{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_15043/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_15043","id":"gutenberg_15043","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15043","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Politics","Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1760-1820","Harvard Classics","Political science -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Paul Murray, Michael Punch and the PG Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team. This file was produced from\nimages generously made available by the Bibliotheque\nnationale de France (BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBURKE'S WRITINGS AND SPEECHES\n\n\n\n\nVOLUME THE FIRST\n\n\n[Illustration: EDMUND BURKE.]\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS\n\nOF\n\nTHE RIGHT HONOURABLE\n\nEDMUND BURKE\n\n\nIN TWELVE VOLUMES\n\n\nVOLUME THE FIRST\n\n\n[Illustration: Burke Coat of Arms.]\n\n\nLondon\nJOHN C. NIMMO\n14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND, W.C.\nMDCCCLXXXVII\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS OF VOL. I.\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER, PREFIXED TO THE FIRST OCTAVO EDITION      v\n\nADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION                          xvii\n\nA VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY: OR, A VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND\n  EVILS ARISING TO MANKIND FROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY    1\n\nA PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF THE SUBLIME\n  AND BEAUTIFUL; WITH AN INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE CONCERNING TASTE      67\n\nA SHORT ACCOUNT OF A LATE SHORT ADMINISTRATION                       263\n\nOBSERVATIONS ON A LATE PUBLICATION, INTITULED,\n  \"THE PRESENT STATE OF THE NATION\"                                  269\n\nTHOUGHTS ON THE CAUSE OF THE PRESENT DISCONTENTS                     433\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT\n\nTO THE READER.[1]\n\n\nThe late Mr. Burke, from a principle of unaffected humility, which they\nwho were the most intimately acquainted with his character best know to\nhave been in his estimation one of the most important moral duties,\nnever himself made any collection of the various publications with\nwhich, during a period of forty years, he adorned and enriched the\nliterature of this country. When, however, the rapid and unexampled\ndemand for his \"Reflections on the Revolution in France\" had\nunequivocally testified his celebrity as a writer, some of his friends\nso far prevailed upon him, that he permitted them to put forth a regular\nedition of his works. Accordingly, three volumes in quarto appeared\nunder that title in 1792, printed for the late Mr. Dodsley. That\nedition, therefore, has been made the foundation of the present, for\nwhich a form has been chosen better adapted to public convenience. Such\nerrors of the press as have been discovered in it are here rectified: in\nother respects it is faithfully followed, except that in one instance\nan accident of little moment has occasioned a slight deviation from the\nstrict chronological arrangement, and that, on the other hand, a speech\nof conspicuous excellence, on his declining the poll at Bristol, in\n1780, is here, for the first time, inserted in its proper place.\n\nAs the activity of the author's mind, and the lively interest which he\ntook in the welfare of his country, ceased only with his life, many\nsubsequent productions issued from his pen, which were received in a\nmanner corresponding with his distinguished reputation. He wrote also\nvarious tracts, of a less popular description, which he designed for\nprivate circulation in quarters where he supposed they might produce\nmost benefit to the community, but which, with some other papers, have\nbeen printed since his death, from copies which he left behind him\nfairly transcribed, and most of them corrected as for the press. All\nthese, now first collected together, form the contents of the last two\nvolumes.[2] They are disposed in chronological order, with the exception\nof the \"Preface to Brissot's Address,\" which having appeared in the\nauthor's lifetime, and from delicacy not being avowed by him, did not\ncome within the plan of this edition, but has been placed at the end of\nthe last volume, on its being found deficient in its just bulk.\n\nThe several posthumous publications, as they from time to time made\ntheir appearance, were accompanied by appropriate prefaces. These,\nhowever, as they were principally intended for temporary purposes, have\nbeen omitted. Some few explanations only, which they contained, seem\nhere to be necessary.\n\nThe \"Observations on the Conduct of the Minority\" in the Session of 1793\nhad been written and sent by Mr. Burke as a paper entirely and strictly\nconfidential; but it crept surreptitiously into the world, through the\nfraud and treachery of the man whom he had employed to transcribe it,\nand, as usually happens in such cases, came forth in a very mangled\nstate, under a false title, and without the introductory letter. The\nfriends of the author, without waiting to consult him, instantly\nobtained an injunction from the Court of Chancery to stop the sale. What\nhe himself felt, on receiving intelligence of the injury done him by one\nfrom whom his kindness deserved a very different return, will be best\nconveyed in his own words. The following is an extract of a letter to a\nfriend, which he dictated on this subject from a sick-bed.\n\nBATH, 15th Feb., 1797.\n\n\"My Dear Laurence,--\n\n\"On the appearance of the advertisement, all newspapers and all letters\nhave been kept back from me till this time. Mrs. Burke opened yours,\nand finding that all the measures in the power of Dr. King, yourself,\nand Mr. Woodford, had been taken to suppress the publication, she\nventured to deliver me the letters to-day, which were read to me in my\nbed, about two o'clock.\n\n\"This affair does vex me; but I am not in a state of health at present\nto be deeply vexed at anything. Whenever this matter comes into\ndiscussion, I authorize you to contradict the infamous reports which (I\nam informed) have been given out, that this paper had been circulated\nthrough the ministry, and was intended gradually to slide into the\npress. To the best of my recollection I never had a clean copy of it but\none, which is now in my possession; I never communicated that, but to\nthe Duke of Portland, from whom I had it back again. But the Duke will\nset this matter to rights, if in reality there were two copies, and he\nhas one. I never showed it, as they know, to any one of the ministry. If\nthe Duke has really a copy, I believe his and mine are the only ones\nthat exist, except what was taken by fraud from loose and incorrect\npapers by S----, to whom I gave the letter to copy. As soon as I began\nto suspect him capable of any such scandalous breach of trust, you know\nwith what anxiety I got the loose papers out of his hands, not having\nreason to think that he kept any other. Neither do I believe in fact\n(unless he meditated this villany long ago) that he did or does now\npossess any clean copy. I never communicated that paper to any one out\nof the very small circle of those private friends from whom I concealed\nnothing.\n\n\"But I beg you and my friends to be cautious how you let it be\nunderstood that I disclaim anything but the mere act and intention of\npublication. I do not retract any one of the sentiments contained in\nthat memorial, which was and is my justification, addressed to the\nfriends for whose use alone I intended it. Had I designed it for the\npublic, I should have been more exact and full. It was written in a tone\nof indignation, in consequence of the resolutions of the Whig Club,\nwhich were directly pointed against myself and others, and occasioned\nour secession from that club; which is the last act of my life that I\nshall under any circumstances repent. Many temperaments and explanations\nthere would have been, if I had ever had a notion that it should meet\nthe public eye.\"\n\n\nIn the mean time a large impression, amounting, it is believed, to three\nthousand copies, had been dispersed over the country. To recall these\nwas impossible; to have expected that any acknowledged production of Mr.