BURKE'S WRITINGS AND SPEECHES

VOLUME THE FIRST

[Illustration: EDMUND BURKE. ]

THE WORKS

OF

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

EDMUND BURKE

IN TWELVE VOLUMES

VOLUME THE FIRST

[Illustration: Burke Coat of Arms. ]

LondonJOHN C. NIMMO14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W. C. MDCCCLXXXVII

CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER, PREFIXED TO THE FIRST OCTAVO EDITION v

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION xvii

A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY: OR, A VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND EVILS ARISING TO MANKIND FROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY 1

A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL; WITH AN INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE CONCERNING TASTE 67

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF A LATE SHORT ADMINISTRATION 263

OBSERVATIONS ON A LATE PUBLICATION, INTITULED, "THE PRESENT STATE OF THE NATION" 269

THOUGHTS ON THE CAUSE OF THE PRESENT DISCONTENTS 433

ADVERTISEMENT

TO THE READER. [1]

The late Mr. Burke, from a principle of unaffected humility, which theywho were the most intimately acquainted with his character best know tohave been in his estimation one of the most important moral duties, never himself made any collection of the various publications withwhich, during a period of forty years, he adorned and enriched theliterature of this country. When, however, the rapid and unexampleddemand for his "Reflections on the Revolution in France" hadunequivocally testified his celebrity as a writer, some of his friendsso far prevailed upon him, that he permitted them to put forth a regularedition of his works. Accordingly, three volumes in quarto appearedunder that title in 1792, printed for the late Mr. Dodsley. Thatedition, therefore, has been made the foundation of the present, forwhich a form has been chosen better adapted to public convenience. Sucherrors of the press as have been discovered in it are here rectified: inother respects it is faithfully followed, except that in one instancean accident of little moment has occasioned a slight deviation from thestrict chronological arrangement, and that, on the other hand, a speechof conspicuous excellence, on his declining the poll at Bristol, in1780, is here, for the first time, inserted in its proper place. 

As the activity of the author's mind, and the lively interest which hetook in the welfare of his country, ceased only with his life, manysubsequent productions issued from his pen, which were received in amanner corresponding with his distinguished reputation. He wrote alsovarious tracts, of a less popular description, which he designed forprivate circulation in quarters where he supposed they might producemost benefit to the community, but which, with some other papers, havebeen printed since his death, from copies which he left behind himfairly transcribed, and most of them corrected as for the press. Allthese, now first collected together, form the contents of the last twovolumes. [2] They are disposed in chronological order, with the exceptionof the "Preface to Brissot's Address, " which having appeared in theauthor's lifetime, and from delicacy not being avowed by him, did notcome within the plan of this edition, but has been placed at the end ofthe last volume, on its being found deficient in its just bulk. 

The several posthumous publications, as they from time to time madetheir appearance, were accompanied by appropriate prefaces. These, however, as they were principally intended for temporary purposes, havebeen omitted. Some few explanations only, which they contained, seemhere to be necessary. 

The "Observations on the Conduct of the Minority" in the Session of 1793had been written and sent by Mr. Burke as a paper entirely and strictlyconfidential; but it crept surreptitiously into the world, through thefraud and treachery of the man whom he had employed to transcribe it, and, as usually happens in such cases, came forth in a very mangledstate, under a false title, and without the introductory letter. Thefriends of the author, without waiting to consult him, instantlyobtained an injunction from the Court of Chancery to stop the sale. Whathe himself felt, on receiving intelligence of the injury done him by onefrom whom his kindness deserved a very different return, will be bestconveyed in his own words. The following is an extract of a letter to afriend, which he dictated on this subject from a sick-bed. 

BATH, 15th Feb. , 1797. 

"My Dear Laurence, --

"On the appearance of the advertisement, all newspapers and all lettershave been kept back from me till this time. Mrs. Burke opened yours, and finding that all the measures in the power of Dr. King, yourself, and Mr. Woodford, had been taken to suppress the publication, sheventured to deliver me the letters to-day, which were read to me in mybed, about two o'clock. 

"This affair does vex me; but I am not in a state of health at presentto be deeply vexed at anything. Whenever this matter comes intodiscussion, I authorize you to contradict the infamous reports which (Iam informed) have been given out, that this paper had been circulatedthrough the ministry, and was intended gradually to slide into thepress. To the best of my recollection I never had a clean copy of it butone, which is now in my possession; I never communicated that, but tothe Duke of Portland, from whom I had it back again. But the Duke willset this matter to rights, if in reality there were two copies, and hehas one. I never showed it, as they know, to any one of the ministry. Ifthe Duke has really a copy, I believe his and mine are the only onesthat exist, except what was taken by fraud from loose and incorrectpapers by S----, to whom I gave the letter to copy. As soon as I beganto suspect him capable of any such scandalous breach of trust, you knowwith what anxiety I got the loose papers out of his hands, not havingreason to think that he kept any other. Neither do I believe in fact(unless he meditated this villany long ago) that he did or does nowpossess any clean copy. I never communicated that paper to any one outof the very small circle of those private friends from whom I concealednothing. 

"But I beg you and my friends to be cautious how you let it beunderstood that I disclaim anything but the mere act and intention ofpublication. I do not retract any one of the sentiments contained inthat memorial, which was and is my justification, addressed to thefriends for whose use alone I intended it. Had I designed it for thepublic, I should have been more exact and full. It was written in a toneof indignation, in consequence of the resolutions of the Whig Club, which were directly pointed against myself and others, and occasionedour secession from that club; which is the last act of my life that Ishall under any circumstances repent. Many temperaments and explanationsthere would have been, if I had ever had a notion that it should meetthe public eye. "

In the mean time a large impression, amounting, it is believed, to threethousand copies, had been dispersed over the country. To recall thesewas impossible; to have expected that any acknowledged production of Mr. Burke, full of matter likely to interest the future historian, couldremain forever in obscurity, would have been folly; and to have passedit over in silent neglect, on the one hand, or, on the other, to havethen made any considerable changes in it, might have seemed anabandonment of the principles which it contained. The author, therefore, discovering, that, with the exception of the introductory letter, he hadnot in fact kept any clean copy, as he had supposed, corrected one ofthe pamphlets with his own hand. From this, which was found preservedwith his other papers, his friends afterwards thought it their duty togive an authentic edition. 

The "Thoughts and Details on Scarcity" were originally presented in theform of a memorial to Mr. Pitt. The author proposed afterwards to recastthe same matter in a new shape. He even advertised the intended workunder the title of "Letters on Rural Economics, addressed to Mr. ArthurYoung"; but he seems to have finished only two or three detachedfragments of the first letter. These being too imperfect to be printedalone, his friends inserted them in the memorial, where they seemed bestto cohere. The memorial had been fairly copied, but did not appear tohave been examined or corrected, as some trifling errors of thetranscriber were perceptible in it. The manuscript of the fragments wasa rough draft from the author's own hand, much blotted and veryconfused. 

The Third Letter on the Proposals for Peace was in its progress throughthe press when the author died. About one half of it was actuallyrevised in print by himself, though not in the exact order of the pagesas they now stand. He enlarged his first draft, and separated one greatmember of his subject, for the purpose of introducing some other matterbetween. The different parcels of manuscript designed to intervene werediscovered. One of them he seemed to have gone over himself, and to haveimproved and augmented. The other (fortunately the smaller) was muchmore imperfect, just as it was taken from his mouth by dictation. Theformer reaches from the two hundred and forty-sixth to near the end ofthe two hundred and sixty-second page; the latter nearly occupies thetwelve pages which follow. [3] No important change, none at all affectingthe meaning of any passage, has been made in either, though in the moreimperfect parcel some latitude of discretion in subordinate points wasnecessarily used. 

There is, however, a considerable member for the greater part of whichMr. Burke's reputation is not responsible: this is the inquiry into thecondition of the higher classes, which commences in the two hundred andninety-fifth page. [4] The summary of the whole topic, indeed, nearly asit stands in the three hundred and seventy-third and fourth pages, [5]was found, together with a marginal reference to the Bankrupt List, inhis own handwriting; and the actual conclusion of the Letter wasdictated by him, but never received his subsequent correction. He hadalso preserved, as materials for this branch of his subject, somescattered hints, documents, and parts of a correspondence on the stateof the country. He was, however, prevented from working on them by thewant of some authentic and official information, for which he had beenlong anxiously waiting, in order to ascertain, to the satisfaction ofthe public, what, with his usual sagacity, he had fully anticipated fromhis own personal observation, to his own private conviction. At lengththe reports of the different committees which had been appointed by thetwo Houses of Parliament amply furnished him with evidence for thispurpose. Accordingly he read and considered them with attention: but foranything beyond this the season was now past. The Supreme Disposer ofAll, against whose inscrutable counsels it is vain as well as impious tomurmur, did not permit him to enter on the execution of the task whichhe meditated. It was resolved, therefore, by one of his friends, aftermuch hesitation, and under a very painful responsibility, to make suchan attempt as he could at supplying the void; especially because theinsufficiency of our resources for the continuance of the war wasunderstood to have been the principal objection urged against the twoformer Letters on the Proposals for Peace. In performing withreverential diffidence this duty of friendship, care has been taken notto attribute to Mr. Burke any sentiment which is not most explicitlyknown, from repeated conversations, and from much correspondence, tohave been decidedly entertained by that illustrious man. One passage ofnearly three pages, containing a censure of our defensive system, isborrowed from a private letter, which he began to dictate with anintention of comprising in it the short result of his opinions, butwhich he afterwards abandoned, when, a little time before his death, hishealth appeared in some degree to amend, and he hoped that Providencemight have spared him at least to complete the larger public letter, which he then proposed to resume. 

In the preface to the former edition of this Letter a fourth wasmentioned as being in possession of Mr. Burke's friends. It was in factannounced by the author himself, in the conclusion of the second, whichit was then designed to follow. He intended, he said, to proceed next onthe question of the facilities possessed by the French Republic, _fromthe internal state of other nations, and particularly of this_, forobtaining her ends, --and as his notions were controverted, to takenotice of what, in that way, had been recommended to him. The vehiclewhich he had chosen for this part of his plan was an answer to apamphlet which was supposed to come from high authority, and wascirculated by ministers with great industry, at the time of itsappearance, in October, 1795, immediately previous to that session ofParliament when his Majesty for the first time declared that theappearance of any disposition in the enemy to negotiate for generalpeace should not fail to be met with an earnest desire to give it thefullest and speediest effect. In truth, the answer, which is full ofspirit and vivacity, was written the latter end of the same year, butwas laid aside when the question assumed a more serious aspect, from thecommencement of an actual negotiation, which gave rise to the series ofprinted letters. Afterwards, he began to rewrite it, with a view ofaccommodating it to his new purpose. The greater part, however, stillremained in its original state; and several heroes of the Revolution, who are there celebrated, having in the interval passed off the publicstage, a greater liberty of insertion and alteration than his friends onconsideration have thought allowable would be necessary to adapt it tothat place in the series for which it was ultimately designed by theauthor. This piece, therefore, addressed, as the title originally stood, to his noble friend, Earl Fitzwilliam, will be given the first in thesupplemental volumes which will be hereafter added to complete thisedition of the author's works. 

The tracts, most of them in manuscript, which have been already selectedas fit for this purpose, will probably furnish four or five volumesmore, to be printed uniformly with this edition. The principal piece isan Essay on the History of England, from the earliest period to theconclusion of the reign of King John. It is written with much depth ofantiquarian research, directed by the mind of an intelligent statesman. This alone, as far as can be conjectured, will form more than onevolume. Another entire volume also, at least, will be filled with hisletters to public men on public affairs, especially those of France. This supplement will be sent to the press without delay. 

Mr. Burke's more familiar correspondence will be reserved as authoritiesto accompany a narrative of his life, which will conclude the whole. Theperiod during which he flourished was one of the most memorable of ourannals. It comprehended the acquisition of one empire in the East, theloss of another in the West, and the total subversion of the ancientsystem of Europe by the French Revolution, with all which events thehistory of his life is necessarily and intimately connected, --as indeedit also is, much more than is generally known, with the state ofliterature and the elegant arts. Such a subject of biography cannot bedismissed with a slight and rapid touch; nor can it be treated in amanner worthy of it, from the information, however authentic andextensive, which the industry of any one man may have accumulated. Manyimportant communications have been received; but some materials, whichrelate to the pursuits of his early years, and which are known to be inexistence, have been hitherto kept back, notwithstanding repeatedinquiries and applications. It is, therefore, once more earnestlyrequested, that all persons who call themselves the friends or admirersof the late Edmund Burke will have the goodness to transmit, withoutdelay, any notices of that or of any other kind which may happen to bein their possession or within their reach, to Messrs. Rivingtons, --arespect and kindness to his memory which will be thankfully acknowledgedby those friends to whom, in dying, he committed the sacred trust of hisreputation. 

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Prefixed to the first octavo edition: London, F. And C. Rivington, 1801: comprising Vols. I. -VIII. Of the edition in sixteen volumes issuedby these publishers at intervals between the years 1801 and 1827. 

[2] Comprising the last four papers of the fourth volume, and the wholeof the fifth volume, of the present edition. 

[3] The former comprising the matter included between the paragraphcommencing, "I hear it has been said, " &c. , and that ending with thewords, "there were little or no materials"; and the latter extendingthrough the paragraph concluding with the words, "disgraced and plaguedmankind. "

[4] At the paragraph commencing with the words, "In turning our viewfrom the lower to the higher classes, " &c. 

[5] In the first half of the paragraph commencing, "If, then, the realstate of this nation, " &c. 

ADVERTISEMENT

TO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION. [6]

A new edition of the works of Mr. Burke having been called for by thepublic, the opportunity has been taken to make some slight changes, itis hoped for the better. 

A different distribution of the contents, while it has made the volumes, with the exception of the first and sixth, more nearly equal in theirrespective bulk, has, at the same time, been fortunately found toproduce a more methodical arrangement of the whole. The first and secondvolumes, as before, severally contain those literary and philosophicalworks by which Mr. Burke was known previous to the commencement of hispublic life as a statesman, and the political pieces which were writtenby him between the time of his first becoming connected with the Marquisof Rockingham and his being chosen member for Bristol. In the third arecomprehended all his speeches and pamphlets from his first arrival atBristol, as a candidate, in the year 1774, to his farewell address fromthe hustings of that city, in the year 1780. What he himself publishedrelative to the affairs of India occupies the fourth volume. Theremaining four comprise his works since the French Revolution, with theexception of the Letter to Lord Kenmare on the Penal Laws against IrishCatholics, which was probably inserted where it stands from its relationto the subject of the Letter addressed by him, at a later period, to SirHercules Langrishe. With the same exception, too, strict regard has beenpaid to chronological order, which, in the last edition, was in someinstances broken, to insert pieces that wore not discovered till it wastoo late to introduce them in their proper places. 

In the Appendix to the Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts thereferences were found to be confused, and, in many places, erroneous. This probably had arisen from the circumstance that a larger anddifferently constructed appendix seems to have been originally designedby Mr. Burke, which, however, he afterwards abridged and altered, whilethe speech and the notes upon it remained as they were. The text and thedocuments that support it have throughout been accommodated to eachother. 

The orthography has been in many cases altered, and an attempt made toreduce it to some certain standard. The rule laid down for the dischargeof this task was, that, whenever Mr. Burke could be perceived to havebeen uniform in his mode of spelling, that was considered as decisive;but where he varied, (and as he was in the habit of writing bydictation, and leaving to others the superintendence of the press, hewas peculiarly liable to variations of this sort) the best receivedauthorities were directed to be followed. The reader, it is trusted, will find this object, too much disregarded in modern books, has herebeen kept in view throughout. The quotations which are interspersedthrough the works of Mr Burke, and which were frequently made by himfrom memory, have been generally compared with the original authors. Several mistakes in printing, of one word for another, by which thesense was either perverted or obscured, are now rectified. Two or threesmall insertions have also been made from a quarto copy corrected by Mr. Burke himself. From the same source something more has been drawn in theshape of notes, to which are subscribed his initials. Of this number isthe explanation of that celebrated phrase, "the swinish multitude": anexplanation which was uniformly given by him to his friends, inconversation on the subject. But another note will probably interest thereader still more, as being strongly expressive of that parentalaffection which formed so amiable a feature in the character of Mr. Burke. It is in page 203 of Vol. V. , where he points out a considerablepassage as having been supplied by his "lost son". [7] Several otherparts, possibly amounting altogether to a page or thereabout, wereindicated in the same manner; but, as they in general consist of singlesentences, and as the meaning of the mark by which they weredistinguished was not actually expressed, it has not been thoughtnecessary to notice them particularly. 

FOOTNOTES:

[6] London, F. And C. Rivington, 1803. 8 vols. 

[7] In "Reflections on the Revolution in France, "--indicated byfoot-note _in loco_. 

A

VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY:

OR, A VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND EVILS ARISING TO MANKINDFROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY. 

IN A LETTER TO LORD ****, BY A LATE NOBLE WRITER. 

1756. 

PREFACE. 

Before the philosophical works of Lord Bolingbroke had appeared, greatthings were expected from the leisure of a man, who, from the splendidscene of action in which his talents had enabled him to make soconspicuous a figure, had retired to employ those talents in theinvestigation of truth. Philosophy began to congratulate herself uponsuch a proselyte from the world of business, and hoped to have extendedher power under the auspices of such a leader. In the midst of thesepleasing expectations, the works themselves at last appeared in _fullbody_, and with great pomp. Those who searched in them for newdiscoveries in the mysteries of nature; those who expected somethingwhich might explain or direct the operations of the mind; those whohoped to see morality illustrated and enforced; those who looked for newhelps to society and government; those who desired to see the charactersand passions of mankind delineated; in short, all who consider suchthings as philosophy, and require some of them at least in everyphilosophical work, all these were certainly disappointed; they foundthe landmarks of science precisely in their former places: and theythought they received but a poor recompense for this disappointment, inseeing every mode of religion attacked in a lively manner, and thefoundation of every virtue, and of all government, sapped with great artand much ingenuity. What advantage do we derive from such writings? Whatdelight can a man find in employing a capacity which might be usefullyexerted for the noblest purposes, in a sort of sullen labor, in which, if the author could succeed, he is obliged to own, that nothing could bemore fatal to mankind than his success?

I cannot conceive how this sort of writers propose to compass thedesigns they pretend to have in view, by the instruments which theyemploy. Do they pretend to exalt the mind of man, by proving him nobetter than a beast? Do they think to enforce the practice of virtue, bydenying that vice and virtue are distinguished by good or ill fortunehere, or by happiness or misery hereafter? Do they imagine they shallincrease our piety, and our reliance on God, by exploding hisprovidence, and insisting that he is neither just nor good? Such are thedoctrines which, sometimes concealed, sometimes openly and fully avowed, are found to prevail throughout the writings of Lord Bolingbroke; andsuch are the reasonings which this noble writer and several others havebeen pleased to dignify with the name of philosophy. If these aredelivered in a specious manner, and in a style above the common, theycannot want a number of admirers of as much docility as can be wishedfor in disciples. To these the editor of the following little piece hasaddressed it: there is no reason to conceal the design of it any longer. 

The design was to show that, without the exertion of any considerableforces, the same engines which were employed for the destruction ofreligion, might be employed with equal success for the subversion ofgovernment; and that specious arguments might be used against thosethings which they, who doubt of everything else, will never permit to bequestioned. It is an observation which I think Isocrates makes in one ofhis orations against the sophists, that it is far more easy to maintaina wrong cause, and to support paradoxical opinions to the satisfactionof a common auditory, than to establish a doubtful truth by solid andconclusive arguments. When men find that something can be said in favorof what, on the very proposal, they have thought utterly indefensible, they grow doubtful of their own reason; they are thrown into a sort ofpleasing surprise; they run along with the speaker, charmed andcaptivated to find such a plentiful harvest of reasoning, where allseemed barren and unpromising. This is the fairy land of philosophy. Andit very frequently happens, that those pleasing impressions on theimagination subsist and produce their effect, even after theunderstanding has been satisfied of their unsubstantial nature. There isa sort of gloss upon ingenious falsehoods that dazzles the imagination, but which neither belongs to, nor becomes the sober aspect of truth. Ihave met with a quotation in Lord Coke's Reports that pleased me verymuch, though I do not know from whence he has taken it: "_Interdumfucata falsitas_ (says he), _in multis est probabilior, at sæperationibus vincit nudam veritatem_. " In such cases the writer has acertain fire and alacrity inspired into him by a consciousness, that, let it fare how it will with the subject, his ingenuity will be sure ofapplause; and this alacrity becomes much greater if he acts upon theoffensive, by the impetuosity that always accompanies an attack, andthe unfortunate propensity which mankind have to the finding andexaggerating faults. The editor is satisfied that a mind which has norestraint from a sense of its own weakness, of its subordinate rank inthe creation, and of the extreme danger of letting the imagination looseupon some subjects, may very plausibly attack everything the mostexcellent and venerable; that it would not be difficult to criticise thecreation itself; and that if we were to examine the divine fabrics byour ideas of reason and fitness, and to use the same method of attack bywhich some men have assaulted revealed religion, we might with as goodcolor, and with the same success, make the wisdom and power of God inhis creation appear to many no better than foolishness. There is an airof plausibility which accompanies vulgar reasonings and notions, takenfrom the beaten circle of ordinary experience, that is admirably suitedto the narrow capacities of some, and to the laziness of others. Butthis advantage is in a great measure lost, when a painful, comprehensivesurvey of a very complicated matter, and which requires a great varietyof considerations, is to be made; when we must seek in a profoundsubject, not only for arguments, but for new materials of argument, their measures and their method of arrangement; when we must go out ofthe sphere of our ordinary ideas, and when we can never walk surely, butby being sensible of our blindness. And this we must do, or we donothing, whenever we examine the result of a reason which is not ourown. Even in matters which are, as it were, just within our reach, whatwould become of the world, if the practice of all moral duties, and thefoundations of society, rested upon having their reasons made clear anddemonstrative to every individual?

The editor knows that the subject of this letter is not so fully handledas obviously it might; it was not his design to say all that couldpossibly be said. It had been inexcusable to fill a large volume withthe abuse of reason; nor would such an abuse have been tolerable, evenfor a few pages, if some under-plot, of more consequence than theapparent design, had not been carried on. 

Some persons have thought that the advantages of the state of natureought to have been more fully displayed. This had undoubtedly been avery ample subject for declamation; but they do not consider thecharacter of the piece. The writers against religion, whilst they opposeevery system, are wisely careful never to set up any of their own. Ifsome inaccuracies in calculation, in reasoning, or in method, be found, perhaps these will not be looked upon as faults by the admirers of LordBolingbroke; who will, the editor is afraid, observe much more of hislordship's character in such particulars of the following letter, thanthey are likely to find of that rapid torrent of an impetuous andoverbearing eloquence, and the variety of rich imagery for which thatwriter is justly admired. 

A LETTER TO LORD ****. 

Shall I venture to say, my lord, that in our late conversation, you wereinclined to the party which you adopted rather by the feelings of yourgood nature, than by the conviction of your judgment? We laid open thefoundations of society; and you feared that the curiosity of this searchmight endanger the ruin of the whole fabric. You would readily haveallowed my principle, but you dreaded the consequences; you thought, that having once entered upon these reasonings, we might be carriedinsensibly and irresistibly farther than at first we could either haveimagined or wished. But for my part, my lord, I then thought, and amstill of the same opinion, that error, and not truth of any kind, isdangerous; that ill conclusions can only flow from false propositions;and that, to know whether any proposition be true or false, it is apreposterous method to examine it by its apparent consequences. 

These were the reasons which induced me to go so far into that inquiry;and they are the reasons which direct me in all my inquiries. I hadindeed often reflected on that subject before I could prevail on myselfto communicate my reflections to anybody. They were generally melancholyenough; as those usually are which carry us beyond the mere surface ofthings; and which would undoubtedly make the lives of all thinking menextremely miserable, if the same philosophy which caused the grief, didnot at the same time administer the comfort. 

On considering political societies, their origin, their constitution, and their effects, I have sometimes been in a good deal more than doubt, whether the Creator did ever really intend man for a state of happiness. He has mixed in his cup a number of natural evils, (in spite of theboasts of stoicism they are evils, ) and every endeavor which the art andpolicy of mankind has used from the beginning of the world to this day, in order to alleviate or cure them, has only served to introduce newmischiefs, or to aggravate and inflame the old. Besides this, the mindof man itself is too active and restless a principle ever to settle onthe true point of quiet. It discovers every day some craving want in abody, which really wants but little. It every day invents some newartificial rule to guide that nature which, if left to itself, were thebest and surest guide. It finds out imaginary beings prescribingimaginary laws; and then, it raises imaginary terrors to support abelief in the beings, and an obedience to the laws. --Many things havebeen said, and very well undoubtedly, on the subjection in which weshould preserve our bodies to the government of our understanding; butenough has not been said upon the restraint which our bodily necessitiesought to lay on the extravagant sublimities and eccentric rovings of ourminds. The body, or as some love to call it, our inferior nature, iswiser in its own plain way, and attends its own business more directlythan the mind with all its boasted subtlety. 

In the state of nature, without question, mankind was subjected to manyand great inconveniences. Want of union, want of mutual assistance, wantof a common arbitrator to resort to in their differences. These wereevils which they could not but have felt pretty severely on manyoccasions. The original children of the earth lived with their brethrenof the other kinds in much equality. Their diet must have been confinedalmost wholly to the vegetable kind; and the same tree, which in itsflourishing state produced them berries, in its decay gave them anhabitation. The mutual desires of the sexes uniting their bodies andaffections, and the children which are the results of theseintercourses, introduced first the notion of society, and taught itsconveniences. This society, founded in natural appetites and instincts, and not in any positive institution, I shall call _natural society_. Thus far nature went and succeeded: but man would go farther. The greaterror of our nature is, not to know where to stop, not to be satisfiedwith any reasonable acquirement; not to compound with our condition; butto lose all we have gained by an insatiable pursuit after more. Manfound a considerable advantage by this union of many persons to form onefamily; he therefore judged that he would find his accountproportionably in an union of many families into one body politic. Andas nature has formed no bond of union to hold them together, he suppliedthis defect by _laws_. 

This is _political society_. And hence the sources of what are usuallycalled states, civil societies, or governments; into some form of which, more extended or restrained, all mankind have gradually fallen. Andsince it has so happened, and that we owe an implicit reverence to allthe institutions of our ancestors, we shall consider these institutionswith all that modesty with which we ought to conduct ourselves inexamining a received opinion; but with all that freedom and candor whichwe owe to truth wherever we find it, or however it may contradict ourown notions, or oppose our own interests. There is a most absurd andaudacious method of reasoning avowed by some bigots and enthusiasts, andthrough fear assented to by some wiser and better men; it is this: theyargue against a fair discussion of popular prejudices, because, saythey, though they would be found without any reasonable support, yet thediscovery might be productive of the most dangerous consequences. Absurdand blasphemous notion! as if all happiness was not connected with thepractice of virtue, which necessarily depends upon the knowledge oftruth; that is, upon the knowledge of those unalterable relations whichProvidence has ordained that every thing should bear to every other. These relations, which are truth itself, the foundation of virtue, andconsequently the only measures of happiness, should be likewise the onlymeasures by which we should direct our reasoning. To these we shouldconform in good earnest; and not think to force nature, and the wholeorder of her system, by a compliance with our pride and folly, toconform to our artificial regulations. It is by a conformity to thismethod we owe the discovery of the few truths we know, and the littleliberty and rational happiness we enjoy. We have something fairer playthan a reasoner could have expected formerly; and we derive advantagesfrom it which are very visible. 

The fabric of superstition has in this our age and nation received muchruder shocks than it had ever felt before; and through the chinks andbreaches of our prison, we see such glimmerings of light, and feel suchrefreshing airs of liberty, as daily raise our ardor for more. Themiseries derived to mankind from superstition under the name ofreligion, and of ecclesiastical tyranny under the name of churchgovernment, have been clearly and usefully exposed. We begin to thinkand to act from reason and from nature alone. This is true of several, but by far the majority is still in the same old state of blindness andslavery; and much is it to be feared that we shall perpetually relapse, whilst the real productive cause of all this superstitious folly, enthusiastical nonsense, and holy tyranny, holds a reverend place in theestimation even of those who are otherwise enlightened. 

Civil government borrows a strength from ecclesiastical; and artificiallaws receive a sanction from artificial revelations. The ideas ofreligion and government are closely connected; and whilst we receivegovernment as a thing necessary, or even useful to our well-being, weshall in spite of us draw in, as a necessary, though undesirableconsequence, an artificial religion of some kind or other. To this thevulgar will always be voluntary slaves; and even those of a rank ofunderstanding superior, will now and then involuntarily feel itsinfluence. It is therefore of the deepest concernment to us to be setright in this point; and to be well satisfied whether civil governmentbe such a protector from natural evils, and such a nurse and increaserof blessings, as those of warm imaginations promise. In such adiscussion, far am I from proposing in the least to reflect on our mostwise form of government; no more than I would, in the freer parts of myphilosophical writings, mean to object to the piety, truth, andperfection of our most excellent Church. Both, I am sensible, have theirfoundations on a rock. No discovery of truth can prejudice them. On thecontrary, the more closely the origin of religion and government isexamined, the more clearly their excellences must appear. They comepurified from the fire. My business is not with them. Having entered aprotest against all objections from these quarters, I may the morefreely inquire, from history and experience, how far policy hascontributed in all times to alleviate those evils which Providence, thatperhaps has designed us for a state of imperfection, has imposed; howfar our physical skill has cured our constitutional disorders; andwhether it may not have introduced new ones, curable perhaps by noskill. 

In looking over any state to form a judgment on it, it presents itselfin two lights; the external, and the internal. The first, that relationwhich it bears in point of friendship or enmity to other states. Thesecond, that relation which its component parts, the governing and thegoverned, bear to each other. The first part of the external view of allstates, their relation as friends, makes so trifling a figure inhistory, that I am very sorry to say, it affords me but little matter onwhich to expatiate. The good offices done by one nation to itsneighbor;[8] the support given in public distress; the relief affordedin general calamity; the protection granted in emergent danger; themutual return of kindness and civility, would afford a very ample andvery pleasing subject for history. But, alas! all the history of alltimes, concerning all nations, does not afford matter enough to fill tenpages, though it should be spun out by the wire-drawing amplification ofa Guicciardini himself. The glaring side is that of enmity. War is thematter which fills all history, and consequently the only or almost theonly view in which we can see the external of political society is in ahostile shape; and the only actions to which we have always seen, andstill see all of them intent, are such as tend to the destruction of oneanother. "War, " says Machiavel, "ought to be the only study of aprince"; and by a prince, he means every sort of state, howeverconstituted. "He ought, " says this great political doctor, "to considerpeace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, andfurnishes ability to execute military plans. " A meditation on theconduct of political societies made old Hobbes imagine, that war was thestate of nature; and truly, if a man judged of the individuals of ourrace by their conduct when united and packed into nations and kingdoms, he might imagine that every sort of virtue was unnatural and foreign tothe mind of man. 

The first accounts we have of mankind are but so many accounts of theirbutcheries. All empires have been cemented in blood; and, in those earlyperiods, when the race of mankind began first to form themselves intoparties and combinations, the first effect of the combination, andindeed the end for which it seems purposely formed, and best calculated, was their mutual destruction. All ancient history is dark anduncertain. One thing, however, is clear, --there were conquerors, andconquests in those days; and, consequently, all that devastation bywhich they are formed, and all that oppression by which they aremaintained. We know little of Sesostris, but that he led out of Egypt anarmy of above 700, 000 men; that he overran the Mediterranean coast asfar as Colchis; that in some places he met but little resistance, and ofcourse shed not a great deal of blood; but that he found in others apeople who knew the value of their liberties, and sold them dear. Whoever considers the army this conqueror headed, the space hetraversed, and the opposition he frequently met, with the naturalaccidents of sickness, and the dearth and badness of provision to whichhe must have been subject in the variety of climates and countries hismarch lay through, if he knows anything, he must know that even theconqueror's army must have suffered greatly; and that of this immensenumber but a very small part could have returned to enjoy the plunderaccumulated by the loss of so many of their companions, and thedevastation of so considerable a part of the world. Considering, I say, the vast army headed by this conqueror, whose unwieldy weight was almostalone sufficient to wear down its strength, it will be far from excessto suppose that one half was lost in the expedition. If this was thestate of the victorious, and from the circumstances it must have beenthis at the least; the vanquished must have had a much heavier loss, asthe greatest slaughter is always in the flight, and great carnage did inthose times and countries ever attend the first rage of conquest. Itwill, therefore, be very reasonable to allow on their account as muchas, added to the losses of the conqueror, may amount to a million ofdeaths, and then we shall see this conqueror, the oldest we have on therecords of history, (though, as we have observed before, the chronologyof these remote times is extremely uncertain), opening the scene by adestruction of at least one million of his species, unprovoked but byhis ambition, without any motives but pride, cruelty, and madness, andwithout any benefit to himself (for Justin expressly tells us he did notmaintain his conquests), but solely to make so many people, in sodistant countries, feel experimentally how severe a scourge Providenceintends for the human race, when he gives one man the power over many, and arms his naturally impotent and feeble rage with the hands ofmillions, who know no common principle of action, but a blind obedienceto the passions of their ruler. 

The next personage who figures in the tragedies of this ancient theatreis Semiramis; for we have no particulars of Ninus, but that he madeimmense and rapid conquests, which doubtless were not compassed withoutthe usual carnage. We see an army of about three millions employed bythis martial queen in a war against the Indians. We see the Indiansarming a yet greater; and we behold a war continued with much fury, andwith various success. This ends in the retreat of the queen, with scarcea third of the troops employed in the expedition; an expedition which, at this rate, must have cost two millions of souls on her part; and itis not unreasonable to judge that the country which was the seat of warmust have been an equal sufferer. But I am content to detract from this, and to suppose that the Indians lost only half so much, and then theaccount stands thus: in this war alone (for Semiramis had other wars) inthis single reign, and in this one spot of the globe, did three millionsof souls expire, with all the horrid and shocking circumstances whichattend all wars, and in a quarrel, in which none of the sufferers couldhave the least rational concern. 

The Babylonian, Assyrian, Median, and Persian monarchies must havepoured out seas of blood in their formation, and in their destruction. The armies and fleets of Xerxes, their numbers, the glorious stand madeagainst them, and the unfortunate event of all his mighty preparations, are known to everybody. In this expedition, draining half Asia of itsinhabitants, he led an army of about two millions to be slaughtered, andwasted by a thousand fatal accidents, in the same place where hispredecessors had before by a similar madness consumed the flower of somany kingdoms, and wasted the force of so extensive an empire. It is acheap calculation to say, that the Persian empire, in its wars againstthe Greeks and Scythians, threw away at least four millions of itssubjects; to say nothing of its other wars, and the losses sustained inthem. These were their losses abroad; but the war was brought home tothem, first by Agesilaus, and afterwards by Alexander. I have not, inthis retreat, the books necessary to make very exact calculations; noris it necessary to give more than hints to one of your lordship'serudition. You will recollect his uninterrupted series of success. Youwill run over his battles. You will call to mind the carnage which wasmade. You will give a glance at the whole, and you will agree with me, that to form this hero no less than twelve hundred thousand lives musthave been sacrificed; but no sooner had he fallen himself a sacrifice tohis vices, than a thousand breaches were made for ruin to enter, andgive the last hand to this scene of misery and destruction. His kingdomwas rent and divided; which served to employ the more distinct parts totear each other to pieces, and bury the whole in blood and slaughter. The kings of Syria and of Egypt, the kings of Pergamus and Macedon, without intermission worried each other for above two hundred years;until at last a strong power, arising in the west, rushed in upon themand silenced their tumults, by involving all the contending parties inthe same destruction. It is little to say, that the contentions betweenthe successors of Alexander depopulated that part of the world of atleast two millions. 

The struggle between the Macedonians and Greeks, and, before that, thedisputes of the Greek commonwealths among themselves, for anunprofitable superiority, form one of the bloodiest scenes in history. One is astonished how such a small spot could furnish men sufficient tosacrifice to the pitiful ambition of possessing five or six thousandmore acres, or two or three more villages; yet to see the acrimony andbitterness with which this was disputed between the Athenians andLacedemonians; what armies cut off; what fleets sunk and burnt; what anumber of cities sacked, and their inhabitants slaughtered and captived;one would be induced to believe the decision of the fate of mankind, atleast, depended upon it! But those disputes ended as all such ever havedone, and ever will do; in a real weakness of all parties; a momentaryshadow, and dream of power in some one; and the subjection of all to theyoke of a stranger, who knows how to profit of their divisions. This, at least, was the case of the Greeks; and surely, from the earliestaccounts of them, to their absorption into the Roman empire, we cannotjudge that their intestine divisions, and their foreign wars, consumedless than three millions of their inhabitants. 

What an Aceldama, what a field of blood Sicily has been in ancienttimes, whilst the mode of its government was controverted between therepublican and tyrannical parties, and the possession struggled for bythe natives, the Greeks, the Carthaginians, and the Romans, yourlordship will easily recollect. You will remember the total destructionof such bodies as an army of 300, 000 men. You will find every page ofits history dyed in blood, and blotted and confounded by tumults, rebellions, massacres, assassinations, proscriptions, and a series ofhorror beyond the histories perhaps of any other nation in the world;though the histories of all nations are made up of similar matter. Ionce more excuse myself in point of exactness for want of books. But Ishall estimate the slaughters in this island but at two millions; whichyour lordship will find much short of the reality. 

Let us pass by the wars, and the consequences of them, which wastedGrecia-Magna, before the Roman power prevailed in that part of Italy. They are perhaps exaggerated; therefore I shall only rate them at onemillion. Let us hasten to open that great scene which establishes theRoman empire, and forms the grand catastrophe of the ancient drama. Thisempire, whilst in its infancy, began by an effusion of human bloodscarcely credible. The neighboring little states teemed for newdestruction: the Sabines, the Samnites, the Æqui, the Volsci, theHetrurians, were broken by a series of slaughters which had nointerruption, for some hundreds of years; slaughters which upon allsides consumed more than two millions of the wretched people. The Gauls, rushing into Italy about this time, added the total destruction of theirown armies to those of the ancient inhabitants. In short, it were hardlypossible to conceive a more horrid and bloody picture, if that the Punicwars that ensued soon after did not present one that far exceeds it. Here we find that climax of devastation, and ruin, which seemed to shakethe whole earth. The extent of this war, which vexed so many nations, and both elements, and the havoc of the human species caused in both, really astonishes beyond expression, when it is nakedly considered, andthose matters which are apt to divert our attention from it, thecharacters, actions, and designs of the persons concerned, are not takeninto the account. These wars, I mean those called the Punic wars, couldnot have stood the human race in less than three millions of thespecies. And yet this forms but a part only, and a very small part, ofthe havoc caused by the Roman ambition. The war with Mithridates wasvery little less bloody; that prince cut off at one stroke 150, 000Romans by a massacre. In that war Sylla destroyed 300, 000 men atCheronea. He defeated Mithridates' army under Dorilaus, and slew300, 000. This great and unfortunate prince lost another 300, 000 beforeCyzicum. In the course of the war he had innumerable other losses; andhaving many intervals of success, he revenged them severely. He was atlast totally overthrown; and he crushed to pieces the king of Armenia, his ally, by the greatness of his ruin. All who had connections with himshared the same fate. The merciless genius of Sylla had its full scope;and the streets of Athens were not the only ones which ran with blood. At this period, the sword, glutted with foreign slaughter, turned itsedge upon the bowels of the Roman republic itself; and presented a sceneof cruelties and treasons enough almost to obliterate the memory of allthe external devastations. I intended, my lord, to have proceeded in asort of method in estimating the numbers of mankind cut off in thesewars which we have on record. But I am obliged to alter my design. Sucha tragical uniformity of havoc and murder would disgust your lordship asmuch as it would me; and I confess I already feel my eyes ache bykeeping them so long intent on so bloody a prospect. I shall observelittle on the Servile, the Social, the Gallic, and Spanish wars; norupon those with Jugurtha, nor Antiochus, nor many others equallyimportant, and carried on with equal fury. The butcheries of JuliusCæsar alone are calculated by somebody else; the numbers he has been themeans of destroying have been reckoned at 1, 200, 000. But to give yourlordship an idea that may serve as a standard, by which to measure, insome degree, the others; you will turn your eyes on Judea; a veryinconsiderable spot of the earth in itself, though ennobled by thesingular events which had their rise in that country. 

This spot happened, it matters not here by what means, to become atseveral times extremely populous, and to supply men for slaughtersscarcely credible, if other well-known and well-attested ones had notgiven them a color. The first settling of the Jews here was attended byan almost entire extirpation of all the former inhabitants. Their owncivil wars, and those with their petty neighbors, consumed vastmultitudes almost every year for several centuries; and the irruptionsof the kings of Babylon and Assyria made immense ravages. Yet we havetheir history but partially, in an indistinct, confused manner; so thatI shall only throw the strong point of light upon that part whichcoincides with Roman history, and of that part only on the point of timewhen they received the great and final stroke which made them, no more anation; a stroke which is allowed to have cut off little less than twomillions of that people. I say nothing of the loppings made from thatstock whilst it stood; nor from the suckers that grew out of the oldroot ever since. But if, in this inconsiderable part of the globe, sucha carnage has been made in two or three short reigns, and that thisgreat carnage, great as it is, makes but a minute part of what thehistories of that people inform us they suffered; what shall we judge ofcountries more extended, and which have waged wars by far moreconsiderable?

Instances of this sort compose the uniform of history. But there havebeen periods when no less than universal destruction to the race ofmankind seems to have been threatened. Such was that when the Goths, theVandals, and the Huns, poured into Gaul, Italy, Spain, Greece, andAfrica, carrying destruction before them as they advanced, and leavinghorrid deserts every way behind them. _Vastum ubique silentium, secreticolles; fumantia procul tecta; nemo exploratoribus obvius_, is whatTacitus calls _facies victoriæ_. It is always so; but was hereemphatically so. From the north proceeded the swarms of Goths, Vandals, Huns, Ostrogoths, who ran towards the south, into Africa itself, whichsuffered as all to the north had done. About this time, another torrentof barbarians, animated by the same fury, and encouraged by the samesuccess, poured out of the south, and ravaged all to the northeast andwest, to the remotest parts of Persia on one hand, and to the banks ofthe Loire or farther on the other; destroying all the proud and curiousmonuments of human art, that not even the memory might seem to surviveof the former inhabitants. What has been done since, and what willcontinue to be done while the same inducements to war continue, I shallnot dwell upon. I shall only in one word mention the horrid effects ofbigotry and avarice, in the conquest of Spanish America; a conquest, ona low estimation, effected by the murder of ten millions of the species. I shall draw to a conclusion of this part, by making a generalcalculation of the whole. I think I have actually mentioned abovethirty-six millions. I have not particularized any more. I don't pretendto exactness; therefore, for the sake of a general view, I shall laytogether all those actually slain in battles, or who have perished in ano less miserable manner by the other destructive consequences of warfrom the beginning of the world to this day, in the four parts of it, ata thousand times as much; no exaggerated calculation, allowing for timeand extent. We have not perhaps spoke of the five-hundredth part; I amsure I have not of what is actually ascertained in history; but how muchof these butcheries are only expressed in generals, what part of timehistory has never reached, and what vast spaces of the habitable globeit has not embraced, I need not mention to your lordship. I need notenlarge on those torrents of silent and inglorious blood which haveglutted the thirsty sands of Afric, or discolored the polar snow, orfed the savage forests of America for so many ages of continual war. Shall I, to justify my calculations from the charge of extravagance, addto the account those skirmishes which happen in all wars, without beingsingly of sufficient dignity in mischief, to merit a place in history, but which by their frequency compensate for this comparative innocence?shall I inflame the account by those general massacres which havedevoured whole cities and nations; those wasting pestilences, thoseconsuming famines, and all those furies that follow in the train of war?I have no need to exaggerate; and I have purposely avoided a parade ofeloquence on this occasion. I should despise it upon any occasion; elsein mentioning these slaughters, it is obvious how much the whole mightbe heightened, by an affecting description of the horrors that attendthe wasting of kingdoms, and sacking of cities. But I do not write tothe vulgar, nor to that which only governs the vulgar, their passions. Igo upon a naked and moderate calculation, just enough, without apedantical exactness, to give your lordship some feeling of the effectsof political society. I charge the whole of these effects on politicalsociety. I avow the charge, and I shall presently make it good to yourlordship's satisfaction. The numbers I particularized are aboutthirty-six millions. Besides those killed in battles I have saidsomething, not half what the matter would have justified, but somethingI have said concerning the consequences of war even more dreadful thanthat monstrous carnage itself which shocks our humanity, and almoststaggers our belief. So that, allowing me in my exuberance one way formy deficiencies in the other, you will find me not unreasonable. Ithink the numbers of men now upon earth are computed at five hundredmillions at the most. Here the slaughter of mankind, on what you willcall a small calculation, amounts to upwards of seventy times the numberof souls this day on the globe: a point which may furnish matter ofreflection to one less inclined to draw consequences than your lordship. 

I now come to show that political society is justly chargeable with muchthe greatest part of this destruction of the species. To give thefairest play to every side of the question, I will own that there is ahaughtiness and fierceness in human nature, which will cause innumerablebroils, place men in what situation you please; but owning this, I stillinsist in charging it to political regulations, that these broils are sofrequent, so cruel, and attended with consequences so deplorable. In astate of nature, it had been impossible to find a number of men, sufficient for such slaughters, agreed in the same bloody purpose; orallowing that they might have come to such an agreement (an impossiblesupposition), yet the means that simple nature has supplied them with, are by no means adequate to such an end; many scratches, many bruisesundoubtedly would be received upon all hands; but only a few, a very fewdeaths. Society and politics, which have given us these destructiveviews, have given us also the means of satisfying them. From theearliest dawnings of policy to this day, the invention of men has beensharpening and improving the mystery of murder, from the first rudeessays of clubs and stones, to the present perfection of gunnery, cannoneering, bombarding, mining, and all those species of artificial, learned, and refined cruelty, in which we are now so expert, and whichmake a principal part of what politicians have taught us to believe isour principal glory. 

How far mere nature would have carried us, we may judge by the exampleof those animals who still follow her laws, and even of those to whomshe has given dispositions more fierce, and arms more terrible than evershe intended we should use. It is an incontestable truth that there ismore havoc made in one year by men of men, than has been made by all thelions, tigers, panthers, ounces, leopards, hyenas, rhinoceroses, elephants, bears and wolves, upon their several species, since thebeginning of the world; though these agree ill enough with each other, and have a much greater proportion of rage and fury in their compositionthan we have. But with respect to you, ye legislators, ye civilizers ofmankind! ye Orpheuses, Moseses, Minoses, Solons, Theseuses, Lycurguses, Numas! with respect to you be it spoken, your regulations have done moremischief in cold blood, than all the rage of the fiercest animals intheir greatest terrors, or furies, has ever done, or ever could do!

These evils are not accidental. Whoever will take the pains to considerthe nature of society will find that they result directly from itsconstitution. For as _subordination_, or, in other words, thereciprocation of tyranny and slavery, is requisite to support thesesocieties; the interest, the ambition, the malice, or the revenge, nay, even the whim and caprice of one ruling man among them, is enough to armall the rest, without any private views of their own, to the worst andblackest purposes: and what is at once lamentable, and ridiculous, thesewretches engage under those banners with a fury greater than if theywere animated by revenge for their own proper wrongs. 

It is no less worth observing, that this artificial division of mankindinto separate societies is a perpetual source in itself of hatred anddissension among them. The names which distinguish them are enough toblow up hatred and rage. Examine history; consult present experience;and you will find that far the greater part of the quarrels betweenseveral nations had scarce any other occasion than that these nationswere different combinations of people, and called by different names: toan Englishman, the name of a Frenchman, a Spaniard, an Italian, muchmore a Turk, or a Tartar, raises of course ideas of hatred and contempt. If you would inspire this compatriot of ours with pity or regard for oneof these, would you not hide that distinction? You would not pray him tocompassionate the poor Frenchman, or the unhappy German. Far from it;you would speak of him as a _foreigner_; an accident to which all areliable. You would represent him as a _man_; one partaking with us of thesame common nature, and subject to the same law. There is something soaverse from our nature in these artificial political distinctions, thatwe need no other trumpet to kindle us to war and destruction. But thereis something so benign and healing in the general voice of humanitythat, maugre all our regulations to prevent it, the simple name of manapplied properly, never fails to work a salutary effect. 

This natural unpremeditated effect of policy on the unpossessed passionsof mankind appears on other occasions. The very name of a politician, astatesman, is sure to cause terror and hatred; it has always connectedwith it the ideas of treachery, cruelty, fraud, and tyranny; and thosewriters who have faithfully unveiled the mysteries of state-freemasonry, have ever been held in general detestation, for even knowing soperfectly a theory so detestable. The case of Machiavel seems at firstsight something hard in that respect. He is obliged to bear theiniquities of those whose maxims and rules of government he published. His speculation is more abhorred than their practice. 

But if there were no other arguments against artificial society thanthis I am going to mention, methinks it ought to fall by this one only. All writers on the science of policy are agreed, and they agree withexperience, that, all governments must frequently infringe the rules ofjustice to support themselves; that truth must give way todissimulation; honesty to convenience; and humanity itself to thereigning interest. The whole of this mystery of iniquity is called thereason of state. It is a reason which I own I cannot penetrate. Whatsort of a protection is this of the general right, that is maintained byinfringing the rights of particulars? What sort of justice is this, which is enforced by breaches of its own laws? These paradoxes I leaveto be solved by the able heads of legislators and politicians. For mypart, I say what a plain man would say on such an occasion. I can neverbelieve that any institution, agreeable to nature, and proper formankind, could find it necessary, or even expedient, in any casewhatsoever, to do what the best and worthiest instincts of mankind warnus to avoid. But no wonder, that what is set up in opposition to thestate of nature should preserve itself by trampling upon the law ofnature. 

To prove that these sorts of policed societies are a violation offeredto nature, and a constraint upon the human mind, it needs only to lookupon the sanguinary measures, and instruments of violence, which areeverywhere used to support them. Let us take a review of the dungeons, whips, chains, racks, gibbets, with which every society is abundantlystored; by which hundreds of victims are annually offered up to supporta dozen or two in pride and madness, and millions in an abject servitudeand dependence. There was a time when I looked with a reverential awe onthese mysteries of policy; but age, experience, and philosophy, haverent the veil; and I view this _sanctum sanctorum_, at least, withoutany enthusiastic admiration. I acknowledge, indeed, the necessity ofsuch a proceeding in such institutions; but I must have a very meanopinion of institutions where such proceedings are necessary. 

It is a misfortune that in no part of the globe natural liberty andnatural religion are to be found pure, and free from the mixture ofpolitical adulterations. Yet we have implanted in us by Providence, ideas, axioms, rules, of what is pious, just, fair, honest, which nopolitical craft, nor learned sophistry can entirely expel from ourbreasts. By these we judge, and we cannot otherwise judge, of theseveral artificial modes of religion and society, and determine of themas they approach to or recede from this standard. 

The simplest form of government is _despotism_, where all the inferiororbs of power are moved merely by the will of the Supreme, and all thatare subjected to them directed in the same manner, merely by theoccasional will of the magistrate. This form, as it is the most simple, so it is infinitely the most general. Scarcely any part of the world isexempted from its power. And in those few places where men enjoy whatthey call liberty, it is continually in a tottering situation, and makesgreater and greater strides to that gulf of despotism which at lastswallows up every species of government. The manner of ruling beingdirected merely by the will of the weakest, and generally the worst manin the society, becomes the most foolish and capricious thing, at thesame time that it is the most terrible and destructive that well can beconceived. In a despotism, the principal person finds that, let thewant, misery, and indigence of his subjects be what they will, he canyet possess abundantly of everything to gratify his most insatiablewishes. He does more. He finds that these gratifications increase inproportion to the wretchedness and slavery of his subjects. Thusencouraged both by passion and interest to trample on the publicwelfare, and by his station placed above both shame and fear, heproceeds to the most horrid and shocking outrages upon mankind. Theirpersons become victims of his suspicions. The slightest displeasure isdeath; and a disagreeable aspect is often as great a crime as hightreason. In the court of Nero, a person of learning, of unquestionedmerit, and of unsuspected loyalty, was put to death for no other reason, than that he had a pedantic countenance which displeased the emperor. This very monster of mankind appeared in the beginning of his reign tobe a person of virtue. Many of the greatest tyrants on the records ofhistory have begun their reigns in the fairest manner. But the truthis, this unnatural power corrupts both the heart and the understanding. And to prevent the least hope of amendment, a king is ever surrounded bya crowd of infamous flatterers, who find their account in keeping himfrom the least light of reason, till all ideas of rectitude and justiceare utterly erased from his mind. When Alexander had in his furyinhumanly butchered one of his best friends and bravest captains; on thereturn of reason he began to conceive an horror suitable to the guilt ofsuch a murder. In this juncture his council came to his assistance. Butwhat did his council? They found him out a philosopher who gave himcomfort. And in what manner did this philosopher comfort him for theloss of such a man, and heal his conscience, flagrant with the smart ofsuch a crime? You have the matter at length in Plutarch. He told him, "_that let a sovereign do what he wilt, all his actions are just andlawful, because they are his_. " The palaces of all princes abound withsuch courtly philosophers. The consequence was such as might beexpected. He grew every day a monster more abandoned to unnatural lust, to debauchery, to drunkenness, and to murder. And yet this wasoriginally a great man, of uncommon capacity, and a strong propensity tovirtue. But unbounded power proceeds step by step, until it haseradicated every laudable principle. It has been remarked, that there isno prince so bad, whose favorites and ministers are not worse. There ishardly any prince without a favorite, by whom he is governed in asarbitrary a manner as he governs the wretches subjected to him. Here thetyranny is doubled. There are two courts, and two interests; both verydifferent from the interests of the people. The favorite knows that theregard of a tyrant is as unconstant and capricious as that of a woman;and concluding his time to be short, he makes haste to fill up themeasure of his iniquity, in rapine, in luxury, and in revenge. Everyavenue to the throne is shut up. He oppresses and ruins the people, whilst he persuades the prince that those murmurs raised by his ownoppression are the effects of disaffection to the prince's government. Then is the natural violence of despotism inflamed and aggravated byhatred and revenge. To deserve well of the state is a crime against theprince. To be popular, and to be a traitor, are considered as synonymousterms. Even virtue is dangerous, as an aspiring quality, that claims anesteem by itself, and independent of the countenance of the court. Whathas been said of the chief, is true of the inferior officers of thisspecies of government; each in his province exercising the same tyranny, and grinding the people by an oppression, the more severely felt, as itis near them, and exercised by base and subordinate persons. For thegross of the people, they are considered as a mere herd of cattle; andreally in a little time become no better; all principle of honest pride, all sense of the dignity of their nature, is lost in their slavery. Theday, says Homer, which makes a man a slave, takes away half his worth;and, in fact, he loses every impulse to action, but that low and baseone of fear. In this kind of government human nature is not only abusedand insulted, but it is actually degraded and sunk into a species ofbrutality. The consideration of this made Mr. Locke say, with greatjustice, that a government of this kind was worse than anarchy: indeedit is so abhorred and detested by all who live under forms that have amilder appearance, that there is scarcely a rational man in Europe thatwould not prefer death to Asiatic despotism. Here then we have theacknowledgment of a great philosopher, that an irregular state of natureis preferable to such a government; we have the consent of all sensibleand generous men, who carry it yet further, and avow that death itselfis preferable; and yet this species of government, so justly condemned, and so generally detested, is what infinitely the greater part ofmankind groan under, and have groaned under from the beginning. So that, by sure and uncontested principles, the greatest part of the governmentson earth must be concluded tyrannies, impostures, violations of thenatural rights of mankind, and worse than the most disorderly anarchies. How much other forms exceed this we shall consider immediately. 

In all parts of the world, mankind, however debased, retains still thesense of _feeling_; the weight of tyranny at last becomes insupportable;but the remedy is not so easy: in general, the only remedy by which theyattempt to cure the tyranny is to change the tyrant. This is, and alwayswas, the case for the greater part. In some countries, however, werefound men of more penetration, who discovered "_that to live by oneman's will was the cause of all men's misery_. " They therefore changedtheir former method, and assembling the men in their several societiesthe most respectable for their understanding and fortunes, they confidedto them the charge of the public welfare. This originally formed what iscalled an _aristocracy_. They hoped it would be impossible that such anumber could ever join in any design against the general good; and theypromised themselves a great deal of security and happiness from theunited counsels of so many able and experienced persons. But it is nowfound by abundant experience, that an _aristocracy_, and a _despotism_, differ but in name; and that a people who are in general excluded fromany share of the legislative, are, to all intents and purposes, as muchslaves, when twenty, independent of them, govern, as when but onedomineers. The tyranny is even more felt, as every individual of thenobles has the haughtiness of a sultan; the people are more miserable, as they seem on the verge of liberty, from which they are foreverdebarred; this fallacious idea of liberty, whilst it presents a vainshadow of happiness to the subject, binds faster the chains of hissubjection. What is left undone by the natural avarice and pride ofthose who are raised above the others, is completed by their suspicions, and their dread of losing an authority, which has no support in thecommon utility of the nation. A Genoese or a Venetian republic is aconcealed _despotism_; where you find the same pride of the rulers, thesame base subjection of the people, the same bloody maxims of asuspicious policy. In one respect the _aristocracy_ is worse than the_despotism_. A body politic, whilst it retains its authority, neverchanges its maxims; a _despotism_, which is this day horrible to asupreme degree, by the caprice natural to the heart of man, may, by thesame caprice otherwise exerted, be as lovely the next; in a succession, it is possible to meet with some good princes. If there have beenTiberiuses, Caligulas, Neros, there have been likewise the serener daysof Vespasians, Tituses, Trajans, and Antonines; but a body politic isnot influenced by caprice or whim, it proceeds in a regular manner, itssuccession is insensible; and every man as he enters it, either has, orsoon attains, the spirit of the whole body. Never was it known that an_aristocracy_, which was haughty and tyrannical in one century, becameeasy and mild in the next. In effect, the yoke of this species ofgovernment is so galling, that whenever the people have got the leastpower, they have shaken it off with the utmost indignation, andestablished a popular form. And when they have not had strength enoughto support themselves, they have thrown themselves into the arms of_despotism_, as the more eligible of the two evils. This latter was thecase of Denmark, who sought a refuge from the oppression of itsnobility, in the strong hold of arbitrary power. Poland has at presentthe name of republic, and it is one of the _aristocratic_ form; but itis well known that the little finger of this government is heavier thanthe loins of arbitrary power in most nations. The people are not onlypolitically, but personally slaves, and treated with the utmostindignity. The republic of Venice is somewhat more moderate; yet evenhere, so heavy is the _aristocratic_ yoke, that the nobles have beenobliged to enervate the spirit of their subjects by every sort ofdebauchery; they have denied them the liberty of reason, and they havemade them amends by what a base soul will think a more valuable liberty, by not only allowing, but encouraging them to corrupt themselves in themost scandalous manner. They consider their subjects as the farmer doesthe hog he keeps to feast upon. He holds him fast in his sty, but allowshim to wallow as much as he pleases in his beloved filth and gluttony. So scandalously debauched a people as that of Venice is to be met withnowhere else. High, low, men, women, clergy, and laity, are all alike. The ruling nobility are no less afraid of one another than they are ofthe people; and, for that reason, politically enervate their own body bythe same effeminate luxury by which they corrupt their subjects. Theyare impoverished by every means which can be invented; and they are keptin a perpetual terror by the horrors of a state inquisition. Here yousee a people deprived of all rational freedom, and tyrannized over byabout two thousand men; and yet this body of two thousand are so farfrom enjoying any liberty by the subjection of the rest, that they arein an infinitely severer state of slavery; they make themselves the mostdegenerate and unhappy of mankind, for no other purpose than that theymay the more effectually contribute to the misery of a whole nation. Inshort, the regular and methodical proceedings of an _aristocracy_ aremore intolerable than the very excesses of a _despotism_, and, ingeneral, much further from any remedy. 

Thus, my lord, we have pursued _aristocracy_ through its whole progress;we have seen the seeds, the growth, and the fruit. It could boast noneof the advantages of a _despotism_, miserable as those advantages were, and it was overloaded with an exuberance of mischiefs, unknown even to_despotism_ itself. In effect, it is no more than a disorderly tyranny. This form, therefore, could be little approved, even in speculation, bythose who were capable of thinking, and could be less borne in practiceby any who were capable of feeling. However, the fruitful policy of manwas not yet exhausted. He had yet another farthing candle to supply thedeficiencies of the sun. This was the third form, known by politicalwriters under the name of _democracy_. Here the people transacted allpublic business, or the greater part of it, in their own persons; theirlaws were made by themselves, and, upon any failure of duty, theirofficers were accountable to themselves, and to them only. In allappearance, they had secured by this method the advantages of order andgood government, without paying their liberty for the purchase. Now, mylord, we are come to the masterpiece of Grecian refinement, and Romansolidity, --a popular government. The earliest and most celebratedrepublic of this model was that of Athens. It was constructed by no lessan artist than the celebrated poet and philosopher, Solon. But no soonerwas this political vessel launched from the stocks, than it overset, even in the lifetime of the builder. A tyranny immediately supervened;not by a foreign conquest, not by accident, but by the very nature andconstitution of a _democracy_. An artful man became popular, the peoplehad power in their hands, and they devolved a considerable share oftheir power upon their favorite; and the only use he made of this powerwas, to plunge those who gave it into slavery. Accident restored theirliberty, and the same good fortune produced men of uncommon abilitiesand uncommon virtues amongst them. But these abilities were suffered tobe of little service either to their possessors or to the state. Some ofthese men, for whose sakes alone we read their history, they banished;others they imprisoned, and all they treated with various circumstancesof the most shameful ingratitude. Republics have many things in thespirit of absolute monarchy, but none more than this. A shining meritis ever hated or suspected in a popular assembly, as well as in a court;and all services done the state are looked upon as dangerous to therulers, whether sultans or senators. The _ostracism_ at Athens was builtupon this principle. The giddy people whom we have now underconsideration, being elated with some flashes of success, which theyowed to nothing less than any merit of their own, began to tyrannizeover their equals, who had associated with them for their commondefence. With their prudence they renounced all appearance of justice. They entered into wars rashly and wantonly. If they were unsuccessful, instead of growing wiser by their misfortune, they threw the whole blameof their own misconduct on the ministers who had advised, and thegenerals who had conducted, those wars; until by degrees they had cutoff all who could serve them in their councils or their battles. If atany time these wars had a happier issue, it was no less difficult todeal with them on account of their pride and insolence. Furious in theiradversity, tyrannical in their successes, a commander had more troubleto concert his defence before the people, than to plan the operations ofthe campaign. It was not uncommon for a general, under the horrid_despotism_ of the Roman emperors, to be ill received in proportion tothe greatness of his services. Agricola is a strong instance of this. Noman had done greater things, nor with more honest ambition. Yet, on hisreturn to court, he was obliged to enter Rome with all the secrecy of acriminal. He went to the palace, not like a victorious commander who hadmerited and might demand the greatest rewards, but like an offender whohad come to supplicate a pardon for his crimes. His reception wasanswerable; "_Exceptusque brevi osculo et nullo sermone, turbæservientium immixtus est_. " Yet in that worst season of this worst ofmonarchical[9] tyrannies, modesty, discretion, and a coolness of temper, formed some kind of security, even for the highest merit. But at Athens, the nicest and best studied behavior was not a sufficient guard for aman of great capacity. Some of their bravest commanders were obliged tofly their country, some to enter into the service of its enemies, ratherthan abide a popular determination on their conduct, lest, as one ofthem said, their giddiness might make the people condemn where theymeant to acquit; to throw in a black bean even when they intended awhite one. 

The Athenians made a very rapid progress to the most enormous excesses. The people, under no restraint, soon grew dissolute, luxurious, andidle. They renounced all labor, and began to subsist themselves from thepublic revenues. They lost all concern for their common honor or safety, and could bear no advice that tended to reform them. At this time truthbecame offensive to those lords the people, and most highly dangerous tothe speaker. The orators no longer ascended the _rostrum_, but tocorrupt them further with the most fulsome adulation. These orators wereall bribed by foreign princes on the one side or the other. And besidesits own parties, in this city there were parties, and avowed ones too, for the Persians, Spartans, and Macedonians, supported each of them byone or more demagogues pensioned and bribed to this iniquitous service. The people, forgetful of all virtue and public spirit, and intoxicatedwith the flatteries of their orators (these courtiers of republics, andendowed with the distinguishing characteristics of all other courtiers), this people, I say, at last arrived at that pitch of madness, that theycoolly and deliberately, by an express law, made it capital for any manto propose an application of the immense sums squandered in publicshows, even to the most necessary purposes of the state. When you seethe people of this republic banishing and murdering their best andablest citizens, dissipating the public treasure with the most senselessextravagance, and spending their whole time, as spectators or actors, inplaying, fiddling, dancing, and singing, does it not, my lord, strikeyour imagination with the image of a sort of complex Nero? And does itnot strike you with the greater horror, when you observe, not one manonly, but a whole city, grown drunk with pride and power, running with arage of folly into the same mean and senseless debauchery andextravagance? But if this people resembled Nero in their extravagance, much more did they resemble and even exceed him in cruelty andinjustice. In the time of Pericles, one of the most celebrated times inthe history of that commonwealth, a king of Egypt sent them a donationof corn. This they were mean enough to accept. And had the Egyptianprince intended the ruin of this city of wicked Bedlamites, he could nothave taken a more effectual method to do it than by such an ensnaringlargess. The distribution of this bounty caused a quarrel; the majorityset on foot an inquiry into the title of the citizens; and upon a vainpretence of illegitimacy, newly and occasionally set up, they deprivedof their share of the royal donation no less than five thousand oftheir own body. They went further; they disfranchised them; and, havingonce begun with an act of injustice, they could set no bounds to it. Notcontent with cutting them off from the rights of citizens, theyplundered these unfortunate wretches of all their substance; and, tocrown this masterpiece of violence and tyranny, they actually sold everyman of the five thousand as slaves in the public market. Observe, mylord, that the five thousand we here speak of were cut off from a bodyof no more than nineteen thousand; for the entire number of citizens wasno greater at that time. Could the tyrant who wished the Roman peoplebut one neck; could the tyrant Caligula himself have done, nay, he couldscarcely wish for, a greater mischief than to have cut off, at onestroke, a fourth of his people? Or has the cruelty of that series ofsanguine tyrants, the Cæsars, ever presented such a piece of flagrantand extensive wickedness? The whole history of this celebrated republicis but one tissue of rashness, folly, ingratitude, injustice, tumult, violence, and tyranny, and, indeed, of every species of wickedness thatcan well be imagined. This was a city of wise men, in which a ministercould not exercise his functions; a warlike people, amongst whom ageneral did not dare either to gain or lose a battle; a learned nation, in which a philosopher could not venture on a free inquiry. This was thecity which banished Themistocles, starved Aristides, forced into exileMiltiades, drove out Anaxagoras, and poisoned Socrates. This was a citywhich changed the form of its government with the moon; eternalconspiracies, revolutions daily, nothing fixed and established. Arepublic, as an ancient philosopher has observed, is no one species ofgovernment, but a magazine of every species; here you find every sort ofit, and that in the worst form. As there is a perpetual change, onerising and the other falling, you have all the violence and wickedpolicy by which a beginning power must always acquire its strength, andall the weakness by which falling states are brought to a completedestruction. 

Rome has a more venerable aspect than Athens; and she conducted heraffairs, so far as related to the ruin and oppression of the greatestpart of the world, with greater wisdom and more uniformity. But thedomestic economy of these two states was nearly or altogether the same. An internal dissension constantly tore to pieces the bowels of the Romancommonwealth. You find the same confusion, the same factions, whichsubsisted at Athens, the same tumults, the same revolutions, and, infine, the same slavery; if, perhaps, their former condition did notdeserve that name altogether as well. All other republics were of thesame character. Florence was a transcript of Athens. And the modernrepublics, as they approach more or less to the democratic form, partakemore or less of the nature of those which I have described. 

We are now at the close of our review of the three simple forms ofartificial society; and we have shown them, however they may differ inname, or in some slight circumstances, to be all alike in effect: ineffect, to be all tyrannies. But suppose we were inclined to make themost ample concessions; let us concede Athens, Rome, Carthage, and twoor three more of the ancient, and as many of the modern, commonwealths, to have been, or to be, free and happy, and to owe their freedom andhappiness to their political constitution. Yet, allowing all this, whatdefence does this make for artificial society in general, that theseinconsiderable spots of the globe have for some short space of timestood as exceptions to a charge so general? But when we call thesegovernments free, or concede that their citizens were happier than thosewhich lived under different forms, it is merely _ex abundanti_. For weshould be greatly mistaken, if we really thought that the majority ofthe people which filled these cities enjoyed even that nominal politicalfreedom of which I have spoken so much already. In reality, they had nopart of it. In Athens there were usually from ten to thirty thousandfreemen; this was the utmost. But the slaves usually amounted to fourhundred thousand, and sometimes to a great many more. The freemen ofSparta and Rome were not more numerous in proportion to those whom theyheld in a slavery even more terrible than the Athenian. Therefore statethe matter fairly: the free states never formed, though they were takenaltogether, the thousandth part of the habitable globe; the freemen inthese states were never the twentieth part of the people, and the timethey subsisted is scarce anything in that immense ocean of duration inwhich time and slavery are so nearly commensurate. Therefore call thesefree states, or popular governments, or what you please; when weconsider the majority of their inhabitants, and regard the naturalrights of mankind, they must appear, in reality and truth, no betterthan pitiful and oppressive oligarchies. 

After so fair an examen, wherein nothing has been exaggerated; no factproduced which cannot be proved, and none which has been produced inany wise forced or strained, while thousands have, for brevity, beenomitted; after so candid a discussion in all respects; what slave sopassive, what bigot so blind, what enthusiast so headlong, whatpolitician so hardened, as to stand up in defence of a system calculatedfor a curse to mankind? a curse under which they smart and groan to thishour, without thoroughly knowing the nature of the disease, and wantingunderstanding or courage to supply the remedy. 

I need not excuse myself to your lordship, nor, I think, to any honestman, for the zeal I have shown in this cause; for it is an honest zeal, and in a good cause. I have defended natural religion against aconfederacy of atheists and divines. I now plead for natural societyagainst politicians, and for natural reason against all three. When theworld is in a fitter temper than it is at present to hear truth, or whenI shall be more indifferent about its temper, my thoughts may becomemore public. In the mean time, let them repose in my own bosom, and inthe bosoms of such men as are fit to be initiated in the sober mysteriesof truth and reason. My antagonists have already done as much as I coulddesire. Parties in religion and politics make sufficient discoveriesconcerning each other, to give a sober man a proper caution against themall. The monarchic, and aristocratical, and popular partisans, have beenjointly laying their axes to the root of all government, and have, intheir turns, proved each other absurd and inconvenient. In vain you tellme that artificial government is good, but that I fall out only with theabuse. The thing! the thing itself is the abuse! Observe, my lord, Ipray you, that grand error upon which all artificial legislative poweris founded. It was observed, that men had ungovernable passions, whichmade it necessary to guard against the violence they might offer to eachother. They appointed governors over them for this reason. But a worseand more perplexing difficulty arises, how to be defended against thegovernors? _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_ In vain they change from asingle person to a few. These few have the passions of the one; and theyunite to strengthen themselves, and to secure the gratification of theirlawless passions at the expense of the general good. In vain do we flyto the many. The case is worse; their passions are less under thegovernment of reason, they are augmented by the contagion, and defendedagainst all attacks by their multitude. 

I have purposely avoided the mention of the mixed form of government, for reasons that will be very obvious to your lordship. But my cautioncan avail me but little. You will not fail to urge it against me infavor of political society. You will not fail to show how the errors ofthe several simple modes are corrected by a mixture of all of them, anda proper balance of the several powers in such a state. I confess, mylord, that this has been long a darling mistake of my own; and that ofall the sacrifices I have made to truth, this has been by far thegreatest. When I confess that I think this notion a mistake, I know towhom I am speaking, for I am satisfied that reasons are like liquors, and there are some of such a nature as none but strong heads can bear. There are few with whom I can communicate so freely as with Pope. ButPope cannot bear every truth. He has a timidity which hinders the fullexertion of his faculties, almost as effectually as bigotry cramps thoseof the general herd of mankind. But whoever is a genuine follower oftruth keeps his eye steady upon his guide, indifferent whither he isled, provided that she is the leader. And, my lord, if it be properlyconsidered, it were infinitely better to remain possessed by the wholelegion of vulgar mistakes, than to reject some, and at the same time toretain a fondness for others altogether as absurd and irrational. Thefirst has at least a consistency, that makes a man, however erroneously, uniform at least; but the latter way of proceeding is such aninconsistent chimera and jumble of philosophy and vulgar prejudice, thathardly anything more ridiculous can be conceived. Let us thereforefreely, and without fear or prejudice, examine this last contrivance ofpolicy. And, without considering how near the quick our instruments maycome, let us search it to the bottom. 

First, then, all men are agreed that this junction of regal, aristocratic, and popular power, must form a very complex, nice, andintricate machine, which being composed of such a variety of parts, withsuch opposite tendencies and movements, it must be liable on everyaccident to be disordered. To speak without metaphor, such a governmentmust be liable to frequent cabals, tumults, and revolutions, from itsvery constitution. These are undoubtedly as ill effects as can happen ina society; for in such a case, the closeness acquired by community, instead of serving for mutual defence, serves only to increase thedanger. Such a system is like a city, where trades that require constantfires are much exercised, where the houses are built of combustiblematerials, and where they stand extremely close. 

In the second place, the several constituent parts having their distinctrights, and these many of them so necessary to be determined withexactness, are yet so indeterminate in their nature, that it becomes anew and constant source of debate and confusion. Hence it is, thatwhilst the business of government should be carrying on, the questionis, Who has a right to exercise this or that function of it, or what menhave power to keep their offices in any function? Whilst this contestcontinues, and whilst the balance in any sort continues, it has neverany remission; all manner of abuses and villanies in officers remainunpunished; the greatest frauds and robberies in the public revenues arecommitted in defiance of justice; and abuses grow, by time and impunity, into customs; until they prescribe against the laws, and grow tooinveterate often to admit a cure, unless such as may be as bad as thedisease. 

Thirdly, the several parts of this species of government, though united, preserve the spirit which each form has separately. Kings are ambitious;the nobility haughty; and the populace tumultuous and ungovernable. Eachparty, however in appearance peaceable, carries on a design upon theothers; and it is owing to this, that in all questions, whetherconcerning foreign or domestic affairs, the whole generally turns moreupon some party-matter than upon the nature of the thing itself; whethersuch a step will diminish or augment the power of the crown, or how farthe privileges of the subject are likely to be extended or restricted byit. And these questions are constantly resolved, without anyconsideration of the merits of the cause, merely as the parties whouphold these jarring interests may chance to prevail; and as theyprevail, the balance is overset, now upon one side, now upon the other. The government is, one day, arbitrary power in a single person; another, a juggling confederacy of a few to cheat the prince and enslave thepeople; and the third, a frantic and unmanageable democracy. The greatinstrument of all these changes, and what infuses a peculiar venom intoall of them, is party. It is of no consequence what the principles ofany party, or what their pretensions are; the spirit which actuates allparties is the same; the spirit of ambition, of self-interest, ofoppression and treachery. This spirit entirely reverses all theprinciples which a benevolent nature has erected within us; all honesty, all equal justice, and even the ties of natural society, the naturalaffections. In a word, my lord, we have all _seen_, and, if any outwardconsiderations were worthy the lasting concern of a wise man, we havesome of us _felt_, such oppression from party government as no othertyranny can parallel. We behold daily the most important rights, rightsupon which all the others depend, we behold these rights determined inthe last resort, without the least attention even to the appearance orcolor of justice; we behold this without emotion, because we have grownup in the constant view of such practices; and we are not surprised tohear a man requested to be a knave and a traitor, with as muchindifference as if the most ordinary favor were asked; and we hear thisrequest refused, not because it is a most unjust and unreasonabledesire, but because this worthy has already engaged his injustice toanother. These and many more points I am for from spreading to theirfull extent. You are sensible that I do not put forth half my strength;and you cannot be at a loss for the reason. A man is allowed sufficientfreedom of thought, provided he knows how to choose his subjectproperly. You may criticise freely upon the Chinese constitution, andobserve with as much severity as you please upon the absurd tricks, ordestructive bigotry of the bonzees. But the scene is changed as you comehomeward, and atheism or treason may be the names given in Britain, towhat would be reason and truth if asserted of China. I submit to thecondition, and though I have a notorious advantage before me, I waivethe pursuit. For else, my lord, it is very obvious what a picture mightbe drawn of the excesses of party even in our own nation. I could show, that the same faction has, in one reign, promoted popular seditions, and, in the next, been a patron of tyranny: I could show that they haveall of them betrayed the public safety at all times, and have veryfrequently with equal perfidy made a market of their own cause and theirown associates. I could show how vehemently they have contended fornames, and how silently they have passed over things of the lastimportance. And I could demonstrate that they have had the opportunityof doing all this mischief, nay, that they themselves had their originand growth from that complex form of government, which we are wiselytaught to look upon as so great a blessing. Revolve, my lord, ourhistory from the Conquest. We scarcely ever had a prince, who, by fraudor violence, had not made some infringement on the constitution. Wescarcely ever had a Parliament which knew, when it attempted to setlimits to the royal authority, how to set limits to its own. Evils wehave had continually calling for reformation, and reformations moregrievous than any evils. Our boasted liberty sometimes trodden down, sometimes giddily set up, and ever precariously fluctuating andunsettled; it has only been kept alive by the blasts of continual feuds, wars, and conspiracies. In no country in Europe has the scaffold sooften blushed with the blood of its nobility. Confiscations, banishments, attainders, executions, make a large part of the history ofsuch of our families as are not utterly extinguished by them. Formerly, indeed, things had a more ferocious appearance than they have at thisday. In these early and unrefined ages, the jarring part of a certainchaotic constitution supported their several pretensions by the sword. Experience and policy have since taught other methods. 

 At nunc res agitur tenui pulmone rubetæ. 

But how far corruption, venality, the contempt of honor, the oblivion ofall duty to our country, and the most abandoned public prostitution, arepreferable to the more glaring and violent effects of faction, I willnot presume to determine. Sure I am that they are very great evils. 

I have done with the forms of government. During the course of myinquiry you may have observed a very material difference between mymanner of reasoning and that which is in use amongst the abettors ofartificial society. They form their plans upon what seems most eligibleto their imaginations, for the ordering of mankind. I discover themistakes in those plans, from the real known consequences which haveresulted from them. They have enlisted reason to fight against itself, and employ its whole force to prove that it is an insufficient guide tothem in the conduct of their lives. But unhappily for us, in proportionas we have deviated from the plain rule of our nature, and turned ourreason against itself, in that proportion have we increased the folliesand miseries of mankind. The more deeply we penetrate into the labyrinthof art, the further we find ourselves from those ends for which weentered it. This has happened in almost every species of artificialsociety, and in all times. We found, or we thought we found, aninconvenience in having every man the judge of his own cause. Thereforejudges were set up, at first, with discretionary powers. But it was soonfound a miserable slavery to have our lives and properties precarious, and hanging upon the arbitrary determination of any one man, or set ofmen. We fled to laws as a remedy for this evil. By these we persuadedourselves we might know with some certainty upon what ground we stood. But lo! differences arose upon the sense and interpretation of thoselaws. Thus we were brought back to our old incertitude. New laws weremade to expound the old; and new difficulties arose upon the new laws;as words multiplied, opportunities of cavilling upon them multipliedalso. Then recourse was had to notes, comments, glosses, reports, _responsa prudentum_, learned readings: eagle stood against eagle:authority was set up against authority. Some were allured by the modern, others reverenced the ancient. The new were more enlightened, the oldwere more venerable. Some adopted the comment, others stuck to the text. The confusion increased, the mist thickened, until it could bediscovered no longer what was allowed or forbidden, what things were inproperty, and what common. In this uncertainty, (uncertain even to theprofessors, an Egyptian darkness to the rest of mankind), the contendingparties felt themselves more effectually ruined by the delay, than theycould have been by the injustice of any decision. Our inheritances arebecome a prize for disputation; and disputes and litigations are becomean inheritance. 

The professors of artificial law have always walked hand in hand withthe professors of artificial theology. As their end, in confounding thereason of man, and abridging his natural freedom, is exactly the same, they have adjusted the means to that end in a way entirely similar. Thedivine thunders out his _anathemas_ with more noise and terror againstthe breach of one of his positive institutions, or the neglect of someof his trivial forms, than against the neglect or breach of those dutiesand commandments of natural religion, which by these forms andinstitutions he pretends to enforce. The lawyer has his forms, and hispositive institutions too, and he adheres to them with a venerationaltogether as religious. The worst cause cannot be so prejudicial to thelitigant, as his advocate's or attorney's ignorance or neglect of theseforms. A lawsuit is like an ill-managed dispute, in which the firstobject is soon out of sight, and the parties end upon a matter whollyforeign to that on which they began. In a lawsuit the question is, whohas a right to a certain house or farm? And this question is dailydetermined, not upon the evidence of the right, but upon the observanceor neglect of some forms of words in use with the gentlemen of the robe, about which there is even amongst themselves such a disagreement, thatthe most experienced veterans in the profession can never be positivelyassured that they are not mistaken. 

Let us expostulate with these learned sages, these priests of the sacredtemple of justice. Are we judges of our own property? By no means. Youthen, who are initiated into the mysteries of the blindfold goddess, inform me whether I have a right to eat the bread I have earned by thehazard of my life or the sweat of my brow? The grave doctor answers mein the affirmative; the reverend serjeant replies in the negative; thelearned barrister reasons upon one side and upon the other, andconcludes nothing. What shall I do? An antagonist starts up and pressesme hard. I enter the field, and retain these three persons to defend mycause. My cause, which two farmers from the plough could have decided inhalf an hour, takes the court twenty years. I am however at the end ofmy labor, and have in reward for all my toil and vexation a judgment inmy favor. But hold--a sagacious commander, in the adversary's army, hasfound a flaw in the proceeding. My triumph is turned into mourning. Ihave used _or_, instead of _and_, or some mistake, small in appearance, but dreadful in its consequences; and have the whole of my successquashed in a writ of error. I remove my suit; I shift from court tocourt; I fly from equity to law, and from law to equity; equaluncertainty attends me everywhere; and a mistake in which I had noshare, decides at once upon my liberty and property, sending me from thecourt to a prison, and adjudging my family to beggary and famine. I aminnocent, gentlemen, of the darkness and uncertainty of your science. Inever darkened it with absurd and contradictory notions, nor confoundedit with chicane and sophistry. You have excluded me from any share inthe conduct of my own cause; the science was too deep for me; Iacknowledged it; but it was too deep even for yourselves: you have madethe way so intricate, that you are yourselves lost in it; you err, andyou punish me for your errors. 

The delay of the law is, your lordship will tell me, a trite topic, andwhich of its abuses have not been too severely felt not to be complainedof? A man's property is to serve for the purposes of his support; andtherefore, to delay a determination concerning that, is the worstinjustice, because it cuts off the very end and purpose for which Iapplied to the judicature for relief. Quite contrary in the case of aman's life; there the determination can hardly be too much protracted. Mistakes in this case are as often fallen into as many other; and if thejudgment is sudden, the mistakes are the most irretrievable of allothers. Of this the gentlemen of the robe are themselves sensible, andthey have brought it into a maxim. _De morte hominis nulla est cunctatiolonga. _ But what could have induced them to reverse the rules, and tocontradict that reason which dictated them, I am utterly unable toguess. A point concerning property, which ought, for the reasons I havejust mentioned, to be most speedily decided, frequently exercises thewit of successions of lawyers, for many generations. _Multa virûmvolvens durando sæcula vincit. _ But the question concerning a man'slife, that great question in which no delay ought to be counted tedious, is commonly determined in twenty-four hours at the utmost. It is not tobe wondered at, that injustice and absurdity should be inseparablecompanions. 

