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 1, 3TD0T>r. 
 HOLBOBH HLLLL . 
 
ART OF BEING HAPPY; 
 
 CHIEFLY FROM 
 
 BOURNE HALL DRAPER. 
 
 A NEW EDITION. 
 
 " Seek not to be rich, but to be happy. The one lies in bags, 
 the other in content; which wealth can never give." — w. penn. 
 
 '.* The mind that would be happy, must be great ; 
 Great in its wishes, great in its surveys." — young. 
 
 
 / 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM DARTON AND SON, 
 
 HOLBORN HILL. 
 
$3 \^ %- ^ 
 3^ 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 The sentiments contained in the following 
 pages are selected chiefly from a French 
 work, by M. Droz, bearing the same title. 
 The best parts of this publication, with a 
 few of the thoughts of the American trans- 
 lator, which seemed most useful in their 
 tendency, are here presented to the English 
 
 reader. 
 
 To regard happiness as an art or science, 
 
 is certainly by no means so common as it 
 
 should be. Yet this is a proper view of 
 
 the subject. No one was ever happy by 
 
 chance; no one was ever happy without 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 much study, and labour, and care to be 
 so. It is worthy of remark, that, however 
 writers may differ in their sentiments on 
 this topic, they all agree in one essential 
 point, that happiness was never found 
 without virtue and piety. This is a truth 
 which should never be forgotten ; a truth 
 confirmed by the united testimony of all 
 ranks, of all professions, and of all ages. 
 
 Our illustrious countrywoman, the late 
 excellent Hannah More, has, in an interest- 
 ing dramatic sketch, entitled " The Search 
 after Happiness," advanced many senti- 
 ments in full unison with those of the 
 writer of this volume. Personifying Hap- 
 piness, she says, 
 
 " She whom you seek inhabits yonder cell ! 
 In her, united, worth and wisdom dwell I 
 Poor, not dejected; humble, yet not mean; 
 Cheerful, though grave ; and lively, though serene ; 
 
PREFACE. Vll 
 
 Benevolent, kind, pious, gentle, just; 
 
 Reason her guide, and Providence her trust. 
 
 If Heaven, indulgent to her little store, 
 
 Adds to that little but a little more, 
 
 With holy praise her grateful heart o'erflows, 
 
 And sweetly mitigates the sufferer's woes ; 
 
 Her labours for devotion best prepare, 
 
 And meek devotion smooths the brow of care." 
 
 The fair authoress assures us, that Hap- 
 piness is never to be found in the haunts 
 of dissipation, or in the absence of reflex- 
 ion ; 
 
 rc I tried the power of pomp and costly glare, 
 Nor e'er found room for thought, or time for prayer ; 
 In different follies every hour I spent ; 
 I shunn'd reflexion, yet I sought content. 
 My hours were shared betwixt the park and play, 
 And music served to waste the tedious day ; 
 Yet softer airs no more with joy I heard, 
 If any sweeter warbler was preferred ; 
 The dance succeeded, and succeeding tired; 
 If some more graceful dancer were admired ; 
 No sounds but flattery ever sooth'd my ear ; 
 Ungentle truths I know not how to hear. 
 The anxious day induced the sleepless night, 
 And my vex'd spirit never knew delight." 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 Mrs. More affirms, that this distinguished 
 boon, after which all are seeking, and 
 which so few of our race comparatively 
 find, is not to be found in the pursuit of 
 fame or of science. She is also of opinion, 
 that works of fiction tend to corrupt the 
 heart, rather than to regulate the life, and 
 procure happiness. Speaking of novels, 
 she says, 
 
 ' Their poisonous influence led my mind astray, 
 I sighed for something — what, I could not say : 
 I fancied virtues which were never seen, 
 And died for heroes who had never been ; 
 I sicken'd with disgust at sober sense, 
 And loath'd the pleasures worth and truth dispense ; 
 I scorn'd the manners of the world I saw ; 
 My guide was fiction, and romance my law. 
 I found adventures in each common tale, 
 And talked and sighed to every passing gale ; 
 A fancied heroine, an ideal wife, 
 I loath'd the offices of real life ; 
 Each duty to perform observant still, 
 But those which God and Nature bade me fill. ' 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 She denounces, in strong terms, the pos- 
 sibility of ease and indolence, to impart 
 felicity. " The dire rust/' she says, " of 
 indolence corrodes ;" 
 
 " This eating canker, with malignant stealth, 
 Destroys the vital powers of moral wealth. 
 Seek action — 'tis the scene which virtue loves ; 
 The vigorous sun not only shines but moves ; 
 From sickly thoughts with quick abhorrence start, 
 And rule the fancy, if you'd rule the heart." 
 
 Mrs. More is of opinion, that something 
 besides display, fine clothes, and an elegant 
 figure are essential to felicity ; 
 
 " The fairest symmetry of form or face, 
 From intellect receives its highest grace ; 
 The brightest eyes ne'er dart such piercing fires, 
 As when a soul irradiates and inspires; 
 Beauty with reason need not quite dispense, 
 And coral lips may sure speak common sense." 
 
 In order to render life happy, she earn- 
 
estly inculcates the greatest care in edu- 
 cation 
 
 " Know, then, that life's chief happiness or woe, 
 From good or evil education flow ; 
 The yielding mind with virtue should be grac'd, 
 For first impressions seldom are effac'd " 
 
 Association with the wise and good ; 
 admiration of the works of God ; the plea- 
 sures of benevolence ; and, above all, a 
 life of cheerful devotion, are mentioned by 
 this useful writer as essential ingredients 
 in the cup of happiness. She closes her 
 little work with language, which all who 
 are rightly informed and who would be 
 happy, will delight to use; 
 
 " Fountain of Being ! teach us to devote 
 To Thee each purpose, action, word, and thought ! 
 Thy grace our hope, thy love our only boast ; 
 Be all distinctions in the Christian lost ! 
 Be this, in every state our wish alone, — 
 ' Almighty, wise, and good, Thy will be done 1" 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Chap. I.— Introduction 1 
 
 Chap. II. — Physical, Organic, & Moral Laws 10 
 
 Chap. III. — General Views of Happiness, ... 33 
 
 Chap. IV. — -Our Desires 44 
 
 Chap. V.— Tranquillity of Mind 61 
 
 Chap. VI.— Of Misfortune : 70 
 
 Chap VII. — Of Independence 81 
 
 Chap. VIII.— Of Health 89 
 
 Chap. IX. — Of Competence 104 
 
 Chap. X. — Of Opinion, and the Esteem of 
 
 Men 115 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 Chap. XI. — Of Respect towards our Fellow- 
 Creatures 123 
 
 Chap. XII. — Of some of the Virtues 130 
 
 Chap. XIIL— Of Marriage 140 
 
 Chap. XIV.— Of Children ffT. 149 
 
 Chap. XV.— Of Friendship 158 
 
 Chap. XVI.— The Pleasures of the Senses . . 169 
 Chap. XVII.— The Pleasures of the Heart . . 176 
 Chap. XVIII.— The Pleasures of the Under- 
 standing 182 
 
 Chap. XIX. — The Pleasures of Imagination. . 189 
 
 Chap. XX. — Melancholy 195 
 
 Chap. XXI. — Religious Sentiments 202 
 
 Chap. XXII.— Of the Rapidity of Life .... 215 
 
 Chap. XXIIL— On Death 224 
 
 Chap. XXIV.— Conclusion 253 
 
 Appendix.- — The Choice of a Profession .... 260 
 
THE 
 
 ART OF BEING HAPPY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Some will, perhaps, be ready, when they read the 
 title of this volume, to regard its counsels with 
 indifference, or even with disdain. They will 
 indolently, and yet confidently, affirm, that the 
 theoretical discussion of the pursuit of happiness is 
 visionary and profitless ; that lecture, write, preach 
 as we may, the future will be, perhaps ought to be, 
 as the past ; that the world is always growing 
 older without ever growing wiser ; and that men 
 are evidently no more successful in their search 
 after happiness now, than in the remotest periods 
 of history. They will affirm, that man has always 
 been the sport of accident, the slave of his passions, 
 the creature of circumstances ; that it is useless to 
 
2, INTRODUCTION. 
 
 reason, vain to consult rules, imbecile to surrender 
 independence, to follow the guidance of those who 
 assume to be wise, or receive instruction from 
 those who have been taught by years. They will 
 allege the utter inefncacy of the lights of reason, 
 philosophy, and religion, judging from the little 
 comparative illumination, which they have hitherto 
 shed upon the paths of life. On the same ground, 
 and from the same reasonings, they might declaim 
 against every attempt, in every form, to render the 
 world wiser and happier. With equal propriety 
 they might say, " Close the pulpit, silence the 
 press, cease from parental discipline, moral suasion, 
 and the training of education. Do what you will, 
 the world will go on as before/ ' Who does not 
 see the absurdity of such language ? Because we 
 cannot do every thing, shall we do nothing? 
 Because the million float towards the invisible 
 future without any pole-star, or guided only by the 
 presumption of general opinion, is it a conclusive 
 proof that none have been rendered happier in 
 consequence of having followed wiser guidance, 
 and pursued happiness by system ? 
 
 Such is the practical creed of the great mass of 
 society. I, on the contrary, think that this general 
 persuasion is palpably false and fatal ; that much 
 suffering may be avoided, and much enjoyment 
 obtained by following rules, and pursuing happiness 
 
INTRODUCTION. <J 
 
 by system ; that I have had the fortune to meet 
 with numbers, who were demonstrative proof that 
 men may learn how to be happy. I am confident 
 that the far greater portion of human suffering is 
 of our own procuring, the result of ignorance and 
 mistaken views, and that it is a superfluous and 
 unnecessary mixture of bitterness in the cup of 
 human life. I firmly believe that the greater 
 number of deaths, instead of being the result of 
 specific diseases, to which they are attributed, are 
 really caused by a series of imperceptible malign 
 influences, springing from corroding cares, griefs, 
 and disappointments. To say, that more than half 
 the human race die of sorrow, and a broken heart, 
 or in some way fall victims to their depraved 
 passions, may seem like advancing a revolting 
 doctrine ; but it is, nevertheless, a simple truth. 
 
 We do not actually see the operations of grief 
 upon some one or all the countless frail and delicate 
 constituents of human life. But if physiology could 
 look through the infinitely complicated web of our 
 structure with the power of the solar microscope, 
 it would behold every chagrin searing some nerve, 
 paralyzing the action of some organ, or closing 
 some capillary ; and that every sigh draws its drop 
 of life-blood from the heart. Nature is slow in 
 resenting her injuries ; but the memory of them is 
 indelibly impressed, and treasured up for a late but 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 certain revenge, Nervousness, lowness of spirits, 
 headache, and all the countless train of morbid and 
 deranged corporeal and mental action, are at once, 
 the cause and the effect of sorrow and anxiety, 
 increased by a constant series of action and reaction. 
 Thought and care become impressed upon the 
 brow. The bland essence of cheerfulness evaporates. 
 The head becomes shorn of its locks ; and the frosts 
 of winter gather on the temples. These concurrent 
 influences silently sap the stamina of life ; until, 
 aided by some adventitious circumstance, death 
 lays his hand upon the frame, that by the sorrows 
 and cares of life was prepared for his dread office. 
 The bills of mortality assign a name to the mortal 
 disease different from the true one. 
 
 Cheerfulness and equanimity are about the only 
 traits that have invariably marked the life of those 
 who have lived to extreme old age. Nothing is 
 more clearly settled by experience, than that grief 
 acts as a slow poison, not only in the immediate 
 infliction of pain, but in gradually impairing the 
 powers of life, and in subtracting from the sum of 
 our days. 
 
 If, then, by any process of instruction, discipline, 
 and mental force, we can influence our circum- 
 stances, banish grief, create cheerfulness, we can, 
 in the same degree, reduce rules, for the pursuit of 
 happiness, to a system ; and make that system a 
 
INTRODUCTION. O 
 
 matter of science. Can we not do this ? The 
 very million who deride the idea of seeking for 
 enjoyment through the medium of instruction, 
 unconsciously exercise the power in question to a 
 certain extent ; though not to the extent of which 
 they are capable. All those wise individuals who 
 have travelled with equanimity and cheerfulness 
 through the diversified scenes of life, making the 
 most of its good, and the least of its evils, bear a 
 general testimony to the truth of this fact. We 
 find in them a conviction that they had such power, 
 and a force of character that enabled them to act 
 according to their convictions. 
 
 No person deserves the name of a philosopher, 
 who is not wise in relation to the great purpose of 
 life. In the same proportion, then, as I can 
 convince my readers, that by their own voluntary, 
 physical and mental discipline, they can act upon 
 circumstances, and influence their temperament, 
 and thus bear directly upon their happiness, I shall 
 be able to stir up their powers, and call forth their 
 energy of character, to apply that discipline in their 
 own case. In the same proportion I shall be 
 instrumental in training' them to the highest 
 exercise of their reason, and the attainment of true 
 philosophy. 
 
 The elements upon which we should operate, are 
 circumstances, habits, and modes of thinking and 
 
INTRODUCTION, 
 
 acting. The philosopher of circumstances, denies 
 that you can act upon these. But, by his unwearied 
 efforts to propagate his system, he proves that he 
 does not himself act upon his avowed convictions. 
 The impulse of all our actions from birth to death, 
 the spring of all our movements, is a conviction 
 that we can alter and improve our condition. We 
 have a consciousness stronger than our reason, 
 that we can control our circumstances. We can 
 change our regimen and habits ; and, by patience 
 and perseverance, even our temperament. Every 
 one can cite innumerable and most melancholy 
 instances of those who have done it for evil. The 
 habit of indulging in opium, tobacco, ardent 
 spirits, or any of the pernicious narcotics, soon 
 reduces the physical and mental constitution to 
 that temperament, in which these stimulants are 
 felt to be necessary. A corresponding change is 
 produced in the mind and disposition. The frequent 
 and regular use of medicine, though it may have 
 been wholly unnecessary at first, finally becomes 
 an inveterate habit. No phenomenon of physiology 
 is more striking, than the facility with which the 
 human constitution immediately commences a 
 conformity to whatsoever change- of circumstances, 
 as of climate, habit, or aliment, we impose upon 
 it. It is a most impressive proof, that the Creator 
 has formed man capable of becoming the creature 
 of all climates and conditions. 
 
INTRODUCTION. / 
 
 If we may change our temperament both of body 
 and mind for evil, as innumerable examples prove 
 that we may, why not also for good. Our habits 
 certainly are under our control : and our modes of 
 thinking, however little the process may have been 
 explained, are, in some way, shaped by our 
 voluntary discipline. We have powers of self- 
 command, as every one who has made the effort to 
 exercise them, must be conscious. We have 
 inexhaustible moral force for self- direction, if we 
 will only recognize and exert it. We owe most of 
 our disgusts and disappointments, our corroding 
 passions and unreasonable desires, our fretfulness, 
 gloom and self- torment, neither to nature nor fate ; 
 but to ourselves, and our reckless indifference to 
 those rules, that ought to guide our pursuit of 
 happiness. Let a higher education and a truer 
 wisdom detach us from our passions, dispel the 
 mists of opinion, and silence the authority of 
 example. Let us commence the pursuit of happi- 
 ness on the right course, and seek it where alone 
 it is to be found. Equanimity and moderation will 
 shed their mild radiance upon our enjoyments; and 
 in our reverses we shall summon resignation and 
 force of character : and, according to the sublime 
 ancient maxim, we shall, in some useful degree, 
 become masters of events and of ourselves. 
 
 I am sensible that there will always be a 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 sufficient number of those, deemed philosophers, 
 who, notwithstanding their rules, have wandered 
 far from their aim. Such there will ever be, so 
 long as there are stirring passions within, or 
 hidden dangers around us ; and there will be 
 shipwrecks, so long as human cupidity and 
 ambition tempt self-confident and unskilful mari- 
 ners upon the fickle and tumultuous bosom of the 
 ocean. But is this proof that a disciplined pilot 
 would not be most likely to make the voyage in 
 safety, or that the study of navigation is useless ? 
 
 My affectionate desire is, to draw your attention 
 to those moral resources which the Creator has 
 placed at your command. How many millions 
 have floated down the current in the indolent 
 supineness of inactivity, who, had they been aware 
 of their internal means of active resistance, would 
 have risen above the pressure of their circum- 
 stances ! Who can deny, that there is a manifest 
 difference, even as things now are, between the 
 moral courage of action and endurance, put forth 
 by a disciplined and reflecting mind, possessing 
 force of character, and the stupid and passive 
 abandonment, with which a savage meets pain and 
 death ? 
 
 To encourage us to shake off the superincumbent 
 load of indifference, ridicule, and opposition, and to 
 make efforts to extend virtue and happiness, let us 
 
INTRODUCTION. y 
 
 reflect that a useful thought may outlive an empire. 
 Babylon and Thebes are, now, nowhere to be 
 found ; but the moral lessons of the contemporary 
 wise and good, despised and disregarded, perhaps, 
 in their day, have descended to us and are still to 
 be found. As the seminal principles of plants, 
 borne through the wide spaces of the air by their 
 downy wings, find at length a congenial spot, in 
 which to settle down, and vegetate, these seeds of 
 virtue and happiness, floating down the current of 
 time, are still arrested, from age to age, by some 
 kindred mind, in which they germinate, and 
 produce their golden fruit. No intellect can 
 conjecture, in how many instances, and to what 
 degree, every fit moral precept may have come 
 between the reason and passions of some one, 
 balancing between the course of happiness and 
 ruin, and may have inclined the scale in his 
 favour. The consciousness of even an effort to 
 achieve one such triumph is a sufficient satisfaction 
 to a virtuous mind. 
 
CHAPTER II, 
 
 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS, 
 
 It is devoutly to be hoped that the time is rapidly 
 approaching, when no one will be found who shall 
 regard religion and philosophy as militant and 
 irreconcilable principles. So far from their being 
 in opposition, when rightly understood, they will 
 be found resting on the same immutable foundation. 
 A few of the misguided friends of piety may have 
 sometimes attempted to represent them as separate 
 and hostile interests ; but it will one day be 
 understood, that whatever wars with reason and 
 common sense, is equally hostile to religion. The 
 simple and unchangeable truths of Christianity 
 will be found to violate none of our most obvious 
 convictions. Truth will reassume her legitimate 
 reign. Piety, religion, and morals, our best 
 interests for this life, and our surest preparations 
 
THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS. 11 
 
 for a future one, will be found exactly conformable 
 to the eternal order of things ; when this is seen, 
 the system of the gospel will become universal, 
 according to its legitimate claims. True piety, in 
 my mind, is equally our duty, our wisdom, and 
 happiness. To behold God every where in his 
 works, to hold communion with him in a contem- 
 plative and admiring spirit, to love and trust 
 him, to find in the deep and constantly present 
 persuasion of his being and attributes, a sentiment 
 of exhaustless cheerfulness and excitement to duty, 
 I hold to be the source of the purest and sublimest 
 pleasure that earth can afford. 
 
 True philosophy unfolds the design of final 
 causes with a calm and humble wisdom. It finds 
 the Creator everywhere, and always acting in 
 wisdom and power. It traces the highest benevo- 
 lence of intention, where the first aspect showed no 
 apparent purpose, or one that seemed to tend to 
 misery ; offering new inducements to learn the 
 first and last lesson of religion, and the ultimate 
 attainment of human wisdom, resignation to the 
 will of God. In vindicating his ways to men, it 
 declares that so long as we do not understand the 
 laws of our being, and so long as we violate them, 
 either ignorantly, wilfully, or even unconsciously, 
 misery must certainly follow ; and that the 
 Omnipotent has forged every link of the chain that 
 
12 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 connects our own unhappiness with every trans- 
 gression of the laws of our nature. 
 
 We find ourselves making a part of an existing 
 universe, which neither ignorance, nor wisdom, 
 doubting, nor confidence can alter. If we know 
 the order, of which we are the subjects, and 
 conform to it, we are happy. If we ignorantly, or 
 wilfully transgress it, the order is in no degree 
 changed, or impeded. It moves irresistibly on, 
 and the opposition is crushed. How wisdom and 
 benevolence are reconcilable with the permission 
 of this ignorance and opposition ; in other words, 
 why partial evil exists in God's universe, it is not 
 my object to enquire. The enquiry would not only 
 be fruitless, but would in no degree alter the fact, 
 that what we call evil does exist. It is enough for 
 us to know, that, as far as human research has 
 reached, or can reach, the more profoundly we 
 investigate the subject, the more clearly are design, 
 wisdom, and benevolence discoverable. Beyond 
 our discernment, right reason, guided by humility, 
 would infer, that, where we cannot trace the 
 impress of these attributes, it is not because they 
 are not to be found, but because our powers are 
 not equal to the discovery. If we had a broader 
 vision, and were more fully acquainted with the 
 relations of all parts of God's universe, the one to 
 the other, and all the reasons of the permanent 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 13 
 
 ordinances of his government, we should be able to 
 understand the necessity of partial evil to the 
 general good ; we should understand, why it rains 
 on the waste ocean, when drought consigns whole 
 countries to aridity and desolation ; in a word, 
 why ignorance, transgression, misery, and death, 
 have a place in our system. 
 
 All that we now know is, that the natural laws 
 of this system are universal, invariable, unbending ; 
 that physical and moral tendencies are the same all 
 over our world ; and we have every reason to 
 believe, over all other worlds. Wherever moral 
 beings keep in harmony with these laws, there is 
 no instance in which happiness is not the result. 
 Men never enjoy health, vigour, and felicity in 
 disobedience to them. The whole infinite contri- 
 vance of every thing above, around, and within us, 
 appears directed to certain benevolent issues ; and 
 all the laws of nature are in perfect harmony with 
 the whole constitution of man. 
 
 We shall not enter upon the subtle controversies 
 of moral philosophers, as to the fundamental prin- 
 ciple of moral obligation, whether it be expediency, 
 the nature of things, or the will of God. In 
 my view these are rather questions about words 
 than things. The nature of things is a part of the 
 will of God ; and expediency is conformity to this 
 unchanging order. An action derives its moral 
 
14 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 complexion from being conformed to the will of 
 God, and the nature of things ; and whatever is so 
 conformed, is expedient ; consequently, all the 
 different foundations of morals, when examined, 
 are found to be precisely the same. 
 
 My notions of morality are, that it is con- 
 formity to the physical, organic, and moral laws 
 of the universe. Some will choose to call it 
 expediency; others, the will of God; and others 
 still, the constitution of things. These views, when 
 reduced to their elements, are the same, call them 
 by what names we may. We may obviously divide 
 these laws into three classes. The first series we 
 call physical laws, or those which act upon the 
 material universe, and upon ourselves as a part of 
 that universe. The second we call organic, or 
 those which regulate the origin, growth, well-being, 
 and dissolution of organized beings. The last, 
 denominated moral, act chiefly on the intellectual 
 universe. They are founded on our relations to 
 the great family of being, and to God. 
 
 We infer from analogy, that these laws always 
 have been, are, and always will be, invariably the 
 same ; and that they prevail alike in every portion 
 of God's universe. We so judge, because we 
 believe the existing order of things to be the wisest 
 and the best. We know that the physical laws 
 actually do prevail alike in every part of our world, 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 15 
 
 and as far beyond it, as the highest helps of as- 
 tronomy can aid our researches into the depths of 
 immensity. It is not probable, that if we could 
 investigate the system, as far as the utmost stretch 
 of thought, we should find any point, where the 
 laws of gravity, light, heat, and motion do not 
 prevail ; where the sentient beings are not restrict- 
 ed to the same moral relations, as in our world ! 
 Wherever the empire of science has extended, we 
 note these laws equally prevalent, in an atom and 
 a world, and from the lowest order of beings up to 
 a man. The arrangement of the great whole, it 
 should seem, must be a single emanation from the 
 same wisdom and will, perfectly uniform through- 
 out the whole empire. What an impressive motive 
 to study these laws, and conform to them, is it, to 
 know, that they are as irresistible as the divine 
 power, as universal as the divine presence, as 
 permanent as the divine existence; that there is no 
 evading them, that no art can disconnect misery 
 from transgressing them ; that no change of place 
 or time, that not death, nor any transformation 
 which our conscious being can undergo, will, during 
 the revolutions of eternity*, dispense any more with 
 the necessity of observing these laws, than during 
 our present transitory existence. 
 
 I need not dwell a moment upon the proofs of 
 the absolute identity of the physical laws. No one 
 
16 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 need be told, that a ship floats, water descends, 
 heat warms, and cold freezes, and that all physical 
 properties of matter are the same over the globe. 
 We shall only show by a few palpable examples, 
 that our system is arranged in conformity to the 
 organic laws. Every discovery in the kingdom of 
 animated nature developes new instances. 
 
 In the tropical regions, the muscular energy is 
 less, in proportion as the natural fertility of the soil 
 is greater. In colder latitudes muscular energy is 
 increased ; and ruder elements and a more sterile 
 nature, proportion their claims accordingly. In 
 arctic regions no farinaceous food ripens. So- 
 journers in that climate find, that bread and vege- 
 table diet do not furnish the requisite nutriment ; 
 that pure animal food is the only sustenance that 
 will there maintain the tone of the system, im- 
 parting a delightful vigor and buoyancy of mind. 
 Strange as it may seem, to conform to this neces- 
 sity, these dreary countries abound in infinite 
 numbers and varieties of animals, fowls and fishes. 
 The climate favours the drying and preserving 
 of animal food, which is thus prepared to sustain 
 the inhabitants, when nature imprisons the material 
 creation in chains of ice, and wraps herself up in 
 her mantle of snow. Thus, if we survey the whole 
 globe, the food, climate and other circumstances 
 will be found accommodated to the inhabitants ; 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 17 
 
 and they, as far as they conform to the organic 
 laws, will be found adapted to their climate and 
 mode of subsistence. 
 
 In all positions man finds himself called upon, 
 by the clear indications of the organic laws, to take 
 that free and cheerful exercise, which is calculated 
 to develope vigourous muscular, nervous and men- 
 tal action. The peasant digs, and the hunter 
 chases for subsistence ; but finds at the same time 
 health and cheerfulness. The penalty of the viola- 
 tion of this organic law by the indulgence of 
 indolence is debility, enfeebled action, both bodily 
 and mental, dyspepsia with all its painful train, 
 and finally death. On the other hand, the penalty 
 of over exertion, debauchery, intemperance, and 
 excess of every species, comes in other forms of 
 disease and suffering. These laws though not so 
 obviously and palpably so, are as invariable and 
 inevitable, as those of attraction, or magnetism ; 
 and yet the great mass of our species, even in what 
 we call enlightened and educated countries, do not 
 recognize, and obey them. It is in vain for them, 
 that, from age to age, the same consequences have 
 ensued, as the heralds of the divinity, proclaiming 
 to all people, in all languages, that his laws carry 
 their sanctions with them. One of our most impe- 
 rious duties, then, is to study these laws, to make 
 ourselves conversant with their bearing upon our 
 
18 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 pursuit of happiness, that we may conform to 
 them. When we have "become acquainted with 
 their universality and resistless power, we shall 
 indulge no puerile hope that we may enjoy the 
 present gratification of infringing them, and then 
 evade the ultimate consequences. We shall as 
 soon calculate to change condition with the tenants 
 of the air and the waters, as expect to divert any 
 one of them from its onward course. 
 
 He then is wise, who looks round him with a 
 searching eye to become fully possessed, without 
 the colouring of sophistical wishes, and self- deceiv- 
 ing expectation, of the actual conditions of his 
 being ; and who, instead of imagining, that the 
 unchangeable courses of nature will conform to 
 him, his ignorance, interests or passions, shapes 
 his course so as to conform to them. He will no 
 more expect, for example, that he can indulge his 
 appetites, give scope to his passions, and yield 
 himself to the seductions of life, and escape without 
 a balance of misery in consequence, than he would 
 calculate to throw himself unhurt, from a mountain 
 precipice. 
 
 So far as regards himself, he will study the 
 organic laws, in reference to their bearing upon 
 his mind, his health, his morals, his happiness. 
 He will strive to be cheerful ; for he knows that 
 it is a part of the constitution of things, that 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 
 
 cheerfulness tends to physical and n 
 He will accustom himself to exerci; - -.- and 
 avoid indolence, because he understands that he 
 was formed to be an active being, and that he can- 
 not yield to his slothful propensities, without forfeit- 
 ing the delightful feeling of energy, and the power 
 to operate upon events, instead of being passively 
 borne along by them. He will be active, that he 
 may be conscious of power. He will rise above 
 the silent and invisible influence of sloth, and will 
 exult in a feeling of force and self-command, for 
 the same reasons that the eagle loves to soar aloft, 
 and look upon the sun ; because a sensation of 
 power, and a sublime liberty are enjoyed in the 
 flight. He will be temperate in the gratification of 
 his appetites and passions, because he is aware, 
 that every excessive indulgence strikes a balance 
 of suffering against him, which he must discharge 
 sooner, or later ; and helps to forge a chain of 
 habit, that will render it more difficult for him to 
 resist the next temptation to indulgence. He will 
 rise early from sleep, because nature calls him to 
 early rising, in all her cheerful voices, in the matin 
 song of birds, the balmy morning freshness and 
 elasticity of the air, and the renovated cry of joy 
 from the whole animal creation. He will do this, 
 because he has early heard complaints from all 
 sides of the shortness of life, and because he is 
 
20 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 sensible, that lie who rises every day two hours 
 before the common period, will prolong the ordi- 
 nary duration of life by adding six years of the 
 pleasantest part of existence. He will rise early, 
 because, next to the intemperate, no human being 
 offers a more unworthy spectacle, than is presented 
 by the man, who calls himself rational and immor- 
 tal, who sees before him a greater amount of know- 
 ledge, duty and happiness, than he could hope 
 to compass in a thousand years ; and who yet 
 turns himself indolently from side to side, during 
 the hours of the awakening of nature, enjoying 
 only the luxury of a savage or a brute, in a state 
 of dozing existence little superior to the dreamless 
 sleep of the grave. I test the character of a youth, 
 of whom I wish to entertain hope, by this criterion. 
 If he can nobly resist his propensities, if he can 
 act from reason against his inclinations, if he can 
 trample indolence under foot, if he can always 
 make the effort to show the intellectual in the 
 ascendant over the animal being, I note him as 
 one, who will be worthy of eminence, whether he 
 attain it or not. In a word, there is something of 
 dignity and intellectual grandeur in the aspect of 
 the young, who live in obedience to the organic 
 and moral laws, which commands at once that 
 undefined, and almost unconscious estimation and 
 respect, which all minds involuntarily pay to true 
 erreatness. 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 21 
 
 When the young reach that period, when it is 
 proper to assume the obligations of settled life, 
 this conformity to the nature of things will cause 
 them to pause, and reflect on what is before them, 
 and will interdict them from following the incon- 
 siderate throng, in entering into that decisive con- 
 dition, consulting no other lights, than a morbid 
 fancy, those impulses which are common to all 
 other animals, or sordid calculations of interest. 
 They perceive at a glance, that those who with 
 such views take on them the obligations of the 
 conjugal state, have no right to hope any thing 
 better than satiety, ill-humour, monotonous disgust, 
 and the insupportable imprisonment of two per- 
 sons, in intimate and indissoluble partnership, who 
 find weariness and penance in being together, who 
 are reminded, at once by the void in their hearts, 
 and their mutual inability to fill it, that they must 
 not only endure the pain of being chained together, 
 but feel, that they are thus barred from a happier 
 union, partly by shame, partly by public opinion, 
 and more than all, by the obstacles, wisely thrown 
 by all civilized nations in the way of obtaining 
 divorce. There can be no doubt, that the common 
 views of the universal unhappiness of the wedded 
 state in all Christian countries are the result of 
 gross exaggeration. Making all allowances for 
 errors from this source, language is too feeble, to 
 
22 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 delineate the countless and unutterable miseries, 
 that, in all time since the institution of marriage., 
 as recognized by Christianity, have resulted from 
 these incompatible unions, for the simple reason, 
 that, in this transaction, of so much more moment 
 than almost any other, scarcely one of the parties 
 in a thousand, it is believed, takes the least note of 
 of it in relation to the organic and moral laws. 
 The young and the aged, the feeble and the strong, 
 the healthy and the diseased, the beautiful and the 
 deformed, the mild and the fierce, the intellectual 
 and the purely animal, the rich and the poor, bring 
 their incompatibilities to a common stock, add ruin- 
 ous excesses of temperament together, and arouse 
 from a short trance to the conscious and sober 
 sadness of waking misery. Weariness and discon- 
 tent, relieved only by domestic discord, and a 
 wretchedness aggravated by the consciousness that 
 there is no escape from it, but by death, is the 
 issue of a union consummated under illusive expec- 
 tations of more than mortal happiness. What 
 multitudes have found this to be the reality of their 
 youthful dreams ! Yet, if this most important 
 union is contracted under animal impulses, without 
 any regard to moral and intellectual considerations, 
 without any investigation of the organic and social 
 fitness of the case, without enquiry into the com- 
 patibility, without a mutual understanding of dts- 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 23 
 
 positions and habits ; who cannot foresee, that the 
 affections will soon languish in satiety ; that repen- 
 tance, disaffection, and even loathing, in proportion 
 to the remembered raptures for ever passed away, 
 will open the eyes of the parties to their real and 
 permanent condition, and that by a law as certain 
 and inevitable, as that which propels water down a 
 precipice ! And this is not the darkest shade in 
 the picture. By the same laws children are born, 
 who advance into life to repeat the errors of their 
 parents, to make common stock of their misery 
 anew, to multiply the number of the unhappy ; or, 
 perhaps worse, to tenant hospitals, and the recep- 
 tacles of human ignorance and misery. 
 
 Study then, and obey the moral laws of the 
 universe, of which you are a part, because you are 
 moral beings, and because obedience to these laws 
 constitutes the tie of affinity between you, the 
 higher orders of being, and the Divinity. Respect 
 these laws, because it is the glory of your nature, 
 that you alone, of all creatures below, are morally 
 subject to them. Laying out of the question their 
 momentous sanctions in the eternal future, you 
 must be aware, that the Creator has annexed plea- 
 sure to obeying them, and pain to their violation 
 as inevitably, as gravity belongs to matter. One 
 would think, it must be enough to determine the 
 conduct of a beins:, who laid claim to the character 
 
24 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 of rational, to know, that no art nor dexterity, 
 that no repentance nor return to obedience, can 
 avert the consequences of a single violation of these 
 laws ; and that no imaginable present good can 
 counterbalance the. future misery, that must accrue 
 in consequence. 
 
 With regard, for example, to the practice of the 
 most common and every day duties, who can doubt 
 the truth of the trite adage, Honesty is the best 
 policy? This is, in effect, no more than saying, that 
 the moral laws of the universe are constituted upon 
 such principles, as to make it every man's interest 
 to obey them. It is as certain, that they are so 
 constituted, as that fire will burn, or water drown 
 you ; and when you understand this constitution, it 
 marks the same want of a sane mind to violate 
 them, as to be unable to keep out of these elements. 
 Yet the greater portion of the species do not 
 constantly act upon a full belief in this hacknied 
 maxim. They think apparently, that they can in 
 some way obtain the imagined advantage of dis- 
 honesty and evade the connected evil, not aware, 
 that detection and diminished confidence may be 
 avoided, for once or twice ; but not the loss of 
 self-respect, the pureness and integrity of internal 
 principle, the certainty of forging the first link in 
 a chain of bad habits, and a thousand painful 
 consequences, which it would be easy to enumerate 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 2o 
 
 in detail. Almost every one deems that he may 
 safely put forth every day false compliment, double- 
 dealing, deception on a small scale, and little 
 frauds, not cognisable by any law or code of honor. 
 In a word, if actions are a test of the sincerity of 
 conviction, very few really are convinced that 
 honesty is the best policy. 
 
 We hold the man insane who should leap from 
 a high building upon the pavement, or attempt to 
 grapple with the blind power of the elements. 
 But it is scarcely the subject of our remark, that 
 the multitude about us, in the most important, as 
 well as the minutest concerns of life, live in habit- 
 ual recklessness or violation of the organic and 
 moral laws ; and yet we certainly know, that who- 
 ever infringes them is as sure to pay the penalty, 
 as he who madly places himself in opposition to 
 the material laws. I can never present this aston- 
 ishing and universal blindness in too many forms 
 of repetition, if the effect is to bring you to view 
 these two species of folly in the same light. 
 
 The reason clearly is, that in too many instances, 
 men take no pains to acquaint themselves with 
 these laws, and their bearing upon the constitution 
 of man ; or, deceived by the clamours of the incli- 
 nations, and the illusions of present pleasure and 
 advantage, when balanced with future and remote 
 penalties, they commit the infractions, and hope, 
 
26 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 that between the certain pleasure and the distant 
 and contingent pain, they can interpose some eva- 
 sion, and sever the consequences from the fault. 
 The expectation always ends, like the alchynhst's 
 dream, and the projector's perpetual motion. Even 
 in the apprehension of the consequences, the mind 
 is paying the penalty of an unquiet conscience, and 
 of an abatement of self-confidence, and self-respect, 
 penalties, which very few earthly pleasures can 
 compensate. 
 
 Wlien I speak of these unchangeable laws, as 
 emanations from the divine wisdom and goodness, 
 as transcripts of the divine immutability, and as be- 
 ing the best of all possible arrangements, not to be 
 superseded or turned from their course by the wisest 
 of beings, I by no means wish to find fault with 
 the consoling and scriptural doctrine of providence. 
 I firmly believe, and trust in it ; not, however, in 
 the popular view. It would not increase my 
 veneration for the Almighty*, to suppose that his 
 laws required exceptions and variations, to meet 
 particular cases : nor that they would call for 
 frequent suspensions and changes, to provide for 
 contingencies not foreseen at the commencement of 
 the mighty movements . Such are not the grounds 
 of my trust in the wisdom and goodness of the 
 Supreme Being. I neither desire, nor expect any 
 deviation of laws, as wise and °:ood as they can 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. '1 1 
 
 be, in their general operation, to meet my particu- 
 lar wishes, or those of the friends most dear to me. 
 I expect, that none of the powers of nature will 
 change for me ; I encourage no insane hopes, 
 that things will forego their tendencies to meet 
 my conveniences or pleasures. Prayer is a duty 
 equally comforting and elevating ; but my prayers 
 are not, that these fixed laws of the divine wisdom 
 may change for me ; but that I may understand 
 and conform to them. The providence, in which 
 I believe, supposes no exceptions, infringements, 
 or violations of the universal plan of the divine 
 government. Miracles only seem such to us. 
 because we see but a link or two in the endless 
 chain of that plan. An ingenuous mechanic con- 
 structs a clock, which will run many years, and 
 only once in the whole period strike an alarm bell. 
 It is a miracle to those who comprehend not, that 
 it was part of the original plan of the mechanic. 
 May we not with more probability adopt the same 
 reasoning, in relation to the recorded miracles, as 
 parts of the original plan of the Eternal ? 
 
 Piety, established upon a knowledge of these 
 laws, and a respect for them, and associated with 
 veneration for their Author, is rational, consistent, 
 firm, and manly. It seeks, it expects nothing, in 
 the puerile presumption, that the ordinances of 
 
28 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 heaven fitted for the whole system of the Creator, 
 will be wrested to the wants of an insect. In 
 docilty and meekness it labours for conformity to 
 those ordinances ; in other words, to the divine 
 will. It violates no principle, and calls for the 
 exercise of no faith that is repugnant to the dic- 
 tates of common sense, and the teaching of 
 common observation. Piety, founded on such 
 views, abides the scrutiny of the severest investi- 
 gation. No vacillation of the mind from varying 
 fortunes, no questionings of unbelief, doubt, and 
 despair can shake it. It rests firmly on the basis 
 of the divine attributes. It holds fast to the golden 
 chain, the last link of which is riveted to the 
 throne of the Eternal. Yet it is delightful to 
 reflect, that the merciful arrangements of the Most 
 High extend to the minute no less than the great. 
 An infallible authority has assured us, that " not a 
 sparrow falleth to the ground without our heavenly 
 Father." 
 