\nBurke, full of matter likely to interest the future historian, could\nremain forever in obscurity, would have been folly; and to have passed\nit over in silent neglect, on the one hand, or, on the other, to have\nthen made any considerable changes in it, might have seemed an\nabandonment of the principles which it contained. The author, therefore,\ndiscovering, that, with the exception of the introductory letter, he had\nnot in fact kept any clean copy, as he had supposed, corrected one of\nthe pamphlets with his own hand. From this, which was found preserved\nwith his other papers, his friends afterwards thought it their duty to\ngive an authentic edition.\n\nThe \"Thoughts and Details on Scarcity\" were originally presented in the\nform of a memorial to Mr. Pitt. The author proposed afterwards to recast\nthe same matter in a new shape. He even advertised the intended work\nunder the title of \"Letters on Rural Economics, addressed to Mr. Arthur\nYoung\"; but he seems to have finished only two or three detached\nfragments of the first letter. These being too imperfect to be printed\nalone, his friends inserted them in the memorial, where they seemed best\nto cohere. The memorial had been fairly copied, but did not appear to\nhave been examined or corrected, as some trifling errors of the\ntranscriber were perceptible in it. The manuscript of the fragments was\na rough draft from the author's own hand, much blotted and very\nconfused.\n\nThe Third Letter on the Proposals for Peace was in its progress through\nthe press when the author died. About one half of it was actually\nrevised in print by himself, though not in the exact order of the pages\nas they now stand. He enlarged his first draft, and separated one great\nmember of his subject, for the purpose of introducing some other matter\nbetween. The different parcels of manuscript designed to intervene were\ndiscovered. One of them he seemed to have gone over himself, and to have\nimproved and augmented. The other (fortunately the smaller) was much\nmore imperfect, just as it was taken from his mouth by dictation. The\nformer reaches from the two hundred and forty-sixth to near the end of\nthe two hundred and sixty-second page; the latter nearly occupies the\ntwelve pages which follow.[3] No important change, none at all affecting\nthe meaning of any passage, has been made in either, though in the more\nimperfect parcel some latitude of discretion in subordinate points was\nnecessarily used.\n\nThere is, however, a considerable member for the greater part of which\nMr. Burke's reputation is not responsible: this is the inquiry into the\ncondition of the higher classes, which commences in the two hundred and\nninety-fifth page.[4] The summary of the whole topic, indeed, nearly as\nit stands in the three hundred and seventy-third and fourth pages,[5]\nwas found, together with a marginal reference to the Bankrupt List, in\nhis own handwriting; and the actual conclusion of the Letter was\ndictated by him, but never received his subsequent correction. He had\nalso preserved, as materials for this branch of his subject, some\nscattered hints, documents, and parts of a correspondence on the state\nof the country. He was, however, prevented from working on them by the\nwant of some authentic and official information, for which he had been\nlong anxiously waiting, in order to ascertain, to the satisfaction of\nthe public, what, with his usual sagacity, he had fully anticipated from\nhis own personal observation, to his own private conviction. At length\nthe reports of the different committees which had been appointed by the\ntwo Houses of Parliament amply furnished him with evidence for this\npurpose. Accordingly he read and considered them with attention: but for\nanything beyond this the season was now past. The Supreme Disposer of\nAll, against whose inscrutable counsels it is vain as well as impious to\nmurmur, did not permit him to enter on the execution of the task which\nhe meditated. It was resolved, therefore, by one of his friends, after\nmuch hesitation, and under a very painful responsibility, to make such\nan attempt as he could at supplying the void; especially because the\ninsufficiency of our resources for the continuance of the war was\nunderstood to have been the principal objection urged against the two\nformer Letters on the Proposals for Peace. In performing with\nreverential diffidence this duty of friendship, care has been taken not\nto attribute to Mr. Burke any sentiment which is not most explicitly\nknown, from repeated conversations, and from much correspondence, to\nhave been decidedly entertained by that illustrious man. One passage of\nnearly three pages, containing a censure of our defensive system, is\nborrowed from a private letter, which he began to dictate with an\nintention of comprising in it the short result of his opinions, but\nwhich he afterwards abandoned, when, a little time before his death, his\nhealth appeared in some degree to amend, and he hoped that Providence\nmight have spared him at least to complete the larger public letter,\nwhich he then proposed to resume.\n\nIn the preface to the former edition of this Letter a fourth was\nmentioned as being in possession of Mr. Burke's friends. It was in fact\nannounced by the author himself, in the conclusion of the second, which\nit was then designed to follow. He intended, he said, to proceed next on\nthe question of the facilities possessed by the French Republic, _from\nthe internal state of other nations, and particularly of this_, for\nobtaining her ends,--and as his notions were controverted, to take\nnotice of what, in that way, had been recommended to him. The vehicle\nwhich he had chosen for this part of his plan was an answer to a\npamphlet which was supposed to come from high authority, and was\ncirculated by ministers with great industry, at the time of its\nappearance, in October, 1795, immediately previous to that session of\nParliament when his Majesty for the first time declared that the\nappearance of any disposition in the enemy to negotiate for general\npeace should not fail to be met with an earnest desire to give it the\nfullest and speediest effect. In truth, the answer, which is full of\nspirit and vivacity, was written the latter end of the same year, but\nwas laid aside when the question assumed a more serious aspect, from the\ncommencement of an actual negotiation, which gave rise to the series of\nprinted letters. Afterwards, he began to rewrite it, with a view of\naccommodating it to his new purpose. The greater part, however, still\nremained in its original state; and several heroes of the Revolution,\nwho are there celebrated, having in the interval passed off the public\nstage, a greater liberty of insertion and alteration than his friends on\nconsideration have thought allowable would be necessary to adapt it to\nthat place in the series for which it was ultimately designed by the\nauthor. This piece, therefore, addressed, as the title originally stood,\nto his noble friend, Earl Fitzwilliam, will be given the first in the\nsupplemental volumes which will be hereafter added to complete this\nedition of the author's works.\n\nThe tracts, most of them in manuscript, which have been already selected\nas fit for this purpose, will probably furnish four or five volumes\nmore, to be printed uniformly with this edition. The principal piece is\nan Essay on the History of England, from the earliest period to the\nconclusion of the reign of King John. It is written with much depth of\nantiquarian research, directed by the mind of an intelligent statesman.\nThis alone, as far as can be conjectured, will form more than one\nvolume. Another entire volume also, at least, will be filled with his\nletters to public men on public affairs, especially those of France.\nThis supplement will be sent to the press without delay.\n\nMr. Burke's more familiar correspondence will be reserved as authorities\nto accompany a narrative of his life, which will conclude the whole. The\nperiod during which he flourished was one of the most memorable of our\nannals. It comprehended the acquisition of one empire in the East, the\nloss of another in the West, and the total subversion of the ancient\nsystem of Europe by the French Revolution, with all which events the\nhistory of his life is necessarily and intimately connected,--as indeed\nit also is, much more than is generally known, with the state of\nliterature and the elegant arts. Such a subject of biography cannot be\ndismissed with a slight and rapid touch; nor can it be treated in a\nmanner worthy of it, from the information, however authentic and\nextensive, which the industry of any one man may have accumulated. Many\nimportant communications have been received; but some materials, which\nrelate to the pursuits of his early years, and which are known to be in\nexistence, have been hitherto kept back, notwithstanding repeated\ninquiries and applications. It is, therefore, once more earnestly\nrequested, that all persons who call themselves the friends or admirers\nof the late Edmund Burke will have the goodness to transmit, without\ndelay, any notices of that or of any other kind which may happen to be\nin their possession or within their reach, to Messrs. Rivingtons,--a\nrespect and kindness to his memory which will be thankfully acknowledged\nby those friends to whom, in dying, he committed the sacred trust of his\nreputation.