Ask of politicians the end for which laws were originally designed; andthey will answer, that the laws were designed as a protection for thepoor and weak, against the oppression of the rich and powerful. Butsurely no pretence can be so ridiculous; a man might as well tell me hehas taken off my load, because he has changed the burden. If the poorman is not able to support his suit, according to the vexatious andexpensive manner established in civilized countries, has not the rich asgreat an advantage over him as the strong has over the weak in a stateof nature? But we will not place the state of nature, which is the reignof God, in competition with political society, which is the absurdusurpation of man. In a state of nature, it is true that a man ofsuperior force may beat or rob me; but then it is true, that I am atfull liberty to defend myself, or make reprisal by surprise or bycunning, or by any other way in which I may be superior to him. But inpolitical society, a rich man may rob me in another way. I cannot defendmyself; for money is the only weapon with which we are allowed to fight. And if I attempt to avenge myself the whole force of that society isready to complete my ruin. 

A good parson once said, that where mystery begins, religion ends. Cannot I say, as truly at least, of human laws, that where mysterybegins, justice ends? It is hard to say, whether the doctors of law ordivinity have made the greater advances in the lucrative business ofmystery. The lawyers, as well as the theologians, have erected anotherreason besides natural reason; and the result has been, another justicebesides natural justice. They have so bewildered the world andthemselves in unmeaning forms and ceremonies, and so perplexed theplainest matters with metaphysical jargon, that it carries the highestdanger to a man out of that profession, to make the least step withouttheir advice and assistance. Thus, by confining to themselves theknowledge of the foundation of all men's lives and properties, they havereduced all mankind into the most abject and servile dependence. We aretenants at the will of these gentlemen for everything; and ametaphysical quibble is to decide whether the greatest villain breathingshall meet his deserts, or escape with impunity, or whether the best manin the society shall not be reduced to the lowest and most despicablecondition it affords. In a word, my lord, the injustice, delay, puerility, false refinement, and affected mystery of the law are such, that many who live under it come to admire and envy the expedition, simplicity, and equality of arbitrary judgments. I need insist the lesson this article to your lordship, as you have frequently lamented themiseries derived to us from artificial law, and your candor is the moreto be admired and applauded in this, as your lordship's noble house hasderived its wealth and its honors from that profession. 

Before we finish our examination of artificial society, I shall leadyour lordship into a closer consideration of the relations which itgives birth to, and the benefits, if such they are, which result fromthese relations. The most obvious division of society is into rich andpoor; and it is no less obvious, that the number of the former bear agreat disproportion to those of the latter. The whole business of thepoor is to administer to the idleness, folly, and luxury of the rich;and that of the rich, in return, is to find the best methods ofconfirming the slavery and increasing the burdens of the poor. In astate of nature, it is an invariable law, that a man's acquisitions arein proportion to his labors. In a state of artificial society, it is alaw as constant and as invariable, that those who labor most enjoy thefewest things; and that those who labor not at all have the greatestnumber of enjoyments. A constitution of things this, strange andridiculous beyond expression! We scarce believe a thing when we are toldit, which we actually see before our eyes every day without being in theleast surprised. I suppose that there are in Great Britain upwards of ahundred thousand people employed in lead, tin, iron, copper, and coalmines; these unhappy wretches scarce ever see the light of the sun; theyare buried in the bowels of the earth; there they work at a severe anddismal task, without the least prospect of being delivered from it; theysubsist upon the coarsest and worst sort of fare; they have their healthmiserably impaired, and their lives cut short, by being perpetuallyconfined in the close vapor of these malignant minerals. A hundredthousand more at least are tortured without remission by the suffocatingsmoke, intense fires, and constant drudgery necessary in refining andmanaging the products of those mines. If any man informed us that twohundred thousand innocent persons were condemned to so intolerableslavery, how should we pity the unhappy sufferers, and how great wouldbe our just indignation against those who inflicted so cruel andignominious a punishment! This is an instance--I could not wish astronger--of the numberless things which we pass by in their commondress, yet which shock us when they are nakedly represented. But thisnumber, considerable as it is, and the slavery, with all its basenessand horror, which we have at home, is nothing to what the rest of theworld affords of the same nature. Millions daily bathed in thepoisonous damps and destructive effluvia of lead, silver, copper, andarsenic. To say nothing of those other employments, those stations ofwretchedness and contempt, in which civil society has placed thenumerous _enfans perdus_ of her army. Would any rational man submit toone of the most tolerable of these drudgeries, for all the artificialenjoyments which policy has made to result from them? By no means. Andyet need I suggest to your lordship, that those who find the means, andthose who arrive at the end, are not at all the same persons? Onconsidering the strange and unaccountable fancies and contrivances ofartificial reason, I have somewhere called this earth the Bedlam of oursystem. Looking now upon the effects of some of those fancies, may wenot with equal reason call it likewise the Newgate and the Bridewell ofthe universe? Indeed the blindness of one part of mankind co-operatingwith the frenzy and villany of the other, has been the real builder ofthis respectable fabric of political society: and as the blindness ofmankind has caused their slavery, in return their state of slavery ismade a pretence for continuing them in a state of blindness; for thepolitician will tell you gravely, that their life of servitudedisqualifies the greater part of the race of man for a search of truth, and supplies them with no other than mean and insufficient ideas. Thisis but too true; and this is one of the reasons for which I blame suchinstitutions. 

In a misery of this sort, admitting some few lenitives, and those toobut a few, nine parts in ten of the whole race of mankind drudge throughlife. It may be urged perhaps, in palliation of this, that at least therich few find a considerable and real benefit from the wretchedness ofthe many. But is this so in fact? Let us examine the point with a littlemore attention. For this purpose the rich in all societies may he throwninto two classes. The first is of those who are powerful as well asrich, and conduct the operations of the vast political machine. Theother is of those who employ their riches wholly in the acquisition ofpleasure. As to the first sort, their continual care and anxiety, theirtoilsome days, and sleepless nights, are next to proverbial. Thesecircumstances are sufficient almost to level their condition to that ofthe unhappy majority; but there are other circumstances which placethem, in a far lower condition. Not only their understandings laborcontinually, which is the severest labor, but their hearts are torn bythe worst, most troublesome, and insatiable of all passions, by avarice, by ambition, by fear and jealousy. No part of the mind has rest. Powergradually extirpates from the mind every humane and gentle virtue. Pity, benevolence, friendship, are things almost unknown in high stations. _Veræ amicitiæ rarissime inveniuntur in iis qui in honoribus requepublica versantur_, says Cicero. And indeed courts are the schools wherecruelty, pride, dissimulation, and treachery are studied and taught inthe most vicious perfection. This is a point so clear and acknowledged, that if it did not make a necessary part of my subject, I should pass itby entirely. And this has hindered me from drawing at full length, andin the most striking colors, this shocking picture of the degeneracy andwretchedness of human nature, in that part which is vulgarly thought itshappiest and most amiable state. You know from what originals I couldcopy such pictures. Happy are they who know enough of them to know thelittle value of the possessors of such things, and of all that theypossess; and happy they who have been snatched from that post of dangerwhich they occupy, with the remains of their virtue; loss of honors, wealth, titles, and even the loss of one's country, is nothing inbalance with so great an advantage. 

Let us now view the other species of the rich, those who devote theirtime and fortunes to idleness and pleasure. How much happier are they?The pleasures which are agreeable to nature are within the reach of all, and therefore can form no distinction in favor of the rich. Thepleasures which art forces up are seldom sincere, and never satisfying. What is worse, this constant application to pleasure takes away from theenjoyment, or rather turns it into the nature of a very burdensome andlaborious business. It has consequences much more fatal. It produces aweak valetudinary state of body, attended by all those horrid disorders, and yet more horrid methods of cure, which are the result of luxury onthe one hand, and the weak and ridiculous efforts of human art on theother. The pleasures of such men are scarcely felt as pleasures; at thesame time that they bring on pains and diseases, which are felt but tooseverely. The mind has its share of the misfortune; it grows lazy andenervate, unwilling and unable to search for truth, and utterlyuncapable of knowing, much less of relishing, real happiness. The poorby their excessive labor, and the rich by their enormous luxury, are setupon a level, and rendered equally ignorant of any knowledge which mightconduce to their happiness. A dismal view of the interior of all civilsociety! The lower part broken and ground down by the most crueloppression; and the rich by their artificial method of life bringingworse evils on themselves than their tyranny could possibly inflict onthose below them. Very different is the prospect of the natural state. Here there are no wants which nature gives, and in this state men can besensible of no other wants, which are not to be supplied by a verymoderate degree of labor; therefore there is no slavery. Neither isthere any luxury, because no single man can supply the materials of it. Life is simple, and therefore it is happy. 

I am conscious, my lord, that your politician will urge in his defence, that this unequal state is highly useful. That without dooming some partof mankind to extraordinary toil, the arts which cultivate life couldnot be exercised. But I demand of this politician, how such arts came tobe necessary? He answers, that civil society could not well existwithout them. So that these arts are necessary to civil society, andcivil society necessary again to these arts. Thus are we running in acircle, without modesty, and without end, and making one error andextravagance an excuse for the other. My sentiments about these arts andtheir cause, I have often discoursed with my friends at large. Pope hasexpressed them in good verse, where he talks with so much force ofreason and elegance of language, in praise of the state of nature:

 "Then was not pride, nor arts that pride to aid, Man walked with beast, joint tenant of the shade. "

On the whole, my lord, if political society, in whatever form, has stillmade the many the property of the few; if it has introduced laborsunnecessary, vices and diseases unknown, and pleasures incompatiblewith nature; if in all countries it abridges the lives of millions, andrenders those of millions more utterly abject and miserable, shall westill worship so destructive an idol, and daily sacrifice to it ourhealth, our liberty, and our peace? Or shall we pass by this monstrousheap of absurd notions, and abominable practices, thinking we havesufficiently discharged our duty in exposing the trifling, cheats, andridiculous juggles of a few mad, designing, or ambitious priests? Alas!my lord, we labor under a mortal consumption, whilst we are so anxiousabout the cure of a sore finger. For has not this leviathan of civilpower overflowed the earth with a deluge of blood, as if he were made todisport and play therein? We have shown that political society, on amoderate calculation, has been the means of murdering several times thenumber of inhabitants now upon the earth, during its short existence, not upwards of four thousand years in any accounts to be depended on. But we have said nothing of the other, and perhaps as bad, consequenceof these wars, which have spilled such seas of blood, and reduced somany millions to a merciless slavery. But these are only the ceremoniesperformed in the porch of the political temple. Much more horrid onesare seen as you enter it. The several species of government vie witheach other in the absurdity of their constitutions, and the oppressionwhich they make their subjects endure. Take them under what form youplease, they are in effect but a despotism, and they fall, both ineffect and appearance too, after a very short period, into that crueland detestable species of tyranny: which I rather call it, because wehave been educated under another form, than that this is of worseconsequences to mankind. For the free governments, for the point oftheir space, and the moment of their duration, have felt more confusion, and committed more flagrant acts of tyranny, than the most perfectdespotic governments which we have ever known. Turn your eye next to thelabyrinth of the law, and the iniquity conceived in its intricaterecesses. Consider the ravages committed in the bowels of allcommonwealths by ambition, by avarice, envy, fraud, open injustice, andpretended friendship; vices which could draw little support from a stateof nature, but which blossom and flourish in the rankness of politicalsociety. Revolve our whole discourse; add to it all those reflectionswhich your own good understanding shall suggest, and make a strenuouseffort beyond the reach of vulgar philosophy, to confess that the causeof artificial society is more defenceless even than that of artificialreligion; that it is as derogatory from the honor of the Creator, assubversive of human reason, and productive of infinitely more mischiefto the human race. 

If pretended revelations have caused wars where they were opposed, andslavery where they were received, the pretended wise inventions ofpoliticians have done the same. But the slavery has been much heavier, the wars far more bloody, and both more universal by many degrees. Showme any mischief produced by the madness or wickedness of theologians, and I will show you a hundred resulting from the ambition and villany ofconquerors and statesmen. Show me an absurdity in religion, and I willundertake to show you a hundred for one in political laws andinstitutions. If you say that natural religion is a sufficient guidewithout the foreign aid of revelation, on what principle shouldpolitical laws become necessary? Is not the same reason available intheology and in politics? If the laws of nature are the laws of God, isit consistent with the Divine wisdom to prescribe rules to us, and leavethe enforcement of them to the folly of human institutions? Will youfollow truth but to a certain point?

We are indebted for all our miseries to our distrust of that guide whichProvidence thought sufficient for our condition, our own natural reason, which rejecting both in human and divine things, we have given our necksto the yoke of political and theological slavery. We have renounced theprerogative of man, and it is no wonder that we should be treated likebeasts. But our misery is much greater than theirs, as the crime wecommit in rejecting the lawful dominion of our reason is greater thanany which they can commit. If, after all, you should confess all thesethings, yet plead the necessity of political institutions, weak andwicked as they are, I can argue with equal, perhaps superior, force, concerning the necessity of artificial religion; and every step youadvance in your argument, you add a strength to mine. So that if we areresolved to submit our reason, and our liberty to civil usurpation, wehave nothing to do but to conform as quietly as we can to the vulgarnotions which are connected with this, and take up the theology of thevulgar as well as their politics. But if we think this necessity ratherimaginary than real, we should renounce their dreams of society, together with their visions of religion, and vindicate ourselves intoperfect liberty. 

You are, my lord, but just entering into the world; I am going out ofit. I have played long enough to be heartily tired of the drama. WhetherI have acted my part in it well or ill, posterity will judge with morecandor than I, or than the present age, with our present passions, canpossibly pretend to. For my part, I quit it without a sigh, and submitto the sovereign order without murmuring. The nearer we approach to thegoal of life, the better we begin to understand the true value of ourexistence, and the real weight of our opinions. We set out much in lovewith both; but we leave much behind us as we advance. We first throwaway the tales along with the rattles of our nurses: those of the priestkeep their hold a little longer; those of our governors the longest ofall. But the passions which prop these opinions are withdrawn one afteranother; and the cool light of reason, at the setting of our life, showsus what a false splendor played upon these objects during our moresanguine seasons. Happy, my lord, if instructed by my experience, andeven by my errors, you come early to make such an estimate of things, asmay give freedom and ease to your life. I am happy that such an estimatepromises me comfort at my death. 

FOOTNOTES:

[8] Had his lordship lived to our days, to have seen the noble reliefgiven by this nation to the distressed Portuguese, he had perhaps ownedthis part of his argument a little weakened; but we do not thinkourselves entitled to alter his lordship's words, but that we are boundto follow him exactly. 

[9] Sciant quibus moris illicita mirari, posse etiam sub malisprincipibus magnos viros, &c. See 42, to the end of it. 

A

PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY

INTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL

WITH

AN INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE

CONCERNING

TASTE, AND SEVERAL OTHER ADDITIONS

*** _The first edition of this work was published in 1756; the second with large additions, in the year 1757. _

PREFACE. 

I have endeavored to make this edition something more full andsatisfactory than the first. I have sought with the utmost care, andread with equal attention, everything which has appeared in publicagainst my opinions; I have taken advantage of the candid liberty of myfriends; and if by these means I have been better enabled to discoverthe imperfections of the work, the indulgence it has received, imperfectas it was, furnished me with a new motive to spare no reasonable painsfor its improvement. Though I have not found sufficient reason, or whatappeared to me sufficient, for making any material change in my theory, I have found it necessary in many places to explain, illustrate, andenforce it. I have prefixed an introductory discourse concerning Taste;it is a matter curious in itself; and it leads naturally enough to theprincipal inquiry. This, with the other explanations, has made the workconsiderably larger; and by increasing its bulk has, I am afraid, addedto its faults; so that notwithstanding all my attention, it may stand inneed of a yet greater share of indulgence than it required at its firstappearance. 

They who are accustomed to studies of this nature will expect, and theywill allow too for many faults. They know that many of the objects ofour inquiry are in themselves obscure and intricate; and that manyothers have been rendered so by affected refinements, or false learning;they know that there are many impediments in the subject, in theprejudices of others, and even in our own, that render it a matter of nosmall difficulty to show in a clear light the genuine face of nature. They know that whilst the mind is intent on the general scheme ofthings, some particular parts must be neglected; that we must oftensubmit the style to the matter, and frequently give up the praise ofelegance, satisfied with being clear. 

The characters of nature are legible, it is true; but they are not plainenough to enable those who run, to read them. We must make use of acautious, I had almost said, a timorous method of proceeding. We mustnot attempt to fly, when we can scarcely pretend to creep. Inconsidering any complex matter, we ought to examine every distinctingredient in the composition, one by one; and reduce everything to theutmost simplicity; since the condition of our nature binds us to astrict law and very narrow limits. We ought afterwards to re-examine theprinciples by the effect of the composition, as well as the compositionby that of the principles. We ought to compare our subject with thingsof a similar nature, and even with things of a contrary nature; fordiscoveries may be, and often are made by the contrast, which wouldescape us on the single view. The greater number of the comparisons wemake, the more general and the more certain our knowledge is likely toprove, as built upon a more extensive and perfect induction. 

If an inquiry thus carefully conducted should fail at last ofdiscovering the truth, it may answer an end perhaps as useful, indiscovering to us the weakness of our own understanding. If it does notmake us knowing, it may make us modest. If it does not preserve us fromerror, it may at least from the spirit of error; and may make uscautious of pronouncing with positiveness or with haste, when so muchlabor may end in so much uncertainty. 

I could wish that, in examining this theory, the same method werepursued which I endeavored to observe in forming it. The objections, inmy opinion, ought to be proposed, either to the several principles asthey are distinctly considered, or to the justness of the conclusionwhich is drawn from them. But it is common to pass over both thepremises and conclusion in silence, and to produce, as an objection, some poetical passage which does not seem easily accounted for upon theprinciples I endeavor to establish. This manner of proceeding I shouldthink very improper. The task would be infinite, if we could establishno principle until we had previously unravelled the complex texture ofevery image or description to be found in poets and orators. And thoughwe should never be able to reconcile the effect of such images to ourprinciples, this can never overturn the theory itself, whilst it isfounded on certain and indisputable facts. A theory founded onexperiment, and not assumed, is always good for so much as it explains. Our inability to push it indefinitely is no argument at all against it. This inability may be owing to our ignorance of some necessary_mediums_; to a want of proper application; to many other causes besidesa defect in the principles we employ. In reality, the subject requires amuch closer attention than we dare claim from our manner of treatingit. 

If it should not appear on the face of the work, I must caution thereader against imagining that I intended a full dissertation on theSublime and Beautiful. My inquiry went no farther than to the origin ofthese ideas. If the qualities which I have ranged under the head of theSublime be all found consistent with each other, and all different fromthose which I place under the head of Beauty; and if those which composethe class of the Beautiful have the same consistency with themselves, and the same opposition to those which are classed under thedenomination of Sublime, I am in little pain whether anybody chooses tofollow the name I give them or not, provided he allows that what Idispose under different heads are in reality different things in nature. The use I make of the words may be blamed, as too confined or tooextended; my meaning cannot well be misunderstood. 

To conclude: whatever progress may be made towards the discovery oftruth in this matter, I do not repent the pains I have taken in it. Theuse of such inquiries may be very considerable. Whatever turns the soulinward on itself, tends to concentre its forces, and to fit it forgreater and stronger flights of science. By looking into physical causesour minds are opened and enlarged; and in this pursuit, whether we takeor whether we lose our game, the chase is certainly of service. Cicero, true as he was to the academic philosophy, and consequently led toreject the certainty of physical, as of every other kind of knowledge, yet freely confesses its great importance to the human understanding:"_Est animorum ingeniorumque nostrorum naturale quoddam quasi pabulumconsideratio contemplatioque naturæ_. " If we can direct the lights wederive from such exalted speculations upon the humbler field of theimagination, whilst we investigate the springs, and trace the courses ofour passions, we may not only communicate to the taste a sort ofphilosophical solidity, but we may reflect back on the severer sciencessome of the graces and elegances of taste, without which the greatestproficiency in those sciences will always have the appearance ofsomething illiberal. 

CONTENTS. 

INTRODUCTION: On Taste 79

PART I

I. Novelty 101

II. Pain and Pleasure 102

III. The Difference between the Removal of Pain and Positive Pleasure 104

IV. Of Delight and Pleasure, as opposed to each other 106

V. Joy and Grief 108

VI. Of the Passions which belong to Self-Preservation 110

VII. Of the Sublime 110

VIII. Of the Passions which belong to Society 111

IX. The Final Cause of the Difference between the Passions belonging to Self-Preservation, and those which regard the Society of the Sexes 113

X. Of Beauty 114

XI. Society and Solitude 115

XII. Sympathy, Imitation, and Ambition 116

XIII. Sympathy 117

XIV. The Effects of Sympathy in the Distresses of Others 119

XV. Of the Effects of Tragedy 120

XVI. Imitation 122

XVII. Ambition 123

XVIII. The Recapitulation 125

XIX. The Conclusion 126

PART II. 

I. Of the Passion caused by the Sublime 130

II. Terror 130

III. Obscurity 132

IV. Of the Difference between Clearness and Obscurity with regard to the Passions 133

[IV. ] The Same Subject continued 134

V. Power 138

VI. Privation 146

VII. Vastness 147

VIII. Infinity 148

IX. Succession and Uniformity 149

X. Magnitude in Building 152

XI. Infinity in Pleasing Objects 153

XII. Difficulty 153

XIII. Magnificence 154

XIV. Light 156

XV. Light in Building 157

XVI. Color considered as productive of the Sublime 158

XVII. Sound and Loudness 159

XVIII. Suddenness 160

XIX. Intermitting 160

XX. The Cries of Animals 161

XXI. Smell and Taste--Bitters and Stenches 162

XXII. Feeling. --Pain 164

PART III. 

I. Of Beauty 165

II. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Vegetables 166

III. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Animals 170

IV. Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in the Human Species 172

V. Proportion further considered 178

VI. Fitness not the Cause of Beauty 181

VII. The Real Effects of Fitness 184

VIII. The Recapitulation 187

IX. Perfection not the Cause of Beauty 187

X. How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to the Qualities of the Mind 188

XI. How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to Virtue 190

XII. The Real Cause of Beauty 191

XIII. Beautiful Objects Small 191

XIV. Smoothness 193

XV. Gradual Variation 194

XVI. Delicacy 195

XVII. Beauty in Color 196

XVIII. Recapitulation 197

XIX. The Physiognomy 198

XX. The Eye 198

XXI. Ugliness 199

XXII. Grace 200

XXIII. Elegance and Speciousness 200

XXIV. The Beautiful in Feeling 201

XXV. The Beautiful in Sounds 203

XXVI. Taste and Smell 205

XXVII. The Sublime and Beautiful compared 205

PART IV. 

I. Of the Efficient Cause of the Sublime and Beautiful 208

II. Association 209

III. Cause of Pain and Fear 210

IV. Continued 212

V. How the Sublime is produced 215

VI. How Pain can be a Cause of Delight 215

VII. Exercise necessary for the Finer Organs 216

VIII. Why Things not Dangerous sometimes produce a Passion like Terror 217

IX. Why Visual Objects of Great Dimensions are Sublime 217

X. Unity, why requisite to Vastness 219

XI. The Artificial Infinite 220

XII. The Vibrations must be Similar 222

XIII. The Effects of Succession in Visual Objects explained 222

XIV. Locke's Opinion concerning Darkness considered 225

XV. Darkness Terrible in its own Nature 226

XVI. Why Darkness is Terrible 227

XVII. The Effects of Blackness 229

XVIII. The Effects of Blackness moderated 231

XIX. The Physical Cause of Love 232

XX. Why Smoothness is Beautiful 234

XXI. Sweetness, its Nature 235

XXII. Sweetness relaxing 237

XXIII. Variation, why Beautiful 239

XXIV. Concerning Smallness 240

XXV. Of Color 244

PART V. 

I. Of Words 246

II. The Common Effect of Poetry, not by raising Ideas of Things 246

III. General Words before Ideas 249

IV. The Effect of Words 250

V. Examples that Words may affect without raising Images 252

VI. Poetry not strictly an Imitative Art 257

VII. How Words influence the Passions 258

INTRODUCTION. 

ON TASTE. 

On a superficial view we may seem to differ very widely from each otherin our reasonings, and no less in our pleasures: but, notwithstandingthis difference, which I think to be rather apparent than real, it isprobable that the standard both of reason and taste is the same in allhuman creatures. For if there were not some principles of judgment aswell as of sentiment common to all mankind, no hold could possibly betaken either on their reason or their passions, sufficient to maintainthe ordinary correspondence of life. It appears, indeed, to be generallyacknowledged, that with regard to truth and falsehood there is somethingfixed. We find people in their disputes continually appealing to certaintests and standards, which are allowed on all sides, and are supposed tobe established in our common nature. But there is not the same obviousconcurrence in any uniform or settled principles which relate to taste. It is even commonly supposed that this delicate and aerial faculty, which seems too volatile to endure even the chains of a definition, cannot be properly tried by any test, nor regulated by any standard. There is so continual a call for the exercise of the reasoning facility;and it is so much strengthened by perpetual contention, that certainmaxims of right reason seem to be tacitly settled amongst the mostignorant. The learned have improved on this rude science, and reducedthose maxims into a system. If taste has not been so happily cultivated, it was not that the subject was barren, but that the laborers were fewor negligent; for, to say the truth, there are not the same interestingmotives to impel us to fix the one, which urge us to ascertain theother. And, after all, if men differ in their opinion concerning suchmatters, their difference is not attended with the same importantconsequences; else I make no doubt but that the logic of taste, if I maybe allowed the expression, might very possibly be as well digested, andwe might come to discuss matters of this nature with as much certainty, as those which seem more immediately within the province of mere reason. And, indeed, it is very necessary, at the entrance into such an inquiryas our present, to make this point as clear as possible; for if tastehas no fixed principles, if the imagination is not affected according tosome invariable and certain laws, our labor is likely to be employed tovery little purpose; as it must be judged an useless, if not an absurdundertaking, to lay down rules for caprice, and to set up for alegislator of whims and fancies. 

The term taste, like all other figurative terms, is not extremelyaccurate; the thing which we understand by it is far from a simple anddeterminate idea in the minds of most men, and it is therefore liable touncertainty and confusion. I have no great opinion of a definition, thecelebrated remedy for the cure of this disorder. For, when we define, weseem in danger of circumscribing nature within the bounds of our ownnotions, which we often take up by hazard or embrace on trust, or formout of a limited and partial consideration of the object before us;instead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature comprehends, according to her manner of combining. We are limited in our inquiry bythe strict laws to which we have submitted at our setting out. 

 Circa vilem patulumque morabimur orbem, Unde pudor proferre pedem vetat aut operis lex. 

A definition may be very exact, and yet go but a very little way towardsinforming us of the nature of the thing defined; but let the virtue of adefinition be what it will, in the order of things, it seems rather tofollow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to be consideredas the result. It must be acknowledged that the methods of disquisitionand teaching may be sometimes different, and on very good reasonundoubtedly; but, for my part, I am convinced that the method ofteaching which approaches most nearly to the method of investigation isincomparably the best; since, not content with serving up a few barrenand lifeless truths, it leads to the stock on which they grew; it tendsto set the reader himself in the track of invention, and to direct himinto those paths in which the author has made his own discoveries, if heshould be so happy as to have made any that are valuable. 

But to cut off all pretence for cavilling, I mean by the word taste, nomore than that faculty or those faculties of the mind, which areaffected with, or which form a judgment of, the works of imagination andthe elegant arts. This is, I think, the most general idea of that word, and what is the least connected with any particular theory. And my pointin this inquiry is, to find whether there are any principles, on whichthe imagination is affected, so common to all, so grounded and certain, as to supply the means of reasoning satisfactorily about them. And suchprinciples of taste I fancy there are; however paradoxical it may seemto those, who on a superficial view imagine that there is so great adiversity of tastes, both in kind and degree, that nothing can be moreindeterminate. 

All the natural powers in man, which I know, that are conversant aboutexternal objects, are the senses; the imagination; and the judgment. Andfirst with regard to the senses. We do and we must suppose, that as theconformation of their organs are nearly or altogether the same in allmen, so the manner of perceiving external objects is in all men thesame, or with little difference. We are satisfied that what appears tobe light to one eye, appears light to another; that what seems sweet toone palate, is sweet to another; that what is dark and bitter to thisman, is likewise dark and bitter to that; and we conclude in the samemanner of great and little, hard and soft, hot and cold, rough andsmooth; and indeed of all the natural qualities and affections ofbodies. If we suffer ourselves to imagine, that their senses present todifferent men different images of things, this sceptical proceeding willmake every sort of reasoning on every subject vain and frivolous, eventhat sceptical reasoning itself which had persuaded us to entertain adoubt concerning the agreement of our perceptions. But as there will belittle doubt that bodies present similar images to the whole species, itmust necessarily be allowed, that the pleasures and the pains whichevery object excites in one man, it must raise in all mankind, whilstit operates naturally, simply, and by its proper powers only: for if wedeny this, we must imagine that the same cause, operating in the samemanner, and on subjects of the same kind, will produce differenteffects; which would be highly absurd. Let us first consider this pointin the sense of taste, and the rather as the faculty in question hastaken its name from that sense. All men are agreed to call vinegar sour, honey sweet, and aloes bitter; and as they are all agreed in findingthose qualities in those objects, they do not in the least differconcerning their effects with regard to pleasure and pain. They allconcur in calling sweetness pleasant, and sourness and bitternessunpleasant. Here there is no diversity in their sentiments; and thatthere is not, appears fully from the consent of all men in the metaphorswhich are taken, from the souse of taste. A sour temper, bitterexpressions, bitter curses, a bitter fate, are terms well and stronglyunderstood by all. And we are altogether as well understood when we say, a sweet disposition, a sweet person, a sweet condition and the like. Itis confessed, that custom and some other causes have made manydeviations from the natural pleasures or pains which belong to theseseveral tastes; but then the power of distinguishing between the naturaland the acquired relish remains to the very last. A man frequently comesto prefer the taste of tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavor ofvinegar to that of milk; but this makes no confusion in tastes, whilsthe is sensible that the tobacco and vinegar are not sweet, and whilst heknows that habit alone has reconciled his palate to these alienpleasures. Even with such a person we may speak, and with sufficientprecision, concerning tastes. But should any man be found who declares, that to him tobacco has a taste like sugar, and that he cannotdistinguish between milk and vinegar; or that tobacco and vinegar aresweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour; we immediately conclude that theorgans of this man are out of order, and that his palate is utterlyvitiated. We are as far from conferring with such a person upon tastes, as from reasoning concerning the relations of quantity with one whoshould deny that all the parts together were equal to the whole. We donot call a man of this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad. Exceptions of this sort, in either way, do not at all impeach ourgeneral rule, nor make us conclude that men have various principlesconcerning the relations of quantity or the taste of things. So thatwhen it is said, taste cannot be disputed, it can only mean, that no onecan strictly answer what pleasure or pain some particular man may findfrom the taste of some particular thing. This indeed cannot be disputed;but we may dispute, and with sufficient clearness too, concerning thethings which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable to the sense. Butwhen we talk of any peculiar or acquired relish, then we must know thehabits, the prejudices, or the distempers of this particular man, and wemust draw our conclusion from those. 

This agreement of mankind is not confined to the taste solely. Theprinciple of pleasure derived from sight is the same in all. Light ismore pleasing than darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, when the heavens are serene and bright, is more agreeable than winter, when everything makes a different appearance. I never remember thatanything beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a plant, wasever shown, though it were to a hundred people, that they did not allimmediately agree that it was beautiful, though some might have thoughtthat it fell short of their expectation, or that other things were stillfiner. I believe no man thinks a goose to be more beautiful than a swan, or imagines that what they call a Friesland hen excels a peacock. Itmust be observed too, that the pleasures of the sight are not near socomplicated, and confused, and altered by unnatural habits andassociations, as the pleasures of the taste are; because the pleasuresof the sight more commonly acquiesce in themselves; and are not so oftenaltered by considerations which are independent of the sight itself. Butthings do not spontaneously present themselves to the palate as they doto the sight; they are generally applied to it, either as food or asmedicine; and from the qualities which they possess for nutritive ormedicinal purposes they often form the palate by degrees, and by forceof these associations. Thus opium is pleasing to Turks, on account ofthe agreeable delirium it produces. Tobacco is the delight of Dutchmen, as it diffuses a torpor and pleasing stupefaction. Fermented spiritsplease our common people, because they banish care, and allconsideration of future or present evils. All of these would lieabsolutely neglected if their properties had originally gone no furtherthan the taste; but all these, together with tea and coffee, and someother things, have passed from the apothecary's shop to our tables, andwere taken for health long before they were thought of for pleasure. Theeffect of the drug has made us use it frequently; and frequent use, combined with the agreeable effect, has made the taste itself at lastagreeable. But this does not in the least perplex our reasoning;because we distinguish to the last the acquired from the natural relish. In describing the taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarcely say thatit had a sweet and pleasant flavor like tobacco, opium, or garlic, although you spoke to those who were in the constant use of those drugs, and had great pleasure in them. There is in all men a sufficientremembrance of the original natural causes of pleasure, to enable themto bring all things offered to their senses to that standard, and toregulate their feelings and opinions by it. Suppose one who had sovitiated his palate as to take more pleasure in the taste of opium thanin that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bolus of squills;there is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the butter or honeyto this nauseous morsel, or to any other bitter drug to which he had notbeen accustomed; which proves that his palate was naturally like that ofother men in all things, that it is still like the palate of other menin many things, and only vitiated in some particular points. For injudging of any new thing, even of a taste similar to that which he hasbeen formed by habit to like, he finds his palate affected in thenatural manner, and on the common principles. Thus the pleasure of allthe senses, of the sight, and even of the taste, that most ambiguous ofthe senses, is the same in all, high and low, learned and unlearned. 

Besides the ideas, with their annexed pains and pleasures, which arepresented by the sense; the mind of man possesses a sort of creativepower of its own; either in representing at pleasure the images ofthings in the order and manner in which they were received by thesenses, or in combining those images in a new manner, and according toa different order. This power is called imagination; and to this belongswhatever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must beobserved, that this power of the imagination is incapable of producinganything absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideaswhich it has received from the senses. Now the imagination is the mostextensive province of pleasure and pain, as it is the region of ourfears and our hopes, and of all our passions that are connected withthem; and whatever is calculated to affect the imagination with thesecommanding ideas, by force of any original natural impression, must havethe same power pretty equally over all men. For since the imagination isonly the representation of the senses, it can only be pleased ordispleased with the images, from the same principle on which the senseis pleased or displeased with the realities; and consequently there mustbe just as close an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses ofmen. A little attention will convince us that this must of necessity bethe case. 

But in the imagination, besides the pain or pleasure arising from theproperties of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from theresemblance which the imitation has to the original: the imagination, Iconceive, can have no pleasure but what results from one or other ofthese causes. And these causes operate pretty uniformly upon all men, because they operate by principles in nature, and which are not derivedfrom any particular habits or advantages. Mr. Locke very justly andfinely observes of wit, that it is chiefly conversant in tracingresemblances; he remarks, at the same time, that the business ofjudgment is rather in finding differences. It may perhaps appear, onthis supposition, that there is no material distinction between the witand the judgment, as they both seem to result from different operationsof the same faculty of _comparing_. But in reality, whether they are orare not dependent on the same power of the mind, they differ so verymaterially in many respects, that a perfect union of wit and judgment isone of the rarest things in the world. When two distinct objects areunlike to each other, it is only what we expect; things are in theircommon way; and therefore they make no impression on the imagination:but when two distinct objects have a resemblance, we are struck, weattend to them, and we are pleased. The mind of man has naturally a fargreater alacrity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances than insearching for differences; because by making resemblances we produce_new images_; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; but in makingdistinctions we offer no food at all to the imagination; the task itselfis more severe and irksome, and what pleasure we derive from it issomething of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of news is told mein the morning; this, merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to mystock, gives me some pleasure. In the evening I find there was nothingin it. What do I gain by this, but the dissatisfaction to find that Ihad been imposed upon? Hence it is that men are much more naturallyinclined to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle, that the most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequently excelled insimilitudes, comparisons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been weakand backward in distinguishing and sorting their ideas. And it is for areason of this kind, that Homer and the oriental writers, though veryfond of similitudes, and though they often strike out such as are trulyadmirable, seldom take care to have them exact; that is, they are takenwith the general resemblance, they paint it strongly, and they take nonotice of the difference which may be found between the things compared. 

Now as the pleasure of resemblance is that which principally flattersthe imagination, all men are nearly equal in this point, as far as theirknowledge of the things represented or compared extends. The principleof this knowledge is very much accidental, as it depends upon experienceand observation, and not on the strength or weakness of any naturalfaculty; and it is from this difference in knowledge, that what wecommonly, though with no great exactness, call a difference in tasteproceeds. A man to whom sculpture is new, sees a barber's block, or someordinary piece of statuary; he is immediately struck and pleased, because he sees something like a human figure; and, entirely taken upwith this likeness, he does not at all attend to its defects. No person, I believe, at the first time of seeing a piece of imitation ever did. Some time after, we suppose that this novice lights upon a moreartificial work of the same nature; he now begins to look with contempton what he admired at first; not that he admired it even then for itsunlikeness to a man, but for that general though inaccurate resemblancewhich it bore to the human figure. What he admired at different times inthese so different figures, is strictly the same; and though hisknowledge is improved, his taste is not altered. Hitherto his mistakewas from a want of knowledge in art, and this arose from hisinexperience; but he may be still deficient from a want of knowledge innature. For it is possible that the man in question may stop here, andthat the masterpiece of a great hand may please him no more than themiddling performance of a vulgar artist; and this not for want of betteror higher relish, but because all men do not observe with sufficientaccuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of animitation of it. And that the critical taste does not depend upon asuperior principle in men, but upon superior knowledge, may appear fromseveral instances. The story of the ancient painter and the shoemaker isvery well known. The shoemaker set the painter right with regard to somemistakes he had made in the shoe of one of his figures, which thepainter, who had not made such accurate observations on shoes, and wascontent with a general resemblance, had never observed. But this was noimpeachment to the taste of the painter; it only showed some want ofknowledge in the art of making shoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomisthad come into the painter's working-room. His piece is in general welldone, the figure in question in a good attitude, and the parts welladjusted to their various movements; yet the anatomist, critical in hisart, may observe the swell of some muscle not quite just in the peculiaraction of the figure. Here the anatomist observes what the painter hadnot observed; and he passes by what the shoemaker had remarked. But awant of the last critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on thenatural good taste of the painter, or of any common observer of hispiece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the formation of a shoe. Afine piece of a decollated head of St. John the Baptist was shown to aTurkish emperor: he praised many things, but he observed one defect: heobserved that the skin did not shrink from the wounded part of the neck. The sultan on this occasion, though his observation was very just, discovered no more natural taste than the painter who executed thispiece, or than a thousand European connoisseurs, who probably neverwould have made the same observation. His Turkish majesty had indeedbeen well acquainted with that terrible spectacle, which the otherscould only have represented in their imagination. On the subject oftheir dislike there is a difference between all these people, arisingfrom the different kinds and degrees of their knowledge; but there issomething in common to the painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, andthe Turkish emperor, the pleasure arising from a natural object, so faras each perceives it justly imitated; the satisfaction in seeing anagreeable figure; the sympathy proceeding from a striking and affectingincident. So far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all. 

In poetry, and other pieces of imagination, the same parity may beobserved. It is true, that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, andreads Virgil coldly; whilst another is transported with the Æneid, andleaves Don Bellianis to children. These two men seem to have a tastevery different from each other; but in fact they differ very little. Inboth these pieces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a taleexciting admiration is told; both are full of action, both arepassionate; in both are voyages, battles, triumphs, and continualchanges of fortune. The admirer of Don Bellianis perhaps does notunderstand the refined language of the Æneid, who, if it was degradedinto the style of the "Pilgrim's Progress, " might feel it in all itsenergy, on the same principle which made him an admirer of DonBellianis. 

In his favorite author he is not shocked with the continual breaches ofprobability, the confusion of times, the offences against manners, thetrampling upon geography; for he knows nothing of geography andchronology, and he has never examined the grounds of probability. Heperhaps reads of a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia: wholly taken upwith so interesting an event, and only solicitous for the fate of hishero, he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. Forwhy should he be shocked at a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia, whodoes not know but that Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic ocean?and after all, what reflection is this on the natural good taste of theperson here supposed?

So far then as taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is thesame in all men; there is no difference in the manner of their beingaffected, nor in the causes of the affection; but in the _degree_ thereis a difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from agreater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longerattention to the object. To illustrate this by the procedure of thesenses, in which the same difference is found, let us suppose a verysmooth marble table to be set before two men; they both perceive it tobe smooth, and they are both pleased with it because of this quality. Sofar they agree. But suppose another, and after that another table, thelatter still smoother than the former, to be set before them. It is nowvery probable that these men, who are so agreed upon what is smooth, andin the pleasure from thence, will disagree when they come to settlewhich table has the advantage in point of polish. Here is indeed thegreat difference between tastes, when men come to compare the excess ordiminution of things which are judged by degree and not by measure. Noris it easy, when such a difference arises, to settle the point, if theexcess or diminution be not glaring. If we differ in opinion about twoquantities, we can have recourse to a common measure, which may decidethe question with the utmost exactness; and this, I take it, is whatgives mathematical knowledge a greater certainty than any other. But inthings whose excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as smoothnessand roughness, hardness and softness, darkness and light, the shades ofcolors, all these are very easily distinguished when the difference isany way considerable, but not when it is minute, for want of some commonmeasures, which perhaps may never come to be discovered. In these nicecases, supposing the acuteness of the sense equal, the greater attentionand habit in such things will have the advantage. In the question aboutthe tables, the marble-polisher will unquestionably determine the mostaccurately. But notwithstanding this want of a common measure forsettling many disputes relative to the senses, and their representativethe imagination, we find that the principles are the same in all, andthat there is no disagreement until we come to examine into thepre-eminence or difference of things, which brings us within theprovince of the judgment. 

So long as we are conversant with the sensible qualities of things, hardly any more than the imagination seems concerned; little more alsothan the imagination seems concerned when the passions are represented, because by the force of natural sympathy they are felt in all menwithout any recourse to reasoning, and their justness recognized inevery breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, all these passions have, intheir turns, affected every mind; and they do not affect it in anarbitrary or casual manner, but upon certain, natural, and uniformprinciples. But as many of the works of imagination are not confined tothe representation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon thepassions, but extend themselves to the manners, the characters, theactions, and designs of men, their relations, their virtues and vices, they come within the province of the judgment, which is improved byattention, and by the habit of reasoning. All these make a veryconsiderable part of what are considered as the objects of taste; andHorace sends us to the schools of philosophy and the world for ourinstruction in them. Whatever certainty is to be acquired in moralityand the science of life; just the same degree of certainty have we inwhat relates to them in works of imitation. Indeed it is for the mostpart in our skill in manners, and in the observances of time and place, and of decency in general, which is only to be learned in those schoolsto which Horace recommends us, that what is called taste, by way ofdistinction, consists: and which is in reality no other than a morerefined judgment. On the whole, it appears to me, that what is calledtaste, in its most general acceptation, is not a simple idea, but ispartly made up of a perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of thesecondary pleasures of the imagination, and of the conclusions of thereasoning faculty, concerning the various relations of these, andconcerning the human passions, manners, and actions. All this isrequisite to form taste, and the groundwork of all these is the same inthe human mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all ourideas, and consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not uncertainand arbitrary, the whole groundwork of taste is common to all, andtherefore there is a sufficient foundation for a conclusive reasoning onthese matters. 

Whilst we consider taste merely according to its nature and species, weshall find its principles entirely uniform; but the degree in whichthese principles prevail, in the several individuals of mankind, isaltogether as different as the principles themselves are similar. Forsensibility and judgment, which are the qualities that compose what wecommonly call a _taste_, vary exceedingly in various people. From adefect in the former of these qualities arises a want of taste; aweakness in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. There are somemen formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic, that they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole course oftheir lives. Upon such persons the most striking objects make but afaint and obscure impression. There are others so continually in theagitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in thelow drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honors anddistinction, that their minds, which had been used continually to thestorms of these violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put inmotion by the delicate and refined play of the imagination. These men, though from a different cause, become as stupid and insensible as theformer; but whenever either of these happen to be struck with anynatural elegance or greatness, or with these qualities in any work ofart, they are moved upon the same principle. 

The cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arisefrom a natural weakness of understanding (in whatever the strength ofthat faculty may consist), or, which is much more commonly the case, itmay arise from a want of a proper and well-directed exercise, whichalone can make it strong and ready. Besides, that ignorance, inattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, in short, all thosepassions, and all those vices, which pervert the judgment in othermatters, prejudice it no less in this its more refined and elegantprovince. These causes produce different opinions upon everything whichis an object of the understanding, without inducing us to suppose thatthere are no settled principles of reason. And indeed, on the whole, onemay observe, that there is rather less difference upon matters of tasteamong mankind, than upon most of those which depend upon the nakedreason; and that men are far better agreed on the excellence of adescription in Virgil, than on the truth or falsehood of a theory ofAristotle. 

A rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be called a good taste, does in a great measure depend upon sensibility; because if the mind hasno bent to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itselfsufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledgein them. But though a degree of sensibility is requisite to form a goodjudgment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quicksensibility of pleasure; it frequently happens that a very poor judge, merely by force of a greater complexional sensibility, is more affectedby a very poor piece, than the best judge by the most perfect; for aseverything now, extraordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calculatedto affect such a person, and that the faults do not affect him, hispleasure is more pure and unmixed; and as it is merely a pleasure of theimagination, it is much higher than any which is derived from arectitude of the judgment; the judgment is for the greater part employedin throwing stumbling-blocks in the way of the imagination, indissipating the scenes of its enchantment, and in tying us down to thedisagreeable yoke of our reason: for almost the only pleasure that menhave in judging better than others, consists in a sort of consciouspride and superiority, which arises from thinking rightly; but then thisis an indirect pleasure, a pleasure which does not immediately resultfrom the object which is under contemplation. In the morning of ourdays, when the senses are unworn and tender, when the whole man is awakein every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects thatsurround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how falseand inaccurate the judgments we form of things! I despair of everreceiving the same degree of pleasure from the most excellentperformances of genius, which I felt at that age from pieces which mypresent judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every trivialcause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a complexion:his appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be delicate; and he isin all respects what Ovid says of himself in love, Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis, Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem. 

One of this character can never be a refined judge; never what thecomic poet calls _elegans formarum spectator_. The excellence and forceof a composition must always he imperfectly estimated from its effect onthe minds of any, except we know the temper and character of thoseminds. The most powerful effects of poetry and music have beendisplayed, and perhaps are still displayed, where these arts are but ina very low and imperfect state. The rude hearer is affected by theprinciples which operate in these arts even in their rudest condition;and he is not skilful enough to perceive the defects. But as the artsadvance towards their perfection, the science of criticism advances withequal pace, and the pleasure of judges is frequently interrupted by thefaults which we discovered in the most finished compositions. 

Before I leave this subject, I cannot help taking notice of an opinionwhich many persons entertain, as if the taste were a separate faculty ofthe mind, and distinct from the judgment and imagination; a species ofinstinct, by which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance, without any previous reasoning, with the excellences or the defects of acomposition. So far as the imagination, and the passions are concerned, I believe it true, that the reason is little consulted; but wheredisposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned, in short, wherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am convinced that theunderstanding operates, and nothing else; and its operation is inreality far from being always sudden, or, when it is sudden, it is oftenfar from being right. Men of the best taste by consideration comefrequently to change these early and precipitate judgments, which themind, from its aversion to neutrality and doubt, loves to form on thespot. It is known that the taste (whatever it is) is improved exactlyas we improve our judgment, by extending our knowledge, by a steadyattention to our object, and by frequent exercise. They who have nottaken these methods, if their taste decides quickly, it is alwaysuncertainly; and their quickness is owing to their presumption andrashness, and not to any sudden irradiation, that in a moment dispelsall darkness from their minds. But they who have cultivated that speciesof knowledge which makes the object of taste, by degrees and habituallyattain not only a soundness but a readiness of judgment, as men do bythe same methods on all other occasions. At first they are obliged tospell, but at last they read with ease and with celerity; but thiscelerity of its operation is no proof that the taste is a distinctfaculty. Nobody, I believe, has attended the course of a discussionwhich turned upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, butmust have observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process ofthe argument is carried on, the grounds discovered, the objectionsraised and answered, and the conclusions drawn from premises, with aquickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work with;and yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be suspected tooperate. To multiply principles for every different appearance isuseless, and unphilosophical too in a high degree. 

This matter might be pursued much farther; but it is not the extent ofthe subject which must prescribe our bounds, for what subject does notbranch out to infinity? It is the nature of our particular scheme, andthe single point of view in which we consider it, which ought to put astop to our researches. 

A

PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY

INTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL

PART I. 

SECTION I. 

NOVELTY. 

The first and the simplest emotion which we discover in the human mindis curiosity. By curiosity I mean whatever desire we have for, orwhatever pleasure we take in, novelty. We see children perpetuallyrunning from place to place, to hunt out something new: they catch withgreat eagerness, and with very little choice, at whatever comes beforethem; their attention is engaged by everything, because everything has, in that stage of life, the charm of novelty to recommend it. But asthose things, which engage us merely by their novelty, cannot attach usfor any length of time, curiosity is the most superficial of all theaffections; it changes its object perpetually; it has an appetite whichis very sharp, but very easily satisfied; and it has always anappearance of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from itsnature, is a very active principle; it quickly runs over the greatestpart of its objects, and soon exhausts the variety which is commonly tobe met with in nature; the same things make frequent returns, and theyreturn with less and less of any agreeable effect. In short, theoccurrences of life, by the time we come to know it a little, would beincapable of affecting the mind with any other sensations than those ofloathing and weariness, if many things were not adapted to affect themind by means of other powers besides novelty in them, and of otherpassions besides curiosity in ourselves. These powers and passions shallbe considered in their place. But, whatever these powers are, or uponwhat principle soever they affect the mind, it is absolutely necessarythat they should not be exerted in those things which a daily and vulgaruse have brought into a stale unaffecting familiarity. Some degree ofnovelty must be one of the materials in every instrument which worksupon the mind; and curiosity blends itself more or less with all ourpassions. 

SECTION II. 

PAIN AND PLEASURE. 

It seems, then, necessary towards moving the passions of people advancedin life to any considerable degree, that the objects designed for thatpurpose, besides their being in some measure new, should be capable ofexciting pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain and pleasure aresimple ideas, incapable of definition. People are not liable to bemistaken in their feelings, but they are very frequently wrong in thenames they give them, and in their reasonings about them. Many are ofopinion, that pain arises necessarily from the removal of some pleasure;as they think pleasure does from the ceasing or diminution of some pain. For my part, I am rather inclined to imagine, that pain and pleasure, in their most simple and natural manner of affecting, are each of apositive nature, and by no means necessarily dependent on each other fortheir existence. The human mind is often, and I think it is for the mostpart, in a state neither of pain nor pleasure, which I call a state ofindifference. When I am carried from this state into a state of actualpleasure, it does not appear necessary that I should pass through themedium of any sort of pain. If in such a state of indifference, or ease, or tranquillity, or call it what you please, you were to be suddenlyentertained with a concert of music; or suppose some object of a fineshape, and bright, lively colors, to be presented before you; or imagineyour smell is gratified with the fragrance of a rose; or if, without anyprevious thirst, you were to drink of some pleasant kind of wine, or totaste of some sweetmeat without being hungry; in all the several senses, of hearing, smelling, and tasting, you undoubtedly find a pleasure; yet, if I inquire into the state of your mind previous to thesegratifications, you will hardly tell me that they found you in any kindof pain; or, having satisfied these several senses with their severalpleasures, will you say that any pain has succeeded, though the pleasureis absolutely over? Suppose, on the other hand, a man in the same stateof indifference to receive a violent blow, or to drink of some bitterpotion, or to have his ears wounded with some harsh and grating sound;here is no removal of pleasure; and yet here is felt, his every sensewhich is affected, a pain very distinguishable. It may be said, perhaps, that the pain in these cases had its rise from the removal of thepleasure which the man enjoyed before, though that pleasure was of solow a degree as to be perceived only by the removal. But this seems tome a subtilty that is not discoverable in nature. For if, previous tothe pain, I do not feel any actual pleasure, I have no reason to judgethat any such thing exists; since pleasure is only pleasure as it isfelt. The same may be said of pain, and with equal reason. I can neverpersuade myself that pleasure and pain are mere relations, which canonly exist as they are contrasted; but I think I can discern clearlythat there are positive pains and pleasures, which do not at all dependupon each other. Nothing is more certain to my own feelings than this. There is nothing which I can distinguish in my mind with more clearnessthan the three states, of indifference, of pleasure, and of pain. Everyone of these I can perceive without any sort of idea of its relation toanything else. Caius is afflicted with a fit of the colic; this man isactually in pain; stretch Caius upon the rack, he will feel a muchgreater pain: but does this pain of the rack arise from the removal ofany pleasure? or is the fit of the colic a pleasure or a pain just as weare pleased to consider it?

SECTION III. 

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF PAIN AND POSITIVE PLEASURE. 

We shall carry this proposition yet a step further. We shall venture topropose, that pain and pleasure are not only not necessarily dependentfor their existence on their mutual diminution or removal, but that, inreality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure does not operate likepositive pain; and that the removal or diminution of pain, in itseffect, has very little resemblance to positive pleasure. [10] The formerof these propositions will, I believe, be much more readily allowed thanthe latter; because it is very evident that pleasure, when it has runits career, sets us down very nearly where it found us. Pleasure ofevery kind quickly satisfies; and, when it is over, we relapse intoindifference, or, rather, we fall into a soft tranquillity which istinged with the agreeable color of the former sensation. I own it is notat first view so apparent that the removal of a great pain does notresemble positive pleasure: but let us recollect in what state we havefound our minds upon escaping some imminent danger, or on being releasedfrom the severity of some cruel pain. We have on such occasions found, if I am not much mistaken, the temper of our minds in a tenor veryremote from that which attends the presence of positive pleasure; wehave found them in a state of much sobriety, impressed with a sense ofawe, in a sort of tranquillity shadowed with horror. The fashion of thecountenance and the gesture of the body on such occasions is socorrespondent to this state of mind, that any person, a stranger to thecause of the appearance, would rather judge us under some consternation, than in the enjoyment of anything like positive pleasure. 

 [Greek: Hôs d' hotan andr' atê pykinê labê, host' eni patrê, Phôta katakteinas, allôn exiketo dêmon, Andros es aphneiou, thambos d' echei eisoroôntas. ]

 Iliad, [Greek: Ô]. 480. 

 "As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime, Pursued for murder from his native clime, Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed; All gaze, all wonder!"

This striking appearance of the man whom Homer supposes to have justescaped an imminent danger, the sort of mixed passion of terror andsurprise, with which he affects the spectators, paints very strongly themanner in which we find ourselves affected upon occasions any waysimilar. For when we have suffered from any violent emotion, the mindnaturally continues in something like the same condition, after thecause which first produced it has ceased to operate. The tossing of thesea remains after the storm; and when this remain of horror has entirelysubsided, all the passion which the accident raised subsides along withit; and the mind returns to its usual state of indifference. In short, pleasure (I mean anything either in the inward sensation, or in theoutward appearance, like pleasure from a positive cause) has never, Iimagine, its origin from the removal of pain or danger. 

SECTION IV. 

OF DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER. 

But shall we therefore say, that the removal of pain or its diminutionis always simply painful? or affirm that the cessation or the lesseningof pleasure is always attended itself with a pleasure? By no means. WhatI advance is no more than this; first, that there are pleasures andpains of a positive and independent nature; and, secondly, that thefeeling which results from the ceasing or diminution of pain does notbear a sufficient resemblance to positive pleasure, to have itconsidered as of the same nature, or to entitle it to be known by thesame name; and thirdly, that upon the same principle the removal orqualification of pleasure has no resemblance to positive pain. It iscertain that the former feeling (the removal or moderation of pain) hassomething in it far from distressing, or disagreeable in its nature. This feeling, in many cases so agreeable, but in all so different frompositive pleasure, has no name which I know; but that hinders not itsbeing a very real one, and very different from all others. It is mostcertain, that every species of satisfaction or pleasure, how differentsoever in its manner of affecting, is of a positive nature in the mindof him who feels it. The affection is undoubtedly positive; but thecause may be, as in this case it certainly is, a sort of _privation_. And it is very reasonable that we should distinguish by some term twothings so distinct in nature, as a pleasure that is such simply, andwithout any relation, from that pleasure which cannot exist without arelation, and that, too, a relation to pain. Very extraordinary it wouldbe, if these affections, so distinguishable in their causes, sodifferent in their effects, should be confounded with each other, because vulgar use has ranged them under the same general title. Whenever I have occasion to speak of this species of relative pleasure, I call it _delight_; and I shall take the best care I can to use thatword in no other sense. I am satisfied the word is not commonly used inthis appropriated signification; but I thought it better to take up aword already known, and to limit its signification, than to introduce anew one, which would not perhaps incorporate so well with the language. I should never have presumed the least alteration in our words, if thenature of the language, framed for the purposes of business rather thanthose of philosophy, and the nature of my subject, that leads me out ofthe common track of discourse, did not in a manner necessitate me to it. I shall make use of this liberty with all possible caution. As I makeuse of the word _delight_ to express the sensation which accompanies theremoval of pain or danger, so, when I speak of positive pleasure, Ishall for the most part call it simply _pleasure_. 

SECTION V. 

JOY AND GRIEF. 

It must be observed, that the cessation of pleasure affects the mindthree ways. If it simply ceases after having continued a proper time, the effect is _indifference_; if it be abruptly broken off, there ensuesan uneasy sense called _disappointment_; if the object be so totallylost that there is no chance of enjoying it again, a passion arises inthe mind which is called _grief_. Now there is none of these, not evengrief, which is the most violent, that I think has any resemblance topositive pain. The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow uponhim; he indulges it, he loves it: but this never happens in the case ofactual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerabletime. That grief should be willingly endured, though far from a simplypleasing sensation, is not so difficult to be understood. It is thenature of grief to keep its object perpetually in its eye, to present itin its most pleasurable views, to repeat all the circumstances thatattend it, even to the last minuteness; to go back to every particularenjoyment, to dwell upon each, and to find a thousand new perfections inall, that were not sufficiently understood before; in grief, the_pleasure_ is still uppermost; and the affliction we suffer has noresemblance to absolute pain, which is always odious, and which weendeavor to shake off as soon as possible. The Odyssey of Homer, whichabounds with so many natural and affecting images, has none morestriking than those which Menelaus raises of the calamitous fate of hisfriends, and his own manner of feeling it. He owns, indeed, that heoften gives himself some intermission from such melancholy reflections;but he observes, too, that, melancholy as they are, they give himpleasure. 

 [Greek: All empês pantas men odyromenos kai acheuôn, Pollakis en megaroisi kathêmenos hêmeteroisin, Allote men te goô phrena terpomai, allote d' aute Pauomai; aipsêros de koros kryeroio gooio]

 Hom. Od. [Greek: D]. 100

 "Still in short intervals of _pleasing woe_, Regardful of the friendly dues I owe, I to the glorious dead, forever dear, _Indulge_ the tribute of a _grateful_ tear. "

On the other hand, when we recover our health, when we escape animminent danger, is it with joy that we are affected? The sense on theseoccasions is far from that smooth and voluptuous satisfaction which theassured prospect of pleasure bestows. The delight which arises from themodifications of pain confesses the stock from whence it sprung, in itssolid, strong, and severe nature. 

SECTION VI. 

OF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SELF-PRESERVATION. 

Most of the ideas which are capable of making a powerful impression onthe mind, whether simply of pain or pleasure, or of the modifications ofthose, may be reduced very nearly to these two heads, _self-preservation_, and _society_; to the ends of one or the other ofwhich all our passions are calculated to answer. The passions whichconcern self-preservation, turn mostly on _pain_ or _danger_. The ideasof _pain_, _sickness_, and _death_, fill the mind with strong emotionsof horror; but _life_ and _health_, though they put us in a capacity ofbeing affected with pleasure, make no such impression by the simpleenjoyment. The passions therefore which are conversant about thepreservation of the individual turn chiefly on _pain_ and _danger_, andthey are the most powerful of all the passions. 

SECTION VII. 

OF THE SUBLIME. 

Whatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant aboutterrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is asource of the _sublime_; that is, it is productive of the strongestemotion which the mind is capable of feeling. I say the strongestemotion, because I am satisfied the ideas of pain are much more powerfulthan those which enter on the part of pleasure. Without all doubt, thetorments which we may be made to suffer are much greater in theireffect on the body and mind, than any pleasures which the most learnedvoluptuary could suggest, or than the liveliest imagination, and themost sound and exquisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I am ingreat doubt whether any man could be found, who would earn a life of themost perfect satisfaction at the price of ending it in the torments, which justice inflicted in a few hours on the late unfortunate regicidein France. But as pain is stronger in its operation than pleasure, sodeath is in general a much more affecting idea than pain; because thereare very few pains, however exquisite, which are not preferred to death:nay, what generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, more painful, is, that it is considered as an emissary of this king of terrors. Whendanger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving anydelight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and withcertain modifications, they may be, and they are, delightful, as weevery day experience. The cause of this I shall endeavor to investigatehereafter. 

SECTION VIII. 

OF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SOCIETY. 

The other head under which I class our passions, is that of _society_, which may be divided into two sorts. 1. The society of the _sexes_, which answers the purpose of propagation; and next, that more _generalsociety_, which we have with men and with other animals, and which wemay in some sort be said to have even with the inanimate world. Thepassions belonging to the preservation of the individual turn wholly onpain and danger: those which belong to _generation_ have their origin ingratifications and _pleasures_; the pleasure most directly belonging tothis purpose is of a lively character, rapturous and violent, andconfessedly the highest pleasure of sense; yet the absence of this sogreat an enjoyment scarce amounts to an uneasiness; and, except atparticular times, I do not think it affects at all. When men describe inwhat manner they are affected by pain and danger, they do not dwell onthe pleasure of health and the comfort of security, and then lament the_loss_ of these satisfactions: the whole turns upon the actual pains andhorrors which they endure. But if you listen to the complaints of aforsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on the pleasureswhich he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the objectof his desires; it is the _loss_ which is always uppermost in his mind. The violent effects produced by love, which has sometimes been evenwrought up to madness, is no objection to the rule which we seek toestablish. When men have suffered their imaginations to be long affectedwith any idea, it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out by degreesalmost every other, and to break down every partition of the mind whichwould confine it. Any idea is sufficient for the purpose, as is evidentfrom the infinite variety of causes, which give rise to madness: butthis at most can only prove, that the passion of love is capable ofproducing very extraordinary effects, not that its extraordinaryemotions have any connection with positive pain. 

SECTION IX. 

THE FINAL CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PASSIONS BELONGING TOSELF-PRESERVATION AND THOSE WHICH REGARD THE SOCIETY OF THE SEXES. 

The final cause of the difference in character between the passionswhich regard self-preservation, and those which are directed to themultiplication of the species, will illustrate the foregoing remarks yetfurther; and it is, I imagine, worthy of observation even upon its ownaccount. As the performance of our duties of every kind depends uponlife, and the performing them with vigor and efficacy depends uponhealth, we are very strongly affected with whatever threatens thedestruction of either: but as we were not made to acquiesce in life andhealth, the simple enjoyment of them is not attended with any realpleasure, lest, satisfied with that, we should give ourselves over toindolence and inaction. On the other hand, the generation of mankind isa great purpose, and it is requisite that men should be animated to thepursuit of it by some great incentive. It is therefore attended with avery high pleasure; but as it is by no means designed to be our constantbusiness, it is not fit that the absence of this pleasure should beattended with any considerable pain. The difference between men andbrutes, in this point, seems to be remarkable. Men are at all timespretty equally disposed to the pleasures of love, because they are to beguided by reason in the time and manner of indulging them. Had any greatpain arisen from the want of this satisfaction, reason, I am afraid, would find great difficulties in the performance of its office. Butbrutes that obey laws, in the execution of which their own reason hasbut little share, have their stated seasons; at such times it is notimprobable that the sensation from the want is very troublesome, becausethe end must be then answered, or be missed in many, perhaps forever; asthe inclination returns only with its season. 

SECTION X. 

OF BEAUTY. 

The passion which belongs to generation, merely as such, is lust only. This is evident in brutes, whose passions are more unmixed, and whichpursue their purposes more directly than ours. The only distinction theyobserve with regard to their mates, is that of sex. It is true, thatthey stick severally to their own species in preference to all others. But this preference, I imagine, does not arise from any sense of beautywhich they find in their species, as Mr. Addison supposes, but from alaw of some other kind, to which they are subject; and this we mayfairly conclude, from their apparent want of choice amongst thoseobjects to which the barriers of their species have confined them. Butman, who is a creature adapted to a greater variety and intricacy ofrelation, connects with the general passion the idea of some _social_qualities, which direct and heighten the appetite which he has in commonwith all other animals; and as he is not designed like them to live atlarge, it is fit that he should have some thing to create a preference, and fix his choice; and this in general should be some sensible quality;as no other can so quickly, so powerfully, or so surely produce itseffect. The object therefore of this mixed passion, which we call love, is the _beauty_ of the _sex_. Men are carried to the sex in general, asit is the sex, and by the common law of nature; but they are attached toparticulars by personal _beauty_. I call beauty a social quality; forwhere women and men, and not only they, but when other animals give us asense of joy and pleasure in beholding them (and there are many that doso), they inspire us with sentiments of tenderness and affection towardstheir persons; we like to have them near us, and we enter willingly intoa kind of relation with them, unless we should have strong reasons tothe contrary. But to what end, in many cases, this was designed, I amunable to discover; for I see no greater reason for a connection betweenman and several animals who are attired in so engaging a manner, thanbetween him and some others who entirely want this attraction, orpossess it in a far weaker degree. But it is probable that Providencedid not make even this distinction, but with a view to some great end;though we cannot perceive distinctly what it is, as his wisdom is notour wisdom, nor our ways his ways. 

SECTION XI. 

SOCIETY AND SOLITUDE. 

The second branch of the social passions is that which administers to_society in general_. With regard to this, I observe, that society, merely as society, without any particular heightenings, gives us nopositive pleasure in the enjoyment; but absolute and entire _solitude_, that is, the total and perpetual exclusion from all society, is asgreat a positive pain as can almost be conceived. Therefore in thebalance between the pleasure of general _society_, and the pain ofabsolute solitude, _pain_ is the predominant idea. But the pleasure ofany particular social enjoyment outweighs very considerably theuneasiness caused by the want of that particular enjoyment; so that thestrongest sensations relative to the habitudes of _particular society_are sensations of pleasure. Good company, lively conversations, and theendearments of friendship, fill the mind with great pleasure; atemporary solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. This mayperhaps prove that we are creatures designed for contemplation as wellas action; since solitude as well as society has its pleasures; as fromthe former observation we may discern, that an entire life of solitudecontradicts the purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely anidea of more terror. 

SECTION XII. 

SYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND AMBITION. 

Under this denomination of society, the passions are of a complicatedkind, and branch out into a variety of forms, agreeably to that varietyof ends they are to serve in the great chain of society. The threeprincipal links in this chain are _sympathy_, _imitation, _ and_ambition_. 

SECTION XIII. 

SYMPATHY. 

It is by the first of these passions that we enter into the concerns ofothers; that we are moved as they are moved, and are never suffered tobe indifferent spectators of almost anything which men can do or suffer. For sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, by which weare put into the place of another man, and affected in many respects ashe is affected: so that this passion may either partake of the nature ofthose which regard self-preservation, and turning upon pain may be asource of the sublime; or it may turn upon ideas of pleasure; and thenwhatever has been said of the social affections, whether they regardsociety in general, or only some particular modes of it, may beapplicable here. It is by this principle chiefly that poetry, painting, and other affecting arts, transfuse their passions from one breast toanother, and are often capable of grafting a delight on wretchedness, misery, and death itself. It is a common observation, that objects whichin the reality would shock, are in tragical, and such likerepresentations, the source of a very high species of pleasure. This, taken as a fact, has been the cause of much reasoning. The satisfactionhas been commonly attributed, first, to the comfort we receive inconsidering that so melancholy a story is no more than a fiction; and, next, to the contemplation of our own freedom from the evils which wesee represented. I am afraid it is a practice much too common ininquiries of this nature, to attribute the cause of feelings whichmerely arise from the mechanical structure of our bodies, or from thenatural frame and constitution of our minds, to certain conclusions ofthe reasoning faculty on the objects presented to us; for I shouldimagine, that the influence of reason in producing our passions isnothing near so extensive as it is commonly believed. 

SECTION XIV. 

THE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF OTHERS. 

To examine this point concerning the effect of tragedy in a propermanner, we must previously consider how we are affected by the feelingsof our fellow creatures in circumstances of real distress. I amconvinced we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in thereal misfortunes and pains of others; for let the affection be what itwill in appearance, if it does not make us shun such objects, if on thecontrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them, in this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure of somespecies or other in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not readthe authentic histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasureas romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperityof no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect inthe reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distress ofits unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history as much asthe destruction of Troy does in fable. Our delight, in cases of thiskind, is very greatly heightened, if the sufferer be some excellentperson who sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are bothvirtuous characters; but we are more deeply affected by the violentdeath of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, thanwith the deserved triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other:for terror is a passion which always produces delight when it does notpress too closely; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure, because it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formedby nature to any active purpose, the passion which animates us to it isattended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let thesubject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator has designed that weshould be united by the bond of sympathy, he has strengthened that bondby a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is mostwanted, --in the distresses of others. If this passion was simplypainful, we would shun with the greatest care all persons and placesthat could excite such a passion; as some, who are so far gone inindolence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But thecase is widely different with the greater part of mankind; there is nospectacle we so eagerly pursue, as that of some uncommon and grievouscalamity; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whetherthey are turned back to it in history, it always touches with delight. This is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness. The delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes ofmisery; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves inrelieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reasoning, byan instinct that works us to its own purposes without our concurrence. 

SECTION XV. 

OF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY. 

It is thus in real calamities. In imitated distresses the onlydifference is the pleasure resulting from the effects of imitation; forit is never so perfect, but we can perceive it is imitation, and on thatprinciple are somewhat pleased with it. And indeed in some cases wederive as much or more pleasure from that source than from the thingitself. But then I imagine we shall be much mistaken if we attribute anyconsiderable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the considerationthat tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities. Thenearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from allidea of fiction, the more perfect is its power. But be its power of whatkind it will, it never approaches to what it represents. Choose a day onwhich to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have;appoint the most favorite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes anddecorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music;and when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when theirminds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a statecriminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoiningsquare; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate thecomparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph ofthe real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simplepain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises fromhence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish what we would by no meanschoose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was oncedone. We delight in seeing things, which so far from doing, ourheartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, thepride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wickedas to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake, though he should be removed himself to the greatest distance from thedanger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbersfrom all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them manywho would have been content never to have seen London in its glory! Noris it, either in real or fictitious distresses, our immunity from themwhich produces our delight; in my own mind I can discover nothing likeit. I apprehend that this mistake is owing to a sort of sophism, bywhich we are frequently imposed upon; it arises from our notdistinguishing between what is indeed a necessary condition to our doingor suffering anything in general, and what is the _cause_ of someparticular act. If a man kills me with a sword, it is a necessarycondition to this that we should have been both of us alive before thefact; and yet it would be absurd to say that our being both livingcreatures was the cause of his crime and of my death. So it is certainthat it is absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminenthazard, before I can take a delight in the sufferings of others, real orimaginary, or indeed in anything else from any cause whatsoever. Butthen it is a sophism to argue from thence that this immunity is thecause of my delight either on these or on any occasions. No one candistinguish such a cause of satisfaction in his own mind, I believe;nay, when we do not suffer any very acute pain, nor are exposed to anyimminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilst we sufferourselves; and often then most when we are softened by affliction; wesee with pity even distresses which we would accept in the place of ourown. 

SECTION XVI. 

IMITATION. 

The second passion belonging to society is imitation, or, if you will, adesire of imitating, and consequently a pleasure in it. This passionarises from much the same cause with sympathy. For as sympathy makes ustake a concern in whatever men feel, so this affection prompts us tocopy whatever they do; and consequently we have a pleasure in imitating, and in whatever belongs to imitation merely as it is such, without anyintervention of the reasoning faculty, but solely from our naturalconstitution, which Providence has framed in such a manner as to findeither pleasure or delight, according to the nature of the object, inwhatever regards the purposes of our being. It is by imitation far morethan by precept, that we learn everything; and what we learn thus, weacquire not only more effectually, but more pleasantly. This forms ourmanners, our opinions, our lives. It is one of the strongest links ofsociety; it is a species of mutual compliance, which all men yield toeach other, without constraint to themselves, and which is extremelyflattering to all. Herein it is that painting and many other agreeablearts have laid one of the principal foundations of their power. Andsince, by its influence on our manners and our passions, it is of suchgreat consequence, I shall here venture to lay down a rule, which mayinform us with a good degree of certainty when we are to attribute thepower of the arts to imitation, or to our pleasure in the skill of theimitator merely, and when to sympathy, or some other cause inconjunction, with it. When the object represented in poetry or paintingis such as we could have no desire of seeing in the reality, then I maybe sure that its power in poetry or painting is owing to the power ofimitation, and to no cause operating in the thing itself. So it is withmost of the pieces which the painters call still-life. In these acottage, a dung-hill, the meanest and most ordinary utensils of thekitchen, are capable of giving us pleasure. But when the object of thepainting or poem is such as we should run to see if real, let it affectus with what odd sort of sense it will, we may rely upon it that thepower of the poem or picture is more owing to the nature of the thingitself than to the mere effect of imitation, or to a consideration ofthe skill of the imitator, however excellent. Aristotle has spoken somuch and so solidly upon the force of imitation in his Poetics, that itmakes any further discourse upon this subject the less necessary. 

SECTION XVII. 

AMBITION. 

Although imitation is one of the great instruments used by Providence inbringing our nature towards its perfection, yet if men gave themselvesup to imitation entirely, and each followed the other, and so on in aneternal circle, it is easy to see that there never could be anyimprovement amongst them. Men must remain as brutes do, the same at theend that they are at this day, and that they were in the beginning ofthe world. To prevent this, God has planted in man a sense of ambition, and a satisfaction arising from the contemplation of his excelling hisfellows in something deemed valuable amongst them. It is this passionthat drives men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing themselves, and that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea of thisdistinction so very pleasant. It has been so strong as to make verymiserable men take comfort, that they were supreme in misery; andcertain it is that, where we cannot distinguish ourselves by somethingexcellent, we begin to take a complacency in some singular infirmities, follies, or defects of one kind or other. It is on this principle thatflattery is so prevalent; for flattery is no more than what raises in aman's mind an idea of a preference which he has not. Now, whatever, either on good or upon bad grounds, tends to raise a man in his ownopinion, produces a sort of swelling and triumph, that is extremelygrateful to the human mind; and this swelling is never more perceived, nor operates with more force, than when without danger we are conversantwith terrible objects; the mind always claiming to itself some part ofthe dignity and importance of the things which it contemplates. Henceproceeds what Longinus has observed of that glorying and sense of inwardgreatness, that always fills the reader of such passages in poets andorators as are sublime: it is what every man must have felt in himselfupon such occasions. 

SECTION XVIII. 

THE RECAPITULATION. 

To draw the whole of what has been said into a few distinct points:--Thepassions which belong to self-preservation turn on pain and danger; theyare simply painful when their causes immediately affect us; they aredelightful when we have an idea of pain and danger, without beingactually in such circumstances; this delight I have not called pleasure, because it turns on pain, and because it is different enough from anyidea of positive pleasure. Whatever excites this delight, I call_sublime_. The passions belonging to self-preservation are the strongestof all the passions. 

The second head to which the passions are referred with relation totheir final cause, is society. There are two sorts of societies. Thefirst is, the society of sex. The passion belonging to this is calledlove, and it contains a mixture of lust; its object is the beauty ofwomen. The other is the great society with man and all other animals. The passion subservient to this is called likewise love, but it has nomixture of lust, and its object is beauty; which is a name I shall applyto all such qualities in things as induce in us a sense of affection andtenderness, or some other passion the most nearly resembling these. Thepassion of love has its rise in positive pleasure; it is, like allthings which grow out of pleasure, capable of being mixed with a mode ofuneasiness, that is, when an idea of its object is excited in the mindwith an idea at the same time of having irretrievably lost it. Thismixed sense of pleasure I have not called _pain_, because it turns uponactual pleasure, and because it is, both in its cause and in most of itseffects, of a nature altogether different. 

Next to the general passion we have for society, to a choice in which weare directed by the pleasure we have in the object, the particularpassion under this head called sympathy has the greatest extent. Thenature of this passion is, to put us in the place of another in whatevercircumstance he is in, and to affect us in a like manner; so that thispassion may, as the occasion requires, turn either on pain or pleasure;but with the modifications mentioned in some cases in Sect. 11. As toimitation and preference, nothing more need be said. 

SECTION XIX. 

THE CONCLUSION. 

I believed that an attempt to range and methodize some of our mostleading passions would be a good preparative to such an inquiry as weare going to make in the ensuing discourse. The passions I havementioned are almost the only ones which it can be necessary to considerin our present design; though the variety of the passions is great, andworthy, in every branch of that variety, of an attentive investigation. The more accurately we search into the human mind, the stronger traceswe everywhere find of His wisdom who made it. If a discourse on the useof the parts of the body may be considered as a hymn to the Creator; theuse of the passions, which are the organs of the mind, cannot be barrenof praise to him, nor unproductive to ourselves of that noble anduncommon union of science and admiration, which a contemplation of theworks of infinite wisdom alone can afford to a rational mind; whilst, referring to him whatever we find of right or good or fair in ourselves, discovering his strength and wisdom even in our own weakness andimperfection, honoring them where we discover them clearly, and adoringtheir profundity where we are lost in our search, we may be inquisitivewithout impertinence, and elevated without pride; we may be admitted, ifI may dare to say so, into the counsels of the Almighty by aconsideration of his works. The elevation of the mind ought to be theprincipal end of all our studies; which, if they do not in some measureeffect, they are of very little service to us. But, besides this greatpurpose, a consideration of the rationale of our passions seems to mevery necessary for all who would affect them upon solid and sureprinciples. It is not enough to know them in general; to affect themafter a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any work designed toaffect them, we should know the exact boundaries of their severaljurisdictions; we should pursue them through all their variety ofoperations, and pierce into the inmost, and what might appearinaccessible parts of our nature, Quod latet arcanâ non enarrabile fibrâ. 

Without all this it is possible for a man, after a confused mannersometimes to satisfy his own mind of the truth of his work; but he cannever have a certain determinate rule to go by, nor can he ever make hispropositions sufficiently clear to others. Poets, and orators, andpainters, and those who cultivate other branches of the liberal arts, have, without this critical knowledge, succeeded well in their severalprovinces, and will succeed: as among artificers there are many machinesmade and even invented without any exact knowledge of the principlesthey are governed by. It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theory, and right in practice: and we are happy that it is so. Men often actright from their feelings, who afterwards reason but ill on them fromprinciple; but as it is impossible to avoid an attempt at suchreasoning, and equally impossible to prevent its having some influenceon our practice, surely it is worth taking some pains to have it just, and founded on the basis of sure experience. We might expect that theartists themselves would have been our surest guides; but the artistshave been too much occupied in the practice: the philosophers have donelittle; and what they have done, was mostly with a view to their ownschemes and systems; and as for those called critics, they havegenerally sought the rule of the arts in the wrong place; they sought itamong poems, pictures, engravings, statues, and buildings. But art cannever give the rules that make an art. This is, I believe, the reasonwhy artists in general, and poets, principally, have been confined in sonarrow a circle: they have been rather imitators of one another than ofnature; and this with so faithful an uniformity, and to so remote anantiquity, that it is hard to say who gave the first model. Criticsfollow them, and therefore can do little as guides. I can judge butpoorly of anything, whilst I measure it by no other standard thanitself. The true standard of the arts is in every man's power; and aneasy observation of the most common, sometimes of the meanest things innature, will give the truest lights, where the greatest sagacity andindustry, that slights such observation, must leave us in the dark, or, what is worse, amuse and mislead us by false lights. In an inquiry it isalmost everything to be once in a right road. I am satisfied I have donebut little by these observations considered in themselves; and I nevershould have taken the pains to digest them, much less should I have everventured to publish them, if I was not convinced that nothing tends moreto the corruption of science than to suffer it to stagnate. These watersmust be troubled, before they can exert their virtues. A man who worksbeyond the surface of things, though he may be wrong himself, yet heclears the way for others, and may chance to make even his errorssubservient to the cause of truth. In the following parts I shallinquire what things they are that cause in us the affections of thesublime and beautiful, as in this I have considered the affectionsthemselves. I only desire one favor, --that no part of this discourse maybe judged of by itself, and independently of the rest; for I am sensibleI have not disposed my materials to abide the test of a captiouscontroversy, but of a sober and even forgiving examination; that theyare not armed at all points for battle, but dressed to visit those whoare willing to give a peaceful entrance to truth. 

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding, l. Ii. C. 20, sect. 16, ]thinks that the removal or lessening of a pain is considered andoperates as a pleasure, and the loss or diminishing of pleasure as apain. It is this opinion which we consider here. 

PART II. 

SECTION I. 

OF THE PASSION CAUSED BY THE SUBLIME. 

The passion caused by the great and sublime in _nature_, when thosecauses operate most powerfully, is astonishment: and astonishment isthat state of the soul in which all its motions are suspended, with somedegree of horror. [11] In this case the mind is so entirely filled withits object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequencereason on that object which employs it. Hence arises the great power ofthe sublime, that, far from being produced by them, it anticipates ourreasonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible force. Astonishment, asI have said, is the effect of the sublime in its highest degree; theinferior effects are admiration, reverence, and respect. 

SECTION II. 

TERROR. 

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting andreasoning as _fear_. [12] For fear being an apprehension of pain ordeath, it operates in a manner that resembles actual pain. Whatevertherefore is terrible, with regard to sight, is sublime too, whetherthis cause of terror be endued with greatness of dimensions or not; forit is impossible to look on anything as trifling, or contemptible, thatmay be dangerous. There are many animals, who, though far from beinglarge, are yet capable of raising ideas of the sublime, because they areconsidered as objects of terror. As serpents and poisonous animals ofalmost all kinds. And to things of great dimensions, if we annex anadventitious idea of terror, they become without comparison greater. Alevel plain of a vast extent on land, is certainly no mean idea; theprospect of such a plain may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean;but can it ever fill the mind with anything so great as the oceanitself? This is owing to several causes; but it is owing to none morethan this, that the ocean is an object of no small terror. Indeed terroris in all cases whatsoever, either more openly or latently, the rulingprinciple of the sublime. Several languages bear a strong testimony tothe affinity of these ideas. They frequently use the same word tosignify indifferently the modes of astonishment or admiration and thoseof terror. [Greek: Thambos] is in Greek either fear or wonder; [Greek:deinos] is terrible or respectable; [Greek: ahideo], to reverence or tofear. _Vereor_ in Latin is what [Greek: ahideo] is in Greek. The Romansused the verb _stupeo_, a term which strongly marks the state of anastonished mind, to express the effect either of simple fear, or ofastonishment; the word _attonitus_ (thunderstruck) is equally expressiveof the alliance of these ideas; and do not the French _étonnement_, andthe English _astonishment_ and _amazement_, point out as clearly thekindred emotions which attend fear and wonder? They who have a moregeneral knowledge of languages, could produce, I make no doubt, manyother and equally striking examples. 

SECTION III. 

OBSCURITY. 

To make anything very terrible, obscurity[13] seems in general to benecessary. When we know the full extent of any danger, when we canaccustom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehension vanishes. Every one will be sensible of this, who considers how greatly night addsto our dread, in all cases of danger, and how much the notions of ghostsand goblins, of which none can form clear ideas, affect minds which givecredit to the popular tales concerning such sorts of beings. Thosedespotic governments which are founded on the passions of men, andprincipally upon the passion of fear, keep their chief as much as may befrom the public eye. The policy has been the same in many cases ofreligion. Almost all the heathen temples were dark. Even in thebarbarous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol ina dark part of the hut, which is consecrated to his worship. For thispurpose too the Druids performed all their ceremonies in the bosom ofthe darkest woods, and in the shade of the oldest and most spreadingoaks. No person seems better to have understood the secret ofheightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression, in their strongest light, by the force of a judicious obscurity thanMilton. His description of death in the second book is admirablystudied; it is astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with what asignificant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and coloring, he hasfinished the portrait of the king of terrors:

 "The other shape, If shape it might be called that shape had none Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb; Or substance might be called that shadow seemed; For each seemed either; black he stood as night; Fierce as ten furies; terrible as hell; And shook a deadly dart. What seemed his head The likeness of a kingly crown had on. "

In this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, terrible, andsublime to the last degree. 