 Thus it seems to me indispensable, as a pre- 
 requisite to the pursuit of happiness, that the 
 enquirer should examine the physical and moral 
 laws ; that he should carefully investigate their 
 whole bearing upon his constitution; that he 
 should trace all their influences on him from the 
 first hour in which he opens his eyes on the light, 
 
AND MORAL LAWS, "29 
 
 to his departure out of life. I insist the more 
 earnestly upon this, because in these days the 
 study of the moral relations of things seems to me 
 comparatively abandoned. The exact and natural 
 sciences are studied, rather, it would seem, as an 
 end, than a means. Natural philosophy, mathe- 
 matics, and astronomy may be highly useful ; but 
 who will compare these sciences, in regard to their 
 utility and importance, with those which guide the 
 mind to their Author, which teach the knowledge 
 of his moral laws, which instruct us how to allay 
 the passions, to moderate our expectations, and to 
 establish morality on the basis of our regard to our 
 own happiness ? 
 
 If, then, you would give yourself to the patient 
 study of the natural sciences, that you may gain 
 reputation and the ability to be useful, much more 
 earnestly will you study regimen, exercise, tempe- 
 rance, moderation, cheerfulness, the benefits of a 
 balanced mind, and of a wise and Christian 
 conformity to an order of things, not a tittle of 
 which you can change, that you may be resigned, 
 useful, and happy. All knowledge which cannot 
 be turned to this account, either as relates to 
 yourself or others, is useless. 
 
 Some part, then, of each day, should be dedi- 
 cated by every individual in health, to the exercise 
 
30 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, 
 
 of his nervous and muscular systems, in labour 
 calculated to give scope to these functions. The 
 reward of obeying this requisite of his nature 
 would be health, and a joyous animal existence ; 
 the punishment of neglect is disease, low spirits, 
 and death. 
 
 Some part should also be spent in the sedulous 
 employment of the knowing and reflecting faculties ; 
 in studying the qualities of external objects, and 
 their relations ; also the nature of all animated 
 beings, and their relations ; not with the view of 
 accumulating mere abstract and barren knowledge, 
 but of enjoying the positive pleasure of mental 
 activity, and of turning every discovery to account, 
 as a means of increasing happiness, or alleviating 
 misery, The leading object should always be to 
 find out the relationship of every object of our own 
 nature, organic, animal, moral, and intellectual, 
 and to keep that relationship habitually in mind, so 
 as to render our acquirements directly gratifying to 
 our various faculties. The reward of this conduct 
 would be an incalculably great increase of pleasure, 
 in the very act of acquiring knowledge of the real 
 properties of external objects, together with a great 
 accession of power in reaping ulterior advantages, 
 and in avoiding disagreeable affections. 
 
 And some of our time ought to be devoted to 
 
AND MORAL LAWS. 31 
 
 the cultivation and gratification of our moral 
 sentiments ; that is to say, in exercising these in 
 harmony with the intellect, and especially in 
 acquiring the habit of admiring, loving, and yield- 
 ing obedience to the Creator and his institutions. 
 This last object is of vast importance. Intellect 
 is barren of practical fruit, however rich it may 
 be in knowledge, until it is fired and prompted to 
 act by moral sentiment. In my view, knowledge 
 by itself is comparatively worthless and impotent, 
 compared with what it becomes when vivified by 
 virtuous emotions. It is not enough that intellect 
 is informed ; the moral faculties must simulta- 
 neously co-operate ; yielding obedience to the 
 precepts which the intellect recognizes to be true. 
 One way of cultivating these sentiments would be 
 for men to meet and act together, on the fixed 
 principles which I am now endeavouring to unfold, 
 to help each other in mutual instruction, and in 
 united adoration of the great and glorious Creator. 
 The reward of acting in this manner would be a 
 communication of direct and intense pleasure to 
 each other ; for I refer to every individual who has 
 ever had the good fortune to pass a day or an hour 
 with a really benevolent, pious, honest, and intel- 
 lectual man, whose soul swelled with adoration of 
 his Creator, whose intellect was replenished with 
 
32 THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND MORAL LAWS. 
 
 knowledge of his works, and whose whole mind 
 was instinct with sympathy for human happiness, 
 whether such a day did not afford him the 
 most pure, elevated, and lasting gratification 
 he ever enjoyed. Such an exercise, besides, 
 would invigorate the whole moral and intellectual 
 powers, and fit them to discover and obey the 
 divine institutions. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 Man is created to be happy. His desires and the 
 wisdom of the Creator concur to prove the asser- 
 tion. Yet the earth resounds with the complaints 
 of the unhappy, although they are encompassed 
 with the means of enjoyment, of which they appear 
 to know neither the value nor the use. They 
 resemble the shipwrecked mariner, on a desert isle, 
 surrounded with fruits, of the properties of which 
 he is ignorant, as he is doubtful whether they offer 
 nourishment or poison. 
 
 I was early impelled to investigate the character 
 and motives of the crowd around me, eagerly 
 rushing forward in pursuit of happiness. I soon 
 noted multitudes relinquishing the chase in indolent 
 despondency, who affirmed, that they no longer 
 
34 GENERAL VIEWS OP HAPPINESS. 
 
 believed in the existence of the boon. I felt an 
 insatiate craving", and saw life through the illusive 
 colouring of youth. Unwilling to resign my hopes, 
 I enquired of others, who seemed possessed of 
 greater strength of mind, and more weight of 
 character, if they could guide me to the place of 
 happiness ? Some answered with an ill-concealed 
 smile of derision, and others with bitterness. 
 They declared, that in their view the pleasures of 
 life were more than counterbalanced by its pains. 
 Because they were disappointed and discouraged, 
 they deemed that their superior wisdom had 
 enabled them to strip off the disguises of life, and 
 contemplate it with sullen resignation. 
 
 Man was made to be happy ! How is this ? 
 Look at yonder town; besides spires and mansions, 
 I see hovels, poor, blind, lame, profligate youth, 
 and imbecile age ; and even in the abodes of 
 external comfort and opulence, the sick and dying 
 hanging in agonies of suspense upon the coun- 
 tenances of their physician and friends, as they 
 catch gleams of hope or shades of despair from 
 their aspect. Many of these sick, even if they 
 recover, will only be restored to trembling age, to 
 perpetual and incurable infirmity, and to evils 
 worse than death. Yet, unhappy in living, and 
 afraid to die, they cling to this wretched existence. 
 as though it were the highest boon. These varied 
 
GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 35 
 
 •shades of misery that the picture before me will 
 present to the slightest inspection, in ten thousand 
 forms and combinations, are visible in every part 
 of our world. I, too, the observer may add, shall 
 soon add to the deepness of the shading. My 
 friends will depart in succession ; and in my turn, 
 on the bed of death, I shall thus look in the faces 
 of those most dear to me, as I am compelled to 
 depart out of life. What an affecting contrast 
 with what I see and what I am ! 
 
 Why there is this partial evil in the world is not 
 a question which I shall here attempt to solve ; for 
 I could add nothing to what has already been said 
 upon the subject. It is enough that the evil does 
 actually exist. Is it remediless ? Can life be so 
 spent as to leave a balance of enjoyment set over 
 against the evil ? These are my questions. There 
 will always be inequality, ignorance, vice, disease, 
 a measureless amount of misery and death. What 
 portions of the evils of life can be cured ? What 
 portion must be manfully, and piously endured ? 
 What transient gleams of joy can be made to 
 illumine the depth of shade ? 
 
 I remarked others in high places, whose restless 
 activity and brilliance dazzled the multitude and 
 inspired envy. I eagerly asked of them the secret 
 of happiness. Too proud and self-satisfied to 
 dissemble, thev made little effort to conceal their 
 
36 GENERAL VIEWS OP HAPPINESS, 
 
 principles. I saw their hearts contracted by the 
 vileness of egotism, and devoured with insatiate 
 ambition. A faithful scrutiny, which penetrated 
 beyond their dazzling exterior, showed me the 
 righteous reaction of their principles, and con- 
 vinced me that they suffered according to their 
 deserts. 
 
 Weary and disheartened, I left them, and re- 
 paired to the class of stern and austere moralists. 
 They represented the world to me as a melancholy 
 and mysterious valley, through which the sojourner 
 passes, groaning on his way to the grave. Their 
 doctrines inspired me at once with sadness and 
 terror. I soon resumed the elastic confidence of 
 youth, and replied, " I will never believe that the 
 Author of my being, who has implanted in my 
 heart such pure and tranquil pleasures, who has 
 rendered man capable of chaste love, and of friend- 
 ship in its sanctity, who has formed us innocent 
 before we could practise virtue, and who has 
 connected the salutary bitterness of repentance 
 with errors, has unalterably willed our misery. 5 ' 
 
 Thence I passed to the opposite extreme, and 
 accosted a gay and dissipated throng, whose 
 deportment showed that they had found the object 
 of my pursuit. I discovered them to be fickle by 
 character, and vacillating from indifference. They 
 had only escaped the errors of the moralists, by 
 
GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 37 
 
 substituting, in place of their austere maxims, 
 enjoyments without any regard to consequences. I 
 asked them to point me to happiness. Without 
 comprehending the import of my question, thev 
 offered me participation in their pleasures. But I 
 saw them prodigal of life, dissipating- years in a 
 few days, and reserving the remnant of their 
 existence for unavailing repentance. 
 
 In view of so many observations, I abandoned 
 the idea of guiding my researches by the counsels 
 of others ; and began to enquire for the secret in 
 my own bosom. I heard the multitude around me 
 complaining, in disappointment and discourage- 
 ment. I resolved, that I would not commence the 
 pursuit of happiness by servilely following in their 
 beaten path. I determined to reflect, and patiently 
 investigate a subject of so much moment. I 
 detected at once the error of the common impres- 
 sion, that pleasure and happiness are the same. 
 The former, fickle and fleeting, assumes forms as 
 various as human caprice ; and its most attractive 
 charm is novelty. The object which gives it birth 
 to-day, ceases to please, or inspires disgust to- 
 morrow. The perception of happiness is not thus 
 changeable and transient. It creates the con- 
 sciousness of an existence so tranquil and satisfying, 
 that the longer we experience it, the more we 
 desire to prolong its duration. 
 
38 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 Another mistaken, though common impression 
 is, that the more profoundly we reflect, and make 
 the pursuit of happiness a study, the less we shall 
 be likely to enjoy. This is an error not only in 
 regard to happiness, but even pleasure. If it be 
 innocent, and exempt from danger, — to analyze it 
 and reason upon it, so far from diminishing;, 
 prolongs the delight, and renders it higher. "With- 
 out reflection we only skim its surface ; we do 
 not penetrate, and enjoy it. 
 
 Let us observe the few who have acquired the 
 wisdom to enjoy that existence which the multitude 
 waste. In their festal unions of friendship, let us 
 mark the development of their desire to multiply 
 the happy moments of life. By what ingenious 
 and pleasant discussions do they heighten the 
 charms of their condition ! With what delicacy 
 of tact do they analyze their enjoyments, to taste 
 them with a more prolonged and exquisite relish ! 
 "With what skill do they discipline themselves 
 sometimes to efface the images of the future, that 
 nothing may embitter, or distract their relish of the 
 present ; and sometimes to invoke remembrances 
 and hopes, to impart to it still brighter embellish- 
 ments ! 
 
 Contrary to the prevalent impression, I, therefore, 
 deem that, to reflect much upon it, is one of the 
 wisest means in the pursuit of happiness. The 
 
GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 39 
 
 first analysis of reflection, it is true, dispels the 
 charm with which youth invests existence. It 
 forces the conviction upon us, that the pleasures of 
 life are less durable, and its forms more numerous 
 and prolonged than we had anticipated. The first 
 result of the process is discouragement. But, as 
 we continue to reflect, objects change their aspect 
 a second time. The evils which at the first glance 
 seemed so formidable, lose a portion of their terrific 
 semblance ; and the fleeting pleasures of existence 
 receive new attractions from their analogy to 
 human weakness. 
 
 Thev mistake, too, who suppose that the art on 
 which I write has never been taught. The sages 
 of Greece investigated the science of happiness as 
 eloquently and profoundly, as they studied the 
 other sciences. They wisely held the latter in 
 estimation only so far as they were subservient to 
 the former. In all succeeding ages there have 
 arisen a few thinking men, who have regarded all 
 their faculties, their advantages of nature and 
 fortune, their studies and acquirements, not as ends 
 in themselves, but as means conducive to the right 
 pursuit of happiness. 
 
 So long a period has elapsed since this has been 
 a subject of investigation, that when the opinion is 
 advanced that this pursuit may be successfully 
 conducted by system, its rules reduced to an art, 
 
40 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 and thus become assimilated to those of the other 
 arts, most men are utterly incredulous. No truth 
 however, is more simple. To attain to a knowledge 
 of the rules, it is only requisite, as in the other 
 arts, that there should be natural dispositions for 
 the study, favourable circumstances, and an assi- 
 duous investigation of the precepts. 
 
 The influence of fortunate dispositions for this 
 study is chiefly discernible in men of marked and 
 energetic character. Some are endowed by nature 
 with such firmness and force of character, that 
 misfortune cannot shake them. It slides, if I may 
 so speak, over the surface of their stoical hearts, 
 and the shock of adversity inspires them almost 
 with a sort of pleasure, calling forth the conscious 
 feeling of power and independence for resistance. 
 But we observe the greater number shrinking from 
 affliction, and even images of sadness, enjoying the 
 present without apparent consciousness, and for- 
 getting the past without regret. Always fickle and 
 frivolous, they evade suffering by recklessness and 
 gaiety. The most perfect organization for happi- 
 ness imparts at the same time great force to resist 
 the pains of life, and keen sensibility to enjoy its 
 pleasures. I am aware that great energy and 
 quick sensibility are generally supposed to be 
 incompatible qualities ; I have, nevertheless, often 
 seen them united, I could lay down precepts, by 
 
GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 41 
 
 which to obtain the combination. By a more 
 perfect education, it is hoped that, in future, this 
 union may become general. 
 
 I yield entire faith to the doctrine, that, estimate 
 these evils as highly as you may, a balance of 
 enjoyment may still be struck in favour of life. I 
 do not doubt, that more than one half the suffering 
 and sorrow which every individual endures is 
 simply of his own procuring, and not only that it 
 might have been wholly avoided, but that positive 
 enjoyment might have been substituted in its place. 
 An inconceivable mass of misery would at once be 
 struck from the sum, if, as I have alreadv remarked, 
 we knew the physical, organic and moral laws of 
 our being, and conformed ourselves to them. A 
 uniform, consistent and thorough education would 
 cure us of innumerable errors of opinion, injurious 
 habits, and a senile conformity to established 
 prejudices : and would impart to us wisdom, force 
 of character, and resignation, to enable us to 
 sustain as we ought, those that are unavoidable. 
 Imperfection, pain, decav, and death, among the 
 inevitable events pertaining to organized beings, 
 would remain. The dignity of true philosophy, 
 the stern consciousness of the necessity of courage, 
 profound and filial submission to the divine will, 
 and the well-defined hopes of religion, would ac- 
 complish the remainder. 
 
42 GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 
 
 This classification of the great divisions of otir 
 species, as they are occupied in the pursuit of 
 happiness, seems to me both happy and just. The 
 disappointed, who affirm that the earth offers no 
 happiness ; the gloomy, who view life as a place 
 of penance, austerity, and tears ; the dissipated 
 and voluptuous, who seek only pleasure, and whose 
 doctrine is, that life offers no happiness but in 
 unbridled indulgence ; the ambitious, who consider 
 happiness to consist only in wealth, power and 
 distinction ; and a very numerous class, who have 
 no object in view, but to vegetate through life by 
 chance, constitute the great mass of mankind. The 
 number of those who have lived by system, and 
 disciplined themselves to the wise and calculating 
 pursuit of happiness, has always been small. But 
 there have still been some, enough to prove the 
 practicability of the art. Wherever we find a per- 
 son, who declares that he has lived happily, if his 
 enjoyments have been of a higher kind, than the 
 mere vegetative easiness of a felicitous temperament, 
 and an unthinking joyousness, we shall find on 
 enquiry, that he has been a philosopher in the 
 highest and best sense. He may scarcely under- 
 stand the import of the term; but, however 
 ignorant of systems, and the learning of the 
 schools, if he have made it his chief business, to 
 learn by the study of himself, and general observa- 
 
GENERAL VIEWS OF HAPPINESS. 43 
 
 tion, how to be happy, he is the true sage. He 
 may well be content, let others regard him as they 
 may ; for he has put in requisition the best wisdom 
 of life. No one maxim, especially, ever included 
 more important and practical truth, than that, to 
 be happy, we must assiduously train ourselves to 
 retain through life a keen and juvenile freshness of 
 sensibility to enjoyment ; and must early learn to 
 anticipate the effect of experience and years in 
 cultivating a stern indifference, a strong spirit of 
 endurance, and unshrinking obtuseness to pain. 
 
 Perhaps some will ask, if he who thus assumes 
 to teach the art of happiness has himself learned 
 to be constantly happy ? Endowed with a moderate 
 share of philosophy, and aided by favourable cir- 
 cumstances, I have thus far found the pleasures 
 of life greatly overbalancing its pains. But who 
 can hope for felicity without alloy ? I would not 
 conceal that I have had my share of inquietudes 
 and regrets ; and I have sometimes forgotten my 
 principles. I resemble the pilot, who gives lessons 
 upon his art after more than one shipwreck, 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 Whence are our most common sufferings ? From 
 desires which surpass our ability to satisfy them. 
 Fabulous story relates, that a superior being ap- 
 peared to a virtuous man, and said, " Form a wish, 
 and I will grant it;" " Source of light,' , replied 
 the sage, " I only wish to limit my desires by those 
 things, which nature has rendered indispensable." 
 
 Let us not suppose, however, that a negative 
 happiness, a condition exempt from suffering, is 
 the most fortunate condition to which we may 
 aspire. They who contend for this gloomy system, 
 have but poorly studied the nature of man. If he 
 errs in desiring positive enjoyments, if his highest 
 aim ought to be, to live free from pain, the caves 
 of the forest conceal those happy beings whom 
 we ought to choose for our models. 
 
OUR DESIRES. 45 
 
 Bounded by the present, animals sleep, eat, 
 procreate, live without inquietude, and die with- 
 out regret : and this is the perfection of negative 
 happiness, Man, it is true, loses himself in vain 
 projects. His long remembrances, create him 
 suffering in reference to the past, and his keen 
 foresight pains him in prospect of the future. His 
 imagination brings forth errors; his liberty, crimes. 
 But the abuse of his faculties does not disprove 
 their excellence. Let him consecrate aright that 
 time which he has hitherto lost in mourning over 
 their aberrations, and he will have reason to be 
 grateful to the Creator, for having given him the 
 most exalted rank among sublunary beings. If, 
 on the other hand, he chooses to abandon that 
 rank, in which he ought to rejoice, he will degrade 
 his immortal nature at his own cost ; and will only 
 add to his other evils the shame of wishing to 
 render himself vile, 
 
 Let us examine those animals, the instincts of 
 which have the nearest relation to intelligence. 
 Not one of them takes possession of the paternal 
 heritage, increases it, and transmits it to posterity, 
 Man alone does this, improves his condition and 
 his kind, and in this is essentially distinct from all 
 other beings below. From the Eternal to man, 
 and from man to animals, the chain is twice 
 broken. 
 
46 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 For man, the absence of suffering and a negative 
 happiness, are not sufficient. His noble faculties 
 refuse the repose of indifference. Created to aspire 
 to whatever may be an element of enjoyment, let 
 him cherish his desires, and let them indicate to 
 him the path of happiness ; too fortunate, if they 
 do not entice him towards objects, which retire in 
 proportion as he struggles to attain them, and 
 towards those imaginary joys, of which the deceit- 
 ful possession is more fertile in regrets than in 
 pleasures. 
 
 Far from being the austere censor of desires, I 
 admit, that they often produce charming illusions. 
 What loveliness have they not spread over our 
 spring of life ! Our imagination at that time, as 
 brilliant and as vivid as our age, embellished the 
 whole universe, and every position in which our 
 lot might one day place us. We were occupied 
 with errors ; but they were happy errors ; and to 
 desire was to enjoy. 
 
 Those enchanting dreams, which hold such a 
 delightful place in the life of every man, whose 
 imagination is gay and creative, spring from our 
 desires. Ingenious fictions ! Prolific visions ! 
 While ye cradle us, we possess the object of our 
 magic reveries. Real possession may be less fugi- 
 tive. But does it not also often vanish like a 
 dream ? 
 
OUR DESIRES. 47 
 
 Wherever civilized man has been found, the first 
 effort of his mind, beyond the attainment of his 
 animal wants, has been to travel into the regions 
 of imagination, to create a nobler and more beau- 
 tiful world than the dull and common-place existing 
 one ; to assign to man a higher character and 
 purer motives than belong to the actual race. To 
 possess a frame inaccessible to pain and decay, and 
 to dwell in eternal spring, surrounded by beauty 
 and truth, is an instinctive desire. A mind of any 
 fertility can create and arrange such a scene ; and 
 in this cheaming occupation the sensations are 
 tranquillizing and pleasant, beyond the more ex- 
 citing enjoyment of actual fruition. Truly, I cannot 
 deem the propensity for this sort of meditation, 
 either unworthy in itself, or as tending to conse- 
 quences to be deprecated. So far as my own 
 experience goes, and I am not without my share, 
 it neither enervates nor satiates. It furnishes 
 enjoyment that is ^alm and soothing; and such 
 enjoyment, instead of enfeebling, invigorates the 
 mind to sustain trials and sorrows. Why should 
 we not enter into every enjoyment that is followed 
 by no painful consequences ? Why should we not 
 be happy when we may ? Is he not innocently 
 employed, who is imagining a fairer scene, a better 
 world, more benevolence and more joy than this 
 " visible diurnal sphere ' affords ? 
 
48 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 Addison is never presented to me in a light so 
 amiable as when he relates his day-dreams, his 
 universal empire, in 'which he puts down all folly 
 and all wickedness, and makes all his personages 
 good and happy. 
 
 Doubtless there are dangers blended with these 
 seductive imaginings. In leaving the region of 
 illusion, the greater part of men look with regret 
 upon the abodes of reality, in which they must 
 henceforward dwell. Let us lot share their gloomy 
 weakness. Let us learn tc enjoy the moments 
 of error, and perpetuate and renew them by re- 
 membrance. Children only re allowed to weep, 
 when the waking moment annihilates the toys, of 
 which a dream had given them possession. 
 
 We give ourselves up to illusions without dan- 
 ger, if we have formed our reason ; if we wisely 
 think, that the situation where our lot has placed 
 us may have advantages which no other could 
 offer. Imagination embellishes some hours with- 
 out troubling any. Prompt to yield to the delight- 
 ful visions, there are few of which I have not 
 contemplated the charm. In seeing them vanish 
 like a fleeting dream, I look round on my wife 
 and children, and believe that I am remembered by 
 a few friends. I open my heart to the pleasures 
 of my retreat, which, though simple, are ever new. 
 As the gilded creations of imagination disappear, 
 
OUR DESIRES. 49 
 
 I smile at my creative occupation, and console 
 myself with the consciousness, that fancy can paint 
 nothing brighter or more satisfying than these my 
 realities. 
 
 But let me hasten to make an important dis- 
 tinction to prevent the semblance of contradiction. 
 Let me discriminate those fleeting desires which 
 amuse or delude us for a moment, from those deep 
 cravings which, directing all our faculties towards 
 a given end, necessarily exercise a strong influence 
 upon life. It is time to contemplate the latter, 
 and to suggest more grave reflections. While the 
 scope of our faculties is limited to narrow bounds, 
 our desires run out into infinity. From this fact 
 result two reflections ; the one afflicting, that the 
 multitude are miserable, because it is easier to form 
 than to obtain our wishes ; the other consoling, 
 that they might be happy, since every one, by 
 divine aid, may regulate his desires. 
 
 Reduced to the necessity to realize, or restrain 
 them, which course does wisdom indicate ? Will 
 ambition conduct us to repose ? I know well, that 
 in every rank and position, the inculcation of aspi- 
 ring thoughts, emulation and rivalry, is the first 
 and last lesson, the grand and beaten precept, upon 
 which the million are acting. I am well aware, 
 how many hearts are wrung by all the fierce and 
 tormenting passions associated with this devouring 
 
50 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 one. I affirm nothing in regard to my own interior 
 views, respecting what the world calls fame, glory, 
 and immortality. Those who are most dear to 
 me, will not understand me to be entering my 
 caveat to dissuade them from "this last infirmity 
 of noble minds. " Could I do it with more elo- 
 quence than ever yet flowed from tongue or pen, 
 there will always be a hundred envious competitors 
 for every single niche in the temple of fame. 
 It can be occupied but by one ; and he who gains 
 it will exult in his elevation only during its fresh- 
 ness and novelty. The rest, to the torment of 
 fostered and devouring desires, will add the bitter- 
 ness of disappointment. 
 
 I have little doubt, if an exact balance of enjoy- 
 ment and suffering could be struck, at the last 
 hour, between two persons whose circumstances in 
 other respects had been similar, one of whom had 
 been distinguished in place and power, in conse- 
 quence of cultivating ambition ; and the other 
 obscure in peaceful privacy, in consequence of 
 having chosen that condition, that the scale of 
 happiness would decidedly incline in favour of the 
 latter. In a word, it is the index of sound calcu- 
 lation, to prepare for the fate of the million rather 
 than that of the few. I shall be asked, what is to 
 stimulate to exertion, to study, toil, and sacrifice, 
 to great and noble actions, and what shall lead to 
 
OUR DESIRES. 51 
 
 fame and renown, if this incentive be taken away ? 
 I answer, that what is ordinarily dignified with the 
 appellation of ambition, is a vile mixture of the 
 worst feelings of our nature. There is in all minds, 
 truly noble, a sufficient impulse towards great 
 actions, apart from these movements, which are 
 generally the excitements of little and mean spirits. 
 Take the w T hole nature of man into the calculation, 
 and there can never be a want of sufficient impulse 
 towards distinction, without a particle of those 
 contemptible motives, which are generally put to 
 the account of praiseworthy excitement. Truly 
 great men have been remarkable for their exemption 
 from envy, the inseparable concomitant of con- 
 scious deficiency ; and for a certain calm and 
 tranquil spirit, indicating moderation and compara- 
 tive indifference in the struggle of emulation. They 
 are able to say, in regard to the highest boon of 
 ambition, 
 
 " I neither spurn, nor for the favour call ; 
 It comes unasked-for, if it comes at all." 
 
 He who moderates his desires may also think 
 thus, — " No one can show me the mind, or paint 
 me the consciousness of the ambitious aspirant. 
 Divine Providence, and my own choice, have as- 
 signed me the shade. Let me not embitter its 
 
52 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 coolness and its satisfactions by idle desires to 
 unite advantages that are, in their nature, incon- 
 gruous. Let me remember, that mine is the 
 condition of the million. My Creator cannot have 
 doomed so vast a proportion of his creatures to a 
 state which is necessarily miserable. All that 
 remains to me is to make the best of the common 
 lot." 
 
 He who chases the phantoms of ambition, 
 resembles the child who imagines that he shall be 
 able to grasp the rainbow, which spans the 
 mountain in the distance ; still from mountain to 
 mountain, a new horizon spreads before his eyes. 
 But the courage and perseverance requisite to regu- 
 late our desires, may intimidate us. We vex our- 
 selves in the pursuit of fortune, honour and glory. 
 Philosophy is worth more than the whole, and do 
 we expect to purchase it without pain ? True, she 
 declares to us, that to realize our desires is a part 
 of the science of happiness ; but by no means the 
 most important one. Yet it is the only one to 
 which most men devote themselves. Philosophy 
 should teach us, what desires we ought to receive 
 and cherish, as inmates. When they are fleeting, 
 and spring from a gay and creative imagination, 
 let us yield ourselves without fear to their transient 
 dreams. But when they may exercise a long and 
 decisive influence, let a mature examination teach 
 
OUR DESIRES. 53 
 
 us, whether wisdom allows the attempt to realize 
 them. How much uncertainty and torment might 
 we spare our weakness, if from infancy we directed 
 our pursuit towards the essential objects of felicity, 
 and if we stripped those, which, in their issue, 
 produce chimerical hopes and bitter regrets, of 
 their deceitful charms ! What gratitude should 
 we not owe that provident instruction, whose cares 
 should indicate., and smooth our road to happiness ! 
 The great results, which might be obtained from 
 education, would be, to moderate the desires, and 
 to find some indemnities for the sorrows of life. 
 On the present plan, by arousing our emulation, 
 by enkindling our instinctive ardour to increase 
 our fortune, and eclipse our rivals, we make it 
 a study, if I may so say, to render ourselves dis- 
 contented with our lot ; and, as if afraid that we 
 should not be sufficiently perverted by the conta- 
 gion of example, we invoke ambition and cupidity 
 to enter the soul. We treat as chimerical those 
 desires, which are so simple and pure, as to be 
 pleasures of themselves, and which look to a happi- 
 ness easy of attainment. 
 
 Let us, then, unlearn most of the ideas we have 
 received. Let us close our eyes on the illusions 
 which surround us. Let us re-mould our plan of 
 life, and retain in the heart only those desires 
 which our Creator has placed there. Let reflection 
 
54 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 impart energy to our mind, and be our guide in 
 the new path which reason opens before us. 
 
 We shall be told, that these desires animate us 
 unsought and continually. I admit it. But in 
 most men they are simple results of instinct, and 
 are vague, and without decisive effect. A craving 
 for happiness is diffused as widely as life. The 
 enlightened desire of happiness is as rare as wis- 
 dom. The mass of our species do not avail them- 
 selves of life, to enjoy it ; but apparently for other 
 purposes. My first and fundamental maxim is, 
 that no one should live by chance. Freed from 
 vulgar ideas, and guided by the principles of true 
 wisdom, let happiness be our end ; and let us view 
 all our employments and pursuits, as means. 
 
 I meet men of sanguine temperament, who say 
 in the pride of internal energy, — My calculations 
 must succeed ; I am certain to acquire wealth. 
 Another of the same class assures me, that he sees 
 no turn to his rapid career of advancement ; and 
 that he is confident of reaching the summit of 
 greatness. What more fortunate result can he 
 propose, than happiness ? My pupil should make 
 all his plans subservient to the numbering of happy 
 days even from the commencement of his career. 
 
 The young should be early imbued with the 
 sentiment, that God sent them here to be happy ; 
 not in indolence, intoxication, or voluptuousness, 
 
OUR DESIRES. 55 
 
 but in earnest and vigorous discipline, in the dis- 
 charge of the duties of their station. And at this 
 bright epoch, when nature spreads a charm over 
 existence, a well- instructed teacher may easily train 
 them to invest their studies, labours, and pursuits, 
 and perhaps even their privations, and severer toils, 
 with a colouring of cheerfulness and gaiety, when 
 contemplated as the only means by which they may 
 hope to reach a desired end. They should be 
 trained to meet events, and brave the shock of 
 adversity, in resigning themselves to the divine 
 will. In other words, they should make enjoyment 
 a means, as well as an end, that they may carry 
 onward, from their first days, an accumulating 
 stock of happiness, with which courage and cheer- 
 fulness may paint future anticipations in the mellow 
 lustre of past remembrances. In this way the bow 
 of promise may be made to bend its brilliant arch 
 over every period of this transient existence, con- 
 necting what has been, and what will be, in the 
 same radiant span. 
 
 Entertaining such views of the direction which 
 might be given to the juvenile mind, I mourn over 
 those weak parents, who are nursing their children 
 with effeminate fondness, not allowing the winds 
 to visit them too roughly, pampering their wishes, 
 instead of teaching them to repress them ; and 
 
56 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 rather striving to ward from thern all pains and 
 privations, than teaching them that they must en- 
 counter many sorrows and disappointments, and 
 disciplining them to breast the ills of life w T ith 
 a conquering fortitude. Opulence generally gives 
 birth to this injudicious plan of parental education. 
 Penury, as little directed by sound views, but im- 
 pelled by the stern teaching of necessity, imparts 
 to the children of the poor, a much more salutary 
 discipline, and they ordinarily come forward with a 
 more robust spirit, with more vigour, power and 
 elasticity ; and this is one way in which providence 
 adjusts the balance of advantages between these 
 different conditions. 
 
 It would be no disadvantage even to the ambi- 
 tious and aspiring to abstract, from the toils of 
 their pursuit, the bitter and corroding spirit of 
 rivalry and envy, and in its stead to cultivate sen- 
 timents of kindness, complacency and moderation. 
 Let their ends be so noble, as to give an air of 
 dignity to the means that they employ, and they 
 will throw a splendour of self-respect over their 
 course. Let the aspirant say, "I struggle not for 
 myself, but to procure competence for aged parents, 
 to gild their declining years with the view of my 
 success. It is for dependent relatives, orphans, the 
 poor and friendless, whom Providence has given 
 
OUR DESIRES. 57 
 
 particular claims on me, that I struggle. It is to 
 benefit and gladden those who are dearer to me 
 than life, and not for my own sordid vanity and 
 ambition, that I strive to toil up the ascent of 
 fame." 
 
 Let us beware, however, of aspiring after a per- 
 fect felicity. The art I discuss, will not descend 
 from heaven. Its object is, to indicate desirable 
 situations, to guide us towards them, when they 
 offer, and to remove the vexations of life. The 
 greater part of mankind might exist in comfort. 
 They fail of this, in aiming at impracticable ameli- 
 oration of their condition. It is an egregious folly 
 only to contemplate the dark side of our case. I 
 deem it a mark of wisdom and strength of mind, 
 rather to exaggerate its advantages. 
 
 The necessity of moderating our desires and 
 reducing them within the limits of what we may 
 reasonably hope to acquire, has been the beaten 
 theme of prose and song. Yet, who can calculate 
 the sum of torment that has been inflicted by wild 
 and unreasonable desires, by visionary and puerile 
 expectations, beyond all probable bounds of means 
 to realize them, indulged and fostered until they 
 have acquired the force of habit ! Whose memory 
 cannot recur to sufferings from envy and ill-will, 
 
58 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 generated by cupidity, for the possessions and 
 advantages of others that we have not ; Who can 
 connt the pangs which he has endured from ex- 
 travagant and unattainable wishes ! Poetry calls 
 our mortal sojourn a vale of tears ; yet what in- 
 genuity to multiply the gratuitous means of self-tor- 
 ment. Has another health, wealth, beauty, fortune, 
 endowment, which I have not ? Envy will neither 
 take them from him, nor transfer them to me. 
 Why, then, should I allow vultures to prey upon 
 my spirit ? Learn neither to regret what you want 
 and cannot supply, nor to hate him who is more 
 fortunate. With all his apparent advantages over 
 you, he wants, perhaps, what you may possess, a 
 tranquil mind. There is little doubt that you are 
 the happier person if you contemplate his advan- 
 tages and his possessions with a cheerful and 
 unrepining spirit. 
 
 In indulging your desires beyond reason, you 
 are fostering internal enemies and becoming a 
 self-tormentor. The higher gifts of fortune, the 
 common objects of envious desire, are awarded to 
 but a few. The number of those who may enter- 
 tain any reasonable hope of reaching them, is very 
 small. But every one can moderate his desires. 
 Every one can set bounds to his ambition. Every 
 one can limit his expectations. What influence 
 
OUR DESIRES. .59 
 
 can fortune, events, or power exercise over a per- 
 son, who has learned to be content with a little, 
 
 and who has acquired courage to resign even that 
 without repining ! Franklin might well smile at the 
 impotent rualice of those who would deprive him 
 of his means and his business, when he proved to 
 them that he could live on turnips and rain water. 
 It is not the less true or important, because it has 
 been a million times said, that happiness, the crea- 
 ture of the mind, dwells not in external things. 
 
 Let us carefully ascertain, what things are indis- 
 pensable to our well-being ; and let us discipline 
 all our desires towards the acquisition of them. 
 If I consult those who are driven onward by the 
 whirlwind of hie, to learn what objects are abso- 
 lutely necessary to my end, what a long catalogue 
 they will name ! If I ask some moralists, how 
 many sacrifices incompatible with human nature, 
 will they impose ! Agitated, and uncertain, I am 
 conscious, that my powers are equally insufficient 
 to amass all which the former prescribe, or to tear 
 me from all which the latter disdainfully interdict. 
 
 In examining this all-important subject, without 
 the spirit oi system, I realize, that the essentials 
 of a happy life are tranqiiillitv of mind, indepen- 
 dence, health, competence, and the affection of 
 some of our equals. Let us strive to acquire them. 
 
60 OUR DESIRES. 
 
 They are numerous, I admit, and difficult to unite 
 in the possession of an individual. Nevertheless, 
 if a severe discrimination enabled us to bound our 
 pursuit by the desire of obtaining only these ob- 
 jects, what a great and happy change would be 
 effected upon the earth ; and how many disappoint- 
 ments would be henceforward unknown ! 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 
 
 By the word tranquillity, I designate that state 
 of the mind, in which, estranged from the weak- 
 nesses of life, it tastes that happy calm which it 
 owes to its own power and elevation. Inaccessible 
 to storms, it still admits those emotions which give 
 birth to pure pleasures, and yields to the generous 
 movements which the virtues inspire* Tranquillity 
 seems ^difference only in the eyes of the vulgar ; 
 but a delightful consciousness of existence accom- 
 panies it. We should meditate with thankfulness 
 upon the causes which produce it. Without rea- 
 soning we respire and enjoy it; it is the appropriate 
 pleasure of the sage. 
 
 A pure conscience is the most profound source of 
 this delightful calm. Without it, we shall attempt 
 in vain to veil our faults from ourselves, or to listen 
 
62 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 
 
 only to the voice of adulation. An interior witness 
 must testify that we have sometimes sought oc- 
 casions to be useful; and that we have always 
 welcomed those who offered us opportunities to do 
 good. 
 
 Another condition, equally necessary, is to close 
 the heart against unregulated ambition. I am well 
 aware, in laying down this precept, that I shall be 
 deemed an idle dreamer. If you are convinced 
 beyond argument that there is nothing worth seek- 
 ing in life but distinctions and honours, you may 
 close the volume. If you are ready to receive these 
 brilliant illusions when they come unsought, and 
 return to the repose of your heart should you 
 obtain them not, you may reflect with advantage 
 on my lessons. 
 
 To consecrate to true enjoyment as many days 
 as possible, to lose in disquieting desires as few 
 moments as we may, these are the elements of my 
 philosophy. The world, on the other hand, in- 
 cessantly repeats, " Shine, — ascend high places, — 
 bind fortune to your chariot wheels;" the multitude 
 listen, and consume life in tormenting desires 
 which end in disappointment. I say to my disciple, 
 Make your pursuit, whatever it be, a source of 
 present enjoyment, and be happy without delay. 
 But the cry of objection reaches me, would you 
 wish him to remain in obscurity, and never tran- 
 
TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 63 
 
 scene! the limits of the narrow circle in which he 
 was born ? I would have him enjoy the self-re- 
 spect of conscious usefulness, and taste all the 
 innocent pleasures of the senses of the heart and 
 of the mind. Farther than these, I see nothing 
 but the miserable inquietudes of vanity. I admit 
 that the pleasures of gratified ambition are high 
 flavoured and intoxicating; but compelled to choose 
 among enjoyments which cannot all be tasted to- 
 gether, I balance the delights which they spread 
 over life with the pains which it must cost to obtain 
 them. If I incline to ambition, I must ny privacy 
 and my retreat ; and renounce the pleasures which 
 my family, friends, and free pursuits daily renew. 
 I must no longer inhabit the paradise of my plea- 
 sant dreams. Abandoning the simple and sincere 
 enjoyments of obscurity, I abandon repose and 
 independence. 
 
