i X J>Xo*£. Temp oralis OJl ^i 1 ^ a.* £V?- <-\>r. ;v^ w^^* «*£# •ftr Ma is eter ^erixo - cleido m aftWeU-S ■ft. £>"«u a . '^"ide, of'tht right Clavicle i* is \. V ' fc fij d. /\& 9 ^ : ,*** tfP V- Paella of aertral of the KXTROAbMV; the contents of the ELEMENTS OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE s INTENDED TO LEAD YOUTH INTO AN EARLY ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE JV*4TURE OF M^Jf, EY AN ANATOMICAL DISPLAY OF THE HUMAN FRAME, A CONCISE VIEW OF THE MENTAL FACULTIES, AND AN INQUIRY INTO THE GENUINE NATURE OF THE PASSIONS. COMPILED, ARRANGED, AND PARTLY WRITTEN, By K. C. DALLAS, Esq, I\«9t 2sxvrov» L N D ON: ITED FOR MURRAY AND HIGHLEY, FLEET STREET 1802, vA U 1 51 3)3 43 d by S . Kousst.ai-. r\ Wood Sirea I v TO MATTHIAS WRIGHT, ESfJ). Dear Sir, ^Writers are guided in their Dedications by various motives : the hope of patronage, the glow of affe&ion, the incitement of gratitude. I am induced to trull the patronage of this volume to the public at large by the utility it pro- mifes, and to indulge my mind in yielding to the two latter motives. As long as I retain the faculty of remembrance, I can never forget how great a portion of my time you converted from gloom and unhap- pinefs to the cheering comforts of domeftic enjoyments. This remembrance, however, docs not fatisfy my gratitude and affection, I wifh to tranfmit my feelings to my chil- a 2 dren, IV DEDICATION. dren, for whofe life I originally made this book, and who have participated the effects of jour friendfhip. This volume wiH pro- bably accompany them in their progrefs through life, and will conilantly prefent to their imagination two pleafmg ideas ; the gratitude of their father's heart, and the goodnefs of his friend's. When I thought of dedicating thefe pages to you, I not on]}' yielded to m\ feelings, but law the propriety of it in another view. It is true, that they are intended for young learners, and are but the rudiments of the know ledge they pro- pofe : yet the father who has the happi- nefs of having before his eyes a child fiic- ceisfully palling into that ftage of life in which learning advances to action, happily evincing a heart, and a head already well formed, DEDICATION. V formed, and early meriting and receiving public honours, cannot review thefe Ele- ments without pleafure, and to no man can they be with more propriety dedi- cated. May you long enjoy the happi- nefs you deferve, and may this fmall mark of efteem and gratitude be productive of pleafing recollections to your mind, I am, Dear Sir, Tour affectionate Servant, Y R. C. DALLAS. Dec. 5, 1801. PREFACE. ( ni ) PREFACE. 1 HE obje&s of this publication are fo fully ftated in the title page that I have little to add in that refped:, My purpofe was to colledl in one volume a considera- ble degree of knowledge relating to the na- ture of man, for the ijiftrucftion of youth, and of fuch perfons as have not leifure to purfue thefe interesting and ufeful ftudies at large. The fubje&s are of the higheft im- portance to thinking beings, and I hope I have fo arranged them as to imprefs them in an agreeable manner upon the miud. In drawing out the firft part I was a little alarmed at the Nomenclature of Ana- tomy, fearing it might be thought not adapted to the ladies, to whom I equally wiihed to render the volume acceptable : a 4 but Vlll PREFACE. but I was encouraged on recollecting the fcientiiic terms of one of their favourite ftu- dies, and my alarm fubfided, when reafoti allured me that the fame words could not be more difficult in one fcience than in another. As young ladies have not been afraid to encounter with Clavicula, Can- dida, Fauces, Cuspidatam, Enstformis, Deltoides, Medulla, &c. in their ltudy of vegetative bodies, they may boldly venture upon the ftudy of her own animated ones, for they w T ill only meet fuch and fimilar terms. The fair may have another objection to Anatomy, which is, that it is of a difguft- ing nature ; and fo indeed it would be to them were it ftudied practically, but the knowledge gained by words has not fuch digufting effecls. The ftudy of their inte- rior ftruclure will never injure their out- ward form. Their fmiles will not be the lels enchanting that they know the nature of their lips, nor the grace of their fhape be injured by a knowledge of the prop- work PREFACE, IX that fupports it: and I cannot but think lhat it will prove at leaft as intereftingto them to be acquainted with their own fine eyes,, as with any Gymnospermtan nettle in the hedges. I promife that they fliall find no indelicacy to offend modefty ; and on the other hand, I proteft againft that fqueam ifhnefs which fickens at the mention c mufcles, nerves; veins, &c. and which prefers ignorance to ftrengh of mind. This part, however, is but fhort, and intended more to give general ideas, than to purfue minute in- veftigations, and a Gloflary of the technical terms ufed in it is prefixed, except the Muf- cles, which are explained in the Table given of them. One hint may not be amifs here : knowledge and pedantry are perfectly diftin&. Terms of art muft be ufed to con- vey the former, but the female w T ho fhall in- troduce them into converfation will hardly efcape a charge of the latter. Let her get acquainted with her heart, and fhe may ven- ture to talk of its expanfion, but flie muft never PUEFACEi \ \ never form her tongue to the pronunciation of its diaftole and fyftole. I think it neceffary here to Hate what to fome may appear an omiffion. When Hunter wrote, the office of the lungs was unknown, as we fhallfee in page 14 of this volume, but the late improvements in che- rniftry have developed the nature and necef- fity of refpiration. " In the lungs the blood comes into contact with atmofpheric air, and work many chemical alterations in it. It is in the lung* that the dark blood, throwing off attenuated char- coal, forms with the vita: air of the atmof- phere, fixed air. It is in the lungs that the purple blood parts with its hydrogen, which uniting with the vital air, forms the h$md vapour that ilTues from the mouth. And it is in the lungs that the purple blood, having thrown off hydrogen and charcoal, imliles the vital air, which changes its co- lour to a brilliant red, rendering it the fpur to the a&ioii of the heart and arteries, the fource PREFACE* x.i fource of animal heat, and the caufes of feu- Ability, irritability, and motion." This paflage is taken from the inge- jiious work intitled, Medical Extracts, in which the proofs of the doctrine are ftated. The knowledge of it will but render the ingenuity of the reafoning in chapter IX. the more interefting: I fliould perhaps have introduced it in that place, but as the fyftem is novel, it will, I hope, be thought fufficient that I mention it here. Having announced this volume as a compilation, and claiming no praife but what may be due to the hope of being ufe- ful, I might ftand difcharged of any obli- gation to mention the fources from which I have drawn; but as the knowledge of them mull be productive of recommendation from all acquainted with them, it is a duty I owe to the intereft of the publilhers to mention the names of Chefelden, Hunter, Watts, Burlamaqui, and Adam Smith. I have dared to interweave a fmall treatife of my own : if SIS PREFACE: if Critics Ifcall ealily deted it by its com- parative feebienefs, I trail they will ftill al- lojvv its tendency to my object, and that ifreir penetration will be no obftacle to its CONTEXTS ( *m ) CONTENTS. PART L Anatomical Difplay of the Human Frame. Page. Introduction — — — — — — 1 Chap. I. The Necejfity for the Variety of Parts in the Body — — 7 Chap. II. Of the Brain — — — 1& Chap. III. Of the Organs of Senfe — 20 Chap. IV. Of tlie Nerves, or Organs of Communication with the Brain — — — — 3g Chap. V. \jf f ne Inflruments of Motion, Mufcles, and Tendons — 42 Chap. VI. Of the Prop- work • Bones% Ligaments, Cartilages — -, 60 Chap. VII. Of the External Parts, com- mon Integuments, and Fat yd Chap. VIII. Of the Membranes — — • 81 Chap. IX. Of the Organs of Speech; Lungs, Refpiration — 84 Chap. X. Of the Blood, the Heart, Arteries, Feins — — g\ Cha XIV CONTENTS. Page. Chap. XL Of the Glands and Excretory Duels — — — — lOQ Chap. XII. Of the Converfwn of Food into Blood : Maftication, the Salivary Glands, the Duc- tus Aliment ah >, Digrfion, Formation of Chyle , and the Organs conducive to it — 112 Chap. XIII. Of contimung the Species 127 PART II. Conciic View of the Menu:! Faculti Chap. 1. General Advantage of An,: Chap. II. Of P ~» — Chap. Ill — — 141 Chat. IV. - Cn.vv " v i Of th$ Imagi — — i4g \ li f thr Compat Of the Difo Chap. IX. Of the Abfira, ■ — X. Of lp. XI. Of the — Ch u\ XII. Of the Jtu [j — 10! Ch CONTENTS. XV Page* Chap. XIII. Of the Inventing Faculty 163 Chap. XIV. Of the Faculty of Volition 1 65 Chap. XV. Of the Deftgning Faculty J 69 Chap, XVI. Of the Forefeeing Faculty 170 Chap. XVII. Of Liberty ' — ~ — 171 Chap. XVIII. Of Confcience — — 192 Chap. XIX. Of Immortality — — 205 PART III. ,An Enquiry into the Genuine Nature of the Paffions. Introductory Obfervations, with a Table of the Paffions Analyzed . — 241 Chap. I. Ambition-, its Varieties and De~ viations — — — — 246 Chap. II. Anger, its Varieties a?id Devi- ations — — — ~ 291 Chap. III. Antipathy, its Varieties and Deviations — — — 300 Chap. IV. Curiofity, its Varieties and Deviations -■- — — 304 Chap. V. Fear, its Varieties and Devia- tions — — — — 306 Chap. VI. Hope, its Varieties and Devi- ations — — ■ — — 3J3 Chap. VII. Joy, its Varieties and Devia- tions — ~ ~ - — 315 Chap. X vi CONTENTS. Page-. Chap. VIII. Love, its Varieties and De- viations — — — — 319 Chap. IX. Sha?ne, its Varieties and De- viations — — — — 359 Cha.p. X. Sorrow, hs Varieties and De- viations — — — — 36l Chap. XL Sympathy, including Pity and Terror — — — — 365 Chap. XII. Wonder, and its Varieties 3/8 Chap. XIII. Of the Degrees of the <:: rent Pajfions which are confident « iih Proj 380 Chap. XIV. Of 'Self-Command — — 413 Conclnfion — — — 462 ANA ( xvii ) ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. ABDOMEN, Lat from abdo to hide ; as it conceals the vifcera. Abductor. Lat. from ah from, and ditco to draw. A name given to mufcles which pull back the parts of the body where they are inferted. Adductor. Lat. from ad to, and dnco to draw. Mufcles that bring forward or draw together the parts to which they are annexed. Adipofa. Lat. from adeps fat. The adipofe membrane. Aggregate glands. Lat. from aggrego to aflemble. Alae. Lat. Ala^ a wing. It is frequently ap- plied to parts that have any refemblance to wings. Amphiarthrofls. Greek, from &fi(pi both, and OipvptiVlQ) articulation. It means a certain connexion of bones, admitting an obfcure motion. Anafarca. Greek, avoc though, and (TOi'pi; flefh, A fort of dropiy. Anatomy. Greek. OtVCtTO[AlQC : from CCVCC, and rzyjoo to cut up. b Anchy- XVlll ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. Anchylofis. Greek. OLyxv'kGU.QU to bend. The- uniting of bones. Antagonift. Greek. qlv\i againft, and ayxvify:, to ffcriye. Mufcles, that act in oppofition to others are fo called. Aorta. Greek. otopTY}, literally a vefTel. The great artery of the body. Apex. Lat. The pointed extremity of a part. Aranea. Lat. a fine web, covering the chry- ftalline humour of the eye. Articulation. Lat. Articulation The juncture of bones. Arteria emulgens dextra. Lat. The right emul- gent artery. Afpera arteria. Lat. The windpipe, called alio Trachea. Attolens. Lat. From altolh to lift up. Auricles. Lat. From auricula the ear. The cavities at the bafe of the heart fo called from a refemblance to the ear. Auditorius. Lat, from audio to hear. See Me i Axilla. Lat. The armpit. Axillary. Lat. Palling the armpit. Axis. Lat. the quiefcent right line of a veffi equal diilancc from the fides. Azygos. Greek, d^vyc;, without a fellow. A vein branching from the Cava. Balilica. Greek. fioKTlXUCQg royal. Balis. When in applied to the heart, Bafis ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XIX Bails is the upper and broader part of it, oppo- 11 te to the mucro or pointed end, confidering it as an inverted con-e. Biceps. Lat. Having two heads. Bi venter. Lat. Two bellied mufcles. Bronchos* Greek, @(>oyyp$, the throat. Caecum. Lat. caecum, blind : fo called from being open only at one end. It is fuppofed by fome to perform a further digeftion, feparating more chyle. Callus. Lat. A hard fwelling without pain. Canalis. Lat. A canal : as canalis arteriofus, a paffage to the aorta* Canini. Lat. cards a dog ; the dog-teeth. Capillary. Lat. capittus, a little hair. Very {len- der veffels. Cardia, Greek. XOlgoiX, the heart, now applied. to the left and fuperior opening of the ftornach. Carotid. Greek, xokpog, fleep : arteries fuppofed to be concerned in fleep. Carpus. Greek. XXPftOQ, the wrifh Cartilage. Lat. carlilago, griftle* Caruncle. Lat. A fmall flefhy excrefcence. Cava. Lat. The great vein that returns the blood, into the left auricle of the heart. Cephalica. Greek, from xetpctXYj the head. CeratagloiTus. Greek. KcPOLQ a horn, and yXtoCtffX the tongue ; a mufcle of the tongue, in ihape of a horn. Cerebrum. Lat. the brain. b 2 Cere- xx anatomical glossary. Cerebellum. Lat. dim. The little brain. Cerumen. Lat. wax. Cervicales. Lat. cervix, the hind part of the neck : appertaining to the neck. Choledochus. Greek. %oA>3, bile, and $zyj[A0U, to receive : — the common biliary duel is called Ductus communis choledochus. Chorda. Lat. a firing. Choroides. Greek, of a twilled fhape or fold. Chyle. Greek. yvXoc, juice. The nutritious juice into which food is converted. Ciliares, Lat. from ahum, the eye-lid. Clavicle. Lat. clavicula. The collar bone. Cochlea. Greek. Koy^XlOLQ, a fpiral fhell : a cavity of the ear. Cceliac. Greek. XOfalGL, the belly ; an artery i'o named from its pofition. Colon. Greek. KtthQV, from XWAVto to hinder. One of the interlines, having a valve to prevent the faeces returning to the Ilium. Columniso. Lat. pillafs of trie heart. Cornea. Lat. horny. See Sclerc. Coronaria? cordis. Lat. from & na> a crown cor } the heart. Corpora. Lat. bodies. Coitae. Lat. the ribs. Chryftaline. Lat. glai Cruralis. Lat. from cms the leg. Cubitus. Lat. cubitus^ the arm, from ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXI lie down, becaufe the ancients ufed to lie down on that part at their meals. Cuticula. Lat. The fcarf ildn : dim. from cutis. Cutis. Lat. The true fkin. Cylticus. Greek, xvcrjic* a bladder, a duel from the gall bladder. Conglobate. Lat. like a ball. Conglomerate. Lat. heaped together. Conjunctiva. Lat. A fmooth membrane lining the inlide of the eyelids, and joining the globe edges of the orbit ; it fpreads over the forepart of the globe, and is vulgularly called there the white of the eye. Compages. Lat. a collection of (lender bodies clofely united. Deltoides. Greek. S'sXtoc the letter A, and £l$0S likenefs ; a mufcle of that fhape. Diaphragm. Greek, from oioc$goicro'(t) 9 to hedge or wall in. Dentes fapientes. Lat. the teeth ofwifdom. Diarthrosis. Greek. JW^OW, to articulate ; a moveable connexion of bones. Diaftole. Greek, from (5/ a with, and (JTzXXoo to ftretch. The dilatajtion of the heart and arteries. Digitus. Lat. a finger; Dorfum. Lat. the back. Ductus. Lat. a duct, or canal ; as Ductus ali- mentalis, the pafTage of the food. See Choledo- chus, and Thoracicus. b 3 Duode- XXli ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. Duodenum. Lat irom duodenus, co&fiftinar of twelve ; fo called from the lengthy being about 12 finders breadth. Dura mater. Lat. from durus, hard, and mater, A mother : called dura, from its comparative hardnels with the pia mater, and mater, from its being fuppofed to be the fource of the other membranes. Emulgent. Lat. from emulgeo, to milk out, Veflels that pierce the kidneys. Emunctory. Lat. from emiwgo, to drain off. Enarthrofis. Greek, from ev in, and QLG$pcv a joint. The ball and locket joint. Encephalon. Greek. SV in, and Z3yZ?>r} the head. The contents of the cranium. Enfi formes. Lat. en/is, a fword and forma re- refemblance ; fhaped like a fword. Bpiderdmis. Greek. £7U upon, and OSgfMl the true ikin. The fcarf-fkin. Epigaftrium. Greek, STtl upon, and y%7\'r\c the ftomach. That part of the abdomen that lie? over the ftomach. Epiglottis. Greek, ziti and "Kyxzii; the tong A cartilage at the roof of the tongue. Epiphyfis, Greek. STtl and £>LW to. grow, 'i growing of one bone upon another. Ethmpides. Greek. S^/xcg a fieve, 2nd e. form. A bone of the head, fo called from it; l^eing perforated like a fieve, Exci ANATOMICAL GLOSSARY. XXill Extenfores. Lat. Applied to various mufcles that extend to different parts of the body. Externus. Lat. outer. Excretory. Lat. throwing off. Fafcia. Lat. fromfafcis,'a£, from SttPSX to leap, be- cauie the heart leaps in it. The cheft. Thymus. Greek. §VflOL 9 an odour, a gland fo called from its fragrant fmell. Thyroidae. Greek. $vpO£ a fhield, and GIOOC re- femblance. A cartilage of the throat refem. blino; a fliield. » Tibia. Lat. tibia, a pipe or flute. A bone ofthe leg. Tonfillse. Lat. glands at the bafis ofthe tongue : the almonds. Trachea. Greek, from TsayoQ rough. The -wind- pipe. Trephina ANATOMICAL GLOSSARV. Xxxiii Trephina or Trepan. Greek. TgvtpOiVOV, from TpV7T0tto to bore. An inftrument to pierce bone. Tricufpides. Lat. three -pointed. Triquetra. Lat. triangular. Trochanter. Greek, from Tpsyja to run. Two procefTes of the thigh bone. Trochlearis. Greek. TgoyJKlX a pulley, As if drawn by a pulley. Tuberculum Loweri. Lat. an eminence of the heart, firfr. noticed by Dr. Lower. Tunica. Lat. a coat, or covering. Tympanum. Greek- TV(l7r0CV0V a drum. The drum of the ear. Ulna. Greek.- toAey)] the ulna, or cubit ; a bone of the arm. See Gubit. Umbilicalis. Lat. of the navel. Unguis. Lat. the nails. Uvea. Lai. uva a grape. A coat of the eye. It is fo called from its refemblance in beafts to to unripe grapes. TJvulares. Lat. glands of the uvula. Uvula. Lat. uvula, dim. of uva a grape. The fmall conical fleftiy fubftance over the root of the tongue. Vaginalis Gulae. Lat. the cafe or fheath of the gullet. Vafcular. Lat. from vas a veffel. Confuting of vefTels. Vena porttc. Lat. vena, a vein, and porto to c ' carry £>:xiv ANATOMICAL GLOSSAjRy. carry ; the great vein at the entrance of the liver> which carries the blood into it. Vena line pari; Lat. the vein without a compa- nion : the fame as azygos ; which fee. Venter, Lat. the cavity of the belly. Ventricles. Lat. from venter ; cavities of the heart and brain* Ventriculus. Lat. the ftomach. Vermiform. Lat* vermis, a worm, and forma fhape ; refembling the contortions of worms. Vertebrae. Lat. from verto to turn ; the bones of the fpine. Vcfica. Lat. dim. of vas a vefTel ; the blad- der : a mufcular fack fituated in the cavity of the pelvis, to receive the urine from the kidneys. Veficles. Lat. fmall bladders. Veftigium. Lat. the track. Veftibulum. Lat. an entrance. Via lactea. Lat. via way, and lofted lacteal: The receptable of the chyle. Villofa. Lat. fhaggy. r Lat. vifcus, the bowels ; it is ge- Vilcus. I nerally applied to all thofe organs Vilcera. 1 of life, fituated in the thorax and L abdomen. Vitrious. Lat. vifrum, glafs ; glafTy. Vomer. Lat. a plough -ihare ; a bone of the nofc ib called from its reiemblance. ELEMENTS ELEMENTS OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE, PART I. ANATOMICAL DISPLAY OF THE HUMAN FRAME.' INTRODUCTION. JL HE defign of this treatife being to give youth jufl notions refpe6ting their corporeal frame, and the ftructure of their mind, I mall fet out with a concife definition of our fpecies, as given by a very learned and amiable philo- fopher, whofe writings on the principles of natural law have been univerfally received on the claiiic fhelf. A human creature is an animal endowed with underftanding and reafon ; a being ccra- pofed of an organized body, and a rational foul. With regard to his body he is pretty fimi- lar to other animals, having the lame organs, B properties, 2 INTRODUCTION. [PART I, properties, and wants. It is a living body, organized, and compofed of feveral parts ; a body that moves of itfelf, and, feeble in the commencement, increafes gradually in its pro- grefs by the help of nouriihment, till it ar- rives to a certain period, in which it appears in its flower and vigour, whence it infenfibly declines to old age, which conduces it at ' length to diffolution. This is the ordinary courfe of human life, unlefs it happens to be abridged either by malady or accident. With regard to his foul, he is eminently diftinguifhed from other animals. It is by this noble part that he thinks, and is capable of forming juft ideas of the different objects that occur to him ; of comparing them toge- ther ; of inferring from known principles un- known truths ; of paffing a folid judgment on the mutual agreement of things, as well as on the relations they bear to us ; of delibe- rating on wdiat is proper or improper to be done ; and of determining confequently to act one way or other. The mind recollects what is pan:, joins it with the prefent, and extends its views to futurity. It is capable of pene- trating into the caufes, progrefs, and confe- quence of things, and of difcovering, as it . were. *ART I.] INTRODUCTION. 3 were, at one glance, the entire courfe of life, which enables it to lay in a ftore of fuch things as are neceffary for making a happy ca- reer. Befides, in all this, it is not fubject to a conftant feries of uniform and invariable ope- rations, but finds itfelf at liberty to act or not to act, to fufpend its actions and motions, and to direct and manage them as it thinks proper. Such is the general idea we are to form of the nature of man ; of that being of the fpe- cies of which we are individuals, and which we are now to analyze more particularly, in order to ground us iri the molt ufeful of fci- ences, felf-knowledge. In treating both of the body and of the mind I mall adopt the analytical method, be- caufe I confider the underftanding of my readers to be fufficiently mature to compre- hend a whole and its parts, and becaufe it is the method nature herfelf prefcribes for invefti- gating her works. To begin then with the corporeal frame ; an animal body is a compages of veffels, vari- oufly difpofed to form certain parts of different figures, for different ufes. It has been difcovered by the affiftance of glaffes that all the parts of the body exift in B 2 miniature 4 INTRODUCTION. [PART 5. miniature from the earlieft formation that can he traced, and that the encreafe of thofe parts is only the extenfion and thickening of their veffels, and that no part owes its exiftence to another : the two moft effential ones, howe- ver, are the brain and the heart. The conftituent parts of the animal body are, fibres, membranes, arteries, veins, lym- phaeducls, nerves, glands, excretory veffels, mufclcs, tendons, ligaments, cartilages, and bones ; to thefe may be added the hair and nails, though they feem to ha^ e only a vege- tative kind of life. Fibres, as they appear to the naked eye, are fimplc threads of the minuteft blood veffels* which enter into the composition of every part. Membranes, are formed by a compact union of fibres, and are expanded to cover, or line any other part. Arteries, are tubes that arife in two trunks from two cavities in the heart, called the ven- tricles of it, and thence dividing into branches, diftribute the blood to every part of the body. Ve'uis, are tubes to return the blood from the extremities of the arteries to the heart. hymphczdutts, are pellucid tubes to carry lymph from all parts, especially the glands, which they difcharge into the larger veins, and into PART I.] INTRODUCTION. 5 into the lacteal veflels, vafa laffea, which we fhall fee are thofe that convey the fluid from the digefted aliment called chyle. Nerves, are bundles of cylindrical fibres, which arife in the brain and ipinal marrow, and terminate in ajl the fenfitive parts. They are the immediate organs of fenfation. A gland, is a fmooth fubftance, compofed of an artery, vein, lymphatic, excretory duel, and nerve. The ufe of glands is to fecrete fluids from the blood for feveral ufes. ILxcretory vefjels, are either tubes from glands to convey the fecreted fluids to their re- fpective places, or veflels from the fmall guts, to carry the chyle to the blood veflels : thefe laft are the lacteals, called vafa laftea. Mufcles, are diftinct portions of flelh, made up of a number of fmall fibres, which, by contracting, perform the motions of the body. Tendons, are the fame fibres of which the mufcles are compofed ; but white and more clofely connected, that they may poflfefc lefs fpace in a limb, and be inferted in lefs room into a bone. Ligaments, are, ftrong membranes, or bo- dies of fibres clofely united, cither to bind down the tendons, or give origin to the B 3 mufcle. 6 INTRODUCTION. [PART I. mufcle, or tie together fuch bones as have motion. Cartilages, or griftles, are hard, elaftic bo- dies, fmooth and infenfible : their ufe is to co- ver the ends of the bones that have motion, to prevent their attrition, &c. Bones, originally compofed of foft fibres, are firm parts to fuftain, and give fliape to the body. The hair and nails, are well known : the former feems to be nourifhed from the perfpi- rable matter, and the latter from a mucus be- tween the outer and lower fkin, contained in the reticulum mucoium. *£$* CHAPTER ( 7 ) CHAPTER I. The NeceJJity for the Variety of Parts in the Body. 3l OR what purpofe is there fuch a variety of parts in the human body ? Why fuch a compli- cation of nice and tender machinery ? Why was there not rather a more fimple, lefs delicate, and lefs expensive frame ? That beginners in the fiudy of anatomy may acquire a fat is factory and gene- ral idea of their fubjec% we fhall furnifh them with clear anfwers to all fuch queftions. Let us then, in our imagination, make a man : in other words, let us fuppofe that the mind, or immate- rial part, is to be placed in a corporeal fabric, to hold correfpondence with other ^aterial beings by the intervention of the body : and then confi- der, a priori, what will be wanted for her accom- modation. In this enquiry we fhall plainly fee the neceffity or advantage, and therefore, the fi- nal caufe of mofl of the parts which we actually find in the human body. And if we conlider, thlt, in order to anfwer fome of the requifites, hu- man wit and invention would be very inmfficient, we need not be furprifed if we meet with fome B 1 parts 8 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [PART I. parts of the human body, the ufe of which wc can- riot yet make out, and fome operations or functions which we cannot explain. We can fee, and com- prehend^ th?! f :the whole bears the ftrongeft charac- ters of excelling wifdom and ingenuity: but the imperfect fenfes and capacity of man cannot pre- tend to reach every part of a machine, which no- thing lefs than the intelligence and power of the Supreme Being could contrive and execute. To proceed, then : — In the flrft place ; the mind, the thinking, im- material agent, muft be provided with a place of immediate refidence, which fhall have all the re- quifites for the union of fpirit and body : accord- ingly, flie is provided with the brain, where fhe dwells as governefs and fuperintendent of the whole fabric. In the fecond place ; as fhc is to hold a cor- respondence with all the material beings which furround her, fhe muft be iupplied with organs fitted to receiv% the different kind of impreiTions that they will make. In fa 61, therefore, we fee that fhe is provided with the organs of fenfe, as we call them : the eye is adapted to light ; the car to found ; the nofe to fmell ; the mouth to tafte ; and the fkin to touch. In the third place ; ihe muft be provided with organs of communication between herfelf, in me brain, and thofe organs of fenfe, to give her in- formation of all the impreflions that are inadAip- on PART I.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. on them ; and fhe muft have organs between her- felf, in the brain, and every other part of the body, fitted to convey her commands and influ- ence over the whole. For thefe purpofes the nerves are actually given. They are chords which arife from the brain, the immediate refidence of the mind, and difperfe themfelvcs in branches through all parts of the body. They convey all the different kinds of fen fa lion to the mind, in the brain ; and likewife carry out from thence all her commands or influence to the other parts of the body. They are intended to be occafional monitors againft all fuch impreflions as might en- danger the well-being of the whole, or of any particular part ; which vindicates the Creator of all things in having actually fubjected us to thofe many difagreeable and painful fenfations which we are expofed to from a thoufand accidents in life. Further: the mind, in this corporeal fyftern mull be endued with the power of moving from place to place, that fhe may have intercourfe with a vari- ety of objects ; that fhe may fly from fuch as are difagreeable, dangerous, or hurtful; and purfue fuch as are pleafant or ufcful to her : and accord- ingly, flie is furniflied with limbs, and with muf- cles and tendons, the inflruments of motion, which are found in every part of the fabric where motion is nccefTary. But to fupport ; to give firmnefs and fhape to the fabric ; 10 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [PART I, fabric ; to keep the fofter parts in their proper places ; to give fixed points for, and proper direc- tions to, its motions ; as well as to protect fome of the more important and tender organs from ex- ternal injuries ; — there mini be fome firm prop- work interwoven through the whole ; and, in fact, for fuch purpofes the bones are intended. The prop-work muft not be made into one rigid fabric, for that would prevent motion ; therefore, there are a number of bones. Thefe pieces muft be firmly bound together to prevent their diflocation ; and, in fact, this end is per- fectly well anfwered by the ligaments. The extremities of thefe bony pieces, where they move, and rub upon one another, mull have fmooth and flippery furfaces, for eafy mo- tion : this is moil happily provided for, by the cartilages and mucus of the joints. The interfaces of all thefe parts muft be filled up with fome foft and ductile matter, which fhall keep them in "heir places, unite them, and, at the fame time, allow them to move a little upon one another: this end is accordingly anfwered by the cellular membrane, or adipofe fub- flance. There muft be an outward covering over the whole apparatus, both to give it a firm compact - nefs, and to defend it from a thoufand injuries ; which in fact, are the very purpofes of the ikin and other integuments. x\nd as fhe is made for focietv PARTI.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 11 fociety and intercourfe with beings of her own kind, fhe mufl be endued with powers of ex- preffing and communicating her thoughts, by fome fenfible marks or figns, which fhall be both eafy to herfelf, and admit of great variety : accordingly, me is provided with the organs and faculty of fpeech ; by which fhe can throw out figns with amazing facility, and vary them without end. Thus we have built up an animal body, which would feem to be pretty complete ; but we have not yet made any provifion for its duration : and, as it is the nature of matter to be altered and worked upon by matter ; fo, in a very little time, fuch a living creature muft«be deftroyed, if there is no provifion for repairing the injuries which fhe mull commit upon herfelf, and the in- juries to which fhe muft be expofed from with- out. Therefore a treafure of blood is actually provided in the heart and vafcular fyftem, full of nutritious and healing particles, fluid enough to penetrate into the minuteft part of the animal : impelled by the heart, and conveyed by the ar- teries, it wafhes every part, builds up what was broken down, and fweeps away the old and ufe- lefs materials; Hence we fee the neceffity or advantage of the heart and arterial fyftem. What more there is of this blood, than enough to repair the prefent damages of the machine, -mull not be loft, but fhould be returned again to 12 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pART I. to the heart: and for this purpofe the venal fyftem is actually provided. Thefe requifrtes in the animal, explain, a priori, the circulation of the blood. The old materials which were become ufelefs, and are fwept off by the current of blood, muft be feparated and thrown out of the fyftem : therefore, glands, the organs of fecretion, are given for draining whatever is redundant, vapid, or noxious, from the mats of blood ; and when ftrained, they are thrown out by emunctoiics, called excretories. Now as the fabric muft be conftantly wearing, the reparation muft be carried on without inter- million, and the ftrainers mult be always em- ployed: therefore, there is actually a perpetual circulation of the blood, and the fecretions are always going on. But even all this provifion would not be fufri- cient ; for that Ho re of blood would foon be confumed, and the fabric would break down, if there were not a provifion made for frefh (up- plies. Thefe, we obferve, are, in fact, profufely fcattered around her, in the animal and vegetable kingdoms ; and me is provided with hands, the fineft inftruments that could have been contrived, for gathering them, and for preparing- them in a variety of different ways for the mouth. Thefe iupplies, which we call food, muft be confider- ably changed ; they mull be converted into blood : PART J.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 13 blood : therefore Hie is provided with teeth for cutting and bruifing the food, and with a fto- mach for melting it down ; in fhort, with all the organs fubiervient to digeftiom The finer parts of the aliments only can be uleful in the coniti- tution: thefe mull be taken up, and conveyed into the blood, and the dregs muft be thrown off. With this view the inteftinal canal is actually given. It feparates the nutritious part, which we call chyle, to be conveyed into the blood, by the fyftem of abforbent vefTels ; and the faeces pafs downward to be conducted out of the body. Now we have gotten our animal not only fur- nifhed with what is wanting for its immediate exiflence ; but, alfo, with the power of fpinning out that exiftence to an indefinite length of time; but its duration, we may prefume, muft necef- iarily be limited : for as it is nourished, grows, and is raifed up to its full frrength and utmoft perfection ; fo it muft, in time, in common with all material beings, begin to decay, and then hurry on to final ruin. Hence we fee the necef- fity of or a fcheme of renovation : accordingly, wife Providence, to felf- perpetuate, as well as prefer ve his work, befides giving a firong appe- tite for life and prefervation, has made animals male and female, and given' them fuch organs and paflions, as will fecure the propagation of the fpecies to the end of the world. Tlius $4 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pAKT I. Thus we fee^ that by the very imperfecl fur- vey which human reafon is able to take of the fubjec% the animal man, muft neceflarily be complex in his corporeal fyftem, and operations. He muft have one great and general fyftem ; the vafcular — branching through the whole — for circulation ; another, the nervous — with its append ages, the organs of fen fe— for every kind of feeling; and a third, for the union and con- nection of all thofe parts. Befides thefe primary and general fyftems, he requires others, which may be more local or con- fined: one — for ftrength, fupporr, and protec- tion — the bony compages ; another — for the re- quisite motions of the parts among themfelves, as well as for moving from place to place — the mufcular parts of the body; another — to prepare nourifnment for the daily recruit of the bodv — the digeltive organs ; and one — for propagating the fpecies- — the organs of generation. And, in taking this general furvey of what ap- pears, a priori, to be neceflary for adapting an animal to the Situations of humanity, we obferve, with great Satisfaction, that man is accordingly, in facl, made of fuch fyftems, and for fuch pur- pofes. He has them all; and he has nothing more, except the organs of reipiration. Breath- ing we cannot account for, a priori ; we only know that it is, in facl, effential and necefiary to life. Notwithilanding this — when we fee all the other PARTI.] VARIETY OP PARTS IN THE BODY. 15 other parts of the body, and their functions, fo well accounted for, and fo wifely adapted to their feveral purpofes — we cannot doubt that refpiration is fo likewife. And if ever we fhould be happy enough to find out clearly the object of this function, we fhall, doubtleis, as clearly fee, that the organs are wifely contrived for an im- portant office, as we now fee the purpofe and importance of the heart and vafcular fyftem ; which, till the circulation of the blood was dif- covered, was wholly concealed from us. The ufe and neceffity of all the different fyftems in a man's body are not more apparent, than the wifdom and contrivance which have been exerted in putting them all into the moft: compact and convenient form ; and in difpofing them that they fhall mutually receive and give helps to one another ; and that all, or many of the parts, fhall not only anfwer their principal end or purpofe, but operate fuccefsfully and ufe- fully in many fecondary ways. If we underftand and confider the whole ani- mal machine in this light, and compare it with any machine, in which human art has exerted its utmoft — fuppofe the befl conftructed fhip that ever was built — we fhall be convinced, beyond the poflibility of doubt, that there is intelligence and power far furpaffing what humanity can boaft of. In making fuch a comparifon, there is a pecu- liarity \6 THE NECESSITY FOR THE [pAIIT I, liarity and fuperiority in the natural machine, which cannot efcape obfervation ; it is this : — in machines of human contrivance or art, ther# is no internal po\ T er, no principal in the machine itfelf, by which it can alter and accommodate itfelf to any injury which it may fuffer ; or make tip any injury which is reparable : but in the na- tural machine, the animal body, this is moft won- derfully provided for, by internal powers in the machine itfelf ; many of which are not more cer- tain and obvious in their effects, than they are above all human comprehenfion as to the manner and means of their operation. Thus, a wound heals up of itfelf ; a broken bone is made iirm again by a callus; a dead part is feparated and thrown off; noxious juices are driven out b\ fome of the emunctories ; a redundancy is re- moved by fome fpontaneous bleeding; a bleediiu naturally flops of itfelf ; and a great lofs of blood, and from any caufc, is, in fome meafure, com- penfated by a contracting power in the valcuiar fyftem, which accommodates the capacity of the veffels to the quantity contained : the flomach gives information when the fupplies have been expended ; reprefents with great exaetnefs the quantity and the quality of what is wanted in the prefent itate of the machine ; and, in proportion as fhe meets with neglect, riles in her demand, urges her petition in a louder voice, and with moj^e forcible arguments ; for its protection, an animal PART I.] VARIETY OF PARTS IN THE BODY. 17 animal body refifts heat and cold in a very won- derful manner, and preferves an equal temperature in a burning and a freezing atmofphere. There is a further excellence or fuperiority in the natural machine, if poffible, more aftonifh- ing, more beyond all human comprehenfion, than what we have been fpeaking of. Befides thofe internal powers of felf-prefervation in each indi- vidual, where two of them co-operate, or a£t in Concert, they are endued with powers of making other animals, or machines, like themfelves ; which again are poffefled of the fame powers of producing others, and fo of multiplying the fpecies without end. Thefe are powers which mock all human in- vention or imitation : they are characteriftics of the divine Architect. CHAPTER ( » ) CHAPTER II. Of the Brain. J. HE brain is a medullary fubftance enclofed in a box of bones, admirably fuited for its defence, and the whole of it is divided into two parts : that which is in the upper or fore part of the fkuli is called the Cerebrum, and that which lies in the back part jufl under the Cerebrum is called the Cerebellum. They are both envelloped in Two membranes named Dura Mater and Pia Mater. The Dura Mater, is a very compact ftrong membrane, lining the Lnfide of the Ikull, and it has three procefles or parts, ferving as partitions for certain portions of the brain to keep it fteady. The Pia Mater is an exceedingly fine membrane immediately inverting the brain even between its lobes, hemifpheres, and folds. It fcrves to con- tain the brain, and fupport its blood veiiels. which run here in great numbers, that the blood may not enter the brain two impetuoufly, and the veins unite upon it. There is a medullary production from the under part of the Cerebrum and Cerebellum, which *AftT 1.] OF THE fifcAlff. 19 which is called Medulla Oblongata* The pro- duction of this through the great opening of the ikull, and down the channel of the fpine is the Medulla Spinalis. Wounds in the Cerebrum, though very dan- gerous, are not mortal ; but in the Cerebellum and Medulla Oblongata they Caufe fudden death; and in the Medulla Spinalis, lofs of fenfe, in all the parts which receive nerves from below the wound* The brain is the organ of thought, and the nerves which arife from the brain and fpine, are the organs by which the body and foul act one on the other; but before we treat of the nerves, the order we have adopted requires us to take a view of the organs of fenfe. C % CHAR ( so ) CHAP. III. Of the Organs of Senfe. Of the Eye. A HE figure, fituation, and ufe of the eyes, together with the eye-brows, eye-lames, and eye-lids, being well known, I need only de- fcribe what is ufually fhewn by diffe&ing. The orbit of the eye, or cavity in which it is con- tained, is in all the vacant places filled with a loofe fat, which is a proper medium for the eye to reft in, and ferves as a focket for it to be moved in. In the upper and outer part of the orbit, is feated the lacrymal gland. Its ufe is to furnifh at all times water enough to waih. off duft and to keep the outer fur face of the eye- moift, with- out which the tunica cornea would be lefs pellu- cid, and the rays of light would be difturbed in their paflage; and that this liquor may be rightly difpofed of, we frequently c\oie the eye-lids to fpread it equally, even when we are not confeious of doing it. At the inner corner of the eve, be- tween the eye -lids, Hands a caruncle, which feems to be placed to keep that corner of the eye-lids from being totally clofed, that any tears or gum- my PART I.] OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 21 my matter may flow from under the eye- lids, when we fleep, 'or into the Puncta Lacrymalia, which are little holes, one in each eye -lid, near this corner, to carry off into the Ductus ad Nafum, any fuperiiuous tears. The firft membrane of the eye is called Con- junctiva, it covers fo much of the eye as is called the white, and being reflected all round, it lines the two eye-lids ; it being thus returned from the eye to the infide of the eye-lids ; it effectually hinders any extraneous bodies, from getting be- hind the eye, into the orbit, and fmooths the parts it covers, which makes the friction lefs be- tween the eye and the eye-lids. This coat is very full of blood velTels, as appears upon any inflam- mation. Tunica Sclerotis, and Cornea, make together one firm cafe of a proper form, for the ufe of the other coats and humours. The fore part of this itrong coat being tranfparent, and like horn, is called Cornea, and the reft Sclerotis. Under the Cornea lies the Iris which is an opake membrane, like the Tunica Choroides, but of different colours in different eyes, fuch as the eye appears, as grey, black, or hazel, for it being feated under the Tu- nica Cornea, it gives fuch an appearance to that as it has itfelf. The middle of it is perforated fo r the admiflion of the rays of light, and is called the pupil. Immediately under the Iris lie the Pro - ceffus Ciliares, like radial lines from a Idler circle C 3 to 22 OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE* [FART I. to a greater. When thefe proceffes contrail they dilate the pupil to fuffer more rays of light to en- ter into the eye ; and the contrary is done by the circular fibres of the Iris, which act as afphincter mufcle : But thefe changes are not made with great quicknefs, as appears from the eyes being opprefled with a ftrong light, for fome time after \ve come out of a dark place, and from the con- trary effect in going fuddenly from a light place to a dark one. And as the pupil always dilates in darker places, to receive more rays of light, fo when any difeafe makes fome of thofe rays inef- fectual, which pais through the pupil, it dilates as in dark places to admit more light ; therefore a dilated pupil is a certain fign of a bad eye, and this may be difcerned ufually fooner than the pa-, tient difcerns any defect in vilion. In men the pupil is round, which fits them to fee every way alike ; it is alfo round in animals that are the prey both of birds and beafts. But graminivorous brutes that are too large to be the prey of birds, have it oblong horizontally, which fits them to view a large fpace upon the earth ; while animals of the cat kind, who climb trees, and prey indif- ferently on birds or animals that hide in the earth, have their pupils oblong the contrary way, which fits them belt to look upward and downward at once. Befides thefe there are other animals whofe pupils arc in thefe forms, but in lefs proportions, lo as belt to fit their ways of life. Immediately under PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. 23 under Sclerotis, is a membrane of little firmnefs called Choroides ; in men it is of a rufty dark co- lour, fuch as will bury almoft all the rays of light, that pafs through the Tunica Retina, which if it were of a bright colour, would reflect many of the rays upon the Retina, and make a fecond image upon the firft fomewhat lefs, and lefs di- ftinct, but both together ftronger ; which is the cafe of brutes of prey, where a great part of this coat is perfectly white, which makes them fee bo- dies of all colours in the night better than men, for white reflects all colours : But brutes that feed only on grafs, have the fame parts of this mem- brane of a bright green, which enables them alfo to fee with lefs light, and makes grafs an object that they can difcern with greateft ftrength : But thefe advantages in brutes, neceflarily deflxoy great accuracy in virion, which is of little or no ufe to them, but to men of great confequence. This green part of the Tunica Choroides, in ani- mals that graze, may properly be called Mem- brana Uvea, from its refemblance in colour, to an unripe grape. But in men's eyes, only a white circle round the back fide of the Choroides near tht cornea, is called Uvea. Immediately under the Tunica Choroides, lies the Tunica Retina, which is the optic nerve ex- panded and co-extended with the Choroides. Rays of light finking upon this membrane, the feniation is conveyed by the optic nerves, to the C 4 common 24 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART I* common Senforium, the brain : thefe nerves do not enter at the middle of the bottom of the eyes, but nearer the nofe ; for thofe rays of light being ineffectual for vinon that fall upon the entrance of the optic nerves, it is fit they mould fo enter, as that the fame object, or part of any object, fhould not be unperceived in both eyes, as would have been the cafe, had they been otherwife infert- ed ; which appears from a common experiment of part of an object being loft to one eye, when we are looking towards it with the other fhut. The two optic nerves foon after they arife out of the brain join and feem perfectly united ; yet I am in- clined to think that their fibres are preferved di- fiinct, and that the nerve of each eye, arifes wholly from the oppolitc fide of the brain, or elfe that the other nerves throughout the body arife from the brain, and Medulla Oblongata on the fides oppofite to thofe they come out of. In fifh thefe nerves arife diftinct from the oppofite fides of the brain, and crofs without uniting ; but as thefe animals have their eyes fo placed, as not to fee the fame object with both eyes at once, whereas ani- mals whole optic nerves feem to unite, do fee the fame object with both eyes at once, one would fuf- pect that in one they were joined to make the ob- ject not appear double, and in the other diftinct, to make their two eyes (as they are to view dif- ferent objects at the fame time) independent of each other; and yet from the following cafes, the feeing PART I.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. C5 feeing objects fingle feems not to depend upon any fuch union, nor from the light ftriking upon cor- refponding fibres of the nerves, as others have be- lieved, but upon a judgment from experience, all objects appearing fingle to both eyes in the manner we are moft ufed to obferve them, but in other cafes double ; for though we have a diftinct image from each eye fent to the brain, yet while both thefe images are of an object' feen in one and the fame place, we conceive of them as one, fo when one image appears to the eyes, when they are diflorted -^or wrong directed in two different places, it gives the idea of two ; and when two bodies are feen in one place, as two candles rightly placed, through one hole in a Ipoard, they appear one. But cafes of this kind being too numerous, I will conclude with one very remarkable, and, I think, much in favour of this opinion. A gentle- man who, from a blow on the head, had one eye diflorted, found every object appear double, but by degrees the moft familiar ones became fingle, and in time all objects became fo, without any amendment of the diftortion. The infide of the eye is filled with three humours, called aqueous, crystalline, and vi- treous. The aqueous lies foremoft, and feems chiefly of ufe to prevent the cryflalline from be- ing eafily bruifed by rubbing or a blow, and per- haps it ferves for the cryflalline humour to move forward in while we view near objects, and back- ward for remoter objects ; without which mechan- iim, 26 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE, [PART I. ifm, or in the place of it a greater convexity in the cryftalline humour in the former cafe, and a lefs convexity in the latter, I do not imagine, according to the laws of optics, how we could fo diftinctly fee objects at different diftances. However it be in land animals, I think we may plainly fee, that fifh move their cryftalline humour, nearer the bottom of the eye when they are out of water, and ths contrary way in water ; becaufe light is lefs re- fracted from water through the cryftalline hu- mour than from air. Some have faid, that amphi- bious animals have a membrane like the Membrana Nictitans of birds, which ferves them as a Lens in the water. On examining the eye of a crocodile, which Sir Hans Sloan kept in fpirits, this mem- brane was found equally thick and denfe, and con- fequently unfit for this purpofe, or, I believe, any other except that obvious one, of defending the eye from the water. Next behind the aqueous hu- mour lies the cryftalline ; its fhape is a depreffed fpheroid, it is diftinctly contained in a very fine membrane called Aranea. The ufe of this hu- mour is to refract the rays of light which* pals through it, fo that each pencil of rays from the fame point of any object, may be united upon the Retina (as in a Camera Obfcura) to make the ftronger impreflion ; and though by this union of the rays a picture inverted is made upon the Re- tina, yet furely it is the impulfe only of the rays upon the Retina, that is the caufe of vifion ; for had PART I.] OP THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 2? had the colour of the Retina been black, and con- fequently unfit to receive fuch a picture, would not the impulfe of light upon it have been fuffi- cient for vifion ? Or would fuch a picture, if it could have been made without any impulfe, have ever conveyed any fenfation to the brain ? Then if the impulfe of light upon the Retina, and not the image upon the Retina, is the caufe of vifion ; when we enquire why an image inverted in the eye appears otherwife to the mind, might we not ex- pect to find the true caufe from confidering the directions in which the rays frrike the Retina, as we judge of above and below from a like experi- ence, when any thing flrikes upon any part of our bodies ; neverthelefs in viewing an object through a, lens, we conceive of it as inverted, whereas in receiving the impulfes of light in the fame manner, and having the picture on the Retina in the fame attitude, when we ftand on our heads with- out the lens, we have not the fame, but the con- trary idea of the pofition of the object. Though I have confldered this humour only a refraction of light/^yet the firft and greatefl refraction is un- doubtedly made in the Cornea ; but it being Con- cavo-convex, like glaffes of that kind, while one fide makes the rays of light converge, the other diverges them again. The fame thing alfo may be obferved of the aqueous humour, which is in- deed more concave than convex ; but when the cryftalline humour is removed in the couching a cataract 23 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART U cataract the aqueous poiTefies its place and becomes a lens ; but that refracting light lefs than the cryftalline, whofe place and fhape it partly takes, the patient needs a convex glafs to fee accurately. In fome eyes either this humour being too con- vex or too diftant from the Retina, the rays unite too foon unlefs the object is held very near to the eye, which fault is remediable by a concave glafs, as the contrary fault (common to old perlbns) is by a convex glafs. Here it may not be improper to obferve, how wifely Providence has fixed the diftance, at which we ordinarily fee objects belt. ; for if the eye had been formed for a nearer view, the object would often obftruct the light ; if it had been much farther, light enough would not commonly have been produced from the object to the eye. In fifh the cryftalline humour feems a perfect fphere, which is neceffary for them, be- caufe light being lefs refracted from water through the cryftalline humour than from air, that defect is compenfated by a more convex lens. The vi- treous humour lies behind the cryftalline, and fill* up the greater!: part of the eye : Its fore licle is con- cave for the cryftalline humour to lodge in, and its back fide, being convex, the Tunica Retina is fpread over it ; it ferves as a medium to keep the cryftalline humour and the Retina at a clue diftance. The larger animals having larger eyes, their or- gans of viiion (like a microfcope with a large lens) FART I,] OF THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 29 lens) are fit to take in a greater view, but in that view things are not fo much magnified ; fo in the lener animals a fmall fpace is difcerned, fuch as is their fphere of action, but that greatly magni- fied, not really fo in either cafe, but compara- tively ; for virions fhews not the real magnitude of objects, but their proportions one to another. Fifli have their eyes, and particularly their pupils, larger than land animals, becaufe there is lefs light, and that not fo far diftributed in water as hi the air. The organs of fenfe are here treated anatomi- cally ; for the knowledge of vifion and found, the ftudent muft apply to the fciences of optics and acouftics. Of the Ear. The figure and fituation of the outer ear, needs no defcription. Its inner fubflance is cartilage, which preferves its form without being liable to break : Its ufe is to collect founds, and direct them into the Meatus Audirorius, which is the paffage that leads to the drum; this paiiage is lined with a glandular membrane, in which alfo is fome. hair ; the Cerumen which is feparated by thefe glands, being fpread all over this membrane, and its hair, ferve to defend the membrane from the outer air, and to entangle any infect: that might -otherwife get into the ear. Sometimes this wax being feparated in too great quantity, it fills 30 OF f HE 6HGANS OF SENSE* [PART t< fills up the paflage, and caufes deafnefs ; and thofe great di {charges of matter from the Meatus Au-< ditorius, which are commonly called impoftumes in the ear, are probably nothing elfe than ulcera- tions, or great fecretions from thefe glands. At the farther end of the Meatus Auditorius lies the tympanum or drum, which is extended upon a bony ridge almoft circular : its iituation in men and brutes is nearly horizontal, inclined towards the Meatus Auditorius, which is the beffc po- fition to receive founds ; the greater! part of which being ordinarily reverberated from the earth. In its common fituation in men and brutes, it is concave outward, but in birds it is convex outward, fo as to make the upper fide of it nearly perpendicular to the horizon, which ferves them better to hear each other's founds when they are high in the air, where they can re- ceive but little reverberated found. This mem - brane does not entirely clofe the paflage, but has on one fide a fmall aperture covered with a valve. In very young children I have always found this membrane covered with Mucus, which feems ne- ceflary to prevent founds from afFe cling them too much, there being no provifion to fhut the ears, as there is for the eyes. A gentleman, having had four children born deaf, was advifed to lay blifters upon the heads of the next children he might have, which he did to three which w T ere born afterward, and every one of them heard well. It PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SF.NSH. 31 It feems not unreafonable to fuppofe that too great a quantity of this Mucus upon the drum, might be the caufe of deafnefs in the four children, and that the difcharge made by the blifters in the latter cafes, was the caufe of their efcaping the fame misfortune. into the middle of the Tympanum is extended a fmall bone called Malleus, whofe other end is articulated to a bone called Incus, which is alio articulated by the intervention of an exceedingly fmall one called Orbiculare, to a fourth bone called Stapes. Thefe bones are contained in that cavity behind the Tympanum, which is called the barrel of the ear ; but fome anatomifls call the barrel only Tympanum, and the membrane Membrana Tympani. The Malleus being moved inward by the Mufculus Obliquus Internus, or Trochlearis* it extends the Tympanum that it may be the more afre&ed by the impulfe of founds when they arc too weak. This mufcle arifes from the cartilagi- nous part of the Euftachian tube, and paffing from thence in a proper groove, it is reflected un- der a fmall procefs, and thence pafles on perpen- dicular to the Tympanum, to be inferted into the handle of the Malleus, fometimes with a double tendon. Parallel to this mufcle lies another Ex- tenfor of the Tympanum, called Obliquus Exter- nus ; it arifes from the outer and upper part of the Euftachian tube, and, paffing through the fame hole with the Corda Tympani, which is a, branch of 32 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. [PART U of the fifth pair of nerves, it is inferted into a long procefs of the Malleus : This is not fo obvious an Extenfor as to be known to be fo, without an experiment* The mufcle which relaxes this mem- brane is called Externus Tympani ; it arifes from the upper part of the auditory pafTage under the membrane which lines this pafTage, and is inferted into the upper procefs of the Malleus. The re- laxation of the Tympanum is made by this muf- cle, without our knowledge, when founds are too ftrong ; and as the pupil' of the eye is contracted, when we have too much light, and dilated where there is too little, from what caufe foever, fo when founds are too low, or the fenfe of hearing imper- fect, from whatever caufe, the Extenfors of the Tympanum ii retch it, to make the impulfc of founds more effe&aul upon it, juft as in the cak of the common drum, and the cords of any muii- cal inftrument. From the cavity behind the Tym- panum, which is called the barrel of the ear, goes the Euftachian tube, or Iter ad Palatum ; it ends cartilaginous behind the palate. This pafTage feems to be exactly of the fame ufe with the hole in the fide of the common drum, that is to let the air pafs in and out from the barrel of the ear, to make the membrane vibrate the better, and per-., haps in the ear (which is clofer than a common drum) to let air in or out as it alters in denfity, and if any fluid fhould be feparatedin the barrel of the ear to give it a pafTage out. This paiiage being ob- ftrutfed, *ARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OP SENSE. 33 ftructed, as it is fometimes, by a large Polypus behind the Uvula, it caufes great difficulty of hearing, and fometimes, when the Meatus Audi- torius is obftruclcd, a man opening his mouth wide, will hear pretty well through this pafTage, which is often fo open as that fy ringing water through the nofe, it mail pafs through into the barrel of the ear and caufe deafnefs for fome time. If any one would try how he can hear this way, let him ftop his ears, and take between his teeth the end of a wire, or cord that will vi- brate well, and holding the other end, ftrike it, and the found that he hears will be through this pafTage. To the ftapes there is one mufcle called Mufculus Stapedis ; it lies in a long channel, and ending in the ftapes, it ferves to pull the ftapes off of the Feneftxa Ovalis, which otherwife it co- vers. Befides the Feneftra Ovalis, there is an- other near it fomewhat lefs, called Rotunda ; thefe two holes lead to a cavity called Veftibulum, which leads into other cavities aptly called Coch- lea, and three femicircular canals or altogether the labyrinth, in which are fpread the auditory nerves to receive and convey the impulfe of founds, to the common Senforium the brain ; and the Chorda Tympani, which is a branch of the fifth pair of nerves, may alfo convey thefe fenfations to the brain. The two holes called Fe- neflra Ovalis and Rotunda, are clofed with a fine membrane like the membrane called the drum, D and 34 OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE* [PART I* and the larger being occaflonally covered and un- covered by the Stapes, founds are thereby made to influence more or lefs, as bell: ferves for hearing, and this advantage, being added to that of a lax or tenfe Tympanum the effect of founds may be greatly encreafed or leffened upon the auditory nerves, expanded in the labyrinth. In the ftrongeft founds, the Tympanum may be lax, and the Fe- neftra Ovalis covered; and for the 1 owe ft the Tym- panum tenfe and the Feneftra uncovered. If founds propagated in the air were heard lefs, wc might often be in danger before we were apprized of it, and if the organs of hearing were much more perfect, unlefs our underftandings were fo too, we fhould commonly hear more things at once than wc could attend to. Of the Senfes of Smelling, Tnjling, and Feeling. The fenfe of fmelling is made by the Effluvia which are conveyed by the air to the nerves, end- ing in the membranes which line the nole and its Lamellae. In men thefe Lamellae are few, and the pafTage through the nofe not difficult ; hence fewer Effluvia will ftrike the nerves, than in ani- mals of more exquifite fmell, whofe npfes being full of Lamellae, and the pafTage for the air nar- row and crooked, few of the Effluvia efcape one place or another, befides their Olfactory nerves may be more fenlible. Fifh, though they have no nofes, yet in their mouths they may tafte Ef- fluvia PART I.] OF THE ORGANS OF SENSE. 3$ fluvia in the water, as furely thofe fifh do, who feek their prey in the darkeft nights, and in great depths of water, there being more nerves difpofed in their mouths, than through their whole bodies befide, the optic excepted ; and it looks as if it was done for this purpofe ; for the mere fenfe of tailing, is ordinarily lefs curious in them, than in land animals ; in baiting eel bafkets, if the bait has lain long in water, it is feldom taken, but upon fcarifying it afrefh, which will make it emit new effluvia, it ferves as a frefh bait. The fenfe of tailing is made in the like manner upon the nerves, which line the mouth, and fo is that of feeling upon the nerves, diftributed through- out the body ; which will be treated more largely in the next chapter on the nerves. £ 2 CHAPTER ( 36 ) CHAPTER IV. Of the Nerves, or Organs of Communication with the Brain. h ROM the medullary part of the Cerebrum, Cerebellum, and Medulla Spinalis, a vaft number of fmall medullary white fibres are fent out, which, at their firft egrefs, feem eafily to fepa- rate, but as they pafs forward are fomewhat more, but full loofely connected, by the coat which they obtain from the Pia Mater, and at laft piercing the Dura Mater, are ftraitly braced by that mem- brane which covers them in their progrefs ; whence they become white, firm, itrong cords, and arc fo well known by the name of nerves. To thefe coats an infinite number of vefTels, both arteries and veins are distributed ; lb that after a nice, lucky injection the whole cord is tinged with the colour of the injecfed liquor ; but when the fibrils are examined, even with the beft mi- cro fcope, they appear only like fo many fmall diiiincl threads running parallel, without any ca- vity obfervable in them, though fome incautious obiervers, miitaking the cut orifices of the arte- rioles and venous vefTels, juli now mentioned, for nervous I»ART I.] OP THE NERVES. 37 nervous tubes, have affirmed their cavities to be vifible. The nerves, which if all joined, hardly make a cord of an inch diameter, would feem> from their exerting themlelves every where, to be diftributed to each, even the fmalleft part of the body- In their courfe to the places for which they are deftined they generally run as ftrait, as the the part over which they are to pais, and their own fafety from external injuries will allow, fend- ing off their branches at very acute angles, and confequently running more parallel than the blood veflels. Their diftribution is feldom different in the oppofite lides of the fame fubject, nor indeed in any two fubjects is there coniiderable variety found. Frequently nerves which come out diftindt or feparate, afterwards conjoin into one Fafciculus, under the fame common covering ; and though the nervous fibrils probably do not communicate v the rcafon of which opinion fhall immediately be given) yet becaufe the coats, at the conjoined part are common, and thefe ftrong coats may have great effects on the foft pulpy nerves, it is evident all fuch will have a coniidera- ble fympathy with one another. In fome parts where there are fuch conjunctions, the bulk of the nerves feems much increafed, and thefe knotty oval bodies, called by Fallopius, Corpora Olivaria, and generally now named ganglions, are formed ; the coats of thefe knots are ftronger, thicker, and D 3 more 38 OF THE NERVES. [PART I« more mufcular, than the whole nerves which en- ter into them would feem to conditute, while the nervous fibrils pafs through without any great al- teration or change. I do not think any author has yet made a probable conjecture of the ufe or deftVn of thefe gansHons, whether they imagine them Corcula Expellentia, refervoirs, or elabo- ratories, neither can I give ar account o! heir ufe the lead fatisfaclcry to myfelf. From undeniable evident experiments, all ana- tomies are now convinced, that to the nerves we owe all our fenfation and motion, of which they are the proper organs ; and the fenfations in the minuted parts being very didindl, therefore the inftruments of fuch fenfations mud have didinct origins and courfes to each part. Though all are agreed as to the effect, yet a hot difpute has arifen about the manner how it is produced, viz. whe- ther fenfation and motion are occafioned by a vi- bration communicated to the nerves, which iome fuppofe entirely folid and tenfe, or by a liquid contained and moved in them. The lad of thefe opinions I rather incline to for thefe rea- fons, becaufe the nerves proceeding from the brain bear a great analogy to the excretory duels of other glands. Then they are far from being fi retched and tenfe, in order to vibrate : and what brings the exidence of a liquid in their cavities next to a demondration, is the experiment fird made PART I.] ©F THE NERVES. 3Q made by Bellini, and related by Bohn and Pitcairn, which I have often done with exact good fuccefs ; it is this: after opening the Thorax of a living dog, catch hold of, and comprefs, the phrenick nerve, immediately the diaphragm ceafes to act ; remove the comprefftng force, that mufcle again contracts ; gripe the nerve with one hand fome way above the diaphragm, that Septum is unact- ive ; then with the other hand ftrip down the nerve from the firft hand to the diaphragm, this mufcle again contracts ; after once or twice hav- ing frripped the nerve thus down, or exhaufred the liquid contained in it, the mulcle no more acts, fqueeze as you will, till the ftrlt hand is taken away or removed higher, and the nerve ffripped, /. e. the liquids in the fuperior part of the nerve have free accefs to the diaphragm, or are forced down to it, when it again will move. Now if this liquid fhould bo granted us, I am afraid we mall be ftill as much at a lofs to account for fenfation and motion as ever ; and therefore all I afTume is what is founded on experiments, that thefe two actions do depend on the nerves ; that fenfations are pleafant as long as the nerves are only gently affected without any violence offered them ; but as foon as any force applied goes be- yond this, and threatens a folution of union, it creates that uneafy fenfation, pain ; that the nerves, their fource, or their coats being vitiated, either convulfion or palfy of the mufcles may enfue. D 4 The 40 OF THE NERVES. [PART I, The nerves are diftinguiilied into two claffes, of the Encephalon and Medulla Spinalis ; of the firft there are generally ten pair reckoned, of the laft thirty. It is not neceffary here to go into a minute defcription of each nerve, it is enough at prefent to know that they run from their origin to all parts of the body. The nerves feem, when exa- mined with a microfcope, to be bundles of ftraight fibres not communicating with one another : And I am inclined to think that every the minuter! rierve, terminating in any part, is a divtincl cord from its origin in the brain, oripinal marrow ; or elfe I do not fee how they could produce diftincT: fenfations in every part ; and the diftinct points of fenfation throughout the body are fo very nu- merous, that, the whole body of nerves (which, taken together would not make a cord of an inch diameter) muft be divided into fuch a number, to afford one for every part that has a diftindt fenfation, that furely fuch a nerve would be too fmall to be feen by the beft microfcope. They all pafs in as direct courfes to the places they fervd as is poiiible, never feparating nor joining with one another but at very acute angles, unlefs where they unite in thofe knots which are called Gan- glions, the ufe of which I do not pretend to know; they make what appears to be a commu- nication of moft of the nerves on the fame fide, but never join nerves of oppofite fides. That *ART I.] OP THE NERVES. 