SECT. I. Of the GENERAL SUBJECT.

QUALITIES of objects, ſo far as they relate to beauty, are either ſuch as moſt clearly excite perception or life in the ſenſes; or they are compoſed of theſe, and ſomewhat expreſſive of life or ſen⯑ſibility.

[10]As the natural love of life, or the conſciouſneſs of exiſtence, is the foun⯑dation of all animal-pleaſure; ſo the firſt and ſimpleſt of our ſenſations, and of which our primary ideas are chiefly compounded, are light, ſound, and motion. Their oppoſites, dark⯑neſs, ſilence, and reſt, are conſe⯑quently expreſſive of horror, on ac⯑count of their ſimilarity to the pri⯑vation of ſight and of hearing, or to the extinction of thoſe perceptions which principally conſtitute the ſim⯑ple idea of animation.

SECT. II. Of LIGHT.

ALL the powers of ſenſe may be referred to that of feeling; all the perceptible qualities of bodies may be reſolved into motion. Sight is the feeling of the eye; its percep⯑tions depend on the vibrations of ſome finer medium, which produce the ſenſation of light. The greateſt beauty of light, as confined to ſenſe, ſeems to be the oppoſition of its three principal modifications, red, blue, and yellow; or their various changes and gentle gradations, as they are ex⯑hibited in the feathers of a peacock, [12] the priſm, or the rainbow: a ſpecies of which we alſo perceive in flowers, and to which they are much beholden for their tender effect.

Colours are beautiful or pleaſing as their various contraſts yield a livelier ſenſation of light, and heighten per⯑ception; the colder tints, and thoſe that approach to darkneſs, improving the lighter, and ſuch as are expreſ⯑ſive of warmth and of life.

So far as the effects of light or darkneſs apply to the expreſſion of human character, we may obſerve, that, in the turbulent agitations of the mind, the features accumulate a greater degree of ſhade; the counte⯑nance [13] aſſumes a dark and cloudy appearance. Gloomy, livid, and black, are complexions ſuitable to horror, deſpair, and death.

Our ideas of light, and of heat, are originally and cloſely connected. That etherial fire which is the life, is alſo the light, of the world. The mellow and amber-coloured light, ſuch as is ſometimes ſeen in a ſerene evening-ſky, while it is moſt delicious to ſight, is, of all colours, moſt expreſſive of the wholeſome de⯑gree of warmth congenial to life, or to the kindly and delicious of paſ⯑ſion; eſpecially when contraſted by its oppoſite, black, or deep violet. [14] The bluiſh pale of the human coun⯑tenance, proper to expreſſions of fear, conveys an idea of coldneſs; and is that of chilly winter, or of ſhaded ſnow. An appearance of violent heat, is expreſſive of the violence of paſſion. Anger is denoted by a deep and fiery red. The thunder is thrown by the red right-hand of JOVE.

Mellow and gentle tones of colour aſſociate with, and diſpoſe to, the gentle and delicate of internal feel⯑ing; harſh and ſharp ones, with [15] rude and diſagreeable emotions. Faint, pale, and bluiſh tints, are fitted to expreſs fearfulneſs, and a dimi⯑nution of the powers of life: ſtrong and fiery ones, to ſignify paſſions of a ſtrong and contrary nature; the violent of the ſenſes ever aſſociating with, and diſpoſing to, the violent or diſagreeable of internal ſenſation.

This analogy might alſo be traced in the operations of the other ſenſes, ſmelling, taſting, and feeling. Things that are inſipid to taſte, that dull the palate, or act on it with violence, are ever ungrateful. That certain degree of ſoftneſs and ſmoothneſs, that gen⯑tle reſiſtance, by means of which we [16] beſt perceive, will ever be moſt agree⯑able to feeling. Smells alſo may be ranged under the volatile or lively, and the dull. Beſide the ſleep⯑cauſing quality of the poppy when taken into the ſtomach, the ſmell is heavy and deleterious; all ſuch ſmells, therefore, will aſſociate with ſilence, reſt, darkneſs, and vacuity. Bitter or ſour things that violently aſtringe the palate, things harſh to the touch, or that are too ſtrong for ſmelling, affect the hoſtile or diſcordant of paſ⯑ſion. But as ideas of beauty chiefly refer to perceptions of ſight and of hearing, we ſhall confine our reflec⯑tions particularly to thoſe ſenſes.

[17]It is remarkable, there is a cloſe analogy between the principal ſigns of life, and the ſimple or primary ob⯑jects of ſenſe; the chief characteriſtics of life being heat, voice, and motion: ſo that, ſtrictly ſpeaking, whatever objects ſuggeſt the ſenſations ſimilar to the qualities we perceive in our⯑ſelves, are the actual and principal cauſes of pleaſure even in the ſenſes.

It is light alone by which the eye enjoys its pleaſures of perception; it is light, again, reflected from the eye, to which it owes its ſuperior vivacity and expreſſion. A gentle, yet clear, variation of colour or form, is plea⯑ſing to ſight, as that of ſound is to [18] hearing; and it is by means of ſuch variations that we communicate our ſentiments of pleaſure.

SECT. III. Of SOUND.

WE have already obſerved, that ſound is one of the firſt or ſimple ſenſations; and that an idea of perfect ſilence is accompanied with horror, eſpecially when con⯑joined with darkneſs and univerſal reſt, as theſe are analogous to the ne⯑gation of ſenſe: we ſhall therefore paſs to the conſideration of ſympho⯑ny, [19] or the variations of ſound as they are exemplified in muſical ex⯑preſſion.

Of ſounds, the mellow, ſoft, and gentle, are moſt pleaſing to ſenſe, and beſt adapted to expreſs the gentle of ſentiment. Deep tones aſſociate with deepneſs of ſhade, and with ſlowneſs of motion. The loud, the ſharp, and the ſhrill, rank with the other ruder cauſes of perception.

The moſt refined melody is that which accords with gracefulneſs of ſentiment: it is chiefly employed in quieting the turbulent, and ſoothing the gentler, emotions. The coarſer paſſions are excited by ſomething [20] that deſerves the name of noiſe or diſcord, rather than of muſic. As the violent emotions increaſe, ſenſibi⯑lity is diminiſhed; as the gentler ones increaſe, ſentiment is improved.

In common diſcourſe, which treats of indifferent ſubjects, and conſiſts moſtly of narrative, the voice natu⯑rally inclines to a ſettled monotony, or at beſt riſes to a ſort of recitative: as converſation becomes more ani⯑mated, the variations of voice are proportionally increaſed. Artificial muſic is an imitation of theſe natural variations, as they are more or leſs expreſſive of paſſion, or of all thoſe tender depreſſions and rapturous ele⯑vations [21] of the ſoul, when the pours herſelf forth in generous ecſtaſy: thoſe notes and combinations which pleaſe the ear, being adapted to the pleaſing of paſſion; the ſad and diſ⯑cordant, as in the paſſions themſelves, to ſet off the more melodious and cheerful: for our joys are continually mingled with abatement or with ſor⯑row, and are beſt perceived by a cer⯑tain degree of contraſt; gravity of ſound being an approach to ſilence, as ſhade to darkneſs, and as ſlowneſs of motion is a drawing nearer to reſt. We cannot judge of any thing but by relation, and it is in the changes of things that we perceive them.