 Suppose I obtain those honours of which the 
 distant brilliancy dazzles my vision, what destiny 
 can I propose to myself ? How long can I enjoy my 
 honours ? Besieged by incessant alarm, through 
 fear of losing them, how often shall I sigh over the 
 ill-judged exchange by which I bartered peace and 
 privacy for them ? Number all the truly happy 
 days of the ambitious ; they are those in which, 
 forming his projects, and, in his imagination, 
 removing the obstacles that lie in his way, he 
 
64 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 
 
 embellishes Ms career with the illusions of his 
 fancy. Too often the desired objects, which, in 
 the distance glittered in his eyes, resemble those 
 paintings which, seen from afar, present enchanting 
 scenery* but offer only revolting views when beheld 
 close at hand, 
 
 I wish to avoid the usual exaggeration upon 
 these subjects, Moralists deceive us when paint- 
 ing the contrast between the virtues and the vices; 
 they assign unmingled felicity to the one, and 
 absolute misery to the other. ' I am sensible that 
 even in his deepest inquietudes, and notwithstand- 
 ing his desires and regrets, the votary of ambition 
 still has his moments of intoxicating pleasure. It 
 is not this alone, but happiness that we seek, If 
 we wish only to toil up the heights of ambition to 
 enjoy the dignities of the summit, counsels are 
 useless. If we ask for nothing more than pleasure, 
 they may be varied to infinity, and be found per- 
 vading all situations in forms appropriate to all 
 characters. This hypocrite, that victim of envy, 
 yonder miser, do they experience, the moralist will 
 ask, nothing but torment ? Mark the misanthrope 
 who incessantly repeats that in a world peopled 
 with perverse beings and malign spirits, existence 
 is an odious burden. This man, notwithstanding, 
 finds his pleasure in a world which he affects so 
 much to detest. Every invective which he throws 
 
TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. G5 
 
 out against it, is a eulogy reflected back upon 
 himself. He rises in his own estimation in pro- 
 portion as he debases others, and finds in himself 
 all the qualities which he makes them want. Does 
 he meet with a partisan of his principles ? how 
 delightful for two misanthropes to communicate 
 their discoveries, and to make a joint war of sar- 
 casm upon the human race ! Does he find an 
 antagonist ? he experiences a charm in controvert- 
 ing him. Besides, as in vilifying human nature, 
 no one can want * either facts or arguments to 
 present it in hues sufficiently dark, in the compla- 
 cency of conscious triumph, he terminates his war 
 of words. 
 
 The votary of ambition not only has pleasures 
 which are often dazzling, but perhaps enjoyments 
 not within the ordinary ken, which require pro- 
 found observation. The ardent aspiration after 
 success gives a charm to efforts in the struggle 
 which would otherwise present only unmixed bit- 
 terness. Acts in themselves vile, ridiculous, or 
 revolting, contemplated as means essential to a 
 proposed end, lose their meanness and tendency to 
 lessen self-respect. It is possible, in this view, 
 that even extraordinary humiliations may inspire 
 the ambitious man with a sort of pride, in the con- 
 sciousness that he has strength to stoop to them 
 for his purposes. In fine, it is too true that a 
 
66 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 
 
 momentary pleasure may be found in the most 
 capricious aberrations, the most shameful vices, and 
 the most atrocious crimes. 
 
 It will be seen that I abandon most of the trite 
 declamation against ambition. I touch not on its 
 long inquietudes, its inevitable torments, exacerba- 
 ted a hundred-fold, if their victim preserve degrees 
 of mental elevation, and remains of moral senti- 
 ment. Life passes pleasantly among men who have 
 just views, upright hearts and frank manners, the 
 true elements of greatness and enjoyment. Sur- 
 rounded by such minds, we respire, as it were, a 
 free, and sometimes even a celestial atmosphere. 
 Yield yourself to the empire of ambition ; and in all 
 countries, and in all time, you condemn yourself to 
 live surrounded by greedy, unquiet, false and vin- 
 dictive intriguers, gnashing their teeth at all success 
 in which they had no agency. All that encircle 
 you unite insolence and baseness. 
 
 Those who envy authority and office are worthy 
 of commisseration. Men in power imagine they 
 are happy ; they have but to wish, and it is accom- 
 plished. The epitaph of the Swedish minister is 
 sublime, and the index of great truth ; he had run 
 the career of power and fortune with success : 
 when near the period of his death, he ordered this 
 inscription for his tomb, Tandem Felix, — at length 
 I am happy. 
 
TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. G7 
 
 We never leave the society of the great as we 
 entered it ; we have become either better or more 
 perverse. Inexperience is easily dazzled with the 
 superficial splendour. For a man of disciplined 
 mind and a character of energy, it is the most 
 useful of schools. Here he tests and confirms his 
 principles. Here he observes, sometimes with 
 terror, sometimes with disgust, the melancholy 
 results of the seductive passions. He here sees 
 those who seem to have reached all their aims 
 enjoying the repose of happy privacy. I anticipate 
 the objection, " that this is all absurdity ; that not 
 one will be so convinced of his misery as to resign 
 his power and descend from his elevation to that 
 obscurity for which he sighs. " I believe it ; and 
 I see in this a deeper shade in his misery. He 
 has so long experienced the pernicious excitement 
 of this splendid torment, that he can no longer 
 exist in repose. 
 
 Such is the lot of erring humanity, that the 
 world naturally associates glory and happiness 
 with ambition, and sees not that the association is 
 formed by our own mental feebleness. To rise 
 above vulgar errors and the common train of think- 
 ing, to form wise principles, and, still more, to 
 have the courage and decision to follow them, this 
 is the proof of real force of character. But to feel 
 the need of dazzling the vulgar, to be willing to 
 
68 TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 
 
 creep in order to rise, to struggle and dispute for 
 trinkets, this is the common standard by which the 
 multitude estimate a great mind. 
 
 Philosophers are accused of having presented 
 grandeur under an unfavourable aspect, in order 
 to console themselves for not having enjoyed it. 
 History reads us another lesson. Aristotle in- 
 structed the son of Philip. Plato was received at 
 the courts of kings. Cicero received the title of 
 "father of his country/' by a decree of the senate. 
 Boethius, thrice clad with the consulur purple, 
 when his locks were hoary, was dragged to a dun- 
 geon. He wrote "the Consolations inspired by 
 Philosophy, " and laid down his book at the foot of 
 the scaffold. Marcus Aurelius honoured the throne 
 of the world by those modest virtues which shone 
 still brighter in obscurity. Fenelon was raised to 
 the highest dignities only to experience their bit- 
 terness, and, like his great predecessor, to owe his 
 glory and his happy days only to wisdom and re- 
 tirement. Franklin will be remembered in all time, 
 not as the governor, legislator and ambassador, 
 but as having trained himself to his admirable 
 philosophy of common sense amidst the laborious 
 occupations of a printer. 
 
 The certainty of acquiring the self-respect of 
 conscious usefulness, a certainty which the great 
 can seldom have, ought alone to determine a w T ise 
 
TRANQUILLITY OF MIND. 69 
 
 man to quit his obscurity. But if the emoluments 
 and honours of a high station seduce us, let us 
 value our independence, and let us not exchange 
 treasure for tinsel. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 If we wish our precepts to be followed, we must 
 avoid the extremes to which some moralists and 
 philosophers are too much inclined to press their 
 doctrines, for they are impracticable in real life. It 
 is useless to deny that there are evils against which 
 the aids of reason and friendship are powerless. 
 Let us leave him who is about to lose a friend 
 whose life is blended with his own, to sigh unre- 
 proved, Time is necessary to enfeeble his remem- 
 brances and assuage his pain. To render man 
 inaccessible to suffering would be to change his 
 nature. Those austere moralists who treat our 
 feebleness with disdain, and who would render us 
 indifferent to the most terrible blows of destiny, 
 would at the same time leave us no sensibility or 
 
OF MISFORTUNE. 71 
 
 enjoyment. Nothing can be more absurd than the 
 vain harangues by which common-place consolation 
 is offered to those who mourn a wife, a child, a 
 friend. All reasonings are ineffectual when opposed 
 to these words : "I have lost my friend : you 
 inform me that my misfortune is without a remedy. 
 If there were a remedy, instead of unavailing tears, 
 I would employ it. It is precisely because there 
 is none, that I grieve." " Your tears are useless." 
 " Still they serve to solace me." " God has done 
 it." " True, and God has formed my heart to 
 suffer from his blow." " Your child is happy, and 
 knew neither the errors nor the sorrows of life." 
 " A parent's instinctive love inspired the desire that 
 I might teach it to avoid both and obtain happi- 
 ness." " In the course of a long career your friend 
 gave an example of all the virtues." "It is because 
 the loss of these virtues is irreparable to me that I 
 must deplore his death." 
 
 The greater portion of men, I admit, exaggera- 
 ting their regrets, pay a tribute of dissembled grief 
 rather to opinion than to nature ; and cold decla- 
 mation, and frivolous distinctions are sufficient to 
 console them. But the orators of consolation 
 sometimes press their lessons on hearts which are 
 really bleeding. Let such weep at liberty, and 
 attempt not to contradict nature. Solitude may 
 exalt the imagination : but it also inspires consoling 
 
72 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 ideas. In the silence of its refuge the desolate 
 mourner brings himself to a nearer communion 
 with him whom he regrets. He invokes, sees, and 
 addresses him. Grief is more ingenious than we 
 imagine in finding consolation, and has learned to 
 employ different remedies, according as the wounds 
 are slight or deep. Two persons have each lost a 
 dear friend. The one studiously avoids the places 
 where he used to meet his friend. The other re- 
 pairs to his desolate haunts, and surrounding 
 himself by monuments associated with his memory, 
 he seeks, if I may so say, to restore him to life. 
 
 The death of a beloved wife is, perhaps, the most 
 inconsolable of evils. Let this follow a series of 
 other misfortunes ; and it so effaces their remem- 
 brance, that the sufferer feels he has not until then 
 known real grief. But if this affliction be one 
 under which our strength is broken, let it be the 
 only one to obtain this fatal triumph. Under all 
 other misfortunes we may find in ourselves re- 
 sources for sustaining them ; and may invariably 
 either evade or assuage them, or mitigate their 
 bitterness by resignation. 
 
 Moralists have expatiated upon the manner in 
 which a sage ought to contemplate the evils of life. 
 Instead of subscribing to all their maxims, often 
 more imposing than practicable, I sketch a sum- 
 mary of my philosophy. I caution the feeble and 
 
OF MISFORTUNE. 73 
 
 erring beings that surround me, not to dream of 
 unmixed happiness. I invite them to partake 
 promptly of all innocent pleasures. The evils too 
 often appended to them may follow. Know no- 
 thing of those which have no existence except in 
 opinion. Struggle with courage to escape all that 
 may be evaded. But if it become inevitable to 
 meet them, let resignation, closing your eyes on 
 the past, secure the repose of patient endurance, 
 when happiness exists for you no longer. 
 
 Permit me to give these ideas some develop- 
 ment. If I may believe the most prevalent modern 
 philosophy, tranquillity of mind is the result of 
 organization, or temperament, and of circumstan- 
 ces. I think that it is, at least in a great degree, 
 of our own procuring ; and that we owe it still 
 more to the masculine exercise of our reason, 
 discipline, and mental energy, than to our tempera- 
 ment or condition. 
 
 We have reason to deplore that unhappy being, 
 who, yielding to dreams of pleasure, forgets to 
 fore-arm himself against a fatal awakening. The 
 history of great political convulsions, and, more 
 than all, that of the French revolution, furnishes 
 impressive examples of this spectacle. It offers 
 more than one instance, in the feebler sex, of 
 persons who seemed created only to respire hap- 
 piness. To the advantages of youth, talent, and 
 
74 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 beauty, were united the most exalted rank, and 
 wealth, pleasure, and power, apparently to the 
 extent of their wishes. To the dazzling fascina- 
 tion, with which a brilliant crowd surrounded their 
 inexperience, many of them united the richer do- 
 mestic enjoyments of the wife and mother. In the 
 midst of their illusions, the revolutionary shout 
 struck their ear, like a thunder- stroke; executioners 
 bade them ascend the scaffold. 
 
 These great catastrophes, I know, are rare. But 
 there will never cease to be sorrows, which will 
 receive their last bitterness only in death. They 
 are all too painful to be sustained, unless they 
 have been wisely foreseen. Let us think of mis- 
 fortunes, as of certain companions with whom our 
 lot may one day compel us to associate. 
 
 It is novelty alone, which gives our emotions 
 extreme keenness. Whoever has strength of cha- 
 racter may learn to endure any thing. The red 
 men of the American wilderness are most impres- 
 sive examples of this truth ; — with what fortitude 
 have they not borne the most extreme torture ! 
 Time, however, is the most efficacious teacher of 
 the lesson of endurance. Poussin, in his painting 
 of Eudomidas, has delineated the human heart 
 with fidelity. The young girl of the piece aban- 
 dons herself to despair. Half stretched upon the 
 earth, her head falls supinely on the knees of the 
 
OP MISFORTUNE. 75 
 
 aged mother of the dying ; this mother is sitting ; 
 her attitude announces mingled meditation and 
 grief ; amidst her tears, we trace firmness on her 
 visage ; one of the two women is taking her first 
 lesson of misery ; the other has already passed 
 through a long apprenticeship of grief. 
 
 Reflection imparts anticipated experience. It 
 takes from misery that air of novelty which renders 
 it terrible. When a wise man experiences a re- 
 verse, his new position has been foreseen. He has 
 measured the sorrows, and prepared the consola- 
 tions. Into whatever scene of trial he may be 
 brought, he will endeavour not to show the em- 
 barrassment of a stranger. 
 
 Taught to be conscious that we are feeble 
 combatants, thrown upon an arena of strife, let 
 us not calculate that destiny has no blows in store 
 for us. Let us prepare for wounds, painful and 
 slow to heal ; let us blunt the darts of misfortune 
 in advance. Then, if they strike, they will not 
 penetrate so deep. But in premeditating the trials, 
 which may be in reserve for our courage, let not 
 anticipated solicitude disturb the present. Of all 
 mental efforts, foresight is the most difficult to 
 regulate. If we have it not, we fall into reverses 
 unprepared. If we exercise it too far, we are 
 perpetually miserable by anticipation. 
 
 The true philosopher prepares himself for con- 
 
76 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 tingent perils, by processes which impart a keener 
 pleasure to present enjoyment. He better under- 
 stands the value of the moments of joy, and learns 
 to dispel the fears, which might mar their tran- 
 quillity. That is a gloomy wisdom, which condemns 
 the precepts that invite us to draw, from the un- 
 certainty of our lot, a motive to embellish the 
 moment of actual happiness. Transient beings, 
 around whom every thing is changing and in 
 motion, adopt my maxims. Let us aid those who 
 surround us, to put them in practice. Let us 
 render those who are happy to-day more happy. 
 To-morrow the opportunity may have passed for 
 ever. 
 
 As though nature had not sowed sufficient sor- 
 rows in our path during our short career, we have 
 added to the mass by our own invention. The 
 offspring of our vanity and puerile prejudices, these 
 factitious pains, seem sometimes more difficult to 
 support, than real evils. A warrior, who has 
 shown fearless courage in the deadly breach, has 
 passed a sleepless night, because he was not invited 
 to a party, or a feast; or because a ribband has not 
 been added to the many, with which he is already 
 decorated. I had been informed, that the wife and 
 son of a distinguished acquaintance were danger- 
 ously sick. I met him pale and thoughtful. I was 
 meditating, how to give him hope in regard to 
 
OF MISFORTUNE. 77 
 
 the objects of his supposed anxiety. While I was 
 hesitating how to address him, he made known the 
 subject of his real inquietude ; he was in expecta- 
 tion of a high employment ; the man of power, in 
 whose hand was the gift, had just received him 
 coldly a second time, and he was anxiously cal- 
 culating his remaining chances, and striving to 
 divine the causes of his discouraging reception. 
 
 To avoid such ridiculous agonies, let us adopt a 
 maxim, not the less true, because the phrase, in 
 which I express it, may seem trivial. Three- 
 quarters and half the remaining quarter of our 
 vexations, are not worth wasting a thought upon 
 their cause. The order of events, which we call 
 by the name of chance, is often more sage than any 
 that human calculation can arrange. If it decides 
 in a manner which at first view seems greatly 
 against us, let us defer our accusations, until we 
 have more thoroughly examined the event. I have 
 met a man, who had long been an aspirant for a 
 certain place, with a radiant countenance, having 
 just obtained it. Three months afterwards, he 
 would have purchased at any price the power of 
 recalling circumstances. I have seen another friend 
 in desolation, because he could not obtain the hand 
 of the daughter of a man, whose enterprises pro- 
 mised an immense fortune ; he had been rejected. 
 The speculations of her father all failed ; and the 
 
78 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 reputation of his integrity and good faith with 
 them. The despairing lover would have shared 
 the poverty and disgrace of a helpless family ; and 
 would have been tormented besides, with an in- 
 compatible union, of itself sufficient to have 
 rendered him miserable in the midst of all the 
 expected prosperity. One event is contemplated 
 with a charmed eye ; another with despair. The 
 issue alone can declare, which of the two we ought 
 to have desired. We do well, therefore, to acqui- 
 esce in the wise and kind arrangements of divine 
 Providence. 
 
 I grant, that we are surrounded by real dangers. 
 I pretend not to be above suffering ; and I attach 
 no merit to becoming the reckless dupe of men or 
 chance. The highest philosophy is at the same 
 time the most simple and practicable. There is no 
 error more common than one, which is taken for 
 profound wisdom. Most men look too deep for 
 the springs of events, and the motives of action. 
 When we are menaced by an evident peril, let us 
 summon ail our energy, and courageously struggle 
 to ward it off. If, after all, neither wisdom can 
 evade it, nor bravery vanquish it, let us see how 
 true wisdom can enable us to sustain it. 
 
 How many are ignorant of the value of resigna- 
 tion, or confound it with weakness ! The courage 
 of resignation is, perhaps, the most high and rare 
 
OF MISFORTUNE. 79 
 
 of all the forms of that virtue. Man received the 
 gift directly from the Author of his being. His 
 desires, inquietudes, misguided opinions, the fruits 
 of an ambitious and incongruous education, have 
 weakened its force in the soul. Who can read the 
 anecdote of the American wilderness without thril- 
 ling emotion ? An Indian, descending the Niagara 
 river, was drawn into the rapids above the sublime 
 cataract. The nursling of the desert rowed with 
 incredible vigour at first, in an intense struggle for 
 life. Seeing his efforts useless, he dropped his 
 oars, sung his death song, and floated in calmness 
 down the abyss. His example is worthy of imita- 
 tion. While there is hope, let us nerve all our 
 force, to avail ourselves of all the chances it 
 suggests. When hope ceases, and the peril must 
 be braved, wisdom counsels calm resignation. 
 
 With regard to unconquerable evils, the true 
 doctrine is not vain resistance, but profound sub- 
 mission ; it conceals the outline of what we have 
 to suffer, as with a veil ; it hastens to bring us the 
 fruit of consoling time ; it opens our eyes to a 
 clearer view of the possessions which remain to 
 us ; it precedes hope, as twilight ushers in the day. 
 It is by laying down certain well ascertained prin- 
 ciples of conduct, and re-examining them every 
 day, that a new empire is given to reason, and 
 that we learn to select the most eligible point in all 
 situations in life. 
 
80 OF MISFORTUNE. 
 
 Among the moderns, in pursuit of happiness, 
 some study only to multiply their physical enjoy- 
 ments ; and, limited to gross sensations, differ 
 little from brutes, except in discoursing about what 
 they eat. Others, higher in the scale of thought, 
 cultivate the pleasures of literature and the fine 
 arts. But subjecting only a single class of their 
 powers to discipline with a view to distinguish 
 themselves from the vulgar, they are not always 
 more happy. True philosophy is chiefly conversant 
 about that kind of acquisition, which pre-eminently 
 constitutes the rational man, forms his reason, and 
 places him, as a kind of sage monarch, in the 
 midst of an unreflecting world surrounded by chil- 
 dren full of ignorance and fatuity. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 We distinguish many kinds of liberty. That which 
 we owe to equal laws, without being indispensable 
 to a philosopher, renders the attainment of happi- 
 ness more easy to him. However men differ in 
 their political opinions, they all have an instinctive 
 desire to be free. Every one is reluctant and 
 afraid to submit himself to the capricious power of 
 those about him. The thirst of power is only 
 another form of this ardour for independence. 
 
 With what interest we read in history of those 
 ignorant tribes, unknown to fame, whose liberty 
 and simple manners at once astonish and delight 
 us ! When visiting the isles of Greece, where the 
 charm of memory rendered the view of their actual 
 slavery more revolting, what delight our travellers 
 have experienced in traversing the little isle of 
 
82 OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 Casos, because it had never submitted to the 
 Ottoman yoke ! They there found the usages of the 
 ancient Greeks, their costume, their beauty and 
 their amiable and elevated natural manner. This 
 isle is but a rock. But its dangerous shores have 
 defended it against tyranny. Associations with 
 the songs of Homer and Hesiod are renewed. 
 Such a picture delights even a people whose man- 
 ners are refined to a degree tending to depravation. 
 Thus it is, that those opulent citizens who find 
 the country a place of exile, still decorate their 
 splended halls with landscapes and flowers. 
 
 Let not a sensitive and wandering imagination 
 kindle too readily at the recitals of travellers. 
 Were we to transport ourselves to one of those 
 remote points of the earth where felicity is re- 
 presented to have chosen her asylum, new usages, 
 manners and pleasures, and a foreign people, every 
 moment reminding us that we are strangers, would 
 perhaps, give birth to the most painful regrets. 
 When in our youth we were charmed as we read 
 of the prodigies of Athens and Rome, we uttered 
 the wish that we had been born in those renowned 
 republics. There is little doubt that, had our wish 
 been realized, we should have been glad to escape 
 their storms, in exchange for greater obscurity, 
 and more tranquil days . 
 
 It is a distinguished folly which impels men 
 
OF INDEPENDENCE. 83 
 
 far from their country in search of happiness. 
 The greater portion, deceived in their hopes after 
 having wandered amidst danger, die with regret 
 and sorrow, worn out with vexation resulting 
 from the hroken ties and remembrances of home. 
 Home is the last thought that comes over the 
 departing mind. Our country is our common 
 mother. We ought to love and sustain her more 
 firmly in her adversity than in her prosperity. 
 
 Whatever manners, opinions and talents we 
 carry into another country, we are still strangers 
 there. The manners which we adopt are new 
 and irksome. The eye sees nothing to awaken 
 dear and embellished remembrances ; and we find 
 in the heart of no one the reverberating chord 
 of ancient friendship and sympathy. We always 
 regret the places where we knew the first pleasures 
 and the first pains, and saw the first enchanting 
 visions of life ; the cherished spots where we 
 learned to love and be loved. If, returning 
 there, drawn back by an invincible sentiment, 
 after a long absence we see it again, what sorrows 
 await us ! We find ourselves strangers in our 
 own country. We ask for our parents and friends 
 who departed in succession. The blows were 
 struck at long intervals. ■ We receive them all in 
 a moment. We return to shed tears only on the 
 tombs of our fathers ! 
 
84 OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 Retreat and competence everywhere supply a 
 wise man a degree of independence. Even when 
 the sport of oppression and injustice, he yields to 
 these evils as the allotments of Providence. He 
 would be free in the midst of Constantinople under 
 the government of the Sultan. 
 
 Another kind of liberty is the portion of but a 
 few in our own country, — the liberty of disposing 
 of the whole of our leisure time. To those who 
 understand not the value of time, this liberty 
 bequeaths a heavy bondage. But to those who 
 have learned the secret of happiness it is of in- 
 estimable value. The privilege of the favoured 
 possessor of opulence is a high one. Neither the 
 slave of business, fashion, opinion or routine, it is 
 in his power at awaking to say, "This day is all 
 my own." 
 
 But moralists exclaim, " You must pay your 
 debt ; you must render yourselves useful to 
 society." Let me not be understood to inculcate 
 the doctrine of indolence. Industry will have 
 wings and power when you unite it to freedom. 
 But how many repeat the hackneyed cry of " the 
 debt to society," who, in the choice of their pro- 
 fession, had never a thought but of its honours and 
 emoluments ! This man whose industry in the 
 pursuit of his choice proves that his toil is his 
 pleasure ; that man who is in earnest to serve 
 
OF INDEPENDENCE. 85 
 
 every one whom he can oblige, and who might 
 have shone, had he chosen it, in the career of am- 
 bition, but who, modest, studious, and free, lives 
 happily in the bosom of retreat, has this man done 
 nothing to acquit his debt ? Is his example useless 
 to society ? 
 
 If my condition deny me leisure and indepen- 
 dence in regard to the disposal of my time, without 
 bestowing much concern upon the choice of my 
 profession, I should choose that most favourable to 
 free thoughts, to breathing the open air, and, as 
 much as might be, in view of beautiful scenery. I 
 should consider it as a most important element in 
 my happiness that I should be chiefly conversant 
 with amiable and upright persons. I would also 
 avoid some pursuits which are highly esteemed. 
 The profession of an advocate, having so much to 
 do with the follies, vices, and crimes of society, is 
 one of the most trying, both to integrity and phi- 
 losophy; but that of the physician, though con- 
 tinually witnessing groans, tears and physical 
 suffering, may become the source of high-reflected 
 pleasure to a generous and humane heart. I would 
 avoid any function the disquieting responsibility of 
 which would disturb my repose. Above all, I 
 should dread one of high honour and emolument, 
 connected with proportionate uncertainty of tenure. 
 
 The balance of enjoyment being taken into view, 
 I should prefer an occupation of privacy. This it 
 
86 OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 would be more easy at once to obtain and preserve. 
 It would expose me less to envy and competition. 
 Exempt from the inquietudes inspired by severe 
 labours, and the ennui of important etiquette, I 
 should at least find an absolute independence, 
 every evening, at the relinquishment of my daily 
 routine of occupation, and I should suffer no care 
 for the morrow; I would learn to enhance the 
 charms of my condition by thinking of the agita- 
 tion, regrets and alarms of those who are> still 
 swept by the whirlwinds of life. In this way I 
 would imitate him, who, to procure a more delicious 
 repose, placed his couch under a tent near the sea, 
 to be lulled by the dashing of its waves and the 
 noise of its storms. But it is time to contemplate 
 the most useful kind of liberty, the only indispen- 
 sable kind, and happily one which is accessible to 
 all. It is the liberty resulting from self-command 
 and inward mastery of ourselves. It has such a 
 value as to cause all others to be forgotten, and 
 which no other kind can replace. 
 
 What liberty can that man enjoy who is the 
 slave of ambition ? A gesture, a look of the eye, 
 a smile anrightens him, and causes him painful and 
 trembling calculations what that sinister sign of 
 his master may presage. 
 
 Look at the opulent merchant whose hopes are 
 the sport of the winds ; seas, robbers, changes of 
 trade, municipal regulations, and a crowd of agents 
 
OF INDEPENDENCE. 87 
 
 who seem subordinate, but who really command 
 him. 
 
 Whatever kind of liberty we aim to possess, we 
 mav certainly conclude, that the surest means to 
 enjoy it is to have few wants. But how restrain 
 our wants ? The greater portion are happily 
 placed by their condition where they are ignorant 
 of the objects which most powerfully excite and 
 seduce desire. The golden mean secludes them 
 from snares productive full of the bitterest regret, 
 and exacts of them little effort of wisdom. 
 
 The more austere philosophers have altogether 
 disdained those pleasures which they could never 
 hope to obtain. Reducing themselves to the limits 
 of the strictest necessity, they indemnify themselves 
 for some privations by the certainty of being se- 
 cured from many pains, and by the sentiment of 
 conscious independence. This is, doubtless, one of 
 the surest means of obtaining independence ; and 
 they who attempt to employ any other, differ from 
 the vulgar by their principles rather than their 
 conduct. 
 
 How many objects, of which the contemplation 
 awakens the desires, would have nothing dangerous 
 if we could always exercise a stern self-controul 
 over our minds ! The surest means of exercising 
 this self-controul is to reduce the number of our 
 wants. To do it, I admit, demands a rare elevation 
 
88 OF INDEPENDENCE. 
 
 of mind and the exercise of a high degree of philo- 
 sophy. But since its value is "beyond its cost, let 
 us dare to acquire it. 
 
 While the fleeting dreams of pleasure hover 
 around us, let reason still say to us, an instant may 
 dissipate them. Let us, then, be ready to find a 
 new pleasure in the consciousness of our firmness 
 and our masculine and vigorous independence. An 
 enlightened mind reigns over pleasures ; and while 
 they glitter around, enjoys all that are innocent ; 
 but disdains a sigh or a regret when they have 
 taken wings and disappeared. 
 
 I commend, in some respects, the example of 
 Alcibiades, the disciple of the graces and of wis- 
 dom, who astonished in turn the proud Persian by 
 his dignity, and the Lacedemonian by his austerity. 
 His enemies may charge him with incessant change 
 of principle. To me he seems always the same, 
 always superior to the men and circumstances that 
 surround him. Such strong mental stamina resem- 
 ble those robust plants that sustain, without an- 
 noyance, the extreme of heat and cold. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 OF HEALTH. 
 
 Health is usually the result of moderation, cheer- 
 fulness, and the absence of care. Divine wis- 
 dom has ordained, that the inordinate passions 
 which disturb our days, are those which have a 
 natural tendency to shorten them. 
 
 If there were ground for a single charge against 
 the justice of nature, it would be, that the errors of 
 inexperience seem punished with too great severity. 
 We prodigally waste the material of life and enjoy- 
 ment, as we do our other possessions, as if we 
 thought it inexhaustible. 
 
 To the errors of youth succeed the vices of 
 mature age. Ambition and covetousness, envy 
 and hatred, concur to devour the very aliment 
 of life. The storms which prostrate the moral 
 faculties, equally sap the physical energy. Every 
 
90 OF HEALTH. 
 
 depraved passion is a consuming poison. To what 
 other source of evil can we assign those inquietudes 
 and puerile anxieties, which disturb the days of the 
 greater portion of mankind, than that they are 
 occupied by trifling interests, and agitated by vain 
 debates ? or, that they are the slaves of some vice ? 
 Cheerful emotions sustain life, and produce the 
 effect of a gentle current of air upon flame. Trains 
 of thought habitually elevated, and sometimes in- 
 clined to reverie, impart a high enjoyment to the 
 spirit ; and to be able to command this, is one of 
 the rarest felicities of endowment. A distinguished 
 physician recorded in his diary the apparent para- 
 dox, that three parts of society die of vexation or 
 grief. 
 
 I suspect, that not one in a thousand is aware 
 how much temperance and moderation in the use 
 of food conduce to health. There are very few 
 among us who do not daily consume twice the 
 amount of food necessary to satisfy the requisitions 
 of nature. The redundant portion must weigh as 
 a morbid and unconcocted mass upon the wheels of 
 life. Every form of ardent spirits, is unquestion- 
 ably a poison, slow or rapid, in proportion to the 
 excess in which it is used. Disguise it as we may, 
 be the pretexts of indulgence as ingenious as plaus- 
 ible, as inclination and appetite can frame, it retains 
 its intrinsic tendencies under every concealment. 
 
OF HEALTH. 91 
 
 Wine, in moderation, is doubtless, less deleterious 
 than any of its substitutes. In declining age, and 
 in innumerable cases of debility, it may be indicated 
 as a useful remedy ; but even here, only as a less 
 evil to countervail a greater. Pure water, all other 
 circumstances equal, is always a healthier beverage 
 for common use. 
 
 Next to temperance, a quiet conscience, a cheer- 
 ful mind, and active habits, I place early rising as 
 a means of health and happiness. I have hardly 
 words for the estimate which I form of that slug- 
 gard, male or female, that has formed the habit of 
 wasting the early prime of day in bed. Laying 
 out of the question the positive loss of life, the 
 {magna pars dempta solido de die), great portion 
 of the entire day, and that too of the most inspiring 
 and beautiful part, when all the voices of nature 
 invoke man from his bed ; leaving out of the cal- 
 culation, that longevity has been almost invariably 
 attended by early rising ; to me, late hours in bed 
 present an index to character, and an omen of the 
 ultimate hopes of the person who indulges in this 
 habit. There is no mark so clear, of a tendency 
 to self-indulgence. It denotes an inert and feeble 
 mind, infirm of purpose, and incapable of that 
 elastic vigour of will which enables the possessor 
 always to accomplish what his reason ordains. 
 The subject of this unfortunate habit cannot but 
 
92 OF HEALTH. 
 
 have felt self-reproach, and a purpose to spring 
 from his repose with the freshness of the dawn. 
 If the mere indolent luxury of another hour of lan- 
 guid indulgence is allowed to carry it over this 
 better purpose, it argues a general weakness of 
 character, which promises no high attainment or 
 distinction. These are never awarded by fortune 
 to any trait, but vigour, promptness and decision. 
 Viewing the habit of late rising, in many of its 
 aspects, it would seem as if no being, that has any 
 claim to rationality, could be found in the allowed 
 habit of sacrificing a tenth, and that the most plea- 
 sant and spirit-stirring portion of life, at the ex- 
 pense of health, and the curtailing of the remain- 
 der, for any pleasure which this indulgence could 
 confer. 
 
 Huffland has published a work, upon the art of 
 prolonging life, full of interesting observations. 
 " Philosophers/' says he, " enjoy a delightful lei- 
 sure. Their thoughts, generally estranged from 
 vulgar interests, have nothing in common with 
 those afflicting ideas with which other men are 
 continually agitated and corroded. Their reflec- 
 tions are agreeable by their variety, their liberty, 
 and sometimes even by their frivolity. Devoted to 
 the pursuits of their choice, the occupations of their 
 taste, they dispose freely of their time. Oftentimes 
 they surround themselves with young people, that 
 their natural vivacity may be communicated to 
 
OF HEALTH. 93 
 
 them, and in some sort, produce a renewal of their 
 youth. " We may make a distinction between the 
 different kinds of philosophy, in relation to their 
 influence upon the duration of life. Those which 
 direct the mind towards sublime contemplations, 
 even were they in some degree superstitious, such 
 as those of Pythagoras and Plato, are the most 
 salutary. Next to them, I place those, the study 
 of which, embracing nature, gives enlarged and 
 elevated ideas upon infinity, the stars, the wonders 
 of the universe, the heroic virtues, and the pure 
 and elevated doctrines of divine revelation. 
 
 " But those systems/' says the writer just quoted, 
 " which turn only upon painful subtilties, which 
 are dogmatic and positive, which bend all facts 
 and opinions to form and adjust them to certain 
 preconceived principles ; in fine, such as are thorny, 
 barren, narrow, and contentious, these are fatal in 
 tendency, and cannot but abridge the life of those 
 who cultivate them. Of this class was the philo- 
 sophy of the Peripatetics, and that also of the 
 Scholastics." 
 
 Tumultuous passions, and corroding cares, are two 
 sources of evil influences, which a true philosophy 
 avoids. Another influence, adverse to life, is that 
 mental feebleness, which renders persons perpetu- 
 ally solicitous about their health, effeminate and 
 unhappy. Fixing their thoughts intensely on the 
 
94 OF HEALTH. 
 
 functions of life, those functions, that are subjects 
 of this anxious inspection, become wearied. Ima- 
 gining themselves diseased, they soon become so. 
 The un doubting confidence that we shall enjoy 
 health, is perhaps one of the best means of pre- 
 serving it. 
 
 I am ignorant of the exact influence of moral 
 upon physical action, in relation to health. But 
 of this I am confident, that it is prodigious ; that 
 physicians have not made it a sufficient element in 
 their calculations, or employed it as they should ; 
 and that in future, under a wise and more philoso- 
 phic direction, it may produce an immense result, 
 both in restoring and preserving health. 
 
 A man reads a letter, which announces misfor- 
 tunes, or untoward events. His head becomes 
 disordered ; his appetite ceases ; he becomes faint 
 and oppressed ; and his life is in danger. No 
 contagion, however, no physical blow has touched 
 him. A thought has palsied his forces in a mo- 
 ment ; and has successively deranged every spring 
 of life. We have read of persons of feeble and 
 iminformed mind, who have fallen ill, in conse- 
 quence of the cruel sport of those who have ingeni- 
 ously alarmed their imagination, and cautiously 
 indicated to them a train of fatal symptoms. Since 
 imagination can thus certainly overturn our physi- 
 cal powers, why may it not under certain regu- 
 
OF HEALTH. 95 
 
 lations, restore them ? Among the numberless 
 recorded cases of cures, reputed miraculous, it is 
 probable, that a great part may be accounted for 
 on this principle. 
 
 Suppose a paralytic disciple of the school of 
 miracles, whose head is exalted with ideas of the 
 mystic power of certain holy men, and who is me- 
 ditating on the succour which he expects from a 
 divine interposition manifested in his favour. In 
 an exstacy of faith, he sees a minister of heaven 
 descend enveloped in light, who bids him arise and 
 walk. In a moment the unknown nervous energy, 
 excited by the mysterious power of faith, touches 
 the countless inert and relaxed movements. The 
 man arises and walks. Perhaps some of the mira- 
 cles of Prince Hohenloe may be accounted for on 
 the same principle. During the siege of Lyons, 
 when bombs fell on the hospital, the terrified 
 paralytics arose and fled. 
 
 I am not disposed to question all the cures which 
 in France have been attributed to magnetism. We 
 know what a salutary effect the sight of his physi- 
 cian produces on the patient, who has confidence 
 in him. His cheerful and encouraging conversa- 
 tions are among the most efficient remedies. If 
 we entertained a long- cherished and intimate per- 
 suasion, that by certain signs or touches he could 
 dispel our complaints, his gestures would have a 
 
96 OF HEALTH. 
 
 high moral and physical influence. Magnetism 
 was in this sense, as Bailly justly remarked, a true 
 experiment upon the power of the imagination. 
 At the moment of its greatest sway, while some 
 regarded it an infallible specific, and others deemed 
 it entirely inefficient, another class held it in high 
 estimation. I cite an extract from the report of 
 the Academy of Science. 
 
 " We have sought," say they, " to recognize 
 the presence of the magnetic fluid. But it escaped 
 our senses. It was said, that its action upon ani- 
 mated bodies was the sole proof of its existence. 
 The experiments which we made upon ourselves, 
 convinced us that, as soon as we diverted our atten- 
 tion, it was powerless. Trials made upon the sick 
 taught us, that infancy, which is unsusceptible of 
 prejudice experienced nothing from it ; that mental 
 alienation resisted the action of magnetism, even 
 in an habitual condition of excitability of the nerves, 
 where the action ought to have been most sensible. 
 The effects which are attributed to this fluid are 
 not visible, except when the imagination is fore- 
 warned, and capable of being struck. Imagination, 
 then, seems to be the principle of the action. 
 
 " It remained to be seen whether we could re- 
 produce these effects by the influence of imagination 
 alone. We attempted it, and fully succeeded. 
 Without touching the subjects who believed them- 
 
OF HEALTH. 97 
 
 selves magnetized and without employing any sign, 
 they complained of pain and a great sensation of 
 heat. We have seen an exalted imagination he- 
 come sufficiently energetic to take away the power 
 of speech in a moment. At the same time, we 
 proved the nullity of magnetism, put in opposition 
 with the imagination. Magnetism alone, employed 
 for thirty minutes, produced no effect. 
 
 " What we have learned, or, at least, what has 
 been confirmed to us in a demonstrative and evi- 
 dent manner, by examination of the processes of 
 magnetism is, that man can act upon man at every 
 moment, by striking his imagination ; and that 
 signs and gestures the most simple may have 
 effects the most powerful.' ' 
 
 These truths had never before acquired so much 
 evidence. We know that cures may be wrought 
 by the single influence of imagination. Ambrose 
 Pare, Boerhaave, and many other physicians, have 
 cited stiking proofs of this fact. The first of these 
 writers procured abundant perspiration from a 
 patient, by making him believe that a perfectly 
 inert substance given to him, was a violent sudo- 
 rific. 
 
 It is worthy of the attention of moralists and 
 physiologists, as well as physicians, to examine to 
 what point we may obtain salutary effects, by ex- 
 citing the imagination. But perhaps there would 
 soon be cause to dread the perilous influence of this 
 
98 OF HEALTH. 
 
 art, which can kill as well as make alive. This 
 excitable and vivid faculty is never more easily put 
 in operation, than when acted upon by the presen- 
 timents of superstition. 
 
 We possess another means of operation, which 
 may be exercised without danger, and the power 
 of which is, also capable of producing prodigies. 
 Education rendering most men feeble and timid, 
 they are ignorant how much an energetic will can 
 accomplish. It is able to shield us from many 
 maladies ; and to hasten the cure of those under 
 which we labour. 
 
 In mortal epidemics, the physicians, who are 
 alarmed at their danger, are ordinarily the first 
 victims. Fear plunges the system into that state 
 of debility, which predisposes it to fatal impres- 
 sions, while the moral force of confidence, commu- 
 nicating its aid to physical energy, enables it to 
 repel contagion. 
 
 I could cite many distinguished names of men, 
 who attributed their cure, in desperate maladies, to 
 the courage which never forsook them, and to the 
 efforts which they made to keep alive the vital 
 spark, when ready to become extinct. One of 
 them pleasantly said, " I should have died like the 
 rest, had I wished it." 
 
