisdom and power, has reduced thejarring elements into just order and proportion. Let speculativereasoners dispute, how far this beneficent being extendshis care, and whether he prolongs our existence beyondthe grave, in order to bestow on virtue its just reward, andrender it fully triumphant. The man of mo~als, withoutdeciding any thing on so dubious a snbject, is satisfied withthe portion, marked out to him by the supreme disposer ofall things. Gratefully he accepts of that farther rewardprepared for him ; but if disappointed, he thinks not virtuean empty name ; but justly esteeming it its own reward, he. gratefully acknowledges the bounty of his creator, who, bycalling him into existence, has thereby afforded him an opportunityof once acquiring so invaluable a possession.To some philosophers it appears matter of surprize, that allmankind, possessing the same nature, and being endowedwith the same faculties, should yet differ so widely in theirpursuits and inclinations, and that one should utterly condemnwhat is fondly sought after by another. To some itappears matter of still more surprize, that a man shouldOr, the lnan of co~~templation, and philosophical devotion.THE PLATONIST. 211differ so widely from himself at different times; and, afterpossession, reject with disdain what, before, was the objectof all his vows and wishes. To me this feverish uncertaintyand irresolution, in human conduct, seems altogether unavoidable; nor can a rational soul, made for the contemplationof the Supreme Being, aiid of his works, ever enjoytranquillity or satisfaction, while detained in the ignoblepursuits of sensual pleasure or popular applause. The divinityis a boundless ocean of bliss aiid glory : Human minds aresmaller streams, which, arising at first Erom this ocean, seekstill, amid all their wanderings, to return to it, and to losethemselves in .that immensity of perfection. When checkedin this natural course, by vice or folly, they become furiousand enraged; and, swelling to a torrent, do then spreadhorror and devastation on the neighbouring plains.In vain, by pompous phrase and passionate expression, eachreconimends his own pursuit, aiid invites the credulous hearersto an imita'tion of his life and manners. The heart beliesthe countenance, and sensibly feels, even amid the highestsuccess, the unsatisfactory nature of all those pleasures,which detain it from its true object. I examine the voluptilousman before enjoyment; I measure the vehemence ofhis desire, and the importance of his object; I find that allhis happiness proceeds only froni that hurry of thought,which takes him from himself, and turns his view from hisguilt and misery. I consider him a moment after; he hasnow enjoyed the pleasnre, which he fondly sought after.The sense of his guilt and misery returns upon hi~n withdouble anguish : His mind tormented with fear and re,morse ;his body depressed with disgust and satiety.But a more, august, at least a more haughty personage,presents himself boldly to our censure ; and assuming thetitle of a yhilosopher and a mall of morals, offers to submitto Che most rigid -examination. IIe challenges, with nvisible, though concealed impatie~~ce, our approbation andapplause ; and seerils offended, that we should hesitate amoment before we break out into admiration of his virtue.Seeing this impatience, I hesitate still more : I begin to examinethe motives of his seeming virtue : But behold ! ere Tcan enter upon this enquiry, he flings himself from me; andaddressing his discourse to that crowd of heedless auditors,fondly abuses them by his magnificent pretensions.

212 I

214 ESSAY XVIII. THE SCEPTIC. 2 15same principle over the whole creation, and reduces to itevery phzenomenon, though by the most violent and absurdreasoning. Our own mind being narrow and contracted, wecannot extend our conception to the variety and extent ofnature ; but imagine, that she is as much bounded in heroperations, as we are in our speculation.But if ever this infirmity of philosophers is to be suspectedon any occasion, it is in their reasonings concerning humanlife, and the methods of attaining happiness. In that case,they are led astray, not only by the narrowness of theirunderstandings, but by that also of their passions. Almostevery one has a predominant inclination, to which his otherdesires and affections submit, and which governs him, though,perhaps, with some intervals, through the whole course ofhis life. It is difficult for him to apprehend, that any thing,which appears totally indifferent to him, can ever give enjoymentto any person, or can possess charms, which altogetherescape his observa.tion. His own pursuits are always,in his accourlt, the most engaging : The objects of his passion,the most valuable : And the road, which he pursues, the onlyone that leads to happiness.But would these prejudiced reasoners reflect a moment,there are many obvious instances and arguments, sufficient toundeceive them, and make them enlarge their maxims andprinciples. Do they not see the vast variety of inclinationsand pursuits among our species ; where each man seems fullysatisfied with his own course of life, and would esteem it thegreatest unhappiness to be confined to that of his neighbour ?Do they not feel in themselves, that what pleases at onetime, displeases at another, by the change of inclination;and that it is not in their power, by their utmost efforts, torecall that taste or appetite, which formerly bestowed charmson what now appears indifferent or disagreeable? What isthe meaning therefore of those general preferences of thetown or count.ry life, of a life of action or one of pleasure, ofretirement or society ; when besides the different inclinationsof different men, every one's experience may convince him,that each of these kinds of life is agreeable in its turn, andthat their vsriety or their judicious mixture chiefly contributesto the rendering all of them agreeable.But shall this busilless be allowed to go altogether atadventures? And 1111lst it mrn colls111t oilly his h ~ln~o~~r andillclination, in order to determine his course of life, withouthis reason to inform hini what road is preferable,and leads most surely to happiness ! Is there no differencethen between one man's conduct and another PI answer, there is a great difference. One man, followinghis inclination, in chusing his course of life, may employmuch surer means for succeeding than another, who is ledby his inclination into the same course of life, and pursuesthe same object. Are riches the chief object of your desires ?Acquire skill in your profession ; be diligent in the exerciseof it ; enlarge the circle of your friends and acquaintance ;avoid pleasure and expense ; and never be generous, butwith a view of gaining more than you could save by frugality.FTould you acquire the public esteem ? Guard equally againstthe extremes of arrogance and fawning. Let it appear thatyou set a value upon yourself, but without despising others.If'you fall into either of the extremes, you either provokemen's pride by your insolence, or teach them to despise youby your timorrjus submission, and by the mean opinion whichyou seem to entertain of yourself.These, you say, are the maxims of common prudence, anddiscretion; what every parent inculcates on his child, andwhat every man of sense pursues in the course of life, whichhe has chosen.-What is it then you desire more P Do youcoine to a philosopher as to a cunning man, to learn somethingby magic or witchcraft, b,eyond what can be known byconlmon prudence and discretion ?-Yes ; we come to aphilosopher to be instructed, how me shall chuse our ends,more than the means for attaining these ends : We wantto know what desire we shall gratify, what passion we shallcoinply with, what appetite we shall indulge. As to the rest,we trust to corninon sense, and the general maxims of theworld for our instruction.I am sorry then, I have pretended to be a philosopher:For I find your questions very perplexing ; and am in danger,if my answer be too rigid and severe, of passing for apedant and scholastic : if it be too easy and free, of beingtaken for a preacher of vice and immorality. However, tosatisfy you, I shall deliver my opinion upon the matter, andshall only desire you to esteem it of as little consequence asI do myself. By that means you will neither think itworthy of your ridicule nor yolu. anger.

216 ESSAY XVIII. THE SCEPTIC. 21 7If we can depend upon any principle, which we learn fromphilosophy, this, I think, may be considered as certain andundoubted, that there is nothing, in itself, valuable or dcspicable,desirable or hateful, beautiful or deformed ; butthat these attributes arise from the particular constitutionand fabric of human sentiment and affection. What seemsthe most delicious food to one animal, appears loathsome toanother : What affects the feeling of one with delight, producesuneasiness in another. This is confessedly the casewith regard to all the bodily senses : But if we examine thematter more accurately, we shall find, that the same observationholds even where the mind concurs with the body,and mingles its sentiment with the exterior appetite.Desire this passionate lover to give you a, character of hismistress : He will tell you, that he is at a loss for words todescribe her charms, and will ask you very seriously if everyou were acquainted with a goddess or an angel? If youanswer that you never were : He will then say, that it is impcssiblefor you to form a conception of such divine beautiesas those which his charmer possesses ; so complete a shape ;such well-proportioned features ; so engaging an air; suchsweetness of disposition ; such gaiety of humour. You caninfer nothing, however, from all this discourse, but that thepoor man is in love ; and that the general appetite betweenthe sexes, which nature has infused into all animals, is inhim determined to a particular object by some qualities,which give him pleasure. The same divine creature, not onlyto a different amimal, but also to a different man, appears amere mortal being, and is beheld with the utmost indifference.Nature has given all animals a like prejudice in favour oftheir offspring. As soon as the hklpless infant sees the light,though in every other eye it appears a despicable and amiserable creature, it is regarded by its fond parent with theutmost affection, and is preferred to every other object, howeverperfect and accomplished. The passion alone, arisingfrom the original structure and formation of human nature,bestows a value on the most insignificant object.We may push the same observation further, and may conclude,that, even when the mind operates alone, and feelingthe sentiment of blame or approbation, pronounces one objectdeformed and odious, another beautif111 and amiable ; I say,that, even in this case, those qllalities are not really in theobjects, but belong entirely to the sentiment of that mindwhich blames or praises. I grant, that it will be more dificultto make this proposition evident, and as it were, palpable,to negligent thinkers ; because nature is more uniform in thesentiments of the mind than in most feelings of the body,and produces a nearer resemblance in the inward than in theoutward part of human kind. There is something approachingto principles in mental tastes ; and critics can reason anddispute more plausibly than cooks of perfumers. We nayobserve, however, that this uniformity among human kind,hinders not, but that there is a considerable diversity in thesentiments of beauty and worth, and that education, custom,prejudice, caprice, and humour, frequently vary our taste ofthis kind. You will never convince a man, who is not accustomedto ITALIAN music, and has not an ear to follow itsintricacies, that a SCOTCH tune is not preferable. You harenot even any single argument, beyond your own taste, whichyou can employ in your behalf: And to your antagonist, hisparticular taste wnl always appear a more convincing argumentto the contrary. If you be wise, each of you will allow,that the other may be in the right ; and having many otherinstances of this diversity of taste, you will both confess, thatbeauty and worth are merely of a relative nature, and consistin an agreeable sentiment, produced by an object in a psrticularmind, according to the peculiar structure and constitutionof that mind.By this diversity of sentiment, observable in human kind,nature has, perhaps, intended to make us sensible of herauthority, and let us see what surprizing changes she couldproduce on the passions and desires of mankind, merelj- bythe change of their inward fabric, without any alteration onthe objects. The vulgar may even be convinced by thisargument: But men, accustomed to thinking, may drawa more convincing, at least a more general argument, froinvery nature of the subject.In the operat4ion of reasoning, the mind does nothing butrun over its objects, as they are supposed to stand in reality,without adding any thing to them, or diminishing any thingfrom them. If I examine the PTOLOMAIC and COPERNICANa~atems, I endeavour only, by my enquiries, to know the realsituation of the planets ; that is, in other words, I endeavourto give them, in my conception, the same relations, that they

2 18 ESSAY XVLII. THE SCEI'TIC. 210bear towards each other in the heavens. To this operationof the mind, therefore, there seems to be alwabys a real,though often an unknown standard, in the nature of things ;nor is truth or falsehood variable by the various apprehensionsof mankind. Though all human race should for everconclude, that the sun moves, and the earth remains at rest,the sun stirs not an inch from his place for all these reasonings; and such conclusions are eternally false and erroneous.But the case is not the same with the qualities of beaut@dand deformed, (Eesiruble und odious, as with truth aiid falsehood.I11 the former case, the mind is not content with rnerely surveyingits objects, as they stand in themselves : It also feelsa sentiinent of delight-or uneasiness, approbation or blame,consequent to that survey; aiid this sentiment determines itto affix the epithet benutzyul or deformed, desiruble or odi0.u~.Now, it is evident, that this sentiment niust depend upon theparticular fabric or structure of the mind, which enablessuch particular forms to operate in puch a particular manner,and produces a sympathy or conformity between the mindand its objects. Vary the structure of the mind or inwardorgans, the sentiment no longer follows, though the formremains the same. The sentiment being different from theobject, and arising from its operations upon the organs of themind, an alteration upon the latter must vary the effect, norcan the same object, presented to a mind totally different,produce the sarne sentiment.This conclusion every one is apt to draw of himself, withoutmuch phposophy, where the sentiment is evidently dis-. tinguishable from the object. Who is not sensible, thatpower, and glory, and vengeance, are not desirable of themselves,but derive all their value from the structure of humanpassions, which begets a desire towards such particular pursuits? Rut with regard to beauty, either natural or moral,the case is coinmoi~ly supposed to be different. The agreeablequality is thought to lie in the object, not in the sentiment;and that merely because the sentiment is not soturbulent and violent as to distinguish itself, in an evidentmanner, from the perception of the object.But a little reflection suffices to distinguish them. A rnanmay know exactly all the circles and ellipses of the COPER-NICAN system, and all the irregular spinls of the PTOLOMAIC,without 1)erceiving that the former is more beautiful thanthe latter. EUCLID has fully explained every quality of thecircle, but has not, in any proposition, said a word of itsbeauty. The reason is evident. Beauty is not a quality ofthe circle. It lies not in any part of the line whose parts areall equally distant from a common center. It is only theeffect, which that figure produces upon a mind, whose particularfabric or structure renders it susceptible of suchsentiments. In vain would you look for it in the circle, orseek it, either by your senses, or by mathematical reasonings,in all the properties of that figure.The ma'thematician, who took no other pleasure in readingVIRGIL, but that of examining ENEAS'S voyage by the map,might perfectly understand the meaning of every La.tinword, employed by that divine author; and consequently,might have a distinct idea of the whole narration. He wouldeven have a more distinct idea of it, than they could attainwho had not studied so exactly the geographi of the poem.He knew, therefore, every thing in the poem : But he masignorant of its beauty ; because the beauty, properly speaking,lies not in the poem, but in the sentinlent or taste of thereader. And where a man has no such delicacy of temper,as to make him feel this sentiment, he must be ignorant of'the beauty, though possessed of the science and understandingof an angel.'The inference upon the whole is, that it is not from thevalue or worth of the object, which any person pursueu, thatwe can determine his enjoyment, but merely from the passionwith which he pursues it, and the success which lie meetswith in his pursuit. Objects have absolutely no worth orvalue in themselves. They derive their worth merely fromthe psssion. If that be strong, and steady, and successful,the person is happy. It cannot reasonably be doubted, but' Were I not afraid of appearingtoo philosophic:tl, I should remind myreader of that famous doctrine, supposedto be fully proved in modern times,' That tastes and colonre, and all othersensible qual~tics, lie not in the bodies,but merely in the senses.' The wtre isthe same with beauty and deformity,virtue and vice. This doctrine, however,takes off no more from the renliiyof the latter qualities, than from thatof the former; uor need it give anyuml)rdge either to clitias or ~norafists.Tho' colours were allowed to lie only inthe eye, wotlld dyers or painters ever beless regarded or esteemed ? . There is asufficient uniformity in the senbas andfeelings of mankind, to make all thesequalities the objects of art and reitsoning,anci to have the greatest infiuehceon life ancl manners. And as 'tis certain,that the discovery above-mentionedin natural philosophy, makes no alterationon action ancl conduct ; wily shoulda like discovery in moral philosophymake ally alteratio~l ?

220 ESSAY XVIII. THE SCEPTIC. 221a little miss, dressed in a. new gown for a dancing-sbhoolball, receives as compleat enjoynlent as the greatest orator,wllo triumphs in the splendour of llis eloquence, while hegoverns the passions and resolutions of a numerous assembly.All the difference, therefore, between one man and another,with regard to life, consists eitlier in tlie passion, or in tlieoiy'oyrnet~t : And these differences are sufficient to producetlle wide extrelnea of happiness and misery.To be happy, tlie passion must neither be too violent nortoo remiss. 111 the first case, the mind is in a perpetual hurryand tuinult ; in tlie second, it sinks into a disagreeable indolellceand let,hargy.To be happy, the passion must be benign and social ; notrough or fierce. The affections of tlie latter kind are iiotnear so agreeable to the feeling, as those of the former.Who will compare rancour and animosity, envy and revenge,to friendship, benign it,^, clemency, and gratitude ?To be happy, the passion must be chearful ahd gay, notgloo~ny and tilelancholy. A propensity to hope and joy isreal riches : One to fear and sorrow, real poverty.Some passions or inclinations, in the enjoyment of theiroltject, are iiot so steady or constant as others, nor conveysucll durable pleasure and satisfaction. Pl~ilosopl~ical devotion,for instance, like the enthusiasm of a poet, is the transitoryeffect of high spirits, great leisure, a fine genius, and a habitof study and conteinylation : But notwit~hstanding all thesecircumstances, an abstract, invisible object, like that whiclin(aturu1 religion alone presents to us, cannot long actuate tlremind, or be of any moment in life. To render the passioilof continuance, we must find some method of affecting thesenses and imagination, and must embrace some historicul, aswell as p1~ilos~)hical account of the divinity. Popular superstitionsand observances are even found to be of use in thisy :~rticular.Though the telnpers of men be very different, yet we maysafely pronounce in general, that a life of pleasure callnotsupport itself so long as one of business, but is much moresubject to satiety and disgust. The amusements, which aretlie most durable, have all a mixture of application andattention i ~i them ; such ass gaming and hunt'ing. And ingelieral, business and action fill up all the great vacanciesill llriiliall life.But where the temper is tlle best disposed for any eq~joyrnen,t,the object. is often wanting : And in this respect, theysssiulls, wliicll pursue external objects, contribute not soto happiness, as those which rest in ourselves ; since weare neither so certain of attttiniiig such objects, nor so securein possessing them. A passion for learning is preferable,with regard to happiness, to one for riches.Some men are possessed of great strength of mind; and evenwhen they pursue external objects, are not much affected bya disappointment, but renew their application a,nd industrywith the greatest chearfulness. Nothing contributes moreto happiness than such a turn of mind.According to this short and imperfect sketch of hun1;~111-ife, the happiest disposition of mind is the cirtz~ous ; or, inother words, that which leads to actiori and emplojment,renders us sensible to the social passious, steels the heartagainst the assaults of fortune, reduces the affections to ajust moderation, makes our own thoughts an elltertaiurnentto us, and inclines us rather to the pleasures of' society al~dconversation, than to those of the senses. This, in the meantime, must be obvious to the most careless reasoner, that alldispoditions of mind are not alike favourable to happiness,afid that one passion or humour iriay be extremely desirable,while another is equally disagreeable. And indeed, all thedifference between the conditions of life depends upon theinind; nor is there any one situation of affairs, in itself; preferableto another. Good and ill, both natural and moral,are entirely relative t9 human sentiment and affection. NoIllan would ever be unhappy, could he alter his feelings.PROTEUS-like, he would elude all attacks, by the coutinualalterations of his shape and form.But of this resource nature has, in a great measnre, deprivedus. The fabric and constitution of our 111ind no Inore depel~dson our choice, than that of our body. The generality of 1rlt.11have iiot even the srnallest notion, that any alteration in thisrespect can ever be desirable. As a stream necessarilyfollows the several inclinations of the ground, on which itru11s ; so are the ignorant alld thouglltless part of lnallliillclactuated by their natural propensities. Sneh are effectuallyexcluded from all pretensions to philosophy, and the rnedicir~eof the mind, so much boasted. Bat even upon the wise alldthoughtful, nature llas a procligious infloerlce; nor is it always

in a man's power, by the utmost art and industry, to coi~ecthis temper, and attain that virtuous character, to which heaspires. The empire of philosophy extends over a few ; andwith regard to these too, her authority is very weak andlimited. Men may well be sensible of the value of virtue,and limy desire to attain it ; but it is not always certain, thatthey will be successful in their wishes.TIThoever considers, without prejudice, the course of hunianactions, will find, that mankind are allnost entirelyguided by constitution and temper, and that general maximshave little influence, so far as they affect our taste or sentiinent.If a illan have a lively sense of honour and virtue,with inoderate passions, his conduct will always be conformableto the rules of mol-ality ; or if he depart from tlle~, hisreturn will be easy and expeditious. On the other hand,where one is born of so perverse a frame of mind, of so callousand i~iseiisible a disposition, as to have 120 relish forvirtue and humanity, no sylllpathy with his fellow-creatures,no desire of esteem and applause ; such a one must be allowedentirely incurable, nor is there any remedy in philosophy.He reaps no satisfaction but from low and sensua,lobjects, or fro111 the indulgence of malignant passions : Hefeels no remorse to contronl his vicious inclinations : He hasnot even thai; sense or taste, which is requisite to matke hiindesire a better character: For my part', I know not how Ishould address myself to such a or,e, or by what arguments Ishould endeavour to reform him. Should I tell hiln of thein ward satisfa ction which results fro111 laudable and humaneactions, the delicate pleasure of Jjsinterested love and friendship,the last'ing enjoyments of a good nnnie and an establishedcharacter, he might still reply, that these were, perhaps,pleasures to sac11 as were susceptible of them ; butthat, for his part, he finds hiinself of a quite different turn:tnd disposition. I must repeat it ; my pllilosopliy affords noremedy in such a case, nor could I do anythi~lg 1:ut lamentthis person's unhappy condition. But then I ask, If anyother pllilosopliy can afford a remedy ; or if it be possible, byany system, to render all mankind virtuous, however pelBversemay be their natural frame of mind 'r' Experience willsoon convince us of the contrary; and I will venture toaffirm, that, perhaps, the chief benefit, which results froillphilosaphy, arises in an indirect manner,' and proceeds morefrom its secret, insensible illflueace, than from its immediateapplication.It is certain, that a serions attention to the sciences andliberal arts softens and humanizes the temper, and cherishesthose fine emotions, in which true virtue and honour consists.It rarely, very rarely happens, that a man of taste mil learningis not', at least, an honest man, whatever frailties mayattend him. The bent of his mind to speculative studiesmust mortify in him the passions of interest and ambition,and must, at the same time, give him a greater sensibilityof all the decencies and duties of life. He feels more f~illya moral distinction in characters and rnanfiers ; nor is Elissense of this kind diminished, but,, on the contrary, it ismuch encreased, by speculation.Besides such insensible changes upon the temper and disposition,it is highly probable, that others may be producedby stndy and alpplication. The prodigious effects of eclucationmay convince us, that the nlind is not altogether stubbornand inflexible, but will admit of many alterations fromits original make and structure. Let a man propose to himselfthe model of a character, which he approves : Let llinibe well acquainted with those particulars, in which his owncharacter deviates from this model : Let hiin keep a constailtwatch over himself, and bend his mind, by a continual effort,from the vices, towards the virtues ; and I doubt not but, intime, he will find, in his temper, an alteration for the better.Habit is another powerful means of reforming the mind,and implanting in it good dispcsitions and inclinations. Aman, who continues in a course of sobriety and temperance,will hate riot and disorder: If he engage in business orstudy, indolence will seem a punishment to him : If he constrainhimself to practise beneficence and affability, he willsoon abhor all instances of pride and violence. Where oneis thoroughly convinced that the virtuous course of life ispreferable ; if he have but resolution enough, for some time,to impose a violence on himself; his reformation needs notbe despaired of. The misfortune is, that this conviction andthis resolution never can have place, unless a man be, beforehand,tolerably virtuous.[The remainder of this sentence does not occur in Editionr C and D.1