SECT. IV. Of MOTION.

CIRCULAR and changing ſhapes are ſemblative of motion, as mo⯑tion is of life. The poets, to diſtin⯑guiſh clear running water from that which is at reſt, emphatically attri⯑bute life to the former:

An ellipſis or parabola may not im⯑properly be defined, A line whoſe di⯑rection is continually changing; tho' the figure be really permanent, and [23] it is evidently the eye which chan⯑ges. Milton, to expreſs the winding ſhape of the honeyſuckle, calls it the flaunting honeyſuckle. Thus, beauty of figure becomes a kind of ſubſti⯑tute for elegance of motion.

To the moſt delicate ſentiments there are certain kindred forms, ſounds, and motions, which natural⯑ly aſſociate with, and are beſt calcu⯑lated to expreſs, ſuch tenderneſs of ſentiment. As it is, in ſome ſenſe, alike whether the eye or the ob⯑ject moves, and it is plain that quick turnings in animals indicate a more ſudden exertion of the living power than ſlow ones, it will likewiſe [24] follow, that wherever the eye over⯑takes lines running abruptly into contrary directions, ſuch lines will convey an idea of the ſudden changes of paſſion; though it is not they that move, but the fight which moves along them; ſince every appearance we have experienced to hold an al⯑liance with life, transferring the emotion to the cauſe, we are apt to conceive is inſpired with paſſion: thus we ſay, light is cheerful, mo⯑tion is ſprightly, or ſounds are pa⯑thetic.

Bodies apparently maſſy and opake are underſtood to be heavy, to affect reſt, and conſequently ſilence. The [25] too much is as incomprehenſible as the too little, and a certain degree of greatneſs ſtrikes us much in the ſame manner as vacuity: thus the ideas of vaſt magnitude, obſcurity, gravity, and ſtillneſs, will ever naturally in⯑cline to aſſociate.

The determination of bodies up⯑wards is accompanied with a ſenti⯑ment of liberty and ſprightlineſs. The riſing foliage of the Corinthian capital makes the column ſeem to bear its ſuperſtructure, not only with eaſe, but with cheerfulneſs. Symp⯑toms of elevated paſſion are, the head thrown up, the arms raiſed above the head, like thoſe Bacchanalian fi⯑gures [26] we ſee ſo often repreſented in the antique. Humility and depreſ⯑ſion of ſpirit are expreſſed by mo⯑tions of a contrary and liſtleſs kind, or rather by languor and ſuſpenſion of action.

The coarſer and more violent paſ⯑ſions are to be expreſſed by rudeneſs and extravagance of motion, abrupt changes of form and of colour. Sud⯑den turnings and contortions are ef⯑fects of pain, or belong to the extra⯑vagance of paſſion. An action ener⯑getic, yet gentle, is appropriated to emotions of the higheſt pleaſure.

Muſic has alſo its counterpart in action: dancing is the muſic of mo⯑tion. [27] Muſic and dancing expreſs the ſame thing, only in different ways: the art of dancing teaches to regulate the various movements and geſtures of the body to the humour of the muſic, both anſwering to the ſentiment by which they are mu⯑tually inſpired.

And in this way even inanimate matter, either by being put in mo⯑tion, or ſo ordered as to invite the eye to move, is made to engage the attention, and to affect the paſſions, agreeable to the ſigns of ſuch paſſions in ourſelves; whence all our ideas of form originate, and whither alſo they return by reflection.

SECT. V. Of ASSIMILATION.

THOUGH we have no percep⯑tions but what originate from our ſenſes, yet ſtill it is life which pleaſes, whether enjoyed by the ſtrong and clear images of ſenſe, or whether the impreſſions of theſe, mingling into ſentimental harmony, are at⯑tended with the more refined plea⯑ſures of imagination; our ideas, by aſſimilation and contraſt, improving in ſtrength, mutually aſſiſting each other, and increaſing affection, till at length we attain the higheſt ex⯑cellence of moral perception.

[29]What is generally underſtood by harmony, relates properly to hear⯑ing; but there is in nature, or ra⯑ther in the human mind, a ſyſtem of univerſal ſymphony carried on by means of aſſimilation and contraſt, ſince there is an attractive as well as a repelling power in every thing that concerns our ſentiments and ſenſa⯑tions.

The theory of aſſociation may be divided into the agreement of ob⯑jects or qualities reſpecting any ſingle ſenſe; among various ſenſes; of thoſe of ſenſe with characters of expreſ⯑ſion; and among various characters, animated or expreſſive.—Thus, as an [30] inſtance of the firſt kind, gentleneſs of form, of colour, and of motion, incline to aſſociate.

Things that accord with reſpect to different ſenſes, are ſuch as excite an equal degree of perception, or a like degree of animation; every thing that is delicate to touch, accompa⯑nied with that particular ſhape, co⯑louring, and modulation of ſound, which agree to form an aſſemblage that is gently engaging. The ſweet, ſoft notes of the aeolian harp admi⯑rably agree with the ſtill ſoftneſs of moon-light. The agreeable of co⯑lour, figure, ſmell, and touch, are united by nature in flowers; which [31] is the reaſon they are ſo delicately pleaſing.

When more of the ſenſes than one are employed at the ſame time, they naturally act in uniſon; and their dif⯑ferent powers are to be conſidered as tending to excite unity of ſentiment: to ſet them in oppoſition, therefore, would be to deſtroy the uniformity and energy of their effect.

Things of different kinds aſſociate by ſome particular and ſtriking ſimi⯑litude; things of like general diſpo⯑ſition, by ſome peculiar difference or contraſt. Human characters being included in this laſt kind, aſſociate by their diverſity of expreſſion. [32] Trees, ſhrubs, and plants, are to be conſidered as a diſtinct ſpecies of leſs perfect characters; and there is an agreement between a proper aſ⯑ſemblage of theſe and human cha⯑racters, or their particular virtues or paſſions perſonified: every thing of the clear or animated kind ſeem⯑ing to attract that which is expreſ⯑ſive, in any degree, of a like diſpo⯑ſition; and to form a whole, that, by means of its variety or internal con⯑traſts, yields the cleareſt and moſt perfect object of perception.