 Pecklin, Barthes, and others, think, that extreme 
 desire to see a beloved person once more, has 
 sometimes a power to retard death. It is a de- 
 
OF HEALTH. 99 
 
 lightful idea. I feel with what intense ardour one 
 might desire to live another day, another hour, to 
 see a friend or a child for the last time. The flame 
 of love, replacing that of life, blazes up for a 
 moment before both are quenched in the final 
 darkness. The last prayer is granted ; and life 
 terminates in tasting that pleasure for which it was 
 prolonged. If this be true, the principle on which 
 some of the most touching incidents of romance are 
 founded, is not a fiction. 
 
 I have no need to say, that an energetic will to 
 recover from sickness has no point of analogy with 
 that fearful solicitude which the greater part of the 
 sick experience. The latter, produced by mental 
 feebleness, increases the inquietude and aggravates 
 the danger. Even indifference would be preferable. 
 If education had imparted to us the advantages of 
 an energetic w T ill and real force of mind, if from 
 infancy we had been convinced of the efficacy of 
 this moral power, we have reason to believe, that 
 in many cases it would have been, in union with 
 the desire of life, an element in the means of heal- 
 ing our maladies. 
 
 Medicine is still a science so conjectural that the 
 most salutary method of cure, in my view, is that 
 which strives not to contradict nature, but to 
 second her efforts by moral means. I am ready to 
 believe that amidst the real or imagined triumphs 
 
100 OP HEALTH. 
 
 of science, those of medicine will, in centuries to 
 come, hold a rank to which its past achievements 
 will have borne no proportion. But what an 
 immense amount of experiment will be necessary! 
 How many unfortunate beings must contribute to 
 the expense of these experiments ! 
 
 Contrary to the general opinion, I highly es- 
 teem physicians, and think but very little of 
 medicine. In the profession of medicine we find 
 the greatest number of men of solid minds and 
 various erudition ; and the best friends of hu- 
 manity. But they are in the habit of vaunting the 
 progress of their science. To me it seems inces- 
 santly changing its principles, without ever varying 
 its results. The systems of various great men 
 have been successively received and rejected. Do 
 we however, imagine that the great physicians who 
 have preceded us were more unfortunate in their 
 practice than those of our days ? Among the most 
 eminent physicians of our cities, one practises by 
 administering strong cathartics. Another is reso- 
 lute for copious bleeding. A third bids us watch 
 and wait the indications of nature. Each of these 
 assumes that the system of the rest is fatal. At 
 the end of the year, however, I doubt if any one of 
 them has more reproaches to make, as it regards 
 want of success, than any other. 
 
 From these facts, there are those who hold that 
 
OF HEALTH. 101 
 
 it is most prudent to confide to nature, as the 
 physician ; forgetful that, if he could bring no 
 other remedy than hope, he unites moral to physical 
 aid. Yet, the very persons who, in health are rea- 
 diest to maintain this doctrine, like children who 
 are heroes during the day, but cowards in the dark, 
 when they are sick, are as prompt as others in 
 sending for the physician. 
 
 Even if agitation and fear had not fatal effects, 
 in rendering us more accessible to maladies, wisdom 
 would strive to banish them, in pursuit of the 
 science of happiness. Fear, by anticipating agony, 
 doubles our suffering. If there could exist a ra- 
 tional ground for continual inquietude, it would be 
 found in a frail constitution. But how many men 
 of the feeblest health survive those of the most 
 vigorous and robust frame! Calculations upon the 
 duration of life are so uncertain that we can always 
 make them in our favour. 
 
 To him who cultivates a mild, pleasant and 
 christian philosophy, old age itself should not be 
 contemplated with alarm. It may seem a paradox 
 to say that all men are nearly of the same age, in 
 reference to their chances of another day. Men 
 are as confident of seeing to-morrow and the suc- 
 ceeding day, at eighty, as at sixteen. Such is the 
 beautiful veil with which nature conceals from us 
 the darkness of the future. 
 
102 OP HEALTH. 
 
 In general, men have less sympathy for the suf- 
 fering than their condition ought to inspire, We 
 meet them with a sad face and are more earnest to 
 show them that we are afflicted ourselves, than to 
 seek to cheer their dejection. We multiply so 
 many questions touching their health that it would 
 seem as if we feared to allow them to forget that 
 they were unwell. 
 
 Of all subjects of conversation, my own pains 
 and physical infirmities have become the least 
 interesting to me ; as I know they must be to 
 others. I do not wish that those who surround 
 my sick bed should converse as though arranging 
 the preparations for my last dress, or determining 
 the hour of my interment. 
 
 If we would live in peace, and die in tranquillity, 
 let us, as much as possible, avoid importunate 
 cares. Our business is to unite as many friends as 
 we may ; and to beguile pain and sorrow by trea- 
 suring as many resources of innocent amusement 
 as our means will admit. If our sufferings become 
 painful and incurable, we must concentrate our 
 mental energy and settle on our solitary powers of 
 endurance. We die, or we recover. Nature, 
 though calm, moves irresistibly to her point ; and 
 complaint is always worse than useless. 
 
 But in arming ourselves with courage to support 
 our own evils, let us preserve sensibility and sym- 
 
OF HEALTH. 103 
 
 pathy for the sufferings of others. It is among 
 the dangerously afflicted that we find those unfor- 
 tunate beings who are most worthy to inspire our 
 pity. Their only expectation is death, preceded by 
 cruel pains ; and yet they, probably, suffer less for 
 themselves than for weeping dependents whom 
 they are leaving, it may be, without a single prop. 
 During the few days of sorrow that remain to them 
 on earth, how earnestly ought we to strive to miti- 
 gate their pains, to calm their alarms and animate 
 their feeble hopes ! Blessed be that beneficent 
 being who shall call one smile more upon their 
 dying lips ! 
 
 Let us thank God for religion. Philosophy may 
 inculcate stern endurance and wise submission ; but 
 knows not a fit and adequate remedy. The hopes 
 and the example imparted by him who went about 
 doing good, are alone sufficient for the relief of 
 such cases, of which, alas ! our world is full. 
 
CHAPTER IX, 
 
 OF COMPETENCE. 
 
 Some philosophers announce to us, with sententious 
 gravity, that virtue ought to be the single object of 
 our desires ; and that, strengthened by it, we can 
 support privations and misery without suffering. 
 Useless moralists ! Shall I yield faith to precepts 
 which the experience of every day falsifies ? It is 
 only necessary, in refutation, to present a man who 
 has broken his limb, or whose children suffer 
 hunger. 
 
 His plan is wise, who examines, with a judgment 
 free from ambition, the amount of fortune necessary 
 to competence in his case, viewed in all its bear- 
 ings; and commences the steady pursuit of it. 
 Having reached that measure, if his desires impel 
 him beyond the limit which, in a more reasonable 
 hour, he prescribed for himself, he henceforward 
 
OF COMPETENCE. 105 
 
 strives to be happy by sacrificing enjoyment. He 
 barters it for a very uncertain means of purchasing 
 even pleasures. In this way competence becomes 
 useless to the greater part of those who obtain it. 
 Victims of the common folly, and still wishing a 
 little more, they lose in the effort to get rich, the 
 time which they ought to spend in enjoyment. We 
 see grasping and adroit speculators on every side ; 
 and, but rarely, men who know how to employ the 
 resources of a moderate fortune. It is not the art 
 of acquiring beyond competence, but of wisely 
 spending, that we need to leam. 
 
 Our business in life is to be happy ; and yet, 
 simple and obvious as this truism is, the greater 
 number disdain or forget it. To judge from the 
 passions and objects that we see exciting man to 
 action, we should suppose that he was placed on 
 the earth, not to become happy, but rich. 
 
 To what purpose so many cares and studies ? 
 That man, we are answered with a peculiar empha- 
 sis, has an immense income. In his rare, brilliant 
 and envied condition, if he does not vegetate under 
 the weight of ennui, I recognise in him a man of 
 astonishing merit. 
 
 The opulent may be divided into two classes. 
 The employment of the one is to watch over their 
 expenditures. The other study the mode of dissi- 
 pating their revenue. Can I present, in detail, the 
 
106 OF COMPETENCE. 
 
 cares and vexations which an immense fortune 
 brings ? The possessor leaves discussion with his 
 tenants, to commence angry disputes with his work- 
 men. From these he departs to listen to the 
 schemes of projectors, or to the information of 
 advocates. Is not such a result dearly purchased 
 at the expense of repose, independence and time ? 
 Would it not be better to relinquish a part of these 
 possessions, in order to dispose, in peace, of the 
 remainder ? I admit, that a man who devotes him- 
 self to lucrative pursuits is not overwhelmed with 
 continual listlessness. The banker respires again, 
 after having grown pale over his accounts. A 
 speculation has succeeded, and the enchantment of 
 success banishes his alarms, fatigues, and slavery. 
 But he whose purpose in life is to secure as many 
 happy moments as he can, and who sees how many 
 innocent pleasures the other allows to escape him, 
 would refuse his fortune at the price which he pays 
 for it. 
 
 Another opulent class inherit fortunes acquired 
 by the industry and sacrifices of their fathers. 
 Rendered effeminate in a school, the reverse of that 
 in which their fathers were trained, without re- 
 sources in themselves, accustomed from infancy to 
 have their least desires anticipated, under the influ- 
 ence of feeble parents, pliant and servile instruc- 
 tors, greedy servants, and a seducing world, their 
 
OF COMPETENCE. 107 
 
 appetite is early palled, and every pleasure in life 
 worn out. 
 
 But suppose the rich heir brought up as though 
 he were not rich, destiny places before him a 
 strange alternative. If he succeed in resisting 
 desires which every thing excites and favours, 
 what painful struggles ! If he yield to them, what 
 effort can preserve him an untainted mind ? The 
 experience of all time declares the improbability 
 that he will resist. So many pretended friends are 
 at hand to take up the cause of the present against 
 the future, a cause, too, which always finds a pow- 
 erful patron in our own bosoms ! The pleasures of 
 the senses have, besides, this dangerous advantage, 
 that before we have tasted them we are sufficiently 
 instructed by the imagination, that we shall receive 
 vivid and delightful emotions from their indulgence. 
 We are not certain that pleasures of a higher class 
 have a charm of enchantment until after we have 
 made the happy experiment. Thus every thing pre- 
 pares the opulent for the sadness of satiety, moral 
 disgust and ennui without end, the only suffering 
 of life which is not softened by hope. 
 
 You will sometimes see these men at public 
 places, where they are professedly in search of 
 amusement, giving no sign of existence except by 
 an occasional yawn. Cast your eyes on those 
 spectators who are alive to the most vivid enthu- 
 
108 OF COMPETENCE. 
 
 siasm. They are young students, or mechanics, 
 who have economised ten days to spend an hour of 
 the eleventh in this amusement ! It is in clean 
 cottages, in small but well-directed establishments, 
 that pleasures are vivid, because they are gained at 
 a small price, and through industry and order. A 
 festival is projected, or a holiday returns. Friends 
 are assembled, and how blithe and free is the joy ! 
 A slight economy has been practised to supply the 
 moderate expenses. There is high pleasure in 
 looking forward to the epoch and in making the 
 arrangements in anticipation. There is still more 
 pleasure in the remembrance. When the interval 
 which separates us from pleasure is not very long, 
 even this interval has charms. 
 
 No human calculation will ever reach the sum of 
 agony that has been inflicted by the jealousy and 
 envy that have resulted from that most erroneous 
 persuasion, that certain conditions and circumstan- 
 ces of life bring happiness in themselves. Beauti- 
 fully has the bible said, that " God hath set one 
 thing over against another ;" has balanced the real 
 advantages of the different human conditions. The 
 result of my experience would leave me in doubt 
 and at a loss, in selecting the condition which I 
 should deem most congenial to happiness. I should 
 have to balance abundance of food, on the one 
 hand, against abundance of appetite, on the other ; 
 
OF COMPETENCE. 109 
 
 the habit superinduced by the necessity of being 
 satisfied with a little, with the habit of being dis- 
 gusted with the trial of much. There are joys, 
 numerous and vivid, peculiar to the rich ; and 
 others, in which none but those in the humbler 
 conditions of life can participate. In the whole 
 range of the enjoyment of the senses, if there be 
 any advantage, it belongs to the poor. The laws 
 of our being have surrounded the utmost extent of 
 human enjoyment with adamantine walls, which 
 one condition can no more overleap than another. 
 It is wonderful to see this admirable adjustment, 
 like the universal laws of nature, acting everywhere 
 and upon everything. Even in the physical world, 
 what is granted to one country is denied to an- 
 other ; and the wanderer who has seen strange 
 lands and many cities, in different climes, only 
 returns to announce, as the sum of his experience 
 and the teaching of years, that light and shadow, 
 comfort and discomfort, pleasure and pain, like 
 air and water, are diffused in nearly similar mea- 
 sures over the whole earth. 
 
 What a touching narrative is recorded of the 
 suppers of two of the greatest men of the past age, 
 of whom one was the Abbe de Condillac. Both 
 were so poor that the expenses were reduced to 
 absolute necessaries. But what conversations pro- 
 longed the repast, and with what swiftness flew 
 
110 OP COMPETENCE. 
 
 the enchanted hours ! Neither great genius nor 
 profound acquirements are necessary to enjoy even- 
 ings equally pleasant. 
 
 Those who compose an establishment of moderate 
 competence, rarely leave it. All the joys which 
 spring up in the bosom of a beloved family seem 
 to have been created for them. Give them riches* 
 without changing their hearts, and they would 
 taste less pleasure. New duties and amusements 
 would trench upon a part of that time which had 
 hitherto been sacred to friendship. More conver- 
 sant with society, they would be less together. 
 Receiving more visitants, they would see fewer 
 friends. Transported into a new sphere where a 
 thousand objects of comparison would excite their 
 desires, they would, perhaps, for the first time, 
 experience privations and regrets. 
 
 Women and young people taste the advantages 
 which a retired, pleasant and modest condition 
 offers only so long as they avoid comparisons of 
 that lot with one which the world considers more 
 favoured. We must carry into the world a high 
 philosophy, or never quit our retreat. 
 
 Persons even of a disciplined reason, just thought, 
 and a noble character, may grow dizzy, for a mo- 
 ment, with the splendour and noise of opulence, 
 perceived for the first time. But as soon as they 
 begin to blush and forfeit self-respect in tracing the 
 
OF COMPETENCE. Ill 
 
 causes of their intoxication, the scene vanishes, 
 and, ^s they contemplate ^^ compare, : ' is replaced 
 
 timate pride in s ; n - regrets 
 
 and cares am I saved ! How many iutilities are 
 here, of which I have no need ! 
 
 But I shall be told, that opulence has at least 
 this advantage, that it attracts considers don. Ther 
 is no doubt that many people measure the esteem 
 they pay you by the scale of your riches. You will 
 never persuade them that merit often walks on foot, 
 while stupidity rides in a carriage. 
 
 But will a man esteem himself a philosopher, 
 and take into his calculation the opinion of such 
 fools as these ? In a circle where opulence puts 
 forth its splendour, when you experience a slight 
 revulsion of shame in perceiving that the simplicity 
 of your dress is remarked, ask yourself if you would 
 change your mode of life, character and talents 
 with those around you ? If you feel that you would 
 not, repress the weakness of wishing incompatible 
 advantages ; and resume the self-respect of an 
 honest man. 
 
 To be satisfied with a moderate fortune is, per- 
 haps, the highest test and best proof of philosophy. 
 All others seem to me doubtful. He who can live 
 content on a little, gives a pledge that he would 
 
112 OF COMPETENCE. 
 
 preserve his probity and courage in the most diffi- 
 cult situations. He has placed his virtue, repose 
 and happiness, as far as possible above the caprices 
 of his kind, and the vicissitudes of earthly things. 
 
 There are moments when the desire of wealth 
 penetrates even the retreat of a sage, not with the 
 puerile and dangerous wish to dazzle with show, 
 but with the hope, dear to a good mind, that it 
 might become a means of extended usefulness. 
 When imagination creates her gay visions, we 
 sometimes think of riches, and in our dreams make 
 an employment of them worthy of envy. What a 
 delightful field then opens before those who possess 
 riches ! They can encourage the progress of sci- 
 ence, and aid in advancing the glory of letters. 
 How much assistance they can offer to deserving 
 young people, whose first efforts announce happy 
 dispositions, and whose character, at the same time, 
 little fitted for worldly success, is a compound of 
 independence and timidity ! How much they may 
 honour themselves in decking the modest retreat of 
 the aged scholar, who has consecrated his life to 
 study, and who has neglected his personal fortune 
 to enrich the age with the inventions of genius ! 
 They have the means of giving a noble impulse to 
 the arts, without trenching upon their resources. 
 A picture, which perpetuates the remembrance of 
 a generous or heroic exploit, costs no more than a 
 
OF COMPETENCE. 113 
 
 group of bacchanalians or debauchees. A career- 
 more beautiful still, is open to opulence. Of how 
 many vices and how many tears it may dry the 
 source ! A rich man, to become happy, has only 
 to wish to become so. He can not only immortal- 
 ize his name as the patron of arts and useful 
 inventions, but, what is better, can deserve the 
 blessings of the miserable. Such pleasures are 
 durable, and may be tasted with unsated relish, 
 after a settled lassitude from the indulgence of all 
 others. 
 
 If I have ever allowed myself the indulgence 
 of envy, it is after having tasted the pleasure of 
 rewarding merit, or relieving distress, in thinking 
 how continually such celestial satisfactions are 
 within the reach of the opulent. What a calm is 
 left in the mind after having wiped away tears ! 
 What aspirations are excited in noting the joy and 
 gratitude consequent upon misery relieved ! How 
 delightful to recur to the remembrance during the 
 vigils of the night-watches ! How it expands the 
 heart, to reflect upon the consciousness of the all- 
 powerful and all-good Being, measuring the circuit 
 of the universe in doing good ! Unhappily, the 
 experience of all time demonstrates that the pos- 
 session of opulence and power not only has no 
 direct tendency to inspire increased sensibility to 
 such satisfaction, but has an opposite influence. 
 
114 OF COMPETENCE. 
 
 For one, rendered more kind and benevolent by 
 good fortune, how many become callous, selfish, 
 and proud by it ! Kindly and wisely has providence 
 seen fit to spare most men this dangerous trial. 
 
 Let not such seducing dreams, however, leave us 
 a prey to ambitious and disappointed desires at our 
 awakening. It is in the sphere where providence 
 has placed us, that we must search for the means 
 of being useful ; and if there are pleasures which 
 belong only to opulence, there are others which 
 can be best found in mediocrity. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 OF OPINION, AND THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 
 
 In selecting the same route, in which the agitated 
 crowd is pressing onward, we are evidently on the 
 wrong road to happiness ; since we hear the multi- 
 tude on every side expressing dissatisfaction with 
 their life. If we choose a different path, we cannot 
 expect to evade the shafts of censure, since the 
 same multitude are naturally disposed, from pride 
 of opinion, to think all, not on the same road with 
 themselves, astray. It is, then, an egregious folly 
 to hope for a happiness thus pursued by system, 
 and for the approbation of the vulgar at the same 
 time. Among the obstacles which are at war with 
 our repose, one of the greatest, and at the same 
 time most frivolous, is the fatal necessity of becom- 
 ing of importance to others, instead of becoming 
 
116 OF OPINION, AND 
 
 calmly sufficient to ourselves. Like restless chil- 
 dren, always seduced by appearances, it is a small 
 point, that we are happy in our condition. We 
 desire that it should excite envy. A happiness 
 which glares not in the eyes of the multitude, com- 
 pelling them to take note of it, is no longer regarded 
 as happiness. There are both dupes and victims 
 of opinion. Those who are devoured by the fever 
 of intrigue, and those who, to dazzle others, dissi- 
 pate their fortune, are the miserable victims. The 
 dupes are those who voluntarily weary themselves 
 out of three-quarters of their life, and offer this as 
 their apology, — " These visits, these ceremonies, 
 these evening parties ! they are tiresome, we grant. 
 But we must mix with good company." Why not 
 always mix then, with the best ; your own enlight- 
 ened and free thoughts ? 
 
 I shall be obliged to present one truth under a 
 thousand forms. It is that much courage is exacted 
 for the attainment of happiness. Such a man has 
 estimable qualities, an interesting family, tried 
 friends, a fortune equal to his wants. His lot 
 ought to seem a delightful one. How differently 
 the public judge ! " This man," says the public, 
 " has intelligence. Why has he not increased his 
 fortune ? He is able to distinguish himself. Why 
 has he not sought place or office ? He seems to 
 stand aloof, that he may pique himself on a proud 
 
THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 117 
 
 and foolish originality. We judge him less favour- 
 ably. Every one distinguishes himself, that can. 
 To be without distinction is a proof that he has not 
 power to acquire it." If the man, of w T hom this is 
 said, has not courage, the public will end, by ren- 
 dering him ashamed of his happiness. 
 
 To hear the false reasoning of the multitude is 
 not what astonishes me. That stupid people, full 
 of self-esteem, should hold these foolish discourses, 
 with strong emphasis, is perfectly natural. What 
 I wonder at is, that their maxims should guide 
 people of understanding. 
 
 We are guilty of the whimsical contradiction of 
 judging our own ideas with complacency, and of 
 pronouncing upon those of others with severity. 
 Yet we every day sacrifice principles w T hich we 
 esteem, through fear of being blamed by people 
 whom we despise. 
 
 I would by no means desire to see those most 
 dear to me arrogantly setting at defiance received 
 ideas and usages. These generally have a salutary 
 moral sway in repressing the influence of the impu- 
 dent and abandoned. I am not insensible to the 
 danger of following our independent judgment be- 
 yond the limits of a regulated discretion. But 
 there is no trait in the young for which I feel a 
 more profound respect, than the fixed resolve to 
 consult their own light, in settling the rules of their 
 
118 OF OPINION, AND 
 
 conduct, and selecting their alternatives. A calm 
 and reflecting independence, an unshaken firmness 
 in encountering vulgar prejudices, is what I admire 
 as the evidence of strong character, fearless think- 
 ing, and capability of self- direction. 
 
 How often must every reflecting mind have been 
 led to similar views of human nature ! To form 
 just estimates and entertain right sentiments of our 
 kind, we must not contemplate men under the action 
 of the narrowness of sectarian hate, or through the 
 jaundiced vision of party feeling. We must see 
 them, not only amidst the prosperous scenes of life, 
 but also, when great and sweeping calamities level 
 men to the consciousness and the sympathies of a 
 common nature, and a sense of common exposure 
 to misery, and open the fountains of generous feel- 
 ing. Who has not seen men, on such occasions, 
 forget their pride, their miserable questions of rank 
 and precedence, and meet with open arms, and the 
 mingled tears of gratitude and relief, persons, the 
 view of whom under other circumstances, would 
 have called forth only feelings of scornful compari- 
 son and reckless contempt ! 
 
 The moment I escape the yoke of opinion, what 
 a vast and serene horizon stretches out before my 
 eyes ! The pleasures of vanity scatter like morning 
 mists. Those of repose and independence remain. 
 I no longer sacrifice to the disquieting desire of 
 
THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 119 
 
 preserving a protector, or eclipsing my rivals. I 
 am no longer the slave of gloomy etiquette. I 
 henceforward prolong my delightful evenings for 
 my own enjoyment. The caprices of men have lost 
 their empire over me. If poor, I shall remain a 
 stranger to the pains excited by blasting ridicule, 
 and overwhelming contempt. If rich, indolent and 
 impertinent people will no longer regulate my ex- 
 penses ; and the happy choice of my pleasures will 
 multiply my riches. These are presented to a wise 
 man in two opposite relations. Do they call for 
 some aid ? The most tender interest excites him 
 to attend. Do they show a disposition to manage 
 him ? He meets the attempt only with profound 
 disdain. He who possesses a disciplined reason, 
 and a courageous mind, does not choose to walk by 
 the faith of a feeble and uncertain guide, who has 
 need himself to be led. Allow yourself to become 
 docile to the eccentric laws of opinion, and the slave 
 of its imperious caprices, and follow it with the 
 most earnest perseverance of loyalty ; still it will 
 finally terminate in condemning you. 
 
 But hypocrisy speaks against me, and feeble men 
 ask me, if it be not dangerous, thus to inculcate 
 contempt of opinion ? In following but a part of 
 the ideas, which I announce, my readers might be 
 led astray. The whole must be adopted, for a fair 
 experiment of the result. A physician had chosen 
 
120 OP OPINION, AND 
 
 many plants, from which to form a salutary decoc- 
 tion. His patient swallowed the juice of but one, 
 and was poisoned. 
 
 Let us discard that timidity, which conducts to 
 falsehood ; and, to subserve morals, let us be 
 faithful to truth. The wicked and the virtuous 
 alike break the yoke of opinion ; the former to in- 
 crease his power of annoyance ; the latter to do 
 good. 
 
 I can conceive, that a depraved man will commit 
 fewer faults, in yielding to the caprices of opinion, 
 than in abandoning himself to his own errors. 
 There are cruel passions and shameful vices, which 
 he reproves even in the midst of his aberrations. 
 But in doing so he gives to falsehood the name of 
 politeness, and to cowardice the title of prudence. 
 His movements are regulated by the terror of ridi- 
 cule. To form true men, it is indispensable, that 
 this precept should be engraven on their hearts,— 
 Fear nothing but remorse. 
 
 The simple and generous mind, that follows these 
 lessons, and is worthy of happiness, need not blush 
 in view of his course. Only let him march on with 
 unshrinking courage. In breaking the yoke of 
 opinion, let him fly the still more shameful chains 
 which the passions impose. In contemning the 
 prejudices of the multitude, dread still more those 
 fatal instructors, who treat morality as a popular 
 
THE ESTEEM OF MEN. 121 
 
 fable, and pretend to the honour of dispelling our 
 errors. The aberrations of opinion prove only, that 
 the most bold, not the most virtuous, press forward 
 to announce their principles. These principles 
 cannot annihilate that secret and universal opinion, 
 that voice of conscience, without which the moral 
 world would have presented only a chaos ; and the 
 human race would have perished. Consult those 
 men, who have been instructed by the lessons of 
 wisdom and experience. Consult those whom you 
 would choose to resemble. Their first precept will 
 be, that you descend into yourself. If we interro- 
 gate conscience, in good faith, she will enlighten 
 us. She makes herself heard in the tumult of our 
 vices, even against our will. If she become 
 distorted, during the storm of our passions, she 
 recovers the serenity of truth, as soon as that 
 passes away ; as a river, which has been agitated 
 by a tempest, as soon as a calm returns, reflects 
 anew the verdure of the shores and the azure of 
 heaven. 
 
 If there were a people formed by wise laws, 
 whose words were frank, and whose actions upright, 
 there it would be a duty to hearken to the voice of 
 opinion in religious silence, and to follow its de- 
 crees. Phocion asked, what foolish thing he had 
 done when the Athenians applauded him ? Happy 
 the country, where this would have been a criminal 
 
122 OF OPINION, ETC. 
 
 pleasantry, and where the pages of that chapter 
 which condemns opinion ought to be torn out. 
 
 Perhaps I may be accused of contradiction, in 
 saying that, in the enlightened pursuit of happiness 
 the opinion of the multitude must be received with 
 neglect ; and yet, that it is pleasant to be esteemed 
 by the society, of which we are members. We 
 receive their services, and ought to know the plea- 
 sure of obliging them. We often share those 
 weaknesses, which we censure in them. Our mul- 
 tiplied relations with them render their affection 
 desirable. It may not be necessary to happiness ; 
 but it gives to enjoyment a more vivid charm. 
 
 May we be able, in pursuing the path indicated 
 by wisdom, to obtain esteem, and taste the delight 
 of a sentiment still pleasanter, and more precious. 
 Friendship is, to esteem, what the flower is to the 
 stem which sustains it. 
 
 But I can never imagine, that we ought to be- 
 come subservient to the caprices of opinion. We 
 should first be satisfied with ourselves ; and after- 
 wards, if it may be, with others. To merit affection, 
 I perceive but two methods ; to love our kind, and 
 to cultivate those virtues which diffuse a charm 
 over life. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 OF RESPECT TOWARDS OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 
 
 There is no such being as a misanthrope. The 
 men designated by this name, may be divided into 
 many classes. In one class I see men of philoso- 
 phic minds, revolted by our vices, or shocked by 
 our contradictions, who censure these universal 
 traits with a blunt frankness. Their disgust 
 springs from the evils, which the universal follies 
 of the age have shed upon our career. But if they 
 really hated men, would they wield the pen of 
 satire, in striving to correct them ? 
 
 Another class consists of those unfortunate 
 beings, who hope to find peace only in solitude. 
 They fly a world which has pierced their heart with 
 cruel wounds ; and perhaps avow, in words, an 
 implacable hatred towards men. But their sen- 
 sibility belies their avowal ; and we soothe their 
 
124 OF RESPECT TOWARDS 
 
 griefs, as soon as we ask their services. Finally, 
 there are those who strive only to render themselves 
 singular, who are really less afflicted than whimsical; 
 rather officious than observing. These would tire us 
 with the avowal of their love of mankind, if they 
 did not deem that they render themselves more pi- 
 quant and original by declaring that they hate them. 
 
 I do not propose to discuss the question whether 
 man is born virtuous ? But as he advances in life, 
 nature arranges every thing around him in such a 
 manner, as ought to render him so. A mother is 
 the first object which is presented to his view. 
 The first words which he hears express the tender- 
 est affection. Caresses inspire his first sentiments ; 
 and his first occupations are sports. 
 
 Too soon, it is true, very different objects sur- 
 round him. As he grows into life, he is struck 
 with such a general spectacle of injustice, as re- 
 verses his ideas, and sours his character. But, 
 although the contagion reaches him, and the pas- 
 sions and prejudices degrade him, some feelings of 
 respect to what is right and good will always 
 remain in his heart. 
 
 Even those terrible enthusiasts, who thrust them- 
 selves forward in the effervescence of party, who 
 kindle the flame of civil discord, and with an un- 
 shrinking hand raise the sword of proscription, 
 these fanatics may be strangers to every humane 
 
OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 125 
 
 sentiment. Yet many of them are seen to love 
 their wives and children with tenderness, and to 
 preserve in the bosom of their family, so to speak, 
 the germs of better things ; and even tyrants have 
 their days of clemency. 
 
 During great calamities, natural sentiments de- 
 velop themselves, and form a touching contrast 
 with the scenes of horror with which they are 
 surrounded. When a destructive conflagration is 
 sweeping along a city, there are no distinctions, no 
 animosities among the wretched sufferers, whom 
 the same terror pursues. Enemies forget their 
 hatred, and partisans their parties. The rich and 
 poor cry out together. All love and aid each other. 
 Misfortune has broken down the separating barriers 
 of pride and prejudice, and they find each other 
 disposed, at least for a season, to what they ought. 
 
 Even upon the theatre of war, where the specta- 
 cle of destruction excites an appetite to destroy, we 
 often discover affecting traces of humanity. At 
 the seige of Mentz, in 1795, I remember that the 
 advanced guards of the attack on the left, occupied 
 an English garden, near the village of Mont- 
 back. The garden was completely destroyed. 
 The walks and labyrinths were changed, by the 
 trampling of the soldiers, into high roads. Bat- 
 teries were raised upon the mounds, from distance 
 to distance, around which still grew rare trees and 
 
126 OP RESPECT TOWARDS 
 
 shrubs. The French bivouacs banished the verdure 
 of the bowling-greens ; and in advance of them, a 
 half- overturned kiosk served for the front guard of 
 the Austrians. The nearest water was on their 
 side ; the nearest wood on the side of the French. 
 To obtain water, the French threw their canteens 
 to the Austrians, who filled them and sent them 
 back again. When night drew on, the French 
 soldiers, in return, cut wood for the Austrians, and 
 dragged faggots between the videttes of the two 
 armies. Thus, waiting the signal to cut each 
 other's throat, the advanced guards lived in peace, 
 and made exchanges like those between friendly 
 people. This spectacle excited in me a profound 
 emotion ; and I was scarcely able to refrain from 
 tears, in seeing men so situated, somewhat alive to 
 the calls of humanity. 
 
 This incident is a singularly touching one. In 
 what a cruel light does it place the character and 
 passions of princes, generals, conquerors, and war- 
 riors, who for their measureless cupidity, or the 
 whim of their ambition, have used their fellow men, 
 formed with natural sympathies to aid and love 
 each other, as the mechanical engines of their pur- 
 poses, to meet breast to breast as enemies, and 
 plunge the murderous steel into each other's hearts ! 
 Hence, rivers of life-blood have flowed as uselessly 
 as rain falls upon the ocean ! It is difficult to 
 
OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 127 
 
 determine whether we ought most to execrate the 
 cursed ambition of the few, or despise the weak 
 stupidity of the many who have been led, unresist- 
 ingly, like animals to the slaughter, only the more 
 firmly to rivet the chains of the survivors. What 
 a view does war present, of the miserable ignorance, 
 the brute stupidity, of the mass of the species, and 
 the detestable passions of those called the great, in 
 all time ! Who does not exult to see the era, 
 every day approaching, when men will be too wise, 
 too vigilant and careful of their rights to become 
 instruments in the hands of others ; when the ra- 
 tional consciousness of their own predominant 
 physical power shall be guided by wisdom, self- 
 watchfulness and self-respect ? Then, instead of 
 being tamely led out to slay each other, when 
 invoked to this detestable sport of kings, they will 
 show their steel to their oppressors. 
 
 Under oppression, in degradation, in slavery, 
 men still preserve some impress of their first dig- 
 nity. Those outrages which inflict personal 
 humiliation, are among the most frequent causes 
 of revolutions ; and, perhaps, tyrants incur less 
 danger in shedding the blood of citizens, than in 
 insulting them. An outrage upon a woman was 
 the signal of the liberty of Rome. A similar crime 
 drew on the fall of the Pisi strati, who had found no 
 obstacle in overturning the laws of their country. 
 
128 OF RESPECT TOWARDS 
 
 The Swiss and Danes supported the rigours of a 
 tyrannic yoke in silence. They arose the first day 
 in which their oppressors exacted of them an act of 
 degradation. Genoa had been conquered. An 
 Austrian officer struck a man of the lower class. 
 The indignant Genoese flew to arms, and drove 
 away their conquerors. 
 
 A convincing demonstration, that an innate prin- 
 ciple of elevation exists in the soul, results from 
 the universality of religious ideas. Man is discou- 
 raged by his errors, his infirmities and faults in 
 vain. An interior voice admonishes him of his 
 high destination. He raises his voice to him over 
 the tombs of his fathers ; and not only so, but very 
 frequently, if he thinks as he ought, every day of 
 his life. When the contemplation of the works of 
 the Eternal has inspired him with humble senti- 
 ments of himself, he still deems himself superior to 
 all the beings that surround him. Occupying but 
 a point on the globe, his disquieting thoughts em- 
 brace the universe. He beholds time devouring 
 the objects of his affections, crumbling monuments, 
 and overturning even the works of nature ; from 
 the midst of the ruins he aspires to immortality. 
 
 To me it appears that religion springs not, as 
 some suppose, from tradition ; or, as others think, 
 from reasoning. It is a sentiment. It is an 
 inwrought feeling in our mental constitution, an 
 
OUR FELLOW CREATURES. 129 
 
 unwritten, universal, and everlasting gospel, point- 
 ing to God and immortality. Bring the most 
 uninstructed peasant, who has seen nothing of the 
 earth, hut its plains, in sight of Chimborazo. The 
 thrill of awe and sublimity that springs within him 
 at the view, and lifts his spirit above the summits 
 to the divinity, is one of the forms, in which this 
 sentiment acts. The natural mental movements 
 in view of the illimitable main, of the starry firm- 
 ament, of elevated mountains, of whatever is vast 
 in dimension, irresistible in power, terrible in the 
 exercise of anger ; in short, all those emotions, 
 which we call the sublime, are modified actings of 
 the religious sentiment. 
 
 What would not these sentiments, at once ele- 
 vated and good, these precious germs produce, 
 were they developed by happy circumstances ! 
 That they exist in the human bosom is a sufficient 
 indication that we owe a tender interest to the be- 
 ing who possesses them. Let us love our kind, 
 and cultivate the virtues which render us worthy of 
 their affection. 
 
CHAPTER XIL 
 
 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES 
 
 Placed in the midst of men, one of the most useful 
 virtues is indulgence. To allow ourselves to be- 
 come severe, is to forget how many good qualities 
 we want ourselves ; and from what faults we are 
 preserved only by our circumstances, and the re- 
 straining providence of God. It is to forget the 
 weakness of men, and the empire exercised over 
 them by the objects that surround them. To ren- 
 der exact justice to our kind, we ought to take into 
 the estimate all the assistance and all the obstacles, 
 with which they have met in their career. Thus 
 weighing them, celebrated actions will become less 
 astonishing, and many faults will appear much 
 more venial. 
 
 By cultivating the spirit of indulgence, we learn 
 the happy secret of being well with ourselves, and 
 
OP SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 131 
 
 well with men. Some carry into their intercourse 
 with the world an austere frankness. They are 
 dreaded, and the opposition which they every day 
 experience, increases their disagreeable and tire- 
 some rudeness. Others, blushing at no complais- 
 ance, and equally supple and false, smile at what 
 displeases them ; praise what they feel to be ridicu- 
 lous ; and applaud what they know to be vile. Be 
 kind, whilst you ever frown on what is vicious, 
 and you will not sacrifice self-esteem ; and your 
 frankness, far from annoying, will render your 
 affability more amiable. 
 
 The less we occupy ourselves with the vices and 
 aberrations of men, unless it be to reform them, and 
 of course, to make them happier, the more pleasant 
 will our existence become. 
 
 Let us extend a courageous indulgence towards 
 those unfortunate beings who are victims of long- 
 continued errors. Enough will be ready to assume 
 the office of their accusers. Let us draw round 
 them the veil of charity. I am aware that gloomy 
 moralists will object to these views ; and call them 
 easy principles, that encourage the vices, flatter the 
 passions, and excuse disorders. Believe me, the 
 most easy and successful mode of reclaiming the 
 wandering, is to carry encouragement and hope to 
 their hearts, and to confide in their professions of 
 repentance. Few things, in my estimate, more 
 
132 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 
 
 decidedly mark a generous and noble, as well as an 
 enlightened and a philosophic spirit, as the dispo- 
 sition to be indulgent in its construction of the 
 views and conduct of others, and to view our fellow 
 men with kindness and compassion. Great minds 
 fail not to be conscious what a weak, miserable 
 compound of vanity, ignorance and selfishness is 
 that lord of the creation which we call man. As 
 the human mind is exalted by its elevation towards 
 the divinity, in the same proportion it soars above 
 the mists of its own passions and prejudices ; and, 
 whilst it must ever censure what is really wrong, 
 yet sees much in humanity to inspire feelings of 
 compassion and benevolence. 
 
 Born in an age when every one professes to 
 applaud toleration, far from adopting the real spirit, 
 we scarcely know how to practise indulgence even 
 towards abstract opinions, that differ from our own. 
 Let us never forget the weakness and error of our 
 own judgment and understanding ; and then we 
 shall possess an habitual temper of candour towards 
 the views of others. In most instances, when we 
 say "that man thinks rightly/' the phrase, when 
 translated, imports, ■ ' that man thinks as I do." 
 
 A particular idea, which you formerly deemed 
 correct, at present seems false. Perhaps you may 
 one day return to your first judgment. Let us 
 accord, to our antagonist, a right which we fre- 
 
OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 133 
 
 quently exercise for ourselves, the right to be 
 deceived. During the contests of party, I have 
 more than once seen the spectacle of two men 
 changing their principles almost at the same mo- 
 ment, in such a manner, that one of them takes the 
 place of the other in the faction, which, but a short 
 time since, he professed to detest. Taking human 
 nature as it is, into view, this does not astonish me. 
 What I find strange is, that these two men should 
 hate each other more than ever, and that it has 
 become impossible to reconcile them, now that the 
 one has espoused the opinion which the other held 
 but a moment before. 
 