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] Prefixed to the first octavo edition: London, F. and C. Rivington,\n1801: comprising Vols. I.-VIII. of the edition in sixteen volumes issued\nby these publishers at intervals between the years 1801 and 1827.\n\n[2] Comprising the last four papers of the fourth volume, and the whole\nof the fifth volume, of the present edition.\n\n[3] The former comprising the matter included between the paragraph\ncommencing, \"I hear it has been said,\" &c., and that ending with the\nwords, \"there were little or no materials\"; and the latter extending\nthrough the paragraph concluding with the words, \"disgraced and plagued\nmankind.\"\n\n[4] At the paragraph commencing with the words, \"In turning our view\nfrom the lower to the higher classes,\" &c.\n\n[5] In the first half of the paragraph commencing, \"If, then, the real\nstate of this nation,\" &c.\n\n\n\n\nADVERTISEMENT\n\nTO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION.[6]\n\n\nA new edition of the works of Mr. Burke having been called for by the\npublic, the opportunity has been taken to make some slight changes, it\nis hoped for the better.\n\nA different distribution of the contents, while it has made the volumes,\nwith the exception of the first and sixth, more nearly equal in their\nrespective bulk, has, at the same time, been fortunately found to\nproduce a more methodical arrangement of the whole. The first and second\nvolumes, as before, severally contain those literary and philosophical\nworks by which Mr. Burke was known previous to the commencement of his\npublic life as a statesman, and the political pieces which were written\nby him between the time of his first becoming connected with the Marquis\nof Rockingham and his being chosen member for Bristol. In the third are\ncomprehended all his speeches and pamphlets from his first arrival at\nBristol, as a candidate, in the year 1774, to his farewell address from\nthe hustings of that city, in the year 1780. What he himself published\nrelative to the affairs of India occupies the fourth volume. The\nremaining four comprise his works since the French Revolution, with the\nexception of the Letter to Lord Kenmare on the Penal Laws against Irish\nCatholics, which was probably inserted where it stands from its relation\nto the subject of the Letter addressed by him, at a later period, to Sir\nHercules Langrishe. With the same exception, too, strict regard has been\npaid to chronological order, which, in the last edition, was in some\ninstances broken, to insert pieces that wore not discovered till it was\ntoo late to introduce them in their proper places.\n\nIn the Appendix to the Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts the\nreferences were found to be confused, and, in many places, erroneous.\nThis probably had arisen from the circumstance that a larger and\ndifferently constructed appendix seems to have been originally designed\nby Mr. Burke, which, however, he afterwards abridged and altered, while\nthe speech and the notes upon it remained as they were. The text and the\ndocuments that support it have throughout been accommodated to each\nother.\n\nThe orthography has been in many cases altered, and an attempt made to\nreduce it to some certain standard. The rule laid down for the discharge\nof this task was, that, whenever Mr. Burke could be perceived to have\nbeen uniform in his mode of spelling, that was considered as decisive;\nbut where he varied, (and as he was in the habit of writing by\ndictation, and leaving to others the superintendence of the press, he\nwas peculiarly liable to variations of this sort) the best received\nauthorities were directed to be followed. The reader, it is trusted,\nwill find this object, too much disregarded in modern books, has here\nbeen kept in view throughout. The quotations which are interspersed\nthrough the works of Mr Burke, and which were frequently made by him\nfrom memory, have been generally compared with the original authors.\nSeveral mistakes in printing, of one word for another, by which the\nsense was either perverted or obscured, are now rectified. Two or three\nsmall insertions have also been made from a quarto copy corrected by Mr.\nBurke himself. From the same source something more has been drawn in the\nshape of notes, to which are subscribed his initials. Of this number is\nthe explanation of that celebrated phrase, \"the swinish multitude\": an\nexplanation which was uniformly given by him to his friends, in\nconversation on the subject. But another note will probably interest the\nreader still more, as being strongly expressive of that parental\naffection which formed so amiable a feature in the character of Mr.\nBurke. It is in page 203 of Vol. V., where he points out a considerable\npassage as having been supplied by his \"lost son\".[7] Several other\nparts, possibly amounting altogether to a page or thereabout, were\nindicated in the same manner; but, as they in general consist of single\nsentences, and as the meaning of the mark by which they were\ndistinguished was not actually expressed, it has not been thought\nnecessary to notice them particularly.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[6] London, F. and C. Rivington, 1803. 8 vols.\n\n[7] In \"Reflections on the Revolution in France,\"--indicated by\nfoot-note _in loco_.\n\n\n\n\nA\n\nVINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY:\n\nOR,\n\nA VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND EVILS ARISING TO MANKIND\nFROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY.\n\nIN A LETTER TO LORD ****,\n\nBY A LATE NOBLE WRITER.\n\n1756.\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nBefore the philosophical works of Lord Bolingbroke had appeared, great\nthings were expected from the leisure of a man, who, from the splendid\nscene of action in which his talents had enabled him to make so\nconspicuous a figure, had retired to employ those talents in the\ninvestigation of truth. Philosophy began to congratulate herself upon\nsuch a proselyte from the world of business, and hoped to have extended\nher power under the auspices of such a leader. In the midst of these\npleasing expectations, the works themselves at last appeared in _full\nbody_, and with great pomp. Those who searched in them for new\ndiscoveries in the mysteries of nature; those who expected something\nwhich might explain or direct the operations of the mind; those who\nhoped to see morality illustrated and enforced; those who looked for new\nhelps to society and government; those who desired to see the characters\nand passions of mankind delineated; in short, all who consider such\nthings as philosophy, and require some of them at least in every\nphilosophical work, all these were certainly disappointed; they found\nthe landmarks of science precisely in their former places: and they\nthought they received but a poor recompense for this disappointment, in\nseeing every mode of religion attacked in a lively manner, and the\nfoundation of every virtue, and of all government, sapped with great art\nand much ingenuity. What advantage do we derive from such writings? What\ndelight can a man find in employing a capacity which might be usefully\nexerted for the noblest purposes, in a sort of sullen labor, in which,\nif the author could succeed, he is obliged to own, that nothing could be\nmore fatal to mankind than his success?