41 That the nerves are inurnment? of fenfation, is clearly proved from experiments, but how they convey thole fenfations to the brain is, matter of great dispute. The mod genera! opinion, is that they are tubes to contain animal fpirits, by whofe motions thefe fenfations are conveyed : and dili- gent enquiry has been made to difcover their ca- vities, but hitherto in vain ; and if each nerve is diftincl: from its origin, as I have endeavoured to ihew, and too fmall to be the object of the bed microfcope, I do not fee how fuch cavities are like to be discovered. However, I think the nerves may be tubes, and that a fluid, whofe co- hefion is very little, and whofe parts are perhaps no finer than light, may move very freely in them. Thofe who deny animal fpirits in thfc nerves, fuppofe that the fenfation is conveyed by a vibration. To which it is objected, that they are flack, moift, and furrounded with foft parts, and are therefore unfit for vibrations, as indeed they are for fuch as are made on the firings of a mufical inflrument ; but the minuteft vibrations, fuch as they cannot be without, may be as fuffi- cient for this end, as the impulie of light upon the Retina, is for the fenfe of feeing. So that for ought that I can difcern, fenfations may be conveyed either, or both ways, though the advo- cates for each opinion, have chiefly infifled upon the improbability or impoflibility of the other opinion. CHAPTER ( « ) CHAPTER V. Of the hifiruments oj M$thn\ Mufcles and Tendons. JL HE mufcles are moving powers, applied to perform the feveral motions of the body ; which they do by contracting their length, and thereby bringing the parts to which they a~e fixed nearer together. The immovable or leaft moved part any mufcle is fixed to, is ufu-dy called its origin, and the other its infertion ; but mufcles that have their two ends equally liable to be moved, may have either called their origins or in- fcrtions. Each mufcle is made up of a number of fmall fibres, and are of two forts, viz. rectilineal and penniform. The former have their fibres al- moft parallel in the fame or near the fame direc- tion, with the Axis of the mufcle ; and the latter have their fibres joined in an oblique di- rection, to a tendon pafling in or near the axis, or on their outfide. The rectilineal mufcles, if their origins and in- fertions are in little compafs, are never of any confiderable thicknefs, unlets they are very long, bccaufe FART I ."] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 43 becaufe the outward fibres would comprefs the inner ones, and make them almofl ufelefs ; and therefore every rectilineal mufcle, whole inner fibres are comprefled by the outer, have their inner fibres longer than the external, that they may be capable of equal quantity of con- traction. The Penniform mufcles, though they are in a manner free from the inconvenience of one fibre compreffing another, and though by the obli- quity of their fibres, nothing is abated of their moment, as has been clearly demonflrated by experiments, by which it is fhewn, that in all cafes, jufl fo much more weight as rectilineal fibres will raife than oblique ones, the, oblique will move their weight with jufl fo much, greater velocity than the rectilineal ; which is making their moments equal : fo that, in the ilructure of an animal, like all mechanic engines, whatever is gained in flrength is loft in velocity, and whatever is gained in velocity is lofl in flrength. Yet the fibres of the penniform muf- cles becoming more and more oblique as they contract, their flrength decreafes, and their ve- locity increafes, which makes them lefs uniform in their actions than the rectilineal mufcles; wherefore it feems that nature never ufes a pen- niform mufcle where a rectilineal mufcle can be ufed ; arid the cafes in which a rectilineal muicle £a:\not be ufed, are where the fhape of a mufcle is 44 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART I. is fuch as that the inward fibres would be too much compreffed, or where rectilineal fibres could not have a lever to act with, fuitable to their quantity of contraction, which is the cafe of all the long mufcles of the fingers and toes ; for every mufcle mull: be inferted or pafs over the centre of motion of the joint it moves, at a diftance proportionable to its quantity of contrac- tion, and the quantity of motion in the joint moved ; for if it was inferted too near, then the motion of the joint would be performed before the mufcle is contracted all that it can ; if too far oft) the mufcle will have done contracting be- fore the whole motion of the joint is made ; and though the quicknefs and quantity of motion in a mufcle will be, ceteris paribus, as the length of its fibres ; for if a fibre four inches long will con- tract one inch in a given time, a fibre eight inches long will contract two inches in the fame time ; and the ftrength of a mufcle or power to raife a weight, cART li be, eateris- paribus, as the length of that perpendi- cular line. Each mufcle> fo far as it is diftincl:, and is moved againfl any part, is covered with a fmooth membrane, to make the friction eafy ; but where! they are externally tendinous, thofe tendons are often fmooth enough to make fuch a covering needlefs. Befides this membrane there is an- other, known by the name of Fafcia Tendinofa, which deferves to be particularly confidered. The frrong one on the outfide of the thigh, ivhich belongs to the Fafcialis and Gluteus muf- cles is of great ufe in railing the Gluteus farther from the centre of motion of the joint it moves, to incrcafe its force : in like manner, the Fafcia de- tached from the tendon of the Biceps Cubiti alters its direction for the fame purpofe, but thofe on the outfide of the Tibia and Cubit, &c. are only flat tendons from which the fibres of the mufcles arife as from the bones. There are alfo in many places fuch tendons between the mufcles, from which each mufcle arifes in like manner, for the bones themfelves are not fufficicnt to give origin to half the fibres of the mufcles that belong to them ; befides, if all the fibres had rife from the bones they muft have been liable to comprefs one another very inconveniently. A TABLE PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 47 A TABLE OF THE MUSCLES. The Mufcles of the Forehead are one pair. Frontalis, They pull the fkin of the forehead upwards. Occipitales, They pull the fkin of the hindhead upwards. Of the Hindhead, one pair. AttollensI Auricu- DePRIMENSj LARUM. Of the Ears, Jtx pair. Internus malleoli, It diftends the Tympa- num. Extern us malleoli, It relaxes the Tympa- num. Obliquus malleoli. Of the Eye-brows, one pair. Musculus stapidis, It moves the ftirrup, CoRRUGATOR SUPER- CILII. Eye- lids, two pair. Rectus palpebrjE It lifts up the upper eye- superioris, lids. Orbicularis 48 MVSCtrs AtfD TENDONS. [PART I* Orbicularis palpe- It fhuts both eye-lids. BRARUM. Eyes, Jix pair. AttollensI Deprimens I Occula- Abductor f RUM. Adductor J Obliquus major. It pulls the eye forwards, and obliquely down- wards. Obliquus minor, It pulls the eye for- wards, and obliquely upwards. No/e, three pair. AttollensI DlLATANS SNARES. Deprimens Lips, Jitf pair, and one Jingle one* Incisivus, It pulls the upper lip up- wards. Triangularis, It pulleth it downwards. Cannius 7 *• -^ They pull the lower lip Elevator labii in- > J , upwards. ferioris, r Quadratus, It pulleth it down* wards. Zygomaticvs, *ART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 4£ Zygomatic us, It draws both lips ob- liquely to either fide. Orbicularis., It draws both lips toge- ther. Of the Cheeks, one pair. Buccinator, It thrufts the meat be- tween our teeth. Temporalis, 1 They pull the jaw up- Masseter, J wards. Lower Jaw, Jtx pair. Pterigoid^us in- It draws the jaw to either ternus, fide. PTERiGoiDiEUS ex*- It draws the jaw forwards. TERNUS, Quadratus, It pulleth the jaw and the cheeks down- wards. Uvula, two pair. Digastricus, It pulleth the jaw down- wards. Peristaphylinus in- It pulls the Uvula for- tern us, wards. Peristaphylinus ex- It pulls the Uvula back- ternus, wards. E Tongue 50 •MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PAKT 1. Tongue, three pair* -Styloglossus, It draws the tongue up- i wards. Genioglossus, It pulls it out of the mouth. CeratoglossuSj It pulls it into the mouth. Os Hyoides, .Jive pair. GENiHYOiDiEUS, It pulls Os Hyoides and tongue upwards and forwards. Sternohyoids^ It pulleth die Os Hyoides downwards. MyLOHYODiEUS, It pulls it obliquely up- wards. Coracqhyoidjeus, It pulls it obliquely downwards. Stylohyoids^, It palls it to either fide, and fomewhat up- wards. Of the Pharynx, two pair. Stylo-fharyng.eus,, It pulleth up and dilutcth the Pharynx. Oesofhagus, It ftraitens the Pha- rynx. Larynx, *ART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 51 1 Larynx* /even pair. Sternothyroid,*^, It pulls the Thyroides downwards. Thyothyroideus, It pulls the Thyroides up- wards. Cricothyroid eus, Cricoarytenoid^^ posticus, CRICOARYTiENOIDiEUS LATERALIS, Thyroarytenoid It dilates the Glottis. DEUS, Aryt^noid^us, It contracls the Glottis. Head, two pair. Splenius, ' "1 They move the head Complexus, j backwards. Rectus major, 1 They nod the head back- Rectus mwstor, j wards. Ob li qu us inferior, "j They perform the femi- Obliquus superior, > circular motion of the Mastoidaeus, j head. Rectus internus 1 major, i They nod the head for- Rectus internus wards. MINOR, J Rectus lateralis, It nods the head to one fide. E 2 'Of 52 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART tj Of the Thorax, twenty-nine pair. Intercostales in- terni et externi; SuBCLAVIUS, Serratus anticus They pull the ribs up- major, wards in infpiration. Serratus posticus superior, Triangularis, Serratus posticus f They make the motion inferior, \ of the . ribs down- wards, in expiration, Sacrolumbaris, DlAPHRAGMA, , the fwifter. Its ufe is both in infpira- tion, and expiration. Obliquus externus, Obliquus internus, Transversalis, Rectus, Pyramidalis, Lower Belly, five pair, 'They comprefs all the parts contained in the lower belly; af- fitt the motion of the ribs downwards in expiration, and help to bend the Vertebrae of the loins forwards. Of the Vertebra, J even pair. Longissimus dorsi, It keeps the body erecl. Trans* PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 53 Trans versalis dor- Ir mqvea the body ob- si, liquely backwards. Interspinals, It draws the acute pro- cerus nearer one an- other. Quadratus lumbo- It draws the Vertebrae rum, of the loins to one fide. Longus, "J They bend the Vertebrae Scalenus, j of the neck. Psoas parvus, It helps to bend the Vertebrae of the loins. Cremaster, Erectoris penis, Tkansversalis pe- nis, acceleratores urinj£, Erectores clito- RIDIS, One Jingle Mufcle of the Bladder. Sphincter vesica, It contracts the neck of the bladder, that the urine may not run , continually. Of the Anus, three Jingle Mufcles. Levatores ani, They draw up the Anus. Sphincter ani, It (huts the Anus, E3 Of 54 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [PART I, Of the Shoulder -Hades. Serratus anticus It draws the fhoulder- minor, blade forwards. Trapezius, It moves it upwards, backwards, and down- wards. Rhomb o ides, It pulls it backwards. Levator scapula, It pulls the moulder- blade upwards. Of the Shoulder -h ones > nine pair. Deltoides, Supra spinatus, J> They lift the arm upwards. Coracobrachialis, Teres major, *] They pull the arm down- Latissimus dorsi, [ wards. Pectoralis, n It moves the arm forwards. Infra spinatus, ") rj, [ They draw the arm back- Transversalis, y J o wards. DUBSCAPULARIS, Cubiti, fix pair. Biceps, Brachi^us inter- J>They bend the fore arm. NUS, j Longus, 1 Brevis, ! Bkachijeus exter- l The y extend the forc nus, :, arm - Ancom^us, j Of . PAItT I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. 55 Of the Radii, four pair. They perform the mo- Rotundus, Ql'ADRATUS, LONGUS, Brevis, (The tion of Pronation, or •{ they turn the palm of the hand down wards. "They perform the mo- tion of Supination, ^ or they turn the palm of the hand upwards. Wrijls, four pair. CUBITTEUS EXTER- | nus, >They bend the wrift. Radi^eus externus, J CuBITJEUS INTER- 1 NUS ^ ^They extend the wrift. Radi^eus internus, j Of the Palms of the Hands, two pair. Pal maris, It helps the hand to grafp any thing clofely. , Palmaris brevis, It makes the palm of the hand concave. Of the Fingers, fifteen pair. Sublimis, Profundus, >They bend the fingers. E4 Exten- 56 muscles and tendons. [part i. Extensor digitorum comnunis, Lumbricalis, They aiTiffc in bending the firft joint of the fingers. Interossei intern^ They draw the fingers to the thumb. Interossei externa They draw the fingers from the thumb. The Particular Mufcles of the Thumbs are Seven. Flexor pollicis lon- GUS, Flexor pollicis bre- vis, Extensor primi, — - SECUNDI, tertii in- TERNODII, POLLI- CIS, Tenar,, It draws the thumb from the fingers. Antitenar, It draws the thumb ta the fingers. Of the Fore-fingers, two. Abductor indicis, Extensor indicis, Of PART I.] MUSCLES AND TENDONS. S7 Of the Little-Jingers, two pair. Hypotenar, It draws the little finger from the reft. Extensor auricu- laris, They, bend the thigh. The Mufcks of the Thighs, are thirteen pair. Psoas, Iliacus, Pectin^us, Glut/Fus major, Gluteus medius, Gluteus minor, Triceps, They extend the thigh. It pulls the thigh in- wards. Pyripormis, Gemini, Quadratus, Obturator inter- NUS, Obturator exter- NUS, They move the thigh outwards. i They help to move the thigh obliquely, and circularly. Of the Legs, eleven pair. Semi-nervosus, 1 Semi-membrano- ! SUS) >They bend the leg. Biceps, J Gsacillis, 33 MUSCLES AND TENDONS. [pARTIt Gracilis, Rectus, Vastus externus, 1 Vastus internus, >They extend the leg. Crurjeus, Sartor i us. It makes the legs crofs one another. PopLiTiEus, It turns the leg fome- what inwards. Memeranosus, It turns it a little out- wards. Of the Feet, eight pair. Tibialis anticus, 1 ^ >They bend the foot. PeRONjEUS ANTICUS, j Gastrocnemii, 1 Soleus, ^They extend the foot. Plantaris, . J Tibialis posticus, It moveth the foot in wards. Peron.eus posticus, It moveth the foot out- wards. Of the Toes, twenty-four* Profundus, Sublimis, Lumbricalis, Long is, Brrvis, They bend the four lefler toes. J 1 They extend the four j leffer toes. Flexor fart t.] muscles and tendcns. 5q Flexor pollicis, Extensor pullicis, Tenar, It draws the great toe from the reft. Antitenar, It draws it to the reft* Flexor pollici# longus, B RE VIS, Abductor minimi jdigiti, Interossei interni, They draw the toes to the great toe. Interossei extern^ They draw them from the great toe. Transversalis, It brings all the toes clofe to one another. In all 466 fingle mufcles in the body. CHAP. ( 60 ) CHAP. VI. Of the Prop-Work; Bones; Ligaments, Car- tilages. HP JL HE ufe of the bones is to give fliape and firm- nefs to the body, to be levers for the mufcles to act upon, and to defend thofe parts from external injuries that are of greatefl confequence to be pre- served, as the brain, heart, 8tc. They are in their firft ftate very foft fibres, till by the addition of a matter, which is feparated from the blood into them, they grow by degrees to the hardnefs of a cartilage, and then perfect bone : but this great change is neither effected in a very fhort time, nor begun in all the parts of the fame bone at once. Flat bones, that have their fibres directed to all fides, begin to oflify in a middle point ; but thofe that have their fibres nearly pa- rallel, begin in a tranfverfe middle line, that is in the middle of each fibre ; and fo the cylindrical bones in a middle ring, from which they fhoot forth to their extremities. By the continual ad- dition of this offi tying matter, the bones increafe, till their hardnefs reiifis a farther extenfion, and becaufe their hardnefs is always increafing while they PART I.j OP THE PROP-WORK. 61 they are growing, the increafe of their growth becomes flower and flower, till they ceafe to grow At all ; and at length in old or weak perfons, if I am not miftaken in my obfervations, they de- creafe as well as the flefhy parts, though not fo faft, by reafon of their hardnefs. And though I think it would be difficult to prove this, yet the poffibility of it at leaft will fufficiently appear from the following cafe : A foldier, from a fhot in his left groin, had the head of the Os Fe- moris broken, part of which came away through the wound, upon which the limb wafted, and he dying of an Anafarca about a year after, the Os Femoris was found wafted about an inch in length, but fo much in its thicknefs, that when they were both dried and fawed lengthways through their middles, the emaciated bone weighed thirty grains lefs than half the weight of the other thigh bone : from the appearance of this man, and the firm connection of all the bones with their Epiphyfes, he muft have done growing before he received this wound ; there- fore, unlefs he was taken lame into the fervice, which cannot be fuppofed, this bone muft have wafted about thus much in that time. The ofti- fying matter of the bones is fo well directed to them by fome wife law, that I have feen but one inftance of a bone in an adult body unofftfied, which was fo much of one fide of the lower jaw as is beyond the teeth ; but bony excrefcences upon 62 OP THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. upon the bones are frequent, and even the flefhy parts, efpecially in old perfons, are fometimes ©flified. In an old man that died of a mortifica- tion in his leg. I found all the arteries of the legs bony, efpecially between the divifions of the branches, and many parts of the Aorta. But the moft coniklerable inftance of thi's kind that I have ever found, was in the part of the mufcular fibres of the heart of a man, nearer its vertex than the bafe, as large as a fix-pence, which was perfectly oflified* And though it might feem that the bones, while they appear cartilaginous, differ from perfect bones only in hardnefs, yet in a fubjedt two years old that was kept in vinegar, all the bones grew nearly as foft and pliable as the flcfhy parts, though the ikin in feveral piaces was not taken off; yet the cartilages and cartilaginous Epiphyfes of the bones were but little altered. Bones that arc without motion, as thofe of the fcull, the Ofla. Innominata, &c. alfo bones with their Epiphyfes, when they meet, prefs into each other, and form futures, which foon difappear in thofe that join, while their oflilic matter is foft ; but thofe that grow harder before they meet, prefs more rudely into each other, and make more uneven futures, fome of which in the fcull endure to the greateft age ; and very often the oflilic matter not flowing far enough to complete a bone, the part uncompleted has an oflification begun in its center, and is formed into a diflinct bone* FART I.] OF THE I>ROP-WORK. bone, which may happen to be of any figure. Thefe bones are oftenelt found in the lambdoidal future, and are called Oiia Triquetra. But the ends or fides of bones that are intended for mo- tion, are hindered from uniting, by the cartilages which cover them ; for when thefe cartilages are deflroyed they very readily unite, and become a diftemper called Ancylofis. The ends of all the bones that are articulated for very manifeft motions, or that are not placed againit other bones, are tipped with ipiphyfes, or additional bones, which in fome meafure de- termine their growth and figure ; for if they had nothing to give bounds to them; they would fhoot out like the Callus from the broken ends of a bone that is not fet, and grow more ragged than the edges of bones which are joined by futures ; and fometimes Epiphyfes are made ufe of to raife procefles upon bones for the infertions of muf- cles, as the Trochanters of the thigh bones, where it would weaken the bones too much to have pro- ceffes raifed out of their fubflance. The fibres of bones, for ought that we can dif-* cover from experiments or microfcopical obferva- tions, appear to be connected to each other by the fame means that the feveral parts of a fibre are connected, that is, by that ftrong attraction which belongs to particles of matter in contact : but this coheiion of fibre to fibre is not equal to that in the parts of a fibre, though very nearly. Indeed, 64 OF THE PROP-WORE. [PART t* Indeed, if it was, a bone would not be a frac- ture of fibres, but one uniform mafs, like that of any pure metal, the cohefion of the parts of which are every way alike : nor are the parts of bones difpofed into Lamellae, ftratum fuper ftra^ turn, as fome have painted ; for though young bones may in fome places be fplit into Lamellae, yet they not only appear one folid, uniform mafe to the naked eye, but even with a microlcope, till we come to their inner fpongy texture, which alfo appears uniform. The texture of the bones when firft formed, is every where loole and fpongy, but, as they in- creafe, they become in many places very com- pact and denfe, which refults in a great meafure from the preffure of the bellies of the mufcles, and other incumbent parts ; as appears from the impreflions which are made on the furfaces of the bones, and the rough fpines that rife on the bones in the interfaces of the mufcles, which are very re- markable in the bones of men who have been bred up in hard labour. In thofe parts of the flat bones that receive but little preffure, the outer Laminae only become compact and denfe, and the middle part remains ipongy ; but where the preffure is great, they become one denfe body or table ; and this preffure is fo effectual, that fome parts of the Scapula, and the middle of the Ilium, are ufually thinner in an adult body than in a child before it is born. The cylindrical or round part i.] op the prop-Work. 6.5 round bones being prefTed mod in their middle, become there very hard and flrong, while their extremities grow fpongy, and dilate into large heads, which make ftronger joints, and give more room for the origins and infertions of the muf- cles, and increafe the power of the mufcles, by removing their axis farther from the center of motion of any joint they move. All the bones, except fo much of the teeth as are out of the fockets, and thofe parts of other bones, which are either covered with cartilage, or where mufcles or ligaments arife or are inferted, or are covered with a fine membrane, which, upon the fcull, is called Pericranium, elie where Periof- teum : one ufe of which is for the mufcles to flide eafily upon, and to hinder them from being la- cerated by the roughnefs and hardnefs of the bones. This membrane is faid to be exceedingly fenfible of pain, which, I fuppofe, is imagined from the pain that a blow on the min gives: but it fhould be confidered how much greater the contufion is in that cafe, from its lying upon a hard body; for this is certain, that when this membrane is cut, or feparated from the bone, to prepare for the operation of the Trephine, the patient never difcovers any extraordinary uneafi- nefs, and that great pain which is fometimes felt at the fawing the bones or a bone in an amputa- tion, is when the teeth of the lav/ touch the great nerves that always lie near the bones, and not F from 66 OF THE PROP- WORK. [PART I. from the Perioiteum ; for, if it proceeded from that, this complaint would be more conftant, and at leaft as great at the firft fetting on of the faw, or at the laft ftroke, as at any other time. Every cylindrical bone has a large middle ca- vity, which contains an oily marrow, and a great number of fraaller cells towards their extremities, which contain a bloody marrow ; this bloody marrow is alfo found in all fpongy cells of bones. The ufe of the firft kind of marrow is to foften, and render lefs brittle the harder fibres of bones among which it is feated ; and the other marrow is to be of the lame ule to the lefs compact fibres, for an oily marrow might have made them too ibft ; and for this realbn, there is lefs of the oily marrow, and more of the bloody in young bones than in old ones. Every one of thele cells is lined with a fine membrane, and the marrow in the larger cells is alio contained in thin membranous veticles, in which membranes, I fuppofe, thofe veJiels lie that iecrete the marrow. If the bones had been formed of the fame quantity of mattes without any cavities, they would, if they were itreight, be able to luftain the fame weight that they now can : but they being made hollow, their ftrength, fo as to reli ft breaking tranfverfelv, is encreafed as much as their diameters are en- creafed, without encreaiing their weights, which mechanifm being yet more convenient for birds, the bones of their wings, and. for the fame reafon. their PART I.] OF THE PROP-WORK. #7 their quills, have very large cavities. But the bones of the legs of all animals are more folid, being formed to fupport weight ; and men's bodies, being fupported but by two limbs, the bones of their limbs, are therefore made more folid than thofe of quadrupeds. But in a fractured bone, in which the fame kind of matter that offified the bones at firft, is thrown out from the ends of the broken bone, there is made a mafs of callous mat- ter, of equal fblidity with any part of the bone, and of equal Or greater diameter; which will make the ftrength of the bone in that place greater than it was before : and if we confider, we fhall find this a very wife provifion ; for bones, when broken, are feldom or never fet in fo good a direction as that in which they were firft formed, and therefore they would be more liable to be broken in the fame place again, and would be re- united with greater difficulty, and fometimes not at all, becaufe the callus not being vafcular, would fcarce admit the offinc matter to flow through it to form a new callus. The names of the articulations of the bones being varioufly ufed by authors, and being but of fmall confequence, I give the iliortefr. account that I can of them. An articulation for mani- fell motion, is called Diarthrofis ; for obicure motion, Synchondroses ; and that kind which is without motion, Synarthrofis. Diarthrofis, is divided into two kinds, viz. ¥ 2 Enarthrofis 6S ' OF THE PROP-WORK, [PART I# Enarthrofis and Ginglymus. Enarthrolis is where a round head is received into a round cavity, which mechanics call the ball and focket ; though none of the articulations in a human body fully referable that, unlefs the upper end of the thigh bone, with the Gs Innominatum. Ginglymus is always defcribed by authors to be where a bone receives, and is received, which is right, where they are joined fpmewhat like hinge?, as the ob- lique procefles of the Vertebra of the loins, where authors ufually take two joints to make a Ginglv- mus, that it may aniwer their defcriptions, though any one of thole joints is a true Ginglymus. But in the other Vertebra, and in the articulation of the Ulna, with Os Humeri, and that of the Radius with the Ulna, there being only the motion of hinges, without the form to give thefe joints this denomination; we may, for the fame reafon, call every joint a Gin ^lymus, whole proper!) i s on ly to 1 end and extend, as the k; ankle, &c, And what makes it more n* to bring thefe joints under this head, is. that they are reducible to no other. Synchdndrofis, is by intervening car til ligaments, as between i 1 e 3 oi the Verte- bra ; but the trued Synchondrosis is the joining of the ribs to the bqne of the ftcrnum. Synarthrosis, is of two viz. Sutura and Gompholis. The firft kind is the mutual inden- tation PART I.] OF THE PROP-WORK. 69 tation of one bone with another, as is eminently fcQn in the fcull, and the other the fattening of the teeth in their lockets* like a nail in wood. The Bones of the Head. Anatomists divide the bones into thofe of the head, thofe. of the trunk, thole of the upper limbs, and thofe of the lower limbs. The fcull is compofed of ten bones which con- tain the brain. In various parts of thefe there are pafl'ages and finall holes for the communication of the nerves/ arteries, and veins with the other parts of the body. The other bones of the head compofe the face, the orbits of the eyes, and the jaws, in which the teeth are fixed. There are feldom more than iixteen in each jaw ; the four firft in each are called incifors or cutters, the two next canine, and all the reft molares or grinders. The four laft of the molares are called Dentes Sapientias, becaufe they do not appear till men arrive at years of clifcretion. The incifors and canine have only a fingle root each, but the molares more. Each of thefe fangs or roots has a hole ; through which pafs an artery, vien, and nerve, which are expanded in a fine membrane lining a cavity in each root of a tooth. This membrane is the feat of the tooth-ach. The teeth of children caft off; and the fucceeding teeth rife in new fockets, and larger than the former. F 3 The 70 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART X. The Bones of the Trunk , Are thofe which compofe the fpine, or chain of bones from the head down to the rump, the ribs, and the fternum, or breaft bone. The fpine is compofed of twenty-four verte- brae or joints befides the terminating bones ; feven belong to the neck, twelve to the back, and five to the loins If this chain had been compofed of fewer bones, they muft either have been incapable of bending fo much as they do, or bent at fharper angles, which would have prefTcd the fpiral marrow. The bodies of the vertebrae are all connected by ftrong intervening ligaments or cartilages, and every bone of the fpine has a large hollow, which together make a channel through the fpine, in which is contained the Medulla Spinalis, or fpinal marrow ; and in each fpace between the vertebrae are two large holes for the nerves to pafs out. The ribs are twelve in number on each fide ; the feven uppermoft are called true ribs, bexaufe their cartilages reach the fternum ; and the five lowcft are called battard ribs. They are articu- lated to the bodies of the twelve vertebrae of the back. They defend the parts contained in the breaft, and when they are drawn upwards, the cavity of the breaft is enlarged for infpiration, and fo the contrary. The breaft bone, or fternum, is generally made up PART !."] OF THE rROP-^ORK. 73 up of three fpongy bones, fornetimes more : to this the true ribs are articulated by their car- tilages. The Bones of the Upper Limbs, Are all thofe that form and are more particu- larly connected with the arms and hands. The collar-bone fixes the blade bone, which receives in a fliallow cavity the round head of the fhoulder-bone, into which are articulated the arm-bones, called Ulna audi Radius. Radius at the lower end receives the lower part of Ulna^ and the wrift or carpus. The wrift is compofed of eight bones of irregular figure ; they are dif- tinguiilied into four of the firft order, and four of the fecond. The bones that form the hand, are metacarpus, confiding of four bones articu- lated to the wrift, the thumb which has three bones, and the fingers each alfo compofed of three. The Bones of the Lower Limbs, Are thofe of the hips, thighs, and legs. The knee-pan protects the ligaments that connect the thigh-bone with the fhin-bone, or Tibia ; the lower end of the Tibia forms the inner ankle. There is a fmall long bone called Fibula, the up- per end of which is articulated to the outfide of the Tibia, and inch below the joint, and the lower end makes the outer ankle, and part of that F 4 joint; 72 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. joint ; its chief ufe is for origins of mufcles ; for it has no fhare in fupporting the body. The Tarfus, which forms the union of the feet with the bones of the leg, is made up of feven bones, which have the fame kind of elailic flructure with thofe of the wrifr. or carpus, and for the fame ends, but in a much greater degree, be- caufe here the whole body is fuftained. There are four bones running from the Tarfus to the toes ; they are called Metatarfus. All the toes have three bones each. The Bones of a Skeleton, are, The Os Frontis 1 Molares 20 Occipitis 1 Os Hyoides l OfTa Parietalia 2 — Temporum 2 6l Official a Auditus 8 Vertebrae Cervicis 7 Os Ethmoides 1 Dorfi 12 Sphaenoides 1 Lumborum 5 Mali 2 Oflis Sacri 6 Maxillare 2 Os Coccigis 3 Unguis 2 Scapulae 2 Nafi 2 Claviculae 2 Palati 2 Coftae 24 Vomer 1 Sternum 1 Maxilla Inferior 1 OfTa Innominata 2 Dentes incifivi 8 — Canini 1 64 The PART I.] OF THE PROP-WORK. 73 The Humerus '2 The Os Femofis 2 Ulna 2 Rotate 2 Kadi us 2 Tibia 2 Qfla Corpi 1(5 Fibula 2 Metacarpi 8 Ofla Tarfi 14 Digitorum 30 Metatarfi 10 — Digitorum as 6o 6o In all 245 Befides the OfTa Sefamoidasa, which are faid to be found to the number 48. Of the Cartilages ', Ligaments, and lubricating Glands of the Joints. Every part of a bone which is articulated to another bone for a Hiding motion is covered or [ lined with a cartilage, as far as it moves upon, or is moved upon by another bone in any action ; for cartilage being fmoother and fofter than bone, it renders the motions more eafy than they would have been, and prevents the bones wearing each other in their aclions. Thefe cartilages in the largell joints, are as thick as a (lulling, and in the fmalleft, as thin as paper. There are other cartilages which ferve to give fhape to parts. Of this fort are the eye-lids, the outer ea^ and the lower part of the nofe, which have 74 OF THE PROP-WORK. [PART I. have this particular advantage in thefe places, that they fupport and fhape the parts as well as bones do, and without being liable to be broken. The ribs have cartilages of a considerable length, which articulate the. feven uppermoft to the breaft-bone. Thefe cartilages being very pliable, fuffer the ribs to move eafily in refpira- lion, and the body to twift or bend to either fide without difficulty. There is a cartilage at the bottom of the breaft-bone, called Enliformis from its ufual fhape* The wind-pipe is compofed of cartilages, and there are other parts called by fome cartilages, which ought rather to be ranked with ligaments. Every bone that is articulated to another for motion, is tied to that it moves upon by a liga- ment, the thicknefs and ftrength of which always bears a proportion to the quantity of motion in the joint, and the force with which it is liable to be moved; and the length of the ligament is no more than fufricient to allow a proper quantity of motion. The bones of the limbs that move to all fides,, have ligaments like purfes, which arife from or near the edges of the fockets of the receiving bones, a little below their heads. All the bones of the Vertebra?, and every joint that is without motion, and not joined by a lu- ture, PART I.] OP THE PROP-WORK. 75 ture, are joined by intervening ligaments com- monly called cartilages. The tendons of all the mufcles that are not in- volved in fat, are either tied down to the bones they pafs over by ligaments which contain a lu- bricating Mucus, or have fometimes communica- tions with the joint they move. The ufe of thefe ligaments is to confine them to their proper di- rections, and contain the Mucus that lubricates their furfaces to make their motions more eafy. Every joint where the bones are faced with a cartilage for a Aiding motion, is furnifhed with fmall glands, which feparate a mucilaginous matter for lubricating the ends of the bones, that they may move eafily upon one another, and that there may be no wafle of this neceflary fluid, it is contained in the inverting ligaments ; which for this very reafon are no where divided, except to communicate with the ligaments of tendons. Thefe glands are generally feated near the in- fertions of the ligaments, that they may be com- prefTed by them when the joints are in motion, which is a proper time to have their fluid prefled out. CHAPTER ( 76 ) CHAPTER VII. Of the External Parts, common Integuments, and Fat. 1. HE vulgar names of the external parts of the human body being fufticiently known for the description of any difeafe or operation ; I fhail only defcribe thofe which anatomifts have given for the better undcrftanding of the iub-con- tained parts. The hollow on the middle of the Thorax, un- der the breafts, is called Scrobiculus Cordis. The middle of the Abdomen for about three fingers breadth above and below the navel, is called Re- gie Umbilicalis. The middle pajrt above this, Epigaltrium. On each fide of ii. iftrium, under the cartilages of the lower r.ibs, Ilypochon- drium ; and from below the Rtogio Umbilicalis down to the Offa Ilia, and Ofla Pubis, Hypo- galirium. Cuticula or Scarf- (kin, is that thin infenfible membrane which is railed by bliflers in living bo- dies : It is extended over every part of the true ., unlefs where the nails are. It appears in a microfcrope a very fine, fmooth mem- bra P.ART I.] OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, &C. 77 brane, only unequal where the Reticulum Mu- codim adheres to it. Lewenhocck and others, fay, it appears fcaly, and compute that a grain of find of the hundredth part of an inch diameter, will cover two hundred and fifty of thefe fcales, and that each fcale has about five hundred pores ; fo that, according to them, a grain of land will cover one hundred and twenty- five thoufand pores, through which we perfpire. Its ufe is to defend the true fkin that it may not be expofed to pain from whatever it touches ; and alfo to preferve it from wearing : It is thickeil on thole parts of the bot- tom of the foot which fuftain the body ; and in hands much ufed to labour, being fo contrived as to grow the thicker, the more thofe parts are ufed. Between this and the true fkin, is a fmall quan- tity of flimy matter, which was fuppofed, by Malpighi, and others, to be contained in proper vefTels, interwoven with one another, and there- fore by them named Reticulum Mucofum. It is moil considerable where the cuticula is* thickeft, and is black, white, or dufky, fuch as is the complexion ; the colour of this, and the cuticula, being the only difference between Europeans, and Africans or Indians, the fibres of the true Ikin being white in all men ; but the florid co- lour of the cheeks, is owing to the blood in the minute vefTels of the Ikin, as that in the lips to the vclfels in the mufcular ilefh ; for the Cuticula (as I imagine) being made of excrementidous matter has no blood vefleb. Cutis ?S OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, [PART 1, Cutis or True Skin, is a very compact, ftrong, and fenfible membrane extended over all the other parts of the body, having nerves terminat- ing fo plentifully in all its fuperficies, for the fenfe of touching, that the fineft pointed inftru- ment can prick no where without touching fome of them. Thefe nerves are faid by Malpighi, and others, who have examined them carefully, to terminate in fmall pyramidal Papillae ; never- thelefs to me it feems, that a plain fuperficies of the ikin (I do not mean mathematically plain) is much fitter and more agreeable to what we ex- perience of this fenfation ; for a plain fuperficies expofing all the nerves alike, I think, would give a more equal fenfation, while nerves ending in a pyramidal Papilla would be exceedingly fenfible at the Vertex of that Papilla ; and thofe at the fides and round the bafe, which would be far the greater! part, would be the leaft ufeful. Glandulae Miliares, are fmall bodies like millet feeds, feated immediately under the Ikin in the Axillas ; and are faid to have been found under all other parts of the fkin, where they have been looked for with microfcopes. Thefe glands are fuppoled to feparate fweat ; which fluid was formerly thought to be only the Materia Perfpi- rabilis flowing in a greater quantity, and con- denfed ; but Sanolorius has affured us, that it is not fo, and that more of the Materia Perfpira- bilis is feparated in equal times than of fweat ; of the PART I.] COMMON INTEGUMENTS, AND PAT. 1% the former, he fays, ufually fifty ounces a day in Italy, where his experiments were made, and of the latter not near fo much in the moft profufc fweats ; which, I think, favours the opinion of the exiftence of thefe glands, unlefs the fweat being once condenfed upon the fkin, prevents a greater etfulion of that matter. Now that the whole body, every part of which is furely perfpi- rable (or how elfe could extra vafatcd blood or matter ever be diflipated, unlefs it could be ab- sorbed into the veffels, which feems impoflible, feeing that the fluids which are in motion in the veffels muft out-balance thofe which are extrava- fatedy fhould perfpire fifty two ounces in a natural day, is not at all incredible : but that thefe glands, if there are fuch under all the ikin, fhould be able to make fo large fecretions, appears not very probable. Membrana Adipofa, is all that membrane im- mediately under the ikin, which contains the fat in cells ; it is thicker!; on the Abdomen and but- tocks, and thinneft neareft the extremities ; and where the mufcles adhere to the Ikin none. It contributes to keep the inner parts warm, and by rilling the interfaces of the mufcles, renders the furface of the body fmooth and beautiful, and may perhaps ferve to lubricate their furfaces, and whether the decreafe of fat which often follows labour or ficknefs, proceeds from its being reaf- fumed into the blood veffels, or whether it is con- ftantly SO OF THE EXTERNAL PARTS, &C. [PART U ftantly perfpiring through the fkin, and the lefTen- ing of its quantity is from the want of a fupply equal to its confumption, is a matter of doubt with fome, though the former opinion generally prevails. Mammae, the breafts, feem to be of the fame flruclure in both fexes, but larger in women. Each breaft is a conglomerate gland to feparate milk, feated in the Membrana Adipofa, with its excretory duels, (which are capable of very great diftention,) tending toward the nipple, where, as they approach, they unite, and make but a few duels at their exit. There are to be met with in authors, infrances fufficiently attefted of mc giving fuck, when they have been excited by a vehement deli re of doing it : and it is a common obfervation, that milk will flow out of the breafts of new-born children, both male and female. CHAPTER ( 81 ) CHAPTER VIII. Of the Membranes. JtliVERY diftinft part of the body is covered, every cavity is lined with a fingle membrane, vvhofe thicknefs and ftrength is as the bulk of the part it belongs to, and as the friction to which it is naturally expofed. Thofe membranes that contain diftincl: parts, keep the parts they contain together, and render their furfaces fmooth, and lefs fubject to be la- cerated by the actions of the body. And thofe which line cavities, ferve to render the cavities fmooth, and fit for the parts they contain to move againft. The membranes of all the cavities that contain folid parts, are iludded with glands, or are pro- vided with vefTels, which feparate a Mucus to make the parts contained move glibly againft one another, and not grow together. And thofe ca- vities which are expofed to the air, as the nofe, ears, mouth, and Trachea Arteria, have their membranes befet with glands, which feparate mat- ter to defend them from the outer air. G I mail 82 OF THE MEMBRANES. [PART I* I fhall here give a brief defcription of the prin- cipal membranes of the body. Membrana adipofa, we have juft feen, is a membrane immediately under the fkin which contains the fat. See the hji Chapter. Peritoneum, is a membrane which lines the whole cavity of the abdomen. It contains the liver, fpleen, omentum, ftomach, guts, and me- fentery, with all their veflels and glands. Omentum, or cawl, is a fine membrane larded with fat, fomething like net-work. It is fituated on the furface of the fmall guts. Its ufe is to lu- bricate the guts that they may the better perform their periltalic motion. Mefentery, is a membrane beginning loofely upon the loins, and is thence produced to all the guts : it preferves the jejunum and ileum from twifting in their periftallic or vermicular motion, and confines the reft. It mftains all the veifels going to and from the guts, viz. arteries, veins, lymph reduces, lacteals, and nerves, and alfo con- tains many glands. Pleura, is a fine membrane which lines the whole cavity of the thorax, except on the dia- phragm, which is covered with no other than its own membrane. It ferves to make the iniide of the thorax fmooth and equal. Mediaftinum, divides the thorax lengthways, from the fternum to the pericardium and pleura, not PART I.] OP THE MEMBRANES. 83 not exactly in the middle, but towards the left fide. It hinders one lobe of the lungs from in- commoding the other, as in lying on one fide the uppermoft would frequently do, and prevents the diforders of one lobe of the lungs from afFect- the other. Pericardium, or heart purfe, is a thick mem- brane furrounding the heart. Periofteum, the fine membrane which covers the bones in general, taking the name of Peri- cranium on the fkull, has been mentioned in the chapter on the bones. Dura Mater, and Pia Mater, have been men., t-ioned in the chapter on the brain. G 2 CHAPTER ( 84 ) CHAPTER IX. Of the Organs of Speech; Lungs, Refpiration. X HE voice is that found which animals make by proper organs in confequence of fome fenfa- tion or inward pulfe. The voice of man, and, it mould feem, of all other animals, is formed by certain organs be- tween the mouth and the lungs, and which or- gans maintain the intercourfe between thefe two. The lungs furnifh air, out of which the voice is formed ; and the mouth, when the voice is formed, ferves to publifh it abroad. What thefe vocal organs precisely are, is not in all refpects agreed by philofophcrs and anato- mifls. Be this as it will, it is certain that the mere primary and fimpk voice is completely formed, before ever it reaches the mouth, and can therefore, as well as breathing, find a pafia^e through the nofe, when the mouth is fo far flopped, as to pre- vent the leafl utterance. Now pure and fimple voice, being thus pro- duced, is, as before was obferved, tranfmitted to the mouth. Here then by means of certain dif- ferent organs, which do not change its primary qualities. PARTI.] OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH, &C, 85 qualities, but only fuperadd others, it receives the form or character of Articulation-. For Articulation is in fact nothing elfe than that form or characler acquired to Jim fie voice, by means of the mouth and its feveral organs, the teeth, the tongue, the lips, &c. The voice is not by arti- culation made more grave or acute, more loud or foft, which are its primary qualities, but it ac- quires to thefe characters certain others additional, which are perfectly adapted to exijl along with them. The fimplejl of thefe new characters are thofe acquired through mere openings of the mouth, as thefe openings differ in giving the voice a paf- fage. It is the variety of configurations in thefe openings only, which gives birth and origin to the feveral vowels ; and hence it is they derive their name, by being thus eminently vocal, and eafy to "be founded of themfelves alone. There are other articulate forms, which the mouth makes not by mere openings, but by dif- ferent contacls of its different parts ; fuch, for in- ftance, as it makes by the junction of the two lips, of the tongue with the teeth, of the tongue with the palate, and the like. Now as all thefe feveral contacts, unlefs fome opening of the mouth either immediately precede, or immediately follow, would rather occafion fi- lence, than produce a voice ; hence it is, that G 3 with $6 OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH ; [PART I. with fome fuch opening, either previous or fub- fequent, they arc always connedted. Hence alfo it is, that the articulation fo produced are called Consonant, becaufe they found not of them- felves, and from their own powers, but at all times in company with fome auxiliary Vowel. There are other fubordinate diftinctions of thefe primary articulations, which to enumerate would be foreign to the defign of this treatife. It is enough to obferve, that they are all de- noted by the common name of Element, in as much as every articulation of every other kind is from them deiived, and into them refolved. Under their fnallejl combinations they produce a Syllable', Syllable , properly combined, produce a Word i Words, properly combined, produce a Sentence ; and Sentences, properly combined, pro- duce an Or align or Difcourfe. And thus it is, that to principles apparently fo trivial, as about twenty plain elementary founds, we owe that variety of articulate voices, which have been iufficient to explain the fentiments of fo innumerable a muhitude, as all the prefent and pan: generations of men. The lungs, are compofed of two lobes, one feated on each fide of a membrane called the Mediaftinum, that divides the thorax lengthways, each of which lobes are fubdivided into two or three lobules, which are moft diftinelly divided in fuch animals as have moft motion in their backs, PART I.] LUKGS, RESPIRATION. S 7 backs, for the fame end that the liver is in the fame animals ; they are each compofed of very fmall cells, which are the extremities of the Al- pera Arteria or Bronchos. The figure of thefe cells is irregular ; yet they are fitted to each other? fo as to have common fides, and leave no void fpace. In the membranes of thefe cells are di- flributed the branches of the pulmonary artery and vein. The known ufes of the air's entering the lungs, are to be inftrumental in fpeech, and to convey effluvia into the nofe, as it paffes, for the fenfe of fmelling ; but the great ufe of it by which life is preferved, I think, we do not un- derftand. By fome the force of the air is thought to feparate the Globuli of the blood, that have cohered in the flow circulation through the veins ; and this opinion feems to be favoured by the many inftances of Polypuffes (which are large concretions of the Globuli of the blood) found in the veins near the heart, and in the right auricle and ventricle of the heart, and their being fo fel- dom found in the pulmonary veins, or in the left auricle or ventricle of the heart, or in any of I he arteries ; but if it is true that, while the blood paffes through the lungs, many cohering Globuli are feparated, yet it remains to be proved that thefe feparations are made by the force of the air. Dr. Keil has computed the force of the air in the ftrongeft expirations againft the fides of all the veficles, to be equal to fifty thoufand pounds G 4 weight, 88 OF THE ORGANS OP SPEECH ; [PARTI. weight, yet if we confider we fhall Pall find the moment of the air in the lungs exceedingly fmall in any fmall fpace. For the velocity with which the air moves in the lungs, is as much lefs than that with which it moves in die wind pipe, as the fquare of a fection of the cells in the lungs is greater than the fquare of a feci ion of the wind- pipe ; and therefore if the fquare of all the ex- treme blood veilels in the lungs, do not bear a greater proportion to the fquare of the large pulmonary vefTels than the fquare of the cells do to the wind-pipe, and if the blood in thefe large vefTels moves as fan: as the air in the wind-pipe . (all which I think may be granted) then the blood moving in the fmalleft vefTels of the lungs with a velocity equal to that of the air in the cells, the blood will have as much more prefTure from the power that moves it in its own vefTels than the air can give upon them, as blood is heavier than air. Befides, air preffing equally to all fides, and the Globuli of the blood iwimming in a fluid ; this prefTure, be it what it will, I think, can be of little ufe to make fuch reparations. Indeed it may be objecled that the greateft prefTure is in expiration, yet that furely cannot be much greater, while the air has lb free a paiTage out of them # Others have thought that the air enters the blood vefTels from the cells in the lungs, and mixes with the blood ; but this opinion, however pro- bable, wants fufficient experiments to prove it ; ai r PART I.] LUNGS, RESPIRATION. 80 air being found in the blood, as there certainly is, is no proof of its entering this way, ' becaufe it may enter with the chyle : Nor is the impoflibi- lity which has been urged of its entering at the lungs without the blood being liable to come out the fame way into the veficles of the lungs, a good argument to the contrary ; for if a pliable duel pafles between the membranes of a vefTel, through a fpace greater than the fquare of its ori- fice, nofluid can return, becaufe the pretTure which fhould force it back will be greater againft the .fides of that duel than its orifice ; which is the cafe of the bile duel entering the Duodenum, and the ureters entering the bladder. I think the beft arguments for the air's entering into the blood by the lungs, or rather fome particular part of the air, may be drawn from what the learned Dr. Halley, and others have obferved of a man's wanting in a diving bell, near a gallon of frefh. air in a minute, for if nothing but preiTure had been wanted from the air in the lungs, there may be thrice as much prefTure without any fupply of frefh air, as upon the furface of the earth ; and animals dying fo foon in air that has been burnt, and their being fo eafily intoxicated by breathing air much impregnated with fpirituous liquors, are alfo, in my opinion, arguments of a pafTage this way into the blood. Befides, if prefTure of the air in the cells of the lungs is the only ufe of it, I do not fee but enough of that may be had while a man' 90 OF THE ORGANS OF SPEECH, &C. [pART I, man is hanging, if the mufcles of the thorax do bat acl upon the air which was left in the thorax, when the rope was firft fixed, and yet death is brought about by hanging no other way than by interrupting of the breath, as I have found by certain experiments. Dr. Drake has endeavoured to fhew, that the ufe of refpiration is to affill the Syftale of the heart ; but this ufe requires that the Syftole and Diaftole of the heart, mould keep time with expiration and infpiration, which is contrary to experience : befides, if his hypothesis were true, it could only ferve theright ventricle of the heart. The lungs of animals before they have been dilated with air, are fpecifically heavier than water, but upon inflation they become fpecifically lighter and fwim in water. CHAPTER ( 91 ) CHAPTER X. Of the Blood, Heart, Arteries, and Veins. JL HE blood is a compound fluid, confiding of red and white globules, fibrous particles, and a great deal of clear water which ferves as a vehicle to the other fubrtances circulating through the body by means of the heart, arteries, and veins. The heart is a mufcle of a conic figure incloied in the Pericardium or heart-purfe, which is an exceedingly flrong membrane, the fide of which next the great veffels is partly connected to them, and partly to the balls of the heart ; but, I think, not properly perforated by thofe vefTels, and its lower fide is inteparable from the tendinous part of the diaphragm ; but not fo in brutes, in fome of which there is a membranous bag between it and the diaphragm, which contains a lobule of the lungs. It enclofes all the heart to its bafis; its ufes are to keep the heart in its place, without interrupting its office, to keep it from having any friction with the lungs, and to contain a liquor to lubricate the furface of the heart, and abate its friction againft the Pericardium. The 92 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I. The heart has two cavities or ventricles ; its bafis is fixed by the veffels going to and from it, upon the fourth and fifth Vertebras of the Tho- rax; its Apex, or point is inclined downward and to the left fide, where it is received in a cavity of the left lobe of the lungs, as may be obferved, the lungs being extended with air : this in- cumbrance on the left lobe of the lungs, I ima- gine, is the caufe of that fide's being moft fub- jecl: to thofe pains which are ufually called pleu- ritic, which, I think, are for the moft part inflam- mations in the lungs. At the bafis of the heart, on each fide, are fi- tuated the two auricles to receive the blood ; the right from the two cavas, and the left from the pulmonary veins : in the right, at the meeting of the cavas, is an eminence called Tuberculum Loweri, which directs the blood into the auricle ; immediately below this tubercle, in the ending of the Cava Afcendens, is the Veiligium of the Foramen Ovale ; and near this, in the auricle, is the mouth of the coronary-veins. The left auri- cle is abundantly lefs than the right; but the difference is fupplied by a large mufcular cavity, which the veins from the lungs afford in that place ; the fides of this mufcular cavity are thick- er than the fides of the right auricle, in about that proportion in which the left ventricle of the heart is ilronger than the right ; their ufes being to re- ceive blood from the veins that lead to the heart, and PARTI.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 93 and to prefs it into the ventricles, a ftrength in each auricle proportionable to the ftrength of the ven- tricle that it is to fill with blood, feems neceffary : and this different thicknefs of the coats of the au- ricles makes the blood in the left, which is thickeft, appear through it of a paler red ; but when it it let out of the auricles it appears alike from both ; which they would do well to exa- mine, who affirm the blood returns from the lungs of a more florid colour than it went in ; and offer it as an argument, of the blood's being mixed with air in the lungs : in both auricles are mufcular Columnar, like thofe in the ventricles, but fmaller. The ventricles or cavities in the heart which receive the blood, are hollow mufcles, or two cavities in one mufcle, whofe fibres interfecT: one another, fo as to make the prefTure of the heart upon the blood more effectual, and are alfo lei's liable to be feparated than they would have been if they had lain parallel ; both thefe cavities re- ceiving the fame quantities of blood in the fame times, and always acting together, mull be equal in fize if they equally difcharge what they con- tain at every Syfrole, as I doubt not but they do ; neverthelefs the left appears lefs than the right, it being found empty in dead bodies, and the right ufually full of blood, which made the an- cients think the veins and the right ventricle only were for the blood to move in, and that the left and 94 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, fpART I* and the arteries contained only animal fpirits* The left ventricle is much the thickeft and ftrong- efl, its office being to drive the blood through the whole body while the right propels it through the lungs only. Over the entrance of the au- ricles in each ventricle, are placed valves to hinder a return of blood while the heart con- tracts. Thofe in the right ventricle are namec} Tricufpides, thofe in the left Mitrales. One of thefe laft feem to do further fervice, by covering the mouth of the Aorta while the ventricle fills ; which fuffering none of the blood to pafs out of this ventricle into the Aorta before the ventricle acts, it will be able to give greater force to the blood than it otherwife might have done ; be- caufe a great quantity of blood more fully dis- tending the ventricle, and making the greater re- iiftance, it will be capable of receiving the greater imprefled force from the ventricle, and if the blood is no way hindered in the right ven- tricle from getting into the pulmonary artery, while the ventricle dilates as it is in the left, the left then muft be fomewhat bigger than the right, if they both empty themfelves alike in every fyftole. Though the auricles of the heart are equal to each other, and the two ventricles alio equal, or nearly equal, yet the auricles are not fo large as the ventricles ; for the ventricles contain not only all the blood which flowed from the veins into the auricles, during the contraction of the PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 95 the heart, but alfo that which flows (which will be directly into the heart) while the auricles contract, and the ventricles dilate ; which leads us to the exact knowledge of the ufe of the au- ricles. If the lyftole and diaitole of the heart are performed in equal times, then the auricles muft be half the fize of the ventricles ; or what- ever proportion the fpace of time of the fyftole of the heart, bears to the fpace of time in which the fyftole and diaftole are both performed, that proportion will the cavities of the auricles bear to the cavities of the ventricles. The inner fibres of each ventricle are difpofed into finall cords, which are called Columnae : from forne of thefe Hand fmall portions of flefh. called Papillae ; thefe Papillae are tied to the valves by flender fibres, whereby they keep the valves from being prelTed into the auricles, by the action of the blood againft them in the fyf- tole of the heart, and when that is over, the blood flowing in between them opens them, as the prefture of blood on the other fide fhut them in the fyftole. In the beginning of each artery from the heart are placed three valves, which look forward, and clofe together to hinder a regrefs of blood into the ventricles. Thoie in the pulmonary-artery, are named Sigmoidales, thofe in the Aorta, Se- milunars, Canalis Arteriofus. Of 96 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART I, Of the Arteries and Veins, Fhom the right ventricle of the heart arifesthe pulmonary artery, which foon divides into two branches, one to each lobe of the lungs, and then they fub-divide into fmaller and fmaller branches until they are dirmbuted through every part of the lungs. From the extreme branches of the pulmonary artery, arife the fmall branches of the pulmonary veins ; which as they approach the left auricle of the heart, unite in fuch a manner as the pulmonary artery divides going from the hearty only that the veins enter the mufcular ap- pendix of the left auricle in feveral branches, and the blood being brought back from the lungs by thefe veffels to the left auricle and ventricle of the heart, it is from the left ventricle of the heart thrown into the Aorta. Aorta, or great artery, arifes from the left ventricle of the heart, and deals oat brandies to every/part of the body. The firil part of this vefTel, is called Aorta Afcendens ; it palTes over the left pulmonary artery, and veins and branch of the Afpera Arteria, and being reflected under the left lobe of the lungs, it commences Aorta Defcendens ; which name it keeps through the Thorax and Abdomen, where it pafTes on the left fide of the fpine, till its divilion into the iliac arteries between the third and fourth Verte- brae of the loins. From PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 97 From under two of the femilunar valves of the Aorta, which is before it leaves the heart, arife two branches (fometimes but one) which arc be- llowed upon the heart, and are called Coronarise Cordis. From the curved part of the Aorta, which is about two or three inches above the heart, arife the fubclavian and carotid arteries ; the right fubclavian and carotid in one trunk, but the left lingle. By fome authors thefe vef- fels have been defcribed in a different manner, but, I believe^ their descriptions were 3 for want of human bodies, taken from brutes ; for I have never yet feen any variety in thefe veffels in hu- man bodies, though I have in the veins nearer the heart : and indeed there feems to me to be a mechanical neceflity for their going off in the manner here defcribed in human bodies ; for the right fubclavian and carotid arteries necef- farily going off from the Aorta at a much larger angle than the left, the blood would move more freely into the left than the right, if the right did not go off in one trunk, which gives lefs friction to the blood, than two branches equal in capacity to that one ; fo that the ad- vantage the left have by going off from the Aorta, at much acuter angles than the right, is made up to the right by their going off at hrft in but one branch. The carotid arteries run on both fides the La- rynx to the fixth foramina of the fkull, through i{ which §8 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I. which they enter to the brain ; but -as they pais through the neck, they detach branches to every part about them, which branches are called by the names of the parts they are bellowed upon. The internal carotids, fend two branches to the back part of the nofe, and feveral branches through the firft and fecond foramina of the fkull to the face and parts contained within the orbits of the eyes, and then piercing the Dura Mater, they each divide into two branches, one of which they fend under the fai\: of the Dura Mater, between the two hemifpheres of the brain, and the other between the anterior and pofterior lobes. Thefe branches take a great many turns, and divide into very fmall branches in the Pia Mater before they enter the brain, as if large trunks would make by their pulfe too violent an impreffion on lb tender and delicate a part. And perhaps it may be from an increafe of the im- pulfc of the arteries in the brain, which frrong li- quors produce, that the nerves are fo much in- terrupted in their ufes throughout the whole body, when a man is intoxicated with drinking ; and it may alio be from a like caufe, that men are delirious in fevers. Beiides thefe two ar- teries, viz. the carotids, the brain has two more, called Cervicales, which arife from the iubcla- vian arteries, and afcend to the head through the foramina, in the tranfverfe proceiies of the cer- vical vertebras, and into the ikull through the tenth PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 99 tenth or great foramen ; thefe two arteries uniting foon after their entrance, give off branches to the cerebellum, and then palling forward, divide and communicate with the caro- tids ; and the carotid arteries communicating with each other there is an entire communication between them all ; and thefe communicant bran- ches are fo large that every one of thefe four great veiTels, with all their branches may be filled with wax injected through any one of them. The fubclavian arteries, arc each continued to the cubit in one trunk, which is called Axillaris as it partes the arm-pits, and Humeralis as it pafTes by the infide of the Os Humeri, between the mufcles that bend and extend the cubit. From the fubclavians within the breaft arife the Arteriae Mammariae, which run on the infide of the Sternum and lower than the Cartilago Enfi- formis. As foon as the Arteria Humeralis has parTed the joint of the cubit, it divides into two branches, called Cubitalis Superior and Cubitalis Inferior ; which latter foon fends off a branch, called Cubitalis Media, which is bellowed upon the mufcles feated about the cubit. The Cubi- talis Superior partes near the Radius, and round the root of the thumb, and gives one branch to the back of the hand, and two to the thumb, one to the firft finger, and a banch to communicate with the Cubitalis Inferior. The Cubitalis Infe- H 2 rior 100 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART 1. rior partes near the Ulna to the palm of the hand, where it takes a turn, and fends one branch to the out-fide of the little finger, another between that and the next finger dividing to both, an- other in the fame manner to the two middle fin- gers, and another to the two fore-fingers. Thefe branches which are beftowed on the fingers, run one on each fide of each finger internally to the top, where they have fmall communications, and very often there is a branch of communi- cation between the humeral and inferior cubital arteries. From the descending Aorta on each fide is fent a branch under every rib, called Intcrcoftalis, and about the fourth Vertebra? of the back, it fends off' two branches to the lungs, called Bronchiales, which are fometimes both given off from the Aorta, fometimes one of them from the inter- coftal of the fourth rib on the right fide ; and as the Aorta partes under the diaphragm, it fends two branches into the diaphragm, called Arteria? Phrenicas, which fometimes rife in one trunk from the Aorta r and fometimes from the Ccelia- ca ; but oftener the right from the Aorta, and the left from the cceliac. Immediately below the diaphragm strifes the coeliac artery from the Aor- ta ; it loon divides into feveral branches, which are beftowed upon the liver, pancreas, fpleen. ftomachi omentum, and duodenum. Thefe branches are named from the parts they are be- ftowed PARTI.