220 ESSAY XVIII. TIIE SCEPTIC. 227imperfections of men are also comprehended in the order of theuniverse :If plagues ad earthquakes break not heav'n's deswm,Why then a BORQIA or a CATILINE ?Let this be allowed ; and my own vices will also be a part ofthe same order.'To one who said, that none were happy, who were notabove opinion, a SPARTAN replied, then none are Aappy butknaves and robbers.2Man is born to be miserable; and is he surprized at any yarticularmisfortune? And can he give way to sorrow andlamentatifin icpon account of any disaster ? Yes : He veryreasonably laluents, that he should be born to be miserable.Your consolation presents a hundred ills for one, of whichyou pretend to ease him.You should always have before your eyes death, disease,poverty, blindness, exile, calumny, and infamy, as ills whichare incident to human nature. If any one of these ills fall toyour lot, you will bear it the better, when you have reckon~dupon it. I answer, if we confine ourselves to a general anddistant reflection on the ills of human life, that can have noeffect to prepare us for them. If by close and intense meditationwe render them present and intimate to us, that is the .true secret for poisoning all our pleasures, and rendering usperpetually miserable.Your sorrow is fruitless, and will not change the course ofdestiny. Very true : And for that very reason I am sorry.Cicero's consolation for deafness is somewhat curious,How many languages are there, says he, wl~ich you do notunderstand ? The PUNIC, SPANISH, GALLIC, &GYPTIAN, &c.With regard to all these, you are as ty you were deaf, yet youare indif'rent about the matter. Is it then so great a mi$^&-tune to be deaf to one language more?I like better the repartee of ANTIPATER the CYRENIAC,when some women were condoling with him for his blindness: What ! says he, Do you think there are no pleasures inthe dark ?Notlhing can be more destructive, says FONTENELLE, to ambition,amd the passion for conquest, than the true system of1 [This paragraph does not occur in 2 PLUT. Lacon, Apophthg.Editions C and D.] TUSC. Qztest. lib. V. 40.nstronorny. What a poor thing is even tl~e whole globe in comprisonof tl,e infnite extent of nature ? This consideration isevidently too distant ever to have any effect. Or, if it hadany, would it not destroy patriotism as well as ambition?The same gallant author adds with some reason, that thebright eyes of the ladies are the only objects, which losenothing of their lustre or value from the most extensive viewsof astronon~y, but stand proof against every system. Wouldphilosophers advise us to limit our affection to them?Exile, says PLUTARCH to a friend in banishment, is noevil : Muthematicians tell us, that the whole earth is but apoint, compared to the heavens. To change one's country the%is little more than to remove from one street to another. Manis not a plant, rooted to a certain spot of earth : All soils andall climates are alike suited to him 2. These topics are admirable,could they fall only into the hands of banished persons.But what if they come also to the knowledge of those whoare employed in public affairs, and destroy all their attachmentto their native country? Or mill they operate like thequack's medicine, which is equally good for a diabetes and adropsy ?It is certain, were a superior being thrust into a humanbody, that the whole of life would to him appear so mean,contemptible, and puerile, that he never could be induced totake part in any thing, and would scarcely give attention towhat passes around him. To engage him to such a condescensionas to play even the part of a PHILIP with zealand alacrity, would be much more difficult, than to constrainthe same PHILIP, after having been a king and a conquerorduring fifty years, to mend old shoes with proper care andattention ; the occupation which ~AUCIAN assigns him in theinfernal legions. Now all the same topics of disdain towardshuman afictirs, which could operate on this supposed being,occlir also to a philosopher ; but being, in some measure, disproportionedto human capacity, and not being fortified bythe experience of any thing better, they make not a fullIlrnpression on him. He sees, but he feels not sufficientlytheir truth ; and is always a sublime philosopher, when heneeds not ; that is, as long as nothing disturbs him, or rouzeshis affections. While others play, he wonders a,t their keen-' [The two following paragraphs do not occur in Editions C and D.]De exzlio.

THE SCEPTIC. 220rless and ardour ; but he no sooner puts in his own stake,than he is commonly transported with the same passions,that he had so much condemned, while he remained a simplespectator.There are two considerations chiefly, to be met with inbooks of philosophy, from which any important effect is tobe expected, and that because these considerations are drawnfrom cornmor life, and occur upon the most superficial viewof human affairs. When we reflect on the shortness anduncertainty of life, how despicable seem a11 our pursuits ofhappiness? And even, if we would extend our concernbeyond our own life, how frivolous appear our most enlargedand most generous projects ; when we consider the incessantchanges and 1.evo1utions of human affairs, by which laws andlearning, books and governments are hurried away by time,as by a rapid stream, and are lost in the immense ocean ofmatter 3 Such a reflection certainly tends to mortify all ourpassions : But does it not thereby counterwork the artifice ofhature, who has happily deceired us into an opinion, thathuman life is of some importance? And may not such areflection be employed with success by voluptuous reasoners,in order to lead us, from the paths of action and virtue, intothe flowery fields of indolence and pleasure PWe are informed by THUCYDIDES, that, during the famousplague of ATHENS, when death seemed present to every one,a dissolute mirth and gaiety prevailed among the people,who exhorted one anot,her to make the most of life as longas it endured. The same observation is made by Boccac~with regard to the plague of FLORENCE. A like principlemakes soldiers, during war, be more addicted to riot and expence,than any other race of men. "resent pleasure isalways of importance ; and whatever diminishes the importanceof a11 other objects must bestow on it an additionalinfluence and value.The second philosophical consideration, which may oftenhave an influence on the affections, is derived from a comparisonof our own condition with the condition of others.This comparison we are continually making, even in common[This sentence does not occur inEditions C and D.]Peace, by producing Security, has muchalter'd them in this Particular, and has2 [In place of this sentence Editions quite remov'8 our Officers from theC andD read as follows : And 'tis oh- generolls Character of their Professerrable,in this Kingdom, that long sion.]life 1 but the iuisfort~une is, that we are rather apt to compareour situation with that of our superiors, than with thatof our inferiors. A pllilosopher corrects this natural infirmity,by turning his view to the other side, in order torender himself easy in the situation, to which fortune hasuonficed him. There are few people, who are not susceptibleof some consolation from this reflection, thpugh, to a verygood-natured man, the view of human miseries should ratherproduce sorrow than comfort, and add, to his lamentationsfor his own misfortunes, a deep compassion for those ofothers. Such is the imperfection, even of the best of thesephilosophical topics of consolation.'I shall conclude this subject with observing, that, thoughvirtue be undoubtedly the best choice, when it is attainable ;yet such is the disorder and confusion of human affairs, that1 The Sceptic, perhaps, carries thematter too far, when he limits all philosophicaltopics and reflections to thesetwo. There seem to be others, whosetruth is undeniable, and whose naturaltendency is to tranquillize and softenall the passions. Philos~phy greedilyseizes these, studies them, weighs them,commits them to the memory, andfamiliarizes them to the mind: Andtheir influence on tempers, which arethoughtful, gentle, and moderate, maybe considerable. But what is their influence,you will say, if the t,emper beantecedently disposed after the samemanner as that to which they pretendto form it ? They may, at least, fortifythat temper, and furnish it with views,by which it pay entertain and nourishitself. Here are a few examples of suchphilosophical reflections.1. Is it not certain, that every con-dition has concealed ills? Then whyenvy any body ?2. Nvery -ohe has known ills; andthere is a compensation throughout.Why not be contented with the pre-Lient ?3. Custom deadens the SOnRe both ofthe good and the ill, and levels everything.4. Health and humour all. The restof little consequence, except these beaffected.5. How many other good things haveI ? Then why be vexed for one ill ? -6. How many are happy in the con-dition of which I complain?many envy me ?How7. Every good must be paid for:Fortune by labour, favour by flattery.Would I keep the price, yet hare thecommodity ?8. Expect not too great happiness inlife. Human nature admits it not.9. Propose not a happiness too eomplicated.But does that depend on me 7Yes : The first choice does. Life is likea game: One may choose the game:And per object. passion, by degrees, seizes the pro-10. Anticipate by your hopes andfancy future consolation, which time infalliblybrings to every aflhction.11. I desire to be rich. Why ? ThatI may possess many fine objects ; houses,gardens, equipage, &c. How many fineobjects does nature offer to every onewithout expence ? If enjoyed, sufficient.If not: See the effect of custom or oftemper, which would soon take off therelish of the riches.12. I desire fame. Let this occur:If I act well, I @hall have the esteemof all my acquaintance. And what isall the rest to me ?These reflections are so obvious, thatit is a wonder they occur not .to everyman : So convincing, that it is a wonderthey persuade not every man. Butperhaps they do occur to and persuademost men; when they consider humanlife, by a general and calm survey :But where any real, affecting incidenthappens ; when passion is awakened,fancy agitated, example draws, andcounsel urges; the philosopher is lo&in the man, and he seeks in vain for

230 ESSAY XVIII.no perfect or regular distribution of happiness and misery isever, in this life, to be expected. Not only the goods offortune, and the endowments of the body (both of which areimportant), not only these advantages, I say, are unequallydivided between the virtuous and vicious, but even the minditself partakes, in some degree, of this disorder, and themost worthy character, by the very constitution of the passions,enjoys not always the highest felicity.It is observable, that, though every bodily pain proceedsfrom some disorder in the part or organ, yet the pain is notalways proportioned to the disorder; but is greater or less,accordillg to the greater or less sensibility of the part, uponwhich the noxious humours exert their influence. A tootk-achproduces more violent convulsions of pain than a phtl~isis ora dropsy. In like manner, with regard to the ceconomy ofthe mind, we may observe, that all vice is indeed pernicious;yet the disturbance or pain is not measured out by naturewith exact proportion to the degree of vice, nor is the manof highest virtue, even abstracting from external accidents,always the most happy. A gloomy and melancholy dispositionis certainly, to our sentiments, a vice or imperfection ;but as it may be accompanied with great sense of honourand great integrity, it may be found in very worthy characters; though it is sufficient alone to imbitter life, and renderthe person affected with it completely miserable. On theother hand, a selfish villain may possess a spring and alacrityof temper, a certain gaiety of heart, which is indeed a goodquality, but which is rewarded much beyond its merit, andwhen attended with good fortune, will compensate for theuneasiness and remorse arising from all the other vices.I shall add, as an observation to the same purpose, that, ifa man be liable to a vice or imperfection, it may often happen,that a good quality, which he possesses along with it,that persuasion which before seemed sofirm and unshaken. What remedy forthis inconvenience? Assist, yourself bya frequent perusal of the entertainingmoralists : Hav~recourse to the learningof PLUTARCH, the imagination ofLUCIAN, the eloquence of CICEBO, thewit of SENECA, the gaiety of MONTAIGNE,t,he sublilllity of SHAFT~~BURY. Moralprecepts, so couched, strike deep, andfortify the mind against the illusio~is ofpassion. But trust not altogether toexternal aid : By habit and study acquirethat philosophical temper whichboth gives force to reflection, and byrendering a great part of your happinessindependent, takos off the edgefrom all disorderly passions, and tran-quillizes the mind. Despise not thesehelps; but confide not too much inthem neither; unless nature has beenfavourable in the temper, with whichshe has endowed you.[Gaietk de Cceur : Edition C.]TIIE SCEPTIC. 231will render liim more miserable, than if he were completelyvicious. A person of such imbecility of temper as to beeasily broken by affliction, is more unhappy for being endowedwith a generous and friendly disposition, which gives him alively concern for others, and exposes him the more to fortuneand accidents. A sense of shame, in an imperfectcharacter, is certainly a virtue ; but produces great uneasinessand remorse, from which the abandoned villain is entirelyfree. A very amorous complexion, with a heart incapableof friendship, is happier than the same excess inlove, with a generosity of temper, which transports a manbeyond himself, and renders him a total slave to the object ofhis passion.In R word, human life is more governed by fortune than byreason ; is to be regarded more as a dull pastime than as aserious oeoupation ; and is more influenced by particularhumour, than by general principles. Shall we engage ourselvesin it with passion and anxiety? It is not worthy ofso much concern. Shall we be indifferent about what happens? We lose all the pleasure of the game by our phlegmand carelessness. While we are reasoning concerning life,life is gone; and death, though perhaps they receive himdifferently, yet treats alike the fool and the philosopher. Toreduce life to exact rule and method, is commonly a painful,oft a fruitless occupation : And is it not also a proof, thatwe overvalue the prize for which we contend? Even to reasonso carefully concerning it, and to fix with accuracy its justidea, would be overvaluing it, were it not that, to sometempers, this occupation is one of the most amusing, inwhich life could possibly be employed.ESSAY XIX.-Of Polygamy and Divorces.As marriage is an engagement entered into by mutual consent,and has for its end the propagation of the species, itis evident, that it must be susceptible of all the variety ofconditions, which consent establishes, provided they be notcontrary to this end.A man, in conjoining himself to a woman, is bound to heraccording to the terms of his engagement: I11 begettingchildren, he is bound, by all the ties of nature and humanity,to provide for their subsistence and education. When he has

232 ESSAY SLY. OF POLYGAMY AND DIVORCES. 233performed these two parts of duty, no one can reproach himwith injustice or injury. And as the terms of his engagement,as well as the methods of subsisting his offspring, may bevarious, it is mere superstition to imagine, that marriage canbe entirely uniform, and will admit only of one mode or form.Did not human laws restrain the natural liberty of men, everyparticular marriage mould be as different as contracts orbargains of any other kind or species.As circumstances vary, and the laws propose differentadvantages, we find, that, in different times and places, theyimpose different conditions on this important contract. InTONQUIN, it is usual for the sailors, when the ships come intoharbour, to marry for the season ; and notwithstanding thisprecarious engagement, they are assured, it is said, of thestrictest fidelity to their bed, as well as in the whole managementof their affairs, from those tenlporary spouses.I cannot, at present, recollect my authorities ; but I haresomewhere read, tl.at the republic of ATHENS, having lostmany of its citizens by war and pestilence, allowed every manto marry two wives, in order the sooner to repair the wastewhich had been made by these calamities. The poet EURIPIDEShappened to be coupled to t'wo noisy Vixens who so plaguedhim with their jealousies and quarrels, that he became everafter a professed woman-hater; and is the only theatricalwriter, perhaps the only poet, that ever entertained an aversionto the sex.In that a reeable romance, called the History of the5SEVARAMRIANS, where a great many men and a few wonienare supposed to be shipwrecked on a desert coast ; the captainof the troop, in order to obviate those endless quarrels whicharose, regulates their marriages after the follo~ving manner :He takes a handsome female to himself alone ; assigns one toevery couple of inferior officers ; and to five of the lowest rankhe gives one wife in c~nimon.~The ancient BRITONS had a singular kind of marriage, tobe met with among no other people. Any number of them,as ten or a dozen, joined in a society together, which wasperhaps requisit,e for mutual defence in those barbarous times.In order to link this society the closer, they took an equalnumber of wives in common; and whatever children were1 [Editions C to P add the following : circumstances, have contrived mattamCould the greatest legislator, in such with greater wisdom?]born, were reputed to belong to all of them, and were accordinglyprovided for by the whole community.Among the inferior creatures, nature herself, beillg thesupreme legislator, prescribes all the laws which regulatetheir marriages, and varies those laws according to the differentcircumstances of the creature. Where she furnishes,with ease, food and defence to the newborn animal, thepresent embrace terminates the marriage ; and the care ofthe offspring is committed entirely to the female. Wherethe food is of more dificult purchase, the marriage continuesfor one season, till the coinmon progeny can provide foritself; and the union immediately dissolves, and leaves eachof the parties free to enter into a new engagement at theensuing season. But nature, having endowed man with reason,has not so exactly regulated every article of his marriagecontract, but has left him to adjust them, by his own prudence,according to his particular circumstailces and situation.Municipal laws are a supply to the wisdom of each individual ;and, at the same time, by restraining the natural liberty ofmen, make private interest submit to the interest of thepublic. All regulations, therefore, on this head are equallylawful, and equally conforinable to the principles of nature ;though they are not all equally convenient, or equally usefulto society. The laws may allow of polygamy, as among theEastern nations ; or of voluntary 'divorces, as among theGREEKS and ROMANS ; or they may confine one mail to oilewoman, during the whole course of their lives, as an?ong themodern EUROPEANS. It may not be disagreeable to considerthe advantages and disadvantages, which result from each ofthese institutions.The advocates for polygan~y may recommend it as theonly effectual remedy for the disorders of love, and the onlyexpedient for freeing men from that slavery to the females,which the natural violence of our passions has imposedupon us. By this means alone can we regain our rightof sovereignty; and, sating our appetite, re-establish theauthority of reason in our minds, and, of consequence, ourown authority in our families. Man, like a weak sovereign,being unable to support himself against the wiles and intriguesof his subjects, must play one faction against another, andbecome absolute by the mutual jealousy of the females. Totliuida and to gotqeln is an ~lnivcrsal maxim ; and bx neglecting

