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THE
LIFE AND OPINIONS
OF
SIR. RICHARD MALTRAVERS,
AN
E N G L IS H G E N T L E M A N
OF
THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
We defy Augury; there is a special Providence in the Fall of a Sparrow. If
it be now, 'tis not to come ; if it be not to come, it will be now ; if it be
not now, yet it will come : the Readiness is all : Since no Man knows aught
of what he leaves, what is't to leave betimes?—Shakespeare.
IN TWO VOL UMES.
— Q-
V O L. I.
LONDON:
I’RINTED FOR G. AND W. B. WHITTAKER,
AVE-MAIRIA-LAN.E.
1822.
L O N-D O N ?
PRINTEn By Cox AND BAyrīš, GREAT GURiºn STREET.
THE
LIFE AND OPINIONS
Ol'
SIR RICHARD MALTRAVERS.
-
CHAP. I.
THE dignity of the Historic Muse cannot be
violated, in giving to the world private annals,
when the subject she treats of is connected
with the public interests, and when the re-
flections which arise from casual occurrences
are handled with that gravity, which is so
becoming in those who have turned their
thoughts to the higher concernments of
mankind.
The accidents of my life may have been
few, and, in the opinion of some, considered
VOL, ſ. B
2
as even trivial; but the period at which I
have lived, and the train of thought which
that epoch has left in my mind, may serve for
my apology in taking up the pen, to set down
such passages and opinions as I think may
amuse others; and I trust that they may not
prove ungrateful to those, who conceive that
we ought to take a higher interest in our
existence, than the unprofitable office of
merely burning out its lamp. -
In truth, much as I have lived among men,
yet I have communed more with myself; and
I am bold enough to aver, that self-reverence,
not vanity, hath been the main spring of my
conduct. Let these two motives not be con-
founded. Self-reverence may be wrapt up in
pride, but she is decorous; she holds to the
doctrine of moral fitness; she is not often
descried by vulgar eyes;–whereas vanity can
exist only in a crowd; every one stares at
her, for she wears a cap and bells, and often
deserves Bedlam. . . . . . . . .
In good earnest, methinks every man re-
ceives his impulse, and takes his original de-
parture, in the same sort that a tennis-ball
3
doth from a racket: some are impelled for-
ward by a vigorous arm, and then the ball
bounds over the mark; others, too feebly
driven, fall short; the direction of one is not
straight, it bounds from the wall; and diverges
across the court; that of another towers into
the air, and then falls to the ground.” What
would have been the case of these balls, had
they lain unmoved? Was it their will or desire
that drove them here and there 2 Thus it is
with man : from his first impulse, to the mo-
ment when motion ceases to agitate his
frame—he has been driven in one direction—
a direction that his individual power could not
have changed, because there were many powers
greater than his which impelled him : he was
pushed from one step to another in this man-
ner, and every step was connected as closely
as the links of a chain. When we treat
therefore, of the life of any individual, or the
history of any people, we merely make a sort
of sketch of the direction that they have
taken. We often mistake their modes of ex-
istence for their motives of action, and attri-
bute to wisdom or folly, virtue or vice, that
B 2
4.
effect which resulted from the eternal series
of successive causes. Glorious them, in the
eyes of the admiring world, is that man,
whose original direction hath been such, that
he hath appeared to triumph over obstacles;
when he hath gained those things coveted
by his fellows; but more glorious, in the eyes
of the chosen few on whom intelligence hath
alighted, is he, who in despite of adverse for-
tunes and inevitable fate, hath maintained a
constant and equal mind. . * * . . . .';
Penetrated with the truth of these notions,
and addicted to the philosophy of the stoics, I
presume no more than to trace cause and
effect; and I deprecate any evil construction
that may officiously be cast upon my opinions.
I was born in the West of England, in
the latter period of King James the First’s
reign. My ancestors were among those bold
men, who for centuries had established and
maintained the best political institutions of
any nation, that in modern times hath been
formed out of that cumbrous Gothic em-
pire, which sprang from the chaos of the
ruins of what, by a peculiarity of phrase, we
5
term antiquity. My family fixed themselves
in England, at the Norman conquest, by the
Sword; having been copartners in that great
enterprize with William, in conjunction with
other Norman nobility and gentry. This
point was not inaptly enforced a century after-
wards by the Earl Warrene, who well, ob-
served, “ that the gentlemen of England
were not the vassals of the Duke of Normandy,
but comrades in that great undertaking ; and
that, therefore, they did not forego their an-
cient rights in their new settlement.” Hence
arose that rare principle, in our government,
which constitutes a real division of power—
one great fundamental of freedom. In this in-
stance, was most happily grafted the military
energy of the Norman, upon the free Saxon
institutions and habits; combining the grace-
ful chivalry of the knights of Neustria with
the sturdy honesty of the yeomen of the hep-
tarchy. As far therefore, as England hath
borrowed people from other soils, to multiply
on and cultivate her own, she hath been
eminently happy in the choice: for she hath
united two races of men, the French and the
B 3
6
German ; who, though various as to their
characteristics, yet each possessing great and
estimable qualities; and both, when blended
together, as they now are, forming a people
useful to the human race in peace, and as
great in war. It may be said of the British
people now, that their character is formed to
correct the extremes of the too lively impetu-
osity of the French, and the too slow caution
of the German. Their position also being
that of islands, hath been most happy, be-
cause their cradle being planted by nature in
the boisterous ocean of the north, no med-
dling neighbours can come with promptitude
and ease to disturb, their civil polity; and as
they have been thus early cut off from the
contact and contagion of despotism abroad, so
their rulers, aloof from foreign aid, have been
generally compelled to consider themselvs
more amenable to justice; and England hath
flourished from her having considered her
'kings rather as leaders in war, and magistrates
in peace, than as proprietary masters. In fact,
the freedom of our country hath not been the
gift of kings: it arosc from the hardihood and
7
virtue of her old iron-cased Barons. Those
illustrious men were never led astray by any
flitting phantom, such as the mere emulation
of the empty word of liberty (in truth an ignis
fatuus), because it had been pronounced by
an old Greek or Roman mouth. No delusive
vision of an imaginary republic inflated their
hearts, or, bewildered their brain; but they
knew their rights, they felt their station, and
they possessed . courage to maintain both.
Often they matched themselves in the field
against their Sovereign. When they over-
came him, his concessions confessed their suc-
cess and their rights; when he gained the day,
they perished sullenly on the scaffold—which
is only another field of battle, sealing with
their noble blood their devotion to the public
welfare. We may proudly exclaim, that if
England hath been fruitful in tyrants, she
hath also been fruitful in deliverers. The
apologists of arbitrary power have sometimes
affected to represent our ancestors as rude
and umpolished barbarians: but I cannot bring
myself to think that the authors of so many
wise laws, so many excellent institutions—men
B 4
8
who have shone with such splendour in the
field, both at home in the sacred cause of
their rights, and abroad in defence of the
national honour—were not as distinguished
for their judgment, as they were eminent for
their virtue. * -
I esteem it to be my highest fortune to
have belonged to this race of men, and have
considered that the notions that I have imbibed
from that consideration alone, have given me
that direction into which the fates had pleased
to cast my destiny: for I was bred in the no-
tions with which the recollection of our his—
tory furnished me. Fortunate also, let me
esteem myself, in having had preserved for
my enjoyment their old possessions; although
my ancestors never stood neuter in the civil
broils and foreign wars which for six centu-
ries have agitated England, and purified like a
a running stream the British race ; which
have so often in dire revolutions displayed to the
world their manly virtues, the recollections
of which are our best inheritance; precepts
and examples which must shine like a beacon,
to enlighten and guide the latest posterity.
2’
9
The traditional accounts of our individual
family represent them as a race robust and hale
of body, cholerie, frank, and brave in disposi-
tion : in a word, their heads were clear, their
hearts were stout, and their arms were strong:
To attend the summons of the Crown they
felt to be their first duty, whenever they were
to march to foreign war; and they often-mort-
gaged their estates to appear with splendour
in that field, which they as often bedeved
with their blood. Indulging my fancy, I
could imagine that I could describe their de-
parture for war. We might behold the tears
of the ladies glistening through their dishe-
velled hair, accompanied by all the passion
of the most endearing lamentation ; contrast-
ed with the clang of arms, and the soul-stir-
ring bustle of preparation. We might fancy
that we witnessed the joyous alacrity of the
knights, esquires, and yeomen; the pride and
emulation of the vassals, delighted at any
movement which was likely to break in upon
the dull monotony of ordinary life. To take
the field in a Social feud might have had an-
other aspect: in this case every, proceeding
| 0
must have been masked, every step must have
been concealed ; the midnight council, the
mysterious beacon glimmering upon various
heights; the rapid succession of quick and
indefatigable messengers, the closed gates,
warm professions of friendship to rival chiefs,
artful promises and fallacious hopes, testified
the doubt and danger of the enterprize. We
1must admit that the old Barons were often
what would be called in modern, courtly
phrase, factious; but they secured, our liber-
ties by dealing many a blow in the baronial
and regal quarrels for privilege and preroga-
tive ; and their banners waved defiance to the
Crown in England, as often as they floated in
its train in France.
They resided much in their castles; they
hunted, they hawked, they caroused, they
gamed, they danced, they drank; they some-
times farmed, for many of the old Barons un-
dertook at their own charge magnificentworks,
cleared encumbering forests, and drained
vast marshes; they vexed and harassed their
tenants, whom they reconciled by treating
them for whole days at Christmas in the hall ;
| 1
and their indiscriminate hospitality, carried to
the utmost excess, accompanied by an open,
noble, courteous manner, made their very
tyranny to be overlooked, and their foibles
winked at by the Clergy. They revelled
among the opulent yeomen, making them
pay for their protection. Frequently they
broke a lance in earnest; and many a rival in
power or in love has sunk under their prowess
into a premature grave.
Thus we may trace the principle of chi-
valry to its birth: it sprang from a division
of power and clashing interests; for collision
is as necessary to produce virtue in men, as
it is to elicit fire in inanimate matter; and
chivalry is the essence of virtue. }
13
CHAP. II.
My father was born towards the commence-
ment of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, and
was educated in the height of the principles
of those good old times. Our family having
always taken the popular side in all political
contests, were, consequently, in favour at the
court of that Queen: , certainly the wisest
and greatest monarch that ever sat on the
English throne; and by her example and
policy, one of the greatest benefactresses of
the human race,—whatever her detractors
may pretend, who are to be found among the
apologists for the Stuarts, and are, neces-
sarily, the partizans of tyranny. But the
common consent of all reasonable men allow
that one of Elizabeth's greatest merits was,
that she had penetration enough to discover
14
—a rare secret, generally concealed from the
dim eyes of most sovereigns—that the dig-
nity, and happiness, and prosperity of their
people, are the principal ingredients of their
own power. This secret, however, is almost
as recondite in courts as the philosopher’s
stone, and probably will be discovered as
SOOIl.
My father would often plume himself upon
his appearance in the world at this period,
which he considered as an auspicious era ;
when much of the romance of chivalry re-
mained without its extravagance, and a high
state of civility existed, unripened as yet into
corruption of morals. . It was also an age of
learning : which some might call pedantry;
but, after the long fast of the human mind, it
swallowed with so voracious an appetite all
that was presented to it, that no wonder that
it should have appeared to have been cloyed,
and that it should frequently have received
more than it could have been able to have
digested. But great philosophers have since
flourished, and have reduced this chaos of
information into some mould, scientifically
15
arranged; and we now, see landmarks ...in
the boundless ocean of science and philo-
sophy. Let us revere the memory of such
skilful pilots.” I fear that both our morals
and our manners, may have deteriorated since
that period ; I fear that which, is termed por
liteness, conventions of Society, phrases that
are courtly and common-place communica-
tions of men, have softened down our enerr
gies, and may have in some measure destroy-
ed our honesty and affected the dignity of our
character. A ready excuse is now found for
every laxity, and the distinction between
right and wrong is too feebly marked : par-
ticularly with regard to those who may in
some sort be invested with power or authority
in the State.
In that age my father was educated. He
took in his full share of instruction; his san-
guine melancholy disposition, his adust com-
plexion, led him to converse more fondly
with books than with men. He was of a
* Lord Herbert, of Cherbery; Thomas Hobbes, the philo-
sopher of Malmesbury; Lord Bacon,
16
temper too independent to be a courtier : he
was too full of abstract notions of virtue to
be a successful politician, and his manners
were too punctilious for general Society; for
even in that day he had been accounted to be
more addicted to duels than became a man
of his gravity. However, having found most
happily a great and distinguished lady, in all
respects perfectly agreeable to his humour
and disposition, graced with every accom-
plishment that can soften the ills of our con-
dition and relieve the tediousness of our ex-
istence, he retired with her to his paternal
domains, where he delighted in country
sports, in books, and in the converse of a few
friends of probity and learning. This life he
led with as much dignity, and enjoyed with as
much tranquil pleasure as ever fell to the lot
of the most polite of the ancients; and his de-
light can only be understood by those formed
after the models of true taste and refinement,
But such a state of sweet solace was only
fleeting. My mother, in the prime and pride
of life, in the meridian hour of beauty, in the
happiest age of joy and fancy, was snatched
17
from him and from her infant family, to cre-
ate a blank, which never during his ex-
istence he could again fill up. Could such
a man fly to a second marriage for refuge 2
for I have often heard him hold these sen-
timents upon that subject. He would ex-
claim with warmth, and even with Some de-
gree of indignation, “a second marriage,
when there are children by the first, is
a dreadful catastrophe; it is generally the
most unhappy, and often the most fatal cala-
mity that can fall upon a family; no ill, no
misfortune, that can visit the heads of such
devoted offspring in after-life, can come into
competition with the dire and heart-suffocat-
ing grief that they must feel from such a rash
step of their father. What in their helpless
and innocent infancy, are they to be compen-
sated and comforted for their heavy loss by
a stranger, who occupies that place which
the tender source of their existence hath
left 2 What a dismal contrast ! The void is
filled up, then, by one who naturally must
root out the earliest and tenderest affections
of their father towards them, and must ne-
VOL. I. C
18
cessarily overspread their hearts with a cold
morbid despair—the despair of retaining their
remaining parent’s love, and even duty. They
are to feel, that the loss of one parent is to
be compensated for by the daily estrange-
ment of the affections of the other; and, by
the introduction of an intruder, whom, ac-
cording to all the rules of nature, must, at
best, be their secret enemy Life’s best joys,
the relation between parent and child, are
nipped in the bud; and while their orphan
solitude is haunted by the tenderest recollec-
tions of their tenderest parent, their afflicted
hearts are harrowed up by two of the most
conflicting passions, duty and repugnance,
and the keenest sorrow at the heart-rending
sensation of misplaced, or ill-returned affec-
tions; they daily view base selfish interest
worming them out of their own warm and
joyous nest.” Thus would he express him-
self, for the essence of his feelings were those
of justice. 3.
There is nothing worthy of remark in
my earlier education; but, as I advanced
towards a state of manhood, it took a turn
19
which tended to confirm the romantic dispo-
sition I had in some sort inherited. I had
been much abandoned to my own intent lu-
cubrations. And here let me observe how
much solitude purifies and exalts the soul;
of what advantage it is to the dignity of
man; how much it tends to familiarize it
with the contact of death, which is the
surest mode of passing life with uncompro-
mising dignity : the mind, turning upon its
own axis, revolving within itself, forms not
only a truer estimate of its own power, but
acquires that elasticity, which will enable it
to bound, afterwards, over the greatest dif-
ficulties; but, if difficulties it cannot conquer,
it vanquishes its own weaknesses and vain de-
sires, and reduces the number and variety of
its wishes and wants. It is in solitude that
great principles are first understood and
adopted, and the habit of contemplating them
will aſterwards give the habit of adhering to
them ; for, in proportion as men are social,
it is, as with gregarious animals, they lose
much of their original force.
The system of my education mainly lay
C 2
20
in the habit of deep and continual reflection.
My acquirements were but few ; some ge-
neral maxims, stored up in my thoughts in
apposite aphorisms, the first principles of
things original, and a rapid view of general
history, constituted my whole stock. But
these sketches were fixed in my mind by a
master’s hand, and a walk in company with
my revered father, afforded me opportunities
of receiving divine and eternal truths, such
as fell from the hallowed lips of the old Greek
philosophers. I entered, however, at Oxford,
with an ignorance of classical learning that
would have put any other to the blush; but I
felt that I had a compensation for this de-
ſect, nor did I profit much by the instruction
which I there received; my mind was of
a cast, which comprehended essences ra-
ther than modes; the latter, indeed, I have
ever neglected, unless they led to some great
or immediate result. The mere acquisition
of any language not my own afforded me little
or no gratification. It interested me but little
to be in possession of the medium of the
communication of the thoughts of other na-
21
tions, for how futile the nice criticisms of
grammarians appear; why waste those pre-
cious hours, which may be employed with
more utility to the human race, in perpetu-
ally dwelling upon the rules applicable to
various idioms. It is true that the ancient
languages, properly so called, contain much
philosophy, and many sublime sentiments,
and so far they are valuable, if we acquire
enough of them to inhale those sentiments
which they cxpress; then we suck the honey,
and nought but the flower remains: for words
are, in fact, but a sort of husks. It was not
that the languages of the Grcelºs and Romans
were intrinsically beautiful, but their thoughts
were sublime, their philosophy profound,
their conduct exalted, and their deeds heroic ;
and their language, according to the system
of harmony that prevails, bore its affinity.
Language, then, is a faithful portrait of the
people who use it. Thus, the modulation of
the voice, which is produced from a peculiar
organ, the accents of syllables, the harmony
or discord of words, the brevity or the cir-
cumlocution of phrase, the rapidity of enun-
C 3
22
ciation, depend upon the character, circum-
stances and occupation, and situation of each
particular nation.
The great science of history pleased me
more ; there, as in a mirror, we view the
workings of the passions, we trace the
springs and combinations of our moral and
physical qualities; as, in the study of the
exact sciences, we discover the immutable
laws of things by our pure intelligence, so in
the moral world we see that part of the cro-
ation in which there is the greater play ; still
reduced, however, to certain laws, such as
causation, direction, and harmony. By these
studies I strove to keep my mind as free
as possible from the pressure of external
circumstances. I obscrved that, however,
men had, from the beginning of the world,
endeavoured to blink the great question of
necessity, still the majority had decided with
the stoics, and that every positive religion,
and every system of philosophy, had pro-
pounded that doctrine; indecd, most of them
had done more, and had maintained it in
one shape or other. Nor can I forego my
23
admiration of those who have the firm-
ness of mind to entertain this great and
eternal truth, and the boldness to avow a
dogma which carries with it so many consola-
tions: for it checks the swellings of pride,
and dissipates the sighs of despair; it dries
up the tears of Sorrow, and perpetually pre-
sents to our longing sight Hope. She, who
is decked out in never-fading colours; she,
who sits upon the warrior's crest, and beside
the captive in his dismal cell; she, who ever
accompanies the weary steps of the slave,
and who lulls all to balmy repose, saving for-
tune's fools: she is, indeed, the first-born
offspring of our reason |
CHAP. III.
THE period had now arrived when,
having completed my studies, it was deter-
mined that I should quit the University. My
father was anxious to send me into France,
in order to reside there for some time ;
trusting fully to my discretion in so govern-
ing myself, that I might profit by a near
view into the character and habits of our
neighbours. Accordingly I took ship, and
passed over from Southampton into Nor-
mandy; from thence I proceeded on horse-
back to Paris. I rode, like the gallants of
that day, with a hawk upon my wrist, fol-
lowed by a brace of spaniels. I think it was
upon the afternoon of the third day after
landing, that, riding along the stubble, and
whistling to my dogs, I met a gallant party
26
of cavaliers and ladies who were hawking ;
one of the former galloping up to me, and
saluting me most courteously, invited me to
repose myself that evening at his castle,
which was then in view. This was the Mar-
quis de Vieuville, a gallant French gentle-
man, who, afterwards, during the Civil Wars,
attended the Queen into England, upon her
return from Holland, and who was killed at
an affair between the King’s and the Earl of
Essex’s horse, near Hungerford, after the
raising the siege of Gloucester. I was de-
lighted with the company, and the hospitable
reception they gave me. Here I observed
the ancient gallantry of France, and I could
well imagine with what lustre it had shone
for ages. The generous and frank impe-
tuosity of the men, and the romantic conver-
sation of the ladies, possessed great charms
for me, and displayed the effect of centuries
of generous chivalry. The ladies were well
versed in all the fine passages of their own
history, especially those that related to the
memories of great men, of their feuds, and
the warlike deeds that arose from them.
27
They sung romances of the old times; and I
could easily perceive, that the gallantry of
the ancient gentlemen of France was excited
by the delightful enthusiasm of the women.
The despotism of their Kings was somewhat
neutralized by their spirit of party, and their
high sense of honour; whenever their coun-
try or their opinions were attacked, they all
sprang on horseback in a moment, and rushed
with ardour to the field, brilliant from their
harness, and their white plumes waving in
the air, which they rent with their shouts,
passing life’s threshold with extatic joy.
The Cardinal de Richelieu, under the cha-
racter of prime minister, then reigned, with
great authority ; that crafty priest, true to
his vocation, had determined to make the
crown absolute. He began by Sapping the
power and influence of the nobility and gen-
try, by calling them all from the provinces
to the court. By this stroke of policy they
became impoverished in their fortunes, and
were soon alienated from their tenants and
followers; to mend their broken fortunes, they
were to become the menials of the Sovereign ;
28
or, without any consideration of their per-
sonal merit, they were to fill the offices of
state : for, in most countries, the power or
influence of the crown is generally the first
object, and the service of the public is the
second. This scheme had been borrowed
from Spain, where it had been successfully
practised by another priest, Cardinal Ximenes,
one of the most notable apostles of tyranny
that Europe had then seen.
The noble spirit of chivalry was crushed
in Spain by Ximenes, and in France by
Richelieu; this spirit had sprung from the
feudal system, which had preserved the li-
berty of Europe during the middle ages, and
had checked the desolating sway of despotic
power and military conquest, which must in-
variably take effect, when the people and the
crown come into contact. The people and
crown in contact P what elements of con-
fusion, oppression, and darkness arise ! Hence
the wisdom of the right of primogeniture,
and from this right is established a principle
of stability, which maintains the permanent
existence of institutions. ! . . .
29
Upon my arrival in Paris, I met with the
same courteous reception as in Normandy,
where I had tarried six weeks on different
visits. As I had a turn for manly sports and
exercise, which were then much in vogue, I
did not incommode the company I fell into.
I had now a respite from study and reflec-
tion : fencing and the manége were my morn-
ing pursuits, as the evening one was the
dance. Possibly I could have visited France
at no period at which the nobility shone with
more lustre than in the time of Louis XIII. :
their haughty spirit, fresh from their domains
and their feuds, was not yet broken down by
the weight of the golden chains of court and
ministerial servitude; excessive pageantry
was not then come into fashion, and the in-
eptitude of mind that always accompanies it.
The mimic war of the lists and the chase
cherished old recollections and kept up old
habits: a refined gallantry prevailed. l con-
fess that my heart panted with delight, for
every object was fresh and new. The Place
de Carousel often heard the trumpets sound,
to call, the great names of France, to display
30
their skill in horsemanship, and their address
in poising with a steady hand the ponderous
justing lance. The forests of Versailles,
Vincennes, and St. Germains echoed to the
hound and horn. The dance and the midnight
revel banished the slumber of the morning
fatigue. Sometimes Cupid shot his arrows
athwart the state and dignity that encom-
passed the high dames, who smiled upon the
last days of the ancient chivalry of France.
Concentrated within myself, my views
bounded by the horizon of the surrounding
scene, my father and England daily grew
fainter and fainter in my recollection. The
spring-tide of my life was about to pass in
scenes that could leave no trace behind, ex-
cept that of regret at the improbability of
their renewal; which is the case of all de-
lights that spring from the sensations only.
Those scenes that give us present pain, give
us upon, the recollection after-pleasure, and
with others the reverse. I was ardently fol-
lowing the chase on a plain beyond St. Ger-
mains, under the electrifying beam of a noon-
tide sun, conquering for the moment, more
31.
tender sympathies which had invaded my
breast and sunk deep into my heart on the
preceding evening’s mask; while urging
my horse, I was stopped by a messenger from
England : he gave me shortly the sad tidings
of my father's illness, which he said was dan-
gerous in the extreme. The chill of instan-
taneous grief rendered every nerve rigid,
and a sensation of horror gave to my eyes a
lurid stare. Youthful energy in a moment
afterwards banished these feelings. I bad, the
messenger measure back his steps; I fol-
lowed : love, duty, regret, even a sort of
self-conviction of neglect quickened my
heel, and the galled jades spurred on, seemed
to lose their stiffness. Not many hours
(though the night intervened) brought me to
the sea-coast : I sprang on board a fishing-
boat. Sorrow and fatigue overcame my wea-
ried frame, and the howling of the southern
gale lulled me into a feverish and broken.
sleep. Oppressed, chilled, and unsightly, I
landed; and as soon as my saddle could be
thrown on a horse's back, I stretched my way.
for one of the most champaign of the western
32
counties. It was past midday in December
when I came in sight of my father's house :
the last time that I had crossed the rich and
extensive plain that lay to the southward of
it, was in the midst of harvest; the jocund
countrymen were driving their teems over
the crackling stubble, their wains groaning
under Ceres’ choicest fruits; the birds were
on the wing, and the towering falcons were
pouncing on their quarry. All was gay,
bright, and joyous ; my father, in the vi-
gour of mature manhood, looked like the
presiding genius of the place. All seemed to
bow to him, and were attracted to him as to
a common centre. But now I strode over
those same fields fallow and dreary; the hoar
frost had crisped the ground, benumbing all
who were passing. The sharp north blast
had completed the desolation by driving the
flocks and herds to shelter. Alone, unmeet-
ing and unmet, I entered the death-struck
mansion ; my wandering unfixed eye ob-
served not the sable garb of the dejected
household. I rushed into the hall; a gor-
geous bier arrested my faltering steps; the
33
pride and vanity of woe sat on the counte-
nances of all around. The reality of it shi-
vered my heart. My drooping jaw refused
its aid to my faltering tongue; my fixed and
glassy eyes retreated far back in their sockets:
tears scorned to loosen the stiffened muscles
of my ghastly visage. My heart ceased beat-
ing, and nature seemed to arrest all her
movements, saving the fearful consciousness
of existence." A stupifying languor came
over me for some time; a starting sleep, fre-
quently interrupted by agonizing dreams, at
length terminated in a fever. Alternate debi-
lity and delirium filled up the space of many
days more ; and a long and slow recovery
gave me ample time to meditate upon the
new state into which I was thrown : the least
appalling view of which was, that the bar-
rier between me and death was now broken
down. ‘. . . .
WOL. I. |D
CHAP. IV.
THERE are certain periods in our lives,
when we are forced by the pressure of ex-
ternal circumstances into the deepest medi-
tation. After the electrifying shock that I had
just received, my thoughts took a new turn,
and my disposition another character; Death !
in all the variety of views in which mankind
had contemplated him, forced himself upon
my most unremitting attention. Is the hour in
which he seizes us with his icy hand fixed from
our birth P Will death cause the dissolution of
our frame only:—or is our spirit to be quench-
ed also? If death, and the hour in which he
visits us, are alike inevitable, is not every
other contingency of our existence inevitable
also And where and what is our conscience?
Can she look forward, and backward, and
D 2
36
ransack the most Secret corners of our hearts,
and yet neither impede nor direct our march?
Is conscience, then, only a mirror, in which
we pass in review all that we perceive, think,
and feel? Are those elements, which appear
to our sensations to compose the universe,
power, matter, space, and time, alone the
component parts of it? and is there no pre-
siding spirit, to stretch out its arms, to move,
to connect and to harmonize the whole, of
which these are only properties
Yes, death is inevitable, and his hour is
inevitably fixed : when that hath struck we
must depart. Our experience proves the
first to us, our reasoning faculties the second :
for death comes not without a cause, and that
cause was produced by another; and so on,
in perpetual succession, up to the moment of
our birth. If, then, his hour was not fixed,
and by this means ascertained, the chain of
causes would be broken somewhere or other;
and if the chain be once broken, then we
must deny the existence of causes altogether:
for incidents would then lose the character of
causes. Because, if causes exist, they must be
37
linked together in one chain ; and if so, then
their effects are inevitable. The last link of
this chain is fixed to the throne of the great,
Almighty Cause of causes. He, being their
author, must foresee their consequences;
and, if they were interrupted, or their chain
broken, his prescience would be destroyed,
because then he could neither foresee nor
foreknow. His prescience is not the cause of
things and events occurring, but a proof
that if they have occurred, they must have
occurred ; therefore the hour of our death is
fixed. *
Yes, I exclaimed again, the barrier is
broken down, and I stand now in the first
ranks. What compensation hath my father
had, for he hath had his share of ills 2 was this
last, this inevitable blow, not premature?—his
compensation must be immortality. Why?