What pleaſes any one ſenſe, comes as it were recommended to the reſt. What is beautiful, we are diſpoſed [33] to think is good; what is good, beau⯑tiful. Though here we muſt pro⯑perly diſtinguiſh between the good, and the beautiful; between notions of wholeſomeneſs or utility, and that which produces an immediate ſenſa⯑tion of pleaſure. Reſpecting the latter, we appeal more directly to the innate and original powers of ſenſe: for the former, to experience; which teaches us, that what is moſt beautiful is not ever the beſt, nor that which is leſs beholden to fa⯑vour always the moſt uſeleſs or per⯑nicious. The perpendicular wall of a houſe is good, becauſe it implies ſtability; but it is not therefore [34] beautiful: on the contrary, the or⯑namental part ſtrikes us not as be⯑ing any otherwiſe uſeful than that it immediately pleaſes. The wither⯑ed leaves of plants frequently exhi⯑bit a colouring more agreeable to the eye, than when they are freſh and blooming. The ſmoke iſſuing from the chimney of a country cot⯑tage cannot, ſurely, be underſtood to poſſeſs any great appearance of beauty; but the object pleaſes, be⯑cauſe it conveys a lively idea of the ſnug happineſs and warmth of the people within. Other objects, tho' really good or uſeful, have nothing in them very pleaſing to ſenſe, nei⯑ther [35] do they bear any external marks of ſenſibility, and therefore cannot be ſaid to partake of beauty. Even with regard to the human character, we do not find that virtue ever ac⯑companies the faireſt form.

Things that are aſſociated, by ha⯑bit, with pleaſing objects, though in themſelves not agreeable, become, by ſuch habitual aſſociation, plea⯑ſing, provided the balance be on the agreeable ſide; but. the lineal and ſpeckled beauty of the ſerpent will not eaſily command our attention, ſo long as the horror continues with which that animal ſtrikes us.

With a lively ſentiment, lively [36] images of ſenſe will naturally aſſo⯑ciate; with the agreeable of the lat⯑ter, what is agreeable of the former: pleaſing aſſociations in the mind be⯑ing no other than images and ſenti⯑ments ſo diſpoſed as to heighten in⯑ternal perception.

Far-off ſounds, or diſtant pro⯑ſpects, aſſociate with, and bring to remembrance, paſt circumſtances and actions; becauſe theſe too are become more ſubtile in imagination, and rendered, as it were, remote by time.

A farewell is more affecting at the end of ſummer, and at ſun-ſetting, than at any other time or ſeaſon. [37] Tempeſt and darkneſs are ſuitable to acts of horror:

The elemental ſtorm in Shake⯑ſpear's Lear, finely aſſimilates the ſtorm in the mind of the diſtreſ⯑ſed king. Why are lovers fond of moon-light, but becauſe, like ſoft muſic, it ſuits the tender melancholy of their ſouls? There is a fine aſ⯑ſemblage of languid motion, ſadneſs, and obſcurity, in the following de⯑ſcription of old Laërtes in his rural retirement:

Thus, to human action and inci⯑dent, a counterpart or harmony is carried on by means of proper ac⯑ceſſories or ſcenery.

SECT. VI. Of CONTRAST.

WITHOUT motion, light, and ſound, all our perceptions of ſight and hearing muſt be at an end: [39] but it is neceſſary, to render ſight viſible, that there be darkneſs; as it is requiſite, to render ſound audible, that there be ſilence; and that there be reſt, to ſhow that there is mo⯑tion.

There is clearly a relation between time and ſpace; and it has much the ſame effect, whether a great dark⯑neſs be oppoſed to a ſmall light, or a long-continued darkneſs to a light of ſhort duration. Every thing ſeems to ſuffer an alteration from the chan⯑ges of time and place; that is, ac⯑cording to the compariſon of ſucceſ⯑ſive incidents, or by the oppoſition [40] of preſent circumſtances by which qualities are compared.

The preciſe effect of any object to the eye, depends either on its imme⯑diate oppoſition to other objects, or on the more remote relation it bears to ſuch as are retained by memory. This may be further explained by harmony and melody, in muſic; the firſt being an effect produced by the immediate oppoſition of different notes; whereas, in melody, we com⯑pare the preſent ſounds with the im⯑preſſion of thoſe that are paſt.

Colours are properly oppoſed to colours, and lines to lines; but we muſt not attempt to ſet in oppoſi⯑tion [41] the effect of objects which be⯑long to different ſenſes, neither is it neceſſary that there ſhould always be an immediate contraſt, ſince the mind, retaining former impreſſions, will aſſociate ſuch of them with the preſent as compoſes the melody moſt grateful to itſelf. For we can ſup⯑poſe no abſolute and ſingle beauty, without ſuppoſing a mind totally di⯑veſted of all other ideas. If memory retain perceptions of other objects, it is impoſſible to preclude compa⯑riſon.

Counterpoint, in muſic, is the ac⯑companiment which contraſts the general effect of the melody, as [42] ſhade ſupports light in painting; not reſpecting any part ſingly, but ſuſtaining and heightening each particular melody in the relative effect and proportion it bears to the whole.

Uniformity is the contraſt to va⯑riety, and minuteneſs the relative meaſure of magnitude. The in⯑flected ſharpneſſes of viſible objects, ſet off to advantage their protube⯑rant roundings; the former lead to an idea of non-entity, the latter to a notion of plenitude and exiſtence. Roundneſs, ſoftneſs, and ſmooth⯑neſs, are pleaſing, but not by them⯑ſelves: it is the rough and the ſharp [43] which give energy to compoſition; a general idea of beauty being con⯑ſequent to an aſſemblage of every quality of matter, where the predo⯑minant ſigns of materiality and of gentle feeling are ſtill ſet off by the obſcure foil of their reſpective con⯑traries or privations. An idea of light ariſes, as it were, out of dark⯑neſs. Sound ſeems to originate from ſilence, and motion from reſt. Even matter itſelf ſeems to emerge from the empty abyſs of ſpace; imagina⯑tion, in all its conjunctions, like a ſkilful muſician, ſtill proceeding by the rule of contraries.

When any object, however com⯑plete [44] in its own nature, enters into compoſition, it then becomes a part of a greater whole, reſpecting which it muſt appear to hold a like relation as its own parts one to another; though even contraſt itſelf muſt be in a manner contraſted. Thus ſmall oppoſitions, uniting in effect, are formed into wholes, which, in their collective capacity, produce greater and more ſtriking oppoſitions.

SECT. VII. Of PERSONIFICATION.

BUT though the ſimple ideas of horror be immediately bor⯑rowed from the privations of ſenſe, it is otherwiſe when its images are perſonified. In this caſe, violent motion, and loud noiſe, ſucceed to reſt and ſilence. Animated terror lightens through the gloom of dark⯑neſs.