\n\nI cannot conceive how this sort of writers propose to compass the\ndesigns they pretend to have in view, by the instruments which they\nemploy. Do they pretend to exalt the mind of man, by proving him no\nbetter than a beast? Do they think to enforce the practice of virtue, by\ndenying that vice and virtue are distinguished by good or ill fortune\nhere, or by happiness or misery hereafter? Do they imagine they shall\nincrease our piety, and our reliance on God, by exploding his\nprovidence, and insisting that he is neither just nor good? Such are the\ndoctrines which, sometimes concealed, sometimes openly and fully avowed,\nare found to prevail throughout the writings of Lord Bolingbroke; and\nsuch are the reasonings which this noble writer and several others have\nbeen pleased to dignify with the name of philosophy. If these are\ndelivered in a specious manner, and in a style above the common, they\ncannot want a number of admirers of as much docility as can be wished\nfor in disciples. To these the editor of the following little piece has\naddressed it: there is no reason to conceal the design of it any longer.\n\nThe design was to show that, without the exertion of any considerable\nforces, the same engines which were employed for the destruction of\nreligion, might be employed with equal success for the subversion of\ngovernment; and that specious arguments might be used against those\nthings which they, who doubt of everything else, will never permit to be\nquestioned. It is an observation which I think Isocrates makes in one of\nhis orations against the sophists, that it is far more easy to maintain\na wrong cause, and to support paradoxical opinions to the satisfaction\nof a common auditory, than to establish a doubtful truth by solid and\nconclusive arguments. When men find that something can be said in favor\nof what, on the very proposal, they have thought utterly indefensible,\nthey grow doubtful of their own reason; they are thrown into a sort of\npleasing surprise; they run along with the speaker, charmed and\ncaptivated to find such a plentiful harvest of reasoning, where all\nseemed barren and unpromising. This is the fairy land of philosophy. And\nit very frequently happens, that those pleasing impressions on the\nimagination subsist and produce their effect, even after the\nunderstanding has been satisfied of their unsubstantial nature. There is\na sort of gloss upon ingenious falsehoods that dazzles the imagination,\nbut which neither belongs to, nor becomes the sober aspect of truth. I\nhave met with a quotation in Lord Coke's Reports that pleased me very\nmuch, though I do not know from whence he has taken it: \"_Interdum\nfucata falsitas_ (says he), _in multis est probabilior, at saepe\nrationibus vincit nudam veritatem_.\" In such cases the writer has a\ncertain fire and alacrity inspired into him by a consciousness, that,\nlet it fare how it will with the subject, his ingenuity will be sure of\napplause; and this alacrity becomes much greater if he acts upon the\noffensive, by the impetuosity that always accompanies an attack, and\nthe unfortunate propensity which mankind have to the finding and\nexaggerating faults. The editor is satisfied that a mind which has no\nrestraint from a sense of its own weakness, of its subordinate rank in\nthe creation, and of the extreme danger of letting the imagination loose\nupon some subjects, may very plausibly attack everything the most\nexcellent and venerable; that it would not be difficult to criticise the\ncreation itself; and that if we were to examine the divine fabrics by\nour ideas of reason and fitness, and to use the same method of attack by\nwhich some men have assaulted revealed religion, we might with as good\ncolor, and with the same success, make the wisdom and power of God in\nhis creation appear to many no better than foolishness. There is an air\nof plausibility which accompanies vulgar reasonings and notions, taken\nfrom the beaten circle of ordinary experience, that is admirably suited\nto the narrow capacities of some, and to the laziness of others. But\nthis advantage is in a great measure lost, when a painful, comprehensive\nsurvey of a very complicated matter, and which requires a great variety\nof considerations, is to be made; when we must seek in a profound\nsubject, not only for arguments, but for new materials of argument,\ntheir measures and their method of arrangement; when we must go out of\nthe sphere of our ordinary ideas, and when we can never walk surely, but\nby being sensible of our blindness. And this we must do, or we do\nnothing, whenever we examine the result of a reason which is not our\nown. Even in matters which are, as it were, just within our reach, what\nwould become of the world, if the practice of all moral duties, and the\nfoundations of society, rested upon having their reasons made clear and\ndemonstrative to every individual?\n\nThe editor knows that the subject of this letter is not so fully handled\nas obviously it might; it was not his design to say all that could\npossibly be said. It had been inexcusable to fill a large volume with\nthe abuse of reason; nor would such an abuse have been tolerable, even\nfor a few pages, if some under-plot, of more consequence than the\napparent design, had not been carried on.\n\nSome persons have thought that the advantages of the state of nature\nought to have been more fully displayed. This had undoubtedly been a\nvery ample subject for declamation; but they do not consider the\ncharacter of the piece. The writers against religion, whilst they oppose\nevery system, are wisely careful never to set up any of their own. If\nsome inaccuracies in calculation, in reasoning, or in method, be found,\nperhaps these will not be looked upon as faults by the admirers of Lord\nBolingbroke; who will, the editor is afraid, observe much more of his\nlordship's character in such particulars of the following letter, than\nthey are likely to find of that rapid torrent of an impetuous and\noverbearing eloquence, and the variety of rich imagery for which that\nwriter is justly admired.\n\n\n\n\nA LETTER TO LORD ****.\n\n\nShall I venture to say, my lord, that in our late conversation, you were\ninclined to the party which you adopted rather by the feelings of your\ngood nature, than by the conviction of your judgment? We laid open the\nfoundations of society; and you feared that the curiosity of this search\nmight endanger the ruin of the whole fabric. You would readily have\nallowed my principle, but you dreaded the consequences; you thought,\nthat having once entered upon these reasonings, we might be carried\ninsensibly and irresistibly farther than at first we could either have\nimagined or wished. But for my part, my lord, I then thought, and am\nstill of the same opinion, that error, and not truth of any kind, is\ndangerous; that ill conclusions can only flow from false propositions;\nand that, to know whether any proposition be true or false, it is a\npreposterous method to examine it by its apparent consequences.\n\nThese were the reasons which induced me to go so far into that inquiry;\nand they are the reasons which direct me in all my inquiries. I had\nindeed often reflected on that subject before I could prevail on myself\nto communicate my reflections to anybody. They were generally melancholy\nenough; as those usually are which carry us beyond the mere surface of\nthings; and which would undoubtedly make the lives of all thinking men\nextremely miserable, if the same philosophy which caused the grief, did\nnot at the same time administer the comfort.\n\nOn considering political societies, their origin, their constitution,\nand their effects, I have sometimes been in a good deal more than doubt,\nwhether the Creator did ever really intend man for a state of happiness.\nHe has mixed in his cup a number of natural evils, (in spite of the\nboasts of stoicism they are evils,) and every endeavor which the art and\npolicy of mankind has used from the beginning of the world to this day,\nin order to alleviate or cure them, has only served to introduce new\nmischiefs, or to aggravate and inflame the old. Besides this, the mind\nof man itself is too active and restless a principle ever to settle on\nthe true point of quiet. It discovers every day some craving want in a\nbody, which really wants but little. It every day invents some new\nartificial rule to guide that nature which, if left to itself, were the\nbest and surest guide. It finds out imaginary beings prescribing\nimaginary laws; and then, it raises imaginary terrors to support a\nbelief in the beings, and an obedience to the laws.--Many things have\nbeen said, and very well undoubtedly, on the subjection in which we\nshould preserve our bodies to the government of our understanding; but\nenough has not been said upon the restraint which our bodily necessities\nought to lay on the extravagant sublimities and eccentric rovings of our\nminds. The body, or as some love to call it, our inferior nature, is\nwiser in its own plain way, and attends its own business more directly\nthan the mind with all its boasted subtlety.