Because we perceive the fundamental princi-
ples of justice in all dispensations; at least
we must conclude them to be just, because
they have taken place; and the fundamental
principles of justice would be overturned if
we were utterly and finally extinguished,
D 3
38
after the imperfect glimpse that we have en-
joyed of a part of the creation only. Those
who can conceive or conclude immortality
must enjoy it, or there would be a flagrant
piece of injustice committed upon them.
They would have been furnished with a super-
fluous faculty, that of concluding immorta-
lity; and we neither know nor see any super-
fluous faculty thrown away upon man, or
any such attached by nature in general to its
works: and why should we have one thrown
away upon us, in the highest object of our
concernment? Because immortality is rela-
tive to our present state: the same advantage
that our existence was to the antecedent state
of non-existence.
What relief is there for a troubled spirit,
equal to that of taking an excursive flight into
the boundless regions of moral philosophy, -
soaring on Seraphic wings, and seizing a
nearer. view of the busy Fates, whilst they
are weaving the various web of life? They
allow of no impertinent intrusion ; undis-
turbed by our clamour, they hearken not to
our lamentations; they are unmoved by our
39
prayers; they are not melted by our tears;
they scoff at our exultation, well knowing
how short-lived it will be. Conqueror or
monarch, down he comes tumbling in a mo-
ment, and rots beside the beggar and the
slave, furnishing a compensation ºfcr the
insolence of selfishness, and vanity, and op-
pressive greatness! Poet or philosopher, dis-
ease, poverty, age, disappointment, contume-
ly, neglect, cause either to look to the grave
for refuge. Dark and terrible, as it appears,
it is our best haven ; to fear it is a sign of
ignorance and weakness, who are twin sis-
ters. They only give it all its terrors, sitting,
like "hideous sprites, in their black shrouds,
on either side of it;-drive, them away, and
the grave appears then to be but a stately
bed, on which we shall repose in the pro-
foundest sleep, refreshing us after our irksome
and fretful day. . And why should we not
expect to awaken again?.. But when, where,
and how, is beyond our mortal ken. Let us,
then, chase away the ugly, witches, Fear and
Ignorance, that only dance in our troubled
sight at twilight; when they have disap-
D 4
40
peared, the terrors of the passage of life's
threshold will vanish ; for when we take
ship, and leave our native coast on, some
new adventure, parents, children, friends,
love, wealth, fame, all left on the receding
shore, soon fade in our sight, new objects
springing up around us, weaken the impres-
sion of them in our memories. • *
As time rolls on, we read daily a leaf in the
dark book of Fate; but day by day only the
Almighty Guardian of this tremendous vo-
lume unfolds a leaf: whilst Man, in the inep-
titude of his presumption and his folly, as-
sumes to be the director of events. How
often is he struck aghast, and motionless, by
a train of supreme decrees, which he can no
more model or account for, than he can
grasp in his hand the flitting phantoms of his
brain, which vanish in dark oblivion | Sus-
pended between light and darkness, consci-
ence is his only property here; as in a mirror
he views his soul, he blushes within him-
self, sometimes with pride, sometimes from
shame, he plunges into errors which he can-
not avoid; he sails down the full tide of
41
fortune, for which he cannot account. Like
unto a sere beech-leaf, in autumn, over-
hanging some swelling flood, a puff of wind
precipitates it into the stream below ; just
so Man, at his birth, was cast into the
stream of life; now the leaf is about to be
swallowed up by the whirlpool; there it nar-
rowly escapes; there it is stopped by a pro-
jecting rock—now it floats rapidly down the
tide; here it, at last, is arrested in its pro-
gress by a twig, and sinks; possibly it may
have floated a few yards. Such is the picture
of our lives, and such the result of our expe-
rience, to feel how powerless we are, to dis-
cover the distinction between our wishes and
our will, and never to fear death, because it
is inevitable. Yet we never cherish these
eternal truths; and we pass our lives, panting,
expecting, and hoping; always fancying there
is uncertainty in all human affairs when there
is certainty, and being never thoroughly
persuaded of that which is capable of de-
monstration ; if causes exist, then they be-
get necessity.
43
CHAP. W.
THE variety of surrounding objects, re-
peated excitements, and the necessity of per-
sonal exertion, tended to alleviate, and by
degrees to dissipate my grief; as soon,
therefore, as I was so far recovered as to
form a just estimate of my situation, I could
not forbear to return my most grateful thanks
to Providence for the direction that it had
given me, and the line on which I had been
placed. My lot was, indeed, one of the most
desirable: I was connected by blood and the
soil with a great and flourishing nation,
wherein juster ideas of freedom had been en-
tertained than in any modern state that tra-
vellers had visited. At an early age, and by
no exertion of my own, I was placed at the
head of a large fortune, and of an ancient
44
and illustrious house ; that which is the re-
ward of the long toil and merit of others, I
possessed by anticipation. I could not but
indulge in these notions, and take a general
view of them. In drawing a comparison be-
tween the people of England and those of
other countries, we find that the English
concentrate all their views of wealth and
high stations in life, in territorial possessions.
Foreigners place their chief enjoyment in the
society and amusements of cities. From the
highest to the lowest in rank in England,
such is their bent : from the general, the
minister, the lawyer, to the lowest practi.
tioner of the lowest trade in the meanest
town in the country, all look forward, as if to
a paradise, to the enjoyment of the possession
of land : to the privileges that it confers, and
the gratifications that it affords, rather than
to the profit that it yields. This they pro-
pose to themselves in the evening of their
days; and the shortness of the time allotted
to them for enjoyment is compensated by
the prospect that it will be prolonged in the
possession of their posterity. And thus we
45
may conclude, that although our popular
institutions make us, social in public life, yet,
nevertheless, our inveterate habits , make us
feudal in our domestic life; and this senti-
ment is spread over the whole people, de-
scending through all ranks to the peasant.
In such a station as that which the proprie-
tors of the soil in England enjoy, a vast
circle of gratifications comes within their
reach; among its first pleasures, are the con-
stant habits of domestic society, by which
means families are reared up in virtue and
morality. Generosity hath its full flow in
courteous hospitality and charity; then fol-
low exhilirating exercises, useful avocations,
social duties, civic honours; the pleasures of
the chace dissipate monotony, and render the
youth bold and hardy. Agriculture, the most
important duty of man, since it is the key-
stone of the Social fabric, opens the most ex-
tensive field for the contemplation of experi-
mental and moral philosophy: it is the basis of
the wealth and power of nations, inasmuch as
the soil is emphatically the country, and the
possessors and cultivators of it emphatically
46
the people. They form the groundwork upon
which the manufacturer, the merchant, the
mechanic, and the artisan, of every deno-
mination, and every other class in the com-
munity, build their fortunes. Thus damaging
this foundation of society by any line of po-
licy, thus disturbing this basis, by any crude
schemes of government, or by the wily am-
bition or corruption of rulers, amounts to
the crime of parricide committed against our
mother earth, which ought to be resented as
such by all her children who derive their
nutriment from sucking at her breasts. In a
moral point of view, the life of the agricul-
turist is the most pure and holy of any class'
of men : pure, because it is the most health-
ful, and vice can hardly find time to conta-
minate it; and holy, because it brings the
Deity perpetually before his view, giving him
thereby the most exalted notions of supreme
power, and the most fascinating and endearing
view of universal benignity.” The manufac-
turer, pent up in a wretched abode, working
perpetually upon productions which spring
not immediately from the lap of nature,
47
hath only to contemplate his own ingenuity
and activity; he is surrounded and stimu-
lated often by the worst passions ; and if he
has a religious turn, the most gloomy and
irritating fanaticism invades his heart; his
body is daily enfeebled, his mind narrowed and
disturbed. The agriculturist, on the contrary,
views the Deity in his works; he contemplates
the divine, economy in the arrangement of
the seasons; and he hails Nature immedi-
ately presiding over every object that strikes
his eyes; he witnesses many of her great and
beauteous operations, and her reproductive
faculties; his heart insensibly expands, from
his minute acquaintance with multifarious ob-
jects, all in themselves original ; whilst that
degree of retirement in which he is placed
from the bustling haunts of mankind, keeps
alive in his breast his natural affections,
unblunted by an extensive and perpetual
intercourse with man in a more enlarged,
and therefore in a more corrupt state of
society. His habits become his principles,
and he is ready to risk his life to main-
tain them. The western breeze seldom re-
48
freshes or fans the manufacturer's impo-
verished blood; to excite sensations, to create
emotions, he must have recourse to artificial
means. Thus he is either steeped in licen-
tiousness, or shrivelled up in horrid fanati-
cism, exhibited in the contortions of a con-
tracted countenance. His Deity is not the
benign god of Nature, but a fantastic idol, the
creature of a distempered body and a dis-
turbed imagination,--a god of vengeance and
of terrors; and because he views, daily,
wretchedness, woe, disease, decrepitude, and
envy, and malice, and meanness, and all the
doleful contingencies and odious passions of
our condition around him, he concludes that
the same sentiments of disgust and hatred
must canker the affections of the Deity, and
that he hath created beings only to degrade
them first, and to punish them afterwards.
Herein is the awful contrast in the con-
dition of these two classes of men—both
useful, both born with the same capacity
for happiness and dignity; for I never will
allow dignity to be a quality to be severed
from any description of men, however hum-
49
ble their fortunes may be. And do we not
admire it even in brutes? Why should it
ever be excluded from any class of men P
Herein you must perceive, and must acknow-
ledge, the power of cause and effect. Would
you reform the morals and habits of mén?
Look to the direction in which they are
placed. Moral lessons, like conscience, are
modes, not causes. Place man in that station
in which his habits will be the cause of virtue,
and he will become virtuous ; place him in
a contrary state, give him all the lessons
that virtue can dictate, virtuous he never can
become.
But to resume the tenor of my discourse ;
I again repeat, that the happiness I en-
joyed was such as, in the vanity of my
wishes, I conceived would last during the
whole course of my short existence, and
then perpetually for my posterity. But
my stream of life was not destined to
meander through such flowery meads; it
had to run through sands, and to rush
down in a torrent headlong over preci-
pitous rocks. Even at this hour I regret
VOL. I. E
50
how shortlived were those pleasures which
I enjoyed for two years only, under the roof of
my ancestors, after my grief had been so far
abated as to be softened down into a placid
state of melancholy. Then it becomes less
selfish and more exalted, for then we feel less
our own immediate loss, and the object of our
former affections, drawn through the perspec-
tive of our recollection, is regretted for its own
intrinsic worth. I regret the gratification of
possession, the pride of command, and the
charms of popularity: which can only arise
from the possession of power and the useful,
gracious, and discreet use of it. My mind, then,
continued to be improved and disciplined by
books; my health invigorated by manly exer-
cises and field sports, and my happiness com-
pleted by observing the high spirits and joy
that beamed upon the countenances of those
that surrounded me ; from my friends who
sympathized in my feelings and shared my
amusements, to the labourer who was em-
ployed in the numberless schemes of im-
provement that I laid out. Again I repeat,
that no station in the civilized world is capa-
5]
ble of affording greater enjoyments, or being
maintained with greater dignity, than those
of a country gentleman of England. It is
an union of a sort of moral feudalism and
liberty, which, whilst it gives influence to
rank and opulence, communicates a perfect
equality of law to the poorest labourer; and
we may observe that the chief excellence of
such a condition is, that it is a political and
civil state, as well as a social one; that it con-
nects together the legislative as well as the
magisterial functions, when the real object
of public duties is neither destroyed or di-
verted from its proper channel by power
or corruption. Thus the spirit of our consti-
tution points out, that the laws should be ad-
ministered in the first instance by those who
reside among and know the people, who are
the unpaid expounders of the law : for no
system of just government can co-exist with
a regular-paid magisterial police ; its intro-
duction being the first step to despotism, and
its establishment the final consummation of
tyranny. Hence arise political, which are
ever party crimes; that is to say, crimes of
52
opinion: vices in the eyes of one set of men,
and virtues in those of another. Although we
groaned under Star-Chamber exactions, yet
they affected the few only, and reached not
those who lived aloof from public life; and,
in fact, we began not to open our eyes until
the King, stimulated by his ambition and ex-
travagance, began to put his hand forcibly
into our pockets. This step brought home
to every man’s bosom the state of the
nation, and the object of government. This
was a natural deduction to make ; and leads
me to touch upon that famous question,
what is the object of government * This it
was that caused the subsequent civil war.
The question, therefore, was this distinctly,
whether the constitution of government was
a monarchy, as some men vainly pretended,
mitigated by a parliament which had ema-
nated from the bounty of the crown; or, in
fact and in essence, a commonwealth, conso-
lidated by an hereditary first magistrate, on
whom the title of king had been conferred
by way of grace and ornament, and in con-
formity with old feelings and decorum ?
|
53
The King maintained the former preten-
sion; the people the latter. Charles had
been educated, during his brother Henry's
life, with a view to his becoming Archbishop
of Canterbury. King James was thoroughly
convinced of the divine right of kings, from
which necessarily flows the passive obedi-
ence of their subjects; a doctrine which he
had early instilled into his son’s mind; hence
all those jesuitical evasions of his word, and
mental reservations, which tainted all his
dealings when he came to be opposed. This
doctrine the Emperor Constantine had main-
tained, and had made the rule of his govern-
ment, when he adopted the Christian religion,
and created another religion, in which that
was blended with many of the ceremonials
both of Jews and Gentiles; and which religion
maintained itself until the Reformation, under
the style and title of Roman Catholic apostolic
faith; although it was, in fact, of the Emperor
Constantine's own composition. * Conse-
quently the doctrine of divine right and pas-
* See the first Council of Nice, well explained in Thomas
Hobbes' History of Heresy. s
E 3
54
sive obedience, which was a main and leading
tenet of it, remained whole and entire, until
that bold reformer, Martin Luther, stood up
in behalf of the reason and liberty of the hu-
man race. This dogma is so essentially inter-
woven with the canons of the church, that
confessors are allowed to communicate any in-
telligence of conspiracy against the state, which
they learn through the medium of the confes-
sional ; which, in other cases, even of murder,
parricide, in the most horrible crimes that
do not immediately affect the power of the
sovereign, are concealed with the most in-
violable secresy. Hence it is plain that the
divine right of kings is a fundamental maxim
of that religion, which for that purpose
Constantine devised, imagined, and esta-
blished. But this doctrine was destroyed by
the Reformation. Unfortunately, the House
of Stuart never maintained the principles
of the Reformation to their fullest extent;
and, whatever James or Charles might out-
wardly pretend, they cherished and adopted
all the principles of the Roman Catholic
Church. The Reformers having rejected
55
councils and decrees, and having put the
Christian religion entirely upon the basis of
the Bible, in no part of which the doctrine
of divine right is positively laid down, the
natural conclusion then drawn was, that
kings reigned either by election or permis-
sion, or by compact, tacit or implied, or
publicly agreed upon. No one pretended
that they could reign lawfully by the power
of the sword, which would be to confound
might and right together. Hardly, indeed,
could it be contended that they inherited the
government of a nation, as an individual
does a private estate, the tenantry of which
existunder a compact with its owner; except
in the instance of serfs and slaves, whose con-
dition no one will assert is just, although
many may find it convenient. We con-
cluded that kings could have no right over
the property of the people but by their own
consent, and for the public service ; and
what they received for themselves, in the
way of pay or remuneration for their ser-
vices as first magistrate of the common-
wealth ; and that the title of king was in it-
Jº 4
56
self a title of honour, the highest honour pos-
sible, the same as archbishop, duke, or general,
though higher in honour; but that his power
was derived from the degree of authority
given to him by the laws as first magistrate,
or part of the constitution, and not from any
right derived from the title of king, which
being the symbol or mark of honour, or de-
signation of station, was not power in itself.
These notions spread themselves very gene-
rally among the people, and were entertained
by all the most unprejudiced. To what pur-
pose, it will be said, is it necessary to argue
this trite question, so often refuted 2 So long
as the institution of kings exists, so long will
they have flatterers; and so long will they,
Sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly,
countenance and approve of these slavish
tenets. They will ever be comparing the
condition of a kingdom to that of a private
estate, contending for what they call a legiti-
mate rule over it, which in their sense means
absolute power. But, in order to accomplish
this, they must destroy the property of every
individual in the state : because two masters
57
cannot exist to the same property. Therefore
the argument cannot hold good, that a king-
dom in any way resembles a private estate,
notwithstanding Charles pretended that Eng-
land was a farm, and that he held the lease
from God; but when he was called upon to
produce that instrument, he answered after
the manner of a despot, with the rattle of his
musketry and the thunder of his cannon,
CHAP. vi.
BUT I was not destined to indulge these
philosophical speculations on government in
my closet only; the period was put to the
nice examination of the first principles of
property, of power, of influence, of justice,
of law. The extended view that I had pur-
posed to take (had I been left at leisure)
of mankind was now narrowed into a par-
ticular perspective of our own policy. It
resolved itself into these questions: shall we
be enabled to maintain the tranquil enjoyment
of our own property, whatever it may be 2
first, that of conscience as to the matters
of religion ? Secondly, our approbation or
disapprobation of the foreign or domes-
tic policy of the state 2 and, thirdly, shall
we be enabled to keep possession of our es-
6()
tates in our own hands, and not alienate or
grant them, or a part of them, without our own
consent ; and, fourthly, the most important
of all, because the most difficult to be ascer-
tained, how and in what manner is our
own consent to be manifested 2 What is to be
understood by our own consent: and are we
to be bound by laws and regulations, that by
the lapse of time may have become ineffica-
cious to their original purposes, because ob-
solete 2 And what standard are we to take
for the framing of new laws—is it to be our
own intelligence, manifested in our judg-
ment or opinion ? Are these certain rules
already imprescriptibly laid down that we are
to abide by ? These, therefore, were among
some of the practical questions that I was now
about to be called upon, whereon to act. I was
thrust into public life, not from any seeking of
my own, nor from my liking, but by the irre-
sistible force of events—which is another term
for the chain of cause and effect. A vacancy
had occurred in the representation of our
county, by a death. My family had sat for
it occasionally for centuries : thus habit, as
6 |
it were, had designated me in the public eye
as the person to fill up the vacancy. My
turn of thought, and my disposition, were
well known to many of the leading gentle-
men, and were approved of. With regard to
my other qualifications, such as family and
fortune, they, as I before observed, had fre-
quently been the sole cause of many of my
ancestors having obtained that honour. I had
inherited my father’s public opinions, because
he had instilled them into me from the first
moment that my reason had dawned ; be-
cause whilst he lived I had revered him more
than any other person ; and because, he hav-
ing died at that moment when my feelings
were most alive to such a catastrophe, I had
made it a pious duty to follow them im–
plicitly. He had adopted these opinions, and
formed his political principles, mainly from
his great admiration of Queen Elizabeth : for
he had considered her as a foil to all despots;
and also because his own father had been
very nearly burnt alive in Queen Mary’s
reign, because he was a man of a rough dis-
position, and a jovial temper; and had been
62
in the habit of ridiculing the priests, and the
popular superstition of the day. Thus, to
trace cause and effect, I could be no other than
a staunch parliamentarian.
I was let into a new view of mankind dur-
ing my canvass for the county. I saw much
to admire, but more to condemn ; I observed
that, almost universally, the electors con-
ceived that they were about to confer a pri-
vate favour, rather than to exercise a public
duty; they looked upon an election of a
member to serve in Parliament rather as the
means, or a mode of complimenting an Opu-
lent or popular gentleman, than the choosing
a fit and proper person to represent them,
and to carry into effect the fundamental prin-
ciples of our constitution,-‘‘ that the people,
under God, are the source and origin of all
just power.” The negligence of the electors
was quite as general as their corruption,
and full as culpable ; for though, usually, in
society we find more idle and inconsiderate
men than decided wily or profligate ones,
yet these idle and inconsiderate persons are
often more selfish than disinterested : for
63
it is not incompatible to be both inconsi-
derate and at the same time to have a bias.
towards selfishness, without being what the
World terms a consummate villain.
It is difficult to pronounce whether, on the
balance, the virtue and exertions of mankind
do not fall short of their institutions; or
their institutions fall short of, and give not
room cnough for, the display of their vir-
tue. In despotic states the latter contingency
must be admitted; but, under such a govern-
ment as ours, the former is the case ; hence
that abominable selfishness which pervades
mankind in civilized life, and induces them
to sell themselves; for willing slaves are just
as apt to make tyrants, as tyrants are to make
slaves. We are slaves to our pleasures, our
vanity, and our fear; and he who will conde-
scend to make use of these weapons, will tie
us down in cruel bondage to him. We fly to
any system of ethics, or of moral philosophy,
that will shew us a loophole to creep out of
We dare not face the rule of right : the
stern principles of the old stoics; but we
must have pardon, forgiveness—new births ;.
64
we must have systems, that will play fast
and loose, and that attach us to life and
slavery, by exhibiting all the fantastic terrors
of death. Hence, under such systems, such
rules of conduct, is it to be wondered at,
What a low ebb mighty human reason lies,
even in the conduct of the highest concern-
ments of human life, how much prejudice,
habitudes, and the religion of our nursery,
prevail?
We give not fair play to institutions, which
admit of the operations of just principles;
but we warp them by our folly, and infect
and taint them by our venom and our malig-
nant selfishness. Hence a contrariety of opi-
nions; hence civil wars; and we cannot come
to a right conclusion, until after years of
devastation and slaughter.
If the general education of mankind were
conducted on such a plan, that they could be
brought to look to their social duties before
they considered their selfish interests, they
would discover that they had taken a shorter
path to their base cupidity : they would
find, that they would have personally gained
65
mightily by such a mode of proceeding; but
how is it possible to convince people of this
important truth, when our systems of educa-
tion are at variance with our reason P. How
frequently do we not observe, that the same
man who would discover the keenest inge-
nuity in the management of his trade, or his
private property,+in the purchase or sale of
an estate, in the letting a farm ;-how eften
do we not detect him disposing of a kingdom
without one moment's reflection l Nothing
so acute as the exercise of his understanding
in his private concerns; nothing so obtuse,
slovenly, or negligent, as its operation in
public affairs. And yet he may be a good
logician, without having discovered a neces-
sary connevion—the necessary connexion be-
tween public and private affairs—that the
one depends upon the other, that the minor
is contained in the major. We have only to
look at a voter in an election : if he be not
corrupt, the giving of his suffrage is, possibly,
the circumstance which hath given him the
least trouble, thought, or length of consi-
deration, for the whole of his life; and yet
VOL. I. F
66
that man, if he were called upon to dispose
of his sheep, or a cow, of two or three
dozen of candles, or a few yards of linen,
would weigh well his profits and losses:—and
yet his vote may decide an election; that
election may determine, whether the greatest
benefactor, or the worst enemy to his coun-
try, may be returned ; and upon such a re-
turn, may depend, through the chain of
causes, the fortune or the bankruptcy of the
voter. Thus, notwithstanding our erect front
that looketh towards the heavens, our eyes
are fixed upon the earth, and we shrink from
any but the most contracted sphere. And
what is it that contributes mainly to the
decay of states: the corruption of the few,
or the stupid listnessless of the many 2 Why
are the few corrupt 9 Because the many are
listless. Why are the many listless Be-
cause their education is not in harmony with
their best interests; because their system of
ethics, which is the primum mobile, is founded
on fear, which is the essence of selfishness.
But more of this hereafter.
67
CHAP. VII.
—sº-
I BELIEVE that an opinion hath generally
prevailed, that conversation and good-breed-
ing were at a greater height in the tranquil
periods of Charles the First's reign than they
had before been, or may probably be for
some time yet to come. The outward de-
meanor of society, then, partook of some-
what of dignified gravity; but that carriage
was not austere, and it exhibited that flowing
courtesy, which so well became a nation that
had not lost all that was graceful and disin-
terested in chivalry. The King’s court was
full of state and magnificence. His taste was
excellent; he was a fine judge and encou-
rager of the liberal arts, particularly of paint-
ing; he was graceful in all his exercises,
and appeared most nobly on horseback ;
F 2
68
altogether, in outward shew, he was a most
perfect sample of a king ; and his manners
would have tended to have humanized and
polished the age, had not his morals, which
were those of a sanctimonious hypocrite,
tended to introduce dissimulation. When I
speak of his morals, I beg to be understood
not in the vulgar sense in which that phrase
can be taken, and not in its ordinary appli-
cation, for no man was more exempt from
any of the warm indulgences of our nature,
as far as relates to commerce with the fair sex,
or wine, or what is termed excess, or de-
bauchery: he excelled in self-denial in these
respects the most rigid of the Puritans. No
man was more exact in his observance of the
hour of prayer; and his countenance, always
grave and decorous, increased, if possible,
the effect which his habits produced. But
here I must stop : he was without generosity,
without enterprize, although not without ob-
stinate courage. Without affection beyond the
Queen; without compassion, without honour,
and without truth; he was cold, calculating,
selfish, and faithless. He upheld the church,
69
because he conceived it to be the fittest in-
strument whereby to obtain first, and then to
support, that absolute power which he aimed
at: making, as it were, of the Supreme Being
an ally, and of His service a rod, where-
with to control the people. He liked tame
and supple men, such as bend like reeds before
the wind. Of the malignity of this heartless
despot there are numberless instances on re-
cord ; and, to detail them, it would be neces-
sary to write the history of his reign. In the
outset of his career he was aided by two nota-
ble apostles, who, for a time, were his great
props: Laud, a mischievous mountebank,
whose follies would only have excited con-
tempt, had not his persecutions and his op-
pression provoked indignation, and stimulated
revolt; and Strafford, a malignant apostate,
who, after having ruined one kingdom by his
iron and rapacious hand, began the ruin of
another by his poisonous advice. The honest
and intelligent gentlemen of England saw,
felt, and understood these things; they were
not then so weakened by luxury, so much at-
tached to the outward enjoyments of life, as
F 3
7()
tamely to sink under the debasing rule that
was preparing for them; they determined to
stand up against it like men, and after the
manner of their ancestors. They considered
the preservation of property to be the basis of
all government; and, as the metaphysicians
term it, that in this case government is the
principle à posteriori, and the preservation of
property the principle à priori, and not vice
versd, the doctrine of high churchmen, and
of despots, that kingly government is the
principle à priori, and property d posteriori;
in fact, it reduces the question to this,
whether kings are not instituted for the good
of the people, or the people created for the
use of kings.
The great men who now stood up in the
cause of the human race, took care to ex-
plain what they meant by property, which
hath a larger meaning in it than the advo-
cates for what is called legitimate rule are
willing to allow. Property, then, compre-
hends a man’s religion : that is his dearest
property, for that relates to the comfort of
his conscience, which is the only part of him
71
exempt from inevitable fate; which is free,
and peculiarly his own, because conscience
contains within its wishes, hopes, regrets, fears,
and satisfaction; although it be powerless,
being no motive but a retrospect ; or, if a
prospect, that prospect drawn from a retro-
spect. Property, then, goes to include his
good name and reputation: in this he must
be protected; in his thoughts and opinions,
when they are, upon the face of them, staid
and rational ; when they conscientiously ap-
pear to relate to the amelioration of his own
condition, or of that of his fellow-creatures.
This includes his property in his own intelli-
gence, whether he makes it public by speech
or writing; and, of course, this principle being
applicable to one, is applicable to all; there-
fore there can be no libel permitted. If there
be a libel, it must be prevented, because a
libel is the invasion of the property of ano-
ther. To speak truth of the living may be a
libel, iſ censorious, because we prevent a
man from regaining what he has lost,--a
part of his reputation; and we thereby per-
petually punish him for a crime committed,
F 4
72
which is contrary to justice. But, to speak
truth of the dead cannot bear that inter-
pretation, because they cannot recover what
they have lost, and it may be of use to
the living to hold them forth as examples.