234 ESSAY XIX. OF POLYGAMY AND I)IVORCES.it, the EUROPEANS undergo a more grievous and a moreignominious slavery than the TURKS or PERSIANS, who aresubjected indeed to a sovereign, that lies at a distance fromthem, but in their domestic a£Fairs rule with an uncontroulablesway.'On the other hand, it may be urged with better reason,that this sovereignty of the male is a real usurpation, anddestroys that nearness of rank, not to say equality, whichnature has established between the sexes. we are, by nature,their lovers, their friends, their patrons : Would we willinglyexchange such endearing appellations, for the barbarous titleof master and tyrant PIn what capacity shall we gain by this inhuman proceeding? As lovers, or as husbands P The lover, is totallyannihilated ; and courtship, the most agreeable scene in life,can no longer have place, where women have not the freedisposal of themselves, but are bought and sold, like themeanest animal. The husband is as-little a gainer, havingfound the admirable secret of extinguishing every part oflove, except its jealousy. No rose without its thorn; but hemust be a foolish wretch indeed, that throws away the roseand preserves only the thorn.aBut the ASIATIC manners are as destructive to friendshipas to love. Jealousy excludes men from all intimacies andfamiliarities with each other. No one dares bring his friendto his house or table, lest he bring a lover to his numerouswives. Hence all over the east, each family is as muchseparate from another, as if they were so many distinctkingdoms. No wonder then, that SOLOMON, living like aneastern prince, with his seven hundred wives, aid threehundred concubines, without one friend, could write so[Editions C to P add the following : ambassador in FRANCE. We TURKS,An honest. TURK, who should come from says he, are gmt simpletons in comhisseraglio, where every one trembles parbm of the Christians. We are atbefore him, would be surprized to see th expense and trouble of keeping aSYLVIA in her drawing room, adored by seraglio, each in his own house: Butall the beaus and pretty fellows about you ease yourselvts of this bzwdrn, crndtown, and he would certainly take her have your seraglio in your friends'for some mighty and despotic queen, houses. The known virtue of oursurrounded by her guard of obsequious BRITISH ladies frees them sflcientlyslaves and eunuchs.]from this imputation : And the TURK[C to N add the following para- himself, had he travelled among us,graph: I would not willingly insist must have owned, that our free comuponit as an advantage in our EURO- merce with the fair sex, more than auyPEAN customs, what was observed by other invention, embellishes, enlivens,MEHEMET EFFENDI the last TURKISH and polishes society.]concerning the vanity of the world. Had hetried the secret of one wife or mistress, a few friends, and apat many companions, he might have found life sol~~ewllstmore agreeable. Destroy love and friendship ; what reiuainsin the world worth accepting ?The bad education of children, especially children ofcondition, is another unavoidable consequence of these easterninstitutions. Those who pass the early part of life amongslaves, are only qualified to be, themselves, slaves andtyrants ; and in every future intercourse, either with theirinferiors or superiors, are apt to forget the natural equalityof mankind. What attention, too, can it be supposed aparent, whose seraglio affords him fifty sons, will give toinstilling principles of morality or science into a progeny,with whom he himself is scarcely acquainted, and whom heloves with so divided an affection P Barbarism, therefore,appears, from reason as well as experience, to be the inseparableattendant of polygamy.To render polygamy inore odious, I need not recount thefrightful effects of jealousy, and the constraint in which itholds the fair-sex all over the east. In those conntries menare not allowed to have any commerce with the females, noteven physicians, when sickness may be supposed to haveextinguished all wanton passions in the bosoms of the fair,and, at the same time, has rendered them unfit objects ofdesire. TOURNEFORT tells us, that, when he was brought intothe yrand signor's seraglio as a physician, he was not a littlesurprized, in looking along a gallery, to see a great numberof naked arms, standing out from the sides of the room. Hecould not imagine what this could mean ; till he was told,that those arms belonged to bodies, which he must cure,without knowing any more about them, than what he couldlearn from the arms. He was not allowed to ask a questionof the patient, or even of her attendants, lest he might findit necessary to enquire concerning circumstances, which thedelicacy of the seraglio allows not to be revealed. Hencephysicians in the east pretend to know all diseases from thepulse; as our quacks in EUROPE undertake to cure a persoilmerely from seeing his water. I suppose, had MonsieurTOURNEFORT been of this lahter kind, he would not, inCONSTANTINOPLE, have been allowed by the jealous TURKS[This paragraph docs not occur in Editionb C to K.]

236 ESSAY XIX.to be furnished with materials requisite for exercising hisart.In another country, where polygamy is also allowed, theyrender their wives cripples, and make their feet of no use tothem, in order to confine them to their own houses. But itwill, perhaps, appear strange, that, in a EUROPEAN country,jealousy can yet be carried to such a height, that it is indecentso much as to suppose that a woman of rank can havefeet or 1egs.l Witness the following story, which we havefrom very good authority.' When the mother of the lateking of SPAIN was on her road towards MADRID, she passedthrough a little town in SPAIN, famous for its manufactory ofgloves and stockings. The magistrates of the place thoughtthey could not better express their joy for the reception oftheir new queen, than by presenting her with a satnple ofthose commodities, for which alone their town was remarkable.The major domo, who conducted the princess, receivedthe gloves very graciously: But when the stockings werepresented, he flung them away with great indignation, andseverely reprimanded the magistrates for this egregious pieceof indecency. Knouy, sap he, that a queen of SPAIN has nolegs. The young queen, who, at that time, understood thelanguage but imperfectly, and had often been frightened withstories of SPANISH jealousy, itnagined that they were to cutoff her legs. Upon which she fell a crying, and begged tllernto conduct her back to GERMANY; for that she never couldendure the operation : And it was with some difficulty theycould appease her. PHILIP IV. is said never in his life tohave laughed heartily, but at the recital of this story.3Having rejected polygamy, and matched one man withone woman, let us now consider what duration we shall assignto their union, and whether we shall admit of those voluntary[Editions C to P add the following :A SPANIARD is jealous of the verythougl~ts of those who approach hiswife; and, if ~ossible, will prevent hisbeing dishonoured, eren by the wantonnessof imagination.]Memoirs de la cour ~'ESPAGNE parMadame JAUNOY.[Editions C to P add as follows : Ifa SPANISH lady must not be supposed tohave legs, what must be supposed of aTURK~SH lady? She must not be supposedto have a being :it all. Accordingly,'tis esteemed a piece of rudenessand icdecency at CONSTANTINOPLE, everto make mention of a man's wives beforehim.' In EUROPE, 'tis true, finebred people make it also a rule neverto talk of their wires. But the reasonis not founded on our jealousy. J supposeit is hecause we should be apt,were it not for this rule, to becorne1 [Memoires de Marqzbis d'Arge?as.]OF POLYGAMY AND DIVORCES. 237divorces, which were customary among the GREEKS andROMANS. Those who would defend this practice may employthe following reasons.How often does disgust and aversion arise after marriage,from the most trivial accidents, or from an incompatibility ofhumour; where time, instead of curing the wounds, proceedingfrom mutual injuries, festers them every day the more, bynew quarrels and reproaches P Let us separate hearts, whichwere not made to associate together. Each of them may,perhaps, find another for which it is better fitted. -4t least,nothing can be more cruel than to preserve, by violence, anunion, which, at first, was made by mutual love, and is now,in effect, dissolved by mutual hatred.But the liberty of divorces is not only a cure to hatred anddomestic quarrels : It is also an admirable preservative againstthem, and the only secret for keeping alive that love, whichfirst united the married couple. The heart of man delights inliberty : The very image of constraint is grievous to it : Whenyou would confine it by violence, to what would otherwisehave been its choice, the inclination immediately changes,and desire is turned into aversion. If the public interest willnot allow us to enjoy in polygamy that variety, which is soagreeable in love: at least, deprive us not of that liberty,which is so essentially requisite. In vain you tell me, thatI had my choice of the person, with whom I would conjoinmyself. I had my choice, it is true, of my prison ; but thisis but a small comfo j, since it must still be a prison.Such are the arguments which may be urged in favour ofdivorces: But there seem to be these three unanswerableobjections against them. First, What must become of thechildren, upon the separation of the parents P Must they becomniitted to the care of a step-mother ; and instead of thefond attention and concern of a parent, feel all the indifferenceor hatred of a stranger or an enemy P These inconveniencesare sufficiently felt, where nature has made thedivorce by the doom inevitable to all mortals : And shall weseek to multiply those inconveniences, by multiplying divorces,troublesome to company, by talking too to mention their wives in company, lestmuch of them. they should talk of them before people,The author of the PERSIAN letters who are better acquainted with them thnnhas given a different reason for this themselves.]polite maxim. Men, says he, never care

ESSAY XIX'. OF POLYGAMY AND DNORCES. 239and putting it in the power of parents, upon every caprice, torender their posterity miserable?Secondly, If itbe true, on the one hand, that the heart of mannaturally delights in liberty, and hates every thing to whichit is confined; it is also true, on the other, that the heart ofman naturally submits to necessity, and soon loses an inclination,when there appears an absolute impossibility ofgratifying itrThese principles of human nature, you'll say,are contradictory : But what is man but a heap of contradictions! Though it is remarkable, that, where principles are,after this manner, contrary in their operation, they do notalways destroy each other; but the one or the other maypredominate on any particular occasion, according as circumstancesare more or less favourable to it. For instance, loveis a restless and impatient passion, full of caprices andvariations : arising in a moment from a feature, from an air,from nothing, and suddenly extinguishing after the samemanner. Such a passion requires liberty above all things ;and therefore ELOISA had reason, when, in order to preservethis passion, she refused to marry her beloved ABELARD.How oft, when pest to marriage, have 1 said,Curse on all laws but those which love has made ;Love, free as air, at sight of human t&s,Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies.But fritmdship is a calm and sedate affection, conducted byreason and cemented by habit ; springing from long acquaintanceand nlutyal obligations; without jealousies or fears, andwithout those feverish fits of heat and cold, which cause suchan agreeable torment in the amorous passion. So sober anaffection, therefore, as frie~ldchip, rather thrives under constraint,and never rises to such a height, as vhen any stronginterest or necessity binds two persons together, and givesthem some common object of pursuit.' We need not, therefore,be afraid of drawing the marriage-knot, which chieflysubsists by friendship, the closest possible. The amity1 [Editions C to P add as follows :Let us consider then, whether love orffiendship should most predominate inmarriage; and we shall soon determinewhether liberty or constraint bemost favourable to it. The happiestmarriages, to be sure, are found wherelove, by long acquaintance, is consolidatedinto friendship. Whoever dreamsof raptures and extasies beyond thehoney-month, is a fool. Even romancesthemselves, with all their liberty offiction, are obliged to drop their loversthe very day of their marriage, and findit easier to $upport the passion for adozen years under coldness, disdain anddifficulties, than a week under possessionand security.]between the persons, where it is solid and sincere, will ratliergain by it : And where it is wavering and uncertain, this isthe best expedient for fixing it. How many frivolous quarrelsand disgusts are there, which people of common prudenceendeavour to forget, when they lie under a necessity of passingtheir lives together; but which would soon be inflamed intot'he most deadly hatred, were they pursued to the utmost,under the prospect of an easy separation9In the third place, we must consider, that nothing is moredangerous than to unite two persons so closely in all theirinterests and concerns, as man and wife, without renderingthe union entire and total. The least possibility of a separat,einterest must be the source of endless quarrels and suspicions.The wife, not secure of her establishment, will stillbe driving some separate end or project ; and the husband'sselfishness, being accompanied with more power, may be stillmore dangerous.Should these reasons against voluntary divorces be deemedinsufficient, I hope no body will pretend to refuse the testimonyof experience. At the time when divorces were mostfrequent among the ROMANS, marriages were most rare ; andAUGUSTUS was obliged, by penal laws, to force men of fashioninto the married state : A circumstance which is scarcely tobe found in any other age or nati~n.~ The more ancient lawsof ROME, which prohibited divorces, are extremely praised byDIONYSIUS HALYCARNASSB~TS.~ Wonderful was the harmony,says the historian, which this inseparable union of interestsproduced between married persons ; while each of them consideredthe inevitable necessitly by which they were linkedtogether, and abandoned all prospect of any other choice orestablishment.The exclusion of polygamy and divorces sufficiently recommendsour present EUROPEAN practice with regard tomarriage.* [In place of ' The wife, not secure wife, will be doubly ruinous.']of her establishment, will still be drir- [Editions C and D omit the reingsome separate end or project,' Edi- mainder of the paragraph.]tions P to C read : 'What Dr. PARNEL Lib. ii. 25.calls, The little pilf'ring temper of a

OF SIMPLICITY AND REFINEMENT. 241ESSAY XX.-Of Simplicity and Refnenzent in Whtifig.FINE writing, according to Mr. ADDISON, consists of sentiments,which are natural, mithout being obvious. Therecannot be a juster, and more concise definition of fine writing.Sentiments, which are merely natural, affect not the mindwith any pleasure, and seem not worthy of our attention.The pleasantries of a waterman, the observations of a peasant,the ribaldry of a porter or hackney coachman, all of theseare natural, and disagreeable. What an insipid comedyshould we make of the chit-chat of the tea-table, copiedfaithfully and at full length? Nothing can please persons of.taste, but nature drawn with all her graces and ornaments,la belle nature; or if we copy low life, the strokes must bestrong and remarkable, and must convey a lively image tothe mind. The absurd naivety1 of Sancho Pancho isrepresentedin such inimitable colours by CEEVANTES, that it entertains asmuch as the picture of the most magnanimous hero or softestlover.The case is the sanie with orators, philosophers, critics, orany author who speaks in his own person, without introducingother speakers or actors. If his language be not elegant, hisobservations uncommon, his sense strong and masculine, hewill in vain boast his nature and simplicity. He may becorrect ; but he never will be agreeable. It is the unhappinessof such authors, that they are never blamed or censured.The good fortune of a book, and that of a man, are not thesame. The secret deceiving path of life, which HORACEtalks of, fallentis sernita vitm, may be the happiest lot of theone; but is the greatest misfortune, which the other canpossibly fall into.On the other hand, productions, which are merely surprising,without being natural, can never give any lastingentertainment to the mind. To draw chimeras is not, properlyspeaking, to copy or imitate. The justness of therepresentation is lost, and the mind is displeased to find apicture, which bears no resemblance to any original. Norare such excessive refinements more agreeable in the epistolaryor philosophic style, than in the epic or tragic. Too much[Ections C to K : Naivety, a word whieh I have borrow'd from the French,rvld which is wanted in our language.]oFnnment is a fault in every lrind of production. Uncorrlmonexpressions, strong flashes of wit, pointed similes, andturns, especially when they recur too frequently,are a disfigurement, rather than any embellishment of discourse.As the eye, in surveying a GOTHIC building, is distractedby the multiplicity of ornanients, and loses the wholeby its minute attention to the part's ; so the mind, in perusinga work overstocked with wit, is fatigued and disgusted withthe constant encleavour to shine and surprize. This is thecase where a writer overabounds in wit, even though thatwit, in itself, should be just and agreeable. But it commonlyhappens to such writers, that they seek for their favouriteornaments, even where the subject does not afford them ; andby that means, have twenty insipid conceits for one thoughtwhich is really beautiful.There is no subject in critical learning more copious, thanl'his of the just mixture of simplicity and refinement inwriting ; and therefore, not to wander in too large a field, Ishall confine myself to a few general observations on that1) ead.First, I observe, That tl~ougl~ excesses of both kinds are to beavoided, and though a proper medium ought to be studied in allproductions; yet this medium lies not in a point, but admits oJa considerable latitude. Consider the wide distance, in thisrespect, between Mr. POPE and LU~RETIUS. These seem tolie in the two greatest extremes of refinement and simplicity,in which a poet can indulge himself, without being guilty ofany blameable excess. All this interval may be filled withpoets, who may differ from each other, but may be equallyadmirable, each in his peculiar stile and manner. COENEILLEand CONGREVE, who carry their wit and refinement somewhatfarther than Mr. POPE (if poets of so different a kindcan be compared together), and SOPHOCLES and TERENCE,who are more simple than LUCRETIUS, seein to have gone outof that medium, in which the most perfect productions arefound, and to be guilty of some excess in these opposite characters.Of all the great poets, VIRGIL and RACINE, in myopinion, lie nearest the center, and are the farthest removedfrom both the extremities.My second observation on this head is, That it is very dificult,if not inzpossible, to explain by zr~ords, where the justmedium lies between the Pxcesses of simp7icify u,ncl re$n,ement, or

243 ESSAY XX. OI" SIMP1,ICI'l'Y AND REFTNEMRNT. 21 3to give any rule by which we can know precisely the boundsbetween the fault and the beauty. A critic may not only discoursevery judiciously on this head, without instructing hisreaders, but even without understanding the matter perfectlyhimself. There is not a finer piece of criticism than the dissertationon pastorals by FONTENELLE ; in which, by a numberof reflections and philosophical reasonings, he endeavours tofix the just medium, which is suitable to that species ofwriting. But let any one read the pastorals of that author,and he will be convinced, that this judicious critic, notwithstandinghis fine reasonings, had a false taste, and fixed thepoint of perfection much nearer the extreme of refinementthan pastoral poetry will admit of. The sentiments of hisshepherds are better suited to the toilettes of PARIS, than tothe forests of ARCADIA. But this it is impossible to discoverfrom his critical reasonings. He blames all excessive paintingand ornament as much as VIRGIL could have done, had thatgreat poet writ a dissertation on this species of poetry.However different the tastes of men, their general discourseon these subjects is commonly the same. No criticism canbe instructive, which descends not to particulars, and is notfull of examples and illustrations. It is allowed on all hands,that beauty, as well as virtue, alwajs lies in a medium ; butwhere this medium is placed, is the great question, and cannever be sufficiently explained by general reasonings,I shall deliver it as a third observation on this subject,That we ought to be more on our guard against the excess ofreJinernent tham that of simplicity ; and that because the formerexcess is both less beautiful, and more dangerous than the latter.It is a certain rule, that wit and passion are entirely incompatible.When the affections are n~oved, there is no placefor the imagination. The mind of man being naturallylimited, it is impossible that all its faculties can operate atonce : And the more any one predominates, the less room isthere for the others to exert their vigour. For this reason,a greater degree of simplicity is required in all compositions,where men, and actions, and passions are painted, than insuch as consist of reflections and observittions. And as theformer species of writing is the more engaging and beautiful,one may safely, upon this account, give the preference to theextreme of simplicity above that of refinement.We may also observe, that those compositions, which wercacl the oftenest, and which every man of taste has got byheart, have the recomme~ldation of simplicity, and havenothing surprising in the thought, when divested of thatelegance of expression, and harmony of numbers, with whichit is c1o:tthed. If the merit of the composition lie in a poisntof wit ; it may strike at first; but the mind anticipates thethought in the second perusal, and is not longer affected byit. When I read an epigram of MARTIAL, the first line recallst,he whole ; and I have no pleasure in repeating tomyself what I know already. But each line, each word inCATULLUS, has its merit ; and I am never tired with theperilsal of him. It is sufficient to ran over COWLEY once :Rut PARNEL, after the fiftieth reading, is as fresh as st thefirst. Besides, it is with books as with women, where acertain plainness of manner and of dress is more engagingthan that glare of paint and airs and apparel, which maydazzle the eye, but reaches not the affections. TERENCE is amodest and bashful beauty, to whom we grant everything,because he assumes nothing, and whose purity and naturemake a durable, though not a violent impression on us.But refinement, as it is the less beautiful, so is it the moreclangerous extreme, and what we are the aptest to fall into.Simplicity passes for dulness, when it is not accompaniedwith great elegance and propriety. On the contrary, thereis something surprizing in a blaze of wit and conceit. Ordinaryreaders are mightily struck with it, and falsely imagineit to be the most difficult, as well as most excellent wayof writing. SENECA abounds with agreeable faults, saysQUINTILIAN, ahundat dulcibus vitiis; and for that reason isthe more dangerous, and the more apt to pervert the tasteof the young and inconsiderate.I hall add, that the excess of refinement is now more tobe guarded against than ever; because it is the extreme,which men are the most apt to fall into, after learning hasmade some progress, and after eminent writers have appearedin every species of composition. The endeavour toplease by novelty leads men wide of simplicity and nature,and fills their writings with affectation and conceit. Itwas thus the ASIATIC eloquence degenerated so much fromthe ATTIC : It was thus the age of CLAUDIUB and NERObecame so much inferior to that of AUGUSTUS ill taste and[The first clause of this sentence was added in Edition K.]