\n\nIn the state of nature, without question, mankind was subjected to many\nand great inconveniences. Want of union, want of mutual assistance, want\nof a common arbitrator to resort to in their differences. These were\nevils which they could not but have felt pretty severely on many\noccasions. The original children of the earth lived with their brethren\nof the other kinds in much equality. Their diet must have been confined\nalmost wholly to the vegetable kind; and the same tree, which in its\nflourishing state produced them berries, in its decay gave them an\nhabitation. The mutual desires of the sexes uniting their bodies and\naffections, and the children which are the results of these\nintercourses, introduced first the notion of society, and taught its\nconveniences. This society, founded in natural appetites and instincts,\nand not in any positive institution, I shall call _natural society_.\nThus far nature went and succeeded: but man would go farther. The great\nerror of our nature is, not to know where to stop, not to be satisfied\nwith any reasonable acquirement; not to compound with our condition; but\nto lose all we have gained by an insatiable pursuit after more. Man\nfound a considerable advantage by this union of many persons to form one\nfamily; he therefore judged that he would find his account\nproportionably in an union of many families into one body politic. And\nas nature has formed no bond of union to hold them together, he supplied\nthis defect by _laws_.\n\nThis is _political society_. And hence the sources of what are usually\ncalled states, civil societies, or governments; into some form of which,\nmore extended or restrained, all mankind have gradually fallen. And\nsince it has so happened, and that we owe an implicit reverence to all\nthe institutions of our ancestors, we shall consider these institutions\nwith all that modesty with which we ought to conduct ourselves in\nexamining a received opinion; but with all that freedom and candor which\nwe owe to truth wherever we find it, or however it may contradict our\nown notions, or oppose our own interests. There is a most absurd and\naudacious method of reasoning avowed by some bigots and enthusiasts, and\nthrough fear assented to by some wiser and better men; it is this: they\nargue against a fair discussion of popular prejudices, because, say\nthey, though they would be found without any reasonable support, yet the\ndiscovery might be productive of the most dangerous consequences. Absurd\nand blasphemous notion! as if all happiness was not connected with the\npractice of virtue, which necessarily depends upon the knowledge of\ntruth; that is, upon the knowledge of those unalterable relations which\nProvidence has ordained that every thing should bear to every other.\nThese relations, which are truth itself, the foundation of virtue, and\nconsequently the only measures of happiness, should be likewise the only\nmeasures by which we should direct our reasoning. To these we should\nconform in good earnest; and not think to force nature, and the whole\norder of her system, by a compliance with our pride and folly, to\nconform to our artificial regulations. It is by a conformity to this\nmethod we owe the discovery of the few truths we know, and the little\nliberty and rational happiness we enjoy. We have something fairer play\nthan a reasoner could have expected formerly; and we derive advantages\nfrom it which are very visible.\n\nThe fabric of superstition has in this our age and nation received much\nruder shocks than it had ever felt before; and through the chinks and\nbreaches of our prison, we see such glimmerings of light, and feel such\nrefreshing airs of liberty, as daily raise our ardor for more. The\nmiseries derived to mankind from superstition under the name of\nreligion, and of ecclesiastical tyranny under the name of church\ngovernment, have been clearly and usefully exposed. We begin to think\nand to act from reason and from nature alone. This is true of several,\nbut by far the majority is still in the same old state of blindness and\nslavery; and much is it to be feared that we shall perpetually relapse,\nwhilst the real productive cause of all this superstitious folly,\nenthusiastical nonsense, and holy tyranny, holds a reverend place in the\nestimation even of those who are otherwise enlightened.\n\nCivil government borrows a strength from ecclesiastical; and artificial\nlaws receive a sanction from artificial revelations. The ideas of\nreligion and government are closely connected; and whilst we receive\ngovernment as a thing necessary, or even useful to our well-being, we\nshall in spite of us draw in, as a necessary, though undesirable\nconsequence, an artificial religion of some kind or other. To this the\nvulgar will always be voluntary slaves; and even those of a rank of\nunderstanding superior, will now and then involuntarily feel its\ninfluence. It is therefore of the deepest concernment to us to be set\nright in this point; and to be well satisfied whether civil government\nbe such a protector from natural evils, and such a nurse and increaser\nof blessings, as those of warm imaginations promise. In such a\ndiscussion, far am I from proposing in the least to reflect on our most\nwise form of government; no more than I would, in the freer parts of my\nphilosophical writings, mean to object to the piety, truth, and\nperfection of our most excellent Church. Both, I am sensible, have their\nfoundations on a rock. No discovery of truth can prejudice them. On the\ncontrary, the more closely the origin of religion and government is\nexamined, the more clearly their excellences must appear. They come\npurified from the fire. My business is not with them. Having entered a\nprotest against all objections from these quarters, I may the more\nfreely inquire, from history and experience, how far policy has\ncontributed in all times to alleviate those evils which Providence, that\nperhaps has designed us for a state of imperfection, has imposed; how\nfar our physical skill has cured our constitutional disorders; and\nwhether it may not have introduced new ones, curable perhaps by no\nskill.\n\nIn looking over any state to form a judgment on it, it presents itself\nin two lights; the external, and the internal. The first, that relation\nwhich it bears in point of friendship or enmity to other states. The\nsecond, that relation which its component parts, the governing and the\ngoverned, bear to each other. The first part of the external view of all\nstates, their relation as friends, makes so trifling a figure in\nhistory, that I am very sorry to say, it affords me but little matter on\nwhich to expatiate. The good offices done by one nation to its\nneighbor;[8] the support given in public distress; the relief afforded\nin general calamity; the protection granted in emergent danger; the\nmutual return of kindness and civility, would afford a very ample and\nvery pleasing subject for history. But, alas! all the history of all\ntimes, concerning all nations, does not afford matter enough to fill ten\npages, though it should be spun out by the wire-drawing amplification of\na Guicciardini himself. The glaring side is that of enmity. War is the\nmatter which fills all history, and consequently the only or almost the\nonly view in which we can see the external of political society is in a\nhostile shape; and the only actions to which we have always seen, and\nstill see all of them intent, are such as tend to the destruction of one\nanother. \"War,\" says Machiavel, \"ought to be the only study of a\nprince\"; and by a prince, he means every sort of state, however\nconstituted. \"He ought,\" says this great political doctor, \"to consider\npeace only as a breathing-time, which gives him leisure to contrive, and\nfurnishes ability to execute military plans.\" A meditation on the\nconduct of political societies made old Hobbes imagine, that war was the\nstate of nature; and truly, if a man judged of the individuals of our\nrace by their conduct when united and packed into nations and kingdoms,\nhe might imagine that every sort of virtue was unnatural and foreign to\nthe mind of man.