To question the acts of power is a man’s
essential property, because that power was
originally established for his use, and conve-
nience, and comfort ; and, therefore, he hath
the same right to question it, as he hath the
conduct of his agent in any other of his af-
fairs. Then comes the protection of every
man’s private property, which is absolutely
his, and which cannot be alienated from him
by any state regulation, with justice, and only
by his own consent, convenience, or compact;
such as his consent, where that consent flows
through a free channel: for the payment of the
public expense, by means of taxes; or the
tying down his property by private compact,
as in a marriage settlement, for instance. But
the forcing him by law to dispose of his pro-
perty other than after his own fashion, or the
ancient rights of primogeniture, equally to all
his children; or the regulating the propor-
73
tions, as is thé case in some kingdoms, where
the object is to crush families in order to aid
power; is contrary to law, because contrary to
justice; for power may make any regulation
that it lists; but if it be not just, it is not
binding law; at all events, we have the appeal
to God. If, therefore, it be robbery to invade
any man's property in all these particulars,
the corollary of the argument is, that all go-
vernments which are not representative, are
usurpations, founded on might against right,
and on injustice; and all governments that are
in part only representative, though they affect
to be representative, yet not being so, amount-
ing to the common acceptation of the phrase,
or to our conscientious understanding of it,
are worse than usurpations, because they add
mockery and insult to injustice; and by
means of delusion, prevent the people from
observing under what sort of a system they
live; for what insulting cruelty it is to mock
us with the shadow, when we know that we
possess not the substance
Therefore, a representative that falls under
the power of the executive or a faction, ei-
74
ther by means of its original formation or
election, or subsequent means of acting on
the individual passions, or base interest of its
members, is an incumbrance and a nuisance in
the state; because it adds greatly to the ex-
pense of the state, and because it is a mere
bubble, and constantly sickeneth. our hearts
with hope deferred : it is an ample cloak for
knavery, and the most secure engine of
despotism.
Hence it follows that Charles was the
usurper; that he made war upon his people,
and not his people upon him : because the
notoriety of the fact is such, that they have
proved that he invaded the people's property
in every one of the particulars above men-
tioned.
Then why should a people lie under a
state of slavery, since they have only to ask
themselves, Do I exist? Why do I exist?
What are my privileges 2 Does my person
belong to me? Does what it can acquire
belong to me? Have I a right to dispose of
that, to leave it after my death 2 It appears
to me that every conclusion thus drawn is
75
most true and simple. And why, should a
people be under a delusion ? Because in most
countries they are forbidden to examine into
these things by their priests; and having ex-
amined them, they cannot communicate the
result of their examination, from the fear of
the civil magistrate, who restrains the liberty
of printing, or of setting forth their reason-
ings before the public. But verily that was
not the case in England, where the Reforma-
tion had taken place; and where free printing
and publishing were allowed. Let us examine
into these particulars at this moment: the
Reformation was not distant more than three
quarters of a century; three generations of
men had hardly passed away, and not above
two since the restoration of liberty under
Elizabeth ; so that the clergy had not yet got
quite clear of popery; the church had not
been purified of many popish tenets and dog-
mas; and although idolatry had been sup-
pressed, and confession, and some things too
gross to go down any longer with the people,
yet the authority of the church, the divine
right of kings, the passive obedience of their
76
subjects, and such false and pernicious doc-
trines, still remained. Pretended divine au-
thority, on the one hand, excited fanaticism on
the other. Here, then, was an exemplifica-
tion of action and reaction: just as the frenzy
and fanaticism of Mahomet called forth the
popes to excite the frenzy and fanaticism of
the crusaders. It is also to Mahomet that the
arts are indebted for the many magnificent
churches, ecclesiastical establishments in
Italy, with all their splendid ornaments in
painting and sculpture: it was to set up one
form of religion in opposition to another.
But as far as the enjoyment of temporal
power and wealth were in view, the profes-
sion of popery gained more by the fear of their
adherents, than the professors of Mahometan-
ism obtained by the valour of theirs.
The Parliament of England decreed, as the
most efficacious plan of securing the liber-
ties and properties of the nation, to sever
popery completely from our reformed mode
of the worship of the Deity: for popery had
crept into our book of common-prayer; a
great part of the liturgy being popish and
77
unscriptural, it had instilled itself into the
doctrines of the Established Church, and
promulgated that most dangerous tenet to
the liberties of a people, which is the funda-
mental article of the Roman Catholic Church—
the divine right of kings; all the tenets of
which cometh, indeed, to that conclusion; al-
though they maybe modified or softencd down,
or coloured over, or concealed under particu-
lar forms. Yet the connexion of religion with
the temporal power of magistrates, always
leads or tends towards divine right, remotely
or immediately; it is equally dangerous to
religion as well as to liberty : for let a people
strive ever so much to obtain their liberties,
they cannot maintain them under the Roman
Catholic religion, because their sovereign,
that is the pontiff, is absolute; he cannot in
his authority be questioned; therefore what
he supports or approves cannot be questioned
either. But we need go no further; a system
that aims at nothing SQ much as to inspire a
fear of death, and the power of remission of
pretended sins, lays at once the groundwork
of tyranny: for it is only by a continual con-
78
tempt of death, or riches, that a people can
maintain their freedom; and it is yet a ques-
tion, not of contemplative philosophy alone,
but of matter of fact, how far spiritual tyran-
my can be congruous with temporal freedom.
Let me not be thought to bear exclusively
against Popery here; our own high church
doctrines fall but little short of it in this par-
ticular.
Therefore if the Parliament of England
desired to give the people that direction by
which they should maintain their freedom,
it was necessary to expunge every particle
of popery from their religious instruction.
And why have mankind groaned so long
under so terrible a system as that of arbi-
trary rule Because over the greater part
of the world they have not had it in their
power to make use of their intelligence,
or to communicate it : they have been kept
in ignorance by their governors, in order
to make them labour for their profit and
pleasure, or to fight in wars in which they
were in no wise interested ; and where the
chosen few, who could enlighten mankind
7.9
as to their condition, have been willing so to
do, they have been prevented, by restrictions
having been put upon their circulating or
publishing their writings.
Inasmuch as the intelligence of man is the
most beautiful and sublime of God’s works
of which we have an intimate knowledge—
inasmuch as all rational men have always
considered it, to be immortal and indestruc-
tible, because it is an indiscerptible es-
sence ; because, although acting on dis-
cerptible matter, it hath properties which
matter cannot reach ; qualities so superior,
that oftentimes it is not affected by the pain,
and the partial destruction of that mat-
ter that composes its visible and outward
form;-inasmuch, I say, as this glorious at-
tribute of the human race is superior to all
combinations; in the same degree it is the
height of the perversion of reason and jus-
tice to disturb its course ; to arrest its full
flowing tide over all the human race. If,
through the mere wits of man, God hath ever
made a revelation, or presented a gift, to ena-
ble his creatures to separate and distinguish
80
them from the grovelling herds of brutes, it
is, and with reverence be it spoken, the di-
vine art of printing, whereby our intelligence
is enshrined and perpetuated; penetrating
into the darkest recesses, floating over the
most distant seas, and connecting the whole
human race into one species. By its magic
charm the intelligence of one that hath been
years, long, laborious, and painful years, in
collecting, becomes in a few days, nay, in a
few hours, the intelligence of the many.
That aetherial spirit, which here and there
rarely descends upon one chosen depository
of the bounty of Providence, by communi-
cating itself, with electric rapidity brings up
the rest of mankind to its advanced land-
mark. Whilst Divine Intelligence 1 she, who
is the first-born daughter of heaven, precur-
sor of our liberty, and parent of our happi-
ness, bursting like Aurora from uncreated
light, begins to shed her rays universally
upon earth; in order that, illumined by her
generally, no longer by partial efforts, man-
kind may maintain their station.
81
CHAP. VIII,
THE distinction between civil and political
justice lies obscured in the most recondite
theory of government, and our experience
rather tends to confirm us in the melancholy
conclusion. How difficult is the co-existence
of these two principles; for that same pro-
gress of civilization (mainly diffused by the
liberty of the press) which perfectionates the
civil justice of states, may possibly retrogade
their political liberty. In ancient times op-
pression sprang from the character of the
ruler; in latter times it is conjoined to systems:
and civil justice, being a part of the artful
system, becomes a powerful adjunct to political
injustice. Then the tyranny lay in the tyrant's
heart; and when that was struck by the
patriot's steel, he and his oppression fell, and
VOL. I. G
82
the people rose from their prostrate posture
on the earth. Hence tyrannicide was the
noblest virtue, and the most glorious act. In
more modern times, it quenches, it is true,
the oppressor's life; but the blood that flows
from his wounds only invigorates his system.
Brutus struck Caesar to the heart, but he
could not strike the base passions upon which
Caesar had erected his throne ; and Caesar's
blood dimmed the eyes of mankind (suffused
with the tear of compassion) from disco-
vering those passions, and the system sur-
vived. Nero, and others of the emperors,
seeing that the religion of the Cross was the
bane of tyranny, in their mad and blundering
proscriptions strived to crush it. Constantine,
more artful, adopted it, and fashioned it to his
purpose; and that system which was to give
civil and political justice to mankind, by the
means of pure theism and universal philan-
thropy, became a baleful engine of oppres-
sion, by the means of false doctrines and false
metaphysics, whereby the reason and justice
of all its votaries were perturbed or Sup-
pressed. Although no vestige remained of
83
civil justice, yet the native energy of man often
broke through the most galling trammels, and
procured for himself political justice; he ob-
tained the temporary redress of grievances.
Thus by degrees he slid silently into a system,
which, whilst it secured the liberty of indi-
viduals, destroyed that of the state; and I
prophesy, that we shall in Europe proceed in
rendering so perfect our civil liberty, that we
shall utterly annihilate the freedom of the
body politic. Our kings will in future ages
no longer be to be feared on account of pre-
rogative, but the spiders they employ will
hold us fast in cobwebs. We shall cease to
look at Our kings face to face; to follow them
to war, or obey them when justice is on their
side, and resist them when they oppress us.
But they will play a surer game:—reason
of state, that bottomless pit, will engulph us.
Large revenues, enormous state mortgages,
standing armies, paid magistrates, and their
followers, spies and informers, the most
infernal vermin that God hath ever permitted
to crawl on the face of the earth, to poison
civil Society,+will deliver us, bound hand and
G 2
S4
foot, into the power of the Philistines; and,
if, like Sampson, we exert our strength, and
strive to extricate ourselves from the toils,
we pull down the whole edifice upon our
heads. Yes, we shall grow more refined,
more luxurious every day: to protect these
refinements, and these luxuries; to pamper
ourselves with greater variety of enjoyments,
we shall demand laws and regulations, which
those who look to real power will readily
grant us. They will rejoice in our imagi-
nary wants, because every want will be an
additional link in the chain of servitude.
Shadows will have more delight for our pos-
terity, than substances had for Our rough an-
cestors; for they will be noosed by ribbons
and decorations, like springes that are set to
catch the little vermin that crawl through
hedges. A part of each community, disre-
garding the possessions of their ancestors,
which according to law and justice have
descended to them, will look to increasing
their revenues by means of the grant of part
of the public stock. This will be called
loyalty; the maintenance of social order, and
85
of religion. War will be engaged in to serve
the humour, the caprice, or to sate the ven-
geance of rulers. Public liberty being des-
troyed, these wars will run on until the source
which supplied them shall become dry; and
Europe and the world will present the lament-
able aspect of nothing but despotic commands
on the one hand, and nothing but tame com-
pliance on the other. Yet we shall enjoy civil
liberty and mock justice / call it what you
will. We shall be polished, humane, religious,
and learned ; we shall become admirable
rhetoricians, nice grammarians; whilst no
man shall know either what his property is,
or in what his rights consist. Every one will
be the slave of a system ; and as long as
that system lasts, he must be content to be
carried along with it. Probably this was, in
part, the case in Charles's time, though not to
the extent to which we may expect that
such a state of things will arrive. But one
cause why affairs came to an issue between
Charles and the Parliament was, that the
system I have been treating of was then only
in the bud, and much of positive injustice
G 3
86
remained, which was palpable to the under-
standings of the people at large. They were
not then hoodwinked by tyranny being hid in
a specious system, and extending its baleful
rule by influence. The Court of High Com-
mission and the Star Chamber were well un-
derstood; they were seen, known, and felt.
The levy of ship-money, and of all the other
taxes, pretended to be grounded upon the
prerogative, was also visible, and being visi-
ble, could be opposed; therefore there was no
great virtue in opposing them : but to oppose
crimes, it is necessary that they should be visi-
ble or tangible; so much so, that men may
come to a common conclusion with respect
to them : such as a murder or robbery; and
yet there may be as much wickedness, and
more mischief, in that which does not at the
outset appear so palpably bad as the murder
or the robbery. And yet virtuous men, or
men who have the reputation of being vir-
tuous, may be Supine, or approve such as an
unjust and unnecessary war, which is a con-
tinuation for years of murder and of rob-
bery; aye, even at the same time, they may
87
plume themselves upon the support of it.
Now the cause of this great and apparent
inconsistency is two fold: first, ignorance;
secondly, vice; that is, preferring our private
advantage, in whatsoever shape it presents
itself, before what our reason tells us is the
general good. Wisdom, therefore, resolves
itself into this: the absence of ignorance, or
looking far into the result of causes ; and
virtue into disinterestedness; and civil justice,
which is another word for civil liberty,
springs therefore from selfishness, from each
man's selfishness having a sort of play. So
does political liberty spring from disinterested-
ness, which is the height of virtue; and in pro-
portion as a state is compressed by the power
of one man, or a system, you will see the peo-
ple gentle to each otber; they will, in truth,
become selfish, and they will lose all public
feeling and exertion. The same men who
would scruple to pack a jury, or commit a
man for a private crime unjustly to prison;
who would in their daily dealings evince jus-
tice and charity; yet nevertheless would in a
senate or pariiament, or at the council of the
G 4
88.
king, recommend or support the most unjust
and oppressive measures. They content the
people with civil justice, but political justice
is too refined a principle for common under-
standings to reach : it is too metaphysical,
therefore it is no food for the mass. Besides,
if we dilate too much upon it, what becomes
of kingcraft and priestcraft 2 what becomes
of all those means of acquiring the wages of the
labours of others, whilst we sit idle ourselves?
If we were to place all institutions upon their
true basis, and conduct the science of govern-
ment and of religion according to eternal
principles of justice, every man would be
reduced to live upon what his fathers had
saved for him, or upon the product of his
own industry; and there would be no drones
in the hive, or if there were, they would
starve; and we should cut down foreign
politics into a very narrow compass. The
relations between nation and nation would
become very simple, and the prejudices and
passions, the vain glory, revenge, and folly
of princes and factions, would have no room
to play. -
89
in ancient Greece, the moral teachers were
nowise connected with political power; they
enforced notions of pure abstract virtue in
the minds of their disciples. These disciples
brought the same notions with them into
public life: hence what actions did they not
perform 2 Our little souls shrink within
themselves, and tremble at their bare recital.
The difference between the early Christian
doctrines, as preached by their primitive pro-
fessors, and those of the stoics, are, that the
former arrived at virtue and excellence by
humility, the latter by unbending dignity;
both maintained devotion to disinterestedness
and virtue unto death. Constantine united the
distinction between the sacrificer or priest
with that of the moral teacher and philosopher,
and thus joined the sacerdotal office with the
system of government. Hence divine right in
kings; hence the destruction of patriotism,
taught as a moral Science; hence the pollution
of religion; hence the blasphemous assump-
tion that the Supreme Being is the ally of the
magistrate; hence kingcraft and priestcraft.
The Reformation strove hard to bring back
90
religion to its primitive principles; but then,
in some churches, it hardly went far enough.
The glorious age of the resistance to
Charles the First's tyranny, exemplified that
attempt still further. The Parliament were
aware that man receives the direction which
he is to take, from the religion that he is
taught ; his notions of morals, of law, civil
and political, of his relations with other men,
his motions of the Deity, all spring from his
early education; from this cause the clergy may
be said to be the fundamental legislators of the
Åingdom. On them how much depends; and
what legislators have they often proved Our
mode of religion depends upon the place of our
birth, or the mode of religion before practised
by our parents. Thus if a man be born at
Constantinople, he is a Mahometan ; in
Russia, a Greek; at Rome, a Catholic ; in
England, a Protestant ; on the Ganges, he
follows the faith of Brahma. To object to
him on account of his religion, would be as
reasonable as to object to him on account
Qf the language that he spoke. God hath
revealed his existence to us through his
91
works; and in whatever quarter of the globe
we may have been born, we conclude his
existence, because we have senses and
reason. The particular mode, therefore, in
which he is to be worshipped, belongs to the
civil polity of each state to determine, and is
a civil law thereof; and that mode of worship
will ever be analogous to the state of intelli-
gence and civilization of such a polity, and to
the direction of its government. This mode
of religion is not, therefore, a law pointed
out by God to men, because it is not general,
but a deduction given to us by God, to be
drawn from our reason and observation, on
which man is to legislate according to the
best of his pure intelligence, which teaches
him that there is a first cause continually
operating through second causes; this convic-
tion is , in itself a great scheme of religion.
The general laws, as displayed in the opera-
tions of nature, appear to our senses uniform,
and are connected by a principle of harmony;
all these works appear from their uniformity
to have but one creator, and the laws whereby
they are regulated are general. But in the
92
deductions of man’s reasoning faculties we
discover dissimilarity; his conclusions are
various, from his ignorance of the laws of na-
ture; in no instance so much as upon the sub-
ject of the modes of religion; consequently
these modes are not laws of nature, but laws
of man. Religion, therefore, is a science
parallel to our intelligence, and as such it
ought to be considered by all lawgivers. Its
form is by the law, and within the law, and
may be varied according to the law; and no
priests can have any power in a state but
that which the law of the land gives them.
Their doctrines and their discipline both di-
verging out of the civil law, may be revised,
corrected, altered, or improved by the civil
law; they being only the ecclesiastical ser–
vants of law; of that particular law of the
state that regards the worship of God.
The providence of God, then, speaking
through man’s intelligence,there exists no crime
which is not a crime by law. I am of opinion
with the old stoics that all crimes are equal,
because they are the deviation from the law,
which then is the deviation from virtue. By
93
punishing all deviations from law, not for the
damage that they occasion, but because they
arc deviations from the law, which is the only
rule that a man can be bound by, we place
the people in a good direction; civil and po-
litical liberty are, therefore, in some sort, in-
compatible. But if we desire to give a people
great political liberty, we must narrow their
civil liberty, by the stern enforcement of the
common law, in order to root out personal
licentiousness; then we can grant them éxten-
sive political liberty : this is the essence of po-
pular principles of government. To accomplish
this object, I rely mainly upon patriarchal or
family government, rather than what is term-
ed civil police; for I place all abstract virtue
in the natural affections. The first and most
outrageous violation of the natural affections
is the substraction of the patriarchal power
by means of police regulations, which merges
children into more extended families than
those of their blood; thus preparing them for
civil slavery, under the artful plea of civil be-
nefit. I highly approve of the Old Testament
being read in families as a moral lesson, in order
94
to impregnate the youth with the beauty and
simplicity of original patriarchal and family
government. In no book do we find more
primary instruction than in the Old Testa-
ment, because there is in it none of the ideal
perfection, drawn from the precepts of the
first philosophy, which is often metaphorical,
and always contrary to nature : there may be
allegories, but its instruction is positive; and
the allegories are obvious to every same under-
standing: it teaches pure, and simple, unadul-
terated theism — patriarchical virtuous go-
vernment, and great political freedom. The
notion of theocracy crushes the divine right
of kings, and establishes equality before the
law. Those fiery zealots who would have us
take allegories for categories, do religion no
service; those who would expound the Old
Testament literally, are its most indiscreet
encraies. It is certainly a revelation, because
every amelioration of our condition, and every
good direction, is a revelation; for infinite
intelligence communicates itself through finite
intelligence.
95
CHAP. IX.
My pen has run away with me through
several chapters into a large political dis-
course, better suited possibly to the purposes
of an essay: though it may here find excuse,
as a prologue to those scenes which I shall
have hereafter occasion to describe.
I found myself in a situation on my arrival
in London, in which every thing that could
awaken the attention, rouse the passions,
gratify curiosity, and excite public spirit,
had now scope enough to play. As my
more serious hours were occupied in parlia-
ment, so the more trifling ones were dedicated
to the cultivating of friendship, and to so-
ciety, which then shone with great splendour,
and was kept together with very fine taste.
For near a century the English ladies had
96
been much addicted to learning, and had at
the same time kept themselves within all the
rules of the most exact breeding. The dignity
and ease of their conversation, their staid be-
haviour, the high and punctilious sense of
honour (although alloyed with a great fre-
quency of duelling), among the men; the no-
ble deportment, and flowing courtesy of both
sexes, gave the manners and morals a very
high tone. I found that many ladies held con-
stant societies at their houses for the purposes
of conversation. Among others the Countess
of Essex, which I frequented in preference
to other relaxations; and which might then
have been considered as the best schools of
good-breeding then in Europe: certainly not
inferior to the circles in France, although
then graced by the presence of a Duc de la
Rochefaucault, andal)uchesse delongueville.
In truth, the rugged climate of our northern
isle is but too apt to blunt our courtesy; we re-
quire that, which will tend to varnish over our
habits with something of romantic gallantry;
we have not naturally those fine and fervid
tints which overspread the aspect of human
97
life under the more genial warmth of a south-
ern sun. We may, by cultivation, derive a
greater advantage than from living under
Such a Sun, which, though it spontaneously
produces flowers of the sweetest, fragrance,
yet frequently generates reptiles replete with
venom. Every age hath had its peculiar ex-
cellencies; in every age one part or other of
the human race have been benefited. It is a
melancholy proof that perfection is unattain-
able ; and that the whole of the contingencies
and condition of our existence is founded on
balances and compensations: and a good
principle which flourisheth in one age, is de-
stroyed in another, and supplied by another,
which brings advantages to us of a different
kind. Eacellence, or perfection, then, is a qua-
lity purely ideal: since our experience has
furnished us with no standard, either to mea-
Sure or compare it with. All we can dis-
cover, then, from our sensations and our ex-
perience is, when we are uneasy, and by dint
of efforts to remove that uneasiness, we
may sometimes ameliorate our condition. In
considering the condition of women as far
VOL. I. II
98
back as the records of history can give us
information, we shall find this motion illus-
trated. If we take the age of Pericles, at
Athens, as a period glorious in the annals of
mankind, and the pure times of the Roman
republic, still, in considering the condition
of the women, there was far from an equality
or reciprocity of advantages in the relative
state of the sexes. Thus, if we descend
to the middle ages, when Europe was alleged
by mock philanthropists and flippant cox-
combs to be overspread with darkness,
cruelty, bondage, ignorance, priestcraft, and
barbarism of every kind : out of this pre-
tended dark might were seen, however, to
shine the stars of chivalry; the only moral
guides that were left. It is true, from the
frequency of war, women were often left
abandoned to the most brutal passions; for
in constant war and turmoils, that religious
respect which is had for them in the east,
and which protects them in the midst of the
greatest disorders of states, did not extend its
influence in our western hemisphere : beyond
the track that the noble Moors had trod in one
99
country only, Spain, where they had con-
quered; consequently it became the province
and duty of chivalry to protect them. And
the present condition of the weaker sex is
ameliorated beyond what it was in the po-
litest days of antiquity, from the necessity of
absolute personal protection, and not from
any moral primoiple whatever. Thus women,
who, in the east, stood in less relative need
of safety, have remained prisoners and slaves
in their harems. Women, who in the pure
times of liberty and learning, in Greece
and Rome, were also protected, remained, as
long as those republics existed, domestic ser–
wants. Women, from the force of circum-
stances, and the state in which they were ex-
posed in the middle ages, have since become
the delightful and rational companions of man,
and have been placed upon a footing of equa-
lity with him in society. In the old republics,
the institutions and laws provided for the
public as well as the private safety, or rather
the efforts of every individual were turned
from the consideration of his private safety,
and convenience towards the public good,
II 2
| 00
which was the defence of the state; and a
sort of principle called glory, which was
honour arising from the fear that other
states had of it, and admiration of their
contempt of pleasure and of life. Thus the
women, being useful only in propagating
the species, and all refinements of affection,
which is called sentiment, being turned to-
wards the public, little of exalted love fell
to their share; a woman being considered as
the absolute property of the husband, and
her only object being to breed children, and
to rear them in their tender infancy, all
commerce between the sexes was interdict-
ed, as tending to gallantry: for adultery was
held in horror:—hence nothing could be
more reserved than the conduct of the wo—
men, or more retired than their mode of
life. But when these states were destroyed,
when the barbarians laid waste Europe, and
when no longer good laws and regulations
were observed, mankind fell, for mutual pro-
tection, into the feudal system ; that is, each
family formed a little military state, and
every dwelling-house became a castle. Women
|0|
then excited the compassion of the brave
young men, who, under the character of
knights, defended them, and in return grant-
ed them their favours. But this commerce
Was not carried on in the coarse and licen—
tious manner in which it was in the decay of
the ancient republics, or under the Roman
emperors, where none of that refined passion
of love existed ; but in the days of romance it
was always the precursor of a more decided
passion. The Christian religion, too, amelio-
rated much the condition of women : that is to
say, it softened the rigid discipline they were
under, although it might have had a tendency
to relaw their morals from its tenderness and
mysticity; for until the Reformation, and
even since, in countries where the Roman
Catholic Religion exists, gallantry is carried to
a height that would have astounded the an-
cients in their pure times. But this is the
abuse of that good which I said the middle
ages and chivalry introduced. In proportion as
the women have seemed to require the pro-
tection of the men less, in the same propor-
tion they seem to have rewarded them more.
H 3
102
The Reformation curtailing the efficacy of
faith, destroying tradition, and many of the
foundations upon which the Romish religion
was built, took a spring back again to morals,
and adhered to the doctrines of the early
Christians; and to those of the stoics and
academics, and other rigid sects: So that it
brought back the old feelings respecting chas-
tity, and made men look rather to the good
of the community than to their own plea-
sures,--which is, of all principles, that which
supports a pure state of morals the most :—as
pure morals may be defined to be justice to-
wards ourselves, in maintaining our own dig-
nity to each other, and in not invading mutual
rights. The latter end of the sixteenth, and
beginning of the present century, being
a most learned age, was also a moral one ;
great decorum was observed, and there was
an absence of grossness and indelicacy.
If, as I have before observed, the clergy are
the fundamental legislators of states, women
may be said to be the fundamental instructors
of youth; for in their hands children first are
trained ; and as their first impressions are al-
103
ways the strongest, the importance of the
first direction is incalculable. The female
mind is ever inclined to mysteries, therefore
the inculcation of a simple intellectual reli-
gion becomes doubly important. The weeds
that spring up in their minds are capricious
versatility, overweaning fondness, and a love
of spiritual mysteries: and they are prone to
fanaticism ; they have a general persuasion of
accident, chance, fortune, arising from the
want of patience in tracing second causes.
How easily, therefore, by these means,
cowardice, selfishness, and superstition are
generated, particularly in a state where the
prince aims at becoming despotic, and the
clergy omnipotent. One cause of the noble
struggle for our laws and liberties at this pe-
riod was, that since the Reformation the
women of England had received a new direc-
tion, and had given it to their children; and
had prepared them for receiving the great
lessons of morals and virtue contained in the
classic works of the ancients. The soul was
admitted to exist, but not attempted to be
defined. This doctrine generally propounded
H 4
104
against the opinions of the old schoolmen,
had a most wonderful influence in calming
the human mind: for this notion at Once
got rid of spirits, ghosts, purgatory, praying
for dead men’s souls, and all the bewitching,
alarming fantasies of the Romish and Gen-
tile Churches. It banished idle terrors by
reducing the fear of death into the regret
only of losing life; and threw all men
upon reposing, full of gratitude and confi-
dence, in the arms of the Great Author of
Nature; and driving away from our habitable
globe those flitting phantoms that the Gentiles
first, and the Romish clergy afterwards, en-
couraged by a necessary train of deduction,
though not immediately by doctrines; it cut
off the immediate relation between this world
and the next, which is much more connected
in the old religions. Thus, I say, that these
considerations entering men’s minds, formed
one of the proximate causes of that self-re-
verence, that personal independence, and
fearless resistance to unlawful authority, which
will render the age of Charles the First glo-
rious to the latest posterily.
105
Women, so trained, could not but have a
powerful effect; first, by enforcing on child-
hood their maternal instructions; and second-
ly, upon manhood their conversation;– thus
they were inspired by self-reverence, that ar-
mour of virtue. If any thing could have tended
more to have favoured these truths, it was their
experience of the Queen's character, whose
education was directly the reverse of that
of the English ladies. She was a furious and
superstitious bigot; combining levity and fa-
naticism—the most perfect ingredients for
headlong tyranny that human caprice can
form. The King was her slave : and one
cause of his misfortunes, if not the main one,
was that tame submission to her humour, so
dangerous to him and to the state. When I
recollect those delightful hours, passed in the
converse with such eminent persons, who
could look forward to all the dreadful scenes
that were about to occur without fear, or ever,
alarm, I feel proud to have existed at such a
period; when the courage of the men was
roused by the refined sentiments, and the ex-
quisite sense of the public and moral duties
106
with which all classes of the women seemed
to be animated ; for as they have in general a
more quick sense of wrong than men, they
favoured the public cause. The detailed
history of these times is too well known for
me to do more than just now and then to
strive to extract the spirit of the facts. The
last act of aggression that brought matters
to an issue was excited by a woman. The
Queen influenced the King to go to the
House of Commons to demand the five ob-
noxious members: thus, like another Helen,
she prepared another Iliad of woes “ Go,
you coward!” she cried, “fetch me out those
knaves |” He was foiled, as is well known,
in the attempt ; and his ears were astounded
in his retreat by the cries of “privilege: pri-
vilege Thus the war began ; for that was
the first overt act. He went into the City to
demand his prey—his ears were again assailed
by the same cry : and there was thrown into
his coach a most portentuous scroll, “To
thy tents, O Israel !” The spirit of discon-
tent and distrust, murmuring louder and
louder as it descended lower, agitated the
| > 2
122
I07
people like a troubled sea. The King quitted
the capital, the seat of power of his ances-
tors; he retired sullenly from palace to palace,
until he reached the north. There, out of the
vortex of the clamour against his misrule,
he set up his standard: but that was thought
by many to display a presage of bad augury.