 It is very true, that the age of actual persecu- 
 tion, by fines, imprisonment and death, is gone by. 
 But this results rather from a progress of practical 
 political ideas, than from a settled conviction that 
 no one mind has a right to find, in the opinions of 
 another mind, cause of offence. Whoever cannot 
 look upon the most opposite faith and opinions 
 of his neighbour, in religion, in politics, and the 
 ordinary concerns of life, without any feeling of 
 temper and bitterness, in view of that difference, 
 is in heart and spirit intolerant. In this view, 
 who can justly and fully lay claim to toleration ? 
 The whole world is divided into parties, often find- 
 ing the bitterest germs of contention in the smallest 
 differences. Scarcely one in ten thousand, of all 
 
134 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 
 
 these sects and parties, has real philosophic mag- 
 nanimity enough to perceive, that all other men 
 have as much claim for indulgence to their opin- 
 ions, as he exacts for his own. 
 
 An essential truth that ought to be constantly 
 announced, is, that both political and religious 
 opinions have much less influence than is com- 
 monly imagined upon the qualities of the heart. 
 No verity has been so completely demonstrated to 
 my conviction. I have been conversant with men 
 of all parties. In every one I have met with 
 persons full of disinterestedness and integrity. To 
 esteem them, it was only necessary to remark the 
 noble and unshrinking courage with which they 
 were willing to suspend every thing on the issue of 
 their convictions. 
 
 A crowd of useful reflections upon this subject 
 naturally offer, upon which it would be easy to 
 enlarge. The brevity of my plan impels me to 
 other subjects. There is one quality, difficult to 
 define, yet easily understood, which always affects 
 us pleasantly. It is a quality as rare as its effects 
 are useful ; and yet we have scarcely a specific 
 term in our language by which fully to designate 
 it. An obliging disposition is the common phrase 
 that conveys it. Examine all the pleasant things 
 of life, and you will find this disposition the pleas- 
 antest of all. There often remains no memorv of 
 
OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 135 
 
 the benefits received. Of those we have rendered, 
 something is always retained. 
 
 But what shall we say of the ungrateful ? We 
 are told that they are formidable from their num- 
 bers and boldness, and that they people the whole 
 earth. How eccentric and contradictory are the 
 common maxims of the world ! We admit that 
 we have a right to exact gratitude ! and yet wish 
 that benefits should be forgotten : I hold it wrong 
 to depend upon gratitude, since the expectation will 
 generally be deceived. To remember that we have 
 been the means of doing good in time past, is to 
 bind us to beneficence in time to come. We hear 
 it continually repeated, that it requires a sublime 
 effort to do good to our enemies. Men, more 
 zealous than enlightened, have advanced, that the 
 morality of the gospel has alone prescribed the 
 rendering of good for evil. Evangelical duty is 
 sufficiently elevated by being founded on the basis 
 of higher sanctions, and a future retribution ; and 
 rests not its claims, though it possesses them, upon 
 new discoveries of what is true, beautiful, and 
 obligatory in morals. 
 
 Some of the heathen writers had not failed to 
 enjoin it upon the members of communities, to aid 
 and love one another. But it is only necessary to 
 glance upon the apostolic epistles, to see that 
 Christians were a new and peculiar people, bound 
 
136 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES, 
 
 together by cords of affection, altogether unknown 
 in the previous records of the human heart. What 
 tenderness, what love, " stronger than death," 
 what sublime disinterestedness ! How reckless the 
 sordid motives of ambition and interest, which 
 ruled the surrounding world! We scarcely need 
 other evidence, that this simplicity of love, so 
 unlike aught the world had seen before, w^as not an 
 affection of earthly mould ; and that this new 
 people were not bound together by ties which had 
 an entire relation to the grossness of earthly bonds. 
 To me there is something inexpressibly delightful, 
 and of which I am never weary, in contemplating 
 the originality and simplicity of early Christian 
 affection, nor is it one of the feeblest testimonies to 
 the glory and divinity of the gospel. 
 
 Let us add, that in enjoining the gospel maxim 
 to render good for evil, we inculcate elevation of 
 mind, the source of many virtues. But christian 
 moralists have too often been tempted to neutralize 
 or destroy the effect of their precepts, by pushing 
 them to absurd or impracticable lengths. To prac- 
 tise forgiveness, and to do good, are evangelical 
 commands, as sublime as they are conformable to 
 our natural views of duty. To enjoin upon us to 
 degrade ourselves in the estimate of our enemies, 
 by feeling and acting towards them as though they 
 were our friends, as some have understood the 
 
OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 137 
 
 bearing of the Christian precept, would be inju- 
 rious and impracticable. Socrates pardoned his 
 enemies, but preserved an imposing dignity. There 
 was no abasement in the infinitely higher example 
 of him, who, suffering on the cross, prayed for his 
 murderers. 
 
 If such are our obligations as men and Chris- 
 tians towards our enemies, what duties ought we 
 not to fulfil to those benefactors who have steadily 
 sought occasions to be useful to us, to ward off 
 danger from us, and to repair our misfortunes ? 
 To such let us seek incessant opportunities of 
 acquitting our debt. Gratitude will prolong the 
 pleasure conferred by their benefits. 
 
 Indulgence and the desire to oblige, seem to me 
 the two principal means of conciliating to ourselves 
 the affections of our kind. A virtue which at least 
 commands their esteem is integrity. Not only is 
 he who practises it, faithful to his engagements, 
 since he allows no promises of his to be held slight, 
 but his uprightness makes itself felt in all his 
 actions. The faults that he commits he is prompt 
 to acknowledge ; he confesses them without false 
 shame, and seeks neither to exaggerate nor ex- 
 tenuate them. Touching the interests which are 
 common to him and other people, he decides for 
 simple justice ; and, in so awarding, does not deem 
 that he injures himself, his first possession being 
 
138 OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 
 
 his own self-respect. Without rendering me high 
 services, he obliges me in the lesser charities, and 
 procures me one of the most vivid pleasures I can 
 taste, that of contemplating a noble character. 
 
 Among the virtues which ought to secure a kind 
 regard, we universally assign to modesty a high 
 rank. A simple and modest man lives unknown, 
 until a moment, which he could not have foreseen, 
 reveals his estimable qualities, and his generous 
 actions. I compare him to the flower concealed 
 springing from an humble stem, which escapes 
 the view, and is discovered only by its fragrance. 
 Pride quickly fixes the eye, and he who is always 
 his own eulogist, dispenses every other person from 
 the obligation to praise him. A truly modest man, 
 emerging from his transient obscurity, will obtain 
 those delightful praises which the heart awards 
 without effort. His superiority, far from being im- 
 portunate, will become attractive. Modesty gives 
 to talents and virtues the same charm which chas- 
 tity adds to beauty. 
 
 Let us carry into the world neither curiosity nor 
 indiscretion. Curiosity is the defect of a little 
 mind, which, not knowing how to employ itself at 
 home, feels the necessity of being amused with 
 the occupations of others. In relation to minute 
 objects it is ridiculous. In important affairs it 
 becomes odious. Let us know nothing about those 
 
OF SOME OF THE VIRTUES. 139 
 
 debates, piques and parties, which it is not in our 
 power to settle ; practically observing the precept 
 of the Scriptures, " Mind your own business." 
 
 A gentle and constant equality of temper, is an 
 attribute so precious, that, in my eye, it becomes a 
 virtue. To sustain it, not only requires a pure 
 mind, but a vigour of understanding which resists 
 the petty vexations and fleeting contrarieties which 
 a multitude of objects and events are continually 
 bringing. What an unalterable charm does it give 
 to the society of the man who possesses it ! How 
 is it possible to avoid loving him whom we are 
 certain always to And with serenity upon his brow, 
 and a smile in his countenance ? Among the cir- 
 cumstances essential to felicity, I count the attach- 
 ment of some individuals, but not popularity. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 Since we cannot assure ourselves of the general 
 affection, nor even of the justice of men, it becomes 
 our interest, in the midst of the great mass that 
 we cannot move, to create a little world, which 
 we can arrange at the disposal of our reason and 
 affections. 
 
 In this retreat, dictated to us alike by our in- 
 stincts and our hearts, let us forget the chimeras 
 which the crowd pursue ; and if the men of fashion, 
 and the world ridicule, and even condemn us, let 
 their murmurs sound in our ears as the dashing of 
 the waves on the distant shore, to the stranger, 
 under the hospitable roof which shelters him from 
 the storm. 
 
 The universe of reason and affection must be 
 composed of a single family. Of that universe a 
 
OF MARRIAGE. 141 
 
 wedded pair must be the centre. A wife is the 
 best and the only disinterested friend, by the award 
 of nature. She remains such, when fortune has 
 scattered all others. How many have been recalled 
 to hope by a virtuous and affectionate wife, when 
 all beside had been lost ! How many, retrieved from 
 despondency, have felt in an ineffable effusion of 
 heart, that her heroism and constancy were an am- 
 ple indemnity for the deprivation of all other things! 
 How many, undeceived by external illusions, have 
 in this w T ay been brought home to their real good ! 
 If we wish to see the attributes of conjugal hero- 
 ism, in their purest brilliancy, let us suppose the 
 husband in the last degree of wretchedness. Let 
 us imagine him not only culpable, but so estimated, 
 and an outcast from society. Repentance itself, in 
 the view of candour, has not been available to 
 cloak his faults. She alone, accusing him not, is 
 only prodigal of consolations. Embracing duties 
 as severe as his reverses, she voluntarily shares his 
 captivity or exile. He finds still, on the faithful 
 bosom of innocence, a refuge, where remorse be- 
 comes appeased ; as in former days, the proscribed 
 found, at the foot of the altar, an assylum against 
 the fury of men. 
 
 Marriage is generally assumed as a means of 
 increasing credit and fortune, and of assuring suc- 
 cess in the world. It should be undertaken as a 
 
142 OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 chief element of happiness, in the retirement of 
 domestic repose. I would wish that my disciple, 
 while still in the freshness of youth, mi 
 reason and experience enough to select the beloved 
 person whom he would desire one day to espouse. 
 I would hope that, captivated with her dawning 
 qualities, and earnestly seeking her happiness, he 
 might win her tenderness, and find his satisfaction 
 in training her to a conformity to his tastes, habits, 
 and character. 
 
 The freshness of her docile nature demands his 
 first forming cares. As she advances in life she is 
 moulded to happy changes, adapted to supply his 
 defects. She is reared modest, amiable, well- 
 informed, respectable, and respected ; one day to 
 govern his family, and direct his house, by diffusing 
 around the domestic domain, order and peace. 
 Let neither romances, metaphysics, pedantry, nor 
 fashion, render a qualification for these important 
 duties, either trifling or vulgar in her view. Still, 
 domestic duties are by no means to occupy all her 
 hours. The time which is not devoted to them 
 will flow quietly on in friendly circles, not numer- 
 ous, but animated by gaiety, friendship, and the 
 inexplicable pleasures which spring from intercourse 
 with rational society. There are, also, more unim- 
 portant duties, which we expect her not to neglect. 
 We wish her to occupy some moments at her 
 
OF MARRIAGE, 143 
 
 toilette ; where simplicity should be the basis of 
 elegance ; and where native tact might develop the 
 graces, and vary, and multiply, if I may so say, the 
 forms of her beauty. In fine, the versatility of 
 her modes of rendering herself agreeable, should 
 render it impossible to be unhappy in her presence. 
 
 But train women to visit a library as savans, and 
 they will be likely to bring from it pedantry with- 
 out solid instruction; and coquetty without feminine 
 amiability. I would not be understood to question 
 the capability of the female understanding. I am 
 not sure that I w T ould wish the wife of my friend to 
 have been an author, though some of the most 
 amiable and enlightened women have been such. 
 But I deem that in their mental constitution, and 
 in the assignment of their lot, providence has de- 
 signated them to prefer the graces to erudition ; 
 and that to acquire a wreath of laurels, they must 
 ordinarily relinquish their native crown of roses. 
 
 When we see a husband and wife thus united by 
 tenderness, good tempers, and simple tastes, every 
 thing presages for them a delightful futurity. Let 
 them live contented in their retirement. Instead of 
 wishing to blazon, let them conceal their happiness, 
 and exist for each other. Life w T ill become to them 
 the happiest of dreams. 
 
 Too often, the deciding motive both with parents 
 and young persons, in relation to marriage, is in- 
 
144 OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 terest. When a man marries simply on a money 
 speculation, if he sees his fortune and distinction 
 secured, let disorder and alienation reign in his 
 house as they may, he is still happier than he 
 deserves to be. 
 
 Some marriages of inclination guarantee happi- 
 ness no more than our marriages of interest. What 
 results should be anticipated from the blind impulse 
 of appetite ? Let there be mutual affection, such 
 as reason can survey with a calm and severe scru- 
 tiny. Such love as is painted in romances is but 
 a fatal fever. It is children alone who believe 
 themselves in love, only when they feel them- 
 selves in a delirium. They have imagined that 
 life should be a continued exstacy ; and these in- 
 dulged dreams of anticipation spoil the reality of 
 wedded life. I have supposed the husband older 
 than his wife. I have imagined him forming the 
 character of his young, fair and docile companion ; 
 and that, so to speak, they have become assimilated 
 to each other's tastes and habits. The right com- 
 bination of reason and love assures for them, under 
 such circumstances, as much as possible, a futurity 
 of happiness. 
 
 I have often heard men who were sensible upon 
 every other subject, express their conviction that 
 the Orientals, in excluding their women from all 
 eyes but their own, had established the only 
 
OP MARRIAGE. 145 
 
 reasonable domestic policy. There is no more 
 good sense than humanity in this barbarous senti- 
 ment, however frequently it is uttered. No one 
 could be in earnest, in wishing to copy, into free 
 institutions, this appalling vestige of slavery. But 
 my inward respect for women withholds me from 
 flattering them. Authority ought to belong to the 
 husband ; and the influence of tenderness, graces 
 and the charms of constancy, gentleness and truth, 
 constitute the appropriate female empire, and be- 
 long of right to the wife, Masculine vigour, and 
 aptitude to contend and resist, clearly indicate that 
 nature has confided authority to man. To dispos- 
 sess him of it, and control him by a still more 
 irresistible sway, it is necessary that the feeble sex 
 should learn patience, docility, passive courage, 
 and the management of their appropriate weapons 
 in danger and sorrow ; and that they should become 
 energetic in the discharge of the cares of the do- 
 mestic establishment. Man is formed by nature 
 for the calls of active courage ; and woman, for the 
 appalling scenes of pain and affliction, and the 
 agony of the sick and dying bed. In a word, all 
 argument apart, nature has clearly demonstrated to 
 which sex authority belongs. 
 
 The defects of man spring from the tendency of 
 his natural traits, in which force predominates, to 
 run to excess. I see his gentle companion endowed 
 
146 OF MARRIAGE, 
 
 with attributes and qualities naturally tending to 
 temper his imperfections. The means she has 
 received to reach this end announce that it is the 
 purpose of heaven that she should use them with 
 this view. She has charms which, when rightly 
 applied, none can resist. Her character is a happy 
 compound of sensibility, and wisdom. She has 
 superadded a felicity of address which she owes to 
 her organization, and which the reserve, that her 
 education imposes, serves to develop. Thus the 
 qualities, and even the imperfections of the two 
 sexes serve to bring them together. It follows, 
 that man should possess authority, and woman in- 
 fluence, for their mutual happiness. 
 
 When the wife dictates, I cease to behold a 
 respectable married pair. I see a ridiculous tyrant, 
 and a still more ridiculous slave. It is vain to urge 
 that she may be most capable of authority, and that 
 her orders may be conformable to wisdom and jus- 
 tice. They are absurd, from the very circumstance 
 that they are commands. The virtues which the 
 husband ought to practise towards his wife must 
 have their origin in love, which can only be inspired, 
 and which flies all restraint. In a single position, 
 the wife honours herself in assuming authority. It 
 is when reverses have overwhelmed and desolated 
 her husband, so that, ceasing to sustain her, and 
 changing the natural order of things, she supports 
 
OF MARRIAGE. 147 
 
 him. He receives hope as her gift ; he is compel- 
 led to blush in imitating her example of courage ; 
 but she aspires to this power no longer than to be 
 able to restore him to the place whence misery had 
 cast him down. 
 
 It is a truth that is indisputable, that dissatisfied 
 husbands and wives often love each other more 
 than they imagine. Suppose them to believe them- 
 selves indifferent ; and to seem so ; and even on 
 the verge of mutual hate ; should one of them fall 
 sick, we see the other inspired with sincere alarms. 
 Suppose them on the eve of separation ; when the 
 fatal moment comes, both recoil from the act. 
 Habit almost causes the pains, to which we have 
 been long accustomed, to become cause of regret 
 when they cease. When the two begin mutually 
 to complain of their destiny, I counsel each, instead 
 of washing to criminate and correct each other, to 
 give each other an example of mutual forbearance 
 and indulgence. It may be, that the cause of their 
 mutual dissatisfaction is unreal; the supposed wrong 
 not intended, the suspicion false. Candour and for- 
 giveness will appease all. The husband may have 
 gone astray only in thought. The wife may have 
 minor defects, and an unequal temper, without for- 
 feiting much excellence and still remaining claims 
 to be loved. The morbid influence of ill health, 
 and its oftentimes irresistible action upon the tern- 
 
148 OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 per, may have been the source whence the faults 
 flowed on either part; and the mutual wrongs may 
 thus have been, in some sense, independent of the 
 will of the parties. Bound, as they are, in such 
 intimate and almost indissoluble relations, before 
 they give that happiness, which they hoped and 
 promised, to the winds, let them exhaust their 
 efforts of self-command and mutual indulgence, to 
 rekindle the lamp of genuine affection. 
 
 A part of the purest happiness which earth yields^ 
 is unquestionably, the portion of two beings wisely 
 and fitly united in the bonds of indissoluble confi- 
 dence and affection. What a touching picture 
 does Madame de Stael present to us, where she 
 says, " I saw, during my sojourn in England, a 
 man of the highest merit united to a wife worthy of 
 him. One day, as we were walking together, we 
 met some of those people that the English call 
 gipseys, who generally wander about the woods in 
 the most deplorable condition. I expressed pity 
 for them thus enduring the union of all the physi- 
 cal evils of nature. ' Had it been necessary/ said 
 the husband, pointing to his wife, ' in order to 
 spend my life with her, that I should have passed 
 thirty years in begging, we should still have been 
 happy.' ' Yes,' replied the wife, ' the happiest of 
 beings/ " 
 
CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 One of the happiest days, and one of the most de- 
 lightful of life, is when the birth of a child opens 
 the heart of the parent to emotions as yet unknown. 
 Yet what pains are prepared for us by this circum- 
 stance ! What anxiety, what agonies their suffer- 
 ings excite ! What terror, when we fear for their 
 infant life ! And these alarms terminate not with 
 their early age. The inquietude with which parents 
 watch over the destiny of children, fills every period 
 of life, even to the last sigh. 
 
 The compensating satisfaction which they bring 
 must be very vivid, since it counterbalances so 
 many sufferings. In order to love them, we have 
 no need to be convinced that they will respond to 
 our cares, and one day repay them. If there be in 
 the human heart one disinterested sentiment, it is 
 
150 CHILDREN. 
 
 parental love. Our tenderness for our children is 
 independent of reflection. We love them because 
 they are our children. Their existence makes a 
 part of ours ; or rather, is more than ours. All 
 that is either useful or pleasant to them, brings us 
 a pure happiness, springing from their health, their 
 gaiety, and their amusements. 
 
 The chief end which we ought to propose to 
 ourselves, in rearing them, is to train and dispose 
 them so that they may wisely enjoy that existence 
 which is accorded them. Of all the happy influ- 
 ences which can be brought to bear upon their 
 mind and manners, few are more beneficial than 
 the example of parental gentleness. But there are 
 minds which see only the inconveniences which ac- 
 company it. We hear people regretting the decline 
 of the severity of ancient education ; and main- 
 taining the wisdom of those contrarieties and 
 vexations which children used to experience ; "a 
 fitting discipline of preparation," say they, " to 
 prepare them for the sorrows of life." Would they, 
 on the same principle, inflict bruises and contusions, 
 to train them to the right endurance of those that 
 carelessness or accident might bring ? " It is an 
 advantage," say they, " to put them to an appren- 
 ticeship of pain at the period when the sorrow 
 it inflicts is light and transient." This mode of 
 speaking, with many others of similar import, pre- 
 
CHILDREN. 151 
 
 sents a combination of much error with some truth. 
 The sufferings of childhood seem to us trifling 
 and easy to endure, because time has interposed 
 distance between them and us ; and we have no 
 fear of ever meeting them again. Yet it does not 
 cease to be a fact, that the child that passes a year 
 under the discipline of the ferule of a severe mas- 
 ter, is as unhappy as a man deprived a year of his 
 liberty. The latter, in truth, has less reason to 
 complain ; since he ought to find, in the discipline 
 of his reason and his maturity and force of charac- 
 ter, more powerful motives for patient endurance. 
 Parents, Providence has placed the destiny of your 
 children in your hands. When you thus sacrifice 
 the present to an uncertain future, you ought to 
 have strong proof that you will put at their dispo- 
 sal the means of indemnification. If the sacrifice 
 of the present to the future were indispensable, I 
 would not dissuade from it. But my conviction is, 
 that the best means of preparing them for the 
 future may be found in rendering them as happy 
 as possible for the present. If it should be your 
 severe trial to be deprived of them in their early 
 days, you will, at least, have the consolation of 
 being able to say, " I have rendered them happy 
 during the short time they were confided to me." 
 Strive then, by gentleness, guided by wisdom and 
 authority, to cast the sunshine of enjoyment upon 
 
152 CHILDREN. 
 
 the necessary toils and studies of the morning of 
 their existence. 
 
 It is the stern award of nature to bring them 
 sorrows. Our task is to soothe them. I feel an 
 interest when I see the child regret the trinket it 
 has broken, or the bird it has reared. Nature in 
 this way gives them the first lessons of pain, and 
 strengthens them to sustain the more bitter losses 
 of maturer days. Let us prudently second the 
 efforts of nature ; and to console the weeping child, 
 let us not attempt to change the course of these 
 fugitive ideas, nor to efface the vexation by a plea- 
 sure. In unavoidable suffering, let the dawning 
 courage and reason find strength for endurance. 
 Let us first share the regrets, and gently bring the 
 sufferer to feel the inutility of tears. Let us 
 accustom him not to throw away his strength in 
 useless efforts ; and let us form his mind to bear 
 without a murmur the yoke of necessity. These 
 maxims, I am aware, are directly against the spirit 
 of modern education, which is almost entirely 
 directed towards the views of ambition. 
 
 But while I earnestly inculcate gentleness in 
 parental discipline, I would not confound it with 
 weakness. I disapprove that familiarity between 
 parents and children which is unfavourable to sub- 
 ordination. Fashion is likely to introduce an 
 injurious equality into this relation. I see the 
 
CHILDREN. 153 
 
 progress of this dangerous effeminacy with regret. 
 The dress and expenditures which would formerly 
 have supplied ten children, scarcely satisfy at 
 present the caprices of one. This foolish complai- 
 sance of parents prepares, for the future husbands 
 and wives, a task most difficult to fulfil. Let us 
 not, by anticipating and preventing the wishes of 
 children, teach them to be indolent in searching 
 for their own pleasures. Their age is fertile in 
 this species of invention. That they may be suc- 
 cessful in seizing enjoyment, little more is requisite 
 to be performed, on our part, than to break their 
 chains. 
 
 There are two fruitful sources of torments for 
 children. One is, what the present day denomi- 
 nates politeness. It is revolting to me to see 
 children early trained to forego their delightful 
 frankness and simplicity, and learning artificial 
 manners. We wish them to become little person- 
 ages, and we compel them to receive tiresome 
 compliments, and to repeat insignificant formulas 
 of common-place flattery. In this way, politeness, 
 destined to impart amenity to life, becomes a 
 source of vexation and restraint. It would seem 
 as if we thought it so important a matter to teach 
 the usages of society, that they cordd never be 
 known unless the study were commenced in in- 
 fancy. Besides, do we flatter ourselves, that we 
 
154 CHILDREN. 
 
 shall be able to teach children the modes and the 
 vocabulary of politeness, without initiating them, 
 at the same time, in the rudiments of falsehood ? 
 They are compelled to see that we consider it a 
 trine. If we wish them to become flatterers and 
 dishonest, I ask, what more efficient method could 
 we take ? 
 
 Labour is the second source of their sufferings. 
 I would by no means be understood to dissuade 
 from the assiduous cultivation of habits of industry. 
 You may enable children to remove mountains, if 
 you will contrive to render their tasks a matter of 
 amusement and interest. The extreme curiosity of 
 children announces an instinctive desire for in- 
 struction But instead of profiting by it, we 
 adopt measures which tend to stifle it. We render 
 their studies tiresome, and then say that the young 
 naturally tire of study. 
 
 When the parent is sufficiently enlightened to 
 rear his child himself, instead of plying him with 
 rudimental books, dictionaries and restraint, let 
 him impart the first instructions by familiar con- 
 versation. Ideas advanced in this w^ay are accom- 
 modated to the comprehension of the pupil, by 
 mutual good feeling rendered attractive, and 
 brought directly within the embrace of his mind. 
 This instruction leads him to observe, and accus- 
 toms him to compare, reflect and discriminate, 
 
CHILDREN. 155 
 
 offers the sciences under interesting associations, 
 and inspires a natural thirst for instruction. Of 
 all results which education can produce, this is the 
 most useful. A youth of fifteen, trained in this 
 way, will come into possession of more truths, 
 mixed with fewer errors, than much older persons 
 reared in the common way. He will be distin- 
 guished by the early maturity of his reason, and by 
 his eagerness to cultivate the sciences, which, 
 instead of producing fatigue or disgust, will every 
 day give birth to new ideas and new pleasures. I 
 am nevertheless little surprised, that the scrupulous 
 advocates of the existing routine should insist that 
 such a method tends to form superficial thinkers. 
 I can only say to these profound panegyrists of the 
 present order of instruction, that the method which 
 I recommend, was that of the Greeks. Their phi- 
 losophers taught while walking in the shade of the 
 portico or of trees, and were ignorant of the art of 
 rendering " study tiresome, and not disposed to 
 throw over it the benefits of constraint. Modern 
 instructors ought, therefore, to find that they were 
 shallow reasoners, and that their poets and artists 
 could have produced only crude and unfinished 
 efforts. 
 
 Besides, this part of education is of trifling im- 
 portance, compared with the paramount obligation 
 to give the pupil robust health, pure morals, and 
 
156 CHILDREN. 
 
 an energetic mind. I deeply regret that the des- 
 potic empire of opinion is more powerful than 
 paternal love. Instead of gravely teaching to your 
 son the little arts of shining in the world, have the 
 courage to say to him, " Oblige your friends whose 
 sufferings you can lighten, and exhibit a constant 
 and universal example of good morals. Form, 
 every evening, projects necessary for enjoying a 
 happy and useful succeeding day." Thus you will 
 see him useful, good and happy, if not great in the 
 world's estimation. You will behold him peace- 
 fully descending the current of time. In striking 
 the balance with life, he will be able to say, " I 
 have known only those sufferings which no wisdom 
 could evade, and no efforts repel, 
 
 Is not that filial ingratitude, of which parents so 
 generally complain, the bitter fruit of their own 
 training ? You fill their hearts with mercenary 
 passions, and with measureless ambition. You 
 break the tender est ties, and send them to distant 
 public schools. Your children, in turn, put your 
 lessons to account, and abandon your importunate 
 and declining age, if you depend on them, to mer- 
 cenary hands. When they were young, you 
 ridiculed them out of their innocent frankness and 
 want of worldly wisdom. You vaunted to them 
 that ambition and those arts of rising, which, put 
 in practice, have steeled their hearts against filial 
 
CHILDREN. 157 
 
 piety, as well as the other affections that belong 
 not to calculation. Since the paramount object of 
 your training was to teach them to shine, and 
 make the most out of every body, you have at least 
 a right to expect from their vanity, pompous fune- 
 ral solemnities. I revere that indication of infinite 
 wisdom, that has rendered the love of the parent 
 more anxious and tender than that of the child. 
 The intensity- of the affections ought to be propor- 
 tionate to the wants of the beings that excite them. 
 But ingratitude is not always in nature. Better 
 training would have produced other manners. In 
 rearing our children with more enlightened care, 
 in inspiring them with moderate desires, in re- 
 ducing their eagerness for brilliancy and distinction, 
 we shall render them happy, without stifling their 
 natural filial sentiments ; and we shall thus use the 
 best means of training them to sustain and soothe 
 our last moments, as we embellished their first 
 days. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 OF FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 Let us bring within the family circle a few persons 
 of amiable manners and simple tastes. Our do- 
 mestic retreat may then become our universe. But 
 we must search for real friends, with capabilities 
 for continuing" such. If interest and pleasure break 
 the accidental ties of a day, shall friendship, which 
 was always a stranger to the connexion, be accused 
 of the infraction ? 
 
 A real friend must not be expected from the 
 common ties of vulgar interest ; but must be, in 
 the circle to which he belongs, as a brother of 
 adoption. So simple should be our confidence in 
 the entireness of his affection, and the disinterest- 
 edness and wisdom of his advice, as to incline us 
 to consult him without afflicting our wife or child- 
 ren by a useless communication of our perplexities. 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 159 
 
 To him we should be able to confide our fears ; 
 and while we struggle, by his advice and aid to 
 escape the pressing evil which menaces to over- 
 whelm us, our family may still repose in tranquil 
 security. 
 
 If he suffer in turn, we share his pains. If he 
 have pleasures, we reciprocally enjoy them. If 
 either party experience reverses, instead of finding 
 himself alone in misery, he receives consolations so 
 touching and tender, that he ceases to complain of 
 a lot which has enabled him to become acquainted 
 with the depth of the resources of friendship. 
 
 How pure is the sentiment, how simple the 
 pleasures, which flow from the intercourse of two 
 persons united by similar opinions and like desires, 
 who have both cultivated letters, the arts, and true 
 wisdom ! With what rapidity the moments of 
 these charming conversations fly ! Even the hours 
 consecrated to study are less pleasant, perhaps less 
 instructive. Such a friend, so to speak, is of a 
 different nature from that of the rest of men. 
 They either conceal our defects, or cause us to see 
 them from motives of ill-feeling. A friend so 
 discusses them, in our presence, as not to wound 
 us. He kindly reproaches us with faults, to our 
 face, which he extenuates, or excuses before others 
 in our absence. We can never fully comprehend 
 to what extent a friend mav be useful and dear, 
 
160 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 until after having been a long time the faithful 
 companion of his good and evil fortune. What 
 emotions we experience in giving ourselves up to 
 the remembrance of the common perils, storms, 
 and trials we have experienced together ! It is 
 never without tenderness of heart that we say, 
 " We have had the same thoughts, affections, and 
 hopes. Such an event penetrated us with common 
 joy ; such another filled us with grief. Uniting 
 our efforts, we rescued a victim of poverty and mis- 
 fortune. We mutually shared his tears of gratitude. 
 The hard necessity of circumstances separated us ; 
 and our paths so diverged that seas and mountains 
 divided us. But we still remained present to each 
 other, in communion of thought. He had fears 
 for me, and I for him, as we foresaw each other's 
 dangers. Finally, we met again ; what charms, 
 what effusion of heart in the union V 
 
 I immediately form a high opinion of the man, 
 whom I hear earnest in the applause of the talents 
 or virtues of his friend. He possesses the qualities 
 which he applauds ; since he has need to affirm 
 their existence in the person he loves, 
 
 This noble and pure sentiment has had its pacific 
 heroes. What names, what examples could I not 
 cite, in ancient and in modern times ! What splen- 
 did and affecting proofs of identity of fortune, joys, 
 and sorrows, and even danger and death ! 1 knew 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 161 
 
 two friends, of whom every one spoke with respect. 
 One of them was asked the extent of his fortune ? 
 "Mine is small," he replied, "but my friend is 
 rich." The other, a few days before he died of a 
 contagious disease, asked, " Why so many persons 
 were allowed to enter his chamber ? No one," he 
 added, " ought to be admitted but my friend." 
 Thus they were one in fortune, in life, and in 
 death. 
 
 I deem, that even moralists have sought to ren- 
 der this gentle affection, and the only one exempt 
 from storms, too exclusive. I am aware, how 
 much our affections become enfeebled, in propor- 
 tion as their objects multiply. There is force in 
 the quaint expression of an old author. " Love is 
 like a large stream, which bears heavy laden boats. 
 Divide it into many channels, and they run a- 
 ground." Still, we may give the honoured name 
 of friend to several, without profaning it, if there 
 exist between us mutual sympathy, high esteem, 
 and tender interest ; if our pleasures and pains are 
 in some sense, common stock, and we are recipro- 
 cally capable of a sincere devotion to each other's 
 welfare. As much, however, as I revere the real 
 sentiments, I am disgusted by the sickly or exag- 
 gerated affectation of it. 
 
 The sentiment is still more delightful, when 
 inspired by the softer sex. I shall be asked, if it 
 
162 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 can exist in its purity between persons of the dif- 
 ferent sexes ? I answer in the affirmative, when 
 the impulses of youth no longer agitate the heart. 
 We then experience the whole charm of the senti- 
 ment, as the difference of sex which is never en- 
 tirely forgotten, imparts to it a vague and touching 
 tenderness, and an ideal delight for which language 
 is too poor to furnish terms. 
 
 Why can love and friendship, the sunshine of 
 existence, decay in the heart ? Why are they not 
 eternal ? But since it is not so, if we are cruelly 
 deceived in our affections, the surest means of me- 
 dicating our pain is, instead of cherishing misan- 
 thropic distrust, to look round, and form the same 
 generous ties anew. Has your friend abandoned 
 you ? or, worse, has your wife become unworthy 
 of your love ? It is better to be deceived a thou- 
 sand times, than to add to the grief of wounded 
 affection, the insupportable burden of general dis- 
 trust, misanthropy, and hatred. Let these baneful 
 feelings never usurp the place of those sentiments 
 which must constitute human happiness. Pardon 
 your professed friends the sorrows, which their 
 unkindness may have caused you, in consideration 
 of those days of the past which were embellished 
 by then friendship. 
 
 But these treasons and perfidies are only fre- 
 quent in the intercourse of those who are driven 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 163 
 
 about bv the whirlwinds of life ; in which so many 
 opposing' interests, so many deceitful pleasures 
 confuse and separate men. The simple minded 
 and good, whose days flow pleasantly in retreat, 
 every day value more the price of those ties that 
 unite them. Their happiness is veiled and guaran- 
 teed by obscurity. 
 
 I give place to none of the illusions of inexperi- 
 ence in regard to men. The errors, contradictions, 
 and vices with which they are charged, exist. I 
 admit that many satires are faithful paintings. But 
 there are still to be found, everywhere, persons 
 whose manners are frank, whose heart is kind, and 
 whose temper amiable. These persons exist in 
 sufficient numbers to compose this new world of 
 which I have spoken. Writers are disposed to 
 declaim against men. I have never ceased to feel 
 good- will towards my kind. I have chosen only 
 to withdraw from the multitude, in order to select 
 my position in the centre of a small society. 
 
 I w T ish those, most dear to me, implicitly to 
 believe in friendship. I would a thousand times 
 prefer, that they should err on the side of credulity, 
 than of suspicion and distrust. I consider real 
 misanthropy a great misfortune. I would rather 
 my children should meet with treachery and incon- 
 stancy every day of their lives, tnan resign them- 
 selves to the heartless persuasion, weakly considered 
 
 • 
 
164 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 an attribute of wisdom snd greatness, that men are 
 altogether selfish, and unworthy of confidence. This 
 principle invests the world in darkness, which 
 " may be felt ;" and, by an energetic bearing on 
 all the faculties and sources of feeling, causes the 
 heart, that entertains such views, to become what 
 it believes to be the character of the species. 
 
 No scruples of false decorum shall withhold me 
 from saying, that I have seen friendship, pure, 
 holy, disinterested, akin to that of the angelic 
 beings ; nay, more, — have been myself the subject 
 of it. My heart swells, and will to its latest pulsa- 
 tion, with the remembered proofs. True, the 
 instances, that have fallen within the compass of 
 my experience, are very few. But they are suffi- 
 cient to settle my conviction, that the sentiment, 
 which has inspired the enthusiasm of eloquence, 
 painting and song, in all time, is not the illusion of 
 a weak and misguided imagination. Selfish as 
 man is, we often see instances of the most generous 
 and devoted friendship, even in this silver age, the 
 age of revenue and political economy. 
 
 While every one is sensible, that there must 
 exist between characters, that are susceptible of all 
 the fidelity and beauty of this sentiment, a certain 
 adaptation of circumstances, and conformity of 
 disposition, mind, development and temperament ; 
 I believe with St. Pierre, that it is desirable, that 
 
OF FRIENDSHIP. 165 
 
 there should be a certain degree of contrast, as 
 well as much similarity. The same opinions, tastes, 
 tempers and views have been found by experience, 
 sometimes not to generate the most permanent, 
 and pleasant friendships. The moral, as well as 
 the physical appetite, at times grows weary of per- 
 petual uniformity and unvarying likeness, and 
 requires the spice, afforded by the mixture of 
 various ingredients of affectionate contrariety. 
 " Soldiers," says St. Pierre, " on long and distant 
 expeditions, should be associated with ministers, 
 lawyers with naturalists, and in general, the 
 strongest contrasts of profession," — " all nature's 
 discord thus making all nature's peace." But I 
 am perfectly aware, that there will be great danger 
 of making fatal mistakes, in acting on this princi- 
 ple. It is true in the abstract ; but let sentiment- 
 alists beware of trenching too confidently on 
 ground, where the limits between safety and ruin 
 are so narrow and so difficult. Doves of a different 
 feather may pair happily, but not doves and vul- 
 tures. There must be a certain compatibility not 
 only of character, but of age, condition and 
 circumstances, as we are broadly instructed in the 
 fable of the frog thinking to wed with the ox. 
 
 The fame and character of the one are strictly 
 the property of the other. Let no one who has 
 the least particle of the base alloy of envy in his 
 
166 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 feelings towards him whom he calls his friend, 
 who is willing to hear and countenance abatements 
 of his qualities, talents, or virtues, dare to assume 
 that almost sacred name. He is equally unworthy 
 of it, if he stand by in neutrality when calumny is 
 busily passing against him ; and still more, if by 
 smiles he gives his countenance, and half his con- 
 sent, to the story of detraction and abatement. It 
 is a forfeiture of the right to the name, though it 
 may be a less worthy one, to make the person 
 called friend, the subject of jest and ridicule. In 
 regard to all these points, the duties are clear, 
 distinct, palpable, and not to be compromised. 
 Every honourable mind feels, in witnessing any 
 infraction of the laws of equity, or strict justice, a 
 sentiment of recoil and disgust, difficult perhaps to 
 define, but one which instantly designates the 
 person guilty of it, as unworthy of the name of 
 friend. Honest, frank and disinterested advice, 
 especially in relation to concerns of great interest 
 to the party, is a paramount obligation, whether 
 the advised will bear, or forbear. This prerogative 
 may, indeed, be claimed by unfeeling and rude 
 bluntness. But, by a discriminating mind, the 
 suggestions of a counterfeit, will never be mistaken 
 for those of genuine friendship. 
 
 The time, the courtesy and the amount of inter- 
 course, due from one friend to another, can never 
 
OP FRIENDSHIP. 167 
 
 be brought under subjection to rules. Moral, like 
 physical attraction, acting unconsciously, will 
 regulate this portion of duty, with the unvarying 
 certainty of the laws of nature. If persons, claim- 
 ing to sustain this relation to each other, do not 
 wish to be as much together, as duty and propriety 
 will admit ; if they allow this matter to be settled 
 by the rigid tithing of etiquette, they are any thing 
 rather than real friends. 
 
 When friends are separated wide from each 
 other by distance, duty, and the stem calls of our 
 pursuits, 1 admire the custom of baptizing, if I 
 may so say, our remembrances, by giving the 
 names of our dear and distant friends to the hills, 
 valleys, streams, trees or pleasant views in our 
 walks ; or the objects most familiar and pleasant to 
 our view. The stern silence of nature may thus be 
 compelled to find a tongue, and discourse with us 
 of those we love. 
 