24 4 ESSAY XXT.genius : And perhaps there are, at present, some symptomsof a like degeneracy of taste, in FRANCE as well as in ENG-LAND.ESSAY XX1.-OfNational Characters.THE vulgar are apt to carry all national characters to extremes; and having once established it as a principle, thatany people are knavish, or cowardly, or ignorant, they willadmit of no exception, but comprehend every individualunder the same censure. Men of sense condemn these undistinguishingjudgments : Though at the same time, theyallow, that each nation has a peculiar set of manners, andthat some pa'rticular qualities are more frequently to be metwith among one people than among their neighbours. Thecommon people in SWITZERLAND have probably morehonesty than those of the same rank in IRELAND ; and everyprudent nian will, from that circumstance alone, make adifference in the trust which he reposes in each. We havereason to expect greater wit and gaiety in a FRENCHMANthan in a SPANIARD ; though CERVANTES was born in SPAIN.An ENGLISHMAN will naturally be supposed to have moreknowledge than a DANE ; though TYCHO BRAHE was a nativeof DENMARK.Different reasons are assigned for these national characters ;while some account for thern from moral, others fromphysicalcauses. By moral causes, I mean all circumstances, whichare fitted to work on the mind as motives or reasons, andwhich render a peculiar set of manners habitual to us. Of- th'is kind are, the natnre of the government, the revolutionsof public affairs, the plenty or penury in which the peoplelive, the situation of the nation with regard to its neighbours,and such like circumstances. By physical causes I meanthose qualities of the air and clirnate, which are supposedto work insensibly on the temper, by altering the tone andhabit of the body, and giving a particular complexion, which,though reflection and reason may sometimes overcome it,will yet prevail among the generali~y of mankind, and havean influence on their manners.That the character of a nation will much depend on moralcauses, must be evident to the most superficial observer;since a nation is nothing but a collection of individuals, andl [This Essay wa8 first publishctl in Edition I).]the n~rtnners of individuals are frequently determined bytliese causes. As poverty and hard labour debase the mindsof tile colnmon people, and render them unfit for any scienceand ingeiiious profession ; so where any government becomesvery oppressive to all its subjects, it must lime a proportionaleffect on their temper and genius, and must banish a11 theliberal arts from among them.'The same principle of moral causes fixes the character ofdifferent professions, and alters even that disposition, whichthe particular members receive from the hand of nature. Asoldier and a priest are different characters, in all nations,and all ages ; ajnd this diff

ESSAY =I.As to physical causes, I am inclined to d'oubt altogether oftheir operation in this particular; nor do I think, that menowe any thing of their temper or genius to the air, food, orclimate. I confess, that the coutrary opinion may justly, atpropensity to religion at certain timesand in certain dispositions; yet arethere few or none, who have it to thatdegree, and with that constancy, whichis requisite to support the character ofthis profession. It must, therefore, happen,that clergymen,. being drawn fromthe common mass of mankind, as peopleare to other employments, by the viewsof profit, the greater part, though noatheists or free-thinkers, will find itnecessary, on particular occasions, tofeign more devotion tban they are, atthat time, possessed of, and to maintain'the appearance of fervor and ~eriousness,even when jaded with the exercisesof their religion, or when theyhave their minds engaged in the com-mon occupations of life. They mustnot, like the rest of the world, givescope to their natural movements andsentiments: They must set a guardover their looks and words and actions :And in order to support the venerationpaid them by the multitude, they must,not only keep a remarkable reserve, butmust promote the spirit of superstition,by a continued grimace and hypocrisy.This dissimulation often destroys thecnndor and ingenuity of their temper,and makes an irreparable breach intheir character.If by chance any of them be possessedof a temper more susceptible ofdevotion than usual, so that he has butlittle occasion for hypocrisy to supportthe character of his profession ; it is sonatural for him to over-rate this advantnge,and to think that it atones forevery violation of morality, that frequentlyhe is not more virtuous thanthe hypocrite. And though few dareopenly avow those exploded opinions,that evey thing is lawful to tibe saints,and that the?/ done hnve property intheir goods; yet may we observe, thatthese principles lurk in every bosom,and represent a zeal for religious observancesas so great a merit, that it maycompensate for many vices and enormi-ties. This observation is so common,that all prudent men are on their guard,when they meet with any extraordinaryappegrance of religion ; though at theBanie time, they coilfess, that there aremany exceptions to this general rule, andthat probity and superstition, or evenprobity and fanaticism, are not altogetherand in every instance incompatible.Most men are ambitious; but theambition of other men may commonlybe satisfied, by excelling in their particularprofession, and thereby promo-ting the interests of society. Theambition of the clergy can often besatisfied only by promoting ignoranceand superstition and implicit faith andpious frauds. And having got whatARCPIMEDES only wanted, (namely,another world, on which he could fixhis engines) no wonder they move thisworld at their pleasure.Most men have an overweening conceitof themselves ; but these hare apeculiar temptation ta that vice, whoare regarded with such veneration, andare even deemed sacred, by the ignorantmultitude.Most men are apt to bear a particularregard for members of their own profession; but as a lawyer, or physician,or merchant, does, each of them, followout his business apart, the interests ofmen of these professions are not soclosely united as the interests of clergymenof the same religion; where thewhole body gains by the veneration,paid to their common tenets, and by thesuppression of antagonists.Few men can bear contradiction withpatience ; but the clergy too often proceedeven to a degree of fury on thishead : Because all their credit and livelihooddepend upon the belief, whichtheir opinions meet with; and theyalone pretend to a divine and siipernaturalauthority, or have any colourfor representing their antagonists asimpious and prophane. The Odiun~ThoZoyicum, or Theological Hatred, isnoted even to a proverb, and nieansthat degree of mncour, which is themost furious and implacable.Revenge is a natural passion to mankind; but seems to reign with thegreatest force in priests and women:Because, being deprived of the immediateexertion of anger, in violence andcombat, they are apt to fancy thembelvesdespised on that account; andOK NATIONAL CMhltACTEKS.first sight, seem probable ; since we find, that these circumst,aliceshave an influence over every other animal, and thateven those creatures, wllicll are fitted to live in all climates,such as dogs, horses, &c. do not attain the same perfectionin all. TI; courage of hull-dogs and ganlecocks seems peculiarto ENGLAND. FLANDERS is remarkable for large andheavy horses : Spain for horses light, and of good mettle.And-any breed of these creatures, transplailted from onecountry to another, will soon lose the qualities, which theyderived froill their native climate. It may be asked, whynot the same with men PThere are few questions more curious than this, or whichwill oftener occur in our enquiries concerning humantheir pride supports their vindictivedisposition. [This paragraph was addedin mition K.]Thus many of the riees of humannature are, by fixed moral causes, inflamedin that possession ; and thoughseveral irdividuals escape the contagion,yet all wise governments will beon their guard against the attempts ofn society, who will for ever combineinto one faction, and while it acts as asociety, will for ever be actuated by ambition,pride, revengr., and a persecutingspirit.The temper of religion is grave andserious ; and this is the character requiredof priests, which confines themto strict rules of decency, and commonlyprevents irregularity and intemperanceamongst them. The gaiety, niuch lessthe excesses of pleasure, is not permittedin that bo ly ; and this virtue is,~whaps, the only one which they oweto their profession. In relipions, indeed,founded on speculative principles,and where public discourses mxka apart of religious service, it may also besupposed that the clergy will hare aconhiderable share in the learning ofthe times; though it is certain thattheir taste in eloquence will always begreater than thoir proficiency in reasoningand philosophy. But whoeverpossesses the other noble virtues ofhumanity, meekness, and moderation,as very many of them, no doubt, do, isbeholden for them to nature or reflection,not to the genius of his calling.It was no lad expeclient in the oidROMANS, for preventing the strong effectof the priestly character, to make it alaw that no one should be received intothe sacerdotal office, till he was pastfifty years of age, DION. Hal. lib. ii. 21.The living a layman till that age, it ispresumed, would be able to fix the cha-[This paragrr~ph is not in Edition D.]racter. [This paragraph was added inEdition K.]CXSAR (de Bell GALLIC^, lib. 4. 2.)says that the GALLIC horses were rerygood ; the GERMAN rery bad. We findin lib. 7. 65. that he wis obliged to remountsome GERMAN CRT-airy withGALLIC horses. At present, no part ofEUROPE has so bad horses of all kindsRS FR-~YCE : Bu~ GERMANY itboundswith excellent war horses. This maybeget ;t little suspicion, thi~t eyen animalsdepend r~ot on the climate ; but onthe different breeds, and on the slrilland care in rearing them. The northof ENGLAND abounds in the best horsesof it11 kinds which are in the world. Inth? neighbouring counties, north sidethe TWEED, no good horses of any kindare to he met with. STRABO, lib. 2. 103.rtjects, in a great measure, the influenceof cli~ni~te upon men. All is custon~and education, saps he. It is not fromriitture, that the ATHENIANS art) learned,the LACEDEMONIANS ignorant, and theTHEBANS too, who are still nearerneighbours to the farmer. Even thedifference af animals, he adds, dependsnot on climate. [This note is not inEdition D.]

248 ESSAY XU. OF NATIONAL CHARACTERS. 249affairs ; and therefore it may be proper to give it a full examination.The human mind is of a very imitative nature ; nor is itpossible for any set of men to converse often together, withoutacquiring a similitude of manners, and conlmunicatingto each other their vices as well as virtues. The propensityto company and society is strong in all rational creatures ;and the same disposition, which gives us this propensity,makes us enter deeply into each other's sentiments, andcauses like passions and inclinations to run, as it were, bycontlagion, through the whole club or knot of companions.Where a nu~nber of men are united into one political body,the occasions of their intercourse must be so frequent, fordefence, commerce, and government, that,, together with thesame speech or language, they must acquire a reseillblance intheir manners, and have a common or national character, aswell as a personal one, peculiar to each individual. Nowthough nature produces all kinds of temper and understandingin great abundance, it does not follow, that shealways produces them in like proportions, and that in everysociety the ingredients of industry and indolence, valour andcowardice, hurnanity and brutadity, wisdom and folly, willbe mixed after the same manner. In the infancy of society,if any of these dispositions be found in greater abundancethan the rest, it will naturally prevail in the composition,and give a tincture to the national character. Or should itbe asserted, thltt no species of temper can reasonably be presumedto predominate, even in those contracted societies,and that the same proportions will always be preserved inthe mixture ; yet surely the persons in credit and authority,being still a more contracted body, cannot always be presumedto be of the same character; and their influence onthe manners of the people, must, at all times, be very considerable.If on the first establishnlent of a republic, aBRUTUS should be placed in authority, and be transportedwith such an enth6siasm for liberty and public good, as tooverlook all the ties of nature, as well as private int'erest,such an illustrious example will naturally have an effect onthe whole society, and kindle the same passion in everybosom. Whatever it be that forms the manners of onegeneration, the next must imbibe a deeper tincture of thesame dye ; nlen being more susceptible of all impressionsduring infmcy, and retaining these impressions as long astlley remain in the world. I assert, then, that all nationalcharacters, where they depend not on fixed moral causes,poceed from such accidents as these, and that physicalcauses havc no discernible operation on the human mind.'It is a maxiin in all philosophy, that causes which do notappear, are to be considered as not existing.If we run over the globe, or revolve the annals of history,we shall discover every where signs of a sympathy or contagionof manners, none of the influence of air or climate.First. M-e may observe, that, where a very extensivegovernment has been established for many centuries, itspreads a national character over the whole empire, andcomlqunicates to every part a similarity of manners. Thusthe CHINERE hare the greatest uniformity of characterimaginable: though the air and climate in different partsof those vast dominions, admit of very considerable variations.Seco~adly. In small governments, which are contiguous, thepeople have notwithstanding a different character, and areoften as distinguishable in their manners as the 111ost distantnations. ATHENS and THEBES were but a short day's journeyfrom each otber ; though the ATHENIANS were as remarkablefor ingenuity, politene~s, and gaiety, as the THEBANSfor dulness, rusticity, and a phlegmatic temper. PLUTARCH,discoursing of the effect's of air on the minds of Inen, observes,that the inhabitants of the PIRBUY p~ssessed very differenttempers from those of the higher town in ATHENS, which wasdistant about four miles from the former : But I believe noone attributes the difference of manners in WAPPING and St.JAMES'S, to a difference of air or climate.~hirdi~. The same national character commonly followsthe aut,hority of government to a precise boundary ; andupon crossing a river or passing a mountain, one finds a newset of manners, with a new government. The LANGUEDO-CIANs and GASCONS are the gayest people in FRANCE ; butwhenever you pass the PYRENEES, you are imong SPANIARDS.1s it conceirable, that the qualities of the air should changeexactly with the limits of an empire, which depend somuch on the accidents of battles, negociations, and marriages?[This sentence was added in Edition Q.1

250 ESSAY U L OF NATIONAL CIIARACTERS. 26 1E'ozcrthly. Where ally set of men, scattered over distantnations, maintain a close society or communication together,they acquire a similitude of nlanners, and have but little iucommon with the nations amongst whorn they live. Thus theJEWS in EUROPE, and the AKMENIAN~ in the east, have apeculiar character; and tlie former are as much noted forfraud, as the latter for probity.' The Jeswits, in all Romaucatholiccountries, are also observed to have a character peculiarto themselres.F l y . Where any accident, as a difference in languageor religion, keeps two nations inhabiting the same country,from mixing with each other, they will preserve, duriilgseveral centuries, a distinct and even opposite set of manners.The integrity, gravity, and bravery of the TURKS, form anexact contrast to the deceit, levity, and cowardice of themodern GREEKS.Sixthly. The same set of manners will follow a nation,and adhere to then1 over the whole globe, as well as thesame laws and language. The SPANISH, ENGLISH, FRENCHand DUTCH colonies are all distinguishable even between thetropics.Seventlzly. The manners of a people change very considerablyfiom one age to another, either by great alterationsin theit government, by the mixtures of new people, or bytliat incoilstancy, to which all human affairs are subject. Theingenuity, industry, and activity of the ancient GREEKS havenothing in coirlmon with the stupidity and indolence of thepresent inhabitants of those regions. Candour, bravery, andlove of liberty forllled the character of the ancient EOMANS ;as subtilty, cowardice, arid a slavish dispositioli do that ofthe modern. The old SPANIARDS were restless, turbulent,and so addicted to war, that inany of them killed themselves,when deprived of their arms by the EOMANS.~ One wouldfind an equal difficulty at present, (at least one would havefound it fifty years ago) to rouze up the modern SPANIARDSto arms. The BATAVIANS were all soldiers of fortune, andA small sect or society amiclbt a infamy on the smaller society, indegreaterare commonly most regular in pendent of their morals. For in thattheir morals ; because they are more case, having no character either to saveremarked, and the fiiults of indiricluolu or gain, they become careless of theirdraw disllonour on the whole. The only behaviour, except among themselves.exception to this rule is, wl~el, the buyer- [l'his note was aclded in Edition K.]stition ancl yrcjudic-eh of the Itll.jio ' TIT. LIVII, lib. xxuiu. cap. 17.bucirty utr so strung a6 Lo thlow ;inhired themsell-es into the ROMAN armies. Their posteritymake use of foreigners for the same purpose that the ROMANSdid their ancestors. Though some few strokes of the FRENCHcharacter be the same with that which CBSAR has ascribedto the Gauls : yet what comparison between the civility,humanity, and knowledge of the modern inhabitants of thatcountry, and the ignorance, barbarity, and grossness of theancient P ' Not to insist, upon the great difference betweenthe present possessors of BRITAI~~, and those before theRoman conquest; we may observe that our ancestors, a fewcenturies ago, were sunk into the most abject superstitioa,last century they were inflamed with the most furious enthusiasm,and are now settled into the most cool indifferencewith regard to religious matters, that is to be found in allynation of the world.Eighthly. Where several neighbouring nations have a veryclose communication together, either by policy, commerce, ortravelling, they acquire a similitude of manners, proportionedto the communication. Thus all the Franks appear to havea uniform character to the eastern nations. The differencesamong them are like the peculiar accents of different provilices,which are not distinguishable, except by an ear accustomedto them, and which cominonly escape a foreigner.Xi91~ilcthly. We may often remark a wonderful mixture ofnlanners and characters in the same nation, speaking thesame language, and subject to the same government: Andin this particular the ENGLISH are the most remarkable ofany people, that perhaps ever were in the world. Nor is thisto be ascribed to the mutability and uncertainty of their climate,or to any other physical causes; since all these causestake place in the ~leighbouring country of SCOTLAND, withouthaving the same effect. Where the government of a nationis altogether republican, it is apt to beget a peculiar setof manners. Where it is altogether monarchical, it is moreapt to have the same effect ; the imitation of superiors spreadingthe national manners faster among the people. If thegoverning part of a state consist altogether of merchants, asin HOLLAXD, their uniform way of life will fix their character.If it consists chiefly of nobles- and landed gentry, like GER-MANY, FRANCE, and SPAIN, the same effect follows. Thegenius of a particular sect or religion is also apt to 11lould1 [This sentence was added in Edition K.]

252 ESSAY XU. OF SATIOSAT, ClIARACTERS. 2633the mariners of a people. But the ENGLISH government is aniixture of monarchy, aristocracy, and democracy. 'I hepeople in authority are composed of gentrj- and merchants.All sects of religion are t'o be found among them. And thegreat liberty and independency, which every man enjoys, allowshim to display the manners peculiar to him. Hence theENGLISH, of any people in the universe, have the least of anational character; unless this very singularity may pass forsuch.If the characters of men depend on the air and climate,the degrees of heat and cold should naturally be expected tohave a mighty influence ; since nothing has a greater effecton all plants and irrational animals. And indeed there i$some reason to think, that all t,he nations, which live beyondthe polar circles or between the tropics, are inferior to therest of the species, and are incapable of all the higher attainmentsof the human mind. The poverty and misery of thenorthern inhabitants of the globe, and the indolence of thesouthern, from their few necessities, may, perhaps, accountfor this remarkable difference, without our having recourseto physical causes. This however is certain, that tLe charactersof nations are very pro~niscuous in the temperate climates,and that almost all the general observations, whichhave been formed of the more southern or more northernpeople in these climates, are found to be uncertain and fal-1acious.lShall we say, that the neighbourhood of the sun inflamesthe imagination of men, and gives it a peculiar spirit andvivacity. -The FRENCH, GREEKS, EGYPTIAKS, and PERSIANSare remarkable for gaiety. Tlle SPANIARDS, TURKS, and1 I am apt to suspect the negroes,and in genle~ul all the other spccies ofmen (for there are four or fire differentkinds) to be naturally inferior to thewhites. There never was a civilizednation of any other complexion thanwhite, nor. even any individual eminenteither in action or speculation. Noingenious manufactures amongst them,no arts, no sciences. On the otherhand, the most rude and barbarous ofthe whites, such as the ancient GER-MANS, the present TARTARS, hare stillsomething eminent about them, in theirvalour, form of government. or someother pirticular. Such a u~~iform andeor~stant difcrencr could r~at happen inSO many countries and ages, if naturehad not made an original distinctionbetwixt these breeds of men. Not tomention our colonies, there are NEGR~Eslaves dispersed all over EUROPE, ofwhich none ever discovered any symptomsof ingenuity; tho' lorn people,without education, will start up amongstus, and distinguish themselves in el-eryprofession. In JAMAICA indeed theytalk of one negroe as a man of partsand learning; but 'tis likely he is admiredfor very slender accomplishments,like a parrot, who speaks a few wordsplainly. [This note was added in FAitionK.](>=INERE are noted for gravity and a serious deportment,any such difference of clilnate as to produce this differenceof temper.The GREEKS and ROMANS, who ca-lled all other nationsbarbarians, confined genius and a fine understanding tothe more southern climates, and pronounced the northernnations incapable of all knowledge and civility. But ourisland has produced as great men, either for action or learning,as GREECE or ITALY has to boast of.It is pretended, that the sentiments of men become moredelicate as the country approaches nearer to the sun ; andthat the taste of beauty and elegance receives proportionalimprovements in every latitude ; as we may particularly observeof the languages, of which the more southern aresmooth and melodious, the northern harsh and untuneable.Rut this obsei~ation holds not universally. The ARABIC ist~ncouth and disagreeable : The MUSCOVITE soft and musical.Energy, strength, and harshness form the character of theLATIN tongue : The ITALIAN is the most liquid, smooth, andeffeminate language that can possibly be imagined. Everylanguage will depend somewhat on the manners of thepeople ; but niuch more on that original stock of words andsounds, which they received from their ancestors, and whichremain unchangeable, even while their manners admit of thegreatest alterations. Who can doubt, but the English are atpresent a more polite and kn~wing people than the GREEKSwere for sereral ages after the siege of Troy? Yet is thereno comparison between the language of MILTON and that ofHOMER. Nay, the greater are the alterations and improvements,which happen in the manners of a people, the less callbe expected in their language. A few eminent and refinedgeniuses will communicate their taste and knowledge to awhole people, and produce the greatest improvements ; butthey fix the tongue by their writings, and 'prevent, in somedegree, its farther changes.Lord BACON has observed, that the inhabitants of the southare, in general, more ingenious than those of the north ; butthat, where the native of a cold climate has genius, he risesto a higher pitch than can be reached by the southern wits.This observation a late writer confirms, by compariilg tht.southern wits to cucumbers, which are commonly all good illDr. Borkeley : Minute Philosopher.