With difficulty it was set up upon the hill
where the famous castle of Nottingham
stands; famous from being the lurking place
from whence the cruel Mortimer was dragged
from the arms of another wicked Queen, and
paid the homage of his life to filial piety and
public justice. On the evening of the 22d
day of August, 1642, was it set up ; it
was blown down the same night, and could
not be fixed for a day or two until the tem-
pest was allayed.
Thus we sometimes see a small black cloud,
which, in the mariner’s phrase, contains but
a cap-full of wind, growing by degrees
larger and larger, until it overspreads with a
dark hue the whole horizon. Suddenly the
gale bursts forth; the lower it sweeps, the
more furiously it agitates those things which
108
seem to have the firmest foundation. The
venerable oak is torn up by the roots; his
broken fangs have spoiled a rood of land;
the noblest pile reels, then falls with a crash,
and crumbles into dust; inviting the anti-
quary to speculate, as on the ruins of Palmyra,
or far distant Thebes. The flood, rushing from
the mountains as in Switzerland, or in the
midst of the rugged Apennine, flows over
its banks, and desolates the plain. The peace-
ful peasant and his humble cottage is not
spared: the hideous ruin of our science, our
arts, and our labour, floats upon its foaming,
dun-coloured tide.
Thus, through the link of these second
causes, we trace the finger of God
109
CHAP. X.
THE human mind can conceive no moment
more awfully grand, no spectacle more touch-
ing, no sensation more electrifying, than
that of the period I have just described in
England. To behold a great people, en-
lightened by the purest ray of the purest
intelligence, appealing to God for justice
and, upon the issue of that appeal, ready to
embrace every danger, to incur every risk;
to sacrifice their lives, their own fortunes,
and the fortunes of their children ; to fall
under, if unsuccessful, the obloquy attached
to the name of traitor; to desolate their
country, and their estates (the source of all
their enjoyments, and even of their existence);
to be parties to the destruction of their
houses, the pride and comfort of their lives;
| 10
to turn adrift upon the world their wives, dis-
consolate, ruined, and premature widows. To
reflect, that those children who were born to
opulence and distinction, might henceforth be
wanderers on the face of the earth, exiles,
wretched and despised, in foreign countries;
or compelled to catch their subsistence at
home by the means of handicraft, in which
they were to encounter more successful rivals
in the commonalty such a spectacle to be-
hold ! such a contingency to contemplate
such an enterprize to undertake, was the
most glorious the human mind could indeed
conceive It was thou ! O immortal Spirit !
when appealed to by the upright hearts
of a suffering people, that inspired and
directed us to meet and surmount these
appalling ills: thou, who swelling our hearts
with thy spirit, enabled us to stand unmoved,
even amidst the din and carnage of a social
war ! But were we to sum up the obligations
of mankind to any particular set of men,
to whom would they be found most due—
to the philosopher, in his search after truth;
in finding out all the relations of things;
| | |
by the pursuit of abstract ideas, and by
dint of the patience of thought P. To him,
undoubtedly, the thanks of mankind are due:
yet not the highest. Are they due to the
legislator, who compresses the thoughts and
researches of the philosopher into a code of
laws, applicable to the various contingencies
of human life? Are they due to the upright
magistrate, who impartially administers those
laws; and, who by his own conduct and
example, mainly enforces them 2 Are they
due to the warrior, who sheds his blood in
defence of these institutes, in resisting the
inroads of foreign enemies 2 To the histo-
rian, who recounts his deeds, or to the poet
who celebrates them 2 To all these classes
honour is due, and gratitude from the mass
of mankind. But the highest glory is re-
served for him, who, in bad times, dares
be a patriot who, when the state is out of
joint, dares to set it right ! who, when his
countrymen lie prostrate on the earth, dares
to raise them up ! who compels the legis-
lator, the magistrate, when they have for-
gotten their duty, to follow the rules, and
112
adopt the deductions of the philosopher; who
dares to raise his hand, and strike for justice
sake 1 to whom, in her.sacred cause, the field
of battle is a joyous theatre; the dungeon
an oratory, to pour forth his soul to God;
the rack a bed of roses; and the scaffold a .
throne of triumph; and death a crown of
glory. Such is the rich meed of the dauntless.
patriot; such, to the latest posterity, as long
as Englishmen are Englishmen, will be your
high renown, O, Hampden and all ye wor-
thies, who have since trod in his revered.
steps | Noble and disinterested patriots va-
lorous warriors Ye, who while ye stood un- .
daunted in the field of battle; whose steady
countenances remained undismayed in pre-
sence of all the array of usurped authority; .
who, armed with good consciences within,
and tough iron wi thout, could charge bravely,
or fiercely withstand the shock of blind.im-
petuous chivalry. Never in your camp you
forgot your Social duties ; Order, sobriety,
reverence for religion, and the laws, hung on
all your footsteps. Wherever you marched,
you met with warm friends among a grateful
| 13
people; you proved to the world, that your
duty to your country was no chimerical duty;
you proved that loyalty to the crown may
sometimes be best shewn by opposing the King
who is himself disloyal to the crown that hath
been placed on his head : for the crown is
the emblem of the sovereignty of the nation.
Consequently, a king is no other than one of
the people, whom the rest have chosen to
bear the insignia of their rule. This was
proved in the fine reply of the Earl of Surrey
to Richmond on Bosworth Field. Henry
asked him, “how he dared fight for a usur-
per ?” to which the stout warrior made an-
answer, “I fought not for a usurper; Richard
was acknowledged King by the Parliament ;
and had the Parliament hung the Crown upon
a hedge-stake, I would have fought for it.”
Henry owned the justice of this sentiment,
restored to him his honours, and employed
him in the field. His son did the same, with
great success. It thus appears clear, that
utility is the basis of all civil and ecclesiastical
polities, and what that utility is, belongs to
the Parliament to determine. Nor could it be
VOL. 1 . I
| ||
objected to the Parliament that they esta-
blished theirceclesiastical establishments upon
the footing of the best reformed churches on
the Continent, of which that of Geneva was
the chief. For in the first place, such form
of church government was much more analo-
gous to the usages of a free state, and would
at all seasons ensure the maintenance of
liberty, which, under God, is every man’s
birthright. Secondly, it expunged all fan-
tastic creeds, which are neither agreeable
to the scriptures nor to common sense; be-
wildering the imaginations of weak minds,
and exciting the contempt of strong ones;
and thus tending to encourage irreligion and
atheism. Not that I, individually, am averse
from the frame and polity of the English church
government: I hold it to be noble and mag-
nificent; well according with the dignified
aristocracy that exists in England. Our two
famous universities are the venerable source,
of all polite erudition, and admirably form and
fashion our youth. To the exterior form of
the church I bow with reverend awe and
secret satisfaction. I see in it an earnest for
| 15
the permanence of other great establishments.
I laud the prophetic sagacity of that acute
Roman, Cornelius Tacitus, when he indulges
in his idea of a sublime republic, thereby de-
signating modern Britain, “ Dilicta ea; his
“ et consociata Reipublicae forma, in qud Reges,
“. Primores, et Populus regnant laudari facilius
“ quam evenire, aut si eveniat, non diuturma
“ esse potest.” To the frame of the church I
do not object, but greatly approve of it. From
its doctrines I dissent ; and that dissent is
strongly marked, earplained, and reasoned
upon throughout these pages; and therein
justice must be done to me, that I have not
flippantly expressed this dissent, but have
gone deep into the matter. Above all, I have
insisted upon the doctrine of necessity; and
although some may affect to be startled at
the doctrine of election, yet it may be proved
as conclusively as any mathematical propo-
sition whatsoever.
The doctrine of election, then, is a corollary
from the doctrine of necessity; that of neces-
sity, from the doctrine of the being of a God.
If we admit a God, we must admit his
attributes : because, from the necessary sup-
I 2
| 16
position of such attributes, we conclude
his existence; hence his omnipotence, omni-
science, omnipresence, and prescience. “In
him we live, and move, and have our
being.” Consequently he is the primary or
efficient cause of all things, and therefore
a link of causes must run through the chain,
until the final causes, all springing from the
efficient cause, and tending towards the final
cause. Therefore our individual free agency
is a mere claimera, and the result of the
error of our conceiving our conscience to be
an efficient cause; whereas it is only the
mirror in which we pass in review the internal
sensations that we feel of the result of causes;
hence as our fortunes and habits are various,
we conclude an election. Will any man deny
this reasoning 2 If so he must be prepared to
prove, that eternity is not an endless suc-
cession of time,” but what the schoolmen
have termed a nunc stans, a perpetual stand-
* This regards only modes and special existence that exist
in time, and is referable only to human actions. It hath no
reference to the deity or the universe, whose properties are per-
petual actuality, and are not contained within the idea of
time.
117
ing still of time, in which there lies no need
either of prescience in the Deity, or causa-
tion in the operations of nature. Upon this
hypothesis the result of all our observations
and experience would come to a nullity; and
all our proofs would be a priori, and not à pos-
teriori, even of things most obvious. The liber-
ty of man, then, hath been insisted on in a
great measure to give power to the magistrate
and the priesthood; in derogating from the
power of God; and in making him a proto-
type of the heathen Jupiter. Balancing in
scales the fortunes of mankind, in a passive
state, which he was incapable of directing ;
and then handing over such as displeased him
to eternal punishment. This error, with many
more the result of the false metaphysics and
prejudices of the Gentiles, has crept into the
Christian church, but was wisely and rationally
rejected by the reformers; particularly those of
Geneva, who have deemed the liberty of the
creature incompatible with the omnipotence
of the Creator. Why, therefore, should the
people of England preserve a system less
reasonable than that of the people of Geneva,
I 3
*
| 18
and of almost all the reformed churches on
the continent? Hence the Parliament thought
it essential to conclude that which Elizabeth
had begun, and which, there is reason to
believe, had she lived a few years longer,
she would have perfected, and thus probably
have saved us the civil war, and Charles his
head.
We had now done with arguing : the mo-
ment of action had arrived. Europe teemed
with experienced soldiers of fortune, who
had fought in the maintenance of a princi-
ple, and to obtain renown, more than to
defend their respective states. Such had
been the case with the numerous English
volunteers that had filled the ranks of the
Hollander against the Spaniard, and of the
Swede against the Imperialist. Many Swedes,
Germans, and Hollanders passed over into
England. Men of approved skill, and long
experience, offered to the Parliament to draw
again their swords, in a kindred quarrel; for
the Protestant interest all over Europe was
with the Parliament, and against the King.
The great Gustavus Adolphus had filled
l. 19
Europe with his renown, and had disseminated
his principles and his science; so that we did
not enter into the war with that deficiency
in skill and experience which might have been
expected. My mind was ever eager to catch
at compensations, and, I thought that I per-
ceived many for the ills that we were about
to suffer, in that flow of friendship, which
devotion to public interests necessarily must
generate. t * * * …
As families are the epitomes of States,
so is friendship the epitome of patriotism.
Through friendship.we aspire to the boldest
undertakings, and infriendship we find consola-
tions for the bitterest disappointments. By the
overflowings of our hearts into the bosoms of
others, we give extension to the vital princi-
ple of social life, which thereby obtains addi-
tional energy, and suffocates selfishness—that
canker of our breasts—that bane of our virtue.
Supported on the wings of pure and virtuous
friendship, our steps falter not on the arid
sands of the Lybian desert; our hearts bound
as elastic as the buoyant ship over tempes-
tuous waves; nay more, we may smile even
I 4
120
on the frowns of fortune, and sink without
anguish into the arms of inevitable fate. Let
every patriot erect an altar to friendship. It
is the Surest means of obtaining his ends.
Do we not in this principle discover a
dispensation of Providence? a law of God,
that teaches us, by induction, to call no man
master, since mastery and friendship dwell not
together How inconsistent, then, are many
human institutions; when indeed we feel
vexed, insulted, harassed, and oppressed by
them | Let us fly for relief into the arms of
friendship. If it cannot achieve our deli-
verance, at least it may ensure a compen-
sation. These were the sentiments with which
I put on my buff coat, laced my helmet, and
buckled on my sword.
12I
CHAP. XI.
THE Committee of Danger gave me a com-
mission to raise a regiment of horse. I has-
tened to my own country, where I found
abundance of officers among the neighbour-
ing gentlemen. They brought with them their
followers and retainers. Every one seemed
eager to engage in the war, because all had
only been acquainted with peace. War's
hideous head had not been raised in England
for a period long beyond the traditions of
men; and what we know from history alone
has but little effect upon us. To be prudent,
we must wait for our own experience. Even
the women, unconscious of future scenes,
pleased with the bustle, smiled upon our
purpose, and stirred up our mettle.
122
I must here pass over some months, as
nothing worthy of remark occurred until I
joined the Parliament Army, which were as-
sembling at Northampton. The Earl of
Essex, general of that army, had his head-
quarter in that town. Here I met with many
former friends, whose hearts all beat high
with expectation; who, united together in
one cause, and relying upon each other,
thought themselves to be invincible. And
who is there that has a heart, who would not
lose life, or limb, or fortune in such a cause 2
Who is there that hath ever witnessed de-
spotic government in foreign states, who
would not readily lay down his life to prevent
it from being established in England P Who
preferreth not the healthful running stream to
the foetid stagnant lake 2 Are we not already
sufficiently enchained by dire fate, that arbi-
trary rule and superstition should step in and
bind us with their soul-degrading, God-disho-
nouring fetters ? We are not sheep, that are
fatted to gorge the voracious appetites of
fierce and selfish beasts of prey. No, Eng-
land hath ever been reserved for a better
123
fate. Her tyrants have been rare; her dole-
ful systems of government but temporary :
thanks to the noble blood which circulates
in her veins—thanks to glorious, death-des-
pising chivalry—to iron suits, and barbed
steeds, and desperate blows. Where, then, is
the puling tool who cries gentle liberty? Yes,
she is gentle when she reposeth ; but like the
lion, she is easily roused : beware then of her
deadly fangs, reckless of all : beware then
how you awaken her.
When I saw this noble army assembling ;
when I beheld the many valorous youths
that served in it, many of the highest birth,
whom the King's ill judging and excluding
prejudices had driven to make common cause
with the people at large ; when I perceived
the many veterans, grown grey under arms
in Germany and in the Netherlands; when I
beheld the steady countenances, and the well-
knit limbs of our honest English yeomen,
true to the cause, firm to their purpose, and
obedient to command, I glorified God that I
had been chosen to belong to such a band. As
my heart was elated with being in such a
124
company, so were mine eyes feasted and de-
lighted with the richness of their harness, the
splendour of their arms, and the beauty of
their horses, who, though docile to the rein,
were in spirit as unsubdued as their riders.
Every sensation that could touch the soul,
interest the feelings, and delight the imagi-
nation, presented itself as a compensation for
the many severe afflictions, and the positive
ills, that were about to be inflicted upon our
common country.
Were we to analyze our feelings, we should
find no opportunity so fit for such a purpose
as the assembling, the marshalling, and the
marching of an army to its first battle at the
outset of a war, and that a civil one. Were
the mind not crushed by the vastness of the
consideration, it would receive impressions
which no time could efface. Anxiety, hope,
and confidence here guide our steps. Under
such circumstances we become more or less
than men : for either we are shrivelled by
fear, and all our selfishness leaves us; or
we are sustained by a glow which is ex-
cited by our being placed in a mid-sphere
125
betwixt life and immortality. We see on
every side the portals of a glorious death
half open ; and if the soul rises at all, she
rises to a level with her position. How won-
derfully and curiously are we adapted for
every contingency of human life from the
luxurious couch of pleasure, to the rude and
aching bed of honour. What energies are the
properties of man how godlike are many of
his faculties: how glorious might often be
his destinies | But he appears to imagine that
his utmost prerogative is to doze through life;
keeping his frame only in motion, and letting
his spirit lie dormant. When indeed he awa-
kens that Spirit she is roused up, as I have said
of liberty, like a sleeping lion, who put his foot
upon the neck of his disturber. Yes! but still
we must submit to the hard hand of necessity.
Like the sportive heifer we frisk and jump;
but the jerk of our tether nearly breaks our
neck. -
The first battle of the civil war was under
Edge Hill. May I be allowed to describe my
sensations. I looked up and down the field.
Firmness knit the brow of many a veteran—
126
a feverish anxiety sat on the visage of many
a youth. The horses pawed, and were ready to
the hand; and as if participating in the feelings
of their riders, they required not to be driven
to the charge. The few first cannon-shot dis-
sipated this state of nervous suspence, and a
thrill quivered every manly heart. That dark
and hoar-frosty afternoon was in an instant
lighted up and warmed by the rapid flash
of the cannon, which formed a striking con-
trast with its tardy growling. The rattle of
the musketry first assailed the ears like the
distant thunder, and then made hardly more
impression than the continual rolling of the
drums. But as the most surprising sounds
were the hissing of the balls; so the most
animating were the shouts of the contending
parties, who hurled defiance in each others
teeth, with “God and the Cause !” and “God
and the King!” When, however, I saw the fu-
rious charges of the horse, and felt the ground
trembling under their sounding feet, so elec-
trifying was the shock of the conflict, that the
muscular vibrations of my own frame seemed
to surpass the power of the animal that I be-
127
strode. Night, the mutual friend of well-ba-
lanced armies, parted the combatants, and
both sides lay on the bloody field. The stout-
ness displayed by both parties gave a cruel
presage of the future havoc of the social
war. Upon the news of this battle, all through-
out the country were alarmed, and even ter-
rified, it being a strange thing in England.
Foiled in his attempt to destroy the army
of the Parliament in the field, the King be-
thought himself of a stratagem to accom-
plish the subjugation of his people, though
at the expense of his royal word; of his
kingly faith; of his princely reputation. After
the battle of Edge-Hill, the King retreated
by Oxford, Henly, Reading, and from thence
came to Colnbrook. The Parliament voted
an address for peace, and asked leave to send
their commissioners to him. This was granted,
and he appointed his castle of Windsor as the
place of negociation; and “ desired,” for these
were his own words, “ that the treaty might
be speeded;” notwithstanding which, to the
astonishment of all mankind, in defiance of
old English integrity and good faith, he or-
128
dered Brentford to be attacked, where there
was stationed part of the regiment of Colonel
Hollis, who were very brave men, as appear-
ed by the resistance that they made, though
many of them were slain, and divers others
driven into the river. But they stopped the
King's army, notwithstanding the number
that were upon them ; and they defended
themselves until the Lord Brook’s and
Hampden’s two strong and noble regiments
came to their relief, when they quitted the
town, and the King took possession of it
for that night only.
The City of London was in the greatest dan-
ger: but the conduct of her brave and patriotic
citizens shone forth with a lustre not inferior
to that of the citizens of Rome after the
fatal day of Cannae. * *
Thus the King was not only foiled but exposed,
and all men began to entertain a well-founded
prejudice against taking his word.* The faith-
* So great was the confidence in the King's word, that the
General, the Earl of Essex, was in his place in the House of
Lords discussing the terms of the treaty, when his advanced
guard was so rudely attacked. The King laid the treachery
upon Prince Rupert.
129
lessness of princes hath, in all ages, been the
forerunner of their downfall : for, in rulers,
downright tyranny is oftentimes more over-
looked than faithlessness. It is, indeed, diffi-
cult to be loyal to him who is faithless to us;
because all government hath its origin in con-
tract; and as there is no divine right to govern,
so there can be no moral obligation to obey, ex-
cepting the spirit of the contract be religiously
observed on both sides. All the misery, all the
ruin that people have lain under with regard
to their governments, from the beginning of
the world, spring from not rightly under-
standing this contract. No man can be mas-
ter of another's body here on earth, except-
ing by contract : and no order of priests
hath any power, excepting that which is
given them by the law of the land, which,
in other words, means the will of the people;
for no priests have any authority from God
to meddle with civil matters; their only calling
being with reference to our moral duties.
And here they must preach by sufferance or
toleration only, because their doctrine must
not contravene the direction intended to be
VOL. I. IK
/
130
given by the laws of the land to the people;
which, in other words, means that line of
conduct that the people intend to pursue.
This conduct ought to be always guided
by those eternal principles of justice which
are the result of every man’s unbiassed judg-
ment and reflection. Should, therefore, the
Legislature perceive that any order of priests
are, for their own benefit or advantage, teach-
ing the people doctrines which contravene in
any degree those eternal principles of jus-
tice which God hath implanted in our hearts
as the rules of our conduct, and that they
vainly set up the pretended will of God to
enforce their system, not only are they
amenable to the laws, but they should be
checked and silenced : it being for the laws
of a country to decide the form of prayer in
which God is to be worshipped. Charles
in fighting for the Bishops, was suspected of
fighting for his own power only. Henry
the Eighth, and Elizabeth, changed the
form of religion; could it not be changed
again Thus stood the main point in the
dispute. -
13|
Thus we get rid of an imperium in imperio;
thus the government of civil law plays no lon-
ger at cross purposes with the government of
divine law; thus the civil magistrate no longer
enforces obedience to one authority, and the
priest to another. The greatest blessing that
can fall upon a nation is, when their destiny
is to have the law divine contained within
the law civil; for man's civil opinions are
modified by his religious ones.
K 2
133
CHAP. XII.
I HAVE ever been of opinion that we all have
our good and our evil geniuses; that they ac-
company us sometimes occasionally, and
sometimes throughout our lives; that when
attracted by the one, we shun the other, and
so alternately. These sprites are not what
the old schoolmen would term separated es-
sences; but they are good and substantial flesh
and blood. They may have tainted, and even
infected our path through life; they have im-
bittered all our comforts, and gnawed with a
Serpent’s tooth the core of our hearts: they
have feasted and fattened upon the blood of
those who might have been the nearest and
dearest to us; and at last, tenacious of life,
because they are a necessary scourge of Gods,
they triumphantly have seen us drop into the
K 3
134
grave. Of our whole destiny this is the se-
verest affliction. Is it to be wondered, then,
that such a foul passion as revenge should
enter into the human breast, excited by so
foul a cause 2 It is easy to become a stoic,
and laugh at ills that appear but for a mo-
ment; but when we look over our shoulder,
and perpetually view there the horrid grin of
our evil genius, even the stout heart of the
glorious Brutus is appalled. Yes, we may
toil, and sweat; and fast, and pray; and cower
ourselves into a ball with caution, and then
step tip-toe, and cast a slow and scrutinizing
eye around,--what will it avail us? the foul
sprite still hangs on ; its breath is pestilence,
and its grasp is death. Hence that dark sus-
picion of an enemy, that fretful misgiving of
the mind, when we come athwart a detractor.
What is this but an example of the doctrine
of repulsion ? We are, then, perpetually sur-
rounded by a moral, as well as a natural at-
mosphere. And in this moral atmosphere
dwells the imagination; which, however ex-
travagant, hath always some ground for its
support: It is the conductor to the heart of
135
love and hate, of joy and grief. Pure intelli-
gence pierces through this atmosphere, and
discovers hope soaring above it: for without
hope, we are locked within the inextricable
chains of despair; despair which reason can-
not conquer, because despair annihilates
hope, and hope is the offspring of pure
reason. Despair, then, conquers us ; and if
our frame survives, it survives without rea-
Son; reason flies from it. Gracious dispen-
sation of nature | Hence the final cause of
madness; the tenement of reason is some-
times too weak to hold it when attacked by
despair; it flics, and the tenement remains :
tossed about by grotesque passion,--by sen-
sations excited but not regulated,—the cha-
riot without the charioteer, the headstrong
steeds without their reins. Why should we
not, then, strive to explain the mysteries of
nature ?
Aye, I repeat, certainly we have our evil
genius, and our good one also ; for we cannot
insulate ourselves. Were we able to do so,
the meditations of the closet might have effect
upon the directions of our lives; but, crossed
K 4
136
and buffeted at every turn by our demon,
we often languish in hope, until our heart
sickens. We review our past life over again—
we let no part escape our investigation—we
flatter ourselves that thus and thus might we
have shaped it; and for the moment derive the
same satisfaction from the ideal amelioration,
that we should have done had it been real.
What an illusion, then, is human life! how little
worth preserving ! How base and cowardly to
cling to it! what folly to regret it ! Have we
always derived satisfaction from our parents 2
are we always to expect it from our children?
Whom can we call our friends? and on whom
are we to rely 2 The monarch feels himself
only a splendid pageant; oftentimes he is
more shackled than the peasant. The con-
queror's laurels wither; his glory wanes in
peace. The courtier’s malignity is not a
compensation for the patriot's thrill, when
daily applause beams in his eye, and dances
in his heart. The patriot, deafened with the
reiterated cry, silently sighs after the cour-
tier's power. Well, then, the further we see,
the more acutely we feel; and the more deeply
137
we understand, the less reason have we to
be attached to life—the more patient are
we of hard necessity and inevitable fate,
because, we have the less vanity,+to gild
our chain. Your vain fool’s yoke is easy,
and his burden is light: for in his self-love
he finds a thousand compensations, and his
dim, fluttering, and unsteady eye cannot reach
the wise man’s horizon, who views around
him such horrid shapes, such unsightly scenes,
as oft may drive him mad.
Well, then, caution avauntſ Let me plunge
headlong into the stream of life, reckless of
the consequences: since they must follow,
follow what will.
Although I may appear to have a seri-
ous turn, from the foregoing passages, yet
that was far from my disposition. I have
ever had a great love and inclination for
the pleasures of society, and indeed for all
rapid transitions of feelings. No condition
so terrible to me as a dull monotony. If
I cannot be delighted by my good genius,
let me struggle against my evil one ; , but
deliver me, oh, ye Fates from morbid mo-
notony. Hence my love of popular govern-
138
ment; hence my admiration of the ancients,
their actions, and their activity; hence a con-
siderable share of scepticism; hence a reli-
ance on the fates: whilst they are active, I
am contented; when they appear to have
forgotten me, I am wretched. Hence I pic-
ture to myself the blissful delights of a future
life: to be in a continued and progressive
state of knowledge, movement, and activity;
to understand propositions the most abstruse,
and at present the most inexplicable; to attain
definitions the most just, and to command
with one glance the whole connection of
cause and effect. Here we crouch under the
despotism of necessity—there we may soar
on the wings of liberty—here we receive a
considerable share of sensual gratification,
but more intellectual pains than pleasures;
and the proof is, that the one is limited,
whilst the other is not. Therefore, we feel
that we must be satisfied with the first,
whereas disappointment always attends the
limited enjoyment of what we conceive we
have an unlimited capacity to enjoy. In this
lies the distinction between the pleasures of
139
Sense and the pleasures of intellect ; the
former being measured by a certain stand-
ard, which may be considered as nearly
uniform ; whereas the gratification of the
latter often only brings more uneasiness,
greater desire, and greater disappointment:
We are humiliated by comparisons, in this
case, which cannot apply in the other, because
we can make no comparison between our own
sensual faculties and those of others; but the
reverse is the case ; we make a similar com-
parison of our intellectual faculties. There-
fore it is clear that this life is not the one
of intellectual enjoyment, and possibly, upon
the balance, of more intellectual mortifica-
tion, than enjoyment. This is again a wise
dispensation of Providence, which we cannot
alter for the better : because, were it
Ötherwise, all would be leaders, and , there
would be no followers; for, let us educate
the whole mass of mankind alike, -we may
give play to more pure intelligenoe, but we
cannot add one jot to it, we can only call it
forth. Nature | Nature 1 how true thou, art
to the doctrine of just proportion. Pure In
140
telligence! thy divine lamp burns brighter but
here and there, among the Sons of the Earth !
letthem whose lamp is dim, console themselves
in sensitive pleasures. And these intellectual
mortifications are increased from the influence
of our evil genius: that is, of those particular
persons who cross us in the path of life, and be-
twecn us and whom there is that degree of at-
traction which is imperative. The whole of our
fortunes may depend, then, upon a friend being
substituted for an enemy, or vice versd But
what intellectual mortification can be greater
than to perceive, that those whom we took
to be our good or guardian angels, should be
the demons that sap our prosperity and de-
stroy our fortunes How much more happy
is profound ignorance in this case ! Thus, if
we are social, that is, if we are liable to
attractions, and disposed to affinities, which
in their operation are dclightful, because the
intellectual movement of man communicates
the highest pleasure, we often have cause to
repent; and, possibly, in proportion to the joys
will be the mortification. Then the more in-
sulated that we are, the more we are delivered
i4 |
over to be gnawed by the feverish tooth of
cnvy. Thus, which way shall we fly—which
way shallºwe turn ourselves Positive sensual
pleasures are not always to be obtained, or not
to be enjoyed; intellectual ones are surrounded
by, briars and thorns, and are to be plucked
from the summits of rocks, or the edges of pre-
cipices. Our children fill us with fear, and our
parents with disappointment. Our own con-
science is either occupied with hope or re-
morse. We sift, we analize, and we discover ;
and what do our discoveries amount to ? An
immense space between us and brutes, and
an awful space between us and God . As our
reason improves, onr heart gets cold ; as we
increase in wisdom, we desire the happiness
of fools; for wisdom chases self-complacency
from our breasts, which causes us to fatigue
ourselves in the pursuit of empty grandeur.