 In a word, the name, I am sensible, is too often 
 a mockery of cold and affected sentimentalism. 
 But the sentiment exists, pure, simple, delightful. 
 Neither fawning, nor cant, nor flattery, nor any 
 mixture of earth's mould makes any part of it. 
 Honourable, dignified, unshaken, it feels its obli- 
 gations, and discharges them. The reputation, 
 character and whole interest of the friend is its 
 object ; and his highest happiness its prayer. In 
 
168 OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 holy separation from the hollow intercourse, false 
 phrases and deceitful compliments of fashion, and 
 what is called the world, it is faithful and consist- 
 ent, under all proofs and trials, until death ; and 
 when the eyes of the departed are closed, his 
 memory is enshrined in the remembrance of the 
 survivor, Thank God ! I have seen, I have felt, 
 that there are such friendships ; and if there is 
 any thing honourable, dignified and attractive in 
 aught, that earth presents, it is the sight of two 
 friends, whose attachment dates from their first 
 remembered sentiment ; and has survived differ- 
 ence of opinion and interest, the changes of 
 distance, time and disease, and those weaning 
 influences, which while they crumble the most 
 durable monuments, convert most hearts to stone. 
 
 I have examined the essential things of life, 
 tranquillity, independence of mind, health, compe- 
 tence, and the affection of some of our kind. I 
 wish now to give my observations something more 
 of detail and diversity. But I wish it still to be 
 borne in mind, that I give only the materials and 
 outlines of an essay, and make no pretensions to fill 
 out a complete treatise. I wish that a temple may 
 be raised to happiness. Hands, more skilful than 
 mine, will rear it. It is sufficient to my purpose 
 to indicate those delightful positions, on the summit 
 of which it may be erected. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 
 
 Heaven has decreed, that each one of our senses 
 should be a source of pleasure. But if we seek our 
 enjoyment, only in physical sensations, the same 
 stern arbiter has enacted, that our capability of 
 pleasure should soon be exhausted, and that, palled 
 and disgusted, we should die without having known 
 true happiness. 
 
 I have long been in the habit of measuring the 
 character, mental power and prospects of the young, 
 who are brought by circumstances under my obser- 
 vation, by the power which they evince, to resist 
 the suggestion of the senses. In the same pro- 
 portion, as I see them capable of rising above 
 the thraldom of their appetites, capable of that 
 energy of will, that gives the intellectual control 
 over the animal nature, I graduate them higher in 
 
170 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 
 
 the scale of moral power and prospect. But if, in 
 their course, they manifest the clear preponderance 
 of the animal ; if sloth, sensuality, and the inclina- 
 tions, which have no higher origin than the senses, 
 sway them heyond the influence of advice and 
 moral suasion, be they ever so beautiful, endowed, 
 rich, distinguished, be their place in general esti- 
 mation, ever so high, I put them down as belong- 
 ing more to the animal, than the intellectual orders 
 of being. 
 
 Exactly in proportion as pleasures are less asso- 
 ciated with the mind, their power to give us any 
 permanent satisfaction is diminished. On the con- 
 trary, they become vivid and durable, precisely in 
 the degree in which they awaken and call forth 
 moral ideas. They become in a measure celestial, 
 when they connect the past with the present, 
 the present with the future, and the whole with 
 heaven. 
 
 If we scrutinize the pleasures of the senses, we 
 shall always find their charm increasing in propor- 
 tion as they rise in the scale of purification, and 
 become transformed, in some sense, to the dignity 
 of moral enjoyments. 
 
 I look at a painting ; it represents an old man, a 
 child, a woman giving alms, and a soldier, whose 
 attitude expresses astonishment. I admire the 
 fidelity, the truth and colouring of the picture ; and 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 171 
 
 my eye is intensely gratified. But remaining igno- 
 rant of the subject, I go away, and the whole 
 shortly vanishes from my memory. 1 see it again; 
 and now I notice the inscription at the bottom, 
 Date obolum Belisario — " Give your charity to Beli- 
 sarius.' , I then recollect an interesting passage of 
 history. A crowd of moral images throng upon 
 my spirit ; I soften to tenderness ; and I compre- 
 hend the affecting lesson, which the artist is giving 
 me. I review the painting, again and again; and 
 thrill at the view of the blind warrior, and of the 
 child holding out his helmet to receive alms. 
 
 When we travel, those points of view in the 
 landscape which long fix our eye, are those which 
 awaken ideas of innocence and peace, or those 
 which affect the heart with associations connected 
 with the morning of our life ; or ideas of that 
 power and immensity, which move and elevate the 
 soul. The paintings of nature, as well as those 
 of men, are thus capable of being embellished by 
 moral associations. In travelling, I perceive a 
 delightful isle embosomed in a peaceful lake. While 
 I contemplate it, with the simple pleasure excited 
 by a charming landscape, I am told that it is inha- 
 bited by a happy pair, who were long afflicted and 
 separated; but who are now living there with much 
 of the innocence and peace of the first tenants of 
 paradise. How different an interest the landscape 
 
172 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES, 
 
 now assumes ! I behold the happy pair, without 
 care or regret, sheltered from jealous observation, 
 enjoying each other's society, gratefully contem- 
 plating the Author of the beautiful scenery around 
 them ; and elevating their love and their hearts in 
 praise to Him. 
 
 Spots, which in themselves, have no peculiar 
 charm, become most beautiful as soon as they 
 awaken touching remembrances. Suppose your- 
 self cast by misfortune on the care of a stranger in 
 a strange land. He attempts to despel your dejec- 
 tion, and says, " These countries are hospitable, 
 and nature here puts forth all her opulence ; come 
 and enjoy it with us." The gay landscapes, which 
 spread before you, all assume the appearance of 
 strangers ; and offer but little attraction. But 
 while your eye traverses the scenery with indiffer- 
 ence, you see blue hills melting into the distant 
 horizon. No person remarks them, but yourself. 
 They resemble the mountains of your own country, 
 the scenes upon which your infant view first rested. 
 You turn away to conceal the new emotions, and 
 your eyes are filling with tears. You continue to 
 gaze fondly on those hills, dear to memory. In 
 the midst of a rich landscape, they are all that 
 interests you. You return to review them every 
 day, and demand of them their treasured remem- 
 brances and illusions, — the dearest pleasures of 
 your exile. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 173 
 
 All the senses would offer me examples, in illus- 
 tration of this idea. Deprive the pleasures of 
 physical love of moral associations, which touch 
 the heart, and you take from it all that elevates the 
 enjoyment above that of the lowest animals. Else, 
 why do modesty, innocence, the expression of un- 
 stained chastity, and the graces of simplicity possess 
 such enchanting attractions ? The truth, that there 
 exists in love a charm stronger than physical im- 
 pulse, is not unknown even to women of abandoned 
 manners. The most dangerous of all those in this 
 unhappy class, are they, who, not relying on their 
 beauty, feign still to possess, or deeply to regret 
 those virtues, which they have really cast away. 
 
 The last delights which imagination can add to 
 the pleasures of love, are not to be sought in those 
 vile places where libertinism is an art. We must 
 imagine the early attachments of virtuous youth, 
 whose spirits are blended in real affection, in similar 
 tastes, pursuits and hopes ; who realize those vague 
 images which they had scarcely allowed before to 
 float across the mind. 
 
 They who seek in the pleasures of taste only 
 physical sensations, degrade their minds and finish 
 their useless existence in infirmity and brutal degra- 
 dation. The pleasures of taste should only serve 
 to render other enjoyments more vivid, the imagi- 
 nation more brilliant, and the pursuits of life more 
 easy and pleasant. 
 
174 THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 
 
 The pleasures derived from odours are only vivid, 
 when they impart to the mind a fleeting and vague 
 exaltation. If the Orientals indulge a passion for 
 respiring perfumes, it is not solely to procure 
 pleasurable physical sensation. An embalmed 
 atmosphere exalts the senses, and disposes the 
 mind to pleasant reverie, and paints dreams of 
 paradise upon the indolent imagination. 
 
 Were I disposed to present the details of a sys- 
 tem upon this subject, the sense of hearing would 
 offer me a crowd of examples. The brilliant and 
 varied accents of the nightingale are ravishing. 
 But what a difference between hearing the melody 
 from a cage, and listening to the song at the noon 
 of night, when a cool and pure air refreshes the 
 lassitude of the burning day, and we behold objects 
 by the light of the moon, and hear the strains of 
 the solitary bird poured from her free bower ! 
 
 A symphony, the sounds of which only delight 
 the ear, would soon become wearying. If it have 
 no other determinate expression, it ought, at least, 
 to inspire reverie, and produce an effect not unlike 
 that of perfumes upon the Orientals. 
 
 Suppose we have been at a musical entertain- 
 ment, got up with all the luxury of art. Emotions 
 of delight and astonishment rapidly succeed each 
 other, and we believe it impossible to experience 
 superior sensations of pleasure. In returning home, 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE SENSES. 175 
 
 we chance to hear in the distance, through the 
 stillness of night, a well remembered song of our 
 infancy, that was sung to us by some one dear 
 to our memory. It is at once a music exciting 
 more profound emotion, than all the strains of art 
 which we so recently thought could not be sur- 
 passed. The remembrances of infancy and home 
 rush upon the spirit, and efface the pompous spec- 
 tacle, and the artificial graces of execution. 
 
 Observations to the same effect might be multi- 
 plied without end. If you desire pleasures, fertile 
 in happy remembrances, if you wish to preserve 
 elevation of mind and freshness of imagination, 
 choose, among the pleasures of the senses, only 
 those which associate with moral ideas. Feeble, 
 when separated from the alliance of those ideas, 
 they become fatal when they exclude them. To 
 dare to taste them, is to sacrifice happiness to 
 pleasures which are alike ephemeral and degrading. 
 It is to resemble him, who should strip the tree of 
 its flowers, to enjoy their beauty. He loses the 
 fruits which would have followed, and scarcely casts 
 his eye on the flowers before they have faded. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 
 
 The Creator has put forth in his gifts, a magni- 
 ficence which should impress our hearts. What 
 variety in those affectionate sentiments, of the 
 delights of which our natures are susceptible ! 
 Without going out of the family circle, I enumerate 
 filial piety, fraternal affection, friendship, love, and 
 parental tenderness. These different sentiments 
 can all co- exist in our hearts, and so far from 
 weakening, each tends to give vigour and intensity 
 to the other. No doubt, the need of so many 
 affections and props attest our feebleness and 
 dependence. But I can scarcely conceive of the 
 happiness which a being, insensible to weakness 
 and want, could find in himself. I am ready to 
 bless that infirmity of our natures, which is the 
 source of so many pleasures, and such tender 
 affections. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 177 
 
 Let us avoid confounding that sensibility which 
 exacts the pleasures of the heart, with that which 
 produces impassioned characters. They differ as 
 essentially as the genuine, vital warmth, from the 
 burning of a fever. Indolence, objects calculated 
 strongly to strike the imagination, and those 
 maxims which corrupt the understanding, develop 
 a vas;ue and ardent sensibilitv, which sometimes 
 conducts to crime, and always to misery. The 
 other species is approved by reason and preserved 
 by virtue. We owe to it those pure emotions 
 which impart upon earth an indistinct sentiment of 
 the joys of heaven. 
 
 There are men, however, who dread genuine 
 sensibility ; and, under the conviction that it will 
 multiply their pains, study to eradicate the germs 
 of it from their soul. Hume remarked to a friend, 
 who confided to him his secret sorrows, " You 
 entertain an internal enemy, w T ho will always 
 hinder you from being happy. It is your sensi- 
 bility of heart/' " What !" responded his friend 
 with a kind of terror, " Have you not sensibility ?" 
 " No. My reason alone speaks, and it declares 
 that it is right to soothe distress." 
 
 In listening to this reply of Hume, we are at 
 once struck with the idea, that the greater part 
 of those who adopt his principles, do not pause at 
 the same point with their model. They sink into 
 
178 THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 
 
 that heartless class, who see all human calamities 
 with a dry eye, provided they have no tendency to 
 abridge their own enjoyments. 
 
 Suppose even that they pursue the lessons of the 
 Scotch philosopher to better purpose ; and without 
 any emotion, without any impulse of heart, hold 
 out a succouring hand to those who suffer. This, 
 perhaps, may answer the claims of reason. But 
 the social instinct will always repel that austere 
 morality, which would give to the human heart an 
 unnatural insensibility, and deprive it, if I may so 
 say, of its amiable weakness. I would hardly 
 desire to see a man oppose a courage, too stoical 
 to his own miseries. The natural tears which he 
 sheds in extreme affliction, are his guarantee for 
 the sympathy which he will feel for my sorrows. I 
 say to the heartless philosophers of the world, that 
 if the only requisite for happiness is to avoid 
 suffering, through destitution of feeling, to die is 
 the surest method of all. 
 
 The secret of happiness does not consist in 
 avoiding all evils ; for in that case, we must learn 
 to love nothing. If there be a lot on earth worthy 
 of envy, it is that of a man, good and tender 
 hearted, who beholds his own creation in the hap- 
 piness of all who surround him. Let him who 
 would be happy, strive to encircle himself with 
 happy beings. Let the happiness of his family 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 179 
 
 be the incessant object of his thoughts. Let him 
 divine the sorrows and anticipate the wishes of his 
 friends. Let him inspire the fidelity of affection 
 in his domestics, by pledging to them a comfort- 
 able and pleasant old age. Let him, as far as 
 may be, preserve the same servants, and give them 
 all needed succour and counsel. In fine, let the 
 inmates and dependents of the house all respire a 
 calm and regulated happiness. Let even the 
 domestic animals know, that humanity presides 
 over their condition. 
 
 Entertaining such views, it will be easy to see 
 in what light I contemplate those men who take 
 pleasure in witnessing the combats of animals. 
 What man, who has a heart, can see spectacles, 
 equally barbarous and detestable, with satisfaction ; 
 such as dogs tearing to pieces a bull exhausted 
 with wounds ; cocks mangling each other ; the 
 encounter of brutal boxers, or of bad boys in the 
 streets encouraged to the diabolical sport of fight- 
 ing ? These are the true schools of cowardly and 
 savage ferocity, and not of manly courage, as too 
 many have supposed. But it is not my purpose to 
 draw a painting in detail of the abominations of 
 cruelty, or of the pleasures of beneficence. 
 
 To preserve the sentiments of beneficence and 
 sensibility, let us avoid the pride which mars them. 
 Beneficence in one respect resembles love. Like 
 that, it courts concealment and the shade. 
 
ISO THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 
 
 The most useful direction we can give to benefi- 
 cence is, to multiply its gifts as widely as possible. 
 Let us avoid imitating those men who are always 
 fearful of being deceived by those who solicit their 
 pity. In an uncertainty whether or not you ought 
 to extend succour, grant it. It can only expose 
 you to the error that is least subject to repentance. 
 
 Offer useful counsels and indulgent consolations. 
 Save, from despair, the unfortunate victim, who 
 groans under the remorse of an unpremeditated 
 fault. Unite him again to society by those cords 
 which his imprudence has broken. Rekindle in 
 him the love of his kind, by saying to him, 
 " Though you may not recover innocence, repent- 
 ance can at least restore your virtue." 
 
 If we have access to the opulent and powerful, 
 we have an honourable but a difficult task to fulfil. 
 To assume the often thankless office of soliciting 
 frequent favours for friends, without losing the 
 consideration necessary to success, requires pecu- 
 liar tact, discernment and dignity. Above all, it 
 requires disinterested zeal. In attempting this 
 delicate duty in the form of letters, we may soon 
 dissipate our slender fund of credit. Letters of 
 recommendation resemble a paper currency. They 
 are redeemed in specie so long as they are issued 
 discreetly, and in small amounts, but which be- 
 come worse than blank paper, as soon as we 
 multiply them too far. 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE HEART. 181 
 
 Such is the intrinsic attraction of beneficence, 
 that even if we refuse to practise it, we still love 
 whatever retraces its image. A romance affects us. 
 Touching events soften our hearts. In thus em- 
 bracing the shadow, we pay a sublime testimonial 
 to the substance. 
 
 The example of beneficence so readily finds its 
 way to every heart, that we are affected even in 
 thinking of those who practise it. The coldest 
 hearts pay a tribute of veneration to those women, 
 who, in consecrating themselves to the service of 
 the poor and the sick, encounter extreme fatigue, 
 disgust, and often abuse from the wretched objects 
 themselves, in the squalidness and filth of prisons 
 and hospitals. How beautiful to learn to put forth 
 patience to mitigate the maladies of the body, and 
 hope, to soothe those of the mind ! Ye who prac- 
 tise virtues thus touching and sublime, from motives 
 of love to the great Author of all good, may well 
 hope for the approbation of heaven. Ye seem to 
 have passed in light across our dark sphere, only 
 to fulfil a transient and celestial mission, to return 
 again to the celestial country. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII, 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 In the savage the intellectual faculties sleep. As 
 soon as his appetites are satisfied, he sees neither 
 pleasures to desire, nor pains to fear. He lies 
 down and sleeps again. This negative happiness 
 would bring desolation to the heart of a civilized 
 man. All his faculties have commenced their 
 development. He experiences a new craving, which 
 occupations, grave or futile, but rapidly changed 
 and renewed, can alone appease. If there occur 
 between them intervals which can be filled neither 
 by remembrances, nor by necessary repose, lassi- 
 tude intervenes, and measures for him the length 
 of these chasms in life by sadness. 
 
 The next enemy to happiness, after vice, is 
 ennui. Some escape it without much seeming cal- 
 culation. My neighbour every morning turns over 
 
THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 183 
 
 twenty gazettes, the state articles of which are 
 copied, the one from the other. Economizing the 
 pleasure of this reading, and gravely reposing in 
 the intervals, he communicates, sometimes with an 
 oracular tone, sometimes with a modest reserve, 
 his reflections to those who surround him ; and, at 
 length leaves the reading-room with the impor- 
 tance of one who feels that he has discharged a 
 debt to society. 
 
 In public places, it is not the spectacles, but the 
 emotions of the common people who behold 
 them, that are worthy of contemplation. In the 
 murder of a poor tragedy by wretched actors, what 
 transports from this enthusiastic mass of the audi- 
 ence, when a blow of the poniard, preceded by a 
 pompous maxim, lays the tyrant of the piece low ! 
 What earnest feeling ! what sincere tears do we 
 witness ! How much more worthy of envy these 
 honest people, who lose their enjoyment neither by 
 the revolting improbability of the situations, nor 
 by the absurdity of the dialogue, nor by the mouth- 
 ing of the rehearsal, than those fastidious critics 
 who exalt their intellectual pride at the expense of 
 these cheap enjoyments ! 
 
 From the moment in which a man feels sincere 
 pleasure in cultivating his understanding, he may 
 date defiance to the fear of the weight of time. 
 He has the magic key which unlocks the exhaust- 
 
184 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 less treasury of enjoyments. He lives in the age 
 and country which he prefers. Space and time are 
 no longer obstacles to his happiness. He inter- 
 rogates the wise and good of all ages and all 
 countries ; and his conversations with them cease, 
 or change their object, as soon as he chooses. 
 How much gratitude does he owe the author of 
 nature, for having impressed on genius so many 
 different impulses ! With Plato, he is among the 
 sages of Greece, hearing their lessons, and associ- 
 ating his wishes with theirs for the happiness of 
 his kind. In the range of history, he ascends to 
 the infancy of empires and time. 
 
 If a man has powers and acquirements, it is a 
 great evil, if he is disposed to fatigue others with 
 his self-love. If we could number all the subjects 
 of which the most accomplished scholar is igno- 
 rant, we should perceive that the interval between 
 him and a common person is not so immense as he 
 may imagine. Ought he to be astonished if the 
 real friends of the Muses tire of his declamations, 
 his recitations, and occupancy with himself ? 
 
 To attain truth should be the real end of all 
 study. In such researches, the mind kindles, as 
 by enchantment, at every step ! The desire to 
 succeed produces that noble emotion which is al- 
 ways developed by ardent zeal and pure intentions. 
 Success, although we were to think nothing of its 
 
THE UNDERSTANDING. 185 
 
 results, inspires a kind of pleasure ; because truth 
 comports with our understanding, as brilliant and 
 soft colours agree with the eye, or pleasant sounds 
 with the ear. This enjoyment naturally associates 
 with another still more vivid. The effect of truth 
 is universally salutary ; and every instance in which 
 our feeble intellect discovers some gleams, elevates 
 the spirit, and penetrates it with a high degree of 
 happiness. 
 
 One of the chief advantages of study is, that it 
 enfranchises the mind from those prejudices that 
 disturb life. How many, and what agonizing 
 torments have been caused by those which are 
 associated with false ideas of religion. After those 
 great calamities in the dark ages which destroyed 
 the traces of the sciences and arts, men, pursued 
 by terror, seemed to imagine that they constantly 
 saw malevolent spirits flying among the clouds, or 
 Wandering in the depth of woods. The sound of 
 strong wind and thunder came to their ear as the 
 voice of infernal divinities ; and, prostrate with 
 terror, they sought to appease their angry gods by 
 bloody sacrifices. In process of time, a small 
 number of men, enlightened by observation, dared 
 to raise the veil by degrees, and succeeded in dis- 
 sipating these terrors, by tracing the seeming 
 prodigies to some of the simplest laws of physics. 
 The phantoms of superstition vanished, and, in the 
 
186 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 light of reason, revealed a just and beneficent Di- 
 vinity presiding over obedient nature. 
 
 We think, in our pride, that an immense interval 
 separates us from those times of disaster, ignorance 
 and alarm. How many of our kind, unhappy by 
 their intellectual weakness, still tremble before the 
 jealous and implacable god of their imaginations. 
 The man who is exempt from prejudices is alone 
 capable of prostrating himself before the Divinity 
 from a feeling of love, and whose prayer, alike 
 confident and resigned, is addressed to his noble 
 attributes of power, justice, and clemency. Every 
 rational mind must finally settle to repose in that 
 glorious persuasion, which instantly irradiates the 
 moral universe with perennial sunshine. "The 
 Lord reigneth ; let the earth rejoice." In this or 
 any other world, in our present or any other forms 
 of conscious being, we may advance upon the 
 unexplored scenes with a full confidence that we 
 can never travel beyond the beneficence and mercy 
 of the infinite mind. 
 
 There are other errors which study dispels. The 
 student who is charmed by converse with the 
 muses, does not consume his best years in gloomy 
 intrigues ; nor do you meet him pressing forward 
 in the path which ambition has traced. The 
 Greeks, fertile in significant allegories, supposed 
 the same divinity to preside over the sciences and 
 wisdom. 
 
THE UNDERSTANDING. 187 
 
 The habit of living in converse with the noblest 
 works of mind and art, produces elevation of 
 soul ; and he who has an elevated mind is likely 
 to be good and happy. Exempt, in some happy 
 measure, from the weaknesses of vanity, and free 
 from the tumultuous passions, he cultivates the 
 noble and generous virtues for the pleasure of 
 practising them. Disdaining a mass of objects 
 of desire which disturb the vulgar, he offers a small 
 mark to misery. Should adversity strike him, he 
 has resources so much the more sure, as he finds 
 them in himself. 
 
 No one can ever taste the full charm of letters 
 and the arts, except in the bosom of retirement. 
 If he reads and meditates only for the pursuit of 
 fame, amusements change to labours. If we pro- 
 pose to enter the lists, outstrip rivals, and direct 
 a party, we are soon agitated with little passions, 
 but great inquietudes. Heaven, sternly decreeing, 
 that no earthly felicity shall be unalloyed, has 
 placed a thirst for celebrity as a drawback upon 
 the love of study. 
 
 But ought the ardour to render permanent ser- 
 vices to our fellow- creatures, to be suppressed ? 
 Are not these the source of pleasures as pure as 
 they are ravishing ? I contemplate an immense 
 and indestructible republic, composed of all those 
 men who devote themselves to the happiness of 
 
188 THE PLEASURES OF THE UNDERSTANDING. 
 
 their kind. Occupied without relaxation or abate- 
 ment in continuing the works which their pre- 
 decessors have begun, they bequeath to their suc- 
 cessors the care of pursuing and crowning their 
 labours. Men of genius are the chiefs of this 
 republic. As they have talents which separate 
 them from the rest of the human race, they have 
 also pleasures reserved for themselves alone. What 
 a sublime sentiment must have elevated the spirit 
 of Newton, when a part of the mysterious laws of 
 the universe first dawned on his mind ! A glow 
 still more delightful must have pervaded the bosom 
 of Fenelon, when meditating the most beautiful 
 lessons which wisdom ever announced to the pow- 
 erful, and the rulers of the people. To these 
 privileged beings it belongs, to give a noble im- 
 pulse to minds, and to trace a new path for the 
 generation to come. 
 
 I shall have attained my humble ambition if I 
 shall be able, in any degree, to indicate the way in 
 which these lessons may be carried out into life. 
 I shall thus have contributed my aid to dissipate 
 the night of prejudice and vice. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 
 
 All our pleasures are fugitive, but they are all, in 
 some measure, real. That wonderful faculty, the 
 imagination, awakens past enjoyments, charms the 
 instant that is transpiring, and either veils the 
 future, or embellishes it in the radiance of hope. 
 
 Let us banish that vulgar prejudice which repre- 
 sents reason and imagination as two enemies 
 which cannot exist together. The severest reason 
 ought not to disdain any pure gratification. The 
 happy paintings even of a dream bring joy, until 
 their rainbow hues melt away. The dreams of the 
 imagination have greatly the advantage over those 
 of sleep. Our will gives them birth. We prolong, 
 dissipate, and renew them at pleasure. All, who 
 have learned to multiply these happy moments, 
 
190 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 know, at the same time, how to enjoy these agree- 
 able visions, and paint with enchantment those 
 dreamy hours which they owe to the effervescence 
 of a gay imagination. 
 
 There are situations in which reason has no 
 better counsel to give us than to yield ourselves up 
 to those illusions which mingle pleasures with our 
 sufferings. I knew a worthy, but unfortunate 
 man, who passed twenty months in prison. He 
 informed me, that he not unfrequently dreamed 
 that his wife and children visited him and restored 
 him to liberty. This dream left a remembrance so 
 profound, an emotion so delightful, that he deter- 
 mined to attempt to renew it by day. When 
 evening came, exciting his imagination to its most 
 vigorous action, he endeavoured to persuade him- 
 self that the moment of the re-union was come. 
 He represented to himself the transports of his 
 wife and the caresses of his children ; and he al- 
 lowed no thought but these delightful visions to 
 occupy his mind until the moment when sleep once 
 more wrapped him in forgetfulness. The habit of 
 concentrating his imagination for this result, he 
 assured me, finally rendered these illusions incredi- 
 bly vivid and real. He expected night with impa- 
 tience ; and the certainty that the close of May 
 would bring some happy moments, threw over the 
 tedious hours an emotion which mitigated his 
 sufferings . 
 
THE IMAGINATION. 191 
 
 These charming illusions, in 'misfortune, resemble 
 those brilliant northern lights, which, in the midst 
 of a night that lasts for weeks, present the image 
 of dawn during the dreary winters of the polar 
 circle. An excitable and vivid faculty, which de- 
 ceives misfortune, ought to embellish happiness. 
 To the pleasant things we possess, it adds those 
 we desire. By its magic, we renew the hours of 
 which the memory is dear. We taste the pleasures 
 which a distant future promises ; and see, at least, 
 the fleeting shadow of those which are passing 
 away. 
 
 A gloomy philosopher has told us, that such 
 illusions are the effect of a transient insanity. It 
 seems to me, on the contrary, that insane thoughts 
 are those which create ennui ; and that rational 
 ideas are those which throw innocent charms over 
 life. Why should the morose being, who perceives 
 only bad people on the earth, and only miseries in 
 the future, blame him who cradles nattering hopes 
 of enjoyment, always springing up anew, for allow- 
 ing himself to be beguiled by the illusions of his 
 imagination ? Both deceive themselves. But the 
 one cherishes a mistake which brings hatred and 
 suffering, and the other lives on gaily in his 
 illusions. 
 
 Wisdom does not disdain a faculty merely for 
 being brilliant ; and, to taste all the pleasures of 
 
192 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 imagination, it is indispensable that reason should 
 he much exercised. 
 
 Imagination resembles the magician of an oriental 
 romance who transports his favourite hero to scenes 
 of enchantment, to try him with pleasures ; and 
 then delivers him over to a hostile magician, who 
 multiplies peril and misery around him. This cre- 
 ative faculty, in its perversion, is as fertile to 
 invent torments as, in its more propitious moods, 
 to bring forth pleasures. If once we resign our- 
 selves to its gloomy caprices, it conjures up the 
 terror of a thousand unreal evils. Reason cannot 
 always follow its meteor path ; but ought, at least 
 to point out the course in which happiness invites 
 it to walk. 
 
 The aid of reason is still more necessary at the 
 moment when the chimeras of imagination disap- 
 pear. It is an afflicting moment. Reason should 
 prepare us to meet it. Every man, with an 
 elevated mind and a kind heart, has delighted to 
 imagine himself far away from the ignorant and 
 wicked ; in a smiling country, separated from the 
 rest of the world, and alone with a few friends. 
 Suppose this dream realized ; I am aware that 
 to-morrow, the peaceful exile might be indulging 
 regrets for the place he had left; and forming 
 plans to escape from the ennui of the new country. 
 Since we change our destiny in these respects, 
 
::-:: nation. 193 
 
 without altering our instinct: of char._ 
 
 let us study the art of softening the pains of our 
 actual condition; and let us learn to extract all 
 possible advantages from it by imparting to i: . if 
 nothing more, the embellishment created by the 
 happy anticipations of a fertile imagination. 
 
 Ought we to indulge regrets becat-T Obese 
 paintings of the imagination so rapidly disappear ? 
 I have seen the rich and the great stripped, in a 
 moment, of their fortune and powex shall I 
 
 arhht my 5 el: beeerise 127 ire-en lis vanishei: 
 These unfortunate people lost afl that was dear to 
 them, for ever. Forme, I can renew t"r_ese tlea- 
 sures of imagination at my will. 
 
 A thousand external cirainistances, which it 
 wculi reitnre & "ihime :: ennnierste. nee-: :::: 
 with 3 string excite.: ili tr hi the hhysiifh end men- 
 tal frame, to impart b : : g : s action to 
 the hner/rnet: :r_. Viltm ezhrnie:.. :::.-.: e_:s ninse 
 was most propitious in :he spring 1 . As fai is I 
 ::-n ;n ire. the se?.s:n :: ret r: iuct: :n :-.::. i :he :--■■}. - 
 kenin.r c: the slnzhierhir. r ewers :: nettere. in ;he 
 aroma and brilliancy of vegetation and flowers, acts 
 too voluptuously on the senses, to give the highest 
 and best direction to the imagination. The Indian 
 summer days of autumn, with the associated repose 
 of nature, the broad and crimson disk of the sun 
 enthroned in the dome of a misty sky, the clouds 
 
194 THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. 
 
 sleeping in the firmament, the gorgeous colouring 
 of the forests, the flashing fall of the first leaves, 
 and the not unpleasing sadness of the images, 
 called up by the imperceptible decay of nature, and 
 the stealthy approach of winter, seem to me most 
 favourable to heavenly musing. A cloudless 
 morning, a beautiful sun, the glittering brightness 
 of the dew drops, the renovated freshness of na- 
 ture, morning sounds, the mists rolling away from 
 the path of the sun, a bland south-west breeze, 
 good health, self-satisfaction, the recent reception 
 of good news, and the right train of circumstances, 
 all concur to put this faculty into its happiest 
 action. 
 
 Far from sacrificing any of our faculties, let us 
 exercise them all ; and let them mutually conduce 
 to our happiness. As we advance in life, our 
 reason should grow to the calm of mature age. 
 But let the imagination and the heart still preserve 
 scintillations of the fire of vouth. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 There is no pleasure of earth but, as soon as it 
 becomes vivid, has a tendency to tinge itself with 
 melancholy. The birth of an infant, the convales- 
 cence of a father, the return of a friend who has 
 been long absent, fill the eyes with tears. Nature 
 has thus chosen to mingle the colours of joy and 
 sadness. Having destined us to experience each 
 of the emotions in turn, she has ordained that the 
 shades of transition should melt into each other. 
 
 The dearest remembrances are those which are 
 accompanied by tenderness of heart. The sports 
 of infancy, the first loves, the perils we have for 
 ever escaped, and the faults we have learned to 
 repair, are of the number. Whoever will recollect 
 
196 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 the happiest moments of his life, will find them to 
 have produced this emotion. 
 
 Modern imagination has painted melancholy as 
 a tall and unearthly spectre, enveloped in a winding 
 sheet. There is, however, a pensiveness, akin to 
 her, the real traits of whose countenance are those 
 of innocence, occupied in pleasant reverie : and 
 whilst tears are in her eyes, a smile dwells on 
 her lips. 
 
 It is the resort of a sterile imagination, and a 
 cold heart, to invest even the tomb with borrowed 
 ideas of darkness ; to wait for night in which to 
 visit it ; and to torment the fancy to people it with 
 dreadful phantoms. Real sensibility would not 
 require such an effort to be awakened. It fills my 
 mind with a pleasing sadness to wander in the 
 burial-ground, under the soft radiance of the moon, 
 among monuments of white marble, and hear the 
 night-breeze sigh among the weeping willows. I 
 am deeply affected with, here and there, a touching 
 inscription. I remember one in which a father 
 says, that he has had H\e children, and that here 
 sleeps the last of them. In another, a father and 
 mother announce that their daughter died at 
 seventeen, a victim of then weak indulgence, and 
 of the extravagant modes of the time. This so- 
 journ of repose, with the words written in these 
 
MELANCHOLY. 197 
 
 abodes of silence, inspire tenderness for those who 
 are no more, as well as for those whose treasured 
 affection still recollects them; penetrating the soul 
 with emotions not without their charms. In the 
 view of tombs, we immediately direct our thoughts 
 to an internal survey of ourselves. I mark out my 
 place among the peaceful mansions. I imagine 
 the vernal grass and flowers reviving over my place 
 of rest. My imagination transports me to the 
 days which I shall not see, and sounds for me the 
 soothing dirge of the adieus of friendship pro- 
 nounced over the spot where I am laid. 
 
 A throng of remembrances and anticipations, 
 naturally crowd upon the spirit of a person in such 
 a place. Youth with its rainbows, and its loves ; 
 mature age with its ambitious projects ; old age in 
 the midst of children, death in the natal spot, or 
 the house of the stranger ; eternity with its dim 
 and illimitable mysteriousness ; these shadowy 
 images, with their associated thoughts, pass 
 through the mind, and return like the guests at an 
 inn. While I look up towards the rolling clouds, 
 and the sun walking his unvarying path along the 
 firmament, how natural the reflection, that they 
 will present the same aspect, and suggest the same 
 reflections, that the trees will stand forth in their 
 foliage, and the hills in their verdure, to him who 
 
198 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 comes after me, when I shall have taken my place 
 with the unconscious sleepers about me ! I never 
 fail, on such occasions, to recollect the charming 
 reflections in a number of the Spectator, that treats 
 upon a visit to Westminster Abbey, the most im- 
 pressive writing of the kind, as it seems to me, in 
 our language. 
 
 I generally carry from my sojourn in these our 
 last mansions, one painful sentiment. I remark 
 that many tombs are raised by parents for their 
 children ; by husbands for their wives ; by widows 
 for their husbands. I observe that there are but 
 few erected by children for their fathers. Perhaps 
 it is right that love should ascend in that scale, 
 rather than descend in the other. 
 
 Occasional visits to ruins and tombs inspire a 
 salutary pensiveness. But the habit of frequently 
 contemplating these melancholy objects is danger- 
 ous. It blunts sensibility and creates the necessity 
 of always requiring strong emotions. It nourishes 
 in the soul sombre ideas which do not associate 
 with happiness. Without doubt, there are those 
 who are so unhappy as to long for the repose of 
 the grave ; who find solace in these gloomy spec- 
 tacles. Young, after having lost his only daugh- 
 ter, after having in vain solicited a little consecra- 
 ted earth to cover the remains of the youthful 
 
MELANCHOLY. 199 
 
 victim ; after being reduced to the necessity of 
 interring the loved one with his own hands, might 
 be tempted to fly his kind and love only night, 
 solitude, and tombs. There have been men, con- 
 demned by the award of nature, to such reverses 
 as nourish an incurable and perpetual melancholy. 
 Their frigid imitators, without their reason and 
 profound feeling, in wishing to render themselves 
 singular, become tiresome and ridiculous in their 
 melancholy. 
 
 Writers of the most splendid genius of the age, 
 have consecrated their talents to celebrate melan- 
 choly ; not that melancholy which has a smile of 
 profound sensibility, but that which has been 
 cradled in tombs, and which holds out to us the 
 full draught of sadness. There is something in 
 these heart-rending scenes, these mournful specta- 
 cles, which the age seeks with avidity. A writer, 
 whose talent tends to render his errors seducing, 
 has taken pleasure in viewing the Christian religion 
 as opening an inexhaustible source of agreeable 
 pensiveness. My opinion in regard to the legiti- 
 mate tendency of true piety is, that it must produce 
 tranquillity, confidence, and joy. It is a departure 
 from true religion, which is followed by a vague 
 sadness, gloom, and despondency. 
 
 Were it true, that the Christian religion inspired 
 an insatiate craving for gloomy reveries, far from 
 
200 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 considering it as I do, divine, I should estimate it 
 as anti- social. The true friends of the Christian 
 religion always paint it as it is, more powerful than 
 even human misery ; giving clothing to the naked, 
 bread to the hungry, an asylum to the sick, a 
 peaceful home to the returning prodigal, and a 
 mother to the orphan ; wiping away the tears of 
 innocence with a celestial hand, and filling the eyes 
 of the culpable and contrite with tears of consola- 
 tion. Let pious thankfulness and a calm courage., 
 w r hich even death cannot shake, environ its modest 
 heroes. Let its martyrs be those of charity and 
 toleration. Such was the spirit of Erasmus; such, 
 of the divine Fenelon ; such of William Penn, and 
 a few tolerant lights that have gleamed through 
 ages of persecution and darkness. Such are the 
 men whose disciples we desire to multiply. Let us 
 cease to incorporate melancholy errors, and gloomy 
 follies, with the religion of peace, confidence, and 
 hope ; eloquence was imparted for a nobler use. 
 
 Religion is the key- stone of the arch of the 
 moral universe. It is the fountain of endearing 
 friendship ; and on it are founded those sublime 
 relations which exist between the visible and the 
 invisible world ; those who still sojourn here and- 
 those who have become citizens of the country 
 beyond us. It is the poesy of existence, the basis 
 of all high thought and virtuous feeling ; of chari- 
 
MELANCHOLY 201 
 
 ties and morals ; and the very tie of social exist- 
 ence. Let no person claim to be virtuous, while 
 laying an unhallowed hand upon this ark of the 
 covenant of the Eternal with the children of sorrow 
 and death. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 The philosophy of happiness must find its ultimate 
 requisite in the hopes of religion. Man must be 
 persuaded that his present life has relation to a 
 never- ending 1 futurity, and that a gracious Provi- 
 dence watches over the universe, before he will 
 abandon himself with a tranquil confidence to those 
 irresistible laws by which he is borne along. He 
 then marches towards the future, as he would 
 confidently follow a guide of tried prudence and 
 fidelity in a dark path. 
 