\n\nThe first accounts we have of mankind are but so many accounts of their\nbutcheries. All empires have been cemented in blood; and, in those early\nperiods, when the race of mankind began first to form themselves into\nparties and combinations, the first effect of the combination, and\nindeed the end for which it seems purposely formed, and best calculated,\nwas their mutual destruction. All ancient history is dark and\nuncertain. One thing, however, is clear,--there were conquerors, and\nconquests in those days; and, consequently, all that devastation by\nwhich they are formed, and all that oppression by which they are\nmaintained. We know little of Sesostris, but that he led out of Egypt an\narmy of above 700,000 men; that he overran the Mediterranean coast as\nfar as Colchis; that in some places he met but little resistance, and of\ncourse shed not a great deal of blood; but that he found in others a\npeople who knew the value of their liberties, and sold them dear.\nWhoever considers the army this conqueror headed, the space he\ntraversed, and the opposition he frequently met, with the natural\naccidents of sickness, and the dearth and badness of provision to which\nhe must have been subject in the variety of climates and countries his\nmarch lay through, if he knows anything, he must know that even the\nconqueror's army must have suffered greatly; and that of this immense\nnumber but a very small part could have returned to enjoy the plunder\naccumulated by the loss of so many of their companions, and the\ndevastation of so considerable a part of the world. Considering, I say,\nthe vast army headed by this conqueror, whose unwieldy weight was almost\nalone sufficient to wear down its strength, it will be far from excess\nto suppose that one half was lost in the expedition. If this was the\nstate of the victorious, and from the circumstances it must have been\nthis at the least; the vanquished must have had a much heavier loss, as\nthe greatest slaughter is always in the flight, and great carnage did in\nthose times and countries ever attend the first rage of conquest. It\nwill, therefore, be very reasonable to allow on their account as much\nas, added to the losses of the conqueror, may amount to a million of\ndeaths, and then we shall see this conqueror, the oldest we have on the\nrecords of history, (though, as we have observed before, the chronology\nof these remote times is extremely uncertain), opening the scene by a\ndestruction of at least one million of his species, unprovoked but by\nhis ambition, without any motives but pride, cruelty, and madness, and\nwithout any benefit to himself (for Justin expressly tells us he did not\nmaintain his conquests), but solely to make so many people, in so\ndistant countries, feel experimentally how severe a scourge Providence\nintends for the human race, when he gives one man the power over many,\nand arms his naturally impotent and feeble rage with the hands of\nmillions, who know no common principle of action, but a blind obedience\nto the passions of their ruler.\n\nThe next personage who figures in the tragedies of this ancient theatre\nis Semiramis; for we have no particulars of Ninus, but that he made\nimmense and rapid conquests, which doubtless were not compassed without\nthe usual carnage. We see an army of about three millions employed by\nthis martial queen in a war against the Indians. We see the Indians\narming a yet greater; and we behold a war continued with much fury, and\nwith various success. This ends in the retreat of the queen, with scarce\na third of the troops employed in the expedition; an expedition which,\nat this rate, must have cost two millions of souls on her part; and it\nis not unreasonable to judge that the country which was the seat of war\nmust have been an equal sufferer. But I am content to detract from this,\nand to suppose that the Indians lost only half so much, and then the\naccount stands thus: in this war alone (for Semiramis had other wars) in\nthis single reign, and in this one spot of the globe, did three millions\nof souls expire, with all the horrid and shocking circumstances which\nattend all wars, and in a quarrel, in which none of the sufferers could\nhave the least rational concern.\n\nThe Babylonian, Assyrian, Median, and Persian monarchies must have\npoured out seas of blood in their formation, and in their destruction.\nThe armies and fleets of Xerxes, their numbers, the glorious stand made\nagainst them, and the unfortunate event of all his mighty preparations,\nare known to everybody. In this expedition, draining half Asia of its\ninhabitants, he led an army of about two millions to be slaughtered, and\nwasted by a thousand fatal accidents, in the same place where his\npredecessors had before by a similar madness consumed the flower of so\nmany kingdoms, and wasted the force of so extensive an empire. It is a\ncheap calculation to say, that the Persian empire, in its wars against\nthe Greeks and Scythians, threw away at least four millions of its\nsubjects; to say nothing of its other wars, and the losses sustained in\nthem. These were their losses abroad; but the war was brought home to\nthem, first by Agesilaus, and afterwards by Alexander. I have not, in\nthis retreat, the books necessary to make very exact calculations; nor\nis it necessary to give more than hints to one of your lordship's\nerudition. You will recollect his uninterrupted series of success. You\nwill run over his battles. You will call to mind the carnage which was\nmade. You will give a glance at the whole, and you will agree with me,\nthat to form this hero no less than twelve hundred thousand lives must\nhave been sacrificed; but no sooner had he fallen himself a sacrifice to\nhis vices, than a thousand breaches were made for ruin to enter, and\ngive the last hand to this scene of misery and destruction. His kingdom\nwas rent and divided; which served to employ the more distinct parts to\ntear each other to pieces, and bury the whole in blood and slaughter.\nThe kings of Syria and of Egypt, the kings of Pergamus and Macedon,\nwithout intermission worried each other for above two hundred years;\nuntil at last a strong power, arising in the west, rushed in upon them\nand silenced their tumults, by involving all the contending parties in\nthe same destruction. It is little to say, that the contentions between\nthe successors of Alexander depopulated that part of the world of at\nleast two millions.\n\nThe struggle between the Macedonians and Greeks, and, before that, the\ndisputes of the Greek commonwealths among themselves, for an\nunprofitable superiority, form one of the bloodiest scenes in history.\nOne is astonished how such a small spot could furnish men sufficient to\nsacrifice to the pitiful ambition of possessing five or six thousand\nmore acres, or two or three more villages; yet to see the acrimony and\nbitterness with which this was disputed between the Athenians and\nLacedemonians; what armies cut off; what fleets sunk and burnt; what a\nnumber of cities sacked, and their inhabitants slaughtered and captived;\none would be induced to believe the decision of the fate of mankind, at\nleast, depended upon it! But those disputes ended as all such ever have\ndone, and ever will do; in a real weakness of all parties; a momentary\nshadow, and dream of power in some one; and the subjection of all to the\nyoke of a stranger, who knows how to profit of their divisions. This,\nat least, was the case of the Greeks; and surely, from the earliest\naccounts of them, to their absorption into the Roman empire, we cannot\njudge that their intestine divisions, and their foreign wars, consumed\nless than three millions of their inhabitants.\n\nWhat an Aceldama, what a field of blood Sicily has been in ancient\ntimes, whilst the mode of its government was controverted between the\nrepublican and tyrannical parties, and the possession struggled for by\nthe natives, the Greeks, the Carthaginians, and the Romans, your\nlordship will easily recollect. You will remember the total destruction\nof such bodies as an army of 300,000 men. You will find every page of\nits history dyed in blood, and blotted and confounded by tumults,\nrebellions, massacres, assassinations, proscriptions, and a series of\nhorror beyond the histories perhaps of any other nation in the world;\nthough the histories of all nations are made up of similar matter. I\nonce more excuse myself in point of exactness for want of books. But I\nshall estimate the slaughters in this island but at two millions; which\nyour lordship will find much short of the reality.\n\nLet us pass by the wars, and the consequences of them, which wasted\nGrecia-Magna, before the Roman power prevailed in that part of Italy.