The negative terrors of privation aſ⯑ſume the form of poſitive deſtruc⯑tion. Every thing that aſſails the ſenſes violently, is perſonified; and life, clad in the armour of the foe, is apparently turned againſt itſelf. In⯑deed, wherever the elements are thrown into violent commotion and uproar, it amounts to a kind of per⯑ſonification: the metaphorical terms uſed on ſuch occaſions are always taken from ideas of real life; the wind roars, the ſea rages, the heavens look angry, and the thunder appears [47] to threaten deſtruction to the uni⯑verſe. And theſe ſeem to be the chief materials of what may be call⯑ed the ſentimental ſublime, amount⯑ing only to the animation of thoſe very cauſes which produced the ſub⯑lime or terrible of the ſenſes. Thus, by the powers of imagination, even death itſelf is animated and perſoni⯑ſied.—Man is an image admiring his own likeneſs: and ſuch is his incli⯑nation to admire every thing that has life, that what is wanting in nature he frequently ſupplies from fancy; and when diſpoſed to admiration, he enlivens every thing, that he may ſtill find more occaſion to admire.

[48]Paſſion, or ſentiment, being origi⯑nally the effect of external ſenſe, can⯑not be conceived to exiſt in abſence of the material images or impreſſions of ſubſtance; ſince we cannot con⯑ceive the paſſion of love to be any other than a quality belonging to ſome being or perſon who loves, or is capable of loving. Neither can we ſuppoſe paſſion to be impaſſioned, or affection itſelf to be affected. In or⯑der to extend our powers of affec⯑tion, therefore, we materialize and perſonify the very affections them⯑ſelves. It is impoſſible, otherwiſe, to render the abſtract ideas of good⯑neſs diſtinct or engaging.

[49]And here we may obſerve the force of the firſt images, even in the higheſt moral ſenſe. Every amiable virtue is arrayed in white or light: Innocence, Simplicity, Truth herſelf, ſtill retaining what was at firſt grate⯑ful to ſight; every thing that is good, every thing that is pleaſing, borrow⯑ing a metaphor from light, is called fair, bright, or beautiful. VIRTUE, or GOODNESS, is the LIGHT and the LIFE; the evil or immoral is the ob⯑ſcure of human action; becauſe that, too, implies the privation of life or of happineſs. What is pain, but death poſitive? what happineſs, but life and pleaſing ſenſibility?

SECT. VIII. Of CHARACTER and EXPRESSION.

CHARACTER is that which di⯑ſtinguiſhes one object from an⯑other. Whatever moſt reſembles the ſymptoms of ſenſibility in our⯑ſelves, we diſcern to have the greateſt ſhare of expreſſion. That particu⯑lar object is moſt agreeably diſtin⯑guiſhed, which either affects the ſen⯑ſes by exciting the livelieſt percep⯑tions; or which, by means of what is delightful to ſenſe, expreſſes the cleareſt ſenſe of internal percep⯑tion.

The ſame power by which the [51] nerves of the human body are in⯑ternally agitated, affects their extre⯑mities, and induces an alteration in the external form. The pleaſures of ſenſation are again reflected out⯑wards, and again are perceived by the ſenſes, communicating a new and ſocial happineſs. It is not till goodneſs be thus expreſſed, that it aſſumes the nature of beauty.

All pleaſure, whether proceeding from ſimple or complex cauſes, may be diſtinguiſhed as follows: firſt, the pleaſure of perceiving the qua⯑lities of objects by means of ſenſe, by which we know that we exiſt; ſecondly, the ſocial ſatisfaction of [52] perceiving an expreſſion of this plea⯑ſure in others, by which we know that they live or exiſt; thirdly, the pleaſure of perceiving the ſocial or communicative principle, and that this is mutually perceived in our⯑ſelves, including all the former plea⯑ſures, and to which they are to be conſidered only as aſſiſting and ſub⯑ſervient.

Some of our perceptions of plea⯑ſure proceed from powers original and innate; others are derived from experience and cuſtom, ſuch as that which renders things, diſagreeable in themſelves, pleaſing when we are accuſtomed to find them aſſociated [53] with circumſtances and objects that are in themſelves agreeable. Many are the characters already eſtabliſhed by nature; and even artificial cha⯑racters derive a kind of propriety from cuſtom, which is rightly term⯑ed a ſecond nature. Is it the cha⯑racter of the eye to be lucid, and of the cheek to be red? a bright eye, and a roſy cheek, are, of their kind, the moſt beautiful; each part being beautiful, either according to the de⯑gree of gentle expreſſion it poſſeſſes in itſelf, or as it is habitually aſſoci⯑ated with parts that are more gently expreſſive. Yet, we may obſerve, that this very expreſſion depends, [54] for its effect, on being properly diſ⯑poſed and contraſted, otherwiſe it could not properly be perceived.—One conſtituent of beauty, is colour; another, ſhape or proportion: but a variety of gaudy colours would de⯑ſtroy the effect of beautiful form. It is neceſſary, therefore, in order to produce an agreeable effect, that there be a union and ſubordination in the means of expreſſion, and that none of the leſs eſſential qualities confound the greater; as it is requi⯑ſite, in order to render any more complicated character or compoſi⯑tion perfect, that there be a chief or principal part, which is moſt ſtriking [55] or expreſſive: the countenance be⯑ing the moſt remarkable part of the human body; as, in the countenance, the eye is the principal feature. Even one part of the ſame body owes its beauty to the affinity it bears to the reſt, as the beauty of the whole de⯑pends on its oppoſition to other bo⯑dies. The neck of a ſtatue, were it ever ſo well ſhaped, would not ap⯑pear beautiful when ſeparated from the head and ſhoulders; the ſeeming ſoftneſs and ſmoothneſs of the bo⯑ſom would ceaſe to pleaſe, did the head and ſhoulders ſeem to be equal⯑ly ſoft and ſmooth. Complete cha⯑racters or wholes, to render their [56] qualities ſtriking or perceptible, muſt likewiſe be properly contraſted. And it is as neceſſary that man be diſtin⯑guiſhed from man, as man from other creatures: for this cauſe, in the compoſition of a truly beautiful human character, it is required, that there be a certain turn or ſingularity of form and of feature, as well as an air or expreſſion on the whole, to eſtabliſh an identity, difference, and ſuperiority, reſpecting all other cha⯑racters, to render it peculiarly per⯑ceptible and engaging.

SECT. IX. Of GRACEFULNESS.

IN ſpeaking of expreſſion, we muſt diſtinguiſh between an expreſſion of the benevolent kind, and of the iraſcible or malignant. Animals of coarſer natures are fully as ſuſcep⯑tible of anger, hatred, revenge, or any of the hoſtile paſſions, as men; and the baſeſt of the human race are ever moſt ſubject to ſuch paſſions: but they know little of pity, love, eſteem, or any of the gentler ones. The malignant paſſions diſqualify the mind for every pleaſing and in⯑genious ſenſation. Anger is the [58] painful or ſtupifying paſſion, as love is the delicious and enlivening one. It would therefore be highly impro⯑per to apply the idea of gracefulneſs to one in a fit of rage or jealouſy; what pleaſes moſt in appearance, be⯑ing evidently an expreſſion of plea⯑ſure.