Let us then become stoics; let us then, like
them, stand centinel upon ourselves, unawcd
by superstitious terrors, the most dreadful
of all ; viewing the universe as one body, and
God as its soul : clinging fast to the emblem
of justice, which, if it hath not been disco-
142
vered already to the mortal eye, our daily
experience shews us. But, alas ! even Zeno
himself, great doctor as he was in mo-
rals, cannot always administer the anti-
dote ; the morbid disease that corrodes our
happiness is chronic—for, in truth, we are
mortal. And what are the symptoms of that
disease? We may wish, but we cannot obtain;
we may desire, but we shall rest unsatisfied;
on us shall seem to set a restless dissatisfac-
tion, independent of the aspect of external
circumstances, because we are unwittingly
moved by the force of those circumstances.
We go stumbling on through life, always ex-
pecting the road to mend; until we come to
the brink of the grave, which is cut across it.
We start back, and, possibly for the first time,
come to the true use of our intelligence, and
blow from before our eyes the mist of illusion;
but, before we have time for thought, we
tumble headlong into it ! *
Oh, that it may, then, be given to those
who spurn and despise this life, to enjoy that
which may follow. Peace, war, politics, am-
bition—what are they but so many toys 2
143
When we feel that we carry, with us that
disease, of necessity, which death only can
heal, and philosophy, in some slight degree,
abate, let us strive to find some alleviation,
in endeavouring to forget that it exists;
let us wait with patience for a balance in our
lives, when some compensation may be found.
But if, on the contrary, successive disappoint-
ments press down upon our weary steps; if
the triumph of enemies, the insolence of
rivals, the mortification arising from suc-
cessful tyranny, the madness of popular tu-
mult, the loss of friends and of fortune, dry
up our exhausted hearts; let us try one bold
stroke, and crush them all by exclaiming,
“ the great and tremendous God hath ac-
cepted us, because we have been chastened.”
Such, indeed, is the true test of greatness of
soul; such alone the qualities that should
make us proud of our existence. To hold on
with tenacity to this notion, is to set fortune
at defiance, and to prove that calamities affect
only a lower order of beings. When it shall
please inscrutable Providence to sweep away
the pestilent vapours of civil society, by
H44
means of the hurricane of the passions; when
we are shipwrecked by that frightful storm,
that hurls kings from their thrones, and drives
a people from their repose ; buffeting them
to and fro, in the most giddy eddies;–when,
through the perversion of justice, and the
adoption of Sophistry, compacts cease to be
compacts, and contracts no longer remain
contracts; but society, broken up, floats drift-
ing upon the angry waves, on what rock shall
we set our foot? On that which the stoics ever
found in their own breasts. There our hopes
cast anchor, notwithstanding that it is a rock,
and the anchor holds. This is the true ex-
plication of faith—the faith in eternal and
absolute decrees. “ Qui spermit Fortunam
regit.”
145
CHAP. XIII.
IN following my destiny, there were mo-
ments, however, in which sensitive objects
chased away painful speculations and melan-
choly reflections. As a social being, I was as
subject to the laws of sympathy and antipathy,
as inanimate bodies are to attraction and re-
pulsion. These first two properties, though
they are termed moral qualities, yet are: as
much subject to the laws of necessity as..the
second ; and when we assert that chance
procured us a happy or an unhappy mar-
riage, we talk nonsense; that marriage de-
pending entirely upon the . degree of sym-
pathy felt between the parties, and the
motive which directed the will. Hence we
find that nature in general assorts her matches
tolerably well. There may always be some ex-
VOL. I. L
146
ceptions : but as love is no other than the
warmest or highest degree of sympathy, the
force of it must in some sort be on a level;
and there must have been a previous affinity,
to have created this sympathy, the passion of
love being entirely of the sense, and not of
the intellect. I know, however, that many
have endeavoured to philosophize this pas-
sion into a pure intellectual one. This hath
only been to clothe the passion of desire
with a sort of garment of fancy and imagi-
nation, which hath not altered its character,
but only wrapt it up, and rendered it more
hidden. When we hear persons exclaim,
“what a wise choice such an one has made of
a wife,” or, “what an unwise choice another
hath made of his,” this is only because they
understand not the degree of sympathy that
existed between the parties, and wherein that
sympathy lies; and to blame them, or ap-
prove of them, for such marriages, is to blame
or approve the original Organic construction,
form, and qualities of their respective per-
sons:—these were the causes, the marriages
were the effects. It is true that this spirit of
147
sympathy and antipathy is sometimes so strong,
without an immediate outward cause, that we
attribute it to some mysterious workings of a
separate essence: whereas it is only that qua-
lity or condition of others, that is either sym-
pathetic or antipathetic to our own nature.
An exterior sense of these qualities gives us
almost a supernatural power of discernment;
and such a feeling having strongly prepared
the mind, by a train of almost apparently
unperceived causes, we conclude a presenti-
ment, imagine an omen, and fancy an evil
eye. We have a secret misgiving that such
an one is our friend; such another our enemy.
All this is true, but it is not miraculous. It
springs from our forgetting the intermediate
causes, or from our overlooking them. Hence
a man of great penctration is no other than
he who hath this feeling strongly, and who is
cool enough himself to perceive at once its
operation upon those that surround him.
Though he perceives more quickly, yet origi-
mally this is neither owing to his own free
agency, nor his power of discrimination,
but is the result as well of his own peculiar
1, 2
148
organization, as of that of others, and of
this law of nature operating between them.
How far presentiments, forebodings, and
anticipations of events, may be classed under
the heads of sympathy and antipathy, I
will not venture to determine, because I
have not made sufficient observation ; and
I am unwilling to advance any opinion
which hath not been founded on experience,
as it is from that source that we draw all our
knowledge. This I know, that in my own
case my mind hath been antipathetic of
happiness towards myself, and consequently
towards those who have been, as it were,
within my influence. Thus I have ever
discerned an enemy more quickly than a
friend, and farther off. My mind hath oftener
had misgivings of evil than of good for-
tunes; although my imagination hath con-
stantly cherished hope, and hath tinged with
a roseate hue the darkest events. But this
arises from the buoyancy of my spirits. Thus
we move totally independent of our wishes,
and are as subject to attraction and repulsion
as the planets. It is the cruel condition of
149
our nature to be ever drawn within the vor-
tex of a whirlpool, and swallowed up in it;
for what else is life and death, but the vortex
and the centre of a whirlpool 2 We are
launched on the edge, which is the calmest
part, where the power of motion is less. As
we are attracted towards the centre, the mo-
tion becomes accelerated, and at last we are
engulphed. When we are not giddy by the
rapidity of the motion, we see whither we
are going, but cannot stop. In one of these
giddy rounds, we stumble, as it were, upon
marriage; and this incident often gives a new
direction to our lives. It may diminish our
energy and activity, but it often increaseth
our happiness. In giving us children, it de-
creaseth our attachment to life; because we
See our life prolonged in them ; and we are
not cut off at once from the world, and dash-
ed out of it without the least trace of us, our
fleeting memories alone being left behind. As
a division of power in a state tends to neu-
tralize or destroy despotism, so does the
having children neutralize or destroy sel-
fishness, which is the most horrid despotism
L 3
150
that a man can be under, and the parent
of every vice. Consequently, that religion
must be the best which insists upon the
absence of all selfishness; and it may be a
question, whether those religions which in-
culcate extravagant future rewards and pu-
nishments, do not encourage, in the highest
degree, selfishness in their votaries. I think
this fact cannot well be disputed. For my
own part, my destiny hath been such as I
would wish, with regard to the marriage that
it pleased the fates to assort for me; and I
have conceived it to be a compensation for
many of the severe ills that I have felt.
I think it may be fairly said, that, in a happy
marriage, a wife is our good genius; our des-
tinies being then so interwoven, that she draws
us into the sphere of her attraction. Yet there
may be agreeable marriages, in which the
husband may be the passionate lover, and
their personal intercourse may be attended with
warm affection and conjugal joys, such as prog-
nosticate happiness, and yet she may indeed
prove an evil genius, and warp our prosperous
fortunes. Such was the case of Henrietta
15 i
Maria, the wife of the King. She was
his delight, and at the same time his evil
genius: for her malign influence drew him
into the vortex, that swallowed him up. A
wife sometimes diminishes our riches, and yet
filleth up the interstices of time between event
and event, which break into the monotony
of our existence. In this case, doth she not
furnish a compensation ? On the other hand,
may she not bring us great wealth, and still
cause time to roll more tardily on, from the
misery of our being obliged continually to
view and suffer the defects of her person or
her mind º Particularly the latter, for to them
we never can become reconciled. They are
so many sharp points and salient angles, that
no collision, no attrition will ever smooth, and
with which our own sympathies can never
coalesce. Well, then, his lot, whoever he may
be, is not contemptible, who draws a good
wife. . It furnishes a mighty compensation. I
use good in the larger sense; comprehending
in it many excellencies and beauties as well of
person, as of virtue. And the price is enhanced
if she become his good genius, that is, if she
L 4
I52
influenceth his destinies to good, from her
direction having been a fortunate one. Thus,
what a combination is required for happiness!
Sympathy between the two persons, and
sympathy in the direction of their lives. When
we look into nature, and perceive the endless
causes and combinations required to produce
the slightest event, or the most insignificant
being, we must confess the necessity of a
master's hand. Democritus and Epicurus,
with your concourse of atoms, how ridiculous
ye appear ! My wonder is excited, that amidst
all this apparent disorder, this seeming con-
fusion, this mock and delusive feeling of good
and evil, that such harmony should exist, as to
prevent things, and beings, and events from
being jammed together, running into each
other, and bringing us back to old chaos—a
beautiful fiction of the poets.--Why should I,
then, repine P Not only my destinies are
inevitable, but they are good; and must, by
deduction, be the best for me: because we
must consider our original point of departure.
It must, then, bean illusion, that the destinies
of others are better than mine :--and so on
153
through the world: for those that are worse
might not have been, and those that are, might
have been worse. If I cannot understand
infinity, I must be contented: because, to be
discontented upon foundation, and with rea-
son, we must have understood infinity, and
have seized at once the whole view and com-
bination of causes. We are apt to mur-
mur because we have not the attributes, of
the Deity
I say that I was contented with my lot
in regard to marriage. Yet we are not
acquainted with the recondite theory of
sympathy and antipathy, which I suspect
to have much more of nature in it than
of moral qualities; for our affections vary
with our state of health, and our state of
health often with the degree of happiness
that we feel. Sometimes, our love is ardent,
fiery, and replete with desire. Then our for-
tunes are prosperous, and we are encouraged
by hope. At other times it is more sober, more
tender, more silent, more modest, and more re-
served. Then we lie under disappointments and
Sorrow ; hope is more distant, and almost fades
154
in the horizon;–for fear subdueth love, but
courage revives it. To prove that there exists a
peculiar sympathy or attraction between two
persons, it is only necessary to observe how few
men, or how few women agree, in the same
notion of beauty; and though we may be
struck with the beauty, still if the sympathy
do not exist, let her have all the excellen-
cies that a poet could fancy, still we are not
interested. This certainly proves that sym-
pathies are excited by feelings of the sense,
and not from moral abstract reflection, and
that our love or hate is involuntary. Let
us examine this a little closer, and remount
to first principles. The universe is one sub-
stance : And why? Because we cannot con-
ceive a vacuity; for what is not body is
nothing; and nothing, having no quality of
space or duration, cannot exist. Therefore
the universe is full; it is one body, containing
various substances, and of various gradations
and weights. If it be full, it is connected;
therefore there exists a continuity through
the universe, every part of it being con-
tiguous. Thus every part must support or
155
influence the part adjoining; and as this
support cannot stop, or be interrupted, the
whole rests on the same foundation,--that is,
mutual support and influence. All, therefore,
that is in nature, must act by nature, and
through nature, and consequently there can
be nothing out of nature. The main spring
of nature is motion, of which the great
law is attraction and repulsion, sympathy
and antipathy. These are inherent pro-
perties of substances; in fine, the aggluti-
native essences, that hold substances together,
and not fanciful moral feelings or determi-
nations. - , , * * * * ,
What is the result God thinks and deter-
mines ; and we act. For nature is the mode
only whereby God makes his Providence visi-
ble. Every benefit, then, is a mercy from
God, and every evil too; for that evil may have
caused us to avoid a greater one ; nor do we
know that such was not necessary for another
dispensation, Therefore, strictly speaking,
there is no such thing as evil in the world.
There may be inconveniences, which our want
of knowledge may induce us to call evils; but
156
if we seriously set down to use our intelli-
gence, and to examine according to our rea-
son, we shall discover that positive evil is a
mere chimera.
But to return to the subject in hand. If
such a natural sympathy exists, which is the
involuntary cause of all marriages, why are
any of them unhappy? To this it may be
replied, that we do not know the duration of
sympathies, whether they meet for one moment
or how long they endure; nor are we ac-
quainted in what parts, and what passions they
must agree; or that nice point, where sym-
pathy ends and antipathy begins. Every
passion, every inclination of the human mind
is on a line; and it is according to the
scale on which you choose to set a mark,
that the passion is virtue or vice. Prudence
or avarice, generosity or prodigality, are only
different scales on the same line. Utility
(which is a quality we draw from experi-
ence) points out the particular scale. Love
is a passion caught by the sight and the touch. .
The imagination is then inflamed, operating
like the intoxicating fumes of the brain. It
157
gives this passion a fictitious and transitory
colouring, and when thesefumes have been dis-
sipated, it is left just as naturalists have found
it. So of other passions. Nature is ever true.
When we daub her over, or colour her with
our imagination, we do not disfigure her,
but we deceive ourselves. Rub away the
paint, and she remains a solid substance.
But mankind like to be deceived, and
hence an abundance of jugglers, in religion,
in philosophy, and in every particular in
which our intelligence is excited. Let them
be deceived : they are the happier. He who
sees more clearly, only shrugs up his shoulders
and shakes his head. - •- t
Indeed it hath ever appeared to me a most
incredible system, to cut the universe into
two parts, and assign a moral governor for
each, the One constantly counteracting the
other; to conceive evil to exist as a separate
abstract essence, with its chief or ruler,
What is this, but to borrow schemes of demo-
nology from the poets, and to make all their
beautiful fables and allegories, in which there
is so much instruction, articles of serious
158
belief?—to impugn nature, which hath an-
nexed certain conditions to existence, such as
disease and dissolution ; and many passions,
which we call sensual, because we are unac-
quainted with the whole range of the laws
of sympathy and antipathy. If we thus cast
ill reflections on the work, methinks we are
not very courteous towards the architect.
We overturn God’s inscrutable decrees; we
supersede or set aside his dispensations; we
suppose free-will the imposture of cunning
and superstitious priests, who vend God's
good graces; and, as the climax of presump-
tion, blasphemy, and corruption, we set up
the kingdom of heaven for sale! We are drawn
into existence from a state of non-existence,
under any conditions; this is the summum
bonum; for we know not how many modifica-
tions we may yet have to pass through ; and,
once in existence, may be a step to being
alway in existence. And yet the best use
we make of this existence is to insult the
Creator, by presuming that he hath mixed up
abstract evil with his works, and that there
exists an author of ill, who with him holds
159
divided empire over the universe; whereas
all we know ought to prove to us that
there are certain inconveniences only am–
nexed, as conditions to that existence, which
we may have strength of mind enough to
counteract, God giving us that strength of
mind to protect our consciences from fear,
sin, and folly. The more we know of Nature
however, the more really religious we be-
come ; because we see in a greater degree
how motion, and arrangement, and harmony
may be brought about, by the simplest means,
and how few are her great and fundamental
laws. In striving to dissect her; even with
our own scanty means, we obtain the highest
advantages—the advantages that one who
enjoys a good sight hath over one who is stone
blind. It brings us more in affinity with her
kindest operations—we repose with the same
tranquillity in her lap that a child doth on its
tender mother's; and when we die, we are
hushed to sleep with the same care that she
takes not to ruffle or discompose its temper.
Nature is our kind mother; and, in truth, we
are ungrateful and foolish children. We turn
160
from her, who alone can enlighten us, to walk
in darkness, and to worship the extravagant
creations of our besotted fears and imagina-
tions, which we personify into mishapen forms.
We swallow large doses of these nauseous
draughts, which are gratuitously horrible:
for, though delusive, they have no particles of
sweetness in them. Thus are we governed
by our fears, and thus is the divine and beau-
tiful aspect of nature marred by them. Thus
are we unhappy, because they have given us
that cowardly and ignorant direction; thus
are we often trampled upon and laughed
at ; thus our existence hangs upon a sophism
or a conceit. We leave the real for the ideal
qualities of things, and attempt to fly when
we could walk upon sound ground. When
others are fantastic, I grow moody and in
dudgeon, and seek refuge in contemplating
inscrutable Providence and its absolute de-
CI’60S,
16]
CHAP. XIV.
I HAVE only to set down the passages of
my own life; and, had I patience and leisure,
those circumstances that have come to my
knowledge of the lives of my acquaintance
to prove the truth of what I have just said.
I have often amused myself with remarking,
how many persons’ good and ill fortunes have
flowed from the most trifling event; and by
what strange and intricate combinations
things are brought about. Epictetus hath
well said, “ that common and vulgar people
“ ascribe all ill that they feel to others; peo-
“ ple of little wisdom ascribe it to them-
“ selves; people of much wisdom to no one.”
This saying is one of the most profound of
that philosopher. He was neither surprised
to See a pitcher broken nor a child die, be-
VOL. 1. M
} 62
cause his experience had taught him that one
was fragile and the other was mortal; nor
was he able to ascertain why these two ac-
cidents occurred, because, himself being mor-
tal, he could not remount to the source of
causes ; he could not follow backwards,
through infinity the chain of those causes,
mor embrace in his view all the other com-
binations connected with them : but he was
clear-sighted enough to have discovered that
there were no less causes, and no fewer com-
binations, to cause the woman’s pitcher to be
broken, whom he perceived weeping for that
catastrophe, than there were to occasion the
downfall of an empire—the introduction of
a new sect of religion or philosophy—or
the discovery of a great truth in geometry or
mathematics, or their offspring, mechanics.
The discovery and civilization of countries
may, and indeed have been owing to just as
trivial causes as those that led to the breaking
of the pitcher. Contentment, then, is the
most solid virtue, the Soundest philosophy, the
purest religion, and the most profound wis-
dom. The persuasion of this truth will
| 63
calm the troubled water of our conscience,
which, wide and deep as the ocean, bewilders
and astounds us. Look at man congregated
into society—survey the earth, and you see
an ant-hill only—examine your conscience,
and you behold the mirror of a world. It is
but a mirror ; it hath no realities; replete
only with flitting incorporeal phantoms,
waking dreams, causeless joy, and gratui-
tous remorse. She breeds the giant phantom,
hope, who, impatient of restraint, lifts up
his towering head into the heavens; but
checked by the slightest impediment, in a
sensitive object of real existence, shrinks as
rapidly into nought. To him succeeds, as in
a magic-lantern, disappointment, that tor-
turer of the Soul, and despair, its conqueror;
for the soul is ever mistress, until despair hath
grappled with her.
Yes, I lived many years dazzling mine eyes
with the magic-lantern of conscience. Fas-
cinated was my reason ; the turbulence of
passion then tossed me to and fro; principles
hastily taken up, dimly seen through ; every
external object magnified; consequently every
M 2
164
inward resolution fluctuating. My imagina-
ion told me then that I was free, My reason
now proves to me that I am the slave of in-
scrutable fate. In those gay days every object
wore a roseate hue. I met for the first time
my good genius. Her mild influence has sof-
tened my rugged fortunes. Aiming at too
much, I have been punished for my presump-
tion ; and hope, the offspring of my brain,
from a giant hath dwindled into a pigmy.
But let me discard regret, and dissipate my
gloom.
About the time that the treaty of Uxbridge
was entered upon—hollow as the winds—in-
sincere as the King’s heart—it gave us only
time to prepare for harder blows.
I passed this winter in pleasure, business
and recreation filling up my hours. A multi-
tude of objects dawned before my eyes; some
penetrated into my breast. Expectation gave
wings to all my thoughts and made them out-
vie themselves in Swiftness. The warlike
trumpet, sounding to arms, hushed the melo-
dious notes of the birds singing their vernal
loves. The perplexed ploughman knew not
i 65
for whom he wearily hung upon his labour.
His sober steeds, scenting the war, and roused
by the skirmish on the plain, plunged and
flung on their gear, and fancied the sylvan
chase was prolonged into spring. The young
maid, quickened by an anxious tenderness,
was alternately moved by tears of joy or
alarm. Her desolate abode in the open
country, or her more certain danger in the
walled cities, brought her lover home both by
day and night to her panting heart and her
clasped arms, though he was faithful to his
public duty far away, and possibly in the
midst of riot and revelry, faithless to her ; but
only so for a moment. His heart, hardened
against personal danger, was awakened often
by the feeling of her disconsolate state and
surrounding perils. The more careworn
wife, impatient of ideal alarms, turned with
contempt from the maid’s sorrow ; nestling
round her little brood, and pondering on their
future fortunes. The aged matron, cold from
years, and colder from hard fortunes, thought.
as she was nearer the grave, that she was
nearer to God; and her prayers were accord-
M 3
166
ing to her direction, either for God and the
Cause, or God and the King. -
Patriotism and chivalry clashed, like thun-
der clouds, whose dark hue first overcast the
welkin, and gave awful warning of their
bursting—big with combustion ; the one
party crying, “’Tis for justice we strike ‘’’
the other, “ For honour we l’ Oh, what a
noble twofold flame was here lighted up !
Oh, what a sacrifice of gentle blood ere these
flames could be slacked In the fierce col-
lision, what flashes were struck from their
flinty hearts | But young Liberty is rocked
by strife. Her cradle is tossed upon the bil-
lows of war.
I had again to prepare for arms. My for-
tunes again took a new direction. A circum-
stance that at first sight appears but trivial,
might and did influence them for the re-
mainder of my existence. The simple cir-
cumstance was no other than that my regi-
ment had been quartered during the winter
at Kingston-on-Thames. Well, and a much
more trivial circumstance hath changed the
fate of generations and of nations, and the
} 67
tracing it brings us into a sober and rational
view of human life. In ordering the different
regiments to their various destinations, pro-
bably no other reason was assigned than this.
Those that were quartered on the side of Lon-
don, on which were formed the several ar-
mies, were to join those armies. Therefore,
if the same regiment had lain at St. Alban’s,
they would probably have formed part of the
army in the north. Here a new direction
would have been given to my destinies: an
entire new combination would have arisen in
all that concerned me. Here I might have
met death; or another combination might
have given me an ascendancy : that ascen-
dancy might have influenced others—and so
on to the whole country; then I might have
become a great leader. So that a clerk me-
chanically arranging various troops to various
destinations, holds in his hands the life and
death of individuals, and may be the cause of
great victories or defeats, of fortune or dis-
grace, falling upon individuals. And yet we
foolishly exclaim, “a man is the maker of
his own fortunes;” we might as well say that
M 4
168
we are the makers of ourselves, or of the
world. Thus the whole constitution of na-
ture, the actions of men, all the events which
spring from these actions, are the result of
the crossings, clashings, and combination of
these causes, and are of necessity, and could
not possibly have been otherwise. Therefore
my appointment to the army of Sir William
Waller in the west, and every thing that af-
terwards befel me, was only in the course of
this new destination, in which I moved, until
a more powerful influence gave me another di-
rection. Andwhat is the history of our passions,
but the properties and the mode of our particu-
lar nature clashing with external circumstan-
ces, and falling in with various combinations P
By one of these combinations we may at one
moment acquire and display heroic courage,
at another sink into abject cowardice; by
another combination our good gº nius may
clash with the evil genius of another ; on
him we may make our fortune; we become
lord of the ascendant. Then, again, by a
curious train of unforeseen events, we may
be carried away for years in a direction full
169
of disappointment and misery. Who shall
be so presumptuous as to assume glory to
himself? Who shall be so mean as to attach
blame to himself? Who shall be so foolish
as to be vain * or so weak as to feel remorse?
He who hath not philosophy and patience
enough to trace cause and effect. No : let
him rather be crushed and annihilated with
the idea of the omnipresence of that awful
Being, the disposer of all things over the vast
expanse of infinitude. Hence we conclude
the plenitude of the universe, and the conti-
nuity of substance; hence let us always look
forwards with anxious hope, and never back-
wards with unavailing sorrow. An eternity
cannot purchase yesterday—it is swallowed
up in the voracious jaws of endless time.
With humility be it spoken, the Almighty
cannot restore what is past; he may compen-
sate for the future. What is past is set in
endless night, to live only in our fleeting re-
collections, to glimmer in our decaying and
treacherous memories, that varnish past
scenes with such illusive art, that we hang
even upon our past follies with delight. And
170
why so Ah! who can resolve such a ques-
tion | Reason avaunt 1 for when you desire
to dive into the bottom of things, you are
bewildered in inextricable labyrinths' Stop—
stop; I pray thee; you are more sage when
you gaze only on humanity.
171
CHAP. XV.
SIR. William Waller overran the Western
Counties with great rapidity. He beat the
King's forces at Lansdown. On this occasion
I was fortunate, and drew upon myself the
notice of the army, and the approbation of
the General. My heart was elated, and a
succession of new and varied objects kept it
in a continual glow. I was in my own neigh-
bourhood; I visited my house. I felt a secret
joy, which the monotony of constant resi-
dence wears away. I felt a soft affliction
mingled with a tender pleasure, at the recol-
lection of those whom I had lost, and whose
society and affection I had there enjoyed.
Their countenances seemed to appear to me
again in those spots in which we had been
wont to Solace ourselves together. In these
172
moments of recollection, how bitterly we feel
how much we have neglected moments of
reality; how impatiently we seem them to
have enjoyed the presence of our friends;
how rapidly social hours seem to have been
slurred over; when the awful conviction stuns
us—they are no more—we are not certain
of meeting them again—a world, an existence
Separates us; the fleeting moments of their
lives. have passed like a shadow, and leave
but a shadow in our memories. On whom
shall we fix our affections? The more strongly
they are rivetted to kindred breasts, the more
painful will be the lacerating tug that will
separate them. If we are united in our lives;
still we are separated in our deaths. This
thought cowers me with a chill so penetrating,
that it nearly drives out every spark of friend-
ship from my breast. This chastisement is
to punish us for the slovenliness of friendship;
for dozing through our lives, until we are
scourged by the rod of affliction. Yes, then
We Smart, and stare, and are bewildered; we
limp about, and avoid the common herd :
like the stricken deer, who at evening comes
| 7.
to quench his thirst in the lake Ontario, or
on far Missouri—the Indian in ambush lets
fly the rapid, unperceived shaft; the poor
deer at first staggers, and then mourns his
doom. But the severity of separate deaths, of
lacerated friendships and mangled affections,
of desolate orphans and widowed solitude,
must be compensated in immortality; real
and substantial, not in that incorporeal recol-
lection which we have of the departed—a
recollection which overspreads us with melan-
choly. Ah, but what sort of immortality? That
state, like the notion of the Supreme Being,
we may conclude, but cannot attempt to de-
fine; nor can we assert theimmortality of Plato
to form part of the general intelligence of the
universe. That notion, like all the same philo-
sopher's conceits, is cold, confused, and unin-
teresting. That of the Heathens and the
Christians bear so close an affinity, that we
can hardly distinguish between them. Thus
it is when men have loosed the reins of their
imaginations, and wait not for the movement
of their change, when their essence may cling
to another substance.
| 74
Immortality, then, is a conclusion ; it
speaketh not to our sensations, but to its
kindred spirit, contained within our inward
soul, the loftiest reach of our noblest thought,
the essence of our pure intelligence, the in-
spiration of Hope 1 / /
I prolonged my stay until evening. How
powerful are our sensations when excited by
gloomy surrounding objects--by sorrowful re-
collections. The tolling of the evening bell—
the church-yard path ; the sadness of dark-
ened woods, associated with the memories of
those whom we have lost, have terrors far
beyond the most bloody field of battle. Here
we meet death face to face, and grapple with
him in all the ardour of our souls; we die
in noble fellowship—we strive for everlasting
virtue; the trumpet Sounds our knell, and
the joyous shout approves our sacrifice. But
in peace, death steals slily upon us, and with
a malignant grin he seems to rejoice in our
cowering, plaintive postures. Even the terr
rors of the nursery overpower our resolution.