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 101 flowed on , except two that are bellowed upon the llomach, which are called Coronaria Supe- rior and Inferior, and the branch bellowed upon the Duodenum, whieh is named Intellinalis. At a very fmall diftance below the Artena Cceliaca from the Aorta, ariles the Mefenterica Superior, whole branches are bellowed upon all the Intern- num Jejunum and Ileum, part of the Colon, and fometimes one branch upon the liver. A little Jower than the fuperior mefenteric artery, arife the emulgents which are the arteries of the kid- neys. Lower laterally, the Aorta fends branches to the loins called Lumbales, and one forward, to the lower part of the Colon and the Rectum, called Mefenterica Inferior. Between the Arte* ria Cceliaca Mefenteiica Superior, and Inferior, and the branches of each near the guts, there are large communicant branches to convey the blood from one to another when they are either compreiTed in any pollure, or ftreightened by being ftretched out in ruptures, or from any other caufe. As foon as the Aorta divides upon the loins, it fends off an artery into the Pelvis upon the Os Sacrum, called. Arteria Sacra, and the branches the Aorta divides into, are called Iliacse, which in about two inches fpace divide into external and internal. The IliaccR Interna firft fend off the umbilical arteries which are dried up in adult bodies, except at their beginnings, which are H 3 kept 102 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART f. kept open for the collateral branches on each fide : the reft of thefe branches are bellowed up-, on the buttocks, and upper parts of the thighs. The Iliacae Extern®, run over the Offa Pubis into the thighs ; and as they pafs out of the Ab- domen, they fend off branches, called Epigaftri- cac, to the fore part of the integuments of the Abdomen under the Re;li mufcles. And the epigaftrick arteries fend each a branch into the Pelvis and through the Foramina of the OfTa In- nominata to the mufcles thereabouts. As foon as the iliac artery is palled out of the Abdomen into the groin, it is called Inguinalis, and in the thigh Cruralis, where it fends a large branch to the back part of the thigh ; but the great trunk is continued internally between the flexors and extenfors of the thigh, and palling through the infertion of the Triceps mufcle into the ham, it is there called Poplitea ; then below the joint it di- vides into two branches one of which is called Tibialis Antica ; it pa lies, between the Tibia and Fibula to the fore part of the leg, and is beftow-r ed upon the great toe, and one branch to the next toe to the great one, and another between thefe toes to communicate with the Tibialis Poftica ; which artery foon after it is divided from the Antica, fends off the Tibialis Media, which is bellowed upon the mufcles of the leg, while the Tibialis Poftica goes to the bottom of the foot :md all the leffer toes. The Tibialis Antica is difpoied PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. J*-' 3 diipofed like the Cubitaiis Superior ; the Poftica, like the Cubitalis Inferior; and the Media in each, have alfo like ufes. Thefe arteries which I have defcribed are uniform in moll bodies, but the lcfler branches are diftributed like the branches of trees, and in fo different a manner in one body from another, that thefe veflels, it is high- ly probable, are in no two bodies alike, nor the two fides in any one body. The veins arile from the extremities of the ar- teries, and make up trunks which accompany the arteries in almoft every part of the body, and have the fame names in the feveral places which the arteries have, which they accompany. The yeins of the brain unload themfelves into the Sinufcs, and the linufes into the internal ju- gulars and cervicals, and the internal jugulars and cervicals into the fubclavians, which joining, make the Cava Defcendens. The internal jugu- lars are feated by the carotid arteries and receive the blood from all the parts which the carotids fexve, except the hairy fcalp and part of the neck, whofe veins enter into the external jugulars, which run immediately under the Mufculus Quadratus Genae, often two on each fide. The cervical veins, defcend two through the fora- mina in the tranfverfe procefTes of the cervical vertebrae, and two throngh the great foramen of the fpine, and one on each lide the fpinal mar- row ; thefe join at the lowed vertebra of the neck, and then empty into the fubclavians, and H 4 at 104 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [PART I.. at the interfaces of all the vertebrae communicate with another. The veins of the arm are more than double the number of the arteries, there being one on each fide each artery, even to the fmalleft bran- ches that we can trace, befides the veins which lie immediately under the fkin. Thofe which ac- company the arteries have the fame names with the arteries ; thofe which run immediately under the fkin on the back of the hand have no proper names : they run from thence to the infide of the elbow ; where the uppermofl is called Cephalica, the next Mediana, the next Bafilica. Thefe all communicate near the joint of the elbow, and then fend one branch which is more directly from the Cephalica, and bears that name, until it en- ters the fubclavian vein ; it paiTes immediately under the fkin,' in molt bodies, between the flexors and extenfors of the cubit, on the upper fide of the arm. The other branches joining, and receiving thofe which accompany the arteries of the cubit, they pais with them by the artery of the arm into the fubclavian vein. The exter- nal veins have frequent communications with the internal, and are always fulleft when we ufe the moft exercife ; becaufe the blood being expanded by the heat which exercife produces, it requires the veflels to be diltended, and the inner veflels, being compreiied by the actions of. the mufcles, they cannot dilate enough, but thefe veflels being PART I.] ARTERIES, ANDVEINS. 105 being feated on the outfides of the mufcles, are capable of being much dilated ; and this leems to rat to be the chief ufe of thefe external veflels. In the Thorax, befides the two Cavas, there is a vein called Azygos or Vena line Pari, it is made up of the inlercoftal, phrenic, and bron- chial veins, and enters the descending cava near the auricle, as if its ufe was to divert the descend- ing blood from falling too directly upon the blood in the afcending cava, and direct the blood of the defcending cava into the auricle. Befides this vein in the Thorax, are the mammary veins, one to each artery : and the veins of the heart which are called Coronarire ; they are twice the number of the arteries, but they enter the right auricle chiefly at one orifice. In the Abdomen, (befides the Cava Afcendens, and the veins which are named like the arteries,) there is one large one called Vena Portae, whole branches arife from all the branches of the coeliac and two mefenteric arteries, except the branches of the coeliac ^nd fuperior mefenteric, which are bellowed on the liver, arid uniting in one trunk enters the liver and is there again diftributed like an artery, and has its blood collected and brought into the cava by the branches of the cava in the liver : this vein being made ufe of inftead of an artery, to carry blood to the liver, for the repara- tion of bile. It moves in this vein about eight times flower 106 OF THE BLOOD, HEART, [pART I. flower than in the arteries hereabouts ; and this flow circulation being fuppofed neceffary, I think, there could be no other way fo fit to procure it ; for if an artery had been employed for this ufe, and been thus much dilated in fo fhort a paffage, the blood would not have moved uniformly in it, but much falter through its axis than near its fides ; and befides it is very probable that the blood in this vein having been firft employed in nourifhing feveral parrs, and having through a long fpace moved flowly, may be made much fitter for the feparation of bile than blood carried by an artery, dilated to piocure a circulation of the fame velocity with that in this vein. In the leg the veins accompany the arteries in the fame manner as in the arm, the external veins of the foot being on the upper fide, and from them is derived one called Saphoena, which is continued on the infide of the limb its whole length, and lias feveral names given it from the fe- veral places through which it paffes. Borelli has computed the force which the hear* exerts at every fyftole, to be equal to three thou- fand pounds weight, and the force which all the arteries exert at every fyftole, to be equal to lix- tctn thoufand pounds weight, and that they to- gethcr overcome a force equal to a hundred and thirty-fix thoufand pounds weight ; and Dr. Keill has computed that the heart in every fyf- tole, exerts a force not exceeding eight ounces : but PART I.] ARTERIES, AND VEINS. 107 but in both thefe accounts a weight in motion is compared to a weight at reft. The firft com- putation was made by comparing the heart with other mufcles, whofe power to fuftain a weight could be beft determined ; and the latter was made from the velocity of the blood moving in an artery : therefore if we confider that Borellfs way of computing led him to find out the abfo^ lute force of the heart, and Dr. Keill's the force which the heart ufually exerts, perhaps thefe very, different computations may be accounted for ; for if the force of the heart, which is conitantly exerted, mould, compared with any other mui^ cle, be but in a reciprocal proportion to the frer quency of their actions, and the importance of their ufes ; may not the heart very fitly have a force vaftly greater than it ufually exerts, becaufe it is always in action, and muft be able to exert a certain force in the loweft ftate of health ? What force the heart ever exerts in a grown man, I cannot fay ; but it muft be lefs in each ventricle than is fufficient to burlt the valves, which hinder the blood from returning into the auricles out of the ventricles, or than is fufricient to break thofe threads by which thefe valves are tied to the papillae. As to the velocity of the blood, is it not in all animals proportionable to their quantity of ac- tion ? and is not their ncceffity of food aHb in proportion to their quantity of action ? li i'o, we may 10S OF THE BLOOD, HEART, &C. [pART I* may fee how it comes to pafs, that animals which life no exercife, and whofe blood moves extremely How in the winter, can fubfift without any frefh fupply of food, while others that life a little more exercife, require a little more food, and thofe who ufe equal exercife winter and. fummer, re- quire equal quantities of food at all time?, the end of eating and drinking, being to repair what exercife and the motion of the blood has deftroy- ed or made ufelefs ; and the lefs velocity of the blood in fome animals than in others, may be the yeafon why wounds and bruifes in thofe animals do not fo foon deftroy life, as they do in animal* whofe blood moves fwifter* CHAPTER ( 109 ) CHAPTER XI Of the Glands and Excretory Duels. JMODERN anatomifts have reduced all the glands of the body to two forts, viz. the Gland ulse Conglobatae, and the Glandulae Conglomerate. A conglobate gland is a little fmooth body, wrapped up in a fine fkin, by which it is feparated from all other parts, only admitting an artery and nerve to pafs in, and giving way to a vein and ex- cretory canal to come out. Of this fort are the glands of the brain, the labial glands, &c. A conglomerate gland is compofed of many little conglobate glands all tied together, and wrapped up in one common tunicle, or mem- brane. Sometimes all their excretory duels unite, and make one common pipe, through which the liquor of all of them runs, as the pancreas and the parotides do. Sometimes the ducts uniting, form ieveral pipes, which only communicate with one another, by crofs canals, and fuch are the Mam- mae. Others again have feveral pipes, without any communication with one another ; of which fort are the Glandulse Lachrymales, and Proflra- tae. And a fourth fort is, when each little gland has IJO OF THE GLAtft>S £>ART U has its own excretory duel, through which if tranfmits its liquor in a common bafon, as the kidneys. A gland is chiefly compofed of a convolution of one or more arteries of a confiderable length, from whofe lines arife vait numbers of excretory duels, as the lacleals arife from the guts, and for the fame reafon ; for the parages into the excre- tory duels of a gland, being fuch as that only one fort of fluid may pafs into them, the want of largenefs is compenfated by their number ; and in a great length of an artery, as in the guts thofe proper fluids which efcape cue duel may pais into another ; and from what has been laid, it does not appear but that excretory duels may arife from the veffels that form membranes without be- ing convolved at all. And this way, I imagii fecretions are made from all the membranes that line cavities, and fome others. There alfo ariie from thefe arteries lymphatic veffels, whofe ufe feems to be to take of the thiimeft part of 1 blood, where a thick fluid is to be fecreted, L ing they are found in greateli plenty in fuch glands as feparate the thicker! fluids, as in the liver ; and it is obfervable that where the thickeil fecretions are made, the velocity of the blood is the leaft, as if it was contrhed to give thofe feemingly more tenacious parts more time to fepa- rate from the blood. The arteries that compoie different glands are convolved in different man- ners, PART I.] AND EXCRETORY DUCTS. Ill Hers, but whether or riot their different fecretions depend upon that, I doubt will be difficult to dilcover. The excretory duels arife from the arteries, and unite in their progrefs as the roots of trees do from the earth, and as different trees, plants, fruits, and even different minerals, in their growing, often derive their diftincl pro- per juices from the fame kind of earth ; fo the ex- cretory ducts in different glands, feparate from the fame blood their different juices : but what thefe different fecretions depend upon, whether the itructure of the parts or different attractions, are what we have no certainty about, though this lubject has employed feveral of the befl writers. For my own part, from the great Simplicity and uniformity ufually feen in Nature's works, I am mod inclined to think different fecretions arife from different attractions, feeing that in plants and minerals there feems to be no other way. Some of the principal glands will be mentioned in the following chapter. CHAPTER ( tt* ) CHAPTER XII. Of the Converfwn of Food into Blood : Mafliea- tion, the Salivary Glands, the Duclus Ati- merit alls, Dige/lion, Formation of Chyle, and the Organs conducive to it. JL HE aliment being received into the mem:/ there mafticated by the teeth, and impregnated with faliva, which is preiled out of the tali vary glands by the motions of the jaw and the mufcles that move it and the tongue. The falivary glands are fituated about the jaws and the tongue. Parotis, or Maxillaris Superior, is the largeft, and is fituated behind the lower jaw, under the ear. It has its Saliva promoted by the motions of the. lower jaw. Maxillaris inferior is fituated between the lower jaw and the tendon of the Digaftric mulMe. [See the table of Mufcles. ~\ Sublingual^ is a fmall gland under the tongue between the jaw and the ArataglofTus mufcle. Toniilla is a globular gland about the bignefs of a hazel nut, iituated upon the Pterygoideus Inter- num mufcle, between the root of the tongue and t he Uvula. This gland, with its fellow, direc'ts the mafticated aliment into the Pharynx, and they ferve PART I.] OF THE CONVERSION OF FOOD, &TC. 1 I 3 ferve for the Uvula to fhut down upon when we breathe through the nofe. They are comprefTed by the tongue and the aliment, when the former raifes the latter over its root, and thereby oppor- tunely emit their faliva to lubricate the food for its eafier defcent through the Pharynx. Pre dure upon the furface of a gland very much promoting the fecretion that is made in it, thefe glands are fo feated as to be prefled by the lower jaw, and its mufcles, which will be chiefly at the time when their fluid is wanted ; and the force with which the jaw muft be moved, being as the drynefs and hardnefs of the food mafticated, the fecretion from the glands depending very much upon that force ; it will alfo be in proportion to the drynefs and hardnefs of that food which is neceflary ; for all food, being to be reduced to a pulp, by being mixed with faliva before it can be fwallowed fit for digeflion, the dryer and harder foods needing more of this matter, will, from this mechanifm, be fupplied with more than moifter foods in about that proportion in which they are dryer and harder; and the dryer foods needing more faliva than moifter, is the reafon why we can cat lefs and digeft lefs of thefe than, thofe. What quantity of faliva thefe glands can feparate from the blood, in a given time, will be hard to determine, but in eating of dry bread it cannot be lefs than the weight of bread ; and many men, in a little time, can eat. more dry I bread Ill OP THE CONVERSION OF [PART I, bread than twice the fize of all thefe glands ; and fome men that are ufed to fmoaking, can fpit half a pint in the fmoaking one pipe of tobacco ; and fome men in a falivation, have fpit, for days or weeks together, a gallon in four and twenty hours ; and, yet I believe, all thefe glands put together, do not weigh more than four ounces. The membrane which lines the mouth and pa- late, and covers the tongue, -is every where befet with fmall glands, to afford faliva in all parts of the mouth to keep it moift ; for thofe more remote are chiefly concerned in time of maftication. Thefe fmall glands have names given them accord- ing to their refpective foliations, as Buccales, Labiales, Linguales, Fauciales, Palatinao, Gingi- varum, and U vularcs. The aliment thus prepared defcends through the Pharynx into the ftomach, where it is digefted by the juices of the ftomach, which are what is thrown out of the glands of its inmoft coat with faliva out of the mouth, and a moderate warmth and attrition. It is here necefiary to take a view of the Duclus Alimentalis, or Alimentary Canal, which coniiiis of the CEfophagus, Stomach, and Guts. (Efophagus or gullet, is the beginning of the alimentary duel: ; its upper part is called Pharvnx; it is a wide and open fpace fpread behind the gue to receive the maiticated aliment ; it be- gins from the bails of the ikull near the ProcefTus Pterygoid es PART t.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. 115 Pterygoides of the fphenoidal bone, then defcend- ing becomes round, and is called Vaginalis Gulae ; it runs from the tongue clofe to the (pine, under the left Subclavian blood veflels, into and through the Thorax on the left fide, then piercing the diaphragm, it immediately enters the flomach. It is compofed of a thin outer coat, which is no more than a proper membrane to the middle ot mufcular coat. The middle coat is compofed of longitudinal and circular mufcular fibres, but chiefly circular, abundantly thicker than the N fame coat in the guts ; becaufe this has no foreign power to afliffc it, as the guts have, and becaufe it is neceffary the food fhould make a fhorter flay here than there/ The inner coat, is a pretty fmooth membrane, befet with many glands, which fecrete a mucilaginous matter, to defend this membrane, and render the defcent of the ali- ment eafy* Ventriculus, the flomach, is fituated under the left fide of the diaphragm, its left fide touching the fpleen, and its right is covered by the thin edge of the liver; its figure nearly refembles the pouch of a bag-pipe, its left end being moft ca- pacious, the upper fide concave, and the lower convex; it has two orifices, both on its upper part ; the left (through which the aliment paffes into the ftomach) is named Cardia ; and the right (through which it is conveyed out of the ftomach into the Duodenum) is named Pylorus ; where I -2 there 116 OP THE CONVERSION OF [PART I. there is a circular valve which hinders a return of the aliment out of the gut, but does not wholly hinder the gall from flowing into the ftomach. The coats of the ftomach are but three ; the external membranous, the middle mufcular, whofe fibres are chiefly longitudinal and circular, the inner membranous, and befet with glands, which feparate a Mucus. This laft coat is again divided by anatomifts into a fourth, which they call Yillofa. As the mufcular coat of the ftomach. contracts, the inner coat falls into folds, which encreafe as the ftomach leffens, and confequently retard the aliment moil when the ftomach is near- eft being empty. The manner in which digeftion is performed has been matter of great controverfy. The an- cients generally fuppofed the food concocled by a fermentation in the ftomach : but the moderns more generally attribute it to the mufcular force of the ftomach. In granivorous birds, where di- geftion is made by mufcular force, their fecond ftomach is plainly contrived for comminuting or digefting their food that way ; for, befides that, it is one of the ftrongeft mufcles in their bodies, its iniide is defended with a hard and ftrong mem- brane, that it may not be torn ; and thefe birds al- ways eat with their grain the rougheft and hardelt little Hones they can find, which are ncceflary for grinding their food, notwithstanding it is firft foaked in another ftomach, and is alio food of very eafy digeftion. In ferpents, fome birds, and Se- veral PART I.j FOOD INTO 11 LOO D, &C. 117 vcral kinds of fifh, which fwallow whole animals, and retain them long in their ftomachs, digeftion leems to be performed by a menflruum ; for we frequently find in their ftomachs animals Co totally digefted, before their form isdeftroyed, that their very bones are made foft. In horfes and oxen, di- geftion is but little more than extracting a tincture ; for in their excrements when voided, we fee the texture of their food is not totally deftroyed, though grafs, in particular, feems to be of as eafy digeftion as any food whatever, and the corn they eat is often voided entire : and in the excrements of men, are often feeri the fkins of fruits undigeft- ed, and fmall fruits, fuch as currants, unbroken, and worms alfo continue unhurt, both in the fto- mach and guts. Therefore, by comparing our ftomachs with thofe here mentioned, it appears to me, that our digeftion is performed by a men -- ftruum, which is chiefly faliva, affifted by the action of the ftomach, and the abdominal mufcles. and by that principle of corruption which is in all dead bodies. For digeftion is no other than corruption of our food ; and, there- fore, quantities of hot fpirits, which hinder the corruption of animal bodies, alfo hinder digeftion. Though the inteftines be one continued pipe, which by feveral circumvolutions, and turnings, reaches from the Pylorus to the Anus, they are divided by the anatomifts into fix parts, viz. Du- odenum, Jejunum, Ileum, Colon, Caecum, and Rectum, the three firft which are nearer! the fto- I 3 mach 118 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART I. mach are the fmall guts, and the three laft are the great guts. They all have in their inner membranes an almoft infinite number of very fmall glands. The length of the guts to that of the body is as five to one in a middle fized man ; in taller men the proportion is ufually lefs, and in fhort men greater. It is not necefTary to repeat the ufe of the mefentery to the inteftines. [See the chapter on Membranes.] Let us now return to the progrefs of the ali- ment. Being digefted in the ftomach it is thrown through the Pylorus or right orifice of the fto- mach into the Duodenum, where it is mixed with bile from the gall-bladder and liver, and the pan- creatic juice from the pancreatic gland. Thefe fluids ferve further to attenuate and dilute the di- gefled aliment, and probably to make the fluid part feparate better from the faeces. After this it is continually moved by the periftaltic or vermi- cular motion of the guts, and the compreflion of the diaphragm and abdominal mufcles, by which the fluid parts are prefTed into the lactcals, and the grofs parts through the guts as excrement. Having followed the aliment to the reparation of the nutritious and excrementitious parts of it, we muft make fome enquiry into the other auxili- ary organs, by which the operation is carried into effect. Thofe are, the Liver, Gall-bladder, Pan- creas, Spleen, Ladeals, and Lymphatics. The PART I.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. I Ifl The liver is the largeft gland in the body ; of a duiky red colour. It is fituated immediately under the diaphragm in the right hypochon- drium ; its exterior fide is convex, and interio 1 * concave ; backward towards the ribs it is thick, and thin on its fore-part, where it covers the up- per lide of the ftomach, and fome of the guts ; the upper fide of it adheres to the diaphragm, and is alio tied to it and the fternum by a thin liga- ment, which is defcribed commonly as two. It is alfo tied to the navel by a round ligament called Teres or Umbilicale, which is the umbilical vein degenerated into a ligament ; it is inferted into the liver at a fmall riflure in its lower edge. Dogs, cats, and other animals, that have a great deal of motion in their backs, have their livers divided into many diflincl: lobules ; which by moving one upon another, comply with thofe mo- tions, which elle would break their livers to pieces. The gall-bladder is a receptacle of bile, feated in the hollow lide of the liver ; it is compofed of one denfe coat fomewhat mufcular, which is co- vered with a membrane like that of the liver ; and is alio lined with another, that cannot eafily be ieparated. From the gall-bladder towards the duodenum runs a duel called Cyfticus ; and from the liver to this duel one called Hepaticus, which carries off the gall this way, when the gall-blad- der is full ; then the ductus cyfticus and hepa- ticus being united, commence ductus communis I 4 choledochuSj 120 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART I. choledochus, which enters the duodenum obliquely about four inches below its beginning. The orifice of this duel: in the gut is fomewhat eminent, but has no caruncle, as is commonly faid. As the liver, from its fituation in the fame cavity with the ftomach, will be moft prelfed, and confequemly feparate moft gall when the fto- mach is full eft, which is the time when it is moft wanted ; fo the gall-bladder, being feated again ft the duodenum, it will have its fluid prerled out by the aliment palling through that gut, and con- fequently at a right time and in due proportion ; becaufethe greater that quantity of aliment is, the greater will be the compreilion ; and fo the con- trary. Pancreas, the fweet- bread, is a large gland of the falivary kind, lying acrois the upper and back part of the abdomen, near the duodenum ; it is what the ancients call a conglomerate gland, ap- pearing fo to the naked eye ; it has a fhort excre- tory duel, about half as large as a crow quill, though it is commonly painted as large as the' ductus communis choledochus : it always enters the duodenum together with the bile duel: ; but in dogs fome diftance from it ; and, I think, al- ways in two ducts difiant from one another. The juice of this gland, together with the bile, ferves to compleat the digeftion of the aliment; and renders it fit to enter the lacteal veliels. The PART I.]' FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. !2l The Lacteals are the Venae Lacteae, Recepta- cuIqiti Chyli, and Ductus Thoracicus. Vense Lacteae, &c. are a vail number of very fine pellucid tubes, beginning from the fmall guts, and proceeding thence through the mefentery ; they frequently unite, and form fewer and larger veiiels, which firft. pafs through the mefenteric glands, and then into the Receptaculum Chyli : thefe veffels before they arrive at the mefenteric glands, are called Venae Lacteas primi Generis ; and thence to their entrance into the Receptacu- lum Chyli, Venas Lacteae fecundi Generis. The office of thefe veins, is to receive the fluid part of the digefted aliment, which is called chyle, and convey it to the Receptaculum Chyli, that it may be thence carried through the Ductus Thoraci- cus into the blood -vefTels. Receptaculum Chyli, is a membranous fome- what pyriform bag, two-thirds of an inch long, one-third of an inch over in its large!! part, when collapfed ; fituated on the firft Vertebra Lumbo- rum, to the right of the Aorta, a little higher than the Arteria Emulgens Dextra, under the right inferior mufcle of the diaphragm ; it is formed by the union of three tubes, one from under the Aorta, the fecond from the interftice of the Aorta and Cava, the third from under the emulgents of the right fide. The Saccus Chyli- ferus at its fuperior part becoming gradually fmaller is contracted into a flendcr membranous pipe 122 ' OF THE CONVERSION OP fpAKT I. pipe of about a line diameter, well known by the name of Ductus Thoracicus. The Ductus Thoracicus afcends into the Thorax, behind the great artery ; and, about the heart, it frequently divides into two or three branches which immediately unite again into one ; and, creeping all along the gullet, it marches to the left fubclavian vein, where it opens at one or two orifices, which are covered with a femi-lunar valve, that the blood may pafs over them; and the chyle run from underneath it, and mix with the blood in the veins. The Ductus Thoracicus has valves at feveral diitances, which hinder the chyle that has once parted them, from falling back. It receives the lymphaeducts from the feveral parts in the cheft, as it partes along to the fubclavian vein. By its running up the left fide, the chyle receives a new impetus, from the puliation of the great artery : whereas, on the right fide, it muft have afcended only by the preffure of the Dia- phragm and mufcles of the lower belly upon the receptacle, which it equally enjoys in its prefent fituation. Suppofing there ordinarily partes five pounds of chyle in a day through the lacteals, and that four ounces of this only is added to the blood, (though it may be any other quantity for ought I know) and that a man neither decreales nor en* creafes during this time, then all the feparations from the fluids and folids muft be juft five pound * » PART I.] FOOD INTO BLOOD, &C. 123 pounds ; four ounces of which mud be thofe fluids and particles of fblids, which are become unprofitable ; and the remaining four pounds twelve ounces, will ferve as a vehicle to carry the four ounces off: fo that we fee for what rea- fon more fluids are carried into the blood than are to be retained there, and how the body is by the fame means both nourifhed and preferved in health. The chyle is diluted in its parage by the lymph. Of the JLymplheJucls. Lymphsedu6ls are fmall pellucid cylindrical tubes which arife invifible from the extremities of the arteries throughout the whole body, but more plentifully in glands than other parts, and in greater! number from fuch glands as feparate the moft vifcid fluids, as may be obferved in the liver and elfewhere. They all terminate in the Via Laclea, or in the large veins. All that rife in the Abdomen empty into the Venae Lacteal fecundi Generis and Receptaculum Chyli : thofe in the cavity of the Thorax into the Ductus Thoracicus and the fubclavian veins. Their ufes are to carry lymph to dilute the chyle to make it incorporate more readily with the blood (but not to make it flow the better in the Lac- teals, as appears fufficiently from their not en- tering into the minuted lacteals) and to carry off fo 124 OF THE CONVERSION OP [PART ll fo much lymph as is neceflary to leave the blood in fit temper to flow through the veins ; for it is always obferved that in fuch perfons as have their blood too thin, the Globulae cohere and form Moleculae or Polypufes, Of the Lymphatic Glands, The glands accompanying the lymphatics, are fituated in the three cavities, in the interftices of the mufcles, where the lymphatics lie with the large blood veflels, and in the four emunclories, viz. the arm -pits and groins. In the brain is feared the Glandula Pinealis, which is judged to be of this fort. In the neck are fituated a great many of thcie by the fides of the carotid arte] and internal jugular veins, and two, or a fort of double one upon the Larynx inunediat. '; low the thyroid cartilage, from which fituation they derive the name of Thyroidal, and juft within the Thorax is feated another called Thy- mus Under the bafis of the heart, and at I fides of the lungs, where the great vcficls enter, are many of thele glands from the fize of a pea to that of a hazel nut. In the Abdomen upon the loins near the kidneys, and by the fides of the iliac veflels are many of thefe glands, which are called Lumbales, and there are fome at the hollow fide of the liver, named Hepatictt : and the mefentery is full of glands of a like appt ance, but they feem to belong only to the lacleal veins. FART I.] FOOD IttTO JBLOOD, &C; 1 25 veins, unlefs fome of them which are featecj at the bads of the mefentery among the Venae Lac,. teas fecundi Generis, belong to the lymphatics that come from the liver, where the hepatic lym- phatics pafs in their way to the Receptaculum Chyii. The glands which accompany the blood vefiels in the limbs are few, and diltributed in no certain order ; except thofe in the four emunc- tories, i. e. in the arm-pits and groins, named Axillares and Inguinales. The Chyle or thin milky part of the aliment, being received into the lacteals from all the fmall guts, they carry it into the Receptaculum Chyli, and thence the Ductus Thoracicus carries it into the left Subclavian vein, where it mixes with the blood, and pafles with it to the heart. All the veins being emptied into two branches, viz. the afcending and descending Cava, they empty into the right auricle of the heart ; the right auricle unloads into the right ventricle, which throws the blood through the pulmonary artery into the lungs ; from the lungs, the blood is brought by the pulmonary veins into the left auricle, and from that into the left ventricle, by which it is thrown into the aorta, and diftributed through the body. .From the extremities of the arteries arife the veins and lymphatics, the 7 veins' to collect the blood, and bring it back to the heart, and the lymphatics to return the lymph or thinner part of the blood, from the arteries, to the veins and 126 OF TttE CONVERSION OP FOOD, &C. [PART I. and the Via La&ea, where it mixes with the chyle, and then paries with it into the left fubcla- vian vein and to the heart. [See Chap. X.~J The urine is ieparated from the blood by the kidneys. The kidneys of men are like thofe of a hog, the two weigh about twelve ounces ; they are feated towards the upper part of the loins upon the two 1 aft ribs, the right under the liver, and a little lower than the other, and the left under the fpleen. All the fluids that pafs into the flomach and guts being carried into the blood-vefTels, the great- eft part of them are feparated and carried off by proper vefTels, viz. urine from the kidneys, bile from the liver, &:c. and thefe juices carry along with them whatever might be injurious to the ani- mal economy. CHAPTER ( 1*7 ) CHAPTER Xllf. Of . continuing the Species, As every animal is fubje6l to death, and muft at laft perifh by old age, difeafe, or cafualty, the whole animal creation would foon come to an end, if there were not a constant fuppty, therefore the Author of nature has given to every animal an in- ft in 61 to propagate its fpecies, and for this pur- poie has created a diftinction of fex. The nature of generation is enveloped in myftery, which ana- tomifts have endeavoured in vain to explain ; in- ftead therefore of examining their unfettled theo- ries^ I fhall only obferve, that mankind differ in this particular elTentially from the reft of the animal creation, the attachment of the male and the female being founded on the pafrion of love, of which brutes know' nothing. As I fhall fpeak of this paflion at large in the laft part of this trea- tife, I fhall here conclude our anatomical elements. The fubjeel is a very copious one, and deferves to be ftudied at length, but youth who have other ftudies, and perhaps men who have other purfuits, will notf be forry to take this glance of the human frame, divefted of the abftrufe minutenefs neceffa- ry to the profeftional ftudent. END OF PART I. ELEMENTS OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE* PART IL A CONCISE VIEW- op THE MENTAL FACULTIES, CHAPTER I. General View of the Mind. Advantage of Analyzing. XXAVING analyzed our corporeal frame, and made my young readers acquainted with the com- ponent parts of it, at leaft fo far as is neceffary to contribute to the knowledge of its nature ; for it was not my defign to give them the information proper for a furgeon ; let us now proceed to the investigation of the nobler part of human nature ; THE MIND. What do we mean by the word Mind? The intelligent or confcious part of our nature, con- firming of certain faculties or powers, by which the operations of knowledge, of virtue, and of K vice 130 GENERAL VIEW Ot tHE MIND. [PART IT, vice are conducted, jufl as we have feen the ope- rations of the body are conducted by the con- formation of mufcles, nerves, glands, &c. pro- ducing health, ftrength, and agility, the grand effects of corporeal flructure. In making ourfelves acquainted with the mind, let us purfue the fame method we adopted with the body, let us fee of what it confifts in the whole, and then let us analyze each faculty, and emotion feparately. In the Mind we difcover the following faculties and properties : The Faculties of the Mind. Perception. Reafonins:. Q Attention. Judgment. Retention, or Memory. Invention. Recollection. Will. Imagination. Defign. The Power of Comparing. Forefight. Difcemment, or Intuition. Liberty. The Powerof Abstracting. Confcience The Powerof Compound- ,ng. This collection of terms can at firft produce but very confufed notions, and it brings to my mind a companion which, in illuftrating the na- ture of analyfis, will both amule and inltruct. Let us fuppofe a villa, overlooking an extenfive, fertile country, where nature lias been bountiful in FAkt II.] ADVANTAGE OF ANALYZING. 131 in variety, and where her bounty , has been ftill more varied and adorned by art. Let us arrive at this villa in the night time. Let the windows be opened juft as the fun begins to gild the horizon, and as foon as vve have looked through them, let them be inftantly fhut again. Although this beautiful country appeared but an inftant to us, it is certain that we faw all that it contains. A fecond and a third glimpfe would leave but the fame impreffions made by the ob- jects in the firft, and of courfe had not the win- dows been fhut again, we fhould have continued to fee only what we faw at firft. But the firft view is not enough to give us a knowledge of the country, that is to fay, to enable us to diftinguifh the objects it contains, and there- fore on the fhutting of the windows none of us would be able to give an account of what we had feen. Thus one may fee many things and learn nothing. Now let us fuppofe the windows opened for the whole day, and that we have before us for a long time all that we had feen at firft. If loft, like fome men, in extacy, we continue viewing as be- fore, this multitude of different objects all at once, we fhould know no more when night came on than we did when the windows were firft fuddenly fhut in the morning^ In order to acquire a knowledge of this country it is not enough to view the whole together ; we K 2 muft 132 GENERAL VIEW OP THE MIND. [PART 11. muft look at every part of it one after the other, and inftead of taking in the extent with a fingle look, we muft carry our eyes in fuccefTion from object to object. All are taught this by nature. She has not only endowed us with the. power of looking at a multitude of things at once, but alfo with the power of looking at but one, that is to fay, of fixing our eyes on them feparately and iingly ; and to this faculty 7 it is that we owe all the knowledge which we acquire by the fight. This is a faculty of which all men are pofTefTed ; yet if we fhould afterwards fpeak of this country, it would be found that we are not all equally well acquainted with it. The paintings of fome would be more or lcis accurate, in which many things would be found as they are in reality ; while thofe of others would be every where confuted, and in which it would be impoffible to make out any rlnng. We all, however, f aw the fame objects ; with this difference, that the looks of fome were guided by chance, and thofe of others directed m a certain order. Now, what is that order ? Nature herfelf points it out ;• it is that in which fhe prefents objects. There are fome which attract our eyes more than others ; they are more ftriking, and more promi- nent,, around which the reft feem to be arranged as appendages. It is thefe that are firit obferved, and when their refpective Situations arc fixed, the reft fill the intervals,, each in its place. Wc PART II.] ADVANTAGE OP ANALYZING. 133 We begin therefore with the principal objects : we obferve them fucceflively, and compare them, in order to judge of their relative ftates. When by this means we have made ourfelves acquainted with their refpedtive fituations, we obferve fuc- ceflively all thofe that fill the intervals, we com- pare each with the principal object nearevl it, and fettle its pofition. We now diftinguifli all the objects, the form and fituation of which we have learned, and we fee them all at one look. The order that reigns among them is no longer fucceffive, but co-exift- ent : it is that in which they really lie before us, and we fee them all at once diflinctly. It is the fame with the mind as with the eye : it fees at once a multitude of things, and both the mental and corporeal fight improve with ex- ercife. The eyes of a good painter inftantly de- cry in. a landfcape, a multitude of things which we look at with him, and which efcape us. We may, by going from villa to villa, ftudy other profpects, and trace them like the firft. In this cafe it will happen that we fhall prefer one, or feel that each pofl'efles a peculiar charm : but we only judge of them by comparing them, and we cannot compare them but by tracing them at the fame time in our memory. The mind there- fore fees more than the eye can fee. To analyze then, is nothing more than to ob- ferve the qualities of an object in fucceffive order 3 K 3 for 134: GENERAL VIEW OF THE MIND. [pART II. for the purpofe of giving that co-exiftent ordeF they poflefs. This is done naturally by every one, Although in a profpecl: which we have ftudied we obferve a multitude of objects at one glance, flill the view is never fo diftinct as when it is cir- cumfcribed, and we look but at a fmall number of objects at once ; for we always dilcern fewer of them than we fee. As I faid before, it is with the mind as with the fight : a great number of ideas which are become familiar to us are prefent to our minds at once ; they are all perceived, but not all equally diftin- guifhed. In order to perceive, in a diftinct man- ner, the ideas or images that come at once into our minds, we muft decompofe them as we did the objects of our fight ; we mutt analyze our thoughts. Before we proceed to a feparate view of our fa- culties or mental powers, let us obferve that the end of thc ; r operations is the attainment of know- ledge. Knowledge is the perception or formation of ideas, or the discovery of lome agreement or dis- agreement, connexion or repugnance between ideas we have perceived or formed. An idea is the reprefentation of a thing in the mind raifed there by means of an impreflion made through our fenfes, or by an operation of the mind itfelf. Ideas PART II.] ADVANTAGE OF ANALYZING. 135 Ideas that reprefent material forms are generally called images: immaterial thoughts are more pro- perly called notions. The former xvc fenfble or cor- poreal ideas, derived originally from our feitfei; and from the communication which the foul has with the body ; fuch are the notions we frame of all colours, founds, taftes, figures, or fliapes : the latter are intellectual ideas, gained by reflecting on the nature of our own fouls, turning our thoughts within ourfelves, and obferving what is tranfacled in our own minds ; fuch are the notions we have of thought, judgment, reafon, knowledge, zvill, love, fear, hope. By fenfation the foul contemplates things, as it were, out of itfelf, and gains corporeal reprefen- tations or fenfible ideas : by reflexion, the foul contemplates itfelf, and things within itfelf, and by this means gains fpiritual ideas, or reprefenta- tions of things intellectual. Our organs of fenfation are commonly reckoned to be five, namely thofe of feeling, feeing, hear- ing, tafting, and fmelling. The organ of feeling is fpread not only over the whole of the external parts of the body, but over many of the internal. The other four are each of them placed but in two particular parts of the body ; that of feeing in the eyes, that of hearing in the ears, that of tail- ing in the tongue and palate, and that of fmelling in the noftrils : as we law in the former part of theie elements. K 4 As 136 GENERAL VIEW OF THE MIND. [PART II. As to the qualities or faculties of the mind, the ideas of which we can receive only by reflexion upon what paffes within us, men have been accu- rate in diftinguifhing them, and giving proper names to each, though thofe names are feldom properly and diftinctly applied. We will now in-. yeftiojate. them. CHAPTER ( 137 ) CHAPTER II. Of Perception. PERCEPTION is that quality or that aft of the mind whereby it becomes confcious of any thing. In looking upon a houfe, a tree, a rofe, or any other external object, we find that each of them raifes feveral ideas in us, by what we call the fenfe of feeing : a mufical inflrumcnt when played upon in the room where we are, raifes fe- veral ideas in us by the fenfe of hearing : a nofe- gay held near the nofe raifes feveral ideas in us by what we call the fenfe of fmelling : by drinking a glafs of wine an idea is raifed in us by what we call the fenfe of tailing ; and if we touch any of thefe objedls it raifes in us an idea by what we call the fenfe of feeling. , Then by reflecting, and confidering this quality with which we find our- felves endowed, we receive an idea of the quality itfelf, to which idea we give the name Perception, or the perceptive quality. Now this idea, called perception, is as pofitive an idea, and as different from any of the ideas communicated by fenfation, as any of thofe ideas is pofitive, or as any of them is different from another. We may as poflL tively 138 OF PERCEPTION. [pART 1U tively fay we perceive, as that we fee, hear, fmell, taif e, or feel ; and the perceiving quality is as dif- ferent from thofe, as they from one another . The origin of corporeal fenfibility, and mental perception has given rife to various theories. As fenfibility relates to the body merely, the enquiry belongs to anatomy, and we have feen that it is. produced by the connexion of the nerves with the brain ; but this bodily fenfibility is by fome faid to be alfo the caufe of mental perception, either by vibrations through the brain, or the pafling of a Subtle fluid, called animal fpirits. Thei'e are difficult queflions, and I believe are in the num-. ber of thofe placed out of the reach of mortal knowledge. Materialists refer all to the forma-, tion of the brain. It is highly probable^ that our ideas by fenfation proceed from, or are occasioned by, the different motion into which the constituent parts of our brain are put by the application of external objeefs to fome part of our body : but I am not inclined to admit that the brain is the chief mover of reflexion, or director of the facul- ties, though it may be the medium of mental operations. The faculties of the brute creation ought to be as exalted as thofe of men, were thofe* faculties entirely directed by the motions of the medullary iubitance, in which anatomifts have difcovered no peculiar distinction, and furcly fo great a difference in character would have required a verv dUtincl and vinble conformation of I organ. PART II.] OP PERCEPTION. 139 organ. The Power, the incomprehenfible Power, that guides man to the knowledge of his nature, that directs him to attend to the operations of his mind, to inveiligate his faculties, to trace the finger of his Creator, is furely no motion or difpofition of the brain, but muft be inherent in fomething fa- perior to material fubftances — of that fomething I pretend not to have any peculiar or decided know- ledge, but I am not only willing, I am eager to call it, fpirit, foul, and to hope and to believe that it is the feed of immortality. To go at large into thefe qucftions is not my intention, for in theic elements I merely mean to give eafy lefTbns in %hc rudiments of Self-knowledge, and leaving them for the difcuffion of curioiity at fome future period of your lives, I fhall continue the defcrip- tion of the faculties of the Mind. The faculty of Perception, which has been juft explained to you, is a paffive faculty ; for with re- gard to all the ideas communicated to us either by fenfation or reflexion, it is entirely paffive. If we open our eyes we cannot help receiving the ideas which external objects communicate to us : if we reflect upon what pafles within, we cannot help receiving the ideas which the faculties and operations of our own mind communicate to us. Let us obferve that this perceptive faculty is of two forts ; one of which we call Serif at ion, where- by wc receive all our fimple ideas of external ob- jects ; and the other we call Reflexion, by which we 140 OF PERCEPTION. [PART If. we receive all the fimple ideas of the faculties and operations of our own minds. The firft fort is common to us with brute animals, all of whom have it in fome degree, as we may diicover by their actions and motions, and fome of them feem to have it in greater perfection than we have : but the laft fort feems to be peculiar to mankind ; for, as far as we know, no other kind of animal on this globe ever received an idea of its own mind, or of any of the faculties or operations of it* CHAPTER ( 141 ) CHAPTER III. Of the attentive or contemplative Faculty. AFTER we have received an idea into our mind, either by Senfation or Reflection, we have a faculty of continuing that idea in our mind, or of keeping it in our view for fome time, without allowing it to be difplaced by any other idea. This faculty we call Attention, or the attentive faculty, and when long continued, we call it Contemplation, or the contemplative faculty; for, in all civilized nations, mankind have been very exact in diftinguifhing, and giving proper names to the feveral faculties and operations of the Mind, though in common difcourfe thofe names are promifcuoufly and fometimes very improperly ufed. However as to its energies this faculty may be fubfequent to fenfe, yet is it truly prior to'it both in dignity and ufe : for this it is which retains the fee ting forms of things when things are gone and all fenfation at an end. The ufe of it is fo neceffary that we cannot properly be faid to have any idea in the mind until we have attended to it fo as to fix it there ; for we may, with our eyes wide open, flare upon a houfe, a horfe, or any 142 OF THE ATTENTIVE OR [PART Hi any other object ; or the clock in my room may ftrike twelve without our having properly any idea communicated to us either by our eyes or ears, though thefe external objects had certainly the ufual natural effect upon them ; but our mind was fo intent upon contemplating fome particular idea, or meditating upon fome particular fubject, that we did not attend to, or take notice of. that effect, and confequently had no idea thereby communicated to the mind ; fo that even when we do contemplate, we do not properly contem- plate the external object, but only the ideas or idea communicated by that external Hence the leaft reflection mult convince us, that this faculty, called Attention, and confequently the contemplative faculty are qualities of ipiritual and not of the material part of our com- pound being, becaufe they are employed folely about preemptions or ideas which can exift or inhere only in the Mind, though many of them proceed originally from impreffioiis made upon the body by external objects ; for we have pen notions of things that are gone and extinct which cannot be made the objects of fenfation. We have an eafy command over the objects in our mind, and can call them forth in almoli what manner we pleafe ; but our fenfations ere necef- iary when their objects are prefent, nor can we controul them but by removing either the objects or ourlelves. It $>ART II.] CONTEMPLATIVE FACULTY, 143 It muft likewife appear that both thefe faculties 3re generally active faculties of the mind, though fome ideas ftrike our minds fo flrongly that we cannot help attending to them, fuch as the ideaa of excjiiifite pleafure or pain ; and fome fo very flrongly, that it is not in our power for fome time to difplace them, as may be inftanced by the paflions of Love and Grief. They pofTefs our minds fo fully, that for fome time no other idea can get accefs, even though affifted by our utmoffc endeavours. As to ideas of that kind both thefe faculties may be faid to be paffive ; and as to fuch only, they feem to belong to fome brute creatures. CHAPTER ( 144 ) CHAPTER IV. Of the retentive Faculty , or Memory. IjY attending to, or contemplating any idea which we have received by Senfation or Reflec- tion, it becomes fo fixed in our mind that it re- mains there for a confiderable time ; whence w< difcover another faculty of the Mind, which we. call the retentive Faculty or Memory, and thi : muft alio be a quality of the fpirit, becaufe it i- employed only about ideas ; for we can remem- ber nothing but what we attend to, and as we attend to, or contemplate only our own ideas, we cannot be properly laid to remember any thing but our own ideas ; we do not remember the ex- ternal objects themfelves, but only thole ideas they raifed in our mind ; and as perceptions or ideas come all by the perceptive faculty, which is a quality of the Mind only, and cannot exift or inhere in our body, or in any part thereof, nor naturally depend on, or proceed from, any modi- fication or motion of the parts thereof, the ideas themfelves cannot exift but in the Mind ; confe- quently the faculty of retaining them, or of having their exiflence continued in the mind for fome PART II.] OF THE RETENTIVE FACULTY,&C. 145 fome confiderable time, mufl be a quality of the Mind, and of the Mind only. As to this quality we find that thofe ideas which ftrike the mind moft ftrongly, or which we contemplate longed, fix themielves the moft deeply, and remain the longeft in our mind, whence it is, that people of lively imaginations and quick fancies have generally fhort memories* for they have fo many different ideas occurring every inftant, that they have not time to contem- plate long any one idea or fet of ideas. This faculty is entirely paffive, and we find that brutes as well as men are endued with it. CHAPTER ( 146 ) CHAPTER V. Of the rccolleclive Faculty. XxFTER we have fo clofely attended to, or to long contemplated any idea, as to fix it in our memory, we have, we find a power of recalling that idea and placing it again in our view, gene- rally, whenever we pleafe, though feveral very different ideas have in the mean time intervened ; and this we can do by a feries of ideas, however connected or cafual, without the intervention of, or any afliftance from, the object that at firft raifed or produced fuch an idea in our mind. This faculty we call Recollection, or the rccollefi Faculty ; and it is fo like preception by Reflec- tion that it often goes by the name of Reflection; but the former is the proper name for it. As every recollection of any idea is a new con- templation of it, the oftencr we do recollect any idea the more firmly will it be rooted in our memory; whence it is, that people of lively ima- ginations and quick fancies have but fhort me- mories, for the lame reafon as juft before given, becauie they have every inftant new ideas occur- ring to them and therefore have not time to re- collect PART II.] OF THE RECOLLECTIVE FACULTY. 147 collect very often any former idea or fet of ideas. This Faculty mull cortainly be a quality of the Spirit or Soul only, becaufe it is employed only about ideas ; and it is generally an active faculty, but is fometimes paffive, for one idea, or fet of ideas, makes us fometimes recollect others whether we will or not ; and fo far only as it is paffive, it feems to belong to brutes as well as men, L 2 CHAPTER ( 148 ) CHAPTER VI. Of the Imagination. X HE imagination is a faculty by which we alfo call our ideas into our view, but though nearly allied to the two preceding faculties, it ought carefully to be diftinguifhed from them. When we view fome relict of fenlation repofed within us, without thinking of its rife, or referring it to any fenlible object, this is Fancy or Ima- gination. When we view fome fuch relicl:, and refer it withal to that fenfible object, which in time pari: was its caufe and original, this is Memory. Laftly, the road which leads to memory through a feries of ideas, however connected, whether rationally or cafually, this is Recollection. I have added cafually, as well as rationally, be- caufe a cafual connection is often fufficient. Thus from feeing a garment, I think of its owner; thence of his habitation ; fhips, fea- fights, admirals, Sec. If the diftinction between memory and fancy be not fufficiently underftood, it may be illus- trated by being compared to the view of a por- trait.. When we contemplate a portrait, without thinking of whom it is the portrait, fuch con- templation PART II.] OF THE IMAGINATION. 149 templation is analogous to Fancy. When we view it with reference to the original, whom it reprefents, luch contemplation is analogous to Memory. We may go farther. Imagination or Fancy may exhibit (after a manner) even things that are to come. It is here that hope and fear paint all their pleafant, and all their painful pictures of futurity. But Memory is confined in the ftricteft manner to the paft. L 3 CHAPTER ( 150 ) CHAPTER VII. The Comparative Faculty. W E likewife find, that we have a faculty or power, not only of continuing in our mind, and contemplating any one fingle idea we receive or form, but alio of continuing in our view for fome time, and contemplating two, three, or more ideas at one and the fame time, by which we fet them as it were by one another, in order to con- fider wherein they agree or difagree. This is an aclive faculty which we call comparing, or the Comparative faculty ; and muft certainly be a proper quality of the Mind, becaufe it is employ- ed only about ideas. This quality too feveral brutes are endued with, fo far as they have ideas, but as their ideas are but few, none of them feem, to have any great fhare of it. CHAPTER ( 151 ) CHAPTER VIII. The Difcemhig Faculty. £>Y the lad faculty we find out another, which is that by which we difcover the agreement or difagreement, connection or repugnance of any two, three, or more ideas which we compare to- gether ; and fo far as it extends it is a neceffary confequence of the former faculty. This faculty we call Difcernment, or the difcerning Faculty, which is altogether paflive, for we cannot help difcovering the agreement or difagreement, con- nection or repugnance, of any two or more ideas, after the Mind has by its former faculty fairly fet them together in its view, when fuch an imme- diate comparifon can properly be made. This, indeed, cannot always be done, but in all cafes wherein it can be done, we difcover directly and immediately the agreement or difagreement, con- nection or repugnance of the ideas fo compared, which is generally confidered as the fecond Hep towards Knowledge, that of acquiring ideas be- ing certainly the ntft ; and the difcovery made by fuch an immediate comparifon of two or more ideas, when llich comparifon can be made, L 4 we iff* 152 THE DISCERNING FACULTY. [PART II. we call intuitive knowledge, which is the moft certain and evident fort of knowledge we are ca- pable of. By this Faculty we difcover that the two or more ideas we have in view are not the fame, but are two different ideas. This Faculty as well as the former muff be a quality of the Spirit be- caufe it is employed only about ideas. Thus, after we have feen a red and a white rofe, and from them acquired and retained two ideas of co- lour, we can afterwards, when they are not pre- fent in our view, recollect thefe two ideas of co- lour, and by comparing dilcern, that they are not the fame, but that they are two different ideas ; and even when the two rofes are both pre- fent in our view, we cannot difcern that the two ideas of colour are different, until we have con- templated and compared thefe two ideas together, which procefs of the mind is frill more evident when we fee a red rofe to-day, and compare it with the idea of colour communicated to our mind by a red rofe we faw yefterday ; for though the ideas are different as to time, yet if the rofes be of the fame kind, we conclude, or rather dif- cern, that the ideas are the fame, that is to fay, of the fame kind of colour. Indeed, upon the fight of two rofes at the fame time, we form an idea of difference, from the different places they are in, fo naturally and fo quickly, that we do not take notice of the progreis of the Mind in receiving PART II.] THE DISCERNING FACULTY. 153 receiving the two ideas, comparing them together and difcerning the difference, unlefs we advert to it very narrowly; and this progrefs we do not take notice of, becaufe it is lb inftantaneous that we cannot eaiily diftinguifh between the beginning and the end of the time in which it is made, therefore we are apt to conclude, that the Mind makes no progrefs, but that it fees or perceives by fight, compares and difcerns all at once, though when we come to confidcr exactly our ideas of thefe three faculties of the Mind, we muft con- clude, that it muft fee or perceive before it can compare, and that it muft compare before it can difccrn. It is by means of this faculty of difcerning that we form the ideas of Identity and Diverfity, which are two words that have much perplexed fome philofophers. It is likewife by means of thefe two faculties of comparing and difcerning that we form all thofe ideas of Relation which we get by Intuition, and which may be called natural ideas, becaufe both the comparifon and discern- ment are fo quick and neceiiary, that the Mind feems to be entirely paffive, though, in compar- ing, it muft always be in fome degree adlive. This faculty of difcerning moft brutes are endued with, though it feems only to be with refpe6l to their natural ideas : whereas in mankind this fa- culty extends not only to all our natural, but to many of our artificial ideas, and even to many propofitions, 154 THE DISCERNING FACULTY. [PART II, proportions, which for that reafon are called Axioms, and are the fecondary foundation of our knowledge in every Science ; on which ac- count they have by many been fuppofed to be innate, though it be the faculty of difcerning only that is innate, and not the ideas or proportions themfelves, juft as our powers of Seeing and Hear- ing are innate, yet no one ever fuppofed that our ideas of colours or founds were innate ; and as thefe fenfes may be more perfect in one man than another, fo we rind that the difcerning fa- culty is much more perfect in feme men than in others. CHAPTER ( 155 ) CHAPTER IX, Of the abjlrattmg Faculty. /Vs we have before hinted, all the ideas. we re- ceive by Senfation, and many of thofe we receive by Reflection, prefent themfelves to our mind in knots or bundles ; and with every knot or bundle of ideas which we receive by fenfation, the ideas of time and place always prefent themfelves. But we have a power to feparate the ideas in any one of thofe bundles, not only from the ideas of time and place, but from one another ; and to confider any one of them by itfelf alone, without any of the others that came along with it. For example, the general idea of exiftence never offered itfelf to our Senfation or Reflection, without fome thing that did exift; yet we find we have a power of feparating and confidering this idea by itfelf alone, without having refpect to any of thefe ideas that came at firft along with it, and from this idea fo feparated and confidered by itfelf alone, we form that general idea which we call Exiftence, being an idea which of all others is moll general, fince we intuitively perceive that it mull belong to every object that ever did, or ever 156 OF THE ABSTRACTING FACULTY. [PART II. ever can prefent itfelf to our mind, or even to our imagination : for even an imaginary objedl muft. have an imaginary exiftence. Again the idea we call Impenetrability or Solidity was never communicated to the Mind without being ac- companied with fome other ideas ; but we have a power of feparating and confidering this idea by itfelf alone, and thereby forming that general idea which we call by this name. So likewife the idea we call Motion was never communicated to our mind without fomething that did move ; yet we can feparate and confider this idea by itfelf alone, and without attending to any of the other ideas that accompanied it into oar mind ; by which means we form the general idea to which we give the name Motion. This faculty therefore we call the abftracl'mg Faculty, which is an active faculty, and muft be a quality of the Spirit only, as it is employed only about ideas, and that too about forming ideas which never did exiit in any objeel by themfelves alone, or any where but in the Mind. This Faculty is one of the richer! foun- tains of our knowledge, and one of the chief fa- culties by which our fpirits are diftinguifhed from and excel the fpirits of the brute creation ; for it is by this faculty we form all our general ideas, which ought therefore to be called artificial ideas, and no brute feems to have ever formed any fuch ideas. CHAPTER ( 157 ) CHAPTER X. Of the compounding Faculty, XT has been already obferved, that as all the knowledge we are, or can be mailers of de- pends upon, or proceeds originally from thole fimple or natural ideas which we receive by Sen- fation or Reflexion, and as thofe ideas which we receive by Senlation, always pre fen t themfelves to our mind in knots or bundles, to every one of which bundles the ideas of time and place are always annexed. Now by the former faculty we abftracl: from, or leave out of, thofe knots or bundles the ideas of time and place, and we find we have a faculty or power of confidering all the reft as al- ways exifting together in the fame objeel:, where or whenever it prcients itielf to our view, and of uniting them together in our mind, fo as to form a new idea, to which we give a particular or a proper name. Thus we obferve that the fight of any particular man, wherever or whenever we fee him, always communicates to our mind a cer- tain bundle of ideas, befides the ideas of time and place ; therefore after abftracting or bearing out the ideas of time and place, we unite all the other ideas together, and of thefe ideas fo united we form 158 OF THE COMPOUNDING FACULTY. [PART it. form anew ideas, to which we give the name Papa, Father, John, or Thomas. In the fame manner we find, that every particular man, or horfe, always prefents to our mind a certain bundle of ideas, therefore from every bundle we abftra6l the ideas of time and place, and alfo all thofe particular ideas by which we diflinguifh one man, or horfe, from another, and the ideas remaining in the bundle we unite together into a new idea, to which we give the name of Man or Horfe. This Faculty we call the Compounding Faculty, which is an active faculty, and being employed only about ideas, it muft confequently be a quality of the fpirit only. It is by this faculty we form all our ideas of fubftances, to fome forts of which we give proper names, but to moil we give only a general name, by which we mean to figniiy the general or abftracl compound idea we have form- ed of all the fubftances of that fort ; and whe- ther we give a proper or a general name, it is evident that all the ideas thus formed are artificial ideas. We much doubt if brutes have any great degree of his faculty ; for although a dog very well knows his mafter, yet it may be by fome particular fenfation, for example the lmell, and not by any compound idea he has formed of him. CHAPTER ( 15 9 ) CHAPTER XL Of the reafoning Faculty. JDESIDES our faculty of comparing two, three, or more ideas together, in order to difcern their agreement or difagreement, connection or repug- nance, we find we have another faculty which we are obliged to make ufe of when we cannot fet two ideas together in our mind fb as to dif- cern, or to difcover by intuition, whether there be any agreement or difagreement, connection or repugnance between them ; for in fuch a cafe we call to our affiftance a third idea, and we ntft compare one of the two ideas with this third idea, then we compare the other two ideas with this third idea, and often difcern or difcover by intuition an evident agreement or difagreement between each of the two ideas and this third idea, therefore we neceffarily conclude, or thus intuitively difcover an agreement or difagreement between the two ideas themfelves. This Faculty we call the Reafonhig Faculty, which is an active faculty ; and our idea of this faculty occurs fo often, and makes fo ftrong an impreflion upon our minds, that we often talk of it as if it were a being 160 OF THE REASONING FACULTY. [PART tti a being exifting by itfelf. As it is employed only about ideas, it mull be a quality of the fpirit, and of the fpirit alone, although whilft the fpirit continues united with the body, the exercife of it depends, by the appointment of the great Author of both, upon a proper ftate and difpofition of fome certain parts of the body ; and the cafe we find to be the very fame with refpect to every other fpiritual quality we are endued with, which is an evident proof of its being the will and the defign of the Author of nature, that the fpirit fhould take as much care as poflible of the body to which it is by his ap- pointment united. We likewife find, that by this our Reafonin^ Faculty we can purfue an enquiry through feveral intermediate ideas, and by difcerning or intuitively difcovering the progreffive agreement or difagreement of all the intermedite ideas, we become almofi as certain of the agreement or difagreement of the two extreme ideas as if we could have fet them together, and immedi- ately by intuition diicerned their agreement or difagreement, connection or repugnance ; in all which cafes the difcovery we make is called Demonfiration, which is the third frep towards knowledge ; and the knowledge this way ac- quired is almofi: as certain and evident, as the knowledge acquired by intuition. CHAPTER ( 161 ) CHAPTER XII. Of the judging Faculty. JL HE faculty we have juft defcribed, called Reafoning, we are often obliged to make ufe of in another way, and that is, when we cannot find out fuch intermediate ideas as can certainly and intuitively mew us the agreement or difagreement between any two ideas which we intend to com- pare ; we then compare them with other ideas which do not certainly and intuitively mew us an agreement or difagreement between thefe two ideas, but produce a Probability of their agreeing or difagreeing, and our difcernment or conclufion we in this cafe call Judgment, or the Judging Faculty ; which is abfolutely paflive, and the judgment we thereby form may be called the fourth flep towards knowledge : but it is much more uncertain than any of the former, for it admits of leveral degrees of certainty, from what we call almoft certain to what we call poffible or barely poffible, and is often very different, and fometimes contrary in different men. By this and the preceding faculty it is, that we form all the reft of our ideas of Relation, all of which M mult 162 OF THE JUDGING FACULTY. [PART II. mult be artificial ideas ; and the Faculty itfelf mull be a quality of the fpirit only, as it is em- ployed only about ideas ; for we can judge of nothing until after we have received or formed an idea of it, and according to thofe ideas only we can and muft judge, if we judge at all, for we may fufpend, or forbear to make ufe of this fa- culty, during which time we fay we are in Sufpenc* or Doubt. CHAPTER ( JG3 ) CHAPTER XIII. Of the inventing Faculty. JlSY confidering the two preceding faculties, we cannot avoid difcovering another faculty with which we find ourfelves endued ; for in order to difcover the certainty or the probability of the agreement or difagreement, connection or repug- nance, of any two ideas which we intend to com- pare together, we find we have a faculty of fearching through our whole magazine of ideas for thole that are mod proper for our purpofe. This Faculty we call the Inventing Faculty ; which being employed only about ideas muft be a quality of the Spirit only. This is properly an active faculty of the Mind ; for though we often dif- cover fuch intermediate ideas, as it were by chance, yet unlefs the mind were intent upon the contemplation of the two ideas it refolves to com- pare together, and attending to, and examining every idea that occurs to its memory, in orde,r to difcover and apply fuch as may be fit for its pur- pofe, it could not difcover the ufe of that inter- mediate idea, which thus offers itfelf, as it were, by chance. This faculty, therefore, as it is employed M 2 only - 164 OF THE INVENTING FACULTY. [PART II. only about ideas, mull be a quality of the Spirit ; and tbofe three faculties of reafoning, judging, and inventing, fome of the brute creation feem to have a fhare of, but not in any thing like an equal degree to that which mankind are generally en- dued with. As there is no confining mankind in common converfation to a ftrict and metaphyfical ufe of words, we ufually apply the name of reafon to the faculties of inventing, realbning, and dilcerning, or judging : For example, we fay, a man is a man of ftrong reafon, when we find he is apt at in- venting the proper intermediate ideas, at ranging them in their proper order, and at difcerning or judging of their progreflive agreement or dif- agreement ; whereas that of ranging them in their proper order is what ought only to be called rea- lbning ; and when a man can at once contem- plate, compare, and difcern, or judge of a great number of fuch progreilive ideas, we lay he is a man of a quick and ltrong comprehenlion. CHAPTER ( 165 ) CHAPTER XIV, Of the faculty of Volition. \VE find we have not only a faculty or power of felf-motion, and of moving or forbearing to move our body, and feveral of the members there- of, when and which way we pleafe ; but we like- wife have the liune power or faculty of governing and applying or exercifing all the active faculties of our mind. We can, generally ipeaking, con- template, recollect, compare, abitracl:, compound, or reafon, whenever we pleaie, refpecting what ideas we pleafe, and as long or fhort while as we have a mind ; and we change the object about which we have employed thofe faculties of our mind, as often as we pleafe. And all this with- out any external caufe, or external motive, but merely a choice or preference of the mind order- ing and commanding fuch change. This faculty with which we fo evidently find ourfelves endued, I call Volition or the Will. It is to be obfcrved alfo, that this faculty occurs to our obiervation fo often, and produces fuch a ftrong idea of itlelf in our mind, that we often look upon it not as a mere quality of another being, but as a being M 3 fubfiliing 166 OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. [pART II. fubfifting by itfelf ; for if we did not, it would be ridiculous to apply to it thofe qualities which we call neceflary and free. As the term Free-will is often made ufe of, we mufi: obferve, that it then is, or ought always to be put in oppofition to that fort of will by which a man acts when he is compelled to act by the fear of being fubjected to fome great evil, if he refufe to act. In this cafe indeed the Will cannot be faid to be abfolutely free, becaufe it is forced • but even in this cafe he cannot be faid to have acted neccfTarily, becaufe he might have chofen to have undergone the threatened evil, rather than act as directed, of which we have in hiftory many celebrated examples. This faculty of Vo- lition is therefore an active faculty, and is cer- tainly a proper quality of the Spirit or Soul, as it depends upon, and proceeds from, the lpirit or foul, and from that alone ; for, although the mo- tions of the body, and fome of the members thereof, be directed by this faculty, yet its direct- ing thefe motions does not ultimately depend upon, nor is necefiarily caufed by, all or any one of the fenfes, but by the fpirit alone, which is abfolute mafter of this its own faculty. For ex- ample, the fenfe of pain, though it be generally the occafion or motive, yet it is not the caufe, of our moving our body, or any part of our body, from that which raifes in us the idea or fenle of pain; becaiife we know, that we have it in our power PAKTII.] OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. \(tf power to remain fteady and unmoved againft the utmoft effort! of the molt racking torments, as happened in the cafe of Mucius Scaevola, that brave Roman, and alio in the deplorable cafe of many of the firft martyrs to Chriftianity, and often does happen in every age and every country. On the contrary, therefore, we nm ft admit, that all the motions of the body, and 01 fuch members thereof as are under the dominion of the Will, ultimately depend upon, and are caufed by, the Spirit or Soul, which, by means of this its faculty, called Volition, directs and orders thofe motions when and which way it pleafes. The Spirit therefore is the firft mover, and the fole and ultimate cauie of all its own determinations, and of all the volun- tary motions of the body committed by the Author of nature to its care. It is true, the Spirit feldom acts without a motive ; but as there are generally feveral, and often contrary motives for every determination of the Will, the Spirit lias in itfelf the power to chufe which motive its Will mail be directed by upon every particular occafion ; and the Spirit of man feems, in this re- flect, to have a more abfolute power than we can obferve in any brute ; as we are not ib much di- rected by our paflions and affections as they are by their inftincts and appetites. This power of chufing which motive wc are to be directed by, is what we properly call the M 4 faculty 168 OF THE FACULTY OF VOLITION. [pARTII. faculty of Volition, and every man who reflects upon what he feels within, muft be intuitively convinced, that he is endued with fuch a faculty or power, however much he may endeavour to deceive himfelf and others by metaphyseal and fophiftical arguments, efpecially by that of con- founding the caufe with the motive, which are two words meant to exprefs very different ideas, and confequently are far from being fynony- mous. Nay, fo abfolutely free is the Will of the human Spirit, that it may chufe to be directed by that which it judges to be the worft motive ; or it may chufe to act contrary to every motive, or without any motive at all ; and this laft man- ner of acting is fo well known, and lb common, that we have dignified it with a particular name^ by calling it Whim. CHAPTER ( 169 ) CHAPTER XV, Of the defigning Faculty, X* ROM the confederation of the lafl faculty we difcover another faculty with which we find our- felves endued, and which may, properly enough, be called /w/ttr* Volition', but it is generally called by the name of Defign, We determine to do fuch an action, or to think upon and confider fuch a fubjecl: to-morrow, next day, or at any future time, and find we have a power or faculty of thus determining. This faculty we call the defigning Faculty > which is an active faculty, and muft be a faculty of the Spirit, as it proceeds folely from the Will, and is, as we have faid, a future volition ; for determining and defigning are only two modes of willing, the former whereof relates to the prefent time, and the latter to the future. CHAPTER ( 170 ) CHAPTER XVI. Of the Jorefeemg Faculty. -DY the laft mentioned faculty we come naturally to difcover another faculty which we call the fore- feeing faculty. In forming a defign, or in confi- dcring the actions and incidents of life, we find, wc have a power or faculty to examine and dif- cover fomething of what may be neceffary for our luccefs, and of what may probably be the confe- quences, which is often of great ufe to us in any prefent undertaking, but of Hill more in our future defigns : for, after having formed any de < fign, we contemplate and confider what may be proper or neceffary for putting our defign into execution, and what may prevent it ; the latter of which we endeavour to obviate, or avoid, and the former we purfue. This faculty muft be a faculty of the Spirit, becaufe it is employed wholly about ideas of things and actions which have not yet happened, which exift no where but in the mind, and which confequently cannot poilibly be the object of any of our Senfes. With refpe& to thefe three laft faculties, all brutes leem to be en- dued with fome fort of Will ; but as to Delign or Forefighta PART II.] OF LIBERTY* 171 Forefight, it is probable that all the tefiimoriies they exhibit of either, proceed chiefly from in- itinct: and even as to their Will, it is in inoft of them very much under the dominion of their inftincls and appetites, for which reafon they never act, as men do, from mere whim, or ugainft every motive that can be fuggefted. CHAPTER XVII. Of Liberty. A Cannot difmifs this important faculty without inveftigating the fubjecl: more maturely than I have done in the chapter on Volition. Such is the nature of the foul that the Will not only acts always fpontaneoufly, that is, by its own proper motion, of its own accord, and by an internal principle; but likewife that its determinations are generally accompanied with liberty. We give the name of Liberty to that force or power of the foul, whereby it modifies and regu- lates its operations as it pleafes, fo as to be able to fufpend, continue, or alter its deliberations and actions ; in a word, lb as to be capable of deter- mining 172 OP LIBERTY*. [PART IT, mining and acting with choice, according as it thinks proper. It is by this excellent faculty, that man has a kind of command over himfelf and his actions ; and he is hereby rendered alfo capable of conformingto rule, and anfwerable for his con duel:; it is therefore neceiTary to give a further explica- tion of the nature of this faculty. Will and Liberty being faculties of the foul, they cannot be blind, or destitute of knowledge ; but necefikrily fuppofe the operation of the under- standing. How is it poiTible, in fact, to deter- mine, fufpend, or alter our reiblutions, unlefs we know what is proper for us to chufe ? It is con- trary to the nature of an intelligent and rational being to act without intellect ion and reafon. This reafon may be either fuperficial or bad ; yet it has ibme appearance, at leaft, fome glimmering, that makes us give it a momentary approbation. Wherever there is election or choice, there mull be a companion ; and a companion implies, at leaft, a confuted reflexion, a kind of deliberation, though of a quick and almali: imperceptible nature, on the fubject before us. The end of our deliberations is to procure as fome advantage. For the will tends generally to- wards good, that is, to whatfoever is really or ap- parently proper for rendering us happy; inafmuch that all actions depending on man, and that arc anyway relative to his end, are, for this very reafon, fuhject to the Will. And as truth, or the know- ledge *ART II.] OF LIBERTY. 