He who ſeeks to know the origin of gracefulneſs, muſt look for it in his own mind; whatever is graceful there, muſt be ſo in expreſſion. It is a quality analogous to the moſt exquiſite tenderneſs of affection; that ſweet enthuſiaſm of action which goes hand in hand with beauty; or, if we may be allowed the phraſe, it [59] is the ſoul of beauty, or the emphaſis of pleaſing expreſſion.

In the tendereſt and moſt delight⯑ful moments of thought, the body is naturally thrown into attitudes which have the power of communi⯑cating a like ſoftneſs to the minds of others; it is on account of this pleaſing ſympathy, that we beſtow on ſuch actions or expreſſions the appellation of graceful.—Much has been ſaid about an appearance of eaſe peculiar to gracefulneſs; yet per⯑haps it will be impoſſible to find an example of any very graceful atti⯑tude that conveys not ſome degree of carefulneſs or anxiety. The ſweet, [60] reluctant amorous delay, the hopes, fears, and tender ſolicitudes of love, preſent us with images of the ut⯑moſt gracefulneſs. Even in circum⯑ſtances that have an appearance of diſtreſs, beauty oft aſſumes an air of the ſublimeſt grace and dignity. There is indeed a certain elevation of mind, a happy conſciouſneſs of ſuperior virtue, requiſite to dignify every paſſion, and is eſſential to grace; for there is no grace without dignity. Grace is the ſublimity of beauty; the modeſt pride of virtue; the gentle dignity of love. An at⯑titude expreſſive of the penſive and pleaſing melancholy, a ſentiment pe⯑culiar [61] to the fineſt ſouls, is ever moſt graceful. The lovelieſt of the Graces has on her face a caſt of ſadneſs mixt with the ſweeteſt joy. Gracefulneſs is an expreſſion of pleaſure; but pleaſure is not eaſe, it is ſomething more. In truth, the mind is far from being moſt happy when moſt at eaſe; this being at beſt a negative kind of happineſs: in order to be really ſo, it muſt be employed in ſome purſuit wherein it is deeply concerned, and its affections fondly engaged: beſet on all ſides with dan⯑ger and fear, we embrace with rap⯑ture every occaſion of hope, and become more intereſted and happy [62] in the purſuit and accompliſhment of our wiſhes, as the labour ap⯑pears more arduous of overtaking them.

Here we mean not to ſay, that graceful action may not be frequent⯑ly found without its peculiar energy in the mind: we only advance, that our prejudices in favour of graceful⯑neſs are originally founded on this principle; and would thence infer, that any appearance of beauty which is conſiſtent with perfect indolence or eaſe, can ſuggeſt nothing more than a prediſpoſition to elegance of action, a ſeeming aptitude in the ex⯑ternal ſymptoms of affection. It is [63] not till the paſſions have arrived at maturity, and are ſweetened by the acceſſion of love, that the perſon aſ⯑ſumes a true air of delicate graceful⯑neſs. If one who has no elegance of ſoul appear graceful, it is by accident, as a fool ſometimes looks wiſe. In love, the ſoul is feelingly alive to every finer ſenſe, and it is the fineſt expreſſion of life which excites it; love perſonified being perfect beau⯑ty.

When we meet with a paſſage in any author that expreſſes a lively ſentiment of compaſſion, joy, grief, for even the ſorrow of ſenſible per⯑ſons is frequently accompanied with [64] pleaſure, there is always preſented to us along with it, an image of gracefulneſs. It is this delicious en⯑thuſiaſm which ſo conſpicuouſly di⯑ſtinguiſhes the works of Raphaël and Correggio; it is this alone which raiſes above others the writings of the di⯑vinc Sappho. The great charm of poetry is that ſpirit or muſe which inſpires every thing with elegance and animation. The beautiful and the graceful of ſentiment, are expreſ⯑ſions of the higheſt degree of life or human feeling.

The Venus of Medicis is generally given as an example of female beau⯑ty, and indeed is probably the moſt [65] graceful and perfect of all human productions; but this ſtatue is highly imitative of modeſty, that exquiſite grace and ornament of every amiable virtue. Were an artiſt to attempt a painting of the like kind, how might he ſtill heighten every grace by dif⯑fuſing a ſweet bluſh over the coun⯑tenance of his figure; a circumſtance in which the marble is neceſſarily defective? And this is, no doubt, what is meant by that fine allegory of Venus attired by the Graces, that every thing which is graceful in out⯑ward appearance, is only as it were the trappings and ornaments of that heavenly love of the ſoul, by the an⯑cients [66] aſcribed to the Venus Urania, or celeſtial; in oppoſition to what is attributed to the other Venus, wor⯑ſhipped by them as the earthly and vulgar.

THUS have we briefly traced the progreſs of beauty from its begin⯑ning in the ſenſes, to its ſecond ſource of perfection in the mind, both centring in the conſciouſneſs of life or ſenſibility: and as we have before obſerved, that whatever cau⯑ſes ſuggeſt the ſenſations ſimilar to the qualities we perceive in ourſelves, are the actual and principal pleaſures of the ſenſes; ſo it is ſtill more wor⯑thy [67] our notice, that nothing gives us ſo much ſatisfaction, as to con⯑template the ſymptoms of plea⯑ſure or happineſs in thoſe whoſe merit and beauty entitle them to a ſhare either in our love or eſtima⯑tion.

It is at this ſecond period pleaſure loſes the name of ſenſual or ſelfiſh. He who poſſeſſes this more extenſive animation, is conſequently intereſted in the happineſs of his fellow-crea⯑tures, as alſo in the ſtudy of every thing that is related to this finer ani⯑mation; and, as he perceives beauty in theſe things, he will intereſt him⯑ſelf in their perfection, looking on [68] them as in ſome meaſure related to himſelf, and as portions of that univerſal and ſocial whole, of which he conſiders himſelf alſo as a part.

Hence we may conclude, that the reliſh mankind have for true beauty, is in proportion to the clearneſs of their moral perceptions; or, in other words, to their love of goodneſs: that even inanimate beauty is chiefly a ſecondary idea, or aſſociation, ari⯑ſing from the external ſymptoms of natural affection, which is the beau⯑ty of the human ſoul: and that not only whatever tends to deprive us of life, but whatever obſtructs the [69] exerciſe of the finer powers, whereon depends the conſciouſneſs of life, provokes ſorrow, fear, and horror; whatever has the contrary effect, promotes HOPE, LOVE, and JOY.

SECT. I. Of SENSIBILITY.

THE good qualities of the head and of the heart are rarely found together; their union compoſes a mind truly noble. The folly of ill-directed goodneſs too nearly reſembles vice; the wiſ⯑dom [80] of the unfeeling is worſe than folly.

THE ſame principle which prompts a man to ſeek happineſs, or to relieve himſelf in diſtreſs, diſpoſes him to make others happy, or to alleviate their diſtreſſes. The leſs ſenſibility any man poſſeſſes, his affections are the more ſelfiſh; the more he is ſenſible of happineſs himſelf, he is the more diſpoſed to make others happy.