SECTION IV. 

OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CLEARNESS AND OBSCURITY WITH REGARD TO THEPASSIONS. 

It is one thing to make an idea clear, and another to make it_affecting_ to the imagination. If I make a drawing of a palace, or atemple, or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of those objects;but then (allowing for the effect of imitation which is something) mypicture can at most affect only as the palace, temple, or landscape, would have affected in the reality. On the other hand, the most livelyand spirited verbal description I can give raises a very obscure andimperfect _idea_ of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise astronger _emotion_ by the description than I could do by the bestpainting. This experience constantly evinces. The proper manner ofconveying the _affections_ of the mind from one to another is by words;there is a great insufficiency in all other methods of communication;and so far is a clearness of imagery from being absolutely necessary toan influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operatedupon, without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted tothat purpose; of which we have a sufficient proof in the acknowledgedand powerful effects of instrumental music. In reality, a greatclearness helps but little towards affecting the passions, as it is insome sort an enemy to all enthusiasms whatsoever. 

SECTION [IV]. 

THE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED. 

There are two verses in Horace's Art of Poetry that seem to contradictthis opinion; for which reason I shall take a little more pains inclearing it up. The verses are, Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures, Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus. 

On this the Abbé du Bos founds a criticism, wherein he gives paintingthe preference to poetry in the article of moving the passions;principally on account of the greater _clearness_ of the ideas itrepresents. I believe this excellent judge was led into this mistake (ifit be a mistake) by his system; to which he found it more conformablethan I imagine it will be found to experience. I know several who admireand love painting, and yet who regard the objects of their admiration inthat art with coolness enough in comparison of that warmth with whichthey are animated by affecting pieces of poetry or rhetoric. Among thecommon sort of people, I never could perceive that painting had muchinfluence on their passions. It is true that the best sorts of painting, as well as the best sorts of poetry, are not much understood in thatsphere. But it is most certain that their passions are very stronglyroused by a fanatic preacher, or by the ballads of Chevy Chase, or theChildren in the Wood, and by other little popular poems and tales thatare current in that rank of life. I do not know of any paintings, bad orgood, that produce the same effect. So that poetry, with all itsobscurity, has a more general, as well as a more powerful dominion overthe passions, than the other art. And I think there are reasons innature, why the obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be moreaffecting than the clear. It is our ignorance of things that causes allour admiration, and chiefly excites our passions. Knowledge andacquaintance make the most striking causes affect but little. It is thuswith the vulgar; and all men are as the vulgar in what they do notunderstand. The ideas of eternity, and infinity, are among the mostaffecting we have: and yet perhaps there is nothing of which we reallyunderstand so little, as of infinity and eternity. We do not anywheremeet a more sublime description than this justly-celebrated one ofMilton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity sosuitable to the subject:

 "He above the rest In shape and gesture proudly eminent Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost All her original brightness, nor appeared Less than archangel ruined, and th' excess Of glory obscured: as when the sun new risen Looks through the horizontal misty air Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations; and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs. "

Here is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical pictureconsist? In images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising throughmists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs and the revolutions ofkingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itself, by a crowd of great andconfused images; which affect because they are crowded and confused. Forseparate them, and you lose much of the greatness; and join them, andyou infallibly lose the clearness. The images raised by poetry arealways of this obscure kind; though in general the effects of poetry areby no means to be attributed to the images it raises; which point weshall examine more at large hereafter. [14] But painting, when we haveallowed for the pleasure of imitation, can only affect simply by theimages it presents; and even in painting, a judicious obscurity in somethings contributes to the effect of the picture; because the images inpainting are exactly similar to those in nature; and in nature, dark, confused, uncertain images have a greater power on the fancy to form thegrander passions, than those have which are more clear and determinate. But where and when this observation may be applied to practice, and howfar it shall be extended, will be better deduced from the nature of thesubject, and from the occasion, than from any rules that can be given. 

I am sensible that this idea has met with opposition, and is likelystill to be rejected by several. But let it be considered that hardlyanything can strike the mind with its greatness, which does not makesome sort of approach towards infinity; which nothing can do whilst weare able to perceive its bounds; but to see an object distinctly, and toperceive its bounds, is one and the same thing. A clear idea istherefore another name for a little idea. There is a passage in the bookof Job amazingly sublime, and this sublimity is principally due to theterrible uncertainty of the thing described: _In thoughts from thevisions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, fear came uponme and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spiritpassed before my face. The hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still_, but I could not discern the form thereof; _an image was before mineeyes; there was silence; and I heard a voice, --Shall mortal man be morejust than God?_ We are first prepared with the utmost solemnity for thevision; we are first terrified, before we are let even into the obscurecause of our emotion: but when this grand cause of terror makes itsappearance, what is it? Is it not wrapt up in the shades of its ownincomprehensible darkness, more awful, more striking, more terrible, than the liveliest description, than the clearest painting, couldpossibly represent it? When painters have attempted to give us clearrepresentations of these very fanciful and terrible ideas, they have, Ithink, almost always failed; insomuch that I have been at a loss, in allthe pictures I have seen of hell, to determine whether the painter didnot intend something ludicrous. Several painters have handled a subjectof this kind, with a view of assembling as many horrid phantoms as theirimagination could suggest; but all the designs I have chanced to meet ofthe temptations of St. Anthony were rather a sort of odd, wildgrotesques, than any thing capable of producing a serious passion. Inall these subjects poetry is very happy. Its apparitions, its chimeras, its harpies, its allegorical figures, are grand and affecting; andthough Virgil's Fame and Homer's Discord are obscure, they aremagnificent figures. These figures in painting would be clear enough, but I fear they might become ridiculous. 

SECTION V. 

POWER. 

Besides those things which _directly_ suggest the idea of danger, andthose which produce a similar effect from a mechanical cause, I know ofnothing sublime, which is not some modification of power. And thisbranch rises, as naturally as the other two branches, from terror, thecommon stock of everything that is sublime. The idea of power, at firstview, seems of the class of those indifferent ones, which may equallybelong to pain or to pleasure. But in reality, the affection arisingfrom the idea of vast power is extremely remote from that neutralcharacter. For first, we must remember[15] that the idea of pain, in itshighest degree, is much stronger than the highest degree of pleasure;and that it preserves the same superiority through all the subordinategradations. From hence it is, that where the chances for equal degreesof suffering or enjoyment are in any sort equal, the idea of thesuffering must always be prevalent. And indeed the ideas of pain, and, above all, of death, are so very affecting, that whilst we remain in thepresence of whatever is supposed to have the power of inflicting either, it is impossible to be perfectly free from terror. Again, we know byexperience, that, for the enjoyment of pleasure, no great efforts ofpower are at all necessary; nay, we know that such efforts would go agreat way towards destroying our satisfaction: for pleasure must bestolen, and not forced upon us; pleasure follows the will; and thereforewe are generally affected with it by many things of a force greatlyinferior to our own. But pain is always inflicted by a power in some waysuperior, because we never submit to pain willingly. So that strength, violence, pain, and terror, are ideas that rush in upon the mindtogether. Look at a man, or any other animal of prodigious strength, andwhat is your idea before reflection? Is it that this strength will besubservient to you, to your ease, to your pleasure, to your interest inany sense? No; the emotion you feel is, lest this enormous strengthshould be employed to the purposes of[16] rapine and destruction. Thatpower derives all its sublimity from the terror with which it isgenerally accompanied, will appear evidently from its effect in the veryfew cases, in which it may be possible to strip a considerable degree ofstrength of its ability to hurt. When you do this, you spoil it ofeverything sublime, and it immediately becomes contemptible. An ox is acreature of vast strength; but he is an innocent creature, extremelyserviceable, and not at all dangerous; for which reason the idea of anox is by no means grand. A bull is strong too; but his strength is ofanother kind; often very destructive, seldom (at least amongst us) ofany use in our business; the idea of a bull is therefore great, and ithas frequently a place in sublime descriptions, and elevatingcomparisons. Let us look at another strong animal, in the two distinctlights in which we may consider him. The horse in the light of anuseful beast, fit for the plough, the road, the draft; in every socialuseful light, the horse has nothing sublime; but is it thus that we areaffected with him, _whose neck is clothed with thunder, the glory ofwhose nostrils is terrible, who swalloweth the ground with fiercenessand rage, neither believeth that it is the sound of the trumpet_? Inthis description, the useful character of the horse entirely disappears, and the terrible and sublime blaze out together. We have continuallyabout us animals of a strength that is considerable, but not pernicious. Amongst these we never look for the sublime; it comes upon us in thegloomy forest, and in the howling wilderness, in the form of the lion, the tiger, the panther, or rhinoceros. Whenever strength is only useful, and employed for our benefit or our pleasure, then it is never sublime;for nothing can act agreeably to us, that does not act in conformity toour will; but to act agreeably to our will, it must be subject to us, and therefore can never be the cause of a grand and commandingconception. The description of the wild ass, in Job, is worked up intono small sublimity, merely by insisting on his freedom, and his settingmankind at defiance; otherwise the description of such an animal couldhave had nothing noble in it. _Who hath loosed_ (says he) _the bands ofthe wild ass? whose house I have made the wilderness and the barren landhis dwellings. He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardethhe the voice of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture. _The magnificent description of the unicorn and of leviathan, in the samebook, is full of the same heightening circumstances: _Will the unicornbe willing to serve thee? canst thou bind the unicorn with his band inthe furrow? wilt thou trust him because his strength is great?--Canstthou draw out leviathan with an hook? will he make a covenant with thee?wilt thou take him for a servant forever? shall not one be cast downeven at the sight of him?_ In short, wheresoever we find strength, andin what light soever we look upon power, we shall all along observe thesublime the concomitant of terror, and contempt the attendant on astrength that is subservient and innoxious. The race of dogs, in many oftheir kinds, have generally a competent degree of strength andswiftness; and they exert these and other valuable qualities which theypossess, greatly to our convenience and pleasure. Dogs are indeed themost social, affectionate, and amiable animals of the whole brutecreation; but love approaches much nearer to contempt than is commonlyimagined; and accordingly, though we caress dogs, we borrow from them anappellation of the most despicable kind, when we employ terms ofreproach; and this appellation is the common mark of the last vilenessand contempt in every language. Wolves have not more strength thanseveral species of dogs; but, on account of their unmanageablefierceness, the idea of a wolf is not despicable; it is not excludedfrom grand descriptions and similitudes. Thus we are affected bystrength, which is _natural_ power. The power which arises frominstitution in kings and commanders, has the same connection withterror. Sovereigns are frequently addressed with the title of _dreadmajesty_. And it may be observed, that young persons, little acquaintedwith the world, and who have not been used to approach men in power, arecommonly struck with an awe which takes away the free use of theirfaculties. _When I prepared my seat in the street, _ (says Job, ) _theyoung men saw me, and hid themselves. _ Indeed so natural is thistimidity with regard to power, and so strongly does it inhere in ourconstitution, that very few are able to conquer it, but by mixing muchin the business of the great world, or by using no small violence totheir natural dispositions. I know some people are of opinion, that noawe, no degree of terror, accompanies the idea of power; and havehazarded to affirm, that we can contemplate the idea of God himselfwithout any such emotion. I purposely avoided, when I first consideredthis subject, to introduce the idea of that great and tremendous Being, as an example in an argument so light as this; though it frequentlyoccurred to me, not as an objection to, but as a strong confirmation of, my notions in this matter. I hope, in what I am going to say, I shallavoid presumption, where it is almost impossible for any mortal to speakwith strict propriety. I say then, that whilst we consider the Godheadmerely as he is an object of the understanding, which forms a complexidea of power, wisdom, justice, goodness, all stretched to a degree farexceeding the bounds of our comprehension, whilst we consider thedivinity in this refined and abstracted light, the imagination andpassions are little or nothing affected. But because we are bound, bythe condition of our nature, to ascend to these pure and intellectualideas, through the medium of sensible images, and to judge of thesedivine qualities by their evident acts and exertions, it becomesextremely hard to disentangle our idea of the cause from the effect bywhich we are led to know it. Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, hisattributes and their operation, coming united on the mind, form a sortof sensible image, and as such are capable of affecting theimagination. Now, though in a just idea of the Deity, perhaps none ofhis attributes are predominant, yet, to our imagination, his power is byfar the most striking. Some reflection, some comparing, is necessary tosatisfy us of his wisdom, his justice, and his goodness. To be struckwith his power, it is only necessary that we should open our eyes. Butwhilst we contemplate so vast an object, under the arm, as it were, ofalmighty power, and invested upon every side with omnipresence, weshrink into the minuteness of our own nature, and are, in a manner, annihilated before him. And though a consideration of his otherattributes may relieve, in some measure, our apprehensions; yet noconviction of the justice with which it is exercised, nor the mercy withwhich it is tempered, can wholly remove the terror that naturally arisesfrom a force which nothing can withstand. If we rejoice, we rejoice withtrembling; and even whilst we are receiving benefits, we cannot butshudder at a power which can confer benefits of such mighty importance. When the prophet David contemplated the wonders of wisdom and powerwhich are displayed in the economy of man, he seems to be struck with asort of divine horror, and cries out, _fearfully and wonderfully am Imade_! An heathen poet has a sentiment of a similar nature; Horace looksupon it as the last effort of philosophical fortitude, to behold withoutterror and amazement, this immense and glorious fabric of the universe:

 Hunc solem, et stellas, et decedentia certis Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla Imbuti spectent. 

Lucretius is a poet not to be suspected of giving way to superstitiousterrors; yet, when he supposes the whole mechanism of nature laid openby the master of his philosophy, his transport on this magnificent view, which he has represented in the colors of such bold and lively poetry, is overcast with a shade of secret dread and horror:

 His ibi me rebus quædam divina voluptas Percipit, atque horror; quod sic natura, tua vi Tam manifesta patens, ex omni parte retecta est. 

But the Scripture alone can supply ideas answerable to the majesty ofthis subject. In the Scripture, wherever God is represented as appearingor speaking, everything terrible in nature is called up to heighten theawe and solemnity of the Divine presence. The Psalms, and theprophetical books, are crowded with instances of this kind. _The earthshook, _ (says the Psalmist, ) _the heavens also dropped at the presenceof the Lord. _ And what is remarkable, the painting preserves the samecharacter, not only when he is supposed descending to take vengeanceupon the wicked, but even when he exerts the like plenitude of power inacts of beneficence to mankind. _Tremble, thou earth! at the presence ofthe Lord; at the presence of the God of Jacob; which turned the rockinto standing water, the flint into a fountain of waters!_ It wereendless to enumerate all the passages, both in the sacred and profanewriters, which establish the general sentiment of mankind, concerningthe inseparable union of a sacred and reverential awe, with our ideas ofthe divinity. Hence the common maxim, _Primus in orbe deos fecit timor_. This maxim may be, as I believe it is, false with regard to the originof religion. The maker of the maxim saw how inseparable these ideaswere, without considering that the notion of some great power must bealways precedent to our dread of it. But this dread must necessarilyfollow the idea of such a power, when it is once excited in the mind. Itis on this principle that true religion has, and must have, so large amixture of salutary fear; and that false religions have generallynothing else but fear to support them. Before the Christian religionhad, as it were, humanized the idea of the Divinity, and brought itsomewhat nearer to us, there was very little said of the love of God. The followers of Plato have something of it, and only something; theother writers of pagan antiquity, whether poets or philosophers, nothingat all. And they who consider with what infinite attention, by what adisregard of every perishable object, through what long habits of pietyand contemplation it is that any man is able to attain an entire loveand devotion to the Deity, will easily perceive that it is not thefirst, the most natural, and the most striking effect which proceedsfrom that idea. Thus we have traced power through its several gradationsunto the highest of all, where our imagination is finally lost; and wefind terror, quite throughout the progress, its inseparable companion, and growing along with it, as far as we can possibly trace them. Now, aspower is undoubtedly a capital source of the sublime, this will pointout evidently from whence its energy is derived, and to what class ofideas we ought to unite it. 

SECTION VI. 

PRIVATION. 

ALL _general_ privations are great, because they are all terrible;_vacuity_, _darkness_, _solitude_, and _silence_. With what a fire ofimagination, yet with what severity of judgment, has Virgil amassed allthese circumstances, where he knows that all the images of a tremendousdignity ought to be united at the mouth of hell! Where, before heunlocks the secrets of the great deep, he seems to be seized with areligious horror, and to retire astonished at the boldness of his owndesign:

 Dii, quibus imperium est animarum, umbræque _silentes_! Et Chaos, et Phlegethon! loca _nocte silentia_ late! Sit mihi fas audita loqui! sit numine vestro Pandere res alta terra et _caligine_ mersas! Ibant _obscuri_, _sola_ sub _nocte_, per _umbram_, Perque domos Ditis _vacuas_, et _inania_ regus. 

 "Ye subterraneous gods! whose awful sway The gliding ghosts, and _silent_ shades obey: O Chaos hoar! and Phlegethon profound! Whose solemn empire stretches wide around; Give me, ye great, tremendous powers, to tell Of scenes and wonders in the depth of hell; Give me your mighty secrets to display From those _black_ realms of darkness to the day. "

 PITT. 

 "_Obscure_ they went through dreary _shades_ that led Along the _waste_ dominions of the _dead_. "

 DRYDEN. 

SECTION VII. 

VASTNESS. 

Greatness[17] of dimension is a powerful cause of the sublime. This istoo evident, and the observation too common, to need any illustration;it is not so common to consider in what ways greatness of dimension, vastness of extent or quantity, has the most striking effect. For, certainly, there are ways and modes wherein the same quantity ofextension shall produce greater effects than it is found to do inothers. Extension is either in length, height, or depth. Of these thelength strikes least; a hundred yards of even ground will never worksuch an effect as a tower a hundred yards high, or a rock or mountain ofthat altitude. I am apt to imagine, likewise, that height is less grandthan depth; and that we are more struck at looking down from aprecipice, than looking up at an object of equal height; but of that Iam not very positive. A perpendicular has more force in forming thesublime, than an inclined plane, and the effects of a rugged and brokensurface seem stronger than where it is smooth and polished. It wouldcarry us out of our way to enter in this place into the cause of theseappearances, but certain it is they afford a large and fruitful field ofspeculation. However, it may not be amiss to add to these remarks uponmagnitude, that as the great extreme of dimension is sublime, so thelast extreme of littleness is in some measure sublime likewise; when weattend to the infinite divisibility of matter, when we pursue animallife into these excessively small, and yet organized beings, thatescape the nicest inquisition of the sense; when we push our discoveriesyet downward, and consider those creatures so many degrees yet smaller, and the still diminishing scale of existence, in tracing which theimagination is lost as well as the sense; we become amazed andconfounded at the wonders of minuteness; nor can we distinguish in itseffect this extreme of littleness from the vast itself. For divisionmust be infinite as well as addition; because the idea of a perfectunity can no more be arrived at, than that of a complete whole, to whichnothing may be added. 

SECTION VIII. 

INFINITY. 

Another source of the sublime is _infinity_; if it does not ratherbelong to the last. Infinity has a tendency to fill the mind with thatsort of delightful horror, which is the most genuine effect, and truesttest of the sublime. There are scarce any things which can become theobjects of our senses, that are really and in their own nature infinite. But the eye not being able to perceive the bounds of many things, theyseem to be infinite, and they produce the same effects as if they werereally so. We are deceived in the like manner, if the parts of somelarge object are so continued to any indefinite number, that theimagination meets no check which may hinder its extending them atpleasure. 

Whenever we repeat any idea frequently, the mind, by a sort ofmechanism, repeats it long after the first cause has ceased tooperate. [18] After whirling about, when we sit down, the objects aboutus still seem to whirl. After a long succession of noises, as the fallof waters, or the beating of forge-hammers, the hammers beat and thewaters roar in the imagination long after the first sounds have ceasedto affect it; and they die away at last by gradations which are scarcelyperceptible. If you hold up a straight pole, with your eye to one end, it will seem extended to a length almost incredible. [19] Place a numberof uniform and equi-distant marks on this pole, they will cause the samedeception, and seem multiplied without end. The senses, stronglyaffected in some one manner, cannot quickly change their tenor, or adaptthemselves to other things; but they continue in their old channel untilthe strength of the first mover decays. This is the reason of anappearance very frequent in madmen; that they remain whole days andnights, sometimes whole years, in the constant repetition of someremark, some complaint, or song; which having struck powerfully on theirdisordered imagination, in the beginning of their frenzy, everyrepetition reinforces it with new strength, and the hurry of theirspirits, unrestrained by the curb of reason, continues it to the end oftheir lives. 

SECTION IX. 

SUCCESSION AND UNIFORMITY. 

Succession and _uniformity_ of parts are what constitute the artificialinfinite. 1. _Succession_; which is requisite that the parts may becontinued so long and in such a direction, as by their frequent impulseson the sense to impress the imagination with an idea of their progressbeyond their actual limits. 2. _Uniformity_; because, if the figures ofthe parts should be changed, the imagination at every change finds acheck; you are presented at every alteration with the termination of oneidea, and the beginning of another; by which means it becomes impossibleto continue that uninterrupted progression, which alone can stamp onbounded objects the character of infinity. It is in this kind ofartificial infinity, I believe, we ought to look for the cause why arotund has such a noble effect. [20] For in a rotund, whether it be abuilding or a plantation, you can nowhere fix a boundary; turn which wayyou will, the same object still seems to continue, and the imaginationhas no rest. But the parts must be uniform, as well as circularlydisposed, to give this figure its full force; because any difference, whether it be in the disposition, or in the figure, or even in the colorof the parts, is highly prejudicial to the idea of infinity, which everychange must check and interrupt, at every alteration commencing a newseries. On the same principles of succession and uniformity, the grandappearance of the ancient heathen temples, which were generally oblongforms, with a range of uniform pillars on every side, will be easilyaccounted for. From the same cause also may be derived the grand effectof the aisles in many of our own old cathedrals. The form of a crossused in some churches seems to me not so eligible as the parallelogramof the ancients; at least, I imagine it is not so proper for theoutside. For, supposing the arms of the cross every way equal, if youstand in a direction parallel to any of the side walls, or colonnades, instead of a deception that makes the building more extended than it is, you are cut off from a considerable part (two thirds) of its _actual_length; and, to prevent all possibility of progression, the arms of thecross taking a new direction, make a right angle with the beam, andthereby wholly turn the imagination from the repetition of the formeridea. Or suppose the spectator placed where he may take a direct view ofsuch a building, what will be the consequence? the necessary consequencewill be, that a good part of the basis of each angle formed by theintersection of the arms of the cross, must be inevitably lost; thewhole must of course assume a broken, unconnected figure; the lightsmust be unequal, here strong, and there weak; without that noblegradation which the perspective always effects on parts disposeduninterruptedly in a right line. Some or all of these objections willlie against every figure of a cross, in whatever view you take it. Iexemplified them in the Greek cross, in which these faults appear themost strongly; but they appear in some degree in all sorts of crosses. Indeed, there is nothing more prejudicial to the grandeur of buildingsthan to abound in angles; a fault obvious in many; and owing to aninordinate thirst for variety, which, whenever it prevails, is sure toleave very little true taste. 

SECTION X. 

MAGNITUDE IN BUILDING. 

To the sublime in building, greatness of dimension seems requisite; foron a few parts, and those small, the imagination cannot rise to any ideaof infinity. No greatness in the manner can effectually compensate forthe want of proper dimensions. There is no danger of drawing men intoextravagant designs by this rule; it carries its own caution along withit. Because too great a length in buildings destroys the purpose ofgreatness, which it was intended to promote; the perspective will lessenit in height as it gains in length; and will bring it at last to apoint; turning the whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poorest inits effect of almost any figure that can be presented to the eye. I haveever observed, that colonnades and avenues of trees of a moderate lengthwere, without comparison, far grander than when they were suffered torun to immense distances. A true artist should put a generous deceit onthe spectators, and effect the noblest designs by easy methods. Designsthat are vast only by their dimensions are always the sign of a commonand low imagination. No work of art can be great, but as it deceives; tobe otherwise is the prerogative of nature only. A good eye will fix themedium betwixt an excessive length or height (for the same objectionlies against both), and a short or broken quantity: and perhaps it mightbe ascertained to a tolerable degree of exactness, if it was my purposeto descend far into the particulars of any art. 

SECTION XI. 

INFINITY IN PLEASING OBJECTS. 

Infinity, though of another kind, causes much of our pleasure inagreeable, as well as of our delight in sublime images. The spring isthe pleasantest of the seasons; and the young of most animals, thoughfar from being completely fashioned, afford a more agreeable sensationthan the full-grown; because the imagination is entertained with thepromise of something more, and does not acquiesce in the present objectof the sense. In unfinished sketches of drawing, I have often seensomething which pleased me beyond the best finishing; and this I believeproceeds from the cause I have just now assigned. 

SECTION XII. 

DIFFICULTY. 

Another source of greatness is _difficulty_. [21] When any work seems tohave required immense force and labor to effect it, the idea is grand. Stonehenge, neither for disposition nor ornament, has anythingadmirable; but those huge rude masses of stone, set on end, and piledeach on other, turn the mind on the immense force necessary for such awork. Nay, the rudeness of the work increases this cause of grandeur, asit excludes the idea of art and contrivance; for dexterity producesanother sort of effect, which is different enough from this. 

SECTION XIII. 

MAGNIFICENCE. 

Magnificence is likewise a source of the sublime. A great profusion ofthings, which are splendid or valuable in themselves, is _magnificent_. The starry heaven, though it occurs so very frequently to our view neverfails to excite an idea of grandeur. This cannot be owing to the starsthemselves, separately considered. The number is certainly the cause. The apparent disorder augments the grandeur, for the appearance of careis highly contrary to our ideas of magnificence. Besides, the stars liein such apparent confusion, as makes it impossible on ordinary occasionsto reckon them. This gives them the advantage of a sort of infinity. Inworks of art, this kind of grandeur which consists in multitude, is tobe very cautiously admitted; because a profusion of excellent things isnot to be attained, or with too much difficulty; and because in manycases this splendid confusion would destroy all use, which should beattended to in most of the works of art with the greatest care; besides, it is to be considered, that unless you can produce an appearance ofinfinity by your disorder, you will have disorder only withoutmagnificence. There are, however, a sort of fireworks, and some otherthings, that in this way succeed well, and are truly grand. There arealso many descriptions in the poets and orators, which owe theirsublimity to a richness and profusion of images, in which the mind is sodazzled as to make it impossible to attend to that exact coherence andagreement of the allusions, which we should require on every otheroccasion. I do not now remember a more striking example of this, thanthe description which is given of the king's army in the play of HenryIV. :--

 "All furnished, all in arms, All plumed like ostriches that with the wind Baited like eagles having lately bathed: As full of spirit us the month of May, And gorgeous as the sun in midsummer, Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls. I saw young Harry with his beaver on Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury; And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropped down from the clouds To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus. "

In that excellent book, so remarkable for the vivacity of itsdescriptions, as well as the solidity and penetration of its sentences, the Wisdom of the Son of Sirach, there is a noble panegyric on thehigh-priest Simon the son of Onias; and it is a very fine example of thepoint before us:--

 _How was he honored in the midst of the people, in his coming out of the sanctuary! He was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud, and as the moon at the full; as the sun shining upon the temple of the Most High, and as the rainbow giving light in the bright clouds: and as the flower of roses in the spring of the year, as lilies by the rivers of waters, and as the frankincense-tree in summer; as fire and incense in the censer, and as a vessel of gold set with precious stones; as a fair olive-tree budding forth fruit, and as a cypress which groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the robe of honor, and was clothed with the perfection of glory, when he went up to the holy altar, he made the garment of holiness honorable. He himself stood by the hearth of the altar, compassed with his brethren round about; as a young cedar in Libanus, and as palm-trees compassed they him about. So were all the sons of Aaron in their glory, and the oblations of the Lord in their hands, &c. _

SECTION XIV. 

LIGHT. 

Having considered extension, so far as it is capable of raising ideas ofgreatness; _color_ comes next under consideration. All colors depend on_light_. Light therefore ought previously to be examined; and with itits opposite, darkness. With regard to light, to make it a cause capableof producing the sublime, it must be attended with some circumstances, besides its bare faculty of showing other objects. Mere light is toocommon a thing to make a strong impression on the mind, and without astrong impression nothing can be sublime. But such a light as that ofthe sun, immediately exerted on the eye, as it overpowers the sense, isa very great idea. Light of an inferior strength to this, if it moveswith great celerity, has the same power; for lightning is certainlyproductive of grandeur, which it owes chiefly to the extreme velocity ofits motion. A quick transition from light to darkness, or from darknessto light, has yet a greater effect. But darkness is more productive ofsublime ideas than light. Our great poet was convinced of this; andindeed so full was he of this idea, so entirely possessed with the powerof a well-managed darkness, that in describing the appearance of theDeity, amidst that profusion of magnificent images, which the grandeurof his subject provokes him to pour out upon every side, he is far fromforgetting the obscurity which surrounds the most incomprehensible ofall beings, but

 "With majesty of _darkness_ round Circles his throne. "

And what is no less remarkable, our author had the secret of preservingthis idea, even when he seemed to depart the farthest from it, when hedescribes the light and glory which flows from the Divine presence; alight which by its very excess is converted into a species ofdarkness:--

 "_Dark_ with excessive _light_ thy skirts appear. "

Here is an idea not only poetical in a high degree, but strictly andphilosophically just. Extreme light, by overcoming the organs of sight, obliterates all objects, so as in its effect exactly to resembledarkness. After looking for some time at the sun, two black spots, theimpression which it leaves, seem to dance before our eyes. Thus are twoideas as opposite as can be imagined reconciled in the extremes of both;and both, in spite of their opposite nature, brought to concur inproducing the sublime. And this is not the only instance wherein theopposite extremes operate equally in favor of the sublime, which in allthings abhors mediocrity. 

SECTION XV. 

LIGHT IN BUILDING. 

As the management of light is a matter of importance in architecture, itis worth inquiring, how far this remark is applicable to building. Ithink, then, that all edifices calculated to produce an idea of thesublime, ought rather to be dark and gloomy, and this for two reasons;the first is, that darkness itself on other occasions is known byexperience to have a greater effect on the passions than light. Thesecond is, that to make an object very striking, we should make it asdifferent as possible from the objects with which we have beenimmediately conversant; when therefore you enter a building, you cannotpass into a greater light than you had in the open air; to go into onesome few degrees less luminous, can make only a trifling change; but tomake the transition thoroughly striking, you ought to pass from thegreatest light, to as much darkness as is consistent with the uses ofarchitecture. At night the contrary rule will hold, but for the verysame reason; and the more highly a room is then illuminated, the granderwill the passion be. 

SECTION XVI. 

COLOR CONSIDERED AS PRODUCTIVE OF THE SUBLIME. 

Among colors, such as are soft or cheerful (except perhaps a strong red, which is cheerful) are unfit to produce grand images. An immensemountain covered with a shining green turf, is nothing, in this respect, to one dark and gloomy; the cloudy sky is more grand than the blue; andnight more sublime and solemn than day. Therefore in historicalpainting, a gay or gaudy drapery can never have a happy effect: and inbuildings, when the highest degree of the sublime is intended, thematerials and ornaments ought neither to be white, nor green, noryellow, nor blue, nor of a pale red, nor violet, nor spotted, but ofsad and fuscous colors, as black, or brown, or deep purple, and thelike. Much of gilding, mosaics, painting, or statues, contribute butlittle to the sublime. This rule need not be put in practice, exceptwhere an uniform degree of the most striking sublimity is to beproduced, and that in every particular; for it ought to be observed, that this melancholy kind of greatness, though it be certainly thehighest, ought not to be studied in all sorts of edifices, where yetgrandeur must be studied; in such cases the sublimity must be drawn fromthe other sources; with a strict caution however against anything lightand riant; as nothing so effectually deadens the whole taste of thesublime. 

SECTION XVII. 

SOUND AND LOUDNESS. 

The eye is not the only organ of sensation by which a sublime passionmay be produced. Sounds have a great power in these as in most otherpassions. I do not mean words, because words do not affect simply bytheir sounds, but by means altogether different. Excessive loudnessalone is sufficient to overpower the soul, to suspend its action, and tofill it with terror. The noise of vast cataracts, raging storms, thunder, or artillery, awakes a great and awful sensation in the mind, though we can observe no nicety or artifice in those sorts of music. Theshouting of multitudes has a similar effect; and by the sole strength ofthe sound, so amazes and confounds the imagination, that, in thisstaggering and hurry of the mind, the best established tempers canscarcely forbear being borne down, and joining in the common cry, andcommon resolution of the crowd. 

SECTION XVIII. 

SUDDENNESS. 

A sudden beginning, or sudden cessation of sound of any considerableforce, has the same power. The attention is roused by this; and thefaculties driven forward, as it were, on their guard. Whatever, eitherin sights or sounds, makes the transition from one extreme to the othereasy, causes no terror, and consequently can be no cause of greatness. In everything sudden and unexpected, we are apt to start; that is, wehave a perception of danger, and our nature rouses us to guard againstit. It may be observed that a single sound of some strength, though butof short duration, if repeated after intervals, has a grand effect. Fewthings are more awful than the striking of a great clock, when thesilence of the night prevents the attention from being too muchdissipated. The same may be said of a single stroke on a drum, repeatedwith pauses; and of the successive firing of cannon at a distance. Allthe effects mentioned in this section have causes very nearly alike. 

SECTION XIX. 

INTERMITTING. 

A low, tremulous, intermitting sound, though it seems, in some respects, opposite to that just mentioned, is productive of the sublime. It isworth while to examine this a little. The fact itself must be determinedby every man's own experience and reflection. I have already observed, that night[22] increases our terror, more perhaps than anything else; itis our nature, when we do not know what may happen to us, to fear theworst that can happen; and hence it is that uncertainty is so terrible, that we often seek to be rid of it, at the hazard of a certain mischief. Now some low, confused, uncertain sounds, leave us in the same fearfulanxiety concerning their causes, that no light, or an uncertain light, does concerning the objects that surround us. 

 Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna Est iter in sylvis. 

 "A faint shadow of uncertain light, Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away; Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night Doth show to him who walks in fear and great affright. "

 SPENSER. 

But light now appearing, and now leaving us, and so off and on, is evenmore terrible than total darkness; and a sort of uncertain sounds are, when the necessary dispositions concur, more alarming than a totalsilence. 

SECTION XX. 

THE CRIES OF ANIMALS. 

Such sounds as imitate the natural inarticulate voices of men, or anyanimals in pain or danger, are capable of conveying great ideas; unlessit be the well-known voice of some creature, on which we are used tolook with contempt. The angry tones of wild beasts are equally capableof causing a great and awful sensation. 

 Hinc exaudiri gemitus, iræque leonum Vincia recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum; Setigerique sues, atque in præsepibus ursi Sævire; et formæ magnorum ululare luporam. 

It might seem that those modulations of sound carry some connection withthe nature of the things they represent, and are not merely arbitrary;because the natural cries of all animals, even of those animals withwhom we have not been acquainted, never fail to make themselvessufficiently understood; this cannot be said of language. Themodifications of sound, which may be productive of the sublime, arealmost infinite. Those I have mentioned are only a few instances to showon what principles they are all built. 

SECTION XXI. 

SMELL AND TASTE. --BITTERS AND STENCHES. 

_Smells_ and _tastes_ have some share too in ideas of greatness; but itis a small one, weak in its nature, and confined in its operations. Ishall only observe that no smells or tastes can produce a grandsensation, except excessive bitters, and intolerable stenches. It istrue that these affections of the smell and taste, when they are intheir full force, and lean directly upon the sensory, are simplypainful, and accompanied with no sort of delight; but when they aremoderated, as in a description or narrative, they become sources of thesublime, as genuine as any other, and upon the very same principle of amoderated pain. "A cup of bitterness"; "to drain the bitter cup offortune"; "the bitter apples of Sodom"; these are all ideas suitable toa sublime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil without sublimity, where the stench of the vapor in Albunea conspires so happily with thesacred horror and gloominess of that prophetic forest:

 At rex sollicitus monstris oracula Fauni Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta Consulit Albunea, nemorum quæ maxima sacro Fonte sonat; _sævamque exhalat opaca Mephitim_. 

In the sixth book, and in a very sublime description, the poisonousexhalation of Acheron is not forgotten, nor does it at all disagree withthe other images amongst which it is introduced:

 Spelunca _alta_ fuit, _vastoque immanis_ hiatu Scrupea, tuta _lacu nigro_, nemorumque _tenebris_; Quam super haud ullæ poterant impune volantes Tendere iter pennis: _talis sese halitus atris_ _Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat_. 

I have added these examples, because some friends, for whose judgment Ihave great deference, were of opinion that if the sentiment stoodnakedly by itself, it would be subject, at first view, to burlesque andridicule; but this I imagine would principally arise from consideringthe bitterness and stench in company with mean and contemptible ideas, with which it must be owned they are often united; such an uniondegrades the sublime in all other instances as well as in those. But itis one of the tests by which the sublimity of an image is to be tried, not whether it becomes mean when associated with mean ideas; butwhether, when united with images of an allowed grandeur, the wholecomposition is supported with dignity. Things which are terrible arealways great; but when things possess disagreeable qualities, or suchas have indeed some degree of danger, but of a danger easily overcome, they are merely _odious_; as toads and spiders. 

SECTION XXII. 

FEELING. --PAIN. 

Of _feeling_ little more can be said than that the idea of bodily pain, in all the modes and degrees of labor, pain, anguish, torment, isproductive of the sublime; and nothing else in this sense can produceit. I need not give here any fresh instances, as those given in theformer sections abundantly illustrate a remark that, in reality, wantsonly an attention to nature, to be made by everybody. 

Having thus run through the causes of the sublime with reference to allthe senses, my first observation (Sect. 7) will be found very nearlytrue; that the sublime is an idea belonging to self-preservation; thatit is, therefore, one of the most affecting we have; that its strongestemotion is an emotion of distress; and that no pleasure[23] from apositive cause belongs to it. Numberless examples, besides thosementioned, might be brought in support of these truths, and many perhapsuseful consequences drawn from them--

 Sed fugit interea, fugit irrevocabile tempus, Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore. 

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Part I. Sect. 3, 4, 7. 

[12] Part IV. Sect. 3, 4, 5, 6. 

[13] Part IV. Sect. 14, 15, 16. 

[14] Part V. 

[15] Part I. Sect. 7. 

[16] Vide Part III. Sect. 21. 

[17] Part IV. Sect. 9. 

[18] Part IV. Sect. 11. 

[19] Part IV. Sect. 13. 

[20] Mr. Addison, in the Spectators concerning the pleasures of theimagination, thinks it is because in the rotund at one glance you seehalf the building. This I do not imagine to be the real cause. 

[21] Part IV. Sect. 4, 5, 6. 

[22] Sect. 3. 

[23] Vide Part I. Sect. 6. 

PART III. 

SECTION I. 

OF BEAUTY. 

It is my design to consider beauty as distinguished from the sublime;and, in the course of the inquiry, to examine how far it is consistentwith it. But previous to this, we must take a short review of theopinions already entertained of this quality; which I think are hardlyto be reduced to any fixed principles; because men are used to talk ofbeauty in a figurative manner, that is to say, in a manner extremelyuncertain, and indeterminate. By beauty, I mean that quality, or thosequalities in bodies, by which they cause love, or some passion similarto it. I confine this definition to the merely sensible qualities ofthings, for the sake of preserving the utmost simplicity in a subject, which must always distract us whenever we take in those various causesof sympathy which attach us to any persons or things from secondaryconsiderations, and not from the direct force which they have merely onbeing viewed. I likewise distinguish love, (by which I mean thatsatisfaction which arises to the mind upon contemplating anythingbeautiful, of whatsoever nature it may be, ) from desire or lust; whichis an energy of the mind, that hurries us on to the possession ofcertain objects, that do not affect us as they are beautiful, but bymeans altogether different. We shall have a strong desire for a woman ofno remarkable beauty; whilst the greatest beauty in men, or in otheranimals, though it causes love, yet excites nothing at all of desire. Which shows that beauty, and the passion caused by beauty, which I calllove, is different from desire, though desire may sometimes operatealong with it; but it is to this latter that we must attribute thoseviolent and tempestuous passions, and the consequent emotions of thebody which attend what is called love in some of its ordinaryacceptations, and not to the effects of beauty merely as it is such. 

SECTION II. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN VEGETABLES. 

Beauty hath usually been said to consist in certain proportions ofparts. On considering the matter, I have great reason to doubt, whetherbeauty be at all an idea belonging to proportion. Proportion relatesalmost wholly to convenience, as every idea of order seems to do; and itmust therefore be considered as a creature of the understanding, ratherthan a primary cause acting on the senses and imagination. It is not bythe force of long attention and inquiry that we find any object to bebeautiful; beauty demands no assistance from our reasoning; even thewill is unconcerned; the appearance of beauty as effectually causes somedegree of love in us, as the application of ice or fire produces theideas of heat or cold. To gain something like a satisfactory conclusionin this point, it were well to examine what proportion is; since severalwho make use of that word do not always seem to understand very clearlythe force of the term, nor to have very distinct ideas concerning thething itself. Proportion is the measure of relative quantity. Since allquantity is divisible, it is evident that every distinct part into whichany quantity is divided must bear some relation to the other parts, orto the whole. These relations give an origin to the idea of proportion. They are discovered by mensuration, and they are the objects ofmathematical inquiry. But whether any part of any determinate quantitybe a fourth, or a fifth, or a sixth, or a moiety of the whole; orwhether it be of equal length with any other part, or double its length, or but one half, is a matter merely indifferent to the mind; it standsneuter in the question: and it is from this absolute indifference andtranquillity of the mind, that mathematical speculations derive some oftheir most considerable advantages; because there is nothing to interestthe imagination; because the judgment sits free and unbiassed to examinethe point. All proportions, every arrangement of quantity, is alike tothe understanding, because the same truths result to it from all; fromgreater, from lesser, from equality and inequality. But surely beauty isno idea belonging to mensuration; nor has it anything to do withcalculation and geometry. If it had, we might then point out somecertain measures which we could demonstrate to be beautiful, either assimply considered, or as related to others; and we could call in thosenatural objects, for whose beauty we have no voucher but the sense, tothis happy standard, and confirm the voice of our passions by thedetermination of our reason. But since we have not this help, let us seewhether proportion can in any sense be considered as the cause ofbeauty, as hath been so generally, and, by some, so confidentlyaffirmed. If proportion be one of the constituents of beauty, it mustderive that power either from some natural properties inherent incertain measures, which operate mechanically; from the operation ofcustom; or from the fitness which some measures have to answer someparticular ends of conveniency. Our business therefore is to inquire, whether the parts of those objects, which are found beautiful in thevegetable or animal kingdoms, are constantly so formed according to suchcertain measures, as may serve to satisfy us that their beauty resultsfrom those measures, on the principle of a natural mechanical cause; orfrom custom; or, in fine, from their fitness for any determinatepurposes. I intend to examine this point under each of these heads intheir order. But before I proceed further, I hope it will not be thoughtamiss, if I lay down the rules which governed me in this inquiry, andwhich have misled me in it, if I have gone astray. 1. If two bodiesproduce the same or a similar effect on the mind, and on examinationthey are found to agree in some of their properties, and to differ inothers; the common effect is to be attributed to the properties in whichthey agree, and not to those in which they differ. 2. Not to account forthe effect of a natural object from the effect of an artificial object. 3. Not to account for the effect of any natural object from a conclusionof our reason concerning its uses, if a natural cause may be assigned. 4. Not to admit any determinate quantity, or any relation of quantity, as the cause of a certain effect, if the effect is produced by differentor opposite measures and relations; or if these measures and relationsmay exist, and yet the effect may not be produced. These are the ruleswhich I have chiefly followed, whilst I examined into the power ofproportion considered as a natural cause; and these, if he thinks themjust, I request the reader to carry with him throughout the followingdiscussion; whilst we inquire, in the first place, in what things wefind this quality of beauty; next, to see whether in these we can findany assignable proportions in such a manner as ought to convince us thatour idea of beauty results from them. We shall consider this pleasingpower as it appears in vegetables, in the inferior animals, and in man. Turning our eyes to the vegetable creation, we find nothing there sobeautiful as flowers; but flowers are almost of every sort of shape, andof every sort of disposition; they are turned and fashioned into aninfinite variety of forms; and from these forms botanists have giventhem their names, which are almost as various. What proportion do wediscover between the stalks and the leaves of flowers, or between theleaves and the pistils? How does the slender stalk of the rose agreewith the bulky head under which it bends? but the rose is a beautifulflower; and can we undertake to say that it does not owe a great deal ofits beauty even to that disproportion; the rose is a large flower, yetit grows upon a small shrub; the flower of the apple is very small, andgrows upon a large tree; yet the rose and the apple blossom are bothbeautiful, and the plants that bear them are most engagingly attired, notwithstanding this disproportion. What by general consent is allowedto be a more beautiful object than an orange-tree, nourishing at oncewith its leaves, its blossoms, and its fruit? but it is in vain that wesearch here for any proportion between the height, the breadth, oranything else concerning the dimensions of the whole, or concerning therelation of the particular parts to each other. I grant that we mayobserve in many flowers something of a regular figure, and of amethodical disposition of the leaves. The rose has such a figure andsuch a disposition of its petals; but in an oblique view, when thisfigure is in a good measure lost, and the order of the leavesconfounded, it yet retains its beauty; the rose is even more beautifulbefore it is full blown; in the bud; before this exact figure is formed;and this is not the only instance wherein method and exactness, the soulof proportion, are found rather prejudicial than serviceable to thecause of beauty. 

SECTION III. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN ANIMALS. 

That proportion has but a small share in the formation of beauty is fullas evident among animals. Here the greatest variety of shapes anddispositions of parts are well fitted to excite this idea. The swan, confessedly a beautiful bird, has a neck longer than the rest of hisbody, and but a very short tail: is this a beautiful proportion? We mustallow that it is. But then what shall we say to the peacock, who hascomparatively but a short neck, with a tail longer than the neck and therest of the body taken together? How many birds are there that varyinfinitely from each of these standards, and from every other which youcan fix; with proportions different, and often directly opposite to eachother! and yet many of these birds are extremely beautiful; when uponconsidering them we find nothing in any one part that might determineus, _à priori_, to say what the others ought to be, nor indeed to guessanything about them, but what experience might show to be full ofdisappointment and mistake. And with regard to the colors either ofbirds or flowers, for there is something similar in the coloring ofboth, whether they are considered in their extension or gradation, thereis nothing of proportion to be observed. Some are of but one singlecolor; others have all the colors of the rainbow; some are of theprimary colors, others are of the mixed; in short, an attentive observermay soon conclude that there is as little of proportion in the coloringas in the shapes of these objects. Turn next to beasts; examine the headof a beautiful horse; find what proportion that bears to his body, andto his limbs, and what relation these have to each other; and when youhave settled these proportions as a standard of beauty, then take a dogor cat, or any other animal, and examine how far the same proportionsbetween their heads and their necks, between those and the body, and soon, are found to hold; I think we may safely say, that they differ inevery species, yet that there are individuals, found in a great manyspecies so differing, that have a very striking beauty. Now, if it beallowed that very different, and even contrary forms and dispositionsare consistent with beauty, it amounts I believe to a concession, thatno certain measures, operating from a natural principle, are necessaryto produce it; at least so far as the brute species is concerned. 

SECTION IV. 

PROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN THE HUMAN SPECIES. 

There are some parts of the human body that are observed to hold certainproportions to each other; but before it can be proved that theefficient cause of beauty lies in these, it must be shown that, whereverthese are found exact, the person to whom they belong is beautiful: Imean in the effect produced on the view, either of any member distinctlyconsidered, or of the whole body together. It must be likewise shown, that these parts stand in such a relation to each other, that thecomparison between them may be easily made, and that the affection ofthe mind may naturally result from it. For my part, I have at severaltimes very carefully examined many of those proportions, and found themhold very nearly, or altogether alike in many subjects, which were notonly very different from one another, but where one has been verybeautiful, and the other very remote from beauty. With regard to theparts which are found so proportioned, they are often so remote fromeach other, in situation, nature, and office, that I cannot see how theyadmit of any comparison, nor consequently how any effect owing toproportion can result from them. The neck, say they, in beautifulbodies, should measure with the calf of the leg; it should likewise betwice the circumference of the wrist. And an infinity of observations ofthis kind are to be found in the writings and conversations of many. Butwhat relation has the calf of the leg to the neck; or either of theseparts to the wrist? These proportions are certainly to be found inhandsome bodies. They are as certainly in ugly ones; as any who willtake the pains to try may find. Nay, I do not know but they may be leastperfect in some of the most beautiful. You may assign any proportionsyou please to every part of the human body; and I undertake that apainter shall religiously observe them all, and notwithstanding produce, if he pleases, a very ugly figure. The same painter shall considerablydeviate from these proportions, and produce a very beautiful one. And, indeed, it may be observed in the masterpieces of the ancient and modernstatuary, that several of them differ very widely from the proportionsof others, in parts very conspicuous and of great consideration; andthat they differ no less from the proportions we find in living men, offorms extremely striking and agreeable. And after all, how are thepartisans of proportional beauty agreed amongst themselves about theproportions of the human body? Some hold it to be seven heads; some makeit eight; whilst others extend it even to ten: a vast difference in sucha small number of divisions! Others take other methods of estimating theproportions, and all with equal success. But are these proportionsexactly the same in all handsome men? or are they at all the proportionsfound in beautiful women? Nobody will say that they are; yet both sexesare undoubtedly capable of beauty, and the female of the greatest; whichadvantage I believe will hardly be attributed to the superior exactnessof proportion in the fair sex. Let us rest a moment on this point; andconsider how much difference there is between the measures that prevailin many similar parts of the body, in the two sexes of this singlespecies only. If you assign any determinate proportions to the limbs ofa man, and if you limit human beauty to these proportions, when you finda woman who differs in the make and measures of almost every part, youmust conclude her not to be beautiful, in spite of the suggestions ofyour imagination; or, in obedience to your imagination, you mustrenounce your rules; you must lay by the scale and compass, and look outfor some other cause of beauty. For if beauty be attached to certainmeasures which operate from a _principle in nature_, why should similarparts with different measures of proportion be found to have beauty, andthis too in the very same species? But to open our view a little, it isworth observing, that almost all animals have parts of very much thesame nature, and destined nearly to the same purposes; a head, neck, body, feet, eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; yet Providence, to provide inthe best manner for their several wants, and to display the riches ofhis wisdom and goodness in his creation, has worked out of these few andsimilar organs, and members, a diversity hardly short of infinite intheir disposition, measures and relation. But, as we have beforeobserved, amidst this infinite diversity, one particular is common tomany species: several of the individuals which compose them are capableof affecting us with a sense of loveliness: and whilst they agree inproducing this effect, they differ extremely in the relative measures ofthose parts which have produced it. These considerations were sufficientto induce me to reject the notion of any particular proportions thatoperated by nature to produce a pleasing effect; but those who willagree with me with regard to a particular proportion, are stronglyprepossessed in favor of one more indefinite. They imagine, thatalthough beauty in general is annexed to no certain measures common tothe several kinds of pleasing plants and animals; yet that there is acertain proportion in each species absolutely essential to the beauty ofthat particular kind. If we consider the animal world in general, wefind beauty confined to no certain measures; but as some peculiarmeasure and relation of parts is what distinguishes each peculiar classof animals, it must of necessity be, that the beautiful in each kindwill be found in the measures and proportions of that kind; forotherwise it would deviate from its proper species, and become in somesort monstrous: however, no species is so strictly confined to anycertain proportions, that there is not a considerable variation amongstthe individuals; and as it has been shown of the human, so it may beshown of the brute kinds, that beauty is found indifferently in all theproportions which each kind can admit, without quitting its common form;and it is this idea of a common form that makes the proportion of partsat all regarded, and not the operation of any natural cause: indeed alittle consideration will make it appear, that it is not measure, butmanner, that creates all the beauty which belongs to shape. What lightdo we borrow from these boasted proportions, when we study ornamentaldesign? It seems amazing to me, that artists, if they were as wellconvinced as they pretend to be, that proportion is a principal cause ofbeauty, have not by them at all times accurate measurements of all sortsof beautiful animals to help them to proper proportions, when they wouldcontrive anything elegant; especially as they frequently assert that itis from an observation of the beautiful in nature they direct theirpractice. I know that it has been said long since, and echoed backwardand forward from one writer to another a thousand times, that theproportions of building have been taken from those of the human body. Tomake this forced analogy complete, they represent a man with his armsraised and extended at full length, and then describe a sort of square, as it is formed by passing lines along the extremities of this strangefigure. But it appears very clearly to me that the human figure neversupplied the architect with any of his ideas. For, in the first place, men are very rarely seen in this strained posture; it is not natural tothem; neither is it at all becoming. Secondly, the view of the humanfigure so disposed, does not naturally suggest the idea of a square, butrather of a cross; as that large space be tween the arms and the groundmust be filled with something before it can make anybody think of asquare. Thirdly, several buildings are by no means of the form of thatparticular square, which are notwithstanding planned by the bestarchitects, and produce an effect altogether as good, and perhaps abetter. And certainly nothing could he more unaccountably whimsical, than for an architect to model his performance by the human figure, since no two things can have less resemblance or analogy, than a man, and a house or temple: do we need to observe that their purposes areentirely different? What I am apt to suspect is this: that theseanalogies were devised to give a credit to the works of art, by showinga conformity between them and the noblest works in nature; not that thelatter served at all to supply hints for the perfection of the former. And I am the more fully convinced, that the patrons of proportion havetransferred their artificial ideas to nature, and not borrowed fromthence the proportions they use in works of art; because in anydiscussion of this subject they always quit as soon as possible the openfield of natural beauties, the animal and vegetable kingdoms, andfortify themselves within the artificial lines and angles ofarchitecture. For there is in mankind an unfortunate propensity to makethemselves, their views, and their works, the measure of excellence ineverything whatsoever. Therefore having observed that their dwellingswere most commodious and firm when they were thrown into regularfigures, with parts answerable to each other; they transferred theseideas to their gardens; they turned their trees into pillars, pyramids, and obelisks; they formed their hedges into so many green walls, andfashioned their walks into squares, triangles, and other mathematicalfigures, with exactness and symmetry; and they thought, if they were notimitating, they were at least improving nature, and teaching her to knowher business. But nature has at last escaped from their discipline andtheir fetters; and our gardens, if nothing else, declare, we begin tofeel that mathematical ideas are not the true measures of beauty. Andsurely they are full as little so in the animal as the vegetable world. For is it not extraordinary, that in these fine descriptive pieces, these innumerable odes and elegies which are in the mouths of all theworld, and many of which have been the entertainment of ages, that inthese pieces which describe love with such a passionate energy, andrepresent its object in such an infinite variety of lights, not one wordis said of proportion, if it be, what some insist it is, the principalcomponent of beauty; whilst, at the same time, several other qualitiesare very frequently and warmly mentioned? But if proportion has not thispower, it may appear odd how men came originally to be so prepossessedin its favor. It arose, I imagine, from the fondness I have justmentioned, which men bear so remarkably to their own works and notions;it arose from false reasonings on the effects of the customary figure ofanimals; it arose from the Platonic theory of fitness and aptitude. Forwhich reason, in the next section, I shall consider the effects ofcustom in the figure of animals; and afterwards the idea of fitness:since if proportion does not operate by a natural power attending somemeasures, it must be either by custom, or the idea of utility; there isno other way. 

SECTION V. 

PROPORTION FURTHER CONSIDERED. 

If I am not mistaken, a great deal of the prejudice in favor ofproportion has arisen, not so much from the observation of any certainmeasures found in beautiful bodies, as from a wrong idea of the relationwhich deformity bears to beauty, to which it has been considered as theopposite; on this principle it was concluded that where the causes ofdeformity were removed, beauty must naturally and necessarily beintroduced. This I believe is a mistake. For _deformity_ is opposed notto beauty, but to the _complete common form_. If one of the legs of aman be found shorter than the other, the man is deformed; because thereis something wanting to complete the whole idea we form of a man; andthis has the same effect in natural faults, as maiming and mutilationproduce from accidents. So if the back be humped, the man is deformed;because his back has an unusual figure, and what carries with it theidea of some disease or misfortune; So if a man's neck be considerablylonger or shorter than usual, we say he is deformed in that part, because men are not commonly made in that manner. But surely everyhour's experience may convince us that a man may have his legs of anequal length, and resembling each other in all respects, and his neck ofa just size, and his back quite straight, without having at the sametime the least perceivable beauty. Indeed beauty is so far frombelonging to the idea of custom, that in reality what affects us in thatmanner is extremely rare and uncommon. The beautiful strikes us as muchby its novelty as the deformed itself. It is thus in those species ofanimals with which we are acquainted; and if one of a new species wererepresented, we should by no means wait until custom had settled an ideaof proportion, before we decided concerning its beauty or ugliness:which shows that the general idea of beauty can be no more owing tocustomary than to natural proportion. Deformity arises from the want ofthe common proportions; but the necessary result of their existence inany object is not beauty. If we suppose proportion in natural things tobe relative to custom and use, the nature of use and custom will showthat beauty, which is a _positive_ and powerful quality, cannot resultfrom it. We are so wonderfully formed, that, whilst we are creaturesvehemently desirous of novelty, we are as strongly attached to habit andcustom. But it is the nature of things which hold us by custom, toaffect us very little whilst we are in possession of them, but stronglywhen they are absent. I remember to have frequented a certain place, every day for a long time together; and I may truly say that, so farfrom finding pleasure in it, I was affected with a sort of weariness anddisgust; I came, I went, I returned, without pleasure; yet if by anymeans I passed by the usual time of my going thither, I was remarkablyuneasy, and was not quiet till I had got into my old track. They who usesnuff, take it almost without being sensible that they take it, and theacute sense of smell is deadened, so as to feel hardly anything from sosharp a stimulus; yet deprive the snuff-taker of his box, and he is themost uneasy mortal in the world. Indeed so far are use and habit frombeing causes of pleasure merely as such, that the effect of constant useis to make all things of whatever kind entirely unaffecting. For as useat last takes off the painful effect of many things, it reduces thepleasurable effect in others in the same manner, and brings both to asort of mediocrity and indifference. Very justly is use called a secondnature; and our natural and common state is one of absoluteindifference, equally prepared for pain or pleasure. But when we arethrown out of this state, or deprived of anything requisite to maintainus in it; when this chance does not happen by pleasure from somemechanical cause, we are always hurt. It is so with the second nature, custom, in all things which relate to it. Thus the want of the usualproportions in men and other animals is sure to disgust, though theirpresence is by no means any cause of real pleasure. It is true that theproportions laid down as causes of beauty in the human body, arefrequently found in beautiful ones, because they are generally found inall mankind; but if it can be shown too that they are found withoutbeauty, and that beauty frequently exists without them, and that thisbeauty, where it exists, always can be assigned to other less equivocalcauses, it will naturally lead us to conclude that proportion and beautyare not ideas of the same nature. The true opposite to beauty is notdisproportion or deformity, but _ugliness_: and as it proceeds fromcauses opposite to those of positive beauty, we cannot consider it untilwe come to treat of that. Between beauty and ugliness there is a sort ofmediocrity, in which the assigned proportions are most commonly found;but this has no effect upon the passions. 

SECTION VI. 

FITNESS NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

It is said that the idea of utility, or of a part's being well adaptedto answer its end, is the cause of beauty, or indeed beauty itself. Ifit were not for this opinion, it had been impossible for the doctrine ofproportion to have held its ground very long; the world would be soonweary of hearing of measures which related to nothing, either of anatural principle, or of a fitness to answer some end; the idea whichmankind most commonly conceive of proportion, is the suitableness ofmeans to certain ends, and, where this is not the question, very seldomtrouble themselves about the effect of different measures of things. Therefore it was necessary for this theory to insist that not onlyartificial, but natural objects took their beauty from the fitness ofthe parts for their several purposes. But in framing this theory, I amapprehensive that experience was not sufficiently consulted. For, onthat principle, the wedge-like snout of a swine, with its toughcartilage at the end, the little sunk eyes, and the whole make of thehead, so well adapted to its offices of digging and rooting, would beextremely beautiful. The great bag hanging to the bill of a pelican, athing highly useful to this animal, would be likewise as beautiful inour eyes. The hedge-hog, so well secured against all assaults by hisprickly hide, and the porcupine with his missile quills, would be thenconsidered as creatures of no small elegance. There are few animalswhose parts are better contrived than those of a monkey: he has thehands of a man, joined to the springy limbs of a beast; he is admirablycalculated for running, leaping, grappling, and climbing; and yet thereare few animals which seem to have less beauty in the eyes of allmankind. I need say little on the trunk of the elephant, of such varioususefulness, and which is so far from contributing to his beauty. Howwell fitted is the wolf for running and leaping! how admirably is thelion armed for battle! but will any one therefore call the elephant, thewolf, and the lion, beautiful animals? I believe nobody will think theform of a man's leg so well adapted to running, as those of a horse, adog, a deer, and several other creatures; at least they have not thatappearance: yet, I believe, a well-fashioned human leg will be allowedto far exceed all these in beauty. If the fitness of parts was whatconstituted the loveliness of their form, the actual employment of themwould undoubtedly much augment it; but this, though it is sometimes soupon another principle, is far from being always the case. A bird on thewing is not so beautiful as when it is perched; nay, there are severalof the domestic fowls which are seldom seen to fly, and which arenothing the less beautiful on that account; yet birds are so extremelydifferent in their form from the beast and human kinds, that you cannot, on the principle of fitness, allow them anything agreeable, but inconsideration of their parts being designed for quite other purposes. Inever in my life chanced to see a peacock fly; and yet before, very longbefore I considered any aptitude in his form for the aërial life, I wasstruck with the extreme beauty which raises that bird above many of thebest flying fowls in the world; though, for anything I saw, his way ofliving was much like that of the swine, which fed in the farm-yard alongwith him. The same may be said of cocks, hens, and the like; they are ofthe flying kind in figure; in their manner of moving not very differentfrom men and beasts. To leave these foreign examples; if beauty in ourown species was annexed to use, men would be much more lovely thanwomen; and strength and agility would be considered as the onlybeauties. But to call strength by the name of beauty, to have but onedenomination for the qualities of a Venus and Hercules, so totallydifferent in almost all respects, is surely a strange confusion ofideas, or abuse of words. The cause of this confusion, I imagine, proceeds from our frequently perceiving the parts of the human and otheranimal bodies to be at once very beautiful, and very well adapted totheir purposes; and we are deceived by a sophism, which makes us takethat for a cause which is only a concomitant: this is the sophism of thefly; who imagined he raised a great dust, because he stood upon thechariot that really raised it. The stomach, the lungs, the liver, aswell as other parts, are incomparably well adapted to their purposes;yet they are far from having any beauty. Again, many things are verybeautiful, in which it is impossible to discern any idea of use. And Iappeal to the first and most natural feelings of mankind, whether onbeholding a beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned mouth, or a well-turnedleg, any ideas of their being well fitted for seeing, eating, orrunning, ever present themselves. What idea of use is it that flowersexcite, the most beautiful part of the vegetable world? It is true thatthe infinitely wise and good Creator has, of his bounty, frequentlyjoined beauty to those things which he has made useful to us; but thisdoes not prove that an idea of use and beauty are the same thing, orthat they are any way dependent on each other. 

SECTION VII. 

THE REAL EFFECTS OF FITNESS. 

When I excluded proportion and fitness from any share in beauty, I didnot by any means intend to say that they were of no value, or that theyought to be disregarded in works of art. Works of art are the propersphere of their power; and here it is that they have their full effect. Whenever the wisdom of our Creator intended that we should be affectedwith anything, he did not confide the execution of his design to thelanguid and precarious operation of our reason; but he endued it withpowers and properties that prevent the understanding, and even the will;which, seizing upon the senses and imagination, captivate the soul, before the understanding is ready either to join with them, or tooppose them. It is by a long deduction, and much study, that we discoverthe adorable wisdom of God in his works: when we discover it the effectis very different, not only in the manner of acquiring it, but in itsown nature, from that which strikes us without any preparation from thesublime or the beautiful. How different is the satisfaction of ananatomist, who discovers the use of the muscles and of the skin, theexcellent contrivance of the one for the various movements of the body, and the wonderful texture of the other, at once a general covering, andat once a general outlet as well as inlet; how different is this fromthe affection which possesses an ordinary man at the sight of adelicate, smooth skin, and all the other parts of beauty, which requireno investigation to be perceived! In the former case, whilst we look upto the Maker with admiration and praise, the object which causes it maybe odious and distasteful; the latter very often so touches us by itspower on the imagination, that we examine but little into the artificeof its contrivance; and we have need of a strong effort of our reason todisentangle our minds from the allurements of the object, to aconsideration of that wisdom which invented so powerful a machine. Theeffect of proportion and fitness, at least so far as they proceed from amere consideration of the work itself, produce approbation, theacquiescence of the understanding, but not love, nor any passion of thatspecies. When we examine the structure of a watch, when we come to knowthoroughly the use of every part of it, satisfied as we are with thefitness of the whole, we are far enough from perceiving anything likebeauty in the watch-work itself; but let us look on the case, the laborof some curious artist in engraving, with little or no idea of use, weshall have a much livelier idea of beauty than we ever could have hadfrom the watch itself, though the masterpiece of Graham. In beauty, as Isaid, the effect is previous to any knowledge of the use; but to judgeof proportion, we must know the end for which any work is designed. According to the end, the proportion varies. Thus there is oneproportion of a tower, another of a house; one proportion of a gallery, another of a hall, another of a chamber. To judge of the proportions ofthese, you must be first acquainted with the purposes for which theywere designed. Good sense and experience acting together, find out whatis fit to be done in every work of art. We are rational creatures, andin all our works we ought to regard their end and purpose; thegratification of any passion, how innocent soever, ought only to be ofsecondary consideration. Herein is placed the real power of fitness andproportion; they operate on the understanding considering them, which_approves_ the work and acquiesces in it. The passions, and theimagination which principally raises them, have here very little to do. When a room appears in its original nakedness, bare walls and a plainceiling: let its proportion be ever so excellent, it pleases verylittle; a cold approbation is the utmost we can reach; a much worseproportioned room with elegant mouldings and fine festoons, glasses, andother merely ornamental furniture, will make the imagination revoltagainst the reason; it will please much more than the naked proportionof the first room, which the understanding has so much approved, asadmirably fitted for its purposes. What I have here said and beforeconcerning proportion, is by no means to persuade people absurdly toneglect the idea of use in the works of art. It is only to show thatthese excellent things, beauty and proportion, are not the same; notthat they should either of them be disregarded. 

SECTION VIII. 

THE RECAPITULATION. 

On the whole; if such parts in human bodies as are found proportioned, were likewise constantly found beautiful, as they certainly are not; orif they were so situated, as that a pleasure might flow from thecomparison, which they seldom are; or if any assignable proportions werefound, either in plants or animals, which were always attended withbeauty, which never was the case; or if, where parts were well adaptedto their purposes, they were constantly beautiful, and when no useappeared, there was no beauty, which is contrary to all experience; wemight conclude that beauty consisted in proportion or utility. Butsince, in all respects, the case is quite otherwise; we may be satisfiedthat beauty does not depend on these, let it owe its origin to what elseit will. 

SECTION IX. 

PERFECTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

There is another notion current, pretty closely allied to the former;that _perfection_ is the constituent cause of beauty. This opinion hasbeen made to extend much further than to sensible objects. But inthese, so far is perfection, considered as such, from being the cause ofbeauty; that this quality, where it is highest, in the female sex, almost always carries with it an idea of weakness and imperfection. Women are very sensible of this; for which reason they learn to lisp, tototter in their walk, to counterfeit weakness, and even sickness. In allthis they are guided by nature. Beauty in distress is much the mostaffecting beauty. Blushing has little less power; and modesty ingeneral, which is a tacit allowance of imperfection, is itselfconsidered as an amiable quality, and certainly heightens every otherthat is so. I know it is in every body's mouth, that we ought to loveperfection. This is to me a sufficient proof, that it is not the properobject of love. Who ever said we _ought_ to love a fine woman, or evenany of these beautiful animals which please us? Here to be affected, there is no need of the concurrence of our will. 

SECTION X. 

HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO THE QUALITIES OF THE MIND. 

Nor is this remark in general less applicable to the qualities of themind. Those virtues which cause admiration, and are of the sublimerkind, produce terror rather than love; such as fortitude, justice, wisdom, and the like. Never was any man amiable by force of thesequalities. Those which engage our hearts, which impress us with a senseof loveliness, are the softer virtues; easiness of temper, compassion, kindness, and liberality; though certainly those latter are of lessimmediate and momentous concern to society, and of less dignity. But itis for that reason that they are so amiable. The great virtues turnprincipally on dangers, punishments, and troubles, and are exercised, rather in preventing the worst mischiefs, than in dispensing favors; andare therefore not lovely, though highly venerable. The subordinate turnon reliefs, gratifications, and indulgences; and are therefore morelovely, though inferior in dignity. Those persons who creep into thehearts of most people, who are chosen as the companions of their softerhours, and their reliefs from care and anxiety, are never persons ofshining qualities or strong virtues. It is rather the soft green of thesoul on which we rest our eyes, that are fatigued with beholding moreglaring objects. It is worth observing how we feel ourselves affected inreading the characters of Cæsar and Cato, as they are so finely drawnand contrasted in Sallust. In one the _ignoscendo largiundo_; in theother, _nil largiundo_. In one, the _miseris perfugium_; in the other, _malis perniciem_. In the latter we have much to admire, much toreverence, and perhaps something to fear; we respect him, but we respecthim at a distance. The former makes us familiar with him; we love him, and he leads us whither he pleases. To draw things closer to our firstand most natural feelings, I will add a remark made upon reading thissection by an ingenious friend. The authority of a father, so useful toour well-being, and so justly venerable upon all accounts, hinders usfrom having that entire love for him that we have for our mothers, wherethe parental authority is almost melted down into the mother's fondnessand indulgence. But we generally have a great love for ourgrandfathers, in whom this authority is removed a degree from us, andwhere the weakness of age mellows it into something of a femininepartiality. 

SECTION XI. 

HOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO VIRTUE. 

From what has been said in the foregoing section, we may easily see howfar the application of beauty to virtue may be made with propriety. Thegeneral application of this quality to virtue has a strong tendency toconfound our ideas of things, and it has given rise to an infinite dealof whimsical theory; as the affixing the name of beauty to proportion, congruity, and perfection, as well as to qualities of things yet moreremote from our natural ideas of it, and from one another, has tended toconfound our ideas of beauty, and left us no standard or rule to judgeby, that was not even more uncertain and fallacious than our ownfancies. This loose and inaccurate manner of speaking has thereforemisled us both in the theory of taste and of morals; and induced us toremove the science of our duties from their proper basis (our reason, our relations, and our necessities), to rest it upon, foundationsaltogether visionary and unsubstantial. 

SECTION XII. 

THE REAL CAUSE OF BEAUTY. 

Having endeavored to show what beauty is not, it remains that we shouldexamine, at least with equal attention, in what it really consists. Beauty is a thing much too affecting not to depend upon some positivequalities. And since it is no creature of our reason, since it strikesus without any reference to use, and even where no use at all can bediscerned, since the order and method of nature is generally verydifferent from our measures and proportions, we must conclude thatbeauty is, for the greater part, some quality in bodies actingmechanically upon the human mind by the intervention of the senses. Weought, therefore, to consider attentively in what manner those sensiblequalities are disposed, in such things as by experience we findbeautiful, or which excite in us the passion of love, or somecorrespondent affection. 

SECTION XIII. 

BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS SMALL. 

The most obvious point that presents itself to us in examining anyobject is its extent or quantity. And what degree of extent prevails inbodies that are held beautiful, may be gathered from the usual manner ofexpression concerning it. I am told that, in most languages, the objectsof love are spoken of under diminutive epithets. It is so in all thelanguages of which I have any knowledge. In Greek the [Greek: ion] andother diminutive terms are almost always the terms of affection andtenderness. These diminutives were commonly added by the Greeks to thenames of persons with whom they conversed on terms of friendship andfamiliarity. Though the Romans were a people of less quick and delicatefeelings, yet they naturally slid into the lessening termination uponthe same occasions. Anciently, in the English language, the diminishing_ling_ was added to the names of persons and things that were theobjects of love. Some we retain still, as _darling_ (or little dear), and a few others. But to this day, in ordinary conversation, it is usualto add the endearing name of _little_ to everything we love; the Frenchand Italians make use of these affectionate diminutives even more thanwe. In the animal creation, out of our own species, it is the small weare inclined to be fond of; little birds, and some of the smaller kindsof beasts. A great beautiful thing is a manner of expression scarcelyever used; but that of a great ugly thing is very common. There is awide difference between admiration and love. The sublime, which is thecause of the former, always dwells on great objects, and terrible; thelatter on small ones, and pleasing; we submit to what we admire, but welove what submits to us; in one case we are forced, in the other we areflattered, into compliance. In short, the ideas of the sublime and thebeautiful stand on foundations so different, that it is hard, I hadalmost said impossible, to think of reconciling them in the samesubject, without considerably lessening the effect of the one or theother upon the passions. So that, attending to their quantity, beautifulobjects are comparatively small. 

SECTION XIV. 

SMOOTHNESS. 

The next property constantly observable in such objects is_smoothness_;[24] a quality so essential to beauty, that I do not nowrecollect anything beautiful that is not smooth. In trees and flowers, smooth leaves are beautiful; smooth slopes of earth in gardens; smoothstreams in the landscape; smooth coats of birds and beasts in animalbeauties; in fine women, smooth skins; and in several sorts ofornamental furniture, smooth and polished surfaces. A very considerablepart of the effect of beauty is owing to this quality; indeed the mostconsiderable. For, take any beautiful object, and give it a broken, andrugged surface; and, however well formed it may be in other respects, itpleases no longer. Whereas, let it want ever so many of the otherconstituents, if it wants not this, it becomes more pleasing than almostall the others without it. This seems to me so evident, that I am a gooddeal surprised that none who have handled the subject have made anymention of the quality of smoothness in the enumeration of those that goto the forming of beauty. For, indeed, any ruggedness, any sudden, projection, any sharp angle, is in the highest degree contrary to thatidea. 

SECTION XV. 

GRADUAL VARIATION. 

But as perfectly beautiful bodies are not composed of angular parts, sotheir parts never continue long in the same right line. [25] They varytheir direction every moment, and they change under the eye by adeviation continually carrying on, but for whose beginning or end youwill find it difficult to ascertain a point. The view of a beautifulbird will illustrate this observation. Here we see the head increasinginsensibly to the middle, from whence it lessens gradually until itmixes with the neck; the neck loses itself in a larger swell, whichcontinues to the middle of the body, when the whole decreases again tothe tail; the tail takes a new direction, but it soon varies its newcourse, it blends again with the other parts, and the line isperpetually changing, above, below, upon every side. In this descriptionI have before me the idea of a dove; it agrees very well with most ofthe conditions of beauty. It is smooth and downy; its parts are (to usethat expression) melted into one another; you are presented with nosudden protuberance through the whole, and yet the whole is continuallychanging. Observe that part of a beautiful woman where she is perhapsthe most beautiful, about the neck and breasts; the smoothness, thesoftness, the easy and insensible swell; the variety of the surface, which is never for the smallest space the same; the deceitful mazethrough which the unsteady eye slides giddily, without knowing where tofix, or whither it is carried. Is not this a demonstration of thatchange of surface, continual, and yet hardly perceptible at any point, which forms one of the great constituents of beauty? It gives me nosmall pleasure to find that I can strengthen my theory in this point bythe opinion of the very ingenious Mr. Hogarth, whose idea of the line ofbeauty I take in general to be extremely just. But the idea ofvariation, without attending so accurately to the _manner_ of thevariation, has led him to consider angular figures as beautiful; thesefigures, it is true, vary greatly, yet they vary in a sudden and brokenmanner, and I do not find any natural object which is angular, and atthe same time beautiful. Indeed, few natural objects are entirelyangular. But I think those which approach the most nearly to it are theugliest. I must add, too, that so for as I could observe of nature, though the varied line is that alone in which complete beauty is found, yet there is no particular line which is always found in the mostcompletely beautiful, and which is therefore beautiful in preference toall other lines. At least I never could observe it. 

SECTION XVI. 

DELICACY. 

An air of robustness and strength is very prejudicial to beauty. Anappearance of _delicacy_, and even of fragility, is almost essential toit. Whoever examines the vegetable or animal creation will find thisobservation to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, the ash, or theelm, or any of the robust trees of the forest which we consider asbeautiful; they are awful and majestic, they inspire a sort ofreverence. It is the delicate myrtle, it is the orange, it is thealmond, it is the jasmine, it is the vine which we look on as vegetablebeauties. It is the flowery species, so remarkable for its weakness andmomentary duration, that gives us the liveliest idea of beauty andelegance. Among animals, the greyhound is more beautiful than themastiff, and the delicacy of a jennet, a barb, or an Arabian horse, ismuch more amiable than the strength and stability of some horses of waror carriage. I need here say little of the fair sex, where I believe thepoint will be easily allowed me. The beauty of women is considerablyowing to their weakness or delicacy, and is even enhanced by theirtimidity, a quality of mind analogous to it. I would not here beunderstood to say, that weakness betraying very bad health has any sharein beauty; but the ill effect of this is not because it is weakness, butbecause the ill state of health, which produces such weakness, altersthe other conditions of beauty; the parts in such a case collapse, thebright color, the _lumen purpureum juventæ_ is gone, and the finevariation is lost in wrinkles, sudden breaks, and right lines. 

SECTION XVII. 

BEAUTY IN COLOR. 

As to the colors usually found in beautiful bodies, it may be somewhatdifficult to ascertain them, because, in the several parts of nature, there is an infinite variety. However, even in this variety, we may markout something on which to settle. First, the colors of beautiful bodiesmust not be dusky or muddy, but clean and fair. Secondly, they must notbe of the strongest kind. Those which seem most appropriated to beauty, are the milder of every sort; light greens; soft blues; weak whites;pink reds; and violets. Thirdly, if the colors be strong and vivid, theyare always diversified, and the object is never of one strong color;there are almost always such a number of them (as in variegated flowers)that the strength and glare of each is considerably abated. In a finecomplexion there is not only some variety in the coloring, but thecolors: neither the red nor the white are strong and glaring. Besides, they are mixed in such a manner, and with such gradations, that it isimpossible to fix the bounds. On the same principle it is that thedubious color in the necks and tails of peacocks, and about the heads ofdrakes, is so very agreeable. In reality, the beauty both of shape andcoloring are as nearly related as we can well suppose it possible forthings of such different natures to be. 

SECTION XVIII. 

RECAPITULATION. 

On the whole, the qualities of beauty, as they are merely sensiblequalities, are the following: First, to be comparatively small. Secondly, to be smooth. Thirdly, to have a variety in the direction ofthe parts; but, fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but melted, as it were, into each other. Fifthly, to be of a delicate frame, withoutany remarkable appearance of strength. Sixthly, to have its colors clearand bright, but not very strong and glaring. Seventhly, or if it shouldhave any glaring color, to have it diversified with others. These are, Ibelieve, the properties on which beauty depends; properties that operateby nature, and are less liable to be altered by caprice, or confoundedby a diversity of tastes, than any other. 

SECTION XIX. 

THE PHYSIOGNOMY. 

The _physiognomy_ has a considerable share in beauty, especially in thatof our own species. The manners give a certain determination to thecountenance; which, being observed to correspond pretty regularly withthem, is capable of joining the effect of certain agreeable qualities ofthe mind to those of the body. So that to form a finished human beauty, and to give it its full influence, the face must be expressive of suchgentle and amiable qualities, as correspond with the softness, smoothness, and delicacy of the outward form. 

SECTION XX. 

THE EYE. 

I have hitherto purposely omitted to speak of the _eye_, which has sogreat a share in the beauty of the animal creation, as it did not fallso easily under the foregoing heads, though in fact it is reducible tothe same principles. I think, then, that the beauty of the eye consists, first, in its _clearness_; what _colored_ eye shall please most, dependsa good deal on particular fancies; but none are pleased with an eyewhose water (to use that term) is dull and muddy. [26] We are pleasedwith the eye in this view, on the principle upon which we like diamonds, clear water, glass, and such like transparent substances. Secondly, themotion of the eye contributes to its beauty, by continually shifting itsdirection; but a slow and languid motion is more beautiful than a briskone; the latter is enlivening; the former lovely. Thirdly, with regardto the union of the eye with the neighboring parts, it is to hold thesame rule that is given of other beautiful ones; it is not to make astrong deviation from the line of the neighboring parts; nor to vergeinto any exact geometrical figure. Besides all this, the eye affects, asit is expressive of some qualities of the mind, and its principal powergenerally arises from this; so that what we have just said of thephysiognomy is applicable here. 

SECTION XXI. 

UGLINESS. 

It may perhaps appear like a sort of repetition of what we have beforesaid, to insist here upon the nature of _ugliness_; as I imagine it tobe in all respects the opposite to those qualities which we have laiddown for the constituents of beauty. But though ugliness be the oppositeto beauty, it is not the opposite to proportion and fitness. For it ispossible that a thing may be very ugly with any proportions, and with aperfect fitness to any uses. Ugliness I imagine likewise to beconsistent enough with an idea of the sublime. But I would by no meansinsinuate that ugliness of itself is a sublime idea, unless united withsuch qualities as excite a strong terror. 

SECTION XXII. 

GRACE. 

Gracefulness is an idea not very different from beauty; it consists inmuch the same things. Gracefulness is an idea belonging to _posture_ and_motion_. In both these, to be graceful, it is requisite that there beno appearance of difficulty; there is required a small inflection of thebody; and a composure of the parts in such a manner, as not to incumbereach other, not to appear divided by sharp and sudden angles. In thiscase, this roundness, this delicacy of attitude and motion, it is thatall the magic of grace consists, and what is called its _je ne sçaiquoi_; as will be obvious to any observer, who considers attentively theVenus de Medicis, the Antinous or any statue generally allowed to begraceful in a high degree. 

SECTION XXIII. 

ELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSNESS. 

When any body is composed of parts smooth and polished, without pressingupon each other, without showing any ruggedness or confusion, and at thesame time affecting some _regular shape_, I call it _elegant_. It isclosely allied to the beautiful, differing from it only in this_regularity_; which, however, as it makes a very material difference inthe affection produced, may very well constitute another species. Underthis head I rank those delicate and regular works of art, that imitateno determinate object in nature, as elegant buildings, and pieces offurniture. When any object partakes of the above-mentioned qualities, orof those of beautiful bodies, and is withal of great dimensions, it isfull as remote from the idea of mere beauty; I call _fine_ or_specious_. 

SECTION XXIV. 

THE BEAUTIFUL IN FEELING. 

The foregoing description of beauty, so far as it is taken in by theeye, may he greatly illustrated by describing the nature of objects, which produce a similar effect through the touch. This I call thebeautiful in _feeling_. It corresponds wonderfully with what causes thesame species of pleasure to the sight. There is a chain in all oursensations; they are all but different sorts of feelings calculated tobe affected by various sorts of objects, but all to be affected afterthe same manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the touch, are so bythe slightness of the resistance they make. Resistance is either tomotion along the surface, or to the pressure of the parts on oneanother: if the former be slight, we call the body smooth; if thelatter, soft. The chief pleasure we receive by feeling, is in the one orthe other of these qualities; and if there be a combination of both, ourpleasure is greatly increased. This is so plain, that it is rather morefit to illustrate other things, than to be illustrated itself by anexample. The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in every other, is the continually presenting somewhat new; and we find that bodieswhich continually vary their surface, are much the most pleasant orbeautiful to the feeling, as any one that pleases may experience. Thethird property in such objects is, that though the surface continuallyvaries its direction, it never varies it suddenly. The application ofanything sudden, even though the impression itself have little ornothing of violence, is disagreeable. The quick application of a fingera little warmer or colder than usual, without notice, makes us start; aslight tap on the shoulder, not expected, has the same effect. Hence itis that angular bodies, bodies that suddenly vary the direction of theoutline, afford so little pleasure to the feeling. Every such change isa sort of climbing or falling in miniature; so that squares, triangles, and other angular figures are neither beautiful to the sight norfeeling. Whoever compares his state of mind, on feeling soft, smooth, variated, unangular bodies, with that in which he finds himself, on theview of a beautiful object, will perceive a very striking analogy in theeffects of both; and which may go a good way towards discovering theircommon cause. Feeling and sight, in this respect, differ in but a fewpoints. The touch takes in the pleasure of softness, which is notprimarily an object of sight; the sight, on the other hand, comprehendscolor, which can hardly he made perceptible to the touch: the touch, again, has the advantage in a new idea of pleasure resulting from amoderate degree of warmth; but the eye triumphs in the infinite extentand multiplicity of its objects. But there is such a similitude in thepleasures of these senses, that I am apt to fancy, if it were possiblethat one might discern color by feeling (as it is said some blind menhave done) that the same colors, and the same disposition of coloring, which are found beautiful to the sight, would be found likewise mostgrateful to the touch. But, setting aside conjectures, let us pass tothe other sense; of hearing. 