173 ledge of things, is agreeable to man, and in this fignification truth is alio a good, it follows there ■ fore that truth forms one of the principal objects of the Will. Liberty, like the Will, lias goodnefs and truth for its obeject ; but it has lefs extent with regard to actions ; for it does not exercife itfelf in all the acts of the Will, but only in thofe which the foul has a power of fufpending or altering as fhe pleafes. But if any one mould enquire, which are thofe acts wherein Liberty difplays itfelf? We anfwer, that they are eafily known by attending to what pafles within us, and to the manner, in which the mind conducts itfelf in the feveral cafes that daily occur : as in the ntft place in our judgments concerning true and falfe ; fecondly, in our deter- minations in relation to good and evil ; and finally, in indifferent matters. Thefe particulars are necefTary in order to be acquainted with the nature, ufe, and extent of Liberty. With regard to truth, we are formed in fuch a manner, that as foon as evidence ftrikes the mind, we are no longer at liberty to fufpend our judgment. Vain would be the attempt to refifl this fparkling light ; it abfolutely forces our affent. Who, for example, could pretend to deny that: the whole is greater than its part, or that harmony and peace are preferable, either in a family or ftate, to difcord, tumult, and war. The fame cannot be affirmed in regard to things, that 174 OF LIBERTY* [PART It. that have lefs perfpicuity and evidence ; foi in thefe the ufe of liberty difplays itfelf in its full ex- tent. It is true our mind inclines naturally to that fide which feems the moft probable ; but this does not debar it from fufpending its afTent in order to feek for new proofs., or to refer the whole inquiry to another opportunity. The ob- fcurer things are, the more we are at liberty to he- lltate, to fufpend, or defer our determinations. This is a point fufficiently evinced by experience. Every day, and at every ftep, as it were, difputes arife, in which the arguments on both fides leaves us, by reafon of our limited capacity, in a kind of doubt and equilibrium, which permits us to fufpend our judgment, to examine the thing anew, and to incline the balance at length to one fide more than the other. We find, for example, that the mind can hefitate a long time, and for- bear determining itfelf, even after a mature in- quiry, in refpect to the following queltions : Whether anoath extorted by violence is obligatory? Whether the murder of Ca^far was lawful ? Whether the Roman fenate could with juftice re- fute to confirm die promife made by the confuls to the Samnites, in order to extricate themfelves from the Caiuihie Forks ; or whether they ought to have ratified and given it the force of a public trea'y ? &c. Though there is no exercife of liberty in our judgments, when things prefent themfelves to us in PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 175 in a clear and a diftincl: manner ; it 111 we muft not imagine that the entire ufe of this faculty ceafes in refpecl: to things that are evident. For in the firft place, it is always in our power to apply our minds to the confideration of thofe things, or elfe to divert them from it by transferring fome- where elfe our attention. This firft determination of the will, by which it is led to confider, or not to confider, the objects that occur to us, merits particular notice, becaufe of the natural influence it muft have on the very determination, by which we conclude to act or not to act, in confequence of our thoughts and judgments. Secondly, we have it likewife in our power to create, as it were, evidence in fome cafes, by dint of attention and inquiry ; whereas at firft fetting out we had only fome glimmerings, fufficient to 'give us an adequate knowledge of the ftate of things. In fine, when we have attained this evidence, we are ftill at liberty to dwell more or lefs on the confideration there- of ; which is alio of great confequence, becaufe on this depends its greater or lefs degree of im- preffion. Thefe remarks lead us to an important re- flexion, which may fervefor anfwerto an objection raifed againft Liberty. "It is not in our power, fay they, to perceive things otherwife than as they offer themfelves to our mind ; now our judg- ments are formed on this perception of things ; and it is by thefe judgments that the will is deter- mined '• X*6 Of LIBERT!'. [PART II. mined ; the whole is therefore neceflary arid in- dependent of Liberty." But this difficulty carries little more with it than an empty appearance. Let people fay what they will, we are always at liberty to open or fhut our eyes to the light ; to fuftain, or relax our at- tention. Experience mews, that when we view an object in different lights, and determine to fearch into the bottom of matters, we delcry feveral things that efcapcd us at firit fight. Tins is fufficient to prove, that there is an exercife of Liberty in the operations of the underftanding, a well as in the feveral actions thereon depending. The fecond queftion we have to examine is. whether we are equally free in our determinations, in regard to good and evil. To decide this point we need not fiir out of our f elves ; for here alfo by facts and even by our in- ternal experience the queftion may be determined. Certain it is, that in refpect to good and evil con- iulered in general, and as fuch, we cannot, properly fpcaking, exercife our Liberty, by reafoo that we feel ourfelves drawn towards the one by an in- vincible propenlity, and eftranged from the other by a natural and infuperable averiion. Thus it has been ordered by the Author of our being, whilil man has no power in this refpect to change his nature. We are formed in fuch a manner, that good of neceflity allures us ; whereas evil, by an oppofite effect, repels us, as it were, and de- ters us from attempting to purfue it. But TART II.] OF LIBERTY". 177 But this ftrong tendency to good, and natural averfion to evil in general, do not debar us from being perfectly free in refpect to good and evil particularly considered ; and though we cannot help being fenfible of the firlt impreilions which the objects make on us, yet this does not invinci- bly determine us to purfue or fhun thofe objects. Let the mod beautiful and molt fragrant fruit, re- plenifhed with exquifite and delicious juice, be unexpectedly fet before a perfon opprefTed with thirft and heat ; he will find himfelf inftantly in- clined to feize on the blefTing that is offered to him, and to eafe his inquietude by a falutary re- frefhment. But he can alfo ftop, and fufpend his action, in order to examine whether the good he propofes to himfelf by eating this fruit, will not be attended with evil ; in fhort, he is at li- berty to weigh and deliberate, in order to embrace the fafeft fide of the queftion. Befides, we are not only capable, with the afflftance of reafon, to de- prive ourfelves of a thing, whofe flattering idea invites us ; but moreover we are able to expofe ourfelves to a chagrin or pain, which we dread and would willingly avoid, were we not induced" by fuperior confiderations to fupport it. Can any one defire a flronger proof of Liberty ? True it is notwithstanding that the exercife of this faculty never difplays itfelf more than in in- different things. I find, for inftance, that it de^- N pend-:. 1/8 OF LIEERTY. [PART II. pends entirely on myfelf to ftretch out or draw back my hand ; to fit down or to walk ; to direct my fteps to the right or left, &c. On thele oc- casions, where the foul is left entirely to itfelf, either for want of external motives, or by reafon of the oppofition, and, as it were, the equilibrium of thefe motives, if it determines one iide, this may be faid to be the pure effect of its pleafure and good will, and of the command it has over its own actions. Let us flop here a while to inquire, how comes it that theexercife of this pewer is limited to par- ticular goods and non-evident truths, without ex- tending itlclf to good in general, or to fuch truths as are perfectly clear. Should we happen to dif- covcr the reafon thereof, it will furnifh us with a new fubjecl: to admire the wifdom of the Creator in the conftitution of man, and with a means at the fame time of being better acquainted with the end and true life of Liberty. And lirft, we hope there is no body but will ad- mit, that the end of tiod in creating man was to render him happy. Upon this luppofition, it will be foon agreed that man cannot attain happinefs any other way than by the knowledge of truth, and by the poiYeflion of real good. Let us therefore direct our reflexions towards this profpect. When things, thatarc the object of our relearches, prefent themfelves to our minds with a feeble light, and are PART II.] OF LIBERTY. 179 are not accompanied with that fplendor and clearnefs, which enables us to know them perfect- ly, and to judge of them with full certainty ; it is proper and even neceffary for us to be inverted with a power of fufpending our judgments ; to the end that not being necefTarily determined to acquiefce in the firft impreflions, we fhould be frill at liberty to carry on our inquiry, till we arrive to a higher degree of certainty, and, if poflible, as far as evidence itfelf. Were not this the cafe, we fhould be expofed every moment to error, with- out any poffibility of being undeceived. It was therefore extremely ufeful and neceffary to man, that under fuch circumflances he fhould have the ufe and exercife of his Liberty. But when we happen to have a clear and diftinct view of things and their relations, that is, when evidence ftrikes us, it would be of no manner of fignification to have the ufe of Liberty in order to fufpend our judgments. For certainty being then in its very higheft degree, what benefit fhould we reap by a new examen or inquiry, were it in our power ? We have no longer occaiion to con- fult a guide, when we fee diftinctly the end we are tending to, and the road we are to take. It is therefore an advantage to man to be unable to re- fufe his affent to evidence. Let us reafon pretty nearly in the fame manner on the ufe of Liberty with refpect to good and evil. Man defigned for happinefs, fhould cer- N 2 tainly ISO OF LIBERTY. [PART IT. tainly have been formed in fuch a manner, as to find himfelf under an abfolute neceffity of denting and purfuing good, and of fhunning on the con- trary evil in general. Were the nature of theie faculties fuch, as to leave him in a ftate of in- difference, fo as to be at liberty in this refpect to fufpend or alter his defires, plain it is that this would be efteemed a very great imperfection in him; an imperfection that would imply a want of wifdom in the Author of his being, as a thing di- rectly oppofite to the end he propofed in giving him life. No lefs an inconveniency would it be on the other hand, were the neceflity which man is under of purfuing good and avoiding evil to be fuch as would infuperably determine him to act or not to a^t, in confequence of the imprefiions made on him by each object. Such is the ftate of human things, that we are frequently deceived by appear- ances ; it is very rare that good or evil prefents itfelf to us pure and without mixture ; but there is almoft always a favourable and adverle lide, an inconveniency mixed with utility. In order to act therefore with fafetv, and not to be miftaken in our account, it is generally incumbent upon u^ to fufpend our firft motions, to examine more clofely into things, to make diftinctions, calcula- tions, and compenlations ; all which requires the ufe of Liberty. Liberty is therefore, as it were, a fubfidiary facultv, which fupplies the deficiencies cf PART II.] OF LTBEfcTT. IS! of the other powers, and whofe office ceafeth as foonas it has redreflcd them. Hence let us conclude, that man is provided with all the neceflary means for attaining to the end for which he is defigned ; and that in this, as in every other rcfpecl:, the Creator has acted with wonderful wifdom. After what has been faid concerning the na- ture, operations, and ufe of Liberty, it may feem perhaps unnecefTary to attempt here to prove that man is indeed a free agent, and that we are as really invefted with this as with any other faculty. Neverthelefs as it is an effential principle, and one of the fundamental fupports of our edifice, it is proper to make the reader fenfible of the in- dubitable proof with which we are furnifhed by daily experience. Let us therefore confult only ourf elves. Every one finds that he is mailer, for inilance, to walk or fit, to fpeak or hold his tongue. Do not we alfo experience continually, that it depends intirely on ourfelves to fufpend our judgments, in order to proceed to a new in- quiry ? Can any one ferioully deny, that in the choice of good and evil our refolves are uncon- ftrained ; that notwithftanding the firft impref- fions, we have it in our power to ltop of a fudden, to weigh the. arguments on both fides, and to do, infhort, whatever can be expected from the freeft agent ? Were I invincibly drawn towards one par- ticular good rather than another, I mould feel then N 3 the 182 OF LIBERTY. [PART II, the fame impreffion as that which inclines me to good in general, that is, an impreffion that would neceiTarily drag me, an impreffion which there would be no poffibility of refitting. Now ex- perience makes me feel no fuch violence with re- fpe6f. to any particular good. I find I can abftain from it ; I can defer ufing it ; I can prefer fome- thing elfe to it ; I can hefitate in my choice ; in fhort, I am my own mafter to chufe, or which is the fame thing, I am free. Should we be aiked, how comes it, that not being free in refpect to good in general, yet we arc at liberty with regard to particular goods ? My anfwer, is that the natural defire of happinefs does not infuperably draw us towards any par- ticular good, becaufe no particular good includes that happinefs for which we have a necelYary in- clination. Senfible proofs, like thefe, are fuperior to all objections, and productive of the moft inward conviction, becaufe it is impoffible that when the ioul is modified after a certain manner, it fhould not feel this modification and the ftate which consequently attends it. What other cer- tainty have we of our cxillence ? And how is it we know that we think, we act, but by our inward fenle? This fenfe of Liberty is lb much the lefs equi- vocal, as it is not momentary or tranfient. It is a fenfe that never leaves us, and of which we have daily and continual experience. Thus PART II.] OF LIBS HTn Thus we fee there is nothing better cilahliilied in life, th:in the 1'trong perfuafion which all man- kind liave of Liberty. Let us confider the fyftem of humanity, either in general or particular, we fhall find that the whole is built upon this princi- ple. Ueiiexions, deliberations, refearches, ac- tions, judgments : all fuppofe the ufe of Liberty. Hence the ideas of good and evil, of Vice and vir- tue : hence, as a natural confequence, arifes praife or blame, the cenfure or approbation of our own, or other people's conduct. The fame may be laid of the affections and natural lenti- ments of men towards one another ; as friendihip, benevolence, gratitude, hatred, anger, com- plaints, and reproaches : none of thefe fentiments, could take place, unlefs we were to admit of Liberty. In fine, as this prerogative is in fome meafure the key of the human fyitem, he that does not allow it to man, fubverts all order, and introduces a general confufion. It is natural here to inquire, how it was ever poffible for any body ferioufly to doubt, whether man is mailer of his acYions, whether he is free ? I fhould be leis furprizecl at this doubt, where it concerning a ftrange or remote fadr, a fuel: that was not tranfa&ed within ourfelves. But the queition is in regard to a thing, of which we have an internal immediate feeling, a conltant and daily experience. Strange, that any one fhould call in queition a faculty of the foul 1 May not N 4 we 1S4 OF LIBERTY. [PART II, we as well doubt of the underftanding and will, as of the Liberty of man ? For if we are content to abide by our inward ienfe > there is no more room to difpute of one than of the other. But fome too fubtle philofophers, by confidering this fub- ject in a metaphyseal light, have ftripped it, as it were, of its nature ; and finding themfelvcs at a lofs to folve a few difficulties, they have given a greater attention to thefe difficulties than to the pofitive proofs of the thing ; which infenfibly led them to imagine that the notion of Liberty was all an illufion. I own it is neceffary, in the re- icarch of truth, to confider an object on every fide, and to balance equally the arguments for and againft ; nevertheleU wc muft take care we do not give to thofe objections more than their real weight. We are informed by experience that in lcveral things, which in relpecl: to us are inverted with the higheit degree of certainty, there are many difficulties notwithstanding, which we are incapable of refolving to our fat intact ion : and this is a natural coniequence of the limits of the mind. Let us hence, conclude therefore that when a truth is fuffidently evinced by foftd reqfonsy whatever can be objected agahmfl it, ought not to Jf agger or weaken our co/rvicfioa, n natum atqne fiftum effe rideatui : i quid?m aut ftabile ant i I - quod vim memoriae, mentis, coj pn-eterita teaeat, & fatura provideat, & fentia : quae fola divina funtj nee in UDquam, a ad hominem venire poffint nifi a Dzo. S PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 207 the mind ; nothing that fecms to proceed from the earth, water, air, or fire. Thefc elements have nothing productive of memory, underitand- ing, reflexion ; nothing that is able to recall the pall:, to forefee the future, and to embrace the prefent. We frail never find the fource from whence man has derived thole divine qualities, but by tracing them up to God. It follows there- fore, that the foul is endowed with a lingular na- ture, which has nothing in it common with thofe known and familiar elements. Hence, let the na- ture of a being that has fenfation, understanding, will, and principle of life, be what it will, this being is furely heavenly, divine, and confequently immortal.' ' This conclufion is very juft. For if the foul is effentially diftincl: from the body, the de- ftru&ion of the one is not neceffarily followed with the annihilation of the other ; and thus far nothing hinders the foul from fubfi fling not- vvithfranding the deilruclion of its ruinous ha- bitation. §. 3. Should it be faid, that we are not fuffi- ciently acquainted with the intrinfic nature of fubftances, to determine that God could not quredem natura at que vis animi, ftjun<9.a ab his ufitatis notifque naturis. Ita quicquid eft illud, ' quod fentit, quod fapit, quod vlrit, quod viget, coelefte et divinuin ob eamque rem aeternura fit neceira eft," Cic. Tufcul. difput* Jib. i. cap communicate 208 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART II. communicate thought to fome portion of matter ? I mould anfwer, that we cannot however judge of things but according to their appearance and our ideas; otherwife, whatever is not founded on a ftridl demonffration, muft be uncertain in the fciences ; which would terminate in a kind of pyrrhonifm. All that reafon requires here of us, is, that we diftinguifh properly between what is dubious, probable, or certain ; and as all we know in relation to matter, docs not fcem to have any affinity with the faculties of the foul ; and as we even find in one and the other, qualities that feem incompatible ; it is not prefcribing limit the Divine Power, it is rather following the no- tions that reafon has furnifhed us, to affirm that jt is highly probable, the thinking part of man is effentially diftinct from the body. §.4. But let the nature of the foul be what it will, and be it even, though contrary to all ap- pearance, iiippoled corporeal ; ft ill it would no ways follow, that the death of the body muft ne- ceflarily bring on the annihilation of the foul. For we do not find an inftance of any annihilation properly fo called. The body itfelf, how infe- rior foever to the foul, is not annihilated by death. It receives, indeed, a great alteration ; but its fubftance remains always effentially l fame, and admits only a change of modi heat ion or form. \Y hy therefore fhould the foul be an- nihilated I It will undergo, if you pleafe, a great mutati ?ARTI1.] OP IMMORTALITY. 20£ mutation ; it will be loofed from the bonds that fallen it to the body, and will be incapable of operating in conjunction with it: but is this an argument that it cannot exift feparately, or that it lofes its efTential quality, which is that of under- itanding ? This does not at all appear, for one does not follow from the other. Were it therefore impoffible for us to deter- mine the intrinfic nature of the foul, yet it would be carrying the thing too far, and concluding beyond what we are authorifed by fact to main- tain, that death is neceflarily attended with a to- tal destruction of the foul. The queftion is therefore reducible to this point : is God willing to annihilate, or to preferve the foul ? But if what we know in reipect to the nature of the foul, does not incline us to think it is deftined to perifh by death ; we fhall fee likewife, that the consideration of its excellency is a very ftrong pre- fumption in favour of its immortality. §.5. And indeed it is not at all probable, that an intelligent being, capable of knowing fuch a multitude of truths, of making fo many difcove- ries, of reafoning upon an infinite number of things, of difcerning their proportions, fitnefs, and beauties ; of contemplating the works of the Creator, of tracing them up to him, of obferving his deiigns, and penetrating into their caufes ; of railing himfelf above all fcnlible things, to the knowledge of fpiritual and divine fubjects ; that P Lf 210 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II* has a power to act with liberty and difcernment, and to array itfelf with the moft beautiful virtues ; it is not, I fay, at all probable, that a being adorned with qualities of fo excellent a nature, and fo fuperior to thofe of brute animals, ihould have been created only for the fhort ipace of this life. Thefe confiderations made a lively impref- fion upon the ancient philofophers. " When I confider," fays Cicero * 9 l * the furprizing activity of the mind, fo great a memory of what is pair, and fuch an iniight into futurity ; when I behold fuch a number of arts and fciences, and fuch a multitude of difcoveries thence arifing ; I be- lieve, and am firmly perfuaded, that a nature which contains fo many things within itfelf, can- not be mortal." §. (3. Again : fuch is the nature of the human mind, that it is always capable of improvement, and of perfecting its faculties. Though our knowledge is actually confined within certain li- mits, yet we fee no bounds to that which we are capable of acquiring, to the inventions we are able to make, to the progrefs of our judgment, prudence, and virtue. Man is in this reipect al- ways iulceptible of fome new degree of perfection * " Quid multa? Sic mihi perfuafi, fie fentio, cum tanta oelcritas animorum lit, tanta memoria prasteritorum, tutu- rorumque prudentia, tot artes, tant:c fcientiae, tot inventa, non poffc* eain naturam, quae res ea^ coDtineat, effe mortaleni." Cic. de S«ooc\ cap. 2. and JPART II.] OP IMMORTALITY 211 and maturity. Deatli overtakes him before lie has finifhed, as it were, his progrefs, and when he was capable of proceeding a great deal farther. " How can it enter/' lays a celebrated EnglilTi writer *, " into the thoughts of man, that the foul, which is capable of fuch immenfe perfec- tions, and of receiving new improvements to all eternity, fhall fall away into nothing almoft as as foon as it is created ? Are fuch abilities made for no purpofe ? A brute arrives at a point of perfection that he can never pals : in a few years ' he has all the endowments he is capable of; and were he to live ten thoufand more, would be the fame thing he is at prefent. Were a human foul thus at a ftand in her accomplifhments, were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable of further enlargements, I could imagine it might fall away infenfibly, and drop at once into a Itate of anni-^ hilation. But can we believe a thinking being that is in a perpetual progrefs of improvements, and travelling on from perfection to perfection* after having juft looked abroad into the works of its Creator, and made a few difcoveries of his in- finite goodnefs, wifdom, and power, mull perifh at her firft fetting out, and in the very beginning of her enquiries ? §.7. True it is, that moft men debafe them- felves in fome meafure to an animal life, and have • Spectator, Vol. II. No. 3, JP 2 very 212 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. very little concern about the improvement of their faculties. But if thofe people voluntarily degrade themfelves, this ought to be no prejudice to fuch as chufe to fupport the dignity of their nature ; neither does it invalidate what we have been fay- ing in regard to the excellency of the foul. For, to judge rightly of things, they ought to be considered in themfelves, and in their moll: perfect ft ate. §.8. It is undoubtedly in confequence of the natural fenfe of the dignity of our being, and of the grandeur of the end we are defigncd for, that we naturally extend our views to futurity ; that we concern ourfelves about what is to happen after our death ; that we feek to perpetuate our name and memory, and are not infenliblc to the judg- ment of pofterity. Thefe fentiments are far from being an illuiion of felf-love or prejudice. The deli re. and hope of immortality is an imprefiion we receive from nature. And this dellrc is lo very reafonable in itfelf, lb ufeful, and i'o clofely con- nected with the fyftem of humanity, that we may at leaft infer thence a very probable induc- tion in favour of a future Irate. How great lb- ever the vivacity of this delire may be in iti Hill it increafes in proportion as we take m care to cultivate our reafon, and as we advance in the knowledge of truth and the practice of virtue. This fentiment becomes the lure ft prin- ciple of noble, generous, and public-fpirited actions ; PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 213 actions ; and we may affirm, that, were it not for this principle, all human views would be low, mean, and fordid. AU this feems to point out to us clearly, that by the inititution of the Creator, there is a kind of natural proportion and relation between the foul and immortality. For it is not by deceit and illufions that the Supreme Wifdom conducts us to his propofed end : a principle fo reafonable and neceflary ; a principle that cannot but be productive of good effects, that raifes man above himfelf, and renders him capable of the fublimeft things, fuperior to the moil delicate temptations and fuch as are mofl dangerous to virtue ; fuch a principle, I fay, cannot be chimerical # . Thus every thing concurs to perfuade us that the foul muft fubfift after death. The know- ledge we have of the nature of the mind ; its ex- cellence, and faculties always fufceptible of a higher degree of perfection ; the dilpofition which * Cicero gives an admirable picture of the influence which the delire and hope of immortality has had in all ages, to excite men to great and noble actions. " Nemo unquam," fays he, (< line magna fpe immortalitatis fe pro patria offeret ad mortem. Licuit effe otioio Themistoclij licuit Epami- nondac; licuit, ne et Vetera et externa quaeram, mihi: fed nefcio quo modo inli.eret in mentibus quafi faeculorum quoddam augurium futurorum -, idque in maximis ingeniis altiflimifque animis existit maxime, et apparet facillime. Quo quidem dempto, quis tarn eflet amens, qui femper in laborious et periculis viyeret?" Tufcul. Qu?est. lib.l; cap. 15. P 3 prompts 214 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART 11 = prompts us to raife ourfelves above the prefent life, and to defire immortality ; are all fo many natural indications, and the nrongeft presump- tions, that fuch indeed is the intention of the Creator. §. 9. The clearing up of this firft point is of great importance in regard to our principal ques- tion, and folves already in part the difficulty we are examining. For once the foul is fuppofed to fubfift after the diflblution of the body, nothing can hinder us from faying, that whatever is want- ing in the prefent ftate to complete the fanclion of natural laws, will be executed hereafter, if it be agreeable to the Divine Wifdom. We come now from confidering man on the phyiical lide, which opens us already a pafTage towards finding the object of our prefent purfuit. Let us fee now whether by viewing man on the moral fide, that is, as a being capable of rule, who acls with knowledge and choice, and railing our- felves afterwards to God, we cannot difcover new reafons and ftill ftronger preemptions of a future life, of a ftate of rewards and punifh- ments. Here we cannot avoid repeating part of thofe things which have been already mentioned in this work, becaufe we are going to take their entire refult ; the truth we intend here to eitablifh be- ing, as it were, the conclufion of the whole fyftem. It is thus a painter, after having worked feparately upon PART II.] OF IMMORTAL! 21.5 upon each part of his piece, thinks it necefiiiry to retouch them all together, in order to prodi what is called the total effect and harmony. §. 10. Man, we have Teen is a rational and free agent, who diflinguifhes juftice and honefrv, who finds within himielf the principles of conscience, who is feniible of his dependance on the Creator, and born to fulfil certain duties. His greater!: or- nament is reafon and virtue ; and his chief talk in life is to advance on that fide, by laying hold of all the occafions that offer, to learn, to reflect, and to do good. The more he practifes and con- firms himielf in fuch laudable occupations, the more he accomplices the views of the Creator, and proves himfelf worthy of the exiflence he has received. lie is fenfible he can be reafonably called to an account for his conduct, and he ap- proves or condemns himfelf according to his dif- ferent manner of acting. By all thefe circumftances it evidently appears, that man is not confined, like other animals, to a mere phyfical economy, but that he is included in a moral one, which raifes him much higher, and is attended with greater consequences. For what appearance or probability is there, that a foul which advances daily in wifdom and virtue, fhould tend to annihilation, and that God fhould think proper to extinguifh this light when moil it blazes ? Is it not more rea'bnable to think, that the good or bad ufe we have made of our P 4 faculties 216 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART U* faculties will be attended with future confe- quences ; that we fhall be accountable to him from whom we have had them, and that from him we fhall receive the juft retribution we have merited? Since therefore this judgment of God does not difplay itfelf fufficiently in this world, it is natu- ral to prefume, that the plan of the Divine Wif~ dom, with regard to us, embraces a duration of a much greater extent. §. 11. Let us afcend from man to God, and we fhall be ftill further convinced, that fuch in reality is the plan he formed. If God is willing (a point we have already proved), that man fhould obferve the rules of right reafon, in proportion to his faculties and the circuniirances he is under ; this muil be a ferious and politive will. It is the will of the Creator, the Governor of the world, the fovereipi Lord of all things. It is therefore a real com- mand, which lays us under an obligation of obeying. It is moreover the will of a Being fu- premely powerful, wife, and good, who propoiing always, both with refpecl: to himlelf and his crea- tures, the molt excellent ends, cannot fail to eftablifh the means which, in the order of reafon, and purfuant to the nature ajid flate of things, are neceflary for the execution of his defigns. No one can reafonably conteft thefe principles ; but let us fee what confequences may be drawn from them* 1. If PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY". 217 1. If it actually became the Divine Wifdom to give laws to man, this fame wifdom requires that thefe laws mould be accompanied with neceffary motives to determine rational and free agents to conform thereto in all cafes. Otherwife wc fhould be obliged to fay, either that God does not really and ferioufly defire the obfervance of the laws he has given, or that he wants power or wifdom to procure it. 1. If through an effecl: of his goodnefs, he has not thought proper to let men live at ran- dom, or to abandon them to the capricioufnefs of their pailions ; if he has given them a- torch to light them ; this fame goodnefs mud undoubt- edly induce him to annex a perfect and durable happinefs to the good ufe that every man makes of this light. 3. Reafon informs us afterwards, that an all* powerful, all-wife, and all-bountiful Being is in* finitely fond of order ; that thefe perfections make him defire that this order fhould reign among his intelligent and free creatures, and that it was for this very reafon he fubjecled them to laws. The fame reafons that induced, him to efta* blifh a moral order, engage him likewife to pro* cure their obfervance. It muft be therefore his fatisfaclion and glory, to render all men fenfible of the difference he makes between thofe who difturb, and thofe who conform to order. He cannot be indifferent in this refpeel : on the con- trary, £1S OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. trary, he is determined, by the love he has for himfelf and his perfections, to inveft his com- mands with all the efficacy neceffary to render his authority refpecled : This imports an eitabliuV ment of future rewards and punifhments ; either to keep man within rule, as much as pof- fible, in the prefent ftate, by the potent mo- tives of hope and fear ; or to give afterwards an execution worthy of his jufrice and wifdom to his plan, by reducing every thing to the primitive order he has eftablifhed. 4. The fame principle carries us yet further. For if God is infinitely fond of the order he has eftablifhed in the moral world, he cannot but ap- prove of thefe, who with a fincere and conftant attachment to this order, endeavour to pleafe him by concurring in the accomplifhment of his views ; and he cannot but disapprove of iuch as obferve an oppofite conduct : for the former are, as it were, his friends, and the latter declare them- felves his enemies. But the approbation of God imports his protection, benevolence, and love ; whereas his difapprobation cannot but be attended with quite contrary effects. If fo, how can any one imagine, that God's friends and enemies will be confounded, and no difference made between them ? Is it not much more confonant to reafon to think, that the' Divine Juftice will manifeft at length, fome way or other, the extreme difference he places between virtue and vice, by rendering finally PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 219 finally and perfectly happy thofe, who by a fub- miffion to his will are become the objects of his benevolence ; and, on the contrary, by making the wicked feel a juft feverity ? §. 12. This is what our cleared notions of the perfedtions of the lupreme Being induce us to judge concerning his views, and the plan he has formed. Were not virtue to meet furely and ine- vitably with a final recompence, and vice with a final punifhment, and this in a general and com- plete manner, exactly proportioned to the degree of merit or demerit of each perfon ; the plan of natural laws would never anfwer our expectation from a fupreme legiftator, whofe preicience, wif- dom, power, and goodnefs, are without bounds. This would be leaving the laws divefted of their principal force, and reducing them to the quality of fimple counfels ; it would be fubverting, in fine, the fundamental part of the fyftem of intelli- gent creatures, namely, that of being induced to make a reasonable ufe of their faculties, with a view and expectation of happinefs. In fhort, the moral fyftem would fall into a Hate of imperfection, which could be reconciled neither with the nature of man, nor with the jftate of fociety, nor with the moral perfections of God. It is otherwife, when we acknowledge a future life. The moral fyftern is thereby fupported, connected, and rimmed, fo as to leave nothing wanting to render it complete : It is then a plan really worthy of God, and ufeful to % ■229 ©F IMMORTALITY, [f ART II. to man. God does all he ought to do with free and rational creatures, to induce them to behave as they fhould ; the laws of nature are thus efta- blifhed on the moft folid foundations ; and no- thing is wanting to bind men by fuch motives as are moft proper to make an imprefTion. Wherefore if this plan is without companfon, the moft beautiful and the beft ; if it be like the moft worthy of God, and the moft connected with what we know of the nature, wants, and ftate of man ; how can any one doubt of its be- ing that which the Divine Wifdcm has actually chofen ? (\. 13. I acknowledge, indeed, that could we find in the prefent lile a lufficient fanction of the laws of nature, in the meafure and plenitude above mentioned, we fhould have no right to prefs this argument ; for nothing could oblige us to ieareh into futurity for an entire unravelling of the Divine plan. But, though, by the nature of things, and even by the various eftablifhments of man, virtue has already its reward, and vice its punifh- ment ; yet this excellent and juft order is accom- plished only in part, and we find a great number of exceptions to this rule in hiftory, and the experience of human life. Hence ariies a very puzzling objection againft the authority of natural laws. But as foon as mention is made ot another life, the difficulty difappears ; every tiling is PART IJ.^ OF IMMORTALITY. 221 is cleared up and fet to rights ; the fyftem appears connected, finifhed, and iuppotted ; the Divine Wifdoru is justified : we find all the neceflaiy fupplements and compenfations to redrefs the prefent irregularities ; virtue acquires a firm and unfhaken prop, by furnifhing the honeft man with a motive capable to fupport him in the moft dan- gerous difficulties, and to render him triumphant over the moft delicate temptations. Were this only a fimple conjecture, it might be considered rather as a convenient than folid fuppofition. But we have feen that it is founded alfo on the nature and excellence of the foul ; on the inftinct that inclines us to raife ourfelves above the prefent life ; and on the nature of man confi- dered on the moral fide, as a creature accountable for his actions, and obliged to conform to a cer- tain rule. When, befldes all this, we behold that the fame opinion ferves to fupport, and per- fectly crowns the whole fyftem of natural laws, it mull be allowed to be no lefs probable than it is beautiful and engaging. §. 14. Hence this opinion has been re- ceived more or lefs at all times, and by all na- tions, according as reafon has been more or lefs cultivated, or as people have enquired clofer into the origin of things. It would be an eafy matter to alledge divers hiftorical proofs, and to produce alfo feveral beautiful pafTages of philolbphers, in order to fhew, that the reafbns which ft rike us, made 222 G* IMMORTALITY. [PART II* the like impreffions on the wifeft of the Pagans, But we (hall be fatisfied with obferving, that thefe teftimonies, which have been collected by- other writers, are not indifferent on this fubjecl: : becaufe this mews, either the veftiges of a primi- tive tradition, or the voice of reafon and nature, or both ; which adds a conliderable weight to our arguments. CHAPTER XX. Continuation of the Subject of Immortality. V' *• W E have feen how far our natural lights are capable of conducting us with regard to the important queftion of the immortality of the foul, and a future ftate of rewards and punifhments. Each of the proofs we have alledged. has, without doubt, its particular force ; but coming up to the affiftance of one another, and acquiring a greater ftrength by their union, they are certainly capa- ble of making an impreflion on every attentive and unprejudiced mind, and ought to appear liifficient to PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY, 223 to eflablilli the authority and fandlion of natural laws in as full an extent as we deli re. ^. 2. If any one fhould lay, that all our reafon- ings on this fubj eel are only probabilities and con- jectures, and are properly reducible to a plaufible reafon or fitnefs, which leaves the thing (till at a great diflance from demonftration ; I fhall agree, if he pleafes, that we have not here a complete evidence, yet the probability, methinks, is fo very flrong, and the fitnefs fo great, and fo well eftablifhed, that this is fufficient to make it pre- vail over the contrary opinion, and confequently to determine us. For we fhould be ftrangely embarrafTed, if in every quefiion that arifes, we fhould refufe to be determined by any thing but a demonstrative ar- gument. Moll commonly we are obliged to be latisfied with an afYemblage of probabilities, which, united and carried to a certain point, very feldom deceive us, and ought to fupply the place of evi- dence in fubjecls that are moil fufceptible thereof. It is thus that in natural philofophy, in phylic, criticifm, hiftory, politics, commerce, and gene- rally in all the affairs of life, a prudent man is de- termined by a concurrence of reafons, which, every thing confidered, he judges fuperior to the oppofite arguments. §.3. In order to render the fbrength of this kind of proof more eafy to be underrl ood, it will not be amifs to explain here at firft what we mean by 224 O* IMMORTALITY. [l>AKT II, - by a plaitjible reafon or fitnefs ; to enquire after- wards into the general principle on which this fort of reafoning is founded ; and to fee, in parti- cular, what conftitutes its force when applied to the law of nature. This will be the right way to know thejuft value of our proofs, and what weight they ought to have in our determinations. A plaufble reafon or fitnefs is that which is drawn from the neceffity of admitting a thing as certain, for the perfection of a fyflem in other refpects folid, ufeful, and well connected ; but which would be defective without this point ; though there is no reafon to fuppofe that it has any effential defect. For example : upon be- holding a great and magnificent palace, we re- mark an admirable fymmetry and proportion ; where all the rules of art, which form the iblidity, convenience, and beauty of a building, are ftrictly obferved. In fhort, all that we fee of the build- ing denotes an able architect. May it not there- fore be reafonably fuppoied, that the foundation which we do not fee is equally folid and propor- tioned to the great mat's it bears ? Can it be ima- gined that the architect's ability and knowledge ihould have foriaken him in \o important a point ? In order to form fuch a luppofition, we fhould have certain proofs of this deficiency, or have f< that in fact the foundation is imperfect : other- wife we could not prefume fo improbable a thing. Who is it, that on a mere metaphytical poffibility of PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 225 of the architect's having neglected to lay the foundation, would venture to wager that the thing is really fo ? §.4. Such is the nature of fitnefs. The general foundation of this manner of reafoning is, that we muft not confider only what is pofTible, but what is probable ; and that a truth of itfelf very little known, acquires a probability by its natural con- nection with other truths that are better known. Thus natural philofophers do not queftion but that they have difcovered the truth, when an hypo- thecs happily explains all the phenomena; and an event very little known in hiflory, appears no longer doubtful, when we fee it ferves for a key and bails to many other indubitable events. It is on this principle, in a great meafure, that moral certainty is founded, which is fo much ufed in moil fciences, as well as in the conduct of life, and in things of the greateft importance to indivi- duals, families, and to the whole of fociety. §. 5. But if this manner of judging and reafon- ing takes place fo frequently in human affairs, and , is in general founded on fo folid a principle; it is ftill much furer when we are to reaion on the works of God, to difcover his plan, and to judge of his views and defigns. For the whole univerfe, with the feveral fyftems that compofe it, and particu- larly the fyftem of man and fociety, are the work of a fupreme underftanding. Nothing has been done by chance ; nothing depends on a blind, ca- Q pricious 226 OF IMMORTALITY. [PARTII. pricious, or impotent caufe ; every thing has been calculated and meafured with a profound wifdom. Here therefore, more than any where elfe, we have a right to judge, that fo powerful and lb w r ife an author, has omitted nothing neceiTary for the perfection of his plan ; and that conliftent with himfelf he has fitted it with all the eifential parts, for the deiign he propofed. If we ought to prefume reafonably luch a care in an able ar- chitect., who is nothing more than a man fubjecT to error ; how much more ought we to prefume it in a being of fupreme underftanding ? §. 6. What we have been now faying, fhews that this fitnefs is not always of the fame weight, but may be more or lefs ftrong, in proportion to the greater or lefs neceflity on which it is efta- blifhed. And to lay down rules on this fubject, we may fay in general, 1. That the more we know the views and deiigns of the author ; '2. The more we are allured of his wifdom and power ; 3. The more this power and wildom are perfect; 4. The more coniiderable are the inconveniences that refult from the oppofite fyftem ; the more they border upon the abiurd ; and the more preiling we find the coniequences drawn from this fort of considerations. For then we have nothing to fet in oppofition to them by way of counterbalance ; and confequently it is on that fide we are deter- mined by right reafon- v>. ;. Thefe PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 227 §. 7. Thefe principles are of themfelves appli- cable to our fubjec~t, and this in fo jliir aad com- plete a manner, that the realon drawn from pro- bability or fitnefs cannot be carried any farther* After what has been faid in the preceding chapters* it would be entering into ufelefs repetitions, to at- tempt to prove here all the particulars : the thing fufficiently proves itfelf. Let us be fatisfied with obferving, that the fitnefs in favour of the fanction of natural laws, is fo much the ilronger and more preffing, as the contrary opinion throws into the fyftem of humanity an obfeurity and confufion, which borders very much upon the abfurd, if it does not come quite up to it. The plan of the Divine Wifdom becomes in refpecl: to us an info- luble enigma ; we are no longer able to account for any thing ; and we cannot tell why fo necef- fary a thing fhould be wanting in a plan fo beau- tiful in other refpects, fo ufeful, and fo perfectly connected. §.8. Let us draw a comparifon between the two fyftems, to fee which is moft conformable to order, moft fuitable to the nature and ftate of man, and, in fhort, moil reafonable and worthy of God. Suppofe, on one fide, that the. Creator pro- pofed the perfection and felicity of his creatures, and in particular the good of man and fociety. That for this purpofe, having inverted man with, underftanding and liberty, and rendered him ca- Q 2 pabte 228 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II. pable of knowing his end, of difcovering and fol- lowing the road that can alone conduct him to it: he lays him under a Uriel obligation of walking constantly in this road, and of never loling fight of the torch of reafon, which ought always to enlighten his fteps. That in order to guide him better, he has given him all the fenfes and prin- ciples neceffary to ferve him as a rule. That this direction, and thefe principles, coming from a powerful, wife, and good fuperior, have all the characters of a real law. That this law carries already along with it, even in this life, its reward and punifhment ; but that this firft fanction being inefficient, God, in order to give to a plan fo worthy of his wildom and goodnels, its full per- fection, and to furnifh men in all pofiiblc cafes with neceffary motives and helps, has moreover eftablifhed a proper Sanction in refpect to natural laws, which will be manifested in a future life : and that, attentive to the conduct of man, he pro- poies to make him give an account of his actions, to recompence virtue, and to punilh vice, by a retribution exactly proportioned to the merit or demerit of each perfon. Let us let now- in oppoiition to this fir ft iyftem the other, which iiippoies that every thing is limited, in refpect. to man, to the prefent life, and that he has nothing to hope or fear beyond this term : that God after having created man and in- ftitutcd Society, concerns himfelf no more about them : PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. ?C9 them : that after giving us a power of difcerning good and evil by the help of reafon, he takes no manner of notice of the life we make thereof, but leaves us in iuch a manner to ourlclves, that we are absolutely at liberty to do as we pleafe : that Ave fhall have no account to give our Creator, and that notwithstanding the unequal and irregular diftribution of the goods and evils of this life, notwithstanding the diforders caufed by the malice or injuliice of man, we have no redrefs or com- penfation ever to expect from God. §. 9. Can any one fay that this laft fyltem is comparable to the firft ? Does it fet the divine perfections in fo great a light ? Is it as worthy of the Divine wifdom, bounty, and juftice ? Is it as proper to ftem the torrent of vice and to fupport virtue, in delicate and dangerous conjunctures ? Does it render the ftmcture of fociety as folid, and inveft the laws of nature with fuch an au- thority as the glory of the fupreme Legiflator and the good of humanity require ? Were we to chufe between two focieties, one of which ad- mitted the firft fyftem, while the other acknow- ledged only the fecond, is there a prudent man but would highly prefer to live in the former of thofe focieties ? There is, certainly, no comparifon between thefe two fyftems, in refpect to beauty and fitnefs: the firft is a work of the moft perfect reafon ; the icoond is defective, and provides no manner of Q 3 remedy 230 OF IMMORTALITY. [pART II. remedy againft a great many diforders. Now even this alone points out fufficiently on what fide the truth lies ; becaufe the bufinefs is to judge and reafon of the deligns and works of God, who does every thing with infinite wiidom. §. 10. Let no one fay, that, limited as we are, it is temerity to decide after this manner ; and that we have too imperfect ideas of the divine nature and perfections, to be able to judge of his plan and defigns with any certainty. This reflexion, which is in fome meaiure true, and in fome cafes juft, proves too much, if applied to our fubject, and confeqiuntiy has no weight. Let us but re- flect a little, and we ihall find that this thought leads us infenfibly to a kind of pynrhonifm, which would be the fubverfion of human life, and of all focial economy. For in fine, there is no medium; we mult chufe one of the two fyltenis above ex- plained. To reject: the firft is admitting the iecond with all its inconveniencies. This remark is of fome importance, and alone is almoft fufri- cient to fhew us the force of fitnefs in this cafe ; becaufe not to acknowledge the folidity of this reaion, is to Jay one's felf under a neceffity of re- ceiving a defective fyftem ; a fyftem loaded with inconveniences, and of which confequences are very far from being realbnable. $, 1 l f Such is the nature and force of the iitnefs, on which the proofs of the fanction of natural laws are eftabliihed. All that remains now, is to fee PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 231 fee what impreflion thefe proofs united, ought to have over our minds, and wiiat influences they fhould have over our conduct. This is the capital point in which the whole ought to end. 1. In the firft place, I obierve,that, though all that can be faid in favour of the fanction of na- tural laws, were ftill to leave the queftion un- decided ; yet it would be always reafonable even in this very uncertainty to act, as if it had been determined in the affirmative, For it is evidently the fafefl: fide, namely, that in which there is lefs at all events to lofe and more to gain. Let us ftate the thing as dubious. If there be a future flate, it is not only an error not to believe it, but likewife a dangerous irregularity to act as if there were no fuch thing : an error of this kind is at- tended with pernicious confequences ; whereas if there is no fuch thing, the miftake in believing it, produces in general none but good effects ; it is not fubject to any inconveniences hereafter, nor does it, generally fpeaking, expofe us to any great difficulties for the time prefent. Be it therefore as it will, and let the cafe be ever fo unfavour- able to natural laws, a prudent man will never hefitate which fide he is to embrace, whether the obfervance, or the violation of thofe laws ; virtue will certainly have the preference of vice. 2. But if this fide of the quefiion is the moil: prudent and eligible, even under a fuppofition of doubt and uncertainty, how much more will it be Q4 fo 232 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART II, fo, if we acknowledge, as we cannot avoid, that this opinion is at leaft more probable than the other ? A firfl degree of verisimilitude, or a limple though flight probability, becomes a rea- fonable motive of derermination, in refpect to every man that calculates and reflects. And if it be prudent to conduct ourfelves by this principle in the ordinary affairs of life, does prudence permit us to deviate from this very road in the moil important affairs, fuch as effentially intereft our felicity ? 3. But in fine, if proceeding ftill further, and reducing the thing to its true point, it is agreed that we have here actually, if not a ft rid: demon- stration of a future life, at leaft a probability founded on fa many reasonable preemptions, and fo great a fitnefs as borders very near upon cer- tainty ; it is ftill more evident, that in the pre lent ftate of things, we ought to a6l on this footing, and are not reafonably allowed to form any other rule of conduct. §. 12. Nothing, indeed, is more worthy of a rational being, than to feek evidence in every thing, and to be determined only by clear and certain principles. But as all fubjecls are not fufceptible thereof, and yet we are obliged to de- termine ; where lhould we be, if we were always to wait for a rigorous demon it ration ? In failure of the higheft degree of certainty, we embrace the next to it; and a great probability be- come PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 233 comes a fufficient rcafon of acting, when there is none of an equal weight to oppofc it. If this fide of the queliion be not in itielf evidently certain, it is at lea ft an evident and certain rule, that in the ppefent flare of things, it ought to have the preference. This is a neceffary confequence of our nature and flate. As we have only limited lights, and yet are under a neceffity of determining and act- ing ; were it requifite for this purpofe to have a complete certainty, and were w r e to refufe to ac- cept of probability as a principle of determination ; we fhould be either obliged to determine in fa- vour of the leaft probable fide, and contrary to verifimilitude, (which no body, methinks, will attempt to maintain,) or we fhould be forced to fpend our days in dubioufnefs and uncertainty, to fluctuate continually in a ftate of irrefolution, and to remain always in fufpenfe, without acting, ■without refolving upon any thing, or without having any fixed rule of conduct ; which would be a total fubverlion of the fyftem of hu- manity. §.13. But if it be reafonable in general to admit of fitnefs and probability as the rule of conduct, for want of evidence ; this rule becomes flill more neceffary and juft, in particular cafes, in which, as has been already obferved, a perfon runs no rifk in following it. When there is nothing to lofe, if we are miftaken, and a great deal to win, if 234 OF IMMORTALITY. [l>ART II, if we are not; what can we defire more to deter- mine us reafonably ? Efpecially when the oppolite iide expofes you, on the contrary, to very great danger, in cafe of error, and affords you no man- ner of advantage, fuppoftng you are right. Under tliefe circumftances there is no room for balancing the choice ; reafon requires us to embrace the fafeft iide ; it lays us under an obligation of fo do- ing ; and this obligation is fo much the ftronger, as it is produced by a concurrence of reafons to which nothing can be oppofed that is capable of weakening them. In fhorr if it be reafonable to embrace this fide, even in cafe of an entire uncertainty, it is ftill more lo when there is fome probability in its fa- vour ; it becomes neceflary if thefe probabilities are cogent and numerous ; and in fine, the ne- cctfity ftill increafes, if at all events this is the fafeft and mod advantageous party. §. 14. Again. This internal and primitive ob- ligation is confirmed by the Divine Will itfelf, and is confequently rendered as ftrong as pofU- ble. In fact, this manner of judging and acting being, as we have feen, in confequence of our constitution, fuch as the Creator has formed it ; this alone is a certain proof, that it is the will of God we fhould be directed by thefe principles, and conlider it as a point of duty. For whatever is in the nature of man, whatever is a confequence of his original conftitution and ftate, acquaints us clearly PART II.] OP IMMORTALITY. 235 clearly and diftinetly with the will of the Crea- tor, witli the life he expects we fhould make of our faculties, and the obligations to which he has thought proper to fubject us. This is a point that merits great attention. For if we may affirm, without fear of miftake, that God is ac- tually willing that man fhould conduct himfelf in this life on the foundation of the belief of a future ftate, and as having every thing to hope or to fear on his fide, according as he has done well or ill ; does not there arife thence a more than probable proof of the reality of this ftate, and of the certainty of rewards and punifh- ments ? Otherwife we fhould be obliged to fay, that God himfelf deceives us, becaufe this error was neceflary for the execution of his defigns, be- ing an eflential principle to the plan he had formed in refpect to man and fociety. But to fpeak after this manner of the molt perfect Being, of a Being, whofe power, wifdom, and good- nefs, know no bounds, would be ufing a lan- guage as abfurd as indecent. For this very reafon that this article of belief is neceflary to man, and enters into the views of the Creator, it cannot be an error. Whatever he fets before us as a duty, or as a reafonable principle of conduct, muft be certainly true. §.15. Thus every thing concurs to eftablifh the authority of natural laws. 1 . The approba- tion 236 6? IMNfORTALITV. [PARTII* tion they receive from reafon. 2. The exprefs command of God. 3. The real advantages which their obfervance procures us in this world ; and, in fine, the great hopes and juft fears we ought to have in reipect to futurity, according a3 we have obierved or defpiled thole laws. Thus it is that God binds us to the practice of virtue by flich Strong and numerous ties, that every man who confults and liftens to reaibn, rinds him- felf under an indifpenfable obligation of invariably directing his conduct: by it. $. lo. ISorae perhaps will object, that we have been too diffufive i: fancrion of na- tural laws. True it is, that moil of thofe who have written concerning the law of nature, are more coocife on this article, and PurTendorf him- felf does not fay much about it. This author, without absolutely excluding only the consideration of a future life from this fcience, teems neverthe- lets to confine the law of nature within the bounds of the prelent life, as tending only to render us ibciable. And yet he acknowledges that man is naturally deli ro us of immortality, and that this has induced heathens to believe the foul immortal ; that this belief is likewife authorifed by an ancient tradition concerning the goddefs of revenge ; to which he adds, that, in fact, it is very probable God will punilh the violation of die laws of nature ; but that there is lull a great obfeuriry in PART II] OP IMMORTALITY. 