THAT peeviſh weakneſs and ſore⯑neſs of nerve, which is apt to be alarmed at trifles, and to be diſplea⯑ſed without ſufficient cauſe, is to be claſſed with other diſtempers; it is [81] falſe or diſeaſed feeling. Some are rather irritable than ſenſible; their coarſer natures are capable only of the malevolent and groſſer paſ⯑ſions.

A PREDISPOSITION to the coarſer paſſions can never proceed from de⯑licacy of ſentiment, but argues a con⯑dition the very reverſe: true ſenſibi⯑lity is ever inclined to overlook er⯑rors, and to forgive injuries; altho', on ſome occaſions, reaſon teaches it to act with becoming dignity and ſpirit. Mens enjoyments or miſ⯑fortunes are to be computed from their different degrees of feeling. What can they mean who ſpeak of [82] the happineſs of the inſenſible? Can there be a greater abſurdity, than to envy the enjoyments of ſuch as want the power to enjoy?

SECT. II. TASTE and GENIUS.

AN original delicacy of taſte is alſo the inſeparable effect and ſymptom of the true ſenſibility; which includes not only a ſenſe of love, pity, gratitude, or common du⯑ty, for of thoſe even the rudeſt na⯑tures are ſeldom altogether deſtitute; but it is a certain elegance of ſoul, [83] which renders kindneſs moſt kind, and pleaſure moſt pleaſing; it is genius and taſte, the tenderneſs of friendſhip, the politeneſs of eſteem, and the exquiſite and refined endear⯑ments of love!

TASTE is the younger ſiſter of Virtue; the offspring of Taſte is Pleaſure, that of Virtue is Happi⯑neſs: it is the grace of ſentiment: that which pleaſes ſuch as are ſuſ⯑ceptible of the higheſt pleaſure; a ſubordinate, yet more amiable qua⯑lity, which depends on the nicer diſcernments of ſenſibility.

ON the clearneſs of moral percep⯑tion, or ſentimental light, depends [84] the power of chooſing the good and refuſing the evil. Whatever is pro⯑perly ſaid to improve the mind, in⯑creaſes this faculty of accepting and refuſing, by rendering the characters of good and evil more perſpicuous and diſtinct.

ALL ignorance of beauty, or de⯑pravity of taſte, is defective anima⯑tion; all improvement and perfec⯑tion of theſe, is increaſed ſenſibility; the powers of the mind, as well as of the body, being rendered more per⯑fect by a proper exerciſe of them. To queſtion whether an improved taſte be an advantage, is in ſome meaſure to doubt whether it is bet⯑ter [85] to be or not to be, to live or not to live. One devoid of taſte, is dead to all the finer feelings.

THERE is acquired as well as na⯑tural dulneſs; bad taſte, or evil pre⯑judice, is ſtupidity acquired. To feel, is to be alive; every thing that heightens ſentiment or perception, therefore, increaſes animation.

GENIUS is the power or capacity of clearly conceiving, and properly combining, images and ſentiments, either as they relate to what is com⯑monly called utility, or to taſte; it is the higheſt effect of ſenſibility and reaſon, the power of aſſociating ideas harmoniouſly.—Poetry, painting, [86] and muſic, are ſciences peculiarly be⯑holden to genius: poetry is the lan⯑guage of elevated and refined paſ⯑ſion; painting is ſilent poetry; mu⯑ſic is the accent of paſſionate expreſ⯑ſion.

GENIUS is alſo uſed to denote a particular turn for any ſtudy or em⯑ployment; but one may have a turn for a ſtudy that requires, properly ſpeaking, little or no genius.

SECT. III. POETRY, PAINTING; and MUSIC.

A GOOD poem is an effect of the higheſt effort of human ima⯑gination and judgment.

MERE imitation is beneath the dignity of poetry, painting, and mu⯑ſic. An artiſt ſhould repreſent ob⯑jects not always as they are; but as they tend to ſoothe ſome pleaſing diſ⯑poſition of the ſoul, or as they are heightened in imagination when it is prediſpoſed to ſentiment and to paſſion.

To be inſenſible of the muſical powers, is to be ſo far ignorant of the [88] language of the finer paſſions; but it is evident, one who never felt the refinements of pity, or of love, can⯑not conceive how muſic ſhould ex⯑preſs them, or diſpoſe to ſuch gentle emotions.

MUSIC is the means of ſoothing and exciting the virtuous diſpoſi⯑tions of the ſoul: ſo far as it anſwers this end, it is to be eſteemed; other⯑wiſe it is fit only to tickle the ears of ſuch as have no hearts, whoſe pre⯑ſumption is ever proportioned to their ignorance and want of feel⯑ing.

IN all things the pleaſing of ſenſe aſſociates with the pleaſing of ſenti⯑ment, [89] and diſpoſes the mind to hap⯑pineſs and benevolence.

SECT. IV. LOVE and FRIENDSHIP.

AS two different notes founded at the ſame time beget harmo⯑ny, a quality which belongs to nei⯑ther of them apart; ſo deſire and eſteem, mutually improving each other, generate love; a paſſion diffe⯑rent from either, yet ſuperior to both.

LOVE, in abſence of reaſon, and hatred, have almoſt the ſame ends [90] and wiſhes. Thoſe only are capable of true friendſhip, who know what is kind and agreeable on every occa⯑ſion to do or to ſay, and are ſenſibly pleaſed with what is well ſaid and done. A fool can never enjoy the pleaſures of love: he may indeed taſte ſomething of the mere animal part; but not the infinite endearments that heighten and protract pleaſure, nor that ſweet mixture of love and eſteem which increaſes with enjoy⯑ment.

THEY are miſtaken who ſuppoſe, that the moſt firm friendſhips ſubſiſt between perſons of exactly ſimilar qualities and diſpoſitions: ſuch ſi⯑milarity [91] is more likely to produce rivalſhip than friendſhip. There ſhould rather be on the one ſide a little more judgment, and on the other a little more ſenſibility; and the parties ſhould be ſenſible of each other's perfections: this obſer⯑vation holds peculiarly reſpecting the ſexes.

A DELICACY of perſon and of mind, approaching to weakneſs, is becoming in a female; leſs ſoftneſs, and more ſtrength, are expected in the male: they ought to make up a complete character together, rather than two alike perfect and diſtinct ones; the diſpoſitions of one ſex be⯑ing [92] qualified by the peculiar perfec⯑tions of the other. Nature, by di⯑ſtinguiſhing the characters of the ſexes, has removed all rivalſhip be⯑tween them, which otherwiſe might have been a hindrance to the union of love and friendſhip.

WHATEVER peculiar difference marks the delicacy of the female character, renders the perſon of a woman moſt lovely, and this pro⯑priety holds alſo reſpecting her mind; it is that tenderneſs of paſſion, deli⯑cacy of taſte, and retired modeſty, naturally peculiar to the ſex, which renders her moſt amiable in the eſteem of a man of feeling.