SECTION XXV. 

THE BEAUTIFUL IN SOUNDS. 

In this sense we find an equal aptitude to be affected in a soft anddelicate manner; and how far sweet or beautiful sounds agree with ourdescriptions of beauty in other senses, the experience of every one mustdecide. Milton has described this species of music in one of hisjuvenile poems. [27] I need not say that Milton was perfectly well versedin that art; and that no man had a finer ear, with a happier manner ofexpressing the affections of one sense by metaphors taken from another. The description is as follows:--

 "And ever against eating cares, Lap me in _soft_ Lydian airs; In notes with many a _winding_ bout Of _linked sweetness long drawn_ out; With wanton heed, and giddy cunning, The _melting_ voice through _mazes_ running; _Untwisting_ all the chains that tie The hidden soul of harmony. "

Let us parallel this with the softness, the winding surface, theunbroken continuance, the easy gradation of the beautiful in otherthings; and all the diversities of the several senses, with all theirseveral affections, will rather help to throw lights from one another tofinish one clear, consistent idea of the whole, than to obscure it bytheir intricacy and variety. 

To the above-mentioned description I shall add one or two remarks. Thefirst is; that the beautiful in music will not hear that loudness andstrength of sounds, which may be used to raise other passions; nor noteswhich are shrill, or harsh, or deep; it agrees best with such as areclear, even, smooth, and weak. The second is; that great variety, andquick transitions from one measure or tone to another, are contrary tothe genius of the beautiful in music. Such[28] transitions often excitemirth, or other sudden or tumultuous passions; but not that sinking, that melting, that languor, which is the characteristical effect of thebeautiful as it regards every sense. The passion excited by beauty is infact nearer to a species of melancholy, than to jollity and mirth. I donot here mean to confine music to any one species of notes, or tones, neither is it an art in which I can say I have any great skill. My soledesign in this remark is to settle a consistent idea of beauty. Theinfinite variety of the affections of the soul will suggest to a goodhead, and skilful ear, a variety of such sounds as are fitted to raisethem. It can be no prejudice to this, to clear and distinguish some fewparticulars that belong to the same class, and are consistent with eachother, from the immense crowd of different and sometimes contradictoryideas, that rank vulgarly under the standard of beauty. And of these itis my intention to mark such only of the leading points as show theconformity of the sense of hearing with all the other senses, in thearticle of their pleasures. 

SECTION XXVI. 

TASTE AND SMELL. 

This general agreement of the senses is yet more evident on minutelyconsidering those of taste and smell. We metaphorically apply the ideaof sweetness to sights and sounds; but as the qualities of bodies bywhich they are fitted to excite either pleasure or pain in these sensesare not so obvious as they are in the others, we shall refer anexplanation of their analogy, which is a very close one, to that partwherein we come to consider the common efficient cause of beauty, as itregards all the senses. I do not think anything better fitted toestablish a clear and settled idea of visual beauty than this way ofexamining the similar pleasures of other senses; for one part issometimes clear in one of the senses that is more obscure in another;and where there is a clear concurrence of all, we may with morecertainty speak of any one of them. By this means, they bear witness toeach other; nature is, as it were, scrutinized; and we report nothing ofher but what we receive from her own information. 

SECTION XXVII. 

THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL COMPARED. 

On closing this general view of beauty, it naturally occurs that weshould compare it with the sublime; and in this comparison there appearsa remarkable contrast. For sublime objects are vast in their dimensions, beautiful ones comparatively small; beauty should be smooth andpolished; the great, rugged and negligent: beauty should shun the rightline, yet deviate from it insensibly; the great in many cases loves theright line; and when it deviates, it often makes a strong deviation:beauty should not be obscure; the great ought to be dark and gloomy:beauty should be light and delicate; the great ought to be solid, andeven massive. They are indeed ideas of a very different nature, onebeing founded on pain, the other on pleasure; and, however they may varyafterwards from the direct nature of their causes, yet these causes keepup an eternal distinction between them, a distinction never to beforgotten by any whose business it is to affect the passions. In theinfinite variety of natural combinations, we must expect to find thequalities of things the most remote imaginable from each other united inthe same object. We must expect also to find combinations of the samekind in the works of art. But when we consider the power of an objectupon our passions, we must know that when anything is intended to affectthe mind by the force of some predominant property, the affectionproduced is like to be the more uniform and perfect, if all the otherproperties or qualities of the object be of the same nature, and tendingto the same design as the principal. 

 "If black and white blend, soften, and unite A thousand ways, are there no black and white?"

If the qualities of the sublime and beautiful are sometimes foundunited, does this prove that they are the same; does it prove that theyare any way allied; does it prove even that they are not opposite andcontradictory? Black and white may soften, may blend; but they are nottherefore the same. Nor, when they are so softened and blended with eachother, or with different colors, is the power of black as black, or ofwhite as white, so strong as when each stands uniform and distinguished. 

FOOTNOTES:

[24] Part IV. Sect. 20. 

[25] Part IV. Sect. 23. 

[26] Part IV. Sect. 25. 

[27] L'Allegro. 

[28]

 "I ne'er am merry, when I hear sweet music. "

 SHAKESPEARE. 

PART IV. 

SECTION I. 

OF THE EFFICIENT CAUSE OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL. 

When I say, I intend to inquire into the efficient cause of sublimityand beauty, I would not be understood to say, that I can come to theultimate cause. I do not pretend that I shall ever be able to explainwhy certain affections of the body produce such a distinct emotion ofmind, and no other; or why the body is at all affected by the mind, orthe mind by the body. A little thought will show this to be impossible. But I conceive, if we can discover what affections of the mind producecertain emotions of the body; and what distinct feelings and qualitiesof body shall produce certain determinate passions in the mind, and noothers, I fancy a great deal will be done; something not unusefultowards a distinct knowledge of our passions, so far at least as we havethem at present under our consideration. This is all, I believe, we cando. If we could advance a step farther, difficulties would still remain, as we should be still equally distant from the first cause. When Newtonfirst discovered the property of attraction, and settled its laws, hefound it served very well to explain several of the most remarkablephenomena in nature; but yet, with reference to the general system ofthings, he could consider attraction but as an effect, whose cause atthat time he did not attempt to trace. But when he afterwards began toaccount for it by a subtle elastic ether, this great man (if in sogreat a man it be not impious to discover anything like a blemish)seemed to have quitted his usual cautious manner of philosophizing;since, perhaps, allowing all that has been advanced on this subject tobe sufficiently proved, I think it leaves us with as many difficultiesas it found us. That great chain of causes, which, linking one toanother, even to the throne of God himself, can never be unravelled byany industry of ours. When we go but one step beyond the immediatesensible qualities of things, we go out of our depth. All we do after isbut a faint struggle, that shows we are in an element which does notbelong to us. So that when I speak of cause, and efficient cause, I onlymean certain affections of the mind, that cause certain changes in thebody; or certain powers and properties in bodies, that work a change inthe mind. As, if I were to explain the motion of a body falling to theground, I would say it was caused by gravity; and I would endeavor toshow after what manner this power operated, without attempting to showwhy it operated in this manner: or, if I were to explain the effects ofbodies striking one another by the common laws of percussion, I shouldnot endeavor to explain how motion itself is communicated. 

SECTION II. 

ASSOCIATION. 

It is no small bar in the way of our inquiry into the cause of ourpassions, that the occasions of many of them are given, and that theirgoverning motions are communicated at a time when we have not capacityto reflect on them; at a time of which all sort of memory is worn outof our minds. For besides such things as affect us in various manners, according to their natural powers, there are associations made at thatearly season, which we find it very hard afterwards to distinguish fromnatural effects. Not to mention the unaccountable antipathies which wefind in many persons, we all find it impossible to remember when a steepbecame more terrible than a plain; or fire or water more terrible than aclod of earth; though all these are very probably either conclusionsfrom experience, or arising from the premonitions of others; and some ofthem impressed, in all likelihood, pretty late. But as it must beallowed that many things affect us after a certain manner, not by anynatural powers they have for that purpose, but by association; so itwould be absurd, on the other hand, to say that all things affect us byassociation only; since some things must have been originally andnaturally agreeable or disagreeable, from which the others derive theirassociated powers; and it would be, I fancy, to little purpose to lookfor the cause of our passions in association, until we fail of it in thenatural properties of things. 

SECTION III. 

CAUSE OF PAIN AND FEAR. 

I have before observed, [29] that whatever is qualified to cause terroris a foundation capable of the sublime; to which I add, that not onlythese, but many things from which we cannot probably apprehend anydanger, have a similar effect, because they operate in a similar manner. I observed, too, [30] that whatever produces pleasure, positive andoriginal pleasure, is fit to have beauty engrafted on it. Therefore, toclear up the nature of these qualities, it may be necessary to explainthe nature of pain and pleasure on which they depend. A man who suffersunder violent bodily pain, (I suppose the most violent, because theeffect may be the more obvious, ) I say a man in great pain has his teethset, his eyebrows are violently contracted, his forehead is wrinkled, his eyes are dragged inwards, and rolled with great vehemence, his hairstands on end, the voice is forced out in short shrieks and groans, andthe whole fabric totters. Fear or terror, which is an apprehension ofpain or death, exhibits exactly the same effects, approaching inviolence to those just mentioned, in proportion to the nearness of thecause, and the weakness of the subject. This is not only so in the humanspecies: but I have more than once observed in dogs, under anapprehension of punishment, that they have writhed their bodies, andyelped, and howled, as if they had actually felt the blows. From hence Iconclude, that pain and fear act upon the same parts of the body, and inthe same manner, though somewhat differing in degree: that pain and fearconsist in an unnatural tension of the nerves; that this is sometimesaccompanied with an unnatural strength, which sometimes suddenly changesinto an extraordinary weakness; that these effects often come onalternately, and are sometimes mixed with each other. This is the natureof all convulsive agitations, especially in weaker subjects, which arethe most liable to the severest impressions of pain and fear. The onlydifference between pain and terror is, that things which cause painoperate on the mind by the intervention of the body; whereas things thatcause terror generally affect the bodily organs by the operation of themind suggesting the danger; but both agreeing, either primarily orsecondarily, in producing a tension, contraction, or violent emotion ofthe nerves, [31] they agree likewise in everything else. For it appearsvery clearly to me from this, as well as from many other examples, thatwhen the body is disposed, by any means whatsoever, to such emotions asit would acquire by the means of a certain passion; it will of itselfexcite something very like that passion in the mind. 

SECTION IV. 

CONTINUED. 

To this purpose Mr. Spon, in his "Récherches d'Antiquité, " gives us acurious story of the celebrated physiognomist Campanella. This man, itseems, had not only made very accurate observations on human faces, butwas very expert in mimicking such as were any way remarkable. When hehad a mind to penetrate into the inclinations of those he had to dealwith, he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, as nearlyas he could into the exact similitude of the person he intended toexamine; and then carefully observed what turn of mind he seemed toacquire by this change. So that, says my author, he was able to enterinto the dispositions and thoughts of people as effectually as if he hadbeen changed into the very men. I have often observed, that on mimickingthe looks and gestures of angry, or placid, or frighted, or daring men, I have involuntarily found my mind turned to that passion, whoseappearance I endeavored to imitate; nay, I am convinced it is hard toavoid it, though one strove to separate the passion from itscorrespondent gestures. Our minds and bodies are so closely andintimately connected, that one is incapable of pain or pleasure withoutthe other. Campanella, of whom we have been speaking, could so abstracthis attention from any sufferings of his body, that he was able toendure the rack itself without much pain; and in lesser pains everybodymust have observed that, when we can employ our attention on anythingelse, the pain has been for a time suspended: on the other hand, if byany means the body is indisposed to perform such gestures, or to bestimulated into such emotions as any passion usually produces in it, that passion itself never can arise, though its cause should be never sostrongly in action; though it should be merely mental, and immediatelyaffecting none of the senses. As an opiate, or spirituous liquors, shallsuspend the operation of grief, or fear, or anger, in spite of all ourefforts to the contrary; and this by inducing in the body a dispositioncontrary to that which it receives from these passions. 

SECTION V. 

HOW THE SUBLIME IS PRODUCED. 

Having considered terror as producing an unnatural tension and certainviolent emotions of the nerves; it easily follows, from what we havejust said, that whatever is fitted to produce such a tension must beproductive of a passion similar to terror, [32] and consequently must bea source of the sublime, though it should have no idea of dangerconnected with it. So that little remains towards showing the cause ofthe sublime, but to show that the instances we have given of it in thesecond part relate to such things, as are fitted by nature to producethis sort of tension, either by the primary operation of the mind or thebody. With regard to such things as affect by the associated idea ofdanger, there can be no doubt but that they produce terror, and act bysome modification of that passion; and that terror, when sufficientlyviolent, raises the emotions of the body just mentioned, can as littlebe doubted. But if the sublime is built on terror or some passion likeit, which has pain for its object, it is previously proper to inquirehow any species of delight can be derived from a cause so apparentlycontrary to it. I say _delight_, because, as I have often remarked, itis very evidently different in its cause, and in its own nature, fromactual and positive pleasure. 

SECTION VI. 

HOW PAIN CAN BE A CAUSE OF DELIGHT. 

Providence has so ordered it, that a state of rest and inaction, howeverit may flatter our indolence, should be productive of manyinconveniences; that it should generate such disorders, as may force usto have recourse to some labor, as a thing absolutely requisite to makeus pass our lives with tolerable satisfaction; for the nature of rest isto suffer all the parts of our bodies to fall into a relaxation, thatnot only disables the members from performing their functions, but takesaway the vigorous tone of fibre which is requisite for carrying on thenatural and necessary secretions. At the same time, that in this languidin active state, the nerves are more liable to the most horridconvulsions, than when they are sufficiently braced and strengthened. Melancholy, dejection, despair, and often self-murder, is theconsequence of the gloomy view we take of things in this relaxed stateof body. The best remedy for all these evils is exercise or _labor_; andlabor is a surmounting of _difficulties_, an exertion of the contractingpower of the muscles; and as such resembles pain, which consists intension or contraction, in everything but degree. Labor is not onlyrequisite to preserve the coarser organs, in a state fit for theirfunctions; but it is equally necessary to these finer and more delicateorgans, on which, and by which, the imagination and perhaps the othermental powers act. Since it is probable, that not only the inferiorparts of the soul, as the passions are called, but the understandingitself makes use of some fine corporeal instruments in its operation;though what they are, and where they are, may be somewhat hard tosettle: but that it does make use of such, appears from hence; that along exercise of the mental powers induces a remarkable lassitude of thewhole body; and on the other hand, that great bodily labor, or pain, weakens and sometimes actually destroys the mental faculties. Now, as adue exercise is essential to the coarse muscular parts of theconstitution, and that without this rousing they would become languidand diseased, the very same rule holds with regard to those finer partswe have mentioned; to have them in proper order, they must be shaken andworked to a proper degree. 

SECTION VII. 

EXERCISE NECESSARY FOR THE FINER ORGANS. 

As common labor, which is a mode of pain, is the exercise of thegrosser, a mode of terror is the exercise of the finer parts of thesystem; and if a certain mode of pain be of such a nature as to act uponthe eye or the ear, as they are the most delicate organs, the affectionapproaches more nearly to that which has a mental cause. In all thesecases, if the pain and terror are so modified as not to be actuallynoxious; if the pain is not carried to violence, and the terror is notconversant about the present destruction of the person, as theseemotions clear the parts, whether fine or gross, of a dangerous andtroublesome incumbrance, they are capable of producing delight; notpleasure, but a sort of delightful horror, a sort of tranquillity tingedwith terror; which, as it belongs to self-preservation, is one of thestrongest of all the passions. Its object is the sublime. [33] Itshighest degree I call _astonishment_; the subordinate degrees are awe, reverence, and respect, which, by the very etymology of the words, showfrom what source they are derived, and how they stand distinguished frompositive pleasure. 

SECTION VIII. 

WHY THINGS NOT DANGEROUS SOMETIMES PRODUCE A PASSION LIKE TERROR. 

A mode of terror or pain is always the cause of the sublime. [34] Forterror or associated danger, the foregoing explication is, I believe, sufficient. It will require something more trouble to show, that suchexamples as I have given of the sublime in the second part are capableof producing a mode of pain, and of being thus allied to terror, and tobe accounted for on the same principles. And first of such objects asare great in their dimensions. I speak of visual objects. 

SECTION IX. 

WHY VISUAL OBJECTS OF GREAT DIMENSIONS ARE SUBLIME. 

Vision is performed by having a picture, formed by the rays of lightwhich are reflected from the object, painted in one piece, instantaneously, on the retina, or last nervous part of the eye. Or, according to others, there is but one point of any object painted on theeye in such a manner as to be perceived at once, but by moving the eye, we gather up, with great celerity, the several parts of the object, soas to form one uniform piece. If the former opinion be allowed, it willbe considered, [35] that though all the light reflected from a large bodyshould strike the eye in one instant; yet we must suppose that the bodyitself is formed of a vast number of distinct points, every one ofwhich, or the ray from every one, makes an impression on the retina. Sothat, though the image of one point should cause but a small tension ofthis membrane, another, and another, and another stroke, must in theirprogress cause a very great one, until it arrives at last to the highestdegree; and the whole capacity of the eye, vibrating in all its parts, must approach near to the nature of what causes pain, and consequentlymust produce an idea of the sublime. Again, if we take it, that onepoint only of an object is distinguishable at once; the matter willamount nearly to the same thing, or rather it will make the origin ofthe sublime from greatness of dimension yet clearer. For if but onepoint is observed at once, the eye must traverse the vast space of suchbodies with great quickness, and consequently the fine nerves andmuscles destined to the motion of that part must be very much strained;and their great sensibility must make them highly affected by thisstraining. Besides, it signifies just nothing to the effect produced, whether a body has its parts connected and makes its impression at once;or, making but one impression of a point at a time, it causes asuccession of the same or others so quickly as to make them seem united;as is evident from the common effect of whirling about a lighted torchor piece of wood: which, if done with celerity, seems a circle of fire. 

SECTION X. 

UNITY WHY REQUISITE TO VASTNESS. 

It may be objected to this theory, that the eye generally receives anequal number of rays at all times, and that therefore a great objectcannot affect it by the number of rays, more than that variety ofobjects which the eye must always discern whilst it remains open. But tothis I answer, that admitting an equal number of rays, or an equalquantity of luminous particles to strike the eye at all times, yet ifthese rays frequently vary their nature, now to blue, now to red, and soon, or their manner of termination, as to a number of petty squares, triangles, or the like, at every change, whether of color or shape, theorgan has a sort of relaxation or rest; but this relaxation and labor sooften interrupted, is by no means productive of ease; neither has it theeffect of vigorous and uniform labor. Whoever has remarked the differenteffects of some strong exercise, and some little piddling action, willunderstand why a teasing, fretful employment, which at once wearies andweakens the body, should have nothing great; these sorts of impulses, which are rather teasing than painful, by continually and suddenlyaltering their tenor and direction, prevent that full tension, thatspecies of uniform labor, which is allied to strong pain, and causes thesublime. The sum total of things of various kinds, though it shouldequal the number of the uniform parts composing some _one_ entireobject, is not equal in its effect upon the organs of our bodies. Besides the one already assigned, there is another very strong reasonfor the difference. The mind in reality hardly ever can attenddiligently to more than one thing at a time; if this thing be little, the effect is little, and a number of other little objects cannot engagethe attention; the mind is bounded by the bounds of the object; and whatis not attended to, and what does not exist, are much the same in theeffect; but the eye or the mind, (for in this case there is nodifference, ) in great, uniform objects, does not readily arrive at theirbounds; it has no rest, whilst it contemplates them; the image is muchthe same everywhere. So that everything great by its quantity mustnecessarily be one, simple and entire. 

SECTION XI. 

THE ARTIFICIAL INFINITE. 

We have observed that a species of greatness arises from the artificialinfinite; and that this infinite consists in an uniform succession ofgreat parts: we observed too, that the same uniform succession had alike power in sounds. But because the effects of many things are clearerin one of the senses than in another, and that all the senses bearanalogy to and illustrate one another, I shall begin with this power insounds, as the cause of the sublimity from succession is rather moreobvious in the sense of hearing. And I shall here, once for all, observe, that an investigation of the natural and mechanical causes ofour passions, besides the curiosity of the subject, gives, if they arediscovered, a double strength and lustre to any rules we deliver on suchmatters. When the ear receives any simple sound, it is struck by asingle pulse of the air which makes the ear-drum and the othermembranous parts vibrate according to the nature and species of thestroke. If the stroke be strong, the organ of hearing suffers aconsiderable degree of tension. If the stroke be repeated pretty soonafter, the repetition causes an expectation of another stroke. And itmust be observed, that expectation itself causes a tension. This isapparent in many animals, who, when they prepare for hearing any sound, rouse themselves, and prick up their ears; so that here the effect ofthe sounds is considerably augmented by a new auxiliary, theexpectation. But though after a number of strokes, we expect still more, not being able to ascertain the exact time of their arrival, when theyarrive, they produce a sort of surprise, which increases this tensionyet further. For I have observed, that when at any time I have waitedvery earnestly for some sound, that returned at intervals, (as thesuccessive firing of cannon, ) though I fully expected the return of thesound, when it came it always made me start a little; the ear-drumsuffered a convulsion, and the whole body consented with it. The tensionof the part thus increasing at every blow, by the united forces of thestroke itself, the expectation and the surprise, it is worked up to sucha pitch as to be capable of the sublime; it is brought just to the vergeof pain. Even when the cause has ceased, the organs of hearing beingoften successively struck in a similar manner, continue to vibrate inthat manner for some time longer; this is an additional help to thegreatness of the effect. 

SECTION XII. 

THE VIBRATIONS MUST BE SIMILAR. 

But if the vibration be not similar at every impression, it can never becarried beyond the number of actual impressions; for, move any body as apendulum, in one way, and it will continue to oscillate in an arch ofthe same circle, until the known causes make it rest; but if, afterfirst putting it in motion in one direction, you push it into another, it can never reassume the first direction; because it can never moveitself, and consequently it can have but the effect of that last motion;whereas, if in the same direction you act upon it several times, it willdescribe a greater arch, and move a longer time. 

SECTION XIII. 

THE EFFECTS OF SUCCESSION IN VISUAL OBJECTS EXPLAINED. 

If we can comprehend clearly how things operate upon one of our senses, there can be very little difficulty in conceiving in what manner theyaffect the rest. To say a great deal therefore upon the correspondingaffections of every sense, would tend rather to fatigue us by an uselessrepetition, than to throw any new light upon the subject by that ampleand diffuse manner of treating it; but as in this discourse we chieflyattach ourselves to the sublime, as it affects the eye, we shallconsider particularly why a successive disposition of uniform parts inthe same right line should be sublime, [36] and upon what principle thisdisposition is enabled to make a comparatively small quantity of matterproduce a grander effect, than a much larger quantity disposed inanother manner. To avoid the perplexity of general notions; let us setbefore our eyes, a colonnade of uniform pillars planted in a right line;let us take our stand in such a manner, that the eye may shoot alongthis colonnade, for it has its best effect in this view. In our presentsituation it is plain, that the rays from the first round pillar willcause in the eye a vibration of that species; an image of the pillaritself. The pillar immediately succeeding increases it; that whichfollows renews and enforces the impression; each in its order as itsucceeds, repeats impulse after impulse, and stroke after stroke, untilthe eye, long exercised in one particular way, cannot lose that objectimmediately, and, being violently roused by this continued agitation, itpresents the mind with a grand or sublime conception. But instead ofviewing a rank of uniform pillars, let us suppose that they succeed eachother, a round and a square one alternately. In this case the vibrationcaused by the first round pillar perishes as soon as it is formed; andone of quite another sort (the square) directly occupies its place;which however it resigns as quickly to the round one; and thus the eyeproceeds, alternately, taking up one image, and laying down another, aslong as the building continues. From whence it is obvious that, at thelast pillar, the impression is as far from continuing as it was at thevery first; because, in fact, the sensory can receive no distinctimpression but from the last; and it can never of itself resume adissimilar impression: besides every variation of the object is a restand relaxation to the organs of sight; and these reliefs prevent thatpowerful emotion so necessary to produce the sublime. To producetherefore a perfect grandeur in such things as we have been mentioning, there should be a perfect simplicity, an absolute uniformity indisposition, shape, and coloring. Upon this principle of succession anduniformity it may be asked, why a long bare wall should not be a moresublime object than a colonnade; since the succession is no wayinterrupted; since the eye meets no check; since nothing more uniformcan be conceived? A long bare wall is certainly not so grand an objectas a colonnade of the same length and height. It is not altogetherdifficult to account for this difference. When we look at a naked wall, from the evenness of the object, the eye runs along its whole space, andarrives quickly at its termination; the eye meets nothing which mayinterrupt its progress; but then it meets nothing which may detain it aproper time to produce a very great and lasting effect. The view of abare wall, if it be of a great height and length, is undoubtedly grand;but this is only _one_ idea, and not a _repetition_ of _similar_ ideas:it is therefore great, not so much upon the principle of _infinity_, asupon that of _vastness_. But we are not so powerfully affected with anyone impulse, unless it be one of a prodigious force indeed, as we arewith a succession of similar impulses; because the nerves of the sensorydo not (if I may use the expression) acquire a habit of repeating thesame feeling in such a manner as to continue it longer than its cause isin action; besides, all the effects which I have attributed toexpectation and surprise in Sect. 11, can have no place in a bare wall. 

SECTION XIV. 

LOCKE'S OPINION CONCERNING DARKNESS CONSIDERED. 

It is Mr. Locke's opinion, that darkness is not naturally an idea ofterror; and that, though an excessive light is painful to the sense, thegreatest excess of darkness is no ways troublesome. He observes indeedin another place, that a nurse or an old woman having once associatedthe ideas of ghosts and goblins with that of darkness, night, everafter, becomes painful and horrible to the imagination. The authority ofthis great man is doubtless as great as that of any man can be, and itseems to stand in the way of our general principle. [37] We haveconsidered darkness as a cause of the sublime; and we have all alongconsidered the sublime as depending on some modification of pain orterror: so that if darkness be no way painful or terrible to any, whohave not had their minds early tainted with superstitions, it can be nosource of the sublime to them. But, with all deference to such anauthority, it seems to me, that an association of a more general nature, an association which takes in all mankind, may make darkness terrible;for in utter darkness it is impossible to know in what degree of safetywe stand; we are ignorant of the objects that surround us; we may everymoment strike against some dangerous obstruction; we may fall down aprecipice the first step we take; and if an enemy approach, we know notin what quarter to defend ourselves; in such a case strength is no sureprotection; wisdom can only act by guess; the boldest are staggered, andhe who would pray for nothing else towards his defence is forced topray for light. 

 [Greek: Zeu pater, alla su rusai up êeros uias Achaiôn Poiêson d' aithrên, dos d' ophthalmoisin idesthai En de phaei kai olesson. . . . ]

As to the association of ghosts and goblins; surely it is more naturalto think that darkness, being originally an idea of terror, was chosenas a fit scene for such terrible representations, than that suchrepresentations have made darkness terrible. The mind of man very easilyslides into an error of the former sort; but it is very hard to imagine, that the effect of an idea so universally terrible in all times, and inall countries, as darkness, could possibly have been owing to a set ofidle stories, or to any cause of a nature so trivial, and of anoperation so precarious. 

SECTION XV. 

DARKNESS TERRIBLE IN ITS OWN NATURE. 

Perhaps it may appear on inquiry, that blackness and darkness are insome degree painful by their natural operation, independent of anyassociations whatsoever. I must observe, that the ideas of darkness andblackness are much the same; and they differ only in this, thatblackness is a more confined idea. Mr. Cheselden has given us a verycurious story of a boy who had been born blind, and continued so untilhe was thirteen or fourteen years old; he was then couched for acataract, by which operation he received his sight. Among manyremarkable particulars that attended his first perceptions and judgmentson visual objects, Cheselden tells us, that the first time the boy sawa black object, it gave him great uneasiness; and that some time after, upon accidentally seeing a negro woman, he was struck with great horrorat the sight. The horror, in this case, can scarcely be supposed toarise from any association. The boy appears by the account to have beenparticularly observing and sensible for one of his age; and therefore itis probable, if the great uneasiness he felt at the first sight of blackhad arisen from its connection with any other disagreeable ideas, hewould have observed and mentioned it. For an idea, disagreeable only byassociation, has the cause of its ill effect on the passions evidentenough at the first impression; in ordinary cases, it is indeedfrequently lost; but this is because the original association was madevery early, and the consequent impression repeated often. In ourinstance, there was no time for such a habit; and there is no reason tothink that the ill effects of black on his imagination were more owingto its connection with any disagreeable ideas, than that the goodeffects of more cheerful colors were derived from their connection withpleasing ones. They had both probably their effects from their naturaloperation. 

SECTION XVI. 

WHY DARKNESS IS TERRIBLE. 

It may be worth while to examine how darkness can operate in such amanner as to cause pain. It is observable, that still as we recede fromthe light, nature has so contrived it, that the pupil is enlarged by theretiring of the iris, in proportion to our recess. Now, instead ofdeclining from it but a little, suppose that we withdraw entirely fromthe light; it is reasonable to think that the contraction of the radialfibres of the iris is proportionally greater; and that this part may bygreat darkness come to be so contracted, as to strain the nerves thatcompose it beyond their natural tone; and by this means to produce apainful sensation. Such a tension it seems there certainly is, whilst weare involved in darkness; for in such a state, whilst the eye remainsopen, there is a continual nisus to receive light; this is manifest fromthe flashes and luminous appearances which often seem in thesecircumstances to play before it; and which can be nothing but the effectof spasms, produced by its own efforts in pursuit of its object: severalother strong impulses will produce the idea of light in the eye, besidesthe substance of light itself, as we experience on many occasions. Some, who allow darkness to be a cause of the sublime, would infer, from thedilatation of the pupil, that a relaxation may be productive of thesublime as well as a convulsion: but they do not, I believe, consider, that although the circular ring of the iris be in some sense asphincter, which may possibly be dilated by a simple relaxation, yet inone respect it differs from most of the other sphincters of the body, that it is furnished with antagonist muscles, which are the radialfibres of the iris: no sooner does the circular muscle begin to relax, than these fibres, wanting their counterpoise, are forcibly drawn back, and open the pupil to a considerable wideness. But though we were notapprised of this, I believe any one will find, if he opens his eyes andmakes an effort to see in a dark place, that a very perceivable painensues. And I have heard some ladies remark, that after having worked along time upon a ground of black, their eyes were so pained andweakened, they could hardly see. It may perhaps be objected to thistheory of the mechanical effect of darkness, that the ill effects ofdarkness or blackness seem rather mental than corporeal: and I own it istrue that they do so; and so do all those that depend on the affectionsof the finer parts of our system. The ill effects of bad weather appearoften no otherwise than in a melancholy and dejection of spirits; thoughwithout doubt, in this case, the bodily organs suffer first, and themind through these organs. 

SECTION XVII. 

THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS. 

Blackness is but a _partial darkness_; and therefore it derives some ofits powers from being mixed and surrounded with colored bodies. In itsown nature, it cannot be considered as a color. Black bodies, reflectingnone, or but a few rays, with regard to sight, are but as so many vacantspaces, dispersed among the objects we view. When the eye lights on oneof these vacuities, after having been kept in some degree of tension bythe play of the adjacent colors upon it, it suddenly falls into arelaxation; out of which it as suddenly recovers by a convulsive spring. To illustrate this: let us consider that when we intend to sit on achair, and find it much lower than was expected, the shock is veryviolent; much more violent than could be thought from so slight a fallas the difference between one chair and another can possibly make. If, after descending a flight of stairs, we attempt inadvertently to takeanother step in the manner of the former ones, the shock is extremelyrude and disagreeable: and by no art can we cause such a shock by thesame means when we expect and prepare for it. When I say that this isowing to having the change made contrary to expectation; I do not meansolely, when the _mind_ expects. I mean likewise, that when any organ ofsense is for some time affected in some one manner, if it be suddenlyaffected otherwise, there ensues a convulsive motion; such a convulsionas is caused when anything happens against the expectance of the mind. And though it may appear strange that such a change as produces arelaxation should immediately produce a sudden convulsion; it is yetmost certainly so, and so in all the senses. Every one knows that sleepis a relaxation; and that silence, where nothing keeps the organs ofhearing in action, is in general fittest to bring on this relaxation;yet when a sort of murmuring sounds dispose a man to sleep, let thesesounds cease suddenly, and the person immediately awakes; that is, theparts are braced up suddenly, and he awakes. This I have oftenexperienced myself, and I have heard the same from observing persons. Inlike manner, if a person in broad daylight were falling asleep, tointroduce a sudden darkness would prevent his sleep for that time, though silence and darkness in themselves, and not suddenly introduced, are very favorable to it. This I knew only by conjecture on the analogyof the senses when I first digested these observations; but I have sinceexperienced it. And I have often experienced, and so have a thousandothers, that on the first inclining towards sleep, we have been suddenlyawakened with a most violent start; and that this start was generallypreceded by a sort of dream of our falling down a precipice: whence doesthis strange motion arise, but from the too sudden relaxation of thebody, which by some mechanism in nature restores itself by as quick andvigorous an exertion of the contracting power of the muscles? The dreamitself is caused by this relaxation; and it is of too uniform a natureto be attributed to any other cause. The parts relax too suddenly, whichis in the nature of falling; and this accident of the body induces thisimage in the mind. When we are in a confirmed state of health and vigor, as all changes are then less sudden, and less on the extreme, we canseldom complain of this disagreeable sensation. 

SECTION XVIII. 

THE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS MODERATED. 

Though the effects of black be painful originally, we must not thinkthey always continue so. Custom reconciles us to everything. After wehave been used to the sight of black objects, the terror abates, and thesmoothness and glossiness, or some agreeable accident of bodies socolored, softens in some measure the horror and sternness of theiroriginal nature; yet the nature of the original impression stillcontinues. Black will always have something melancholy in it, becausethe sensory will always find the change to it from other colors tooviolent; or if it occupy the whole compass of the sight, it will then bedarkness; and what was said of darkness will be applicable here. I donot purpose to go into all that might be said to illustrate this theoryof the effects of light and darkness; neither will I examine all thedifferent effects produced by the various modifications and mixtures ofthese two causes. If the foregoing observations have any foundation innature, I conceive them very sufficient to account for all the phenomenathat can arise from all the combinations of black with other colors. Toenter into every particular, or to answer every objection, would be anendless labor. We have only followed the most leading roads; and weshall observe the same conduct in our inquiry into the cause of beauty. 

SECTION XIX. 

THE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF LOVE. 

When we have before us such objects as excite love and complacency, thebody is affected, so far as I could observe, much in the followingmanner: the head reclines something on one side; the eyelids are moreclosed than usual, and the eyes roll gently with an inclination to theobject; the mouth is a little opened, and the breath drawn slowly, withnow and then a low sigh; the whole body is composed, and the hands fallidly to the sides. All this is accompanied with an inward sense ofmelting and languor. These appearances are always proportioned to thedegree of beauty in the object, and of sensibility in the observer. Andthis gradation from the highest pitch of beauty and sensibility, even tothe lowest of mediocrity and indifference, and their correspondenteffects, ought to be kept in view, else this description will seemexaggerated, which it certainly is not. But from this description it isalmost impossible not to conclude that beauty acts by relaxing thesolids of the whole system. There are all the appearances of such arelaxation; and a relaxation somewhat below the natural tone seems to meto be the cause of all positive pleasure. Who is a stranger to thatmanner of expression so common in all times and in all countries, ofbeing softened, relaxed, enervated, dissolved, melted away by pleasure?The universal voice of mankind, faithful to their feelings, concurs inaffirming this uniform and general effect: and although some odd andparticular instance may perhaps be found, wherein there appears aconsiderable degree of positive pleasure, without all the characters ofrelaxation, we must not therefore reject the conclusion we had drawnfrom a concurrence of many experiments; but we must still retain it, subjoining the exceptions which may occur according to the judiciousrule laid down by Sir Isaac Newton in the third book of his Optics. Ourposition will, I conceive, appear confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt, if we can show that such things as we have already observed to be thegenuine constituents of beauty have each of them, separately taken, anatural tendency to relax the fibres. And if it must be allowed us, thatthe appearance of the human body, when all these constituents are unitedtogether before the sensory, further favors this opinion, we mayventure, I believe, to conclude that the passion called love is producedby this relaxation. By the same method of reasoning which we have usedin the inquiry into the causes of the sublime, we may likewise conclude, that as a beautiful object presented to the sense, by causing arelaxation of the body, produces the passion of love in the mind; so ifby any means the passion should first have its origin in the mind, arelaxation of the outward organs will as certainly ensue in a degreeproportioned to the cause. 

SECTION XX. 

WHY SMOOTHNESS IS BEAUTIFUL. 

It is to explain the true cause of visual beauty that I call in theassistance of the other senses. If it appears that _smoothness_ is aprincipal cause of pleasure to the touch, taste, smell, and hearing, itwill be easily admitted a constituent of visual beauty; especially as wehave before shown, that this quality is found almost without exceptionin all bodies that are by general consent held beautiful. There can beno doubt that bodies which are rough and angular, rouse and vellicatethe organs of feeling, causing a sense of pain, which consists in theviolent tension or contraction of the muscular fibres. On the contrary, the application of smooth bodies relaxes; gentle stroking with a smoothhand allays violent pains and cramps, and relaxes the suffering partsfrom their unnatural tension; and it has therefore very often no meaneffect in removing swellings and obstructions. The sense of feeling ishighly gratified with smooth bodies. A bed smoothly laid, and soft, thatis, where the resistance is every way inconsiderable, is a great luxury, disposing to an universal relaxation, and inducing beyond anything elsethat species of it called sleep. 

SECTION XXI. 

SWEETNESS, ITS NATURE. 

Nor is it only in the touch that smooth bodies cause positive pleasureby relaxation. In the smell and taste, we find all things agreeable tothem, and which are commonly called sweet, to be of a smooth nature, andthat they all evidently tend to relax their respective sensories. Let usfirst consider the taste. Since it is most easy to inquire into theproperty of liquids, and since all things seem to want a fluid vehicleto make them tasted at all, I intend rather to consider the liquid thanthe solid parts of our food. The vehicles of all tastes are _water_ and_oil_. And what determines the taste is some salt, which affectsvariously according to its nature, or its manner of being combined withother things. Water and oil, simply considered, are capable of givingsome pleasure to the taste. Water, when simple, is insipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth; it is found, when _not cold_, to be a greatresolver of spasms, and lubricator of the fibres; this power it probablyowes to its smoothness. For as fluidity depends, according to the mostgeneral opinion, on the roundness, smoothness, and weak cohesion of thecomponent parts of any body, and as water acts merely as a simple fluid, it follows that the cause of its fluidity is likewise the cause of itsrelaxing quality, namely, the smoothness and slippery texture of itsparts. The other fluid vehicle of tastes is _oil_. This too, whensimple, is insipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth to the touch andtaste. It is smoother than water, and in many cases yet more relaxing. Oil is in some degree pleasant to the eye, the touch, and the taste, insipid as it is. Water is not so grateful; which I do not know on whatprinciple to account for, other than that water is not so soft andsmooth. Suppose that to this oil or water were added a certain quantityof a specific salt, which had a power of putting the nervous papillæ ofthe tongue into a gentle vibratory motion; as suppose sugar dissolved init. The smoothness of the oil and the vibratory power of the salt causethe sense we call sweetness. In all sweet bodies, sugar, or a substancevery little different from sugar, is constantly found. Every species ofsalt, examined by the microscope, has its own distinct, regular, invariable form. That of nitre is a pointed oblong; that of sea-salt anexact cube; that of sugar a perfect globe. If you have tried how smoothglobular bodies, as the marbles with which boys amuse themselves, haveaffected the touch when they are rolled backward and forward and overone another, you will easily conceive how sweetness, which consists in asalt of such nature, affects the taste; for a single globe (thoughsomewhat pleasant to the feeling), yet by the regularity of its form, and the somewhat too sudden deviation of its parts from a right line, isnothing near so pleasant to the touch as several globes, where the handgently rises to one and falls to another; and this pleasure is greatlyincreased if the globes are in motion, and sliding over one another; forthis soft variety prevents that weariness, which the uniform dispositionof the several globes would otherwise produce. Thus in sweet liquors, the parts of the fluid vehicle, though most probably round, are yet sominute, as to conceal the figure of their component parts from thenicest inquisition of the microscope; and consequently, being soexcessively minute, they have a sort of flat simplicity to the taste, resembling the effects of plain smooth bodies to the touch; for if abody be composed of round parts excessively small, and packed prettyclosely together, the surface will be both to the sight and touch as ifit were nearly plain and smooth. It is clear from their unveiling theirfigure to the microscope, that the particles of sugar are considerablylarger than those of water or oil, and consequently that their effectsfrom their roundness will be more distinct and palpable to the nervouspapillæ of that nice organ the tongue; they will induce that sensecalled sweetness, which in a weak manner we discover in oil, and in ayet weaker in water; for, insipid as they are, water and oil are in somedegree sweet; and it may be observed, that insipid things of all kindsapproach more nearly to the nature of sweetness than to that of anyother taste. 

SECTION XXII. 

SWEETNESS RELAXING. 

In the other senses we have remarked, that smooth things are relaxing. Now it ought to appear that sweet things, which are the smooth of taste, are relaxing too. It is remarkable, that in some languages soft andsweet have but one name. _Doux_ in French signifies soft as well assweet. The Latin _dulcis_, and the Italian _dolce_, have in many casesthe same double signification. That sweet things are generally relaxing, is evident; because all such, especially those which are most oily, taken frequently, or in a large quantity, very much enfeeble the tone ofthe stomach. Sweet smells, which bear a great affinity to sweet tastes, relax very remarkably. The smell of flowers disposes people todrowsiness; and this relaxing effect is further apparent from theprejudice which people of weak nerves receive from their use. It wereworth while to examine, whether tastes of this kind, sweet ones, tastesthat are caused by smooth oils and a relaxing salt, are not theoriginally pleasant tastes. For many, which use has rendered such, werenot at all agreeable at first. The way to examine this is, to try whatnature has originally provided for us, which she has undoubtedly madeoriginally pleasant; and to analyze this provision. _Milk_ is the firstsupport of our childhood. The component parts of this are water, oil, and a sort of a very sweet salt, called the sugar of milk. All thesewhen blended have a great _smoothness_ to the taste, and a relaxingquality to the skin. The next thing children covet is _fruit_, and offruits those principally which are sweet; and every one knows that thesweetness of fruit is caused by a subtle oil, and such a salt as thatmentioned in the last section. Afterwards custom, habit, the desire ofnovelty, and a thousand other causes, confound, adulterate, and changeour palates, so that we can no longer reason with any satisfaction aboutthem. Before we quit this article, we must observe, that as smooththings are, as such, agreeable to the taste, and are found of a relaxingquality; so on the other hand, things which are found by experience tobe of a strengthening quality, and fit to brace the fibres, are almostuniversally rough and pungent to the taste, and in many cases rough evento the touch. We often apply the quality of sweetness, metaphorically, to visual objects. For the better carrying on this remarkable analogyof the senses, we may here call sweetness the beautiful of the taste. 

SECTION XXIII. 

VARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL. 

Another principal property of beautiful objects is, that the line oftheir parts is continually varying its direction; but it varies it by avery insensible deviation; it never varies it so quickly as to surprise, or by the sharpness of its angle to cause any twitching or convulsion ofthe optic nerve. Nothing long continued in the same manner, nothing verysuddenly varied, can be beautiful; because both are opposite to thatagreeable relaxation which is the characteristic effect of beauty. It isthus in all the senses. A motion in a right line is that manner ofmoving, next to a very gentle descent, in which we meet the leastresistance; yet it is not that manner of moving, which next to adescent, wearies us the least. Rest certainly tends to relax: yet thereis a species of motion which relaxes more than rest; a gentleoscillatory motion, a rising and falling. Rocking sets children to sleepbetter than absolute rest; there is indeed scarcely anything at thatage, which gives more pleasure than to be gently lifted up and down; themanner of playing which their nurses use with children, and the weighingand swinging used afterwards by themselves as a favorite amusement, evince this very sufficiently. Most people must have observed the sortof sense they have had on being swiftly drawn in an easy coach on asmooth turf, with gradual ascents and declivities. This will give abetter idea of the beautiful, and point out its probable cause better, than almost anything else. On the contrary, when one is hurried over arough, rocky, broken road, the pain felt by these sudden inequalitiesshows why similar sights, feelings, and sounds, are so contrary tobeauty: and with regard to the feeling, it is exactly the same in itseffect, or very nearly the same, whether, for instance, I move my handalong the surface of a body of a certain shape, or whether such a bodyis moved along my hand. But to bring this analogy of the senses home tothe eye; if a body presented to that sense has such a waving surface, that the rays of light reflected from it are in a continual insensibledeviation from the strongest to the weakest (which is always the case ina surface gradually unequal), it must be exactly similar in its effectson the eye and touch; upon the one of which it operates directly, on theother indirectly. And this body will be beautiful if the lines whichcompose its surface are not continued, even so varied, in a manner thatmay weary or dissipate the attention. The variation itself must becontinually varied. 

SECTION XXIV. 

CONCERNING SMALLNESS. 

To avoid a sameness which may arise from the too frequent repetition ofthe same reasonings, and of illustrations of the same nature, I will notenter very minutely into every particular that regards beauty, as it isfounded on the disposition of its quantity, or its quantity itself. Inspeaking of the magnitude of bodies there is great uncertainty, becausethe ideas of great and small are terms almost entirely relative to thespecies of the objects, which are infinite. It is true, that having oncefixed the species of any object, and the dimensions common in theindividuals of that species, we may observe some that exceed, and somethat fall short of, the ordinary standard: those which greatly exceedare, by that excess, provided the species itself be not very small, rather great and terrible than beautiful; but as in the animal world, and in a good measure in the vegetable world likewise, the qualitiesthat constitute beauty may possibly be united to things of greaterdimensions; when they are so united, they constitute a species somethingdifferent both from the sublime and beautiful, which I have beforecalled _fine_; but this kind, I imagine, has not such a power on thepassions, either as vast bodies have which are endued with thecorrespondent qualities of the sublime; or as the qualities of beautyhave when united in a small object. The affection produced by largebodies adorned with the spoils of beauty, is a tension continuallyrelieved; which approaches to the nature of mediocrity. But if I were tosay how I find myself affected upon such occasions, I should say thatthe sublime suffers less by being united to some of the qualities ofbeauty, than beauty does by being joined to greatness of quantity, orany other properties of the sublime. There is something so overruling inwhatever inspires us with awe, in all things which belong ever soremotely to terror, that nothing else can stand in their presence. Therelie the qualities of beauty either dead or unoperative; or at mostexerted to mollify the rigor and sternness of the terror, which is thenatural concomitant of greatness. Besides the extraordinary great inevery species, the opposite to this, the dwarfish and diminutive, oughtto be considered. Littleness, merely as such, has nothing contrary tothe idea of beauty. The humming-bird, both in shape and coloring, yieldsto none of the winged species, of which it is the least; and perhaps hisbeauty is enhanced by his smallness. But there are animals, which, whenthey are extremely small, are rarely (if ever) beautiful. There is adwarfish size of men and women, which is almost constantly so gross andmassive in comparison of their height, that they present us with a verydisagreeable image. But should a man be found not above two or threefeet high, supposing such a person to have all the parts of his body ofa delicacy suitable to such a size, and otherwise endued with the commonqualities of other beautiful bodies, I am pretty well convinced that aperson of such a stature might be considered as beautiful; might be theobject of love; might give us very pleasing ideas on viewing him. Theonly thing which could possibly interpose to check our pleasure is, thatsuch creatures, however formed, are unusual, and are often thereforeconsidered as something monstrous. The large and gigantic, though verycompatible with the sublime, is contrary to the beautiful. It isimpossible to suppose a giant the object of love. When we let ourimagination loose in romance, the ideas we naturally annex to that sizeare those of tyranny, cruelty, injustice, and everything horrid andabominable. We paint the giant ravaging the country, plundering theinnocent traveller, and afterwards gorged with his half-living flesh:such are Polyphemus, Cacus, and others, who make so great a figure inromances and heroic poems. The event we attend to with the greatestsatisfaction is their defeat and death. I do not remember, in all thatmultitude of deaths with which the Iliad is filled, that the fall of anyman, remarkable for his great stature and strength, touches us withpity; nor does it appear that the author, so well read in human nature, ever intended it should. It is Simoisius, in the soft bloom of youth, torn from his parents, who tremble for a courage so ill suited to hisstrength; it is another hurried by war from the new embraces of hisbride, young and fair, and a novice to the field, who melts us by hisuntimely fate. Achilles, in spite of the many qualities of beauty whichHomer has bestowed on his outward form, and the many great virtues withwhich he has adorned his mind, can never make us love him. It may beobserved, that Homer has given the Trojans, whose fate he has designedto excite our compassion, infinitely more of the amiable, social virtuesthan he has distributed among his Greeks. With regard to the Trojans, the passion he chooses to raise is pity; pity is a passion founded onlove; and these _lesser_, and if I may say domestic virtues, arecertainly the most amiable. But he has made the Greeks far theirsuperiors in the politic and military virtues. The councils of Priam areweak; the arms of Hector comparatively feeble; his courage far belowthat of Achilles. Yet we love Priam more than Agamemnon, and Hector morethan his conqueror Achilles. Admiration is the passion which Homer wouldexcite in favor of the Greeks, and he has done it by bestowing on themthe virtues which have but little to do with love. This short digressionis perhaps not wholly beside our purpose, where our business is to showthat objects of great dimensions are incompatible with beauty, the moreincompatible as they are greater; whereas the small, if ever they failof beauty, this failure is not to be attributed to their size. 

SECTION XXV. 

OF COLOR. 

With regard to color, the disquisition is almost infinite; but Iconceive the principles laid down in the beginning of this part aresufficient to account for the effects of them all, as well as for theagreeable effects of transparent bodies, whether fluid or solid. SupposeI look at a bottle of muddy liquor, of a blue or red color; the blue orred rays cannot pass clearly to the eye, but are suddenly and unequallystopped by the intervention of little opaque bodies, which withoutpreparation change the idea, and change it too into one disagreeable inits own nature, conformably to the principles laid down in Sect. 24. Butwhen the ray passes without such opposition through the glass or liquor, when the glass or liquor is quite transparent, the light is sometimessoftened in the passage, which makes it more agreeable even as light;and the liquor reflecting all the rays of its proper color _evenly_, ithas such an effect on the eye, as smooth opaque bodies have on the eyeand touch. So that the pleasure here is compounded of the softness ofthe transmitted, and the evenness of the reflected light. This pleasuremay be heightened by the common principles in other things, if the shapeof the glass which holds the transparent liquor be so judiciouslyvaried, as to present the color gradually and interchangeably, weakenedand strengthened with all the variety which judgment in affairs of thisnature shall suggest. On a review of all that has been said of theeffects, as well as the causes of both, it will appear that the sublimeand beautiful are built on principles very different, and that theiraffections are as different: the great has terror for its basis, which, when it is modified, causes that emotion in the mind, which I havecalled astonishment; the beautiful is founded on mere positive pleasure, and excites in the soul that feeling which is called love. Their causeshave made the subject of this fourth part. 

FOOTNOTES:

[29] Part I. Sect. 7. 

[30] Part I. Sect. 10. 

[31] I do not here enter into the question debated among physiologists, whether pain be the effect of a contraction, or a tension of the nerves. Either will serve my purpose; for by tension, I mean no more than aviolent pulling of the fibres which compose any muscle or membrane, inwhatever way this is done. 

[32] Part II. Sect. 2. 

[33] Part II. Sect. 1. 

[34] Part I. Sect. 7. Part II. Sect. 2. 

[35] Part II. Sect. 7. 

[36] Part II. Sect. 10. 

[37] Part II. Sect. 3. 

PART V. 

SECTION I. 

OF WORDS. 

Natural objects affect us by the laws of that connection whichProvidence has established between certain motions and configurations ofbodies, and certain consequent feelings in our mind. Painting affects inthe same manner, but with the superadded pleasure of imitation. Architecture affects by the laws of nature and the law of reason; fromwhich latter result the rules of proportion, which make a work to bepraised or censured, in the whole or in some part, when the end forwhich it was designed is or is not properly answered. But as to words;they seem to me to affect us in a manner very different from that inwhich we are affected by natural objects, or by painting orarchitecture; yet words have as considerable a share in exciting ideasof beauty and of the sublime as many of those, and sometimes a muchgreater than any of them; therefore an inquiry into the manner by whichthey excite such emotions is far from being unnecessary in a discourseof this kind. 

SECTION II. 

THE COMMON EFFECTS OF POETRY, NOT BY RAISING IDEAS OF THINGS. 

The common notion of the power of poetry and eloquence, as well as thatof words in ordinary conversation, is, that they affect the mind byraising in it ideas of those things for which custom has appointed themto stand. To examine the truth of this notion, it may be requisite toobserve that words may be divided into three sorts. The first are suchas represent many simple ideas _united by nature_ to form some onedeterminate composition, as man, horse, tree, castle, &c. These I call_aggregate words_. The second are they that stand for one simple idea ofsuch compositions, and no more; as red, blue, round, square, and thelike. These I call _simple abstract_ words. The third are those whichare formed by an union, an _arbitrary_ union of both the others, and ofthe various relations between them in greater or lesser degrees ofcomplexity; as virtue, honor, persuasion, magistrate, and the like. These I call _compound abstract_ words. Words, I am sensible, arecapable of being classed into more curious distinctions; but these seemto be natural, and enough for our purpose; and they are disposed in thatorder in which they are commonly taught, and in which the mind gets theideas they are substituted for. I shall begin with the third sort ofwords; compound abstracts, such as virtue, honor, persuasion, docility. Of these I am convinced, that whatever power they may have on thepassions, they do not derive it from any representation raised in themind of the things for which they stand. As compositions, they are notreal essences, and hardly cause, I think, any real ideas. Nobody, Ibelieve, immediately on hearing the sounds, virtue, liberty, or honor, conceives any precise notions of the particular modes of action andthinking, together with the mixed and simple ideas, and the severalrelations of them for which these words are substituted; neither has heany general idea compounded of them; for if he had, then some of thoseparticular ones, though indistinct perhaps, and confused, might comesoon to be perceived. But this, I take it, is hardly ever the case. For, put yourself upon analyzing one of these words, and you must reduce itfrom one set of general words to another, and then into the simpleabstracts and aggregates, in a much longer series than may be at firstimagined, before any real idea emerges to light, before you come todiscover anything like the first principles of such compositions; andwhen you have made such a discovery of the original ideas, the effect ofthe composition is utterly lost. A train of thinking of this sort ismuch too long to be pursued in the ordinary ways of conversation; nor isit at all necessary that it should. Such words are in reality but meresounds; but they are sounds which being used on particular occasions, wherein we receive some good, or suffer some evil; or see othersaffected with good or evil; or which we hear applied to otherinteresting things or events; and being applied in such a variety ofcases, that we know readily by habit to what things they belong, theyproduce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned, effectssimilar to those of their occasions. The sounds being often used withoutreference to any particular occasion, and carrying still their firstimpressions, they at last utterly lose their connection with theparticular occasions that gave rise to them; yet the sound, without anyannexed notion, continues to operate as before. 

SECTION III. 

GENERAL WORDS BEFORE IDEAS. 

Mr. Locke has somewhere observed, with his usual sagacity, that mostgeneral words, those belonging to virtue and vice, good and evilespecially, are taught before the particular modes of action to whichthey belong are presented to the mind; and with them, the love of theone, and the abhorrence of the other; for the minds of children are soductile, that a nurse, or any person about a child, by seeming pleasedor displeased with anything, or even any word, may give the dispositionof the child a similar turn. When, afterwards, the several occurrencesin life come to be applied to these words, and that which is pleasantoften appears under the name of evil; and what is disagreeable to natureis called good and virtuous; a strange confusion of ideas and affectionsarises in the minds of many; and an appearance of no small contradictionbetween their notions and their actions. There are many who love virtueand who detest vice, and this not from hypocrisy or affectation, whonotwithstanding very frequently act ill and wickedly in particularswithout the least remorse; because these particular occasions never cameinto view, when the passions on the side of virtue were so warmlyaffected by certain words heated originally by the breath of others; andfor this reason, it is hard to repeat certain sets of words, thoughowned by themselves unoperative, without being in some degree affected;especially if a warm and affecting tone of voice accompanies them, assuppose, Wise, valiant, generous, good, and great. 

These words, by having no application, ought to be unoperative; butwhen words commonly sacred to great occasions are used, we are affectedby them even without the occasions. When words which have been generallyso applied are put together without any rational view, or in such amanner that they do not rightly agree with each other, the style iscalled bombast. And it requires in several cases much good sense andexperience to be guarded against the force of such language; for whenpropriety is neglected, a greater number of these affecting words may betaken into the service, and a greater variety may be indulged incombining them. 

SECTION IV. 

THE EFFECT OF WORDS. 

If words have all their possible extent of power, three effects arise inthe mind of the hearer. The first is, the _sound_; the second, the_picture_, or representation of the thing signified by the sound; thethird is, the _affection_ of the soul produced by one or by both of theforegoing. _Compounded abstract_ words, of which we have been speaking, (honor, justice, liberty, and the like, ) produce the first and the lastof these effects, but not the second. _Simple abstracts_ are used tosignify some one simple idea without much adverting to others which maychance to attend it, as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like; these arecapable of affecting all three of the purposes of words; as the_aggregate_ words, man, castle, horse, &c. Are in a yet higher degree. But I am of opinion, that the most general effect, even of these words, does not arise from their forming pictures of the several things theywould represent in the imagination; because, on a very diligentexamination of my own mind, and getting others to consider theirs, I donot find that once in twenty times any such picture is formed, and whenit is, there is most commonly a particular effort of the imagination forthat purpose. But the aggregate words operate, as I said of thecompound-abstracts, not by presenting any image to the mind, but byhaving from use the same effect on being mentioned, that their originalhas when it is seen. Suppose we were to read a passage to this effect:"The river Danube rises in a moist and mountainous soil in the heart ofGermany, where, winding to and fro, it waters several principalities, until, turning into Austria, and laving the walls of Vienna, it passesinto Hungary; there with a vast flood, augmented by the Save and theDrave, it quits Christendom, and rolling through the barbarous countrieswhich border on Tartary, it enters by many mouths in the Black Sea. " Inthis description many things are mentioned, as mountains, rivers, cities, the sea, &c. But let anybody examine himself, and see whether hehas had impressed on his imagination any pictures of a river, mountain, watery soil, Germany, &c. Indeed it is impossible, in the rapidity andquick succession of words in conversation, to have ideas both of thesound of the word, and of the thing represented; besides, some words, expressing real essences, are so mixed with others of a general andnominal import, that it is impracticable to jump from sense to thought, from particulars to generals, from things to words, in such a manner asto answer the purposes of life; nor is it necessary that we should. 

SECTION V. 

EXAMPLES THAT WORDS MAY AFFECT WITHOUT RAISING IMAGES. 

I find it very hard to persuade several that their passions are affectedby words from whence they have no ideas; and yet harder to convince themthat in the ordinary course of conversation we are sufficientlyunderstood without raising any images of the things concerning which wespeak. It seems to be an odd subject of dispute with any man, whether hehas ideas in his mind or not. Of this, at first view, every man, in hisown forum, ought to judge without appeal. But, strange as it may appear, we are often at a loss to know what ideas we have of things, or whetherwe have any ideas at all upon some subjects. It even requires a gooddeal of attention to be thoroughly satisfied on this head. Since I wrotethese papers, I found two very striking instances of the possibilitythere is, that a man may hear words without having any idea of thethings which they represent, and yet afterwards be capable of returningthem to others, combined in a new way, and with great propriety, energy, and instruction. The first instance is that of Mr. Blacklock, a poetblind from his birth. Few men blessed with the most perfect sight candescribe visual objects with more spirit and justness than this blindman; which cannot possibly be attributed to his having a clearerconception of the things he describes than is common to other persons. Mr. Spence, in an elegant preface which he has written to the works ofthis poet, reasons very ingeniously, and, I imagine, for the most part, very rightly, upon the cause of this extraordinary phenomenon; but Icannot altogether agree with him, that some improprieties in languageand thought, which occur in these poems, have arisen from the blindpoet's imperfect conception of visual objects, since such improprieties, and much greater, may be found in writers even of a higher class thanMr. Blacklock, and who, notwithstanding, possessed the faculty of seeingin its full perfection. Here is a poet doubtless as much affected by hisown descriptions as any that reads them can be; and yet he is affectedwith this strong enthusiasm by things of which he neither has, nor canpossibly have, any idea further than that of a bare sound: and why maynot those who read his works be affected in the same manner that he was;with as little of any real ideas of the things described? The secondinstance is of Mr. Saunderson, professor of mathematics in theUniversity of Cambridge. This learned man had acquired great knowledgein natural philosophy, in astronomy, and whatever sciences depend uponmathematical skill. What was the most extraordinary and the most to mypurpose, he gave excellent lectures upon light and colors; and this mantaught others the theory of those ideas which they had, and which hehimself undoubtedly had not. But it is probable that the words red, blue, green, answered to him as well as the ideas of the colorsthemselves; for the ideas of greater or lesser degrees of refrangibilitybeing applied to these words, and the blind man being instructed in whatother respects they were found to agree or to disagree, it was as easyfor him to reason upon the words as if he had been fully master of theideas. Indeed it must be owned he could make no new discoveries in theway of experiment. He did nothing but what we do every day in commondiscourse. When I wrote this last sentence, and used the words _everyday_ and _common discourse_, I had no images in my mind of anysuccession of time; nor of men in conference with each other; nor do Iimagine that the reader will have any such ideas on reading it. Neitherwhen I spoke of red, or blue, and green, as well as refrangibility, hadI these several colors, or the rays of light passing into a differentmedium, and there diverted from their course, painted before me in theway of images. I know very well that the mind possesses a faculty ofraising such images at pleasure; but then an act of the will isnecessary to this; and in ordinary conversation or reading it is veryrarely that any image at all is excited in the mind. If I say, "I shallgo to Italy next summer, " I am well understood. Yet I believe nobody hasby this painted in his imagination the exact figure of the speakerpassing by land or by water, or both; sometimes on horseback, sometimesin a carriage: with all the particulars of the journey. Still less hashe any idea of Italy, the country to which I proposed to go; or of thegreenness of the fields, the ripening of the fruits, and the warmth ofthe air, with the change to this from a different season, which are theideas for which the word _summer_ is substituted; but least of all hashe any image from the word _next_; for this word stands for the idea ofmany summers, with the exclusion of all but one: and surely the man whosays _next summer_ has no images of such a succession, and such anexclusion. In short, it is not only of those ideas which are commonlycalled abstract, and of which no image at all can be formed, but even ofparticular, real beings, that we converse without having any idea ofthem excited in the imagination; as will certainly appear on a diligentexamination of our own minds. Indeed, so little does poetry depend forits effect on the power of raising sensible images, that I am convincedit would lose a very considerable part of its energy, if this were thenecessary result of all description. Because that union of affectingwords, which is the most powerful of all poetical instruments, wouldfrequently lose its force along with its propriety and consistency, ifthe sensible images were always excited. There is not, perhaps, in thewhole Æneid a more grand and labored passage than the description ofVulcan's cavern in Etna, and the works that are there carried on. Virgildwells particularly on the formation of the thunder which he describesunfinished under the hammers of the Cyclops. But what are the principlesof this extraordinary composition?

 Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosæ Addiderant; rutili tres ignis, et alitis austri: Fulgores nunc terrificos, sonitumque, metumque Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras. 

This seems to me admirably sublime: yet if we attend coolly to the kindof sensible images which a combination of ideas of this sort must form, the chimeras of madmen cannot appear more wild and absurd than such apicture. "_Three rays of twisted showers, three of watery clouds, threeof fire, and three of the winged south wind; then mixed they in the workterrific lightnings, and sound, and fear, and anger, with pursuingflames. _" This strange composition is formed into a gross body; it ishammered by the Cyclops, it is in part polished, and partly continuesrough. The truth is, if poetry gives us a noble assemblage of wordscorresponding to many noble ideas, which are connected by circumstancesof time or place, or related to each other as cause and effect, orassociated in any natural way, they may be moulded together in any form, and perfectly answer their end. The picturesque connection is notdemanded; because no real picture is formed; nor is the effect of thedescription at all the less upon this account. What is said of Helen byPriam and the old men of his council, is generally thought to give usthe highest possible idea of that fatal beauty. 

 [Greek: Ou nemesis, Trôas kai euknêmidas 'Achaious Toiêd' amphi gunaiki polun chronon algea paschein Ainôs athanatêsi theês eis ôpa eoiken. ]

 "They cried, No wonder such celestial charms For nine long years have set the world in arms; What winning graces! what majestic mien! She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen. "

 POPE. 

Here is not one word said of the particulars of her beauty; nothingwhich can in the least help us to any precise idea of her person; butyet we are much more touched by this manner of mentioning her, than bythose long and labored descriptions of Helen, whether handed down bytradition, or formed by fancy, which are to be met with in some authors. I am sure it affects me much more than the minute description whichSpenser has given of Belphebe; though I own that there are parts, inthat description, as there are in all the descriptions of that excellentwriter, extremely fine and poetical. The terrible picture whichLucretius has drawn of religion in order to display the magnanimity ofhis philosophical hero in opposing her, is thought to be designed withgreat boldness and spirit:--

 Humana ante oculos foedè cum vita jaceret, In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione, Quæ caput e coeli regionibus ostendebat Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans; Primus Graius homo mortales tollere contra Est oculos ausus. 

What idea do you derive from so excellent a picture? none at all, mostcertainly: neither has the poet said a single word which might in theleast serve to mark a single limb or feature of the phantom, which heintended to represent in all the horrors imagination can conceive. Inreality, poetry and rhetoric do not succeed in exact description so wellas painting does; their business is, to affect rather by sympathy thanimitation; to display rather the effect of things on the mind of thespeaker, or of others, than to present a clear idea of the thingsthemselves. This is their most extensive province, and that in whichthey succeed the best. 

SECTION VI. 

POETRY NOT STRICTLY AN IMITATIVE ART. 

Hence we may observe that poetry, taken in its most general sense, cannot with strict propriety be called an art of imitation. It is indeedan imitation so far as it describes the manners and passions of menwhich their words can express; where _animi motus effert interpretelingua_. There it is strictly imitation; and all merely _dramatic_poetry is of this sort. But _descriptive_ poetry operates chiefly by_substitution_; by the means of sounds, which by custom have the effectof realities. Nothing is an imitation further than as it resembles someother thing; and words undoubtedly have no sort of resemblance to theideas for which they stand. 

SECTION VII. 

HOW WORDS INFLUENCE THE PASSIONS. 

Now, as words affect, not by any original power, but by representation, it might be supposed, that their influence over the passions should bebut light; yet it is quite otherwise; for we find by experience, thateloquence and poetry are as capable, nay indeed much more capable, ofmaking deep and lively impressions than any other arts, and even thannature itself in very many cases. And this arises chiefly from thesethree causes. First, that we take an extraordinary part in the passionsof others, and that we are easily affected and brought into sympathy byany tokens which are shown of them; and there are no tokens which canexpress all the circumstances of most passions so fully as words; sothat if a person speaks upon any subject, he can not only convey thesubject to you, but likewise the manner in which he is himself affectedby it. Certain it is, that the influence of most things on our passionsis not so much from the things themselves, as from our opinionsconcerning them; and these again depend very much on the opinions ofother men, conveyable for the most part by words only. Secondly, thereare many things of a very affecting nature, which can seldom occur inthe reality, but the words that represent them often do; and thus theyhave an opportunity of making a deep impression and taking root in themind, whilst the idea of the reality was transient; and to some perhapsnever really occurred in any shape, to whom it is notwithstanding veryaffecting, as war, death, famine, &c. Besides many ideas have never beenat all presented to the senses of any men but by words, as God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell, all of which have however a great influenceover the passions. Thirdly, by words we have it in our power to makesuch _combinations_ as we cannot possibly do otherwise. By this power ofcombining we are able, by the addition of well-chosen circumstances, togive a new life and force to the simple object. In painting we mayrepresent any fine figure we please; but we never can give it thoseenlivening touches which it may receive from words. To represent anangel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged: butwhat painting can furnish out anything so grand as the addition of oneword, "the angel of the _Lord_"? It is true, I have here no clear idea;but these words affect the mind more than the sensible image did; whichis all I contend for. A picture of Priam dragged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if it were well executed, would undoubtedly be verymoving; but there are very aggravating circumstances, which it couldnever represent:

 Sanguine foedantem _quos ipse sacraverat_ ignes. 

As a further instance, let us consider those lines of Milton, where hedescribes the travels of the fallen angels through their dismalhabitation:

 "O'er many a dark and dreary vale They passed, and many a region dolorous; O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp; Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death, A universe of death. "

Here is displayed the force of union in

 "Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades"

which yet would lose the greatest part of their effect, if they were notthe

 "Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades--of _Death_. "

This idea or this affection caused by a word, which nothing but a wordcould annex to the others, raises a very great degree of the sublime, and this sublime is raised yet higher by what follows, a "_universe ofdeath_. " Here are again two ideas not presentable but by language, andan union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they mayproperly be called ideas which present no distinct image to the mind;but still it will be difficult to conceive how words can move thepassions which belong to real objects, without representing theseobjects clearly. This is difficult to us, because we do not sufficientlydistinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clearexpression and a strong expression. These are frequently confounded witheach other, though they are in reality extremely different. The formerregards the understanding, the latter belongs to the passions. The onedescribes a thing as it is, the latter describes it as it is felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned countenance, anagitated gesture, which affect independently of the things about whichthey are exerted, so there are words, and certain dispositions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always usedby those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and move usmore than those which far more clearly and distinctly express thesubject-matter. We yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. Thetruth is, all verbal description, merely as naked description, thoughnever so exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thingdescribed, that it could scarcely have the smallest effect, if thespeaker did not call in to his aid those modes of speech that mark astrong and lively feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of ourpassions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probablymight never have been struck out by the object described. Words, bystrongly conveying the passions by those means which we have alreadymentioned, fully compensate for their weakness in other respects. It maybe observed, that very polished languages, and such as are praised fortheir superior clearness and perspicuity, are generally deficient instrength. The French language has that perfection and that defect. Whereas the Oriental tongues, and in general the languages of mostunpolished people, have a great force and energy of expression, and thisis but natural. Uncultivated people are but ordinary observers ofthings, and not critical in distinguishing them; but, for that reasonthey admire more, and are more affected with what they see, andtherefore express themselves in a warmer and more passionate manner. Ifthe affection be well conveyed, it will work its effect without anyclear idea, often without any idea at all of the thing which hasoriginally given rise to it. 

It might be expected, from the fertility of the subject, that I shouldconsider poetry, as it regards the sublime and beautiful, more at large;but it must be observed, that in this light it has been often and wellhandled already. It was not my design to enter into the criticism of thesublime and beautiful in any art, but to attempt to lay down suchprinciples as may tend to ascertain, to distinguish, and to form a sortof standard for them; which purposes I thought might be best effectedby an inquiry into the properties of such things in nature, as raiselove and astonishment in us; and by showing in what manner they operatedto produce these passions. Words were only so far to be considered as toshow upon what principle they were capable of being the representativesof these natural things, and by what powers they were able to affect usoften as strongly as the things they represent, and sometimes much morestrongly. 

A

SHORT ACCOUNT

OF

A LATE SHORT ADMINISTRATION. 

1766. 

The late administration came into employment, under the mediation of theDuke of Cumberland, on the tenth day of July, 1765; and was removed, upon a plan settled by the Earl of Chatham, on the thirtieth day ofJuly, 1766, having lasted just one year and twenty days. 

In that space of time

The distractions of the British empire were composed, by _the repeal ofthe American stamp act_;

But the constitutional superiority of Great Britain was preserved by_the act for securing the dependence of the colonies_. 

_Private_ houses were relieved from the jurisdiction of the excise, by_the repeal of the cider tax_. 

The personal liberty of the subject was confirmed, by _the resolutionagainst general warrants_. 

The lawful secrets of business and friendship were rendered inviolable, by _the resolution for condemning the seizure of papers_. 

The trade of America was set free from injudicious and ruinousimpositions, --its revenue was improved, and settled upon a rationalfoundation, --its commerce extended with foreign countries; while allthe advantages were secured to Great Britain, by _the act for repealingcertain duties, and encouraging, regulating, and securing the trade ofthis kingdom, and the British dominions in America_. 

Materials were provided and insured to our manufactures, --the sale ofthese manufactures was increased, --the African trade preserved andextended, --the principles of the act of navigation pursued, and the planimproved, --and the trade for bullion rendered free, secure, andpermanent, by _the act for opening certain ports in Dominica andJamaica_. 

That administration was the first which proposed and encouraged publicmeetings and free consultations of merchants from all parts of thekingdom; by which means the truest lights have been received; greatbenefits have been already derived to manufactures and commerce; and themost extensive prospects are opened for further improvement. 

Under them, the interests of our northern and southern colonies, beforethat time jarring and dissonant, were understood, compared, adjusted, and perfectly reconciled. The passions and animosities of the colonies, by judicious and lenient measures, were allayed and composed, and thefoundation laid for a lasting agreement amongst them. 

Whilst that administration provided for the liberty and commerce oftheir country, as the true basis of its power, they consulted itsinterests, they asserted its honor abroad, with temper and withfirmness; by making an advantageous treaty of commerce with Russia; byobtaining a liquidation of the Canada bills, to the satisfaction of theproprietors; by reviving and raising from its ashes the negotiation forthe Manilla ransom, which had been extinguished and abandoned by theirpredecessors. 

They treated their sovereign with decency; with reverence. Theydiscountenanced, and, it is hoped, forever abolished, the dangerous andunconstitutional practice of removing military officers for their votesin Parliament. They firmly adhered to those friends of liberty, who hadrun all hazards in its cause; and provided for them in preference toevery other claim. 

With the Earl of Bute they had no personal connection; no correspondenceof councils. They neither courted him nor persecuted him. They practisedno corruption; nor were they even suspected of it. They sold no offices. They obtained no reversions or pensions, either coming in or going out, for them selves, their families, or their dependents. 

In the prosecution of their measures they were traversed by anopposition of a new and singular character; an opposition of placemenand pensioners. They were supported by the confidence of the nation. Andhaving held their offices under many difficulties and discouragements, they left them at the express command, as they had accepted them at theearnest request, of their royal master. 

These are plain facts; of a clear and public nature; neither extended byelaborate reasoning, nor heightened by the coloring of eloquence. Theyare the services of a single year. 

The removal of that administration from power is not to them premature;since they were in office long enough to accomplish many plans of publicutility; and, by their perseverance and resolution, rendered the waysmooth and easy to their successors; having left their king and theircountry in a much better condition than they found them. By the temperthey manifest, they seem to have now no other wish than that theirsuccessors may do the public as real and as faithful service as theyhave done. 

OBSERVATIONS

ON A LATE PUBLICATION, INTITULED

"THE PRESENT STATE OF THE NATION. "

 "O Tite, si quid ego adjuvero curamve levasso, Quæ nunc te coquit, et versat sub pectore fixa, Ecquid erit pretii?"

 ENN. Ap. CIC. 

1769. 

Party divisions, whether on the whole operating for good or evil, arethings inseparable from free government. This is a truth which, Ibelieve, admits little dispute, having been established by the uniformexperience of all ages. The part a good citizen ought to take in thesedivisions has been a matter of much deeper controversy. But God forbidthat any controversy relating to our essential morals should admit of nodecision. It appears to me, that this question, like most of the otherswhich regard our duties in life, is to be determined by our station init. Private men may be wholly neutral, and entirely innocent: but theywho are legally invested with public trust, or stand on the high groundof rank and dignity, which is trust implied, can hardly in any caseremain indifferent, without the certainty of sinking intoinsignificance; and thereby in effect deserting that post in which, withthe fullest authority, and for the wisest purposes, the laws andinstitutions of their country have fixed them. However, if it be theoffice of those who are thus circumstanced, to take a decided part, itis no less their duty that it should be a sober one. It ought to becircumscribed by the same laws of decorum, and balanced by the sametemper, which bound and regulate all the virtues. In a word, we ought toact in party with all the moderation which does not absolutely enervatethat vigor, and quench that fervency of spirit, without which the bestwishes for the public good must evaporate in empty speculation. 

It is probably from some such motives that the friends of a veryrespectable party in this kingdom have been hitherto silent. For thesetwo years past, from one and the same quarter of politics, a continualfire has been kept upon them; sometimes from the unwieldy column ofquartos and octavos; sometimes from the light squadrons of occasionalpamphlets and flying sheets. Every month has brought on its periodicalcalumny. The abuse has taken every shape which the ability of thewriters could give it; plain invective, clumsy raillery, misrepresentedanecdote. [38] No method of vilifying the measures, the abilities, theintentions, or the persons which compose that body, has been omitted. 

On their part nothing was opposed but patience and character. It was amatter of the most serious and indignant affliction to persons whothought themselves in conscience bound to oppose a ministry dangerousfrom its very constitution, as well as its measures, to find themselves, whenever they faced their adversaries, continually attacked on the rearby a set of men who pretended to be actuated by motives similar totheirs. They saw that the plan long pursued, with but too fatal asuccess, was to break the strength of this kingdom, by frittering downthe bodies which compose it, by fomenting bitter and sanguinaryanimosities, and by dissolving every tie of social affection and publictrust. These virtuous men, such I am warranted by public opinion to callthem, were resolved rather to endure everything, than co-operate in thatdesign. A diversity of opinion upon almost every principle of politicshad indeed drawn a strong line of separation between them and someothers. However, they were desirous not to extend the misfortune byunnecessary bitterness; they wished to prevent a difference of opinionon the commonwealth from festering into rancorous and incurablehostility. Accordingly they endeavored that all past controversiesshould be forgotten; and that enough for the day should be the evilthereof. There is however a limit at which forbearance ceases to be avirtue. Men may tolerate injuries whilst they are only personal tothemselves. But it is not the first of virtues to bear with moderationthe indignities that are offered to our country. A piece has at lengthappeared, from the quarter of all the former attacks, which upon everypublic consideration demands an answer. Whilst persons more equal tothis business may be engaged in affairs of greater moment, I hope Ishall be excused, if, in a few hours of a time not very important, andfrom such materials as I have by me (more than enough however for thispurpose), I undertake to set the facts and arguments of this wonderfulperformance in a proper light. I will endeavor to state what this pieceis; the purpose for which I take it to have been written; and theeffects (supposing it should have any effect at all) it must necessarilyproduce. 

This piece is called "The Present State of the Nation. " It may beconsidered as a sort of digest of the avowed maxims of a certainpolitical school, the effects of whose doctrines and practices thiscountry will fuel long and severely. It is made up of a farrago ofalmost every topic which has been agitated on national affairs inparliamentary debate, or private conversation, for these last sevenyears. The oldest controversies are hauled out of the dust with whichtime and neglect had covered them. Arguments ten times repeated, athousand times answered before, are here repeated again. Public accountsformerly printed and reprinted revolve once more, and find their oldstation in this sober meridian. All the commonplace lamentations uponthe decay of trade, the increase of taxes, and the high price of laborand provisions, are here retailed again and again in the same tone withwhich they have drawled through columns of Gazetteers and Advertisersfor a century together. Paradoxes which affront common sense, anduninteresting barren truths which generate no conclusion, are thrown into augment unwieldy bulk, without adding anything to weight. Because twoaccusations are better than one, contradictions are set staring oneanother in the face, without even an attempt to reconcile them. And, togive the whole a sort of portentous air of labor and information, thetable of the House of Commons is swept into this grand reservoir ofpolitics. 

As to the composition, it bears a striking and whimsical resemblance toa funeral sermon, not only in the pathetic prayer with which itconcludes, but in the style and tenor of the whole performance. It ispiteously doleful, nodding every now and then towards dulness; wellstored with pious frauds, and, like most discourses of the sort, muchbetter calculated for the private advantage of the preacher than theedification of the hearers. 

The author has indeed so involved his subject, that it is frequently farfrom being easy to comprehend his meaning. It is happy for the publicthat it is never difficult to fathom his design. The apparent intentionof this author is to draw the most aggravated, hideous and deformedpicture of the state of this country, which his querulous eloquence, aided by the arbitrary dominion he assumes over fact, is capable ofexhibiting. Had he attributed our misfortunes to their true cause, theinjudicious tampering of bold, improvident, and visionary ministers atone period, or to their supine negligence and traitorous dissensions atanother, the complaint had been just, and might have been useful. Butfar the greater and much the worst part of the state which he exhibitsis owing, according to his representation, not to accidental andextrinsic mischiefs attendant on the nation, but to its radical weaknessand constitutional distempers. All this however is not without purpose. The author is in hopes, that, when we are fallen into a fanatical terrorfor the national salvation, we shall then be ready to throwourselves, --in a sort of precipitate trust, some strange disposition ofthe mind jumbled up of presumption and despair, --into the hands of themost pretending and forward undertaker. One such undertaker at least hehas in readiness for our service. But let me assure this generousperson, that however he may succeed in exciting our fears for the publicdanger, he will find it hard indeed to engage us to place any confidencein the system he proposes for our security. 

His undertaking is great. The purpose of this pamphlet, at which itaims directly or obliquely in every page, is to persuade the public ofthree or four of the most difficult points in the world, --that all theadvantages of the late war were on the part of the Bourbon alliance;that the peace of Paris perfectly consulted the dignity and interest ofthis country; and that the American Stamp Act was a masterpiece ofpolicy and finance; that the only good minister this nation has enjoyedsince his Majesty's accession, is the Earl of Bute; and the only goodmanagers of revenue we have seen are Lord Despenser and Mr. GeorgeGrenville; and, under the description of men of virtue and ability, heholds them out to us as the only persons fit to put our affairs inorder. Let not the reader mistake me: he does not actually name thesepersons; but having highly applauded their conduct in all its parts, andheavily censured every other set of men in the kingdom, he thenrecommends us to his men of virtue and ability. 

Such is the author's scheme. Whether it will answer his purpose I knownot. But surely that purpose ought to be a wonderfully good one, towarrant the methods he has taken to compass it. If the facts andreasonings in this piece are admitted, it is all over with us. Thecontinuance of our tranquillity depends upon the compassion of ourrivals. Unable to secure to ourselves the advantages of peace, we are atthe same time utterly unfit for war. It is impossible, if this state ofthings be credited abroad, that we can have any alliance; all nationswill fly from so dangerous a connection, lest, instead of beingpartakers of our strength, they should only become sharers in our ruin. If it is believed at home, all that firmness of mind, and dignifiednational courage, which used to be the great support of this isleagainst the powers of the world, must melt away, and fail within us. 

In such a state of things can it be amiss if I aim at holding out somecomfort to the nation; another sort of comfort, indeed, than that whichthis writer provides for it; a comfort not from its physician, but fromits constitution: if I attempt to show that all the arguments upon whichhe founds the decay of that constitution, and the necessity of thatphysician, are vain and frivolous? I will follow the author closely inhis own long career, through the war, the peace, the finances, ourtrade, and our foreign politics: not for the sake of the particularmeasures which he discusses; that can be of no use; they are alldecided; their good is all enjoyed, or their evil incurred: but for thesake of the principles of war, peace, trade, and finances. Theseprinciples are of infinite moment. They must come again and again underconsideration; and it imports the public, of all things, that those ofits ministers be enlarged, and just, and well confirmed, upon all thesesubjects. What notions this author entertains we shall see presently;notions in my opinion very irrational, and extremely dangerous; andwhich, if they should crawl from pamphlets into counsels, and berealized from private speculation into national measures, cannot fail ofhastening and completing our ruin. 