937 in this refpect, and nothing but revelation can put the thing out of doubt. But were it even true, that reafon affords us nothing but probabilities on this queflion, yet we fflttft not exclude from the law of nature all confederations of a future ftate ; efpecially if thefe probabilities are fo very great, as to border upon certainty. This article enters neceffarily into the fyftem of this fcience, and forms thereof a part fo much the more effcntial, that were it not for this, the authority of natural laws would be weakened, as we have already fhewn ; and it would be diffi- cult (to fay nothing more) to eftablifh on any folid grounds feveral important duties, which oblige us to facrifice our greater!: advantages to the good of fociety, or to the fupport of equity and juftice. NecerTary therefore it was, to examine with fome care, how far our natural light may lead us in refpect to this queflion, and to fhew the force of the proofs that our reafon affords us, and the influence thofe proofs ought to have over ourconducl. True it is, as we have already obferved, that the beft way to know in this refpecl the will of God, would be an expreis declaration on his part. But if reafoning, as mere philoibphers, we have not been able to make ufe of fo decifive a proof, no- thing can hinder us, as Chriftian philofophers, to avail ourfelves of the advantage we have from re- velation, 238 OF IMMORTALITY. [PART It, velation, in order to ftrengthen our conjectures. Nothing, indeed, can be a better argument that we have reafoned and conjectured right, than the poiitive declaration of God on this important point. For fince, it appears by fact that God is willing to recompenfe \ irtue, and to punifh vice in another life, it is no lunger poflible to doubt of -what we have been laying, namely, that this is ex- tremely conformable to his wifdom, goodnefs, and juftice. The proofs we have drawn from the nature of man, from God's defigns in his favour, from the wildom and equity with which he go- verns the world, and from the prefent ftate of things, are not a work of the imagination, or an illufion of felf-love ; no, they are reflections dictated by right reafon : and when revelation comes up to their afiiftance, it fets then in full evidence what already had been rendered probable by the iole light of nature. It is to us a great pleafure to fee that the princi- ples we have laid down, are exactly thole that the Chriftian religion adopts for its bafis, and on which the whole ltructure of religion and morality is railed. If on one fide this remark ferves to con- firm us in thefe principles, by alluring us that we have hit upon the true fyitem of nature ; on the other, it ought to dilpofe us to have an infinite elleem for a revelation which perfectly confirms the law of nature, and converts moral philofophy into PART II.] OF IMMORTALITY. 239 into a religious and popular doctrine ; a doctrine founded on facts, and in which the authority and promifes of God manifeftly intervene in the fitteft manner to make an impreiiion upon man. This happy agreement between natural and revealed light, is equally honourable to both. END OP PART II. ELEMENTS OF SELF-KNOWLEDGE. PART III. AN ENQUIRY INTO THE GENUINE NATURE OF THE PASSIONS. the Paffions all Have burfl: their bounds ; and Reafon, half extincl:, Or impotent, or elfe approving, fees The foul diforder. Thomson. Introductory Obfervations, with a Table of the PaJJions analyzed. .H.AVING examined the anatomical fyftem of the human frame, and taken a view of the mental faculties, I have now to direct the attention of my Readers to an enquiry into the genuine nature of the paffions, thofe grand fources of thehappinfs and of the mifery of mankind. For promoting and inciting us to the perform- ance of our duties and to the due enjoyment of our being, all the paflions and affeclions of the human mind were certainly defigned by the Author R of 242 INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS, [pARTIIl. of nature, and were necefTary for the end for which he intended them. This end he has given us a capacity, if we will be at the pains to exercife it, to difcover, and, by our reafon, if we make a right ufe of it, we may go- vern and direct every one of them to its true and proper end. As all the paffions and affections of the human mind were planted there by him who gave it a being, we cannot but fuppofe that every one of them was ordained for a wife and good end ; confequently we mull con- clude, that they are all in themfelves good and ufeful, and never can have a bad effect if proper- ly applied, and duly kept under the government X)f our reafon according to his appointment. By the term Paffion, however, we often mean not properly any paffion itfelf, but the violence, ex- travagance, and depravation of the paffion ; and to this violence, extravagance, or depravation of the paffion a particular and diftinct name having been given by mankind, we are led by it to fuppofe it to be a particular, diftinct, and wicked pallion, which the minds of lome men have been indued with by nature, whence we often leek to excuie the irregularity and rafhnefs of our conduct to ouriclvcs as well as to others. Thus cruelty, for example, is often thought to be a paffion with which the minds of fome men are indued by Na- ture ; whereas cruelty is not a genuine pallion, but only an unbridled violence or wrong dire ct ion oflbme natural paffion or affection, in itfelf good *ART III.] INTRODUCTORY OBSERVATIONS. 243 and ufeful, as we fhall fee in the courfe of our enquiry. So, whenever we meet with a name or term, which feems to iignify a paffion that can ferve for no good purpofe, we may be affiired, and on ftrict examination we fhall difcover, that it does not really mean any genuine paffion, but a wrong direction, or extravagant ftretch of a paf- fion. It will not be amifs to obferve here that all the paffions and affections of the human mind may be trained to fubjedlion by a conftant check, or flrengthened and rendered almoft ungovernable by continued indulgence : therefore Reafon, like a good centinelj fhould be always awake and alert upon his poft. The paffions then are the fprings of virtue, and they are in their nature and origin good, and in- tended for the benefit of mankind ; but itis the channels into which they diverge that render them pernicious, and form them alfo into the fprings of vice. Even envy and avarice, the mod odious of our emotions, are to be traced up to untainted fources ; the former in general, ariling from the defire of excellence, and the latter from the wifli of eftimation. Secure the ftream where it frrft threatens deviation, teach it to flow within the bounds originally prefefibed by nature, it will then run with a clear and fmooth current, and bear along with it both pleafure and virtue. Paffion may be defined a movement of the mind occafioned by fome ftrong impreffion made upon It. either by external objects through the fenies, R 2 or 244 ANALYSIS OF [PART III. or by the power of imagination. Let us confider the paffions in the following manner : nrft, the fource of each ; fecondly, its natural branches ; and, thirdly, its deviations, by which means we fhall be able to diftinguifh at once the genuine emotions of human nature from thofe that have been the confequence of its depravity. For the fake of precifion I will treat of them alphabetically and ace ordng to the following fketch, or ANALYSIS OF THE PASSIONS. SOURCES, AMBITION. ANGER. {Indignation. \Refentment. AVERSION. / nm „ VARIETIES. DEVIATIONS, fDefire of Paver, f A varice . |_ Dejire of Fame. \ Envy. "Retaliation. Revenge. Rage. Fury. \ Fretfulnefs. Morofenefs. Surlynefs, Haiti nefs. Sullennefs. Hatred. Malevolence. Rancour. Spite. I ! Mi fan th ropy CURIOSITY PART III.] SOURCES. CURIOSITY. FEAR. HOPE. JOY, LOVE. SHAME, THE PASSIONS. VARIETIES. DEVIATIONS. Defire of Iufur- f Futile Curiofity. ma fun. \ Di (honourable L Curiofity. f Timidi ty. Cowardice . \ Terror. | Horror. Rational Hope. Chimerical Hope. | Exultation. j Falfe fpiritSi *< fictitioufly procured. I Malignant Joy. J Chearfulnefs. \Mirth. f Self Love. Sexual Love. Storge. EJleem. FriendJJiip. Patriotifm. Philanthropy. Benevolence. Charity. Gratitude. .Piety. ^Bajlifuhiefs. I Diffidence. R3 Pride. Arrogance. Haughtinefs. Vain-glory. Vanity. Jealoufy. Shame of doing right. SORROW, 246 AMBITION SORROW, or {Melancholy. GRIEF. 4 Contrition. [Remorfe. SYMPATHY. WONDER. [Pity. \ Terror. < f 'Admiration. \AJioniJJiment. [part III Defpair. Vicious Sym- pathy. CHAPTER I. AMBITION. Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. A HIS paffion is the deflre of great things ; or rather of thofe things which tranfeend our prefent ftate or attainments. It is an efTential quality in man to afpire ; it marks the fuperiority of his lpirit above the reft of animals ; and, in no flight degree, indicates his immortality. Afpire, my children ! but let your ambition be fixed on thofe objects that legalize the paffion. Whatever tends to the exaltation of your nature is the legal object of Ambition. Caft your eyes to the fummits of intellect, and virtue ; and ftrain every faculty to accomplifh the afcent. The TART III.'] AMBITION. 247 The paflion flows regularly, and purely, while it runs towards real greatnets ; it deviates into a turbid ftream when attracted by imaginary gran- deur. How far the deiire of power, of popularity, of fame, of wealth, are deviations, can only be known from actions ; they are not neceflarily corrupt. The ambition of Cicero induced him to be the fupport and the father of his country ; that of Caefar impelled him to its dcftruction. Per- fonal aggrandizement, with no ulterior view to the will of God, cannot be the end of a laudable paflion; but every wifh to rife, fhould be ac- companied with the deiire of moral improvement, and extended utility. The tendency of native Ambition is the melioration of the foul, which is true greatnefs ; and every ftep we take we advance nearer to the Father of all grandeur. The ten- dency of falfe Ambition, is the depravation of the foul : power is fought, for the gratification of vice ; and no means are rejected, however bale or horrid. Sect. II. The Dcjire of Power. IN every fituation of life the desire of power is viiible. To be able to undertake, and, to do well, what is undertaken, is a laudable Ambi- tion. It is from this paflion, generally aflbciated with the hope of profit, that every man ftrives to be excellent in his calling. But the deiire of R 4 power, 24S AMBITION. [PART III. power, which has obtained a peculiar title to the name of Ambition, is that which has political greatnefs in view. To be a main prop in fup- porting, and an active inftrument in conducting a State, is an eminence well worthy this paflion. Without this, fociety would be diflblved, or left to the random influences of the other paffions. The f r atefman is an honourable character, and Hands foremoit among the benefactors of mankind ; bur it is a character which requires, more than any other, the moil tranfcendent talents accompanied with the greater!: virtues. The military cha^cter is connected with the State, and the ambition of defending one's country, is equally laudable with that of guarding and regulating its laws. But the moment the good of the State ceafes to be the grand object of the pafiion, when perfonal aggrandizement fuperfedes patriotifm, and military ardour becomes a fever of conquefts and triumphs, the ftream of Ambition runs foul. Tullv, and the Scipios, Anilities, and Epaminondas, were ftatefmen, and generals ; Sylla, Dionyiius of Syracule, and Alexander of Macedon, were con- querors and tyrants. The genuine gratification of pre-eminence is the good of others. Let a man of the moil ex- tenfive power exert the whole, or rather all he can of it, upon his own individual pleafures ; in what narrow limits will it be confined ! Un- loving and unloved, the fenfes may be acted upon PART III.] AMBITION. 249 upon for a while, but the heart can know no joy. On the other hand, he who ufes his means in diffufing happincfs, is foon confcious that his en- joyments are unbounded ; and not only where he does good, but where he fails, he is equally be- loved. The power arifing from wealth, may prove to be one of the moH rational bleflings of life ; and it is not, therefore, a wonder that it mould be the univerfal purfuit. It enables a man to improve his own faculties, and to diffufe knowledge and delight around him. It is only to be lamented, that he can do evil as well as good ; and that in the purfuit of them the fight of their true ufe is too often loft ; that they are fpent on vices, made the means of parade, orientation, and luxury; or hoarded, to manifefi the very impotence of power. It feems that inequality of conditions is necef- fary to thofe modes of life now marked out for the human fpecies : at prefent, the very word Society implies inequality. It is one of the ends of fociety to fecure to individuals thofe advan- tages, which have been honeftly obtained, either by their own labours, or by thofe of their friends and families. But for this, where fhould men look for any terreftrial happinefs, which is the chief end of afTociation ? Thefe advantages fe- cured, nothing can be clearer than that inequality mull: follow. I put this out of the queition as being 250 AMBITION. [FART III. being a decided axiom. I wifh it were as clear an axiom that the inequality was a chief fource of focial happinefs, which, I think, it ought to be. It depends entirely upon thofe who gain the van- tage ground ; for wherever Nature beftows power, ilie beftows it for fervice. To expel difeafe, injuftice, and impiety, be- longs, peculiarly to physicians, lawyers, and the minifters of God : the power is in their hands, and in making ofe of it they fpread comfort and happinefs. The grand diftempers of a State, are poverty and vice ; and, to eradicate thefe, is the peculiar province of the rich. All power proceeds from the treafury of Nature ; and thofe to whom fhe difpenfes it are the minifters of her will. Ke- folve to obey her will, and no man can be too ambitious. Sect. III. The Defire of Fame. THE desire of Fame is almoft as general as that of power, and is alio a laudable Ambition. Men defire to be known, and to be fpoken of; and as the defire of being well fpoken of is an in- centive to virtue ; this pailion fhonld not be ex- tinguimed, but regulated. Cicero allures us that the defire of glory is the chief paiTion of the beft men; — trahimur omnes laudis fiudio, et 9f nrns qmiquQ maxime gloria ditcitur. Fame for uie- lefs PART III.] AMBITION. 251 lefs and trifling qualities is abfard and ridiculous ; for talents, without virtue and piety, odious ; for virtue and piety, though unaccompanied with great talents, delightful ; and for talents, virtue, and piety united, is the lummit of human glory. Although the defire of extenfive reputation be a fair pafilon, it is to be conlidered that its very exiftence depends upon the exclufion of far the greater part of mankind; and that therefore the genuine incentives to talents, virtue, and piety, are to be fought elfewhere than in mortal voices. Out of the terreftrial fphere there is, perhaps, no fuch thing as fame. The book of nature contains the regiftry of all things that are pairing : beyond the limits of this world they are feen at once, and fcen for ever ; and the figh of pity, that rifes from the village, is as extenfively perceived, as the blow given by Brutus in the capitol. The little ^ftream of fame runs meandring along this globe, but is loft in the ocean of eternal intuition, where every heart-will appear under its real co- lours, and the reward of the good be love. But as the love of praife is allowed to be one of thebeft paflions of man, let us take a more exten- five view of it, in its origin and operation in the human breaft. Man naturally defires, not only to be loved, but to be lovely ; or to be that thing which is the natural and proper object of love. He naturally dreads, not only to be hated, but 252 AMEITION. [PART III. but to be hateful ; or to be that thing which is the natural and proper object of hatred. He de- lires not only praife, but praife-worthinefs ; or to be that thing which, though it mould be prai fed by nobody, is, however, the natural and proper object of praife. He dreads, not only blame, but blanie-worthinefs ; or to be that thing which, though it fhould be blamed b] nobody, is, how- ever, the natural and proper object of blame. The love of praiie-worthinefs is by no means derived altogether from the love of praife. Thofe two principles, though they refemble one another, though they are conn md often blended with one another, are yet, in many refpects, dii- tinct and independent of one another. The love and admiration which we naturally conceive for thofe whole character and conduct we approve of, neceflarily difpofe us to deiire to be- come ourfelves the objects of the like agreeable fentiments, and to be as amiable and as admirable as thofe whom we love and admire the moft. Emulation, the anxious deiire that we ourfelves lhould excel, is originally founded in our admira- tion of the excellence of others. Neither can we be fatisfied with being merely admired for what other people are admired. We mult at leaft be- lieve ourfelves to be admirable for what they are admirable. But, in order to attain this fatisfae- tion, we muit become the impartial fpectators of our own character and conduct. We mutt en- deavour PART III.] AMBITION. 251 deavour to view them with the eyes of other peo- ple, or as otherpeople are likely toviewthcin. When leen in this light, if they appear to us as we wifh, we are happy and contented. But it greatly confirms this happinefs and contentment when we find that otherpeople, viewingthem withthofe very eyeswith which we, in imagination only, were endeavour- ing to view them, fee them precifely in the fame light in which we ourfelves had feen them. Their approbation neceffarily confirms our Ovvn felf- ap- probation. Their praife neceffarily ftrengthens our own fenfe of our own praife-worthinefs. In this cafe, fo far is the love of praife-worthinefs from being derived altogether from that of praife ; that the love of praife feems, at lean: in a great meafure, to be derived from that of praife-worthi- nefs. The mofl fincere praife can give little pleafure when it cannot be confidered as fome fort of proof of praife-worthinefs. It is by no means fufficient that, from ignorance or miflake, efreem and ad- miration fhould, in fome way or other, be bellow- ed upon us. If we are confeious that we do not deferve to be fo favourably thought of, and that if the truth were known, we mould be regarded with very different fentiments, our fatisfaction is far from being complete. The man who ap- plauds us either for actions which we did not perform, or for motives which had no fort of in- fluence upon our conduct, applauds not us, but 254 AMBITION. [PART III. but another perfon. We can derive no fort of fatisfaction from his praifes. To us they would be more mortifying than any cenfure, and fhould perpetually call to our minds, the molt humbling of all reflexions, the reflexion of what we ought to be, but what we are not. A woman who paints, could derive, one mould imagine, but little vanity from the compliments that are paid to her complexion. Thefe, we fhould expect, ought rather to put her in mind of the fentiments which her real complexion would excite, and mortify her the more by the contrail. To be pleafed with iuch groundlefs applaufe is a proof of the moft fuperricial levity and weaknels. It is a degree of vanity, one of the fpurious offsprings of felf love, and is the foundation of the moft ridiculous and contemptible vices, the vices of affectation and common lying ; follies, which, if experience did not teach us how common they are, one fhould imagine the lealt fpark of common fenfe would favc us from. The foolifh liar, who endeavours to excite the admiration of the company by the relation of adventures which never had any exis- tence ; the important coxcomb, who gives him- felf airs of rank and diftincYion which he well knows he has no juit pretenfions to ; are both of them, no doubt, pleafed with the applaufe which they fancy they meet with. But their vanity ariie< from fo grots an illution of the imagination, that it is difficult to conceive how any rational creature fhould FART III.] AMBITION. 255 fhould be impofcd upon by it. When they place themielves in the fituation of thofe whom they fancy they have deceived, they are ftruck with the higheft admiration for their own perfons. They look upon themielves, not in that light in which they know they ought to appear to their companions, but in that in which they believe their companions actually look upon them. Their fuperficial weaknefs and trivial folly hinder them from ever turning their eyes inwards, or from fee- ing themfelves in that defpicable point of view in which their own confciences muft tell them that they would appear to every body, if the real truth fhould ever come to be known. As ignorant and groundlefs praife can give no folidjoy, no fatisfaction that will bear any ferious examination, fb, on the contrary, it often gives real comfort to reflect, that though no praife mould actually be beftowed upon us, our conduct, however, has been fuch as to deferve it, and has been in every refpect fuitable to thofe mcafures and rules by which praife and approbation are na- turally and commonly beftowed. We are pleafed not only with praife, but with having done what is pfaiie-worthy. We are pleafed to think that we fcive rendered ourfclves the natural objects of approbation, though no approbation mould ever actually be beftowed upon us, and we are mor- tified to reflect that we have juftly merited the blame of thofe we live with, though that fentt- . :\ r 256 AMBITION. [PART III. rnent fhoud never actually be exerted againft us* The man who is confcious to himfelf that he has exactly obferved thofe meafures of conduct which experience informs him are generally agreeable, reflects with fatisfaction on the propriety of his own behaviour. When he views it in the light in which the impartial fpectator would view it, he throughly enters into all the motives which influenced it. He looks back upon every part of it with pleafure and approbation, and though mankind ihould never be acquainted with what he has done, he regards himielf, not fo much ac- cording to the light in which they actually regard him, as according to that in which they would regard him if they were better informed. He an- ticipates the applaufe and admiration which in this cafe would be beftowed upon him, and he applauds and admires himfelf by fympathy with fentimcnts, which do not indeed actually take place, but which the ignorance of the public alone hinders from taking place, which he knows are the natural and ordinary effects of fiich con- duct which his imagination ilrongly connects with it, and which he has acquired a habit of conceiv- ing as fometliing that naturally and in propriety ought to follow from it. Men have voluntarily thrown away life to acquire after death a renown which they could no longer enjoy. Their imagi- nation, in the mean time, anticipated the fame which was in future times bellowed upon them. Thofe ?AfcT III.] AMBITION. 237 Thofe applaufes which they were never to hear rung in their ears ; the thoughts of that admira- tion, whofe effects they were never to feel, played about their hearts, banifhed from their breads the ftrongeH" of all natural fears, and tranfportcd them to perform actions which feem almofl beyond the reach of human nature. But in point of re- ality th,ere is furely no great difference between that approbation which is not to be beflowed till we can no longer enjoy it, and that which, indeed, is never to be beftowed, but which would be be- llowed, if the world was ever made to underftand properly the real circumftances of our behaviour. If the one often produces fuch violent effects, we cannot wonder that the other mould always be highly regarded. Nature, when flic formed mail for fdciety> en- dowed him with an original defire to pleafe, and an original averfion to offend his brethren. She taught him to feel pleafure in their favourable, and pain in their unfavourable regard. She ren- dered their approbation moft flattering and mod: agreeable to him for its own Jake ; and their dis- approbation moft mortifying and moftoffenfive. But this defire of the approbation, and this averfion to the difapprobation of his brethren^ would not alone have rendered him fit for that fociety for which he was made. Nature, accor- dingly, has endowed him, not only with a defire of being -approved of, but with a defire of being S what SS$ AMBITION. [PARTI II?. what ought to be approved of; or of being what lie himfelf approves of in other men. The firft; defire could only have made him wifh to appear to be fit for fociety. The fccond was neceffary in order to render him anxious to be really fit. The firft could only have prompted him to the affecta- tion of virtue, and to the concealment of vice. The fecond was neceffary in order to infpire him with the real love of virtue, and with the real ab- horrence of vice. In every well-formed mind this fecond defire feems to be the ftronger of the two. It is only the weakeft and moft iuperficial of mankind who can be much delighted with that praife which they themfelves know to be altogether unmerited. A weak man may fometimes be pleaf- ed with it, but a wife man rejects it upon all oc- cafions. But, though a wife man feels little plca- fure from praife where he knows there is no praiie- worthinefs, lie often feels the bigheft in doing what he knows to be praife- worthy, though he knows equally well that no praife is ever to be be- llowed upon it. To obtain the approbation of mankind, where no approbation is due, ean never be an object of any importance to him. To ob- tain that approbation where it is really due, may fometimes be an object of no great importance to him. But to be that tiling which dcfeiVea appro- bation muft always be an object of the highefh To defire or even to accept of praife, where no praife is due, can be the effect only of the moft contempt i PART XII.] AMBITION. 259 contemptible vanity. To defire it where it is really due, is to defire no more than that a moft elTential act of juftice fhould be done to us. The love of juft fame, of true glory, even for its own fake, and independent of any advantage which he can derive from it, is not unworthy even of a wife man. He fometimes, however, neglects, and even defpifes it ; and he is never more apt to do fo than when he has the moll: perfect aiTurance of the per- fect propriety of every part of his own conduct. His felf-approbation, in this cafe, Hands in need of no confirmation from this approbation of other men. It is alone fufficient, and he is contented with it. This felf-approbation, if not the only, is at leaft the principal object, about which he can or oueht to be anxious. The love of it, is the love of virtue. As the love and admiration which we naturally conceive for fome characters, difpofe us to wifh to become ourfelves the proper objects of fuch agreeable fentiments ; fo the hatred and contempt which we as naturally conceive for others, difpofe us, perhaps Hill more flrongly, to dread the very thought of refembling them in any refpect. Nei- ther is it, in this cafe too, fo much the thought of being hated and defpifed that we are afraid of, as that of being hateful and defpicable. We dread tjie thought of doing any thing which can render us the juft and proper objects of the hatred and contempt of our fellow-creatures ; even S3 though 260 AMBITION. [PART ltf» though we had the moil perfect fecurity that thofe entiments were never actually to be exerted againit: us. The man who has broken through all thofe meafures of conduct, which can alone render him agreeable to mankind, though he mould have the moft perfect aiTurance that what he had done was for ever to be concealed from every human eye, it is all to no purpofe. When he looks back upon it, and views it in the light in which the impartial Spectator would view it, he finds that he can enter into none of the motives which in- fluenced it. He is abafhed and confounded at the thoughts of it, and neceffarily feels a very high degree of that fhame which lie would be expofed to, if his ac/Hons ihould ever come to be generally known. His imagination, in this cafe too, anticipates the contempt and derifion from which nothing laves him but the ignorance of thole he lives with. He ftill feels that he is the natural objeel: of thefe fentiments. and ftill trem- bles at the thought of what he would fuffer, if they v\ere ever actually exerted againit him. But if what he had been guilty of was not merely one of thofe improprieties which are the objects of fi triple diiapprobation, but one of thofe. enormous crimes which excite dcteftation and refentment, he could never think of it, as long as he had any fenfibility left, without feeling all the agony of horror and remorfe ; and though he could be lured that no. man was evei to know it, and could even IMHT III.] AMBITION. S§| even bring himfelf to believe that there was no God to revenge it, he would Hill feel enough of both thefe fentiments to embitter the whole of Ins life : he would ll ill regard himfclf as the natural object of the hatred and indignation o fall his fellow creatures ; and if his heart was not grown ous by the habit of crimes, he could not think without terror and nil onifhment even of the manner in which mankind would look upon him, of what would be the expreilion of their counte- nance and of their eyes, if the dreadful truth fhould ever come to be known. Thefe natural pangs of an affrighted coufcience are the demons, the avenging furies, which, in this life, haunt the guilty, which allow them neither quiet nor re- pofe, which often drive them to delpair and dif- fraction, from which no affii ranee of fecrecy can protect them, from which no principles of irreli- gion can entirely deliver them, and from which nothing can free them but the vileit and mod ab- ject of all ftates, a complete infenlibility to ho- nour and infamy, to vice and virtue. Men of the moft deteltable characters, who, in the execution of tile moft dreadful crimes, had taken their mea- fures fo coolly as to avoid even the fufpicion of guilt, have fometimes been driven, by the horror of their lituation, to difcover, of their own accord, what no human fagacity could ever have invefn- gated. By acknowledging their guilt, by fub- mktinsr themfelves to the refentment of their of- S 3 fended 262 AMBITION, [PART III, fended fellow- citizens, and,, by thus fatiating that vengeance of which they were fenfible that they had become the proper objects, they hoped, by their death to reconcile themfelves, at leaft in their own imagination, to the natural fentiments of mankind : to be able to confider themfelves as lefs worrhy of hatred and refentment ; to atone, in fome meafure, for their crimes, and, by thus becoming the objects, rather of companion than of horror, if poffible to die in peace and with the forgivenefs of all the ; r fellow-creatures. Com- pared to what they felt before the difco- very, even the thought of this, it items, was happinefs. In fnch cafes, the horror of blamc-worthinels feems, even in perfons who cannot be fufpe<£ted of any extraordinary delicacy or fenfibility of cha- racter, completely to conquer the dread of blame. In order to allay that horror, in order to pacify, in fome degree, the remorfe of their own con- fciences, they voluntarily fubmitted themfelves both to the reproach and to the rmnifhment which they knew were due to their crimes, but which, at the fame time, they might eaiily have avoided. They are the moft frivolous and fuperficial of mankind only who can be much delighted with that praife which they themfelves know to be al- together unmerited. Unmerited reproach, how- ever, is frequently capable of mortifying very fe- verdy PART III.] AMBITION. 263 verelv even men of more than ordinary conftuncy. Men of the molt ordinary constancy, indeed, eafily learn to deipiic thofe fooliili tales which are fo frequently circulated in lociety, and which, from their own abiurdity and f'allehood, never fail to die away in the courfe of a few weeks, or of a few clays. But an innocent man., though of more than ordinary conitancy, is often, not only lhock- cd, but molt feverely mortified by the ferious, though falfe, imputation of a crime ; efpecially when that imputation happens unfortunately to be fupported by foine circumllances which give it an air of probability. He is humbled to find that any body fhould think lb meanly of his cha- racter as to fuppofe him capable of being guilty of it. Though perfectly confeious of his own in- nocence, the very imputation feems often, even in his own imagination to throw a fhadow of dif- grace and dishonour upon his charadter. His jult indignation, too, at lb very grofs an injury, which, however, it may frequently be improper, and fometimes even impoffible to revenge, is it- felf a very painful fenfation. There is no greater tormentor of the human breaft than violent refent- ment which cannot be gratified. An innocent man, brought to the IcafFold by the falle imputa- tion of an infamous or odious crime, faffers the molt cruel misfortune which it is poflible for in- nocence to fuffer. The agony of his mind may S 4 in 264 AMBITION. [PART III, in this cafe, frequently be greater than that of thofe who fafrer for the like crimes, of which they have been actually guilty. Pro- fligate criminals, iuch as common thieves and highwaymen, have frequently little fenfe of the bafenefs of their own conduct, and confe- quently no remorfe. Without t: ; them- f elves about the juftice or injustice of the punifh- ment, they have always been accuilomed to look upon the gibbet as a lot very likely to fall to them. When it does fall to them, therefore, they confider themfelves only as not quite fo lucky as fome of their co -pinions, and fubmit to their fortune, without any other uneafinefs than what may arife from the fear of death ; a fear which, even by fuch worthless wretches, we frequently fee, can be fo eatiiy, and fo very completely con- quered. The innocent man, on the contrary, over and above the uneafinefs which that fear may occaiion, is tormented by his own indignation at the injuftice which has been done to him. He is ftrnck with horror at the thoughts of the in- famy which the punifhment may ihed upon his menfory, and forefees, with the mod exquifite anguifh, that he is hereafter to be remembered by his deareft friends and relations, not with regret and affection, but with fhame, and even with horror of his fuppofed difgraceful conduct : and the ihades of death appear to cloie round him with JPART III.] AMBITION. 265 with a darker and more melancholy gloom than naturally belongs to them. Such fatal accidents, for the tranquillity of mankind, it is to be hoped, happen very rarely in Liny country ; but they happen io netimes in all countries, even in tliofe where juaice is in general very well adminiftered. The unfortunate Galas, a man uf much more than ordinary eonitancy (broken upon the wheel and burnt at Thouloufe for the fuppofed murder of his own fon, of which he was perfectly innocent), feemed, with his laft breath, to deprecate, not io much the cruelty of the punishment, as the di£* grace which the imputation might bring upon his memory. After he had been broken, and was juft going to be thrown into the fire, the monk who attended the execution, exhorted him to con- fefs the crime for which he had been condemned. " My Father/' faid Calas, " can you bring your- felf to believe that I am guilty ?" To perfons in fuch unfortunate circumftances, that humble philofophy which confines its views to this life, can afford, perhaps, but little confb- lation. Every tiling that could render either life or death ref pe (Stable is taken from them. They are condemned to death and to everlail ing infamy. Religion can alone afford them any effectual com- fort. She alone can tell them, that it is of little importance what man may think of their conduct, while the all-feeing Judge of the world approves of it. She alone can prefent to them the view of another &66 AMBITION. [?AIIT III« another world ; a world of more candour, huma- nity, and juftice, than the prefent ; where their innocence is in due time to be declared, and their virtue to be finally rewarded : and the fame great principle Which can alone ftrike terror into trium- phant vice, affords the only effectual confolation to difgraced and infulted innocence. In fmaller offences, as well as in greater crimes, it frequently happens that a perfon of feniibility is much more hurt by the unjufl imputation, than the real criminal is by the actual guilt. A woman of gallantry laughs even at the well-founded fur- mifes which are circulated concern-'" her conduct. The worft founded furmife or the lame kind is a mortal flab to an innocent virgin. The perfon who is deliberately guilty of a difgraceful action, we may lay it down, I believe, as a general rule, can feldom have much fenfe of the difgrace ; and the perfon who is habitually guilty of it, can fcarce ever have any. When every man, even of middling, under- itanding, lb readily defpifes unmerited applaufe, how it comes to pais that unmerited reproach ihould often be capable of mortifying fo feverely men of the founded: and bell: judgment, may, per- haps, defer ve fome confideration. Pain is, in almoir. all caies, a more pungent fenfation than the oppoflte and correfpondent plea- fure. The one, aim oil always, deprelTes as much Jnore below 7 the ordinary, or what may be called the PART III.] AMBITION. 207 the natural flare of our happinefs, than the other ever raifes us above it. A man of fenfibility is apt to be more humiliated by juit cenfure than he is elevated by juft a.pplaufe. Unmerited applaufe a wife man rejects with contempt upon all occa- lions ; but he often feels very levercly the injuf- tice of unmerited cenfure. By furrering himfelf to be applauded for what he has not performed, by aifuming a merit which does not belong to him, he feels that he is guilty of a mean falfehood, and deferves, not the admiration, but the con- tempt of thole very perfons who, by miftake, had been led to admire him. It may, perhaps, give him feme well-founded pleafure to find that he lias been, by many people, thought capable of performing what he did not perform. But, though he may be obliged to his friends for their good opinion, he would think himfelf guilty of the greateft bafenefs if he did not immediately un- deceive them. It gives him little pleafure to look upon himfelf in the light in which other people actually look upon him, when he is conic ions that, if they knew the truth, they would look upon him in a very different light. A weak man, however, is often much delighted with viewing himfelf in this falfe and delufivc light. He af- fumes the merit of every laudable action that is gfcribed to him, and pretends to that of many which nobody ever thought of afcribing to him. He pretends to have done what he never did, to have 368 AMBITION. ["PART III. have written what another wrote, to have invented what another difcovered ; and is led into all the miferable vices of plagiarifm and common lying. But though no man of middling good fenfe can derive much pleafure from the imputation of a laudable action which he never performed, yet a wife man may fuller great pain from the ferious imputation of a crime which he never committed. Nature, in this cafe, has rendered the pain, Dre pungent than the oppcfite and corre- fpondent pleafure, but fhe has rendered it fo in a much greater than the ordinary degree. A denial rids a man at once of the fooliih and ridiculous pleafure; but it will not always rid him of the pain. When he refufes the merit which is afcribed to him, nobody doubts his veracity. It may be doubted when he denies the crime which he is ac- cufed of. He is at once enraged at the falfehood of the imputation, and mortified to find that any credit mould be given to it. He feels that his character is not fufficient to protect him. He feels that his brethren, far from looking upon him in that light in which he anxiouily defires to be vieived by them, think him capable of being guilty of what he is accufed of. He knows per- fectly what he has done; but, perhaps, fcarce any man can know perfectly what he himfelf is capable of doing. What the peculiar confti- tution of his own mind may or may not admit of> is, perhaps, more or lefs a matter of doubt to every PART III.] AMBITION. 269 every man. The truft and goocl opinion of his friends and neighbours, tend more than any thing to relieve him from this moft difagreeable doubt ; their dillruft and unfavourable opinion to increafe it. He may think himfelf very confident that their unfavourable judgment is wrong : but this confidence can feldom be fo great as to hinder that judgment from making fome impreiTion upon him; and the greater his fenfibility, the greater his delicacy, the greater his worth in fhort, this im- preffion is likely to be the greater. The agreement or difagreement both of the fentiments and judgments of other people with our own, is, in all cafes, it muft be obferved, o£ more or lefs importance to us, exactly in propor- tion as we ourfelves are more or lefs uncertain about the propriety of our own fentiments, about the accuracy of our own judgments. A man of fenfibility may fometimes feel great unealinefs left he mould have yielded too much even to what may be called an honourable pafiion ; to his juft indignation, perhaps, at the injury which may have been done either to himfelf or to his friend. He is anxiouily afraid left, mean- ing only to act with fpirit, and to do juftice, he may, from the too great vehemence of his emo- tion, have done a real injury to fome other per- fon ; who, though not innocent, may not have been altogether fo guilty as he at flrft apprehend- ed. The opinion of other people becomes, id this S?0 AMBITION. [PART III. this cafe, of the utmoft importance to him. Their approbation is the moil: healing balfam ; their difapprobation, the bittereil and moil tormenting poiibn that can be poured into his uneafy mind. When he is perfectly fatisiied with every part of his own conduct, the judgment of other people is often of lefs importance to him. There are fome very noble and beautiful arts, in which the degree of excellence can be deter- mined only by a certain nicety of tafte, of which the decifions, however, appear always, in fome meafure, uncertain. There are others, in which the fuccefs admits, either of clear demonstration, or very iatisfactory proof. Among- the candidates for excellence in thefe different arts, the anxiety about the public opinion is always much greater in the former than in fche latter. The beauty of poetry is a matter of fuch nicety, that a young beginner can fearer, ever be certain that he has attained it. Nothing delights him fa much, therefore, as the favourable judgments of his friends and of the public : and nothing mor- tifies him fo feverely as the contrary. The one eftablifhes, the other fhafces, the good opinion which he is anxious to entertain concerning his own performances. Experience and fuccefs may in time give him a little more confidence in his own judgment. He is at all time-, however, liable to be molt feverely mortified by the un- favourable judgments of the public Kacine was ib TART III.] AMBITION. 2?l fo difgu,ded by the indifferent fuccefs of his Phaedra, one of the fined tragedies extant in any language, that, though in the vigour of his life, and at the height of his abilities, he refolved to write no more for the flage. That great poet ufed frequently to tell his Ion, that the moll paltry and impertinent criticifm had always given him more pain, than the higher* and jufteft eulogy had ever given him pleafure. The extreme fan- iibility of Voltaire to the flighted cenfure of the fame kind is well known to every body. The Dunciad of Mr. Pope is an everlafting monument of how much the molt correct, as well as the moll elegant and harmonious of all the Englifh poets, had been hurt by the criticifms of the lowed and mod contemptible authors. Gray (who joins to the fublimity of Milton the elegance and harmony of Pope, and to whom nothing is wanting to ren- der him, perhaps, the firft poet in the Englifh language, but to have written a little more) is faid to have been fo much hurt, by a foolifh and im- pertinent parody of two of his fined odes, that he never afterwards attempted any confiderable work. Thofe men of letters who value themfelves upon what is called fine writing in prole, approach fomewhat to the fenfibility of poets. Mathematicians, on the contrary, who may have the moft'perfecl: alTurance, both of the truth and of the importance of their difcoveries, are frequently very in different about the reception which 272 ambition/ [part III. which they may meet with from the public. The two greateft mathematicians of their age, Dr. Ro- bert Simpfon of Glafgow, and Dr. Matthew Stewart of Edinburgh, never feemed to feel even the flighteft uneafinefs from the neglect with w r hich the ignorance of the public received fome of their moft valuable works. The great work of Sir Ifaac Newton, his Mathematical Principles of Na- tural Philofophy, I have been told, was for feveral years neglected by the public. The tranquillity of that great man, it is probable, never fuffered, upon that account, the interruption of a fingle quarter of an hour. Natural philofophers, in their independence upon the public opinion, approach nearly to mathematicians, and, in their judgments concerning the merit of their own difcoveries and obfervations, enjoy fome degree of the fame fe- curity and tranquillity. The morals of thofe different claiTes of men of letters are, perhaps, fometimes fomewhat affected by this very great difference in their iituation with regard to the public. Mathematicians and natural philofophers, from their independence upon the public opinion, have little temptation to form thcmielves into factions and cabals, either for the lupport of their own reputation, or for the depreihon of that of their rivals. They are aim oft always men of the moft amiable -iimplicity of manners, who live in good harmony with one another, are the friends of one another's PART III.] AMBITION. 273 another's reputation, enter into no intrigue in order to fecure the public applaufe, but are pleated when their works are approved of, withou. being either much vexed or very angry when they are neglected. It is riot always the fame Cafe with poets, or with thofe who value themfelves upon what is called fine writing. They are very apt to divide themfelves into a fort of literary factions ; each cabal being often avowedly and almoft always fe- cretly, the mortal enemy of the reputation of every other, and employing all the mean arts of intrigue and folicitation to pre -occupy the public opinion in favour of the works of its Own members, and againft thofe of its enemies and rivals. In France, Defpreaux and Racine did not think it below them to fet themfelves at the head of a literary cabal in order to deprefs the reputation, firft of Quinault and Perrault, and afterwards of Fonte- nelle and La Motte, and even to treat the good La Fontaine with a fpecies of the moft difreipectful kindnefs. In England, the amiable Mr. Addifon did not think it unworthy of his gentle and niodeft character to fet him (elf at the head of a little cabal of the fame kind, in order to keep down the riling reputation of Mr. Pope. Mr. Fontenelie, in writing the lives and cnaracters of the mem- bers of the academy of fciences, a fociety of ma- thematicians and natural philoibphers, has frequent opportunities of celebrating the amiable fimplicity of their manners ; a quality which, he obferves, T was 2f4 AMBITION. [PART III. was fo univerfal among them as to be chara&eriftic rather of that whole clafs of men of letters, than of any individual. M. D'Alembert, in writing the lives and characters of the. members of the French academy, a fociety of poets and fine writers, or of thofe who are fuppofed to be fuch, feems not to have had fuch frequent opportunities of making any remark of this kind, and no where pretends to repreient this amiable quality as cha- racterise of that clafs of men of letter swhom he celebrates. Our uncertainty concerning our own merit, and our anxiety to think favourably of it, mould toge- ther naturally enough make us defirous to know the opinion of other people concerning it ; to be more than ordinarily elevated when that opinon is favourable, and to be more than ordinarily morti- fied when it is otherwife : but they mould not make us defirous either of obtaining the favourable, or of avoiding the unfavourable opinion, by intrigue and cabal. When a man has bribed all the judges, the moft unanimous decifion of the court, though it may gain him his law-fuit, cannot give him any afliirance that he was in the right : and had he carried on his law-fuit merely to fatisfy himfelf that he was in the right, he never would have bribed the judges. But though he wifh- ed to find himfelf in the right, he wilhed like- wife to gain his law-fuit ; and therefore he- bribed the judges. If praife were of no con- fequence to us, but as a proof of our own praife- worthinefs, PART III.] AMBITION. 275 worthiness, we never fhould endeavour to obtain it by unfair means. But, though to wife men it is, at leaft in doubtful cafes, of principal confe- quence upon this account ; it is likewife of fbme confequence upon its own account : and therefore (we cannot, indeed, upon fuch occafions, call them wife men, but) men very much above the common level have fometimes attempted both to obtain praife and to avoid blame, by very unfair means. Praife and blame exprefs what actually are ; praiie-worthinefs and blame-worthinefs, what na- turally ought to be the fentiments of other people with regard to our character and conduct. The love of praife is the defire of obtaining the fa- vourable fentiments of our brethren. The love of praife -worthinefs is the defire of rendering our- felves the proper objects of thofe fentiments. So far thofe two principles refcmble and are akin to one another. The like affinity and refemblance take place between the dread of blame and that of blame-worthinefs. The man who defires to do, or who actually does, a praife-worthy action, may likewife deiire the praife which is due to it, and fometimes, per- haps, more than is due to it. The two princi- ples are in this cafe blended together. How far his conduct may have been influenced by the one, and how far by the other, may frequently be unknown even to himfelf. It muft almoft always be f® to other people. They who are difpofed to T 1 leflen 276 AMBITION. [PART III. leflen the merit of his conduct, impute it chiefly or altogether to the mere love of praife, or to what they call mere vanity. They who are dif- pofed to think more favourably of it, impute it chiefly or altogether to the love of praife-worthi- nefs ; to the love of what is really honourable and noble in human conduct ; to the defire not merely of obtaining, but of deferving the approbation and applaufe of his brethren. The imagination of the fpectator throws upon it either the one colour or the other, according either to his habits of thinking, or to the favour or diflike which he may bear to the perfqn whofe conduct he is con- lidering. Some fplenetic philofophers, in judging of hu- man nature, have done as peevifh individuals are apt to do in judging of the conduct of one another, and have imputed to the love of praife, to or what they call vanity, every action which ought to be afcribed to that of praife-worthinefs. Very few men can be fatisfied with their own private confcioufnefs that they have attained thofe qualities, or performed thofe actions, which they admire and think praife- worthy in other people ; unlefs it is, at the fame time, generally acknow- ledged that they poflefs the one, or have per- formed the other ; or, in other words, unlefs they have actually obtained that praife which they think due both to the one and to the otfter. In this refpect, however, men differ coniiderably from PART III.] AMBITION. 277 from one another. Some feem indifferent about the praife, when, in their own minds, they are perfectly iatisfied that they have attained the praife-worthinefs. Others appear much lefs, anxious about the praife-worthinefs than about thepraife. No marl can be completely, or even tolerably fatisfled, with having avoided every thing blame- worthy in his conduct ; unlefs he has likewife avoided the blame or the reproach. A wife man may frequently neglect praife, even when he has beft deferved it ; but, in all matters of ferious confequence, he will moft carefully endeavour fo to regulate his conduct, as to avoid, not only blame-worthinefs, but, as much. as poffible, every probable imputation of blame. He will never, indeed, avoid blame by doing any thing which he judges blame-worthy ; by omitting any part of his duty, or by neglecting any opportunity of doing any thing which he judges to be really and greatly praife-worthy. But, with thefe modifica- tions, he will moft anxioufly and carefully avoid it. To fhew much anxiety about praife, even for praife-worthy actions, is feldom a mark of great wifdom, but generally of fome degree of weaknefs. But, in being anxious to avoid the fhadow of blame or reproach, there may be no weaknefs, but frequently the moft praife-worthy prudence. " Many people," fays Cicero, " defpife glory, who are yet moft feverely mortified by unjuft re- proach ; and that moft inconfiftently." This in- T 3 . confiftency. 273 AMBITION. [PART III. confi lency, however, feems to be founded in the unalterable pi mciples of human nature. The all-wife Author of Nature has, in this man- ner, taught man to refpecl the fentiments and judgments of his brethren ; to be more or lefs pleafed when they approve of his conduct, and to be more or lefs hurt when they difapprove of it. He has made man, if I may fay fo, the immediate judge of mankind ; and has in this reipecl, as in many others, created him after his own image, and appointed him his vicegerent upon earth, to fuperintend the behaviour of his brethren. They are taught by nature, to acknowledge that power and jurifdiclion which has thus been conferred upon him, and to be more or lefs humbled and mortified when they have incurred his cenfure, and to be more or lefs elated when they have obtained his applaufe. But though man has, in this manner, been rendered the immediate judge of mankind, he has been rendered fo only in the flrtt inftance ; and an appeal lies from his fentence to a much higher tribunal, to the tribunal of their own confidences, to that of the fuppofed impartial and well-informed fpedlator, to that of the man within the breaft, the great judge and arbiter of their conduct. The jurifdiclions of thofe two tribunals are founded upon principles which, though in fome refpecls refembling and akin, are, however, in reality dif- ferent and diftincl. The jurisdiction of the man without, is founded altogether in the defire of actual PART III.] AMBITION. 279 actual praife, and in the averfion to actual blame. The jurisdiction of the man within, is founded al- together in thedefire of praife-wonhinefs ; and in the averfion to blame-worthinefs ; in the deiire of poflfeffing thofe qualities, and performing thofc actions, which we love and admire in other peo- ple ; and in the dread of pofl effing thofe qualities, and performing thofe actions, which we hate and defpife in other people. If the man without fhould applaud us, either for actions which we have not performed, or for motives which had no influence upon us ; the man within can immedi- ately humble that pride and elevation of mind which fuch groundlefs acclamations might other- wife occafion, by telling us, that as we know that we do not de/erve them, we render ourfelves de- fpicable by accepting them. If, on the contrary, the man without fhould reproach us, either for actions which we never performed, or for motives which had no influence upon thofe which we may have performed ; the man within may immedi- ately correct: this falfe judgment, and aflure us, that we are by no means the proper objects of that cenfure which has fo unjuftly been beftowed upon us. But in this and in fome other cafes, the man within feems fometimes, as it were, aftonifhed and confounded by the vehemence and clamour of the man without. The violence and loudnefs, with which blame is fometimes poured out upon us, feem to ftupify and benumb our natural fenfe of praife- worthinefs and blame-worthinefs ; and the T 4 judgments 280 AMBITION. [PART III# judgments of the man within, though not, per- haps, abibluteiy altered or perverted, are, how- ever, fo much fhaken in their fteadinefs and flrm- nefs of their decifion, that their natural effect, in fecuring the tranquillity of the mind 5 is frequently in a great meafure defiroyed. M r e fcarcelv dare to abfolve ourfelves, when all our brethren appear loudly to condemn us. The fuppofed ir pa - al fpectator of our conduct feems to gi» t his opinion in our favour with fear and hefi ratio::, when that of all the real fpectators, when that of all thcfe with whoie eyes, and from whofe ftation he endea- vours to confider it, is unanimoufly and violently againft us, In fuch cafes, this demi-god within the brcaft appears, like the demi-gods of the poets, though partly of immortal, yet partly too of mor- tal extraction. When his judgments are fleadily and firmly directed by the fenfe of praife-worthi- nefs and blame-worthinefs, he feems to act ftiita- bly to his divine extraction : but when he fufrers himfelftobe afroniined and confounded by the judgments of ignorant and weak man, he difcovers his connexion with mortality, and appears to act fuitably, rather to the human, than to the divine, part of his origin. In fuch cafes, the only effectual confolation of humbled and afflicted man lies in an appeal to a ftill higher tribunal, to that of the all- feeing Judge of the world, whofe eye can never be de- ceived, and whofe judgments can never be per- verted. pAUT III.] AMBITION. 281 verted. A firm confidence in the unerring recti- tude of this great tribunal, before which his inno" cence is in due time to be declared, and his virtue to be finally rewarded, can alone fupport him un- der the weaknels and defpondency of his own mind, under the perturbation and aftonifhment of the man within the breaft, whom nature has let up as, in this life, the great guardian, not only of his innocence, but of his tranquillity. Our hap- pineis in this life is thus, upon many occafions, dependent upon the humble hope and expectation of a life to come : a hope and expectation deeply rooted in human nature ; which can alone fup- port its lofty ideas of its own dignity ; can alone illumine the dreary profpect of its continually ap- proaching mortality, and maintain its cheerful- nefs under all the heavier!: calamities to which, from the difbrders of this life, it may fometimes be ex- pofed. That there is a world to come, where ex- act juftice will be done to every man, where every man will be ranked with thofe who, in the moral and intellectual qualities, are really his equals ; where the owner of thofe humble talents and vir- tues which, from being depreffed by fortune, had, in this life, no opportunity of difplaying them- selves ; which were unknown, not only to the public, but which he himfelf could fcarcely be fure that he pofTerTed, and for which even the man within the breafl could fcarcely venture to afford him any diftinct and clear teftimony ; where that mode ft, 232 AMBITION* O-ARTZII* modeft, filent, and unknown merit will be placed upon aleve) with, and ibmetimes above thofe who, in this world, had enjoyed the higheft reputation, and who, from the advantage of their fituation, had been enabled to perform the moft fplendid and dazzling actions ; is a doctrine in every refpect fo venerable, fo comfortable to the weaknefs, fo flattering to the grandeur of human nature, that the virtuous man who has the misfortune to doubt of it, cannot poflibly avoid wifhing molt eameftly and anxioufly to believe it. Sect. IV. Avarice. I Judge Avarice to be a deviation of the pailion of Ambition. The deiire of power and cireem lurks at the bottom of the love of gold. To no other fpring is it poflible to trace this pro- penfity ; as the fear of want itfelf muft ariie from the deiire of pofTeiTing what we dread to loie. It is, however, unnatural and difgraceful to the mind lof man. " A covetous difpofition," fays Tully> u is to be avoided: for nothing more flrongly marks a narrow foal than to love riches : or an honourable and noble one than to deipife money if poor, and to ufe it beneficially and liberally if rich. Be cautious too," fays he, " of coveting even glory, for to defire any thing too eagerly is to endanger independence, the grand object of every wife man's ambition/* 6( Pecuniae fugienda cupiditas ; pART III.] AMBITION. 283 cupiditas ; nihil enim eit tarn angufti animi, tain* que parvi, quam amare divitias : nihil honeftius ma^niiicentiusque quam pecuniam contemnere, fi non habeas ; fi habeas ad beneficentiam liberali- tatemquc conferre. Cavenda eft etiam glorias cupiditas ; eripit enim libertatem, pro qua mag- nanimis viris omnis debet eile contentio." Did we not know it to be a fact, we mould hardly be able to credit, that there are men, whofe only en- joyment of money is to hoard it. If, as I verily believe it to be in the prefent ftate of the world, it is the intention of Providence, that the rich ihould be the flewards of the poor, and are ap- pointed by God to foften the rigours of their condition, what will the mifer have to fay for himfelf? Yet in ftamping Avarice with the odium due to it, let us be careful not to infringe upon the refpect due to thofe virtues, which prodigals would fain confound with it. Econo- my and frugality, are as diftant from Avarice, as beneficence and liberality, and indeed may be called the handmaids of the latter. On the other fide, let not the mifer deceive himfelf under their names. By the following characteriftics he fhall know himfelf, and be fully enabled to diftinguifh the vicious paffions from thofe virtues. Wholefome and agreeable food, fuel, good cloaths, a convenient houfewell furnifhed, fervants ; jiay, farther, horfes and carriages, are all either neceflaries, or defirable comforts. I think I allow a full 284 AMBITION. [PART III. a full fcope to the virtues of economy and fruga- lity, when I fay he is not a mifer, who, in order to attain thefe comforts, is fedulous in the amafs- m< nt of money. Nor is he a mifer who, already poiTeffing thefe, ftill amafies, with the view of p r ov r iding them for his offspring. But he is a mifer, who having more than will fupply thefe» holds the filthy dirt within his gripe inflead of fcattering it with profufion : he is a mifer, who out of his permitted economy, contrives not fre- quently to rob himfelf largely, in order to folace the woes of beings no otherwife related to him than as they are the children of God, Sect. V. Envy. ENVY I judge alfo to be a deviation of the paflion of Ambition. It is that uneafy emotion which is felt on the advantages, be they what they may, that are in pofTeffton of others. The ge- nuine nature of Ambition is to aim at the attain- ment of excellence, for the fake of its beauty and utility; it becomes fpurious when it ftruggles, comparatively, through the mere defire of fupe- riority : and thus we fee, it is the quality of great minds to love and to praife their competitors ; while fordid fpirit6 hate and defame them. From the eagernefs for fuperiority, firit engendered in the fpirit of Lucifer, fprang this diabolical de- pravity PART III.] AMBITfON. 285 pravity of the paflion. It is a 1 foul and difgrace- ful diforder of the foul : let it be detected and crufhed. While we defire, and purfue real ad vantages, we only obey the voice of Nature ; but the moment we are irritated at thole of another, wc attend no longer to her ; we refign ourfelves ; to Envy. Envy is a fhame-faced monfter, that afTumes a variety of difguifes, and, in general, paffes unex- amined ; but may be eafily discovered. As for the heart it feizes upon, from that it fhall not be concealed : however ingenious it may be in deceiving others and itfelf, let it be fenfible of the dominion of Envy from this unequivocal character ; that it excites uneafinefs at the advan- tages of others. The mind that is fo ignoble as to become the prey of this pafTion, readily yields to its malignant fuggeftions. Its aim is to detract: and to degrade; and there is no degree of crime to which it will not impel, from the fneer of malice to the perpetra- tion of murder. To know the bafenefs of Envy, we have only to reflect upon its operations. It does not, like mod of the other pailions, propofe to itfelf either profit or pleafure ; but folely grieves that others fhould be pofTefTed of their enjoyment, and exiits by conftant depredations on virtue, on b< auty, and on every fpecies of happinefs. It is a itriiv.ag inconfiftency of this paflion, that it proclaims ia fact 286 AMBITION. [PART UTi fact what it denies by infinuAtion and flander; for no one envies an inferior, and to envy is to confefs fuperiority in the object envied. It has been remarked that thofe who have per* fonal, and other adventitious defects, are envious; u Becaufe," fays Bacon, " he that cannot pofTibly mend his own cafe, will do what he can to impair that of others, excepting thefe defects light upon a very brave and heroical nature, that mall difpofe a man to make them additional fources of honour, by achieving excellence in their defpite." If the remark be juft, it feems to urge in thofe cafes a double care in providing a proper fupport for the mind, which, like the body, mint have fometbing to fuftain it. " It will," fays the fame great genius, " either feed upon its own good or upon other's evil ; who wants the one will prey upon the other ; and who is hopelefs of attaining to another's virtue, will feek the level by deprefs- in£ another's fortune." From thefe remarks it is evident, that this unnatural purfuit of detraction and degradation, this difeafe of the foul may be prevented or cured, by iupplying the mind with a lafting fund of its own virtues, to fatisfy itfelf. Begin foon, my children, to do fuch things as memory may dwell upon with pleafure ; obtain early the defire of making others happy, eftablilh the habit of attending to the innocent wiihes of thofe with whom you live; and let your words &nd actions be ever ready to promote the good of all ! PART III.] AMBITION. 287 all ! Knowledge, and accompli foments, entertain and delight ; but a conduct that produces happi- nefs to others is the food that fills the foul, and generates that celeftial health which cannot be aftedted with the corroding humours of Envy. Are we then never to blame ? Is the daw to be fuffered to ftrut in the feathers of the peacock; and not a plume to be extracted from his train ? Detection and cenfure are the weapons of juft in- dignation ; but unlefs the former clearly precede the latter, it may be fufpected to arife from ma- levolence. To a good heart cenfure is ever pain- ful : it belongs properly to the underftanding, and is a part of its duty. It is the office of reafon to difcriminate between virtue and vice, in all their degrees; and to be juft in dealing refpective praife and blame: but it fhould be the quality of the heart to open its avenues to praife, and care- fully to queiYion blame before it receives fo noxi- ous a gueft. It fhould endeavour, too, to attach odium upon guilt, which is unchangeable, and to be lenient, as far as can be, where vice is not in- herent, and where it is poffible it may give place to virtue. Sluggifh commendation is a prominent mark of an envious mind. They who praife decided merit with a but, and if it were not for, and a yet, may be rather faid obliquely to condemn than honeilly to extol. As 288 AMBITION. [PART II I* As ambition deviates into falfe conceptions of what is great, Envy purfues the imaginary train. There is no ideal object of petty ambition on which it does not work : equipage, furniture, drefs, table ; nay, even defects, if they be fashion- able, the diminutive fhoe of a Belle, or the flender calves of a Beau. Children are not early fubjecl: to envy. The firft emotions of an infant are peeviiri or compla- cent. This is according to the treatment it re- ceives. Its firft cries proceed from unpleafant fenfations, felt by its corporeal organs ; its firft fmiles are at the breaft, and are the effects of thofe that are pleafant. When, from repeated obfervation, it has become acquainted with the perfon who fetters it in fwaddling cl oaths, and the perfon that nourifhes it with milk, it begins to be angry or to love. But children do not begin to be envious till they are praifed and rewarded for excelling others, and are treated contemptuouily for being excelled. We may fay what we will in favour of emulation, it is the fofter-mother of Envy; and it is greatly to be wiilied that youth could be in- fpired with the deli re of excellence rather than of Superiority : for I cannot bring my mind to believe, that Ambition is fo odious a thing as it has been reprefented, though under brilliant colours, by Mr. Burke ; who, I think, lias too haitily afcribed PART III.] AMBITION. CS9 afcribed to the Deity, the planting in man the love of Comparative.' excellence *. That it does exift in man, and very generally, there is no deny- ing, though I cannot but think it a deviation, and that the love of pofitive excellence is a much fu- periorpaflion, which, added to the imitative facul- ty is a means of forwarding the improvement of the human race more worthy of the Supreme Be- ing. I do not believe that the folution of a fingle problem of Euclid was the refult of this vain ambition ; or that Sir Ifaac Newton's difcoveries fprung from a defire of his excelling Leibnitz or Des Cartes. Did emulation excite us to love as well as to admire the perfon, and to wifh to attain his excellences, yet love him for furpafling us, there would be nothing different in it from the love of pofitive excellence; but when it excites competition only to produce in man the latisfac- tion of excelling his fellows, and to give " a fort of fwelling triumph to his mind," I think it, even though it does not proceed to the length of Envy> a deviation of pure Ambition, and am willing to hope that the attainment of excellence, particularly in fublimer objects, more naturally arifes from the love of excellence itfelf ; for I will be bold to fay, that it is more acceptable and congenial to the great and adorable Source of all excellence. * See his Sublime and Beautiful. U Children 290 AMBITION. [PART III, Children feldom envy one another their enjoy- ments, and never till they have been taught by example. The boy who breaks the molt tops, wins the moft marbles, has the moft pocket- money, or largeft cake, is not envied ; if he tyran- nize or vaunt, he is hated or defpifed. But chil- dren are taught at home to compare the lituation of their parents with that of the parents of their companions ; to fix imaginary value on things, and to hate all fuperiority. Envy is thus fown. It is a pafTion from which the human heart might be more generally exempted, if care were taken to inform children of its nature, and to inculcate early, that the happinefs of others is a genuine fource of delight, while felrlfhnefs provokes uni- verfal difguft, and terminates in mifery. CHAPTER ( *9l ) CHAPTER II. ANGER. S e c t . I . Its Fa rieties and Deviations . _/\NGERis a turbulent emotion of the mind, arif- ing from fomething that offends us. This paflion affects in various manners and degrees. Like every other paffion, its fource is natural and pure, and it is only in its deviations that it be- comes vicious. Seneca, who, upon this fubjccl is to be care- fully ftudied, fays, that Anger propofes revenge or punifhment. But as I take it in its mofl Am- ple fignification, to be that flate of the mind when it is affected by an offending object, I con- ceive the difpofition to revenge or punifhment, is only to be imputed to it in fome of its varieties. It is not unufual to be angry with a perfon, whom far from intending to punifh, or to in- jure in any degree, we would guard from the flighted pain. It is an involuntary emotion, indicating difap- probation ; and it is fo, I underfland, that we may be angry without fin. As an uneafy emotion, it IT 2 might 292 ANGER. [FART III* might be the boaft of the old philofophy to fub- due it entirely ; but I doubt whether it would be true wifdom ; for, as its tendency is to prevent future offence, the manifeftaiion of it may, by deterring provocations, correct the faults of others. In one point of view. Anger appears amiable, when it is provoked by any act tending to the injury of virtue. Whoever, without com- parative exultation, is iincerely angry at v' . giver, a proof of goodnefs, and his anger will be mingled with a degree of fcorn, which, in ibmc meafure, by degrading the object, relieves the pain of the emotion. This fpecies of A INDIGNATION. What a beautiful fubjeft for the can v this pure emanation of the paflion afford ! ;; Be- te," laid Olivia to her pretended lover, on ovcring the impurity of his views, " j mail fee me no more. I am grateful to for having g I my heart again ft the viilai to de(pi Throw this emotion into a love- ly face and a graceful form, contrail it with the feducer, fmirh your work with a malterly hand, and you may pL ir picture beiide the molt interefting pieces of art So far this paflion proves at once the teiumony and guard of virtue, and appears to have been implanted in us for thofe purpofes. It is both ufeful and beautiful ; and therefore, the e.adi- cation PART III.] ANGER. 