264 ESSAY XXI. OF NA'I'IONAI, CHARACTERS. 255their kind ; but at best are an insipid fruit : While the northerngeniuses aae like melons, of which not one in fifty isgood : but when it is so, it has an exquisite relish. I believethis remark may be allowed just, when confined to theEUROPEAN nations, and t'o the present age, or rather to thepreceding one: But I think it may be accounted for frommoral causes. All the sciences and liberal arts have beeniinported to us from the south ; and it is easy to imagine,that, in the first order of application, when excited by emulationand by glory, the few, who were addicted to them,~vould carry them to the greatest height, and stretch everyncrre, and every faculty, to reach the pinnacle of perfection.Such illustrious examples spread knowledge everywhere, andbegot an universal esteem for the sciences : After which itis no wonder, that industry relaxes ; while men meet not withsuitable encouragement, nor arrive at such distinction bytheir attainments. The universal diffusion of learningamong a people, and the entire banishment of gross ignoranceand rusticity, is, therefore, seldom attended with anyremarkable perfection in particular persons. It seems to betaken for grant4ed in the dialogue de Oratoribus, that knowledgewas much more common in VESPASIAN'S age than inthat of CICERO and An~us~us. QUINTILIAN also complainsof the profanation of learning, by its becoming too common.' Formerly,' says JUVENAL, ' science was confined toGEEECE a8nd ITALY. Now the whole world emulates ATHENUand ROME. Eloquent GAUL has taught BRITAIN, knowing inthe laws. Even THULE entertains thoughts of hiring rhetoriciansfor its instruction.' This state of learning is remarkable; because JUVENAL is himself the last of the ROMANwriters, that possessed any degree of genius. Those, whosucceeded, are valued for nothing but the matters of fact, ofwhich they give us information. I hope the late conversionof MUSCOVY to the study of the sciences will not prove a likeprognostic to the present period of learning.Cardinal BENTIVOCLIO gives the preference to the northernnations above the southern with regard to candour and sin-[This sentence and the next were Nunc tot~ls GRAIAS, nostrasque habetadded in Edition K.]orhis ATH~NAS.GALLIA causidicnc: clocuit facunda BRI-" Sed Cant:~ber unde TANNOS :Stvicus? antiqui prasertim i~tate Ne- De condueendo loquitur jam rhetoretel!i. !I'IIuI,E." Sat. 15. 108.cerity ; a,nd mentions, on the one hand, the SPANIA.RDS andITALIANS, and on the other, the FLEMINGS and GERMANS.But I am apt to think, that this has happened by accident.The ancient ROMANS seem to have been a candid sincerepeople, as are the modern TURKS. But if we must needssuppose, that this event has arisen from fixed causes, we mayonly conclude from it, that all extretnes are apt to concur,and are commonly attended with the same consequences.Treachery is the usual concomitant of ignorance and barbarism; and if civilised nations ever ernbrace subtle andcrooked politics, it is from an excess of refinement, whichmakes them disdain the plain direct path to power and glory.Most conqnests have gone from north to south; and it hashence been inferred, that the northern nations possess asuperior degree of courage and ferocity. But it would havebeen juster to have said, that most conquests are made bypoverty and want upon plenty and riches. The SARACENS,leaving the deserts of ARABIA, carried their conquests northwardsupon all the fertile provinces of the ROMAN empire ;a'nd met the TURKS half way, who were conling southwardsfrom the deserts cf TARTARY.An eminent writer ' has remarked, that all courageous animalsare also carnivorous, and that greater courage is to be expectedin a people, such as the ENGLISH, whose food is strongand hearty, than in the half-starved commonalty of othercountries. But the SWEDES, notwithstanding their disadvantagesin this particular, are not inferior, in martial courage,to any nation that ever was in the world.In general, we may observe, that courage, of all nationalqualities, is the uost precarious ; because it is exerted onlyat intervals, and by a few in every nation ; whereas industry,knowledge, civility, may be of constant and universal use,and for several ages, may become habitual to the wholepeople. If courage be preserved, it must be by discipline,example, and opinion. The tenth legion of CESAR, and theregiment of PICARDY in FRANCE were formed proiniscuouslyfrom among the citizens ; but having once entertained anotion, that they were the best troops in the service, this veryopinion really made them such.As 6u proof how much courage depends on opinion, we mayobserve, that, of the two chief tribes of the GREEKS, theSir J \ T ~ TEMPI.E'S ~ z ~ ~ account ~ of the Netherlands.

256 ESSAY XXI.DORIANS, and IONIANS, the former were always esteemed,and always appeared more brave and manly than the latter ;though the colonies of both the tribes were interspersed andintermingled throughout all the extent of GREECE, the LesserASIA, SICILY, ITALY, and the islands of the BGEAN sea. TheATHENIANS were the only IONIANS that ever had any reputationfor valour or military achievements ; though even thesewere deemed inferior to the LACEDEMONIANS, the bravest ofthe DORIBNS.The only observation, with regard to the difference of menin different climates, on which we can rest any weight, isthe vulgar one, that people in the northern regions have agreater inclination to strong liquors, and those in the southernto love and women. One can assign a very probablephysical cause for this difference. Wine and distilled waterswarm the frozen blood in the colder climates, and fortifymen against the injuries of the weather : As the genial heatof the sun, in the countries exposed to his beams, inflamesthe blood, and exalts the passion between the sexes.Perhaps too, the matter may be accounted for by moralcauses. All strong liquors are rarer in the north, and consequentlyare more coveted. DIODORUSICULUS ' tells us,that the GAULS in his time were great drunkards, and muchaddicted to wine ; chiefly, I suppose, from its raritv andnovelty. On the other hand, the heat in the southernclimates, obliging men and women to go half naked,thereby renders their frequent commerce nlore dangerous,and inflames their mutual passion. This makes parents andhusbands more jealous and reserved ; which still furtherinflames the passion. Not to mention, that, as women ripensooner in the southern regions, it is necessary to observegreater jealousy and care in their education ; it being evident,that a girl of 'twelve cannot possess equal discretion togovern this passion, with one who feels not its violence tillshe be seventeen or eighteen. Nothing so much encouragesLib r. 26. The mme author ascribes says, that the GAULS are the onlytacitnn~ity to tlmt ~eople ; a new proof warlike nation, who are negligent ofthat national characters may alter very women.much. Taciturnity, as a national chit- [This sentence mas achled in Edirwt~r,imp1 es unsociableness. ARIS- tion R.]TO TI.)^. in his Politics, book ii. cap. 9.[Thic; sentence was added in Edition I

258 ESSAY XXII.finer organs, on which the operations of the mind and understandingdepend. And this is agreeable to the analogyof nature. The races of animals never degenerate whencarefully tended ; and horses, in particular, always showtheir blood in their shape, spirit, and swiftness : But a coxcombmay beget a philosopher; as a man of virtue mayleave a worthless progeny.I shall conclude this subject with observing, that thoughthe passion for liquor be more brutal and debasing thanlove, which, when properly managed, is the source of allpoliteness and refinement; yet this gives not so great anadvantage to the southern climates, as we may be apt, atfirst sight, to imagine. When love goes beyond a certainpitch, it renders men jealous, and cuts off the free intercoursebetween the sexes, on which the politeness of a nationwill commonly much depend. And if we would subtilizeand refine upon this point, we might observe, that the people,in very temperate climates, are the most likely to attain allsorts of improvement ; their blood not being so inflamed asto render them jealous, and yet being warm enough to makethem set a due value on the charms and endowments of thefair sex.* ESSAY XXI1.-Of Tragedy.IT seems an unaccountable pleasure, which the spectators ofa well-written tragedy receive from sorrow, terror, anxiety,and other passions, that are in then~selves disagreeable anduneasy. The more they are touched and affected, the moreare they delighted with the spectacle ; and as soon as theuneasy passions cease to operate, the piece is at an end.One scene of full joy and contentment and security is theutmost, that any composition of this kind can bear ; and itis sure always to be the concluding one. If, in the textureof the piece, there be interworen any scenes of satisfaction,they afford only faint gleams of pleasure, which are thrownin by way of variety, and in order to plunge the actors intodeeper distress, by means of that contrast and disappointment.The whole heart of the poet is employed, in rouzingand supporting the compassion and indignation, the anxietyand resentment of his audience. They are pleased in proportionas they are afflicted, and never are ~o happy as whenthey employ tears, sobs, and er'ies to give vent to theif sor-1 [This Essay was first published in Edition L.]row, and relieve their heart, swoln with the tenderest sympathyand compassion. .The few critics who have had some tincture of philosophy,have reinarked this singular phaenomenon, and have endeavouredto account for it.L'Abbe Du~os, in his reflections on poetry and painting,asserts, that nothing is in general so disagreeable to themind as the languid, listless state of indolence, into whichit falls upon the removal of all passion and occupation. TOget rid of this painful situation, it seeks every amusementand pursuit ; business, gaming, shews, executions ; whateverwill rouze the passions, and take its attention from itself.No matter what the passion is : Let it be disagreeable,:tfflict'ing, melancholy, disordered ; it is still better than thatillsipid languor, which arises from perfect tranquillity andrepose.It is inlpossible not to admit this account, as being, atleast in part, satisfactory. You may observe, when thereare several tables of gaming, that all the company run tothose, where the deepest play is, even though they find notthere the best players. The view, or, at least, imagination .,of high passions, arising from great loss or gain, affectsthe spectat,or by sympathy, gives him some touches of thesitme passions, and serves him for a momeiltary entertaininellt.It makes the time pass the easier with him, and issome relief to that oppression, under which men commonlylabour, when left entirely to their own thoughts and meditations.We find that common liars always magnify, in their narrations,all kinds of danger, paill, distress, sickness, deaths,murders, and cruelties; as well as joy, beauty, mirth, andmagnificence. It is an absurd secret, which they have forpleasing their company, fixing their attention, and attachingthem to such marvellous relations, by the passions ande~notions, which they excite.There is, however, a difficulty in applying to the presentsubject, in its full extent, this solution, however ingeniousand satisfactory it may appear. It is certain, that the sameobject of distress, which pleases in a tragedy, were it reallyset before us, would give the most unfeigned uneasiness;though it be then the most effectual cure to languor andindolerlce. Monsieur FONTENELLR seems to have been sen-

260 ESSAY XXII. OF TRAGEDY. 261sible of this difficulty; and accordi~lgly attempts anothersolution of the phznomenon ; at least makes some a8dditionto the theory above mentioned.'' Pleasure and pain,' says he, ( which are two sentimentsso different in themselves, differ not so much in their cause.From the instance of tickling, it appears, that the movementof pleasure, pushed a little too hr, beconles pain ; andthat the movement of pain, a little moderated, becomes pleasure.Hence it proceeds, that there is such a thing as asorrow, soft and agreeable: It is a pain weakened ar~ddiminished. The heart likes naturally to be moved andaffected. Melancholy objects suit it, and even disastrousand sorrowful, provided they are softened by some circumstance.It is certain, that, on the theatre, the representationhas almost t6e effect of reality ; yet it has not altogether thateffect. However we may be hurried away by the spectacle;whatever dominion the senses and imagination may usurpover the reason, there still lurks at the bottom a certain ideaof falsehood in the whole of what me see. This idea, thoughweak and disguised, suffices to diminish the pain which wesuffer from the misfortunes of those whom we love, and toreduce that affliction to such a pitch as converts it into apleasure. We weep for the misfortune of a hero, to whomwe are attached. In the same instant we comfort ourselves,by reflecting, that it is nothing but a fiction : And it is preciselythat mixture of sentiments, which composes an agreeablesorrow, and tears that delight us. But as that affliction,which is caused by exterior and sensible objects, is strongerthan the consolation which arises from an internal reflection,they are the effects and symptopls of sorrow, that ought topredominate in the cornpositlion.'This solution seems just and convincing ; but perhaps itwants still some new addition, in srder to make it answerfully the phsenomenon, which wk here examine. All thephssions, excited by eloquence, are agreeable in the highestdegree, as well as those which are moved by painting andthe theatre. The epilogues of CICERO are, on this accountchiefly, the delight of every reader of taste; and it is difficultto read some of them without the deepest sympathy andsorrow. His merit as an orator, no doubt, depends much onhia snccess in this particular. When he had raised tears in1 Reflexions sur la poetique, 8 36.Elis judges and all his audience, they were then the mosthighly delighted, and expressed the greatest satisfaction withthe pleader. The pathetic description of the butchery, madeby VERRES of the SICILIAN captains, is a masterpiece of thiskind : But I believe none will affirm, that the being presentat a nlelancholy scene of that nature would afford any entertainment.Neither is the sorrow here softened by fiction :For the audience were convinced of the reality of every aircumstance.What is it then, which in this case raises apleasure from the bosom of uneasiness, so to speak ; and apleasure, which still retains all the features and outwardsymptoms of distress and sorrow PI answer : This extraordinary effect proceeds from thatvery eloquence, with which the melancholy scene is represented.The genius required to paint objects in a livelymanner, the art employed in collecting all the pathetic circumstances,the judgment displayed in disposing them : theexercise, I say, of these noble talents, together with theforce of expression, and beauty of oratorial numbers, diffusethe highest satisfaction on the audience, and excite the mostdelightful movements. By this means, the uneasiness ofthe melancholy passions is not only overpowered and effacedby something stronger of an opposite kind ; but the wholeimpulse of those passions is converted into pleasure, andswells the delight which the eloquence raises in us. Thesame force of oratory, employed on an uninteresting subject,would not please half so much, or rather would appear altogetherridiculous ; and the mind, being left in absolute calmnessand indifference, would relish none of those beauties ofimagination or expression, which, if joined to passion, giveit such exquisite entertainment. The impulse or vehemence,arising from sorrow, compassion, indignation, receives a newdirection from the sentiments of beauty. The latter, beingthe predominant emotion, seize the whole mind, and convertthe former into themselves, at least tincture them so stronglyas totally to alter their nature. And the soul, being, at thesame time, rouzed by passion, and charmed by eloquence,feels on the whole a strong movement, which is altogetherdelightful.The same principle takes place in tragedy ; with this addition,that tragedy is an imitation; and imitation is alwaysof itself agreeable. Tliis circumstance serves still farther

201 ESSAY XXII. OF TRAGEDY 263to smooth the motions of passion, and convert the wholefeeling into one uniform and strong enjoyment. Objects ofthe greatest terror and distress please in painting, and pleaseinore than the most beautiful objects, that appear calr~l andindifferent.' The affection, rouzing the nlind, excites alarge stock of spirit and vehemence; which is all transformedinto pleasure by the force of the prevailing movement.It is thus the fiction of tragedy softens the yassioa,by an infusion of a new feeling, not irierely by we;~lceiiil~g ordiminishing the sorrow./ You may by degrees weaken a realsorrow, till it totally disappears; yet in none of its graduationswill it ever give pleasure ; except, perhaps, by accident,to a man sunk under lethavgic indolence, whom it rouzesfrom that languid state.To confirm this theory, it will be sufficient to produceother instances, where the subordinate movement is convertedinto the predominnnt, and gives force to it, thougli of a different,and even sometimes though of a contrary nature. +Novelty naturally rouzes the mind, and attracts our attention;and the movements, which it causes, are always convertedinto any passion, belonging to the object, and jointheir force tlo it. Whether an event excite joy or sorrow,pride or shame, anger or good-will, it is sure to produce astronger affection, when new or unusual. And thoughnovelty of itself be agreeable, it fortifies the painful, as wellas agreeable passions.Had you any intention to move a person extremely by thenarration of any event, the best method of encreasing itseffect would be artfully to delay inforn~ing him of it, andfirst to excite his curiosity and impatience before you let himinto the secret. This is the artifice practlised by IAGO in thefaxnous scene of SHAKESPEARE ; and every spectator is sensible,that OTHELLO'S jealousy acquires additional force fromhis preceding impatience, and that the subordinate passionis here readily t~ansformed into the predominantDifficulties encrease passions of every kind ; and by rouz-l Painter5 make no scruple of representingdistress end sorrow as well asany other passion : But they seen1 notto dwell so 111uch on thew mellncholyaffections as the poet?. who, tho' theycopy every emotion of the human ljrenst.yet pass very quickly o\-er the :~gree:~hlewnt~ments A painter reprecents onlyone instant ; and if that be passionat(.enough, it is sure to affect a ~ (I~licl~t dthe spectator : But nothing can fi~rriis!~to the 1'0" a a-ariety of 5ctanes and incidentsand sentiments, except di*tr(*s,terror, or anxiety. Compleat joy ;~ntl$a tisfaction i$ at tentled T\ it11 secli~ity,and 1r~:lves 110 fart11c.r rown for nc+t,ioll.ing our attention, and exciting our active powers, they producean emotion, which nourishes the prevailing affection.Parents commonly love that child most, whose sickly infirmframe of bdy has occasioned them the greatest pains,trouble, and anxiety in rearing him. The agreeable sentimentof affection here acquires force from sentiments of uneasiness.Nothing endears so much a friend as sorrow for hisdeath. The pleasure of his company has not so powerful aninfluence.Jealousy is a painful passion; yet without some share ofit, the agreeable affection of love has difFiculty to subsist inits full force and violence. Absence is also a great source ofcomplaint among lovers, and gives then1 the greatest uneasiness: Yet nothing is more favourable to their mutual passionthan short intervals of that kind. And if long inter~alsoften prove fatal, it is only because, through time, men areaccustomed to them, and they cease to give uneasiness.Jealousy and absence in love compose the dolce peccafite of theITALIANS, which they suppose so essential to all pleasure.There is a fine observation of the elder PLINY, which illustratesthe principle here insisted on. It is very remarkable,says he, that the last works of celebrated artists, which they~leftimperfect, are always the most prized, such as the IRIS ofARISTIDES, the TYNDARIDES of NICOMACHUS, the MEDEA ofTIMOMACHUS, ar~d the VENUS of APELLES. These are valuedeven above their $mished productions : The broken lineamentsof the piece, and the half-formed idea of the painter are carefullystudied; and our very grief for that curious hund, whichhad been stopped by death, is am additional encrease to ourpleasure.'These instances (and many more might be collected) aresufficient to aEord us some insight into the )analogy of nature,and to show us, that the pleasure, which poets, orators, andmusicians give us, by exciting grief, sorrow, indignation,compassion, is not so extraordinary or paradoxical, as it mayat first sight appear. The force of imagination, the energyIllud vero perquam rarum ac memo- tione esse quam perfects. Quippe inria dignum, etianl suprema opera arti- iia Iineamenta reliqua, ipsque cogitaficum,irnperfecta~~ue tabulas, eicut, tiones artificum spectantur, aQue inIHIN ARISTIDIS, TYNDARIDAS NICOMACHI, lenocinio commendationis dolor estMEDEAM TINOMACHI, & quam diximus manus, cum id ageret, extincts. Lib.VENEKVM APELLIS, in majori admira- xxxv. cap. 11.