This author, after having paid his compliment to the showy appearancesof the late war in our favor, is in the utmost haste to tell you thatthese appearances were _fallacious_, that they were no more than an_imposition_. --I fear I must trouble the reader with a pretty longquotation, in order to set before him the more clearly this author'speculiar way of conceiving and reasoning:

"Happily (the K. ) was then advised by ministers, who did not sufferthemselves to be dazzled by the glare of brilliant appearances; but, knowing them to be _fallacious_, they wisely resolved to profit of theirsplendor before our enemies should also _discover the imposition_. --Theincrease in the exports was found to have been occasioned chiefly by thedemands of _our own fleets and armies_, and, instead of bringing wealthto the nation, was to be paid for by oppressive taxes upon the people ofEngland. While the British seamen were consuming on board our men of warand privateers, foreign ships and foreign seamen were employed in thetransportation of our merchandise; and the carrying trade, so great asource of wealth and marine, _was entirely engrossed by the neutralnations_. The number of British ships annually arriving in our ports wasreduced 1756 sail, containing 92, 559 tons, on a medium of the six years'war, compared with the six years of peace preceding it. --The conquest ofthe Havannah had, indeed, stopped the remittance of specie from Mexicoto Spain; but it had not enabled England to seize it: on the contrary, our merchants suffered by the detention of the galleons, as their_correspondents in Spain were disabled from paying them for their goodssent to America. The loss of the trade to Old Spain was a further bar toan influx of specie_; and the attempt upon Portugal had not onlydeprived us of an import of bullion from thence, but the payment of ourtroops employed in its defence was a fresh drain opened for thediminution of our circulating specie. --The high premiums given for newloans had sunk the price of the old stock near a third of its originalvalue; so that the purchasers had an obligation from the state to repaythem with an addition of 33 per cent to their capital. Every new loanrequired new taxes to be imposed; new taxes must add to the price of ourmanufactures, _and lessen their consumption among foreigners_. The decayof our trade must necessarily _occasion a decrease of the publicrevenue_; and a deficiency of our funds must either be made up by freshtaxes, which would only add to the calamity, or our national credit mustbe destroyed, by showing the public creditors the inability of thenation to repay them their principal money. --Bounties had already beengiven for recruits which exceeded the year's wages of the ploughman andreaper; and as these were exhausted, and _husbandry stood still for wantof hands_, the manufacturers were next to be tempted to quit the anviland the loom by higher offers. --_France, bankrupt France, had no suchcalamities impending over her; her distresses were great, but they wereimmediate and temporary; her want of credit preserved her from a greatincrease of debt, and the loss of her ultramarine dominions lessened herexpenses. Her colonies had, indeed, put themselves into the hands of theEnglish; but the property of her subjects had been preserved bycapitulations, and a way opened for making her those remittances whichthe war had before suspended, with as much security as in time ofpeace_. --Her armies in Germany had been hitherto prevented from seizingupon Hanover; but they continued to encamp on the same ground on whichthe first battle was fought; and, as it must ever happen from the policyof that government, _the last troops she sent into the field werealways found to be the best, and her frequent losses only served to fillher regiments with better soldiers. The conquest of Hanover becametherefore every campaign more probable_. --It is to be noted, that theFrench troops received subsistence only, for the last three years of thewar; and that, although large arrears were due to them at itsconclusion, the charge was the less during its continuance. "[39]

If any one be willing to see to how much greater lengths the authorcarries these ideas, he will recur to the book. This is sufficient for aspecimen of his manner of thinking. I believe one reflection uniformlyobtrudes itself upon every reader of these paragraphs. For what purpose, in any cause, shall we hereafter contend with France? Can we everflatter ourselves that we shall wage a more successful war? If, on ourpart, in a war the most prosperous we ever carried on, by sea and byland, and in every part of the globe, attended with the unparalleledcircumstance of an immense increase of trade and augmentation ofrevenue; if a continued series of disappointments, disgraces, anddefeats, followed by public bankruptcy, on the part of France; if allthese still leave her a gainer on the whole balance, will it not bedownright frenzy in us ever to look her in the face again, or to contendwith her any, even the most essential points, since victory and defeat, though by different ways, equally conduct us to our ruin? Subjection toFrance without a struggle will indeed be less for our honor, but onevery principle of our author it must be more for our advantage. According to his representation of things, the question is onlyconcerning the most easy fall. France had not discovered, our statesmantells us, at the end of that war, the triumphs of defeat, and theresources which are derived from bankruptcy. For my poor part, I do notwonder at their blindness. But the English ministers saw further. Ourauthor has at length let foreigners also into the secret, and made themaltogether as wise as ourselves. It is their own fault if (_vulgatoimperii arcano_) they are imposed upon any longer. They now are apprisedof the sentiments which the great candidate for the government of thisgreat empire entertains; and they will act accordingly. They are taughtour weakness and their own advantages. 

He tells the world, [40] that if France carries on the war against us inGermany, every loss she sustains contributes to the achievement of herconquest. If her armies are three years unpaid, she is the lessexhausted by expense. If her credit is destroyed, she is the lessoppressed with debt. If her troops are cut to pieces, they will by herpolicy (and a wonderful policy it is) be improved, and will be suppliedwith much better men. If the war is carried on in the colonies, he tellsthem[41] that the loss of her ultramarine dominions lessens herexpenses, and insures her remittances:--

 Per damna, per cædes, ab ipso Ducit opes animumque ferro. 

If so, what is it we can do to hurt her?--it will be all an_imposition_, all _fallacious_. Why, the result must be, --

 Occidit, occidit Spes omnis, et fortuna nostri Nominis. 

The only way which the author's principles leave for our escape, is toreverse our condition into that of France, and to take her losing cardsinto our hands. But though his principles drive him to it, his politicswill not suffer him to walk on this ground. Talking at our ease and ofother countries, we may bear to be diverted with such speculations; butin England we shall never be taught to look upon the annihilation of ourtrade, the ruin of our credit, the defeat of our armies, and the loss ofour ultramarine dominions (whatever the author may think of them), to bethe high road to prosperity and greatness. 

The reader does not, I hope, imagine that I mean seriously to set aboutthe refutation of these uningenious paradoxes and reveries withoutimagination. I state them only that we may discern a little in thequestions of war and peace, the most weighty of all questions, what isthe wisdom of those men who are held out to us as the only hope of anexpiring nation. The present ministry is indeed of a strange character:at once indolent and distracted. But if a ministerial system should beformed, actuated by such maxims as are avowed in this piece, the vicesof the present ministry would become their virtues; their indolencewould be the greatest of all public benefits, and a distraction thatentirely defeated every one of their schemes would be our only securityfrom destruction. 

To have stated these reasonings is enough, I presume, to do theirbusiness. But they are accompanied with facts and records, which mayseem of a little more weight. I trust, however, that the facts of thisauthor will be as far from bearing the touchstone, as his arguments. Ona little inquiry, they will be found as great an imposition as thesuccesses they are meant to depreciate; for they are all either falseor fallaciously applied; or not in the least to the purpose for whichthey are produced. 

First the author, in order to support his favorite paradox, that ourpossession of the French colonies was of no detriment to France, hasthought proper to inform us, that[42] "they put themselves into thehands of the English. " He uses the same assertion, in nearly the samewords, in another place;[43] "her colonies had put themselves into ourhands. " Now, in justice, not only to fact and common sense, but to theincomparable valor and perseverance of our military and naval forcesthus unhandsomely traduced, I must tell this author, that the Frenchcolonies did not "put themselves into the hands of the English. " Theywere compelled to submit; they were subdued by dint of English valor. Will the five years' war carried on in Canada, in which fell one of theprincipal hopes of this nation, and all the battles lost and gainedduring that anxious period, convince this author of his mistake? Let himinquire of Sir Jeffery Amherst, under whose conduct that war was carriedon; of Sir Charles Saunders, whose steadiness and presence of mind savedour fleet, and were so eminently serviceable in the whole course of thesiege of Quebec; of General Monckton, who was shot through the bodythere, whether France "put her colonies into the hands of the English. "

Though he has made no exception, yet I would be liberal to him; perhapshe means to confine himself to her colonies in the West Indies. Butsurely it will fare as ill with him there as in North America, whilst weremember that in our first attempt at Martinico we were actuallydefeated; that it was three months before we reduced Guadaloupe; andthat the conquest of the Havannah was achieved by the highest conduct, aided by circumstances of the greatest good fortune. He knows theexpense both of men and treasure at which we bought that place. However, if it had so pleased the peacemakers, it was no dear purchase; for itwas decisive of the fortune of the war and the terms of the treaty: theDuke of Nivernois thought so; France, England, Europe, considered it inthat light; all the world, except the then friends of the then ministry, who wept for our victories, and were in haste to get rid of the burdenof our conquests. This author knows that France did not put thosecolonies into the hands of England; but he well knows who did put themost valuable of them into the hands of France. 

In the next place, our author[44] is pleased to consider the conquest ofthose colonies in no other light than as a convenience for theremittances to France, which he asserts that the war had beforesuspended, but for which a way was opened (by our conquest) as secure asin time of peace. I charitably hope he knows nothing of the subject. Ireferred him lately to our commanders, for the resistance of the Frenchcolonies; I now wish he would apply to our custom-house entries, and ourmerchants, for the advantages which we derived from them. 

In 1761, there was no entry of goods from any of the conquered placesbut Guadaloupe; in that year it stood thus:--

 Imports from Guadaloupe, value, £482, 179 --------

In 1762, when we had not yet delivered up our conquests, the accountwas, Guadaloupe £513, 244 Martinico 288, 425 -------- Total imports in 1762, value, £801, 669 --------

In 1763, after we had delivered up the sovereignty of these islands, butkept open a communication with them, the imports were, Guadaloupe £412, 303 Martinico 344, 161 Havannah 249, 386 ---------- Total imports in 1763, value, £1, 005, 850 ----------

Besides, I find, in the account of bullion imported and brought to theBank, that, during that period in which the intercourse with theHavannah was open, we received at that one shop, in treasure, from thatone place, 559, 810_l. _; in the year 1763, 389, 450_l. _; so that theimport from these places in that year amounted to 1, 395, 300_l. _

On this state the reader will observe, that I take the imports from, andnot the exports to, these conquests, as the measure of the advantageswhich we derived from them. I do so for reasons which will be somewhatworthy the attention of such readers as are fond of this species ofinquiry. I say therefore I choose the import article, as the best, andindeed the only standard we can have, of the value of the West Indiatrade. Our export entry does not comprehend the greatest trade we carryon with any of the West India islands, the sale of negroes: nor does itgive any idea of two other advantages we draw from them; theremittances for money spent here, and the payment of part of the balanceof the North American trade. It is therefore quite ridiculous, to strikea balance merely on the face of an excess of imports and exports, inthat commerce; though, in most foreign branches, it is, on the whole, the best method. If we should take that standard, it would appear, thatthe balance with our own islands is, annually, several hundred thousandpounds against this country. [45] Such is its aspect on the custom-houseentries; but we know the direct contrary to be the fact. We know thatthe West-Indians are always indebted to our merchants, and that thevalue of every shilling of West India produce is English property. Sothat our import from them, and not our export, ought always to beconsidered as their true value; and this corrective ought to be appliedto all general balances of our trade, which are formed on the ordinaryprinciples. 

If possible, this was more emphatically true of the French West Indiaislands, whilst they continued in our hands. That none or only a verycontemptible part, of the value of this produce could be remitted toFrance, the author will see, perhaps with unwillingness, but with theclearest conviction, if he considers, that in the year 1763, _after wehad ceased to export_ to the isles of Guadaloupe and Martinico, and tothe Havannah, and after the colonies were free to send all theirproduce to Old France and Spain, if they had any remittance to make; hewill see, that we imported from those places, in that year, to theamount of 1, 395, 300_l. _ So far was the whole annual produce of theseislands from being adequate to the payments of their annual call uponus, that this mighty additional importation was necessary, though notquite sufficient, to discharge the debts contracted in the few years weheld them. The property, therefore, of their whole produce was ours; notonly during the war, but even for more than a year after the peace. Theauthor, I hope, will not again venture upon so rash and discouraging aproposition concerning the nature and effect of those conquests, as tocall them a convenience to the remittances of France; he sees, by thisaccount, that what he asserts is not only without foundation, but evenimpossible to be true. 

As to our trade at that time, he labors with all his might to representit as absolutely ruined, or on the very edge of ruin. Indeed, as usualwith him, he is often as equivocal in his expression as he is clear inhis design. Sometimes he more than insinuates a decay of our commerce inthat war; sometimes he admits an increase of exports; but it is in orderto depreciate the advantages we might appear to derive from thatincrease, whenever it should come to be proved against him. He tellsyou, [46] "that it was chiefly occasioned by the demands of our ownfleets and armies, and, instead or bringing wealth to the nation, was tobe paid for by oppressive taxes upon the people of England. " Never wasanything more destitute of foundation. It might be proved, with thegreatest ease, from the nature and quality of the goods exported, aswell as from the situation of the places to which our merchandise wassent, and which the war could no wise affect, that the supply of ourfleets and armies could not have been the cause of this wonderfulincrease of trade: its cause was evident to the whole world; the ruin ofthe trade of France, and our possession of her colonies. What wonderfuleffects this cause produced the reader will see below;[47] and he willform on that account some judgment of the author's candor orinformation. 

Admit however that a great part of our export, though nothing is moreremote from fact, was owing to the supply of our fleets and armies; wasit not something?--was it not peculiarly fortunate for a nation, thatshe was able from her own bosom to contribute largely to the supply ofher armies militating in so many distant countries? The author allowsthat France did not enjoy the same advantages. But it is remarkable, throughout his whole book, that those circumstances which have ever beenconsidered as great benefits, and decisive proofs of nationalsuperiority, are, when in our hands, taken either in diminution of someother apparent advantage, or even sometimes as positive misfortunes. Theoptics of that politician must be of a strange conformation, who beholdseverything in this distorted shape. 

So far as to our trade. With regard to our navigation, he is still moreuneasy at our situation, and still more fallacious in his state of it. In his text, he affirms it "to have been _entirely_ engrossed by theneutral nations. "[48] This he asserts roundly and boldly, and withoutthe least concern; although it cost no more than a single glance of theeye upon his own margin to see the full refutation of this assertion. His own account proves against him, that, in the year 1761, the Britishshipping amounted to 527, 557 tons, --the foreign to no more than 180, 102. The medium of his six years British, 2, 449, 555 tons, --foreign only906, 690. This state (his own) demonstrates that the neutral nations didnot _entirely engross our navigation_. 

I am willing from a strain of candor to admit that this author speaks atrandom; that he is only slovenly and inaccurate, and not fallacious. Inmatters of account, however, this want of care is not excusable; and thedifference between neutral nations entirely engrossing our navigation, and being only subsidiary to a vastly augmented trade, makes a mostmaterial difference to his argument. From that principle of fairness, though the author speaks otherwise, I am willing to suppose he means nomore than that our navigation had so declined as to alarm us with theprobable loss of this valuable object. I shall however show, that hiswhole proposition, whatever modifications he may please to give it, iswithout foundation; that our navigation had not decreased; that, on thecontrary, it had greatly increased in the war; that it had increased bythe war; and that it was probable the same cause would continue toaugment it to a still greater height; to what an height it is hard tosay, had our success continued. 

But first I must observe, I am much less solicitous whether his fact betrue or no, than whether his principle is well established. Cases aredead things, principles are living and productive. I affirm then, that, if in time of war our trade had the good fortune to increase, and at thesame time a large, nay the largest, proportion of carriage had beenengrossed by neutral nations, it ought not in itself to have beenconsidered as a circumstance of distress. War is a time of inconvenienceto trade; in general it must be straitened, and must find its way as itcan. It is often happy for nations that they are able to call in neutralnavigation. They all aim at it. France endeavored at it, but could notcompass it. Will this author say, that, in a war with Spain, such anassistance would not be of absolute necessity? that it would not be themost gross of all follies to refuse it?

In the next place, his method of stating a medium of six years of war, and six years of peace, to decide this question, is altogether unfair. To say, in derogation of the advantages of a war, that navigation is notequal to what it was in time of peace, is what hitherto has never beenheard of. No war ever bore that test but the war which he so bitterlylaments. One may lay it down as a maxim, that an average estimate of anobject in a steady course of rising or of falling, must in its nature bean unfair one; more particularly if the cause of the rise or fall bevisible, and its continuance in any degree probable. Average estimatesare never just but when the object fluctuates, and no reason can beassigned why it should not continue still to fluctuate. The authorchooses to allow nothing at all for this: he has taken an average of sixyears of the war. He knew, for everybody knows, that the first threeyears were on the whole rather unsuccessful; and that, in consequence ofthis ill success, trade sunk, and navigation declined with it; but _thatgrand delusion_ of the three last years turned the scale in our favor. At the beginning of that war (as in the commencement of every war), traders were struck with a sort of panic. Many went out of thefreighting business. But by degrees, as the war continued, the terrorwore off; the danger came to be better appreciated, and better providedagainst; our trade was carried on in large fleets, under regularconvoys, and with great safety. The freighting business revived. Theships were fewer, but much larger; and though the number decreased, thetonnage was vastly augmented: insomuch that in 1761 the _British_shipping had risen by the author's own account to 527, 557 tons. --In thelast year he has given us of the peace, it amounted to no more than494, 772; that is, in the last year of the war it was 32, 785 tons morethan in the correspondent year of his peace average. No year of thepeace exceeded it except one, and that but little. 

The fair account of the matter is this. Our trade had, as we have justseen, increased to so astonishing a degree in 1761, as to employ Britishand foreign ships to the amount of 707, 659 tons, which is 149, 500 morethan we employed in the last year of the peace. --Thus our tradeincreased more than a fifth; our British navigation had increasedlikewise with this astonishing increase of trade, but was not able tokeep pace with it; and we added about 120, 000 tons of foreign shippingto the 60, 000, which had been employed in the last year of the peace. Whatever happened to our shipping in the former years of the war, thiswould be no true state of the case at the time of the treaty. If we hadlost something in the beginning, we had then recovered, and more thanrecovered, all our losses. Such is the ground of the doleful complaintsof the author, that _the carrying trade was wholly engrossed by theneutral nations_. 

I have done fairly, and even very moderately, in taking this year, andnot his average, as the standard of what might be expected in future, had the war continued. The author will be compelled to allow it, unlesshe undertakes to show; first, that the possession of Canada, Martinico, Guadaloupe, Grenada, the Havannah, the Philippines, the whole Africantrade, the whole East India trade, and the whole Newfoundland fishery, had no certain inevitable tendency to increase the British shipping;unless, in the second place, he can prove that those trades were, ormight be, by law or indulgence, carried on in foreign vessels; andunless, thirdly, he can demonstrate that the premium of insurance onBritish ships was rising as the war continued. He can prove not one ofthese points. I will show him a fact more that is mortal to hisassertions. It is the state of our shipping in 1762. The author had hisreasons for stopping short at the preceding year. It would haveappeared, had he proceeded farther, that our tonnage was in a course ofuniform augmentation, owing to the freight derived from our foreignconquests, and to the perfect security of our navigation from our clearand decided superiority at sea. This, I say, would have appeared fromthe state of the two years:--

 1761. British 527, 557 tons. 1762. Ditto 559, 537 tons. 1761. Foreign 180, 102 tons. 1762. Ditto 129, 502 tons. 

The two last years of the peace were in no degree equal to these. Muchof the navigation of 1763 was also owing to the war; this is manifestfrom the large part of it employed in the carriage from the cededislands, with which the communication still continued open. No suchcircumstances of glory and advantage ever attended upon a war. Too happywill be our lot, if we should again be forced into a war, to beholdanything that shall resemble them; and if we were not then the betterfor them, it is net in the ordinary course of God's providence to mendour condition. 

In vain does the author declaim on the high premiums given for the loansduring the war. His long note swelled with calculations on that subject(even supposing the most inaccurate of all calculations to be just)would be entirety thrown away, did it not serve to raise a wonderfulopinion of his financial skill in those who are not less surprised thanedified, when, with a solemn face and mysterious air, they are told thattwo and two make four. For what else do we learn from this note? Thatthe more expense is incurred by a nation, the more money will berequired to defray it; that in proportion to the continuance of thatexpense, will be the continuance of borrowing; that the increase ofborrowing and the increase of debt will go hand in hand; and lastly, that the more money you want, the harder it will be to get it; and thatthe scarcity of the commodity will enhance the price. Who ever doubtedthe truth, or the insignificance, of these propositions? what do theyprove? that war is expensive, and peace desirable. They contain nothingmore than a commonplace against war; the easiest of all topics. To bringthem home to his purpose, he ought to have shown that our enemies hadmoney upon better terms; which he has not shown, neither can he. I shallspeak more fully to this point in another place. He ought to have shownthat the money they raised, upon whatever terms, had procured them amore lucrative return. He knows that our expenditure purchased commerceand conquest: theirs acquired nothing but defeat and bankruptcy. 

Thus the author has laid down his ideas on the subject of war. Nextfollow those he entertains on that of peace. The treaty of Paris uponthe whole has his approbation. Indeed, if his account of the war bejust, he might have spared himself all further trouble. The rest isdrawn on as an inevitable conclusion. [49] If the House of Bourbon hadthe advantage, she must give the law; and the peace, though it were muchworse than it is, had still been a good one. But as the world is yet_deluded_ on the state of that war, other arguments are necessary; andthe author has in my opinion very ill supplied them. He tells of manythings we have got, and of which he has made out a kind of bill. Thismatter may be brought within a very narrow compass, if we come toconsider the requisites of a good peace under some plain distinct heads. I apprehend they may be reduced to these: 1. Stability; 2. Indemnification; 3. Alliance. 

As to the first, the author more than obscurely hints in several places, that he thinks the peace not likely to last. However, he does furnish asecurity; a security, in any light, I fear, but insufficient; on hishypothesis, surely a very odd one. "By stipulating for the entirepossession of the Continent (says he) the restored French islands arebecome in some measure dependent on the British empire; and the goodfaith of France in observing the treaty guaranteed by the value at whichshe estimates their possession. "[50] This author soon grows weary of hisprinciples. They seldom last him for two pages together. When theadvantages of the war were to be depreciated, then the loss of theultramarine colonies lightened the expenses of France, facilitated herremittances, and therefore _her colonists put them into our hands_. According to this author's system, the actual possession of thosecolonies ought to give us little or no advantage in the negotiation forpeace; and yet the chance of possessing them on a future occasion givesa perfect security for the preservation of that peace. [51] The conquestof the Havannah, if it did not serve Spain, rather distressed England, says our author. [52] But the molestation which her galleons may sufferfrom our station in Pensacola gives us advantages, for which we were notallowed to credit the nation for the Havannah itself; a place surelyfull as well situated for every external purpose as Pensacola, and ofmore internal benefit than ten thousand Pensacolas. 

The author sets very little by conquests;[53] I suppose it is because hemakes them so very lightly. On this subject he speaks with the greatestcertainty imaginable. We have, according to him, nothing to do, but togo and take possession, whenever we think proper, of the French andSpanish settlements. It were better that he had examined a little whatadvantage the peace gave us towards the invasion of these colonies, which we did not possess before the peace. It would not have been amissif he had consulted the public experience, and our commanders, concerning the absolute certainty of those conquests on which he ispleased to found our security. And if, after all, he should havediscovered them to be so very sure, and so very easy, he might at least, to preserve consistency, have looked a few pages back, and (nounpleasing thing to him) listened to himself, where he says, "that themost successful enterprise could not compensate to the nation for thewaste of its people, by carrying on war in unhealthy climates. "[54] Aposition which he repeats again, p. 9. So that, according to himself, his security is not worth the suit; according to fact, he has only achance, God knows what a chance, of getting at it; and therefore, according to reason, the giving up the most valuable of all possessions, in hopes to conquer them back, under any advantage of situation, is themost ridiculous security that ever was imagined for the peace of anation. It is true his friends did not give up Canada; they could notgive up everything; let us make the most of it. We have Canada, we knowits value. We have not the French any longer to fight in North America;and from this circumstance we derive considerable advantages. But herelet me rest a little. The author touches upon a string which soundsunder his fingers but a tremulous and melancholy note. North America wasonce indeed a great strength to this nation, in opportunity of ports, inships, in provisions, in men. We found her a sound, an active, avigorous member of the empire. I hope, by wise management, she willagain become so. But one of our capital present misfortunes is herdiscontent and disobedience. To which of the author's favorites thisdiscontent is owing, we all know but too sufficiently. It would be adismal event, if this foundation of his security, and indeed of all ourpublic strength, should, in reality, become our weakness; and if all thepowers of this empire, which ought to fall with a compacted weight uponthe head of our enemies, should be dissipated and distracted by ajealous vigilance, or by hostile attempts upon one another. Ten Canadascannot restore that security for the peace, and for everything valuableto this country, which we have lost along with the affection and theobedience of our colonies. He is the wise minister, he is the truefriend to Britain, who shall be able to restore it. 

To return to the security for the peace. The author tells us, that theoriginal great purposes of the war were more than accomplished by thetreaty. Surely he has experience and reading enough to know, that, inthe course of a war, events may happen, that render its original veryfar from being its principal purpose. This original may dwindle bycircumstances, so as to become not a purpose of the second or even thethird magnitude. I trust this is so obvious that it will not benecessary to put cases for its illustration. In that war, as soon asSpain entered into the quarrel, the security of North America was nolonger the sole nor the foremost object. The _Family Compact_ had been Iknow not how long before in agitation. But then it was that we sawproduced into daylight and action the most odious and most formidable ofall the conspiracies against the liberties of Europe that ever has beenframed. The war with Spain was the first fruits of that league; and asecurity against that league ought to have been the fundamental point ofa pacification with the powers who compose it. We had materials in ourhands to have constructed that security in such a manner as never to beshaken. But how did the virtuous and able men of our author labor forthis great end? They took no one step towards it. On the contrary theycountenanced, and, indeed, as far as it depended on them, recognized itin all its parts; for our plenipotentiary treated with those who actedfor the two crowns, as if they had been different ministers of the samemonarch. The Spanish minister received his instructions, not fromMadrid, but from Versailles. 

This was not hid from our ministers at home; and the discovery ought tohave alarmed them, if the good of their country had been the object oftheir anxiety. They could not but have seen that the whole Spanishmonarchy was melted down into the cabinet of Versailles. But theythought this circumstance an advantage; as it enabled them to go throughwith their work the more expeditiously. Expedition was everything tothem; because France might happen during a protracted negotiation todiscover the great imposition of our victories. 

In the same spirit they negotiated the terms of the peace. If it werethought advisable not to take any positive security from Spain, the mostobvious principles of policy dictated that the burden of the cessionsought to fall upon France; and that everything which was of grace andfavor should be given to Spain. Spain could not, on her part, haveexecuted a capital article in the family compact, which obliged her tocompensate the losses of France. At least she could not do it inAmerica; for she was expressly precluded by the treaty of Utrecht fromceding any territory or giving any advantage in trade to that power. What did our ministers? They took from Spain the territory of Florida, an object of no value except to show our dispositions to be quite equalat least towards both powers; and they enabled France to compensateSpain by the gift of Louisiana: loading us with all the harshness, leaving the act of kindness with France, and opening thereby a door tothe fulfilling of this the most consolidating article of the familycompact. Accordingly that dangerous league, thus abetted and authorizedby the English ministry without an attempt to invalidate it in any way, or in any of its parts, exists to this hour; and has grown stronger andstronger every hour of its existence. 

As to the second component of a good peace, _compensation_, I have butlittle trouble; the author has said nothing upon that head. He hasnothing to say. After a war of such expense, this ought to have been acapital consideration. But on what he has been so prudently silent, Ithink it is right to speak plainly. All our new acquisitions together, at this time, scarce afford matter of revenue, either at home or abroad, sufficient to defray the expense of their establishments; not oneshilling towards the reduction of our debt. Guadaloupe or Martinicoalone would have given us material aid; much in the way of duties, muchin the way of trade and navigation. A good ministry would haveconsidered how a renewal of the _Assiento_ might have been obtained. Wehad as much right to ask it at the treaty of Paris as at the treaty ofUtrecht. We had incomparably more in our hands to purchase it. Floods oftreasure would have poured into this kingdom from such a source; and, under proper management, no small part of it would have taken a publicdirection, and have fructified an exhausted exchequer. 

If this gentleman's hero of finance, instead of flying from a treaty, which, though he now defends, he could not approve, and would notoppose; if he, instead of shifting into an office, which removed himfrom the manufacture of the treaty, had, by his credit with the thengreat director, acquired for us these, or any of these, objects, thepossession of Guadaloupe or Martinico, or the renewal of the _Assiento_, he might have held his head high in his country; because he would haveperformed real service; ten thousand times more real service, than allthe economy of which this writer is perpetually talking, or all thelittle tricks of finance which the expertest juggler of the treasury canpractise, could amount to in a thousand years. But the occasion is lost;the time is gone, perhaps forever. 

As to the third requisite, _alliance_, there too the author is silent. What strength of that kind did they acquire? They got no one new ally;they stript the enemy of not a single old one. They disgusted (howjustly, or unjustly, matters not) every ally we had; and from that timeto this we stand friendless in Europe. But of this naked condition oftheir country I know some people are not ashamed. They have their systemof politics; our ancestors grew great by another. In this manner thesevirtuous men concluded the peace; and their practice is only consonantto their theory. 

Many things more might be observed on this curious head of our author'sspeculations. But, taking leave of what the writer says in his seriouspart, if he be serious in any part, I shall only just point out a pieceof his pleasantry. No man, I believe, ever denied that the time formaking peace is that in which the best terms maybe obtained. But whatthat time is, together with the use that has been made of it, we are tojudge by seeing whether terms adequate to our advantages, and to ournecessities, have been actually obtained. Here is the pinch of thequestion, to which the author ought to have set his shoulders inearnest. Instead of doing this, he slips out of the harness by a jest;and sneeringly tells us, that, to determine this point, we must know thesecrets of the French and Spanish cabinets[55], and that Parliament waspleased to approve the treaty of peace without calling for thecorrespondence concerning it. How just this sarcasm on that Parliamentmay be, I say not; but how becoming in the author, I leave it to hisfriends to determine. 

Having thus gone through the questions of war and peace, the authorproceeds to state our debt, and the interest which it carried, at thetime of the treaty, with the unfairness and inaccuracy, however, whichdistinguish all his assertions, and all his calculations. To detectevery fallacy, and rectify every mistake, would be endless. It will beenough to point out a few of them, in order to show how unsafe it is toplace anything like an implicit trust in such a writer. 

The interest of debt contracted during the war is stated by the authorat 2, 614, 892_l. _ The particulars appear in pp. 14 and 15. Among them isstated the unfunded debt, 9, 975, 017_l. _, supposed to carry interest on amedium at 3 per cent, which amounts to 299, 250_l. _ We are referred tothe "Considerations on the Trade and Finances of the Kingdom, " p. 22, for the particulars of that unfunded debt. Turn to the work, and to theplace referred to by the author himself, if you have a mind to see aclear detection of a capital fallacy of this article in his account. Youwill there see that this unfunded debt consists of the nine followingarticles: the remaining subsidy to the Duke of Brunswick; the remaining_dédommagement_ to the Landgrave of Hesse; the German demands; the armyand ordnance extraordinaries; the deficiencies of grants and funds; Mr. Touchet's claim; the debts due to Nova Scotia and Barbadoes; exchequerbills; and navy debt. The extreme fallacy of this state cannot escapeany reader who will be at the pains to compare the interest money, withwhich he affirms us to have been loaded, in his "State of the Nation, "with the items of the principal debt to which he refers in his"Considerations. " The reader must observe, that of this long list ofnine articles, only two, the exchequer bills, and part of the navy debt, carried any interest at all. The first amounted to 1, 800, 000_l. _; andthis undoubtedly carried interest. The whole navy debt indeed amountedto 4, 576, 915_l. _; but of this only a _part_ carried interest. The authorof the "Considerations, " &c. Labors to prove this very point in p. 18;and Mr. G. Has always defended himself upon the same ground, for theinsufficient provision he made for the discharge of that debt. Thereader may see their own authority for it. [56]

Mr. G. Did in fact provide no more than 2, 150, 000_l. _ for the dischargeof these bills in two years. It is much to be wished that thesegentlemen would lay their heads together, that they would consider wellthis matter, and agree upon something. For when the scanty provisionmade for the unfunded debt is to be vindicated, then we are told it is avery _small part_ of that debt which carries interest. But when thepublic is to be represented in a miserable condition, and theconsequences of the late war to be laid before us in dreadful colors, then we are to be told that the unfunded debt is within a trifle of tenmillions, and so large a portion of it carries interest that we must notcompute less than 3 per cent upon the _whole_. 

In the year 1764, Parliament voted 650, 000_l. _ towards the discharge ofthe navy debt. This sum could not be applied solely to the discharge ofbills carrying interest; because part of the debt due on seamen's wagesmust have been paid, and some bills carried no interest at all. Notwithstanding this, we find by an account in the journals of the Houseof Commons, in the following session, that the navy debt carryinginterest was, on the 31st of December, 1764, no more than 1, 687, 442_l. _I am sure therefore that I admit too much when I admit the navy debtcarrying interest, after the creation of the navy annuities in the year1763, to have been 2, 200, 000_l. _ Add the exchequer bills; and the wholeunfunded debt carrying interest will be four millions instead of ten;and the annual interest paid for it at 4 per cent will be 160, 000_l. _instead of 299, 250_l. _ An error of no small magnitude, and which couldnot have been owing to inadvertency. 

The misrepresentation of the increase of the peace establishment isstill more extraordinary than that of the interest of the unfunded debt. The increase is great, undoubtedly. However, the author finds no faultwith it, and urges it only as a matter of argument to support thestrange chimerical proposals he is to make us in the close of his workfor the increase of revenue. The greater he made that establishment, thestronger he expected to stand in argument: but, whatever he expected orproposed, he should have stated the matter fairly. He tells us that thisestablishment is nearly 1, 500, 000_l. _ more than it was in 1752, 1753, and other years of peace. This he has done in his usual manner, byassertion, without troubling himself either with proof or probability. For he has not given us any state of the peace establishment in theyears 1753 and 1754, the time which he means to compare with thepresent. As I am obliged to force him to that precision, from which healways flies as from his most dangerous enemy, I have been at thetrouble to search the journals in the period between the two last wars:and I find that the peace establishment, consisting of the navy, theordnance, and the several incidental expenses, amounted to 2, 346, 594_l. _Now is this writer wild enough to imagine, that the peace establishmentof 1764 and the subsequent years, made up from the same articles, is3, 800, 000_l. _ and upwards? His assertion however goes to this. But Imust take the liberty of correcting him in this gross mistake, and froman authority he cannot refuse, from his favorite work, and standingauthority, the "Considerations. " We find there, p. 43[57], the peaceestablishment of 1764 and 1765 stated at 3, 609, 700_l. _ This is near twohundred thousand pounds less than that given in "The State of theNation. " But even from this, in order to render the articles whichcompose the peace establishment in the two periods correspondent (forotherwise they cannot be compared), we must deduct first, his articlesof the deficiency of land and malt, which amount to 300, 000_l. _ Theycertainly are no part of the establishment; nor are they included inthat sum, which I have stated above for the establishment in the time ofthe former peace. If they were proper to be stated at all, they ought tobe stated in both accounts. We must also deduct the deficiencies offunds, 202, 400_l. _ These deficiencies are the difference between theinterest charged on the public for moneys borrowed, and the produce ofthe taxes laid for the discharge of that interest. Annual provision isindeed to be made for them by Parliament: but in the inquiry before us, which is only what charge is brought on the public by interest paid orto be paid for money borrowed, the utmost that the author should do, isto bring into the account the full interest for all that money. This hehas done in p. 15; and he repeats it in p. 18, the very page I am nowexamining, 2, 614, 892_l. _ To comprehend afterwards in the peaceestablishment the deficiency of the fund created for payment of thatinterest, would be laying twice to the account of the war part of thesame sum. Suppose ten millions borrowed at 4 per cent, and the fund forpayment of the interest to produce no more than 200, 000_l. _ The wholeannual charge on the public is 400, 000_l. _ It can be no more. But tocharge the interest in one part of the account, and then the deficiencyin the other, would be charging 600, 000_l. _ The deficiency of funds musttherefore be also deducted from the peace establishment in the"Considerations"; and then the peace establishment in that author willbe reduced to the same articles with those included in the sum I havealready mentioned for the peace establishment before the last war, inthe year 1753, and 1754. 

 Peace establishment in the "Considerations" £3, 609, 700 Deduct deficiency of land and malt £300, 000 Ditto of funds 202, 400 -------- 502, 400 --------- 3, 107, 300 Peace establishment before the late war, in which no deficiencies of land and malt, or funds are included 2, 346, 594 ---------

 Difference £760, 706

Being about half the sum which our author has been pleased to supposeit. 

Let us put the whole together. The author states, --

 Difference of peace establishment before and since the war £1, 500, 000 Interest of Debt contracted by the war 2, 614, 892 --------- 4, 114, 892 The _real_ difference in the peace establishment is £760, 706

 The actual interest of the funded debt, including that charged on the sinking fund £2, 315, 642

 The actual interest of unfunded debt at most 160, 000 --------- Total interest of debt contracted by the war 2, 475, 642 --------- Increase of peace establishment, and interest of new debt 3, 236, 348 --------- Error of the author £878, 544

It is true, the extraordinaries of the army have been found considerablygreater than the author of the "Considerations" was pleased to foretellthey would be. The author of "The Present State" avails himself of thatincrease, and, finding it suit his purpose, sets the whole down in thepeace establishment of the present times. If this is allowed him, hiserror perhaps may be reduced to 700, 000_l. _ But I doubt the author ofthe "Considerations" will not thank him for admitting 200, 000_l. _ andupwards, as the peace establishment for extraordinaries, when thatauthor has so much labored to confine them within 35, 000_l. _

These are some of the capital fallacies of the author. To break thethread of my discourse as little as possible, I have thrown into themargin many instances, though God knows far from the whole of hisinaccuracies, inconsistencies, and want of common care. I think myselfobliged to take some notice of them, in order to take off from anyauthority this writer may have; and to put an end to the deference whichcareless men are apt to pay to one who boldly arrays his accounts, andmarshals his figures, in perfect confidence that their correctness willnever be examined. [58]

However, for argument, I am content to take his state of it. The debtwas and is enormous. The war was expensive. The best economy had notperhaps been used. But I must observe, that war and economy are thingsnot easily reconciled; and that the attempt of leaning towards parsimonyin such a state may be the worst management, and in the end the worsteconomy in the world, hazarding the total loss of all the chargeincurred, and of everything along with it. 

But _cui bono_ all this detail of our debt? Has the author given asingle light towards any material reduction of it? Not a glimmering. Weshall see in its place what sort of thing he proposes. But before hecommences his operations, in order to scare the public imagination, heraises by art magic a thick mist before our eyes, through which glarethe most ghastly and horrible phantoms:

 Hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necesse est. Non radii solis, neque lucida tela diei Discutiant, sed naturæ species ratioque. 

Let us therefore calmly, if we can for the fright into which he has putus, appreciate those dreadful and deformed gorgons and hydras, whichinhabit the joyless regions of an imagination fruitful in nothing butthe production of monsters. 

His whole representation, is founded on the supposed operation of ourdebt, upon our manufactures, and our trade. To this cause he attributesa certain supposed dearness of the necessaries of life, which mustcompel our manufacturers to emigrate to cheaper countries, particularlyto France, and with them the manufacture. Thence consumption declining, and with it revenue. He will not permit the real balance of our trade tobe estimated so high as 2, 500, 000_l. _; and the interest of the debt toforeigners carries off 1, 500, 000_l. _ of that balance. France is not inthe same condition. Then follow his wailings and lamentings, which herenews over and over, according to his custom--a declining trade, anddecreasing specie--on the point of becoming tributary to France--oflosing Ireland--of having the colonies torn away from us. 

The first thing upon which I shall observe is, [60] what he takes forgranted as the clearest of all propositions, the emigration of ourmanufacturers to France. I undertake to say that this assertion istotally groundless, and I challenge the author to bring any sort ofproof of it. If living is cheaper in France, that is, to be had for lessspecie, wages are proportionably lower. No manufacturer, let the livingbe what it will, was ever known to fly for refuge to low wages. Money isthe first thing which attracts him. Accordingly our wages attractartificers from all parts of the world. From two shillings to oneshilling, is a fall in all men's imaginations, which no calculation upona difference in the price of the necessaries of life can compensate. Butit will be hard to prove that a French artificer is better fed, clothed, lodged, and warmed, than one in England; for that is the sense, and theonly sense, of living cheaper. If, in truth and fact, our artificerfares as well in all these respects as one in the same state inFrance, --how stands the matter in point of opinion and prejudice, thesprings by which people in that class of life are chiefly actuated? Theidea of our common people concerning French living is dreadful;altogether as dreadful as our author's can possibly be of the state ofhis own country; a way of thinking that will hardly ever prevail on themto desert to France. [61]

But, leaving the author's speculations, the fact is, that they have notdeserted; and of course the manufacture cannot be departed, ordeparting, with them. I am not indeed able to get at all the details ofour manufactures; though, I think, I have taken full as much pains forthat purpose as our author. Some I have by me; and they do not hitherto, thank God, support the author's complaint, unless a vast increase of thequantity of goods manufactured be a proof of losing the manufacture. Ona view of the registers in the West Riding of Yorkshire, for three yearsbefore the war, and for the three last, it appears, that the quantitiesof cloths entered were as follows:

 Pieces broad. Pieces narrow. 1752 60, 724 72, 442 1753 55, 358 71, 618 1754 56, 070 72, 394 ------- ------- 172, 152 216, 454

 Pieces broad. Pieces narrow. 1765 54, 660 77, 419 1766 72, 575 78, 893 1767 102, 428 78, 819 ------- ------- 3 years, ending 1767 229, 663 235, 131 3 years, ending 1754 172, 152 216, 464 ------- ------- Increase 57, 511 18, 677

In this manner this capital branch of manufacture has increased, underthe increase of taxes; and this not from a declining, but from a greatlyflourishing period of commerce. I may say the same on the best authorityof the fabric of thin goods at Halifax; of the bays at Rochdale; and ofthat infinite variety of admirable manufactures that grow and extendevery year among the spirited, inventive, and enterprising traders ofManchester. 

A trade sometimes seems to perish when it only assumes a different form. Thus the coarsest woollens were formerly exported in great quantities toRussia. The Russians now supply themselves with these goods. But theexport thither of finer cloths has increased in proportion as the otherhas declined. Possibly some parts of the kingdom may have felt somethinglike a languor in business. Objects like trade and manufacture, whichthe very attempt to confine would certainly destroy, frequently changetheir place; and thereby, far from being lost, are often highlyimproved. Thus some manufactures have decayed in the west and south, which have made new and more vigorous shoots when transplanted into thenorth. And here it is impossible to pass by, though the author has saidnothing upon it, the vast addition to the mass of British trade, whichhas been made by the improvement of Scotland. What does he think of thecommerce of the city of Glasgow, and of the manufactures of Paisley andall the adjacent country? Has this anything like the deadly aspect and_facies Hippocratica_ which the false diagnostic of our state physicianhas given to our trade in general? Has he not heard of the iron-works ofsuch magnitude even in their cradle which are set up on the Carron, andwhich at the same time have drawn nothing from Sheffield, Birmingham, orWolverhampton?

This might perhaps be enough to show the entire falsity of the complaintconcerning the decline of our manufactures. But every step we advance, this matter clears up more; and the false terrors of the author aredissipated, and fade away as the light appears. "The trade andmanufactures of this country (says he) going to ruin, and a diminutionof our _revenue from consumption_ must attend the loss of so many seamenand artificers. " Nothing more true than the general observation: nothingmore false than its application to our circumstances. Let the revenue onconsumption speak for itself:--

 Average of net excise, since the new duties, three years ending 1767 £4, 590, 734 Ditto before the new duties, three years ending 1759 3, 261, 694 --------- Average increase £1, 329, 040

Here is no diminution. Here is, on the contrary, an immense increase. This is owing, I shall be told, to the new duties, which may increasethe total bulk, but at the same time may make some diminution of theproduce of the old. Were this the fact, it would be far from supportingthe author's complaint. It might have proved that the burden lay rathertoo heavy; but it would never prove that the _revenue from, consumption_was impaired, which it was his business to do. But what is the realfact? Let us take, as the best instance for the purpose, the produce ofthe old hereditary and temporary excise granted in the reign of Charlesthe Second, whose object is that of most of the new impositions, fromtwo averages, each of eight years. 

 Average, first period, eight years, ending 1754 £525, 317 Ditto, second period, eight years, ending 1767 538, 542 ------- Increase £613, 225

I have taken these averages as including in each a war and a peaceperiod; the first before the imposition of the new duties, the othersince those impositions; and such is the state of the oldest branch ofthe revenue from consumption. Besides the acquisition of so much new, this article, to speak of no other, has rather increased under thepressure of all those additional taxes to which the author is pleased toattribute its destruction. But as the author has made his grand effortagainst those moderate, judicious, and necessary levies, which supportall the dignity, the credit, and the power of his country, the readerwill excuse a little further detail on this subject; that we may see howlittle oppressive those taxes are on the shoulders of the public, withwhich he labors so earnestly to load its imagination. For this purposewe take the state of that specific article upon which the two capitalburdens of the war leaned the most immediately, by the additionalduties on malt, and upon beer. 

 Barrels. Average of strong beer, brewed in eight years before the additional malt and beer duties 3, 895, 059

 Average of strong beer, eight years since the duties 4, 060, 726 --------- Increase in the last period 165, 667

Here is the effect of two such daring taxes as 3_d. _ by the busheladditional on malt, and 3_s. _ by the barrel additional on beer. Twoimpositions laid without remission one upon the neck of the other; andlaid upon an object which before had been immensely loaded. They did notin the least impair the consumption: it has grown under them. It appearsthat, upon the whole, the people did not feel so much inconvenience fromthe new duties as to oblige them to take refuge in the private brewery. Quite the contrary happened in both these respects in the reign of KingWilliam; and it happened from much slighter impositions. [62] No peoplecan long consume a commodity for which they are not well able to pay. Anenlightened reader laughs at the inconsistent chimera of our author, ofa people universally luxurious, and at the same time oppressed withtaxes and declining in trade. For my part, I cannot look on these dutiesas the author does. He sees nothing but the burden. I can perceive theburden as well as he; but I cannot avoid contemplating also the strengththat supports it. From thence I draw the most comfortable assurances ofthe future vigor, and the ample resources, of this great, misrepresentedcountry; and can never prevail on myself to make complaints which haveno cause, in order to raise hopes which have no foundation. 

When a representation is built on truth and nature, one member supportsthe other, and mutual lights are given and received from every part. Thus, as our manufacturers have not deserted, nor the manufacture leftus, nor the consumption declined, nor the revenue sunk; so neither hastrade, which is at once the result, measure, and cause of the whole, inthe least decayed, as our author has thought proper sometimes to affirm, constantly to suppose, as if it were the most indisputable of allpropositions. The reader will see below the comparative state of ourtrade[63] in three of the best years before our increase of debt andtaxes, and with it the three last years since the author's date of ourruin. 

In the last three years the whole of our exports was between 44 and 45millions. In the three years preceding the war, it was no more than from35 to 36 millions. The average balance of the former period was3, 706, 000_l. _; of the latter, something above four millions. It is true, that whilst the impressions of the author's destructive war continued, our trade was greater than it is at present. One of the necessaryconsequences of the peace was, that France must gradually recover a partof those markets of which she had been originally in possession. However, after all these deductions, still the gross trade in the worstyear of the present is better than in the best year of any former periodof peace. A very great part of our taxes, if not the greatest, has beenimposed since the beginning of the century. On the author's principles, this continual increase of taxes must have ruined our trade, or at leastentirely checked its growth. But I have a manuscript of Davenant, whichcontains an abstract of our trade for the years 1703 and 1704; by whichit appears that the whole export from England did not then exceed6, 552, 019_l. _ It is now considerably more than double that amount. YetEngland was then a rich and flourishing nation. 

The author endeavors to derogate from the balance in our favor as itstands on the entries, and reduces it from four millions, as it thereappears, to no more than 2, 500, 000_l. _ His observation on the loosenessand inaccuracy of the export entries is just; and that the error isalways an error of excess, I readily admit. But because, as usual, hehas wholly omitted some very material facts, his conclusion is aserroneous as the entries he complains of. 

On this point of the custom-house entries I shall make a fewobservations. 1st. The inaccuracy of these entries can extend only toFREE GOODS, that is, to such British products and manufactures, as areexported without drawback and without bounty; which do not in generalamount to more than two thirds at the very utmost of the whole exporteven of _our home products_. The valuable articles of corn, malt, leather, hops, beer, and many others, do not come under this objectionof inaccuracy. The article of CERTIFICATE GOODS re-exported, a vastbranch of our commerce, admits of no error, (except some smaller fraudswhich cannot be estimated, ) as they have all a drawback of duty, and theexporter must therefore correctly specify their quantity and kind. Theauthor therefore is not warranted from the known error in some of theentries, to make a general defalcation from the whole balance in ourfavor. This error cannot affect more than half, if so much, of theexport article. 2dly. In the account made up at the Inspector-General'soffice, they estimate only the original cost of British products as theyare here purchased; and on foreign goods, only the prices in the countryfrom whence they are sent. This was the method established by Mr. Davenant; and as far as it goes, it certainly is a good one. But theprofits of the merchant at home, and of our factories abroad, are nottaken into the account; which profit on such an immense quantity ofgoods exported and re-exported cannot fail of being very great: five percent, upon the whole, I should think, a very moderate allowance. 3dly. It does not comprehend the advantage arising from the employment of600, 000 tons of shipping, which must be paid by the foreign consumer, and which, in many bulky articles of commerce, is equal to the value ofthe commodity. This can scarcely be rated at less than a millionannually. 4thly. The whole import from Ireland and America, and from theWest Indies, is set against us in the ordinary way of striking a balanceof imports and exports; whereas the import and export are both our own. This is just as ridiculous, as to put against the general balance of thenation, how much more goods Cheshire receives from London than Londonfrom Cheshire. The whole revolves and circulates through this kingdom, and is, so far as regards our profit, in the nature of home trade, asmuch as if the several countries of America and Ireland were all piecedto Cornwall. The course of exchange with all these places is fullysufficient to demonstrate that this kingdom has the whole advantage oftheir commerce. When the final profit upon a whole system of trade restsand centres in a certain place, a balance struck in that place merely onthe mutual sale of commodities is quite fallacious. 5thly. Thecustom-house entries furnish a most defective, and, indeed, ridiculousidea of the most valuable branch of trade we have in the world, --thatwith Newfoundland. Observe what you export thither; a little spirits, provision, fishing-lines, and fishing-hooks. Is this _export_ the trueidea of the Newfoundland trade in the light of a beneficial branch ofcommerce? Nothing less. Examine our imports from thence; it seems uponthis vulgar idea of exports and imports, to turn the balance againstyou. But your exports to Newfoundland are your own goods. Your import isyour own food; as much your own, as that you raise with your ploughs outof your own soil; and not your loss, but your gain; your riches, notyour poverty. But so fallacious is this way of judging, that neither theexport nor import, nor both together, supply any idea approaching toadequate of that branch of business. The vessels in that trade gostraight from Newfoundland to the foreign market; and the sale there, not the import here, is the measure of its value. That trade, which isone of your greatest and best, is hardly so much as seen in thecustom-house entries; and it is not of less annual value to this nationthan 400, 000_l. _ 6thly. The quality of your imports must be consideredas well as the quantity. To state the whole of the foreign import _asloss_, is exceedingly absurd. All the iron, hemp, flax, cotton, Spanishwool, raw silk, woollen and linen-yarn, which we import, are by no meansto be considered as the matter of a merely luxurious consumption; whichis the idea too generally and loosely annexed to our import article. These above mentioned are materials of industry, not of luxury, whichare wrought up here, in many instances, to ten times, and more, of theiroriginal value. Even where they are not subservient to our exports, theystill add to our internal wealth, which consists in the stock of usefulcommodities, as much as in gold and silver. In looking over the specificarticles of our export and import, I have often been astonished to seefor how small a part of the supply of our consumption, either luxuriousor convenient, we are indebted to nations properly foreign to us. 

These considerations are entirely passed over by the author; they havebeen but too much neglected by most who have speculated on this subject. But they ought never to be omitted by those who mean to come to anythinglike the true state of the British trade. They compensate, and they morethan compensate, everything which the author can cut off with anyappearance of reason for the over-entry of British goods; and theyrestore to us that balance of four millions, which the author hasthought proper on such a very poor and limited comprehension of theobject to reduce to 2, 500, 000_l. _

In general this author is so circumstanced, that to support his theoryhe is obliged to assume his facts: and then, if you allow his facts, they will not support his conclusions. What if all he says of the stateof this balance were true? did not the same objections always lie tocustom-house entries? do they defalcate more from the entries of 1766than from those of 1754? If they prove us ruined, we were always ruined. Some ravens have always indeed croaked out this kind of song. They havea malignant delight in presaging mischief, when they are not employed indoing it: they are miserable and disappointed at every instance of thepublic prosperity. They overlook us like the malevolent being of thepoet:--

 Tritonida conspicit arcem Ingeniis, opibusque, et festa pace virentem; Vixque tenet lacrymas quia nil lacrymabile cernit. 

It is in this spirit that some have looked upon those accidents thatcast an occasional damp upon trade. Their imaginations entail theseaccidents upon us in perpetuity. We have had some bad harvests. Thismust very disadvantageously affect the balance of trade, and thenavigation of a people, so large a part of whose commerce is in grain. But, in knowing the cause, we are morally certain, that, according tothe course of events, it cannot long subsist. In the three last years, we have exported scarcely any grain; in good years, that export hathbeen worth twelve hundred thousand pounds and more; in the two lastyears, far from exporting, we have been obliged to import to the amountperhaps of our former exportation. So that in this article the balancemust be 2, 000, 000_l. _ against us; that is, one million in the ceasing ofgain, the other in the increase of expenditure. But none of the author'spromises or projects could have prevented this misfortune; and, thankGod, we do not want him or them to relieve us from it; although, if hisfriends should now come into power, I doubt not but they will be readyto take credit for any increase of trade or excise, that may arise fromthe happy circumstance of a good harvest. 

This connects with his loud laments and melancholy prognosticationsconcerning the high price of the necessaries of life and the products oflabor. With all his others, I deny this fact; and I again call upon himto prove it. Take average and not accident, the grand and firstnecessary of life is cheap in this country; and that too as weighed, notagainst labor, which is its true counterpoise, but against money. Doeshe call the price of wheat at this day, between 32 and 40 shillings perquarter in London dear?[64] He must know that fuel (an object of thehighest order in the necessaries of life, and of the first necessity inalmost every kind of manufacture) is in many of our provinces cheaperthan in any part of the globe. Meat is on the whole not excessivelydear, whatever its price may be at particular times and from particularaccidents. If it has had anything like an uniform rise, this enhancementmay easily be proved not to be owing to the increase of taxes, but touniform increase of consumption and of money. Diminish the latter, andmeat in your markets will be sufficiently cheap in account, but muchdearer in effect: because fewer will be in a condition to buy. Thus yourapparent plenty will be real indigence. At present, even under temporarydisadvantages, the use of flesh is greater here than anywhere else; itis continued without any interruption of Lents or meagre days; it issustained and growing even with the increase of our taxes. But some havethe art of converting even the signs of national prosperity intosymptoms of decay and ruin. And our author, who so loudly disclaimspopularity, never fails to lay hold of the most vulgar popularprejudices and humors, in hopes to captivate the crowd. Even thosepeevish dispositions which grow out of some transitory suffering, thosepassing clouds which float in our changeable atmosphere, are by himindustriously figured into frightful shapes, in order first to terrify, and then to govern the populace. 

It was not enough for the author's purpose to give this false anddiscouraging picture of the state of his own country. It did not fullyanswer his end, to exaggerate her burdens, to depreciate her successes, and to vilify her character. Nothing had been done, unless thesituation of France were exalted in proportion as that of England hadbeen abased. The reader will excuse the citation I make at length fromhis book; he outdoes himself upon this occasion. His confidence isindeed unparalleled, and altogether of the heroic cast:--

"If our rival nations were in the same circumstances with ourselves, the_augmentation of our taxes would produce no ill consequences_: if wewere obliged to raise our prices, they must, from the same causes, dothe like, and could take no advantage by underselling and under-workingus. But the alarming consideration to Great Britain is, _that France isnot in the same condition_. Her distresses, during the war, were great, but they were immediate; her want of credit, as has been said, compelledher to impoverish her people, by raising the greatest part of hersupplies within the year; _but the burdens she imposed on them were, ina great measure, temporary, and must be greatly diminished by a fewyears of peace_. She could procure no considerable loans, therefore shehas mortgaged no _such oppressive taxes as those Great Britain hasimposed in perpetuity for payment of interest_. Peace must, therefore, soon re-establish her commerce and manufactures, especially as thecomparative _lightness of taxes_, and the cheapness of living, in thatcountry, must make France an asylum for British manufacturers andartificers. " On this the author rests the merit of his whole system. Andon this point I will join issue with him. If France is not at least inthe _same condition_, even in that very condition which the authorfalsely represents to be ours, --if the very reverse of his propositionbe not true, then I will admit his state of the nation to be just; andall his inferences from that state to be logical and conclusive. It isnot surprising, that the author should hazard our opinion of hisveracity. That is a virtue on which great statesmen do not perhaps piquethemselves so much; but it is somewhat extraordinary, that he shouldstake on a very poor calculation of chances, all credit for care, foraccuracy, and for knowledge of the subject of which he treats. He isrash and inaccurate, because he thinks he writes to a public ignorantand inattentive. But he may find himself in that respect, as in manyothers, greatly mistaken. In order to contrast the light and vigorouscondition of France with that of England, weak, and sinking under herburdens, he states, in his tenth page, that France had raised50, 314, 378_l. _ sterling _by taxes within the several years_ from theyear 1756 to 1762 both inclusive. All Englishman must stand aghast atsuch a representation: To find France able to _raise within the year_sums little inferior to all that we were able even to _borrow_ oninterest with all the resources of the greatest and most establishedcredit in the world! Europe was filled with astonishment when they sawEngland _borrow_ in one year twelve millions. It was thought, and veryjustly, no small proof of national strength and financial skill, to finda fund for the payment of the interest upon this sum. The interest ofthis, computed with the one per cent annuities, amounted only to600, 000_l. _ a year. This, I say, was thought a surprising effort even ofcredit. But this author talks, as of a thing not worth proving, and butjust worth observing, that France in one year raised sixteen times thatsum without borrowing, and continued to raise sums not far from equal toit for several years together. Suppose some Jacob Henriques hadproposed, in the year 1762, to prevent a perpetual charge on the nationby raising ten millions within the year: he would have been considered, not as a harsh financier, who laid a heavy hand on the public; but as apoor visionary, who had run mad on supplies and taxes. They who knowthat the whole land-tax of England, at 4_s. _ in the pound, raises buttwo millions, will not easily apprehend that any such sums as the authorhas conjured up can be raised even in the most opulent nations. Franceowed a large debt, and was encumbered with heavy establishments, beforethat war. The author does not formally deny that she borrowed somethingin every year of its continuance; let him produce the funds for thisastonishing annual addition to all her vast preceding taxes; anaddition, equal to the whole excise, customs, land and malt-taxes ofEngland taken together. 

But what must be the reader's astonishment, perhaps his indignation, ifhe should find that this great financier has fallen into the mostunaccountable of all errors, no less an error than that of mistaking the_identical sums borrowed by France upon interest, for supplies raisedwithin the year_! Can it be conceived that any man, only entered intothe first rudiments of finance, should make so egregious a blunder;should write it, should print it; should carry it to a second edition;should take it not collaterally and incidentally, but lay it down as thecorner-stone of his whole system, in such an important point as thecomparative states of France and England? But it will be said, that itwas his misfortune to be ill-informed. Not at all. A man of any loosegeneral knowledge, and of the most ordinary sagacity, never could havebeen misinformed in so gross a manner; because he would have immediatelyrejected so wild and extravagant an account. 

The fact is this: the credit of France, bad as it might have been, didenable her (not to raise within the year) but to _borrow_ the very sumsthe author mentions; that is to say, 1, 106, 916, 261 livres, making, inthe author's computation, 50, 314, 378_l. _ The credit of France was low;but it was not annihilated. She did not derive, as our author chooses toassert, any advantages from the debility of her credit. Its consequencewas the natural one: she borrowed; but she borrowed upon bad terms, indeed on the most exorbitant usury. 

In speaking of a foreign revenue, the very pretence to accuracy would bethe most inaccurate thing in the world. Neither the author nor I canwith certainty authenticate the information we communicate to thepublic, nor in an affair of eternal fluctuation arrive at perfectexactness. All we can do, and this we may be expected to do, is to avoidgross errors and blunders of a capital nature. We cannot order theproper officer to lay the accounts before the House. But the reader mustjudge on the probability of the accounts we lay before him. The authorspeaks of France as raising her supplies for war by taxes within theyear; and of her debt, as a thing scarcely worthy of notice. I affirmthat she borrowed large sums in every year; and has thereby accumulatedan immense debt. This debt continued after the war infinitely toembarrass her affairs; and to find some means for its reduction was thenand has ever since been the first object of her policy. But she has solittle succeeded in all her efforts, that the _perpetual_ debt ofFrance is at this hour little short of 100, 000, 000_l. _ sterling; and shestands charged with at least 40, 000, 000 of English pounds on life-rentsand tontines. The annuities paid at this day at the Hôtel de Ville ofParis, which are by no means her sole payments of that nature, amount to139, 000, 000 of livres, that is to 6, 318, 000_l. _; besides _billets auporteur_, and various detached and unfunded debts, to a great amount, and which bear an interest. 

At the end of the war, the interest payable on her debt amounted toupwards of seven millions sterling. M. De la Verdy, the last hope of theFrench finances, was called in, to aid in the reduction of an interest, so light to our author, so intolerably heavy upon those who are to payit. After many unsuccessful efforts towards reconciling arbitraryreduction with public credit, he was obliged to go the plain high roadof power, and to impose a tax of 10 per cent upon a very great part ofthe capital debt of that kingdom; and this measure of present ease, tothe destruction of future credit, produced about 500, 000_l. _ a year, which was carried to their _Caisse d'amortissement_ or sinking fund. Butso unfaithfully and unsteadily has this and all the other articles whichcompose that fund been applied to their purposes, that they have giventhe state but very little even of present relief, since it is known tothe whole world that she is behindhand on every one of herestablishments. Since the year 1763, there has been no operation of anyconsequence on the French finances; and in this enviable condition isFrance at present with regard to her debt. 

Everybody knows that the principal of the debt is but a name; theinterest is the only thing which can distress a nation. Take this idea, which will not be disputed, and compare the interest paid by Englandwith that paid by France:

 Interest paid by France, funded and unfunded, for perpetuity or on lives, after the tax of 10 per cent £6, 500, 000 Interest paid by England, as stated by the author, p. 27 4, 600, 000 ---------- Interest paid by France exceeds that paid by England £1, 900, 000

The author cannot complain, that I state the interest paid by England astoo low. He takes it himself as the extremest term. Nobody who knowsanything of the French finances will affirm that I state the interestpaid by that kingdom too high. It might be easily proved to amount to agreat deal more: even this is near two millions above what is paid byEngland. 

There are three standards to judge of the good condition of a nationwith regard to its finances. 1st, The relief of the people. 2nd, Theequality of supplies to establishments. 3rd, The state of public credit. Try France on all these standards. 

Although our author very liberally administers relief to the people ofFrance, its government has not been altogether so gracious. Since thepeace, she has taken off but a single _vingtième_, or shilling in thepound, and some small matter in the capitation. But, if the governmenthas relieved them in one point, it has only burdened them the moreheavily in another. The _Taille_, [65] that grievous and destructiveimposition, which all their financiers lament, without being able toremove or to replace, has been augmented no less than six millions oflivres, or 270, 000 pounds English. A further augmentation of this orother duties is now talked of; and it is certainly necessary to theiraffairs: so exceedingly remote from either truth or verisimilitude isthe author's amazing assertion, _that the burdens of France in the warwere in a great measure temporary, and must be greatly diminished by afew years of peace_. 

In the next place, if the people of France are not lightened of taxes, so neither is the state disburdened of charges. I speak from very goodinformation, that the annual income of that state is at this day thirtymillions of livres, or 1, 350, 000_l. _ sterling, short of a provision fortheir ordinary peace establishment; so far are they from the attempt oreven hope to discharge any part of the capital of their enormous debt. Indeed, under such extreme straitness and distraction labors the wholebody of their finances, so far does their charge outrun their supply inevery particular, that no man, I believe, who has considered theiraffairs with any degree of attention or information, but must hourlylook for some extraordinary convulsion in that whole system: the effectof which on France, and even on all Europe, it is difficult toconjecture. 

In the third point of view, their credit. Let the reader cast his eye ona table of the price of French funds, as they stood a few weeks ago, compared with the state of some of our English stocks, even in theirpresent low condition:--

 French. British. 5 per cents 63 Bank stock, 5-1/2 159 4 per cent (not taxed) 57 4 per cent cons. 100 3 per cent " " 49 3 per cent cons. 88

This state of the funds of France and England is sufficient to convinceeven prejudice and obstinacy, that if France and England are not in thesame condition (as the author affirms they are not) the difference isinfinitely to the disadvantage of France. This depreciation of theirfunds has not much the air of a nation lightening burdens anddischarging debts. 

Such is the true comparative state of the two kingdoms in those capitalpoints of view. Now as to the nature of the taxes which provide for thisdebt, as well as for their ordinary establishments, the author hasthought proper to affirm that "they are comparatively light"; that "shehas mortgaged no such oppressive taxes as ours"; his effrontery on thishead is intolerable. Does the author recollect a single tax in Englandto which something parallel in nature, and as heavy in burden, does notexist in France; does he not know that the lands of the noblesse arestill under the load of the greater part of the old feudal charges, fromwhich the gentry of England have been relieved for upwards of a hundredyears, and which were in kind, as well as burden, much worse than ourmodern land-tax? Besides that all the gentry of France serve in the armyon very slender pay, and to the utter ruin of their fortunes, all thosewho are not noble have their lands heavily taxed. Does he not know thatwine, brandy, soap, candles, leather, saltpetre, gunpowder, are taxed inFrance? Has he not heard that government in France has made a monopolyof that great article of _salt?_ that they compel the people to take acertain quantity of it, and at a certain rate, both rate and quantityfixed at the arbitrary pleasure of the imposer?[66] that they pay inFrance the _Taille_, an arbitrary imposition on presumed property? thata tax is laid in fact and name, on the same arbitrary standard, upon theacquisitions of their _industry_? and that in France a heavy_capitation-tax_ is also paid, from the highest to the very poorest sortof people? Have we taxes of such weight, or anything at all of thecompulsion, in the article of _salt_? do we pay any _taillage_, any_faculty-tax_, any _industry-tax?_ do we pay any _capitation-tax_whatsoever? I believe the people of London would fall into an agony tohear of such taxes proposed upon them as are paid at Paris. There is nota single article of provision for man or beast which enters that greatcity, and is not excised; corn, hay, meal, butcher's-meat, fish, fowls, everything. I do not here mean to censure the policy of taxes laid onthe consumption of great luxurious cities. I only state the fact. Weshould be with difficulty brought to hear of a tax of 50_s. _ upon everyox sold in Smithfield. Yet this tax is paid in Paris. Wine, the lowersort of wine, little better than English small beer, pays 2_d. _ abottle. 

We, indeed, tax our beer; but the imposition on small beer is very farfrom heavy. In no part of England are eatables of any kind the object oftaxation. In almost every other country in Europe they are excised, moreor less. I have by me the state of the revenues of many of the principalnations on the Continent; and, on comparing them with ours, I think I amfairly warranted to assert, that England is the most lightly taxed ofany of the great states of Europe. They, whose unnatural and sullen joyarises from a contemplation of the distresses of their country, willrevolt at this position. But if I am called upon, I will prove it beyondall possibility of dispute; even though this proof should deprive thesegentlemen of the singular satisfaction of considering their country asundone; and though the best civil government, the best constituted, andthe best managed revenue that ever the world beheld, should bethoroughly vindicated from their perpetual clamors and complaints. As toour neighbor and rival France, in addition to what I have heresuggested, I say, and when the author chooses formally to deny, I shallformally prove it, that her subjects pay more than England, on acomputation of the wealth of both countries; that her taxes are moreinjudiciously and more oppressively imposed; more vexatiously collected;come in a smaller proportion to the royal coffers, and are less appliedby far to the public service. I am not one of those who choose to takethe author's word for this happy and flourishing condition of the Frenchfinances, rather than attend to the changes, the violent pushes and thedespair of all her own financiers. Does he choose to be referred for theeasy and happy condition of the subject in France to the remonstrancesof their own parliaments, written with such an eloquence, feeling, andenergy, as I have not seen exceeded in any other writings? The authormay say, their complaints are exaggerated, and the effects of faction. Ianswer, that they are the representations of numerous, grave, and mostrespectable bodies of men, upon the affairs of their own country. But, allowing that discontent and faction may pervert the judgment of suchvenerable bodies in France, we have as good a right to suppose that thesame causes may full as probably have produced from a private, howeverrespectable person, that frightful, and, I trust I have shown, groundless representation of our own affairs in England. 

The author is so conscious of the dangerous effects of thatrepresentation, that he thinks it necessary, and very necessary it is, to guard against them. He assures us, "that he has not made that displayof the difficulties of his country, to expose her counsels to theridicule of other states, or to provoke a vanquished enemy to insulther; nor to excite the people's rage against their governors, or sinkthem into a despondency of the public welfare. " I readily admit thisapology for his intentions. God forbid I should think any man capable ofentertaining so execrable and senseless a design. The true cause of hisdrawing so shocking a picture is no more than this; and it ought ratherto claim our pity than excite our indignation; he finds himself out ofpower; and this condition is intolerable to him. The same sun whichgilds all nature, and exhilarates the whole creation, does not shineupon disappointed ambition. It is something that rays out of darkness, and inspires nothing but gloom and melancholy. Men in this deplorablestate of mind find a comfort in spreading the contagion of their spleen. They find an advantage too; for it is a general, popular error, toimagine the loudest complainers for the public to be the most anxiousfor its welfare. If such persons can answer the ends of relief andprofit to themselves, they are apt to be careless enough about eitherthe means or the consequences. 

Whatever this complainant's motives may be, the effects can by nopossibility be other than those which he so strongly, and I hope truly, disclaims all intention of producing. To verify this, the reader hasonly to consider how dreadful a picture he has drawn in his 32nd page, of the state of this kingdom; such a picture as, I believe, has hardlybeen applicable, without some exaggeration, to the most degenerate andundone commonwealth that ever existed. Let this view of things becompared with the prospect of a remedy which he proposes in the pagedirectly opposite, and the subsequent. I believe no man living couldhave imagined it possible, except for the sake of burlesquing a subject, to propose remedies so ridiculously disproportionate to the evil, sofull of uncertainty in their operation, and depending for their successin every step upon the happy event of so many new, dangerous, andvisionary projects. It is not amiss, that he has thought proper to givethe public some little notice of what they may expect from his friends, when our affairs shall be committed to their management. Let us see howthe accounts of disease and remedy are balanced in his "State of theNation. " In the first place, on the side of evils, he states, "animpoverished and heavily-burdened public. A declining trade anddecreasing specie. The power of the crown never so much extended overthe great; but the great without influence over the lower sort. Parliament losing its reverence with the people. The voice of themultitude set up against the sense of the legislature; a peopleluxurious and licentious, impatient of rule, and despising allauthority. Government relaxed in every sinew, and a corrupt selfishspirit pervading the whole. An opinion of many, that the form ofgovernment is not worth contending for. No attachment in the bulk ofthe people towards the constitution. No reverence for the customs of ourancestors. No attachment but to private interest, nor any zeal but forselfish gratifications. Trade and manufactures going to ruin. GreatBritain in danger of becoming tributary to France, and the descent ofthe crown dependent on her pleasure. Ireland, in case of a war, tobecome a prey to France; and Great Britain, unable to recover Ireland, cede it by treaty, " (the author never can think of a treaty withoutmaking cessions, ) "in order to purchase peace for herself. The coloniesleft exposed to the ravages of a domestic, or the conquest of a foreignenemy. "--Gloomy enough, God knows. The author well observes, [67] _that amind not totally devoid of feeling cannot look upon such a prospectwithout horror; and an heart capable of humanity must be unable to hearits description_. He ought to have added, that no man of commondiscretion ought to have exhibited it to the public, if it were true; orof common honesty, if it were false. 

But now for the comfort; the day-star which is to arise in our hearts;the author's grand scheme for totally reversing this dismal state ofthings, and making us[68] "happy at home and respected abroad, formidable in war and flourishing in peace. "

In this great work he proceeds with a facility equally astonishing andpleasing. Never was financier less embarrassed by the burden ofestablishments, or with the difficulty of finding ways and means. If anestablishment is troublesome to him, he lops off at a stroke just asmuch of it as he chooses. He mows down, without giving quarter, orassigning reason, army, navy, ordnance, ordinary, extraordinaries;nothing can stand before him. Then, when he comes to provide, Amalthea'shorn is in his hands; and he pours out with an inexhaustible bounty, taxes, duties, loans, and revenues, without uneasiness to himself, orburden to the public. Insomuch that, when we consider the abundance ofhis resources, we cannot avoid being surprised at his extraordinaryattention to savings. But it is all the exuberance of his goodness. 

This book has so much of a certain tone of power, that one would bealmost tempted to think it written by some person who had been high inoffice. A man is generally rendered somewhat a worse reasoner for havingbeen a minister. In private, the assent of listening and obsequiousfriends; in public, the venal cry and prepared vote of a passive senate, confirm him in habits of begging the question with impunity, andasserting without thinking himself obliged to prove. Had it not been forsome such habits, the author could never have expected that we shouldtake his estimate for a peace establishment solely on his word. 

This estimate which he gives, [69] is the great groundwork of his planfor the national redemption; and it ought to be well and firmly laid, orwhat must become of the superstructure? One would have thought thenatural method in a plan of reformation would be, to take the presentexisting estimates as they stand; and then to show what may bepracticably and safely defalcated from them. This would, I say, be thenatural course; and what would be expected from a man of business. Butthis author takes a very different method. For the ground of hisspeculation of a present peace establishment, he resorts to a formerspeculation of the same kind, which was in the mind of the minister ofthe year 1764. Indeed it never existed anywhere else. "The plan, "[70]says he, with his usual ease, "has been already formed, and the outlinedrawn, by the administration of 1764. I shall attempt to fill up thevoid and obliterated parts, and trace its operation. The standingexpense of the present (his projected) peace establishment, _improved bythe experience of the two last years, may be thus estimated_"; and heestimates it at 3, 468, 161_l. _

Here too it would be natural to expect some reasons for condemning thesubsequent actual establishments, which have so much transgressed thelimits of his plan of 1764, as well as some arguments in favor of hisnew project; which has in some articles exceeded, in others fallenshort, but on the whole is much below his old one. Hardly a word on anyof these points, the only points however that are in the leastessential; for unless you assign reasons for the increase or diminutionof the several articles of public charge, the playing at establishmentsand estimates is an amusement of no higher order, and of much lessingenuity, than _Questions and commands_, or _What is my thought like_?To bring more distinctly under the reader's view this author's strangemethod of proceeding, I will lay before him the three schemes; viz. Theidea of the ministers in 1764, the actual estimates of the two lastyears as given by the author himself, and lastly the new project of hispolitical millennium:--

 Plan of establishment for 1764, as by "Considerations, " p. 43 [71] £3, 609, 700 Medium of 1767 and 1768, as by "State of the Nation, " p. 29 and 30 3, 919, 375 Present peace establishment, as by the project in "State of the Nation, " p. 33 3, 468, 161

It is not from anything our author has anywhere said, that you areenabled to find the ground, much less the justification, of the immensedifference between these several systems; you must compare themyourself, article by article; no very pleasing employment, by the way, to compare the agreement or disagreement of two chimeras. I now onlyspeak of the comparison of his own two projects. As to the latter ofthem, it differs from the former, by having some of the articlesdiminished, and others increased. [72] I find the chief article ofreduction arises from the smaller deficiency of land and malt, and ofthe annuity funds, which he brings down to 295, 561_l. _ in his newestimate, from 502, 400_l. _ which he had allowed for those articles inthe "Considerations. " With this _reduction_, owing, as it must be, merely to a smaller deficiency of funds, he has nothing at all to do. Itcan be no work and no merit of his. But with regard to the _increase_, the matter is very different. It is all his own; the public is loaded(for anything we can see to the contrary) entirely _gratis_. The chiefarticles of the increase are on the navy, [73] and on the army andordnance extraordinaries; the navy being estimated in his "State of theNation" 50, 000_l. _ a year more, and the army and ordnanceextraordinaries 40, 000_l. _ more, than he had thought proper to allow forthem in that estimate in his "Considerations, " which he makes thefoundation of his present project. He has given no sort of reason, stated no sort of necessity, for this additional allowance, either inthe one article or the other. What is still stronger, he admits that hisallowance for the army and ordnance extras is too great, and expresslyrefers you to the "Considerations";[74] where, far from giving75, 000_l. _ a year to that service, as the "State of the Nation" hasdone, the author apprehends his own scanty provision of 35, 000_l. _ to beby far too considerable, and thinks it may well admit of furtherreductions. [75] Thus, according to his own principles, this greateconomist falls into a vicious prodigality; and is as far in hisestimate from a consistency with his own principles as with the realnature of the services. 

Still, however, his present establishment differs from its archetype of1764, by being, though raised in particular parts, upon the whole, about141, 000_l. _ smaller. It is improved, he tells us, by the experience ofthe two last years. One would have concluded that the peaceestablishment of these two years had been less than that of 1764, inorder to suggest to the author his improvements, which enabled him toreduce it. But how does that turn out?

 Peace establishment[76] 1767 and 1768, medium £3, 919, 375 Ditto, estimate in the "Considerations, " for 1764 3, 609, 700 --------- Difference £309, 675

A vast increase instead of diminution. The experience then of the twolast years ought naturally to have given the idea of a heavierestablishment; but this writer is able to diminish by increasing, and todraw the effects of subtraction from the operations of addition. Bymeans of these new powers, he may certainly do whatever he pleases. Heis indeed moderate enough in the use of them, and condescends to settlehis establishments at 3, 468, 161_l. _ a year. 

However, he has not yet done with it; he has further ideas of saving, and new resources of revenue. These additional savings are principallytwo: 1st, _It is to be hoped_, [77] says he, that the sum of 250, 000_l. _(which in the estimate he allows for the deficiency of land and malt)will be less by 37, 924_l. _[78]

2nd, That the sum of 20, 000_l. _ allowed for the Foundling Hospital, and1800_l. _ for American Surveys, will soon cease to be necessary, as theservices will be completed. 

What follows, with regard to the resources, [79] is very well worthy thereader's attention. "Of this estimate, " says he, "upwards of 300, 000_l. _will be for the plantation service; and that sum, _I hope_, the peopleof Ireland and the colonies _might be induced_ to take off GreatBritain, and defray between them, in the proportion of 200, 000_l. _ bythe colonies, and 100, 000_l. _ by Ireland. "

Such is the whole of this mighty scheme. Take his reduced estimate, andhis further reductions, and his resources all together, and the resultwill be, --he will _certainly_ lower the provision made for the navy. Hewill cut off largely (God knows what or how) from the army and ordnanceextraordinaries. He may be _expected_ to cut off more. He _hopes_ thatthe deficiencies on land and malt will be less than usual; and he_hopes_ that America and Ireland might be _induced_ to take off300, 000_l. _ of our annual charges. 

If any of these Hopes, Mights, Insinuations, Expectations, andInducements, should fail him, there will be a formidable gaping breachin his whole project. If all of them should fail, he has left the nationwithout a glimmering of hope in this thick night of terrors which he hasthought fit to spread about us. If every one of them, which, attendedwith success, would signify anything to our revenue, can have no effectbut to add to our distractions and dangers, we shall be if possible in astill worse condition from his projects of cure, than he represents usfrom our original disorders. 

Before we examine into the consequences of these schemes, and theprobability of these savings, let us suppose them all real and all safe, and then see what it is they amount to, and how he reasons on them:--

 Deficiency on land and malt, less by £37, 000 Foundling Hospital 20, 000 American Surveys 1, 800 ------- £58, 800

This is the amount of the only articles of saving he specifies: and yethe chooses to assert, [81] "that we may venture on the credit of them toreduce the standing expenses of the estimate (from 3, 468, 161_l. _) to3, 300, 000_l. _"; that is, for a saving of 58, 000_l. _ he is not ashamedto take credit for a defalcation from his own ideal establishment in asum of no less than 168, 161_l. _! Suppose even that we were to take upthe estimate of the "Considerations" (which is however abandoned in the"State of the Nation"), and reduce his 75, 000_l. _ extraordinaries to theoriginal 35, 000_l. _, still all these savings joined together give us but98, 800_l. _; that is, near 70, 000_l. _ short of the credit he calls for, and for which he has neither given any reason, nor furnished any datawhatsoever for others to reason upon. 

Such are his savings, as operating on his own project of a peaceestablishment. Let us now consider them as they affect the existingestablishment and our actual services. He tells us, the sum allowed inhis estimate for the navy is "69, 321_l. _ less than the grant for thatservice in 1767; but in that grant 30, 000_l. _ was included for thepurchase of hemp, and a saving of about 25, 000_l. _ was made in thatyear. " The author has got some secret in arithmetic. These two sums puttogether amount, in the ordinary way of computing, to 55, 000_l. _, andnot to 69, 321_l. _ On what principle has he chosen to take credit for14, 321_l. _ more? To what this strange inaccuracy is owing, I cannotpossibly comprehend; nor is it very material, where the logic is so bad, and the policy so erroneous, whether the arithmetic be just orotherwise. But in a scheme for making this nation "happy at home andrespected abroad, formidable in war and flourishing in peace, " it issurely a little unfortunate for us, that he has picked out the _Navy_, as the very first object of his economical experiments. Of all thepublic services, that of the navy is the one in which tampering may beof the greatest danger, which can worst be supplied upon an emergency, and of which any failure draws after it the longest and heaviest trainof consequences. I am far from saying, that this or any service oughtnot to be conducted with economy. But I will never suffer the sacredname of economy to be bestowed upon arbitrary defalcation of charge. Theauthor tells us himself, "that to suffer the navy to rot in harbor forwant of repairs and marines, would be to invite destruction. " It wouldbe so. When the author talks therefore of savings on the navy estimate, it is incumbent on him to let us know, not what sums he will cut off, but what branch of that service he deems superfluous. Instead of puttingus off with unmeaning generalities, he ought to have stated what navalforce, what naval works, and what naval stores, with the lowestestimated expense, are necessary to keep our marine in a conditioncommensurate to its great ends. And this too not for the contracted anddeceitful space of a single year, but for some reasonable term. Everybody knows that many charges cannot be in their nature regular orannual. In the year 1767 a stock of hemp, &c. , was to be laid in; thatcharge intermits, but it does not end. Other charges of other kinds taketheir place. Great works are now carrying on at Portsmouth, but not ofgreater magnitude than utility; and they must be provided for. A year'sestimate is therefore no just idea at all of a permanent peaceestablishment. Had the author opened this matter upon these plainprinciples, a judgment might have been formed, how far he had contrivedto reconcile national defence with public economy. Till he has done it, those who had rather depend on any man's reason than the greatest man'sauthority, will not give him credit on this head, for the saving of asingle shilling. As to those savings which are already made, or incourse of being made, whether right or wrong, he has nothing at all todo with them; they can be no part of his project, considered as a planof reformation. I greatly fear that the error has not lately been on theside of profusion. 