[93]THE tenderneſs of love and friend⯑ſhip affects a narrow circle; the more intenſe the paſſion, it is the more liable to be confined. However, univerſal love and particular friend⯑ſhip are noways inconſiſtent; diffe⯑rent degrees of eſteem are ſuitable to different degrees of merit, and friendſhip is contracted and con⯑firmed by habit and cloſe acquaint⯑ance: one may be a well-wiſher to all, but can have a friendſhip only for a few; a perfect love but for one.

AN extended principle of benevo⯑lence comprehends, a friend, a fa⯑mily, country, and all the world; [94] and, according to the extent of this principle, our capacity for happineſs is extended.

SECT. V. COURAGE and HONOUR.

WE muſt diſtinguiſh manly courage from beaſtly feroci⯑ty; it is abſurd to ſuppoſe, that cou⯑rage can exiſt where there is no ap⯑prehenſion of danger: the mind that is capable of honour, cannot be in⯑ſenſible to fear; the former over⯑coming the latter, in a noble cauſe, is true bravery.

[95]RANCOUR and revenge are too frequently taken for ſymptoms of a nice ſenſe of honour, than which no qualities can be more oppoſite to a refined ſenſibility.

HONOUR relates to thoſe parts of human conduct not particularly taken notice of by the laws. It teaches a man to preſerve inviolate the ſecrets, and to ſupport the inte⯑reſt and reputation, of a friend; to be ſtrictly juſt, where no public law obliges him to juſtice; to fulfill all equitable engagements; to hold moſt ſacred all honeſt truſt repoſed in him. It is a conſcious dignity of ſpirit, which teaches to commit no⯑thing [96] that is mean or diſgraceful; but which excites to generous and noble actions, proceeding from a pe⯑culiar delicacy of ſentiment, aſſiſted and tempered by the fortitude of reaſon.

SECT. VI. CONSCIENCE.

ALL right rules of conduct are drawn from the natural affec⯑tions, and from experience. The ſame affection which teaches us to love our fellow-creatures, reproaches us when we neglect or behave ill to [97] them; and this laſt operation of af⯑fection is called remorſe, or check of conſcience: but by habit or educa⯑tion, an artificial conſcience may be created, which may either ſerve to ſtrengthen or to ſubvert the con⯑ſcience of nature:—

THUS, a ſtronger remorſe will fol⯑low a crime committed againſt na⯑tural affection, when confirmed by civil policy and habit, than could follow from either of theſe motives alone.

NATURE has eſtabliſhed a com⯑mon and inſtinctive attachment between parent and child, as alſo among other relations; but the [98] ſtrongeſt of all affections is that which is conceived by thoſe who love and eſteem each other on ac⯑count of their ſuperior endow⯑ments.

A MAN may love his children from the ſame principle that any animal loves its young; but if he alſo perceives that they are virtuous, there reſults from ſuch a conjunc⯑tion a benevolence not to be expreſ⯑ſed. This is natural affection, as highly confirmed and approved by reaſon.

THAT an innate ſenſibility leads to the conſciouſneſs of good and evil, is certain; but it is alſo certain, that [99] this natural ſenſe may be improved by reaſon, or perverted by prejudice; and that laws of conſcience are frequently derived from cuſtom, which rivets the chains of error. To overcome evil opinions, there⯑fore, the mind muſt get the better of all prejudices or perverſions of conſcience, and eſtabliſh a conſci⯑ouſneſs of right on the ſolid foun⯑dation of juſt ſentiment and rea⯑ſon.

SECT. VII. SINCERITY.

A LITTLE judgment, with leſs ſenſibility, makes a man cun⯑ning; a little more feeling, with even leſs reaſon, would make him ſincere.

SOME have no more knowledge of humanity, than juſt ſerves them to put on an appearance of it, to an⯑ſwer their own baſe and ſelfiſh pur⯑poſes.

HE who prefers cunning to ſin⯑cerity, is inſenſible to the diſgrace and ſuſpicion which attend craft and deceit, and to the ſocial ſatisfaction [101] which the generous mind finds in honeſty and plain-dealing.

MEN who know not the pleaſures of ſincerity, and who traffic in de⯑ceit, barter an image of kindneſs for a ſhadow of joy, and are deceived more than they deceive.

SECT. VIII. PASSION.

LET us ſuppoſe an end of paſ⯑ſion, there muſt be an end of all moral reaſoning. Paſſion alone can correct paſſion. Thus we forego a preſent pleaſure, in hopes that we [102] ſhall afterwards enjoy a greater plea⯑ſure, or of longer duration; or ſuf⯑fer a preſent pain, to eſcape a greater: and this is called an act of the judge⯑ment. He who gives way to the dictates of preſent paſſion, without conſulting experience, liſtens to a partial evidence, and muſt of courſe determine wrongfully.

SOME, in order to pay a falſe com⯑pliment to ſentimental pleaſures, at⯑tempt altogether to depreciate the pleaſures of ſenſe: with as little ju⯑ſtice, though with like plauſibility, have men endeavoured to decry the natural paſſions and affections, as in⯑conſiſtent with human felicity. Not [103] from our natural deſires and paſſions do we ſuffer miſery; for, without theſe, what pleaſure can we be ſup⯑poſed to enjoy? but from falſe de⯑ſires, or diſeaſed appetites, acting without the aid of experience and underſtanding.

HE who commits an action which debaſes him in his own mind, be⯑ſides its other evil conſequences, lays up a ſtore of future miſery, which will haunt him as long as the me⯑mory of the deed remains.

ALONG with the preſent effects of any action, in order to judge of it aright, we muſt put in the balance alſo its future conſequences, and [104] conſider, on one ſide, the ſatisfac⯑tion and honour; on the other, the evil and diſgrace that may attend it.

MAGNANIMITY exerciſes itſelf in contempt of labours and pains, in order to avoid greater pains, or over⯑take greater pleaſures.

SECT. IX. TEMPERANCE.

THE great rule of ſenſual plea⯑ſures is, to uſe them ſo as they may not deſtroy themſelves, or be divorced from the pleaſures of ſenti⯑ment; [105] but rather as they are aſſiſted by, and mutually aſſiſting to, the more refined and exalted ſympathy of rational enjoyment.

MEN ever confine the meaning of the word pleaſure to what pleaſes themſelves: gluttons imagine, that by pleaſure is meant gluttony. The only true epicures are ſuch as enjoy the pleaſures of temperance. Small pleaſures ſeem great to ſuch as know no greater. The virtuous man is he who has ſenſe enough to enjoy the greateſt pleaſure.

SUPERFLUITY and parade among the vulgar-rich, paſs for elegance and greatneſs. To the man of true taſte, [106] temperance is luxury, and ſimplicity grandeur.