293 cation of it fhould not, by any means, be in- * eluded in the fyflem of ethics. tkre a caution naturally occurs, not to give way readily to anger againft any one, on the re- prefentation of others, with the purity of whotc teftimony we are not thoroughly fatisfied. The hope of exciting indignation and thereby of vili- fying character, is the food of flander;* that monfler, engendered at the bottom of the fouleft currents of a deviated and vicious paffion. ". he tongue that traduces, and the heart that eaffiy yields its anger to an uncertain tale, are inftru- ments that are made the fcourge of virtue, and which clog her fleps in her progrefs to hea- ven. I have mentioned Anger as merely indicative of difapprobation, or attended with fcorn ; but not as accompanied with resentment : which I judge to be, not a fimple manifestation of Anger, but an active propenfity to put the offender to confulion, for individual gratification : and here the paffion begins to deviate. I mould be forry to think, that the pJeafure of piwijlinwit was natu- ral to the mind, however common it may be found. The fbvereign contempt of the ftoics, or rather, the mild forbearance of chriftianity, — for ftoicifm is apathy,— feems more congenial to the nature of our race. Punifhment cannot be the gratification of a noble mind ; it is fimply a duty, and a very painful one. It may be a duty to U 3 ourfelves, 294 ANGER. [PART III. ourfelves, to our family, to our friends, or to fo- ciety ; but if any one find a pleaiure in it, let him fuipecl: his fpirit to have fwerved from its conililution, and to be now molt vitiated and depraved. The clown, whofe quarrels are decided by his fifts or his cudgel, is impelled by a brutal in- {tincl ; and the courtier, who ufes his piftol or his fword, facriflces to a point of honour. The former would be afliamed but to think of way- laying his adverfary, and the latter politely re- queits him to take the firft mot. Thefe refeat- ments arife, in a great meafure, from the lavs felf-prefervati >n, and are com o lv unpreme- ditated : but it is the part of n an - > reg .. ite his finer inflincts, and wholly (\ coarilr ones. His refentments arc rati od] r- Imps indifpen fable, when they tend to the fan: re prevention of crimes, of injuries, or of infultg ; but are coarfe inltincts when flowing from the precipitation of the blood. As for the impulfe which mitigates men to draw their fwords in Angle combat, it appears to me, that nineteen duels out of twenty, are fought chiefly in order to fupport the reputation of perfonal courage, which is neceilary to the character of a gentleman, and that its effect* may be traced more lrequently to Pride than to Anger. But Kefentment, fo far as it leads only to re- paration, when that can be obtained by moral means, PART III.] ANGER. 29.5 means, is natural, and thence arifes pleafure ; but not from the punifhment of the offender ; for, when a good man fays he is glad to hear that a villain has been punifhed, the gladnefs he ex- prefTes, does not confift in the thought of the pain the villain has furrered, but of the reparation that has been made to individuals, or the beaefit that has accrued to fociety. We cannot, however, watch Refentment too clofely, for befides that it is a mixture of pride, it forms an efFential part of a deeper deviation of the paffion of Anger — it is the corner ftone of Revenge. Sect. II. Revenge. REVENGE is that degree of Anger that rankles at the heart, and breeds malignity and vengeance. It returns injury for injury— it goes further, it fets no bounds to its vengeance, and, like mif- placed Ambition, refufes no means that offer to gratify it. Is Revenge a natural paffion ? If fo it is not a deviation, and I lofe my aim in fup- porting the original purity of all the paffions. I conceive it to be a maxim that our judgment concerning the nature of any thing is to be form- ed from its perfect flate. Mufic is the perfect harmony of founds : an apple is the perfect fruit of a certain tree : — now, though mufic and ap- U 4 pies 296 ANGER. [PART HI, pies may be bad, yet if we do not judge of them as they are good, we fhall form a wrong notion of thek natures. Nor does the preponderance of quantity fignify : a lingle chord fhows harmony to be the nature of mufic, and one good apple is proof that the tree would naturally bear others, were it not from fame extrinfic caufe. By the fame rule we are to form our judgment of the heart. If we meet with revengeful men in the world, we, alfo, meet with men endowed with a forgiving benevolence, and we have only to ef- tablifh which is the more lovely in the light of God ; that which is lovely mult be the perfec- tion, and the other mud be degeneracy. The inference is, that Revenge is not natural to the breaft of man, but a degeneracy arifing from thofe myfterious extrinfic caufes which have given birth to other evils that have invaded the earth. However myflerious the caufe, it is evident that human nature has received a hurt ; for as dif cannot be the natural ftate of the body, vice can- not be that of the mind ; and we may lay it down as a rule that whatever is not lovely, is not in its origin natural ; for virtue may be called the health of the foul. Of the nature of incorporeal fpirits w r e can fay little, except from analogy ; but if there are beings that can deliberately return evil for good, there mull be fuch fpirits as devils ; xf there are beings that return good for evil, there muft PART III.] ANGEB, 297 mull: be angels. The nature of man, as we ha\c feen in the article of Ambition, is to afpire : every return of evil finks him towards the diabo* lical ftandard ; every act of good exalts him ; and in proportion as he is fuperior to the defire of retaliation, he approaches the original purity of his nature. There is an action related of the unfortunate Savage, the ion of the cruel lady Macclesfield, which does honour to the world, and fets the principle of forbearance ina'ftrong light. He had been brought to a trial, on the iffiie of which his lite depended. A woman, who had been pre- fent at the tranfaction for which he was tried, and who was fulpecled to be fuborned by his unna- tural mother, was produced as an evidence, and fwore roundly again ft him ; the jury gave a ver- dict of guilty, but the prerogative of the crown was exerted, and Savage was faved. Some time afterwards he accidentally found this woman in the deepeft diftrefs ; and afforded her the imme- diate relief fhe wanted, by giving her the half of the only guinea he had in the world, accompa- nied with a very gentle rebuke for her conduct' towards him : compare this with the profcribing fpirit of the Triumviri, on the overturn of the Roman Commonwealth, and your fenfations will decide upon it. Are we, then, tamely to fubmit t;o injuries and to infults^ and to fufFer villainy and arrogance to triumph ? 298 ANGER. [PART III. triumph ? By no means. Our very peace fre- quently depends upon mowing that we will refift: but spirit differs widely from Revenge* Some offences deferve only our fcorn ; while to prevent the confequences of others, it is our duty to bring the offender to puniihment ; but puni fo- ment properly underftood is the remit of juftice; not of vengeance. It is the province of sptrit to fecure dignity to virtue by genuine anger, by animated refinance, and reproof; not to enjoy a malignant delight from the effects of reta- liation. Sect. III. Rage. RAGE is the extreme of the paiTion, breaking tumultuoufly over its bounds. It is both dis- graceful and dangerous. It overwhelms the fa- culties, and impels to the commiifion of ab- furdities and horrors. Alexander ftabbing Cli- tus for not flattering him, is a full comment. In its exceffes it approaches to madnefs, and is termed fury. Sect. IV. Fretfulmfs. FRETFULNESS is a frequent tendency to a flight degree of Anger, on trivial occaiions. Peevifhnefs and petulance are fynonimous to it. PART III.] ANGER. 299 This difpofition, if not criminal, is extremely un- amiable, as it tends to interrupt the pleafure of our afibciates. Sect. V. Morofmefs. MOROSENESS is an habitual difpofition to be angry or dii'pleafed, on all occafions. It is lefs active than its brotlier fullennefs, which is apt to growl a little more. / Sect. VI. Hajlinefs, and Sullenutfi. THERE are two other deviations of this paf- fion, the oppofite of each other, Hastiness and Sullenness. Haflinefs is quick anger, riles foon, and is foon difpelled ; and fo far it has the advantage over the other irregularities of anger : but it is neverthelefs dangerous, and leads to mi in- takes that are attended with fhame. Sullen nefs is an obftinate prolongation of petty anger, it preys upon the heart of the angry per ion, and is very difgufting to every obferver. CHAPTER ( 300 ) CHAPTER Hi. ANTIPATHY, OR AVERSION, Sect. I. lis Varieties and DeviatiGfit. ANTIPATHY, or Ave rs an emcr produced by a natural and infurmountable repug- nance to ibme things. It is the refeife of S^ m- pathy, which is that affection of the mind, by which we are interested in objects from fome na- tural fimilarity. We may conjecture, that, pr'or to the introduction of evil, the lenfation of aver- lion was univerfally unknown : but no fooner was there an idea or perception to which the term of- fensive could be applied, than it became natural. We feel a natural repugnance to pain, to feti ! fmells, to naufeous drugs, to harm and dilcordant founds, to horrid objects — and good minds feel no lefs repugnance to vice. Thus far the pariion runs pure, and keeps its bounds. But, as provoked by what is diflimilar, it follows, alas ! that corrupt hearts will have antipathies to what is good : as there are fome difeafes of the body, in which the pureft viands become loathfome, and the appetite craves only train. Sect. II. Hatred. FART III.] ANTIPATHY. 301 Sect. II. Hatred. WITH Antipathy, Hatred is clofely con- nected ; and can hardly be laid to branch from it, while excited through the organs of corporeal fenfation, or by the proper objects of intellectual deteflation ; the fixed hatred we feel to pain on the one hand, and to wickednefs on the other, are well-founded and natural antipathies, but at the point where Hatred joins Malevolence a deviation takes place, and boundlefs devaluation enfues. As we are aware of the influence of habits, and know that the ftrongeft reafon is generally worried by thole ilurdy tyrants ; it is the indifpenfable duty of the guardians of young minds, to fortify them with fuch as enlift on the fide of nature ; and to plant the weightier! artillery they are matters of, againit all thofe that are her enemies. In the prefent flate of things, the true objects of Hatred and of Lqve may, as children grow up, be eafily misconceived, and habitual antipathies be rhiftaken for natural repugnances. Mr. Pennant, in his Zoology, has given a curious hiftory of a toad, to fhew that the prejudice which cuftom has excited againft that inoffenfive animal, is ill-found- ed : and, I think, it will appear, that fuch di Hikes are ufually bequeathed, as the defects of the per~ fon are not uncommonly tranfmitted from lire to m 30$ ANTIPATHY. [pARTIII. fon. Of the tribe of habitual antipathies, I fhall only obferve, that they are of themfelves the ob- jects of a jufl odium ; and particularly after that period of life, when we are fuppofed to have placed ourfelvcs under the dominion of reafon. Hatred, when it deviates from the natural re- pugnance of antipathy and is directed towards perfons inftead of things, is generally accompanied with ill-will, and is a deplorable palTion. If Love be the mo ft delightful emotion, what muft Ha- tred be, which is its reverfe ? I admit the diffi- culty of attaining the celeftial perfection of loving an enemy ; but fo painful is Malevolence, that the wonder is, how any well-diipofed mind can give it room. We may be difpleafed, angry, and fornetimes bound to relent ; but from the malig- nity of Hatred the boiom of man muft be free, or he muft be milerable. Yet, how many are flaves to this paffton ! What trifles become caufes of the moil inveterate animofities ! It generally invades the bread that is already the prey of Pride, or of Envy ; and, fad to tell ! thole who cultivate virtues and talents are too often doomed to be its objects. Let not him, however, who defires to be beloved, and finds himfelf frequently difap- pointed, be difmayed ; let him deferve to be be- loved, let him covet only the love of amiable minds, and if he find but one fmcere and affection- ate friend, let him bleis God for his ihare, and patiently lubmit to the averfion of fordid fpirits. Rancour PART III.] ANTIPATHY. 303 Rancour is a fixed malignant degree of Ha- tred : and Spite is the mifchievous hatred of a paltry mind. Sect". III. Mtfatithropy. MISANTHROPY is a hatred of the human race generally. That man mould be man-hater is furely unnatural ; yet the Mifanthrope has Something to fay for himfelf. He is ufually a difappointed philofopher ; one who has fet out in fearch of the virtues, but has unfortunately Humbled over crimes and vices. A race of hard- ened criminals, of beings felfifli and "infenfible, muft be odious ; fuch has he found thofe with whom he has mixed ; fuch has he read of in the hiflory of his fpecies ; fuch he judges the whole mafs of mortals, and detefls them. His own frail- ties he has found magnified, and his virtues dif- regarded ; while gold, almighty gold, is fet upon the altar, and every man bends his knee to the mafly god. This is the fpecious ground of the Mifanthro- piil, from which I think it is not difficult to dis- lodge him, and to drive him to his citadel of Pride or of Envy. The envious are confiftently Mifanthropes, for it is their nature to deteft every fuperior. The proud, even where their pride is of the the purefl kind, arifing from the confciouf- nefs of virtue and of talents^ are apt to expect a deference 304 CURTOSlTr. fpART 11T deference from all mankind : but as all mankind are in puriuit of their own happinefs, it is poffible for many in the hurry and buftle of the purfuit, to forget to include in their attention fome who deferve it. The proud man, who places his. blifs on the refpect of the world, will hate them for their neglecl ; whereas, the genuine philofopher, who has made up his happinefs within himftlf* expects no homage, and fees not the faults of mankind with hatred, but with concern. He mingles with men for their fakes more than for his own ; and ten to one he rinds among them, or makes, fome amiable countenances, and fympa- thetic hearts, tofeaft and rejoice his foul. CHAPTER 1\ CURIOSITY. Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. V^URIOSITY is one of the paflions with which Nature fpurs on mankind in the road of knowledge. Hence proceed the many improvements we have made for die ufe, the ornament, and the conve- niency J>ART III.] CURIOSITY. 305 niency of our fpecies, by which our welfare and happinefs are confiderably encreafed, and human knowledge extended fo far beyond that of any other animal upon this globe. Curiofity is the defire of being informed ; its object is novelty. It is a principle which very early difcovers itfelf in the infant mind, and in that ftate cannot be too diligently watched, or too cautiouily directed. Although in an advanced ftate of the underfland- ing, innocence and ignorance are very different qualities ; in the early progrefs of the intellect, the latter may often protect the former. This paffion is of a craving nature, and will, if poffible, be fatisfied : if it find not wholefome food, it will feed upon tram ; and therefore to fupply it pro- perly, is one of the fecrets of education, by which an able and refpectable tutor expedites his talk in the improvement of his pupil, and affords that knowledge which is the wholefome food of Curiofity. Sect* II. Futile Curiofity. FUTILE Curiosity is a deplorable imbeci- lity of the heart* You fhall fee goffips thrufting. their nofes into every filthy corner, to fee what is lying there, merely for the pleafure of imparting the important difcovery to a neighbour goffip. But filthy and contemptible as is Futile Curio- fity, it is lovelinefs itfelf when compared to Bis- X HONOURABLE 306 FEAR. [PART lit. honourable Curiosity. Obtaining infonm- tion by unwarrantable and bafe means, prying into fecrets, liftening in private, opening letters or peeping into them, and attempting to corrupt and lift thofe in whom confidence has been placed are ftrong proofs of a degraded nature. CHAPTER V. FEAR. Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations, i? EAR may be defined, a painful emotion im- preflcd upon the mind by the perception, or con- ception, of any kind of danger. A perfon enjoy- ing the utmoft tranquillity, fhall, by a (light turn of the head, be thrown into the moit tumultuous perturbation. You tire walking alone in the fields, and calmly enjoying the ferenity of the weather : you have gone paft a ityle, and before you perceive it are half over a meadow, where si large bull is grazing : your eyes unexpectedly meet his, in which you difcover a favage iierce- nels ; the wild monfter rounds his neck and moves tov. PART Itl»] FEAR. 307 towards you ; lie bellows, he quickens his pace. The fight, by the inexplicable magic of nature, throws your blood into quicker circulation ; your eyes dilate, your heart palpitates, and your limbs tremble ; your mind is affected and put into great commotion : the commotion of the mind is paffion, and the paffion you now feel is Fear. Again, a beloved perfon lies dangerouily ill : you think of the probability of death ; your mind is agitated by the thought : this agitation is alfo the paffion of Fear, but it is the Fear fet in motion by imagination ; for your friend recovers. This is a paffion that pervades animated nature, and, as it refpecls perfonal fafety, is im1inc"tive ; being one of the guards of felf-prefervation. I believe that the mod courageous and furious mon- gers are fufceptible of it, if taken unawares ; but, in men, there are many inftances of a conftitutional intrepidity, that has fet it at defiance. When a ball burft through the ceiling of an apartmeat, where Charles XII. was dictating to his fe- cretary, the latter involuntarily laid dow r n his pen ; the king, unmoved, afked what he meant, and ordering him to relume it, continued coolly to dictate. I do not apprehend that Charles's courage was that amiable valour, which is con- fident with the finer feelings of the heart, but rather a wonderful infenfibility that excites admi- X 2 ration, 30* FEAR. [p ART ,„. ration, unmixed with either efteem or affection. He was the '< Unconquer'd lord of pleafure and of pain." TJ. at noble prefence of mind which is attained by furveying danger on every fide, and preparing to oppofe it, is the refult of habit rather than the gift of nature, and diftingui flies the hero from the madman. The king of Sweden would have taken a bull by the horns, and been gored to death, foonerthan have thought of caftinghis cloke over them, to blind the animal and fecure his retreat. This is evidently a paifion as natural to the hu- man race as to all other creatures, and he who does not obey its dictates, to fecure his perfonal fafety, when he may do ib without prejudice to his virtues. acts not as he ought to do. Fear is not Cowardice, but Cowardice is vitiated Fear. The emotion that I lay is natural, is not the timidity of a hare, but the alarm of a Hon ; it is the mftinct that warns him of danger. To avoid danger ignobly is not the characteristic of man. He is not a timid animal, and all the fear he knows is readily dillipnted by his liner paflions and his virtues. Friendship, love, gra- titude, pit v, honour, patriotifm, are beams that difpel the terrors which envelope pain and death, and danger then becomes the iunihine of his exigence. But PART III.] PEAR. 309 But perfonal fafery is, perhaps, the narroweft province in which the dominion of this paffioii is exerted. There are a thoufand real goods, and ten thoufand imaginary ones, which in defiring to obtain, we dread to lofe. And there is a multi- tude of evils, the anticipation of which creates the agitations of Fear. Thefe anxieties refpecting uncertain events are fome of the chief fources of mifery ; and it is the part of wifdom to fubdue or regulate them. Such as tend to awaken forefight, and to inftil prudence, are by no means to be re- prefTed, but rather reduced, as nearly as poffible, to. calm meditation ; while the perturbation that arifes from idle and ill-founded apprehenfions, about events not effentially concerned in the real interefrs of happinefs, mould be difcarded, as unworthy the bofbm of a rational creature. Sect. II. Terror. TERROR is excefs of Fear : and it is alfo the term given to the paffion when thrown upon the mind by the agency of Sympathy ; to which I refer it. Sect. III. Horror. HORROR is produced when Terror is ac- companied with deteftation. The action of Vir- ginius,.in ftabbing his daughter, produces Ter- X 3 ror ; 310 FEAR. [PARTITA ror ; it was an act of exalted virtue : the action of Alexander, in ftabbing Clytus, produces Horror ; it was a deteftable action. The murder of Dun- can is doubly horrible ; for it was perpetrated by him, "Who 'gainft his murderer fhould Lave {hut the door, Not borne the knife himfelf." Whatever is againft nature produces Horror ; becaufe, to natural beings it muit be deteftaule. Sect. IV. A'jce. AWE is almoft the reverie of Horror, being a degree of Fear accompanied with, or ra^er pro- ceeding from Reverence. What notions of Terra accompany the contemplation of unlimited power ! When we lift ourfelves above, and confider the world on which we tread as a great ball, twirled through a fpace at the rate of near 70,000 miles an hour ; how terrible does it appear to the ima- gination, and how infupport.ible would it be to the fenfes, were they not adapted to the confines of the atmolphere ! The Terror Co produced is changed into Awe, when with unlimited power we combine the thought of unlimited goodnefs. We know that the power of God could unhinge, and annihilate the fyftem : we know, alfo, that his goodnefs is the fource of felicity ; and whether felicity be ultimately affected by a continuation of this PART III.] FEAR. 311 this globe, ar by its dcftrucYion, the mind refts in fecurity on Omnipotence, in which it cannot be deceived. Its appreheniions are mingled with gratitude and with admiration ; and terror is loft in love and in awe. A degree of Awe is juftly infpired by very emi- nent and virtuous characters. Bat the fenfation of uneafinefs which is felt by fome minds, in the com- pany of men diftinguifhed for birth or wealth, is not Awe, though often termed fo ; for it may poflibly be mingled with contempt or indigna- tion ; neither of which can be blended with the deference of refpedl. It is rather the fecret an- guifh of pride. The reverence attached to places devoted to worfhip, and especially when aided by the fubli- mity of magnitude, and the folemnity of the ap- propriate architecture, will alfo excite this emo- tion. We naturally have a refpect and affection for whatever belongs to, or is connected with, one we love or revere : if fo, the refpect for places of worfhip mould be univerfal, and the violation of them be held a breach of the law of Nature. Perhaps I mould have faid of Religion ; but as I allude only to human nature, I think the phrafe juftified ; for were I to define man, I fhould cer- tainly not omit his religious propenfity in my definition. X4 Sect.V. Com 312 FEAR. [PART III. Se c t . V. Cowardice. COWARDICE deviates from natural Fear; and is that torrent of the paffion which neither Honour, Virtue, nor Religion, can ftem. No man b contemptible for fhunning danger; but to feek perfonal fafety at the expence of any no- ble mark of nature ; to be fo frozen to life, or to eafe, that the beams of the better paflions cannot warm the blood into that genial flow of courage, which is given to man for the protection of his juft happinefs, both individual and facial, and for thefupport of his dignity ; is indeed a vile and contemptible degradation of Wear. Cowardice includes not only the fear cf death, but the apprehenfion of any dilad van- tage whatever, which it fcruples not to avoid, by means vicious or difhonourable. I would not be underftood to allude particularly to dwelling; which I have already flightly mentioned : the avoiding of a duel may, or may not, be Cow- ardice, according to the circumftances attending it ; and it may be even bravery ; but Cowardice is generally the want of that courage, which true Honour, Virtue, or Religion, mould infpire. Sect. VI. Timid > TIMIDITY is a difpolition to be eafily fright- wed, or alarmed; but it has noaffinity to Cow- ardice, PART III.] HOPE. 313 ardice, for it is not inconfiftent witli Honour and Virtue ; nay, it is lbmetimes amiable, as in the fair lex, when not carried to an abfurdity ; but it cannot be laudable in men, as it is a want of firmnefs. CHAPTER VI. HOPE. Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. JL HIS panacea of the foul, if not the moft lively, is the moft flattering emotion of the mind. It is raifed by contemplating the probability of attaining a defirable good : the probability, how- ever, being fuch as to leave the event in fome fufpence ; for the nearer we approacli to certainty, the nearer is the deftruction of Hope : when we no longer doubt, we no longer hope. Hope has been long confidered as in pofTefiion of the beft anchor for the voyage of life : .and on a fea fo fpread with fhoals, where the weather often proves too boifterous for the pilot, it is happy for us, that me is ever ready to can: an- chor 314 HOPE- [part IIT, chor and to keep us from total wreck, till gentler gales fucceed to waft us to the fhore of blifs, to which we fhape our courfe. So far Hope is friendly, is rational, and we may with confidence engage her in our fervice. He that hopes wifely will feldom have his expectations balked ; or if balked, the difappointment itfelf will prove the foundation of ftill better hope. Sect. II. Chimerical Hope, CHIMERICAL Hope, however, mould be early brought under fubjection, and the mind ight to reject all thofe vifionary fchemes of ima- ginary joys and advantages, with which the brain of inexperienced youth is too apt to be infefted. Much grief, error, and difappointment would be prevented, if care were taken in youth to regulate the imagination ; which, employed properly, is a valuable and delightful faculty ; but miiem- ployed, leads to difcontent, to horrors, and to madne is. The nature of life, its extent, its enjoyments, fiiould be clearly difplayed. What ought to be hoped, what may reasonably be hoped, and what it would be folly to hope, or ibme of the mofl ferious confiderations of education ; and it is the indifpenfable talk of every parent and guardian, to imprefs them early on thofe minds that are committed to their care. He who is PART III/} JOY. 315 is left to purfue through life hopes that are not likely to be realized, will travel from ftage to fb'ge of mifery, and conclude his journey in de- fpair : whereas he who hopes rationally prepares for difappointment, and extends his views be- yond the temporary relays of fublunary expec* tation : Sperat infeftis, metuit fecundis Alteram fortem bene preparation Pectus. Horace. CHAPTER VII. JOY. Sect. I. Its Varities and Deviations. J OY is the emotion felt on happy occurrences. It is always a delightful, and, when excited by proper events, an amiable paffion. It is in fome degree difguftful to obfervers when riling from trivial and low caufes, or when it appears im- moderate ; for, in the former inftance, it is the mark of weaknefs \ and in the latter, it borders upon 316 JOY. [PART III. upon exultation. Till the understanding however, has had time to ripen, It is otherwife ; for it is never difgufting in children. When Joy is the effecl of the happinefs of others, it is the mofl amiable of the pailions. It is the reverie of envy ; and as that has been called a diabolical,, this may be termed a celefual paflion. Sect. II. Chearfulnefs. CIIEARFULNESS is a mild, even Joy, not called forth on any uncommon occafion, but pro- ceeding from a fmooth tenour of life, and from \ mind that is not a flave to any of its paffions. [t -> chief foes are vice and misforcune ; there cat, beany kind of true Joy, where there is vice, and where there is virtue, even misfortune may be borne with a degree of chearful patience. Sect. III. Mirth. MIRTH is a talkative kind of Joy, ufually at- tended with laughter, and is the natural refult of man's fociable difpofition. If it flow from genu- ine fpirits, from true wit, or comic humour, it is a defirable emotion ; but False spirits ficti- tioufly procured, the noife of infective laughter, and the turbulent merriment of wine, are joys ill fuited to noble minds. Sect. IV. M- PART III.] JOY. 317 • Sect. IV. Malignant Joy. THAT there fhould be a deviation of thisPaffion, and that a very foul one, befpeaks the fad depth of depravity to which the human foul may fink. All malignant pleafure, all malevolent delight, if pleafure and delight they can be, diverge fb abruptly and fo oppofitely to the pure fburce of Joy, that we can fcarcely be led to trace them thither. I am inclined to think that we con- found terms in giving complacent phrafes to fen- fations produced by horrors, and to believe it im- poffible that the gratification enjoyed by vicious fpirits has the flighted claim to the difTinction of happinefs. Who for example, can allow the name of pleafure to be afTociated with cruelty, or grant to the heart of a tyrant the poffefiion of de- light ? Such, however, is the fiate of language, that very different perceptions and fenfations re- ceive the fame appellations; and he who triumphs at the torture of a fellow-creature has a lexico- phanic title to a word, fit only for the philanthro- pic bofom of a Howard. There is a ftimulus attending all the depraved Paffions, how or why arifing I pretend not now to enquire, which, for want of another word, per- haps for want of an appropriate idea, we call the pleafure of each. But he who reflects, cannot foil to obfejve, that there is no analogy whatever between 318 JOY. [PART III. between the flimulus of a villain, and the blifs of a noble heart. Some of the common amufements of life appear to be attended with this depravity, though, in truth, it is otherwife. Hunting, fhooting, and flfhing, to a nervous habit of body, andtoafcru- pulous delicacy of mind, feem to be cruel fports. The weakneis and difproportion of the animals purfued, the fpilling of their blood, the agonies of death, and the deprivation of life, take the fhape of horrors to a tender heart : but when re- flexion afTures us that they are proper food, when obfervation has fhown the means of obtaining them to be curious, and habit has rendered it agreeable ; when we find the exercife conducive to health, and are confeious that we are not of- fending the Creator, the idea of cruelty vanifhes, and we find thefe diverfions confonant to reafon as well as pleafing to our fcnfations. I argue ge- nerally, however, and by no means intend to caft an imputation on the fcrupulous and tender heart, which, on the contrary, I own I prefer, admire, and love. All infliction of unneceflary pain for gratifica- tion ; the ftimulants of flander, of envy, and of every vitiated paflion, are the moft lamentable of all deviations ; and we can fcarcely trace them to the clear, and exquilite fountain of Joy. This obfeurity, however, is owing to the black ftreams of malignant emotions, that mingle with, and cor- rupt its purity* CHAPTER ( 319 ) CHAPTER Vlir. LOVE. Sect. I. Its Varieties and Deviations. JLfO VE is that noble, genial, and warm affection of mind, excited by amiable objects, that, while it exalts the foul, communicates inexpreffible de- light to every part of the human frame. It is the foul of Virtue, " the divinity that ftirs within us," the grand enjoyment of fuperior natures, a great portion of which mankind is fuffered to parti- cipate : it was the fpring of creation, and con- tinues to fupport it. From this lburce an infinite variety of rtreams branches forth. It is piety, de- votion, philanthrophy, charity, benevolence, friendfhip; and, in fine, it is that Paffion peculiar to the human fpecies, which, from its fuperior livelinefs, obtains the every name of Love. On this paffion 1 will*fir(t make fome obfervations, and then proceed to the other branches that ftieam from the fource. Loyc then, in this view, is a paffion of the mind, exifting by the diftinction of fex, and is the emotion that is raifed by qualities in the object which 320 love, [part III. which excite the highefl pleafurable fenfations. It is fometimes a pure, but oftener a mixed paffion. It is nobler when it is pure, but not culpable when it is mixed. In the former, the happinefs of its object is the highefl gratification ; in the latter, felfifh defires predominate. The mixed paffion is fo agreeable to the mixed nature of mankind, and fo attractive, that the purer being with difficulty diftinguifhable, becomes the object of fufpicion^ and indeed the exigence of it is nearly baniihed from the belief of polite fociety. That fufceptibility of our nature, which leads us to be pleated with objects at firft fight, cannot deferve the name of Love. An animated counte- nance graced with fmiles, a juft fymmetry of body, and a marked attention, cannot fail to en- gage the heart by the pleafure they give it; and though it be not Love may be its foundation. The further diicovcry of amiable qualities, and more particular attentions, produce the (parks, and fighs blow them to a iiame. But imagine this object, fo pleating at firft fight, to be a mere pic- ture, an outride ; the mind, on examination, rind- ing nothing beyond what ftruck the eye, cannot give room to a paffion : what glittered was a dying ember, and from the allies no flame can be produced. Beauty excites an emotion, but it is not Love : Love mutt fpring from Love ; that is to lay, kind- nefles, and unwavering attentions mud fore-run, and PART III.] LOVE. 321 and prepare the neceffary fympathy. It is worthy of obfervation, that kindnefs and attention are ge- nerally concomitants of beauty, whereas fplcen and referve too often go hand in hand with deformity: fo comes it that it is ufually at the fhrine of the former that the heart is found devoted. When ordinary perfons create love, the triumph is that of amiable manners and the appearance of pleafing emotions. The instances that abound with lovers per- fevering in their courtfhip in defiance of rejection, or even in the face of avowed, diflike ; and a few examples of madnefs and of fuicide, may appear to difprove the neceffity of a previous fympathy. But the pailion in thefe inftances mull have pro- ceeded originally in its ufual train, and fome fub- fequent turn muft have been the caufe of the hopelefs perfeverance, the madnefs or fuicide ; for it is by no means contended that Love is al- together a voluntary paffion, and that the heart can love, or not love, as the will or reafon fhall direct. An amiable object manife fling kindnefs may conquer the heart in fpite of all argument ; in which cafe the pafTion is involuntary ; and fhould any ferious obftacles arife in oppofition to it, to ftruggle with, and overcome it, becomes one of the mofl important, and moil difficult talks of virtue. The obftinate lover, who, to the beauty of his miftrefs adds the remembrance of fome kindnefs that had raifed a hope, will not Y cafily 322 lOV*. [PART III. cafily fubdue that hope? The difappointed lover, who makes his pafTion the chief object of his imagination, will be apt to admit irregular ideas, and unregulated imagination is the field of mad- nefs. Melancholy and gloom lead to fuicide. With refpect to that precipitate kind of con- quer! of the heart told of in novels, called falling in Jove ; it cannot be allowed among intellectual beings : but, if ever it does take place, nuift be the effect, not the caufe, of madnefs ; and be nearly allied to that kind of derangement which a beggar betrays who falls in love with a princef*. A ftory is told of a celebrated comedian, that one night, after playing Fcl x in the Wonder, he was followed to his houfe by a middle aged ordinary woman, who defired to fpeak with him apart, laid Hie had three queftio.ns to aft him, and having obtained his promife to anfwer fincerely, lire requeued to know whether he was married or fingle ? He anfwered he was fingle. Was he en- gaged to any peribn ? He was not. Were his affections free ? Moil certainly. She thanked him, and he allowed her, at her earnefl lbl [cita- tion, to retire without further explanation. He laughed, and concluded that fome lady had fallen hi love with him ; tut a considerable time having pafled without his having heard of his incognita, the affair became myfterious. One evening, at a place of public amulcment, he recognized, in a party of ladies, the pcrion who had put the ques- tions PART III.] LOVE. 323 tions to him. She endeavoured to avoid him, but emboldened by his curiofity, he addrelTed her : — " You mud certainly allow, Madam, that I have a right to put one queftion, at leaft, to you, and to expect: a fincere reply." " Certainly." " Pray then what was the motive of the quefHons you put to me, fince 1 was never more to hear from you ?" Her anfwer was > " A beautiful young woman of large fortune, whofe time had been chiefly fpent in the country, was at the theatre when you performed Don Felix, Hie was enrap- tured, fell in love with you, and directed me to put thofe queftions. While fhe was contriving the means of forming an acquaintance with you, the bills announced your appearance in the cha^ racier of Scrub. She faw you, and was cured of her paffion : fhe could have united herfelf to a Felix, but not to a Scrub." If this anecdote be true, the lady, beyond a doubt, had, by the magic of fancy, transferred all the fondnefs of Felix for Violante to herfelf; and fhe was much obliged to Scrub for teaching her the folly of falling in love. And fo doubtlefs it will ever be : the lady who falls in love, and finds not the man her imagina- tion has painted in the object of her caprice, for caprice it is, not love, will look elfewhere, and turn with contempt from the worthlefs thing that made her heart vibrate for a moment. To purfue the metaphor : Love is not the melody but the Y 2 harmonv \ 324 LOVE. [PART lit. harmony of minds — not that pleafant modulation of fuccefiiye tones that catches the ear, but the full united vibration of concords that fwells the heart to rapture. This is the Love which both fides of our na- ture, intellectual and animal, heighten into in- exprefTible blifs. Separate intellect from animal, nnd the former will be that pure Love alluded to in the beginning of this EfTay, but the latter will not be Love at all. Let us, however, remember, that we are formed for a more certain, and a moie lading happinefs than this mixed paflion, how cxquifite i'oever it be ; that we are formed for that blifs which arifes from pure affection, and for the enjoyment of continuing through endlefs ages to heap know- ledge upon knowledge. Love, whether wholly pure or mixed, is afiuredly grateful to the Author of all good, who thought proper to fafhion us as we are, a compound of two natures. It i> clearly our bufinefs on earth to exalt ourlelves to our fuperior relationihip : and real love will never prove a clog to the exaltation of the etherial prin- ciple. ft will not be improper to conclude this Section with fame maxims arid aphorifms for the fervice of the fair fex, which if impreiled upon their minds, may prove of the higheft importance to the riling generation— and, therefore, deierve to be PART III.] LOVE. 325 be called the Golden Rules op Love. Let them be got by heart, and quoted by both fingle and married. Gplden Rules of Love. THE virtues are necefTary to Love, and the more they are exerted the more are its delights encreafed. As general kindnefs is necefTary to the charac- ter of a good difpofition, and is alfo the avenue to Love, there the barrier ought to be kept. The man who offers unufual kindnefs rings for further admiflion. On this alarum a good girl will con- fider two things, the one for her own fake ; namely, what are the virtues and accompliiW ments of this man ? the other for his fake ; fhall fhe give birth to a hope me is likely to difap- point ? Continue at the barrier and no harm can enfue. Though it behoves every young woman to be cautious from whom ihe receives kindnefs, and by no means to admit any particular mark of it from a man of whofe character fhe is ignorant . on the other hand, let her not be backward in a general interchange of regard with all liberal men of her acquaintance. When the barrier is palled, happinefs is placed in a critical fituation. A man of fenfibility wil[ Y 3 not 326 LOVE, [PART III. not rifle a refufal ; much lefs will a delicate wo- man commit herfelf. Here nature has eftablifh^ ed a mode of intelligence, by which the moil fcrupulous may underftand each other, and this is the fympatiiy prepared by kindnefs. When the pailion is afcertained to be mutually agreeable, it is the part of the man to be oftenfibly the courtier of a happinefs, which both are fatis- fied is reciprocally coveted. The allurements to Love, are Virtue, Beauty, and Accomplifhments, uniting with Kindnefs. The emotion that is excited by certain intel- ligible movements of the eye is not Love. Yet the eyes fpeak its moft harmonious periods. Infat nation is not in the vocabulary of Love. To infatuate fignifies to make foolifh ; the very reverie of Love, which refines and exalts. When it is laid — That women, born to be controul'd, Yield to the forward and the bold ; let it be remembered that Love is not under- ftood. — The fentiment is that of a libertine ex- prefTing his opinion of female frailty, and againft iuch an opinion. Love and Virtue ihould mu(Ur all their forces. The woman, who, having raifed hope in the bofom of a lover, ditappoints him without very good reafon, is a jilt ; a bale character. The PART III.] I.OVS, 367 The man who ufes kindnefs to incite lymp N a- thy, and fympathy for the gratification of a] , tite, without reipect to love and honour, is a fe- ducer ; the bafeit of characters. The flame of Love, once railed, will burn long, if fanned by both its votaries, but will inevitably expire, if left to the care of one. Mutual conftancy, and unbounded confidence, are chief ingredients rn Love. A difpofition to gallantry is unfit for Love. Chaftity, by which is underftood the exclufive appropriation of perfon and inclination to the ob- ject of affection, is one of the chief props of Love, which, unfupported by it totters and falls. A woman cannot iincerely love the man to whofe infidelities fhq can be indifferent. Infidelities are injuries ; inattention is infult : they create the torture of jealoufy, and the pain of mortification. Jealoufy is faid to be attendant on Love. It may be fo ; but then it is only as difeafes are at- tendant on life — a good confiitution efcapes the one, and true love the other. A kifs is the link of union between mental af- fection, and animal fenfe ; it is at firft brittle, and needs the aid of a folemn engagement to fecure the chain entire. The end of Love is melioration of the heart, the invigoration of family affections, and the fe- curity of domeftic happinefs. Y 4 Having 328 LOVE. [PART III. Sect. II. HAVING now particularly treated of the paffion as it exiits between the fexes, I ihall at prefent confine myfelf to throwing out fuch hints for con- sideration, as relate to the other branches of this divine emotion. And firft of Self -Jove. Self-love, is defined by Roche r oucault, to be the love of felf, and of every thing for its fake ; but, cc nullius addiclus jurarein verba ma- giftrt." I fhall take leave to define it, the love of felf for the pleafures which it is in the power of confeiotifnefs to beftbw. It has been generally underftood, that the opinions of that celebrated author, on this fuljed, have fixed an odium up- on the nature of man. It is no wonder that Swift, and others, who took pleafure in contem- plating the deformities and naufea of the world, fhould join in receiving and propagating the odium. Nature in corruption is all the nature they fee, and then As Rochefoucault his maxims drew From nature, they believe them true : They argue no corrupted mind In him"; the fault is in mankind. Swift. Rochefoucault and Swift were not among the feft PART III.] LOVE. 329 firft difcoverers of the corruption that had taken place in man ; but they are among the foremofl who delight in making him fo corrupt, that even his virtues become contemptible. So much has been faid upon this famous topic, that it is hardly poilibie to throw it into any new light. Indeed, I think the whole queftion determined by a fingle fentenee of the author of the Maxims himielf. " Self love," fays he, " juft as it happens to be well or ill conducted, conftitutes virtue or vice." And what is this but faying, that the odium, or am'ability of felMove, depends upon the ftate of the mind ? All that can be granted to Roche- foucault is, that Self love is a bafe and deteflable principle in bafe and deteflable bofoms ; and we accept in turn his conceilion, that it is a genuine, pure, and amiable principle, in genuine, pure, and amiable breafls. He who loves virtue, becaufe it gives him pleafure, takes a pleafure in virtue ; the terms are convertible, and it is a play of words to fay we love every thing for the fake of Self-love. Self-love, in good minds, is more dependent upon the other affections, than thofe are upon this fuppofed primitm mobile of the heart, If it be faid, that there are more corrupt than genuine fpints, which, however, I am not inclined to admit, I anfwer as before, that the nature of any thing is not marked by irs quantity, but by its quality ; and that too the beft. Sect. III. 330 LOV5. [pA*T m . Sect. III. Pride, Fain- glory, and Vanity, SELF-LOVE has its deviations, which it is our bufinefs to obferve, to avoid, and to float our bark down the genuine ftream. The chief vici- ous emotions that take their rife from itare, Pride, Vain-glory, Vanity, and Jealousy. Pride, as it teaches us to value ourfelves on qualities that really exalt us, and keep at due diftance thofe that really degrade us, is a nolle virtue ; but when it afiinulutes with arrogance and haughtinefs, it is vicious 2nd contemptible. Vain-glory is that value we derive from ipu-^ rlous caufcs, and vanity is an over-eager fclf-ap- probation, whether the caufe be jult or fpurious, important or trivial. But as to the principle by which we naturally either approve or difapprove of our own conduct, it feems to be altogether the fame with that by which we excrcife the like judgments concerning the conduct of other people. We either approve or difapprove of the conduct of another man ac- cording as we feel that, when we bring his cafe home to ourfelves, we either can or cannot en- tirely fympathize with the fcntiments and motives which directed it. And, in the fame manner, we either approve or difapprove of our own conduct, according as we feel that, when we place our- felves PART III/] LOVE. 3*,1 felves in the fituation of another man, and view it, as it were, with his eyes, and from his ftation, we either can or cannot entiniy enter into and fympathize with the fentiments and motives which influenced it. We can never furvey our own fentiments and motives, we can never form any judgment concerning them ; unlefs we remove ourfelves, as it were, from our own natural ftation, and endeavour to view them as at a certain diitance from us. But we can do this in no other way than by endeavouring to view them with the eyes of other people, or as other people are likely to view them. Whatever judgment we can form concerning them, accordingly, mull 'always bear fome fecret reference, either to what is, or to what, upon a certain condition, would be, or to what, we imagine, ought to be the judgment of others. We endeavour to examine our own con- duel: as we imagine any other fair and impartial fpectator would examine it. If, upon placing ourfelves in his fituation, we thoroughly enter into all the pafnons and motives which influenced it, we approve of it, by fympathy with the ap- probation of this fuppofed equitable judge. If other wife, we enter into his difapprobation, and condemn it. Were it poffible that a human creature could grow up to manhood in fome folitary place, with- out any communication with his own fpecies, he could no more think of his own character, of the propriety 3-32 LOVE. [l-ART Iff. propriety or demerit of his own fentirj „?A conduct, of the beauty or de r own mind, than of the beaut) or deformity of his own face. At) taefe are objects which he cannot eafyy fee, which naturally he does not look''.:, a:.:! with regard to which he is provided with no mirror which can pre! nt them to h,s view. Bring him into fociety, 2nd he is immediately provided with the mirror which he wanted before. It is pL ed jn the co mtenance and behaviour of thole he lives with, which always mark when thev enr r into, and when they disapprove of his fentii and it is here thai ' . firfl views the propriety and i n- propriety of h ; s o. n j tflions, the beauty and def< r- mity of 'his own mind. To a man who, from his birth, was a ftranger to foci tv, the objects of his paf- fions, the external bodies which cither pleaied or hint him would occupy his whole attention. The paflioos themlclves, the defires or averfions, the joys or forrows, which thofe objects excited, though of all things the molt immediately prefent to him, could Scarcely ever be the obiec'is of his thoughts. The ideaof them could never intereft him fo much as to call upon his attentive confideration. The confideration of his joy could in him excite no new joy, nor that of his forrow any new for: though the confideration of the caufes of thole potions might often excite both. Bring him into fociety, and all his own pafiions will immediately become the caufes of new paffions. He will ob- ferve, that mankind approve of fome of them, and are JPART III.] LOVE. 336 are diigufted by others. He will be elevated in the one cafe, and call down in the other ; his defires and averfions, his joys and forrows, will now often become the caufes of new defires and new averfions, new joys and new forrows : they will now, therefore, intereft him deeply, and often call upon his mod attentive confideration. Our firft ideas of perfona! beauty and de- formity, are drawn from the fhape and appearance of others, not from our own. We foon become feniible, however, that others exercife the fame criticifm upon us. We are pleafed when they approve of our figure, and are diibbliged when they feem to be digufied. We become anxious to know how far our appearance deferves either their blame or approbation. We examine our perfons limb by limb, and by placing ourfelves before alooking-glafs, or by fome fuch expedient, 1 endeavour, as much as poifibie, to view ourfelves at the diflance and with the eyes of other people. If, after this examination, we are fatisfied with our own appearance, we can more eafily fupport the moil disadvantageous judgments of others. If, on the contrary, we are fenfible that we are the natural objecls of diftaUe, every appearance of their difapprobadon morcifies us beyond all meafure. A man who is tolerably handfome, will allow you to laugh at any iit,tle irregularity in his perfon ; but all fuch jokes are commonly infupportable to one who is really deformed. It 334 LOVE. [PART III. It is evident, however, that we are anxious about our own beauty and deformity, only upon account of its effect upon others. If we had no con- nexion with fociety, we fhould be altogether in- different about either. In the fame manner, our firft moral criticifms are exercifed upon the characters and conduct of other people ; and we are all very forward to ob- ferve how each of thefe affects us. But we foon learn, that other people are equally frank with regard to our own. We become anxious to know how far wc delerve their cenfure or applaufe, and w nether to them we mult neceflarily appear thole agreeable or dilagreeable creatures which they reprefent us. We begin, upon this account, to examine our own paflions and conduct, and to confider how thefe mult appear to them, by coo- fid ering how they would appear to us if in their fituation. We iuppofe ourfelves the fpeclators of our own behaviour, and endeavour to imagine what effect it would, in this light, produce upon us. This is the only looking-giafs by which we can, in fome meaiure, with the eyes of other peo- ple, ferutinize the propriety of our own conduct. If in this view it pleafes us, we are tolerably iatis- fied. We can be more indifferent about the ap- plaufe, and, in fome meafure, defpife the cenfure of the world; fecure that, however mifunderftood or miirepreiented, we are the natural and proper objects of approbation. On the contrary, if we are PART III.] LOVE. 335 are doubtful about it, we are often upon that very- account., more anxious to gajn their approbation, and provided we have not already, as they fay, fhaken hands with infamy, we are altogether dif- tradted at the thoughts of their cenfure, which, then ilnkes us with double fe verity. When I endeavour to examine my own con- duct, when I endeavour to pafs fentence upon it, and either to approve or condemn it, it is evident that, in all fuch cafes, I divide myfclf, as it were, into two perfons ; and that I, the examiner and judge, reprefent a different character from that other I, the perfon whole conduct is examined into, and judged of. The firft is the fpeclator, whofe fentiments with regard to my own conduct I endeavour to enter into, by placing myfelf in his fituation, and by considering how it would appear to me, when feen from that particular point of view. The fecond is the agent, the perfon whom I properly call myfelf, and of whofe con- duct, under the character of a fpectator, I was endeavouring to form fome opinion. The fir ft is the judge ; the fecond the perfon judged of. But that the judge fhould, in every refpect, be the fame with the perfon judged of, is as impoflible, as that the caufe fhould, in every refpect, be the fame with the effect . To be- amiable and to be meritorious; that is, to deferve love and to deferve reward, are the great characters of Virtue ; and to be odious and punishable. 33$ love- [part nr. punifhable, of vice. But all thefe characters have an. immediate reference to the fentiments of others. Virtue is not faid to be amiable, or to be meritorious, becaufe it is the objecl of its own love, or of its own gratitude ; but becaufe it excites thofe fentiments in other men. The confcioufnefs that it is the objecl: of fuch favourable regards, is the fource of that inward tranquillity and felf-faris- fnction with which it is naturally attended, as the fulpicion of the contrary, gives occafion to the torments of vice. What fo great happinefs as to be beloved, and to know that we deferve to be beloved ? What fo great milery as to be hated, and to know that we deferve to be hated ? Sect. IV. Jeahujy. JEALOUSY is evidently a deviation of Self- Love. It is the pain felt on apprehending the diminution of the affection of one dear to us, at- tended with difplcafure at the caufe. To be loved by the woman we love, is fo delightful to the heart, that whatever has the appearance of rival- fhip is a dagger to us, and as we fancy the favour- ed object to gain on the affection we would ap- propriate, our reflections are tortured by the lofs we iuftain. In the love that exifts between the lexes, it is impoiiibie to admit a communion of atfection : Che TART III.] LOVE. 337 Che chiafcun per te fofpiri, Bella Nice, io ion contento : Ma per altri, oh Dio, pavento Che tu impaii a fofpirar. Metastasio. To be happy, the lover muft reign fupreme, mull triumph in the heart of the object beloved. On the flighted appearance of a rival, that is, of one to whom the moft diftant hope is given, even though never to be realized, of being admitted to a participation of that mixed affection treated of in the firft fection of this chapter, Jealoufy muff enfue : and the reafon is obvious, for fuch a hope involves a notion of the breach of the virtues of fidelity and chaftity. The continuation of doubt increafes the emo- tion, but certainty puts an end to it, and indif- ference or defpair takes its place. This jealoufy feenis to be a natural effect of the delinquency of one of the lovers, and can feldom happen in a union of true love : but that ready Jealoufy, which is the offspring of a fufpicious difpoiition, is a compound of felfifhnefs and confeious unworthi- nefs. Friendfhip partakes in fome degree of this pailion ; but then it arifes only from neglect of the friend, and not from rivalry; for friendfhip freely admits that communion of affection which would be the deftruction of loye. Z ' I have 33S lOVE. [part Iff, I have faid that children learn early to be jea-' lous, but it is the fault of thofe about them. In the clafs of parental duties there is not a more important one than that of impartiality, and of manifefting an equal degree of affection for every child ; or making each fenfible that love can only lean mod to where there is moft goodnefs. The effect of mowing perfonal or other capricious diftinctions, is more pernicious than can be cal- culated. Envy, hatred, ft rife, delpondence, arc the deplorable fruits of parental partiality ; but by an equal difpofition of love, not only Jealouiy may be kept from the bofoms of children, but they may be made foon to fee the beauty of pre- ferring one another to thcmfelves, and to gain habits of mutual attention, that will fcrengthen fraternal attachment. Sect. V. Stur^S. I HAVE placed Sele-love foremoft in the family of Love, but I doubt whether the natu- ral AFFECTION OF MAN AS A PARENT, ihoulu not have had the precedence. It is the fain ion of modern philofophy to reiolve this affection into Self-love : in which cafe the latter will be often found oppofed to itfelf ; for if Self-prefervation be the firft law of Nature, and to courfc of Self-love, how >ART III/] LOVE. 339 how fhall we reconcile with it, that prompt de- votion of onefelf to danger, and even to death, for the fake of children, which we fee effected by the Storgc ? I leave it to be reconciled by the difciples of the Gallic Duke. If it be faid, that there are few parents in whom it prevails fo far ; if I am told of Lady Macclesfield (the mother of Savage) and fome others, who were flrangers to this- emotion, who were even unmindful of the principle fo beautifully inculcated by one of the moft engaging writers of the laft century, one fo thoroughly acquainted with the heart, who fpeaking of children fays, that, " whether they are maimed or perfect, iickly or robuft, each of them is a fa- cred depoiit, of which the parent is to give an ac- count to him of whom he received it ; marriage being a contract made with a nature as well as be- tween the parties"— I have Drily to obferve, that for thefe deviations we may be forry, but that Nature herfelf is pure ; and that the Storge, to the height I have mentionedj is corifom.nt to her laws. Do we not fee it carried to this height even by many of the lower order of animals ? And though in them the irifefeft abates with the maturity of the offspring, in man it riles, or (hould rife, into that ronfummate friendfhip that naturally impels pa- rent and child to devote ielf to the fefetjr and hap-, pinefs o( each other. This delightful difpofition of the mind is, in- deed, too often deftroyed by the fangs of Jelfifh- Z 2 nefs: 340 LOVE. fpART XII, nefs. The habit of pleafures, inconfiftent with it 3 prevails again ft Nature, whofe ties are broken ; and we fee perfons, in whom the fame blood flows, more carelefs and indifferent to the felicity of eacfr other, than to the care of a favourite brute; and even mothers forfaking their daughters with the apathy of an oftrich. This kindred Love fpreads from the parents, and becomes the fource of attachment among brothers and lifters, defcending to their children, and branching through the various degrees of re- lation, as far as the blood can be traced. What a pity it is, that this pure and delightful affection ihould ever be interrupted : and that paltry in- tereft, or envy, is allowed to creep into the foul to difturb it ! Oh ! my children ! cherifh the blcflings Nature lays before you. Love one ano- ther ; fupport one another ; and to your affeclion sdd virtue; then there is no fituation in life that you will not find replete with comfort; but, be afTured, if ever you become carelefs of the fate of each other, that your beft fpring of joy will be dried up. Other friendfhips are fragile ; and to gain or to preferve the elteem and refpedfc of what is called the world will often require facrifices, which you will deem infamous. Keep, then, this refuge of fraternal affeclion ever in ftore, and the frowns and icofts of the world fhall never have power to pierce through the confeioufnefs of in- i;,ocence i and the fmiles of fraternal Love. Sect. VI PART III/] 1 ■ VF.. 311 Sect. VI. Ejlecm and tfrienJjRif. ESTEEM is a mild affec'lion founded on the virtues and abilities of its object, and is the chief bails of Friendfhip ; an affection which ranks in the family of Love, and is the Love \vc feel for another, independent of motives arifing either from blood or fex. It may be formed with rela- tions, ncverthelcfs, and between perfons of a dif- ferent fex : in the latter, it is very eafily dif- tinguifhed from Love ; but in the former they be- come infeparably blended. It has this iuperiority over natural affection and fexual Love, that it is lefs dependent upon inftinct, and more effentially founded upon Esteem ; a virtuous difpofition being a neceffary quality in Friendfhip. I mean not to be among the number who fay that it is only a name ; but, with Tully, to place it next to Virtue in the fcale of good, virtute ex~ cepta, nihil ami 'cilia pr t c/lahHius : yet I allow, that what commonly goes by its name is nothing more than an implied contract: of mutual flattery ; of which Self-love, Wealth, and Power, are the un- doubted fources. I conceive that fuch a mockery of Friendfhip may be plealant enough to thole whole underftandings are not bleficd with much di {crimination ; and a very tolerable fubftitute as long as the deception Jafts : but to fuch as have penetration, this fpecies of mummery will pais Z 3 for 324 LOVE. [PART III, fer juft what it is ; and a man in poffeffion of very fuperior power and fortune, who is, at the fame time, a man of fenfe, will have to regret in gene- ral the difficulty of finding a real friend, and be driven to other confolations, which his riches may afford. However, in every fituation of life, the feeds of Friendfhip are fown with the feeds of Vir- tue ; and where the latter take root, the former may be matured. Real Friendfliip, once formed, muft be fup- ported by .confidence and iincerity. Diftruft and diffimulation are its deadlieft poifon. The odious maxim of living fo guardedly, as to be prepared for perfidy, is wholly incontinent with this af- fection. Friends may prove perfidious, but the bafenefs of fufpicion muft not contaminate the fountain of Friendfhip. It is, indeed, a lamenta- ble cafe, where an open, ingenuous, and warm temper, repofing in full confidence all its feelings and its fecrets in the boibxii of a bafe fpirit. finds itfelf betrayed. Corrupt, however, as the nature of man may have become, there cannot be many fo truly diabolical : and, when it does happen, the beings that perpetrate fuch horrors, can fcarcely be considered of our ipeoies ; but rather as infernals permitted to alTume the form of man- kind for inicrutable purpofes. <* We are com- manded," faid the great Cofmo, Duke of Flo- rence, " to forgive our enemies, but we are no where commanded to forgive our friends." I:, PAUt III.] LOVE. 343 by this, Cofmo meant that God does not require us ever again to confide in, or aiToci ate with theie jpirits, I agree in his opinion; but if he fup- pofed them left open to his revenge, I diffent from him : becaufe revenge is itfelf a Satanic paf- fion, and devils are a kind of enemy whom we cannot fafely combat with their own weapons, which are double-edged, and cannot be handled but to our own deftruction. Sect. VII. Patriotifm. PATRIOTISM is an affeclion extended to, and bounded by the dates of which wc are members. It is founded on the impracticability of an uni- verfal community. That the . divifion of men into feparate flates arofe from the will of our Creator, is fully manifested, among other proofs, by the variety of languages on the earth. This divifion, however, may have been the refult of events originating in the corruption of man ; and therefore Patriotifm is, perhaps, more an ar- tificial than a natural paffion. When great advantages are to be derived to a portion of mankind from a union of the efforts of a circumfcribed number of men, exclufive of the reft of the world ; and when thefe advantages can- not be obtained but by fuch union and exclu- Z 4 fion ; 344 LOVE. [PART III. Hon; a juft and well founded patriotifm takes place. It is in fact the love of community, and not of place, nor of foil ; it is an attachment to the regulations, the laws, and the virtues that pervade the country, and not to the country it- felf; and we love our countryman becaufe he unites in fupporting thole regulations, laws, and virtues, not becaufe he drew his firft breath within certain limits of the globe, where we firft drew our own. As on the efforts of individuals depend the fafety and happinefs of the whole, it becomes the duty of every man to give his particular aiTiftance to the general weal. He who performs his duty with alacrity, nobly facrificing all private intereft to the public welfare, whether he be a monarch or a fubjecl, a prime minifter or a parifh boy, is a patriot ; and the difinterefted facrifice he makes of his time and talents, merits all the glory de- fervcdly beftowed on patriotifm. Although I have defcribed this pailion as having little re- ference to foil, I do not mean to alperfe local at- tachments : for Dear is the flicd to which the foul conforms, And dear that hill which lifts him to the ftorms. G O L D b m 1 t h . Sect. VIII. PART III.] Lt)VE, 315 Sect. VIII. Philanthropy. PHILANTHROPY, Benevolence, and the gofpel Charity, are nearly fynonimous terms ; and fignify an active affection for the human race in general. The Philanthropist takes an im- partial view both of virtue and vice : confiders the original nature of man with admiration, and his degradation with concern. He cannot love the vicious as the virtuous ; but he loves them fo much as to wifh for their reformation, and to do all in his power to efFect it. There is a fmiili- tude in his, affection to that of the Storge of a pa- rent, who loves even thofe of his children whom he cannot efteem. It is a celeftial principle ; and of the proofs of the divine million of our Saviour, none is more convincing than the uni- verfal philanthropy that pervaded his life and his doctrines. Sect. IX. Gratitude. GRATITUDE is a warm affection, by which we are prompted to acknowledge kind offices, and to delight in praifing and ferving the per foil from whom we have received them. In this fenfc, it is an emotion, of which none but de- generate fpirits can foil to be fufceptiblc. When 34(t lOVE. [PART II?, When gratitude is merely a duty, ariflng from obligations that are io conferred as to be rendered painful, it is not of the family of Love. He who deiires to repay a benefit becaufe it is bur- denfome to him, is actuated by a wounded and a laudable pride : and to a good heart the inability of difcharging fuch a benefit is intolerably pain- ful. We cannot fatisfy our hearts by reflecting, that the perfon who has conferred an obligation of this fort is an unworthy fpirit, and that, there- fore, the obligation carries no duty ; which, in the fight of God, I believe to be the truth : with the feelings of a man, however, it is hardly pof- fible to be eafy until an adequate return is made. The difference between genuine Gratitude, and this painful defire of d g ourf elves of obligations, is very great. The ^gh ever ready to return its lerviccs, never contem- plates a difcharge of the affection excited by kind offices ; for, befides that the emotion is a very pleafing one, it never can be difcharged ; wffereas the latter thinks only of repaying the obligation, in order to get rid of a burdenfome .duty. He who lends his money, and boafts of vt, has ferved, and therefore conferred an obligate but it is that kind of obligation, which the re- payment of the money totally discharges, It i ftrong obfervaticn of Lav iter'?, whole knowledge of FART III.] LOVE. 31? of the face and of the heart, feeins to be concur- rent, that, " The creditor, whofe appearance gladdens the heart of a debtor, may hold his head in the fun-beams, and his foot on ftorms," which is as much as to fay, that he refcmblcs the Deity, who in actions of beneficence produces that fpecies of gratitude that flows with love, and charms the heart ; while it infers, that it is a common, paltry foul, whofe felfifh benevolence attempts to extract gratitude from the pangs of feniibility. God forbid that I fhould have the flighteft appearance of being the advocate of ingrati- tude ; the blacker! of vices ! but in difcriminat- ing the Paffions, we muft point