Another head is the saving on the army and ordnance extraordinaries, particularly in the American branch. What or how much reduction may bemade, none of us, I believe, can with any fairness pretend to say; verylittle, I am convinced. The state of America is extremely unsettled;more troops have been sent thither; new dispositions have been made; andthis augmentation of number, and change of disposition, has rarely, Ibelieve, the effect of lessening the bill for extraordinaries, which, ifnot this year, yet in the next we must certainly feel. Care has not beenwanting to introduce economy into that part of the service. The author'sgreat friend has made, I admit, some regulations: his immediatesuccessors have made more and better. This part will be handled moreably and more minutely at another time: but no one can cut down thisbill of extraordinaries at his pleasure. The author has given usnothing, but his word, for any certain or considerable reduction; andthis we ought to be the more cautious in taking, as he has promisedgreat savings in his "Considerations, " which he has not chosen to abideby in his "State of the Nation. "

On this head also of the American extraordinaries, he can take creditfor nothing. As to his next, the lessening of the deficiency of the landand malt-tax, particularly of the malt-tax, any person the leastconversant in that subject cannot avoid a smile. This deficiency arisesfrom charge of collection, from anticipation, and from defectiveproduce. What has the author said on the reduction of any head of thisdeficiency upon the land-tax? On these points he is absolutely silent. As to the deficiency on the malt-tax, which is chiefly owing to adefective produce, he has and can have nothing to propose. If thisdeficiency should he lessened by the increase of malting in any yearsmore than in others, (as it is a greatly fluctuating object, ) how muchof this obligation shall we owe to this author's ministry? will it notbe the case under any administration? must it not go to the generalservice of the year, in some way or other, let the finances be in whosehands they will? But why take credit for so extremely reduced adeficiency at all? I can tell him he has no rational ground for it inthe produce of the year 1767; and I suspect will have full as littlereason from the produce of the year 1768. That produce may indeed becomegreater, and the deficiency of course will be less. It may too be farotherwise. A fair and judicious financier will not, as this writer hasdone, for the sake of making out a specious account, select a favorableyear or two, at remote periods, and ground his calculations on those. In1768 he will not take the deficiencies of 1753 and 1754 for hisstandard. Sober men have hitherto (and must continue this course, topreserve this character, ) taken indifferently the mediums of the yearsimmediately preceding. But a person who has a scheme from which hepromises much to the public ought to be still more cautious; he shouldground his speculation rather on the lowest mediums because all newschemes are known to be subject to some defect or failure not foreseen;and which therefore every prudent proposer will be ready to allow for, in order to lay his foundation as low and as solid as possible. Quitecontrary is the practice of some politicians. They first proposesavings, which they well know cannot be made, in order to get areputation for economy. In due time they assume another, but a differentmethod, by providing for the service they had before cut off orstraitened, and which they can then very easily prove to be necessary. In the same spirit they raise magnificent ideas of revenue on fundswhich they know to be insufficient. Afterwards, who can blame them, ifthey do not satisfy the public desires? They are great artificers butthey cannot work without materials. 

These are some of the little arts of great statesmen. To such we leavethem, and follow where the author leads us, to his next resource, theFoundling Hospital. Whatever particular virtue there is in the mode ofthis saving, there seems to be nothing at all new, and indeed nothingwonderfully important in it. The sum annually voted for the support ofthe Foundling Hospital has been in a former Parliament limited to theestablishment of the children then in the hospital. When they areapprenticed, this provision will cease. It will therefore fall in moreor less at different times; and will at length cease entirely. But, until it does, we cannot reckon upon it as the saving on theestablishment of any given year: nor can any one conceive how the authorcomes to mention this, any more than some other articles, as a part of a_new_ plan of economy which is to retrieve our affairs. This charge willindeed cease in its own time. But will no other succeed to it? Has heever known the public free from some contingent charge, either for thejust support of royal dignity or for national magnificence, or forpublic charity, or for public service? does he choose to flatter hisreaders that no such will ever return? or does he in good earnestdeclare, that let the reason, or necessity, be what they will, he isresolved not to provide for such services?

Another resource of economy yet remains, for he gleans the field veryclosely, --1800_l. _ for the American surveys. Why, what signifies adispute about trifles? he shall have it. But while he is carrying itoff, I shall just whisper in his ear, that neither the saving that isallowed, nor that which is doubted of, can at all belong to that futureproposed administration, whose touch is to cure all our evils. Both theone and the other belong equally (as indeed all the rest do) to thepresent administration, to any administration; because they are the giftof time, and not the bounty of the exchequer. 

I have now done with all the minor, preparatory parts of the author'sscheme, the several articles of saving which he proposes. At lengthcomes the capital operation, his new resources. Three hundred thousandpounds a year from America and Ireland. --Alas! alas! if that too shouldfail us, what will become of this poor undone nation? The author, in atone of great humility, _hopes_ they may be induced to pay it. Well, ifthat be all, we may hope so too: and for any light he is pleased to giveus into the ground of this hope, and the ways and means of thisinducement, here is a speedy end both of the question and the revenue. 

It is the constant custom of this author, in all his writings, to takeit for granted, that he has given you a revenue, whenever he can pointout to you where you may have money, if you can contrive how to get atit; and this seems to be the masterpiece of his financial ability. Ithink, however, in his way of proceeding, he has behaved rather like aharsh step-dame, than a kind nursing-mother to his country. Why stop at300, 000_l. _ If his state of things be at all founded, America andIreland are much better able to pay 600, 000_l. _ than we are to satisfyourselves with half that sum. However, let us forgive him this oneinstance of tenderness towards Ireland and the colonies. 

He spends a vast deal of time[82] in an endeavor to prove that Irelandis able to bear greater impositions. He is of opinion, that the povertyof the lower class of people there is, in a great measure, owing to _awant_ of judicious taxes; that a land-tax will enrich her tenants; thattaxes are paid in England which are not paid there; that the colonytrade is increased above 100, 000_l. _ since the peace; that she _ought_to have further indulgence in that trade; and ought to have furtherprivileges in the woollen manufacture. From these premises, of what shehas, what she has not, and what she ought to have, he infers thatIreland will contribute 100, 000_l. _ towards the extraordinaries of theAmerican establishment. 

I shall make no objections whatsoever, logical or financial, to thisreasoning: many occur; but they would lead me from my purpose, fromwhich I do not intend to be diverted, because it seems to me of no smallimportance. It will be just enough to hint, what I dare say many readershave before observed, that when any man proposes new taxes in a countrywith which he is not personally conversant by residence or office, heought to lay open its situation much more minutely and critically thanthis author has done, or than perhaps he is able to do. He ought not tocontent himself with saying that a single article of her trade isincreased 100, 000_l. _ a year; he ought, if he argues from the increaseof trade to the increase of taxes, to state the whole trade, and not onebranch of trade only; he ought to enter fully into the state of itsremittances, and the course of its exchange; he ought likewise toexamine whether all its establishments are increased or diminished; andwhether it incurs or discharges debts annually. But I pass over allthis; and am content to ask a few plain questions. 

Does the author then seriously mean to propose in Parliament a land-tax, or any tax for 100, 000_l. _ a year upon Ireland? If he does, and iffatally, by his temerity and our weakness, he should succeed; then I sayhe will throw the whole empire from one end of it to the other intomortal convulsions. What is it that can satisfy the furious andperturbed mind of this man? is it not enough for him that such projectshave alienated our colonies from the mother-country, and not to proposeviolently to tear our sister kingdom also from our side, and to convinceevery dependent part of the empire, that, when a little money is to beraised, we have no sort of regard to their ancient customs, theiropinions, their circumstances, or their affections? He has however a_douceur_ for Ireland in his pocket; benefits in trade, by opening thewoollen manufacture to that nation. A very right idea in my opinion; butnot more strong in reason, than likely to be opposed by the mostpowerful and most violent of all local prejudices and popular passions. First, a fire is already kindled by his schemes of taxation in America;he then proposes one which will set all Ireland in a blaze; and his wayof quenching both is by a plan which may kindle perhaps ten times agreater flame in Britain. 

Will the author pledge himself, previously to his proposal of such atax, to carry this enlargement of the Irish trade? If he does not, thenthe tax will be certain; the benefit will be less than problematical. Inthis view, his compensation to Ireland vanishes into smoke; the tax, totheir prejudices, will appear stark naked in the light of an act ofarbitrary power and oppression. But, if he should propose the benefitand tax together, then the people of Ireland, a very high and spiritedpeople, would think it the worst bargain in the world. They would lookupon the one as wholly vitiated and poisoned by the other; and, if theycould not be separated, would infallibly resist them both together. Herewould be taxes, indeed, amounting to a handsome sum; 100, 000_l. _ veryeffectually voted, and passed through the best and most authentic forms;but how to be collected?--This is his perpetual manner. One of hisprojects depends for success upon another project, and this upon athird, all of them equally visionary. His finance is like the Indianphilosophy; his earth is poised on the horns of a bull, his bull standsupon an elephant, his elephant is supported by a tortoise; and so onforever. 

As to his American 200, 000_l. _ a year, he is satisfied to repeatgravely, as he has done an hundred times before, that the Americans areable to pay it. Well, and what then? does he lay open any part of hisplan how they may be compelled to pay it, without plunging ourselvesinto calamities that outweigh tenfold the proposed benefit? or does heshow how they may be induced to submit to it quietly? or does he giveany satisfaction concerning the mode of levying it; in commercialcolonies, one of the most important and difficult of all considerations?Nothing like it. To the Stamp Act, whatever its excellences may be, Ithink he will not in reality recur, or even choose to assert that hemeans to do so, in case his minister should come again into power. If hedoes, I will predict that some of the fastest friends of that ministerwill desert him upon this point. As to port duties he has damned themall in the lump, by declaring them[83] "contrary to the first principlesof colonization, and not less prejudicial to the interests of GreatBritain than to those of the colonies. " Surely this single observationof his ought to have taught him a little caution; he ought to have begunto doubt, whether there is not something in the nature of commercialcolonies, which renders them an unfit object of taxation; when portduties, so large a fund of revenue in all countries, are by himselffound, in this case, not only improper, but destructive. However, he hashere pretty well narrowed the field of taxation. Stamp Act, hardly to beresumed. Port duties, mischievous. Excises, I believe, he will scarcelythink worth the collection (if any revenue should be so) in America. Land-tax (notwithstanding his opinion of its immense use to agriculture)he will not directly propose, before he has thought again and again onthe subject. Indeed he very readily recommends it for Ireland, andseems to think it not improper for America; because, he observes, theyalready raise most of their taxes internally, including this tax. A mostcurious reason, truly! because their lands are already heavily burdened, he thinks it right to burden them still further. But he will recollect, for surely he cannot be ignorant of it, that the lands of America arenot, as in England, let at a rent certain in money, and thereforecannot, as here, be taxed at a certain pound rate. They value them ingross among themselves; and none but themselves in their severaldistricts can value them. Without their hearty concurrence andco-operation, it is evident, we cannot advance a step in the assessingor collecting any land-tax. As to the taxes which in some places theAmericans pay by the acre, they are merely duties of regulation; theyare small; and to increase them, notwithstanding the secret virtues of aland-tax, would be the most effectual means of preventing thatcultivation they are intended to promote. Besides, the whole country isheavily in arrear already for land-taxes and quit-rents. They havedifferent methods of taxation in the different provinces, agreeable totheir several local circumstances. In New England by far the greatestpart of their revenue is raised by _faculty-taxes_ and _capitations_. Such is the method in many others. It is obvious that Parliament, unassisted by the colonies themselves, cannot take so much as a singlestep in this mode of taxation. Then what tax is it he will impose? Why, after all the boasting speeches and writings of his faction for thesefour years, after all the vain expectations which they have held out toa deluded public, this their great advocate, after twisting the subjectevery way, after writhing himself in every posture, after knocking atevery door, is obliged fairly to abandon every mode of taxationwhatsoever in America. [84] He thinks it the best method for Parliamentto impose the sum, and reserve the account to itself, leaving the modeof taxation to the colonies. But how and in what proportion? what doesthe author say? O, not a single syllable on this the most material partof the whole question! Will he, in Parliament, undertake to settle theproportions of such payments from Nova Scotia to Nevis, in no fewer thansix-and-twenty different countries, varying in almost every possiblecircumstance one from another? If he does, I tell him, he adjourns hisrevenue to a very long day. If he leaves it to themselves to settlethese proportions, he adjourns it to doomsday. 

Then what does he get by this method on the side of acquiescence? willthe people of America relish this course, of giving and granting andapplying their money, the better because their assemblies are madecommissioners of the taxes? This is far worse than all his formerprojects; for here, if the assemblies shall refuse, or delay, or benegligent, or fraudulent, in this new-imposed duty, we are whollywithout remedy; and neither our custom-house officers, nor our troops, nor our armed ships can be of the least use in the collection. No ideacan be more contemptible (I will not call it an oppressive one, theharshness is lost in the folly) than that of proposing to get anyrevenue from the Americans but by their freest and most cheerfulconsent. Most moneyed men know their own interest right well; and are asable as any financier, in the valuation of risks. Yet I think thisfinancier will scarcely find that adventurer hardy enough, at anypremium, to advance a shilling upon a vote of such taxes. Let him namethe man, or set of men, that would do it. This is the only proof of thevalue of revenues; what would an interested man rate them at? Hissubscription would be at ninety-nine per cent discount the very firstday of its opening. Here is our only national security from ruin; asecurity upon which no man in his senses would venture a shilling of hisfortune. Yet he puts down those articles as gravely in his supply forthe peace establishment, as if the money had been all fairly lodged inthe exchequer. 

 American revenue £200, 000 Ireland 100, 000

Very handsome indeed! But if supply is to be got in such a manner, farewell the lucrative mystery of finance! If you are to be credited forsavings, without showing how, why, or with what safety, they are to bemade; and for revenues, without specifying on what articles, or by whatmeans, or at what expense, they are to be collected; there is not aclerk in a public office who may not outbid this author, or his friend, for the department of chancellor of the exchequer; not an apprentice inthe city, that will not strike out, with the same advantages, the same, or a much larger plan of supply. 

Here is the whole of what belongs to the author's scheme for saving usfrom impending destruction. Take it even in its most favorable point ofview, as a thing within possibility; and imagine what must be the wisdomof this gentleman, or his opinion of ours, who could first think ofrepresenting this nation in such a state, as no friend can look upon butwith horror, and scarcely an enemy without compassion, and afterwardsof diverting himself with such inadequate, impracticable, puerilemethods for our relief! If these had been the dreams of some unknown, unnamed, and nameless writer, they would excite no alarm; their weaknesshad been an antidote to their malignity. But as they are universallybelieved to be written by the hand, or, what amounts to the same thing, under the immediate direction, of a person who has been in themanagement of the highest affairs, and may soon be in the samesituation, I think it is not to be reckoned amongst our greatestconsolations, that the yet remaining power of this kingdom is to beemployed in an attempt to realize notions that are at once so frivolous, and so full of danger. That consideration will justify me in dwelling alittle longer on the difficulties of the nation, and the solutions ofour author. 

I am then persuaded that he cannot be in the least alarmed about oursituation, let his outcry be what he pleases. I will give him a reasonfor my opinion, which, I think, he cannot dispute. All that he bestowsupon the nation, which it does not possess without him, and supposing itall sure money, amounts to no more than a sum of 300, 000_l. _ a year. This, he thinks, will do the business completely, and render usflourishing at home, and respectable abroad. If the option between gloryand shame, if our salvation or destruction, depended on this sum, it isimpossible that he should have been active, and made a merit of thatactivity, in taking off a shilling in the pound of the land-tax, whichcame up to his grand desideratum, and upwards of 100, 000_l. _ more. Bythis manoeuvre, he left our trade, navigation, and manufactures, on theverge of destruction, our finances in ruin, our credit expiring, Irelandon the point of being ceded to France, the colonies of being torn topieces, the succession of the crown at the mercy of our great rival, andthe kingdom itself on the very point of becoming tributary to thathaughty power. All this for want of 300, 000_l. _; for I defy the readerto point out any other revenue, or any other precise and defined schemeof politics, which he assigns for our redemption. 

I know that two things may be said in his defence, as bad reasons arealways at hand in an indifferent cause; that he was not sure the moneywould be applied as he thinks it ought to be, by the present ministers. I think as ill of them as he does to the full. They have done very nearas much mischief as they can do, to a constitution so robust as this is. Nothing can make them more dangerous, but that, as they are already ingeneral composed of his disciples and instruments, they may add to thepublic calamity of their own measures, the adoption of his projects. Butbe the ministers what they may, the author knows that they could notavoid applying this 450, 000_l. _ to the service of the establishment, asfaithfully as he, or any other minister, could do. I say they could notavoid it, and have no merit at all for the application. But supposingthat they should greatly mismanage this revenue. Here is a good deal ofroom for mistake and prodigality before you come to the edge of ruin. The difference between the amount of that real and his imaginary revenueis, 150, 000_l. _ a year at least; a tolerable sum for them to play with:this might compensate the difference between the author's economy andtheir profusion; and still, notwithstanding their vices and ignorance, the nation might he saved. The author ought also to recollect, that agood man would hardly deny, even to the worst of ministers, the means ofdoing their duty; especially in a crisis when our being depended onsupplying them with some means or other. In such a case their penury ofmind, in discovering resources, would make it rather the more necessary, not to strip such poor providers of the little stock they had in hand. 

Besides, here is another subject of distress, and a very serious one, which puts us again to a stand. The author may possibly not come intopower (I only state the possibility): he may not always continue in it:and if the contrary to all this should fortunately for us happen, whatinsurance on his life can be made for a sum adequate to his loss? Thenwe are thus unluckily situated, that the _chance_ of an American andIrish revenue of 300, 000_l. _ to be managed by him, is to save us fromruin two or three years hence at best, to make us happy at home andglorious abroad; and the actual possession of 400, 000_l. _ English taxescannot so much as protract our ruin without him. So we are staked onfour chances; his power, its permanence, the success of his projects, and the duration of his life. Any one of these failing, we are gone. _Propria hæc si dona fuissent!_ This is no unfair representation;ultimately all hangs on his life, because, in his account of every setof men that have held or supported administration, he finds neithervirtue nor ability in any but himself. Indeed he pays (through theirmeasures) some compliments to Lord Bute and Lord Despenser. But to thelatter, this is, I suppose, but a civility to old acquaintance: to theformer, a little stroke of politics. We may therefore fairly say, thatour only hope is his life; and he has, to make it the more so, takencare to cut off any resource which we possessed independently of him. 

In the next place it may be said, to excuse any appearance ofinconsistency between the author's actions and his declarations, that hethought it right to relieve the landed interest, and lay the burdenwhere it ought to lie, on the colonies. What! to take off a revenue sonecessary to our being, before anything whatsoever was acquired in theplace of it? In prudence, he ought to have waited at least for the firstquarter's receipt of the new anonymous American revenue, and Irishland-tax. Is there something so specific for our disorders in American, and something so poisonous in English money, that one is to heal, theother to destroy us? To say that the landed interest _could_ notcontinue to pay it for a year or two longer, is more than the authorwill attempt to prove. To say that they _would_ pay it no longer, is totreat the landed interest, in my opinion, very scurvily. To suppose thatthe gentry, clergy, and freeholders of England do not rate the commerce, the credit, the religion, the liberty, the independency of theircountry, and the succession of their crown, at a shilling in the poundland-tax! They never gave him reason to think so meanly of them. And, ifI am rightly informed, when that measure was debated in Parliament, avery different reason was assigned by the author's great friend, as wellas by others, for that reduction: one very different from the criticaland almost desperate state of our finances. Some people then endeavoredto prove, that the reduction might be made without detriment to thenational credit, or the due support of a proper peace establishment;otherwise it is obvious that the reduction could not be defended inargument. So that this author cannot despair so much of thecommonwealth, without this American and Irish revenue, as he pretends todo. If he does, the reader sees how handsomely he has provided for us, by voting away one revenue, and by giving us a pamphlet on the other. 

I do not mean to blame the relief which was then given by Parliament tothe land. It was grounded on very weighty reasons. The administrationcontended only for its continuance for a year, in order to have themerit of taking off the shilling in the pound immediately before theelections; and thus to bribe the freeholders of England with their ownmoney. 

It is true, the author, in his estimate of ways and means, takes creditfor 400, 000_l. _ a year, _Indian Revenue_. But he will not verypositively insist, that we should put this revenue to the account of hisplans or his power; and for a very plain reason: we are already near twoyears in possession of it. By what means we came to that possession, isa pretty long story; however, I shall give nothing more than a shortabstract of the proceeding, in order to see whether the author will taketo himself any part in that measure. 

The fact is this; the East India Company had for a good while solicitedthe ministry for a negotiation, by which they proposed to pay largelyfor some advantages in their trade, and for the renewal of theircharter. This had been the former method of transacting with that body. Government having only leased the monopoly for short terms, the Companyhas been obliged to resort to it frequently for renewals. These twoparties had always negotiated (on the true principle of credit) not asgovernment and subject, but as equal dealers, on the footing of mutualadvantage. The public had derived great benefit from such dealing. Butat that time new ideas prevailed. The ministry, instead of listening tothe proposals of that Company, chose to set up a claim of the crown totheir possessions. The original plan seems to have been, to get theHouse of Commons to compliment the crown with a sort of juridicaldeclaration of a title to the Company's acquisitions in India; which thecrown on its part, with the best air in the world, was to bestow uponthe public. Then it would come to the turn of the House of Commons againto be liberal and grateful to the crown. The civil list debts were to bepaid off; with perhaps a pretty augmentation of income. All this was tobe done on the most public-spirited principles, and with a politenessand mutual interchange of good offices, that could not but have charmed. But what was best of all, these civilities were to be without a farthingof charge to either of the kind and obliging parties. The East IndiaCompany was to be covered with infamy and disgrace, and at the same timewas to pay the whole bill. 

In consequence of this scheme, the terrors of a parliamentary inquirywere hung over them. A judicature was asserted in Parliament to try thisquestion. But lest this judicial character should chance to inspirecertain stubborn ideas of law and right, it was argued, that thejudicature was arbitrary, and ought not to determine by the rules oflaw, but by their opinion of policy and expediency. Nothing exceeded theviolence of some of the managers, except their impotence. They werebewildered by their passions, and by their want of knowledge or want ofconsideration of the subject. The more they advanced, the further theyfound themselves from their object. --All things ran into confusion. Theministers quarrelled among themselves. They disclaimed one another. Theysuspended violence, and shrunk from treaty. The inquiry was almost atits last gasp; when some active persons of the Company were given tounderstand that this hostile proceeding was only set up _in terrorem_;that government was far from an intention of seizing upon thepossessions of the Company. Administration, they said, was sensible, that the idea was in every light full of absurdity; and that such aseizure was not more out of their power, than remote from their wishes;and therefore, if the Company would come in a liberal manner to theHouse, they certainly could not fail of putting a speedy end to thisdisagreeable business, and of opening a way to an advantageous treaty. 

On this hint the Company acted: they came at once to a resolution ofgetting rid of the difficulties which arose from the complication oftheir trade with their revenue; a step which despoiled them of theirbest defensive armor, and put them at once into the power ofadministration. They threw their whole stock of every kind, the revenue, the trade, and even their debt from government, into one fund, whichthey computed on the surest grounds would amount to 800, 000_l. _, with alarge probable surplus for the payment of debt. Then they agreed todivide this sum in equal portions between themselves and the public, 400, 000_l. _ to each. This gave to the proprietors of that fund an annualaugmentation of no more than 80, 000_l. _ dividend. They ought to receivefrom government 120, 000_l. _ for the loan of their capital. So that, infact, the whole, which on this plan they reserved to themselves, fromtheir vast revenues, from their extensive trade, and in consideration ofthe great risks and mighty expenses which purchased these advantages, amounted to no more than 280, 000_l. _, whilst government was to receive, as I said, 400, 000_l. _

This proposal was thought by themselves liberal indeed; and theyexpected the highest applauses for it. However, their reception was verydifferent from their expectations. When they brought up their plan tothe House of Commons, the offer, as it was natural, of 400, 000_l. _ wasvery well relished. But nothing could be more disgustful than the80, 000_l. _ which the Company had divided amongst themselves. A violenttempest of public indignation and fury rose against them. The heads ofpeople turned. The Company was held well able to pay 400, 000_l. _ a yearto government; but bankrupts, if they attempted to divide the fifth partof it among themselves. An _ex post facto_ law was brought in with greatprecipitation, for annulling this dividend. In the bill was inserted aclause, which suspended for about a year the right, which, under thepublic faith, the Company enjoyed, of making their own dividends. Suchwas the disposition and temper of the House, that although the plainface of facts, reason, arithmetic, all the authority, parts, andeloquence in the kingdom, were against this bill; though all theChancellors of the Exchequer, who had held that office from thebeginning of this reign, opposed it; yet a few placemen of thesubordinate departments sprung out of their ranks, took the lead, and, by an opinion _of some sort of secret support_, carried the bill with ahigh hand, leaving the then Secretary of State and the Chancellor of theExchequer in a very moderate minority. In this distracted situation, themanagers of the bill, notwithstanding their triumph, did not venture topropose the payment of the civil list debt. The Chancellor of theExchequer was not in good humor enough, after his late defeat by his owntroops, to co-operate in such a design; so they made an act, to lock upthe money in the exchequer until they should have time to look aboutthem, and settle among themselves what they were to do with it. 

Thus ended this unparalleled transaction. The author, I believe, willnot claim any part of the glory of it: he will leave it whole and entireto the authors of the measure. The money was the voluntary, free gift ofthe Company; the rescinding bill was the act of legislature, to whichthey and we owe submission: the author has nothing to do with the one orwith the other. However, he cannot avoid rubbing himself against thissubject merely for the pleasure of stirring controversies, andgratifying a certain pruriency of taxation that seems to infect hisblood. It is merely to indulge himself in speculations of taxing, thathe chooses to harangue on this subject. For he takes credit for nogreater sum than the public is already in possession of. He does nothint that the Company means, or has ever shown any disposition, ifmanaged with common prudence, to pay less in future; and he cannot doubtthat the present ministry are as well inclined to drive them by theirmock inquiries, and real rescinding bills, as he can possibly be withhis taxes. Besides, it is obvious, that as great a sum might have beendrawn from that Company, without affecting property, or shaking theconstitution, or endangering the principle of public credit, or runninginto his golden dreams of cockets on the Ganges, or visions ofstamp-duties on _Perwannas_, _Dusticks_, _Kistbundees_, and_Husbulhookums_. For once, I will disappoint him in this part of thedispute; and only in a very few words recommend to his consideration, how he is to get off the dangerous idea of taxing a public fund, if helevies those duties in England; and if he is to levy them in India, whatprovision he has made for a revenue establishment there; supposing thathe undertakes this new scheme of finance independently of the Company, and against its inclinations. 

So much for these revenues; which are nothing but his visions, oralready the national possessions without any act of his. It is easy toparade with a high talk of Parliamentary rights, of the universality oflegislative powers, and of uniform taxation. Men of sense, when newprojects come before them, always think a discourse proving the mereright or mere power of acting in the manner proposed, to be no more thana very unpleasant way of misspending time. They must see the object tobe of proper magnitude to engage them; they must see the means ofcompassing it to be next to certain; the mischiefs not to counterbalancethe profit; they will examine how a proposed imposition or regulationagrees with the opinion of those who are likely to be affected by it;they will not despise the consideration even of their habitudes andprejudices. They wish to know how it accords or disagrees with the truespirit of prior establishments, whether of government or of finance;because they well know, that in the complicated economy of greatkingdoms, and immense revenues, which in a length of time, and by avariety of accidents have coalesced into a sort of body, an attempttowards a compulsory equality in all circumstances, and an exactpractical definition of the supreme rights in every case, is the mostdangerous and chimerical of all enterprises. The old building standswell enough, though part Gothic, part Grecian, and part Chinese, untilan attempt is made to square it into uniformity. Then it may come downupon our heads altogether, in much uniformity of ruin; and great will bethe fall thereof. Some people, instead of inclining to debate thematter, only feel a sort of nausea, when they are told, that "protectioncalls for supply, " and that "all the parts ought to contribute to thesupport of the whole. " Strange argument for great and gravedeliberation! As if the same end may not, and must not, be compassed, according to its circumstances, by a great diversity of ways. Thus, inGreat Britain, some of our establishments are apt for the support ofcredit. They stand therefore upon a principle of their own, distinctfrom, and in some respects contrary to, the relation between prince andsubject. It is a new species of contract superinduced upon the oldcontract of the state. The idea of power must as much as possible bebanished from it; for power and credit are things adverse, incompatible;_Non bene conveniunt, nec in una sede morantur_. Such establishments areour great _moneyed_ companies. To tax them would be critical anddangerous, and contradictory to the very purpose of their institution;which is credit, and cannot therefore be taxation. But the nation, whenit gave up that power, did not give up the advantage; but supposed, andwith reason, that government was overpaid in credit, for what it seemedto lose in authority. In such a case to talk of the rights ofsovereignty is quite idle. Other establishments supply other modes ofpublic contribution. Our _trading_ companies, as well as individualimporters, are a fit subject of revenue by customs. Some establishmentspay us by a _monopoly_ of their consumption and their produce. This, nominally no tax, in reality comprehends all taxes. Such establishmentsare our colonies. To tax them would be as erroneous in policy, asrigorous in equity. Ireland supplies us by furnishing troops in war; andby bearing part of our foreign establishment in peace. She aids us atall times by the money that her absentees spend amongst us; which is nosmall part of the rental of that kingdom. Thus Ireland contributes herpart. Some objects bear port-duties. Some are fitter for an inlandexcise. The mode varies, the object is the same. To strain these fromtheir old and inveterate leanings, might impair the old benefit, and notanswer the end of the new project. Among all the great men of antiquity, _Procrustes_ shall never be my hero of legislation; with his iron bed, the allegory of his government, and the type of some modern policy, bywhich the long limb was to be cut short, and the short tortured intolength. Such was the state-bed of uniformity! He would, I conceive, be avery indifferent farmer, who complained that his sheep did not plough, or his horses yield him wool, though it would be an idea full ofequality. They may think this right in rustic economy, who think itavailable in the politic:

 Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carimna, Mævi! Atque idem jungat vulpes, et mulgeat hircos. 

As the author has stated this Indian taxation for no visible purposerelative to his plan of supply, so he has stated many other projectswith as little, if any distinct end; unless perhaps to show you how fullhe is of projects for the public good; and what vast expectations may beformed of him or his friends, if they should be translated intoadministration. It is also from some opinion that these speculations mayone day become our public measures, that I think it worth while totrouble the reader at all about them. 

Two of them stand out in high relievo beyond the rest. The first is achange in the internal representation of this country, by enlarging ournumber of constituents. The second is an addition to ourrepresentatives, by new American members of Parliament. I pass over hereall considerations how far such a system will be an improvement of ourconstitution according to any sound theory. Not that I mean to condemnsuch speculative inquiries concerning this great object of the nationalattention. They may tend to clear doubtful points, and possibly maylead, as they have often done, to real improvements. What I object to, is their introduction into a discourse relating to the immediate stateof our affairs, and recommending plans of practical government. In thisview, I see nothing in them but what is usual with the author; anattempt to raise discontent in the people of England, to balance thosediscontents which the measures of his friends had already raised inAmerica. What other reason can he have for suggesting, that we are nothappy enough to enjoy a sufficient number of voters in England? Ibelieve that most sober thinkers on this subject are rather of opinion, that our fault is on the other side; and that it would be more in thespirit of our constitution, and more agreeable to the pattern of ourbest laws, by lessening the number, to add to the weight andindependency of our voters. And truly, considering the immense anddangerous charge of elections; the prostitute and daring venality, thecorruption of manners, the idleness and profligacy of the lower sort ofvoters, no prudent man would propose to increase such an evil, if it be, as I fear it is, out of our power to administer to it any remedy. Theauthor proposes nothing further. If he has any improvements that maybalance or may lessen this inconvenience, he has thought proper to keepthem as usual in his own breast. Since he has been so reserved, I shouldhave wished he had been as cautious with regard to the project itself. First, because he observes justly, that his scheme, however it mightimprove the platform, can add nothing to the authority of thelegislature; much I fear, it will have a contrary operation; for, authority depending on opinion at least as much as on duty, an ideacirculated among the people that our constitution is not so perfect asit ought to be, before you are sure of mending it, is a certain methodof lessening it in the public opinion. Of this irreverent opinion ofParliament, the author himself complains in one part of his book; and heendeavors to increase it in the other. 

Has he well considered what an immense operation any change in ourconstitution is? how many discussions, parties, and passions, it willnecessarily excite; and when you open it to inquiry in one part, wherethe inquiry will stop? Experience shows us, that no time can be fit forsuch changes but a time of general confusion; when good men, findingeverything already broken up, think it right to take advantage of theopportunity of such derangement in favor of an useful alteration. Perhaps a time of the greatest security and tranquillity both at homeand abroad may likewise be fit; but will the author affirm this to bejust such a time? Transferring an idea of military to civil prudence, heought to know how dangerous it is to make an alteration of yourdisposition in the face of an enemy. 

Now comes his American representation. Here too, as usual, he takes nonotice of any difficulty, nor says anything to obviate those objectionsthat must naturally arise in the minds of his readers. He throws you hispolitics as he does his revenue; do you make something of them if youcan. Is not the reader a little astonished at the proposal of anAmerican representation from that quarter? It is proposed merely as aproject[85] of speculative improvement; not from the necessity in thecase, not to add anything to the authority of Parliament, but that wemay afford a greater attention to the concerns of the Americans, andgive them a better opportunity of stating their grievances, and ofobtaining redress. I am glad to find the author has at length discoveredthat we have not given a sufficient attention to their concerns, or aproper redress to their grievances. His great friend would once havebeen exceedingly displeased with any person, who should tell him, thathe did not attend sufficiently to those concerns. He thought he did so, when he regulated the colonies over and over again: he thought he did sowhen he formed two general systems of revenue; one of port-duties, andthe other of internal taxation. These systems supposed, or ought tosuppose, the greatest attention to and the most detailed informationof, all their affairs. However, by contending for the Americanrepresentation, he seems at last driven virtually to admit, that greatcaution ought to be used in the exercise of _all_ our legislative rightsover an object so remote from our eye, and so little connected with ourimmediate feelings; that in prudence we ought not to be quite so readywith our taxes, until we can secure the desired representation inParliament. Perhaps it may be some time before this hopeful scheme canbe brought to perfect maturity, although the author seems to be in nowise aware of any obstructions that lie in the way of it. He talks ofhis union, just as he does of his taxes and his savings, with as much_sang froid_ and ease as if his wish and the enjoyment were exactly thesame thing. He appears not to have troubled his head with the infinitedifficulty of settling that representation on a fair balance of wealthand numbers throughout the several provinces of America and the WestIndies, under such an infinite variety of circumstances. It costs himnothing to fight with nature, and to conquer the order of Providence, which manifestly opposes itself to the possibility of such aParliamentary union. 

But let us, to indulge his passion for projects and power, suppose thehappy time arrived, when the author comes into the ministry, and is torealize his speculations. The writs are issued for electing members forAmerica and the West Indies. Some provinces receive them in six weeks, some in ten, some in twenty. A vessel may be lost, and then someprovinces may not receive them at all. But let it be, that they allreceive them at once, and in the shortest time. A proper space must begiven for proclamation and for the election; some weeks at least. Butthe members are chosen; and if ships are ready to sail, in about sixmore they arrive in London. In the mean time the Parliament has sat andbusiness far advanced without American representatives. Nay, by thistime, it may happen that the Parliament is dissolved; and then themembers ship themselves again, to be again elected. The writs may arrivein America, before the poor members of a Parliament in which they neversat, can arrive at their several provinces. A new interest is formed, and they find other members are chosen whilst they are on the high seas. But, if the writs and members arrive together, here is at best a newtrial of skill amongst the candidates, after one set of them have wellaired themselves with their two voyages of 6000 miles. 

However, in order to facilitate everything to the author, we willsuppose them all once more elected, and steering again to Old England, with a good heart, and a fair westerly wind in their stern. On theirarrival, they find all in a hurry and bustle; in and out; condolence andcongratulation; the crown is demised. Another Parliament is to becalled. Away back to America again on a fourth voyage, and to a thirdelection. Does the author mean to make our kings as immortal in theirpersonal as in their politic character? or whilst he bountifully adds totheir life, will he take from them their prerogative of dissolvingParliaments, in favor of the American union? or are the Americanrepresentatives to be perpetual, and to feel neither demises of thecrown, nor dissolutions of Parliament?

But these things may be granted to him, without bringing him much nearerto his point. What does he think of re-election? is the American memberthe only one who is not to take a place, or the only one to be exemptedfrom the ceremony of re-election? How will this great politicianpreserve the rights of electors, the fairness of returns, and theprivilege of the House of Commons, as the sole judge of such contests?It would undoubtedly be a glorious sight to have eight or ten petitions, or double returns, from Boston and Barbadoes, from Philadelphia andJamaica, the members returned, and the petitioners, with all their trainof attorneys, solicitors, mayors, selectmen, provost-marshals, and abovefive hundred or a thousand witnesses, come to the bar of the House ofCommons. Possibly we might be interrupted in the enjoyment of thispleasing spectacle, if a war should break out, and our constitutionalfleet, loaded with members of Parliament, returning-officers, petitions, and witnesses, the electors and elected, should become a prize to theFrench or Spaniards, and be conveyed to Carthagena, or to La Vera Cruz, and from thence perhaps to Mexico or Lima, there to remain until acartel for members of Parliament can be settled, or until the war isended. 

In truth the author has little studied this business; or he might haveknown, that some of the most considerable provinces of America, such, for instance, as Connecticut and Massachusetts Bay, have not in each ofthem two men who can afford, at a distance from their estates, to spenda thousand pounds a year. How can these provinces be represented atWestminster? If their province pays them, they are American agents, withsalaries, and not independent members of Parliament. It is true, thatformerly in England members had salaries from their constituents; butthey all had salaries, and were all, in this way, upon a par. If theseAmerican representatives have no salaries, then they must add to thelist of our pensioners and dependents at court, or they must starve. There is no alternative. 

Enough of this visionary union; in which much extravagance appearswithout any fancy, and the judgment is shocked without anything torefresh the imagination. It looks as if the author had dropped down fromthe moon, without any knowledge of the general nature of this globe, ofthe general nature of its inhabitants, without the least acquaintancewith the affairs of this country. Governor Pownall has handled the samesubject. To do him justice, he treats it upon far more rationalprinciples of speculation; and much more like a man of business. Hethinks (erroneously, I conceive; but he does think) that our legislativerights are incomplete without such a representation. It is no wonder, therefore, that he endeavors by every means to obtain it. Not like ourauthor, who is always on velvet, he is aware of some difficulties; andhe proposes some solutions. But nature is too hard for both theseauthors; and America is, and ever will be, without actual representationin the House of Commons; nor will any minister be wild enough even topropose such a representation in Parliament; however he may choose tothrow out that project, together with others equally far from his realopinions, and remote from his designs, merely to fall in with thedifferent views, and captivate the affections, of different sorts ofmen. 

Whether these projects arise from the author's real politicalprinciples, or are only brought out in subservience to his politicalviews, they compose the whole of anything that is like precise anddefinite, which the author has given us to expect from thatadministration which is so much the subject of his praises and prayers. As to his general propositions, that "there is a deal of differencebetween impossibilities and great difficulties"; that "a great schemecannot be carried unless made the business of successiveadministrations"; that "virtuous and able men are the fittest to servetheir country"; all this I look on as no more than so much rubble tofill up the spaces between the regular masonry. Pretty much in the samelight I cannot forbear considering his detached observations oncommerce; such as, that "the system for colony regulations would be verysimple, and mutually beneficial to Great Britain and her colonies, ifthe old navigation laws were adhered to. "[86] That "the transportationshould be in all cases in ships belonging to British subjects. " That"even British ships should not be _generally_ received into the coloniesfrom any part of Europe, except the dominions of Great Britain. " That"it is unreasonable that corn and such like products should berestrained to come first to a British port. " What do all these fineobservations signify? Some of them condemn, as ill practices, thingsthat were never practised at all. Some recommend to be done, things thatalways have been done. Others indeed convey, though obliquely andloosely, some insinuations highly dangerous to our commerce. If I couldprevail on myself to think the author meant to ground any practice uponthese general propositions, I should think it very necessary to ask afew questions about some of them. For instance, what does he mean bytalking of an adherence to the old navigation laws? Does he mean, thatthe particular law, 12 Car. II. C. 19, commonly called "The Act ofNavigation, " is to be adhered to, and that the several subsequentadditions, amendments, and exceptions, ought to be all repealed? If so, he will make a strange havoc in the whole system of our trade laws, which have been universally acknowledged to be full as well founded inthe alterations and exceptions, as the act of Charles the Second in theoriginal provisions; and to pursue full as wisely the great end of thatvery politic law, the increase of the British navigation. I fancy thewriter could hardly propose anything more alarming to those immediatelyinterested in that navigation than such a repeal. If he does not meanthis, he has got no farther than a nugatory proposition, which nobodycan contradict, and for which no man is the wiser. 

That "the regulations for the colony trade would be few and simple ifthe old navigation laws were adhered to, " I utterly deny as a fact. Thatthey ought to be so, sounds well enough; but this proposition is of thesame nugatory nature with some of the former. The regulations for thecolony trade ought not to be more nor fewer, nor more nor less complex, than the occasion requires. And, as that trade is in a great measure asystem of art and restriction, they can neither be few nor simple. It istrue, that the very principle may be destroyed, by multiplying to excessthe means of securing it. Never did a minister depart more from theauthor's ideas of simplicity, or more embarrass the trade of Americawith the multiplicity and intricacy of regulations and ordinances, thanhis boasted minister of 1764. That minister seemed to be possessed withsomething, hardly short of a rage, for regulation and restriction. Hehad so multiplied bonds, certificates, affidavits, warrants, sufferances, and cockets; had supported them with such severe penalties, and extended them without the least consideration of circumstances to somany objects, that, had they all continued in their original force, commerce must speedily have expired under them. Some of them, theministry which gave them birth was obliged to destroy: with their ownhand they signed the condemnation of their own regulations; confessingin so many words, in the preamble of their act of the 5th Geo. III. , that some of these regulations had laid _an unnecessary restraint on thetrade and correspondence of his Majesty's American subjects_. This, inthat ministry, was a candid confession of a mistake; but everyalteration made in those regulations by their successors is to be theeffect of envy, and American misrepresentation. So much for the author'ssimplicity in regulation. 

I have now gone through all which I think immediately essential in theauthor's idea of war, of peace, of the comparative states of England andFrance, of our actual situation; in his projects of economy, of finance, of commerce, and of constitutional improvement. There remains nothingnow to be considered, except his heavy censures upon the administrationwhich was formed in 1765; which is commonly known by the name of theMarquis of Rockingham's administration, as the administration whichpreceded it is by that of Mr. Grenville. These censures relate chieflyto three heads:--1. To the repeal of the American Stamp Act. 2. To thecommercial regulations then made. 3. To the course of foreignnegotiations during that short period. 

A person who knew nothing of public affairs but from the writings ofthis author, would be led to conclude, that, at the time of the changein June, 1765, some well-digested system of administration, founded innational strength, and in the affections of the people, proceeding inall points with the most reverential and tender regard to the laws, andpursuing with equal wisdom and success everything which could tend tothe internal prosperity, and to the external honor and dignity of thiscountry, had been all at once subverted, by an irruption of a sort ofwild, licentious, unprincipled invaders, who wantonly, and with abarbarous rage, had defaced a thousand fair monuments of theconstitutional and political skill of their predecessors. It is naturalindeed that this author should have some dislike to the administrationwhich was formed in 1765. Its views, in most things, were different fromthose of his friends; in some, altogether opposite to them. It isimpossible that both of these administrations should be the objects ofpublic esteem. Their different principles compose some of the strongestpolitical lines which discriminate the parties even now subsistingamongst us. The ministers of 1764 are not indeed followed by very manyin their opposition; yet a large part of the people now in officeentertain, or pretend to entertain, sentiments entirely conformable totheirs; whilst some of the former colleagues of the ministry which wasformed in 1765, however they may have abandoned the connection, andcontradicted by their conduct the principles of their former friends, pretend, on their parts, still to adhere to the same maxims. All thelesser divisions, which are indeed rather names of personal attachmentthan of party distinction, fall in with the one or the other of theseleading parties. 

I intend to state, as shortly as I am able, the general condition ofpublic affairs, and the disposition of the minds of men, at the time ofthe remarkable change of system in 1765. The reader will have thereby amore distinct view of the comparative merits of these several plans, andwill receive more satisfaction concerning the ground and reason of themeasures which were then pursued, than, I believe, can be derived fromthe perusal of those partial representations contained in the "State ofthe Nation, " and the other writings of those who have continued, for nownearly three years, in the undisturbed possession of the press. Thiswill, I hope, be some apology for my dwelling a little on this part ofthe subject. 

On the resignation of the Earl of Bute, in 1763, our affairs had beendelivered into the hands of three ministers of his recommendation: Mr. Grenville, the Earl of Egremont, and the Earl of Halifax. Thisarrangement, notwithstanding the retirement of Lord Bute, announced tothe public a continuance of the same measures; nor was there more reasonto expect a change from the death of the Earl of Egremont. The Earl ofSandwich supplied his place. The Duke of Bedford, and the gentlemen whoact in that connection, and whose general character and politics weresufficiently understood, added to the strength of the ministry, withoutmaking any alteration in their plan of conduct. Such was theconstitution of the ministry which was changed in 1765. 

As to their politics, the principles of the peace of Paris governed inforeign affairs. In domestic, the same scheme prevailed, ofcontradicting the opinions, and disgracing most of the persons, who hadbeen countenanced and employed in the late reign. The inclinations ofthe people were little attended to; and a disposition to the use offorcible methods ran through the whole tenor of administration. Thenation in general was uneasy and dissatisfied. Sober men saw causes forit, in the constitution of the ministry and the conduct of theministers. The ministers, who have usually a short method on suchoccasions, attributed their unpopularity wholly to the efforts offaction. However this might be, the licentiousness and tumults of thecommon people, and the contempt of government, of which our author sooften and so bitterly complains, as owing to the mismanagement of thesubsequent administrations, had at no time risen to a greater or moredangerous height. The measures taken to suppress that spirit were asviolent and licentious as the spirit itself; injudicious, precipitate, and some of them illegal. Instead of allaying, they tended infinitely toinflame the distemper; and whoever will be at the least pains toexamine, will find those measures not only the causes of the tumultswhich then prevailed, but the real sources of almost all the disorderswhich have arisen since that time. More intent on making a victim toparty than an example of justice, they blundered in the method ofpursuing their vengeance. By this means a discovery was made of manypractices, common indeed in the office of Secretary of State, but whollyrepugnant to our laws, and to the genius of the English constitution. One of the worst of these was, the wanton and indiscriminate seizure ofpapers, even in cases where the safety of the state was not pretended injustification of so harsh a proceeding. The temper of the ministry hadexcited a jealousy, which made the people more than commonly vigilantconcerning every power which was exercised by government. The abuse, however sanctioned by custom, was evident; but the ministry, instead ofresting in a prudent inactivity, or (what would have been still moreprudent) taking the lead, in quieting the minds of the people, andascertaining the law upon those delicate points, made use of the wholeinfluence of government to prevent a Parliamentary resolution againstthese practices of office. And lest the colorable reasons, offered inargument against this Parliamentary procedure, should be mistaken forthe real motives of their conduct, all the advantage of privilege, allthe arts and finesses of pleading, and great sums of public money werelavished, to prevent any decision upon those practices in the courts ofjustice. In the mean time, in order to weaken, since they could notimmediately destroy, the liberty of the press, the privilege ofParliament was voted away in all accusations for a seditious libel. Thefreedom of debate in Parliament itself was no less menaced. Officers ofthe army, of long and meritorious service, and of small fortunes, werechosen as victims for a single vote, by an exertion of ministerialpower, which had been very rarely used, and which is extremely unjust, as depriving men not only of a place, but a profession, and is indeed ofthe most pernicious example both in a civil and a military light. 

Whilst all things were managed at home with such a spirit of disorderlydespotism, abroad there was a proportionable abatement of all spirit. Some of our most just and valuable claims were in a manner abandoned. This indeed seemed not very inconsistent conduct in the ministers whohad made the treaty of Paris. With regard to our domestic affairs, therewas no want of industry; but there was a great deficiency of temper andjudgment, and manly comprehension of the public interest. The nationcertainly wanted relief, and government attempted to administer it. Twoways were principally chosen for this great purpose. The first byregulations; the second by new funds of revenue. Agreeably to this plan, a new naval establishment was formed at a good deal of expense, and tolittle effect, to aid in the collection of the customs. Regulation wasadded to regulation; and the strictest and most unreserved orders weregiven, for a prevention of all contraband trade here, and in every partof America. A teasing custom-house, and a multiplicity of perplexingregulations, ever have, and ever will appear, the masterpiece of financeto people of narrow views; as a paper against smuggling, and theimportation of French finery, never fails of furnishing a very popularcolumn in a newspaper. 

The greatest part of these regulations were made for America; and theyfell so indiscriminately on all sorts of contraband, or supposedcontraband, that some of the most valuable branches of trade were drivenviolently from our ports; which caused an universal consternationthroughout the colonies. Every part of the trade was infinitelydistressed by them. Men-of-war now for the first time, armed withregular commissions of custom-house officers, invested the coasts, andgave to the collection of revenue the air of hostile contribution. Aboutthe same time that these regulations seemed to threaten the destructionof the only trade from whence the plantations derived any specie, an actwas made, putting a stop to the future emission of paper currency, whichused to supply its place among them. Hand in hand with this wentanother act, for obliging the colonies to provide quarters for soldiers. Instantly followed another law, for levying throughout all America newport duties, upon a vast variety of commodities of their consumption, and some of which lay heavy upon objects necessary for their trade andfishery. Immediately upon the heels of these, and amidst the uneasinessand confusion produced by a crowd of new impositions and regulations, some good, some evil, some doubtful, all crude and ill-considered, cameanother act, for imposing an universal stamp-duty on the colonies; andthis was declared to be little more than an experiment, and a foundationof future revenue. To render these proceedings the more irritating tothe colonies, the principal argument used in favor of their ability topay such duties was the liberality of the grants of their assembliesduring the late war. Never could any argument be more insulting andmortifying to a people habituated to the granting of their own money. 

Taxes for the purpose of raising revenue had hitherto been sparinglyattempted in America. Without ever doubting the extent of its lawfulpower, Parliament always doubted the propriety of such impositions. Andthe Americans on their part never thought of contesting a right by whichthey were so little affected. Their assemblies in the main answered allthe purposes necessary to the internal economy of a free people, andprovided for all the exigencies of government which arose amongstthemselves. In the midst of that happy enjoyment, they never thought ofcritically settling the exact limits of a power, which was necessary totheir union, their safety, their equality, and even their liberty. Thusthe two very difficult points, superiority in the presiding state, andfreedom in the subordinate, were on the whole sufficiently, that is, practically, reconciled; without agitating those vexatious questions, which in truth rather belong to metaphysics than politics, and which cannever be moved without shaking the foundations of the best governmentsthat have ever been constituted by human wisdom. By this measure was letloose that dangerous spirit of disquisition, not in the coolness ofphilosophical inquiry, but inflamed with all the passions of a haughty, resentful people, who thought themselves deeply injured, and that theywere contending for everything that was valuable in the world. 

In England, our ministers went on without the least attention to thesealarming dispositions; just as if they were doing the most common thingsin the most usual way, and among a people not only passive, but pleased. They took no one step to divert the dangerous spirit which began eventhen to appear in the colonies, to compromise with it, to mollify it, orto subdue it. No new arrangements were made in civil government; no newpowers or instructions were given to governors; no augmentation wasmade, or new disposition, of forces. Never was so critical a measurepursued with so little provision against its necessary consequences. Asif all common prudence had abandoned the ministers, and as if they meantto plunge themselves and us headlong into that gulf which stood gapingbefore them; by giving a year's notice of the project of their StampAct, they allowed time for all the discontents of that country to festerand come to a head, and for all the arrangements which factious mencould make towards an opposition to the law. At the same time theycarefully concealed from the eye of Parliament those remonstrances whichthey had actually received; and which in the strongest manner indicatedthe discontent of some of the colonies, and the consequences which mightbe expected; they concealed them even in defiance of an order ofcouncil, that they should be laid before Parliament. Thus, by concealingthe true state of the case, they rendered the wisdom of the nation asimprovident as their own temerity, either in preventing or guardingagainst the mischief. It has indeed, from the beginning to this hour, been the uniform policy of this set of men, in order at any hazard toobtain a present credit, to propose whatever might be pleasing, asattended with no difficulty; and afterwards to throw all thedisappointment of the wild expectations they had raised, upon those whohave the hard task of freeing the public from the consequences of theirpernicious projects. 

Whilst the commerce and tranquillity of the whole empire were shaken inthis manner, our affairs grew still more distracted by the internaldissensions of our ministers. Treachery and ingratitude were chargedfrom one side; despotism and tyranny from the other; the vertigo of theregency bill; the awkward reception of the silk bill in the House ofCommons, and the inconsiderate and abrupt rejection of it in the Houseof Lords; the strange and violent tumults which arose in consequence, and which were rendered more serious by being charged by the ministersupon one another; the report of a gross and brutal treatment of the----, by a minister at the same time odious to the people; all conspiredto leave the public, at the close of the session of 1765, in ascritical and perilous a situation, as ever the nation was, or could be, in a time when she was not immediately threatened by her neighbors. 

It was at this time, and in these circumstances, that a newadministration was formed. Professing even industriously, in this publicmatter, to avoid anecdotes; I say nothing of those famousreconciliations and quarrels, which weakened the body that should havebeen the natural support of this administration. I run no risk inaffirming, that, surrounded as they were with difficulties of everyspecies, nothing but the strongest and most uncorrupt sense of theirduty to the public could have prevailed upon some of the persons whocomposed it to undertake the king's business at such a time. Theirpreceding character, their measures while in power, and the subsequentconduct of many of them, I think, leave no room to charge this assertionto flattery. Having undertaken the commonwealth, what remained for themto do? to piece their conduct upon the broken chain of former measures?If they had been so inclined, the ruinous nature of those measures, which began instantly to appear, would not have permitted it. Scarcelyhad they entered into office, when letters arrived from all parts ofAmerica, making loud complaints, backed by strong reasons, againstseveral of the principal regulations of the late ministry, asthreatening destruction to many valuable branches of commerce. Thesewere attended with representations from many merchants and capitalmanufacturers at home, who had all their interests involved in thesupport of lawful trade, and in the suppression of every sort ofcontraband. Whilst these things were under consideration, thatconflagration blazed out at once in North America; an universaldisobedience, and open resistance to the Stamp Act; and, in consequence, an universal stop to the course of justice, and to trade and navigation, throughout that great important country; an interval during which thetrading interest of England lay under the most dreadful anxiety which itever felt. 

The repeal of that act was proposed. It was much too serious a measure, and attended with too many difficulties upon every side, for the thenministry to have undertaken it, as some paltry writers have asserted, from envy and dislike to their predecessors in office. As little couldit be owing to personal cowardice, and dread of consequences tothemselves. Ministers, timorous from their attachment to place andpower, will fear more from the consequences of one court intrigue, thanfrom a thousand difficulties to the commerce and credit of their countryby disturbances at three thousand miles distance. From which of thesethe ministers had most to apprehend at that time, is known, I presume, universally. Nor did they take that resolution from a want of thefullest sense of the inconveniences which must necessarily attend ameasure of concession from the sovereign to the subject. That it mustincrease the insolence of the mutinous spirits in America, was but tooobvious. No great measure indeed, at a very difficult crisis, can bepursued, which is not attended with some mischief; none but conceitedpretenders in public business will hold any other language: and none butweak and unexperienced men will believe them, if they should. If we werefound in such a crisis, let those, whose bold designs, and whosedefective arrangements, brought us into it, answer for the consequences. The business of the then ministry evidently was, to take such steps, notas the wishes of our author, or as their own wishes dictated, but as thebad situation in which their predecessors had left them, absolutelyrequired. 

The disobedience to this act was universal throughout America; nothing, it was evident, but the sending a very strong military, backed by a verystrong naval force, would reduce the seditious to obedience. To send itto one town, would not be sufficient; every province of America must betraversed, and must be subdued. I do not entertain the least doubt butthis could be done. We might, I think, without much difficulty, havedestroyed our colonies. This destruction might be effected, probably ina year, or in two at the utmost. If the question was upon a foreignnation, where every successful stroke adds to your own power, and takesfrom that of a rival, a just war with such a certain superiority wouldbe undoubtedly an advisable measure. But _four million_ of debt due toour merchants, the total cessation of a trade annually worth _fourmillion_more, a large foreign traffic, much home manufacture, a verycapital immediate revenue arising from colony imports, indeed theproduce of every one of our revenues greatly depending on this trade, all these were very weighty accumulated considerations, at least well tobe weighed, before that sword was drawn, which even by its victoriesmust produce all the evil effects of the greatest national defeat. Howpublic credit must have suffered, I need not say. If the condition ofthe nation, at the close of our foreign war, was what this authorrepresents it, such a civil war would have been a bad couch, on whichto repose our wearied virtue. Far from being able to have entered intonew plans of economy, we must have launched into a new sea, I fear aboundless sea, of expense. Such an addition of debt, with such adiminution of revenue and trade, would have left us in no want of a"State of the Nation" to aggravate the picture of our distresses. 

Our trade felt this to its vitals; and our then ministers were notashamed to say, that they sympathized with the feelings of ourmerchants. The universal alarm of the whole trading body of England, will never be laughed at by them as an ill-grounded or a pretendedpanic. The universal desire of that body will always have great weightwith them in every consideration connected with commerce: neither oughtthe opinion of that body to be slighted (notwithstanding thecontemptuous and indecent language of this author and his associates) inany consideration whatsoever of revenue. Nothing amongst us is morequickly or deeply affected by taxes of any kind than trade; and if anAmerican tax was a real relief to England, no part of the communitywould be sooner or more materially relieved by it than our merchants. But they well know that the trade of England must be more burdened byone penny raised in America, than by three in England; and if that pennybe raised with the uneasiness, the discontent, and the confusion ofAmerica, more than by ten. 

If the opinion and wish of the landed interest is a motive, and it is afair and just one, for taking away a real and large revenue, the desireof the trading interest of England ought to be a just ground for takingaway a tax of little better than speculation, which was to be collectedby a war, which was to be kept up with the perpetual discontent of thosewho were to be affected by it, and the value of whose produce even afterthe _ordinary_ charges of collection, was very uncertain;[87] after the_extraordinary_, the dearest purchased revenue that ever was made by anynation. 

These were some of the motives drawn from principles of convenience forthat repeal. When the object came to be more narrowly inspected, everymotive concurred. These colonies were evidently founded in subservienceto the commerce of Great Britain. From this principle, the whole systemof our laws concerning them became a system of restriction. A doublemonopoly was established on the part of the parent country; 1. Amonopoly of their whole import, which is to be altogether from GreatBritain; 2. A monopoly of all their export, which is to be nowhere butto Great Britain, as far as it can serve any purpose here. On the sameidea it was contrived that they should send all their products to usraw, and in their first state; and that they should take everything fromus in the last stage of manufacture. 

Were ever a people under such circumstances, that is, a people who wereto export raw, and to receive manufactured, and this, not a fewluxurious articles, but all articles, even to those of the grossest, most vulgar, and necessary consumption, a people who were in the handsof a general monopolist, were ever such a people suspected of apossibility of becoming a just object of revenue? All the ends of theirfoundation must be supposed utterly contradicted before they couldbecome such an object. Every trade law we have made must have beeneluded, and become useless, before they could be in such a condition. 

The partisans of the new system, who, on most occasions, take credit forfull as much knowledge as they possess, think proper on this occasion tocounterfeit an extraordinary degree of ignorance, and in consequence ofit to assert, "that the balance (between the colonies and Great Britain)is unknown, and that no important conclusion can be drawn from premisesso very uncertain. "[88] Now to what can this ignorance be owing? werethe navigation laws made, that this balance should be unknown? is itfrom the course of exchange that it is unknown, which all the worldknows to be greatly and perpetually against the colonies? is it from thedoubtful nature of the trade we carry on with the colonies? are notthese schemists well apprised that the colonists, particularly those ofthe northern provinces, import more from Great Britain, ten times more, than they send in return to us? that a great part of their foreignbalance is and must be remitted to London? I shall be ready to admitthat the colonies ought to be taxed to the revenues of this country, when I know that they are out of debt to its commerce. This author willfurnish some ground to his theories, and communicate a discovery to thepublic, if he can show this by any medium. But he tells us that "theirseas are covered with ships, and their rivers floating withcommerce. "[89] This is true. But it is with _our_ ships that these seasare covered; and their rivers float with British commerce. The Americanmerchants are our factors; all in reality, most even in name. TheAmericans trade, navigate, cultivate, with English capitals; to theirown advantage, to be sure; for without these capitals their ploughswould be stopped, and their ships wind-bound. But he who furnishes thecapital must, on the whole, be the person principally benefited; theperson who works upon it profits on his part too; but he profits in asubordinate way, as our colonies do; that is, as the servant of a wiseand indulgent master, and no otherwise. We have all, except the_peculium_; without which even slaves will not labor. 

If the author's principles, which are the common notions, be right, thatthe price of our manufactures is so greatly enhanced by our taxes; thenthe Americans already pay in that way a share of our impositions. He isnot ashamed to assert, that "France and China may be said, on the sameprinciple, to bear a part of our charges, for they consume ourcommodities. "[90] Was ever such a method of reasoning heard of? Do notthe laws absolutely confine the colonies to buy from us, whether foreignnations sell cheaper or not? On what other idea are all ourprohibitions, regulations, guards, penalties, and forfeitures, framed?To secure to us, not a commercial preference, which stands in need of nopenalties to enforce it; it finds its own way; but to secure to us atrade, which is a creature of law and institution. What has this to dowith the principles of a foreign trade, which is under no monopoly, andin which we cannot raise the price of our goods, without hazarding thedemand for them? None but the authors of such measures could ever thinkof making use of such arguments. 

Whoever goes about to reason on any part of the policy of this countrywith regard to America, upon the mere abstract principles of government, or even upon those of our own ancient constitution, will be oftenmisled. Those who resort for arguments to the most respectableauthorities, ancient or modern, or rest upon the clearest maxims, drawnfrom the experience of other states and empires, will be liable to thegreatest errors imaginable. The object is wholly new in the world. It issingular; it is grown up to this magnitude and importance within thememory of man; nothing in history is parallel to it. All the reasoningsabout it, that are likely to be at all solid, must be drawn from itsactual circumstances. In this new system a principle of commerce, ofartificial commerce, must predominate. This commerce must be secured bya multitude of restraints very alien from the spirit of liberty; and apowerful authority must reside in the principal state, in order toenforce them. But the people who are to be the subjects of theserestraints are descendants of Englishmen; and of a high and free spirit. To hold over them a government made up of nothing but restraints andpenalties, and taxes in the granting of which they can have no share, will neither be wise nor long practicable. People must be governed in amanner agreeable to their temper and disposition; and men of freecharacter and spirit must be ruled with, at least, some condescension tothis spirit and this character. The British, colonist must see somethingwhich will distinguish him from the colonists of other nations. 

Those seasonings, which infer from the many restraints under which wehave already laid America, to our right to lay it under still more, andindeed under all manner of restraints, are conclusive; conclusive as toright; but the very reverse as to policy and practice. We ought ratherto infer from our having laid the colonies under many restraints, thatit is reasonable to compensate them by every indulgence that can by anymeans be reconciled to our interest. We have a great empire to rule, composed of a vast mass of heterogeneous governments, all more or lessfree and popular in their forms, all to be kept in peace, and kept outof conspiracy, with one another, all to be held in subordination to thiscountry; while the spirit of an extensive and intricate and tradinginterest pervades the whole, always qualifying, and often controlling, every general idea of constitution and government. It is a great anddifficult object; and I wish we may possess wisdom and temper enough tomanage it as we ought. Its importance is infinite. I believe the readerwill be struck, as I have been, with one singular fact. In the year1704, but sixty-five years ago, the whole trade with our plantations wasbut a few thousand pounds more in the export article, and a third lessin the import, than that which we now carry on with the single island ofJamaica:--

 Exports. Imports. Total English plantations in 1704 £488, 265 £814, 491 Jamaica, 1767 467, 681 1, 243, 742

From the same information I find that our dealing with most of theEuropean nations is but little increased: these nations have been prettymuch at a stand since that time, and we have rivals in their trade. Thiscolony intercourse is a new world of commerce in a manner created; itstands upon principles of its own; principles hardly worth endangeringfor any little consideration of extorted revenue. 

The reader sees, that I do not enter so fully into this matter asobviously I might. I have already been led into greater lengths than Iintended. It is enough to say, that before the ministers of 1765 haddetermined to propose the repeal of the Stamp Act in Parliament, theyhad the whole of the American constitution and commerce very fullybefore them. They considered maturely; they decided with wisdom: let meadd, with firmness. For they resolved, as a preliminary to that repeal, to assert in the fullest and least equivocal terms the unlimitedlegislative right of this country over its colonies; and, having donethis, to propose the repeal, on principles, not of constitutional right, but on those of expediency, of equity, of lenity, and of the trueinterests present and future of that great object for which alone thecolonies were founded, navigation and commerce. This plan I say, required an uncommon degree of firmness, when we consider that some ofthose persons who might be of the greatest use in promoting the repeal, violently withstood the declaratory act; and they who agreed withadministration in the principles of that law, equally made, as well thereasons on which the declaratory act itself stood, as those on which itwas opposed, grounds for an opposition to the repeal. 

If the then ministry resolved first to declare the right, it was notfrom any opinion they entertained of its future use in regulartaxation. Their opinions were full and declared against the ordinary useof such a power. But it was plain, that the general reasonings whichwere employed against that power went directly to our whole legislativeright; and one part of it could not be yielded to such arguments, without a virtual surrender of all the rest. Besides, if that veryspecific power of levying money in the colonies were not retained as asacred trust in the hands of Great Britain (to be used, not in the firstinstance for supply, but in the last exigence for control), it isobvious, that the presiding authority of Great Britain, as the head, thearbiter, and director of the whole empire, would vanish into an emptyname, without operation or energy. With the habitual exercise of such apower in the ordinary course of supply, no trace of freedom could remainto America. [91] If Great Britain were stripped of this right, everyprinciple of unity and subordination in the empire was gone forever. Whether all this can be reconciled in legal speculation, is a matter ofno consequence. It is reconciled in policy: and politics ought to beadjusted, not to human reasonings, but to human nature; of which thereason is but a part, and by no means the greatest part. 

Founding the repeal on this basis, it was judged proper to lay beforeParliament the whole detail of the American affairs, as fully as it hadbeen laid before the ministry themselves. Ignorance of those affairs hadmisled Parliament. Knowledge alone could bring it into the right road. Every paper of office was laid upon the table of the two Houses; everydenomination of men, either of America, or connected with it by office, by residence, by commerce, by interest, even by injury; men of civil andmilitary capacity, officers of the revenue, merchants, manufacturers ofevery species, and from every town in England, attended at the bar. Suchevidence never was laid before Parliament. If an emulation arose amongthe ministers and members of Parliament, as the author rightlyobserves, [92] for the repeal of this act, as well as for the otherregulations, it was not on the confident assertions, the airyspeculations, or the vain promises of ministers, that it arose. It wasthe sense of Parliament on the evidence before them. No one so much assuspects that ministerial allurements or terrors had any share in it. 

Our author is very much displeased, that so much credit was given to thetestimony of merchants. He has a habit of railing at them: and he may, if he pleases, indulge himself in it. It will not do great mischief tothat respectable set of men. The substance of their testimony was, thattheir debts in America were very great: that the Americans declined topay them, or to renew their orders, whilst this act continued: that, under these circumstances, they despaired of the recovery of theirdebts, or the renewal of their trade in that country: that theyapprehended a general failure of mercantile credit. The manufacturersdeposed to the same general purpose, with this addition, that many ofthem had discharged several of their artificers; and, if the law and theresistance to it should continue, must dismiss them all. 

This testimony is treated with great contempt by our author. It must be, I suppose, because it was contradicted by the plain nature of things. Suppose then that the merchants had, to gratify this author, given acontrary evidence; and had deposed, that while America remained in astate of resistance, whilst four million of debt remained unpaid, whilstthe course of justice was suspended for want of stamped paper, so thatno debt could be recovered, whilst there was a total stop to trade, because every ship was subject to seizure for want of stampedclearances, and while the colonies were to be declared in rebellion, andsubdued by armed force, that in these circumstances they would stillcontinue to trade cheerfully and fearlessly as before: would not suchwitnesses provoke universal indignation for their folly or theirwickedness, and be deservedly hooted from the bar:[93] would any humanfaith have given credit to such assertions? The testimony of themerchants was necessary for the detail, and to bring the matter home tothe feeling of the House; as to the general reasons, they spokeabundantly for themselves. 

Upon these principles was the act repealed, and it produced all the goodeffect which was expected from it: quiet was restored; trade generallyreturned to its ancient channels; time and means were furnished for thebetter strengthening of government there, as well as for recovering, byjudicious measures, the affections of the people, had that ministrycontinued, or had a ministry succeeded with dispositions to improve thatopportunity. 

Such an administration did not succeed. Instead of profiting of thatseason of tranquillity, in the very next year they chose to return tomeasures of the very same nature with those which had been so solemnlycondemned; though upon a smaller scale. The effects have beencorrespondent, America is again in disorder; not indeed in the samedegree as formerly, nor anything like it. Such good effects haveattended the repeal of the Stamp Act, that the colonies have actuallypaid the taxes; and they have sought their redress (upon howeverimproper principles) not in their own violence, as formerly;[94] but inthe experienced benignity of Parliament. They are not easy indeed, norever will be so, under this author's schemes of taxation; but we see nolonger the same general fury and confusion, which attended theirresistance to the Stamp Act. The author may rail at the repeal, andthose who proposed it, as he pleases. Those honest men suffer all hisobloquy with pleasure, in the midst of the quiet which they have beenthe means of giving to their country; and would think his praises fortheir perseverance in a pernicious scheme, a very bad compensation forthe disturbance of our peace, and the ruin of our commerce. Whether thereturn to the system of 1764, for raising a revenue in America, thediscontents which have ensued in consequence of it, the generalsuspension of the assemblies in consequence of these discontents, theuse of the military power, and the new and dangerous commissions whichnow hang over them, will produce equally good effects, is greatly to bedoubted. Never, I fear, will this nation and the colonies fall back upontheir true centre of gravity, and natural point of repose, until theideas of 1766 are resumed, and steadily pursued. 

As to the regulations, a great subject of the author's accusation, theyare of two sorts; one of a mixed nature, of revenue and trade; the othersimply relative to trade. With regard to the former I shall observe, that, in all deliberations concerning America, the ideas of thatadministration were principally these; to take trade as the primary end, and revenue but as a very subordinate consideration. Where trade waslikely to suffer, they did not hesitate for an instant to prefer it totaxes, whose produce at best was contemptible, in comparison of theobject which they might endanger. The other of their principles was, tosuit the revenue to the object. Where the difficulty of collection, fromthe nature of the country, and of the revenue establishment, is so verynotorious, it was their policy to hold out as few temptations tosmuggling as possible, by keeping the duties as nearly as they could ona balance with the risk. On these principles they made many alterationsin the port-duties of 1764, both in the mode and in the quantity. Theauthor has not attempted to prove them erroneous. He complains enough toshow that he is in an ill-humor, not that his adversaries have doneamiss. 

As to the regulations which were merely relative to commerce, many werethen made; and they were all made upon this principle, that many of thecolonies, and those some of the most abounding in people, were sosituated as to have very few means of traffic with this country. Itbecame therefore our interest to let them into as much foreign trade ascould be given them without interfering with our own; and to secure byevery method the returns to the mother country. Without some such schemeof enlargement, it was obvious that any benefit we could expect fromthese colonies must be extremely limited. Accordingly many facilitieswere given to their trade with the foreign plantations, and with thesouthern parts of Europe. As to the confining the returns to thiscountry, administration saw the mischief and folly of a plan ofindiscriminate restraint. They applied their remedy to that part wherethe disease existed, and to that only: on this idea they establishedregulations, far more likely to check the dangerous, clandestine tradewith Hamburg and Holland, than this author's friends, or any of theirpredecessors had ever done. 

The friends of the author have a method surely a little whimsical in allthis sort of discussions. They have made an innumerable multitude ofcommercial regulations, at which the trade of England exclaimed with onevoice, and many of which have been altered on the unanimous opinion ofthat trade. Still they go on, just as before, in a sort of droningpanegyric on themselves, talking of these regulations as prodigies ofwisdom; and, instead of appealing to those who are most affected and thebest judges, they turn round in a perpetual circle of their ownreasonings and pretences; they hand you over from one of their ownpamphlets to another: "See, " say they, "this demonstrated in the'Regulations of the Colonies. '" "See this satisfactorily proved in 'TheConsiderations. '" By and by we shall have another: "See for this 'TheState of the Nation. '" I wish to take another method in vindicating theopposite system. I refer to the petitions of merchants for theseregulations; to their thanks when they were obtained; and to the strongand grateful sense they have ever since expressed of the benefitsreceived under that administration. 

All administrations have in their commercial regulations been generallyaided by the opinion of some merchants; too frequently by that of a few, and those a sort of favorites: they have been directed by the opinion ofone or two merchants, who were to merit in flatteries, and to be paid incontracts; who frequently advised, not for the general good of trade, but for their private advantage. During the administration of which thisauthor complains, the meetings of merchants upon the business of tradewere numerous and public; sometimes at the house of the Marquis ofRockingham; sometimes at Mr. Dowdeswell's; sometimes at Sir GeorgeSavile's, a house always open to every deliberation favorable to theliberty or the commerce of his country. Nor were these meetings confinedto the merchants of London. Merchants and manufacturers were invitedfrom all the considerable towns in England. They conferred with theministers and active members of Parliament. No private views, no localinterests prevailed. Never were points in trade settled upon a largerscale of information. They who attended these meetings well know whatministers they were who heard the most patiently, who comprehended themost clearly, and who provided the most wisely. Let then this author andhis friends still continue in possession of the practice of exaltingtheir own abilities, in their pamphlets and in the newspapers. Theynever will persuade the public, that the merchants of England were in ageneral confederacy to sacrifice their own interests to those of NorthAmerica, and to destroy the vent of their own goods in favor of themanufactures of France and Holland. 

Had the friends of this author taken these means of information, hisextreme terrors of contraband in the West India islands would have beengreatly quieted, and his objections to the opening of the ports wouldhave ceased. He would have learned, from the most satisfactory analysisof the West India trade, that we have the advantage in every essentialarticle of it; and that almost every restriction on our communicationwith our neighbors there, is a restriction unfavorable to ourselves. 

Such were the principles that guided, and the authority that sanctioned, these regulations. No man ever said, that, in the multiplicity ofregulations made in the administration of their predecessors, none wereuseful; some certainly were so; and I defy the author to show acommercial regulation of that period, which he can prove, from anyauthority except his own, to have a tendency beneficial to commerce, that has been repealed. So far were that ministry from being guided by aspirit of contradiction or of innovation. 

The author's attack on that administration, for their neglect of ourclaims on foreign powers, is by much the most astonishing instance hehas given, or that, I believe, any man ever did give, of an intrepideffrontery. It relates to the Manilla ransom; to the Canada bills; andto the Russian treaty. Could one imagine, that these very things, whichhe thus chooses to object to others, have been the principal subject ofcharge against his favorite ministry? Instead of clearing them of thesecharges, he appears not so much as to have heard of them; but throwsthem directly upon the administration which succeeded to that of hisfriends. 

It is not always very pleasant to be obliged to produce the detail ofthis kind of transactions to the public view. I will content myselftherefore with giving a short state of facts, which, when the authorchooses to contradict, he shall see proved, more, perhaps, to hisconviction, than to his liking. The first fact then is, that the demandfor the Manilla ransom had been in the author's favorite administrationso neglected as to appear to have been little less than tacitlyabandoned. At home, no countenance was given to the claimants; and whenit was mentioned in Parliament, the then leader did not seem, at least, _a very sanguine advocate in favor of the claim_. These things made it amatter of no small difficulty to resume and press that negotiation withSpain. However, so clear was our right, that the then ministers resolvedto revive it; and so little time was lost, that though thatadministration was not completed until the 9th of July, 1765, on the20th of the following August, General Conway transmitted a strong andfull remonstrance on that subject to the Earl of Rochfort. The argument, on which the court of Madrid most relied, was the dereliction of thatclaim by the preceding ministers. However, it was still pushed with somuch vigor, that the Spaniards, from a positive denial to pay, offeredto refer the demand to arbitration. That proposition was rejected; andthe demand being still pressed, there was all the reason in the world toexpect its being brought to a favorable issue; when it was thoughtproper to change the administration. Whether under their circumstances, and in the time they continued in power, more could be done, the readerwill judge; who will hear with astonishment a charge of remissness fromthose very men, whose inactivity, to call it by no worse a name, laidthe chief difficulties in the way of the revived negotiation. 

As to the Canada bills, this author thinks proper to assert, "that theproprietors found themselves under a necessity of compounding theirdemands upon the French court, and accepting terms which they had oftenrejected, and which the Earl of Halifax had declared he would soonerforfeit his hand than sign. "[95] When I know that the Earl of Halifaxsays so, the Earl of Halifax shall have an answer; but I persuade myselfthat his Lordship has given no authority for this ridiculous rant. Inthe mean time, I shall only speak of it as a common concern of thatministry. 

In the first place, then, I observe, that a convention, for theliquidation of the Canada bills, was concluded under the administrationof 1766; when nothing was concluded under that of the favorites of thisauthor. 

2. This transaction was, in every step of it, carried on in concert withthe persons interested, and was terminated to their entire satisfaction. They would have acquiesced perhaps in terms somewhat lower than thosewhich were obtained. The author is indeed too kind to them. He will, however, let them speak for themselves, and show what their own opinionwas of the measures pursued in their favor. [96] In what manner theexecution of the convention has been since provided for, it is not mypresent business to examine. 

3. The proprietors had absolutely despaired of being paid, at any time, any proportion, of their demand, until the change of that ministry. Themerchants were checked and discountenanced; they had often been told, bysome in authority, of the cheap rate at which these Canada bills hadbeen procured; yet the author can talk of the composition of them as anecessity induced by the change in administration. They found themselvesindeed, before that change, under a necessity of hinting somewhat ofbringing the matter into Parliament; but they were soon silenced, andput in mind of the fate which the Newfoundland business had there metwith. Nothing struck them more than the strong contrast between thespirit, and method of proceeding, of the two administrations. 

4. The Earl of Halifax never did, nor could, refuse to sign thisconvention; because this convention, as it stands, never was beforehim. [97]

The author's last charge on that ministry, with regard to foreignaffairs, is the Russian treaty of commerce, which the author thinks fitto assert, was concluded "on terms the Earl of Buckinghamshire hadrefused to accept of, and which had been deemed by former ministersdisadvantageous to the nation, and by the merchants unsafe andunprofitable. "[98]

Both the assertions in this paragraph are equally groundless. The treatythen concluded by Sir George Macartney was not on the terms which theEarl of Buckinghamshire had refused. The Earl of Buckinghamshire neverdid refuse terms, because the business never came to the point ofrefusal, or acceptance; all that he did was, to receive the Russianproject for a treaty of commerce, and to transmit it to England. Thiswas in November, 1764; and he left Petersburg the January following, before he could even receive an answer from his own court. Theconclusion of the treaty fell to his successor. Whoever will be at thetrouble to compare it with the treaty of 1734, will, I believe, confess, that, if the former ministers could have obtained such terms, they werecriminal in not accepting them. 

But the merchants "deemed them unsafe and unprofitable. " What merchants?As no treaty ever was more maturely considered, so the opinion of theRussia merchants in London was all along taken; and all the instructionssent over were in exact conformity to that opinion. Our minister theremade no step without having previously consulted our merchants residentin Petersburg, who, before the signing of the treaty, gave the most fulland unanimous testimony in its favor. In their address to our ministerat that court, among other things they say, "It may afford someadditional satisfaction to your Excellency, to receive a publicacknowledgment of _the entire and unreserved approbation of everyarticle_ in this treaty, from us who are so immediately and so nearlyconcerned in its consequences. " This was signed by the consul-general, and every British merchant in Petersburg. 

The approbation of those immediately concerned in the consequences isnothing to this author. He and his friends have so much tenderness forpeople's interests, and understand them so much better than they dothemselves, that, whilst these politicians are contending for the bestof possible terms, the claimants are obliged to go without any terms atall. 

One of the first and justest complaints against the administration ofthe author's friends, was the want of rigor in their foreignnegotiations. Their immediate successors endeavored to correct thaterror, along with others; and there was scarcely a foreign court, inwhich the new spirit that had arisen was not sensibly felt, acknowledged, and sometimes complained of. On their coming intoadministration, they found the demolition of Dunkirk entirely at astand: instead of demolition, they found construction; for the Frenchwere then at work on the repair of the jettees. On the remonstrances ofGeneral Conway, some parts of these jettees were immediately destroyed. The Duke of Richmond personally surveyed the place, and obtained afuller knowledge of its true state and condition than any of ourministers had done; and, in consequence, had larger offers from the Dukeof Choiseul than had ever been received. But, as these were short of ourjust expectations under the treaty, he rejected them. Our thenministers, knowing that, in their administration, the people's mindswere set at ease upon all the essential points of public and privateliberty, and that no project of theirs could endanger the concord of theempire, were under no restraint from pursuing every just demand uponforeign nations. 

The author, towards the end of this work, falls into reflections uponthe state of public morals in this country: he draws use from thisdoctrine, by recommending his friend to the king and the public, asanother Duke of Sully; and he concludes the whole performance with avery devout prayer. 

The prayers of politicians may sometimes be sincere; and as this prayeris in substance, that the author, or his friends, may be soon broughtinto power, I have great reason to believe it is very much from theheart. It must be owned too that after he has drawn such a picture, sucha shocking picture, of the state of this country, he has great faith inthinking the means he prays for sufficient to relieve us: after thecharacter he has given of its inhabitants of all ranks and classes, hehas great charity in caring much about them; and indeed no less hope, inbeing of opinion, that such a detestable nation can ever become the careof Providence. He has not even found five good men in our devoted city. 

He talks indeed of men of virtue and ability. But where are his _men_ ofvirtue and ability to be found? Are they in the present administration?Never were a set of people more blackened by this author. Are they amongthe party of those (no small body) who adhere to the system of 1766?These it is the great purpose of this book to calumniate. Are they thepersons who acted with his great friend, since the change in 1762, tohis removal in 1765? Scarcely any of these are now out of employment;and we are in possession of his desideratum. Yet I think he hardly meansto select, even some of the highest of them, as examples fit for thereformation of a corrupt world. 

He observes, that the virtue of the most exemplary prince that everswayed a sceptre "can never warm or illuminate the body of his people, if foul mirrors are placed so near him as to refract and dissipate therays at their first emanation. "[99] Without observing upon thepropriety of this metaphor, or asking how mirrors come to have losttheir old quality of reflecting, and to have acquired that ofrefracting, and dissipating rays, and how far their foulness willaccount for this change; the remark itself is common and true: no lesstrue, and equally surprising from him, is that which immediatelyprecedes it: "It is in vain to endeavor to check the progress ofirreligion and licentiousness, by punishing such crimes in _oneindividual_, if others equally culpable are rewarded with the honors andemoluments of the state. "[100] I am not in the secret of the author'smanner of writing; but it appears to me, that he must intend thesereflections as a satire upon the administration of his happy years. Wereover the honors and emoluments of the state more lavishly squanderedupon persons scandalous in their lives than during that period? In thesescandalous lives, was there anything more scandalous than the mode ofpunishing _one culpable individual_? In that individual, is anythingmore culpable than his having been seduced by the example of some ofthose very persons by whom he was thus persecuted?

The author is so eager to attack others, that he provides butindifferently for his own defence. I believe, without going beyond thepage I have now before me, he is very sensible, that I have sufficientmatter of further, and, if possible, of heavier charge against hisfriends, upon his own principle. But it is because the advantage is toogreat, that I decline making use of it. I wish the author had notthought that all methods are lawful in party. Above all he ought to havetaken care not to wound his enemies through the sides of his country. This he has done, by making that monstrous and overcharged picture ofthe distresses of our situation. No wonder that he, who finds thiscountry in the same condition with that of France at the time of Henrythe Fourth, could also find a resemblance between his political friendand the Duke of Sully. As to those personal resemblances, people willoften judge of them from their affections: they may imagine in theseclouds whatsoever figures they please; but what is the conformation ofthat eye which can discover a resemblance of this country and thesetimes to those with which the author compares them? France, a countryjust recovered out of twenty-five years of the most cruel and desolatingcivil war that perhaps was ever known. The kingdom, under the veil ofmomentary quiet, full of the most atrocious political, operating uponthe most furious fanatical factions. Some pretenders even to the crown;and those who did not pretend to the whole, aimed at the partition ofthe monarchy. There were almost as many competitors as provinces; andall abetted by the greatest, the most ambitious, and most enterprisingpower in Europe. No place safe from treason; no, not the bosoms on whichthe most amiable prince that ever lived reposed his head; not hismistresses; not even his queen. As to the finances, they had scarce anexistence, but as a matter of plunder to the managers, and of grants toinsatiable and ungrateful courtiers. 