He must be a philosopher who will die, then,
the death of a hero. Moody and unsocial I
i"75
returned to my quarters. A more pleasing
object lay a few miles distant ; it was her
whom I since found to be my good genius.
I know nothing more insipid than a long
personal description. What may please us
may not please others; what interests us may
not interest others. We have sympathy, as
I before observed, with one kind of beauty;
yet another, who values himself equally on
his taste, may have an antipathy. So Some
have a sympathy with the art of painting ;
another with music. And this arises from
the configuration of our visual or auricu-
lar organs, and some latent peculiarity of
our nervous system. I utterly discard the
opinion of those philosophers, who give us
their conceits for the fundamentals of things;
those mysteriarchs, who see abstracted es-
sences every where—who give into ideal
excellencies. There can be no abstracted
excellence of sensitive objects, or of substan-
tial forms; their excellencies must be either
positive, that is, fitted to certain purposes—
or relative. And if the latter, then if we
praise the object, we by implication praise
ourselves. Therefore, as I am a true believer
in the doctrine of affinities and sympathies,
I let the matter rest so ; for how, else, would
Nature work, unless specially, and upon
grounds 2 that is, upon some sort of sub-
stance. Therefore love is not that sponta-
neous will or desire of the soul, controllable,
and in itself incorporeal, such as the defini-
tion of a triangle, but a necessary law of
nature, established upon sensitive causation.
If there existed such a property as the human
will, as spontaneity independent of antecedent
motives, which binds it fast, then all our
determinations would be as wild as forked
lightning. Our determinations may be as
rapid and as forcible as lightning, but they
have all conductors, and these conductors lead
to definite objects. Yes, this is the property
of finite beings. It is so, you heroes and
heroines, who fancy that you figure in the
ideal world ! Thus, whether we are grave,
gay, moody or ascetic, these are only the
keys of our frame; they are keys on which
our passions turn. . . . . . . . . . . . ;
My own house lay in the rear of our army;
177
the house of the lady in question was in front.
This little difference, at first overlooked by
me, who then was in the habit of pursuing
but one straight-forward train of ideas, caused
me much pain, and even gave a new direction
to my future fortunes. I determined to visit
her. Why did I make this rash determina-
tion ? Hurtful to her reputation, and possibly
ruinous to mine, my sober judgment should
have decided otherwise. But is not judgment
rather the colouring of a determination, than
a determination itself, really and essentially
Why, then, did I not make another determi-
nation Because I was not ten years older;
bceause I had been praised for my conduct at
Lansdown; because I was filled, with melan-
choly reflections in visiting my own house';
because I had an affinity to the lady Annabel;
because she was sympathetic to me; because
a multitude of motives propelled my will—
Yes, propelled my will ; for our will is
propelled by overbearing motives. Can we
resist P. Can the frail bark resist the tempest 2
Can her sails always enable her to claw off a
VOL. I. N
178
lee shore? They fly into, ribbons, and head-
long she goes upon the rocks.
Therefore, on the 9th of July 1643, this
overwhelming crowd of motives vanquished
and chased out of my mind all considerate
reflection; and, at ten of the clock at
night, I called for my swiftest horse. The
village where I was, was surrounded for half
a mile by deep lanes, high trees, dark or-
chards, and small inclosures. Beyond was an
extensive common field, which formed an
open plain. The enemy’s patroles were prowl-
ing over it in all directions. On the other
side, eight miles distant, within the King's
line of post, was the lure, which like a falcon
I intended to pounce down upon. Our cen-
tinels stood all round the enclosures looking
on the plain. I arrived unobserved at the
last field, when I was challenged. I made no
answer; but, fixing my horse's head straight
forwards, and giving him both spurs, he with
one brave bound cleared the fence, and
sprang with elastic vigour across the plain.
Two or three pistol shots were fired at me.
I79
I was searched for, and reported to have
deserted. In half an hour my panting courser
stood streaming at the iron gate of the lady’s
mansion. The old porter, as soon as he
perceived my orange scarf (the Parliament
colour), refused to admit me. We parleyed. He
threatened if I did not withdraw to call some
of the cavaliers from the village. I drew my
sword, and seizing him by one hand through
the rails, I was about to commit a horrible
crime. I stood in a woeful state of despera-
tion : that state in which reason is palsied,
and our worst passions ride as triumphantly,
and in which their wretched victim is tossed
about by their storm : for such only can be
the solution of our committing crimes. At this
critical moment the point of my sword had
penetrated his doublet, was just punctur-
ing the skin, and would in an instant have
let out the feeble remains of an hard-earned
life. My good genius, in that form which I
should best like her to assume, interposed.
The malignity of my evil genius was abated;
and I was rescued from disgrace. The Fates
had directed my arm only to enhance the
N 2
180
value of the ransom; and I won Annabel for
ever, by an attempt which ought to have filled
her with horror. But that act was one of
devotion to herself, and she was a woman, and
was conquered by it.
In these feverish times, she, like a care-
ful nurse, was vigilantly alive to every
breeze that whispered through the grove
at night. But they were not those aro-
matic breezes that delight lovers in the
delicious nights of Andalusia or Italy; but
the dank and tainted gale from the un-
buried field of Lansdown. The groans of
the wounded who had crowded under every
shed round the mansion, were vibrating on her
ears. Pallid, distorted visages, and wound-
ed limbs, quivered before her eyes. Wild,
horror-struck, widowed mothers had for days
yelled around her. These were surrounded by
scarcd and famished children, some of whom
were scorched by the fire that had consumed
their dwellings. Terror, despair and revenge
were imprinted on their savage and yet pite-
ous aspects. I gained my quarters before day-
break. I was placed in arrest, and ordered
18]
to be tried by a court-martial for having been
within the enemy's lines; and I had the shame
to go through of explaining the whole af-
fair, which the General forgave as a juvenile
frolic. But I lost in some degree his con-
fidence. e
On the 12th of July the trumpet sounded
to horse. We hurried like dogs out of a
kennel, to rouse our game. As a young
hound, who for disobedience hath been sub-
jected to the lash, sullen and downcast,
his smarting sides cowering his spirit, trots
along, unmindful of the frolic and brisk
circling of his comrades; on a sudden the
fox breaks cover in his view:—here upon
his natural enemy he vents his spleen, yell-
ing with a shrill and Savage tongue, and
then, stooping to the scent, skims, foremast
of the pack, along the plain. So I, lately
disheartened, checked and reproved, now at
the sight of the enemy felt every nerve
braced and every sinew tightened. Reaching
the last of their troops, we entered the Devizes
with a crash filling the air with a furious
war-whoop. Many a buff coat was pierced;
N 3
182
many a helmet gave proof of its temper, and
flashed fire from the blows of swords, without
yielding. Many a whisker was singed from
the priming of pistols fired in the very teeth.
On the following day was fought the battle
of Roundway Down—and here finished my
military career. Every one knows the result
of this battle; every one knows it. was the
overweening confidence of Sir William Waller
that caused its loss. Had my mind not been
in a state of irritation, I should have escaped
unhurt with many others—in fact, I was clear
of all danger; but my anxiety to recover the
confidence of the General made me attempt
things impracticable, and I was wounded and
taken prisoner from a sort of self sacrifice.
This is quite certain, and it is not necessary
to enter into a tedious detail. How events,
then, are linked together How provoking
it is, on reflection, to feel the difficulties we
have fallen into, and which might have been
avoided by the slightest turn. Yes—but who
is to tell us what turn to make 2 We always
fancy that we decide for the best, when in
reality we do not decide at all, but are knocked
183
about like billiard balls. Oh, Fortune | For-
tune 1 how have you played with me! Shew
me, I pray, some favour at last. Let my bark
float again on your full tide. I care not how
tempestuous it is, provided that the gale is
prosperous. In deference to you, I will re-
nounce in my vocabulary the mysterious and
unintelligible term of wise, to substitute the
juster one of fortunate. Oh, Goddess of For-
tune! goddess of my idolatry ! Oh, Hope, thou
Aurora of Fortune 1 that openest the bright
morning of expectation, that bears us far into
another existence,that emancipates us from the
manacles thattie us down in our real existence,
too horrid to be borne but for the soothing
balm with which thou now and then healest
our chastened souls' The proud Roman
bowed to thee, O Bona Deal! The sour ascetic,
to propitiate thee, mortifies in the narrow
cell his wasting frame. Thee all men worship,
from the simple and sable Indian to the loſty
philosopher.
N 4
CHAP. xvi.
To be fortunate is that direction of our
lives which, in the opinion of ourselves and
of others, hath conferred eminent happiness,
arising from success. To propitiate this God-
dess may be in our power—to command her,
not. I know not whether that quality of the
mind which we term Imagination be not the
secret conductor or channel, whereby we
come to a knowledge and an affinity to her.
Why is imagination, in the common accepta-
tion of the word, trifled with, and even con-
temned, because it is thought by some to be
incorporeal or immaterial 2 And yet, on what
grounds are we to make such an assumption,
since its effects are decidedly sensitive * Why
we should positively conclude imagination to be
any more incorporeal than the infection of the
186
plague, I know not; since nothing can be more
infectious than in some cases the imagination.
It is the spur to our passions, and the delinea-
tions of our passions constitute the history of
the world. The doctrine of influences is dark
and hidden, and this is the key to fortune;
the channel of influences is through the ima-
gination. I use imagination in the large
sense, thereby defining it to be, the image
which the operation of our sensations leaves
upon the mind, which hath then a retro-ac-
tion influencing those sensations, by which
means many of them are thwarted, or im-
peded, or quickened in their action. If I may
use a figurative expression, it is the concre-
scence of the images drawn or excited by our
sensations, and left upon the mind; it is the
immediate channel of happiness or unhap-
piness, pleasure or pain, because this concre-
scence of images elevateth or increaseth both
pleasure and pain. Probably we are con-
scious of its effects through the nervous system.
Therefore I cannot admit it to be incorporeal.
Indeed our bodily powers in many cases are
coexisting quantities with the force of imagi-
187
nation. I utterly reject the ſaculty of choice
in mankind, considering it to be a capital.
error. What we take to be choice, is a cer-
tain sympathy or attraction conveyed through
the medium of the imagination; but intelli-
gence is indiscerptible; and imagination, a
main foundation of intelligence, appeareth to
spring from a concretion of sensations. Of
abstract intelligence we know nothing but
its existence; nor can we define, or explain
or analyze it, or understand its connection.
It is in our minds the type of the Deity, who
is concluded though not understood. So it is
with abstract intelligence, which striketh me
as the sum, essence, stamina, and final cause
of our being. Here philosophers stop, having
neither road nor means of proceeding further.
Hence they come at three conclusions—God,
intelligence, and immortality. But with subor-
dinate parts of intelligence, or rather the sub-
strata of intelligence, such as imagination,
they can by a careful analysis discover its
foundations and operations; and probably the
imagination in animate beings is analogous
to the operation of the loadstone—the fluxand
18S
reflux of the sea—the power of gravity and
attraction. For we observe in animate nature
two principles that seem to guide us—the
avoidance of pain, and the pursuit of pleasure.
If, therefore, that proposition be true, that
there be no vacuum in the universe, the ima-
gination rests upon more solid grounds than
hath been allowed to it. Having but the
imperfect guide of our experience, we are
often at a loss to discover the different de-
grees of imagination—what is a mere phan-
tasm, and what a real influence. And, when
it is said in Scripture, that faith will remove
mountains, it means, that the imagination
being the spur to the passions, which are the
motives to exertion, human exertions may be,
excited that seem incredible, because mot
within our experience:—for that is generally
conceived to be incredible of which we have.
not had the experience. It is a matter, there-
fore, of reflection to ascertain how far our
imagination hath a sensitive influence upon.
others, so as to work to our own good; and
whether it be not as atmospherical as the
infection arising from disease.
189
It is a fact ascertained, that surgical Ópe-
rations performed upon the field of battle
are attended with less pain to ; the patient;
and with a greater certainty of recovery, than
those performed an hour or a day afterwards,
and removed from the surrounding scene of
action. I have also heard that a man slightly
wounded in a duel will fall instantly;
whereas, in a battle, he will run on, heedless
of a graver hurt. Here, then, is an exempli-
fication. This discrepancy would not be ob-
servable in a moral subject. The solution of á
geometrical, or mathematical proposition is
not influenced by surrounding scenes, but
here we evidently discover atmospherical in-
fluence upon the imagination. The cases that
might be cited are innumerable. Suppose a
man in a gloomy mood to take a night's lodg-
ing in a lone house, with small attendance;
suppose the apartments, the pressure of sur-
rounding and external scenes, to convey
gloomy images to his mind. He retires to
bed; but if his nervous organs are not ob-
tuse, whatever may be the strength of his
reasoning faculties, he rests ill; the morning
190
sunbeams strike upon his countenance,—his
imagination becomes in an instant changed,
and he passes from melancholy to joy. In
the former case, all the most unpleasant and
untoward accidents of his life would have
rushed upon his mind. In the morning they
are dissipated. Surely sunbeams are material,
for the universe is in a state of continuous
corporeity. Imagination, then, is that fa-
culty which arouses the passions by the im-
pression of exterior objects; it is influenced
by these objects, and consequently it is in
affinity with them ; it is contagious; its fear
or courage flies from imagination to imagi-
nation; the same in love, hate, joy, or grief:
hence I conclude it to be a most subtile at-
mosphere. But, it will be objected to me,
What mean you by atmosphere P I answer,
is there not an atmosphere of sound 2 Sound
strikes all around from whence it issues
to a certain distance. A river, for example,
conveys it further in one direction than
another.—Sound is not immaterial; but the
atmosphere of the imagination springs
from Sound, sight, smell, touch—the opera-
191
tion of all the senses. I conclude such to exist,
because I conclude communication by the
means of continuous substrata, and because
I deny spontaneity. Thence all things must
flow, one from another, and to flow they must
touch, as the drops of water do in a river.
Therefore, when I feel and experience the
power of imagination, I conclude it to be
atmospheric, having a sensitive influence to
a certain distance. This hypothesis would
naturally account for the imagined appear-
ance of many supposed phenomena. Imagi-
nation is of an indiscerptible quality, spring-
ing from discerptible organs;–so is sound
—so is the infection from the plague, or other
epidemic. Hence we may conclude that our
conscience is only the view which we take of
the invisible march of circumstances, whilst
that march is the result of the active princi-
ple of motion attached to the operation of all
the faculties of nature :-the direction of
which is in the hands of the Almighty—for
we cannot account for it. Thus the universe
exhibits a vast but curious piece of mecha-
mism, which plays and revolves ad infinitum.
192
The relation of certain motions and actions
of human life constitutes morals. These sim-
ple actions or motions in themselves arise out
of their constitution, and, the constitution of
things. But whén they have referred to
others, or had a relation to the movements
and actions of others, so as to forward them
or impede them, then we conceive a moral
quality is 'attached to them. And man, having
a conscióusness of what is to his detriment
or advantage, hath also the consciousness of
those actions or motions which aid or impede
his pursuit. ' The action or motion, then, is
natural; resulting from the construction of
parts depending upon each other in the vast
and coinplicated fabric; and the understand-
ing of these laws of action, and the view of
them, constitute their moral quality. It ap-
pears, then, to me that imagination is the
most subtile spring, or secret and powerful
mover of the actions of men. Its influence,
then, must be according to its force. We
put an acorn into the ground—in an hundred
or two years it becomes an enormous tree;
we are not surprised at this, because our
193
daily experience discovers it to us: but we
know not how this is brought about ; further
than that the young plant is nourished by some
kinds of soil more than by others; conceiving
the roots to be the channels through which
this mourishment is conveyed. Now, the means
whereby the imagination of one man works
upon another, or upon many, is much more
hidden; or his imagination upon himself, so
that he shall not cry out even with pain,
when he is burning at the stake as a martyr;
that for amusement he shall often risk his
life, and cause others to risk theirs in imita-
tion; that he shall sometimes, through a
depravity of imagination, contemplate crimes
and cruelties as pleasures; and that the mere
force of imagination shall cause the greatest
change in his person, health, and intellect—
why, therefore, this should not be as atmos-
pheric as the maladies of some countries,
I know not. And if we admit such a pro-
position, it would give us a key to all sym-
pathies, affinities and attractions—and to
the congruity and incongruity of things,
WOL. f. O
194
which are the profoundest depths of human
knowledge. • * . .
The most visible operation of the imagina-
tion is that of its being able to overpower
another by its presence. I have seen such
examples of this, as have convinced me that
it hath a direct atmospheric influence upon
another's imagination: which hath been in-
fluenced thereby to good or bad fortune, its
presence affording an example of more force
than eloquence of reasoning. Now these last
are the tools which the imagination employs
in some cases: but oftentimes the presence
or recollection awes more. Thus, if we are
persuaded that such an one will like or dis-
like ſus, we expand or shrink accordingly.
An unfortunate person is he who hath come
into contact with more persons antipathetic
to him than sympathetic, and where imagina-
tions have worked in a malignant mood to-
wards him ; and when we find that these per-
sons are our near relations, or our connexions,
the influence is greater, and more destructive of
our happiness: harmony being that law which
195
binds all, and the closer the ties of consangui-
nity, thestronger should be the harmony to pro-
pitiate fortune. We say we like or dislike such
a person, for they have such or such qualities:
that is, the love or hatred is in proportion to
the harmony which subsists between the par-
ties; and the harmony depends upon the de-
gree of sympathy or antipathy they possess
for each other, founded entirely upon their
respective configurations, their nervous sys
tems, and their inclinations, acting on each
other through the medium of the imagina-
tion: so that our love or hate is as much out
of our power, and as little voluntary, as our
catching any other infection. Some men are
of such a texture, that they are accessible
more to the one affection than to the other;
but every moral affection may be traced to a
physical and necessary cause. So, of the cha-
racteristics of nations, (for a nation is only a
larger family) the system of influences having
been balanced among the individuals that
compose it, give them the same aspect.
The imagination, then, is the channel of
influences, and influences are the keys of for-
o 2
I96
tune. I apprehend, then, that we have been
in an error with regard to reasoning, when
we have concluded it to be out of our-
selves. I speak technically, and not naturally :
for naturally speaking the imagination I hold
out of ourselves, which means philosophically
within ourselves. I rather conceive it to be
entirely within ourselves, and it evinces the
character of our organs. The power of ima-
gination is very secret, and hath never been
much searched into. We know it to have
caused sudden death, idiotcy, madness. All
these contingencies prove it to be not immate-
rial or incorporeal. And if so, there must be a
substratum for its communication; for mat-
ter acts on matter. Now, our desire of suc-
cess in any point proves a sort of affinity to
that point, which, to speak plainly, has been
originally in our nature; and, in this case,
our desire would seem to be, not the cause
but the effect. Great desires, therefore, are
not without some foundation: if they were,
it would manifest a discordance in that par-
ticular; and harmony is one of the most ge-
neral laws of nature, and seldom errs. Hence
197
one imagination works upon another; and
our desires, both particular and general, are
the indications of affinities to particular ob-
jects. This hath nothing to do with the
Question of life or death, as to our immor-
tality; for according to our notion of death it
is only the dissolution of the outward visible
phenomenon of our frame; and we term that
substance indestructible that is indivisible;
therefore beyond our senses we cannot ascer-
tain things; we conclude or guess at other
and higher existences. But what I contend
for here is, that things are sensitive in the
sensitive world. The desire of fortune is the
propitiation of fortune, which falls on us
by a combination of a thousand accidents, all
chained together. * -
There may it is true be some men, endowed
with a peculiar faculty of looking into
these combinations, just as birds foresee the
weather. But though the man perceives his
own fortunes, he is no more the artificer of
them, than the bird foreseeing the rain
is the cause of that rain falling. Indica-
tions of ill fortune come more frequently and
o 3
198
forcibly than of good; the malignancy of this
atmosphere is stronger and more acute :, it
exalts the bile, and corrodes our nerves, and
jars their vibrations. I have no doubt but
that the day will arrive in which mankind
will, by patience of thought, have traced up
every accident, through physical or natural
causes, to the great first cause; that this
shall not be an assertion only, a proposition
in the air, but an admitted fact from expe-
rience. I maintain, that this is the most moral
doctrine, as I have often witnessed it; for it
teaches contentment and resignation to the
will of God, and it banishes what hath been
considered as abstract ill from the world,
and it puts us in harmony with the other
works of nature. Nothing leads more to dis-
appointments than false doctrines, because
they are all in discordance with our experience
and nature. Such are all those idle notions of
things founded in the Peripatetic School, and
continued by the schoolmen—whose object
seems to have been to disfigure and rail at
God’s creation.
Such systems of morals do not search into
}99
the depths of the human heart. Their exhor-
tations are too mild, for effect. If, then, we
would improve our own fortunes, or those of
our children or of our nation, we must first
get hold of the key of the human heart, and
understand well, how to unlock that wonder-
ful box, which, like that of Pandora, hath let
loose all ills on the world, thus working with
physical rather than with moral tools. Hence
the distinction between lawgivers and philo-
sophers. The philosopher is good to guide
the lawgiver; but he is feeble towards the
people, who require the strong coercion of
law to make them observe the rule of right.
Thus Solon and Lycurgus, and those who
understood these things, took care that prac-
tice should be precept. The secret road to
the human mind is through the human body.
The more robust the plant, the more robust
the virtue: and this proposition is, I think,
exemplified in many examples. Habit, there-
fore, is the parent of virtue. Hence I should
rather be inclined to put faith in the virtue of a
hunter, or an agriculturist, than of a musician,
or a painter. I like the musician least, be-
o 4
200
cause, being continually grating his nerves,
causing them to vibrate in extatic thrills, and
not recruiting the animal spirits by healthful
exercise, or calming the passions and raising
the soul by lofty speculations, his mind hath
a tendency to harp upon the worst and some-
times the most depraved passions of our na-
ture, and he consequently requires extraor-
dinary excitations. Music is a great aid to
superstition; for sound hath less of solidity in
it when abstracted from sense, and turning
only on harmony, which I think is a just de-
finition of music. Musicians are seldom for-
tunate, I mean in the larger acceptation of
the word. Painting harasses the nerves, and
exhausts the spirits, without an adequate
sensitive return; but not equally so with
music. Here there is more call for the
imagination, and it evinces much the power
of the imagination. I cannot conceive an
astronomer to be a vicious man. Mathe-
matics, geometry, elevate the mind of man:to
the loftiest speculations. His sensual habits
must be merely the result of the force of
blood and temperament, and not the cravings
201
of inordinate, irritable desire. I admire the
habits of a physician. . He sees the weakness
of our nature; he is generally just and con-
scientious, though somewhat selfish, from
the contempt which his profession must give
him of mankind. His mind is rather accu-
rate than exalted. Thus we could go through
all professions, through all countries, climes
and eras, and account for every vice and every
virtue. I have put others on the scent—let
them follow the chace ; let them hunt down
the game, and then they will have learnt
many things that they never thought of be-
fore; they will, learn why men act as they
do. I am persuaded, indeed, that long and
well-founded desires upon certain objects,
in the end come to pass. Thus desire is
a spur, continually goading us; and is it not
rational to suppose that as there is nothing
useless in nature, it is our want of know-
ledge that prevents us from knowing the
utilities of troublesome insects, or poisonous
plants? Therefore that great desire should not
be deemed by the Creator useless; and it
would be useless if the object desired was not
202
sometimes accomplished. I do nothere mean
every fleeting transitory fancy, every frivolous
wish—but those things to which our hearts
point, as the needle doth to the polar star:
in fact, our cardinal appetite. Great passions
are the spur to great talents: that is, our
desire for a certain object throws us into
the direction of obtaining it. All the opera-
tions of Nature in us are carried on by desire:
but our desires are various, some stronger
in one particular than another. We cannot
at once discover this discrepancy, and why it
should be the case; there must, then, be a
latent affinity between the object desired and
the person desiring it. Thus affinity is con-
stituted by multifarious combinations of acci-
dents. It is, true that fortune loves to play, nay
to trifle, and sometimes even teaze us : this is
often because we have not dealt respectfully
with her—for she is well represented under
the form of a woman, who cannot be too much
pressed for her favours, and who often resents
backwardness in her suitors. Thus we are
thrown upon ourselves, and languish in anti-
cipation, and repine at the past. This evi-
203
dently proves that the desire at the time was
not commensurate with the object desired.
So far, therefore, desire is power—we may
desire, and yet be powerless as to the execu-
tion; but power is of little service unless
we have a previous desire. We know in sen-
sitive objects, if we have a desire, and also
power to accomplish it, it gives pleasure, or
creates happiness, according to its durability:
for happiness is the continuation of pleasure ;
this every one knows, because every one
feels it. But the dark question to be resolved
is this: will desires be accomplished, if ever so
strong, where there does not appear an im-
mediate; active, sensible power to enforce
them P Will this be accomplished by a hidden,
Secret train of combinations and affinities,
unknown to ourselves, because unperceivable
by ourselves.? and is this strong desire, the
indication of its object being accomplished
This desire, which dwells in the imagina-
tion, is it, or is it not the forerunner, the
sign of its accomplishment 2 If it be not, I
repeat, of what use would be desire, or its
seat, the imagination ?
204
Man hath no need of miracles and mysteries
to teach him God. The ways of nature are
curious enough to satisfy any mystic mind,
though founded on a few fundamental laws,
if we have patience to strive to unravel them.
Great desire, therefore, often ends in fortune;
if not, we know not, nor do we presently dis-
cover where the discordance hath lain ; nor
have we diligently travelled through all the
second causes. The ancients appear to me
to have opened their eyes more than we have
done upon these matters. They seem, in their
laws and institutes, to have propitiated for-
tune. They seem to have well understood
cause and effect—whereas our schemes are in
continual contradiction. We expect courage,
and teach cowardice—we look for disin-
terestedness, and teach the vilest selfish-
ness—we expect men to be rational, and
we fill them with extravagant and mystical
fables; we inculcate humanity, and our final
causes are replete with horrid barbarities.
When a few enlightened philosophers, bene-
factors of the human race, strive to better
the fortunes of mankind, they are always
205
decried and calumniated. I do not say that
our march hath been in the inverse. ratio to
civilization; but that we have impeded virtue,
and disfigured it with many contradictions,
which in themselves have been the cause of
positive evil: so that what we have gained
on the one hand we have lost on the other.
And this hath in a great measure arisen from
man's want of patience in tracing second
causes, or from a false view being given of
them from authority, thereby producing con-
tradictions which must shock the considerate
at every turn. The ancients certainly appear
to have understood the dignity of man better
than we have done. We try experiments
enough upon brutes. We improve the breed
of horses, of cattle, of sheep; but, since the
time of the ancients, no trial hath been made
of the improvement of the breed of men,
Indeed, in Europe, , which constitutes the
greater part of the civilized world, infinite
pains are taken to deteriorate the breed of those
who are the most exalted in society. This
is the effect of prejudices—of ideal phantoms
—that such and such a lineage must be
206
preserved, to the destruction of health and
strength. Then, again, adultery was never
mentioned by the ancients but as a crime on
a level with murder and robbery: that is,
among the Greeks. In many countries, in
Europe a man is sent to the gallies for
stealing a hare or a pheasant, whilst he who
substitutes his child in your family for your
own is your friend, and highly prized in your
Society. Our country is more exempt from
that scandal. than others, particularly than
those where the tenets of religion oblige the
clergy to celibacy, which is the great cause
of the prevalence of this vice. Thus one
main spring of our fortunes, the tenderness
with which we should be reared—(I mean.the
attention and care with which our early
habits should be formed)—hath often been less
considered as a duty than pursued as a habit
—not more exalted, and often not so tender,
as that manifested among brutes. But the
clergy of all religions, having much deal-
ings with the kingdom of darkness, the se-
crets whereof seem to be confided to them only,
rely but little upon physical causes. Assum-
207
ing spontaneity, they insist on the efficacy of
injunctions, as if we could of ourselves take
a sudden turn, and move out of a direction
in which we had been drawn by a thousand
combinations. The less we know of second
causes, the more are we affrighted and bewil-
dered with what they tell us of that wonder-
ful kingdom, and the more are we inclined
to place the throne of the great first cause in
the centre of it, encompassed by all its gra-
tuitous terrors.