264 ESSAY XXII. OF TRAGEDY. 266of e*prchsuion, the power of numbers, tlie charms of imitation;all these are naturally, of themselves, delightful tot,he mind : And when tlie object presented lays also hold ofeome affection, the pleasure still rises upon us, by the coneraiion of this subordinate movelnellt into tliat ~vbicli ispredominant. The passion, though, perhaps, naturally, andwhen excited by the simple appearance of a real object, itmay be painful; yet is so smoothed, and softened, andmollified, when raised by the finer arts, that it affords thehighest entertainment.To confirm this reasoning, we may observe, that if themovements of the imagination be not predoininant abovethose of the passion, a contrary effect follows ; and tlieformer, being now subordinate, is converted into the latter,and still farther encreases the pain and affliction of tlhesufferer.Who could ever think of it as a good expedient for comfortingan afflicted parent, to exaggerate, with all the forceof elocution, the irreparable loss, which he has met with bytlle death of a fa.vou?ite child? The more power of imaginationand expression you here employ, the more you encreasehis despair and affliction.The shame, confusion, and terror of VERRER, no doubt,rose in proportion to the noble eloquence and vehemence ofCICERO : SO also did his pain and uneasiness. These formerpassions were too strong for the pleasure arising from thebeauties of elocution ; and operated, though from the sameprinciple, yet in a coirtrary manner, to the sympathy, compassion,and indignation of the audience.Lord C'LARENDON, when he approaches towards the catastropheof the royal party, supposes, that his narration mustthen become infinitely disagreeable ; and he hurries over tlieking's death, without giving us one circumstance of it. Hecoilsiders it as too horrid a scene to be contemplated withmy satisfaction, or even without the utmost pain and aversion.He himself, as well as the readers of that age, weretoo deeply conc~rned in the events, and felt a pain from subjects,which an historian and a reader of another age wouldregard as the most pathetic and most interesting, and, byconsequence, the most ag-ree~ble.An action, represented in tragedy, may be too bloody andatrocions. It ma,y excite such movements of horror as willriot soften into pleasure j and the greatest energy of expression,bestowed on descriptions of that nature, serves only toaugment our uneasiness. Such is that action represented inthe Ambitious Stepmotlzer, where a venerable old man, raisedto the height of fur1 and despair, rlislies against a pillar,and striking his head upon it, besmears it all over withmingled brains and gore. The ENGLISH theatre abounds toomuch with such shocking images.Even the common sentiments of compassion require to besoftened by some agreeable affcctioii, in order to give athorough satisfaction to the audience. The mere sufferingof plaintive virtue, under the triunlpharlt tyranny and oppressionof vice, forms a disagreeable spectacle, and is carefullyavoided by all inasters of the drama. In order to dismissthe audience with entire satisfaction and contentment, thevirtue must either convert itself into a noble courageousdespair, or the vice receive its proper punishment.Most painters appear in this light to have been very unhappyin their subjects. As they wrought much for churchesand convents, they have chiefly represented such horriblesubjects as crucifixions and martyrdoms, where nothing appearsbut tortures, wounds, executions, and passive suffering,without any action or a,ffection. When they turned theirpencil from this ghastly mythology, they had commonly recourseto OVID, whose fictions, though passionate and agreeable,are scarcely natural or probable enough for painting.The same inversion of that principle, which is here insistedon, display8 itself in corninoi~ life, as in the effects of oratoryand poetry. Raise so the subordinate passion that it becomesthe predominant, it swallows I A that ~ affection which it beforenourisl~ed and encreased. Too much jealousy extinguisheslove : Too ~nuch difficu1t)y renders us indifferent : Too muchsickness and infirmity disgusts tt selfish and unkind parent.What so disagreeable as the dismal, gloomy, disastrousstories, with which melancholy people entertain their ~0111-panioils? The unezsy pzssion being there raised alone, unacco~npaniedwith any spirit, genius, or eloquence, conveys apure uneasiness, and is attended with i~othing that can softenit into pleasure or satisfa,ctic)n.

ESSAY XXIII. OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. 267ESSAY XXII1.-Of the Standard of Taste.THE great variety of Taste, as well as of opinion, which prevailsin the world, is too obvious not to have fallen underevery one's observation. Men of the most confined knowledgeare able to remark a difference of taste in the narrow circleof their acquaintance, even where the persons have beenedueated under the same government, and. have early imbibedthe same prejudices. But those, who can enlarge their viewto contemplate distant nations and remote ages, are stillmore surprized at the reat inconsistence and contrariety.We are apt to call bur f arous whatever departs widely fromour own taste and apprehension : But soon find the epithetof reproach retorted on us. And the highest arrogance andself-conceit is at last startled, on observing an equal assuranceon all sides, and scruples, amidst such a contest of sentiment,to pronounce- positively in its own favour.As this variety of taste is obvious to the most carelessenquirer; so will it be found, on exaaiination, to be stillgreater in reality than in a~ppearance. The sentiments ofmen often differ with regard to beauty and deformity of allkinds, even while their general discourse is the same. Thereare certain terms in every language, which import blame, andothers praise ; and all men, who use the same tongue, mustagree in their application of them. Every voice is united inapplauding elegance, propriety, simplicity, spirit in writing ;and in blaming fustian, affectation, coldness, and a falsebrilliancy : But when critics come to particulars, this seeming- unanimity vanishes ; and it is found, that they had affixeda very different meaning to their expressions. In all mattersof opinion and science, the case is opposite : The differenceainong men is there oftener found to lie in generals than inparticlllars ; and to be less in reality than in appearance.An explanation of the terms commonly ends the controversy ;and the disputants are surprized to find, that they had beenquarrelling, while at bottom they agreed in their jndgment.Those who found morality on sentiment, more than onreason, are inclined to comprehend ethics under the forrnerobservation, and to maintain, that, in all questions, whichregard conduct and manners, the difference among men isreally greater than at first sight it appears. It is indeed1 [This Essay was first published in Eciition L.]obvious, that writers of all nations and all ages concur inapplauding justice, humanity, magnanimity, prudence, veracity; and in blaming the opposite qualities. Even poets andother authors, whose compositions are chiefly calculated tothe imagination, are yet found, from HOMER down toFENELON, to inculcate the same moral precepts, and to bestowtheir applause and blame on the same virtues and vices.This great unaninlity is usually ascribed to the influence ofplain 1-eason ; which, in all these cases, maintains similarsentiments in all men, and prevents those controversies, towhich the abstract sciences are so much exposed. So fqr asthe unanimity is real, this account may be admitted as satisfactory: But we inust also allow that some part of the seemingharmony ill morals may be accounted for from the verynature of language. The word virtue, with its equivalent inevery tongue, implies praise ; as that of vice does blame :And no one, without the most obvious a'nd grossest impropriety,could affix reproach to a term, which in' generalacceptation is understood in a good sense ; or bestow applause,where the idiom requires disapprobation. HOMER'S generalprecepts, where he delivers any such, will never be controverted;but it is obvious, that, when he draws part,icularpictures of manners, and represents heroism in ACHILLES andprudence in ULYSSES, he intermixes a much greater degreeof ferocity in the former, and of cunning and fi-aud in thelatter, than FENELON would admit of. The sage ULYSSES inthe GREEK poet seems to delight in lies and fictions, andoften enlplops then1 without any necessity or even advantage :But his more scrupulous son, in the FRENCH epic writer, exposeshimself to the most imminent perils, rather than departfrom the inost exact line of truth and veracity.The admirers and followers of the ALCORAN insist on theexcellent moral precepts interspersed throughout that wildand absurd performance. But it is to be supposed, tlhat theARABIC words, which correspond to the ENGLISH, equity,justice, temperance, ineekness, charity, were such as, frornthe constant use of that tongue, must always be taken in agood sense ; and it nrould have argued the greatest ignorance,not of morals, but of language, to have mentioned them withany epithets, besides those of-applause and approbation. Butwould we know, whether the pretended prophet had reallyattained a just scntiilierlt of lnorrtls ? Let us attend to his

ESSAY XXIII. OF TI-IE STANDARD OF TASTE. 200narration ; and we shall soon find, that he bestows praise onsuch instances of treachery, inhumanity, cruelty, revenge,bigotry, as are utterly incompatible with civilized society.No steady rule of right seems there to be attended to; andevery action is blamed or praised, so far only as it is beneficialor hurtful to the true believers.The merit of delivering true general precepts in ethics isindeed very small. Whoever~ecommends any moral virtues,really does no more than is implied in the terms themselves.That people, who invented the word charity, and used it in agood sense, inculcated more clearly and much more efficaciously,the precept, be cl~aritable, than any pretended legislatoror prophet, who should insert such a nzaxim in hiswritings. Of all expressions, those, which, together withtheir other meaning, imply a degree either of blame or appro- ,bation, are the least liable to be perverted or mistaken.It is natural for us to seek a Standard of Taste ; a rule, bywhich the various sentiments of men may be reconciled ; atleast, a decision, afforded, confirming one sentiment, andcondemning another.There is a species of philosophy, which cuts off all hopesof success in such an attempt, and represents the in~possibilityof ever attaining any standard of taste. The difference, it issaid, is very wide between judgment and sentiment. A11sentiment is right ; because sentiment has a reference tonothing beyond itself, and is always real, wherever a man isconscious of it. But all determinations of the understandingare not right; because they have a reference to something beyondthemselves, to wit, real matter of fad; and are notalways conformable to that standard. Among a thousanddifferent opinions whichdifferent men may entertain of thesame subject, there is one, and but one, that is just and true;and the only difficulty is to fix and ascertain it. On thecontra.ry, a thousand different sentiments, excited by the sameobject, are all right : Because no sentiment represents whatis really in the object. It only marks a certain conformityor relation Letween the object and the organs or faculties ofthe mind ; and if that conformity did not really exist, thesentiment could never possibly have being. Beauty is noquality in things themselves : It exists merely in themind which contemplates them ; and each mind ~erceivesa diffcrent beauty. One person may even perceive deformity,where another is sensible of beauty ; and every individualought toacquiesce in his own sentiment,without pretending toregulate those of others. To seek the real beauty, or real deformity,is as fruitless an enquiry, as to pretend to ascertainthe real sweet or real bitter. According to the disposition ofthe organs, the same object may be both sweet and bittler ;and the proverb has justly determined. it to be fruitless todispute concerning tastes. It is very natural, and even quitenecessary, to extend this axiom to mental, as well as bodilytaste; and thus common sense, which is so often at variancewith philosophy, especially with the sceptical kind, is found,in one instance at least, to agree in pronouncing the samedecision.But though this axiom, by passing into a proverb, seems tohave attained the sanction of common sense ; there is certainlya species of common sense which opposes it, at least servesto modify and restrain it. Whoever would assert an eounlityof genius and elegance between OGILBY and M~LTON, orBCJNYAN and ADDISON, would be thought to defend no'lessan extravagance, than if he had maintained a mole-hillto be as high as TENERIFFE, or a pond as extensive as theocean. Though there may be found persons, who give thepreference to the former authors ; no one pays attention tosuch a taste; and we pronounce without scruple the sentimentof these pretended critics to be absurd and ridiculous.The principle of the natural equality of tastes is then totallyforgot, and while we admit it on some occasions, where theobjects seem near an equality, it appears an extravagantparadox, or rather a palpable absurdity, where objects so disproportionedare compared together.It is evident that none of the rules of composition arefixed by reasonings a priori, or can be esteemed abstract conclusionsof the understanding, from comparing those habitude8and relations of ideas, which are eternal and immutable.Their foundntioa is the same with that of all the practicalsciences, experience ; nor are they any thing. but generalobservations, concerning what has been universally found toplease 'in all countries and in all ages. Many of fhe beautiesof poetry and even of eloquence are founded on falsehoodand fiction, on hyperboles, metaphors, and an abuse or per-version of tdrms from their natural meaning. To check thesallies of the imagination, and to reduce every expression to

270 ESSAY XXIII.geometrical truth and exactness, would be the most contraryto the laws of criticism; because it wo~ild produce a work,which, by universal experience, has been found the mostinsipid and disagreeable. But though poetry can never submitto exact truth, it must be confined by rules of art, discoveredto the author either by genius or observation. Ifsome negligent or irregular writers have pleased, they havenot pleased by their transgressions of rule or order, but inspite of these transgressions : They have possessed otherbeauties, which were conformable to just criticism ; and theforce of these beauties has been able to overpower censure,and give the mind a satisfaction superior to the disgustarising from the blemishes. ARIOSTO pleases ; but not byhis monstrous and improbable fictions, by his bizarre mixtureof the serious and comic styles, by the want of coherence inhis stories, or by the continual interruptions of his narration.He charms by the force and clearness of his expression, bythe readiness and variety of his inventions, and by his naturalpictures of the passions, especial+y those of the gay andamorous kind : And however his faults may diminish oursatisfaction, they are not able entirely to destroy it. Didour pleasure really arise from those parts of his poem, whichwe denominate faults, thiswould be no objection to criticismin general : It would only be an objection to those particularrules of criticism, which would establish such circumstancesto be faults, and would represent them as universally blarneable.If they are found to please, they cannot be faults ; letthe pleasure, which they produce, be ever so unexpected anduna~ountable.But though all the general rule8 of art are founded only onexperience and on the observation of the common sentimentsof human nature, we must not imagine, that, on every occa:sion, the feelings of men will be conforinable to these rules.Those finer emotiorls of the mind are of a very tender anddelicate nature, and require the concurrence of many favourablecircumstances to make them play with facility andexactness, according to their general and established principles.The least exterior hindrance to such small springs, orthe least internal disorder, disturbs their motion, and conf~undsthe operation of the whole machine. When we wollldmake an experiment of this nature, and would try the forceof any beauty or deformity, we must choose with care rtOF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. 271proper time and place, and bring the fancy to a suitablesituation and disposition. A perfect serenity of mind, a recollectionof thought, a due attention to the object; if anyof these circumstances be wanting, our experiment will befallacious, and we shall be unable to judge of the catholicand universal beauty. The relation, which nature has placedbetween the form and the sentiment, will at least be moreobscure; and it mill require greater accuracy to trace anddiscern it. We shall be able to ascertain its influence not somuch from the operation of each particular beauty, as froin thedurable admiration, which attends those works, that havesurvived all the caprices of mode and fashion, all the mistakesof ignorance and envy.The same HOMER, who pleased at ATHENS and ROME twothousand years ago, is still admired at PARIS and at LONDON.All the changes of climate, government, religion, and language,have not been able to obscure his glory. Authorityor prejudice may give a temporary vogue to a bad poet ororator ; but his reputation will never be durable or general.When his compositions are examined by posterity or byforeigners, the enchantment is dissipated, and his faultsappear in their true colours. On the contrary, a real genius,the longer his works endure, and the more wide they arespread, the more sincere is the admiration which he meet'swith. Envy and jealousy have too much place in a narrowcircle ; and even familiar acquaintance with his person maydiminish the applause due to his perfornlances : But whenthese obstructions are removed, the beauties, which are naturallyfitted to excite agreeable sentiments, immediately displaytheir energy ; and while the world endures, they maintaintheir authority over the minds of men.It appears then, that, amidst all the variety and caprice oftaste, them are certain general principles of approbation orblame, whose influence a careful eye may trace in all operationsof the mind. Some particular forms or qualities, fromthe original structure of the internal fabric, are calculated toplease, and others to displease ; and if they fail of theireffect in any particular instance, it is from some apparentdefect or imperfection in the organ. A man in a fever wouldnot insist on his palate as able to decide concerning flavours ;nor would one, affected with the jaundice, pretend to give averdict with regard to colours. In each creature, there is a

ESSAY XXlII. OF TIIE STASDARD OF TASTE. 273sound and a defective state; and the former alone can besupposed to afford us a true standard of taste and sentiment.If, in the sound state of the organ, there be an entire or aconsiderable uniformity of sentiment among men, we maythence derive an idea of the perfect beauty; in like manneras the appearance of objects in day-light, to the eye of a manin health, is denominated their true and real colour, evenwhile colour is allowed to be merely a phantasiri of the senses.Many and frequent are the defects in the internal organs,which prevent or weaken the influence of those general principles,on which depends our sentiment of beauty or deformity.Though some objects, by the structure of the mind, be naturallycalculated to give pleasure, it is not to be expected, thatin every individual the pleasure will be equally felt. Particulariiicicle~~ts and situations occur, which either throw afctlse light 013 the objects, or hinder the true from conveyingto the imagination the proper sentiment and perception.One obvious cause, why many feel not the proper sentimentof beauty, is the want of that delica,cy of imagination, whichis requisite to convey a sensibility of those finer emotions.This delicacy every one pretends to : Every one talks of it ;and would reduce every kind of taste or sentiment to itsstandard. But as our intention in this essay is to minglesome light of the understanding with the feelings of sentinient,it will be proper to give a more accurate definitionof delicacy, than has hitherto been attempted. And not todraw our philosophy from too profound a source, we shallhave recourse to a noted story in DON QUIXOTE.It is with good reason, says SANCHO to the squire with thegreat nose, that I pretend to have a judgment in wine : Thisis a quality hereditary in our family. Two of my kinsmenwere once called to give their opinion of a hogshead, whichwas supposed to be excellent, being old and of a good vintage.One of them tastes it ; considers it ; and after mature reflectionpronounces the wine to be good, were it not for a. smalltaste of leather, which he perceived in it. The other, afterusing the same precantions, gives also his verdict in favour ofthe wine ; but with the reserve of a taste of iron, which hecould easily distinguish. You cannot imagine how muchthey were both ridiculed for their judgment. But wholaughed in the end ? On emptying the hogshead, there wasfound at the bott'om, an old key with a leathern thong tied to it.Tile great resemblance between mental and bodily tastewill easily teach ns to apply this story. Though it be certain,that beauty and deformity, more than sweet and bitter, arenot qualities in objects, but belong entirely to the sentiment,internal or external ; it must be allowed, that there are certainqualities in objects, which are fitted by nature to producetllose particular feelings. Now as these qualities may be foundin a small degree, or may be mixed and confounded with eachother, it often happens, that the taste is not affected withsuch minute qualities, or is not able to distinguish all theparticular flavours, amidst the disorder, in which they arepresented. Where the organs are so fine, as to allow nothingto escape them ; and a,t the same time so exact as to perceiveevery ingredient in the composition : This we call delicacy oftaste, whether we employ these terms in the literal or metaphoricalsense. Here then the general rules of beauty are ofuse ; being drawn from established models, and from theobservation of what pleases or displeases, when presentedsi~~gly and in a high degree : And if the same qualities, in acontinued composition and in a smaller degree, affect not theorgans with a sensible delight or uneasiness, we exclude theperson from all pretensions to this delicacy. To producethese general rules or avowed patterns of composition is likefinding the key with the leathern thong; which justified theverdict of SANCHO'S kinsmen, and confounded those pretendedjudges who had condemned them. Though the hogshead hadiiever been emptied, the taste of the one was still ec~uallydelicate, and that of the other equally dull and languid : Butit would have been more difficult to have proved the superiorityof the former, to the conviction of every by-stander.In like manner, though the beauties of writing had neverbeen methodized, or reduced to general principles ; thoughno excellent models had ever been acknowledged; the differentdegrees of taste would still have subsisted, and thejudgment of one man been preferable to that of another;but it would not have been so easy to silence the had critic,who might always insist upon his particular sentiment, andrefuse to submit to his antagonist. But when we show himan avowed principle of art ; when we illustrate this principleby examples, whose operation; from his own particular taste,he ackiiowledges to be conformable to the principle; whenwe prove, that the same principle may be applied to the pre-