 In the fever and tumult of worldly pleasures and 
 pursuits, the voice of wisdom has little chance to 
 be heard, and it seems necessary that trouble should 
 force the mind in upon itself, before we become 
 inclined to seek our consolation in religion. Then 
 we invoke this sublime and consoling power, and 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 203 
 
 like the friend that avoids our prosperity and our 
 festivals, but returns to cheer our misfortunes, this 
 celestial friend is at hand to offer her sustaining 
 succour. We may class all those pleasures as 
 unworthy of the name, which will not harmonize 
 with this august visitant. Even in our periods of 
 happiness, if we pause for the reflection of a mo- 
 ment, we find the need of immortality to support 
 and comfort us in this vale of tears, and to satisfy 
 our infinite desires. All the generous and tender 
 affections acquire a new charm in alliance with 
 religious ideas, in the same manner as objects, 
 beautiful in themselves, receive a new lustre when 
 a pure light is thrown upon them. Filial piety 
 becomes more touching in those children who pray 
 with fervour for the preservation of the life of a 
 mother. Let a pious courage guide the sister of 
 charity, and she becomes the angel of consolation, 
 as she visits the abodes of misery. Even virtue 
 itself does not receive its celestial impress, except 
 in alliance with religious sentiments. A few of the 
 higher philosophers among the noble ancients, and 
 Fenelon, Newton, Milton, and a few other men of 
 immortal name, saw the Divinity as he is, and 
 contemplated the perfect model of his infinite per- 
 fections. Their efforts tended to co-operate with 
 the divine views of order and harmony, in con- 
 stantly directing human actions and thoughts to- 
 
204 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 wards the supreme good. The beautiful system of 
 the Gospel has the same simplicity of object ; and 
 its tendency to honour and meliorate humanity is 
 directed by the highest wisdom. Its noble senti- 
 ments give to all our faculties a beneficent direc- 
 tion, and fertilize genius, as well as invigorate our 
 virtue. High models, in any walk of mind, will 
 never be produced in a world whose inhabitants 
 believe in nothing but matter, fortuitous combina- 
 tions, and the annihilation of our being. Apostles 
 of atheism ! your dreary creed throws an impene- 
 trable gloom upon the universe, and dries the 
 source of all elevated thought. The advocates of 
 these views vaunt the necessity of proclaiming the 
 truth ; but the very best of them inculcate only a 
 very small part of it : I, too, am the fearless 
 advocate of the truth, and have no dread of its 
 results. But could I be persuaded, that religious 
 hopes were unfounded, I should be tempted to 
 renounce my confidence in truth itself; and no 
 longer to inculcate the necessity of loving and 
 seeking to propogate it. It is by the light of this 
 divine torch that real sages have desired to inves- 
 tigate religion. Were it possible that the elevated 
 and consoling ideas, which religion offers, could be 
 baseless and absurd chimeras, error and truth 
 would be so confounded, that there would no 
 longer remain any discriminating sign, by which to 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 205 
 
 distinguish the one from the other. Infidels boast 
 that they are the only frank and hardy antagonists 
 of superstition. They are its most effectual al- 
 lies. The superstitious have brought forth the 
 unbelievers, and these have reproduced the super- 
 stitious ; as, in revolutions, resistance produces 
 fury, and that multiplies resistance. 
 
 I have known some interesting persons, appa- 
 rently earnest and docile enquirers for truth, who 
 have desired in vain to establish in their mind 
 these consolotary convictions. Their understand- 
 ing did not immediately respond to the wishes of 
 their hearts. 
 
 Why can I not impart this happy conviction to 
 their understanding ? My arguments are very 
 simple ; but I think with Bacon, that it needs 
 quite as much credulity to adopt the opinion of 
 infidels, as to yield faith to all the reveries of the 
 Talmud or the Koran. The more profoundly I 
 attempt to investigate the doctrines of infidelity, 
 and consider every thing that surrounds me, as 
 resulting from the combinations of chance, the play 
 of atoms, the efforts of dead matter, the more my 
 enquiries are involved in darkness. I strive in 
 vain to give to any hypothesis of unbelief the 
 honest semblance of probability. Matter cannot 
 reflect upon the order which its different parts 
 
206 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 require. Neither can those parts interchange reason 
 and discussion. Neither an atom, nor a globe can 
 say to others of their class, " Such are the courses 
 in which we must move." Let us simplify difficul- 
 ties as much as possible, and admit that matter has 
 always existed ; let us even suppose motion essen- 
 tial to it ; a supreme intelligence is none the less 
 necessary to the harmony of the universe. With- 
 out a governor of worlds, I can only conceive of 
 nihility or chaos. 
 
 From this sublime thought, that there is a good, 
 a holy, and yet a gracious God, flows all the truths 
 which my heart desires. The beautiful super- 
 structure of Christianity results, as a corollary, or 
 ultimate inference, from this consolatory axiom. 
 The system which rejects the soul's immortality, 
 is equally absurd with that of atheism. Of the 
 different arguments against the being of a God, 
 the most striking one is that which is drawn from 
 the evils which prevail on the earth. The first 
 thought of every man of sensibility is, that, had he 
 the power to make a world, he would banish 
 misery from it, and so arrange the order of things, 
 as that existence should be, to all conscious beings, 
 a succession of moments each marked by happi- 
 ness. But infirmities, vices, misery, sorrow, and 
 death, pursue us. How can we reconcile the 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 207 
 
 misery of the creation with the power and benefi- 
 cence of the Creator ? How resolve this strange 
 problem ? How explain this revolting contradic- 
 tion ? Immortality is the only solution of the 
 enigma of life. 
 
 A whimsical combination of deism and material- 
 ism forms, at present, the most widely diffused 
 system among unbelievers. They have imagined a 
 God possessing only physical power, and contem- 
 plating the movement of his innumerable worlds, 
 alike indifferent to crime and virtue. He beholds 
 with the same carelessness the generations that 
 pass, and those that succeed ; and sees deliverers 
 and tyrants alike confounded in their fall. Admit 
 the truth of such dogmas, and the conceptions of 
 a religious man would possess more expansion and 
 sublimity than the views of the Eternal. Socrates, 
 without the illumination of the gospel, could have 
 taught them better, Surrounded by his weeping 
 disciples, he points them beyond the tomb to the 
 places where the sage at last respires freely ; and 
 where the misfortunes and inequalities of earth are 
 redressed. In painting these illusions of hope, if 
 they are vain, the sage has conceived in his dreams 
 an equity superior to that of the Infinite Being. 
 Let us dare to maintain that the feeble chil- 
 dren of clay have a right to entertain ideas of 
 
208 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 order and desert, more just than those of the 
 Creator, or admit that the spirit of man, made 
 capable of another and a nobler life, is destined 
 to enjoy it. 
 
 The destiny of all the inferior orders that sur- 
 round us, appears to terminate upon the earth. 
 Ours alone is evidently not accomplished here. 
 The animals, exempt from vice, incapable of virtue, 
 experience, in ceasing to live, neither hopes nor 
 regrets. They die without the foresight of death. 
 Man, in the course of an agitated life, degrades 
 himself by follies and vices, or honours himself by 
 generous and useful actions. Remembrances, loves, 
 ties, in countless forms, twine about his heart. 
 He is torn, in agony, from beings for whom he 
 has commenced an affection that he feels might 
 be eternal. Persecuted for his virtue, proscribed 
 for his wisdom and courage, calumniated for his 
 most conscientious acts, he turns to heaven a fixed 
 look of confidence and hope. Has he nothing to 
 perform beyond death ? Has the author of nature 
 forgotten his justice, only in completing his most 
 perfect work ? 
 
 Our immortality is a necessary consequence of 
 the existence of God. Let us not wander astray 
 in vain discussions, which, with our present facul- 
 ties, we can never master, such as relate to the 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 209 
 
 nature of the soul. My hopes, my convictions, 
 rest not upon a cloudy, metaphysical argument. 
 Neither can the proud treatise of a sophist weaken, 
 nor the puerile dialectics of a pedant increase it. 
 It is enough for me that there is a God. Virtue in 
 misfortune must have hopes which do not termi- 
 nate with the tomb. 
 
 Is man free ? We can reduce this question 
 which has been so much agitated, and so often 
 obscured, to terms of entire simplicity. It has 
 been most forcibly presented by Hobbes, the vile 
 apostle at once of atheism and despotism, who 
 seems to have striven to unite the most pernicious 
 doctrines with an example, which merits execra- 
 tion. " Two objects/ ! he remarks, " attract us in 
 opposite directions. As long as they produce 
 impressions nearly equal, our mind, in a state of 
 uncertainty, vacillates from the one to the other ; 
 and we believe that we are deliberating. Finally, 
 one of the objects strikes us with a stronger im- 
 pression than the other. We are drawn towards 
 it ; and we believe that it is because we will it. 
 Thus man, always passive, yields to the strongest 
 and most vivid sensation. Free actions would be 
 an effect without a cause." Admirable reasoning ! 
 What other freedom could I wish, than to prefer 
 what seems to me most desirable ? Let the disci- 
 
210 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 pies of Hobbes instruct me how they would choose 
 that man should determine, in order to be consci- 
 ous of liberty ? Would they wish him to choose 
 the object that is repugnant to him ? This is too 
 evidently absurd. Should he vacillate in indifference 
 between the one object and the other ? This would 
 be to sink into an existence of perfect apathy, with- 
 out reason or will. Man has all the liberty of 
 which such a being is capable, all, in fact, which 
 he could desire. 
 
 How puerile are these metaphysical subtleties, 
 when employed upon moral truths ! What a 
 monster would man become on the system of the 
 fatalist ! What is that system worth, the conse- 
 quences of which cannot be admitted ? If we act 
 under the inevitable empire of fatalism, why is he 
 who proclaims this doctrine, indignant at the 
 thought of crime ? Does he contemplate Socrates 
 and his executioners with the same approbation ? 
 Will he regard with the same feeling Antoninus 
 dictating pious lessons to his son, and Nero assas- 
 sinating his mother ? Will he estimate as alike 
 meritorious a persecuted Christian praying for his 
 enemies, and the monarch ordering the massacre of 
 St. Bartholomew ? Do such contrasts offend us ? 
 And why ? According to the system of fatalism, 
 the good ought to inspire us with less interest than 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 211 
 
 the wicked. A blind fatality awards to the vir- 
 tuous that pure pleasure that is inseparably con- 
 nected with good actions. They receive a high 
 reward without any merit ; while the others are a 
 prey to remorse, and the incessant object of public 
 hatred and abhorrence. If they are innocent, as 
 on the principles of fatalism they must be, how 
 ought we to mourn over them, and pity them ! 
 What purpose can these doctrines serve ? He 
 who advocates them, is conscious of impulses to do 
 good, and deliberates upon alternatives in the 
 courses which honour and duty' call him to pursue. 
 His principles, then, are contradicted by the voice 
 of his own heart. When he has committed a fault, 
 it declares to him that he might have chosen a 
 contrary part. When he has done a virtuous ac- 
 tion, it inspires emotions of joy, which render him 
 conscious that he is a free agent. This voice 
 within is anterior to all reasoning, and as incapable 
 of being invalidated as any other consciousness. 
 Inexhaustible emotions of satisfaction spring from 
 religious hopes. Reanimated by them, I no longer 
 see tears without consolation, nor fear an eternal 
 adieu to those I love. The tomb, though a fearful, 
 is but a frail barrier, which separates us from those 
 real joys, of which the pleasures of a fugitive 
 existence are but the shadow. 
 
212 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 One prejudice which has greatly injured religion 
 is intolerance, or that spirit which causes us to 
 view all persons guilty, whose faith is different 
 from ours. While religion enjoins it upon us to 
 cover the faults of our kind with a veil of indul- 
 gence, intolerance teaches us to transform their 
 opinions into crimes. Religion rears asylums for 
 the unfortunate. Intolerance prepares scaffolds 
 for all whom she chooses to denominate heretics. 
 The one invokes ministers of charity, and the other 
 executioners. The one wipes away tears, and the 
 other sheds the blood of its victims. 
 
 Intolerance without power is simply ridiculous ; 
 but becomes most odious when armed with autho- 
 rity. The cry of humanity and of religion is, 
 " Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace ; 
 good- will to men !" If any were excepted, it 
 should be the intolerant. Even they merit no 
 severer punishment than the inflictions of their own 
 fury. They may attain to deliverance from re- 
 morse in their confident delirium, and may count 
 their crimes as virtues, through the influence of 
 self-blindness. But this strange obliquity of the 
 understanding, this horrible intoxication, repels 
 happiness. Joy and peace must fly the soul of 
 which this spirit has taken possession. 
 
 Open the gospels and the epistles, and what is 
 
RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 213 
 
 the first impression from perusing these unique and 
 original writings, so wholly unlike any other re- 
 corded compositions, and bearing upon a theme 
 of such astonishing import ? The simplicity and 
 fervour with which the spirit of love is impressed 
 upon the pages ; the strong, and before unwit- 
 nessed, manifestation of this spirit, was the striking 
 aspect which the first Christians presented to 
 pagan beholders ; " See S" said they, " how 
 these Christians love one another. 5 ' Every time I 
 peruse the writings of the New Testament, this 
 peculiar badge of discipleship seems more visibly 
 impressed upon them. In what other chronicles 
 do we meet with such affecting and sublime exam- 
 ples of devotion to each other, and such a constancy 
 of affection as showed itself proof against all other 
 human passions, selfishness, hope, fear, earthly 
 love, and the terror of death r What tenderness 
 and singleness of heart in their affection for each 
 other, do we see in the primitive Christians ! How 
 beautifully they demonstrate that the sentiment 
 which actuated them, had gained a complete tri- 
 umph over all considerations, arising from objects 
 below the sun ! He, on whose bosom the loved 
 disciple leaned, must certainly be admitted to know 
 the peculiar and distinguishing feature of his reli- 
 gion. This feature stands forth embodied in all 
 
214 RELIGIOUS SENTIMENTS. 
 
 the instructions of the Great Teacher, Philanthropy 
 is the predominant trait in the life of him " who 
 went about doing good." 
 
 In another life, the measure of our felicity in the 
 mansions of the just, will be in proportion to our 
 concern for the glory of God, and for the promotion 
 of the happiness of our fellow- creatures. A reli- 
 gious man constantly strives to render the present 
 state as much as possible like the abode towards 
 which his thoughts are elevated. His constant 
 occupation is to mitigate suffering, banish prejudice 
 and hatred, and calm the fury of party. All his 
 relations are those of peace and love. 
 
CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 
 
 In considering the different ages of life, the first 
 sentiment I feel, is gratitude for the variety of 
 pleasures destined for us by nature. Thrice happy 
 for us, if we knew how to taste the charms of all 
 the situations through which we pass ! Instead of 
 this, we first regret infancy, then youth, then 
 mature age. The happy period is always that 
 which is no more. 
 
 It is a great folly to sadden the present, in look- 
 ing back upon the past, as though it had been 
 darkened by no shadow of a cloud. The sorrows 
 which nature sends us in infancy resemble spring 
 showers, the traces of which are effaced by a 
 passing breeze. The pains and alarms of each age 
 have been chiefly the work of men. Who cannot 
 remember the violent palpitations which he felt, 
 
216 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 
 
 when exposed to the searching eye of his compan- 
 ions, he went forward to excuse his not having 
 prepared his task, his translation or theme, at 
 school ? I have seen situations more perilous, 
 since that time, but no misfortunes have awakened 
 more bitterness, than the preference granted by the 
 tutor to the theme of another over mine. The 
 beautiful age, for a frivolous being is youth ; for 
 the ambitious, maturity ; for the recluse, old age ; 
 for a reasonable man, each age : for heaven has 
 reserved peculiar pleasures for each. 
 
 The second sentiment I experience, in contem- 
 plating life, is, regret to see the moments so rapidly 
 gliding away. Time flies, and days and years 
 steal away as rapidly as hours. Still, some com- 
 plain of the burden of time, and endure cruel 
 suffering from not knowing how to employ it. 
 
 To prolong my days, I neither ask the elixir of 
 life from alchymists, nor precepts from physi- 
 cians. A severe regimen tends to abridge life. 
 Multiplied privations give a sadness to the spirit, 
 more noxious than the prescribed remedies are 
 salutary. Besides, what is physical without moral 
 life ; that is to say, improvement and enjoyment ? 
 Physicians vaunt the miracles of abstinence and 
 a careful regimen in the case of Cornaro, the 
 Venetian, who was born dying, and yet spun out 
 the thread of life with so much care that he 
 
OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 217 
 
 existed a century. To attain this result, he weighed 
 his aliment, and marked every hour of the day, with 
 the most minute exactness. Bacon cites the case, 
 but jests upon a man who believed himself living, 
 because, in fact, he was not dead. 
 
 Moderation, cheerfulness, and the happy employ- 
 ment of time, furnish the best means of living as 
 many days as nature permits ; and the regimen of 
 philosophic moralists has an effect more certain 
 than that of physicians. 
 
 Every one has observed, that a year in youth 
 presents a long perspective ; and that the further 
 we advance in our career, the more the course of 
 time seems to accelerate. Let us strive to investi- 
 gate the causes which so modify our judgments, 
 with a view, if it be possible, to avoid them. 
 
 There is one inevitable cause, experience ; at 
 sixteen, what an illimitable prospective space is 
 seen in the sixteen years that are to succeed ! 
 The termination of the latter period is lost to 
 vision in the future, as the commencement of the 
 first years are effaced from the memory of the past. 
 But, in touching the goal which seemed so distant, 
 we have discovered a scale by which the mind's eye 
 measures the future. Impatient youth, burning to 
 overleap the interval which separates the object 
 from their desires, strive to accelerate the tardv 
 hours. In mature age, on the contrary, seeing 
 
 H 
 
218 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 
 
 every day bringing us nearer the termination of 
 our career, we begin to regret the want of power 
 to arrest the march of time. Thus our weakness 
 hastens the flight which we desire to delay. Let 
 us be less fearful of the uncertain future, and the 
 hours will lose their desolating swiftness. 
 
 Finally, in our youth, all objects being new, 
 produce the vivid impression of novelty. Every 
 instant is filled with landmarks of memory, because 
 in every instant a new sensation is produced, and 
 a new link in the chain of the succession of ideas. 
 As we advance in time, objects imperceptibly cease 
 to excite our curiosity. We pass by beautiful ob- 
 jects and striking events, which once filled us with 
 transport or surprise, with a carelessness which 
 fails to fix them in our memory. We return me- 
 chanically to the occupations of the preceding day, 
 scarcely noting the transit of those monotonous 
 periods which were rendered remarkable neither by 
 disgust nor pleasure. Let us avoid this mental 
 carelessness, which gives new speed to the flight 
 of time, and is so fatal to happiness. Friends of 
 humanity, of literature, of the arts, of true enjoy- 
 ment, and, above all, of real religion ; let us 
 preserve the mind in its freshness, the imagination 
 in its youthful brilliancy. Let us thus arrest the 
 happy moments ; and let us preserve the enthusi- 
 asm of youth enlightened by the taste of mature 
 age, for everything which merits our admiration. 
 
OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 219 
 
 I can confidently affirm, that I have long since 
 learned to find some of my purest and most abiding 
 satisfactions in the memory of the past. I repeat 
 all its happier passages and incidents. I recall the 
 bright days, verdant landscapes, loved persons, and 
 joyous sensations, from their shadowy mansions. 
 I renew my youthful sports ; and watch for the 
 trout along the flush spring brooks. I seat myself 
 again on the sunny banks of the pleasant spots of 
 my career. I would be glad to convey some idea 
 of the vivid pleasure I experience, after a lapse of 
 forty 7 winters, from the deeply impressed remem- 
 brance of one beautiful spring morning, after a 
 long and severe winter, when I was still a school- 
 boy. The vast masses of snow were beginning to 
 melt. The birds of prey, shut up in their retreats 
 during the bitter winter, sailed forth in the mild 
 clear blue. The birds whistled ; and my heart 
 expanded with joy and delight unknown, in the 
 same degree, before or since. The place where 
 these thoughts, comprising my youthful anticipa- 
 tions, hopes and visions, occurred, will never be 
 obliterated from my mind while memory holds her 
 seat. I have a thousand such treasured recollec- 
 tions, with which I can at any time, and to a 
 certain extent, cheer pain, sorrow and decay. 
 These are enjoyments stored beyond the reach 
 of fortune, which we can prolong, and renew at 
 pleasure. 
 
220 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 
 
 If we desire that our days should not be abridged, 
 we must love retreat. The immediate result of this 
 shelter is to keep off a crowd of officious and indo- 
 lent people. There are those who would not think 
 of taking our money, and who yet will steal hours 
 and days from us without scruple. They seem not 
 to realize the value of these fractions of time which 
 are the material life. 
 
 But while the idle rob us of hours, we ourselves 
 sacrifice years. A great portion of our race, deaf- 
 ened by the clamour of the passions, agitated by 
 feverish dreams, are scarcely conscious of exist- 
 ence ; and, awakening for a moment, at death, 
 regret that they have been long on the earth, and 
 yet have not lived. A few others, after having 
 been long swept onward by the torrent, taught at 
 last by experience, resist, land, and fix their so- 
 journ far from the tumult; and finally, begin to 
 taste the pleasant consciousness of existence. Why 
 not prolong these final hours to the utmost ? If 
 our pursuits interdict us from the independent 
 command of our time, we may, at least, consecrate 
 portions of every evening to retreat, in order to 
 review the past, pause on the present, and prepare 
 for the future. Thus, making every day count in 
 accumulating the pleasant stores of memory, we 
 add it to the happy days of the past, and no longer 
 allow life to vanish like a dream 
 
OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 221 
 
 It is, more than all, in converse with ourselves, 
 that we give a right direction to the mind, eleva- 
 tion to the soul, and gentleness and firmness to the 
 character. Life is a hook in which we every day 
 read a page. We ought to note down every in- 
 structive incident that passes. 
 
 The admirable Marcus Aurelius took delight in 
 converse with himself; and learned to find enjoy- 
 ment in the present by extracting from the past 
 lessons for the future. I never fail to be affected 
 when I read the account which he gives of all 
 those persons whose cares had concurred to form 
 his character and his manners. "I learned,' ' savs 
 he, " of my grandfather Verus, to be gentle and 
 complaisant. The reputation which my father left, 
 and the memory of his good actions which has 
 been preserved, taught me modesty. My mother 
 formed me to piety, taught me to be liberal, and 
 not even to meditate, still less to do a wrong. 
 
 " I owe it to my governor that I am patient of 
 labour, have but few wants, know how to work 
 with my own hands, meddle with no business that 
 does not concern me, and give no encouragement 
 to informers. 
 
 " Diognetus taught me not to be amused with 
 frivolities, to yield no credit to impostors, and to 
 have no faith in conjuration and superstition. I 
 learned of him to permit every one to speak to me 
 
222 OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 
 
 with entire freedom, and to apply myself wholly to 
 philosophy. 
 
 " Rusticus made me perceive that I needed to 
 correct my manners, that I ought to avoid the 
 pride of the sophists, and not use effort to inspire 
 the people with admiration of my patience and 
 austerity of life ; to he always ready to pardon 
 those who had offended me, and to receive them 
 kindly whenever they were disposed to resume 
 their former intercourse. 
 
 " I learned of Apollonius to be at the same time 
 frank and firm in my designs, to follow no guide 
 but my reason, even in the smallest matters, and 
 to be always composed, even under the most acute 
 sufferings. By his example I was instructed that 
 it is possible to be at once severe and gentle. 
 
 " Sextus taught me to govern my house as a 
 good father, to preserve a simple gravity without 
 affectation, to attempt to divine and anticipate the 
 wishes and necessities of my friends ; to endure, 
 with calmness and patience, the ignorant and pre- 
 sumptuous who speak without thinking w T hat they 
 say ; and to sustain relations of kindness with all. 
 
 " I learned from Alexander the grammarian, in 
 disputation to use no injurious words in reply to 
 my antagonist. 
 
 " Alexander, the Platonist, instructed me to be 
 always prompt to render all those good offices 
 which the bonds of society demand. 
 
OF THE RAPIDITY OF LIFE. 223 
 
 " I owe to my brother Severus, the love which 
 I have for truth and justice. From him I derived 
 the desire to govern my states by equal laws, and 
 to reign in such a manner as that my subjects 
 might possess perfect liberty. 
 
 " I thank the Divinity for having given me 
 virtuous ancestors, a good father, a good mother, 
 a good sister, good preceptors, and good friends ; 
 in a word, all the good things I could have 
 desired/' 
 
 A crowd of useful thoughts cannot but flow 
 from such self- converse. Hold every day one of 
 these solitary conversations with yourself. This is 
 the way in which to attain the highest relish of 
 existence ; and, if I may so say, to cast anchor in 
 the river of life. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ON DEATH. 
 
 If we were to allow ourselves to express the wish 
 that we might never die, an absurd wish, which, 
 perhaps, every man has sometimes indulged, a 
 moralist might say, " Suppose it were granted, 
 where would be the end of dissension, hatred, 
 revenge ? Where would the victim whom injustice 
 pursues, find an asylum and repose ?" To all this 
 it is sufficient to reply, that if we accuse heaven for 
 having subjected us to the penalty of death, we 
 have not less reason to accuse her for having often 
 rendered death desirable, as a relief from greater 
 evils. Instead of showing herself so niggardly in 
 bestowing happy moments, why did she not spare 
 humanity the evils that rendered death a compara- 
 tive release ? 
 
ON DEATH. 225 
 
 There are, as I believe, more solid reasons to 
 justify the great Creator in rendering death an 
 inevitable allotment. When, undertaking to reform 
 the universe in my day-dreams, 1 render our earthly 
 existence eternal, I find no difficulty in imagining 
 all the evils which affiict us removed. But I strain 
 my imagination to no purpose to give form and 
 reality to those pleasures which shall be adequate 
 to replace those which this new order of things 
 cannot admit. Suppose that it were no longer 
 necessary that generation should succeed genera- 
 tion ; and that death were banished from the earth ; 
 the same beings, without hopes or fears, would 
 always cover its surface. No more loves; no more 
 parental tenderness ; no more filial piety ! Flat- 
 tering hopes forsake the bosom along with en- 
 chanting remembrances. All those affections 
 which give value to life owe their existence to 
 death. A wise man sees in life a gift which he 
 ought not to sacrifice. In learning how to live, he 
 instructs himself how to die. 
 
 We must sometimes look Death in the face to 
 judge how we shall be able to sustain his approach. 
 It is not necessary often to repeat this stern exam- 
 ination, as it presents gloomy ideas, even to the 
 most energetic minds. Another manner of con- 
 templating the final scene, produces all the useful 
 
226 ON DEATH. 
 
 results of the first, and presents nothing afflicting. 
 It consists in observing the influence which death 
 ought to exercise over life. This term, unknown, 
 but always near, should render our duties more 
 sacred, our affections more tender, our pleasures 
 more vivid. In noting the rapidity of the flight of 
 time, a wise man seizes upon those ideas which 
 disturb the hours of the multitude, to enhance the 
 charm of his own thoughts. It was not without 
 an aim, that certain of the ancient philosophers 
 placed in their festal hall a death's head decked 
 with roses. 
 
 Those who say that, in one point of view, death 
 is nothing, may be thought to affect the semblance 
 of courage. They speak, in fact, only simple truth. 
 The term death is the sign of a purely negative 
 idea; and denotes an instant impossible for thought 
 to measure. It is not yet death, or it is past ; and 
 there is no interval. 
 
 Without doubt, the circumstances which precede 
 it are extremely afflicting. Sudden deaths ought 
 to cost us fewer tears than any others. Yet we 
 hear it repeated, with a sigh, " the unfortunate 
 sufferer lingered but a few hours." Was not that 
 space sufficiently long, when the moments were 
 counted by agony ? Let us not tinge our views 
 by the colouring of egotism ; and we shall perceive 
 
ON DEATH. 227 
 
 in this prompt departure, two motives for consola- 
 tion ; that the deceased, whom we regret, saw not 
 the long approach of death in advance ; and, that, 
 in meeting it, he experienced a brief pang. Such 
 an end is worthy of envy, and is the last benefit of 
 heaven. 
 
 So died my father, the best of fathers, whom 
 every one recognized by his force of character, his 
 gentleness and serenity. He did not dazzle, either 
 by his vivacity of mind, or the variety of his ac- 
 quirements. But he so said the simplest things, 
 as to render them the best. During sixty-five 
 years he shared the pains of others, but never 
 added to them. One day, having experienced 
 unaccustomed fatigue, he retired early, and a few 
 moments after, slept in death. Such a death, 
 without pain and alarm, was worthy of a life so 
 excellent, that, to render him happy in the life to 
 come, it would be only necessary to leave him the 
 remembrance of what he had been, and what he 
 had done upon earth. 
 
 A fact, recognised by numberless observing 
 physicians is, that the last agony of a good man is 
 rarely violent. It is probable, that in regard to all 
 forms of death, mankind generally entertain the 
 most erroneous conceptions. The vulgar, naturally 
 embracing ideas that terrify them, believe that the 
 
228 ON DEATH. 
 
 dissolution of our earthly being is accompanied by 
 all conceivable torments. It is probable, on the 
 contrary, that, if we are real Christians, in entering 
 upon eternal repose, we experience sensations 
 analagous to those of a wearied man who feels 
 the sweet influence of sleep stealing gently upon 
 him. 
 
 These sensations, it is true, can be imagined to 
 belong only to the last moments. Cruel maladies 
 may precede them. But it would seem that nature 
 invariably employs some means to mitigate the 
 evils which she inflicts. Among mortal diseases, 
 those which are severely painful are equally rapid ; 
 while those which are slow in their progress are 
 comparatively free from pain. They allow the pa- 
 tient time to accustom himself to the idea of his 
 departure. It is common for those who die, thus 
 to solace themselves alternatelv with resignation 
 and hope. 
 
 A spectacle, touching to the heart, and, unhap- 
 pily, too common, is presented in the case of a fair 
 and florid youth, struck with a pulmonary malady. 
 Absolute unconsciousness of danger often accom- 
 panies this cruel disease to the last moment. We 
 are perfectly aware that the patient cannot survive 
 the coming winter. We hear him pantingly discuss 
 the projects which he expects to execute with his 
 
ON DEATH. 229 
 
 companions when health and spring" shall return. 
 The contrast of his daily increasing debility with 
 his gentle gaiety, and of his future projects, with 
 the rapid approach of death, makes the heart bleed. 
 Every one is pained for him but himself. The 
 hectic fever imparts a kind of joyous inspiration ; 
 and nature, to absolve itself for inflicting death on 
 one so young, leads him to his last hour in tranquil 
 security. Death is to him as a sleep. 
 
 ; It is certain, that physical sufferings are not 
 those which infuse the utmost bitterness into this 
 last cup. The gloomy thoughts with which death 
 is invested are excited much more keenly by those 
 affections which attach us to earth and our kind. 
 We may well hold the understanding of those am- 
 bitious persons in disdain who instruct us, that 
 when they have finished their vast projects their 
 days shall thenceforward glide in peace and se- 
 renity. Death uniformly surprises them, tormenting 
 themselves in the pursuit of their shadows. 
 Others, with less show of stupidity, repine, because 
 death strikes them reposing upon their pleasures. 
 Their groans are caused by having forgotten the 
 rapidity and evanescence of their joys. They 
 had not known how to give them an additional 
 charm in saying, " We possess them but for a 
 day." 
 
230 ON DEATH. 
 
 But suppose we regret neither ambitious projects 
 nor transient pleasures, may we not wish to live 
 longer for our children ? I attempt not to incul- 
 cate an impracticable or exaggerated system. 
 There is a situation in which death is fearful. 
 There is a period in which it would seem as if man 
 ought not to die. It commences when one has 
 become a parent, and terminates when his sus- 
 taining hand is no longer indispensable to his 
 family. 
 
 If Heaven calls us to quit life before this epoch, 
 all consolations resemble the remedies which pal- 
 liate the pains of the dying, without possessing 
 efficacy to remove them. Still we ought not to 
 believe that there can exist a situation in which a 
 good man can find no alleviation for his sorrows. 
 In quitting a life which he would wish to retain 
 longer, for the happiness of those most dear to 
 him, he may derive force and magnanimity from 
 the thought that he owes it to himself to leave an 
 example of courage and decent dignity in the last 
 act ; that he may show the influence of piety 7 and 
 resignation, and the hope and discipline of that 
 religion which forbids its disciple to struggle 
 against the inevitable lot. 
 
 The approach of death always brings associations 
 of gloom when it comes in advance of old age, to 
 
ON DEATH. 231 
 
 destroy the tender affections. In the slow and 
 natural course of years, it is an event as simple, as 
 little to be deprecated, as the other occurrences of 
 life. Alas ! during a short sojourn, we see those 
 who were most dear continually falling around us. 
 We soon retain a less number with us than exist 
 already in another world. The family is divided. 
 I am not surprised that it becomes a matter of 
 indifference to a wise man to remain with his pre- 
 sent friends, or to go and rejoin those who are 
 gone before him into the invisible state. 
 
 As long as our children have need of our sup- 
 port, we resemble a traveller charged with busi- 
 ness of extreme importance. As soon as these 
 cares become useless, we resemble him who 
 travels at leisure and by chance ; and who takes 
 up his lodging for the night wherever the setting 
 sun surprises him. For me, I see the second 
 epoch drawing near. If I reach it, I shall bless 
 heaven for having awarded me a sufficient number 
 of years, and for having diffused over them so few 
 pains. 
 
 Let us not charge that man with weakness who, 
 when on the eve of departure for distant and 
 untravelled countries, is perceived to impart the 
 intonation and tenderness of sorrow to his adieus. 
 Ought we to exact more of him whom death is 
 
232 ON DEATH. 
 
 about to conduct to that undiscovered country, 
 " from whose bourne no traveller returns ?" I 
 would not seem to affect an austere and unnatural 
 courage. But whenever delivered from the only 
 heart-rending agony, I will hope and strive to 
 preserve sufficient tranquillity of mind to impress 
 the sentiment on those I love, that we ought, 
 with becoming dignity, to submit ourselves to the 
 immutable laws of nature ; that complaint is 
 useless and murmuring unjust ; and that it be- 
 comes us, with transient but subdued emotion, 
 to say, as we receive the final embrace, " May we 
 meet again !" 
 
 Fear, absolutely useless, gratuitous fear, pro- 
 bably constitutes much the largest proportion 
 of the whole mass of human misery ; and of this 
 proportion the fear of death is a principal part. 
 There are but very few people who, in examining 
 the feeling of apprehension most constantly pre- 
 sent to their minds, will not find it to be the 
 dread of death. The whole observation which I 
 have made upon human nature, has only enlight- 
 ened me the more as to the universality and extent 
 of the influence of this evil. I see it infusing 
 bitterness into the bosoms of the young, before 
 they are as yet capable of reflection ; and ceasing 
 not to inspire its terrors into the heart, which has 
 
ON DEATH. 233 
 
 experienced the sorrows of fourscore winters. I 
 see little difference in the alarm with which it 
 darkens the mind of the heir, elate with youthful 
 hope, and the galley slave : those apparently the 
 most happy, and the tenants of penitentiaries and 
 lazar-houses. All cling alike convulsively to life, 
 and shudder at the thought of death. 
 
 Part, and perhaps the greater part, of this fear 
 is a sad heritage, which has been transmitted 
 down to us, through many generations. Our 
 education, religious ceremonies, domestic manners, 
 in short, all the influences of the present institu- 
 tions of society tend to increase this evil. I am 
 well aware, at the same time, that the number of 
 those, who will admit it to be an evil, is but small. 
 Most view it as it has been considered in all 
 Christian countries, from time immemorial, as an 
 instrument in the hand of God and his servants, 
 to awe and restrain the mind, to call it from illu- 
 sions and vanities, and reduce it to the seriousness 
 and obedience of religion. My hope of producing 
 useful impressions is, with the small but growing 
 number, (in the next age, I trust it will be a 
 majority) who have but little faith in amendment 
 and conversion that grows out of the base and 
 servile principle of fear, and, least of all, the fear 
 of death; who believe that a great reform, a 
 
234 ON DEATH. 
 
 thorough amelioration of our species, will never be 
 effected, until it is made a radical principle of our 
 whole discipline, and all our social institutions, to 
 bring this servile passion completely under the 
 controul of our reason, With these it is a deep 
 and fixed conviction, that every thing base, de- 
 grading and destructive of intellect and improve- 
 ment, readily associates with fear ; and that the 
 basis of true religion, of generous conception, of 
 high thoughts and really noble character, is firmly 
 laid in a young mind, when trained to become 
 as destitute of fear, as if it were conscious of 
 being a sinless angel, above the reach of pain or 
 death. 
 
 It would be to no purpose for me to pause in 
 this place, to obviate the strictures of those who 
 will denounce this doctrine, by quoting from the 
 scriptures the frequent inculcations of the " fear of 
 the Lord," and the Apostle's declaration, that by 
 the " terrors of the Lord we persuade men." The 
 true and religious fear, inculcated in the scriptures, 
 not only has no relation to the passion I am dis- 
 cussing, but cannot exist any more than the other 
 requisite traits of religious character, in a bosom 
 swayed by the grovelling and selfish passion 'of 
 servile fear. The fear inculcated in the scriptures 
 is inseparably connected with reverence and love. 
 
ON DEATH. 
 
 235 
 
 That nature has implanted in our bosoms an 
 instinctive dread of death, I readily admit. But 
 fear, as a factitious and unnatural addition to the 
 true instincts of human nature, has been so accu- 
 mulated by rolling down through a hundred 
 generations, that we are in no condition to know 
 the degree, in which nature intended we should 
 possess it. We have innumerable base propen- 
 sities, which we charge upon nature, that are, in 
 fact, no more, than the guilty heritage, bequeathed 
 us by our ancestors. Nature could have implanted 
 no higher degree of instinctive dread of death, 
 than just what was requisite, to preserve the race 
 from prodigal waste, or rash exposure of a gift, 
 which, once lost, is irretrievable. If nature has 
 inwrought in any constitution one particle of fear, 
 beyond what was required for this result, she has, 
 as in all other excessive endowments, granted 
 reason and judgment, to regulate, and reduce it 
 to its due subordination. 
 
 Will not religion achieve the great triumph of 
 casting out the base principle of fear ? I would be 
 the last to deny, or undervalue the trophies of true 
 religion. I have no doubt that religion has, in 
 innumerable instances, extracted the pain and poi- 
 son from the sting of death. More than this, it 
 would unquestionably produce this triumph in 
 
236 ON DEATH. 
 
 every case, if every individual were completely 
 under the influence of the true principle. It would 
 attain this end by processes and discipline exactly 
 concurrent, if not similar, with those I am about 
 to propose. But it is a lamentable fact, that but 
 few comparatively are under the influence of true 
 religion. Of those, whom charity deems most 
 sincerely pious, some, under all professions and 
 forms, exhibit, on the bed of dangerous sickness, 
 the same fear of death with the rest. 
 
 The triumph over the fear of death, which I 
 would inculcate, should not be tested by the equi- 
 vocal deportment of the patient, in the near view 
 of death ; but by his own joyous consciousness of 
 deliverance from this tormenting bondage, during 
 his whole life. Let fear bring what bitterness it 
 mav into the last few hours, it can bear but little 
 proportion to the long agony of a whole life, 
 passed in " bondage through fear of death." To 
 produce the desired triumph, the highest training 
 of philosophy should concur with the paternal 
 spirit, and the immortal hopes of the gospel ; and 
 a calm, reasoning, unboasting fearlessness of death 
 should enable us to taste all the little of pure and 
 innocent joy, that may be found between the cradle 
 and the grave as unmolested, as unsprinkled with 
 this fear, as if the destroyer were not among the 
 works of God. 
 
ON DEATH. 237 
 
 The terrific and un definable images of horror, 
 that imagination affixes to the term death, are 
 founded in an entire misconception. The word is 
 the sign of no positive idea whatever. It conjures 
 up a shadowy horror to the mind, finely delineated, 
 as a poetic personage, by Milton ; and implies, 
 some agony that is supposed to lie between the 
 limits of existence and non-existence, or existence 
 in another form. This is simple illusion. So long 
 as we feel, death is not ; and when we cease to 
 feel, or commence feeling in a changed form, death 
 has been. Who can tell where waking conscious- 
 ness terminates, and sleep commences ? He can 
 tell us, what death is. Every one is conscious of 
 having passed through this change ; but no one 
 can give any account, what were his sensations in 
 the dividing moment of interval between wakeful- 
 ness and sleep. 
 
 Imagination is allowed to settle all the circum- 
 stances, and form all the associations belonging to 
 the supposed agony of this event. It is one of the 
 few important incidents in life, upon which reason 
 is but seldom allowed to fix a calm and severe 
 scrutiny. It is dreadful, says common apprehen- 
 sion, for it is the breaking up the long and tender 
 partnership, and producing a separation between 
 the body and the soul ; dreadful, because it is the 
 
238 ON DEATH, 
 
 wages of sin, and is appointed to be a perpetual 
 memorial of the righteous displeasure of God in 
 view of sin ; dreadful, because a departure of the 
 spirit from the regions of the living, and the light 
 of the sun, into an unknown and eternal state. 
 Suns will revolve, moons wax and wane, years, 
 revolutions, ages, counted by all the particles of 
 mist in the sea, will elapse, but the place, whence 
 the spirit is gone, will never know it more. It is 
 terrible, says common apprehension, for it is often 
 preceded and accompanied by severe pain and con- 
 vulsive struggle. 
 