WHATEVER pleaſures are imme⯑diately derived from the ſenſes, per⯑ſons of fine internal feeling enjoy beſides their other pleaſures; while ſuch as place their chief happineſs in the former, can have no true taſte for the delicious ſenſations of the ſoul.

THEY who divide profit and ho⯑neſty, miſtake the nature either of the one or the other. We muſt make a difference between appear⯑ances and truths: the really profit⯑able and the good are the ſame.

FALSE appearances of profit are [107] the greateſt enemies to true intereſt. Future ſorrows preſent themſelves in the diſguiſe of preſent pleaſures, and ſhort-ſighted Folly eagerly em⯑braces the deceit.

EVERY ſpecies of vice originates either from inſenſibility, from want of judgment, or from both. No maxim can be more true, than that all vice is folly. For, either by vice we bring miſery more immediately on ourſelves, or we involve others in miſery: if any one bring evil on himſelf, it is ſurely folly: if his pre⯑ſent pleaſure be to make others mi⯑ſerable, were he to eſcape every other puniſhment, he muſt ſuffer for it by [108] remorſe, or it is a certain proof he is deprived of that ſenſe or ſympa⯑thy which is the oppoſite of dulneſs; in either of which caſes, it is evi⯑dent, that all vice is folly.

SECT. X. WISDOM.

WISDOM, or Virtue, is nothing more than the diſpoſition to enjoy and to confer the greateſt hap⯑pineſs, with the knowledge how to attain and to beſtow it.

WISDOM has ever ſome benevo⯑lent [109] end in her purpoſes and actions: on the contrary, Folly either miſtakes evil for good; or, when ſhe aſſumes the nature of vice, entertains a ma⯑levolent intention.

THE advantages and defects of nature ſhould be conſidered as com⯑mon to ſociety: the weak have a claim to the aſſiſtance of the ſtrong, the ſtrong derive a pleaſure from aſ⯑ſiſting the weak, and the wiſe are ſo far happy as the well-diſpoſed par⯑take of their wiſdom.

THERE is no one virtue that in⯑cludes not, in a general ſenſe, all the other virtues. Wiſdom cannot ſub⯑ſiſt without juſtice, temperance, and [110] fortitude; for wiſdom is the ſum of all theſe. It is impoſſible to be juſt without temperance, or temperate without fortitude; and ſo alternate⯑ly of the reſt.

SECT. XI. POWER.

POWER is no good quality by itſelf; it is the power of doing good, alone, that is deſirable to the wiſe. All vice is ſelfiſhneſs, and the meaneſt is that which is moſt con⯑tractedly ſelfiſh.

[111]GREAT minds can reconcile ſub⯑limity to good-humour; in weak ones, it is generally coupled with ſe⯑verity and moroſeneſs.

SUBLIME qualities men admire; they love the gentler virtues. When Wiſdom would engage a heart, ſhe wooes it in a ſmile. What the au⯑ſtere man adviſes with his tongue, his frown forbids.

MENS ambition of wealth and of power ſeems to increaſe in pro⯑portion to their inability to enjoy any refined pleaſure:

NO man has a natural right to hold a greater ſhare of power than another, unleſs he poſſeſſes a higher [112] degree of merit: if his ſervants are better than himſelf, he but uſurps his place. Every one ſhould fill that department for which he is fitted by nature, where he can be happieſt himſelf, and where he can beſt contribute to the happineſs of ſo⯑ciety.

THE vulgar-rich call the poor the vulgar: let us learn to call things by their proper names; the rude and ungentle are the vulgar, whe⯑ther, in fortune, they be poor or rich.

THE truly poor and worthleſs are thoſe who have not ſenſe to perceive [113] the ſuperiority of internal merit to all foreign or outward accompliſh⯑ments.

SECT. XII. JUSTICE and MERCY.

IT is not ſo proper to ſay, that vir⯑tue leads to happineſs, as to af⯑firm, that whatever leads to real hap⯑pineſs is virtue. The reaſon why certain actions are forbidden by law, is, that ſuch actions are found by experience to be attended with evil effects.

[114]BUT, becauſe very few indeed are themſelves capable of taking ſuch an extended view of things as to enable them to judge of all the good or evil conſequences of actions, laws are eſtabliſhed for the direction of the weak, and to reſtrain the vicious from committing actions that, in their effects, are evil.

THE fear of legal puniſhment pre⯑ſents the only hold that can be taken of thoſe who have no feeling for others; by which they are taught, at leaſt, to feel for themſelves.

NO action is evil altogether be⯑cauſe it is contrary to law; but cer⯑tain actions are juſtly forbidden by [115] law, becauſe their effects are experi⯑enced to be evil.

LET us be careful to ſeparate the idea of juſtice from that of revenge, which, like other malevolent paſ⯑ſions, is to be reſtrained by reaſon: the great end of human juſtice, is public or private ſecurity; but for⯑bearance and mercy often reclaim, when violence and ſeverity would be attended with evil conſequences: for this cauſe, it is ſometimes pro⯑per to return good for evil, and to mitigate the rigour of laws with mercy.

WHATEVER ſeverity juſtice may be obliged to inflict, it is ſtill with a [116] view to greater kindneſs. To reſtore the criminal himſelf to a ſenſe of his duty, to ſet an example to others, or to rid ſociety of a deſperate mem⯑ber, are the three rational ends for which puniſhment or death is in⯑flicted: otherwiſe retribution of evil is malevolence or blind revenge, and not juſtice.

THERE are certain exceptions to general laws, wherein juſtice aſſumes the name of mercy: he who, in his conduct, obſerves theſe exceptions, is juſtly merciful.

IT is owing to the imperfection of human laws, which cannot pro⯑vide againſt all accidental circum⯑ſtances [117] and exceptions, that an idea of mercy is oppoſed to that of ju⯑ſtice: theſe virtues, however, are not really repugnant; where mercy is proper, it were unjuſt not to be merciful.

THERE is hardly any ſuch paſſion among the virtuous as hatred: the vicious hate the enemies of vice; the good pity the enemies of virtue. A generous mind wiſhes not to find men faultleſs, but is happy in find⯑ing occaſions of forgiving their er⯑rors.

THE violent and hoſtile paſſions are never employed by the wiſe, but [118] for the greater purpoſes of benevo⯑lence.

TO withhold our power, when we can prevent the ruin of a fellow⯑creature, even againſt his will, is to be guilty of his deſtruction. Where is the difference in effect, whether evils are brought on us by our follies, or by fate? Is a man the leſs to be pitied who falls, for that his weakneſs was the cauſe of his falling?

WHO, if he ſaw a child approach⯑ing the brink of a precipice, would withhold his aſſiſtance, on a pretence that the child was left to the freedom of its own will? Men are like chil⯑dren, [119] that ſometimes muſt be re⯑ſtrained from the ways of error.

THUS it has been inſtanced, thro' the whole of this performance, that ſenſibility, as directed by reaſon, con⯑ſtitutes VIRTUE.