How can our author have the heart to describe this as any sort ofparallel to our situation? To be sure, an April shower has someresemblance to a waterspout; for they are both wet: and there is somelikeness between a summer evening's breeze and a hurricane; they areboth wind: but who can compare our disturbances, our situation, or ourfinances, to those of France in the time of Henry? Great Britain isindeed at this time wearied, but not broken, with the efforts of avictorious foreign war; not sufficiently relieved by an inadequatepeace, but somewhat benefited by that peace, and infinitely by theconsequences of that war. The powers of Europe awed by our victories, and lying in ruins upon every side of us. Burdened indeed we are withdebt, but abounding with resources. We have a trade, not perhaps equalto our wishes, but more than ever we possessed. In effect, no pretenderto the crown; nor nutriment for such desperate and destructive factionsas have formerly shaken this kingdom. 

As to our finances, the author trifles with us. When Sully came to thoseof France, in what order was any part of the financial system? or whatsystem was there at all? There is no man in office who must not besensible that ours is, without the act of any parading minister, themost regular and orderly system perhaps that was ever known; the bestsecured against all frauds in the collection, and all misapplication inthe expenditure of public money. 

I admit that, in this flourishing state of things, there are appearancesenough to excite uneasiness and apprehension. I admit there is acankerworm in the rose:

 Medio de fonte leporum Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat. 

This is nothing else than a spirit of disconnection, of distrust, and oftreachery among public men. It is no accidental evil, nor has its effectbeen trusted to the usual frailty of nature; the distemper has beeninoculated. The author is sensible of it, and we lament it together. This distemper is alone sufficient to take away considerably from thebenefits of our constitution and situation, and perhaps to render theircontinuance precarious. If these evil dispositions should spread muchfarther, they must end in our destruction; for nothing can save a peopledestitute of public and private faith. However, the author, for thepresent state of things, has extended the charge by much too widely; asmen are but too apt to take the measure of all mankind from their ownparticular acquaintance. Barren as this age may be in the growth ofhonor and virtue, the country does not want, at this moment, as strong, and those not a few examples, as were ever known, of an unshakenadherence to principle, and attachment to connection, against everyallurement of interest. Those examples are not furnished by the greatalone; nor by those, whose activity in public affairs may render itsuspected that they make such a character one of the rounds in theirladder of ambition; but by men more quiet, and more in the shade, onwhom an unmixed sense of honor alone could operate. Such examples indeedare not furnished in great abundance amongst those who are the subjectsof the author's panegyric. He must look for them in another camp. He whocomplains of the ill effects of a divided and heterogeneousadministration, is not justifiable in laboring to render odious in theeyes of the public those men, whose principles, whose maxims of policy, and whose personal character, can alone administer a remedy to thiscapital evil of the age: neither is he consistent with himself, inconstantly extolling those whom he knows to be the authors of the verymischief of which he complains, and which the whole nation feels sodeeply. 

The persons who are the objects of his dislike and complaint are manyof them of the first families, and weightiest properties, in thekingdom; but infinitely more distinguished for their untainted honor, public and private, and their zealous, but sober attachment to theconstitution of their country, than they can be by any birth, or anystation. If they are the friends of any one great man rather thananother, it is not that they make his aggrandizement the end of theirunion; or because they know him to be the most active in caballing forhis connections the largest and speediest emoluments. It is because theyknow him, by personal experience, to have wise and enlarged ideas of thepublic good, and an invincible constancy in adhering to it; because theyare convinced, by the whole tenor of his actions, that he will nevernegotiate away their honor or his own: and that, in or out of power, change of situation will make no alteration in his conduct. This willgive to such a person in such a body, an authority and respect that nominister ever enjoyed among his venal dependents, in the highestplenitude of his power; such as servility never can give, such asambition never can receive or relish. 

This body will often be reproached by their adversaries, for want ofability in their political transactions; they will be ridiculed formissing many favorable conjunctures, and not profiting of severalbrilliant opportunities of fortune; but they must be contented to endurethat reproach; for they cannot acquire the reputation of _that kind_ ofability without losing all the other reputation they possess. 

They will be charged too with a dangerous spirit of exclusion andproscription, for being unwilling to mix in schemes of administration, which have no bond of union, or principle of confidence. That charge toothey must suffer with patience. If the reason of the thing had notspoken loudly enough, the miserable examples of the severaladministrations constructed upon the idea of systematic discord would beenough to frighten them from such, monstrous and ruinous conjunctions. It is however false, that the idea of an united administration carrieswith it that of a proscription of any other party. It does indeed implythe necessity of having the great strongholds of government inwell-united hands, in order to secure the predominance of right anduniform principles; of having the capital offices of deliberation andexecution of those who can deliberate with mutual confidence, and whowill execute what is resolved with firmness and fidelity. If this systemcannot be rigorously adhered to in practice, (and what system can beso?) it ought to be the constant aim of good men to approach as nearlyto it as possible. No system of that kind can be formed, which will notleave room fully sufficient for healing coalitions: but no coalition, which, under the specious name of independency, carries in its bosom theunreconciled principles of the original discord of parties, ever was, orwill be, an healing coalition. Nor will the mind of our sovereign everknow repose, his kingdom settlement, or his business order, efficiency, or grace with his people, until things are established upon the basis ofsome set of men, who are trusted by the public, and who can trust oneanother. 

This comes rather nearer to the mark than the author's description of aproper administration, under the name of _men of ability and virtue_, which conveys no definite idea at all; nor does it apply specificallyto our grand national distemper. All parties pretend to these qualities. The present ministry, no favorites of the author, will be ready enoughto declare themselves persons of virtue and ability; and if they choosea vote for that purpose, perhaps it would not be quite impossible forthem to procure it. But, if the disease be this distrust anddisconnection, it is easy to know who are sound and who are tainted; whoare fit to restore us to health, who to continue, and to spread thecontagion. The present ministry being made up of draughts from allparties in the kingdom, if they should profess any adherence to theconnections they have left, they must convict themselves of the blackesttreachery. They therefore choose rather to renounce the principleitself, and to brand it with the name of pride and faction. This testwith certainty discriminates the opinions of men. The other is adescription vague and unsatisfactory. 

As to the unfortunate gentlemen who may at any time compose that system, which, under the plausible title of an administration, subsists but forthe establishment of weakness and confusion; they fall into differentclasses, with different merits. I think the situation of some people inthat state may deserve a certain degree of compassion; at the same timethat they furnish an example, which, it is to be hoped, by being asevere one, will have its effect, at least, on the growing generation;if an original seduction, on plausible but hollow pretences, into lossof honor, friendship, consistency, security, and repose, can furnish it. It is possible to draw, even from the very prosperity of ambition, examples of terror, and motives to compassion. 

I believe the instances are exceedingly rare of men immediately passingover a clear, marked line of virtue into declared vice and corruption. There are a sort of middle tints and shades between the two extremes;there is something uncertain on the confines of the two empires whichthey first pass through, and which renders the change easy andimperceptible. There are even a sort of splendid impositions so wellcontrived, that, at the very time the path of rectitude is quittedforever, men seem to be advancing into some higher and nobler road ofpublic conduct. Not that such impositions are strong enough inthemselves; but a powerful interest, often concealed from those whom itaffects, works at the bottom, and secures the operation. Men are thusdebauched away from those legitimate connections, which they had formedon a judgment, early perhaps, but sufficiently mature, and whollyunbiassed. They do not quit them upon any ground of complaint, forgrounds of just complaint may exist, but upon the flattering and mostdangerous of all principles, that of mending what is well. Graduallythey are habituated to other company; and a change in their habitudessoon makes a way for a change in their opinions. Certain persons are nolonger so very frightful, when they come to be known and to beserviceable. As to their old friends, the transition is easy; fromfriendship to civility; from civility to enmity: few are the steps fromdereliction to persecution. 

People not very well grounded in the principles of public morality finda set of maxims in office ready made for them, which they assume asnaturally and inevitably, as any of the insignia or instruments of thesituation. A certain tone of the solid and practical is immediatelyacquired. Every former profession of public spirit is to be consideredas a debauch of youth, or, at best, as a visionary scheme ofunattainable perfection. The very idea of consistency is exploded. Theconvenience of the business of the day is to furnish the principle fordoing it. Then the whole ministerial cant is quickly got by heart. Theprevalence of faction is to be lamented. All opposition is to beregarded as the effect of envy and disappointed ambition. Alladministrations are declared to be alike. The same necessity justifiesall their measures. It is no longer a matter of discussion, who or whatadministration is; but that administration is to be supported, is ageneral maxim. Flattering themselves that their power is becomenecessary to the support of all order and government; everything whichtends to the support of that power is sanctified, and becomes a part ofthe public interest. 

Growing every day more formed to affairs, and better knit in theirlimbs, when the occasion (now the only rule) requires it, they becomecapable of sacrificing those very persons to whom they had beforesacrificed their original friends. It is now only in the ordinary courseof business to alter an opinion, or to betray a connection. Frequentlyrelinquishing one set of men and adopting another, they grow into atotal indifference to human feeling, as they had before to moralobligation; until at length, no one original impression remains upontheir minds: every principle is obliterated; every sentiment effaced. 

In the mean time, that power, which all these changes aimed at securing, remains still as tottering and as uncertain as ever. They are deliveredup into the hands of those who feel neither respect for their persons, nor gratitude for their favors; who are put about them in appearance toserve, in reality to govern them; and, when the signal is given, toabandon and destroy them in order to set up some new dupe of ambition, who in his turn is to be abandoned and destroyed. Thus living in a stateof continual uneasiness and ferment, softened only by the miserableconsolation of giving now and then preferments to those for whom theyhave no value; they are unhappy in their situation, yet find itimpossible to resign. Until, at length, soured in temper, anddisappointed by the very attainment of their ends, in some angry, insome haughty, or some negligent moment, they incur the displeasure ofthose upon whom they have rendered their very being dependent. Then_perierunt tempora longi servitii;_ they are cast off with scorn; theyare turned out, emptied of all natural character, of all intrinsicworth, of all essential dignity, and deprived of every consolation offriendship. Having rendered all retreat to old principles ridiculous, and to old regards impracticable, not being able to counterfeitpleasure, or to discharge discontent, nothing being sincere, or right, or balanced in their minds, it is more than a chance, that, in thedelirium of the last stage of their distempered power, they make aninsane political testament, by which they throw all their remainingweight and consequence into the scale of their declared enemies, and theavowed authors of their destruction. Thus they finish their course. Hadit been possible that the whole, or even a great part of these effectson their minds, I say nothing of the effect upon their fortunes, couldhave appeared to them in their first departure from the right line, itis certain they would have rejected every temptation with horror. Theprinciple of these remarks, like every good principle in morality, istrite; but its frequent application is not the less necessary. 

As to others, who are plain practical men, they have been guiltless atall times of all public pretence. Neither the author nor any one elsehas reason to be angry with them. They belonged to his friend for theirinterest; for their interest they quitted him; and when it is theirinterest, he may depend upon it, they will return to their formerconnection. Such people subsist at all times, and, though the nuisanceof all, are at no time a worthy subject of discussion. It is falsevirtue and plausible error that do the mischief. 

If men come to government with right dispositions, they have not thatunfavorable subject which this author represents to work upon. Ourcircumstances are indeed critical; but then they are the criticalcircumstances of a strong and mighty nation. If corruption and meannessare greatly spread, they are not spread universally. Many public men arehitherto examples of public spirit and integrity. Whole parties, as faras large bodies can be uniform, have preserved character. However theymay be deceived in some particulars, I know of no set of men amongst us, which does not contain persons on whom the nation, in a difficultexigence, may well value itself. Private life, which is the nursery ofthe commonwealth, is yet in general pure, and on the whole disposed tovirtue; and the people at large want neither generosity nor spirit. Nosmall part of that very luxury, which is so much the subject of theauthor's declamation, but which, in most parts of life, by being wellbalanced and diffused, is only decency and convenience, has perhaps asmany, or more good than evil consequences attending it. It certainlyexcites industry, nourishes emulation, and inspires some sense ofpersonal value into all ranks of people. What we want is to establishmore fully an opinion of uniformity, and consistency of character, inthe leading men of the state; such as will restore some confidence toprofession and appearance, such as will fix subordination upon esteem. Without this, all schemes are begun at the wrong end. All who join inthem are liable to their consequences. All men who, under whateverpretext, take a part in the formation or the support of systemsconstructed in such a manner as must, in their nature, disable them fromthe execution of their duty, have made themselves guilty of all thepresent distraction, and of the future ruin, which they may bring upontheir country. 

It is a serious affair, this studied disunion in government. In caseswhere union is most consulted in the constitution of a ministry, andwhere persons are best disposed to promote it, differences, from thevarious ideas of men, will arise; and from their passions will oftenferment into violent heats, so as greatly to disorder all publicbusiness. What must be the consequence, when the very distemper is madethe basis of the constitution; and the original weakness of human natureis still further enfeebled by art and contrivance? It must subvertgovernment from the very foundation. It turns our public councils intothe most mischievous cabals; where the consideration is, not how thenation's business shall be carried on, but how those who ought to carryit on shall circumvent each other. In such a state of things, no order, uniformity, dignity, or effect, can appear in our proceedings, either athome or abroad. Nor will it make much difference, whether some of theconstituent parts of such an administration are men of virtue orability, or not; supposing it possible that such men, with their eyesopen, should choose to make a part in such a body. 

The effects of all human contrivances are in the hand of Providence. Ido not like to answer, as our author so readily does, for the event ofany speculation. But surely the nature of our disorders, if anything, must indicate the proper remedy. Men who act steadily on the principlesI have stated may in all events be very serviceable to their country; inone case, by furnishing (if their sovereign should be so advised) anadministration formed upon ideas very different from those which havefor some time been unfortunately fashionable. But, if this should not bethe case, they may be still serviceable; for the example of a large bodyof men, steadily sacrificing ambition to principle, can never be withoutuse. It will certainly be prolific, and draw others to an imitation. _Vera gloria radices agit, atque etiam propagatur_. 

I do not think myself of consequence enough to imitate my author, introubling the world with the prayers or wishes I may form for thepublic: full as little am I disposed to imitate his professions; thoseprofessions are long since worn out in the political service. If thework will not speak for the author, his own declarations deserve butlittle credit. 

FOOTNOTES:

[38] History of the Minority. History of the Repeal of the Stamp Act. Considerations on Trade and Finance. Political Register, &c. , &c. 

[39] Pages 6-10. 

[40] Pages 9, 10. 

[41] Page 9. 

[42] Page 9. 

[43] Page 6. 

[44] Page 9. 

[45] Total imports from the West Indies in 1764 £2, 909, 411 Exports to ditto in ditto 896, 511 ---------- Excess of imports £2, 012, 900

In this, which is the common way of stating the balance, it will appearupwards of two millions against us, which is ridiculous. 

[46] Page 6. 

[47] 1754. £ _s. D. _ Total export of British goods value, 8, 317, 506 15 3 Ditto of foreign goods in time 2, 910, 836 14 9 Ditto of ditto out of time 559, 485 2 10 ------------------ Total exports of all kinds 11, 787, 828 12 10 Total imports 8, 093, 479 15 0 ------------------ Balance in favor of England £3, 094, 355 17 10 ------------------

 1761. £ _s. D. _ Total export of British goods 10, 649, 581 12 6 Ditto of foreign goods in time 3, 553, 692 7 1 Ditto of ditto out of time 355, 015 0 2 ------------------ Total exports of all kinds 14, 558, 288 19 9 Total imports 9, 294, 915 1 6 ------------------ Balance in favor of England £5, 263, 373 18 3 ------------------

Here is the state of our trade in 1761, compared with a very good yearof profound peace: both are taken from the authentic entries at thecustom-house. How the author can contrive to make this increase of theexport of English produce agree with his account of the dreadful want ofhands in England, page 9, unless he supposes manufactures to be madewithout hands, I really do not see. It is painful to be so frequentlyobliged to set this author right in matters of fact. This state willfully refute all that he has said or insinuated upon the difficultiesand decay of our trade, pages 6, 7, and 9. 

[48] Page 7. See also page 13. 

[49] Pages 12, 13. 

[50] Page 17. 

[51] Page 6. 

[52] "Our merchants suffered by the detention of the galleons, as theircorrespondents in Spain were disabled from paying them for their goodssent to America. "--State of the Nation, p. 7. 

[53] Pages 12, 13. 

[54] Page 6. 

[55] Something however has transpired in the quarrels among thoseconcerned in that transaction. It seems the _good Genius_ of Britain, somuch vaunted by our author, did his duty nobly. Whilst we were gainingsuch advantages, the court of France was astonished at our concessions. "J'ai apporté à Versailles, il est vrai, les Ratifications du Roid'Angleterre, _à vostre grand étonnement, et à celui de bien d'autres_. Je dois cela au bontés du Roi d'Angleterre, à celles de Milord Bute, àMons. Le Comte de Viry, à Mons. Le Duc de Nivernois, et en fin à monscavoir faire. "--Lettres, &c. , du Chev. D'Eon, p. 51. 

[56] "The navy bills are not due till six months after they have beenissued; six months also of the seamen's wages by act of Parliament mustbe, and in consequence of the rules prescribed by that act, twelvemonths' wages generally, and often much more are retained; and there hasbeen besides at all times a large arrear of pay, which, though kept inthe account, could never be claimed, the persons to whom it was duehaving left neither assignees nor representatives. The precise amount ofsuch sums cannot be ascertained; but they can hardly be reckoned lessthan thirteen or fourteen hundred thousand pounds. On 31st Dec, 1754, when the navy debt was reduced nearly as low as it could be, it stillamounted to 1, 296, 567_l. _ 18_s. _ 11-3/4_d. _ consisting chiefly ofarticles which could not then be discharged; such articles will belarger now, in proportion to the increase of the establishment; and anallowance must always be made for them in judging of the state of thenavy debt, though they are not distinguishable in the account. Inproviding for that which is payable, the principal object of thelegislature is always to discharge the bills, for they are the greatestarticle; they bear an interest of 4 per cent; and, when the quantity ofthem is large, they are a heavy incumbrance upon all money transactions"

[57] Navy £1, 450, 900 Army 1, 268, 500 Ordnance 174, 600 The four American governments 19, 200 General surveys in America 1, 600 Foundling Hospital 38, 000 To the African committee 13, 000 For the civil establishment on the coast of Africa 5, 500 Militia 100, 000 Deficiency of land and malt 300, 000 Deficiency of funds 202, 400 Extraordinaries of the army and navy 35, 000 ---------- Total £3, 609, 700

[58] Upon the money borrowed in 1760, the premium of one per cent wasfor twenty-one years, not for twenty; this annuity has been paid eightyears instead of seven; the sum paid is therefore 640, 000_l. _ instead of560, 000_l. _; the remaining term is worth, ten years and a quarterinstead of eleven years;[59] its value is 820, 000_l. _ instead of880, 000_l. _; and the whole value of that premium is 1, 460, 000_l. _instead of 1, 440, 000_l. _ The like errors are observable in hiscomputation on the additional capital of three per cent on the loan ofthat year. In like manner, on the loan of 1762, the author computes onfive years' payment instead of six; and says in express terms, that take5 from 19, and there remain 13. These are not errors of the pen or thepress; the several computations pursued in this part of the work withgreat diligence and earnestness prove them errors upon muchdeliberation. Thus the premiums in 1759 are cast up 90, 000_l. _ toolittle, an error in the first rule of arithmetic. "The annuitiesborrowed in 1756 and 1758 are, " says he, "to continue till redeemed byParliament. " He does not take notice that the first are irredeemabletill February, 1771, the other till July, 1782. In this the amount ofthe premiums is computed on the time which they have run. Weakly andignorantly; for he might have added to this, and strengthened hisargument, such as it is, by charging also the value of the additionalone per cent from the day on which he wrote, to at least that day onwhich these annuities become redeemable. To make ample amends, however, he has added to the premiums of 15 per cent in 1759, and three per centin 1760, the annuity paid for them since their commencement; the fallacyof which is manifest; for the premiums in these cases can he neithermore nor less than the additional capital for which the public standsengaged, and is just the same whether five or five hundred years'annuity has been paid for it. In private life, no man persuades himselfthat he has borrowed 200_l. _ because he happens to have paid twentyyears' interest on a loan of 100_l. _

[59] See Smart and Demoivre. 

[60] Pages 30-32. 

[61] In a course of years a few manufacturers have been tempted abroad, not by cheap living, but by immense premiums, to set up as masters, andto introduce the manufacture. This must happen in every country eminentfor the skill of its artificers, and has nothing to do with taxes andthe price of provisions. 

[62] Although the public brewery has considerably increased in thislatter period, the produce of the malt-tax has been something less thanin the former; this cannot be attributed to the new malt-tax. Had thisbeen the cause of the lessened consumption, the public brewery, so muchmore burdened, must have felt it more. The cause of this diminution ofthe malt-tax I take to have been principally owing to the greaterdearness of corn in the second period than in the first, which, in allits consequences, affected the people in the country much more thanthose in the towns. But the revenue from consumption was not, on thewhole, impaired; as we have seen in the foregoing page. 

[63] Total Imports, value, Exports, ditto. 1752 £7, 889, 369 £11, 694, 912 1753 8, 625, 029 12, 243, 604 1754 8, 093, 472 11, 787, 828 --------- ---------- Total £24, 607, 870 35, 726, 344 24, 607, 870 ---------- Exports exceed imports 11, 118, 474 ---------- Medium balance £3, 706, 158 ----------

 Total Imports, value, Exports, ditto. 1764 £10, 818, 946 £16, 104, 532 1765 10, 889, 742 14, 550, 507 1766 11, 475, 825 14, 024, 964 ----------- ----------- Total £32, 685, 513 44, 740, 003 ----------- 32, 683, 613 ----------- Exports exceed 12, 054, 490 ----------- Medium balance for three last years £4, 018, 163

[64] It is dearer in some places, and rather cheaper in others; but itmust soon all come to a level. 

[65] A tax rated by the intendant in each generality, on the presumedfortune of every person below the degree of a gentleman. 

[66] Before the war it was sold to, or rather forced on, the consumer at11 sous, or about 5_d. _ the pound. What it is at present, I am notinformed. Even this will appear no trivial imposition. In London, saltmay be had at a penny farthing per pound from the last retailer. 

[67] Page 31. 

[68] Page 33. 

[69] Page 33. 

[70] Page 33. 

[71] The figures in the "Considerations" are wrongly cast up; it shouldbe 3, 608, 700_l. _

[72] "Considerations, " p. 43. "State of the Nation, " p. 33. 

[73] Ibid. 

[74] Page 34. 

[75] The author of the "State of the Nation, " p. 34, informs us, thatthe sum of 75, 000_l. _ allowed by him for the extras of the army andordnance, is far less than was allowed for the same service in the years1767 and 1768. It is so undoubtedly, and by at least 200, 000_l. _ He seesthat he cannot abide by the plan of the "Considerations" in this point, nor is he willing wholly to give it up. Such an enormous difference asthat between 35, 000_l. _ and 300, 000_l. _ puts him to a stand. Should headopt the latter plan of increased expense, he must then confess that hehad, on a former occasion, egregiously trifled with the public; at thesame time all his future promises of reduction must fall to the ground. If he stuck to the 35, 000_l. _ he was sure that every one must expectfrom him some account how this monstrous charge came to continue eversince the war, when it was clearly unnecessary; how all thosesuccessions of ministers (his own included) came to pay it, and why hisgreat friend in Parliament, and his partisans without doors, came not topursue to ruin, at least to utter shame, the authors of so groundlessand scandalous a profusion. In this strait he took a middle way; and, tocome nearer the real state of the service, he outbid the"Considerations, " at one stroke, 40, 000_l. _; at the same time he hintsto you, that you may _expect_ some benefit also from the original plan. But the author of the "Considerations" will not suffer him to escape it. He has pinned him down to his 35, 000_l. _; for that is the sum he haschosen, not as what he thinks will probably be required, but as makingthe most ample allowance for every possible contingency. See thatauthor, p. 42 and 43. 

[76] He has done great injustice to the establishment of 1768; but Ihave not here time for this discussion; nor is it necessary to thisargument. 

[77] Page 34. 

[78] In making up this account, he falls into a surprising error ofarithmetic. "The deficiency of the land-tax in the year 1754 and1755, [80] when it was at 2_s. _, amounted to no more, on a medium, than49, 372_l. _; to which, if we add _half the sum_, it will give us79, 058_l. _ as the peace deficiency at 3_s. _"

 Total £49, 372 Add the half 24, 686 ------- £74, 058

Which he makes 79, 058_l. _ This is indeed in disfavor of his argument;but we shall see that he has ways, by other errors, of reimbursinghimself. 

[79] Page 34. 

[80] Page 33. 

[81] Page 43. 

[82] Page 35. 

[83] Page 37. 

[84] Pages 37, 38. 

[85] Pages 39, 40. 

[86] Page 39. 

[87] It is observable, that the partisans of American taxation, whenthey have a mind to represent this tax as wonderfully beneficial toEngland, state it as worth 100, 000_l. _ a year; when they are torepresent it as very light on the Americans, it dwindles to 60, 000_l. _Indeed it is very difficult to compute what its produce might have been. 

[88] "Considerations, " p. 74. 

[89] "Considerations, " p. 79. 

[90] Ibid. , p. 74. 

[91] I do not here enter into the unsatisfactory disquisition concerningrepresentation real or presumed. I only say, that a great people whohave their property, without any reserve, in all cases, disposed of byanother people, at an immense distance from them, will not thinkthemselves in the enjoyment of freedom. It will be hard to show to thosewho are in such a state, which of the usual parts of the definition ordescription of a free people are applicable to them; and it is neitherpleasant nor wise to attempt to prove that they have no right to becomprehended in such a description. 

[92] Page 21. 

[93] Here the author has a note altogether in his usual strain ofreasoning; he finds out that somebody, in the course of thismultifarious evidence, had said, "that a very considerable part of theorders of 1765 transmitted from America had been afterwards suspended;but that in case the Stamp Act was repealed, those orders were to beexecuted in the present year, 1766"; and that, on the repeal of theStamp Act, "the exports to the colonies would be at least double thevalue of the exports of the past year. " He then triumphs exceedingly ontheir having fallen short of it on the state of the custom-houseentries. I do not well know what conclusion he draws applicable to hispurpose from these facts. He does not deny that all the orders whichcame from America subsequent to the disturbances of the Stamp Act wereon the condition of that act being repealed; and he does not assertthat, notwithstanding that act should be enforced by a strong hand, still the orders would be executed. Neither does he quite venture to saythat this decline of the trade in 1766 was owing to the repeal. Whatdoes he therefore infer from it, favorable to the enforcement of thatlaw? It only comes to this, and no more; those merchants, who thoughtour trade would be doubled in the subsequent year, were mistaken intheir speculations. So that the Stamp Act was not to be repealed unlessthis speculation of theirs was a probable event. But it was not repealedin order to double our trade in that year, as everybody knows (whateversome merchants might have said), but lest in that year we should have notrade at all. The fact is, that during the greatest part of the year1755, that is, until about the month of October, when the accounts ofthe disturbances came thick upon us, the American trade went on asusual. Before this time, the Stamp Act could not affect it. Afterwards, the merchants fell into a great consternation; a general stagnation intrade ensued. But as soon as it was known that the ministry favored therepeal of the Stamp Act, several of the bolder merchants ventured toexecute their orders; others more timid hung back; in this manner thetrade continued in a state of dreadful fluctuation between the fears ofthose who had ventured, for the event of their boldness, and the anxietyof those whose trade was suspended, until the royal assent was finallygiven to the bill of repeal. That the trade of 1766 was not equal tothat of 1765, could not be owing to the repeal; it arose from quitedifferent causes, of which the author seems not to be aware: 1st, Ourconquests during the war had laid open the trade of the French andSpanish West Indies to our colonies much more largely than they had everenjoyed it; this continued for some time after the peace; but at lengthit was extremely contracted, and in some places reduced to nothing. Suchin particular was the state of Jamaica. On the taking the Havannah allthe stores of that island were emptied into that place, which producedunusual orders for goods, for supplying their own consumption, as wellas for further speculations of trade. These ceasing, the trade stood onits own bottom. This is one cause of the diminished export to Jamaica, and not the childish idea of the author, of an impossible contrabandfrom the opening of the ports. --2nd, The war had brought a great influxof cash into America, for the pay and provision of the troops; and thisan unnatural increase of trade, which, as its cause failed, must in somedegree return to its ancient and natural bounds. --3rd, When themerchants met from all parts, and compared their accounts, they werealarmed at the immensity of the debt due to them from America. Theyfound that the Americans had over-traded their abilities. And, as theyfound too that several of them were capable of making the state ofpolitical events an excuse for their failure in commercial punctuality, many of our merchants in some degree contracted their trade from thatmoment. However, it is idle, in such an immense mass of trade, so liableto fluctuation, to infer anything from such a deficiency as one or eventwo hundred thousand pounds. In 1767, when the disturbances subsided, this deficiency was made up again. 

[94] The disturbances have been in Boston only; and were not inconsequence of the late duties. 

[95] Page 24. 

[96] "They are happy in having found, in your zeal for the dignity ofthis nation, the means of liquidating their claims, and of concludingwith the court of France a convention for the final satisfaction oftheir demands; and have given us commission, in their names, and ontheir behalf, most earnestly to entreat your acceptance of theirgrateful acknowledgments. Whether they consider themselves as Britons, or as men more particularly profiting by your generous and spiritedinterposition, they see great reasons to be thankful, for having beensupported by a minister, in whose public affections, in whose wisdom andactivity, both the national honor, and the interests of individuals, have been at once so well supported and secured. "--Thanks of the Canadamerchants to General Conway, London, April 28, 1766. 

[97] See the Convention itself, printed by Owen and Harrison, Warwick-lane, 1766; particularly the articles two and thirteen. 

[98] Page 23. 

[99] Page 46. 

[100] Page 46. 

APPENDIX. 

So much misplaced industry has been used by the author of "The State ofthe Nation, " as well as by other writers, to infuse discontent into thepeople, on account of the late war, and of the effects of our nationaldebt; that nothing ought to be omitted which may tend to disabuse thepublic upon these subjects. When I had gone through the foregoingsheets, I recollected, that, in pages 58, 59, 60, I only gave thecomparative states of the duties collected by the excise at large;together with the quantities of strong beer brewed in the two periodswhich are there compared. It might be still thought, that some otherarticles of popular consumption, of general convenience, and connectedwith our manufactures, might possibly have declined. I therefore nowthink it right to lay before the reader the state of the produce ofthree capital duties on such articles; duties which have frequently beenmade the subject of popular complaint. The duty on candles; that onsoap, paper, &c. ; and that on hides. 

 Average of net produce of duty on soap, &c. , for eight years ending 1767 £264, 902 Average of ditto for eight years ending 1754 228, 114 -------- Average increase £36, 788

 Average of net produce of duty on candles for eight years ending 1767 £155, 789 Average of ditto for eight years ending 1754 136, 716 -------- Average increase £19, 073

 Average net produce of duty on hides, eight years, ending 1767 £189, 216 Ditto eight years, ending 1754 168, 200 -------- Average increase £21, 016

This increase has not arisen from any additional duties. None have beenimposed on these articles during the war. Notwithstanding the burdens ofthe war, and the late dearness of provisions, the consumption of allthese articles has increased, and the revenue along with it. 

There is another point in "The State of the Nation, " to which, I fear, Ihave not been so full in my answer as I ought to have been, and as I amwell warranted to be. The author has endeavored to throw a suspicion, orsomething more, on that salutary, and indeed necessary measure ofopening the ports in Jamaica. "Orders were given, " says he, "in_August_, 1765, for the free admission of Spanish vessels into all thecolonies. "[101] He then observes, that the exports to Jamaica fell40, 904_l. _ short of those of 1764; and that the exports of thesucceeding year, 1766, fell short of those of 1765, about eighty pounds;from whence he wisely infers, that this decline of exports being _since_the relaxation of the laws of trade, there is a just ground ofsuspicion, that the colonies have been supplied with foreign commoditiesinstead of British. 

Here, as usual with him, the author builds on a fact which isabsolutely false; and which, being so, renders his whole hypothesisabsurd and impossible. He asserts, that the order for admitting Spanishvessels was given in _August_, 1765. That order was not _signed at thetreasury board until the 15th day of the November following_; andtherefore so far from affecting the exports of the year 1765, that, supposing all possible diligence in the commissioners of the customs inexpediting that order, and every advantage of vessels ready to sail, andthe most favorable wind, it would hardly even arrive in Jamaica, withinthe limits of that year. 

This order could therefore by no possibility be a cause of the decreaseof exports in 1765. If it had any mischievous operation, it could not bebefore 1766. In that year, according to our author, the exports fellshort of the preceding, just _eighty_ pounds. He is welcome to thatdiminution; and to all the consequences he can draw from it. 

But, as an auxiliary to account for this dreadful loss, he brings in theFree-port Act, which he observes (for his convenience) to have been madein spring, 1766; but (for his convenience likewise) he forgets, that, bythe express provision of the act, the regulation was not to be in forcein Jamaica until the November following. Miraculous must be the activityof that contraband whose operation in America could, before the end ofthat year, have reacted upon England, and checked the exportation fromhence! Unless he chooses to suppose, that the merchants at whosesolicitation this act had been obtained, were so frightened at theaccomplishment of their own most earnest and anxious desire, that, before any good or evil effect from it could happen, they immediatelyput a stop to all further exportation. 

It is obvious that we must look for the true effect of that act at thetime of its first possible operation, that is, in the year 1767. On thisidea how stands the account?

 1764, Exports to Jamaica £ 456, 528 1765 415, 624 1766 415, 544 1767 (first year of the Free-port Act) 467, 681

This author, for the sake of a present momentary credit, will hazard anyfuture and permanent disgrace. At the time he wrote, the account of 1767could not be made up. This was the very first year of the trial of theFree-port Act; and we find that the sale of British commodities is sofar from being lessened by that act, that the export of 1767 amounts to52, 000_l. _ more than that of either of the two preceding years, and is11, 000_l. _ above that of his standard year 1764. If I could prevail onmyself to argue in favor of a great commercial scheme from theappearance of things in a single year, I should from this increase ofexport infer the beneficial effects of that measure. In truth, it is notwanting. Nothing but the thickest ignorance of the Jamaica trade couldhave made any one entertain a fancy, that the least ill effect on ourcommerce could follow from this opening of the ports. But, if the authorargues the effect of regulations in the American trade from the exportof the year in which they are made, or even of the following; why did henot apply this rule to his own? He had the same paper before him which Ihave now before me. He must have seen that in his standard year (theyear 1764), the principal year of his new regulations, the export fellno less than 128, 450_l. _ short of that in 1763! Did the export traderevive by these regulations in 1765, during which year they continued intheir full force? It fell about 40, 000_l. _ still lower. Here is a fallof 168, 000_l. _; to account for which, would have become the author muchbetter than piddling for an 80_l. _ fall in the year 1766 (the only yearin which _the order_ he objects to could operate), or in presuming afall of exports from a regulation which took place only in November, 1766; whose effects could not appear until the following year; andwhich, when they do appear, utterly overthrow all his flimsy reasons andaffected suspicions upon the effect of opening the ports. 

This author, in the same paragraph, says, that "it was asserted by _theAmerican factors and agents_, that the commanders of our ships of warand tenders, having custom-house commissions, and the strict ordersgiven in 1764 for a due execution of the laws of trade in the colonies, had deterred the Spaniards from trading with us; that the sale ofBritish manufactures in the West Indies had been greatly lessened, andthe receipt of large sums of specie prevented. "

If the _American factors and agents_ asserted this, they had good groundfor their assertion. They knew that the Spanish vessels had been drivenfrom our ports. The author does not positively deny the fact. If heshould, it will be proved. When the factors connected this measure, andits natural consequences, with an actual fall in the exports to Jamaica, to no less an amount than 128, 460_l. _ in one year, and with a furtherfall in the next, is their assertion very wonderful? The author himselfis full as much alarmed by a fall of only 40, 000_l. _; for giving himthe facts which he chooses to coin, it is no more. The expulsion of theSpanish vessels must certainly have been one cause, if not of the firstdeclension of the exports, yet of their continuance in their reducedstate. Other causes had their operation, without doubt. In what degreeeach cause produced its effect, it is hard to determine. But the fact ofa fall of exports upon the restraining plan, and of a rise upon thetaking place of the enlarging plan, is established beyond allcontradiction. 

This author says, that the facts relative to the Spanish trade wereasserted by _American factors and agents_; insinuating, that theministry of 1766 had no better authority for their plan of enlargementthan such assertions. The moment he chooses it, he shall see the verysame thing asserted by governors of provinces, by commanders ofmen-of-war, and by officers of the customs; persons the most bound induty to prevent contraband, and the most interested in the seizures tobe made in consequence of strict regulation. I suppress them for thepresent; wishing that the author may not drive me to a more fulldiscussion of this matter than it may be altogether prudent to enterinto. I wish he had not made any of these discussions necessary. 

FOOTNOTES:

[101] His note, p. 22. 

THOUGHTS

ON

THE CAUSE OF THE PRESENT DISCONTENTS. 

 Hoc vero occultum, intestinum, domesticum malum, non modo non existit, verum etiam opprimit, antequam perspicere atque explorare potueris. CIC. 

1770. 

It is an undertaking of some degree of delicacy to examine into thecause of public disorders. If a man happens not to succeed in such aninquiry, he will be thought weak and visionary; if he touches the truegrievance, there is a danger that he may come near to persons of weightand consequence, who will rather be exasperated at the discovery oftheir errors, than thankful for the occasion of correcting them. If heshould be obliged to blame the favorites of the people, he will beconsidered as the tool of power; if he censures those in power, he willbe looked on as an instrument of faction. But in all exertions of dutysomething is to be hazarded. In cases of tumult and disorder, our lawhas invested every man, in some sort, with the authority of amagistrate. When the affairs of the nation are distracted, privatepeople are, by the spirit of that law, justified in stepping a littleout of their ordinary sphere. They enjoy a privilege, of somewhat moredignity and effect, than that of idle lamentation over the calamities oftheir country. They may look into them narrowly; they may reason uponthem liberally; and if they should be so fortunate as to discover thetrue source of the mischief, and to suggest any probable method ofremoving it, though they may displease the rulers for the day, they arecertainly of service to the cause of government. Government is deeplyinterested in everything which, even through the medium of sometemporary uneasiness, may tend finally to compose the minds of thesubject, and to conciliate their affections. I have nothing to do herewith the abstract value of the voice of the people. But as long asreputation, the most precious possession of every individual, and aslong as opinion, the great support of the state, depend entirely uponthat voice, it can never be considered as a thing of little consequenceeither to individuals or to governments. Nations are not primarily ruledby laws: less by violence. Whatever original energy may be supposedeither in force or regulation, the operation of both is, in truth, merely instrumental. Nations are governed by the same methods, and onthe same principles, by which an individual without authority is oftenable to govern those who are his equals or his superiors; by a knowledgeof their temper, and by a judicious management of it; I mean, --whenpublic affairs are steadily and quietly conducted; not when governmentis nothing but a continued scuffle between the magistrate and themultitude; in which sometimes the one and sometimes the other isuppermost; in which they alternately yield and prevail, in a series ofcontemptible victories, and scandalous submissions. The temper of thepeople amongst whom he presides ought therefore to be the first study ofa statesman. And the knowledge of this temper it is by no meansimpossible for him to attain, if he has not an interest in beingignorant of what it is his duty to learn. 

To complain of the age we live in, to murmur at the present possessorsof power, to lament the past, to conceive extravagant hopes of thefuture, are the common dispositions of the greatest part of mankind;indeed the necessary effects of the ignorance and levity of the vulgar. Such complaints and humors have existed in all times; yet as all timeshave _not_ been alike, true political sagacity manifests itself indistinguishing that complaint which only characterizes the generalinfirmity of human nature, from those which are symptoms of theparticular distemperature of our own air and season. 

Nobody, I believe, will consider it merely as the language of spleen ordisappointment, if I say, that there is something particularly alarmingin the present conjuncture. There is hardly a man, in or out of power, who holds any other language. That government is at once dreaded andcontemned; that the laws are despoiled of all their respected andsalutary terrors; that their inaction is a subject of ridicule, andtheir exertion of abhorrence; that rank, and office and title, and allthe solemn plausibilities of the world, have lost their reverence andeffect; that our foreign politics are as much deranged as our domesticeconomy; that our dependencies are slackened in their affection, andloosened from their obedience; that we know neither how to yield nor howto enforce; that hardly anything above or below, abroad or at home, issound and entire; but that disconnection and confusion, in offices, inparties, in families, in Parliament, in the nation, prevail beyond thedisorders of any former time: these are facts universally admitted andlamented. 

This state of things is the more extraordinary, because the greatparties which formerly divided and agitated the kingdom are known to bein a manner entirely dissolved. No great external calamity has visitedthe nation; no pestilence or famine. We do not labor at present underany scheme of taxation new or oppressive in the quantity or in the mode. Nor are we engaged in unsuccessful war; in which, our misfortunes mighteasily pervert our judgment; and our minds, sore from the loss ofnational glory, might feel every blow of fortune as a crime ingovernment. 

It is impossible that the cause of this strange distemper should notsometimes become a subject of discourse. It is a compliment due, andwhich I willingly pay, to those who administer our affairs, to takenotice in the first place of their speculation. Our ministers are ofopinion, that the increase of our trade and manufactures, that ourgrowth by colonization, and by conquest, have concurred to accumulateimmense wealth in the hands of some individuals; and this again beingdispersed among the people, has rendered them universally proud, ferocious, and ungovernable; that the insolence of some from theirenormous wealth, and the boldness of others from a guilty poverty, haverendered them capable of the most atrocious attempts; so that they havetrampled upon all subordination, and violently borne down the unarmedlaws of a free government; barriers too feeble against the fury of apopulace so fierce and licentious as ours. They contend, that noadequate provocation has been given for so spreading a discontent; ouraffairs having been conducted throughout with remarkable temper andconsummate wisdom. The wicked industry of some libellers, joined to theintrigues of a few disappointed politicians, have, in their opinion, been able to produce this unnatural ferment in the nation. 

Nothing indeed can be more unnatural than the present convulsions ofthis country, if the above account be a true one. I confess I shallassent to it with great reluctance, and only on the compulsion of theclearest and firmest proofs; because their account resolves itself intothis short, but discouraging proposition, "That we have a very goodministry, but that we are a very bad people"; that we set ourselves tobite the hand that feeds us; that with a malignant insanity, we opposethe measures, and ungratefully vilify the persons, of those whose soleobject is our own peace and prosperity. If a few puny libellers, actingunder a knot of factious politicians, without virtue, parts, orcharacter, (such they are constantly represented by these gentlemen, )are sufficient to excite this disturbance, very perverse must be thedisposition of that people, amongst whom such a disturbance can beexcited by such means. It is besides no small aggravation of the publicmisfortune, that the disease, on this hypothesis, appears to be withoutremedy. If the wealth of the nation be the cause of its turbulence, Iimagine it is not proposed to introduce poverty, as a constable to keepthe peace. If our dominions abroad are the roots which feed all thisrank luxuriance of sedition, it is not intended to cut them off in orderto famish the fruit. If our liberty has enfeebled the executive power, there is no design, I hope, to call in the aid of despotism, to fill upthe deficiencies of law. Whatever may be intended, these things are notyet professed. We seem therefore to be driven to absolute despair; forwe have no other materials to work upon, but those out of which God hasbeen pleased to form the inhabitants of this island. If these beradically and essentially vicious, all that can be said is, that thosemen are very unhappy, to whose fortune or duty it falls to administerthe affairs of this untoward people. I hear it indeed sometimesasserted, that a steady perseverance in the present measures, and arigorous punishment of those who oppose them, will in course of timeinfallibly put an end to these disorders. But this, in my opinion, issaid without much observation of our present disposition, and withoutany knowledge at all of the general nature of mankind. If the matter ofwhich this nation is composed be so very fermentable as these gentlemendescribe it, leaven never will be wanting to work it up, as long asdiscontent, revenge, and ambition, have existence in the world. Particular punishments are the cure for accidental distempers in thestate; they inflame rather than allay those heats which arise from thesettled mismanagement of the government, or from a natural indispositionin the people. It is of the utmost moment not to make mistakes in theuse of strong measures; and firmness is then only a virtue when itaccompanies the most perfect wisdom. In truth, inconstancy is a sort ofnatural corrective of folly and ignorance. 

I am not one of those who think that the people are never in the wrong. They have been so, frequently and outrageously, both in other countriesand in this. But I do say, that in all disputes between them and theirrulers, the presumption is at least upon a par in favor of the people. Experience may perhaps justify me in going further. When populardiscontents have been very prevalent, it may well be affirmed andsupported, that there has been generally something found amiss in theconstitution, or in the conduct of government. The people have nointerest in disorder. When they do wrong, it is their error, and nottheir crime. But with the governing part of the state, it is forotherwise. They certainly may act ill by design, as well as by mistake. "_Les révolutions qui arrivent dans les grands états ne sont point uneffect du hazard, ni du caprice des peuples. Rien ne révolte _lesgrands_ d'un royaume comme _un gouvernement foible et dérangé_. Pour la_populace_, ce n'est jamais par envie d'attaquer qu'elle se soulève, mais par impatience de souffrir. _"[102] These are the words of a greatman; of a minister of state; and a zealous assertor of monarchy. Theyare applied to the _system of favoritism_ which was adopted by Henry theThird of France, and to the dreadful consequences it produced. What hesays of revolutions, is equally true of all great disturbances. If thispresumption in favor of the subjects against the trustees of power benot the more probable, I am sure it is the more comfortable speculation;because it is more easy to change an administration, than to reform apeople. 

Upon a supposition, therefore, that, in the opening of the cause, thepresumptions stand equally balanced between the parties, there seemssufficient ground to entitle any person to a fair hearing, who attemptssome other scheme beside that easy one which is fashionable in somefashionable companies, to account for the present discontents. It is notto be argued that we endure no grievance, because our grievances are notof the same sort with those under which we labored formerly; notprecisely those which we bore from the Tudors, or vindicated on theStuarts. A great change has taken place in the affairs of this country. For in the silent lapse of events as material alterations have beeninsensibly brought about in the policy and character of governments andnations, as those which have been marked by the tumult of publicrevolutions. 

It is very rare indeed for men to be wrong in their feelings concerningpublic misconduct; as rare to be right in their speculation upon thecause of it. I have constantly observed, that the generality of peopleare fifty years, at least, behindhand in their politics. There are butvery few who are capable of comparing and digesting what passes beforetheir eyes at different times and occasions, so as to form the wholeinto a distinct system. But in books everything is settled for them, without the exertion of any considerable diligence or sagacity. Forwhich reason men are wise with but little reflection, and good withlittle self-denial, in the business of all times except their own. Weare very uncorrupt and tolerably enlightened judges of the transactionsof past ages; where no passions deceive, and where the whole train ofcircumstances, from the trifling cause to the tragical event, is set inan orderly series before us. Few are the partisans of departed tyranny;and to be a Whig on the business of an hundred years ago, is veryconsistent with every advantage of present servility. This retrospectivewisdom, and historical patriotism, are things of wonderful convenience, and serve admirably to reconcile the old quarrel between speculation andpractice. Many a stern republican, after gorging himself with a fullfeast of admiration of the Grecian commonwealths and of our true Saxonconstitution, and discharging all the splendid bile of his virtuousindignation on King John and King James, sits down perfectly satisfiedto the coarsest work and homeliest job of the day he lives in. I believethere was no professed admirer of Henry the Eighth among the instrumentsof the last King James; nor in the court of Henry the Eighth was there, I dare say, to be found a single advocate for the favorites of Richardthe Second. 

No complaisance to our court, or to our age, can make me believe natureto be so changed, but that public liberty will be among us as among ourancestors, obnoxious to some person or other; and that opportunitieswill be furnished for attempting, at least, some alteration to theprejudice of our constitution. These attempts will naturally vary intheir mode according to times and circumstances. For ambition, though ithas ever the same general views, has not at all times the same means, nor the same particular objects. A great deal of the furniture ofancient tyranny is worn to rags; the rest is entirely out of fashion. Besides, there are few statesmen so very clumsy and awkward in theirbusiness, as to fall into the identical snare which has proved fatal totheir predecessors. When an arbitrary imposition is attempted upon thesubject, undoubtedly it will not bear on its forehead the name of_Ship-money_. There is no danger that an extension of the _Forest laws_should be the chosen mode of oppression in this age. And when we hearany instance of ministerial rapacity, to the prejudice of the rights ofprivate life, it will certainly not be the exaction of two hundredpullets, from a woman of fashion, for leave to lie with her ownhusband. [103]

Every age has its own manners, and its politics dependent upon them;and the same attempts will not be made against a constitution fullyformed and matured, that were used to destroy it in the cradle, or toresist its growth during its infancy. 

Against the being of Parliament, I am satisfied, no designs have everbeen entertained since the revolution. Every one must perceive, that itis strongly the interest of the court, to have some second causeinterposed between the ministers and the people. The gentlemen of theHouse of Commons have an interest equally strong in sustaining the partof that intermediate cause. However they may hire out the _usufruct_ oftheir voices, they never will part with the _fee and inheritance_. Accordingly those who have been of the most known devotion to the willand pleasure of a court have, at the same time, been most forward inasserting a high authority in the House of Commons. When they knew whowere to use that authority, and how it was to be employed, they thoughtit never could be carried too far. It must be always the wish of anunconstitutional statesman, that a House of Commons, who are entirelydependent upon him, should have every right of the people entirelydependent upon their pleasure. It was soon discovered, that the forms ofa free, and the ends of an arbitrary government, were things notaltogether incompatible. 

The power of the crown, almost dead and rotten as Prerogative, has grownup anew, with much more strength, and far less odium, under the name ofInfluence. An influence, which operated without noise and withoutviolence; an influence, which converted the very antagonist into theinstrument of power; which contained in itself a perpetual principle ofgrowth and renovation; and which the distresses and the prosperity ofthe country equally tended to augment, was an admirable substitute for aprerogative, that, being only the offspring of antiquated prejudices, had moulded in its original stamina irresistible principles of decay anddissolution. The ignorance of the people is a bottom but for a temporarysystem; the interest of active men in the state is a foundationperpetual and infallible. However, some circumstances, arising, it mustbe confessed, in a great degree from accident, prevented the effects ofthis influence for a long time from breaking out in a manner capable ofexciting any serious apprehensions. Although government was strong andflourished exceedingly, the _court_ had drawn far less advantage thanone would imagine from this great source of power. 

At the revolution, the crown, deprived, for the ends of the revolutionitself, of many prerogatives, was found too weak to struggle against allthe difficulties which pressed so new and unsettled a government. Thecourt was obliged therefore to delegate a part of its powers to men ofsuch interest as could support, and of such fidelity as would adhere to, its establishment. Such men were able to draw in a greater number to aconcurrence in the common defence. This connection, necessary at first, continued long after convenient; and properly conducted might indeed, inall situations, be an useful instrument of government. At the same time, through the intervention of men of popular weight and character, thepeople possessed a security for their just proportion of importance inthe state. But as the title to the crown grew stronger by longpossession, and by the constant increase of its influence, these helpshave of late seemed to certain persons no better than incumbrances. Thepowerful managers for government were not sufficiently submissive to thepleasure of the possessors of immediate and personal favor, sometimesfrom a confidence in their own strength, natural and acquired; sometimesfrom a fear of offending their friends, and weakening that lead in thecountry which gave them a consideration independent of the court. Menacted as if the court could receive, as well as confer, an obligation. The influence of government, thus divided in appearance between thecourt and the leaders of parties, became in many cases an accessionrather to the popular than to the royal scale; and some part of thatinfluence, which would otherwise have been possessed as in a sort ofmortmain and unalienable domain, returned again to the great ocean fromwhence it arose, and circulated among the people. This method, therefore, of governing by men of great natural interest or greatacquired consideration was viewed in a very invidious light by the truelovers of absolute monarchy. It is the nature of despotism to abhorpower held by any means but its own momentary pleasure; and toannihilate all intermediate situations between boundless strength on itsown part, and total debility on the part of the people. 

To get rid of all this intermediate and independent importance, and _tosecure to the court the unlimited and uncontrolled use of its own vastinfluence, under the sole direction of its own private favor_, has forsome years past been the great object of policy. If this werecompassed, the influence of the crown must of course produce all theeffects which the most sanguine partisans of the court could possiblydesire. Government might then be carried on without any concurrence onthe part of the people; without any attention to the dignity of thegreater, or to the affections of the lower sorts. A new project wastherefore devised by a certain set of intriguing men, totally differentfrom the system of administration which had prevailed since theaccession of the House of Brunswick. This project, I have heard, wasfirst conceived by some persons in the court of Frederick Prince ofWales. 

The earliest attempt in the execution of this design was to set up forminister, a person, in rank indeed respectable, and very ample infortune; but who, to the moment of this vast and sudden elevation, waslittle known or considered in the kingdom. To him the whole nation wasto yield an immediate and implicit submission. But whether it was fromwant of firmness to bear up against the first opposition; or that thingswere not yet fully ripened, or that this method was not found the mosteligible; that idea was soon abandoned. The instrumental part of theproject was a little altered, to accommodate it to the time and to bringthings more gradually and more surely to the one great end proposed. 

The first part of the reformed plan was to draw _a line which shouldseparate the court from the ministry_. Hitherto these names had beenlooked upon as synonymous; but for the future, court and administrationwere to be considered as things totally distinct. By this operation, twosystems of administration were to be formed; one which should be in thereal secret and confidence; the other merely ostensible to perform theofficial and executory duties of government. The latter were alone to beresponsible; whilst the real advisers, who enjoyed all the power, wereeffectually removed from all the danger. 

Secondly, _A party under these leaders was to be formed in favor of thecourt against the ministry_: this party was to have a large share in theemoluments of government, and to hold it totally separate from, andindependent of, ostensible administration. 

The third point, and that on which the success of the whole schemeultimately depended, was _to bring Parliament to an acquiescence in thisproject_. Parliament was therefore to be taught by degrees a totalindifference to the persons, rank, influence, abilities, connections, and character of the ministers of the crown. By means of a discipline, on which I shall say more hereafter, that body was to be habituated tothe most opposite interests, and the most discordant politics. Allconnections and dependencies among subjects were to be entirelydissolved. As, hitherto, business had gone through the hands of leadersof Whigs or Tories, men of talents to conciliate the people, and toengage their confidence; now the method was to be altered: and the leadwas to be given to men of no sort of consideration or credit in thecountry. This want of natural importance was to be their very title todelegated power. Members of Parliament were to be hardened into aninsensibility to pride as well as to duty. Those high and haughtysentiments, which are the great support of independence, were to be letdown gradually. Points of honor and precedence were no more to beregarded in Parliamentary decorum than in a Turkish army. It was to beavowed, as a constitutional maxim, that the king might appoint one ofhis footmen, or one of your footmen for minister; and that he ought tobe, and that he would be, as well followed as the first name for rank orwisdom in the nation. Thus Parliament was to look on as if perfectlyunconcerned, while a cabal of the closet and back-stairs was substitutedin the place of a national administration. 

With such a degree of acquiescence, any measure of any court might wellbe deemed thoroughly secure. The capital objects, and by much the mostflattering characteristics of arbitrary power, would be obtained. Everything would be drawn from its holdings in the country to thepersonal favor and inclination of the prince. This favor would be thesole introduction to power, and the only tenure by which it was to beheld; so that no person looking towards another, and all looking towardsthe court, it was impossible but that the motive which solely influencedevery man's hopes must come in time to govern every man's conduct; tillat last the servility became universal, in spite of the dead letter ofany laws or institutions whatsoever. 

How it should happen that any man could be tempted to venture upon sucha project of government, may at first view appear surprising. But thefact is that opportunities very inviting to such an attempt haveoffered; and the scheme itself was not destitute of some arguments, notwholly unplausible, to recommend it. These opportunities and thesearguments, the use that has been made of both, the plan for carryingthis new scheme of government into execution, and the effects which ithas produced, are, in my opinion, worthy of our serious consideration. 

His Majesty came to the throne of these kingdoms with more advantagesthan any of his predecessors since the revolution. Fourth in descent, and third in succession of his royal family, even the zealots ofhereditary right, in him, saw something to flatter their favoriteprejudices; and to justify a transfer of their attachments, without achange in their principles. The person and cause of the Pretender werebecome contemptible; his title disowned throughout Europe; his partydisbanded in England. His Majesty came, indeed, to the inheritance of amighty war; but, victorious in every part of the globe, peace was alwaysin his power, not to negotiate, but to dictate. No foreign habitudes orattachments withdrew him from the cultivation of his power at home. Hisrevenue for the civil establishment, fixed (as it was then thought) at alarge, but definite sum, was ample without being invidious. Hisinfluence, by additions from conquest, by an augmentation of debt, by anincrease of military and naval establishment, much strengthened andextended. And coming to the throne in the prime and full vigor of youth, as from affection there was a strong dislike, so from dread there seemedto be a general averseness, from giving anything like offence to amonarch, against whose resentment opposition could not look for a refugein any sort of reversionary hope. 

These singular advantages inspired his Majesty only with a more ardentdesire to preserve unimpaired the spirit of that national freedom, towhich he owed a situation so full of glory. But to others it suggestedsentiments of a very different nature. They thought they now beheld anopportunity (by a certain sort of statesmen never long undiscovered orunemployed) of drawing to themselves by the aggrandizement of a courtfaction, a degree of power which they could never hope to derive fromnatural influence or from honorable service; and which it was impossiblethey could hold with the least security, whilst the system ofadministration rested upon its former bottom. In order to facilitate theexecution of their design, it was necessary to make many alterations inpolitical arrangement, and a signal change in the opinions, habits, andconnections of the greatest part of those who at that time acted inpublic. 

In the first place, they proceeded gradually, but not slowly, to destroyeverything of strength which did not derive its principal nourishmentfrom the immediate pleasure of the court. The greatest weight of popularopinion and party connection were then with the Duke of Newcastle andMr. Pitt. Neither of these held their importance by the _new tenure_ ofthe court; they were not therefore thought to be so proper as others forthe services which were required by that tenure. It happened veryfavorably for the new system, that under a forced coalition thererankled an incurable alienation and disgust between the parties whichcomposed the administration. Mr. Pitt was first attacked. Not satisfiedwith removing him from power, they endeavored by various artifices toruin his character. The other party seemed rather pleased to get rid ofso oppressive a support; not perceiving, that their own fall wasprepared by his, and involved in it. Many other reasons prevented themfrom daring to look their true situation in the face. To the great Whigfamilies it was extremely disagreeable, and seemed almost unnatural, tooppose the administration of a prince of the House of Brunswick. Dayafter day they hesitated, and doubted, and lingered, expecting thatother counsels would take place; and were slow to be persuaded, that allwhich had been done by the cabal was the effect not of humor, but ofsystem. It was more strongly and evidently the interest of the new courtfaction, to get rid of the great Whig connections, than to destroy Mr. Pitt. The power of that gentleman was vast indeed and merited; but itwas in a great degree personal, and therefore transient. Theirs wasrooted in the country. For, with a good deal less of popularity, theypossessed a far more natural and fixed influence. Long possession ofgovernment; vast property; obligations of favors given and received;connection of office; ties of blood, of alliance, of friendship (thingsat that time supposed of some force); the name of Whig, dear to themajority of the people; the zeal early begun and steadily continued tothe royal family: all these together formed a body of power in thenation, which was criminal and devoted. The great ruling principle ofthe cabal, and that which animated and harmonized all their proceedings, how various soever they may have been, was to signify to the world thatthe court would proceed upon its own proper forces only; and that thepretence of bringing any other into its service was an affront to it, and not a support. Therefore when the chiefs were removed, in order togo to the root, the whole party was put under a proscription, so generaland severe, as to take their hard-earned bread from the lowest officers, in a manner which had never been known before, even in generalrevolutions. But it was thought necessary effectually to destroy alldependencies but one; and to show an example of the firmness and rigorwith which the new system was to be supported. 

Thus for the time were pulled down, in the persons of the Whig leadersand of Mr. Pitt (in spite of the services of the one at the accession ofthe royal family, and the recent services of the other in the war), the_two only securities for the importance of the people; power arisingfrom popularity; and power arising from connection_. Here and thereindeed a few individuals were left standing, who gave security for theirtotal estrangement from the odious principles of party connection andpersonal attachment; and it must be confessed that most of them havereligiously kept their faith. Such a change could not however be madewithout a mighty shock to government. 

To reconcile the minds of the people to all these movements, principlescorrespondent to them had been preached up with great zeal. Every onemust remember that the cabal set out with the most astonishing prudery, both moral and political. Those, who in a few months after soused overhead and ears into the deepest and dirtiest pits of corruption, criedout violently against the indirect practices in the electing andmanaging of Parliaments, which had formerly prevailed. This marvellousabhorrence which the court had suddenly taken to all influence, was notonly circulated in conversation through the kingdom, but pompouslyannounced to the public, with many other extraordinary things, in apamphlet[104] which had all the appearance of a manifesto preparatory tosome considerable enterprise. Throughout it was a satire, though interms managed and decent enough, on the politics of the former reign. It was indeed written with no small art and address. 

In this piece appeared the first dawning of the new system: there firstappeared the idea (then only in speculation) of _separating the courtfrom the administration_; of carrying everything from nationalconnection to personal regards; and of forming a regular party for thatpurpose, under the name of _king's men_. 

To recommend this system to the people, a perspective view of the court, gorgeously painted, and finely illuminated from within, was exhibited tothe gaping multitude. Party was to be totally done away, with all itsevil works. Corruption was to be cast down from court, as _Atè_ was fromheaven. Power was thenceforward to be the chosen residence of publicspirit; and no one was to be supposed under any sinister influence, except those who had the misfortune to be in disgrace at court, whichwas to stand in lieu of all vices and all corruptions. A scheme ofperfection to be realized in a monarchy far beyond the visionaryrepublic of Plato. The whole scenery was exactly disposed to captivatethose good souls, whose credulous morality is so invaluable a treasureto crafty politicians. Indeed there was wherewithal to charm everybody, except those few who are not much pleased with professions ofsupernatural virtue, who know of what stuff such professions are made, for what purposes they are designed, and in what they are sureconstantly to end. Many innocent gentlemen, who had been talking proseall their lives without knowing anything of the matter, began at last toopen their eyes upon their own merits, and to attribute their not havingbeen lords of the treasury and lords of trade many years before, merelyto the prevalence of party, and to the ministerial power, which hadfrustrated the good intentions of the court in favor of their abilities. Now was the time to unlock the sealed fountain of royal bounty, whichhad been infamously monopolized and huckstered, and to let it flow atlarge upon the whole people. The time was come, to restore royalty toits original splendor. _Mettre le Roy hors de page_, became a sort ofwatchword. And it was constantly in the mouths of all the runners of thecourt, that nothing could preserve the balance of the constitution frombeing overturned by the rabble, or by a faction of the nobility, but tofree the sovereign effectually from that ministerial tyranny under whichthe royal dignity had been oppressed in the person of his Majesty'sgrandfather. 

These were some of the many artifices used to reconcile the people tothe great change which was made in the persons who composed theministry, and the still greater which was made and avowed in itsconstitution. As to individuals, other methods were employed with them;in order so thoroughly to disunite every party, and even every family, that _no concert, order, or effect, might appear in any futureopposition_. And in this manner an administration without connectionwith the people, or with one another, was first put in possession ofgovernment. What good consequences followed from it, we have all seen;whether with regard to virtue, public or private; to the ease andhappiness of the sovereign; or to the real strength of government. Butas so much stress was then laid on the necessity of this new project, itwill not be amiss to take a view of the effects of this royal servitudeand vile durance, which was so deplored in the reign of the latemonarch, and was so carefully to be avoided in the reign of hissuccessor. The effects were these. 

In times full of doubt and danger to his person and family, George II. Maintained the dignity of his crown connected with the liberty of hispeople, not only unimpaired, but improved, for the space of thirty-threeyears. He overcame a dangerous rebellion, abetted by foreign force, andraging in the heart of his kingdoms; and thereby destroyed the seeds ofall future rebellion that could arise upon the same principle. Hecarried the glory, the power, the commerce of England, to a heightunknown even to this renowned nation in the times of its greatestprosperity: and he left his succession resting on the true and only truefoundations of all national and all regal greatness; affection at home, reputation abroad, trust in allies, terror in rival nations. The mostardent lover of his country cannot wish for Great Britain a happier fatethan to continue as she was then left. A people, emulous as we are inaffection to our present sovereign, know not how to form a prayer toheaven for a greater blessing upon his virtues, or a higher state offelicity and glory, than that he should live, and should reign, and whenProvidence ordains it, should die, exactly like his illustriouspredecessor. 

A great prince may be obliged (though such a thing cannot happen veryoften) to sacrifice his private inclination to his public interest. Awise prince will not think that such a restraint implies a condition ofservility; and truly, if such was the condition of the last reign, andthe effects were also such as we have described, we ought, no less forthe sake of the sovereign whom we love, than for our own, to heararguments convincing indeed, before we depart from the maxims of thatreign, or fly in the face of this great body of strong and recentexperience. 

One of the principal topics which was then, and has been since, muchemployed by that political[105] school, is an affected terror of thegrowth of an aristocratic power, prejudicial to the rights of the crown, and the balance of the constitution. Any new powers exercised in theHouse of Lords, or in the House of Commons, or by the crown, oughtcertainly to excite the vigilant and anxious jealousy of a free people. Even a new and unprecedented course of action in the whole legislature, without great and evident reason, may be a subject of just uneasiness. Iwill not affirm, that there may not have lately appeared in the House ofLords, a disposition to some attempts derogatory to the legal rights ofthe subject. If any such have really appeared, they have arisen, notfrom a power properly aristocratic, but from the same influence which ischarged with having excited attempts of a similar nature in the House ofCommons; which House, if it should have been betrayed into anunfortunate quarrel with its constituents, and involved in a charge ofthe very same nature, could have neither power nor inclination to repelsuch attempts in others. Those attempts in the House of Lords can nomore be called aristocratic proceedings, than the proceedings withregard to the county of Middlesex in the House of Commons can with anysense be called democratical. 

It is true, that the peers have a great influence in the kingdom, andin every part of the public concerns. While they are men of property, itis impossible to prevent it, except by such means as must prevent allproperty from its natural operation: an event not easily to becompassed, while property is power; nor by any means to be wished, whilethe least notion exists of the method by which the spirit of libertyacts, and of the means by which it is preserved. If any particularpeers, by their uniform, upright, constitutional conduct, by theirpublic and their private virtues, have acquired an influence in thecountry; the people, on whose favor that influence depends, and fromwhom it arose, will never be duped into an opinion, that such greatnessin a peer is the despotism of an aristocracy, when they know and feel itto be the effect and pledge of their own importance. 

I am no friend to aristocracy, in the sense at least in which that wordis usually understood. If it were not a bad habit to moot cases on thesupposed ruin of the constitution, I should be free to declare, that ifit must perish, I would rather by far see it resolved into any otherform, than lost in that austere and insolent domination. But, whatevermy dislikes may be, my fears are not upon that quarter. The question, onthe influence of a court, and of a peerage, is not, which of the twodangers is the more eligible, but which is the more imminent. He is buta poor observer, who has not seen, that the generality of peers, farfrom supporting themselves in a state of independent greatness, are buttoo apt to fall into an oblivion of their proper dignity, and to runheadlong into an abject servitude. Would to God it were true, that thefault of our peers were too much spirit. It is worthy of someobservation that these gentlemen, so jealous of aristocracy, make nocomplaints of the power of those peers (neither few nor inconsiderable)who are always in the train of a court, and whose whole weight must beconsidered as a portion of the settled influence of the crown. This isall safe and right; but if some peers (I am very sorry they are not asmany as they ought to be) set themselves, in the great concern of peersand commons, against a back-stairs influence and clandestine government, then the alarm begins; then the constitution is in danger of beingforced into an aristocracy. 

I rest a little the longer on this court topic, because it was muchinsisted upon at the time of the great change, and has been sincefrequently revived by many of the agents of that party; for, whilst theyare terrifying the great and opulent with the horrors of mob-government, they are by other managers attempting (though hitherto with littlesuccess) to alarm the people with a phantom of tyranny in the nobles. All this is done upon their favorite principle of disunion, of sowingjealousies amongst the different orders of the state, and of disjointingthe natural strength of the kingdom; that it may be rendered incapableof resisting the sinister designs of wicked men, who have engrossed theroyal power. 

Thus much of the topics chosen by the courtiers to recommend theirsystem; it will be necessary to open a little more at large the natureof that party which was formed for its support. Without this, the wholewould have been no better than a visionary amusement, like the scheme ofHarrington's political club, and not a business in which the nation hada real concern. As a powerful party, and a party constructed on a newprinciple, it is a very inviting object of curiosity. 

It must be remembered, that since the revolution, until the period weare speaking of, the influence of the crown had been always employed insupporting the ministers of state, and in carrying on the publicbusiness according to their opinions. But the party now in question isformed upon a very different idea. It is to intercept the favor, protection, and confidence of the crown in the passage to its ministers;it is to come between them and their importance in Parliament; it is toseparate them from all their natural and acquired dependencies; it isintended as the control, not the support, of administration. Themachinery of this system is perplexed in its movements, and false in itsprinciple. It is formed on a supposition that the king is somethingexternal to his government; and that he may be honored and aggrandized, even by its debility and disgrace. The plan proceeds expressly on theidea of enfeebling the regular executory power. It proceeds on the ideaof weakening the state in order to strengthen the court. The schemedepending entirely on distrust, on disconnection, on mutability byprinciple, on systematic weakness in every particular member; it isimpossible that the total result should be substantial strength of anykind. 

As a foundation of their scheme, the cabal have established a sort of_rota_ in the court. All sorts of parties, by this means, have beenbrought into administration; from whence few have had the good fortuneto escape without disgrace; none at all without considerable losses. Inthe beginning of each arrangement no professions of confidence andsupport are wanting, to induce the leading men to engage. But while theministers of the day appear in all the pomp and pride of power, whilethey have all their canvas spread out to the wind, and every sail filledwith the fair and prosperous gale of royal favor, in a short time theyfind, they know not how, a current, which sets directly against them:which prevents all progress; and even drives them backwards. They growashamed and mortified in a situation, which, by its vicinity to power, only serves to remind them the more strongly of their insignificance. They are obliged either to execute the orders of their inferiors, or tosee themselves opposed by the natural instruments of their office. Withthe loss of their dignity they lose their temper. In their turn theygrow troublesome to that cabal which, whether it supports or opposes, equally disgraces and equally betrays them. It is soon found necessaryto get rid of the heads of administration; but it is of the heads only. As there always are many rotten members belonging to the bestconnections, it is not hard to persuade several to continue in officewithout their leaders. By this means the party goes out much thinnerthan it came in; and is only reduced in strength by its temporarypossession of power. Besides, if by accident, or in course of changes, that power should be recovered, the junto have thrown up a retrenchmentof these carcasses, which may serve to cover themselves in a day ofdanger. They conclude, not unwisely, that such rotten members willbecome the first objects of disgust and resentment to their ancientconnections. 

They contrive to form in the outward administration two parties at theleast; which, whilst they are tearing one another to pieces, are bothcompetitors for the favor and protection of the cabal; and, by theiremulation, contribute to throw everything more and more into the handsof the interior managers. 

A minister of state will sometimes keep himself totally estranged fromall his colleagues; will differ from them in their councils, willprivately traverse, and publicly oppose, their measures. He will, however, continue in his employment. Instead of suffering any mark ofdispleasure, he will be distinguished by an unbounded profusion of courtrewards and caresses; because he does what is expected, and all that isexpected, from men in office. He helps to keep some form ofadministration in being, and keeps it at the same time as weak anddivided as possible. 

However, we must take care not to be mistaken, or to imagine that suchpersons have any weight in their opposition. When, by them, administration is convinced of its insignificancy, they are soon to beconvinced of their own. They never are suffered to succeed in theiropposition. They and the world are to be satisfied, that neither office, nor authority, nor property, nor ability, eloquence, counsel, skill, orunion, are of the least importance; but that the mere influence of thecourt, naked of all support, and destitute of all management, isabundantly sufficient for all its own purposes. 

When any adverse connection is to be destroyed, the cabal seldom appearin the work themselves. They find out some person of whom the partyentertains a high opinion. Such a person they endeavor to delude withvarious pretences. They teach him first to distrust, and then to quarrelwith his friends; among whom, by the same arts, they excite a similardiffidence of him; so that in this mutual fear and distrust, he maysuffer himself to be employed as the instrument in the change which isbrought about. Afterwards they are sure to destroy him in his turn, bysetting up in his place some person in whom he had himself reposed thegreatest confidence, and who serves to carry off a considerable part ofhis adherents. 

When such a person has broke in this manner with his connections, he issoon compelled to commit some flagrant act of iniquitous, personalhostility against some of them (such as an attempt to strip a particularfriend of his family estate), by which the cabal hope to render theparties utterly irreconcilable. In truth, they have so contrivedmatters, that people have a greater hatred to the subordinateinstruments than to the principal movers. 

As in destroying their enemies they make use of instruments notimmediately belonging to their corps, so in advancing their own friendsthey pursue exactly the same method. To promote any of them toconsiderable rank or emolument, they commonly take care that therecommendation shall pass through the hands of the ostensible ministry:such a recommendation might however appear to the world, as some proofof the credit of ministers, and some means of increasing their strength. To prevent this, the persons so advanced are directed, in all companies, industriously to declare, that they are under no obligations whatsoeverto administration; that they have received their office from anotherquarter; that they are totally free and independent. 

When the faction has any job of lucre to obtain, or of vengeance toperpetrate, their way is, to select, for the execution, those verypersons to whose habits, friendships, principles, and declarations, suchproceedings are publicly known to be the most adverse; at once torender the instruments the more odious, and therefore the moredependent, and to prevent the people from ever reposing a confidence inany appearance of private friendship or public principle. 

If the administration seem now and then, from remissness, or from fearof making themselves disagreeable, to suffer any popular excesses to gounpunished, the cabal immediately sets up some creature of theirs toraise a clamor against the ministers, as having shamefully betrayed thedignity of government. Then they compel the ministry to become active inconferring rewards and honors on the persons who have been theinstruments of their disgrace; and, after having first vilified themwith the higher orders for suffering the laws to sleep over thelicentiousness of the populace, they drive them (in order to make amendsfor their former inactivity) to some act of atrocious violence, whichrenders them completely abhorred by the people. They, who remember theriots which attended the Middlesex election, the opening of the presentParliament, and the transactions relative to Saint George's Fields, willnot be at a loss for an application of these remarks. 

That this body may be enabled to compass all the ends of itsinstitution, its members are scarcely ever to aim at the high andresponsible offices of the state. They are distributed with art andjudgment through all the secondary, but efficient, departments ofoffice, and through the households of all the branches of the royalfamily: so as on one hand to occupy all the avenues to the throne; andon the other to forward or frustrate the execution of any measure, according to their own interests. For with the credit and support whichthey are known to have, though for the greater part in places which areonly a genteel excuse for salary, they possess all the influence of thehighest posts; and they dictate publicly in almost everything, even witha parade of superiority. Whenever they dissent (as it often happens)from their nominal leaders, the trained part of the senate, instinctively in the secret, is sure to follow them: provided theleaders, sensible of their situation, do not of themselves recede intime from their most declared opinions. This latter is generally thecase. It will not be conceivable to any one who has not seen it, whatpleasure is taken by the cabal in rendering these heads of officethoroughly contemptible and ridiculous. And when they are become so, they have then the best chance for being well supported. 

The members of the court faction are fully indemnified for not holdingplaces on the slippery heights of the kingdom, not only by the lead inall affairs, but also by the perfect security in which they enjoy lessconspicuous, but very advantageous situations. Their places are inexpress legal tenure, or, in effect, all of them for life. Whilst thefirst and most respectable persons in the kingdom are tossed about liketennis-balls, the sport of a blind and insolent caprice, no ministerdares even to cast an oblique glance at the lowest of their body. If anattempt be made upon one of this corps, immediately he flies tosanctuary, and pretends to the most inviolable of all promises. Noconveniency of public arrangement is available to remove any one of themfrom the specific situation he holds; and the slightest attempt upon oneof them, by the most powerful minister, is a certain preliminary to hisown destruction. 

Conscious of their independence, they bear themselves with a lofty airto the exterior ministers. Like janissaries, they derive a kind offreedom from the very condition of their servitude. They may act just asthey please; provided they are true to the great ruling principle oftheir institution. It is, therefore, not at all wonderful, that peopleshould be so desirous of adding themselves to that body, in which theymay possess and reconcile satisfactions the most alluring, and seeminglythe most contradictory; enjoying at once all the spirited pleasure ofindependence, and all the gross lucre and fat emoluments of servitude. 

Here is a sketch, though a slight one, of the constitution, laws, andpolicy of this new court corporation. The name by which they choose todistinguish themselves, is that of _king's men_ or the _king's friends_, by an invidious exclusion of the rest of his Majesty's most loyal andaffectionate subjects. The whole system, comprehending the exterior andinterior administrations, is commonly called, in the technical languageof the court, _double cabinet_; in French or English, as you choose topronounce it. 

Whether all this be a vision of a distracted brain, or the invention ofa malicious heart, or a real faction in the country, must be judged bythe appearances which things have worn for eight years past. Thus far Iam certain, that there is not a single public man, in or out of office, who has not, at some time or other, borne testimony to the truth of whatI have now related. In particular, no persons have been more strong intheir assertions, and louder and more indecent in their complaints, thanthose who compose all the exterior part of the present administration;in whose time that faction has arrived at such an height of power, andof boldness in the use of it, as may, in the end, perhaps bring aboutits total destruction. 

It is true, that about four years ago, during the administration of theMarquis of Rockingham, an attempt was made to carry on governmentwithout their concurrence. However, this was only a transient cloud;they were hid but for a moment; and their constellation blazed out withgreater brightness, and a far more vigorous influence, some time afterit was blown over. An attempt was at that time made (but without anyidea of proscription) to break their corps, to discountenance theirdoctrines, to revive connections of a different kind, to restore theprinciples and policy of the Whigs, to reanimate the cause of liberty byministerial countenance; and then for the first time were men seenattached in office to every principle they had maintained in opposition. No one will doubt, that such men were abhorred and violently opposed bythe court faction, and that such a system could have but a shortduration. 

It may appear somewhat affected, that in so much discourse upon thisextraordinary party, I should say so little of the Earl of Bute, who isthe supposed head of it. But this was neither owing to affectation norinadvertence. I have carefully avoided the introduction of personalreflections of any kind. Much the greater part of the topics which havebeen used to blacken this nobleman are either unjust or frivolous. Atbest, they have a tendency to give the resentment of this bittercalamity a wrong direction, and to turn a public grievance into a mean, personal, or a dangerous national quarrel. Where there is a regularscheme of operations carried on, it is the system, and not anyindividual person who acts in it, that is truly dangerous. This systemhas not arisen solely from the ambition of Lord Bute, but from thecircumstances which favored it, and from an indifference to theconstitution which had been for some time growing among our gentry. Weshould have been tried with it, if the Earl of Bute had never existed;and it will want neither a contriving head nor active members, when theEarl of Bute exists no longer. It is not, therefore, to rail at LordBute, but firmly to embody against this court party and its practices, which can afford us any prospect of relief in our present condition. 

Another motive induces me to put the personal consideration of Lord Butewholly out of the question. He communicates very little in a directmanner with the greater part of our men of business. This has never beenhis custom. It is enough for him that he surrounds them with hiscreatures. Several imagine, therefore, that they have a very good excusefor doing all the work of this faction, when they have no personalconnection with Lord Bute. But whoever becomes a party to anadministration, composed of insulated individuals, without faithplighted, tie, or common principle; an administration constitutionallyimpotent, because supported by no party in the nation; he whocontributes to destroy the connections of men and their trust in oneanother, or in any sort to throw the dependence of public counsels uponprivate will and favor, possibly may have nothing to do with the Earl ofBute. It matters little whether he be the friend or the enemy of thatparticular person. But let him be who or what he will, he abets afaction that is driving hard to the ruin of his country. He is sappingthe foundation of its liberty, disturbing the sources of its domestictranquillity, weakening its government over its dependencies, degradingit from all its importance in the system of Europe. 

It is this unnatural infusion of a _system of favoritism_ into agovernment which in a great part of its constitution is popular, thathas raised the present ferment in the nation. The people, withoutentering deeply into its principles, could plainly perceive its effects, in much violence, in a great spirit of innovation, and a generaldisorder in all the functions of government. I keep my eye solely onthis system; if I speak of those measures which have arisen from it, itwill be so far only as they illustrate the general scheme. This is thefountain of all those bitter waters of which, through an hundreddifferent conduits, we have drunk until we are ready to burst. Thediscretionary power of the crown in the formation of ministry, abused bybad or weak men, has given rise to a system, which, without directlyviolating the letter of any law, operates against the spirit of thewhole constitution. 

A plan of favoritism for our executory government is essentially atvariance with the plan of our legislature. One great end undoubtedly ofa mixed government like ours, composed of monarchy, and of controls, onthe part of the higher people and the lower, is that the prince shallnot be able to violate the laws. This is useful indeed and fundamental. But this, even at first view, is no more than a negative advantage; anarmor merely defensive. It is therefore next in order, and equal inimportance, _that the discretionary powers which are necessarily vestedin the monarch, whether for the execution of the laws, or for thenomination to magistracy and office, or for conducting the affairs ofpeace and war, or for ordering the revenue, should all be exercised uponpublic principles and national grounds, and, not on the likings orprejudices, the intrigues or policies, of a court_. This, I said, isequal in importance to the securing a government according to law. Thelaws reach but a very little way. Constitute government how you please, infinitely the greater part of it must depend upon the exercise of thepowers which are left at large to the prudence and uprightness ofministers of state. Even all the use and potency of the laws dependsupon them. Without them, your commonwealth is no better than a schemeupon paper; and not a living, active, effective constitution. It ispossible that through negligence, or ignorance, or design artfullyconducted, ministers may suffer one part of government to languish, another to be perverted from its purposes, and every valuable interestof the country to fall into ruin and decay, without possibility offixing any single act on which a criminal prosecution can be justlygrounded. The due arrangement of men in the active part of the state, far from being foreign to the purposes of a wise government, ought to beamong its very first and dearest objects. When, therefore, the abettorsof the new system tell us, that between them and their opposers there isnothing but a struggle for power, and that therefore we are no waysconcerned in it; we must tell those who have the impudence to insult usin this manner, that, of all things, we ought to be the most concernedwho, and what sort of men they are that hold the trust of everythingthat is dear to us. Nothing can render this a point of indifference tothe nation, but what must either render us totally desperate, or sootheus into the security of idiots. We must soften into a credulity belowthe milkiness of infancy to think all men virtuous. We must be taintedwith a malignity truly diabolical to believe all the world to be equallywicked and corrupt. Men are in public life as in private, some good, some evil. The elevation of the one, and the depression of the other, are the first objects of all true policy. But that form of government, which, neither in its direct institutions, nor in their immediatetendency, has contrived to throw its affairs into the most trustworthyhands, but has left its whole executory system to be disposed ofagreeably to the uncontrolled pleasure of any one man, however excellentor virtuous, is a plan of polity defective not only in that member, butconsequentially erroneous in every part of it. 

In arbitrary governments, the constitution of the ministry follows theconstitution of the legislature. Both the law and the magistrate are thecreatures of will. It must be so. Nothing, indeed, will appear morecertain, on any tolerable consideration of this matter, than that _everysort of government ought to have its administration correspondent to itslegislature_. If it should be otherwise, things must fall into anhideous disorder. The people of a free commonwealth, who have taken suchcare that their laws should be the result of general consent, cannot beso senseless as to suffer their executory system to be composed ofpersons on whom they have no dependence, and whom no proofs of thepublic love and confidence have recommended to those powers, upon theuse of which the very being of the state depends. 