 Then, too, the attendants in the sick-room often 
 inspect the extremities of the patient, and petrify 
 the bystanders with the words, he is struck with 
 death ; as though the grisly phantom king of the 
 poet's song had invisibly glided in, and, with his 
 icy sceptre, given his victim the blow of mortal 
 destiny. Who knows not that, though there are 
 usually mortal symptoms, which enable an experi- 
 enced eye to foresee approaching dissolution, the 
 term " death- struck " imports nothing but the 
 weakest vulgar prejudice, a prejudice under the 
 influence of which millions have been suffered to 
 expire, that might have been roused ! Innumerable 
 persons, pronounced to be in that situation, have 
 actually recovered ; and no moment, in the ordi- 
 
ON DEATH. 239 
 
 nary forms of disease, can with any certainty be 
 pronounced beyond hope, but that which succeeds 
 the last sigh. 
 
 Then there are conversations and hymns and 
 funeral odes and Night Thoughts, which speak of 
 the coldness, silence and eternal desolation of the 
 grave ; as though the unconscious sleeper felt the 
 chill of the superincumbent clay, the darkness of 
 his narrow house, or this terrible isolation from the 
 living. The pale and peaceful corse is contem- 
 plated with a look of horror. Two, of stout heart 
 and tried friendship, abide near the kneaded clod, 
 until the living are relieved from their ghostly 
 terrors, by its deposition out of their sight in the 
 narrow house. The family, the children, the 
 friends alike showing the creeping horror, glide 
 quick and silently on tiptoe through the apartment, 
 where the sleeper lies. The first nightfall after the 
 decease is one of peculiar and unmitigated horror. 
 The family, however disinclined to union before, 
 this evening unite, with that impress on their 
 countenances, which words reach not. 
 
 Need we wonder, that in a Christian country, 
 and among families of the best training, such im- 
 pressions have become so universal, that they, who 
 would be reputed brave, blazon their courage, by 
 affirming their readiness to sleep in a cemetry, or 
 
240 ON DEATH. 
 
 the funeral vault of a church ? It requires no 
 extraordinary effort, and nothing more than the 
 simple triumph of reason among the faculties, to 
 enable any man, to sleep alone in a charnel-house 
 with as little dread, as in the apartment of an inn, 
 so that the places were alike in comfort and salu- 
 brity. It does not require us to be wise, or cou- 
 rageous ; but simply not cowards and fools, to 
 feel as little horror in the view of corses, as statues 
 of plaster or marble, One of the most terrible 
 ideas of death, after all, is, that we shall thus, 
 immediately upon our decease, inflict this shrink- 
 ing revulsion of terror upon all, who look at our 
 remains. 
 
 The view, which reason takes of the sick and 
 dying bed is, that, in the far greater number of 
 mortal cases, the transition from life to death is as 
 imperceptible, as the progress of the sun and the 
 seasons. One faculty dies after another. The vic- 
 tim has received the three warnings unconsciousiv. 
 Ordinarily, a person may be said to have paid a 
 third part of his tribute of mortality at forty-five ; 
 half at fifty-five ; and the whole at three score 
 and ten. 
 
 When acute and severe sickness assails the pa- 
 tient, he has passed through what may be called 
 the agony of death at a very early period of his 
 
ON DEATH. 241 
 
 disease. His chief suffering is past, as soon as the 
 irritability and the vigorous powers of life have 
 been broken down. When the disorder produces 
 insensibility, the dull sleep, that precedes the final 
 rest of the tomb, is already creeping upon the 
 patient ; and severe suffering is precluded. If 
 there are convulsions after this, as often happens, 
 they are seldom more than spasmodic movements, 
 impressed by the nervous action upon the tendons, 
 more terrible to the beholder, than the sufferer ; 
 differing little from those starts and struggles, with 
 which many persons in high health commence 
 sleeping and waking. 
 
 Reason, calmly surveying the case of the dying 
 person himself, sees many alleviations, of which 
 imagination, sketching under the influence of the 
 dread of death, takes no account. He finds him- 
 self, in this new predicament, the absorbing object 
 of all interests and of all solicitude and affection. 
 It is not in human nature that this should not call 
 up complacent emotions, and slumbering affections 
 from their secret cells. Of those who preserve the 
 exercise of their faculties entire to the last, many 
 instances are recorded of persons who had shewn 
 the most unmanly dread of death in their health, 
 that have met dissolution with the calmness of 
 perfect self-possession. Of the rest, a great number 
 
242 ON DEATH. 
 
 die with little more apparent pain and struggle 
 than accompany the act of sleeping. In a great 
 number of cases which I have witnessed, I have 
 paused in doubt, whether the person had yielded 
 his last sigh or not, after he had actually deceased. 
 To soften the last infliction, nature almost inva- 
 riably veils it under a low delirium, or absolute 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 It is impossible to imagine a more obvious and 
 unquestionable principle of philosophy, than that 
 every reasoning faculty of our nature must declare 
 to us, loudly and unequivocally, and with an influ- 
 ence as strong as reason can command, that it is 
 wisdom, nay, the dictate of the least portion of 
 common sense, to dread, to resist, to repine, to 
 groan as little as possible, in view of an endurance 
 absolutely inevitable. If it be hard to sustain 
 when met with a fearless, resigned, and unmur- 
 muring spirit, it must certainly be still harder, 
 when we are obliged to bend our necks to it with 
 the excruciating addition of shrinking fear, dread- 
 ful anticipation, and ineffectual struggles to evade 
 it, and with murmurs and groans at finding the 
 inutility of these efforts. Innumerable examples 
 prove to us, that nature has kindly endowed us 
 with reason and mental vigour to such an extent, 
 that, under the influence of divine aid, and Scrip- 
 
ON DEATH. 243 
 
 tural principle, no possible form of suffering can 
 be presented, over which the good man may 
 not manifest, and has not manifested, a complete 
 triumph. 
 
 Of these innumerable examples, it is only neces- 
 sary to cite those of the martyrs, of all forms of 
 religion. These prove farther, that an undaunted 
 self-possession in every conceivable shape and de- 
 gree of agony, was not the result of a rare and 
 peculiar temperament, a want of sensibility, or the 
 possession of uncommon physical courage ; that it 
 was not because there w T as no perception of danger, 
 or susceptibility of pain ; this magnanimity, this 
 impassibility to fear and pain and death, has been 
 exhibited in nearly equal degrees by people of 
 every age, each sex, and all conditions, and arose 
 from the sublime hopes inspired by divine revela- 
 tion. Let the proper motive be supplied, let the 
 martyr have had the common influence of the train- 
 ing of his faith, and the consequence failed not. 
 All the shades and varieties of natural and mental 
 difference of character were noted in the deport- 
 ment of the sufferers. But they were alike in the 
 stern proof of a courage w T hich defied death. The 
 fact is proved by them as strongly as moral fact 
 can be proved, that the mind of every individual 
 might find in itself, with the blessing and favour 
 
244 ON DEATH. 
 
 of God, self-possession and vigour, to enable it to 
 display an entire ascendancy over the fear and pain 
 of death. 
 
 No one will deny, that the primitive Christian, 
 put in conflict with a hungry lion ; that Rogers at 
 the Smithfield stake, exhibiting the serene and 
 sublime triumph of mind over matter, and of the 
 spirit over the body, — is one of the most imposing 
 spectacles we can witness ; one of the clearest 
 proofs we can contemplate, that we have that 
 within us which is not all of clay, nor all mortal ; 
 or doubt, that these persons endured infinitely less 
 physical pain, in consequence of their genuine 
 Christianity producing an heroic self-possession, 
 than they would have suffered, had they met their 
 torture in paroxysms of terror, shrinking, and self 
 abandonment. 
 
 One of the direct fruits of the intrepidity we 
 would wish to see universal, arising from the pow- 
 erful influence of Christian principle, is, that it will 
 give its possessor all possible chances for preserving 
 health and life. It saves him from the influence of 
 fear, a passion among the most debilitating and 
 adverse to life of any to which our nature is sub- 
 ject. Braced by his courage, he passes untouched 
 amidst a contagious epidemic, to which the timid 
 and apprehensive nature falls a victim. In danger 
 
ON DEATH. 245 
 
 it gives him coolness and self-command, to dis- 
 cover and avail himself of all his chances of wise 
 resistance, or probable escape. In sickness, he 
 has all the aids to recover which nature allows, in 
 being- delivered from the most dangerous symptom 
 in innumerable maladies, the debilitating persua- 
 sion of the patient, that he shall not rise from his 
 sickness. 
 
 The fact, that an evil is felt to be alleviated 
 which is shared in common with all around us, has 
 been generally recognized. We all know, that the 
 same person who is most beneficent, most active in 
 his benevolence, and large in his wishes to do 
 good, would shrink from a great calamity, which 
 he saw himself destined to encounter, for the first 
 and the last among his whole race. But inform 
 him, that by an impartial award he shares it in 
 common with all his kind, and you will aid to re- 
 concile him at once to his lot. Whether the spirit 
 of his resignation in this case be pure, or polluted 
 in its origin, it is not my present purpose to en- 
 quire. It is sufficient to be assured, that there is 
 such a feeling deeply inherent in human nature. 
 The suffering patient, as he lays himself down to 
 part from all friends, to be severed from all ties, 
 to see the green earth, the bright sun, and the 
 visible heavens no more, and to be conscious, 
 
246 ON DEATH. 
 
 that the circle of ages will continue its revolu- 
 tions without ever bringing him back to the for- 
 saken scene, cannot repine, that he has been put 
 upon this probation alone. Of all the countless 
 millions, that have passed away, and been replaced 
 by others, like the vernal leaves, death has stood 
 before every solitary individual of the mighty 
 mass, the same phantom king of terrors. Each 
 has contemplated the same inexorable, irreversible 
 award, been held in the same suspense of hopes, 
 and fears, and compelled to endure the same 
 struggles. Looking upon the immense mortal 
 drama of ages, the actors seem slowly and imper- 
 ceptibly to enter, and depart from the scene. But 
 in the lapse of one short age, the hopes, fears, 
 loves, and hatreds of all the countless millions have 
 vanished, to be replaced by those of another gene- 
 ration. The heart swells at the recollection how 
 much each of these mortals must have endured, in 
 this stern and inevitable encounter, as measured 
 by our own suffering in the same case. It is only 
 necessary for the patient to extend his vision a few 
 years in advance of his own decease ; and his 
 friends, his children, his visitants, all that surround 
 him, will, in their turn, recline on the same bed. 
 Who cannot feel the palpable folly of repining at 
 an evil shared with all that have been, are, or will 
 
ON DEATH. 247 
 
 be ! And who, but an idiot, will not seriously 
 prepare for the great change ? 
 
 The only adequate remedy for the fear of death, 
 is the well-founded hope of a blessed immortality, 
 built on the great doctrines of Revelation. We lie 
 down in pain and agony, with a spirit of easy 
 endurance, if we have a confident persuasion that, 
 during the night, we shall have shaken off the 
 cause of our sufferings, and shall rise to renewed 
 health and freshness in the morning. Death can 
 bring little terror to him, who believes that its 
 darkness will instantly be replaced by the light of 
 another scene : and that the separation from friends 
 in the visible land, is only rejoining the more nu- 
 merous group, who have already become citizens 
 of the invisible country. To what extent am I the 
 subject of this hope myself, and whence do I derive 
 my belief ? I believe unhesitatingly, and without a 
 doubt, that I shall, in some way, exactly provided 
 for by Him who made me, exist after death ; and 
 as simply conscious that I am the same person, 
 as I am now in the morning, that I slept at night. 
 Do I derive this conviction from books and reason- 
 ings ? I am by no means sure that I do ; though 
 the Gospel assuredly speaks directly to my heart. 
 I do ready homage to the talents and learning of 
 Locke, Paley, Doddridge, Lardner, and Hall, and 
 
248 ON DEATH. 
 
 a cloud of reasoning witnesses, of whom every 
 Christian may well be proud ; and, most of all, to 
 the profound and admirable Butler. 
 
 I hear the Author of our faith directly declaring 
 a resurrection and immortality. A single assevera- 
 tion from such a source were enough. It seems 
 to me that he discusses it, as one who was aware 
 that it was already interwoven in the sentiments 
 and hearts of his hearers, upon which he might 
 predicate his doctrines, as upon a thousand other 
 facts, which we can clearly perceive, he considers 
 already admitted by his hearers. 
 
 All the universe proclaims a Deity. The grateful 
 verdure, the matin freshness, the glad voices, the 
 aroma of flowers, the earth, the rolling clouds, the 
 sun, all the lamps that will burn in the firmament 
 by night, my own happy consciousness in witness- 
 ing this impressive scene, cry out a God. To my 
 heart, it is the first, the simplest, most obvious 
 thought, presenting itself, it seems to me, as soon 
 as the consciousness of my own existence ; cer- 
 tainly susceptible of as little doubt. I yield myself 
 to the conviction. My heart swells with gratitude, 
 confidence, and love. So good, so beneficent a 
 Being can do nothing but good, in this or any 
 other world, to him who loves and trusts him, and 
 strives to obey his laws. 
 
ON DEATH. 249 
 
 Nature and Revelation both unite to testify, that 
 I am immortal. Not a particle of matter, for aught 
 that appears, can be annihilated. Will the nobler 
 thoughts, the warmer affections perish, as though 
 they had not been ? We ask our senses, and they 
 can give us no hope. The body lives, and we 
 speak of it as including the conscious being. We 
 see it die, pass under the empire of corruption, 
 moulder, and incorporate with its kindred elements. 
 The sensible evidence, that the person exists, is 
 entirely destroyed. The most insatiate appetite of 
 our natures, however, craves continued existence, 
 and ceases not to seek for it. The enquirer after 
 immortality cannot but be in earnest in this pur- 
 suit. The arguments of the venerable sages of old, 
 are spread before him. From the soul's nature, 
 from the unity of consciousness, the incorruptibility 
 of thought, the everlasting progress, of which our 
 faculties are capable, the strong and unquenchable 
 desire of posthumous fame, the sacredness of earthly 
 friendships, and similar arguments, they strove to 
 establish, on the basis of reasoning, the conviction 
 of immortality. 
 
 From these reasonings I repair to the Scrip- 
 tures. A strange book, utterly unlike any writings 
 that have appeared before, declares that we shall 
 exist for ever. The religion which has arisen from 
 
250 ON DEATH. 
 
 this book, in its whole structure and dispensation, 
 is predicated on the assumed fact, that we shall 
 exist for ever in another life ; happy or miserable, 
 according to our deeds on earth. Jesus, " the 
 author and finisher of this faith," announces him- 
 self " the resurrection and the life ;" with a voice 
 of power calls his dead friend from the tomb ; 
 declares, that death has no power over himself; 
 that, after suffering a violent death, on the third 
 day from that event, he shall arise from the dead. 
 He arises, according to his promise ; and, in the 
 midst of his awe- struck friends, he visibly ascends 
 to the celestial world. Millions, as by one impulse, 
 catch the spirit of this wonderful book ; love each 
 other with a new and single-hearted affection ; 
 as unlike the spirit of all former ties of kindness 
 and love, as the doctrinces of this religion are 
 different from those of paganism. The new sect 
 look with a careless eye upon whatever is tran- 
 sitory ; and will submit to privation, derision and 
 torture, of whatever form, rather than waver, or 
 equivocate, in declaring themselves subjects of this 
 hope of immortality. This christian hope, in every 
 period from the time of its author, has made its 
 way to the heart of millions, who have laid them- 
 selves down on their last bed, and felt the approach 
 of their last sleep, expecting, as confidently to open 
 
ON DEATH. 
 
 251 
 
 their eyes on an eternal morning, as the weary 
 labourer, at his evening rest, trusts that he shall 
 see the brightness of the morrow's dawn. 
 
 For myself, I feel that I am immortal, and that 
 those fellow sojourners, to whom I have been 
 attached by the affection of long intimacy, and the 
 reception of many and great kindnesses, will exist 
 with me hereafter. I pretend to conceive nothing, 
 I wish to enquire nothing, about the mode, the 
 place and circumstances. I should as soon think 
 of disturbing myself, by endeavouring to conceive 
 the ideas that might be imparted by a sixth sense. 
 It is sufficient that my heart declares, that a being 
 who has seen this glorious world, cherished these 
 warm affections, entertained these illimitable as- 
 pirations, felt these longings after immortality, 
 indulged " these thoughts, that wander through 
 eternity/' cannot have been doomed by Him, who 
 gave them, to have them quenched for ever in 
 annihilation. Even an illusion, so glorious, would 
 be worth purchasing at the price of a world. I 
 would affirm, even to repetition, that there is given 
 us that high and stern power, which implies a 
 courage superior to any conflict, and which gives 
 the mind a complete ascendancy over any danger, 
 pain or torture, which belongs to life or death. 
 
 It is only to a firm and unhesitating faith in the 
 
252 ON DEATH. 
 
 great truths of the Gospel, that it becomes as easy 
 and natural to die, as to sleep. Glorious and 
 blessed hope, the hope of meeting our friends, in 
 the eternal land of those who truly and greatly live 
 for ever ! There we shall renew our youth, and 
 " mount as on the wings of eagles ;" 
 
 ' And we shall meet, 
 
 Where parting tears shall cease to flow : 
 
 And, when I think thereon, almost I long to go '." 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 1 shall have attained my purpose if these sketches 
 should produce any degree of conviction that 
 man, in exercising his faculties, can mitigate his 
 pains and multiply his pleasures, and, conse- 
 quently, should serve as the outlines of a plan 
 for reducing the pursuit of happiness to an art. 
 I am aware that no view could be offered more 
 contrary to the prevalent opinions in society. The 
 morose and the frivolous make common cause to 
 attack it. To them the very idea seems absurd ; 
 and the most indulgent among them question the 
 good faith of him who announces it. 
 
 To such grave and learned authorities, and more, 
 
 even to the general suffrage against it, I might 
 
 dare to oppose counterbalancing authorities. From 
 
 Socrates to Franklin, I see philosophers who have 
 
 i 
 
254 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 been persuaded that man may be directed in the 
 art, and instructed in the science of happiness ; 
 and that his faculties may be enlarged to pursue 
 it. Who are the men that have entertained this 
 persuasion ? The very flower of the human race. 
 Was each individual of them surrounded by those 
 happy circumstances which would naturally inspire 
 the same philosophy ? They were persons who 
 had experienced all the conditions of life. As if 
 nature had studied to prove, by great examples, 
 that our happiness depends upon our reason more 
 than upon our circumstances, Epictetus lived in 
 chains, and Marcus Aurelius on a throne. 
 
 Which of the sciences did the admirable Socrates 
 chiefly esteem ? The single one which teaches us 
 to live as we ought. Let it not be said that I 
 substitute one science for another ; and that Socra- 
 tes taught morals, and not my pretended science 
 of happiness. With the Greeks, morals had a 
 perfectly definite end. Their philosophers held all 
 their teaching subservient to conducting their dis- 
 ciples to happiness. Illustrious men ! we disdain 
 their maxims, but still revere their names. What 
 fruit have we obtained from the boasted light and 
 improvement of the age ? We speak with enthusi- 
 asm of those sciences which they judged frivolous ; 
 and we treat as chimerical, those studies which 
 they judged alone worthy of human nature. 
 
CONCLUSION. 255 
 
 Suppose it had been said to these philosophers, 
 " You will never reform the human race ; and, 
 instead of profitless dreams about wisdom and 
 happiness, you ought to desist from subjects so 
 futile, and consecrate your vigils to sciences more 
 worthy to occupy your thoughts." Would they 
 not have smiled with pity upon such counsel ? 
 Had they deigned to reply, would they not have 
 said, " We are well aware that we shall not purify 
 the heart of the wicked of its pride, envy and 
 cupidity ; but shall we derive no glory from having 
 confirmed some good men in their career ? In the 
 midst of storms we felt our energies invigorated as 
 we perceived that our spirits were in accordance 
 with theirs. However feeble may have been the 
 influence of our Writings, affront not humanity by 
 supposing that ours, however partial may be their 
 circulation, will, nowhere, find minds worthy to 
 profit by them. Perhaps they will kindle the holy 
 love of virtue in some of those who may read them 
 in the youthful age of unsophisticated and generous 
 resolutions. Few, who read, will practise our doc- 
 trine in all its extent. Almost every one will be 
 indebted to it for some solitary principles. It is 
 possible we may never have numerous disciples. 
 But we shall have some in all countries and in all 
 time. It is a truth that ought to satisfy us, that 
 such discussions are based neither upon exaggera- 
 
256 CONCLUSION. 
 
 tion nor enthusiasm. The science of happiness 
 would indeed be chimerical if we expected that it 
 would impart the same charms to all predicaments 
 in which our lot might cast us. Instead of in- 
 dulging such visionary hopes, if these discussions 
 dissipate the errors which veil the true good from 
 our eyes, if we learn to bring together all the easy 
 and innocent pleasures, and to render the painful 
 moments of life more rapid, we have been taught 
 an art which it is possible to demonstrate and 
 improve to an indefinite extent." 
 
 Does this art appear difficult ? Let any one be 
 named which it exacts no effort to acquire. Will 
 it be thought that it cannot become of general 
 utility ? Will professors of the highest reputation, 
 cease to teach eloquence because they do not form 
 as many orators as they have pupils ? The more 
 maturely I have reflected upon the art in question, 
 the more clearly I am convinced that it may be 
 assimilated to the other arts. It differs from them 
 only in its superior importance. The interest and 
 attention that all the rest merit should be measured 
 only by their relation, more or less direct, to this 
 first of all arts. To settle the utility of any sci- 
 ence, law, enterprise, or action, I know no better 
 measure than to note its influence on human hap- 
 piness. 
 
 If moral lessons leave but a transient influence, 
 
CONCLUSION, 257 
 
 it may be attributed to two principal causes ; the 
 weakness of our nature, and the contagion of ex- 
 ample. A third belongs to those who teach us the 
 doctrine of morals, and is found in their exagge- 
 ration of their doctrine. They elevate the altar of 
 wisdom upon steep mountains ; and discourage our 
 first steps, by proclaiming the painful efforts neces- 
 sary to scale them. From the sadness of the 
 ministers of the worship, it would not be inferred, 
 the divinity of the place was liberal in dispensing 
 pure pleasures, bright hopes, oblivion of pain, and 
 remembrances almost as pleasant as either. 
 
 It is a fatal error to imagine that it is useful to 
 exaggerate the doctrine of morals. To do this, 
 fails not to excite disgust towards the precepts 
 inculcated. Men, that have been deceived upon 
 these points, as soon as they judge for themselves, 
 in their impatience to shake off the yoke of preju- 
 dices, are tempted to reject principles the most 
 wise with those errors by which they have been 
 misled. That we may be heard and followed, let 
 us be true. Let us present, with force, the evils 
 which the abuse of our faculties brings upon our 
 short career. Let us avow with equal frankness, 
 that we commit an egregious mistake, if we refuse, 
 or neglect to draw from our faculties all the advan- 
 tages in our power, to embellish life. 
 
 The doctrine of morals is a phrase that has been 
 
258 CONCLUSION. 
 
 often employed to designate the propagation of 
 false and extravagant principles. For this phrase, 
 which is too worn out, and of equivocal import, 
 suppose we substitute a definition, which will 
 clearly indicate the end, towards which, morals 
 ought to be directed. Morals teach the art of 
 happiness. If it be not so, the foundation of 1 
 ethics is a mere matter of convention, either use- 
 less or dangerous. 
 
 Morals should be taught only as subservient to 
 happiness. Austerity should be banished equally 
 from the manner of teaching and from the matter 
 that is taught. They are the useful teachers, whose 
 tenderness of heart impels them rather to inspire 
 virtue than to enjoin it; and whose brilliant imagi- 
 nation enables them to offer wise principles under 
 such pleasant forms as charm the mind and awaken 
 curiosity. To present a family struggling with 
 every form of misfortune, and constantly opposing 
 resignation or courage to each, is to offer the 
 sublimest painting that it is possible to execute. 
 Such a picture Goldsmith has given in his Vicar of 
 Wakefield. The concurrence of genius and virtue 
 could alone have conceived the idea. 
 
 The concurrent influence of public institutions 
 and education would be necessary to render the 
 general habits conformable to happiness. Books, 
 the influence of which I certainly have not exagge- 
 
CONCLUSION. 259 
 
 rated, may be useful to men, raised by the discipline 
 of their reason above the multitude. That man is 
 happy, who knows how to add good books to the 
 number of his friends, who often retires from the 
 world to enjoy their peaceful and instructive con- 
 versation, and always brings back serenity, courage 
 and hope. 
 
 Were the doctrine true, that it is impossible to 
 increase the happiness or diminish the evils of life, 
 it is not perceived that it would not still be neces- 
 sary to follow my principles. Preach this discou- 
 raging doctrine to a good man, and you may afflict 
 him, but will obtain no influence over his conduct. 
 He will always strive to improve his condition, 
 mitigate the sufferings that press upon him, and 
 render men more compassionate and happy. Such 
 noble efforts cannot be entirely lost. The pure 
 intentions, the sincere wishes, which he forms for 
 the good of his kind, give to his mind a pleasant 
 serenity. It assures his own happiness even to 
 think of the means of increasing that of others. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION.^ 
 
 The considerate Knight of La Mancha would not 
 dismiss his follower and friend to the government 
 of Bar at aria, without a few more last words, and 
 without arming him for his high functions with a 
 copious homily of counsels and admonitions. Be- 
 fore I leave you to the stern encounter of the 
 painful emergencies of life, to unravel its intrica- 
 cies, and settle its innumerahle perplexing and 
 difficult alternatives, I do not mean to oppress 
 your memory with the thousand and one particular 
 directions, to meet every imaginable occurrence 
 with the right mode of conduct. Innumerable 
 cases of perplexity will be continually occurring, 
 
 * By the American editor, Timothy Flint. 
 
THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 261 
 
 that can only be settled by judgment and pru- 
 dence. 
 
 I shall limit my counsels to a single one, on the 
 right disposal of which, in a great measure, de- 
 pends their character, success and happiness in 
 life. I refer to the choice of a profession. On 
 this subject, the first point to be consulted is our 
 physical and mental temperament. That some are 
 constituted for sedentary "and inactive pursuits, 
 others to beat the anvil, follow the plough, or 
 mount the reeling mast with a firm step in the 
 uproar of a tempest ; some for the bar,' others for 
 the pulpit, and still others to be musicians, paint- 
 ers, poets or engineers, I consider a truth so 
 universally and obviously taught by observation 
 and experience, that I shall not deem it necessary 
 to pause to prove it to such as would contest it. 
 I know that there are those who contend that all 
 minds are formed equal and alike ; and that all the 
 after differences result from education and circum- 
 stances. With them, Virgil and Byron had no 
 constitutional aptitude to poetry, and the same 
 training that gave Handel and Gluck their pre- 
 eminence in music would have imparted to any 
 other mind equal skill. According to their system, 
 La Place and Zerah Colburn were no earlier or 
 more strongly inclined to mathematics, than other 
 
262 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 
 
 children. These sapient physiologists in descend- 
 ing to the animal tribes, ought to find, that web- 
 footed animals had no natural aptitude for water ^ 
 the canine tribes for animal food, and the rumina- 
 ting, to feed on grass and vegetables. I shall 
 leave those who hold this dogma to retain it un- 
 questioned so far as I am concerned ; and they will 
 be obliged to leave me to mine : which is, that 
 there are immense differences in the physical and 
 mental constitution, which every enlightened pa- 
 rent discovers in his children, from the very dawn 
 of their faculties ; differences, which every intelli- 
 gent instructor notes in his pupils, as soon as- 
 he becomes intimately acquainted with them ; and 
 which, to keen and close observation, distinguished 
 more or less each individual in the immense mass 
 of society. No matter how much alike these per- 
 sons are reared and trained ; the most striking 
 diversities of endowment are often observed in 
 members of the same family, reared and educated 
 with all possible uniformity. This is, no doubt, a 
 beautiful trait of that general impress of variety, 
 which providence has marked upon every portion 
 of the animate and inanimate creation. Nature 
 has willed, that not only men should possess an 
 untiring diversity of form, countenance and mind, 
 but that not two pebbles on the shore, or insects 
 
THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 263 
 
 in the air, should he found precisely alike. The 
 sign manual of the Creator on his works is a grand 
 and infinite variety. 
 
 The physiological enquiry, whence these differ- 
 ences of temperament and aptitude arise, is one, 
 which belongs to another subject ; though I have 
 no wish to conceal my belief, that the fundamental 
 positions of phrenology are as immovably found- 
 ed in fact, and as certainly follow from obser- 
 vation, as the leading axioms of any physical 
 science. It is enough for my present purpose, that 
 the order of every form of society calls for an infi- 
 nite variety of aptitude, talent and vocation, and 
 that nature has furnished the requisite variety of 
 endowment, adequately to meet those calls. 
 
 The ancient system, still in use, goes on suppo- 
 sition, that all minds are originally alike ; and that 
 all children are equally fit to be trained for each 
 of the vocations. Hence we see tailors at the 
 anvil, and blacksmiths on the shopboard, numbers 
 of excellent ploughmen generating prose, and 
 sleeping at the bar and pulpit, and ingenious 
 fiddlers ruined as engineers ; in a word, all that 
 ludicrous disarrangement and seeming play at cross 
 purposes, in virtue of which, men, who would have 
 been borne, by a strong current, to the first place 
 in the profession for which nature designed them, 
 become dull and useless in another. A great part 
 
264 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 
 
 of the whole labour of instruction has thus been 
 worse than thrown away. It has been the hard 
 effort of poetic fiction, labouring the huge stone up 
 an acclivity, to see it recoil and hear it thunder 
 back again ; the effort to circumvent, and cross the 
 purposes of nature. 
 
 It seems to me to be among the most responsible 
 enquiries of a parent and conscientious instructor, 
 what pursuit or calling is indicated for his child by 
 his temperament and aptitude ? The boy, who, like 
 Pope, even in childhood lisps in numbers, because 
 the numbers come, will probably be found to have 
 not only an ear for the peculiar harmony of rhythm, 
 but an inventive mind, stored with images, and a 
 quick eye to catch the various phases of nature and 
 society. If placed under favourable circumstances, 
 and judicious training, this child will become a 
 poet, while ninety-nine in a hundred of those, who 
 make verses, could by no forcing of nature ever 
 rise higher than rhymers. Thus may be detected 
 the embryo germs of temperament, endowment 
 and character, which give the undeveloped promise 
 of the future orator, lawyer, mathematician, natu- 
 ralist, mechanician ; in a word, of the mind fitted 
 to attain distinction in any walk in society. I am 
 aware of the mistakes, which fond and doting 
 parents are likely to make, in interpreting an equi- 
 vocal, perhaps an accidental sally of the cherished 
 
 
THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 265 
 
 child, to be a sure proof of genius and endowment. 
 No judicious and intelligent parent will be in much 
 danger of being led astray by fondness so weak 
 and misguided. Wherever real talent exists, it 
 never fails to put forth continual indications. It is 
 the elastic vigour of nature working at the root, to 
 which no foolish partiality will be blind. 
 
 It is true, that nature, equally beneficent in what 
 she has granted, and what she has withheld, forms 
 the million for the common duties, and undistin- 
 guished employment ; stamps them at once with 
 a characteristic uniformity and variety ; and sends 
 them forth with specific adaptations, but not so 
 strongly marked, as not to be mistaken with com- 
 parative impunity. Hence the ordinary pursuits 
 and employments of life are conducted with general 
 success, notwithstanding these smaller mistakes 
 with regard to genius. 
 
 Not so in those rarer instances, where she has 
 seen fit to stamp the clear and strong impress of 
 peculiar endowment and aptitude, in which the 
 embryo poet, painter, mathematician, naturalist, 
 and orator are indicated by such unequivocal signs, 
 as cannot easily be overlooked, or mistaken by any 
 competent judge. Hence, in the biography of most 
 of those who have truly and greatly distinguished 
 themselves, we are informed that the most ordinary 
 people about them were perfectly aware of the 
 
266 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 
 
 harbingers of their future greatness. I am confi- 
 dent, that to keen and faithful observations, these 
 harbingers are as palpable in the germ, as in the 
 development. To mistake, in such a case, and not 
 only to withdraw the youthful aspirant from the 
 career to which nature beckons him, but to force 
 him into one, in which every effort must be rowing 
 against the stream, is to consign him to an 
 Egyptian bondage, a slavery of the soul, by which 
 many a spirit of firmer mould has been broken 
 down, and lost to society, and others worse than 
 lost, rendered the scourge and curse of all with 
 whom their lot was cast. 
 
 Such as have arrived at a maturity of reason and 
 years, so as to have the responsibility of the choice 
 of a profession cast upon themselves, will infer, 
 what are my views in regard to the first element 
 by which they ought to be directed. It involves 
 a previous question, for what pursuit or calling 
 their temperament, faculties and powers best fit 
 them ? By long and close observation, pursued 
 with a fidelity proportioned to its importance, by 
 intent study of themselves, as called out by the 
 changes of their health and prospects, the fluctua- 
 tions of their spirits, their collisions with society, 
 in all the contingencies that befall them, they can 
 scarcely fail to form some conception of the peculiar 
 cast of their powers, and the walk in life for which 
 
THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 267 
 
 their capabilities are best adapted. If they select 
 wisely in this respect, habit and time will certainly 
 render it the profession of their inclinations. 
 
 As soon as the mind begins to survey the pro- 
 fessions, in regard to the honours, emolument, and 
 success which they respectively offer, there is great 
 danger, lest imagination, taking the place of reason, 
 should look at the scene through a prism, and see 
 all the chances of an illusive brilliancy of promise, 
 which sober experience will be sure to disappoint. 
 There are the immense promises of the law, 
 alluring a crowd of aspirants and competitors, the 
 greater portion of whom must fail to realize their 
 expectations. There are the honours of the phy- 
 sician, binding him, by the strongest of all ties, to 
 the confidence and affection of the families that 
 employ him. He exercises the only profession that 
 does not depend upon the caprice of fashion, or the 
 vibrations of transient feeling. There is the min- 
 istry, with its time-honoured claims, its peculiar 
 title to be admitted to the privacy of affection* 
 sickness and death, and its paramount capability 
 of the highest forms of that only eloquence that 
 swells and softens the heart, by coming home to 
 men's business and bosoms. There is the varied 
 range, and the rapidly acquired fortunes of mer- 
 chandise and commerce ; the growing interest and 
 importance of the new portico to a new order of 
 
268 THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 
 
 nobility, manufactures. There is agriculture, 
 always seen to be the most satisfactory and useful 
 of employments, and now rapidly coming to be 
 viewed in the light of scientific investigation, and 
 of a liberal pursuit. To adjust and settle the re- 
 spective views, which the judgment and imagina- 
 tion will take of the chances of these various 
 pursuits, and their contiguity to love, marriage, 
 wealth and distinction, will be found to be no easy 
 task. Sometimes one view will predominate, 
 sometimes another ; and the mind appears like a 
 pendulum vibrating between them. 
 
 Reason presents one decisive view of the sub- 
 ject. All these chances, all these balances of 
 advantage and disadvantage, have long since settled 
 to their actual and natural level. If the law 
 presents more tempting baits, and more rich and 
 glittering prizes, over-crowded competition, heart- 
 wearing scramble, difficulty of rising above the 
 common level, into the sun and air of distinction, 
 are appended, as inevitable weights in the opposing 
 scale. The advantages and disadvantages of all 
 the professions are adjusted by the level of society, 
 exactly in the same way. He who is guided in 
 this enquiry by common sense, will comprehend at 
 a glance, that it is impossible, in the nature of 
 things, to combine all the advantages and evade 
 all the disadvantages of any one pursuit. No ex- 
 
THE CHOICE OF A PROFESSION. 269 
 
 pectation more irrational and disappointing can be 
 indulged, than to unite incompatible circumstances 
 of happiness. The enquirer must reflect, that such 
 a pursuit connects a series of fortunate chances ; 
 but there are the counterbalancing evils. Such 
 another has a different series of both. It is folly 
 to expect to form an amalgam of these immiscible 
 elements. Reason can expect no more than that 
 we unite in the calling, finally fixed upon, as many 
 fortunate circumstances as possible, and avoid, as 
 far as may be, its inconveniences and evils. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 tfAY, PRINTER, CANNON STREET, DOVER 
 
RECENTLY PUBLISHED 
 BY WILLIAM DARTON AND SON, 
 
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 MODERN HISTORY; 
 
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Recently Published by W. Barton and Son. 
 THE DIADEM: 
 
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 CHIEFLY MODERN. 
 
 32mo. Fancy Silk, gilt edges, Plates* 3s. 6d. 
 
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A SPLENDID PRINT OF 
 
 phew® 
 
 TREATY WITH THE INDIANS, 
 
 WHEN HE FOUNDED THE 
 
 PROVINCE OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 
 IN NORTH AMERICA; 
 
 1681: 
 
 AFTER THE ORIGINAL PICTURE BY BENJAMIN WEST, 
 
 BY THOMAS FAIRLAND : 
 
 Size, 25| Inches by 20 Inches. 
 
 NOTICES OF THE PRESS. 
 William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, — A lithographic 
 print, from the celebrated painting, by West, of the Treaty of Wil- 
 liam Penn, for the lands which are now comprised in the state of 
 Pennsylvania, has recently been published by Mr. Darton, of Holborn 
 Hill. The painting of West, which is one of the finest in the whole 
 world, and which in grouping expressions, and perfect keeping in all 
 its attributes, only has its equal in the Cartoons of Raphael, here is 
 seen lithographed in the finest style of the art. The benignity and wis- 
 dom of the countenance and manners of William Penn, and the feelings 
 almost of adoration which he is inspiring in the natives of the woods, 
 reads an invaluable lesson to the kings and conquerors of the earth. 
 That this is the proper way to conquer kingdoms, is the impression 
 which must instantly be forced upon the spectator of such a scene. We 
 hope that this print will meet with the sale which so superior a work of 
 art, and so instructive a design, deserves in an age when war and 
 slaughter are fast passing from amongst mankind. — Sunday Herald, 
 April 26, 1835. 
 
 William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, when he founded 
 the Province op Pennsylvania. William Darton and Son. 
 This is a copy of the celebrated picture by Benjamin West. It is 
 
 drawn on stone, and is one of the best specimens of lithography which 
 
have ever come under our notice. There is a softness about the whole 
 picture, and a distinctness and minute accuracy about the different 
 figures we have never seen equalled in any previous specimen of litho- 
 graphy, and which indeed may vie with many of the most approved 
 copper-plate engravings. It is a faithful copy of the great original, and 
 is on that account as well as the remarkable fineness of the work, enti- 
 tled to our warmest commendation. We shall be glad soon to see 
 another equally meritorious stone drawing from the pencil of Mr. Fair- 
 land, — Morning Advertiser, April 25, 1835. 
 
 William Penn's Treaty with the Indians, 1681. 
 William Darton and Son, London. 
 
 All West's Pictures have a distinguishing hardness and dryness; cor- 
 rect they certainly are, and sometimes highly effective ; but the above- 
 mentioned fault is perceptible in all. The original of this print is, like 
 the rest, assailable at this point. The print before us is exceedingly 
 soft and rich. The features of William Penn are marked by great 
 keenness, and are in strong contrast to the eager looks of the Indians 
 around. He looks as if he could overreach them. We always consi- 
 dered the forms of the native warriors in West's picture too full of 
 flesh. Constant exercise and occasional privation should render them 
 more spare and athletic. 
 
 The details of the picture are in West's best style. 
 
 The unfinished houses, marking the state of the infant colony— the 
 young Indians practising the bow — the ships in tbe distance — all convey 
 distinct ideas of the action. 
 
 The fixed gaze of the Indian is like his fellow in the " Death of 
 General Wolfe," who regards, with intense curiosity, the features of 
 the expiring General, anxious to see how. an European can die, 
 
 The manner in which the print has been lithographed is excellent. It 
 is in Fair! and 's best style. — True Sun, April 24, 1835. 
 
 Penn's Treaty with the Indians.— Darton and Son, Holborn 
 Hill, have just published a lithographic print from West's celebrated 
 picture of the Treaty made by William Penn with the Indians, when 
 he founded the Province of Pennsylvania in North America. It is one 
 of the finest specimens of the art of drawing on stone that has yet 
 appeared. It has all the firmness and clearness of an engraving on 
 copper or steel, with the softness and delicate shading of an oil- 
 painting. The foliage is peculiarly beautiful, and the varied expression 
 of the principal group is admirably conveyed. — Weekly Dispatch, 
 April 26, 1835. 
 
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