CHAP. XVII.
I was now a prisoner in Oxford. The tide
of my fortune had turned. I was smarting
under disappointments and wounds. I was
exposed to contumely and neglect. The last
piece of intelligence that I received was that
my house and estate had been sacked and
ravaged, and that my steward had gone off
with all the rents that he had collected—that
old mortgages of my father’s, which I thought
had long since been discharged, had come to
light; and that notice was given that as soon
as the times would allow of the operation of
the civil law, I should be sued for them. Un-
der the apprehension that I was desperately
hurt, and rendered for ever unfit for service,
my regiment had been taken from me, and
given to another. And here again were my
VOL. I. P
210
fondest hopes blasted in a career in which
I thought myself the most capable to suc-
ceed. I was without friends—without money,
without health, but not without hope. Yes,
Hope danced before my eyes. Like the morn-
ing sun, she lighted up my afflicted mind. I
was brought to the best state of reflection;–
not fanciful speculations, which burst like
bubbles in the air, but that state of reflection
into which we are forced by the pressure of
external causes. When the demon Despair
had chained me down to the earth, and I lay
bewildered, sometimes terrified and some-
times sullen, the enchantress Hope would
come and break my chain, and Soar with me
into the regions of imagination. In these mo-
ments I forgot my philosophy—I forgot the
evidences of the senses. “ Hope,” I ex-
claimed, “ can persuade us that there is a
mysterious whisper, which darkly forebodes
to us what we may expect.” A specious ap-
pearance of good hath often ended in real
evil; and apparent evil contains in it often
real good. In calmer moments, I made the
comparison between myself and the common
2| |
soldiers who were also prisoners, who, na-
ked, were huddled together, their gaping
wounds festering, covered with vermin,
and half-starved. I balanced their condition
against my own. If my own mental suffer-
ings were more acute, their corporeal pains
were more intolerable; if their minds were
more obtuse than mine, so that they suffered
not by reflection, still I had more philoso-
phy, and could indulge more in abstract spe-
culation, which would carry me far from the
regions of sensitive objects. In truth, there
are compensations: and man is unhappy from
not knowing the nature of things; their con-
gruity and incongruity; from forming a false
estimate of his condition; from his wishes
exceeding his capacities; from his not under-
standing the actual predicament in which he
is placed; weighing its advantages and dis-
advantages, and trying all these proportions
by a calm view and comparison between him-
self and others, and calculating from what
he is, and what he might have been ; con-
tinually saying, not, this is good and it might
be better—but the converse, this is bad and
p 2
212
it might have been worse. I am wretched,
but I might not have existed, and to cease to
exist is always a last resource. Continual
good palls the appetite, surfeits and sickens.
What, is called ill, whets and re-invigo-
rates us; and we judge by the contrast : be-
cause first establishing a contrast is the only
mode whereby to judge. A constant mono-
tony is as if we ceased to exist. It is the state
that resembles non-existence, for the happi-
ness of existence is equal to its activity: and
consequently the lights and shades, the hopes
and fears, the grief and joy of our condition,
are necessary to the happiness of that condi-
tion. We shall find these notions apply with
force to politics. And this lets me somewhat
into the secret of all the ills of the civil war;
of all the burnings, ravishings, murders, plun-
der, devastation, deaths, famine, disease, pain,
executions, beheadings, hangings, tryings,
subornation, perjury, hypocrisy, and that
epidemic madness, fanaticism. Happiness,
founded on virtue, must pass through a cruci-
ble—she must suffer, and lessons must be im–
printed with a rough hand, and written in
213
deep characters, to be legible to after ages.
Cavalier and Roundhead both received a les-
son with a vengeance, that humbled the pride
of the one, and corrected the sourness of
the other. Their asperities were rubbed off—
they were afterwards kneaded together by
the monster they both reared up, and which
is generated in the monstrous birth of civil
discord—in unmitigated, positive, solitary,
unsocial power ; armed with terror, and
grounded on the lassitude of exhausted con-
tending principles. Thus the tempests that
blow from the four quarters of the heavens
dissipate the noxious vapours that infect every
part of the earth. They meet, and cross, and
jostle, and purify our atmosphere. In like
manner did this hurricane of our passions
sweep from before our eyes those mists that
had obscured the divine forms of Truth ! and
Justice and Liberty
Meanwhile the war satiated and exhausted
the furious passions of the people. They were
chastised by the rough hand of experience,
and corrected and tamed by the adamant
chain of adversity. Viewing desolation around
p 3
214
me, I sat as if waiting in the antichamber of
death. The pursuit of science, and the habits
of meditation, could not draw off my attention
from the survey of surrounding scenes; from
a calculation on the result of events pregnant
with the destinies of England and the human
race. I panted, like the courser confined in
his stable, after the field, its pomp, its glory,
its dangers and its rewards. The hard hand
of Fate had tied me up. At length the sur-
render of Oxford released me. More elastic
from restraint, I plunged again into the foam-
ing tide of public affairs. That tide had run
against the King. Battles had succeeded to
battles, and sieges to sieges—the face of the
country was despoiled—half a generation
were sacrificed, to maintain a principle, and
to solve the awful proposition which the
House of Commons voted, “That the peo-
ple, under God, are the original of all just
power.”
Standing once moreupon the arena of public
life, I took a keener view of it; I discovered
many a villain concealed under the mask of
a patriot ; many a pretended statesman ig-
215
morant of the first principles of human nature;
a legislative assembly, in their collective capa-
city striking awe around them and influenc-
ing the destinies of mankind which they as-
sumed to direct, consisting in their indivi-
dual capacities, of mercenary, prostituted
knaves, obstimate illiterate boors, despicable
fanatical hypocrites, pedlars, trafficking for
every vote, and buffoons and parasites, who
were the ready panders to power, in whatever
shape it might assume. Few considered what
was best to be pursued, but all were anxiously
affecting to pursue what might appear best—
paying at least this homage to virtue, of being
solicitous for yet undeserving of fame. Thus
it is that the results of the acts of public
assemblies shinc forth to the world often with
the lustre of public virtue; whilst a sort of
convention appears to exist among modern
nations never to examine into motives.
Our future tyrant now came into play.
The abstruse and unintelligible temper of
Cromwell sat brooding like the genius of
evil upon the prospect of untoward events.
He kept concealed within the am ple folds of his
P 4
216
daring heart schemes of revenge and future
greatness. He accelerated, and then arrested
the progresss of liberty. He accelerated it by
contriving and compassing the King's death,
thereby setting a fearful example to future
ages; shewing the futility of divine right, and
that God acts by no supernatural agency in
this world. The Deity finds it sufficient for
his purpose to give what direction he chooses .
to the course of events. This great, this strik-
ing example of his providence, though ope-
rated by the hands of a selfish tyrant, hath
worked to his glory, by overthrowing all hu-
man grandeur, and Smashing at once human
power, prejudices, and habitudes, and turning
our minds to a first cause alone, to which all
things are referable. It shews that by the will
of God a king is hurled from the throne and
brought to the scaffold, and that a soldier may
be raised from the ranks to a throne. The
causes of such events, laid deep in the con-
stitution of human nature, have been long
foreseen by its great Author, and have worked
to perfect our humility and his glory. It was
indeed a great and stupendous act of national
217
justice. The blood that fell from the scaffold
that day watered the seeds of English liberty,
and it hath taught sovereigns that they must
not attempt to tread too closely on the heels
of the Almighty, by pretending a divine right.
They have been warned to shun such a pre-
sumptuous pretension. The trial and execu-
tion of Charles operated as a miracle to open
the eyes of mankind, which had been too long
sealed and purblind.
Cromwell arrested the progress of liberty,
by leaping upon the backs of a weary people,
and promising not to goad them further if
they would take his direction. He flattered
the whole circle of their passions; like the
artful harlot, who by similar arts usurps
the place of the affectionate wife. “I have
given you tranquillity,” said he, “ and con-
sequently food;” so, like Esau, they sold
their birthright and their children’s birth-
right for a mess of porridge. But for the loss
they sustained there was a compensation. It
will have taught future ages how to rely on un-
controlled power, and that the only guardian of
liberty is the laws—that a true republic is
2 IS
not one in name only—that power is like
water, rushing into every vacant spot within
its reach, and whither it may fall, and that an
hereditary, crowned magistrate, who is the
sacred ensign-bearer of the State, keeps out
your bold aspirers for dominion. His office is
to bear the symbol of the power of the laws.
Here, then, is an etermal necessary operation,
and not an accidental spontaneity. Here,
then, man exists to support a principle ; and
principles are not cut and shuffled like a pack
of cards, to amuse a man. Thus a king be-
comes the chief of an illustrious aristocracy,
the first gentleman in his kingdom.
I thought, I lived, I acted with Algernon
Sidney, with Wildman, and Chaloner, and
Martin, and Harrington and Neville. These
were the first-rate Worthies of the age; they
will be considered so by every true English-
man in after-times. They were the champions
and cavaliers of Liberty! they formed her body-
guard; and though for a while overcome,
and chased from their sacred charge, by suc-
cessful usurpation, they planted deep in the
land such healthful, and vigorous principles,
219
as neither that usurpation, nor succeeding
ones—nor all the trammels of superstition,
nor the cruel bondage of selfish passions will
ever root out, nor any thing short of an uni-
versal apostacy. May God avert such a pre-
dicament from England! may her sons remain
brave, and her daughters virtuous ! may that
Providence which delights in harmony banish
from among them that lust of arbitrary power,
Which is the parent of discord, of war, or of a
worse alternative—Slavery. May God avert a
spirit of faction, founded on the perishable basis
of the rapid acquisition of gain! mayheinspire
her people with the great maxim, that human
nature is the channel for the operations of
great moral principles—those great moral
principles which have flowed from out of her
soil like a plenteous fountain and may my-
riads and generations perish, so that great
principles live. May that cradle of despotism,
the concentration of the power of govern-
ment, be crushed ; so that government may
expand itself through the heads of families—
a noble principle, and ever the instinct of the
British people. A staid and rational peo-
220
ºple must necessarily fall into an aristocracy,
if they are not overborne by tyranny or cor-
ruption; because every family in the State
will strive to do the best for itself. Having
done so, it is in the nature of that which we
prize to desire the continuance thereof; we
shift our affections to our children—hence the
principle of aristocracy. Happy the State
where the humblest peasant may feel this
within his reach My notion of aristocracy
is not, then, an exclusive one. Indeed I had
rather belong to a republic where this scheme
of government was in force, namely, an aris-
tocracy founded upon the rights of promo-
geniture, then be the subject of a monarchy,
where such a system was set aside or ex-
ploded.
221
CHAP. XVIII.
—º-
THE nation was now delivered up to the
dominion of its worst passions, and Fa-
naticism reigned triumphant, Fanaticism,
which is a compound of vanity, fear, ma-
lignity and cruelty, that distorts not only
every object, but outrages every feeling of
humanity, crushed at once our darling pro-
ject of liberty, and the glorious foundations
that we had laid whereon to erect a noble
fabric of human happiness. This dire and
epidemic madness overspread the land; and
Englishmen, once so famed for their sturdy
virtue, their candour, frankness and good
faith in all their dealings, became impious
and fiery zealots carrying desolation and ex-
termination among the kindred fanatics of
Scotland and Ireland. Reason, Humanity,
222
and Justice wept and fled far from the pol-
luted land. And now, astounded with the
rapid and overwhelming progress of this dis-
temper, I retired within myself. I saw, or I
fancied I saw a vision, which represented to
me Fanaticism, or false religion, the child and
champion of Superstition. Her form was
gigantic; her cloud-capped head was encir-
cled by lurid, forked, and streaming fire;
her feet were hid in the bowels of the earth ;
her serpent’s tongue spoke lies in a voice of
thunder; her eyes glared with a soul-search-
ing malignity ; her crown of flames momen-
tarily lit up, or seemed to light up the dark-
ness and desolation which surrounded her,
and discovered all the victims of her fury,
whose limbs lay strewed around, horrid to
the view. In her right hand she held a bloody
Sword, in her left a chain, which seemed to
be constantly circling about all the kings and
people of the earth. Her garment was scrawl-
ed over with cabalistic sentences, written in
many strange tongues. Myriads of human
beings were studying and striving to learn
them : yet all were giving them different in-
223
terpretations. They agreed, however, in one
particular : to look upon their idol as the
protectress of power, in whatever shape it
should assume. Her votaries wore different
coloured habits. They fought whenever they
met; and sometimes gave up each other's
cities to massacre and pillage, because one
interpreted a line or a sentence written on
her garments differently from another. She
pretended to whisper in the ear of the Al-
mighty, and to receive from his own lips the
most minute instructions; then, waving her
sword, she urged on mankind to mutual ha-
tred and destruction. Then begun the work
of desolation, and them were chains forged ;
then sat Reason, wringing her hands in the
attitude of despair. Then a morbid chillness
overspread her regions, Numerous bands of
men, issuing from their dark abodes, clothed
in dismal colours, with measured steps and
Sad aspects, walked abroad, and the ghost of
universal empire sat upon the Roman grave.
No regions so distant that were not infected—
no country so civilized that was not terrified.
224
Making war upon Reason, Fanaticism levelled
men’s intelligence. No understanding so
proud that was not in some sort humbled—
no mind so weak that did not feel exalted.
Yet all was false and visionary—all was un-
certain, obscure, contradictory, and unintel-
ligible. Thus man, impatient of physical
restraint, revelling in his distorted innagina-
tion, played such pranks, as to set at defiance
our mostprofoundspeculations upon his being.
I have pondered with attention upon the
opinions that I have set down in the last chap-
ters. Any one running over them carelessly,
might perhaps imagine that I was an ad-
vocate for licentiousness. By no means:–
my notion is, that the more simple the reli-
gion, the more severe the morals will be of its
votaries. They may be intolerant—but should
we not be intolerant of vice and of folly?
When we drive our moral faculties to an ex-
treme, they must become intolerant of those
that have not been forced up to such a pitch.
Aye, and virtue is intolerant. True religion
is intolerant. She is intolerant of atheism,
225
and superstition, the effect and the cause,
She is intolerant of fanaticism. It is, our
vices and our weaknesses that make.us
tolerant. What sect so intolerant as the
stoics? What sect had ever so grand a con-
ception of human dignity? What sect ever
divided man so completely from the clods he
treads upon? What sectever tied him so closely
to these clods, as the Epicureans?', as the
whole philanthropic tribe of the Peripatetics,
of the Gnostics, or of the insipid Platonists?
of your gentle improvers of the human race,
your coaxers into justice P * , *
There can be no tyranny in forcing men
into a good direction, On the contrary, ty-
rants have ever been the greatest encouragers
of licentiousness. It is no new observation,
that bad men love tyranny. By tyranny, I
mean that power which comes rapidly and
unsparingly on all, whether from a single
person, a council, a body politic or corpo-
rate, or through the furious multitude, the
blindest and maddest of all. Bad men find
in it patrons of their vices, their corruptions,
and their misdeeds. A man who is servile to
VOL. I. Q
226
others will be servile to himself. He will not
respect himself. And in what doth his honesty
principally consist, but in self-reverence? Ex-
cess of gaiety degenerates into frivolity; it is
then synonimous with folly. Wherever riches
flow, and magnificence abounds, youth should
be impressed with the necessity of a grave
and staid behaviour. This is in essentials ra-
ther than in manners; for morals may be
grave and manners gay, and vice versa. A
grave and staid behaviour in youth prepareth
them to nourish and admire great principles;
and, by habitual restraint, chase away selfish-
ness—that canker of honour; that slayer of
virtue. The noble disregard of life and wealth,
which raised the famous men of antiquity to
the mid sphere between earth and heaven,
could never have arisen in the money-seeking
republics of the middle ages. Hence how short
their duration The Florentine Medicis well
knew this. Thus they erected their throne on
the corrupt soil of mercantile hearts; they
bewildered the learned with the nice criticism
of grammarians. The whole stress of human
ingenuity was discovered by them to consist
227
in turning a point in literary composition;
penning a conceited epigram, in chiselling
the ductile marble, or in calling forth the
power of the pencil. Men's eyes were
feasted, their ingenuity excited; their hearts
were corrupted, and their views bounded.
From the imperial Augustus they learned
the artful lesson. He found old Rome a town
of brick, he left it a city of marble. Such
was the imperial boast; such the means of
his victory over public liberty. If we are
too gay, we cannot be safe; because our
vices and follies then invade us, and carry the
citadel of our virtue by storm. No tyranny
can oppress us, if it be not through the me.
dium of our follies and vices. They are the
instruments, the tools with which it works:
Had half of Rome been possessed of Brutus'
virtue, would the Roman Emperors have ever
insulted and disgusted the world Tyranny,
then, is the rod wherewith the Deity scourges
the vices of mankind. No man can be bad
who thinks and acts upon these principles.
He who perpetually views a first cause ope-
rating through second causes, is already.
Q 2
228
accepted. He cannot fall into a state of repro-
bation—he will never be abandoned to a dan-
gerous self-delusion—his heart will be steeled
against misfortune, because he will feel that he
is under a Supreme guidance, and that every
step is ordained, and every wish is inspired.
Here is a conclusion that should make us
resist any system that impugns the rigid unity
of the Deity. What greater crime can our
hearts point out to us than polytheism 3 And
was polytheism confined to Gentiles only Is
every other positive religion clear of it? Has
mo trace of it ever come down from the ideal
Platonists? Have their untangible opinions
never been adopted into more modern
schemes? It is a crime on a level only with
atheism ; the one making many, the other no
first cause of all the phenomena of Nature :
whereas the result of all ourinquiries in natural
and moral philosophy only goes to convince
us of that great and eternal truth, the exist-
ence of a first cause, the futility of our will,
the nullity of our power, and the folly of our
presumption. But who is there—who, break-
ing through the trammels of false, education,
229
of the irregular passions, and of fear—shall
be bold enough with an eagle's sight to gaze
upon the star-paved heavens His heart al-
ready dwells in the regions of empyrean
light—he is in truth chosen—he hath been
accepted.
When we behold at every turn that pro-
perty called motion; when we have never
yet found out its spring, notwithstanding all
Our curious researches;–when we have sifted,
divided, mixed every particle of matter, ac-
cording to all the modes which our ingenuity
'hath suggested, and when we have failed in
the discovery of perpetual motion,--whence
must we conclude it to be derivable 2—From
some superior Being. By that superior Being,
then, are we propelled. Let us originate
motion with ourselves, and then we are inde-
pendent, except of the collision of other
bodies moved upon the same principles. But
here again would there be a necessary pro-
pulsion, because the force of two is greater
than one; so that, under every hypothesis,
we can never get rid of necessity. It is this
secret, this divine spring, that is the original
Q 3
230
of all things, of all subordinate determinations,
actions, and directions. Human life is one
great channel of its operation. Through the
exercise of human life the face of nature
becomes changed. Is it not therefore, a se-
condary spring of this great primary prin-
ciple? Who is there so blind as not to per-
ceive it—who so perverse as not to admit it
—who so obtuse as not to feel it P What
religion is there so grand as this sentiment 2
To what greater height can our soul tower,
than in grasping at this sublime conception ?
Like unto him that mounts to the top of the
highest Alps, or with panting breath reaches
the crest of chilling Chimborazo; he sees
passing under him the mists and clouds which
have shortened the sight of the less venturous
mass: he gazes through the pure aether—so
he whose aspiring mind dares perceive alone
a great first cause, regards the Vulgar mass
below him as enveloped in eternal mists. The
babblings of their throats pass by him like the
whistling winds, and he looks down with scorn
on their absurd theories and vain phantasies,
and the whole of that paltry system of econo-
23|
my which they fondly imagine to be the off-
spring of their own free choice. Yes, he may
laugh and weep when mixed with them; but
when alone he will contemplate calmly his
real state. He will discard the vain systems
of the sophists, that make the Deity an eternal
man, imbued with every human passion. He
will rest satisfied with this sublime conclusion
—God is wFIAT HE is. Even the stoics pre-
sumed no further than that the deity is the
animating soul of the universe. No nearer
can we rationally approach the awful fane !!
Free-agency, them, is a most atheistical doc-
trine; since it makes of the Deity a nullity in
the midst of creation; since it sets God aside
in the midst of his own operations.
233
CHAP. XIX.
THE hard hand of Fate chased me from
England. My fortune was ruined. I was
despoiled of the brilliant harmess of war. A
stern usurper had hushed the voice of the
people. He alone was their representative—
for he had trampled on their virtues, and
had placed his throne on their base passions—
their sloth, their fanaticism, and their rapa-
city, formed the basis of his towering ambi-
tion. He had shorn the Constitution of its
ornament—the aristocracy; he had crushed
that order which is of all others the most
essential to liberty and law, because it con-
stitutes a real division of power, neutralizing
absolute power, and checking the turbulent
ebullitions of the popular torrent of licen—
tiousness. Like the oak, it gives dignity
234
and grandeur to the forest. Like the Oak, it
striketh deep roots, and for a thousand years
it resisteth the howling tempest. But the ty-
rant wielded with a master’s hand the public
energies abroad, and the foreigner trembled
at the mention of his plebeian court. My
proud spirit would not truckle. If the splen-
dour of the monarchy, if the wisdom and
dignity of the aristocracy and the spirit of
the republic are alike quashed—if the chivalry
of the nation is humbled in the dust—on
what is an English gentleman to ground his
loyalty, fix his affections, or encourage his
hopes Sympathy he cannot find in in-
animate nature. All his best affections
are within thc circle of his social and moral
existences. In vain he enjoys the soil,
or the chase, when society is out of joint,
and civility eclipsed: for his fine-drawn prin-
ciples lay nourished in much secret medita-
tion; and on what now can he meditate, in
harmony with his early associations It is the
people of England that constitute England
Such as we prize it; and they cease to be that
people when driven from their old direction.
235
Oftentimes I exclaimed, “shall we, Brutus-
like, strike with the avenging dagger ? We
may reach the tyrant’s heart, but we cannot
strike down all his satellites—his hour is not
yet come—when that hath sounded, it will call
back liberty to her old haunts; she will again
nerve and refresh our hearts. But that
awful knell cannot be tolled by our pre-
Sumptuous hands, for his web is not yet fully
woven.” From these reflections, which I felt
were conveyed to my inmost soul, as illapses
of the great Spirit, I was induced to restrain
my hand; “ and now,” said I, “let us, supe-
rior to our hard fate, try to seek new fortunes
on distant shores.”
My weary heart turned, then, sobbing with
affliction, from England. Abstracted from
the pressure of these doleful circumstances,
my imagination danced with a momentary
delight at the prospect of a voyage into the
new world; and my mind was filled with the
profoundest reflection upon that greatest ex-
ertion of human ingenuity, the means of ad-
venturing across the awe-striking ocean.
Herein man shews himself the epitome of a
236
demi-god—in the construction of a frail bark
—its management, its navigation by means of
his active physical powers—his undaunted
moral qualities—his profound scientific disco-
veries. Thus he leaves his own element, to
pass over one the most appalling. He bor-
rows from the sea-fowl the plan to build his
carriage, and he appeals to the inward hea-
ven for his courage, and to the outward hea-
ven to be his conductor. All the sciences are
here required. What a line of demarcation
doth this enterprize draw out between him
and brutes | The first navigator’s breast
must have been agitated by hope not short of
inspiration hope, that hath becn gratified,
and hath given us an earnest of immortality,
when we are to plunge into the dark tide of
death. Here the most cynical may glory in
the noble nature of man—when tossed on the
mountain billows, to belold intelligence con-
tending with the storm of inanimate nature,
in her fiercest mood, and gaining the victory.
Man, like the ravening hounds, casts and
circles over his planet. Neither the arid
sands of the descrt, the vast forests of the
237
unfrequented wilderness, nor the terrible
ocean, stops his incessant beat. But when,
stimulated by his growing intelligence, he
shall have overcome all the obstacles to his
enterprizing exertions; when nought shall
remain to be sought for, nought to be disco-
vered; when his passions are no further to be
pampered; then must come the final con-
summation of all things. What other mode,
than the destruction of his planet, can we
conceive, to extricate ourselves from the mo-
notony of the supposed advancement towards
perfection—when man's intelligence shall be-
come co-equal to all his wants, for it never
can be so to his desires? This destruction,
like that of his individual dissolution, will be
the filtering-stone through which the intelli-
gence is to pass, when in an higher sphere
it may have again for ages to dance another
mazy round. This strikes me as an eternal
truth. Who, then, is so grovelling, as to tie
that intelligence to the clods we tread upon,
and assert that it shall moulder like them 2
They are to be broken and scattered—but in-
238
telligence is one and indivisible; no knife SU
keen that can divide it; no crucible so hot that
can smelt it ; no ocean so deep that can over-
whelm it; no heavens so high that it cannot
reach; no spot so distant that it cannot oc-
cupy; already hath it propelled us to run a
thousand times over our globe—why, then,
should the Almighty quench it?
These thoughts sprung up in my mind as I
left the British shores. As I moved from the
more contracted sphere of my own country,
to be numbered among the children of the
world, who, migrating from one immediate
government, are, notwithstanding, still within
the rule of the great Chief, whose spirit knows
nor time nor space—and thus I pondered until
I discovered the pine-covered cliffs of the
Western Hemisphere, ungenial, sad, and for-
lorn as grief.
Reflection checked unavailing sorrow, and
whispered to me rather to rejoice at what
I had escaped from, than to be downcast at
what I was to encounter. I had escaped from
the fearful yoke of having been under the
239.
government of a single person. The govern-
ment of a single person what portentous
words—how mysterious—what a cold and
chilling sentiment they convey to our shri-
velled hearts | But are they true 2 Is it pos-
sible that mankind should submit to the go-
vernment of a single person 2 No: we are
never under the government of a single per-
son, but under that of our fears, our preju-
dices, our folly, and our base, selfish, corrupt
vices; these are the reins with which a single
person conducts us—these are the whips and
spurs with which he goads us on. These are
the allies of tyranny and superstition; these
alone have upheld tyranny and Superstition;
these have ravaged the world by wars, and
withered and sickened humanity by injustice.
These prepare us to bend our necks under
the yoke. Awed by the sound of a name, we
are driven in to dovetail and wedge the mon-
strous fabric of corrupt and licentious power.
We help to rear up the hideous pyramid ; we
fancy that part of this power is reflected in
us, when in truth we are but the stepping-
240
stones of the ambition of others, who uncere-
moniously put their feet upon our necks, to
rise to their infamous eminence While our
pure intelligence is dozing, and our vanity
grows rank and prurient, or our more base
and villainous covetousness holds out its hand
to receive the wages of our iniquity—such is
the case in every sickly, worn-out nation. We
bend, then, not under the decrepitude of vir-
tue, but the more scandalous decrepitude of
vice, which hath even lost its daring. But now,
having left far behind that position in which
our baser passions might render us slaves for
a while, I dared to look upon the awful
solitude of this vast wilderness, where I
found nature in her rugged and primeval
mode, and man fresh from the hand of God.
Here his simple, unmixed, being excluded
emasculating vices, ever the offspring of a
more complicated existence, and raised up by
the many combinations of Society. Here his
religion was simple theism—It had not yet
degenerated into polytheism, the creation of
ignorance or pricstcraft. His justice was se-
j
24]
vere, because it was unmitigated by that weak-
ness, generated by our selfishness and fears,
often miscalled humanity. His purpose was
inflexible, because his body was braced ; his
perceptions were clear, because he was per-
plexed but by few comparisons; and his de-
terminations were firm, because his being
was in harmony with the rugged elements of
nature around him. ' . . . ; t .
On this soil, and among such a people, the
foundations of a great empire will be laid.
I fled from successful tyranny at home, to
plant the sole of my foot, in peace, even in
this vast wilderness:—proving that human na-
ture is not the physical enjoyment of life only,
but the channel for the operation of great
principles. Who, then, will contend for the
insulated being of man, for his power or
spontaneity? He is not a puppet, that dances
and chatters for his hour before the high hea-
vens—to be hissed or applauded as he shall
play his part—to be soothed or whipped like
a froward child—to be cajoled or frightened—
but a part of a mighty whole, the channel of
intelligence, and on our planet the most effi-
VOL. I. R
242
cient instrument of Almighty power. Such
is he, whether his virtue dwindles in the midst
of the decrepitude of the old world, or whe-
ther it be invigorated in its hard struggles in
the new. Still his essential condition is the
same. Our vanity and our malignity alone
make us dissent. Armed with this persua-
sion, I put my foot intrepidly on shore, re-
gardless of the hirsute-bear, the rattle-snake,
or the Indian-arrow. These shrunk into
nought before the invisible and master-hand
of Fate, which tracked out my beat through
the pathless forest. -
243
CHAP. XX.