The popular election of magistrates, and popular disposition of rewardsand honors, is one of the first advantages of a free state. Without it, or something equivalent to it, perhaps the people cannot long enjoy thesubstance of freedom; certainly none of the vivifying energy of goodgovernment. The frame of our commonwealth did not admit of such anactual election: but it provided as well, and (while the spirit of theconstitution is preserved) better for all the effects of it than by themethod of suffrage in any democratic state whatsoever. It had always, until of late, been held the first duty of Parliament _to refuse tosupport government, until power was in the hands of persons who wereacceptable to the people, or while factions predominated in the court inwhich the nation had no confidence_. Thus all the good effects ofpopular election were supposed to be secured to us, without themischiefs attending on perpetual intrigue, and a distinct canvass forevery particular office throughout the body of the people. This was themost noble and refined part of our constitution. The people, by theirrepresentatives and grandees, were intrusted with a deliberative powerin making laws; the king with the control of his negative. The king wasintrusted with the deliberative choice and the election to office; thepeople had the negative in a Parliamentary refusal to support. Formerlythis power of control was what kept ministers in awe of Parliaments, andParliaments in reverence with the people. If the use of this power ofcontrol on the system and persons of administration is gone, everythingis lost, Parliament and all. We may assure ourselves, that if Parliamentwill tamely see evil men take possession of all the strongholds of theircountry, and allow them time and means to fortify themselves, under apretence of giving them a fair trial, and upon a hope of discovering, whether they will not be reformed by power, and whether their measureswill not be better than their morals; such a Parliament will givecountenance to their measures also, whatever that Parliament maypretend, and whatever those measures may be. 

Every good political institution must have a preventive operation aswell as a remedial. It ought to have a natural tendency to exclude badmen from government, and not to trust for the safety of the state tosubsequent punishment alone; punishment, which has ever been tardy anduncertain; and which, when power is suffered in bad hands, may chance tofall rather on the injured than the criminal. 

Before men are put forward into the great trusts of the state, theyought by their conduct to have obtained such a degree of estimation intheir country, as may be some sort of pledge and security to the public, that they will not abuse those trusts. It is no mean security for aproper use of power, that a man has shown by the general tenor of hisactions, that the affection, the good opinion, the confidence of hisfellow-citizens have been among the principal objects of his life; andthat he has owed none of the gradations of his power or fortune to asettled contempt, or occasional forfeiture of their esteem. 

That man who before he comes into power has no friends, or who cominginto power is obliged to desert his friends, or who losing it has nofriends to sympathize with him; he who has no sway among any part of thelanded or commercial interest, but whose whole importance has begun withhis office, and is sure to end with it, is a person who ought never tobe suffered by a controlling Parliament to continue in any of thosesituations which confer the lead and direction of all our publicaffairs; because such a man _has no connection with the interest of thepeople_. 

Those knots or cabals of men who have got together, avowedly without anypublic principle, in order to sell their conjunct iniquity at the higherrate, and are therefore universally odious, ought never to be sufferedto domineer in the state; because they have _no connection with thesentiments and opinions of the people_. 

These are considerations which in my opinion enforce the necessity ofhaving some better reason, in a free country, and a free Parliament, forsupporting the ministers of the crown, than that short one, _That theking has thought proper to appoint them_. There is something verycourtly in this. But it is a principle pregnant with all sorts ofmischief, in a constitution like ours, to turn the views of active menfrom the country to the court. Whatever be the road to power, that isthe road which will be trod. If the opinion of the country be of no useas a means of power or consideration, the qualities which usuallyprocure that opinion will be no longer cultivated. And whether it willbe right, in a state so popular in its constitution as ours, to leaveambition without popular motives, and to trust all to the operation ofpure virtue in the minds of kings, and ministers, and public men, mustbe submitted to the judgment and good sense of the people of England. 

Cunning men are here apt to break in, and, without directlycontroverting the principle, to raise objections from the difficultyunder which the sovereign labors, to distinguish the genuine voice andsentiments of his people, from the clamor of a faction, by which it isso easily counterfeited. The nation, they say, is generally divided intoparties, with views and passions utterly irreconcilable. If the kingshould put his affairs into the hands of any one of them, he is sure todisgust the rest; if he select particular men from among them all, it isa hazard that he disgusts them all. Those who are left out, howeverdivided before, will soon run into a body of opposition; which, being acollection of many discontents into one focus, will without doubt be hotand violent enough. Faction will make its cries resound through thenation, as if the whole were in an uproar, when by far the majority, andmuch the better part, will seem for a while as it were annihilated bythe quiet in which their virtue and moderation incline them to enjoy theblessings of government. Besides that the opinion of the mere vulgar isa miserable rule even with regard to themselves, on account of theirviolence and instability. So that if you were to gratify them in theirhumor to-day, that very gratification would be a ground of theirdissatisfaction on the next. Now as all these rules of public opinionare to be collected with great difficulty, and to be applied with equaluncertainty as to the effect, what better can a king of England do, thanto employ such men as he finds to have views and inclinations mostconformable to his own; who are least infected with pride and self-will;and who are least moved by such popular humors as are perpetuallytraversing his designs, and disturbing his service; trusting that, whenhe means no ill to his people, he will be supported in his appointments, whether he chooses to keep or to change, as his private judgment or hispleasure leads him? He will find a sure resource in the real weight andinfluence of the crown, when it is not suffered to become an instrumentin the hands of a faction. 

I will not pretend to say, that there is nothing at all in this mode ofreasoning; because I will not assert that there is no difficulty in theart of government. Undoubtedly the very best administration mustencounter a great deal of opposition; and the very worst will find moresupport than it deserves. Sufficient appearances will never be wantingto those who have a mind to deceive themselves. It is a fallacy inconstant use with those who would level all things, and confound rightwith wrong, to insist upon the inconveniences which are attached toevery choice, without taking into consideration the different weight andconsequence of those inconveniences. The question is not concerning_absolute_ discontent or _perfect_ satisfaction in government; neitherof which can be pure and unmixed at any time, or upon any system. Thecontroversy is about that degree of good humor in the people, which maypossibly be attained, and ought certainly to be looked for. While somepoliticians may be waiting to know whether the sense of every individualbe against them, accurately distinguishing the vulgar from the bettersort, drawing lines between the enterprises of a faction and the effortsof a people, they may chance to see the government, which they are sonicely weighing, and dividing, and distinguishing, tumble to the groundin the midst of their wise deliberation. Prudent men, when so great anobject as the security of government, or even its peace, is at stake, will not run the risk of a decision which may be fatal to it. They whocan read the political sky will see a hurricane in a cloud no biggerthan a hand at the very edge of the horizon, and will run into the firstharbor. No lines can be laid down for civil or political wisdom. Theyare a matter incapable of exact definition. But, though no man can drawa stroke between the confines of day and night, yet light and darknessare upon the whole tolerably distinguishable. Nor will it be impossiblefor a prince to find out such a mode of government, and such persons toadminister it, as will give a great degree of content to his people;without any curious and anxious research for that abstract, universal, perfect harmony, which while he is seeking, he abandons those means ofordinary tranquillity which are in his power without any research atall. 

It is not more the duty than it is the interest of a prince, to aim atgiving tranquillity to his government. But those who advise him may havean interest in disorder and confusion. If the opinion of the people isagainst them, they will naturally wish that it should have noprevalence. Here it is that the people must on their part showthemselves sensible of their own value. Their whole importance, in thefirst instance, and afterwards their whole freedom, is at stake. Theirfreedom cannot long survive their importance. Here it is that thenatural strength of the kingdom, the great peers, the leading landedgentlemen, the opulent merchants and manufacturers, the substantialyeomanry, must interpose, to rescue their prince, themselves, and theirposterity. 

We are at present at issue upon this point. We are in the great crisisof this contention; and the part which men take, one way or other, willserve to discriminate their characters and their principles. Until thematter is decided, the country will remain in its present confusion. Forwhile a system of administration is attempted, entirely repugnant to thegenius of the people, and not conformable to the plan of theirgovernment, everything must necessarily be disordered for a time, untilthis system destroys the constitution, or the constitution gets thebetter of this system. 

There is, in my opinion, a peculiar venom and malignity in thispolitical distemper beyond any that I have heard or read of. In formertimes the projectors of arbitrary government attacked only the libertiesof their country; a design surely mischievous enough to have satisfied amind of the most unruly ambition. But a system unfavorable to freedommay be so formed, as considerably to exalt the grandeur of the state;and men may find, in the pride and splendor of that prosperity, somesort of consolation for the loss of their solid privileges. Indeed theincrease of the power of the state has often been urged by artful men, as a pretext for some abridgment of the public liberty. But the schemeof the junto under consideration, not only strikes a palsy into everynerve of our free constitution, but in the same degree benumbs andstupefies the whole executive power: rendering government in all itsgrand operations languid, uncertain, ineffective; making ministersfearful of attempting, and incapable of executing any useful plan ofdomestic arrangement, or of foreign politics. It tends to produceneither the security of a free government, nor the energy of a monarchythat is absolute. Accordingly the crown has dwindled away, in proportionto the unnatural and turgid growth of this excrescence on the court. 

The interior ministry are sensible, that war is a situation which setsin its full light the value of the hearts of a people; and they wellknow, that the beginning of the importance of the people must be the endof theirs. For this reason they discover upon all occasions the utmostfear of everything, which by possibility may lead to such an event. I donot mean that they manifest any of that pious fear which is backward tocommit the safety of the country to the dubious experiment of war. Sucha fear, being the tender sensation of virtue, excited, as it isregulated, by reason, frequently shows itself in a seasonable boldness, which keeps danger at a distance, by seeming to despise it. Their fearbetrays to the first glance of the eye, its true cause, and its realobject. Foreign powers, confident in the knowledge of their character, have not scrupled to violate the most solemn treaties; and, in defianceof them, to make conquests in the midst of a general peace, and in theheart of Europe. Such was the conquest of Corsica, by the professedenemies of the freedom of mankind, in defiance of those who wereformerly its professed defenders. We have had just claims upon the samepowers: rights which ought to have been sacred to them as well as to us, as they had their origin in our lenity and generosity towards France andSpain in the day of their great humiliation. Such I call the ransom ofManilla, and the demand on France for the East India prisoners. Butthese powers put a just confidence in their resource of the _doublecabinet_. These demands (one of them at least) are hastening fasttowards an acquittal by prescription. Oblivion begins to spread hercobwebs over all our spirited remonstrances. Some of the most valuablebranches of our trade are also on the point of perishing from the samecause. I do not mean those branches which bear without the hand of thevine-dresser; I mean those which the policy of treaties had formerlysecured to us; I mean to mark and distinguish the trade of Portugal, theloss of which, and the power of the cabal, have one and the same era. 

If by any chance, the ministers who stand before the curtain possess oraffect any spirit, it makes little or no impression. Foreign courts andministers, who were among the first to discover and to profit by thisinvention of the _double cabinet_, attend very little to theirremonstrances. They know that those shadows of ministers have nothing todo in the ultimate disposal of things. Jealousies and animosities aresedulously nourished in the outward administration, and have been evenconsidered as a _causa sine qua non_ in its constitution: thence foreigncourts have a certainty, that nothing can be done by common counsel inthis nation. If one of those ministers officially takes up a businesswith spirit, it serves only the better to signalize the meanness of therest, and the discord of them all. His colleagues in office are in hasteto shake him off, and to disclaim the whole of his proceedings. Of thisnature was that astonishing transaction, in which Lord Rochford, ourambassador at Paris, remonstrated against the attempt upon Corsica, inconsequence of a direct authority from Lord Shelburne. This remonstrancethe French minister treated with the contempt that was natural: as hewas assured, from the ambassador of his court to ours, that these ordersof Lord Shelburne were not supported by the rest of the (I had like tohave said British) administration. Lord Rochford, a man of spirit, could not endure this situation. The consequences were, however, curious. He returns from Paris, and comes home full of anger. LordShelburne, who gave the orders, is obliged to give up the seals. LordRochford, who obeyed these orders, receives them. He goes, however, intoanother department of the same office, that he might not be obligedofficially to acquiesce, in one situation, under what he had officiallyremonstrated against, in another. At Paris, the Duke of Choiseulconsidered this office arrangement as a compliment to him: here it wasspoken of as an attention to the delicacy of Lord Rochford. But whetherthe compliment was to one or both, to this nation it was the same. Bythis transaction the condition of our court lay exposed in all itsnakedness. Our office correspondence has lost all pretence toauthenticity: British policy is brought into derision in those nations, that a while ago trembled at the power of our arms, whilst they lookedup with confidence to the equity, firmness, and candor, which shone inall our negotiations. I represent this matter exactly in the light inwhich it has been universally received. 

Such has been the aspect of our foreign politics, under the influence ofa _double cabinet_. With such an arrangement at court, it is impossibleit should have been otherwise. Nor is it possible that this schemeshould have a better effect upon the government of our dependencies, thefirst, the dearest, and most delicate objects, of the interior policy ofthis empire. The colonies know, that administration is separated fromthe court, divided within itself, and detested by the nation. The_double cabinet_ has, in both the parts of it, shown the most malignantdispositions towards them, without being able to do them the smallestmischief. 

They are convinced, by sufficient experience, that no plan, either oflenity, or rigor, can be pursued with uniformity and perseverance. Therefore they turn their eyes entirely from Great Britain, where theyhave neither dependence on friendship, nor apprehension from enmity. They look to themselves, and their own arrangements. They grow every dayinto alienation from this country; and whilst they are becomingdisconnected with our government, we have not the consolation to find, that they are even friendly in their new independence. Nothing can equalthe futility, the weakness, the rashness, the timidity, the perpetualcontradiction in the management of our affairs in that part of theworld. A volume might be written on this melancholy subject; but it werebetter to leave it entirely to the reflections of the reader himself, than not to treat it in the extent it deserves. 

In what manner our domestic economy is affected by this system, it isneedless to explain. It is the perpetual subject of their owncomplaints. 

The court party resolve the whole into faction Having said somethingbefore upon this subject, I shall only observe here, that, when theygive this account of the prevalence of faction, they present no veryfavorable aspect of the confidence of the people in their owngovernment. They may be assured, that however they amuse themselves witha variety of projects for substituting something else in the place ofthat great and only foundation of government, the confidence of thepeople, every attempt will but make their condition worse. When menimagine that their food is only a cover for poison, and when theyneither love nor trust the hand that serves it, it is not the name ofthe roast beef of Old England, that will persuade them to sit down tothe table that is spread for them. When the people conceive that laws, and tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are perverted from the endsof their institution, they find in those names of degeneratedestablishments only new motives to discontent. Those bodies, which, whenfull of life and beauty, lay in their arms, and were their joy andcomfort, when dead and putrid, become but the more loathsome fromremembrance of former endearments. A sullen gloom and furious disorderprevail by fits; the nation loses its relish for peace and prosperity;as it did in that season of fulness which opened our troubles in thetime of Charles the First. A species of men to whom a state of orderwould become a sentence of obscurity are nourished into a dangerousmagnitude by the heat of intestine disturbances; and it is no wonderthat, by a sort of sinister piety, they cherish, in their turn, thedisorders which are the parents of all their consequence. Superficialobservers consider such persons as the cause of the public uneasiness, when, in truth, they are nothing more than the effect of it. Good menlook upon this distracted scene with sorrow and indignation. Their handsare tied behind them. They are despoiled of all the power which mightenable them to reconcile the strength of government with the rights ofthe people. They stand in a most distressing alternative. But in theelection among evils they hope better things from temporary confusion, than from established servitude. In the mean time, the voice of law isnot to be heard. Fierce licentiousness begets violent restraints. Themilitary arm is the sole reliance; and then, call your constitution whatyou please, it is the sword that governs. The civil power, like everyother that calls in the aid of an ally stronger than itself, perishes bythe assistance it receives. But the contrivers of this scheme ofgovernment will not trust solely to the military power; because they arecunning men. Their restless and crooked spirit drives them to rake inthe dirt of every kind of expedient. Unable to rule the multitude, theyendeavor to raise divisions amongst them. One mob is hired to destroyanother; a procedure which at once encourages the boldness of thepopulace, and justly increases their discontent. Men become pensionersof state on account of their abilities in the array of riot, and thediscipline of confusion. Government is put under the disgracefulnecessity of protecting from the severity of the laws that verylicentiousness, which the laws had been before violated to repress. Everything partakes of the original disorder. Anarchy predominateswithout freedom, and servitude without submission or subordination. These are the consequences inevitable to our public peace, from thescheme of rendering the executory government at once odious and feeble;of freeing administration from the constitutional and salutary controlof Parliament, and inventing for it a _new control_, unknown to theconstitution, an _interior cabinet_; which brings the whole body ofgovernment into confusion and contempt. 

After having stated, as shortly as I am able, the effects of this systemon our foreign affairs, on the policy of our government with regard toour dependencies, and on the interior economy of the commonwealth;there remains only, in this part of my design, to say something of thegrand principle which first recommended this system at court. Thepretence was, to prevent the king from being enslaved by a faction, andmade a prisoner in his closet. This scheme might have been expected toanswer at least its own end, and to indemnify the king, in his personalcapacity, for all the confusion into which it has thrown his government. But has it in reality answered this purpose? I am sure, if it had, everyaffectionate subject would have one motive for enduring with patienceall the evils which attend it. 

In order to come at the truth in this matter, it may not be amiss toconsider it somewhat in detail. I speak here of the king, and not of thecrown; the interests of which we have already touched. Independent ofthat greatness which a king possesses merely by being a representativeof the national dignity, the things in which he may have an individualinterest seem to be these:--wealth accumulated; wealth spent inmagnificence, pleasure, or beneficence; personal respect and attention;and, above all, private ease and repose of mind. These compose theinventory of prosperous circumstances, whether they regard a prince or asubject; their enjoyments differing only in the scale upon which theyare formed. 

Suppose then we were to ask, whether the king has been richer than hispredecessors in accumulated wealth, since the establishment of the planof favoritism? I believe it will be found that the picture of royalindigence, which our court has presented until this year, has been trulyhumiliating. Nor has it been relieved from this unseemly distress, butby means which have hazarded the affection of the people, and shakentheir confidence in Parliament. If the public treasures had beenexhausted in magnificence and splendor, this distress would have beenaccounted for, and in some measure justified. Nothing would be moreunworthy of this nation, than with a mean and mechanical rule, to meteout the splendor of the crown. Indeed I have found very few personsdisposed to so ungenerous a procedure. But the generality of people, itmust be confessed, do feel a good deal mortified, when they compare thewants of the court with its expenses. They do not behold the cause ofthis distress in any part of the apparatus of royal magnificence. In allthis, they see nothing but the operations of parsimony, attended withall the consequences of profusion. Nothing expended, nothing saved. Their wonder is increased by their knowledge, that besides the revenuesettled on his Majesty's civil list to the amount of 800, 000_l. _ a year, he has a farther aid from a large pension list, near 90, 000_l. _ a year, in Ireland; from the produce of the duchy of Lancaster (which we aretold has been greatly improved); from the revenue of the duchy ofCornwall; from the American quit-rents; from the four and a half percent duty in the Leeward Islands; this last worth to be sureconsiderably more than 40, 000_l. _ a year. The whole is certainly notmuch short of a million annually. 

These are revenues within the knowledge and cognizance of our nationalcouncils. We have no direct right to examine into the receipts from hisMajesty's German dominions, and the bishopric of Osnaburg. This isunquestionably true. But that which is not within the province ofParliament, is yet within the sphere of every man's own reflection. Ifa foreign prince resided amongst us, the state of his revenues could notfail of becoming the subject of our speculation. Filled with an anxiousconcern for whatever regards the welfare of our sovereign, it isimpossible, in considering the miserable circumstances into which he hasbeen brought, that this obvious topic should be entirely passed over. There is an opinion universal, that these revenues produce something notinconsiderable, clear of all charges and establishments. This producethe people do not believe to be hoarded, nor perceive to be spent. It isaccounted for in the only manner it can, by supposing that it is drawnaway, for the support of that court faction, which, whilst it distressesthe nation, impoverishes the prince in every one of his resources. Ionce more caution the reader, that I do not urge this considerationconcerning the foreign revenue, as if I supposed we had a direct rightto examine into the expenditure of any part of it; but solely for thepurpose of showing how little this system of favoritism has beenadvantageous to the monarch himself; which, without magnificence, hassunk him into a state of unnatural poverty; at the same time that hepossessed every means of affluence, from ample revenues, both in thiscountry, and in other parts of his dominions. 

Has this system provided better for the treatment becoming his high andsacred character, and secured the king from those disgusts attached tothe necessity of employing men who are not personally agreeable? This isa topic upon which for many reasons I could wish to be silent; but thepretence of securing against such causes of uneasiness, is thecorner-stone of the court-party. It has however so happened, that if Iwere to fix upon any one point, in which this system has been moreparticularly and shamefully blamable, the effects which it has producedwould justify me in choosing for that point its tendency to degrade thepersonal dignity of the sovereign, and to expose him to a thousandcontradictions and mortifications. It is but too evident in what mannerthese projectors of royal greatness have fulfilled all their magnificentpromises. Without recapitulating all the circumstances of the reign, every one of which is, more or less, a melancholy proof of the truth ofwhat I have advanced, let us consider the language of the court but afew years ago, concerning most of the persons now in the externaladministration: let me ask, whether any enemy to the personal feelingsof the sovereign could possibly contrive a keener instrument ofmortification, and degradation of all dignity, than almost every partand member of the present arrangement? Nor, in the whole course of ourhistory, has any compliance with the will of the people ever been knownto extort from any prince a greater contradiction to all his owndeclared affections and dislikes, than that which is now adopted, indirect opposition to everything the people approve and desire. 

An opinion prevails, that greatness has been more than once advised tosubmit to certain condescensions towards individuals, which have beendenied to the entreaties of a nation. For the meanest and most dependentinstrument of this system knows, that there are hours when its existencemay depend upon his adherence to it; and he takes his advantageaccordingly. Indeed it is a law of nature, that whoever is necessary towhat we have made our object is sure, in some way, or in some time orother, to become our master. All this however is submitted to, in orderto avoid that monstrous evil of governing in concurrence with theopinion of the people. For it seems to be laid down as a maxim, that aking has some sort of interest in giving uneasiness to his subjects:that all who are pleasing to them, are to be of course disagreeable tohim: that as soon as the persons who are odious at court are known to beodious to the people, it is snatched at as a lucky occasion of showeringdown upon them all kinds of emoluments and honors. None are consideredas well-wishers to the crown, but those who advise to some unpopularcourse of action; none capable of serving it, but those who are obligedto call at every instant upon all its power for the safety of theirlives. None are supposed to be fit priests in the temple of government, but the persons who are compelled to fly into it for sanctuary. Such isthe effect of this refined project; such is ever the result of all thecontrivances, which are used to free men from the servitude of theirreason, and from the necessity of ordering their affairs according totheir evident interests. These contrivances oblige them to run into areal and ruinous servitude, in order to avoid a supposed restraint, thatmight be attended with advantage. 

If therefore this system has so ill answered its own grand pretence ofsaving the king from the necessity of employing persons disagreeable tohim, has it given more peace and tranquillity to his Majesty's privatehours? No, most certainly. The father of his people cannot possiblyenjoy repose, while his family is in such a state of distraction. Thenwhat has the crown or the king profited by all this fine-wrought scheme?Is he more rich, or more splendid, or more powerful, or more at hisease, by so many labors and contrivances? Have they not beggared hisexchequer, tarnished the splendor of his court, sunk his dignity, galledhis feelings, discomposed the whole order and happiness of his privatelife?

It will be very hard, I believe, to state in what respect the king hasprofited by that faction which presumptuously choose to call themselves_his friends_. 

If particular men had grown into an attachment, by the distinguishedhonor of the society of their sovereign; and, by being the partakers ofhis amusements, came sometimes to prefer the gratification of hispersonal inclinations to the support of his high character, the thingwould be very natural, and it would be excusable enough. But thepleasant part of the story is, that these _king's friends_ have no moreground for usurping such a title, than a resident freeholder inCumberland or in Cornwall. They are only known to their sovereign bykissing his hand, for the offices, pensions, and grants, into which theyhave deceived his benignity. May no storm ever come, which will put thefirmness of their attachment to the proof; and which, in the midst ofconfusions, and terrors, and sufferings, may demonstrate the eternaldifference between a true and severe friend to the monarchy, and aslippery sycophant of the court! _Quantum infido scurræ distabitamicus. _

So far I have considered the effect of the court system, chiefly as itoperates upon the executive government, on the temper of the people, andon the happiness of the sovereign. It remains that we should consider, with a little attention, its operation upon Parliament. 

Parliament was indeed the great object of all these politics, the endat which they aimed, as well as the instrument by which they were tooperate. But, before Parliament could be made subservient to a system, by which it was to be degraded from the dignity of a national councilinto a mere member of the court, it must be greatly changed from itsoriginal character. 

In speaking of this body, I have my eye chiefly on the House of Commons. I hope I shall be indulged in a few observations on the nature andcharacter of that assembly; not with regard to its _legal form andpower_, but to its _spirit_, and to the purposes it is meant to answerin the constitution. 

The House of Commons was supposed originally to be _no part of thestanding government of this country_. It was considered as a _control_issuing _immediately_ from the people, and speedily to be resolved intothe mass from whence it arose. In this respect it was in the higher partof government what juries are in the lower. The capacity of a magistratebeing transitory, and that of a citizen permanent, the latter capacityit was hoped would of course preponderate in all discussions, not onlybetween the people and the standing authority of the crown, but betweenthe people and the fleeting authority of the House of Commons itself. Itwas hoped that, being of a middle nature between subject and government, they would feel with a more tender and a nearer interest everything thatconcerned the people, than the other remoter and more permanent parts oflegislature. 

Whatever alterations time and the necessary accommodation of businessmay have introduced, this character can never be sustained, unless theHouse of Commons shall be made to bear some stamp of the actualdisposition of the people at large. It would (among public misfortunes)be an evil more natural and tolerable, that the House of Commons shouldbe infected with every epidemical frenzy of the people, as this wouldindicate some consanguinity, some sympathy of nature with theirconstituents, than that they should in all cases be wholly untouched bythe opinions and feelings of the people out of doors. By this want ofsympathy they would cease to be a House of Commons. For it is not thederivation of the power of that House from the people, which makes it ina distinct sense their representative. The king is the representative ofthe people; so are the lords; so are the judges. They all are trusteesfor the people, as well as the commons; because no power is given forthe sole sake of the holder; and although government certainly is aninstitution of divine authority, yet its forms, and the persons whoadminister it, all originate from the people. 

A popular origin cannot therefore be the characteristical distinction ofa popular representative. This belongs equally to all parts ofgovernment and in all forms. The virtue, spirit, and essence of a Houseof Commons consists in its being the express image of the feelings ofthe nation. It was not instituted to be a control _upon_ the people, asof late it has been taught, by a doctrine of the most pernicioustendency. It was designed as a control _for_ the people. Otherinstitutions have been formed for the purpose of checking popularexcesses; and they are, I apprehend, fully adequate to their object. Ifnot, they ought to be made so. The House of Commons, as it was neverintended for the support of peace and subordination, is miserablyappointed for that service; having no stronger weapon than its mace, and no better officer than its serjeant-at-arms, which it can command ofits own proper authority. A vigilant and jealous eye over executory andjudicial magistracy; an anxious care of public money; an openness, approaching towards facility, to public complaint: these seem to be thetrue characteristics of a House of Commons. But an addressing House ofCommons, and a petitioning nation; a House of Commons full ofconfidence, when the nation is plunged in despair; in the utmost harmonywith ministers, whom the people regard with the utmost abhorrence; whovote thanks, when the public opinion calls upon them for impeachments;who are eager to grant, when the general voice demands account; who, inall disputes between the people and administration, presume against thepeople; who punish their disorders, but refuse even to inquire into theprovocations to them; this is an unnatural, a monstrous state of thingsin this constitution. Such an assembly may be a great, wise, awfulsenate; but it is not, to any popular purpose, a House of Commons. Thischange from an immediate state of procuration and delegation to a courseof acting as from original power, is the way in which all the popularmagistracies in the world have been perverted from their purposes. It isindeed their greatest and sometimes their incurable corruption. Forthere is a material distinction between that corruption by whichparticular points are carried against reason, (this is a thing whichcannot be prevented by human wisdom, and is of loss consequence, ) andthe corruption of the principle itself For then the evil is notaccidental, but settled. The distemper becomes the natural habit. 

For my part, I shall be compelled to conclude the principle ofParliament to be totally corrupted, and therefore its ends entirelydefeated, when I see two symptoms: first, a rule of indiscriminatesupport to all ministers; because this destroys the very end ofParliament as a control, and is a general, previous sanction tomisgovernment: and secondly, the setting up any claims adverse to theright of free election; for this tends to subvert the legal authority bywhich the House of Commons sits. 

I know that, since the Revolution, along with many dangerous, manyuseful powers of government have been weakened. It is absolutelynecessary to have frequent recourse to the legislature. Parliaments musttherefore sit every year, and for great part of the year. The dreadfuldisorders of frequent elections have also necessitated a septennialinstead of a triennial duration. These circumstances, I mean theconstant habit of authority, and the unfrequency of elections, havetended very much to draw the House of Commons towards the character of astanding senate. It is a disorder which has arisen from the cure ofgreater disorders; it has arisen from the extreme difficulty ofreconciling liberty under a monarchical government, with externalstrength and with internal tranquillity. 

It is very clear that we cannot free ourselves entirely from this greatinconvenience; but I would not increase an evil, because I was not ableto remove it; and because it was not in my power to keep the House ofCommons religiously true to its first principles, I would not argue forcarrying it to a total oblivion of them. This has been the great schemeof power in our time. They, who will not conform their conduct to thepublic good, and cannot support it by the prerogative of the crown, haveadopted a new plan. They have totally abandoned the shattered andold-fashioned fortress of prerogative, and made a lodgment in thestronghold of Parliament itself. If they have any evil design to whichthere is no ordinary legal power commensurate, they bring it intoParliament. In Parliament the whole is executed from the beginning tothe end. In Parliament the power of obtaining their object is absolute;and the safety in the proceeding perfect: no rules to confine, noafter-reckonings to terrify. Parliament cannot, with any greatpropriety, punish others for things in which they themselves have beenaccomplices. Thus the control of Parliament upon the executory power islost; because Parliament is made to partake in every considerable act ofgovernment. _Impeachment, that great guardian of the purity of theconstitution, is in danger of being lost, even to the idea of it. _

By this plan several important ends are answered to the cabal. If theauthority of Parliament supports itself, the credit of every act ofgovernment, which they contrive, is saved; but if the act be so veryodious that the whole strength of Parliament is insufficient torecommend it, then Parliament is itself discredited; and this discreditincreases more and more that indifference to the constitution, which itis the constant aim of its enemies, by their abuse of Parliamentarypowers, to render general among the people. Whenever Parliament ispersuaded to assume the offices of executive government, it will loseall the confidence, love, and veneration, which it has ever enjoyedwhilst it was supposed the _corrective and control_ of the acting powersof the state. This would be the event, though its conduct in such aperversion of its functions should be tolerably just and moderate; butif it should be iniquitous, violent, full of passion, and full offaction, it would be considered as the most intolerable of all the modesof tyranny. 

For a considerable time this separation of the representatives fromtheir constituents went on with a silent progress; and had those, whoconducted the plan for their total separation, been persons of temperand abilities any way equal to the magnitude of their design, thesuccess would have been infallible: but by their precipitancy they havelaid it open in all its nakedness; the nation is alarmed at it: and theevent may not be pleasant to the contrivers of the scheme. In the lastsession, the corps called the _king's friends_ made a hardy attempt, allat once, _to alter the right of election itself_; to put it into thepower of the House of Commons to disable any person disagreeable to themfrom sitting in Parliament, without any other rule than their ownpleasure; to make incapacities, either general for descriptions of men, or particular for individuals; and to take into their body, persons whoavowedly had never been chosen by the majority of legal electors, noragreeably to any known rule of law. 

The arguments upon which this claim was founded and combated, are not mybusiness here. Never has a subject been more amply and more learnedlyhandled, nor upon one side, in my opinion, more satisfactorily; they whoare not convinced by what is already written would not receiveconviction _though, one arose from the dead_. 

I too have thought on this subject: but my purpose here, is only toconsider it as a part of the favorite project of government; to observeon the motives which led to it; and to trace its political consequences. 

A violent rage for the punishment of Mr. Wilkes was the pretence of thewhole. This gentleman, by setting himself strongly in opposition to thecourt cabal, had become at once an object of their persecution, and ofthe popular favor. The hatred of the court party pursuing, and thecountenance of the people protecting him, it very soon became not at alla question on the man, but a trial of strength between the two parties. The advantage of the victory in this particular contest was the present, but not the only, nor by any means the principal object. Its operationupon the character of the House of Commons was the great point in view. The point to be gained by the cabal was this; that a precedent should beestablished, tending to show, _That the favor of the people was not sosure a road as the favor of the court even to popular honors and populartrusts_. A strenuous resistance to every appearance of lawless power; aspirit of independence carried to some degree of enthusiasm; aninquisitive character to discover, and a bold one to display, everycorruption and every error of government; these are the qualities whichrecommend a man to a seat in the House of Commons, in open and merelypopular elections. An indolent and submissive disposition; a dispositionto think charitably of all the actions of men in power, and to live in amutual intercourse of favors with them; an inclination rather tocountenance a strong use of authority, than to bear any sort oflicentiousness on the part of the people; these are unfavorablequalities in an open election for members of Parliament. 

The instinct which carries the people towards the choice of the former, is justified by reason; because a man of such a character, even in itsexorbitances, does not directly contradict the purposes of a trust, theend of which is a control on power. The latter character, even when itis not in its extreme, will execute this trust but very imperfectly;and, if deviating to the least excess, will certainly frustrate insteadof forwarding the purposes of a control on government. But when theHouse of Commons was to be new modelled, this principle was not only tobe changed but reversed. Whilst any errors committed in support of powerwere left to the law, with every advantage of favorable construction, ofmitigation, and finally of pardon; all excesses on the side of liberty, or in pursuit of popular favor, or in defence of popular rights andprivileges, were not only to be punished by the rigor of the known law, but by a _discretionary_ proceeding, which brought on _the loss of thepopular object itself_. Popularity was to be rendered, if not directlypenal, at least highly dangerous. The favor of the people might leadeven to a disqualification of representing them. Their odium mightbecome, strained through the medium of two or three constructions, themeans of sitting as the trustee of all that was dear to them. This ispunishing the offence in the offending part. Until this time, theopinion of the people, through the power of an assembly, still in somesort popular, led to the greatest honors and emoluments in the gift ofthe crown. Now the principle is reversed; and the favor of the court isthe only sure way of obtaining and holding those honors which ought tobe in the disposal of the people. 

It signifies very little how this matter may be quibbled away. Example, the only argument of effect in civil life, demonstrates the truth of myproposition. Nothing can alter my opinion concerting the pernicioustendency of this example, until I see some man for his indiscretion inthe support of power, for his violent and intemperate servility, rendered incapable of sitting in Parliament. For as it now stands, thefault of overstraining popular qualities, and, irregularly if youplease, asserting popular privileges, has led to disqualification; theopposite fault never has produced the slightest punishment. Resistanceto power has shut the door of the House of Commons to one man;obsequiousness and servility, to none. 

Not that I would encourage popular disorder, or any disorder. But Iwould leave such offences to the law, to be punished in measure andproportion. The laws of this country are for the most part constituted, and wisely so, for the general ends of government, rather than for thepreservation of our particular liberties. Whatever therefore is done insupport of liberty, by persons not in public trust, or not acting merelyin that trust, is liable to be more or less out of the ordinary courseof the law; and the law itself is sufficient to animadvert upon it withgreat severity. Nothing indeed can hinder that severe letter fromcrushing us, except the temperaments it may receive from a trial byjury. But if the habit prevails of _going beyond the law_, andsuperseding this judicature, of carrying offences, real or supposed, into the legislative bodies, who shall establish themselves into _courtsof criminal equity_ (so the _Star Chamber_ has been called by LordBacon), all the evils of the _Star Chamber_ are revived. A large andliberal construction in ascertaining offences, and a discretionarypower in punishing them, is the idea of _criminal equity_; which is intruth a monster in jurisprudence. It signifies nothing whether a courtfor this purpose be a committee of council, or a House of Commons, or aHouse of Lords; the liberty of the subject will be equally subverted byit. The true end and purpose of that House of Parliament, whichentertains such a jurisdiction, will be destroyed by it. 

I will not believe, what no other man living believes, that Mr. Wilkeswas punished for the indecency of his publications, or the impiety ofhis ransacked closet. If he had fallen in a common slaughter oflibellers and blasphemers, I could well believe that nothing more wasmeant than was pretended. But when I see, that, for years together, fullas impious, and perhaps more dangerous writings to religion, and virtue, and order, have not been punished, nor their authors discountenanced;that the most audacious libels on royal majesty have passed withoutnotice; that the most treasonable invectives against the laws, liberties, and constitution of the country, have not met with theslightest animadversion; I must consider this as a shocking andshameless pretence. Never did an envenomed scurrility against everythingsacred and civil, public and private, rage through the kingdom with sucha furious and unbridled license. All this while the peace of the nationmust be shaken, to ruin one libeller, and to tear from the populace asingle favorite. 

Nor is it that vice merely skulks in an obscure and contemptibleimpunity. Does not the public behold with indignation, persons not onlygenerally scandalous in their lives, but the identical persons who, bytheir society, their instruction, their example, their encouragement, have drawn this man into the very faults which have furnished the cabalwith a pretence for his persecution, loaded with every kind of favor, honor, and distinction, which a court can bestow? Add but the crime ofservility (the _foedum crimen servitutis_) to every other crime, and thewhole mass is immediately transmuted into virtue, and becomes the justsubject of reward and honor. When therefore I reflect upon this methodpursued by the cabal in distributing rewards and punishments, I mustconclude that Mr. Wilkes is the object of persecution, not on account ofwhat he has done in common with others who are the objects of reward, but for that in which he differs from many of them: that he is pursuedfor the spirited dispositions which are blended with his vices; for hisunconquerable firmness, for his resolute, indefatigable, strenuousresistance against oppression. 

In this case, therefore, it was not the man that was to be punished, norhis faults that were to be discountenanced. Opposition to acts of powerwas to be marked by a kind of civil proscription. The popularity whichshould arise from such an opposition was to be shown unable to protectit. The qualities by which court is made to the people, were to renderevery fault inexpiable, and every error irretrievable. The qualities bywhich court is made to power, were to cover and to sanctify everything. He that will have a sure and honorable seat in the House of Commons musttake care how he adventures to cultivate popular qualities; otherwise hemay remember the old maxim, _Breves et infaustos populi Romani amores_. If, therefore, a pursuit of popularity expose a man to greater dangersthan a disposition to servility, the principle which is the life andsoul of popular elections will perish out of the constitution. 

It behoves the people of England to consider how the House of Commons, under the operation of these examples, must of necessity be constituted. On the side of the court will be, all honors, offices, emoluments; everysort of personal gratification to avarice or vanity; and, what is ofmore moment to most gentlemen, the means of growing, by innumerablepetty services to individuals, into a spreading interest in theircountry. On the other hand, let us suppose a person unconnected with thecourt, and in opposition to its system. For his own person, no office, or emolument, or title; no promotion, ecclesiastical, or civil, ormilitary, or naval, for children, or brothers, or kindred. In vain anexpiring interest in a borough calls for offices, or small livings, forthe children of mayors, and aldermen, and capital burgesses. His courtrival has them all. He can do an infinite number of acts of generosityand kindness, and even of public spirit. He can procure indemnity fromquarters. He can procure advantages in trade. He can get pardons foroffences. He can obtain a thousand favors, and avert a thousand evils. He may, while he betrays every valuable interest of the kingdom, be abenefactor, a patron, a father, a guardian angel to his borough. Theunfortunate independent member has nothing to offer, but harsh refusal, or pitiful excuse, or despondent representation of a hopeless interest. Except from his private fortune, in which he may be equalled, perhapsexceeded, by his court competitor, he has no way of showing any one goodquality, or of making a single friend. In the House, he votes forever ina dispirited minority. If he speaks, the doors are locked. A body ofloquacious placemen go out to tell the world that all he aims at is toget into office. If he has not the talent of elocution, which is thecase of many as wise and knowing men as any in the House, he is liableto all these inconveniences, without the _éclat_ which attends upon anytolerably successful exertion of eloquence. Can we conceive a morediscouraging post of duty than this? Strip it of the poor reward ofpopularity; suffer even the excesses committed in defence of the popularinterest to become a ground for the majority of that House to form adisqualification out of the line of the law, and at their pleasure, attended not only with the loss of the franchise, but with every kind ofpersonal disgrace. --If this shall happen, the people of this kingdom maybe assured that they cannot be firmly or faithfully served by any man. It is out of the nature of men and things that they should; and theirpresumption will be equal to their folly if they expect it. The power ofthe people, within the laws, must show itself sufficient to protectevery representative in the animated performance of his duty, or thatduty cannot be performed. The House of Commons can never be a control onother parts of government, unless they are controlled themselves bytheir constituents; and unless those constituents possess some right inthe choice of that House, which it is not in the power of that House totake away. If they suffer this power of arbitrary incapacitation tostand, they have utterly perverted every other power of the House ofCommons. The late proceeding I will not say _is_ contrary to law; it_must_ be so; for the power which is claimed cannot, by any possibility, be a legal power in any limited member of government. 

The power which they claim, of declaring incapacities, would not beabove the just claims of a final judicature, if they had not laid itdown as a leading principle, that they had no rule in the exercise ofthis claim, but their own _discretion_. Not one of their abettors hasever undertaken to assign the principle of unfitness, the species ordegree of delinquency, on which the House of Commons will expel, nor themode of proceeding upon it, nor the evidence upon which it isestablished. The direct consequence of which is, that the firstfranchise of an Englishman, and that on which all the rest vitallydepend, is to be forfeited for some offence which no man knows, andwhich is to be proved by no known rule whatsoever of legal evidence. This is so anomalous to our whole constitution, that I will venture tosay, the most trivial right, which the subject claims, never was, norcan be, forfeited in such a manner. 

The whole of their usurpation is established upon this method ofarguing. We do not _make_ laws. No; we do not contend for this power. Weonly _declare_ law; and as we are a tribunal both competent and supreme, what we declare to be law becomes law, although it should not have beenso before. Thus the circumstance of having no _appeal_ from theirjurisdiction is made to imply that they have no _rule_ in the exerciseof it: the judgment does not derive its validity from its conformity tothe law; but preposterously the law is made to attend on the judgment;and the rule of the judgment is no other than the _occasional will ofthe House_. An arbitrary discretion leads, legality follows; which isjust the very nature and description of a legislative act. 

This claim in their hands was no barren theory. It was pursued into itsutmost consequences; and a dangerous principle has begot a correspondentpractice. A systematic spirit has been shown upon both sides. Theelectors of Middlesex chose a person whom the House of Commons had votedincapable; and the House of Commons has taken in a member whom theelectors of Middlesex had not chosen. By a construction on thatlegislative power which had been assumed, they declared that the truelegal sense of the country was contained in the minority, on thatoccasion; and might, on a resistance to a vote of incapacity, becontained in any minority. 

When any construction of law goes against the spirit of the privilege itwas meant to support, it is a vicious construction. It is material to usto be represented really and _bonâ fide_, and not in forms, in types, and shadows, and fictions of law. The right of election was notestablished merely as a _matter of form_, to satisfy some method andrule of technical reasoning; it was not a principle which mightsubstitute a _Titius_ or a _Mævius_, a _John Doe_ or _Richard Roe_, inthe place of a man specially chosen; not a principle which was just aswell satisfied with one man as with another. It is a right, the effectof which is to give to the people that man, and _that man only_, whom, by their voices actually, not constructively given, they declare thatthey know, esteem, love, and trust. This right is a matter within theirown power of judging and feeling; not an _ens rationis_ and creature oflaw: nor can those devices, by which anything else is substituted in theplace of such an actual choice, answer in the least degree the end ofrepresentation. 

I know that the courts of law have made as strained constructions inother cases. Such is the construction in common recoveries. The methodof construction which in that case gives to the persons in remainder, for their security and representative, the door-keeper, crier, orsweeper of the court, or some other shadowy being without substance oreffect, is a fiction of a very coarse texture. This was however sufferedby the acquiescence of the whole kingdom, for ages; because the evasionof the old statute of Westminster, which authorized perpetuities, hadmore sense and utility than the law which was evaded. But an attempt toturn the right of election into such a farce and mockery as a fictitiousfine and recovery, will, I hope, have another fate; because the lawswhich give it are infinitely dear to us, and the evasion is infinitelycontemptible. 

The people indeed have been told, that this power of discretionarydisqualification is vested in hands that they may trust, and who will besure not to abuse it to their prejudice. Until I find something in thisargument differing from that on which every mode of despotism has beendefended, I shall not be inclined to pay it any great compliment. Thepeople are satisfied to trust themselves with the exercise of their ownprivileges, and do not desire this kind intervention of the House ofCommons to free them from the burden. They are certainly in the right. They ought not to trust the House of Commons with a power over theirfranchises; because the constitution, which placed two other co-ordinatepowers to control it, reposed no such confidence in that body. It were afolly well deserving servitude for its punishment, to be full ofconfidence where the laws are full of distrust; and to give to a Houseof Commons, arrogating to its sole resolution the most harsh and odiouspart of legislative authority, that degree of submission which is dueonly to the legislature itself. 

When the House of Commons, in an endeavor to obtain new advantages atthe expense of the other orders of the state, for the benefit of the_commons at large_, have pursued strong measures; if it were not just, it was at least natural, that the constituents should connive at alltheir proceedings; because we were ourselves ultimately to profit. Butwhen this submission is urged to us, in a contest between therepresentatives and ourselves, and where nothing can be put into theirscale which is not taken from ours, they fancy us to be children whenthey tell us they are our representatives, our own flesh and blood, andthat all the stripes they give us are for our good. The very desire ofthat body to have such a trust contrary to law reposed in them, showsthat they are not worthy of it. They certainly will abuse it; becauseall men possessed of an uncontrolled discretionary power leading to theaggrandizement and profit of their own body have always abused it: and Isee no particular sanctity in our times, that is at all likely, by amiraculous operation, to overrule the course of nature. 

But we must purposely shut our eyes, if we consider this matter merelyas a contest between the House of Commons and the electors. The truecontest is between the electors of the kingdom and the crown; the crownacting by an instrumental House of Commons. It is precisely the same, whether the ministers of the crown can disqualify by a dependent Houseof Commons, or by a dependent Court of _Star Chamber_, or by a dependentCourt of King's Bench If once members of Parliament can be practicallyconvinced that they do not depend on the affection or opinion of thepeople for their political being, they will give themselves over, without even an appearance of reserve, to the influence of the court. 

Indeed a Parliament unconnected with the people is essential to aministry unconnected with the people; and therefore those who sawthrough what mighty difficulties the interior ministry waded, and theexterior were dragged, in this business, will conceive of whatprodigious importance, the new corps of _king's men_ held this principleof occasional and personal incapacitation, to the whole body of theirdesign. 

When the House of Commons was thus made to consider itself as the masterof its constituents, there wanted but one thing to secure that Houseagainst all possible future deviation towards popularity: an _unlimited_fund of money to be laid out according to the pleasure of the court. 

To complete the scheme of bringing our court to a resemblance to theneighboring monarchies, it was necessary, in effect, to destroy thoseappropriations of revenue, which seem to limit the property, as theother laws had done the powers, of the crown. An opportunity for thispurpose was taken, upon an application to Parliament for payment of thedebts of the civil list; which in 1769 had amounted to 513, 000_l. _ Suchapplication had been made upon former occasions; but to do it in theformer manner would by no means answer the present purpose. 

Whenever the crown had come to the commons to desire a supply for thedischarging of debts due on the civil list, it was always asked andgranted with one of the three following qualifications; sometimes withall of them. Either it was stated, that the revenue had been divertedfrom its purposes by Parliament; or that those duties had fallen shortof the sum for which they were given by Parliament, and that theintention of the legislature had not been fulfilled; or that the moneyrequired to discharge the civil list debt was to be raised chargeable onthe civil list duties. In the reign of Queen Anne, the crown was foundin debt. The lessening and granting away some part of her revenue byParliament was alleged as the cause of that debt, and pleaded as anequitable ground, such it certainly was, for discharging it. It does notappear that the duties which were then applied to the ordinarygovernment produced clear above 580, 000_l. _ a year; because, when theywere afterwards granted to George the First, 120, 000_l. _ was added tocomplete the whole to 700, 000_l. _ a year. Indeed it was then asserted, and, I have no doubt, truly, that for many years the net produce did notamount to above 550, 000_l. _ The queen's extraordinary charges werebesides very considerable; equal, at least, to any we have known in ourtime. The application to Parliament was not for an absolute grant ofmoney; but to empower the queen to raise it by borrowing upon the civillist funds. 

The civil list debt was twice paid in the reign of George the First. Themoney was granted upon the same plan which had been followed in thereign of Queen Anne. The civil list revenues were then mortgaged for thesum to be raised, and stood charged with the ransom of their owndeliverance. 

George the Second received an addition to his civil list. Duties weregranted for the purpose of raising 800, 000_l. _ a year. It was not untilhe had reigned nineteen years, and after the last rebellion, that hecalled upon Parliament for a discharge of the civil list debt. Theextraordinary charges brought on by the rebellion, account fully for thenecessities of the crown. However, the extraordinary charges ofgovernment were not thought a ground fit to be relied on. 

A deficiency of the civil list duties for several years before wasstated as the principal, if not the sole ground on which an applicationto Parliament could be justified. About this time the produce of theseduties had fallen pretty low; and even upon an average of the wholereign they never produced 800, 000_l. _ a year clear to the treasury. 

That prince reigned fourteen years afterwards: not only no new demandswere made; but with so much good order were his revenues and expensesregulated, that, although many parts of the establishment of the courtwere upon a larger and more liberal scale than they have been since, there was a considerable sum in hand, on his decease, amounting to about170, 000_l. _ applicable to the service of the civil list of his presentMajesty. So that, if this reign commenced with a greater charge thanusual, there was enough and more than enough, abundantly to supply allthe extraordinary expense. That the civil list should have been exceededin the two former reigns, especially in the reign of George the First, was not at all surprising. His revenue was but 700, 000_l. _ annually; ifit ever produced so much clear. The prodigious and dangerousdisaffection to the very being of the establishment, and the cause of apretender then powerfully abetted from abroad, produced many demands ofan extraordinary nature both abroad and at home. Much management andgreat expenses were necessary. But the throne of no prince has stoodupon more unshaken foundations than that of his present Majesty. 

To have exceeded the sum given for the civil list, and to have incurreda debt without special authority of Parliament, was _prima facie_, acriminal act: as such, ministers ought naturally rather to havewithdrawn it from the inspection, than to have exposed it to thescrutiny of Parliament. Certainly they ought, of themselves, officiallyto have come armed with every sort of argument, which, by explaining, could excuse, a matter in itself of presumptive guilt. But the terrorsof the House of Commons are no longer for ministers. 

On the other hand, the peculiar character of the House of Commons, astrustee of the public purse, would have led them to call with apunctilious solicitude for every public account, and to have examinedinto them with the most rigorous accuracy. 

The capital use of an account is, that the reality of the charge, thereason of incurring it, and the justice and necessity of discharging it, should all appear antecedent to the payment. No man ever pays first, andcalls for his account afterwards; because he would thereby let out ofhis hands the principal, and indeed only effectual, means of compellinga full and fair one. But, in national business, there is an additionalreason for a previous production of every account. It is a check, perhaps the only one, upon a corrupt and prodigal use of public money. An account after payment is to no rational purpose an account. However, the House of Commons thought all these to be antiquated principles:they were of opinion, that the most Parliamentary way of proceeding was, to pay first what the court thought proper to demand, and to take itschance for an examination into accounts at some time of greater leisure. 

The nation had settled 800, 000_l. _ a year on the crown, as sufficientfor the support of its dignity, upon the estimate of its own ministers. When ministers came to Parliament, and said that this allowance had notbeen sufficient for the purpose, and that they had incurred a debt of500, 000_l. _, would it not have been natural for Parliament first to haveasked how, and by what means, their appropriated allowance came to beinsufficient? Would it not have savored of some attention to justice, tohave seen in what periods of administration this debt had beenoriginally incurred; that they might discover, and if need were, animadvert on the persons who were found the most culpable? To put theirhands upon such articles of expenditure as they thought improper orexcessive, and to secure, in future, against such misapplication orexceeding? Accounts for any other purposes are but a matter ofcuriosity, and no genuine Parliamentary object. All the accounts whichcould answer any Parliamentary end were refused, or postponed byprevious questions. Every idea of prevention was rejected, as conveyingan improper suspicion of the ministers of the crown. 

When every loading account had been refused, many others were grantedwith sufficient facility. 

But with great candor also, the House was informed, that hardly any ofthem could be ready until the next session; some of them perhaps not sosoon. But, in order firmly to establish the precedent of _paymentprevious to account_, and to form it into a settled rule of the House, the god in the machine was brought down, nothing less than thewonder-working _law of Parliament_. It was alleged, that it is the lawof Parliament, when any demand comes from the crown, that the House mustgo immediately into the committee of supply; in which committee it wasallowed, that the production and examination of accounts would be quiteproper and regular. It was therefore carried, that they should go intothe committee without delay, and without accounts, in order to examinewith great order and regularity things that could not possibly comebefore them. After this stroke of orderly and Parliamentary wit andhumor, they went into the committee; and very generously voted thepayment. 

There was a circumstance in that debate too remarkable to be overlooked. This debt of the civil list was all along argued upon the same footingas a debt of the state, contracted upon national authority. Its paymentwas urged as equally pressing upon the public faith and honor; and whenthe whole year's account was stated, in what is called _the budget_, theministry valued themselves on the payment of so much public debt, justas if they had discharged 500, 000_l. _ of navy or exchequer bills. Though, in truth, their payment, from the sinking fund, of debt whichwas never contracted by Parliamentary authority, was, to all intents andpurposes, so much debt incurred. But such is the present notion ofpublic credit, and payment of debt. No wonder that it produces sucheffects. 

Nor was the House at all more attentive to a provident security againstfuture, than it had been to a vindictive retrospect to pastmismanagements. I should have thought indeed that a ministerial promise, during their own continuance in office, might have been given, thoughthis would have been but a poor security for the public. Mr. Pelham gavesuch an assurance, and he kept his word. But nothing was capable ofextorting from our ministers anything which had the least resemblance toa promise of confining the expenses of the civil list within the limitswhich had been settled by Parliament. This reserve of theirs I look uponto be equivalent to the clearest declaration, that they were resolvedupon a contrary course. 

However, to put the matter beyond all doubt, in the speech from thethrone, after thanking Parliament for the relief so liberally granted, the ministers inform the two Houses, that they will _endeavor_ toconfine the expenses of the civil government--within what limits, thinkyou? those which the law had prescribed? Not in the least--"such limitsas the _honor of the crown_ can possibly admit. "

Thus they established an _arbitrary_ standard for that dignity whichParliament had defined and limited to a _legal_ standard. They gavethemselves, under the lax and indeterminate idea of the _honor of thecrown_, a full loose for all manner of dissipation, and all manner ofcorruption. This arbitrary standard they were not afraid to hold out toboth Houses; while an idle and unoperative act of Parliament, estimatingthe dignity of the crown at 800, 000_l. _ and confining it to that sum, adds to the number of obsolete statutes which load the shelves oflibraries, without any sort of advantage to the people. 

After this proceeding, I suppose that no man can be so weak as to thinkthat the crown is limited to any settled allowance whatsoever. For ifthe ministry has 800, 000_l. _ a year by the law of the land; and if bythe law of Parliament all the debts which exceed it are to be paidpreviously to the production of any account; I presume that this isequivalent to an income with no other limits than the abilities of thesubject and the moderation of the court; that is to say, it is such anincome as is possessed by every absolute monarch in Europe. It amounts, as a person of great ability said in the debate, to an unlimited powerof drawing upon the sinking fund. Its effect on the public credit ofthis kingdom must be obvious; for in vain is the sinking fund the greatbuttress of all the rest, if it be in the power of the ministry toresort to it for the payment of any debts which they may choose toincur, under the name of the civil list, and through the medium of acommittee, which thinks itself obliged by law to vote supplies withoutany other account than that of the mere existence of the debt. 

Five hundred thousand pounds is a serious sum. But it is nothing to theprolific principle upon which the sum was voted: a principle that may bewell called, _the fruitful mother of an hundred more_. Neither is thedamage to public credit of very great consequence, when compared withthat which results to public morals and to the safety of theconstitution, from the exhaustless mine of corruption opened by theprecedent, and to be wrought by the principle, of the late payment ofthe debts of the civil list. The power of discretionary disqualificationby one law of Parliament, and the necessity of paying every debt of thecivil list by another law of Parliament, if suffered to pass unnoticed, must establish such a fund of rewards and terrors as will makeParliament the best appendage and support of arbitrary power that everwas invented by the wit of man. This is felt. The quarrel is begunbetween the representatives and the people. The court faction have atlength committed them. 

In such a strait the wisest may well be perplexed, and the boldeststaggered. The circumstances are in a great measure new. We have hardlyany landmarks from the wisdom of our ancestors, to guide us. At best wecan only follow the spirit of their proceeding in other cases. I knowthe diligence with which my observations on our public disorders havebeen made; I am very sure of the integrity of the motives on which theyare published; I cannot be equally confident in any plan for theabsolute cure of those disorders, or for their certain futureprevention. My aim is to bring this matter into more public discussion. Let the sagacity of others work upon it. It is not uncommon for medicalwriters to describe histories of diseases very accurately, on whose curethey can say but very little. 

The first ideas which generally suggest themselves, for the cure ofParliamentary disorders, are, to shorten the duration of Parliaments;and to disqualify all, or a great number of placemen, from a seat in theHouse of Commons. Whatever efficacy there may be in those remedies, I amsure in the present state of things it is impossible to apply them. Arestoration of the right of free election is a preliminary indispensableto every other reformation. What alterations ought afterwards to be madein the constitution, is a matter of deep and difficult research. 

If I wrote merely to please the popular palate, it would indeed be aslittle troublesome to me as to another, to extol these remedies, sofamous in speculation, but to which their greatest admirers have neverattempted seriously to resort in practice. I confess then, that I haveno sort of reliance upon either a triennial Parliament, or a place-bill. With regard to the former, perhaps it might rather serve to counteract, than to promote the ends that are proposed by it. To say nothing of thehorrible disorders among the people attending frequent elections, Ishould be fearful of committing, every three years, the independentgentlemen of the country into a contest with the treasury. It is easy tosee which of the contending parties would be ruined first. Whoever hastaken a careful view of public proceedings, so as to endeavor to groundhis speculations on his experience, must have observed how prodigiouslygreater the power of ministry is in the first and last session of aParliament, than it is in the intermediate period, when members sit alittle firm on their seats. The persons of the greatest Parliamentaryexperience, with whom I have conversed, did constantly, in canvassingthe fate of questions, allow something to the court side, upon accountof the elections depending or imminent. The evil complained of, if itexists in the present state of things, would hardly be removed by atriennial Parliament: for, unless the influence of government inelections can be entirely taken away, the more frequently they return, the more they will harass private independence; the more generally menwill be compelled to fly to the settled systematic interest ofgovernment, and to the resources of a boundless civil list. Certainlysomething may be done, and ought to be done, towards lessening thatinfluence in elections; and this will be necessary upon a plan eitherof longer or shorter duration of Parliament. But nothing can soperfectly remove the evil, as not to render such contentions, toofrequently repeated, utterly ruinous, first to independence of fortune, and then to independence of spirit. As I am only giving an opinion onthis point, and not at all debating it in an adverse line, I hope I maybe excused in another observation. With great truth I may aver, that Inever remember to have talked on this subject with any man muchconversant with public business, who considered short Parliaments as areal improvement of the constitution. Gentlemen, warm in a popularcause, are ready enough to attribute all the declarations of suchpersons to corrupt motives. But the habit of affairs, if, on one hand, it tends to corrupt the mind, furnishes it, on the other, with the meansof better information. The authority of such persons will always havesome weight. It may stand upon a par with the speculations of those whoare less practised in business; and who, with perhaps purer intentions, have not so effectual means of judging. It is besides an effect ofvulgar and puerile malignity to imagine, that every statesman is ofcourse corrupt; and that his opinion, upon every constitutional point, is solely formed upon some sinister interest. 

The next favorite remedy is a place-bill. The same principle guides inboth; I mean, the opinion which is entertained by many, of theinfallibility of laws and regulations, in the cure of public distempers. Without being as unreasonably doubtful as many are unwisely confident, Iwill only say, that this also is a matter very well worthy of seriousand mature reflection. It is not easy to foresee, what the effect wouldbe, of disconnecting with Parliament the greatest part of those who holdcivil employments, and of such mighty and important bodies as themilitary and naval establishments. It were better, perhaps, that theyshould have a corrupt interest in the forms of the constitution, thanthat they should have none at all. This is a question altogetherdifferent from the disqualification of a particular description ofrevenue-officers from seats in Parliament; or, perhaps, of all the lowersorts of them from votes in elections. In the former case, only the feware affected; in the latter, only the inconsiderable. But a greatofficial, a great professional, a great military and naval interest, allnecessarily comprehending many people of the first weight, ability, wealth, and spirit, has been gradually formed in the kingdom. These newinterests must be let into a share of representation, else possibly theymay be inclined to destroy those institutions of which they are notpermitted to partake. This is not a thing to be trifled with; nor is itevery well-meaning man that is fit to put his hands to it. Many otherserious considerations occur. I do not open them here, because they arenot directly to my purpose; proposing only to give the reader some tasteof the difficulties that attend all capital changes in the constitution;just to hint the uncertainty, to say no worse, of being able to preventthe court, as long as it has the means of influence abundantly in itspower, of applying that influence to Parliament; and perhaps, if thepublic method were precluded, of doing it in some worse and moredangerous method. Underhand and oblique ways would be studied. Thescience of evasion, already tolerably understood, would then be broughtto the greatest perfection. It is no inconsiderable part of wisdom, toknow how much of an evil ought to be tolerated; lest, by attempting adegree of purity impracticable in degenerate times and manners, insteadof cutting off the subsisting ill-practices, new corruptions might beproduced for the concealment and security of the old. It were better, undoubtedly, that no influence at all could affect the mind of a memberof Parliament. But of all modes of influence, in my opinion, a placeunder the government is the least disgraceful to the man who holds it, and by far the most safe to the country. I would not shut out that sortof influence which is open and visible, which is connected with thedignity and the service of the state, when it is not in my power toprevent the influence of contracts, of subscriptions, of direct bribery, and those innumerable methods of clandestine corruption, which areabundantly in the hands of the court, and which will be applied as longas these means of corruption, and the disposition to be corrupted, haveexistence amongst us. Our constitution stands on a nice equipoise, withsteep precipices and deep waters upon all sides of it. In removing itfrom a dangerous leaning towards one side, there may be a risk ofoversetting it on the other. Every project of a material change in agovernment so complicated as ours, combined at the same time withexternal circumstances still more complicated, is a matter full ofdifficulties: in which a considerate man will not be too ready todecide; a prudent man too ready to undertake; or an honest man too readyto promise. They do not respect the public nor themselves, who engagefor more than they are sure that they ought to attempt, or that they areable to perform. These are my sentiments, weak perhaps, but honest andunbiassed; and submitted entirely to the opinion of grave men, well-affected to the constitution of their country, and of experience inwhat may best promote or hurt it. 

Indeed, in the situation in which we stand, with an immense revenue, anenormous debt, mighty establishments, government itself a great bankerand a great merchant, I see no other way for the preservation of adecent attention to public interest in the representatives, but _theinterposition of the body of the people itself_, whenever it shallappear, by some flagrant and notorious act, by some capital innovation, that these representatives are going to overleap the fences of the law, and to introduce an arbitrary power. This interposition is a mostunpleasant remedy. But, if it be a legal remedy, it is intended on someoccasion to be used; to be used then only, when it is evident thatnothing else can hold the constitution to its true principles. 

The distempers of monarchy were the great subjects of apprehension andredress, in the last century; in this the distempers of Parliament. Itis not in Parliament alone that the remedy for Parliamentary disorderscan be completed; hardly indeed can it begin there. Until a confidencein government is re-established, the people ought to be excited to amore strict and detailed attention to the conduct of theirrepresentatives. Standards for judging more systematically upon theirconduct ought to be settled in the meetings of counties andcorporations. Frequent and correct lists of the voters in all importantquestions ought to be procured. 

By such means something may be done. By such means it may appear whothose are, that, by an indiscriminate support of all administrations, have totally banished all integrity and confidence out of publicproceedings; have confounded the best men with the worst; and weakenedand dissolved, instead of strengthening and compacting, the generalframe of government. If any person is more concerned for government andorder, than for the liberties of his country; even he is equallyconcerned to put an end to this course of indiscriminate support. It isthis blind and undistinguishing support, that feeds the spring of thosevery disorders, by which he is frightened into the arms of the factionwhich contains in itself the source of all disorders, by enfeebling allthe visible and regular authority of the state. The distemper isincreased by his injudicious and preposterous endeavors, or pretences, for the cure of it. 

An exterior administration, chosen for its impotency, or after it ischosen purposely rendered impotent, in order to be rendered subservient, will not be obeyed. The laws themselves will not be respected, whenthose who execute them are despised: and they will be despised, whentheir power is not immediate from the crown, or natural in the kingdom. Never were ministers better supported in Parliament. Parliamentarysupport comes and goes with office, totally regardless of the man, orthe merit. Is government strengthened? It grows weaker and weaker. Thepopular torrent gains upon it every hour. Let us learn from ourexperience. It is not support that is wanting to government, butreformation. When ministry rests upon public opinion, it is not indeedbuilt upon a rock of adamant; it has, however, some stability. But whenit stands upon private humor, its structure is of stubble, and itsfoundation is on quicksand. I repeat it again, --He that supports everyadministration subverts all government. The reason is this: The wholebusiness in which a court usually takes an interest goes on at presentequally well, in whatever hands, whether high or low, wise or foolish, scandalous or reputable; there is nothing therefore to hold it firm toany one body of men, or to any one consistent scheme of politics. Nothing interposes, to prevent the full operation of all the capricesand all the passions of a court upon the servants of the public. Thesystem of administration is open to continual shocks and changes, uponthe principles of the meanest cabal, and the most contemptible intrigue. Nothing can be solid and permanent. All good men at length fly withhorror from such a service. Men of rank and ability, with the spiritwhich ought to animate such men in a free state, while they decline thejurisdiction of dark cabal on their actions and their fortunes, will, for both, cheerfully put themselves upon their country. They will trustan inquisitive and distinguishing Parliament; because it does inquire, and does distinguish. If they act well, they know, that, in such aParliament they will be supported against any intrigue; if they act ill, they know that no intrigue can protect them. This situation, howeverawful, is honorable. But in one hour, and in the self-same assembly, without any assigned or assignable cause, to be precipitated from thehighest authority to the most marked neglect, possibly into the greatestperil of life and reputation, is a situation full of danger, anddestitute of honor. It will be shunned equally by every man of prudence, and every man of spirit. 

Such are the consequences of the division of court from theadministration; and of the division of public men among themselves. Bythe former of these, lawful government is undone; by the latter, allopposition to lawless power is rendered impotent. Government may in agreat measure be restored, if any considerable bodies of men havehonesty and resolution enough never to accept administration, unlessthis garrison of _king's men_, which is stationed, as in a citadel, tocontrol and enslave it, be entirely broken and disbanded, and every workthey have thrown up be levelled with the ground. The disposition ofpublic men to keep this corps together, and to act under it, or toco-operate with it, is a touchstone by which every administration oughtin future to be tried. There has not been one which has not sufficientlyexperienced the utter incompatibility of that faction with the publicpeace, and with all the ends of good government: since, if they opposedit, they soon lost every power of serving the crown; if they submittedto it, they lost all the esteem of their country. Until ministers giveto the public a full proof of their entire alienation from that system, however plausible their pretences, we may be sure they are more intenton the emoluments than the duties of office. If they refuse to give thisproof, we know of what stuff they are made. In this particular, it oughtto be the electors' business to look to their representatives. Theelectors ought to esteem it no less culpable in their member to give asingle vote in Parliament to such an administration, than to take anoffice under it; to endure it, than to act in it. The notoriousinfidelity and versatility of members of Parliament, in their opinionsof men and things, ought in a particular manner to be considered by theelectors in the inquiry which is recommended to them. This is one ofthe principal holdings of that destructive system, which has endeavoredto unhinge all the virtuous, honorable, and useful connections in thekingdom. 

This cabal has, with great success, propagated a doctrine which servesfor a color to those acts of treachery; and whilst it receives anydegree of countenance it will be utterly senseless to look for avigorous opposition to the court party. The doctrine is this: That allpolitical connections are in their nature factious, and as such ought tobe dissipated and destroyed; and that the rule for formingadministrations is more personal ability, rated by the judgment of thiscabal upon it, and taken by draughts from every division anddenomination of public men. This decree was solemnly promulgated by thehead of the court corps, the Earl of Bute himself, in a speech which hemade, in the year 1766, against the then administration, the onlyadministration which he has ever been known directly and publicly tooppose. 

It is indeed in no way wonderful, that such persons should make suchdeclarations. That connection and faction are equivalent terms, is anopinion which has been carefully inculcated at all times byunconstitutional statesmen. The reason is evident. Whilst men are linkedtogether, they easily and speedily communicate the alarm of any evildesign. They are enabled to fathom it with common counsel, and to opposeit with united strength. Whereas, when they lie dispersed, withoutconcert, order, or discipline, communication is uncertain, counseldifficult, and resistance impracticable. Where men are not acquaintedwith each other's principles, nor experienced in each other's talents, nor at all practised in their mutual habitudes and dispositions byjoint efforts in business; no personal confidence, no friendship, nocommon interest, subsisting among them; it is evidently impossible thatthey can act a public part with uniformity, perseverance, or efficacy. In a connection, the most inconsiderable man, by adding to the weight ofthe whole, has his value, and his use; out of it, the greatest talentsare wholly unserviceable to the public. No man, who is not inflamed byvainglory into enthusiasm, can flatter himself that his single, unsupported, desultory, unsystematic endeavors are of power to defeatthe subtle designs and united cabals of ambitious citizens. When bad mencombine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, anunpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle. 

It is not enough in a situation of trust in the commonwealth, that a manmeans well to his country; it is not enough that in his single person henever did an evil act, but always voted according to his conscience, andeven harangued against every design which he apprehended to beprejudicial to the interests of his country. This innoxious andineffectual character, that seems formed upon a plan of apology anddisculpation, falls miserably short of the mark of public duty. Thatduty demands and requires, that what is right should not only be madeknown, but made prevalent; that what is evil should not only bedetected, but defeated. When the public man omits to put himself in asituation of doing his duty with effect, it is an omission thatfrustrates the purposes of his trust almost as much as if he hadformally betrayed it. It is surely no very rational account of a man'slife, that he has always acted right; but has taken special care, to actin such a manner that his endeavors could not possibly be productive ofany consequence. 

I do not wonder that the behavior of many parties should have madepersons of tender and scrupulous virtue somewhat out of humor with allsorts of connection in politics. I admit that people frequently acquirein such confederacies a narrow, bigoted, and prescriptive spirit; thatthey are apt to sink the idea of the general good in this circumscribedand partial interest. But, where duty renders a critical situation anecessary one, it is our business to keep free from the evils attendantupon it; and not to fly from the situation itself. If a fortress isseated in an unwholesome air, an officer of the garrison is obliged tobe attentive to his health, but he must not desert his station. Everyprofession, not excepting the glorious one of a soldier, or the sacredone of a priest, is liable to its own particular vices; which, however, form no argument against those ways of life; nor are the vicesthemselves inevitable to every individual in those professions. Of sucha nature are connections in politics; essentially necessary for the fullperformance of our public duty, accidentally liable to degenerate intofaction. Commonwealths are made of families, free commonwealths ofparties also; and we may as well affirm, that our natural regards andties of blood tend inevitably to make men bad citizens, as that thebonds of our party weaken those by which we are held to our country. 

Some legislators went so far as to make neutrality in party a crimeagainst the state. I do not know whether this might not have been ratherto overstrain the principle. Certain it is, the best patriots in thegreatest commonwealths have always commended and promoted suchconnections. _Idem sentire de republica_, was with them a principalground of friendship and attachment; nor do I know any other capable offorming firmer, dearer, more pleasing, more honorable, and more virtuoushabitudes. The Romans carried this principle a great way. Even theholding of offices together, the disposition of which arose from chance, not selection, gave rise to a relation which continued for life. It wascalled _necessitudo sortis_; and it was looked upon with a sacredreverence. Breaches of any of these kinds of civil relation wereconsidered as acts of the most distinguished turpitude. The whole peoplewas distributed into political societies, in which they acted in supportof such interests in the state as they severally affected. For it wasthen thought no crime to endeavor by every honest means to advance tosuperiority and power those of your own sentiments and opinions. Thiswise people was far from imagining that those connections had no tie, and obliged to no duty; but that men might quit them without shame, uponevery call of interest. They believed private honor to be the greatfoundation of public trust; that friendship was no mean step towardspatriotism; that he who, in the common intercourse of life, showed heregarded somebody besides himself, when he came to act in a publicsituation, might probably consult some other interest than his own. Never may we become _plus sages que les sages_, as the French comedianhas happily expressed it, wiser than all the wise and good men who havelived before us. It was their wish, to see public and private virtues, not dissonant and jarring, and mutually destructive, but harmoniouslycombined, growing out of one another in a noble and orderly gradation, reciprocally supporting and supported. In one of the most fortunateperiods of our history this country was governed by a _connection_; Imean, the great connection of Whigs in the reign of Queen Anne. Theywere complimented upon the principle of this connection by a poet whowas in high esteem with them. Addison, who knew their sentiments, couldnot praise them for what they considered as no proper subject ofcommendation. As a poet who knew his business, he could not applaud themfor a thing which in general estimation was not highly reputable. Addressing himself to Britain, --

 "Thy favorites grow not up by fortune's sport, Or from the crimes or follies of a court. On the firm basis of desert they rise, From long-tried faith, and friendship's holy ties. "

The Whigs of those days believed that the only proper method of risinginto power was through hard essays of practised friendship andexperimented fidelity. At that time it was not imagined, that patriotismwas a bloody idol, which required the sacrifice of children and parents, or dearest connections in private life, and of all the virtues that risefrom those relations. They were not of that ingenious paradoxicalmorality, to imagine that a spirit of moderation was properly shown inpatiently bearing the sufferings of your friends; or thatdisinterestedness was clearly manifested at the expense of otherpeople's fortune. They believed that no men could act with effect, whodid not act in concert; that no men could act in concert, who did notact with confidence; that no men could act with confidence, who were notbound together by common opinions, common affections, and commoninterests. 

These wise men, for such I must call Lord Sunderland, Lord Godolphin, Lord Somers, and Lord Marlborough, were too well principled in thesemaxims upon which the whole fabric of public strength is built, to beblown off their ground by the breath of every childish talker. They werenot afraid that they should be called an ambitious junto; or that theirresolution to stand or fall together should, by placemen, be interpretedinto a scuffle for places. 

Party is a body of men united for promoting by their joint endeavors thenational interest upon some particular principle in which they are allagreed. For my part, I find it impossible to conceive, that any onebelieves in his own politics, or thinks them to be of any weight, whorefuses to adopt the means of having them reduced into practice. It isthe business of the speculative philosopher to mark the proper ends ofgovernment. It is the business of the politician, who is the philosopherin action, to find out proper means towards those ends, and to employthem with effect. Therefore every honorable connection will avow it istheir first purpose, to pursue every just method to put the men who holdtheir opinions into such a condition as may enable them to carry theircommon plans into execution, with all the power and authority of thestate. As this power is attached to certain situations, it is their dutyto contend for these situations. Without a proscription of others, theyare bound to give to their own party the preference in all things; andby no means, for private considerations, to accept any offers of powerin which the whole body is not included; nor to suffer themselves to beled, or to be controlled, or to be overbalanced, in office or incouncil, by those who contradict the very fundamental principles onwhich their party is formed, and even those upon which every fairconnection must stand. Such a generous contention for power, on suchmanly and honorable maxims, will easily be distinguished from the meanand interested struggle for place and emolument. The very style of suchpersons will serve to discriminate them from those numberless impostors, who have deluded the ignorant with professions incompatible with humanpractice, and have afterwards incensed them by practices below the levelof vulgar rectitude. 

It is an advantage to all narrow wisdom and narrow morals, that theirmaxims have a plausible air: and, on a cursory view, appear equal tofirst principles. They are light and portable. They are as current ascopper coin; and about as valuable. They serve equally the firstcapacities and the lowest; and they are, at least, as useful to theworst men as to the best. Of this stamp is the cant of _Not men, butmeasures_; a sort of charm by which many people get loose from everyhonorable engagement. When I see a man acting this desultory anddisconnected part, with as much detriment to his own fortune asprejudice to the cause of any party, I am not persuaded that he isright; but I am ready to believe he is in earnest. I respect virtue inall its situations; even when it is found in the unsuitable company ofweakness. I lament to see qualities, rare and valuable, squandered awaywithout any public utility. But when a gentleman with great visibleemoluments abandons the party in which he has long acted, and tells you, it is because he proceeds upon his own judgment; that he acts on themerits of the several measures as they arise; and that he is obliged tofollow his own conscience, and not that of others; he gives reasonswhich it is impossible to controvert, and discovers a character which itis impossible to mistake. What shall we think of him who never differedfrom a certain set of men until the moment they lost their power, andwho never agreed with them in a single instance afterwards? Would notsuch a coincidence of interest and opinion be rather fortunate? Would itnot be an extraordinary cast upon the dice, that a man's connectionsshould degenerate into faction, precisely at the critical moment whenthey lose their power, or he accepts a place? When people desert theirconnections, the desertion is a manifest _fact_, upon which a directsimple issue lies, triable by plain men. Whether a _measure_ ofgovernment be right or wrong, is _no matter of fact_, but a mere affairof opinion, on which men may, as they do, dispute and wrangle withoutend. But whether the individual _thinks_ the measure right or wrong, isa point at still a greater distance from the reach of all humandecision. It is therefore very convenient to politicians, not to put thejudgment of their conduct on overt acts, cognizable in any ordinarycourt, but upon such matter as can be triable only in that secrettribunal, where they are sure of being heard with favor, or where atworst the sentence will be only private whipping. 

I believe the reader would wish to find no substance in a doctrine whichhas a tendency to destroy all test of character as deduced from conduct. He will therefore excuse my adding something more, towards the furtherclearing up a point, which the great convenience of obscurity todishonesty has been able to cover with some degree of darkness anddoubt. 

In order to throw an odium on political connection, those politicianssuppose it a necessary incident to it, that you are blindly to followthe opinions of your party, when in direct opposition to your own clearideas; a degree of servitude that no worthy man could bear the thoughtof submitting to; and such as, I believe, no connections (except somecourt factions) ever could be so senselessly tyrannical as to impose. Men thinking freely, will, in particular instances, think differently. But still as the greater part of the measures which arise in the courseof public business are related to, or dependent on, some great, _leading_, _general principles in government_, a man must be peculiarlyunfortunate in the choice of his political company, if he does not agreewith them at least nine times in ten. If he does not concur in thesegeneral principles upon which the party is founded, and whichnecessarily draw on a concurrence in their application, he ought fromthe beginning to have chosen some other, more conformable to hisopinions. When the question is in its nature doubtful, or not verymaterial, the modesty which becomes an individual, and, (in spite of ourcourt moralists) that partiality which becomes a well-chosen friendship, will frequently bring on an acquiescence in the general sentiment. Thusthe disagreement will naturally be rare; it will be only enough toindulge freedom, without violating concord, or disturbing arrangement. And this is all that ever was required for a character of the greatestuniformity and steadiness in connection. How men can proceed without anyconnection at all, is to me utterly incomprehensible. Of what sort ofmaterials must that man be made, how must he be tempered and puttogether, who can sit whole years in Parliament, with five hundred andfifty of his fellow-citizens, amidst the storm of such tempestuouspassions, in the sharp conflict of so many wits, and tempers, andcharacters, in the agitation of such mighty questions, in the discussionof such vast and ponderous interests, without seeing any one sort ofmen, whose character, conduct, or disposition, would lead him toassociate himself with them, to aid and be aided, in any one system ofpublic utility?

I remember an old scholastic aphorism, which says, "that the man wholives wholly detached from others, must be either an angel or a devil. "When I see in any of these detached gentlemen of our times the angelicpurity, power, and beneficence, I shall admit them to be angels. In themean time we are born only to be men. We shall do enough if we formourselves to be good ones. It is therefore our business carefully tocultivate in our minds, to rear to the most perfect vigor and maturity, every sort of generous and honest feeling, that belongs to our nature. To bring the dispositions that are lovely in private life into theservice and conduct of the commonwealth; so to be patriots, as not toforget we are gentlemen. To cultivate friendships, and to incurenmities. To have both strong, but both selected: in the one, to beplacable; in the other immovable. To model our principles to our dutiesand our situation. To be fully persuaded, that all virtue which isimpracticable is spurious; and rather to run the risk of falling intofaults in a course which leads us to act with effect and energy, than toloiter out our days without blame, and without use. Public life is asituation of power and energy; he trespasses against his duty who sleepsupon his watch, as well as he that goes over to the enemy. 

There is, however, a time for all things. It is not every conjuncturewhich calls with equal force upon the activity of honest men; butcritical exigencies now and then arise; and I am mistaken, if this benot one of them. Men will see the necessity of honest combination; butthey may see it when it is too late. They may embody, when it will beruinous to themselves, and of no advantage to the country; when, forwant of such a timely union as may enable them to oppose in favor of thelaws, with the laws on their side, they may at length find themselvesunder the necessity of conspiring, instead of consulting. The law, forwhich they stand, may become a weapon in the hands of its bitterestenemies; and they will be cast, at length, into that miserablealternative between slavery and civil confusion, which no good man canlook upon without horror; an alternative in which it is impossible heshould take either part, with a conscience perfectly at repose. To keepthat situation of guilt and remorse at the utmost distance is, therefore, our first obligation. Early activity may prevent late andfruitless violence. As yet we work in the light. The scheme of theenemies of public tranquillity has disarranged, it has not destroyed us. 

If the reader believes that there really exists such a faction as I havedescribed; a faction ruling by the private inclinations of a court, against the general sense of the people; and that this faction, whilstit pursues a scheme for undermining all the foundations of our freedom, weakens (for the present at least) all the powers of executorygovernment, rendering us abroad contemptible, and at home distracted; hewill believe also, that nothing but a firm combination of public menagainst this body, and that, too, supported by the hearty concurrence ofthe people at large, can possibly get the better of it. The people willsee the necessity of restoring public men to an attention to the publicopinion, and of restoring the constitution to its original principles. Above all, they will endeavor to keep the House of Commons from assuminga character which does not belong to it. They will endeavor to keep thatHouse, for its existence, for its powers, and its privileges, asindependent of every other, and as dependent upon themselves, aspossible. This servitude is to a House of Commons (like obedience to theDivine law) "perfect freedom. " For if they once quit this natural, rational, and liberal obedience, having deserted the only properfoundation of their power, they must seek a support in an abject andunnatural dependence somewhere else. When, through the medium of thisjust connection with their constituents, the genuine dignity of theHouse of Commons is restored, it will begin to think of casting from it, with scorn, as badges of servility, all the false ornaments of illegalpower, with which it has been, for some time, disgraced. It will beginto think of its old office of CONTROL. It will not suffer that last ofevils to predominate in the country: men without popular confidence, public opinion, natural connection, or mutual trust, invested with allthe powers of government. 

When they have learned this lesson themselves, they will be willing andable to teach the court, that it is the true interest of the prince tohave but one administration; and that one composed of those whorecommend themselves to their sovereign through the opinion of theircountry, and not by their obsequiousness to a favorite. Such men willserve their sovereign with affection and fidelity; because his choice ofthem, upon such principles, is a compliment to their virtue. They willbe able to serve him effectually; because they will add the weight ofthe country to the force of the executory power. They will be able toserve their king with dignity; because they will never abuse his name tothe gratification of their private spleen or avarice. This, withallowances for human frailty, may probably be the general character of aministry, which thinks itself accountable to the House of Commons; whenthe House of Commons thinks itself accountable to its constituents. Ifother ideas should prevail, things must remain in their presentconfusion, until they are hurried into all the rage of civil violence, or until they sink into the dead repose of despotism. 

END OF VOL. I. 

FOOTNOTES:

[102] Mém. De Sully, tom. I. P. 133. 

[103] "Uxor Hugonis de Nevill dat Domino Regi ducentas Gallinas, eo quodpossit jacere una nocte cum Domino suo Hugone de Nevill. "--Maddox, Hist. Exch. C. Xiii. P. 326. 

[104] Sentiments of an Honest Man. 

[105] See the political writings of the late Dr. Brown, and many others. 

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p329 behindhand : was "behind-hand", inconsistent with p442p403 pernicious : was "prenicious"

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