out the genuine from the fpurious, and mult diftmguifti thofe tha* exalt virtue, from thofe that puff up vice and folly. Indeed Gratitude is fo natural and fo ftrong an affection, that in a breaft not com- pletely degenerate, it cannot be eafily luppreffed, but by the conduct of the benefactor. Antipathy and genuine Gratitude can never mingle. Actions that create elifguft and d eft roy this affection : and there are ibme that diffolve it even as a duty, removing at once every painful ienfe of the obligation. " I Can owe nothing," fays Seneca, S( to the villain, who having lent me forne money, afterwards fets my houfe on fire, or poifons my child." What Gratitude can furvive die malice of flandcr, the malignant plans of un- dermining 34S LOVE. [PART 171, clerminingdomeftic felicity/ the diabolical attempt of fowing difrefpecl: and hatred in the bofom of a daughter, and jealoufy in the heart of a beloved wife ? What Gratitude is due to one- who benefits you for felfifh ends, and in benefiting tyrannizes ? And what Gratitude can outlive an infamous breach of confidence, a treachery, that after the repofe of years, betrays and magnifies the frailties of youth ? I can forgive A foe, hut not a miftrefs, or a friend. Trealon is there in its molt horrid fhape Where trull is greateft, and the foul refign'd Is Itabb'd by its own guards. Dryden, To defend, however, the mind from ingrati- tude, it is to be obi erred, that on this, as indeed on every occafion, truth and fincerity are the foundations of right and wrong. I addrefs the rccefies of the heart : every one knows what pafles in his own, and he, in whom kind offices excite no Gratitude, may prepare to fwear allegi- ance to the prince and fire of Gratitude ; — i in whom all good proved ill, And wrought but malice. Milton. o Sect. X. Pie PIETY is reverential affection ; let us take a view of it as it relates to the Deitv. In JPART III.] LOVE. 34») In tracing the works of God from a lifelefs atom to his own infinity, fhort muft be his fight, who boands creation at the link formed by the .race of man. The exigence of angels and arch- angels, of fpirits riling gradually, yet infinitely, in faculties and power, is confonant to reafon, as well as eftablimed by revelation. If we are ready to give ear to the wonderful fuggefTion of aftronomy, that the whole of our Planetary Syflem is, with many other Planetary Syilems, and their Suns, thrown round a common centre, and fo on for ever, why is it to be doubted, that there are afcending ranks of fpiritual exiftence continued without bound? When once thefaculties of man arc able to form fome judgment. of God's power by a review of the material fyftem, there is a total end to limitation. Let the mind admit that this globe was created, and the foundation is laid for purfuing' grandeur in all its fublimity. If the material iyftem be grand, the fpiritual fyf- tem muft be grander ; and to fay that it is de- pendent upon matter is not only to limit, but to place that lowed which reafon places highcfl. In man, matter and fpirit are fo blended, and the fcparation fo difficult to be comprehended, that the inveftigation, if not carried on with fimpii- city and purity of mind, leads to mazes and error. Allowing that there are, beyond the mortal flate fuperior beings poflefling minds highly fublimed, is it neceflary, that fuch beings lhould 350 LOVE. t>ARt III, fhould have bodies as folid as thofe which ftrike our fenfes ? This again would be to limit. If there are beings independent of fuch grofs bodie3 as appear on earth, the union of the two is poiiible, and from analogy probable. It is much eafier, too, to believe the immortality of fuch a compound being than of one wholly material ; the modern philofophy of which has no folid arguments in its favour. To him who can folace his mind in the mediation of fpirits, the path of happinefs is open, and he is among the moil in- dependent of his fpecies. Our real acquaintance with thefe fuperior orders is, indeed, very cir- cumicribed. Reafon introduces us but a very little way into their everlailing abodes, and ima- gination is not to be truftcd. Reafon does, however, teach us, that we are, in fome degree, related to thofe orders ; and as inferior creatures have feveral privileges in common with us, we enjoy others in common with our fuperiors ; one particularly, to think of and to adore the Su- preme Being. Of their modes of exiftence, of the peculiar pleafures and puriiiits of their na- tures we know nothing clearly, but we mult believe that they extol and glorify their Creator. The enjoyment of adoring is of an exalted nature. Brutes know nothing of it : Man is but incompletely formed for it : Angels muit par- take of it with rapture. What plealure fills the b re aft PART III/] LOVE. 351 bread while we praife the perfon who defcrves it, and efpecially if that perfon be our fhend ! We are the more fenfible of this pleafure becaule con- nected with our fenfes. The nearer then that fpirits approach to God, the more exquiiite will be the enjoyment of praifing him. Adoration is the higheft praife attended with the higher! love ; and the man who delights to praife the Deity has an carneft in his delight that he is drawing nearer to him. It is not here intended to fpeak of Adoration as a duty, but as a pleafure, pure, animated, fub- lime, and moil delightful, to fuch as poffefs fouls confeious of their relation to fuperior beings. Every mind that has been habituated to fpiritual- ize, is formed to enjoy in private that communion with the Divinity which he has allowed to our na- ture; in which' the foul is fully laid open, thofe at- tributes within our comprehenfion are dwelt upon, and the heart fecretly fwells in glorifying the Creator- But all enjoyment is heightened by participa* tion. Could men difcard their paffions, leave be- hind them envy, emulation, and vanity, and a difpofition to look with fincere afTeclion in the faces of each other, and to catch that fympathy, without which there cannot be united ardour, then no aflembly, that a voice could reach, would be too numerous ; and public worfhip v\ ould ftand foremofl not only as a duty, wliich it mull ever 352 love. [pArtitI. ever do, but as a pleafunv in which it yields to Domeftic Adoration. Let a father teach his children to repeat the praifes of the Deity, fometimes in fuccellion, fbmetimes by refponfes, and fometimes with united voices ; let him join with them, then repeat him- ielf particular parts ; let him watch their cheer- ful, open, and finding countenances as they thank God, through him, for their exiftence : let him look upon their mother participating, and his domeftics uniting in the act of adoration : kftly, let him refle<5t that he is thus adding, I awful, yet how foothing a truth ! to the enjoy- ment of the Almighty ; and then, if he can, let him doubt that he is himfelf in the enjoyment of the moft rciined, the moil exalted of hun plcafures. While others practice devotion by while it is enjoined from the pulpit as a duty, liich a man feels himfelf fwayed by a rapture beyond the bounds of prelcription : he adores, not be- came he ought, but becaufe adoration is his de- light ; not becaufe he fears, but becaufe he loves. Does not a devotion of this nature border upon enthufiafm ? and do not the effects of enthufiafm appear, from experience, to be prejudicial to lin- eerity and true religion ? Such a devotion not only borders upon enthufiafm, but is liipported by it. There is little mental energy to be hoped without enthufiafm. It is the Sun which matures the PART Til.] LOVE. 3j3 the nobler exertions of the mind, that^ were it re- moved, would be bound in impenetrable and eter- nal froft. Minds not prepared by the love of Virtue or Truth, and where fincerity never had root, may, when wrought upon by its influence, fend forth the noxious exhalations of Hypocrify ; but who knows not, that the faireft fruits are ripened by the fame fource which raifes from the impurities of flagnation all the miafmala of PeftL lence ? The devotion here extolled mull be fup- ported by thofe rays of enthufiafm that fall upon it through the medium of fincerity ; and the only perfonal mark of it is a cheerful countenance. Sighs, throwing the light upwards, and all extor- tioiis are foreign to its nature. It cannot be en- joyed by the wicked, and in its full extent only by noble minds. Befides the aclual plcafure arifmg from family adoration, there are confequential ones of high importance. It greatly contributes to form the morals and manners of children and fervants ; the former will not fail to add efteem and veneration to their natural love for their parents ; and the latter will be regular, honeft, and induftrious from principle ; while, at the fame time, a refpecl for the example conftantly before them begets an attachment and affection for their employers, which, becoming mutual, heightens domeftic ie- licitv. A a If 354 LOVE. [PART III. If this adoration be really ib delightful, and at- tended with fuch advantageous confequences, how conies it to be negledfed ? There are two great caufes of this neglect : pride, and the two eager purfuit of leniual gra- tifications. The gay, the ignorant, and the pre- tended philofopher. confpire to call fneers upon him who bends his knee and fays I Let us get rid of the caufe, and the drill ceafe. The man who values himfelf only for a com that lcreens him from the laughter of fools, neg- lects the enjoyments of the wife. It is the part of wifdom to defpife fools, but whoever wilh be wife inufl alfo learn to bear the fcorn of fo for it is no left the part of fools to contemn the wife. nfual gr. cither res no time, or dilqualifies for I ts of devotion. That the fenfes w< ipon us as the means of pleafurc as well as of know- ledge, during t: is as cU I and dec J , of \n ; orm the iVltcm. That I not the only, or tl i eaj of our | . the lu- pcriority of It is an erro: teach that the ft e foes to Rel they derive their" high eft rcliih. Do not works of God yield an i le fund of pleafurc PART III.] LOVE. 355 pleafure to the eye and to the ear of-' man ? and who can enjoy them like him who communes with, and adores the Almighty Giver ? does he not fhed perfumes around us, and is not thankful- nefs fweeter than odour ? Experience evinces that abftinenceand moderation are caterers to the palate, while the wretched epicure, who gluttons away the organ of tafle, becomes impotent of the fweets that are crowded on his table. Nor is it lefs certain, that the libertine deftroys at once ani- mal power and intellectual faculty ; whereas the united and temperate enjoyments of mind and of perfon give a durability of rapture to wedlock, which, joined to the pleafure of rearing, train- ing, and maturing the fruits of hallowed love, fets man on the fummit of terreflrial blifs ; whence, riling on the tip-toe of Hope, he is ready to believe he can difcern faint lines of fcenes beyond. Free to make friendfhip with the fenfes, man mult, however, aceomplifh dominion over the paffions, or confent to forego all the fuperior pri- vileges of humanity; not only ^ irtue, but intel- lect may be loft, and our preten lions to be an- gels totally funk in the lower half of our nature. It is they who are fo funk, or fo finking, that are clifqualified for the pleafure of Piety ; not they who wifely participate of both, crowning, like oar lirft parents before their fall, the enjoyment A a 2 of 356" LOVE. [PART III. of the good things prepared for them, with the incenfe of adoration: (< They at their fhady lodge arriv'd, both ftood, Both turn'd, and under open iky ador'd The God that made both iky. air, earth, and heav n, Which they beheld, the moon's refplendeiit globe, And liam pole: Thou alio mad'ft the night, iUaker omnipotent, and thou the day, Which we in our appointed works employ'd Have finifhed, happy in our mutual help. And mutual love, the crown of all our blifs Ordain'd by Thee; and this delicious place, For us too large, where thy abundance wants Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. But Thou haftproimYd from us two a race To nil the earth, who (ball with us extol Thy goodnefs infinite, both when we wake, And when we feck, as now, thy gift of ileep." Pa n. Lost. Let us now return to Piety, as it relates to filial love : and in this view it is a mixture of natural affection, gratitude, and efteem. It is a common remark, that the inftinctive, or natural Ioyc of children towards their parents, is not fo powerful as that of parents towards their children ; and the rcafon given is, that it is more neceilary in the one than in the other, theprefcrvation of the offspring being greatly de- pendent upon the ilrength of parental love. I believe this to be true at fir ft, yet I fhould be lorry to conclude, that the arreclion remains al- ways I'AI^T III.] LOVE. 357 ways unequal ; or that a child, as it gro.vs up, does not love its parent as ardently as it is loved. To make amends for the deficiency of filial jftorge, gratitude early comes in aid of it. Children be- gin to be grateful at the breait, and a fondneis takes place, that grows with their growth. It is, perhaps, owing to the fubftitution of nurfes, that ever the remark above alluded to was made ; for it is evident that an infant prefers its nurfe to its mother. Did young mothers know what inexpreilible delight there is in fuck- ling their children, and at the fame time did they confider, that this infantine gratitude is the fub- ftitution which Nature appoints to raife filial af- fection to a par with parental ftorg.% few, I be- lieve, in companion to the prefent number, would be found ready to refigii the delight. They would not fuffer diffipation, vanity, or the ill- grounded apprehenfion of deirroying the beauty of their bofoms, to prevail upon them to neglecl: ib Iweet a tafk. The joys of the mother would repay the hours of confinement, and their very nurfes can inftrudl them how to preferve that beauty they fear to lofe, till Time convinces them that every perfonal charm muft yeild to him. As children advance in years, their love natu- rally attaches to thofe from whom they receive in- frruclion, when it is given with afreet ion ai d miidnels. The early reparation from their parents A a 3 to 358 LOVE. [PART III. to be fent to fchools, would certainly be another great caufe of the imperfection of the filial ftorge, were not their impatience excited for the vacations by comparing the indulgences of home with the restraints of their fchools. The gratitude, there- fore, which takes place in infancy, will be, if not wholly fufpended, at leaft enfeebled, in the fub- fequent ftage of life, if much is not done on the part of the parent in proofs of kindnefs. As they grow nearer to maturity, efteem muft perfect the work of inftinct and gratitude, in order to com- plete the equality, or mutual energy of the emotion. I conceive, that in a child thus raifed,the natural affection would be nearly, if not altogether, equal to the ftorge of the parent. However this be, the inftinctive affection is very ftrongly im- planted in both, where nature is not degenerate. Perfonal defects on the one hand, and incapacity of intellect on the other, rather tend to excite compafTionate affection ; but the deficiency of nature, the depravation of the heart, produces abhorrence. It is to be hoped, and I believe, that there are few instances of parental depravity, fimilar to that recorded of die mother of the un- fortunate Savage, or of a want of filial piety in general, as a duty : but ftill as an affectionate emotion, it can, when infancy is part, and reafon fways, fpring only from gratitude and efteem ; and PART HI.] SHAME. 359 and where thefc caufca do exlfr, the deficiency of piety in the breaft of a child, is a iure mark of a mod deplorable depravation of nature. CHAPTER IX. SHAME. Sect. I. Its Van lies and Deviations. OHAME is an emotion arifing from the con^ fcioufhefs of guilt, defects, or mifconduct, real or imaginary. It is a genuine feeling, but mutt, like fome others, have been unknown, antecedent to the introduction of evil. Whatever we ought not to do 9 we ought to be afhamed of doing. The degree of uneafinefs attached to this paflion, will be proportioned by fenfibility to the nature of the guilt, defect, or mifcondu6r.. Habitual vice has, at times, totally eradicated Shame from fome minds; while, on the other hand, there is a conftitutional quicknefs, which renders fome fenfible of this emotion, not only without juft A a 4 realbn 360 SHAME. [PART III* reafon, but even on occafions that are extremely honourable. The bashfulxess of a young woman fprings from her refpect to purity: and Diffidence, which in itfelf is amiable, will often create a per- plexity very fimilar to Shame. An ingenuous mind alfo feels a considerable degree of this emotion, on being over-valued ; for if we would be what we are thought to be, we blufh at the deficiency. In this view, Shame is very amiable; and Sir Harry Beaumont, in his elegant Dialogue upon Beauty, mentions it as capable of adding much intereit to a lovely face. In no view, in- deed, is well-grounded Shame other than laudable, ir always marks a fenfe of wrong, or of deficiency ; and at the fame time, an opennefs to conviction, and a delire of perfection. The mind that feels it, is prepared to retrieve its errors ; to atone for guilt ; or to aim at excellence : — but we may juftly fct him down upon the fcale of demons, who can knowingly do wrong without remorfe ; can injure a fellow-creature without compunction; and offend his Maker without contrition. Sect. II. Shame of doing Right* THERE is fuch a deviation of this pallion.— A falfe education, by which the prejudices in favour of a number of vices, far from having been rooted PART Illf) SORROW OR GRIEF. 3Gl rooted out, are confirmed, is the means by which this falutary emotion is forced from its natural channel. The virtues oppolite to fafhionable vices, bring blufhes into the faces of many. Fafhion is nothing more than the opinion and practice of a multitude ; to defy which, indeed, requires considerable courage. But an early habit of difcriminating between prejudice and rational conduct, will give that courage. This habit it mould be the grand aim of education to inftil ; and they Avho have been taught to ellimate the right will blufh only at doing wrong. CHAPTER X. SORROW OR GRIEF. Sect. I. Its Varieties mid Deviations. oORROW is the paflion we feel upon calami- ties : 'Confequently it has a variety of avenues to the heart ; and the degree in which it affects, de- pends not only on its caufes, but on the fenfi- bility of the mind. Of fenfibility it is difficult to determine the portion, without which virtue itfelf $6% SORROW OR GRIEF. [PART III, itfelf. would be lefs amiable; but as indifference re- duces the foul below even animal life, I think it were better to err in cultivating feniibility of the heart, than to run a rifk of blunting it into apathy. Venti inquieti Son nel mar della vita Gli affetti, anclf io lo fo j ma fenza venti Non fi naviga in mar. Met as. As we find the ft ate of things at prefent, Sor- row is a natural attendant on humanity. Like An- tipathy or Shame, it is the child of evil. Misfor- 1 tune is nothing but the deprivation of fome good, or the occurrence of fome pofitive evil ; between which, indeed, there is fcarcely a diftinction ; the deprivation of good being an evil, and pofitive evil a deprivation of good. If we rejoice at the acqui- fition of what is agreeable, weas naturally grieve at its lofs. It does not come within my pre fen t plan to inveftigate the difference of real and imaginary good; but it is evident how much the dignity of all thePaflions depends upon their juit difcrimination. Whether real or imaginary, however, Sorrow is proportioned to the degree of attachment be- flowed upon the object we lament : and on tri- vial or abfurd occafions, it becomes difgufting or ridiculous. Grief, in the beft minds, is not eafily allayed ; for, while we f: bear as men we mult alio feel as men/' and the moil wholefome advice can go no further. PART III.] BORROW OR GRIEF. 363 further, I think, than to moderate it with reflec- tions on the quick lapfe of life ; at the conclusion of which, we have every reafon to hope; and Sor- row^ patiently borne, and efpecially if fufFered in the caufe of virtue, will be repaid witli double joy. There are many wife modes of alleviation, to which we are bound to refort ; but none fo foothing as in communicating our feelings to a friend ; to one who we believe loves us and on whofe fidelity we have a perfect reliance. By concealment, grief corrodes the heart, and friend- ship is the balm that foothes and heals. Time ufually impairs the force of this Paflion ; but not always. A ftrong imagination will fome- times feed it fo long with the moil flattering- views of the object, that grief will fix upon the Jiabit and fettle into Melancholy ; for Melan- choly is but habitual Sorrow, which often pro- ceeds fo far as to derange the underflanding. The indulgence of Grief is therefore dangerous ; and its excefs ought to be guarded againft by the united power of religion and philofophy. Cfc Do- lores autem fi qui incurrent nunquam vim tantam habent, ut non plus habeat fapiens quod gaudeat quam quod angetur." That is, there is no Sor- row which may not be made the ally of wifdom. And in this fpirit the poet fays, Smitten friends Are angels fent on errands full of love. Young. Sect. II. 364 SORROW OR GRIEF. [>ART III, Sect. IL Defpair. THE lofs of Hope, which, according ta its object, is a more or lefs ferious misfortune, is at- tended with an emotion, which, on trivial occa- sions, can hardly be termed a paflion, being mere- ly a belief of the improbability of an event tak- ing place : but when the event is of importance, the emotion on the lofs of hope is violent grief, emphatically ftyled Despair. Sect. III. Contrition, Remotjc. SORROW, as it relates iblely to our own ac- tions, is termed Rep-en tan c j.. Penitence Contrition, or Remorse. To a thinking be- ing, the confciouihefs of bad actions muft in- evitably be a fource of remorfe. Whatever thofe actions be, whether they have been committed againft virtue, or againft piety, both reafon and revelation teach us to atone for them by the iin- cerity of repentance ; and by reparation, where that remains poilible. Actions once committed to the rcgiftry of time cannot pofribly be can- celled, what a ftrong guard againft crimes and vice would this reflection prove, were not reafon lb often fwept from its poft, by the overflowing torrents of deviated pallions ! But though they cannot PART III,] SYMPATHY. $63 cannot be recalled, they may be atoned for, and even turned to advantage ; " for that Tingle effort, by which we ftop fliort in the down-hill path to perdition, is itfelf a greater exertion of virtue than a hundred acts of juftice*." This is a footh* ing, but a dangerous doctrine ; for it is to be feared, that preient temptations will be aided by the anticipation of future penitence. Of one thing, however, we may be allured, that the peni- tence, neceflary to atonement, rauft be a Sorrow deeply fincere and bitter. CHAPTER XL SYMPATHY, Including Pity and Terror. Sect. L vJ^UR Creator having formed us with pafIions ; and evidently intended thofe paflions to be the means or Security of happinefs, an unnatural at- * GoMftnitfc rempt S6& SYMPATHY. [PART lit, tempt to eradicate them, in order to attain the negative eafe of apathy, or a ftate of indifference, cannot but be finful. In phlegmatic constitutions, how degraded does the nature of man appear ! It is true, that fenfibility equally fubjects the heart to pain as to pleafure ; but the pains that arife from fenfibility are enviable pains, becauie they generally fpring from the mofl amiable motives, and raife the affections of great and good fpirits : while apathy, however convenient to a paltry, lift- lefs fet of nerves, is contemptible and odious. I have no doubt that the ipurious philofophy of Apathy, which was maintained by the Stoics, is a deviation from that pure ambition by which we are excited to elevate our nature. It was a maxim among them, that the fewer their wants, the more they refembled the gods ; and that not to be moved by fublunary pains and pleafures was the proof of a great foul. By the way, it is very linking that their gods were girted with all the vileft of the human pailions. How far fuperior fpirits may be endowed with feelings, or fome mode of affections analagous to our feelings, is a metaphyseal enquiry, which mull terminate in conjecture ; but probable con- jecture is a good ground for Reafon. Joy, which is a paiiion. is kfelf the principle of biifs ; and from love, the very thought of creation teems to have fprung. ll is highly probable, that together with refined faculties, refined affections constitute a part PART III.] SYMPATHY. 367 a part of fuperior natures : and that their happi- nefs, far from confiding in the paucity of wants, is fiipported by infinite dtfires and infinite gratifi- cations. The nature of the blifs enjoyed by an eternal felf exifting Being is infinitely beyond the contemplation of human faculties. It is in vain to attempt the fubjeift : yet we may be allowed to lay, what appears ib evident, that love and com- municated blifs mingle in the divine nature. Apathy may produce the eafe, if the expreflion may be ufed, of a (lone ; but fenfibility muft be the means of all pleafure : and, with refpecl to eradicating it, left it fhould be the means too of mifery, I fhould think it juft as natural to cut off a limb to prevent an occalional finger ache. Studiairfi, e ver, l'umane Pamoni a deltar: ma chi voleiTe Eftinguerle neli' uomo ; un tronco, un faffo Dell uom faiia. Mht. It is Senfibility, and not Apathy, which truly exalts Nature : but not a fenfibility, however, that oppofes Reafon ; and therefore, though it is to be cultivated, its luxuriances and weakriefles are to be pruned and tempered by fortitude on the one hand, and by a difcrimination of juft delight on the other. All the paflions, more orlefs, depend upon Sen- fibility ; but Sympathy, as it is rather the means by which Nature reverberates an emotion, than an 368 SYMPATHY. [PART III, an original emotion, is doubly dependant upon it. » Sympathy, as I have already had occafion to mention, is that affection of the mind, by which we are interefted in objects from fome natural iimilarity. Men of fimilar puriuits, of fimilar habits, of fimilar joys and griefs, readily fympa- thize ; and the general refemblance of the fpecies is the foundation of general fympathy, by which we are excited to feel what others feel, whether plealing or painful. Sect. II. IT is the pride of the intellect to inveftigate caufes : and it often leaves the plain road, to mew its dexterity in dilcoveries. No difficulty has attended the caufes of our participating the plea- sures, but our promptnefs to enter into, and fond participation of, the diltrefs of others, and the intereit. wc take in things of a terrible nature, have been variously accounted for. Pipy, according to Hobbes and Rochefoucault, is a fenfe of our own misfortunes in thofe of other people. We affift others, fays the latter, that thev may affift us on like occafions. Burke fays- we have a degree of delight, and that no fmall one, in the real misfortunes and pains of others : while Johnfon, in his preface to Shakfpeare, de- cides that they can only pleafe while fictitious, and ihewn as images ; for, lays he, if we thong murders PART III.] SYMPATHY. 3^9 murders and treafon real, they would pleale no more. Burke's argument is, that as we are in- duced to approach and to dwell upon fad objects , if we do not fhun them, they mud give us plea- fure : that we enjoy the authentic calamities of hidory as well as the fictitious ones of romance : and he puts a cafe, in which he fuppofes that the fined tragedy, performed by the beft actors, would be forfaken on a report of a date criminal of high rank being on the point of being executed, in an adjoining fquare. He argues alfo, that numbers would croud to fee the ruins of a city- after a conflagration, who never would have thought of going near it before. I have the higheft refpect for the genius of Mr. Burke, and of all his productions, more particularly for that which I have now in view : but I feel fo great a difinclination to the doctrine of receiving pleafure from the real calamities of others, that I cannot admit it without dronger grounds of convic- tion. We often willingly approach what is produc- tive only of pain. We are chained to the death- bed of a friend, by the pang of a lading fepara- tion ; and grief at that moment cannot be attended with pleafing fenfations, however it may be after- terwards mingled with the pleafurable views of the object. If ever a good mind has a gratification in approaching real didrefs, furely it mud arife from a hope of aflifting to alleviate ; for I cannot Bb but 370 SYMPATHY. [PART III. but think it natural to fhun the fad objects of real life, when there is no hope whatever of con- tributing in any fhape to relieve, unlefs impelled by admiration : and that this, far from meriting the reproach of indolence which Mr. Burke throws upon it, is, in fact, but obeying the dictates of humanity and reafon. It is to be apprehended that he who can feel pleafure in the pain of others, will be excited, not only to find, but to make oc- calions of gratification ; than which, what can be more diabolical ? I conceive it to be no re- proach to have fhunned the Greve while a crimi- nal was upon the wheel ; and am inclined to be- lieve that the crouds generally attending execu- tions, are gathered by motives wholly unconnected with fympathy. Some attend through curiofity, others with no view but that of being in the croud, and fome barbarians, perhaps, for fofilive, not fympathetic pleafure ; for that kind of plea- fure enjoyed by the Roman emperor when he fired the city ; or when he ordered it to be lighted up with with the perfons of the Christians, anoint- ed with a combuftible preparation for the eafier admiflion of the flames. As to authentic calamities ; — when they are long pad they rank with refpect to the produc- tion of emotions, little, if at all, above fictitious ones ; for we are no more acquainted with the perfonages of the one than of the other. In either cfcie, the energy of our fympathy depends rather PAkr iti.] Sympathy. 371 rather upon the powers of the hiftorian, and of the poet, than upon the bare facts themfelves. The preference which Mr. Burke fays would be given to a real execution over a reprefented tragedy, it is not clear to me would be the cafej if Sympathy were the only attraction. Much mull be allowed to the rank of the criminal, to the rarity of the fpectacle, and to the curlofity of the fpectator. Let the fufferer be a common male- factor, and let executions be fo frequent that curiofity fhall have little allurement, would the theatre lofe a fingle fpectator ? Inform a mob, gathered on an execution-day round the fcaffold at Newgate, that George Barnwell was going to be played at Drury-lane or Covent-Garden, gratis; and that the firft at the doors would get feats : I rather think that Newgate would be foriaken till the playhoufe was filled. As to the pleafure we take in viewing Ruins ; — it arifes from two caufes : in the firfl place, they are picturefque to the eye ; and, in the next, they fugged fublime reflections. It is to be obferved* that the object mud be of magnitude ; and then to whatever power its deftruction be owing, whether to time, or to conflagration, the ideas ex- cited are fublime, and Sympathy for the unfeen fufFercrs is loft in the admiration of power. Not fo where the object is not grand. I once parTed through the ruins of a miferable village in France, that had been reduced by fire : pity and pecu- B b 2 niary 372 SYMPATHY. [PART III- niary contributions were raifed on travellers, but the remains of the clay cottages had never been the object of a vifit. Upon the whole, I cannot think that it is na- tural to have any pleafure in the misfortunes and pains of others ; and I confefs I am glaid that I have found no arguments fufficiently conclusive to make me think fo: for while I allow that a very great part of our fpecies is degraded and corrupt, and that much malignity prevails among us, I am anxious to maintain man in that exalted Hate where I believe he was originally placed. To feel delight in the pain of others difgraces him; and (till more is he difgraced by Rochefuu- cault's felfifh fentiments, that he comforts others folely with the view of being comforted himfelf on like occaflons. I believe no fuch proportion. I believe Sympathy to be a genuine difpolition of the mind, independent of felfiihnefs, by which the Almighty has ltrengthened the bonds of lbciai affection. I believe it too to be attended in for- rowful cafes with pleafure, when accompanied with the power, or even the hope, of alleviation. I believe that we generally pity, and fear for others, inftinctively ; and that when we take time to reafon ourfelves into companion, our emotions are loft in the cooler wifdom of our duties. Sect. PART III.] SYMPATHY. 373 Sect. III. SYMPATHETIC Fear, or Terror, is a vio- lent emotion on perceiving the danger of another, and is felt in degrees, according to the fenfibility of the heart. He rauft be of a flinty nature in- deed, who can with coolnefs fee another feized by a devouring monfter, or fuddenly buried un- der the ruins of a falling edifice, or ftabbed by an aflaffin. Sympathy of this kind felt on real occurrences cannot furely be attended with plea- fure. If I were permitted to fpeak for a mo- ment from my own feelings, I would fay that I once, through a tranfparent fea, faw a man feized, and carried off by a monftrous fhark — my whole frame fuffered great commotion ; but certainly I was fenlible only of a moft painful agitation. Why is it then, that in dramatic poetry we arc pleafed with the reprefentations of mournful and terrible occurrences ? The fact is, that whether in real or imaginary fcenes, it is the province of Sympathy to intereft our feelings : but to intereft them, it is not neceflary that the refult mould be pleafurable. The pain fuffered by another, interefts us as well as the pleafure he enjoys and perhaps more. Were the brighter!: genius on earth to compofe a large folio on the fubjecl:, B b 3 I do 374 SYMPATHY. [PART III, I do not think he could difcover a better reafon than Terence has given in eight words, " Homo Sum, hutnani nihil alienum a me puto." I am a man, and therefore muft be interested in what- ever concerns a man : I muft, if I am not unna- tural, delight in his pleafures, and ache at his pains. But, as I have already faid, Sympathy will not fend us in queft of the latter, nor probably of the former, unlefs other caufes concur. A good heart will feek opportunities to participate hap- pinefs, by being the means of conferring it ; but I do not know that the pureft heart would be al- lured by any uncommon inftance of individual happinefs to become the fpeclator of immoderate joy; unlefs it were the reward of virtue, talent, or for fome ulterior reafon beyond the actual joy. Common fociety, or what is called company, is fupported with a view to reciprocal pleafures ; its enjoyments are founded on an interchange of ideas, or of politenefs ; but with fympathy it is little concerned. Sympathy is, indeed, a main Support of that uncommon fociety, which is built on friendship, virtue, and talents, whence arife the higheft Social enjoyments. Yet even by fiich fociety thofe only can be allured, who are in a great degree deferving of it. To dramatic i'ecn^s however, we are all ftrongly impelled ; and Strongly aSFecled by them : we are always made to love, and to admire the character for whom we are PART III.] SYMPATHY. 275 are to be led into grief : we have pleafure in lov- ing and admiring, but the pleafure yields, aid is abforbed in our fufferings at the miliary that enfues. It appears to me, that by compounding Mr. Burke's objection with Dr. Johnfon's opinion, we may probably arrive at the real caufes, as well of our fee king, as of our being gratified with, the fcenes of tragedy. Dr. Johnlbn fays, u it is be- caufe they are fictitious that they pleafe." Mr. Burke imagines " we fhould be much miftaken, if we attributed any considerable part of our fa- tisfaction in tragedy, to the consideration of its being a deceit : that the nearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more perfect is its power." To move the paffions is the grand magic of poetry. It is a fublime gift of God to man ; and we naturally take great delight in offering our- felves to the proof of its operations. E un dolce incanto, Che d'improvifo Vi muove al pianto, Vi sforza al rifo # D'ardir v' accende Tremar vi fa. Ah fe alle Mufe Tanto e permeflb, A Glove ifteffo Che reflera ? Met. Bb 4 I con 376 SYMPATHY. ['PART III, I conceive that we go to a tragedy, perfectly prepared to be delighted with the effect of fic- tion ; but that when the powers of the poet con- trive to veil that fiction, to realize his fcenes, and to wring our hearts, the fympathy upon which he works is not a pleafure, but the forrow- ful intereft we are bound by nature to take in the pain of others ; of which we are mod fufceptible in the reality, and which we bring upon ourfelves in a theatre, from going in quell of the delight we take in the powers of poetry. Let the audience be informed, that the actor, who was performing Macbeth, had in a fit of fury or revenge abso- lutely fought the man who was perfonating Dun- can, and had favagely cut his throat, but that the play fhould go on with fubftituted cha~ acters ; I think the houfe would be thinned. The French Revolution produced in London a remarkable inJiance of painful, but noble feelings, impreffi.ng a large body of men, which does honour to the Britifh character. In the year 1793, when the company of Drury-lane Theatre were performing at the Opera Houfe, the news of the death of the late King of France arrived in an evening, juft as the curtain was going to be drawn up. It was immediately announced from the ftage, and the whole audience, feeling the fhock at once, rofe and left the theatre. — Here, 1 think, we have an example, in which delight could not be mingled. Thofe noble hearts withdrew, not to behold FART III.] SYMPATHY, 37J behold a fight in the adjoining fquare, but be- caufe pleafure was incompatible with the reality of horror. So true is it that men generally avoid real tragic fcenes, when they are convinced that they can be of no fcrvice by the exerciie of their virtues, and are not led by curioiiry, that we find, as the poetic art lofes its dominion over the foul, even the beft fcenes of fictitious terror and pity are re- prefented at the theatres to thin houfes. The prefent cultivated apathy of many, and the blow that has been given to the expreffion of fentiment, are caufes from which the Tragic Mufe languifhos. They, to whom the pain of fympathy is more intolerable, than the tafte of genius is delightful, improve a happy indifference, and fhun all violent emotions : — but we may reft affured, that when the pomp of decorations, the horfe-laugh of ridicule, and the graces of gefture fupplant the powers of poetry, Nature deviates, and tafte de- clines. I muft add, that however difficult it be to con- ceive fenfations of pleafure and of pain co-exift- ing, yet as it is the end of poetry to delight by moving, the delight flows conflderably from the preparatory difpoiition in our natures to be moved by the imitative arts ; as we are pleafed with a picture, of which perhaps the real object: would be difgufting, Sect. IV. 373 WONDER. [PARTIII a Sect. IV. This grand current of the focial affections, Sympathy, depends, in courfe. for its purity upon the other ftreams that mingle with it. He who fympathifes with the envious, the covetous, the revengeful, the malevolent, the coward, the cruel, and the proud, may reckon among his own pafiions, envy, avarice, revenge, malevolence, cowardice, cruelty, and pride. CHAPTER XII. WONDER, and its Varieties. WONDER or Aftonifhment is the emotion produced by things uncommonly ftrange. All novelty excites this paffion, in a greater or lefs degree : and the commencement of life is the period of its fulled influence. Then every thing is ftrange ; and, for a confiderable time, one wonder only yields to another. Experience abates the fcART III.] WONDER. 3?0 the emotion, but it is never wholly ftifled : youth and age, folly and philofophy, ruilic ig* norance and polifhed taile, every ftage of life, and every gradation of intellect, are all fupplied with objects to gratify Wonder. But while fome men continue fo puerile as to feek gratification, if not from ordinary, yet from trivial occasions, there are fome who have almofl ccafed to wonder, even in the fullnefs of Admiration : whofe minds have been able to take fo comprehenfive a view of the works the Deity has placed before them, as to wonder at no effects while they admire and adore the great Firft Caufe of all. This kind of admiration is an emotion, we may juftly conjecture to be attendant upon immortality ; and in this view we cannot but efleem it a paffion of the higheft character. All wonder is natural ; there is no deviation of this paffion ; yet mifplaced, it becomes ridiculous or difgraceful. The clown, who wonders at the movements of a watch, and the mathematician, who is furprifed at the nicety of his own calculations on the return of a comet, are equally natural ; but if the mathematician were to be furprifed at the watch it would be a difgrace to him ; and if the clown were furprifed that the tail of the comet did not fcorch the earth it would be ridiculous. It is, in general, advifable to curb AJloniJhment, or at leaft the appearance of it ; as, perhaps, what creates it in us, is only an ignoranee, that would 380 FROFRIETY [PART III* would reflect no credit upon our education. But this is a delicate theory ; for it might lead to in- difference and infenfibility ; and not to admire, where admiration is a proof of tafte, is as degra- ding as to be in ecftafies at trifles. Wonder, however, is, in every view, an innocent emotion, and naturally its own corrector, where it tends to be ridiculous. CHAPTER XIII. PROPRIETY OF THE PASSIONS. Of the Degrees of the different PaJJions which are covjijlent with Propriety. -LrfET us now enquire into the degrees of the different paflions which are confident with pro- priety, and into the neceflity of Self-command. The propriety of every pafTion excited by objects peculiarly related to ourfelves, the pitch which the fpectator can go along with, mull lie, it is evident, PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 3S1 evident, in a certain mediocrity. If the paflion is too high, or if it is too low, he cannot enter into it. Grief and refentment for private misfortunes and injuries may eafily, for example, be too high, and in the greater part of mankind, they are fo. They may likewife, though this more ra^y hap- pens, be too low. We denominate the excefs, weaknefs and fury : and we call the defect, ftu- pidity, infenfibility, and want of fpirit. We can enter into neither of them, but are aftonifhed and confounded to fee them. This mediocrity, however, in which ^he point of Propriety confifts, is different in different paf- fions. It is high in fome, and low in others. There are fome paflions which it is indecent to exprefs very ftrongly, even upon thofe occafions in which it is acknowledged that we cannot avoid feeling them in the higher! degree. And there are others of which the ftrongeft expreflions are, upon many occafions, extremely graceful, even though the paflions themfelves do not, perhaps, arife i'o necefTarily. The firft are thole paflions with which, for certain reafons, there is little or no fympathy : the fecond are thofe with which, for other reafons, there is the great- eft. And if we confider all the different paf- lions of human nature, we fhall find that they are regarded as decent or indecent, juft in proportion as mankind are more or lei's difpofed to fympathize with them. Sect. I. 382 PROPRIETY [PART Hft Sect. I. Of the Vajfions which take their Ongbi from the Body* IT is indecent to exprefs any ftrong degree of tliofe paffions which arife from a certain fituation or difpofition of the body ; becaufe the company, not being in the fame difpofition, cannot be ex- pected to fympathize with them. Violent hun- ger, for example, though upon many occafions not only natural, but unavoidable, is always inde- cent, and to eat voracioufly is univerfally regarded as a piece of ill-manners. There is, however, fome degree of fympathy, even with hunger. It is agreeable to fee our companions eat with a good appetite, and all expreflions of loathing are offen- five. The diipofition of body which is habitual to a man in health, makes his ftomach eafily keep time, if I may be allowed lb coarfe an expreflion, with the one, and not with the other. We can fympathize with the diltrefs which excefiive hun- ger occafions when we read the defcription of it in the journal of a liege, or of a lea voyage. We imagine ourlelves in the lituation of the fufYerers, and thence readily conceive the grief, the fear, and condensation which mult neceilanly diitracl them. We feel, ourlelves, lbme degree of thofe paflions, and therefore fympathize with them: but as we do not grow hungry by reading the de- fcriptioa, PART IIIw] OF THE PASSIONS. 383 fcription, we cannot properly, even in this cafe, be faid to fympathize with their hunger. Such is our averfion for all the appetites which take their origin from the body that all ftrong ex- preffions of them are loathfbme and difagreeable. According to fome ancient philofophers, thefe are the paffions which we fhare in common with the brutes, and which having no connexion with the characteriflical qualities of human nature, are upon that account beneath its dignity. But there are many other paffions which we fhare in com- mon with the brutes, fuch as refentment, natural affection, and even gratitude, which do not, upon that account, appear to be fo brutal. The true caufeofthe peculiar difgufl which we conceive for the appetites of the body when we fee them in other men, is that we cannot enter into them. To the perfon himfelf who feels them, as foon as they are gratified, the object that excited them ceafes to be agreeable : even its prefence often becomes offeniive to him ; he looks round to no purpofe for the charm which traniported him the moment before, and now he can as little enter into his own paffion as another perfon. When we have dined, we order the covers to be removed . and we fhould treat in the lame manner the ob- jects of the moll ardent and paffionate defires, if they were the objects of no other paffions but thofe which take their origin from the body. In S84 FROPRlfeTY [PART III. In the command of thofe appetites of the body confifts that virtue which is properly called tem- perance. To reflrain them within thofe bounds, which regard to health and fortune prescribes, is the part of prudence. But to confine them within thofe limits, which grace, which propriety, which delicacy, and modefty require, is the of- fice of temperance. It is for the fame reafon that to cry out with bodily pain, how intolerable foever, appears al- ways unmanly and unbecoming. There is, how- ever, a good deal of fympathy with bodily pain. If I fee a ftroke aimed, andjuft ready to fall upon the leg or arm of another pcrfon, I naturally fhrink and draw back my own leg, or my own arm : and when it does fall, I feel it in fome meafure, and am hurt by it as well as the fufferer. My hurt, however, is, no doubt, exceflively flight, and, upon that account, if he makes any violent out- cry, as I cannot go along with him, I never fail to defpife him. And this is the cafe of all the paf- fions which take their origin from the body : they excite either no fympathy at all, or fuch a degree of it, as is altogether dilproportioned to the violence of what is felt by the fufferer. It is quite othenvife with thofe paflions which take their origin from the imagination. The frame of my body can be but little affected by the alterations which are brought about upon that of my companion : but my imagination is more I*ART III/) OF THE PASSIONS. 3S5 more ductile, and more readily aflumes, if I may fay fo, the fhape and configuration of the ima- ginations of thofe with whom I am familiar. A difappointment in love, or ambition, will, upon this account, call forth more fympathy than the greateft bodily evil. Thofe paflions arife altoge- ther from the imagination. The perfoh who has loft his whole fortune, if he is in health, feels no- thing in his body. What he fufTers is from the imagination only, which reprefents to him the lofs of his dignity, neglect from his friends, con- tempt from his enemies, dependence, want, and mifery, coming fall upon him ; and we fympa- thize with him, more llrongly upon this account, becaufe our imaginations can more readily mould themfelves upon his imagination, than our bodies' cafi mould themfelves upon his body. The lofs of a leg may generally be regarded as a more real calamity than the lofs of a miftrefs. It would be a ridiculous tragedy, however, of which the cataftrophe was to turn upon a lofs of that kind. A misfortune of the other kind, how fri- volous fbever it may appear to be, has given oc- caiion to many a line one. Nothing is fo ibon forgotten as pain. The mo- ment it is gone, the whole agony of it is over, and the thought of it can no longer give us any fort of diihirbance. We ourfelves cannot then enter into the anxiety and anguifh which we had before con- ceived. 3b6 PROPRIETY [PART III; ceived. An unguarded word frorn a friend will occafion a more durable uneafinefs. The agony which this creates is by no means over with the word. What at firfi difturbs us is not the object ©f the fenfes, but the idea of the imagination. As it is an idea, therefore, which occasions our un- eafinefs, till time and other accidents have in fome meal lire effaced it from our memory, the imagi- nation continues to fret and rankle within, from the thought of it. Pain never calls forth any very lively fympathy unlefs it is accompanied with danger. We fym- pathize with the fear, though not with the agony of the fufFerer. Fear, however, is a paffion de- rived altogether from the imagination, which re- prefents, with an uncertainty and fluctuation that increafes our anxiety, not what we really feel, but what we may hereafter poflibly fuffer. The gout or the tooth-ach, though exquifitely painful, ex- cite very little fympathy ; more dangerous dif- eafes, though accompanied with very little pain, excite the higheft. Some people faint and grow fick at the fight of a chirurgical operation, and that bodily pain which isoccalioned by tearing the flefh, ieems, in them, to excite the moil excefiive fympathy. We conceive in a much more lively and diitincl man- ner the pain which proceeds from an external caufe, than we do that which arifes from an inter- nal tfART tit.] OF THE PASSIONS. 337 hal diforder. I can fcarcely form an idea of the agonies of my neighbour when he is tortured with the gout or the ftone ; but I have the cleared con- ception of what he mud fuffer from an incifion, a wound, or a fracture. The chief caufe, however, why fuch objects produce fuch violent effects upon us, is their novelty. One who has been witnefs to a dozen diffections, and as many am- putations, fees, ever after, all operations of this kind with great indifference, and often with per- fect infenfibility. Though we have read or ken reprefented more than five hundred tragedies, we fhall feldom feel fo entire an abatement of our fenlibility to the objects which they reprefent to us. In fome of the Greek tragedies there is an at- tempt to excite compaffion, by the reprefentation of the agonies of bodily pain. Philoctetes cries out and faints from the extremity of his fuffer ings. Hippolytus and Hercules are both introduced as expiring under the fevereft tortures, which, it feems, even the fortitude of Hercules was incapa- ble of fupporting. In all thefe cafes, however, it is not the pain which interefts us, but fome other circumitanee. It is not thr fore foot, but the fo- litude, of Philoctetes which affects us, and dif- fufes over that charming tragedy, that romantic wildnefs, which is fo agreeable to the imagination / The agonies of Hercules and Hippolytus are in- C c 2 t ere fling 388 PROPRIETY [PART I'll. terefting only becaufe we forefee that death is_to be the confequence. If thofe heroes were to recover, we fhould think the reprefentation of their iuffer- ings perfectly ridiculous. What a tragedy would that be, of which the diftrefs confiited in a cholic ! Yet no pain is more exquiiite. Thefe attempts to excite compaffion by the reprefenta- tion of bodily pain, may be regarded as among the greateft breaches of decorum of which the Greek theatre has fet the example. The little fympathy which we feel with bodily pain is the foundation of the propriety of conftancy and patience in enduring it. The man, who under the fevereft tortures allows no weaknefs to efcape him, vents no groan, gives way to no palHon which we do not entirely enter into, commands our higheft admiration. His rirmnefs enables him to keep time with our indifference and infenfibi- lity. We admire and entirely go along with the magnanimous effort which he makes for this pur- pofe. We approve of his behaviour, and from our experience of the common weaknefs of human nature, we are furpnled, and wonder how he fhould be able to a if they had really felt it. Iteis tor a reafon of the fame kind, I :r- tain reicrve is neccil'iry when we talk oi our own friends, our own ftudies, our own profeflio All thefe are objedbfi which we cannot fhould intereit our companions in the fame grec in which they intereit us. And it is for want of this releive, that the one half of mankind ma PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 393 make bad company to the other. A philofo- pher is company to a philofopher only ; the member of a club to his own little knot of com- panions. Sect. III. Of the unf octal Pajflons. THERE is another fet of paffions, which, though derived from the imagination, yet before we can enter into them, or regard them as grace- ful or becoming, muft always be brought down to a pitch much lower than that to which undif- ciplined nature would raife them. Thefe are, hatred and refentment, with all their different modifications. With regard to all fuch paffions, our fympathy is divided between the perfon who feels them, and the perfon who is the object of them. The interefls of thefe two are directly op- polite. What our fympathy with the perfon who feels them would prompt us to wifh for, our fellow-feeling with the other would lead us to fear. As they are both men, we are concerned for both, and our fear for what the one may fuf- fer, damps our refentment for what the other has fuffered. Our fympathy, therefore, with the man who has received the provocation, necefTa- rily falls fhort of the paffion which naturally ani- mates him, not only upon account of thofe ge- neral caufes which render all fympathetic paffions inferior 394 PROPRIETY [PART III, inferior to the original ones, but upon account of that particular caufe which is peculiar to ilfelf, our oppofite fympathy with another perfon. Be- fore refentment, therefore, can become graceful and agreeable, it mufl be more humbled, and brought down below that pitch to which it would naturally rife, than almofl any other paffion. Mankind, at the fame time, have a very ftrong fenfe of the injuries that are done to another. The villain, in a tragedy or romance, is as much the object of our indignation, as the hero is that of our fympathy and affection. We deteft Iago as much as we erleem Othello ; and delight as much in the punifhment of the one, as we are grieved at the diltrefs of the other. But though mankind have fo itrong a fellow-feeling with jhe injuries that are done to their brethren, they do not always refent them the more that the fulferer appears to relent them. Upon moft occalions, the greater his pa- tience, his mildnefs, his humanity, provided it does not appear that he wants fpirit, or that fear was the motive of his forbearance, the higher the refentment againft the perfon who injured him. The amiablenefs of the character cxafperates their fenfe of the atrocity of the injury. Thefe paiiions, however, are regarded as necef- faxy parts of the character of human nature. A perfon becomes contemptible who tamely lits ftill, without attempting either, to repel or to revenge :hem. We cannot enter into his indifference and infenfibility ; PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS, 3Q5 infenfibility : we call his behaviour mean-fpirited- nefs, and are as really provoked by it as by the jnfolence of his adverfary. Even the mob are en- raged to fee any man fubmit patiently to affronts and ill-ufage. They defire to fee this infolencc re fen ted, and refented by the perfon who fufFers from it. They cry to him with fury, to defend, or to revenge hi mfelf. If his indignation roufes at laft, they heartily applaud and fympathize with it. It enlivens their own indignation againft his enemy, whom they rejoice to fee him attack in turn, and are as really gratified by his revenge provided it is not immoderate, as if the injury had been done to themfelves. But though the utility of thofe pailions to the individual, by rendering it dangerous to infult or injure him, be acknowledged; and though their utility to the public, as the guardian of juftice, and of the equality of its adminiftration, be not lefs considerable, yet there is Hill fomething difa- greeable in the pailions themfelves, which makes the appearance of them in other men the natural object of our averflon. The expreffion of anger towards any body preient, if it exceeds a bare in- timation that we are fenfible of his ill ufage, is re«* garded not only as an infult to that particular per- form but as a rudenefs to the whole company". Refpecl for them ought to have reftrained us from giving way to fo boitterous and offenfive an emotion. It is the remote effects of thefe paflions which 396 PROPRIETY [PARTIJI. which are agreeable; the immediate effects are miichief to the perfon againft whom they are di- rected. But it is the immediate, and not the re- mote effects of objects which render them agreea- ble or difagreeabie to the imagination. A prifon is certainly more ufefu'J to the public than a pa- lace ; and the perfon who founds the one is gene- rally directed by a much jufjrer fpirit of patriotifm, than he who builds the other. But the immedi- ate effects of a prifon, the confinement of the wretches fhut up in it, are difagreeabie, and the imagination either does not take time to trace out the remote ones, or fees them at too great a diftance to be much affected by them. A prifon, therefore, will always be a difagreeabie object ; and the fitter it is for the purpofe for which it was intended, it will be the more fo. A palace, on the contrary, will always be agreeable ; yet its remote effects may often be inconvenient to the public. It may ferve to promote luxury, and fet the example of the diffolution of manners. Its immediate effects, however, the conveniency, the plea lure, and the gaiety of the people who live in it, being all agreeable, and fuggefting to the imagination a thoufand agreeable ideas, that fa- culty generally re its upon them, and feldom goes farther in tracing its more diftant confequences. Trophies of the inftruments of muiic or of agri- culture, imitated in painting or in ftucco, make a common and an agreeable ornament of our halls and PART III.] OF TtlE PASSIONS. 3§7 and dining rooms. A trophy of the fame kind, compofed of the inftruments of furgery, of diffcct- ing and amputation knives, of faws for cutting the bones, of trepanning inftruments, &c. would be abfurd and fhocking. Inftruments of furgery, however, are always more finely polifhed, and generally more nicely adapted to the purpofes for which they are intended, than inftruments of agri- culture. The remote effects of them too, the health of the patient, is agreeable ; yet as the im- mediate effect of them is pain and fuffering, the light of them always difpleafes us. Inftruments .of war are agreeable, though their immediate ef- fect may feem to be in the fame manner pain and fuffering. But then it is the pain and fuffering of our enemies, with whom we have no fympathy. With regard to us, they are immediately con- nected with the agreeable ideas of courage, victo- ry, and honour. They are themfelves, therefore, fuppofed to make one of the nobleft parts of drefs, and the imitation of them one of the fineft orna- ments of architecture. It is the fame cafe with the qualities of the mind. The ancient ftoics were of opinion, that as the world was governed by the all-ruling providence of a wile, powerful, and good God, every fingle event ought to be re- garded, as making a neceffary part of the plan of the univerfe, and as tending to promote the gene- ral order and happinefs of the whole : that the vices and follies of mankind., therefore, made as ne cellar v 398 PROPRIETY [PART lit. necevlary a part of this plan as their wifdom or their virtue ; and by that eternal arc which educes good from ill, were made to tend equally to the profperiry and perfection of the great fyftem of nature. No fpeculation of this kind, however, how deeply foever it might be rooted in the mind, could diminifh our natural abhorrence of vice, whofe immediate effects are fo deftrudtive, and whofe remote ones are too diftant to be traced by the imagination. It is the*fame cafe with thofe paflions we have been juft now confidering. Their immediate ef- fects are ib difagreeable, that even when they are mod juftly provoked, there is ftill fomething about them which difgufts us. Thefe, therefore, are the only paflions of which the exprellions, as I formerly obferved, do not difpofe and prepare us to fympathize with them, before we are informed of the caufc which excites them. The plaintive voice of mifery, when heard at a diftance, will not allow us to be indifferent about the perfon from whom it comes. As toon as it ftrikes our ear, it interefts us in his fortune, and, if conti- nued, forces us almoit involuntarily to fly to his afilitance. The, fight of a lmiling countenance, in the fame manner, elevates even the penfive into thai gay and airy mood, which difpoies him to iym with, and fhare the joy which it exprelTesT and he feels his heart, which with thought and care was bt:l>rc that fhrunk and depreiicd- PART III.] OP THE PASSIONS. 399 deprefTed, inftantly expanded and elated. But it is quite otherwife with the expreffions of hatred and refentment. The hoarfe, boifterous, and dif- cordant voice of anger, when heard at a diftance, infpires us either with fear or averfion. We do not fly towards it, as to one who cries out with pain and agony. Women, and men of weak nerves, tremble and are overcome with fear, though fenfible that themfelves are not the objects of the anger. They conceive fear, however, by putting themfelves in the fituation of the perfon who is fo. Even thofe of flouter hearts are dis- turbed ; not indeed enough to make them afraid but enough to make them angry ; for anger is the paffion which they would feel in the fituation of the other perfon. It is the fame cafe with hatred. Mere expreffions of fpite infpire it againft nobody, but the man who ufes them. Both thefe paffions are by nature the objects of our averfion. Their difagreeable and boifterous appearance never ex- cites, never prepares, and often dilturbs our fym- pathy. Grief does not more powerfully engage and attract us to the perfon in whom we oblerve it, than thefe, while we are ignorant of the caufe. dilguft and detach us from him. It was, it feems, the intention of Nature, that thofe rougher and more unamiable emotions, which drive men from one another, mould be lefs eafily and more rarely communicated. When 400 PROPRIETY [PART III. When mulic imitates the modulations of grief or joy, it either actually infpires with thofe paf- fions, or at leaft puts us in the mood which dif- pofes us to conceive them. But when it imitates the notes of anger, it infpires us with fear. Joy, grief, love, admiration, devotion, are all of them paiTions which are naturally mufical. Their na- tural tones are all foft, clear, and melodious ; and they naturally exprefs themlelves in periods which are diftinguifhed by regular paufes, and which up- on that account are eafily adapted to the regular returns of the correlpondent airs of a tune. The voice of anger, on the contrary, and of all the paiTions which are akin to it, is harm and dil- cordant. Its periods too are all irregular, fome- times very long, and fometimes very fhort, and diftinguifhed by no regular paufes. It is with difficulty, therefore, that mulic can imitate any of thofe pa'lions ; and the mulic which does imitate them is not the molt agreeable. A whole entertainment may conllit, without any impro- priety, of the imitation of the focial and agree- able pailions. It. would be a llrange entertain- ment which coniiiled altogether of the imitations of hatred and relentment. If thofe paihons are dilagreeable to the fpecla- tor they are not left io to the perfon who feels them. Hatred and anger are the greateft poifon to the happincls ot" a good mind. There is. in the PART III.] OF THF PASSIONS. 401 the very feeling of thofe paffions, fomething harfh, jarring, and convulfive, fomething that tears and dliTracls the breaft^ and is altogether deftructive of that compofure and tranquillity of mind, which is {o necefTary to happineis, and which is beft promoted by the contrary paffions of gratitude and love. It is not the value of what they lofe by the perfidy and ingratitude of thofe they live with, which the generous and hu- mane are moft apt to regret. Whatever they may have loft, they can generally be very happy without it. What moft difturbs them is the idea of perfidy and ingratitude exercifed towards themfelves ; and the difcordant and difagreeable paflions which this excites, conftitute, in their own opinion, the chief part of the injury which they fuffer. How many things are requifite to render the gratification of refentment completely agreeable, and to make the fpectator thoroughly fympathize with our revenge ? The provocation muft firft of all be fuch that we fhould become contempti- ble, and be expofed to perpetual infults, if we did not, in fome meafure, refent it. Smaller of- fences are always better neglected : nor is there any thing more defpieable than that fro ward and captious humour which takes fire upon every flight occafion of quarrel. We mould refent more from a fenfe of the propriety of refentment, from a fenfe that mankind expect and require it Dd of 402 PROPRIETY [PART III. of us, than becaufe we feel in ourfelves the furies of that difagreeable paffion. There is no paffion, of which the human mind is capable, concerning vvhofe juftnefs we ought to be fo doubtful, con- cerning whofe indulgence we ought fo carefully to confult our natural fenfe of Propriety, or fo di- ligently to coniider what will be the fentiments of the cool and impartial fpectator. Magna- nimity, or a regard to maintain our own rank and dignity in fociety, is the only motive which can ennoble the expreffions of this difagreeable paffion. This motive muft characterize our whole ftyle and deportment. Thefe muft be plain, open, and direct ; determined without po- fitivenefs, and elevated without infolencc ; not only free from petulance and low fcurrility, but generous, candid, and full of all proper regards, even for the perfon who has offended us. It muft appear, in fhort, from our whole manner, without our labouring affectedly to exprefs it, that paffion has not extinguifhed our humanity; and that if we yield to the dictates of revenge, it is with reluctance, from neceffity, and in confe- quence of grcnt and repeated provocations. When refentment is guarded and cjuaiified in this manner, it may be admitted to be even generous and noble. Sect, IV PART III,] OP THE PASSIONS. 403 Se c t. I V. Of the facial PaJJions. AS it is a divided fympathy which renders the whole fet of pafiions juft now mentioned, upon mofl occafions, fo ungraceful and di (agreeable ; fo there is another fet oppolite to thefe, which a redoubled fympathy renders almofl always pecu- liarly agreeable and becoming. Generofity, hu- manity, kindnefs, companion, mutual friendfhip, and efteem, all the focial and benevolent affec- tions, when exprefTed in the countenance or be- haviour, even towards thofe who are not peculiarly connected with ourfelves, pleafe the indifferent fpectator upon almofl every occafion. His fym- pathy with the perfon who feels thofe pafiions exactly coincides with his concern for the perfon who is the object of them. The interefl, which, as a man, he is obliged to take in the happinefs of this lafl, enlivens his fellow-feeling with the fentiments of the other, whofe emotions are em- ployed about the fame object. We have always, , therefore, the ftrongefl difpofition to fympathize with the benevolent .affections. They appear in every refpect agreeable to us. We enter into the i'a/^faction both of the perfon who feels them, and of the perfon who is the object of them. For as to be the object of hatred and indignation gives more pain than all the evil which a brave man can fear from his enemies; fb there is a Dd a fatisfaction 404 PROPRIETY {PART III. fatisfaction in the confcioufnefs of being beloved, which, to a perfon of delicacy and fenfibility, is of more importance to happinefs than all the ad- vantage which he can expect to derive from it. What character is fo deteftable as that of one who- takes pleafure to fow difTenfion among friends, and to turn their moil; tender love into mortal hatred ? Yet wherein does the atrocity of this fo much abhorred injury confift ? Is it in de- priving them of the frivolous good offices, which, had their friendfhip continued, they might have expected from one another ? It is in depriving them of that friendfhip itfelf, in robbing them of each other's affections, from which both derived fo much fatisfaction ; it is in difturbing the har- mony of their hearts, and putting an end to that happy commerce which had before fubfifted be- tween them. Theie affections, th.it harmony, this commerce, arc fell) not only by the tender and the delicate, but by the rudeft vulgar of mankind, to be of more importance to happinefs than all the little Cervices which could be expect- ed to flow from them. The fentiment of love is, in itfelf, agreeable to the perlon who feels it. It foot lies and corn- poles the breaft, feems to favour the vital motic and to promote the heathful ftate of the human conftitution ; and it is rendered ftUl more de- lightful by the confcioufnefs of the gratitude and iatisiaetion which it muft excite in him who is the object FART III.] OF THE TASSIONS. 