HERE, then, I am, in this vast wilderness, a
banished man. Years are to roll over my
head, and possibly I may sink down into the
grave, drinking the while this bitter draught;
for aught of myself I cannot do. For, as I
have said before, day by day only we read but
one page of the awful book of Fate. Every
night the volume is shut before our longing
eyes. We cannot see through darkness, and
sleep into the story of to-morrow ; –the
morrow comes—hope is no more a flitting
phantom—an Almighty arm hath broken our
bonds asunder; our speedy feet outrun our
wishes—the glory of the triumph compen-
sates our bondage. Who then is free ? let
him look upon the universe, upon nature and
her laws—can he escape from himself, and
R 2
244
leave nature behind P Not until his hour hath
struck; then he is called—he hath not called
himself. No : not if even he hath drunk
the tragic-bowl, or planted the cold steel in
his own breast. Oft is such a man like to
the sorry jade, that will not be pricked
through a toilsome journey, but slinks and
falters, and then slips away. But I, whose
nerves are not yet unstrung, will manfully
bear up, and trudge on my rugged path.
How can our little barks in our fleeting
lives, which are but of a moment, sail down
in full force the eternal and boundless tide of
infinitude, and accelerate or impede its awful
march 2 Are we at the helm, do we steer the
vessel and trim her sails? How scanty are our
own records of the passing hour; who collects
them—and, when collected, who fills his mind
with them ; and how long would they dwell
there * We dance an hour in the Sunbeam
of life, and our vanity and fears conclude that
we shall continue some such dance in that
existence which transcends all calculation—
where we are stopt with the awe-striking
words of election, reprobation—where the
245
wisest philosopher stops short, at its general
admission only—who in the most ardent mo-
ments of his imagination dares not pass its
mysterious threshold. What, then, is our
grief or pain, our happiness, even our virtue
or our crimes, when swallowed up in the ca-
pacious jaws of endless time—waiting as we
do for our final, irremediable sentence 2
The fecundity of the principles of nature
astounds us ! their deductions, and the com-
binations of those deductions, are infinite in
variety and in effect. Two human beings,
created with the original properties which
we discover in them, aided by brutes and ve-
getables, and supported by the substrata upon
which they rest, require only space to spread;
and in spreading, what new combinations
arise!, what moral and metaphysical quali-
ties, beyond sensitive mature, sprout out!
These qualities we can hardly catch, and fix;
they are a sort of glory, which illumines the
tangible products of Nature. Yet, from the
multiplication of units from this spreading,
spring all positive ills—as a necessary con-
dition annexed to existence, and consequently
cº
R J
246
as necessary as existence itself. Every unit
added creates new contingencies, new cir-
cumstances—these produce new physical and
moral accidents, and multiply infinitely oc-
currences. From these are deduced more
liberty, or new restrictions; the being of one
becoming involved with the being of another.
Virtue and vice grow necessarily out of this
natural order of things. Man by his multi-
plication thus necessarily departs from his
original simplicity—he becomes, artificial.
Myriads and generations are involved in the
same fate, springing from the operation of a
principle, in policy, in religion, or political
economy. The flux and reflux of the tide of
life are sometimes violently agitated—then
subside into a calm—sometimes sweep away
this spot, and leave it a parched desert; then
fly to that, where they conquer the obsta-
cles that Nature have opposed to them; and,
often changing both soil and climate, lead
man to the very verge of his tether. During
such a flow of life, much individual misery
must prevail, springing from out of the very
posture of these predicaments.
247
Suppose that we inhabit a poor but Salu-
brious country, with a thinly scattered popu-
lation. Upon the whole much of general hap-
piness exists; much of comfort, and much of
individual dignity falls to the lot of each indi-
vidual, because the share of each individual
in the bounties of Nature is large, and more
than equivalent to his necessary wants; and
neighbours are not in continual collision for
the same object. Man in this case would
exhibit a fine specimen of the human race.
He pleases the poet’s fancy—the moralist cites
him as an example to others. But the vain-
glorious, rapacious statesman who governs,
contrasts the condition of this polity with
that of a neighbouring state; dreams of
wealth and grandeur perturb his imagina-
tion—idle fears torment his heart—envy irri-
tates, and vanity excites him. “ Come,” says
he, “ let us begin by conquest; our people
are poor, brave, and hardy; they will readily
leave tending their flocks and following their
ploughs for the pittance the State can afford
in the way of the pay of a soldier; we shall
soon reimburse ourselves by plunder.” The
R 4
248
drum, beats, and with it every youthful heart;
the tear stands a moment only in the woman’s
eye, rendering her more lovely, because
she appears more tender. Glory and love
inflame the passions of the youth to enthu-
siasm—the Nobles solicit commands—the
peasants fill the ranks; the Clergy implore
the benediction of Heaven upon this just and
holy cause of war. The frontier is passed.
Last week our neighbours were our brothers
and our friends—now they are matural ene-
mies—savage hordes of banditti. To destroy
them is to do a work pleasing in the sight
of God, and glorious, in the eye of man—
lovely, in those of our mistresses and wives.
The bloody banquet is served up; and war riots
in all his soul-appalling, or soul-inspiring ha-
voc. Brave men fall in the field—limbs are
torn off by the cannon-shot—hundreds es-
cape the sword to be trodden to death under
the horses’ feet, or to have their racked joints
whirled round the artillery wheels—the hos-
pitals are crowded —the amputation knife is
blunted—fevers extend their influence over
many a livid-coloured victim—villages, nay
N
249
cities are burnt—the aged, the infirm, the
bed-ridden become fuel, and add fierceness
to the flames—women are ravished, and their
infants expire of terror or neglect, famine
or sleepless nights, under the parental or
connubial roof, in the eyes of their house-
hold gods—famine and pestilence, with giant
strides stalk over the land. A province is
conquered, and added to the dominions of the
invader. The conquered look dejected, but
lament in silence—an active Police is esta-
blished, because they are not gay. They ven-
ture to complain,_the prisons are filled—
gibbets groan under the weight of executions
—and the captive sighs out his life in a cell.
No part of despotic government should fill
us with such horror as the contemplation
of solitary confinement for pretended State
crimes—or, in other words, often for the va-
lorous and virtuous exertions of an indivi-
dual to ameliorate the condition of his fellows.
Executions, and even tortures, suppose in
those who have recourse to such desperate
inflictions of power, the violentagitation of the
passions. But the cold cruelty of immuring
250
a wretched victim for the best years of his
life, or for his entire life, fixes such an inde-
lible stain on the authority that exercises
such merciless power, that justice and huma-
nity must desire its overthrow. Wretched
victims of atrocious despotism how many of
you have pined in all ages, and in the most
civilized States, whilst the jealous and das-
tardly tyrants, who are the authors of your
unmerited misery, are insulting mankind with
their profligate sensuality. And shall not we
rejoice, and cry Ha! Ha! when the Prome-
thean fire of Heaven, descending in thunder-
bolts upon a prostrate people, shall commu-
nicate to them celestial energy, and nerve
them with irresistible force, to hurl from
their eminence and dash to the earth their
merciless oppressors, and thus root out both
cause and effect—tyrants and executioners ?
Here, then, is the effect of conquest—such is
the result of glorious extended robbery—here
is the first step to the greatness of States.
They are first established in bloodshed and
oppression; then comes wealth to sweeten
the bitter draught—wealth, which knows no
251
medium—which swells to that enormous size
that at length it bursts, and leaves the State
a poor and exhausted husk. The desire of
acquiring wealth, fostered with so much
care, pursued with such avidity, and grasped
at with such rapacity, increaseth until the
precious metals, which are its sign, become
too scanty to mark its progress or its extent.
It then flies into another sign of less solidity—
and, like other phantoms and follies, it bursts
in airy bubbles.
Neither the gloomy forests that surrounded
me; nor the majestic rivers that flowed
through them; nor the primitive simplicity
of the lives of the settlers; nor the original
hardihood of the Indian warriors, could draw
off my attention from Europe and civilized
society—could detach my mind from those
past scenes, in which I had been an actor—
or divert my thoughts from perpetually re-
curring to them. Compared with the rude
and simple state of society that surrounded
me, I often in a morbid state of mind, in a
moody humour, viewed civilized society with
disgust and secret horror; exclaiming, “Man!
252
you, who have such power, why do you so
misuse. the advantages of expanded intel-
ligence... and civilized society P Alas! it is
because you possess not the power—but dire
cause and effect link you together in one
chain.” Then I felt, “Why should I regret
those countries that I have left behind P. Look
at them in their dark point of view, and what
do they present? Let me, then, solace my
solitude and exile, by running through the
whole circle of their corruptions and vices.
Look at the administration of the government
of a modern nation—and what else is it but one
system of treachery, apostacy, and intriguing,
the parents of rapine and oppression ?—Is
it not a frequent practice of kings, governors,
and ministers, living on apparently the best
terms with one another, and seemingly ani-
mated by a community of political sentiments,
secretly to strive to undermine each other—
not scrupling to employ the basest means
to accomplish the most selfish ends With
such men, good faith, honour, or since-
rity, are so many words of course, just as
“ your obedicnt humble servant” are at the
233
bottom of a letter 2 Are not the true quali-
fications of an official person lying and
subornation ? Here I viewed mock patriots
and mock royalists; the one pretenders to
justice, and the other to loyalty; dastardly
hypocrites in their souls—equally the panders
of power—desirous, not of checking it, but
of profiting by it; trading in it as a merchan-
dize of exclusive value. The concentration
of power is the hotbed of selfishness and vil-
lainy—its disunion is the parent of Virtue.
Look at ancient Rome and ancient Athens.
With the first we are delighted, because the
power was divided—man belonged to a prin-
ciple—he was generalized. In the second it
was concentrated in the giddy multitude;
man was individualized and degenerated.
Absolute monarchies and pure democracies
have one and the same tendency—because
absolute monarchies āre, democracies with a
perpetual dictator. Away, then, with the cant
of king and people; it is destructive of virtue,
intelligence, and real liberty. Hypocrisy! Hy-
pocrisy thou bane of political and social life!
thou God-dishonouring atheist thou slayer
254
of virtue—mean and coward slave! Thou com-
est limping after power, to give it a righteous
shove—thou shrivelled elf, canting, shuffling,
blearing with thy Swoln eye and long-drawn
visage to Sanctify misrule ! I turn from thee
with nauseous disgust—I shudder at thy con-
tracted, unseemly aspect—thou flatterest alike
the worst passions of power, whether to be
found in king or people—to neither wilt thou
dare to give a good direction—thou off-
spring of vanity and cowardice
The construction of civilized society, as it
is called, in any of the great capitals of
Europe, presents a most curious spectacle to
any one who is not drawn into the vortex,
or swallowed in such a bottomless pit. At
every turn we find human spiders working
their webs to catch and devour the flies.
Compared to such refined cruelty the Indian’s
tomahawk is mercy. Let us take a view of
many of those whom fortune hath favoured—
who have stood forward in the world, and who
have either, according to the vulgar notion,
made their own fortunes, or whose fortunes
have in some degree been previously made.
255
How often hath their youth passed in idleness,
or low, frivolous, and profligate pleasures;
next follow servility, spleen, and indolence
in their middle age, unless an opportunity
offers of selling or betraying their country to
mend their shattered fortunes. Disappoint-
ment, faction, insolence, or oppression in
power, are the concomitants of the next
stage—peevish, obstinate wilfulness follow in
their old age, avarice their only consolation—
alternately malignant atheists or supersti-
tious bigots—unfeelingly delighted at the mis-
fortunes of mankind—holding them to be a
sort of compensation for their near approach
to their end ; –see them trailing out a con-
temptible existence, by the aids of medicine,
and the extreme care of a worn-out, diseased
and rancid carcase;—see them crawling in the
sun, with tottering limbs and a ghastly visage;
spleen in their hearts, and seandal on their
tongues, panting for a moment's respite from
the inevitable hour. Every day that rolls
over their head strikes a dagger into their
hearts. Thus are transient pleasures followed
by long and bitter recollections—thus the
256
motion of death, that great leveller, whom the
mercy of God hath appointed to sweep the
vermin from the face of the earth, comes
with a double crash upon the pampered body,
and the Saturated mind, that hath sought for
all but intellectual enjoyments. Let us follow
one of these lords of the creation into his
chamber. Decay creeps upon him in health,
in faculties, and in friends. He casts a seow!
around—he perceives in the ill-suppressed
satisfaction or impatience of his circle that
they are anxious for his curtain to drop; to
close the ridiculous farce of his self-important
life. He is bed-ridden—he is dependent upon
his menials for the slightest motion: ‘Where
now is : the value of his titles, his honours,
his decorations, his riches—all the favour he
hath received from women—all the flattery
from men—all the power from circumstances?
—Where is his wit, his taste, or the fleeting
popularity he once might have enjoyed?" If
he hath a spark of fire left in his soul, he
must envy the glorious death of the soldier
on the field—or the simple and unostentatious
departure of the peasant. It is the contrast
257
of his former life with his present condition
that makes death terrible indeed—that arms
it with double horrors Wrapt in a coarse
blanket, with his arms folded, the Indian
stretches himself and dies with stoical compo-
sure ? under his rude wigwam, his last breath
is ushered from his frame by the bold accents
of his admiring clan who sing his deeds of
glory. Who, then, will deny where the com-
pensation lies 2
These reflexions were in harmony with my
dreary abode—with the silence that reigned
around. When new objects do not strike
the imagination, to renew its operation, to
exhilarate the heart, and make the blood flow
quick, the mind falls into meditation, dwells
on past scenes, and even feasts on Sorrow.
For there are predicaments in which ever-
blest Hope even begins to fade—Hope, which
is as necessary to our life as our daily bread ;
which is the food of our moral existence.
I felt that if, at any period of my life, rushing
forward under the influence of exterior cir
cumstances, I had been too much expanded,
that all my moral feelings had become slo-
VOL. I. S
258
venly and sleepingly listless, I was now indeed
sufficiently concentrated—my vigilance was
awakened—and I stood a watchful sentinel
upon myself. Ah were we all to stand sen-
tinels upon ourselves, others would not stand
sentinels over us—for self-reverence will not
stoop to undue mastery. It was evident that
my mind had, from the pressure of circum-
stances, changed its direction. Such a change,
aided by a train of those happy circumstances,
might influence my fortunes, and bring me
back to real rather than ideal happiness. In
every dispensation, then, of Providence, there
is a blessing—and the bankrupt may educate
a virtuous race, instead of scattering a vicious
spawn upon the world. Aye! and in that
Soul-searching state, in the humiliation of
exile, our minds may become more robust ;
educated in such a state, our children will
become more emboldened to grapple with
future fortunes. The soul, steeped in adver-
sity, like steel, takes a nobler temper. But to
know how to dare we must have felt how to
suffer; and having suffered, we despise danger.
Then springs the soul to daring, and rushes
259
over all obstacles—reckless, rapid, headlong
and undaunted. Like the foaming dun-co-
loured autumnal flood of the intricate Apen-
nine, she whirls in her vortex the stupid gazing
herd, that would otherwise have choaked up
her course. Nought, then, is worth clinging
to but great principles, because they perish
not. At this moment I perceived that I had
not invoked Hope in vain. I had been chas-
tened, and chosen, but not abandoned; chosen,
because I dwelt not in the kingdom of dark-
ness, the most capacious empire upon earth.
To maintain its wide extended rule the per-
verted or bribed talents of mankind have
exerted their power. To support that state
the theologian hath not laboured in vain.
The poet’s fancy hath been exercised no less
than the lawgiver's ingenuity. The philan-
thropist hath sighed—his partial charity hath
only obviated some of its grievances;—but
the philosopher, armed with the real bolts of
Heaven, often hath broken its bonds. Our
whole polity in the civilized world, ecclesias-
tical as well as civil, is not yet freed from
s 2
269
darkness. Darkness encompasseth the thrones
of monarchs, and even the sacred fane dedi-
cated to the fountain of light is oft enveloped
in its thickest mists,
26 I
CHAP. XXIX.
My mind was interrupted from preying
upon itself by the arrival of a vessel from
England. We learned by her that the Pro-
tector had sent an expedition to the West-
Indies, under Pen and Venables. This infor-
mation filled me with joy. Whatever was
the state of politics at home, however much
I might be opposed to the existing governor,
and to his administration of the common-
wealth– whenever there arose an occasion
of adding to the glory or power of England,
I thought it my duty to aid her exertions:
for we cannot forego our allegiance to the
soil of our native country. Whatever govern-
ment may be established in it, to our country
we are united by indissoluble ties—to its govern-
ment by compact only.
s 3
262
This arrival broke in upon the moody mo-
notony of my exiled existence—my heart was
flushed with the joyous sight. The curiosity
of the colony was awakened, as soon as it was
known that this ship had room to take volun-
teers. Many a youth’s breast heaved with
impatience of his present abode, and beat
high with expectation of future fortune and
glory. Many a maid’s heart quivered with
tremulous anxiety, in the apprehension of the
faithlessness of her lover—for women have not
always the power to calm our restless impati-
ence of restraint. Here let me observe that the
loveliness of women is a quality in proportion
to their simplicity. In this fruitful soil of the
female breast, weeds spring up apace:—so-
phistry, half-education, produce affectation,
the froward child of selfishness, which blurs
over their loveliness, and dissolves the enchant-
ment of their society. Hence the extreme
difficulty of managing their education—hence
they are spoiled when over-educated ;-hence
the destruction of their freshness, their elas-
ticity by over-training—hence the more na-
tural the more amiable—hence the less med-
263
dled with the better. In your males the educa-
tion should be stern and wild, to enable them
to grapple with stern and wild fortunes. The
surest proof of the decay of a State is the
approximation of the education of the sexes.
Even our mistresses have not always the
power to restrain our impatience, because
hope, dressed out in gaudy colours, fires our
fancy, and fascinates our senses. Habit cloys
us—we pant for new scenes, new diversions.
Is not this in some sort an earnest of immor-
tality P Shall our wishes be always power-
less Shall our sphere be always contracted?
Are we only to have time just to gaze about
us, and then to sink into eternal night, sur-
rounded by fleeting pleasures and lasting sor-
row—by sickening disappointments, and de-
vouring expectation ? What else is the life
of man—I mean not that two-legged brute,
who ranges only within the circle of sensi-
tive objects—I mean him on whom a portion
of ethereal spirit hath been sprinkled, and
who can look around him in the moral world
—who dares take a flight in those hallowed
regions, where the vulgar cannot follow 2
s 4
264
“Yes,” I exclaimed, “I am now emancipated
personally—mentally I have ever been so.
In the language of the Roman poet, “ where-
soever the tempest drives me, there let me
be carried its host.” . . . . - . .
Our gallant ship cut through the rippling .
tide, and then bounded, over the elastic bil-
lows. Like Venus newly sprung from the sea,
she seemed to spread out her white bosom,
glittering in the sun. Impelled by the clear
north wind, the dignity of her movement was
like to the march of a goddess. Sometimes she
assumed a slow majestic pace—then rushed
forwards with hurried tumult, submissive to
the angry winds, yet more obedient to the
skilful pilot. - . . . .
The bleached cordage and snow-white sails
of every vessel that we met, presaged our
near approach to the place of our destina-
tion. I felt for the first time in my life the
vivifying glow of a warmer Sun. I disco-
vered the mighty influence of that glorious
planet under whose cheering rays bare exist-
ence is luxury; that planet by calming, and
delighting our sensations, which can quench
265
the anguish of our minds. This, then, is
the solution of that problem, “why does
tyranny hold its rule more in the warmer
regions?” Because the Sun is a compensa-
tion. In the North our war with the ele-
ments prepares us for war with our fellows.
How benign, then, is the influence of the
sun' who shines equally upon all ; whose
favours are equally dispensed to all ; much
equalizes our lot. When absent, the contrast
of our respective conditions is more striking
—our woes more afflicting, our pangs more
bitter. Buoyed up by the animating and
exhilarating influence of its vivifying rays, we
seem to swim in a sea of delight. Abundant
Nature riots around us. Our wants are con-
tracted—our pleasures overflow. Who can
contemplate the Sun without religion, or be
comforted by it without gratitude In our
conception, it seemeth the masterpiece of
God’s works. The Sun kindleth the divine
spark of intelligence, here and there scat-
tered among the human race. Much hath it
solaced my afflicted mind; much hath it com-
pensated me for the shuddering reflection on
266
the tyrant’s frown, and the malignant grin of
envy or detraction. When, well nigh nau-
seated by the bitter draught of life that the
dire Fates have held out to my parched and
expectant lip, its cheering rays have warmed
my tardy blood - -
When indulging in more lofty speculations
upon the formation of the universe, the Sun
clearly proves to us that there is no vacuum ;
and, from the admission of this proposition,
what immense deductions may be drawn 1.
deductions which crush and overwhelm the
kingdom of darkness! If, in eight minutes
after the Sun hath beamed above the horizon,
its rays strike upon our frames, and vivify our
chilled blood, rouse our imagination, expand
our heart, nerve our body, and let loose our
passions—who shall deny a continuous sub-
stratum of substance from it to us? And if
so, where is the vacuum and if no vacuum,
then the universe is one body—one and indis-
soluble. Parts of it may revolve, may change,
but its entireness stands confessed. It hath
always been—it is—and will be. It is governed
by an etermal code of laws, and all within it
267
are subject to their awful rule. How many
vain phantasies of the brain here expire ||
how many systems fall into nought, or flit
back again, to be renewed by the fancy that
gave them birth. . . . . -
Some philosophers (having observed a pecu-
liar or occasional attraction of the celestial
bodies) have conceived that a special interpo-
sition of power is necessary to throw them into
their former direction; but a more careful cal-
culation of the laws of motion proves that there
exists in the principles of harmony of that
motion a motive that brings them back again
into their usual and necessary direction. This
proposition proves most indubitably the uni-
formity of power springing from one com-
mon cause, and animating the whole umi-
verse. It proveth the universe to be one
body moved from one common impulse, and
place it without space and time, which then
cease to be general terms. The laws of mo–
tion are the theory of whiversal power. To
hunt these laws through all their intricacies,
their labyrinths, to prove their direct or in-
direct application, is to unlock Nature by the
268
keys of our intelligence, and to give us a new
insight into our being, and the phenomena
that surrounds us. - . . . .
With the chemical composition of the Sun
I have nothing to do. Whether it be accord-
ing to some theories an opaque and cold
body—what the chemical process of its eli-
citing heat, from contact with various sub-
stances, may be, these are the details of Na-
ture’s works. These considerations relate to
the congruity or incongruity of things—to
their assortment, their arrangement, or re-
gularity. I look to the great results, and
reason, a posteriori. God hath given me a
portion of intelligence, and I use it. Whe-
ther the use I make of it be good or bad is
not for man to determine, who is subject to
the same rules of the eternal law as I am,
and whose view of things is according
to the direction into which he hath been
thrown. Entrenched in this impregnable for-
tress, I defy all attacks, because they can be
carried on only by postulates—by previous
concessions—by begging me to admit that
which I am not bound to admit. All the
269
arrows that superstition, interest, domina-
tion, malignity, and ignorance shoot at us,
hurtle through the air, and fall innocuous at
our feet. - . . . .
On our arrival in the West Indies, we found
that the expedition had completely failed
against Hispaniola, and that it had completely
succeeded against Jamaica. These occur-
rences gave me leisure to visit those islands,
to take into consideration this new state of
society, and to make fresh observations on the
waywardness and the inconsistencies of the
human race. It did absolutely astound me,
to find that a nation pluming itself so
highly upon its religion, its morality, and its
love of justice, should countenance a state
of slavery. Every principle that is inculcated
by our education, every feeling that we cherish
in our social intercourse, every notion of jus-
tice and humanity in which we indulge in our
speculations, are outraged, violated, and over-
turned. He who possesseth slaves is in the
perpetual habit of robbery and murder—
robbery, of the liberty, the existence, the -
body of a man—and murder, by shortening
270
the duration of his life by excess of labour or
privations. Compacts are set at defiance,
and the poor slave is compelled to work—by
having his back scourged, and the parched
earth sprinkled with his innocent blood—to
gratify the avarice, the interest of his pious
owner, who at the same moment is prizing
himself upon his christian and social virtues;
and perhaps is inculcating the great maxim,
“do as you would be done by.” What a
farce and vain mockery doth this not make
of religion and justice what a barefaced,
impudent inconsistency Man, the eloquent
advocate of religion, of morality, of justice, and
of liberty, trains up another race of men,whom
he considers as brutes | Yes, there would in-
deed be in this case a glaring inconsistency,
were man a free agent—had he the power to
direct events. But he is no more the author
of the slave's misery than the slave himself.
It is the Fates, who have issued the awful
decree. What greater proof can we have
of the irresistible power of necessity than
this inconsistency, this injustice, this cru-
elty, this defiance of religion, in pious and
27]
upright men 2. Inevitable Fate here laughs
them to Scorn, and demonstrates to them,
by the clearest evidence, how powerless,
and how miserably inconsistent they are
in their unsteady march through life. Yes,
we may scourge the slave; but a master-hand
hath scourged us morally, and hath made
us appear odious and contemptible—because
we are inconsistent, base, and cruel. What
is an heinous sin, such as this is, in com-
parison of our interest ? It doth indeed, ac-
cording to the Christian doctrine of redemp-
tion, require all Christ’s blood to wash away
so foul a stain. Oh, Man! why are you puffed
up with vanity, and swollen with pride? How
dare you strut about and say, “I will this,
I will not that,” when, poor creature, you
will no more than other animals, or the
inanimate productions of nature. You had
better shelter yourself under the doctrine of
necessity, or you will be laughed at in this
world by the calmer few, and damned in
the next by your own admission. There
exists not a moment, except when sleep o'er-
takes you, that, according to your own doc-
272
trine, you have offended not, and set the
Almighty at defiance.
Much have I pondered upon this dark dis-
pensation, and yet, through all its frightful
sufferings and obscurities, I see an ultimate
compensation. Sometimes God chooses indi-
viduals, but he always favours and maintains
the types of the human race. Of other and
morenoxious races the types have become obli-
terated. Those in our planet have been struck
out of existence. We see their forms pre-
served, though petrified in the most durable
part of its composition. Luxuriant Nature,
in the young or regenerated planet possessing
an excess of the principle of vitality, worked
then in less chastened moulds. Excesses in her
productions have now been smoothed down
to mediocrity; but experience shews us that
the principle of vitality is nourished accord-
ing to the force of the sun's beams—which
then runs to that rankness, by which noxious
animals and poisonous plants are generated.
Man in these climes hath such abundant
physical aids, as to banish the exertion of his
moral qualities—which mainly spring from
273
necessity. His moral qualities protect his indi-
vidual dignity, which cannot be preserved
without his political liberty. Look upon the
North American Indian, who hath been
properly denominated the stoic of the woods.
Compelled by the hard circumstances which
surround him, his body is subservient to the
wonderful powers of his mind, and he scorns
to ask for mercy, when, tortured for days at
the stake—he will not give his enemies the
triumph of hearing him complain. Who
shall dare to make a slave of him 2 for, like
the eagle, he is unsocial, solitary, rapid, and
unrelenting. He hath a vast compensation for
his rude climate, his ruder mode of life, his
hard-earned existence, in his vast and un-
conquerable mind, which, banishing super-
Stitious terrors, the concomitants of an en-
feebled frame, sees and confesses God alone.
Look upon the African—upon the rank and
luxuriant state in which he is nurtured, to
whom fire or covering, or even labour is
useless; who riots in the spontaneous pro-
ductions of his native soil, until his feeble and
vitiated appetite sceks the monstrous gra-
VOL. I. T
274
tification of feeding on his fellows | No
dignificd moral quality can be elicited from
his obtuse feelings Kindred to the brutes,
he is caught and sold as a slave. Puri-
fied, animated, and exalted through this or-
deal, he is prepared for civilization; and a
double dispensation will in time be made
manifest—the humiliation and punishment of
his task-masters, and his own emancipation.
Take care that torrents of blood do not
flow where his dripping from the lash hath
sprinkled only the ground. He may still move
up to the advanced standard of human civi-
lization, and divine intelligence, the offspring of
uncreated light, will descend upon the whole
human type, whatever clime they may have
issued from, or whatever hue may distinguish
their appearance. Again I repeat, human
nature, philosophically considered, is the
channel for the operation of great prin-
ciples. *
END OF WOL. I.
L O N D O N : &
PRINTED BY cox AND BAYLIS, GREAT QUEEN STREET,
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