2 74 ESSAY XXTII. OF THE STANDARI) OF TASTE. 275sent case, where he did not perceive or feel its influence : Hemust conclude, upon the whole, that the fault lies in himself,and that he wants the delicacy, which is requisite to makehim sensible of every beauty and every blemish, in any composition01- discourse.It is acknowledged to be the perfection of every sense orfaculty, to perceive with exactness its most minn:: objects,and allow nothing to escape its notice and observiition. Thesmaller the objects are, which become sensible to the eye,the finer is that organ, and the more elaborate its make andcompoeition. A good palate is not tried by strong flavours ;but by a mixture of small ingredients, where we are stillsensible of each part, notwithstanding its minuteness and itsconfusion with the rest. In like manner, a quick and acuteperception of beauty and deformity must be the perfection ofour mental taste; nor can a man be satisfied with himselfwhile he suspects, that any excellence or blemish in a discoursehas passed him unobserved. In this case, the perfectionof the man, and the perfection of the sense or feeling,are found to be united. A very delicate palate, on many occasions,may be a great inconvenience both to a man hiinselfand to his friends: But a delicate taste of wit or beautymust always be a desirable quality ; because it is the sourceof all the finest and nlost innocent enjoyments, of whichhuman nature is susceptible. In this decision the sentimentsof all mankind are agreed. mTherever you can ascertain adelicacy of taste, it is sure to meet with approbation ; andthe best way of ascertaining it is to appeal to those modelsand principles, which have been established by the uniformconsent and experience of nations and ages.But though there be naturally a wide difference in p~intof delicacy between one person and another, nothing tendsfurther to encrease and improve this talent, than practice ina particular art, and the frequent survey or contelllplation ofn particular species of beauty. When objects of any kindare first presented to the eye or imagination, the sentiment,which attends them, is obscure and confused ; and the mindis, in a great measure, incapable of prorlouncing concerningtheir merits or defects. The taste cannot perceive theseveral excellences of the performance ; much less distinguishthe particular character of each excellency, and ascertainits quality and degree. If it pronounce the whole ingeneral to be beautiful or deformed, it is the utmost that canbe expected; and even this judgment, a person, so unpmtised,will be apt to deliver with great hesitation and reserve.But allow him to acquire experience in those objects, hisfeeling becomes more exact and nice : He not only perceivesthe beauties and defects of each part, but marks the distinguishingspecies of each quality, and assigns it suitablepraise or blame. 4 clear and distinct sentiment attends himthrough the whole survey of the objects ; and he discernsthat very degree and kind of approbation or displeasure,which each part is naturally fitted to produce. The mistdissipates, which seemed for~nerly to hang over the object :The organ acquires greater perfection in its operations ; andcan pronounce, without danger of mistake, concerning themerits of every performance. In a word, the same addressand dexterity, which practice gives to the execution of anywork, is also acquired by the same means, in the judgingof it.So advantageous is practice to the discernment of beauty,that, before we can give judgment on any work of importance,it will even be requisite, that that very individualperformance be more than once perused by us, and be surveyedin different lights with attention and deliberation.There is a flutter or hurry of thought which attends the firstperusal of any piece, and which confounds the genuine sentimentof beauty. The relation of the parts is not discerned :The true characters of style are little distinguished : Theseveral perfections and defects seem wrapped up in a speciesof confusion, and present themselves indistinctly to the imagination.Not tc mention, that there is a species of beauty,which, as it is florid and superficial, pleases at first; butbeing found incompatible with a just expression either ofreason or passion, soon palls upon the taste, and is thenrejected with disdain, at least rated at a much lower value.It is impossible to continue in the practice of conte~nplatingany order of beauty, without being frequently obliged toform comparisons between the several species and degrees ofexcellence, and estimating their proportion to each other. Aman, who has had no opportunity of comparing the diff'erentkinds of beauty, is indeed totally unqualified to pronounce anopinion with regard to any object presented to him. Bycomparison alone we fix the epithets of praise or blame, and

ESSAY XSIII. OF TIIE STANDARD OF TASTE. 277learn how to assign the due degree of. each. The coarsestdaubing contains a certain lustre of colours and exactness ofimitation, which are so far beauties, and would affect themind of a peasant or Indian with the highest admiration.The most vulgar ballads are not entirely destitute of harmonyor nature; and none but a person, fi~tmiliarized tosuperior beauties, would pronounce their numbers harsh, ornarration uninteresting. A great inferiority of beauty givespain to a person conversant in tlle highest excellence of thekind, and is for that reason pronounced a deformity : As themost finished object, with wllich we are acquainted, is naturallysupposed to have reached the pinnacle of perfection,and to be entitled to the highest applause. One accustomedto see, and examine, and weigh the several performances,admired in different ages and nations, can only rate themerits of a work exhibited to his view, and assign its properrank among the productions of genius.But to enable a critic the more fully to execute this undertaking,he must preserve his mind free from all prejudice, andallow nothing to enter into his consideration, but the veryobject which is submitted to his examination. We mayobserve, that every work of art, in order to produce its dueeffect on the mind, must be surveyed in a certain point ofview, and cannot be fully relished by persons, whose situation,real or imaginary, is not conformable to that which is requiredby the performance. An orator addresses himself toa particular audience, and must have a regard to their particulargenius, interests, opinions, passions, and prejudices ;. otherwise he hopes in vain to govern their resolutions, andinflame their affections. Should they even have entertainedsome prepossessions against him, however unreasollable, hemust not overlook this disadvantage ; but, before he entersupon the subject, must endeavour to conciliate their affection.,and acquire their good graces. A critic of a differentage or nation, who should peruse this discourse, must haveall these circumstances in his eye, and must place himself inthe same situation as the audience, in order to form a truejudgment of the oration. In like manner, when any work isaddressed to the public, though I should have a friendshipor enmity with the author, I must depart from this situation; and considering myself as a man in general, forget, ifpossible, my individual being and my peculia'r circumstances.A person influenced by prejudice, colnplies not with thiscondition ; but obstinately maintains his natural position,without placing himself in that point of view, which thesupposes. If the work be addressed to personsof a different age or nation, he makes no allowance for theirpeculiar views and prejudices ; but, full of the manners of hisobvn age and country, rashly condemns what seemed admirablein the eyes of those for whom alone the discourse wascalc,ulated. If the work be executed for the public, he neversufficiently enlarges his comprehension, or forgets his interestas a friend or enemy, as a rival or commentator. By thismeans, his sentiments are perverted; nor have the samebeauties and blemishes the same influence upon him, as ifhe had imposed a proper violence on his imagination, andhad forgotten himself for a moment. So far his taste evidentlydeparts from the true standard ; and of consequenceloses all credit and authority.It is well known, that in all questions, submitted to theunderstanding, prejudice is destructive of sound judgment,and perverts all operations of the intellectual faculties : It isno less contrary to good taste ; nor has it less influence tocorrupt our sentiment of beauty. It belongs to good senseto check its influence in both cases ; and in this respect, aswell as in niany others, reason, if not an essential part oftaste, is at least requisite to the operations of this latterfaculty. In all the nobler productions of genius, there is amutual relation and correspondence of parts; nor can eitherthe beauties or blemishes be perceived by him, whosethought is not capacious enough to comprehend all thoseparts, and compare them with each other, in order to perceivethe consistence and uniformity of the whole. Everywork of art has also a certain end or purpose, for which it iscalculated ; and is to be deemed more or less perfect, as it islnore or less fitted to attain this end. The object of eloquenceis to persuade, of history to instruct, of poetry to please bymeans of the passions and the imagination. These ends welnust carry constantly in our view, when we peruse any performance;and we must be able to judge liow far the meansemployed are adapted to their respective purposes. Besides,every kind of con~position, even the most poetical, is nothingbut a chain of propositions and reasonings ; not always,indeed,the jnstest and most exkaet, but still plausible and specious,

2 78 ESSAY XXLlI, OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. 279however disguised by the colouring of the imagination.The persons introduced in tragedy and epic poetry, must berepresented as reasoning, and thinking, and concluding, andacting, suitably to their character and circumstances ; andwithout judgment, as well as taste and invention, a poet cannever hope to succeed in so delicate an undertaking. Not tomention, that the same excellence of faculties which contributesto the improvement of reason, the same clearness ofconception, the same exactness of distinction, the samevivacity of appreheusion, are essential to the operations oftrue taste, and are its infallible cohcomitants. It seldom, ornever happens, that a man of sense, who llas experience inany art, caniiot judge of its beauty : and it is no less rare tomeet with a rnan who has a just taste without a sound understancling.Thus, though the principles of taste be universal, and,nearly, if not entirely the same in all men ; yet few arequalified to give judgment on any work of art, or establishtheir own sentiment as the st,andard of beauty. The organsof internal sensation are seldom so perfect as to allow thegeneral principles their full play, and produce a feeling correspondentto those principles. They either labour undersome defect, or are vitiated by some disorder; and by thatmeans, excite a sentiment, which may be pronounced erroneous.When the critic has no delicacy, he judges withoutany distinction, and is only affected by the grosser andmore palpable qualities of the object: The finer touchespass unnoticed and disregarded. Where he is not aided bypractice, his verdict is attended with confusion and hesitation.Where no comparison has been employed, the mostfrivolous beauties, such as rather merit the name of defects,are the object of his admiration. Where he lies under theinfluence of prejudice, all his natural sentiments are perverted.Where good sense is wanting, he is not qualified todiscern the beauties of design aqd reasoning, which arethe highest and niost excellent. Under some or other ofthese imperfections, the generality of men labour; andhence a true judge in the finer arts is observed, even duringthe most polished ages, to be so rare a character: Strongsense, united to delicate sentiment, improved by practice,perfected by comparison, and cleared of all prejudice, callalone crltitle critics to this vrtluahle character; and the jointverdict of such, wherever they are to be found, is the truestandard of taste and beauty.But where are such critics to be found? By what marksare they to be known? How distinguish them from pretenders? These questions are embarrassing; and seem tothrow us back into the same uncertainty, from which, duringthe course of this essay, we have endeavoured to extricakeourselves.But if we consider the matter aright, these are questions offact, not of sentirnent. Whether any particular person beendowed with good sense and a delica,te imagination, freefrom prejudice, may often be the subject of dispute, and beliable to great discussiorl and enquiry : But that such acharacter is valuable and estimable will be agreed in by allmankind. Where these doubts occur, nien can do no morethan in other disputable questions, which are submitted tothe understanding : They must produce the best arguments,that their invention suggests to them; they mustl acknowledgea true and decisive standard to exist somewhere, towit, real existence and matter of fact ; and they must haveindulgence to such as differ from them in their appeals tothis standard. It is sufficient for our present purpose, ifwe have proved, that the taste of all individuals is not upouan equal footing, and that some men in general, howeverdifficult to be particularly pitched upon, will be acknowledgedby universal sentiment to have a preference aboveothers.But in reality the difficulty of finding, even in particulars,the standard of taste, is not so great as it is represented.Though in speculation, we may readily avow a certaincriterion in science and deny it in sentiment, the matter isfound in practice to be much niore hard to ascertain in theformer case than in the latter. Theories of abstract philosophy,systems of profound theology, have prevailed duringone age : In a successive period, these have been universallyexploded : Their absurdity has been detected : Other theoriesand systems have supplied their place, which agruin gaveplace to their successors : And nothing has been experiencedmore liable to the revolutions of chance and fashion than thesepretended decisions of science. The case is uot the samewith the beauties of eloquence and poetry. Just expressionsof passion and nature are sure, after a little time, to gain

280 ESSAY XXIII. OF THE STANDARD OF TASTE. 281public applause, wt~icli they maintain for ever. ARIRTOTLE,auil I'LATO, and EPICURUS, and DESCARTES, may successivelyyield to each other : But TERENCE and VIRGIL maintainan u~~iversal, undisputed empire over the minds of men.The abstract philosophy of CICERO has lost its credit: Thevehemeilce of his oratory is still the object of our admiration.Though men of delicate taste be rare, they are easily tobe distinguished in society, by the soundness of their understandingand the superiority of their faculties above the restof mankind. The ascendant, which they acquire, gives aprevalence to that lively approbation, with which they receiveany productions of genius, and -renders it generallypredominant. Many men, when left t'o themselves, have buta faint and dubious perception of beauty, who yet arecapable of relishing any fine stroke, which is pointed out tothem. Every convert to the admiration of the real poet ororator is the cause of some new conversion. And thoughprejudices may prevail for a time, they never unite in celebratingany rival to the true genius, but yield at last to theforce of nature and just sentiment. Thus, though a civilizednation may easily be mistaken in the choice of their admiredphilosopher, they never have been found long to err, in theiraffection for a favorite epic or tragic author.But notwithstanding all our endeavours to fix a standardof taste, and reconcile the discordant apprehensions of men,there still ren~ain two sources of variation, which are notsufficient Indeed to confound all the boundaries of beautyand deformity, but will often serve to produce a differencein the degrees of our approbation or blame. The one is thedXe~ent humours sf particular inen; the other, the particularmanners and opinions of our age and country. Thegeneral principles of taste are uniform in human nature:Where men vary in their judgments, some defect or perversionin the faculties may commonly be remarked ; proceedingeither from prejudice, from want of practice, or wantof delicacy ; and there is just reason for approving one taste,and condemning another. But where there is such a diversityin the internal frame or external situation as is entirelyblameless on both sides, and leaves no room to give one thepreference above the other ; in that case a certain degree ofdiversity in judgment is unavoidable, and we seek in vainfor tt standard, by which we can reconcile the contrary sentiments.A young man, whose passions are warm, will be moresensibly touched with amorous and tender images, than aman more advanced in years, who takes pleasure in wise,philosophical reflections concerning the conduct of life andmoderation of the passions. At twenty, OVID may be thefavourite author; HORACE at forty ; and perhaps TACITUSat fifty. Vainly would we, in such cases, endeavour to enterinto the sentiments of others, and divest ourselves of thosepopensities, which are natural to us. We choose ourfavourite author as we do our friend, from a conformity ofhumour and disposition. Mirth or passion, sentiment or reflection; whichever of these most predominates in our temper, itgives us a peculiar sympathy with the writer who resen~bles us.One person is more pleased with the sublime; anotherwith the tender; a third with raillery. One has a strongsensibility to blemishes, and is extremely studious of correctness: Another has a more lively feeling of beauties, andpardons twenty absurdities and defects for one elevated orpathetic stroke. The ear of this man is entirely turnedtowards conciseness and energy ; that Inan is delighted witha copious, rich, and harmonious expression. Simplicity isaffected by one; ornament by another. Comedy, tragedy,satire, odes, have each its partizans, who prefer that particularspecies of writing to all others. It is plainly anerror in a critic, to confine his approbation to one species orstyle of writing, and condemn all the rest. But it is almostimpossible not to feel a predilection for that which suits ourparticular turn and disposition. Such preferences are innocentanil unavoidable, and can never reasonably be theobject of dispute, because there is no standard, by whichthey can be decided.For a like reason, we are more pleased, in the course ofour reading, with pictures and characters, that resembleobjects which are found in our own age or country, thanwith those which describe a different set of customs. It isnot without some effort, that we reconcile ourselves to thesimplicity of ancient manners, and behold princesses carryingwater from the spring, and kings and heroes dressingtheir own victuals. We may allow in general, that the representationof sudi manners is no fault in the author, nor

289 ESSAY XXIII. OF TEIE STANDARD OF TASTE. 283deforillity in the piece ; but we are not so sensibly touchedwith them. For this reason, comedy is not easily transferredfroin one age or nation to another. A FRENCHMAN orENGLISHMAN is not pleased with the ANDRIA of TERENCE,or CLITIA of MACHIAVEL; where the fine lady, upon whomall the play turns, never once appears to the spectators, butis always kept behind the scenes, suitably to the reservedllu~liour of the ancient GREEKS and modern ITALIANS. AInan of learning and reflection can make allowance for thesepeculiarities of manners ; but a common audience can neverdivest themselves so far of their usual ideas and sentiments,as to relish pictures which in no wise reserr~ble them.But here there occurs a reflection, which may, perhaps,be useful in examining the celebrated controversy concerningancient aid modern learning; where we often findthe one side excusing any seeming absurdity in the ancientsfrom the mamers of the age, and the other refusing toadmit this excuse, or at least, admitting it only as an apologyfor the author, not for the performance. In my opinion,tlle proper boundaries in this subject hav? seldom beenfixed between the contending parties. Where any innocentpeculiarities of manners are represented, such as thoseabove mentioned, they ought certainly to be admitted ; anda man, who is shocked with them, gives an evident proof offalse delicacy and refinement. The poet's monument moredu~able than Erass, illust fall to the ground like common brickor clay, were men to make no allowance for the continualrevolutions of inanmrs and customs, and would admit ofnothing but what was suitable to the prevailing fashion.Must we throw aside the pictures of our ancestors, because oftheir ruffs and fardingales ? But where the ideas of moralityalid decency alter from one age to another, and where viciousInanners are described, without being marked with the propercharacters of blame and disapprobation ; this must be allowedto disfigure the poem, and to be a real deformity. Icannot, nor is it proper I should, enter into such sentiments ;and however I may excuse the poet, on account of the mannersof his age, I never can relish the composition. Thewant of humanity and of decency, so conspicuous in thecharacters drawn by several of the ancient poets, even sometirnclsby HOMER and the, GREEK tragedians, diminishes consider~blythe' merit of their noble performances, and givesmodern authors an advantage over them. We are not interestedin the fortunes and sentiments of such rough heroes :We are displeased to find the limits of vice and virtue somuch confounded : And whatever illdulgence we ma,y give tothe writer on account of his prejudices, we cannot prevail onourselves to enter into his sentiments, or bear an affection towhich we plainly discover to be blameable.The case is not the same with moral principles, as wit11speculative opinioi~s of anj kind. These are in continoi~1flux and revolution. Xhe son embraces a different systeillfroin tlle f~tther. Nay, there scarcely is any man, who ca:lboast of great constancy and uniformity in this particular.Whatever speculative errors may be found in the politewritings of any age or country, they detract but little fro111the value of those compositions. There needs Lut a certi~iilturn of thought or imagination to make us enter into all theopinions, which then prevailed, and relish the sentiments orconclusions derived from them. But a very violent effort isrequisite to change our judgnlent of manners, and excite sentimer-tsof approbation or blame, love or hatred, different frointhose to which the mind from long custom has been familiarized.Aiid where a man is confident of the rectitude of thatmoral standard, by which he judges, he is justly jealous of it,and will not pervert the sentiments of his heart for a moment,in complaisance to any writer whatsoever.Of all speculative errors, those, which regard religion, arethe most excusable in compositions of genius; nor is it everpern~itted to judge of the civility or wisdom of any people, oreven of single persons, by the grossness or refinement of theirtheological principles. The sanle good sense, that directsmen in the ordinary occurrences of life, is not hearkened toin religious matters, which are supposed to be placed altogetherabove the cognizance of human reason. On this account,all the absurdities of the pagan system of theologymust be overlooked by every critic, who would pretend toform a just notion of ancient poetry; and our posterity, intheir turn, nlust hare the same indulgence to their fbrefathers.No religious principles call ever be imputed as afault to any poet, while they remain merely principles, andtake not such strong possession of his heart, as to lay himunder the imputation of biyotry or superstition. Where thatllappens, they confouild the sentinicnts of morality, and alter

284 ESSAY XZiII.1.the natural boundaries of vice and virtue. They are thereforeeternal blemishes, according to tlie principle above mentioned;nor are the prejudices and false opinions of the agesufficient to justify them.It is essential to the ROMAN catholic religion to inspire aviolent hatred of every other worship, and to represent allpagans, nlahometans, and heretics as the objects of divinewrath and vengeance. Such sentiments, though they are inreality very blameable, are considered as virtues by the zealotsof that colnmunion, and are represented in their tragediesand epic poems as a kind of divine heroism. This bigotryhas disfigured two very fine tragedies of the FRENCH theatre,POLIEUCTE and ATHALIA ; where an intemperate zeal for particularmodes of worship is set off with all the pomp imaginable,and forms the predominant character of the heroes.' What is this,' says the sublime JOAD to JOSABET, finding herin discourse with MATHAN, the priest of EAAL, 'Does thedaughter of DAVID speak to this traitor ? Are you not afraid,lest tlie earth should open and pour forth flames to devouryou both? Or lest these holy walls should fall and crushyou together ? What is his purpose ? Why comes thatenemy of God hither to poison the air, which we breathe,with his horrid presence ?' Such sentiments are receivedwith great applause on the theatre of PARIS; but at LONDONthe spectators would be full as much pleased to hearACHILLES tell AGAMEMNON, that 'he was a dog in his forehead,and n deer in his heart, or JUPITER threaten JUNO with asound drubbing, if she will not be quiet.RELIGIOUS principles are also a blemish in any polite composition,when they rise up to superstition, aiid intrudethemselves into every sentiment, however remote from anyconnection with religion. It is no excuse for the poet, thatthe customs of his country had burthened life with so manyreligious ceremonies and observances, that no part of it wasexempt from that yoke. It must for ever be ridiculous inPETRARCH to compare his mistress LAURA, to JESUS CHRIST.Nor is it less ridiculous in that agreeable libertine, BOWACE,very seriously to give thanks to GOD ALMIGHTY and theladies, for their assistance in defending him against hisenemies.ESSAYS,MORAL, POLITICAL,ANDLITERARY.* PUBLISHED in 1752. [This Note was first given in Edition M.]