\nThey are perhaps exaggerated; therefore I shall only rate them at one\nmillion. Let us hasten to open that great scene which establishes the\nRoman empire, and forms the grand catastrophe of the ancient drama. This\nempire, whilst in its infancy, began by an effusion of human blood\nscarcely credible. The neighboring little states teemed for new\ndestruction: the Sabines, the Samnites, the AEqui, the Volsci, the\nHetrurians, were broken by a series of slaughters which had no\ninterruption, for some hundreds of years; slaughters which upon all\nsides consumed more than two millions of the wretched people. The Gauls,\nrushing into Italy about this time, added the total destruction of their\nown armies to those of the ancient inhabitants. In short, it were hardly\npossible to conceive a more horrid and bloody picture, if that the Punic\nwars that ensued soon after did not present one that far exceeds it.\nHere we find that climax of devastation, and ruin, which seemed to shake\nthe whole earth. The extent of this war, which vexed so many nations,\nand both elements, and the havoc of the human species caused in both,\nreally astonishes beyond expression, when it is nakedly considered, and\nthose matters which are apt to divert our attention from it, the\ncharacters, actions, and designs of the persons concerned, are not taken\ninto the account. These wars, I mean those called the Punic wars, could\nnot have stood the human race in less than three millions of the\nspecies. And yet this forms but a part only, and a very small part, of\nthe havoc caused by the Roman ambition. The war with Mithridates was\nvery little less bloody; that prince cut off at one stroke 150,000\nRomans by a massacre. In that war Sylla destroyed 300,000 men at\nCheronea. He defeated Mithridates' army under Dorilaus, and slew\n300,000. This great and unfortunate prince lost another 300,000 before\nCyzicum. In the course of the war he had innumerable other losses; and\nhaving many intervals of success, he revenged them severely. He was at\nlast totally overthrown; and he crushed to pieces the king of Armenia,\nhis ally, by the greatness of his ruin. All who had connections with him\nshared the same fate. The merciless genius of Sylla had its full scope;\nand the streets of Athens were not the only ones which ran with blood.\nAt this period, the sword, glutted with foreign slaughter, turned its\nedge upon the bowels of the Roman republic itself; and presented a scene\nof cruelties and treasons enough almost to obliterate the memory of all\nthe external devastations. I intended, my lord, to have proceeded in a\nsort of method in estimating the numbers of mankind cut off in these\nwars which we have on record. But I am obliged to alter my design. Such\na tragical uniformity of havoc and murder would disgust your lordship as\nmuch as it would me; and I confess I already feel my eyes ache by\nkeeping them so long intent on so bloody a prospect. I shall observe\nlittle on the Servile, the Social, the Gallic, and Spanish wars; nor\nupon those with Jugurtha, nor Antiochus, nor many others equally\nimportant, and carried on with equal fury. The butcheries of Julius\nCaesar alone are calculated by somebody else; the numbers he has been the\nmeans of destroying have been reckoned at 1,200,000. But to give your\nlordship an idea that may serve as a standard, by which to measure, in\nsome degree, the others; you will turn your eyes on Judea; a very\ninconsiderable spot of the earth in itself, though ennobled by the\nsingular events which had their rise in that country.\n\nThis spot happened, it matters not here by what means, to become at\nseveral times extremely populous, and to supply men for slaughters\nscarcely credible, if other well-known and well-attested ones had not\ngiven them a color. The first settling of the Jews here was attended by\nan almost entire extirpation of all the former inhabitants. Their own\ncivil wars, and those with their petty neighbors, consumed vast\nmultitudes almost every year for several centuries; and the irruptions\nof the kings of Babylon and Assyria made immense ravages. Yet we have\ntheir history but partially, in an indistinct, confused manner; so that\nI shall only throw the strong point of light upon that part which\ncoincides with Roman history, and of that part only on the point of time\nwhen they received the great and final stroke which made them, no more a\nnation; a stroke which is allowed to have cut off little less than two\nmillions of that people. I say nothing of the loppings made from that\nstock whilst it stood; nor from the suckers that grew out of the old\nroot ever since. But if, in this inconsiderable part of the globe, such\na carnage has been made in two or three short reigns, and that this\ngreat carnage, great as it is, makes but a minute part of what the\nhistories of that people inform us they suffered; what shall we judge of\ncountries more extended, and which have waged wars by far more\nconsiderable?\n\nInstances of this sort compose the uniform of history. But there have\nbeen periods when no less than universal destruction to the race of\nmankind seems to have been threatened. Such was that when the Goths, the\nVandals, and the Huns, poured into Gaul, Italy, Spain, Greece, and\nAfrica, carrying destruction before them as they advanced, and leaving\nhorrid deserts every way behind them. _Vastum ubique silentium, secreti\ncolles; fumantia procul tecta; nemo exploratoribus obvius_, is what\nTacitus calls _facies victoriae_. It is always so; but was here\nemphatically so. From the north proceeded the swarms of Goths, Vandals,\nHuns, Ostrogoths, who ran towards the south, into Africa itself, which\nsuffered as all to the north had done. About this time, another torrent\nof barbarians, animated by the same fury, and encouraged by the same\nsuccess, poured out of the south, and ravaged all to the northeast and\nwest, to the remotest parts of Persia on one hand, and to the banks of\nthe Loire or farther on the other; destroying all the proud and curious\nmonuments of human art, that not even the memory might seem to survive\nof the former inhabitants. What has been done since, and what will\ncontinue to be done while the same inducements to war continue, I shall\nnot dwell upon. I shall only in one word mention the horrid effects of\nbigotry and avarice, in the conquest of Spanish America; a conquest, on\na low estimation, effected by the murder of ten millions of the species.\nI shall draw to a conclusion of this part, by making a general\ncalculation of the whole. I think I have actually mentioned above\nthirty-six millions. I have not particularized any more. I don't pretend\nto exactness; therefore, for the sake of a general view, I shall lay\ntogether all those actually slain in battles, or who have perished in a\nno less miserable manner by the other destructive consequences of war\nfrom the beginning of the world to this day, in the four parts of it, at\na thousand times as much; no exaggerated calculation, allowing for time\nand extent. We have not perhaps spoke of the five-hundredth part; I am\nsure I have not of what is actually ascertained in history; but how much\nof these butcheries are only expressed in generals, what part of time\nhistory has never reached, and what vast spaces of the habitable globe\nit has not embraced, I need not mention to your lordship. I need not\nenlarge on those torrents of silent and inglorious blood which have\nglutted the thirsty sands of Afric, or discolored the polar snow, or\nfed the savage forests of America for so many ages of continual war.\nShall I, to justify my calculations from the charge of extravagance, add\nto the account those skirmishes which happen in all wars, without being\nsingly of sufficient dignity in mischief, to merit a place in history,\nbut which by their frequency compensate for this comparative innocence?\nshall I inflame the account by those general massacres which have\ndevoured whole cities and nations; those wasting pestilences, those\nconsuming famines, and all those furies that follow in the train of war?