405 object of it;. Their mutual regard renders them iiappy in one another, and fympathy, with this mutual regard, makes them agreeable to every other pcrfon. With what pleafure do we look upon a family through the whole of which reign mutual love and efteem, where the parents and children are companions for one another, without any other difference than what is made by re- fpedlful affection on the one fide, and kind in- dulgence on the other ; where freedom and fond- nefs, mutual raillery and mutual kindnefs, fhow that no oppofition of intereft divides the brothers, nor any rivalfhip of favour fets the lifters at vari- ance, and where every thing prelents us with the idea of peace, cheerfulnefs, harmony, and content- ment ? On the contrary, how uneafy are we made when we go into a houfe in which jarring conten tion fets one half of thofe who dwell in it againft the other ; where, amidft affected fmoothnefs and complaifance, fufpicious looks and fudden Harts of pallion betray the mutual jealoufies which burn within them, and which are every moment ready to burft out through all the reftraints which the prefence of the company impofes ? Thoie amiable paffions, even when they are acknowledged to be excefiive, are never regarded with averfion. There is fomething agreeable even in the weaknefs of friend (hip and humanity. The too tender mother, and the too indulgent D d 3 father, 406 PROPRIETY [PART IIt» father, the too generous and affectionate friend, ttiay fometimes, perhaps, on account of the foft- nefs of their natures, be looked upon with a fpecies of pity, in which, however, there is a mixture of love ; but can never be regarded with hatred and averlion, nor even with contempt, unlefs by the rnoft brutal anr 1 .vorthlefs of mankind. It is al- ways with cone :rn, with fympathy and kindnefs, that we blame them for the extravagance of their attachment. There is a helpleilhefs in the cha- racter of extreme humanity which more than any- thing interefts our pity. There is nothing in itfelf which renders it either ungraceful or dilagreeable. We only regret that it is unfit for the world, be- caufe the world is unworthy of it, and becaufe it muft expofe the perfon who is endued with i: as a prey to the perridv and ingratitude of infinuating falfehood, and to a thoufand pains and uneafineiTes, which, of all men, he the leaft defer ves to feel, and which generally too he is, of all men, the leaft capable of fupporting. It is quite otherwife with hatred and relentment. Too violent a propenfity to thofe deteftable pafiions, renders a perfon the object of univerfal dread and abhorrence, who, like a wild beaft, ought, we think, to be hunted emt of all civil fociety. Seci PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. A07 Sect. V. Of the felfijli Paflions. BESIDES tbofe two oppofitc fets of paffions, the focial and unsocial, there is another which holds a fort of middle place between them ; is never either fo graceful as is fometimes the one let, nor is ever fo odious as is fometimes the other. Grief and joy, when conceived upon account of our own private good or bad fortune, conftitute this third fet of paflions. Even when exceffive, they are never fo difagreeable as exceffive refent<- ment, becaufe no oppofite fympathy can ever in- tereft us againft them . and when moil fuitable to their objects, they are never fo agreeable as im- partial humanity and jufi benevolence ; becaufe no double fympathy can ever intereft us for them, There is, however, this difference between grief and joy, that we are generally moft difpofed to fympathize with fmall joys and great forrows. The man who, by fome fudden revolution of for- tune, is lifted up all at once into a condition of life, greatly above what he had formerly lived in, may be allured that the congratulations of his bell friends are not all of them perfectly fincere. An upftart, though of the greateft merit, is generally difagreeable, and a fentiment of envy commonly prevents us from heartily fympathizing with his joy. If he has any judgment, he is fenfible of this, and, in Read of appearing to be elated with D d 4 " hia 408 PROPRIETY [PART IIT f his good fortune, he endeavours, as much as he can, to {mother his joy, and keep down that ele- vation of mind with which his new circumftances naturally infpire him. He affects the fame plain- nefs of drefs, and the lame modeity of behaviour, which became him in his former ftation. He re- doubles his attention to his old friends, and en- deavours more than ever to be humble, affiduous, and complaifant. And this is the behaviour which in his htuation we moil approve of; becaufe we expect, it feems, that he fhould ha\e more fvm- pathy with our envy and averfion to his happi- nefs, than we have to his happinefs. It is feldom that with all this he fucceeds. We fufpecl the fincerity of Lis humility, and he grows weary of this conftraint. In a lirtle time, therefore, he ge- nerally leaves all his old friends behind him, fome of the meaneft of them excepted, who may, per- haps, condefcend to become his dependants : nor does he always acquire any new ones ; the pride of his new connections is as much affronted at finding him their equal, as that of his old ones had been by his becoming their fuperior: and it requires the moil obftinate and perfevering mo- deity to atone for this mortification to eir He generally grows weary too (boh, and is pro\ oked, by the fullen and fufpicious pride of the one. and by the faucy contempt of the other, to treat the firft with neglect, and the fecond with petulance, till at lafi he grows habitually infolent, auid fori" tie PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS, 40& the efteem of all. If the chief part of human happinefs arifes from the confcioufnefs of being beloved, as I believe it does, thole fudden changes of fortune feldom contribute much to happinefs. He is happieft who advances more gradually to greatnefs, whom the public deftines to every ftep of his preferment long before he arrives at it, in whom, upon that account, when it comes, it can excite no extravagant joy, and with regard to whom it cannot reafonably create either any jea * loufy in thofe he overtakes, or any envy in thofe he leaves behind. Mankind, however, more readily fympathize with thofe fmaller joys which flow from lefs im- portant caufes. It is decent to be humble amidft great profperity ; but we can fcarce exprefs too much fatisfaclion in all the little occurrences of common life, in the company with which we fpent the evening laft night, in the entertainment that was fet before us, in what was faid and what was done, in all the little incidents of the prefent con- verfation, and in all thofe frivolous nothings which fill up the void of human life. " Nothing is more graceful than habitual cheerfulnefs, which is al- ways founded upon a peculiar relifli for all the little pleafures which common occurrences afford. We readily fympathize with it : it infpires us with the lame joy, and makes every trifle turn up to us in the fame agreeable afpect in which it prefents itfelf to the perfon endowed with this happy dif- pofition. 410 PROPRIETY [PART UU pofition. Hence it is that youth, the feafon of gaiety, fo ealily engages our affections That propenfity to joy which feems even to animate the bloom, and to fparkle from the eves of youth and beauty, though in a perfon of the fame fex, exalts, even the aged, to a more joyous mood than ordi- nary. They forget, for a time, their .infirmities, and abandon themfclves to i; ofe agreeable ideas and emotions to which they have long been Grangers, but which, when the prefence of fo much happincfs recalls them to their breait, take their place there, like old acquaintance, from whom they are lorry to have ever been parted, and whom they embrace more heartily upon account of this long feparaiion. It is quite otherwife with grief. Small vexa- tions excite no lympathy, but deep affliction calls forth the greateft. The man who is made uneafy by every little difagreeable incident, who is hurt it either the cook or the butler have failed in the leaft article of their duty, who feels every dekct in the higher! ceremonial of pohtenefs, whether it be fhewn to himfelf or to any other perfon, who takes it amifs that his intimate friend did not bid him good-morrow when they met in the forenc and that his brother hummed a tune all the time he himfelf was telling a ftory ; who is put out of humour by the badnefs of the weather when in the country, by the badnefs of the roads when upon 3 journey* and by the want of company, and dull- ncu PART III.] OF THE PASSIONS. 411 nefs of all public divcriions when in town : fuch a perfjn, I lay, though he fhould have fome rea- ion, will feldom nth much iympathy. Joy is a pleafant emotion, and we gladly abandon ourfelves to it upon the flightefl occafion. Wc readily, therefore, fyinpathize with it in others, whenever we are not prejudiced by envy. But grief is painful, and the mind, even when it is our own misfortune, naturally refifts and recoils from it. We would endeavour either not to conceive it at all, or to fhake it off as foon as we have conceived it. Our averiion to grief will not, in- deed, always hinder us from conceiving it our own cafe upon very trifling occafions, but it conftantly prevents us from fympathizing with it in others when excited by the like frivolous caufes : for our fympathetic paflions are always lefs irrefiftible than our original ones. There is, belides, a malice in mankind, which not only prevents all fympathy with little uneaiineiles, but renders them in fome meafure diverting. Hence the delight which we all take in raillery, and in the fmall vexation which we obferve in our companion when he is puihed, and urged, and teafed upon all fides. Men of the moil ordinary good-breeding diflemble the pain which arfy little incident may give them, and thofe who are more thoroughly formed to fociety, turn of their own accord, all fuch incidents into raillery, as they know their companions will do for them. The habit which a man, who lives in the world, 412 PROPRIETY OF THE PASSIONS. [fART IU* world, has acquired of confidering how every thing that concerns himfelf will appear to others, makes thofe frivolous calamities turn up in the fame ridiculous feht to him, in which he knows they will certainly be conlidered by them. Our fympathy, on the contrary, with deep dif-> Irefs, is very ftrong and very lincere. It is unne- ceflary to give an inftance. We weep even at the feigned reprefentation of a tragedy. If one la- bour, therefore, under any fignal calamity, if by fome extraordinary misfortune he is fallen into poverty, into dilgrace and d.fappointment ; even though his own fault may have been, in part, the occafion, yet he may generally depend upon the iincereft fympathy of all his friends, and, as far as intereft and honour will permit, cpon their kindeft aiTitfance too. But if his misfortune is not of this dreadful kind, if he has only been a little baulked in his ambition, if he has been only jilted by his miirrefs, or is only hen-pecked by his wife, he may lay his account with the rail- lery of his acquaintance. CHAPTER ( 413 ) CHAPTER XIV. Of Self~comma?id. X HE man who acts according to the rules of perfect prudence, of ftrict juflice, and of proper benevolence, may be faid to be perfectly virtuous. But the moft perfect knowledge of thofe rules will not alone enable him to act in this manner: his own paflions are very apt to miflead him ; fome- times to drive him and fometimes to feduce him to violate all the rules which he himfelf, in all his fober and cool hours, approves of. The moft perfect knowledge, if it is not fupported by the moft perfect Self-command, will not always en- able him to do his duty. Some of the belt of the ancient moralifts feern to have confidered the paffions as divided into two different clafies : firft, into thofe which it re- quires a confiderable exertion of Self-command to reftrain even for a Angle moment ; and, fecondly, into thofe' which it is cafy to reftrain for a tingle moment, or even for a fhort period of time ; but which, by their continual and almoft incefTant folicitations, are, in the courfe of a life, very apt to miflead into great deviations. Fea/j 414 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III, Fear and Anger, together with fome other paflions which are mixed or connected with them, conftitute the firft clafs. The love of eafe, of pleafure., of applaufe, and of many other felfifh gratifications, conftitute the fecond. Extravagant fear and furious anger, it is often difficult to re- ftrain even for a fingle moment. The love of eafe, of pleafure, of applaufe, and other felfifh gratifications, it is always eafy to rettrain for a fingle moment, or even for a fhort period of time ; but, by their continual folicitations, they often miflead us into many weaknefTes which we have afterwards much reafon to be afhamed of. The former let of paflions may often be laid to drive, the latter, to feduce us from our duty. The command of the former was, by the ancient mo- ralitts above alluded to, denominated fortitude, manhood, and ilrength of mind ; that of the lat- ter, temperance, decency, modefty, and mode- ration. The command of each of thofe two fets of paflions, independent of the beauty which it de- rives from its utility, from us enabling us upon all occafions according to the dictates of prudent tnd of proper benevolence* has a b own, and feems to delerve for its ow r n fake a certain of that elteem and admiration. In the on ;:h and greatnefs of on excit i degree of thai efteem una admiration, in the other, the uniformity, PARI" III.] SELF-COMMAND. 415 uniformity, the equality and unremitting fteadi- nefs of that exertion. The man who, in danger, in torture, upon the approach of death, preferves his tranquillity unaltered, and fuffers no wore', no gefture to efcape him which does not perfectly accord with the feelings of the mod indifferent fpectator, ne- cefTarily commands a very high degree of admira- tion. If lie differs in the caufe of liberty and juftice, for the fake of humanity and the love of his country, the mod tender companion for his fufferings, the ftrongeft indignation againft the injudice of his perfecutors, the warmer! fympa- thetic gratitude for his beneficent intentions, the higheft fenfe of his merit, all join and mix them- felves with the admiration of his magnanimity, and often inflame that fentimentinto the moft en- thufiaitic and rapturous veneration. The heroes of ancient and modern hiltory, who are remem- bered with the moft peculiar favour and affection, are, many of them, thofe who, in the caule of truth, liberty, and juftice, have perimed upon the fcaffold, and who behaved there with that eafe and dignity which became them. Had the ene- mies of Socrates differed him to have died quietly in his bed, the glory even of that great philofopher might poflibly never have acquired that dazzling fplendour in which it has been beheld in all iuc- ceeding ages. In the Englifh hiltory, when we look over the illuftrious heads which have been raven 416 Self-command. [part in. engraven by Vertue and Howbraken, there is fcarcely any body, I imagine, who does not feel that the axe, the emblem of having been be- headed, which is engraved under fome of the mo ft illuftrious of them ; under thole of the Sir Thomas Mores, of the Raleighs, the RuiTels, the Sydncys, &c. fheds a real dignity and intereft over the characters to which it is affixed, much luperior to what they can derive from all the futile ornaments of heraldry, with which they are fometimes accompanied. Nor does this magnanimity give luftre only to the characters of innocent and virtuous men. It draws fome degree of favourable regard even upon thole of the greateft criminals ; and when a rob- ber or highwayman is brought to the lcafFold, and behaves there with decency and firmnefs, though we perfectly approve of his punifhmcnt, we often cannot help regretting that a man who pofTeiied fuch great and noble powers mould have been ca- pable of fuch mean enormities. War is a great fchool both for acquiring and ex- erciiing this fpecies of magnanimity. Death, as we fay, is the king of terrors ;' and the man who has conquered the fear of death, is not likely to lofe his pretence of mind at the approach of any other natural evil. In war, men become fam; with death, and are thereby neceflarily cured of that fuperftitioue horror with which it is by the weak and unexperienced. They conluler it PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 41/ it merely as the lofs of life, and as no further the object of averfion than as life may happen to be that of defire. They learn from experience, too, that many feerningly great dangers are not fo great as they appear ; and that, with courage, activity, and prefence of mind, there is often a good probability of extricating themfelves with honour from fituations where at flrft they could fee no hope. The dread of deatli is thusgrearly diminifhed ; and the confidence or hope of efa.p- ing it, augmented. They learn to expofe them- felves to danger with lefs reluctance. They are lefs anxious to get out of it, and lefs apt to lofe their prefence of mind while they are in it. It is this habitual contempt of danger and death which ennobles the profefhon of a foldier, and bellows upon it, in the natural apprehenfions of mankind, a rank and dignity fuperior to that of any other profeffion. The fkilful and fuccefsful exercife of this profeffion, in the fervice of their country,, feems to have confiituted the mofr diftinguifhing feature in the character of the favourite heroes of all ages. Great warlike exploits, though undertaken con- trary to every principle of juftice, and carried on without any regard to humanity, 'fometimes in- tereft us, and command even fome decree of a certain fort of efteem for the very worthleis cha- racters which conduct it. We are interefted even in the exploits of the Buccaneers ; and read with E e fome 41S SELF-COMMAND. [PART III* fome fort of efteem and admiration, the hiftory of the moft worthlefs men, who, in purfuit of the moft criminal purpofes^ endured greater hardfhips, furmounted greater difficulties, and encountered greater dangers, than, perhaps, any which the ordinary courfe of hiftory gives an account of. The command of axger appears upon many occafions not lefs generous and noble than that of fear. The proper expreffion of juft indigna- tion compofes many of the moft fplendid and ad- mired patlages both of ancient and modern elo- quence. The Philippics of Demofthenes, the Catalinarians of Cicero, derive their whole beauty from the noble propriety with which this pal- fion is exprefied. But this juft indignation is nothing but anger reftrained and properly at- tempered to what the impartial fpcctator can en- ter into. The blultering and noify pailion which goes beyond this, is always odious and often live, and interefts us, not for the angr) man. but for the man with whom he is angry. The nobleneis of pardoning appears, upon many occafions, fu- perior even to the molt perfect propriety of re- lenting. When either proper acknowledgements have been made by the offending party ; or, even without any fuch acknowledgments, when the public interelt requires that the moil mortal ene- mies fhould unite for the discharge of fome im- portant duty, the man who can call away all ani- mofity, and act with confidence and cordiality tow. I>ART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 419 towards the perfon who had moft grievoufly of- fended him, feems juftly to merit our higheil admiration. The command of anger, however, does not always appear in fuch fplendid colours. Fear is contrary to anger, and is often the motive which retrains it ; and in fuch cafes the mean- nefs of the motive takes away all the noblenefs of the reftraint. Anger prompts to attack, and the indulgence of it feems fometimes to mew a fort of courage and fuperiority to fear. The indul- gence of anger is fometimes an objedt of vanity. That of fear never is. Vain and weak men, among their inferiors, or thofe who dare not re- fill them, often affect to be often tatioufly paflion- ate, and fancy that they mow, what is called, fpirit in being fo. A bully tells many ftories of his own infolence, which are not true, and ima- gines that he thereby renders himfelf, if not more amiable and refpectable, at leaft more formidable to iiis audience. Modern manners, which, by favouring the practice of duelling, may be fkid, in fome cafes, to encourage private revenge, con- tribute, perhaps, a good deal to render, in modern times, the reftraint of anger by fear full more contemptible than it might otherwife appear to be. There is always fomething dignified in the command of fear, whatever may be the motive upon which it is founded. It is net fo with the command of anger. Unlefs it is founded altoge- Ee 2 ther 426 SELF-CO-MMANDi [PART lit* ther in the fenfe of decency, of dignity, and pro- priety, it never is perfectly agreeable. To act according to the dictates of prudence, of juftice, and proper beneficence, feems to have no great meiit where there is no temptation to do otherwife. But to act with cool deliberation in the midft of the greateft dangers and difficulties ; to obferve religioufty the (acred rules of juftice, in fpite both of the greateft interefts which might tempt, and the greateft injuries which might pro- voke us to violate them ; never to liirTer the be- nevolence of our temper to be damped or difcou- raged by the malignity and ingratitude of the indi- viduals towards whom it may have been excrcifed ; is the character of the moft exalted wifdom and virtue. Self-command is not only itielf a great virtue, but from it all the other virtues feem to derive their principal luftrc. The command of fear, the command of ANGER, are always great and noble powers. When they are directed by juftice and benevo- lence, they are not only great virtues, but inc:\ the fplendour of thole other virtues. They mi however, fometimes be directed by very different motives; and in this caie, though ir ill great and r^fpectable, they may be exceffively danger. The moft intrepid valour may be employed in the caufe of the greateft in] Amidft great provocations, apparent tranquillity and good hu- mour may fometim< PAKT III.] SELF-COMMAND. *42\ and cruel refolution to revenge. The ftrength of mind requifite for inch diffimulation, though al- ways and neccffarily contaminated by the bafe- nefs of falfehood, has, however, been often much admired by many people of no contemptible judgment. The diffimulation of Catharine of Medicis is often celebrated by the profound hif- torian Davila ; that of Lord Digby, afterwards Earl of Briftol, by the grave and confeientious Lord Clarendon ; that of the fir ft Afhley Eari of Shaftefbury, by the judicious Mr. Locke. Even Cicero feems to confider this deceitful character* not indeed as of the higheft dignity, but as not unfuitable to a certain flexibility of manners, which, he thinks, may, notwithftanding, be, up- on the whole, both agreeable and refpeetable. He exemplifies it by the characters of Komer's UlylTes, of the Athenian Themiftocles, of the Spartan Lyfander, and of the Roman Marcus CrafTus. This character of dark and deep diffi- mulation occurs moft commonly in times of great public diforder ; amidft the violence of faction and civil war. When law has become in a great mcafure impotent, when the moft perfect inno- cence cannot alone infure fafety, regard to f elf- defence obliges the greater part of men to have recourfe to dexterity, to adclrefs, and to apparent accommodation to whatever happens to be, at the moment, the prevailing party. This falfe cha- racter, too, is frequently accompanied with the E e 3 cooleft i 42§ SELF-COMMAND. [.PART III. cooleft and moft determined courage. The proper exercife of it impofes that courage, as death is commonly the certain confequence of detection. It may be employed indifferently, either to exafperate or to allay thofe furious ani- mofities of adverfe factions which impofe the ne- ceffity of affirming it ; and though it may lbme- times be ufeful, it is at leaft equally liable to be exceffively pernicious. The command of the lefs violent and turbulent pafrlons feems much lefs liable to be abufed to any pernicious purpofe. Temperance, decency, modefty, and moderation, are always amiable, and can feldom be directed to any bad end. It is from the unremitting fteadinefs of thofe gentler exertions of fclf-command, that the amiable vir- tue of chaftity, that the rcfpectable virtues of in- duftry and frugality, derive all that fober luftre which attends them. The conduct of all thofe who are contented to walk in the humble paths of private and peaceable life, derives from the fame principle the greater part of the beauty and grace which belong to it, a beauty and grace which, though much lci> dazzling, is not always lefs pleating than thofe which accompany the more fplendid actions of the hero, the fta man, or the legislator, The degree of aivv pafllon which the impartial fpectator approves of, is differently (ituated in different palfions. In fome paffions the excels is lets dilagreeable than the defect ; and in luch. [ion$ PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 42« paflions the point of propriety feems to ft and high, or nearer to the excei's than to the defect. In other paflions, the defect is lcfs difagreeable than the excels; and in fuch paflions the point of propriety feems to Hand low, or pearer to the de- fect than to the excefs. The former are the paf- lions which the fpectator is moft, the latter, thofe which he is leait difpofed to fympathize with. The former, too, are the paflions of which the immediate feeling or fenfation is agreeable to the perfon principally concerned ; the latter, thofe of which it is difagreeable. It may be laid down as a general rule, that the paflions which the fpecta- tor is molt difpofed to fympathize with, and in which, upon that account, the point of propriety may be faid to ftand high, are thofe of which the immediate feeling or fenfation is more or lefs agreeable to the perfon principally concerned : and that, on the contrary, the paflions which the fpectator is leaft difpofed to fympathize with, and in which, upon that account, the point of propri- ety may be faid to ftand low, are thofe of which the immediate feeling or fenfation is more or lefs difagreeable, or even painful, to the perfon prin- cipally concerned. This general rule, fo far as I have been able to obferve, admits not of a iingle exception. A few examples will at once, both fufnciently explain it, and demonftrate the truth of it. _ E e 4 The 424 SELF-COMMAND. |_PART III. The difpofition to the affections which tend to unite men in fociety, to humanity, kindnefs, na- tural affection, friendfhip, eftcem, may fometimes be exceffive. Even the excefs of this difpofition, however, renders a man interefting to every body. Though we blame it, we ftill regard it with com- panion, and even with kindnefs, and never with diflike. We are more forry for it than angry at it. To the perfon himfelf, the indulgence even of fuch exceffive affections is, upon many occa- fions, not only agreeable, but delicious. Upon fome occalions, indeed, efpec.allv when directed, as is too often the cafe, towards unworthy objects, it ex- pofes him to much real and heartfelt diftrefs. Even upon fuch occalions, however, a well-dif- pofed mind regards him with the molt exquifite pitv, and feels the higheft indignation againfl thofe who affect to defpife him for his weaknefs and imprudence. The defect of this difpofition. on the contrary, which is called hardnefs of heart, while it renders a man infenfible to the feelings and diftreffes of other people, renders other people equally infenfible to his; and, by excluding him from the friendfhip of all the world, excludes him from the belt and moft comfortable of all focial enjoyments. The difpofition to the affections which drive men from one another, and which tend, as it were, to break the bands of human fociety ; the difpofition to anger, hatred, envy, malice, re- venge j is, on the contrary, much mere apt to offend TART III.] SELF-COMMANP. 425 offend by its excefs than by its defect. The ex- cels renders a man wretched and miferable in his own mind, and the object of hatred, and fome- times even of horror, to other people, The defect is very feldom complained of. It may, however, be defective. The want of proper indignation is amoft efTential defect in the manly character, and, upon many occafions, renders a man incapable of protecting himfelf or his friends from infult and injuftice. Even that principle, in the excels and improper direction of which coniilts the odious and deteftable paffion of envy, may be defective. Envy, as we have feen, is that pafTion which views with malignant diflike the fuperiority of thofe who are really entitled to all the fuperiority they poflefs. The man, however, who, in mat- ters of confequence, tamely fuffers other people, who are entitled to no fuch fuperiority, to rife above him or get before him, is juftly condemned as mean-fpirited. This weakneis is commonly founded in indolence, fometimes in good nature, in an averfion to oppofition, to buttle and felici- tation, and fometimes, too, in a fort of ill-judged magnanimity, which fancies that it can always continue to defpile the advantage which it then defpifes, and, therefore, fo eafily gives up. Such w r eaknefs, however, is commonly followed by much regret and repentance ; and what had fome appearance of magnanimity in the beginning fre- quently gives place to a mpft malignant envy in the 426 SELF-COMMAND. [part hi; the end, and to a hatred of that fuperiority, which thofe who have once attained it, may often be- come really entitled to, by the very circumftance of having attained it. In order to live comforta- bly in the world, it is, upon all occafions, as ne- ceffary to defend our dignity and rank, as it is to defend our life or our fortune. Our fenfibility to perfonal danger and diilrefs, like that to perfonal provocation, is much more apt to offend by its excefs than by its defect. No character is more contemptible than that of a cow- ard ; no character is more admired than that of the man who faces death with intrepidity, and maintains his tranquillity and prcience of mind amid it the molt dreadful dangers. We cfteem the man who fupports pain and even torture with manhood and firmnefs ; and we can have little re- gard for him who finks under them, and abandons himfelf to ufelefs outcries and womanifh lamen- tations. A fretful temper, which feels, with too much fenfibility, every little crofs accident, renders a man miierable in himfelf and offenfivetto other people. A calm one, which does not allow its tranquillity to be difturbed, either by the fmall injuries, or by the little dilafters incident to the ufual courfe of human affairs ; but which, amidft the natural and moral evils infefting the world, lays its account and is contented to luffer a little from both, is a bleifmg to the man himfelf, and gives eafe and fecurity to all his companions. Our PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. . 427 Our fenfibility, however, both to our own in- juries and to our own misfortunes, though gene- rally too llrong, may likewife be too weak. The man who feels little for his own misfortunes muft always feel lefs for thofe of other people, and be lefs difpofed to relieve them. The man who has little refentment for the injuries which are done to himfelf, muft always have lefs for thofe which are done to other people, and be lefs difpofed either to protecl or to avenge them. A ftupid infenfi- bility to the events of human life neceflarily ex- tinguifhes all that keen and earneft attention to the propriety of our own condudt, which conftitutes the real eflence of virtue, We can feel little anxiety about the propriety of our own actions, when we are indifferent about the events which may refult from them. The man who feels the full diftrefs of the calamity which has befallen him, who feels the whole bafenefs of the injuftice which has been done to him, but who feels ftill more ftrongly what the dignity of his own cha- racter requires ; who does not abandon himfelf to the guidance of .the undifciplined paflions which his fituation might naturally infpire ; but who governs his whole behaviour and conduct accord- ing to thofe reftrained and corrected emotions which the great inmate, the great demi-god within the breaft prefcribes and approves of ; is alone the real man of virtue, the only real and proper ob- ject of love, refpect, and admiration. Infcnfibility and 423 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. and that noble firmnefs, that exalted felf-com- mand, which is founded in the fenfe of dignity and propriety, are fo far from being altogether the fame, that in proportion as the former take- place the merit of the latter is, in many cafes, entirely taken away. But though the total want of fenfibility to per- gonal injury, to perfonal danger and diftrefs, would, in fuch fituations, take away tr.e whole merit of fel f-command, that fenfibility, however, may very eafily be too exquiiite, and it frequently is fo. When the fenfe of propriety, when the authority of the judge within the breafr, can con- trol this extreme fenfibility, that authority muft no doubt appear very noble and very great. But the exertion of it may be too fatiguing : it may have too much to do. The individual, by a great effort, may behave perfectly well. But the con- teft between the two principles, the warfare within the bread', mav be too violent to be at all coniili- ent with internal tranquillity and happinefs. The wife man whom Nature has endowed with tins too exquiiite fenfibility, and whole too lively feelings have not been furficiently blunted and hardened by early education and proper exerciie, will avoid, as much as dutv and propriety will permit, the Ii- tuations for which he is not perfectly fitted. The man whole feeble and delicate constitution renders him too fenlible to pain, to hardihip, and to every fort of bodily diftrefs, iliould not wantonly em- brace PART III.] SELF-COtaMAND. 42^ brace the profeffion of a foldier. The mau of too much fenfibility to injury, fhould not raihly en- gage in the contefts of faction. Though the fenfe of propriety fhould be flrong enough to command all thole fenfibilities, the compoiure of the mind muft always be difturbed in the flruggle. In this diforder the judgment cannot always maintain its ordinary acutenefs and precilion ; and though he may always mean to act properly, lie may often act rafhly and imprudently, and in a manner which he himfelf will, in the fucceeding part of his life, be for ever afhamed of. A certain intre- pidity, a certain firmnefs of nerves and hardinefs of confutation, whether natural or acquired, are undoubtedly the belt preparatives for all the great exertions of felf-command. Though war and faction are certainly the beft fchools for forming every man to this hardinefs and firmnefs of temper, though they are the beft re- medies for curing him of the oppofite weakneffes, yet, if the day of trial fhould happen to come be- fore he has completely learned his leffon, before the remedy has had time to produce its proper ef- fect, the confequences might not be agreeable. Our fenfibility to the pleafures, to the amufe- ments and enjoyments of human life, may offend, in the fame manner, either by its excefs or by its defect. Of the two, however, the excefs feems Jefs difagreeable than the defect. Both to the fpectator and to the perfon principally concerned, a ilrong 430 SELF-COMMAND, x III, a fti'ong propenfity to joy is certainly more pleaf- ing than a dull infenfibility to the objects of amufement and diverfion. We are charmed with the gaiety of youth, and even with the playful- nefs of childhood : but we foon grow weary of the flat and taflclefs gravity which too frequently accompanies old age. When this propenfitv, in- deed, is not reftrained by the fenfe of propriety, when it is unfuitable to the time or to the place, to the age or to the fituation of the perfon, when to indulge it, he neglects either his intereft or his duty ; it is juftly blamed as exceflr 1 as hurtful both to the individual and to focicty. In the greater part offuch cafes, however, ''.hat is chiefly to be found fault with is, not fo much the ftrength of the propenfity to joy, as the weaknefs of the fenfe of propriety and duty. A young man who has dq relifh for the diverfioi amufe- ments that are natural and fuitable to h who talks of nothing but his book or hi* bull difliked as formal and pedantic ; and we give him no credit for his abftinence even from in indulgences, to be feems to have fo little inclination. The principle of felf-eftinu high, and it may tikewife be too low. I very agreeable to think highly, ai agreeable to think meaol) of ourfelves, that, to the perfon himfelf, it cannot well b< ted, but that fome degree of excefs muft be much left .able PART ill.] SELF*COMMAND. 43! difagreeable than any degree of defect. But to the impartial ipectator, it may perhaps bethought, things mnft appear quite differently, and that to him the defect muft- always be lets difagreeable than the e::cefs. And in our companions, no doubt, we much more frequently complain of the latter than of the former. When they affiime upon us, or fet themfelves before us, their felf- eirimation mortifies our own. Our own pride and vanity prompt us to accufe them of pride and vanity, and we ceafe to be the impartial fpecta- tors of their conduct. When the fame compani- ons, however, fuffer any other man to affume over them a fuperiority which does not belong to him, we not only blame them, but often defpife them as mean-fpirited. When, on the contrary, among other people, they pufh themfelves a little more forward, and fcramble to an elevation dil- proportioned, as we think, to their merit, though we may not perfectly approve of their conduct, we are often, upon the whole, diverted with it ; and, where there is no envy in the cafe, we are almoft always much lefs difpleafed with them, than we fhould have been, had they fuffered themfelves to fink below their proper flation. In eftimating our own merit, in judging of our own characler and conduct, there are two different standards to which we naturally compare them. The one is the idea of exact propriety and per- fection, fo far as we are each of us capable of comprehending 135 SELF-COMMAND, [PART III* comprehending that idea. The other is that de- gree of approximation to this idea which is com- monly attained in the world, and which the greater part of our friends and companions, of our rivals and competitors, may have actually* arrived at. We very feldom (I am difpofed to think, we never) attempt to judge of ourfelves without giving more or lefs attention to both thefe dif- ferent llandards. But the attention of different men, and even of the lame man at different times, is often very unequally divided between them ; and is fometimes principally directed towards the one, and fometimes towards the other. So far as our attention is directed towards the firft ftandard, the wifeft and bell of us all, can, in his own character and conduct, fee nothing but wcaknefs and imperfection; can difcover no ground for arrogance and prefumption, but a great deal for humility, regret, and repentance. So far as our attention is directed towards the fecond, we may be afTecled either in the one way or in the other, and feel ourfelves either really above, or reallv below, the ltandard to which we compare ourfelves. The wife and virtuous man directs his principal attention to the firfl ltandard; the idea of e>. propriety and perfection. There exifta in the mind of every man an idea of this kind gradually formed from his obfervations upon the chanu! aijd conduct both of himfelf and of other | ' It PART III.] SELF-COMMAND.' 433 It is the flow, gradual, and progreffive work of the great demi-god within the breaft, the great judge and arbiter of conduct. This idea is in every man more or lefs accurately drawn, its co- louring is more or lefs juft, its outlines are more or lefs exactly defigned, according to the delicacy and acutenefs of that fenlibility, with which thofe ob* fervations were made, and according to the care and attention employed in making them. In the wife and virtuous man they have been made with the moll acute and » delicate fenlibility, and the utmoft care and attention have been employed in making them. Every day fome feature is im- proved ; every day fome blemifh is corrected. He has Ifcudied this idea more than other people, he comprehends it more diftinctly, he has formed a much more correct image of it, and is much more deeply enamoured of its exquilite and divine beauty. He endeavours, as well as he can, to affimilate his own character to this archetype of perfection. But he imitates the work of a divine artill, which can never be equalled. He feels the imperfect fuccefs of all his belt endeavours, and fees, with grief and affliction, in how many dif- ferent features the mortal copy falls Ihort of the immortal original. He remembers, with concern and humiliation, how often, from want of atten- tion, from want of judgment, from want of temper, he hss, both in words and actions, both in con- duct and converfation, violated the exact rules of F f perfect 434 SELF-COMMAND. fPART III, perfect propriety ; and has fo far departed from that model, according to which he wifhed to faihion his own character and conduct. When he directs his attention towards the fecond ftand- ard, indeed, that degree of excellence which his friends and acquaintances have co, :monly arrived at, he may be fenfible of his own fuperiority. But, as his principal attention is always directed towards the firft ftandard, he is necciTariiy much more humbled by the one comparifon than he ever can be elevated by the other. He is never lb elated as to look down with iniblence even upon thole who arc really below him. I k tools fo well his own im- perfection, he too the difficulty with which lie attained his own diltant approximation to rectitude, that he cannot regard with contempt the it 111 greater imj a of other people. Far from intuiting over their inferiority, I w it with the molt indulgent c n, and, by hi, advice, it nil times will- ing to promote their fnrtha .cement. If. in any partn i they happen to be iuperior tx> hilft, (for * fa periect as not to have many fupenors in many different qualifi- cations :) ftr from g theft fuperiority. he, who knows how ciiiiicult it is to excel, efte and honours their CXI beriow upon it the full meafure of applaufe w] it deferves. His whole mind, in ihort, is deeply ini] relied, his wh< portinent part in.] self-Command. 435 are diftinctly ftamped with the character of real modefty ; with that of a very moderate eftimation of his own merits and, at the fame time, of a full fenfe of the merit of other people. In all the liberal and ingenious arts, in painting, in poetry, in rnufic, in eloquence, in philofophy, the great artift feels always the real imperfection of his own beft works, and is more fenlible than any man how much they fall fhort of that ideal perfection of which he has formed fome concep- tion, which he imitates as well as he can, but which he defpairs of ever equalling. It is the in- ferior artift only, who is ever perfectly fatisfied with his own performances. He has little conception of this ideal perfection, about which he has little employed his thoughts ; and it is chiefly to the works of other artift s, of, perhaps, a ftill lower or- der, that he deigns to compare his own works* Boileau, the great French poet, (in fome of his works perhaps not inferior to the greateft poet of the fame kind, either ancient or modern,) ufed to fay, that no great man was ever completely fatis- fied with his own works. His acquaintance San- teuil (a writer of Latin verfes, and who, on account of that fchool-boy accomplifhment, had the weak- nefs to fancy himfelf a poet) aflured him that he himfel-f was always completely fatisfied with his own. Boileau replied, with, perhaps, an arch am- biguity, That he certainly was the only great man that ever was Jo*. Boileau, in judging cf his own Ff'2 works, 436 SELF-COMMAND. [PART HI* Works, compared them with the Itandard of ideal perfection, which, in his own particular branch of the poetic art, he had, I prefume, meditated as deeply, and conceived as diftinctly, as it is poffi- ble for man to conceive it. Santeuil, in judging of his own works, compared them, I iuppofe, chiefly to thofe of the other Latin poets of his own time, to the greater part of whom he was cer- tainly very far from being inferior. But to fup- port and finifh off, if I may lay fo, the conduct and converfation of a whole life to fome reiem- blance of this ideal perfection, is furely much more difficult than to work up to an equal reiem- blance any of the productions of any of the inge- nious arts. The artift fits down to his work un- disturbed, at leifure, in the full poiTeffion and re- colleclion of all his ikill, experience, and know- ledge. The wife man mull lupport the propriety of his own conduct in health and in iicknefs, in- f'ueeeis and in difappointment, in the hour of fa- tigue and drowfy indole well as in that of the molt awakened attention* The molt bidden and unexpected allaults of difficulty and diftrefs mull never furprifc him. The injuftiee of other people tnuft never provoke him to injuftice. The violence ot faction mult never confound hi in. All llTfc hajdlhips and hazards of war mini never either difhearren or appal him. Of the peribns who, in eflimating their own merit, in judging of their own character and con- duel, TART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 437 duel, direct by far the greater part of their at- tention to the fecond fiandard, to that ordinary- degree of excellence which is commonly attained by other people, there are (bme who really and juftly feel themfelves very much above it, and who, by every intelligent and impartial fpeclator, are acknowledged to be fo. The attention of fuch peribns, however, being always principally direct- ed, not to the ftandard of ideal, but to that of or- dinary perfection, they have little fenfe of their own weakneffes and imperfections ; they have little modefly; are often affuming, arrogant, and pre- fumptuous ; great admirers of themfelves, and great contemners of other people. Though their characters are in general much lefs correct, and their merit much inferior to that of the man of real and modeft virtue ; yet their exceffive pre- emption, founded upon their own exceffive leif- admiration, dazzles the multitude, and often im- pofes even upon thofe who are much fuperior to the multitude. The frequent, and often wonder- ful, fuccefs of the moft ignorant quacks and im- pofiors, both civil and religious, fuiliciently de~ monilrate how eafily the multitude are impofed upon by the moft extravagant and groundlefs pre- tentions. But when thofe pretenlions are lupport- ed by a very high degree of real and folid merit, when they are difplayed with all the fplendour which orientation can beftow upon them, when they are fupported by high rank and great power, F f 3 when 43S SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. when they have often been fuccefsfully exerted, and are, upon that account, attended b\ the loud acclamations of the multitude ; even the man of fober judgment often abandons himfelf to the general admiration. The very noife of thofe foolifh acclamations often contributes to confound his un- derftanding, and while he fees thole great men only at a certain diftance, he is often difpofed to worfhip them with a fineere admiration, fuperior even to that with which they appear to worfhip themfelves. When there is no envy in the cafe, we all take pleafure in admiring, and are, upon that account, naturally difpofed, in our fancies, to render complete and perfect in every refpect the characters which, in many refpects, are fo very worthy of admiration. The exceiilve felf- admi- ration of thofe great men is well underftood, per- haps, and even feen through, with fome degree of derifion, by thofe wife men who ore much m their familiarity, and who fecretly fmile at thofe lofty pretenfions, which, by people at a diftance, often regarded with reverence, and almoft with adoration. Such, however, have been a in all ages, the greater part of thofe men who have procured to themfelves the molt noifyfamc. fcbc :.. : o- tenfive reputation ; a fame and reputation, too, which have often defcended to the remote ft pof- terity. Great iuccefs in the world, great aurhority over the fentiments and opinions of mankind, have very PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 439 very feldom been acquired without fome degree of this exceilive lelf-admiration. The nioit fplendid characters, the men who have perform- ed the moft illuflrious anions, who have brought about the greater! revolutions, both in the iitua- tions and opinions of mankind ; the moft fuc- cefsful warriors, the greateft iiatefmen and legis- lators, the elegant founders and leaders of the moil numerous and moll iuccefsful feels and par- ties ; have many of them been, not more diftin- guifhed for their very great merit, than for a de- gree of prefumption and felf-admiration altoge- ther difproportioned even to that very great merit. This prefumption was, perhaps, necedarv, not only to prompt them to undertakings which a more fober mind would never have" thought of, but to command the fubmiffion and obedience of their followers to fupport them in fuch under- takings. When crowned with fuccefs, accord- ingly, this prefumption has often betrayed them into a vanity that approached almoft to infanity and folly. Alexander the Great appears, not only to have wifhed that other people mould think him a god, but to have been at leaft very well difpofed to fancy himfelf fuch. Upon his death-bed, the moft ungodlike of all iituations, \\c requefted of his friends that, to the refpect- able lift of deities, into which himfelf hajd ^ong before been inferted, his old mother Olympic F f 4 might 440 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. might Hkewife have the honour of being added. Amidft the relpectful admiration of his followers anART III.} SELF-COMMAND. 449 felf-eftimation, he is happy to cherifh it, in hopes that in return you will cherifh his own. He flat- ters in order to be flattered. He fhidiestopleafe, and endeavours to bribe you into a good opinion of him by politenefs and complaifance, and ibme- times even by real and effential good offices though often difplayed, perhaps, with unneceffary often- tation. The vain man fees the refpeci which is paid to rank and fortune, and wifhes to ufurp this refpect, as well as that for talents and virtues. His drefs his equipage, his way of living, accordingly, all announce both a higher rank and a greater for- tune than really belong to him ; and in order to fupport this foolifh impofition for a few years in the beginning of his life, he often reduces him- felf to poverty and diftrefs long before the end of it. As long as he can continue his expence, how- ever, his vanity is delighted with viewing hirnfelf, not in the light in which you wouid view him if you knew all that he knows ; but in that in which, he imagines, he has, by his own addrefs, induced you actually to view him. Of the illufions of vanity this is, perhaps the moft common. Obfcure ftrangers who vifit foreign countries, or who, from a remote province, come to vifit, for a fhort time, the capital of their own country, molt frequently attempt to practife it. The folly of the attempt, G g though 450 SELF*COM*fAND. [l'AltT Til. though always very great and moft unworthy a of man of fenfe, may not be altogether fo great upon fuch as upon moft other occaii- ons. If their ftay is fhort, they may ef- cape any difgraceful detection ; and, after indulg- ing their vanity for a few months, or a few years, they may return to their own homes, and re- pair, by future parfimony, the wafte of their pro- fufion. The proud man cnn very feldom be accufed of this folly. His fenfc of his own dignity renders him careful to preferve his independence, and, v,hen his fortune happens not be large, though he willies to be decent, he ftudies to be frugal and attentive in all expenccs. The oftentatious ex- pence of the vain man is highly offenfive to him. It outfhines, perhaps, his own. It provokes his indignation as an infolent affumption of a rank which is by no means due ; and he never talks of it without loading it with the harfheft and feyercft reproaches. The proud man does not always feel himfelf at his eafe in the company of his equals, and ftill lefs in that of his lupcrior*. He cannot lay down his lofty preteniions, andthecountenanccand converlation of f. ich company overawe him fo much that he & not dilplay them. He has recourfe to humbler company, for which he has little refpedl, which he would not willingly chufe, and which is by no mam- PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 451 means agreeable to him; that of his inferiors, his flatterers, and dependants. He leldom wiitshis fuperiors, or, if he does, it is rather to mow that he is entitled to live in fitch company, than for any real fatisfaction that he enjoys in it. It is, as Lord Clarendon fays of the Earl of Arundel, that he fometinies when to court, becaufe he could tl ere only find a greater man than hiinfclf ; but that he went very leldom, becaufe he found there a greater man than himfelf. It is quite otherwife with the vain man. He courts the company of his fuperiors as much as the proud man fhuns it. Their fplendour, he feems to think, reflects afplendour upon thofe who are much about them. He haunts the courts of kings and the levees of minifters, and gives him- felf the air of being a candidate for fortune and preferment, when in reality he pofTefTes the much more precious happinefs, if he knew how to enjoy it, of not being one. He is fond of being 'admit-' ted to the tables of the great, and ftill more fond of magnifying to other people the familiarity with which he is honoured there. He affociates himfelf* as much as he can, with fafhionable people, with thofe who are fuppofed to direct the public opinion, with the witty, with the learned, with the popular ; he (huns the company of his beft friends whenever the very uncertain current of public fa- vour happens to run in any refpect againft them. With the people to whom he wiflies to recom- Gg'i mend 245 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III, mend himfelf, he is not always very delicate about the means whichhe employs for that purpofe ; unne- cessary orientation, groundlefs pretentions, conftant aflentation, frequent flattery, for the moil part a pleafant and a fprightly flattery, and very lelclom the grofs and fulfome flattery of a parafite. The proud man, on the contrary, never flatters, and is frequently fcarcely civil to any body. Notwithstanding all its groundlefs pretentions, however, vanity is aim oil: always a fprightly and a gay, and very often a good natured pallion. Pride is always a grave, a fallen, and a fevere one. Even the falfehoods of the vain man are all innocent falie- hoods, meant to raife himfelf, not to lower other people. To do the proud man jufticc, he very kl- domfloops to the baieneisof falfchood. When he does, however, his falfehoods are by no means fo innocent. They are all mifchievous, and meant to lower other people. lie is full of indignation at the un jultiiiperiority, as he thinks it. which is given to them. He views them with malignity ami envy, and, in talking of them, often end vours, as much as lie can, to extenuate and leflen whatever are the grounds upon which their fupe- riority is luppoted to be founded. Whatever t are circulated to their disadvantage, though he feluom forges them himfelf, yet lie often tak fare in believing them, is by no means unwii. to lepeat them, and even fometimes with 1 degiee of exaggeration. The worft falfehoods of PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 453 vanity are all what we call white lies : thofe of pride, whenever it condescends to falfehood, are all of the oppofite complexion. Our diflike to pride and vanity generally dif- poies us to rank the perfons whom we accufe of thofe vices rather below than above the common level. In this judgment, however, I think, we are moil frequently in the wrong, and that both the proud and the vain man are often (perhaps for the moft part) a good deal above it ; though not near fomuch as either the one really thinks him- felf, or as the other wifhes you to think him. If we compare them with their own pretentions, they may appear the juft objects of contempt. But when we compare them with what the greater part of their rivals and competitors really are, they may appear quite otherwife, and very much above the common level. Where there is this real fuperiority, pride is frequently attended with many refpectable virtues ; with truth, with integrity with a high fenfe of honour, with cordial and fteady friendfhip, with the moft inflexible tirmnefs and refolution. Vanity, with many amiable ones ; with humanity, with politenefs, with a defire to oblige in all little matters, and fometimes with a real ge- nerotity in great ones ; a generotity, how- ever, which it often wifhes to difpay in the moft fplendid colours that it can. By their rivals and enemies, the French, in the laft ccn- G g 3 tury 454 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. tury, were accufed of vanity ; the Spaniards of pride ; and foreign nations were difpofed to con- fider the one as the more amiable ; the other, as the more refpeclable people. The words vain and vanity are never taken in a good fenfe. We fometimes fay of a man, when we are talking of him in good -hum our, that he is the better far his vanity, or that his vanity is more diverting than orFenfive ; but we ftill con- sider it as a foible and a ridicule in his character. The words frond and jr/Je, on the contrary, are fometimes taken in a good fenfe. We fre- o,u -r.tly lay of a man, that he is two proud, or that he has too much noble pnde, ever to fufter him- felf to do a mean thing. Pride is, in this c^e 9 confounded with magnanimity. Anftotle, a | lofopher who certainly knew the world, in di lAg the cfej n &er of the magnanimous man, him with many features which, in the two hit cen- turies, were commonly aicribed to the Spanifh cha- racter • that he was deliberate in all his refoluti was flow, even tardy, in all his actions 5 that Lis voice was grave, his ch deliberate, his itep and motion flow, and that he ap- peared indolent and even ilothful, not at ail pofed to buttle about little matters, but to act with the mo ft determined and vigorous reiolation upon all great and illuftrious occafions ; that he was not a lover of danger, or forward to ex- poie himielf to little dangers, but to great dang PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 455 and that when he expofed himfelf to danger, he was altogether regardlefs of his life. The proud man is commonly too well contented with himfelf to think that his character requires any amendment. The man who feels himfelf all- perfedt, naturally enough delpifes all further im- provement. His ielf-iurRciency and abfurd con- ceit of his own fuperiority, commonly attend him from his youth to his molt advanced age ; and he dies, as Hamlet fays, with all his fins upon his head, unanointed, unanealed. It is frequently quite otherwife with the vain man. The defire of the efteem and admiration of other people, when for qualities and talents which are the naturaland proper objects of efieem and admiration, is the real love of true glory ; a paffion which, if not the very bell paffion of human na- ture, is certainly one of the bed. Yanity is very frequently no more than an attempt prematurely to ufurp that glory before it is due. Though your fon, under five and twenty years of age, fhould be but a coxcomb ; do not, upon that ac- count, defpair of his becoming, before he is forty, a very wife and worthy man, and a real proficient in all thofe talents and virtues to which, at prefent, he may only be an orientations and empty pre- tender. The great fecret of education is to direct vanity to proper objedts. Never fuffer him to value himfelf upon trivial accomplifhments. But do not always difcourage his pretentions to thofe Gg4 that 456 SELF-COMMAND. [PART III. that are of real importance. He would not pre- tend to them if he did not earneftly defire to poffefs them. Encourage this deiire ; afford him every means to facilitate the acquiiltion ; and do not take too much offence, although he ihould fometimes alTume the air of having attained it a little before the time. Such, I fay, arc the diftinguifhing charactcriftics of pride and vanity. each of them acls ac- cording to its proper character. But the proud man is often vain; and the vain man is often proud- Nothing can be more natural than that the man, who thinks much more highlv of himfelf than he deferves, fhould with that other people ihould think lull more highly 01 him :or that the man who wifhes that other people ihould think more highly of him than lie thinks of himfelf, ihould, at the fa -. think much more highly of himfelf than he deferves. Thofe two via s be- ing frequently blended in the I *er, the charactcriftics of both are m and we fometimes find the fuperficial and imp tinent orientation of vanity join lignant and derifive infolence fometimes, upon that account. - : rank a particular character, or i among the proud or among the vain. Men of merit conliderably above the comi I level, fometimes under-rate as well as over-: themfelves. Such characters, though not veiv PART III.] SELF-COMMAND. 457 dignified, are often, in private fociety, far from being diiagreeable. His companions all feel themfclves much at their eafe in the fociety of a man io perfectly modeft and unaflfuming. If thofe companions, however, have not both more difcernment and more generofity than ordinary, though they may have fome kindnefs for him, they have feldom much refpecl ; and the warmth of their kindnefs is very feldom fufficient to com- penfate the coldnefs of their refpecl. Men of no more than ordinary difcernment never rate any peribn higher than he appears to rate himfelf. He feems doubtful himfelf, they fay, whether he is perfectly fit for fuch actuation or fuch an office ; and immediately give the preference to fome im- pudent blockhead who entertains no doubt about his own qualifications. Though they fhould have difcernment, yet, if they want generofity, they never fail to take advantage of his fimplicity. and to affiime over him an impertinent fuperiorjty which they are by no means entitled to. His good-nature may enable him to bear this for fome time ; but he grows weary at lad, and frequently when it is too late, and when that rank, which he ought to have affirmed, is loft irrecoverably, and ufurped, in confequence of his own backward nefs, by fome of his more forward, though much lefs meritorious companions. A man of this cha-* racier muft have been very fortunate in the early choice of his companions, if, in going through the 45S SELF-COMMAND, [PART in. the world, he meets always with fair juftice, even from thofe whom, from his own pall kindnefs, he might have fome reafon to conlider as his beft friends ; and a youth, too unarTuming and too unambitious, is frequently followed by an iniigni- ficant, complaining, and difcontented old age. Thofe unfortunate perfons whom nature has formed a good deal below the common level, feem fometimes to rate themfelves ft ill more be- low it than they really are. 7 his humility appears fometimes to fink them into idiotifm. " Whoever has taken the trouble to examine idiots with atten- tion, will find tii^r, in many of them, the facul- ties of the understanding are by no means weaker than in fcveral other people, who, though ac- knowledged to be dull and ilupid, are not, by any body, accounted idiots. Many idiots, with no more than ordinary education, have been taught to read, write, and account tolerably well. Many perfons, never accounted idiots, notwithstanding the moil careful education, and notwithstanding that, in their advanced age, they have had fpirit enough to attempt to learn what their early edu- cation had not taught them, have never been able to acquire in any tolerable degree, any one of thole three accompliihments. By an inltincl of pride* however, they let themfclves upon a level with their equals in age and iituation ; and, with courage and firmnels, maintain their proper nation among their companions. By an opponte inrtmcl, the idiot PART III.] SELF-COMMAND, 4^9 idiot feels himfelf below every company into which you cnn introduce him. Ill-ufage, to which he ib extremely liable, is capable of throwing him into the moft violent fits of rage and fury. But no good ufage, no kindnefs or indulgence, can ever raife him to converfe with you as your equal. If you can bring him to converfe with you at all, however, you will frequently find his anfwers fufficiently pertinent, and even fenfible. But they are always ftamped with a diftincl: con- fciouf nefs of his own great inferiority. He feems io fhrink, and, as it were, to retire from your look and converfation ; and to feel, when he places himfelf in your fituation, that, notwithstanding your .apparent condefcenfion, you cannot help confidering him as immensely below you. Some idiots, perhaps the greater part, feem to be fo, chiefly or altogether, from a certain numbnefs or torpidity in the faculties of the underftanding. But there are others, in whom thofe faculties do not appear more torpid or benumbed than in many other people who are not accounted idiots. But that inftincl: of pride, necefTary to fupport them upon an equality with their brethren, feems totally wanting in the former and not in the latter. That degree of felf-eftimation, therefore, which contributes moft to the happinefs and contentment of the perfon himfelf, feems like- wile moft agreeable to the impartial fpeclator. The man who efteems himfelf as he ought, and no 460 SELF-COMMAND, [part lit* no more than he ought, fcldom fails to obtain from other people all the efteem that he him- felf thinks due. He defires no more than is due to him, and he refts upon it with complete fatisfaction. The proud and the vain man, on the contrary, are constantly dilTaisfied. The one is tormented with indignation at the unjuft fuperiority, as he thinks it. of other people. The other is in con- tinual dread of the fharne which, he forcfees, would attend upon the detection of his ground- lefs pretenfions. Even the extravagant preten- fions of the man of real magnanimity, though, when lupported by fpler. Hd abilities and virtues, and, i3bove all, by good fortune, they impofe upon the multitude, whofe applaofes he little re- gards, do not impofe upon thole wife men whofe approbation he can only value, and whofe efteem he is moll anxious to acquire. He feels that they fee through, and fufpecb that they defpife his exceffive preemption ; and he often furTers the cruel misfortune of becoming, firft the jealous and fecret, and at laft the open, furious, and vindictive enemy of thofe very perfons, whofe friendfhip it would have given him the grcateft happineis to enjoy with uniufpicious fecurity. Though our diflike to the proud and the vain often difpofes us to rank them rather below than above their proper ftation, yet, unlets we are pro- voked PART III.] SELF-COMMAUD, 4(H voiced by fome particular and perfonal imperti- nence, we very feldom venture to ufe them ill # In common cafes, we endeavour for our cafe, rather to acquiefce, and, as well as we can, to ac- commodate ourfelves to their folly. But, to the man who under-rates himfelf, unlefs we have both more difcernment and more generofity than belong to the greater part of men, we feldom fail to do, at lead, all the injuftice which he does to himfelf, and frequently a great deal more. He is not only more unhappy in his own feelings than either the proud or the vain, but he is much more liable to every fort of ill-ufage from other people. In aim oft all cafes, it is better to be a little too proud, than, in any refpecl:, too humble ; and, in the fentiment of felf-eftima- tion, fome degree of excels feems, both to the perfon himfelf and to the impartial fpectator, to be lefs difagreeable than any degree of defect. In this, therefore, as well as in every other emotion, paffion, and habit, the degree that, is mod agreeable to the impartial fpedlator is like- wife mofl agreeable to the perfon himfelf ; and according as either the excels or the defect is leaf! offenfive to the former, fo, either the one or the other is in proportion leaft difagreeable to the latter. r CONCLUSION. C 402 ) CONCLUSION. IT has been my aim, in the foregoing fyftem of the paffions, to juftify the nature of man, and to bring into view, as well as I could, that fub- lime picture of it, which, the more I contemplate its origin, appears to me to have been the work of a Being, in whom my mind adores the attri- butes of a God. I fee a creature formed with a fuperior perfonal beauty ; endowed with the defire of excellence ; with an eagernefs for knowledge ; and gifted with the delights of wonder, love, and joy : a pure, a happy creature, worthy the fiat from which he fprung. I ice this creature milconceiving excellence; con- tent with ignorance, or purfuing folly ; his wonder funk into ftupid aftonifhment ; his love loft in felfifhnefs : and his joys bounded by his fenfes : a corrupt, a miferable being, that never could have originally fo fallen from his Creator. Which is the nature of this creature ? It came not within the fcope of my plan to in- veftigate the reaibn, why corruption has been permitted : but I have endeavoured to (hew the origin of our nature to be good ; and to point *ART III.3 CONCLUSION. . 4fi3 out where commence the deviations that diverge to that corruption. I have traced our paffions to fources, pure and worthy of our Creator ; I have marked their jiift and regular channels, e\xn in our prefent fubje&ion to evil ; and have brought directly into view, the unnatural and deplorable courfes into which they have burft. The name of Nature has been exceedingly abuied, and we have been accuftomed to impute to her much that belongs to vice. In this ele- mental enquiry irie has been reftored to her purity ; and it has appeared that the perfection of every thing is its nature. But where is this perfect man ? Does he exift ? Did he ever exift ? — There are not wanting both in facred and profane hiftory, inftances of thofe who have exalted themfelves to the perfection of their nature ; and many excellent men do honour to the world even at this day. Yet in juftifying the dignity of our race, I pretend not to fay that its radiance is not deeply obfcured by furrounding clouds ; or that we can catch daily glimpfes of that eminence from which it has too furely fallen. Selfifhnefs and malevolence prey upon the de- graded heart of man ; and the emotions of his mind have been influenced into a combination with the animal appetites, to fweep him from his ftation. In the very blood of his parents lurk the feeds of his maladies and of his vices ; and from the by? 464 CONCLUSION, [PART III. the ignorance and folly of his firft attendants are caught his prejudices and his habits. To attain, or to recover his perfection ; to be the creature God created him ; and to pofTefs that genuine liappinefs which is the refult of Self-knowledge and, of Self-command, is worthy of a flruggle ; and he is moll likely to be fuccefsful, who meditates upon his nature, inveftigates his paf- fions, and becomes thoroughly acquainted wkh himfelf. THE END, S. Rousseau, Printer, Wood Sir at t Sj>j fie/a C ^ ^r nU™ ■■■•■-' \'.'. ■■■:-; :■■■- o: ■■■■■>■•■■•■."•■■■•.■'. : ■••■''■'■ ■ - ■• ■••■•;■ > ■■■■■•■-..■-■.■■.<•■■•••■■■■.■ KtilBnHP Hn iflfli Hhih