ESSAYS.ESSAY I.-OfPART 11.Commerce.THE greater part of mankind may be divided into twoclasses ; that of shallow thinkers, who fall short of the truth,and that of abstruse thinkers, who go beyond it. The latterclass are by far the most rare; and I may add, by far themsot useful and valuable. They suggest hints, at least, andstart difficulties, which they want, perhaps, skill to pursue ;but which may produce fine discoveries, when handled byme11 who have a more just way of thinking. At worst, whatthey say is uncommon ; and if it should cost some pains tocomprehend it, one has, however, the pleasure of hearingsomething that is new. An author is little to be valued,who tells us nothing but what we can learn from every coffeehouseconvers it t' ion.All people of shallow thought are apt to decry even thoseof solid understanding, as abstruse thinkers, and metaphysicians,and refiners ; and never will allow any thing to bejust which is beyond their own weak conceptions. Thereare some cases, I own, where an extraordinary refinementaffords a strong presumption of falsehood, and where nokeasunii~g is to be trusted but what is natural and easy.When a man deliberates concerning his conduct in any PUTticularaffair, and forn:s schemes in politics, trade, economy,or any business in life, he never ought to draw his argumentstoo fine, or connect too- long tt clx~in of consequencestogether. Something is sure to happen, that will disconcerthis reasoning, :~nd product iill event different from what he

288ESSAY I.expected. But when we reason upon gmeral subjects, onelnay justly af£irm, that our speculations can scarcely ever betoo fine, provided they be just ; and that the difference betweena common man and a man of genius is chiefly seen inthe shallowness or depth of the principles upon which theyproceed. General reasonings seem intricate, merely becausethey are general ; nor is it easy for the bulk of mankind todistinguish, in a great number of particulars, that comlnoncircumstance in which they all agree, or to extract it, pureand unmixed, from the other superfluous circumstances.Every judgment or conclusion, with them, is particular.They cannot enlarge their view to those universal propositions,which comprehend under them an infinite numberof individuals, and include a whole science in a singletheorem. Their eye is confounded with such an extensiveprospect; and the conclusions, derived from it, even thoughclearly expressed, seem intricate and obscure. But howeverintricate they may seem, it is certain, that general principles,if just and sound, must always prevail in the general courseof things, though they may fail in particular cases ; and it isthe chief business of philosophers to regard the generalcourse of things. I may add, that it is also the chief business of poliiicians ; especially in the domestic governmenof the state, where the public good, which is, or ought to bctheir object, depends on the concurrence of a multitude oicauses ; not, as in foreign politics, on accidents and chances,and the caprices of a few persons. This therefore makes thedifference between particular deliberations and general reason-. ings, and renders subtility and refinement much more suitableto the latter than to the former.I thought this introduction necessary before the followingdiscourses on commerce, money, interest, balance of trade, kc,where, perhaps, there will occur some principles which areuncommon, and which may seem too refined and subtile forsuch vulgar subjects. If false, let them be rejected: Butno one ought to entertain a prejudice against them, merelybecause they are out of the common road.The greatness of a state, and the happiness of its subjects,how independent soever they may be supposed in some respects,are commonly allowed to be inseparable with regard to commerce;and as private men receive greater securitr, in the1 [On commerce, luxury, money, interest, &c. Editions H to M.]possegsion of their trade and riches, from the power of thepublic, so the public becomes powerful in proportion to theopuleilce and extensive commerce of private men. Thismaxim is true in general; though I cannot forbear thinking,that it may possibly adinit of exceptions, and that we oftenestablish it with too little reserve and limitation. There maybe some circumstances, where the commerce and riches andluxury of individuals, instead of adding strength to thepublic, will serve only to thin its armies, and diminish itsauthority among the neighbouring nations. Man is a veryvariable being, and susceptible of many different opinions,principles, and rules of conduct. What may be true, whilehe adheres to one way of thinking, will be found falde, whenhe has embraced an opposite set of manners and opinions.The bulk of every state may be divided into husbandmenand manufacturers. The former are employed in the cultureof the land ; the latter work up the materials f~rnished~bythe former, into all the commodities which are necessary orornamental to human life. As soon as men quit their savagestate, where they live chiefly by hunting and fishing, theymust fall into these two classes; though the arts of agricultureemploy at first the most nunlerous part of the s0ciety.lTime and experience improve so much these arts, that theland may easily mainta'in a much greater number of men,than those who are immediately enlployed in its culture, orwho furnish the more necessary manufactures to such as areso employed.If these superfluous hands apply themselves to the finerarts, which are commonly denominated the arts of lueury,they add to the happiness of the state ; since they afford tomany the opportunity of receiving enjoyments, with whichthey would otherwise have been unacquainted. But may notanother scheme be proposed for the employment of thesesuperfluous hands ? May not the sovereign lay claim to them,and employ them in fleets and armies, to encrease the dominionsof the state abroad, and spread its fame over distantnations Y It is certain that the fewer desires and wants areMons. &LON, in his political essay calculation is certainly very erroneous.on commerce, asserts, that even at pre- In FRANCE, ENGLAND, and indeed mostsent, if you divide FRANCE into 20 part,s, parts of EUROPE, haif of the inhabitants16 are labourers or peasants ; two only li~e in cities ; and eves of those whoartizans ; one belonging to the law, live in the country, a great number arechurch, and military ; and one mer- artizans, perhaps above a third.chants, financiers, and bourgeois. This

290 ESSAY I. OF COMMERCE. 291found in the proprietors and labourers of land, the fewerhands do they employ; and consequently the superfluities ofthe land, instead of maintaining tradesmen and manufacturers,may support fleets and armies to a much greaterextent, than where a great many arts are required to ministerto the luxury of particular persons. Here therefore seems to bea kind of opposition between the greatness of the state andthe happiness of the subject. A state is never greater thanwhen all its superfluous hands are employed in the service ofthe public. The ease and convenience of private personsrequire, that these liands should be employed in their service.The one can never be satisfied, but at the expence of theother. As the ambition of the sovereign must entrench onthe luxury of individuals ; so the luxury of individuals mustdiminish the force, and check the ambition of the sovereign.Nor is this reasoning merely chimerical ; bnt is founded onhistory and experience. The republic of SPARTA was certainlymore powerful than any state now in the world, consistingof an equal number of people; and this was owingentirely t6 the want of commerce and luxury. The HELOTESwere the labourers : The SPARTANS were the soldiers or gentlemen.It is evident, that the la'bour of the HELOTES couldnot have maintained so great a number of SPARTANS, hadthese latter lived in ease and delicacy, and given employmentto a great variety of trades and manufactures. The likepolicy may be remarked in ROME. And indeed, throughoutall ancient history, it ie observable, that the smallest republicsraised and maintained greater armies, than states consistingof triple the number of inhabitants, are able to supportat present. It is computed, that, in all EUROPEAN nations,the proportion between soldiers and people does not exceedone to a hundred. But we read, that the city of ROME alone,with its small territory, raised and maintained, in early times,ten legions against the LATINS. ATHENS, the whole of whosedominions was not larger than YORESHIRE, sent to the expeditionagainst SICILY near forty thousand men.' DIONYSIUSthe elder, it is said, maintained a standing army of a hundredthousand foot and ten thousand horse, besides a large fleetof four hundred sail though his territories extended noTHWCYDIDES, lib. vii. 75.DIOD. SIC. jib. ii. 5. This account,I own, is somewhat suspicious, not tosay worse ; chiefly because this armywas not composed of citizens, but ofmercenary forces.farther than the city of SYRACUSE, about a third of theisland of SICILY, axrd some sea-port towns and garrisons onthe coast of ITALY and ILLYRICUX. It is true, the ancientarmies, in time of war, subsisted much upon plunder: Butdid not the eneniy plunder in their turn ? which was a moreruinous way of levying a tax, than any other that could bedevised. In short, no probable reason can be assigned forthe great power of the more ancient states above the modern,but their want of commerce and luxury. Few artizans weremaintained by the labour of the farmers, and t'herefore Inoresoldiers might live upon it. LIVY says, that ROME, in histime, would find it difficult to raise as large an army as thatwhich, in her early days, she sent out against the GAULS andLA TINS.^ Instead of those soldiers who fought for libertyand empire in CAMILLUS'S time, there were, in AUGUSTUS'Sdays, musicians, painters, cooks, players, and tailors ; and ifthe land was equally cultivated at both periods, it could certainlymaintain equal numbers in the one profession as in theother. They added nothing to the mere necessaries of life,in the latter period more than in the former.It is natural on this occasion to ask, whether sovereignsmay not return to the maxims of ancient policy, and consulttheir own interest in this respect, more than the happiness oftheir subjects? I answer, that it appears to me, almost impossible; and that because ancient policy was violent, andcontrary to the more natural and usual course of things. Itis well known with what peculiar laws SPARTA was governed,and what a prodigy that republic is justly esteemed by everyone, who has connidered hnman nature as it has displayeditself 'in other nations, and other ages. Were the testimonyof history less positive and circumstantial, such a governmentwould appear a mere philosophical whim or fiction, and impossibleever to be reduced to practice. And though theROMAN and other ancient republics were supported on principlessomewhat more natural, yet was there an extraordinaryconcurrence of circumstances to make them submit to suchgrievous burthens. They were free states ; they were smallones ; axid the age being martial, all their neighbours werecontinually in arms. Freedom naturally begets public spirit,especially in small states ; and this public spirit, this amor' TITI LIVIT, lib. vii. cap. 25. ' Adeo in qnae laboramus,' says he, ' sola crevimus,divitias luxuriemq~io.'

292 ESSAY 1.patrice, must encrease, when the public is almost in continualalarm, and men are obliged, every moment, to expose themselvesto the greatest dangers for its defence. A continualsuccession of wars makes every citizen a soldier : He *takesthe field in his turn: And during his service he is chieflymaintained by himself. This service is indeed equivalent toa heavy tax ; yet is it less felt by a people addicted to arms,who fight for honour and revenge niore than pay, and are unacquaintedwith gain and industry as well as p1easure.l Notto mention the great equality of fortunes among the inhabitantsof the ancient republics, where every field, belonging toa different proprietor, was able to maintain a family, and renderedthe numbers of citizens very considerable, even withouttrade and manufactures.But though the want of trade and manufactures, amonga free and very martial people, may sometimes hare no othereffect than to render the public more powerful, it is certa'in,that, in the common course of human affairs, it mill have aquite contrary tendency. Sovereigns must take mankind asthey find them, and cannot pretend to introduce any violentchange in their principles and ways of thinking. A longcourse of time, with a variety of accidents and circumstances,are requisite to produce those great revolutions, which somuch diversify the face of human affairs. And the lessnatural any set of principles are, which support a particularsociety, the more difficulty will a legislator meet with inraising and cultivating them. It is his best policy to complywith the common bent of mankind, and give it all theimprovements of which it is susceptible. Now, according tothe most natural course of things, industry and arts and.The more antient ROMANS lived inperpetual war with all their neighbours:and in old LATIN, the term,hostis, expressed both a stranger and anenemy. This is remarked by CICERO ;but by him is ascribed to the humanityof hie ancestors, who softened, as muchas possible, the denomination of anenemy, by calling him by the sameappellation which signified a stranger.De 08 lib. i. 12. 'Tis however muchmore probable, from the manners of thetimes, that the ferocity of those peoplewas so great as to maka them regardall strangers as enemies, and call themby the same name. It is not, besides,consistent with the most commonmaxims of policy or of nature, thatany state should regard its public enemieswith a friendly eye, or preserveany such sentiments for them as theROMAN orator would ascribe to his ancestors.Not to mention, that the earlyROMANS really exercised piracy, as welearn from their first treaties with CAR-THAGE, preserved by POLYBIUS, lib. 3,and consequently like the SALLEE andALGERINE rovers, were actually at warwith most nations, and a stranger andan enemy were with them almostsyuony tnons.tmde encrease the power of the sovereign as well as thehappiness of the subjects ; and that policy is violent, whichaggrandises the public by the poverty of individuals. Thiswill easily appear from a few considerations, which will presentto us the consequences of sloth and barbarity.Where manufactures and mechanic arts are not cultivated,the bulk of the people must apply themselves to agriculture;and if their skill and industry encrease, there must arise sgreat superfluity from their labour beyond what suffices tolnaintain them. They have no temptation, therefore, to encreasetheir skill and industry ; since they cannot exchangethat superfluity for any commodities, which may serve eitherto their pleasure or vanity. A habit of indolence naturallyprevails. The greater part of the land lies uncultivated.What is cultivated, yields not its utmost for want of skill andassiduity in the farmers. If att any time the public exigenciesrequire, that great numbers should be employed in the publicservice, the labour of the people furnishes now no superfluities,by which these numbers can be maintained. The labourerscannot encrease their skill and industry on a sudden. Landsuncultivated cannot be brought into tillage for some years.The armies, mean while, niust either make sudden andviolent conquests, or disband for want of subsistence. Aregular attack or defence, therefore, is not to be expectedfrom such a people, and their soldiers must be as ignorant andunskilful as their farmers and manufacturers.Every thing in the world is purchased by labour ; and ourpassions are the only causes of labour. When a nationabounds in manufactures and mechanic arts, the proprietorsof land, as well as the farmers, study agriculture as a science,and redouble their industry and attention. The superfluity,which arises from their labour, is not lost ; but is exchangedwith manufactures for those commodities, which me11's luxurynow makes them covet. By this means, land furnishes agreat deal more of the necessaries of life, than what sufficesfor those who cultivate it. In times of peace and tranquility,this superfluity goes to the maintenance of manufacturers,and the improvers of liberal arts., But it is easyfor the public to convert many of these manufacturers intosoldiers, and maintain them by that superfluity, which arisesfrom the labour of the farmers. Accordingly we find, thatthis is the case in all civilized governments. When tho

294 ESSAY I. OF COMMERCE. 295sovereign raises an army, what is the consequence P He imposesa tax. This tax obliges all the people to retrench whatis least necessary to their subsistence. Those, who labour insuch commodities, must either enlist in the troops, or turnthemselves to agriculture, and thereby oblige sorne labourersto enlist for want of business. And to consider the matterabstractedly, manufacturers encrease the power of the stateoilly as they store up so much labour, and that of a kind towhich the public inay lay claim, without; depriving ally oneof the necessaries of life. The more labour, therefore, isemployed beyond mere necessaries, the more powerful is anystate ; since the persons engaged in that labonr may easilybe converted to the public service. I11 a state without manufacturers,there may be the same number of hands; but thereis not the same quantity of labour, nor of the same kind. Allthe labour is there bestowed upon necessaries, which canadmit of little or no abatement.Thus the greatness of the sovereign and the happiness ofthe state are, in a great measure, united with regard to tradeand manufactures. It is a violent method, and in most casesimpracticable, to oblige the labourer to toil, in order to raisefrom the land more than what subsists himself and family.Furnish him with manufactures and commodities, and he willdo it of himself. Afterwards you will find it easy to seizesome part of his superfluous labour, and employ it in thepublic service, without giving him his wonted return. Beingaccustomed to industry, he will think this less grievous, thanif, at once, you obliged him to an augmentation of labour. without any reward. The case is the same with regard tothe other members of the state. The greater is the stock oflabour of all kinds, tlie greater quantity may be taken fromthe heap, without making any sensible alteration in it.A public granary of corn, a storehouse of cloth, a magazineof arms; all these must be allowed real riches andstrength in any state. Trade and industry are really nothingbut a stock of labour, which, in times of peace and tranquillity,is empl~yed for the ease and satisfaction of individuals; but in the exigencies of state, may, in part, beturned to public advantage. Could we convert a city into akind of fortified camp, and infuse into each breast so martiala genius, and such a passion for public good, a8 to makeevery one willing to undergo the greatest hardships for thesake of the public; these affections might now, as in ancienttimes, prove alone a sufficient spur to industry, and supportthe community. It would then be advantageous, as incamps, to banish all arts and luxury ; and, by restrictionson equipage and tables, make the provisions and forage lastlonger than if the army were loaded with a number of superfluousretainers. But as these principles are too disinterestedand too difficult to support, it is requisite to govern men byother passions, and animate them with a spirit of avarice andindustry, art and luxury. The camp is, in this case, loadedwith a superfluous retinue ; but the provisions flow in proportionablylarger. The harmony of the whole is still snpported;and the natural bent of the mind being more compliedwith, individuals, as well as the public, find theiraccount in the observance of those maxims.The same method of reasoning will let us see the advantageof foreign commerce, in augmenting the power of thestate, as well as the riches and happiness of the subject. Itencreases the stock of labour in the nation ; and the sovereignmay convert what share of it he finds necessary to the sericeof the public. Foreign trade, by its imports, furnishesinaterials for new manufactures ; and by its exports, it produceslabour in particular commodities, which could not beconsumed at home. In short, a kingdom, that has a largeimport and export, must abound more with industry, andthat employed upon delicacies and luxuries, than a kingdomwhich rests contented with its native commodities. It is,therefore, nzore powerful, as well as richer and happier. Theindividuals reap the benefit of these commodities, so far asthey gratify the senses and appetites. And the public isalso a gainer, while a greater stock of labour is, by thismeans, stored up against any public exigency; that is, agreater number of laborious men are maintained, who maybe diverted to the public service, without robbing any one ofthe necessaries, or eve11 the chief conveniencies of life.If we consult history, we shall find, that, in most natioiis,foreign trade has preceded any refinement in honle manufactures,and given birth to domestic luxury. The temptation isstronger to make use of foreign commodities, which areready for use, and which are entirely new to us, than tomalie improvements on any doxnestic commodity, whichnlways advance by slow degrees, ancl never affect us by their

296 ESSAY I. OF COMMERCE. 297novelty. The profit is also very great, in exporting what issuperfluous at home, and what bears no prioe, to foreignnations, whose soil or climate is not favourable to that commodity.Thus illen become acquainted with the pleasures ofluxury and the proJits of commerce ; and their delicacy andindustry, being once awakened, carry them on to farther iinprovernents,in every branch of domestic as well as foreigntrade. And this perhaps is the chief advantage which arisesfrom a commerce with strangers. It rouses men from theirindolence ; and presenting the gayer and more opulent partof the nation with objects of luxury, which they never beforedreamed of, raises in them a desire of a more splendid way oflife than what their ancestors enjoyed. And at the sametime, the few merchants, who possess the secret of this impoqationand exportation, make great profits ; and becomingrivals in wealth to the ancient nobility, tempt other adventurersto become their rivals in commerce. Imitation soondiffuses all those arts ; while domestic manufactures emulatethe foreign in their improvements, and work up every homecommodity to the utmost perfection of which it is susceptible.Their own steel and iron, in such laborious hands, becomeequal to the gold and rubies of the INDIES.When the affairs of the society are once brought to thissituation, a nation may lose most of its foreign trade, andyet continue a great and powerful people. If strangers willnot take any particular commodity of ours, we must cease tolabour in it. The same hands will turn themselves towardssome refinement in other commodities, which may be wantedat home. And there must always be materials for them towork upon; till every person in the state, who possessesriches, enjoys as great plenty of home commodities, andthose in as great perfection, as he desires; which can neyerpossibly happen. CHINA is represented its one of the mostflourishing empires in the world; though it haa very littlecommerce beyond its own territories.It will not, I hope, be considered as a superfluous digression,if I here observe, that, as the multitude of mechanicalarts is advantageous, so is the great number of persons towhose share the productions of these arts fall. A too greatdisproportion among the citizens weak~ns any state. Everyperson, if possible, ought to enjoy the fruits of his labour, ina full possession of all the necessaries, and many of the con-veniencies of life. No one can doubt, but such an equalityis most suitable to human nature, and diminishes much lessfrom the happiness of the rich than it adds to that of thepoor. It also augments the power of the state, and makesanytaxes or impositions be paid with morechearfulness. Where the riches are engrossed by a few,these must contribute very largely to the supplying of thepublic necessities. But when the riches are dispersed amongmultitudes, the burthen feels light on every shoulder, andthe taxes make not a very sensible difference on any one'sway of living.Add to this, that, where the riches are in few hands, thesemust enjoy a11 the power, and will readily conspire to lay thewhole burthen on the poor, and oppress them still farther, tothe discouragement of all industry.In this circumstance consists the great advantage of ENG-LAND above any nation at present in the world, or thatappears in the records of<