\nI have no need to exaggerate; and I have purposely avoided a parade of\neloquence on this occasion. I should despise it upon any occasion; else\nin mentioning these slaughters, it is obvious how much the whole might\nbe heightened, by an affecting description of the horrors that attend\nthe wasting of kingdoms, and sacking of cities. But I do not write to\nthe vulgar, nor to that which only governs the vulgar, their passions. I\ngo upon a naked and moderate calculation, just enough, without a\npedantical exactness, to give your lordship some feeling of the effects\nof political society. I charge the whole of these effects on political\nsociety. I avow the charge, and I shall presently make it good to your\nlordship's satisfaction. The numbers I particularized are about\nthirty-six millions. Besides those killed in battles I have said\nsomething, not half what the matter would have justified, but something\nI have said concerning the consequences of war even more dreadful than\nthat monstrous carnage itself which shocks our humanity, and almost\nstaggers our belief. So that, allowing me in my exuberance one way for\nmy deficiencies in the other, you will find me not unreasonable. I\nthink the numbers of men now upon earth are computed at five hundred\nmillions at the most. Here the slaughter of mankind, on what you will\ncall a small calculation, amounts to upwards of seventy times the number\nof souls this day on the globe: a point which may furnish matter of\nreflection to one less inclined to draw consequences than your lordship.\n\nI now come to show that political society is justly chargeable with much\nthe greatest part of this destruction of the species. To give the\nfairest play to every side of the question, I will own that there is a\nhaughtiness and fierceness in human nature, which will cause innumerable\nbroils, place men in what situation you please; but owning this, I still\ninsist in charging it to political regulations, that these broils are so\nfrequent, so cruel, and attended with consequences so deplorable. In a\nstate of nature, it had been impossible to find a number of men,\nsufficient for such slaughters, agreed in the same bloody purpose; or\nallowing that they might have come to such an agreement (an impossible\nsupposition), yet the means that simple nature has supplied them with,\nare by no means adequate to such an end; many scratches, many bruises\nundoubtedly would be received upon all hands; but only a few, a very few\ndeaths. Society and politics, which have given us these destructive\nviews, have given us also the means of satisfying them. From the\nearliest dawnings of policy to this day, the invention of men has been\nsharpening and improving the mystery of murder, from the first rude\nessays of clubs and stones, to the present perfection of gunnery,\ncannoneering, bombarding, mining, and all those species of artificial,\nlearned, and refined cruelty, in which we are now so expert, and which\nmake a principal part of what politicians have taught us to believe is\nour principal glory.\n\nHow far mere nature would have carried us, we may judge by the example\nof those animals who still follow her laws, and even of those to whom\nshe has given dispositions more fierce, and arms more terrible than ever\nshe intended we should use. It is an incontestable truth that there is\nmore havoc made in one year by men of men, than has been made by all the\nlions, tigers, panthers, ounces, leopards, hyenas, rhinoceroses,\nelephants, bears and wolves, upon their several species, since the\nbeginning of the world; though these agree ill enough with each other,\nand have a much greater proportion of rage and fury in their composition\nthan we have. But with respect to you, ye legislators, ye civilizers of\nmankind! ye Orpheuses, Moseses, Minoses, Solons, Theseuses, Lycurguses,\nNumas! with respect to you be it spoken, your regulations have done more\nmischief in cold blood, than all the rage of the fiercest animals in\ntheir greatest terrors, or furies, has ever done, or ever could do!\n\nThese evils are not accidental. Whoever will take the pains to consider\nthe nature of society will find that they result directly from its\nconstitution. For as _subordination_, or, in other words, the\nreciprocation of tyranny and slavery, is requisite to support these\nsocieties; the interest, the ambition, the malice, or the revenge, nay,\neven the whim and caprice of one ruling man among them, is enough to arm\nall the rest, without any private views of their own, to the worst and\nblackest purposes: and what is at once lamentable, and ridiculous, these\nwretches engage under those banners with a fury greater than if they\nwere animated by revenge for their own proper wrongs.\n\nIt is no less worth observing, that this artificial division of mankind\ninto separate societies is a perpetual source in itself of hatred and\ndissension among them. The names which distinguish them are enough to\nblow up hatred and rage. Examine history; consult present experience;\nand you will find that far the greater part of the quarrels between\nseveral nations had scarce any other occasion than that these nations\nwere different combinations of people, and called by different names: to\nan Englishman, the name of a Frenchman, a Spaniard, an Italian, much\nmore a Turk, or a Tartar, raises of course ideas of hatred and contempt.\nIf you would inspire this compatriot of ours with pity or regard for one\nof these, would you not hide that distinction? You would not pray him to\ncompassionate the poor Frenchman, or the unhappy German. Far from it;\nyou would speak of him as a _foreigner_; an accident to which all are\nliable. You would represent him as a _man_; one partaking with us of the\nsame common nature, and subject to the same law. There is something so\naverse from our nature in these artificial political distinctions, that\nwe need no other trumpet to kindle us to war and destruction. But there\nis something so benign and healing in the general voice of humanity\nthat, maugre all our regulations to prevent it, the simple name of man\napplied properly, never fails to work a salutary effect.\n\nThis natural unpremeditated effect of policy on the unpossessed passions\nof mankind appears on other occasions. The very name of a politician, a\nstatesman, is sure to cause terror and hatred; it has always connected\nwith it the ideas of treachery, cruelty, fraud, and tyranny; and those\nwriters who have faithfully unveiled the mysteries of state-freemasonry,\nhave ever been held in general detestation, for even knowing so\nperfectly a theory so detestable. The case of Machiavel seems at first\nsight something hard in that respect. He is obliged to bear the\niniquities of those whose maxims and rules of government he published.\nHis speculation is more abhorred than their practice.\n\nBut if there were no other arguments against artificial society than\nthis I am going to mention, methinks it ought to fall by this one only.\nAll writers on the science of policy are agreed, and they agree with\nexperience, that, all governments must frequently infringe the rules of\njustice to support themselves; that truth must give way to\ndissimulation; honesty to convenience; and humanity itself to the\nreigning interest. The whole of this mystery of iniquity is called the\nreason of state. It is a reason which I own I cannot penetrate. What\nsort of a protection is this of the general right, that is maintained by\ninfringing the rights of particulars? What sort of justice is this,\nwhich is enforced by breaches of its own laws? These paradoxes I leave\nto be solved by the able heads of legislators and politicians. For my\npart, I say what a plain man would say on such an occasion. I can never\nbelieve that any institution, agreeable to nature, and proper for\nmankind, could find it necessary, or even expedient, in any case\nwhatsoever, to do what the best and worthiest instincts of mankind warn\nus to avoid. But no wonder, that what is set up in opposition to the\nstate of nature should preserve itself by trampling upon the law of\nnature.\n\nTo prove that these sorts of policed societies are a violation offered\nto nature, and a constraint upon the human mind, it needs only to look\nupon the sanguinary measures, and instruments of violence, which are\neverywhere used to support them. Let us take a review of the dungeons,\nwhips, chains, racks, gibbets, with which every society is abundantly\nstored; by which hundreds of victims are annually offered up to support\na dozen or two in pride and madness, and millions in an abject servitude\nand dependence. There was a time when I looked with a reverential awe on\nthese mysteries of policy; but age, experience, and philosophy, have\nrent the veil; and I view this _sanctum sanctorum_, at least, without\nany enthusiastic admiration. I acknowledge, indeed, the necessity of\nsuch a proceeding in such institutions; but I must have a very mean\nopinion of institutions where such proceedings are necessary.\n\nIt is a misfortune that in no part of the globe natural liberty and\nnatural religion are to be found pure, and free from the mixture of\npolitical adulterations. Yet we have implanted in us by Providence,\nideas, axioms, rules, of what is pious, just, fair, honest, which no\npolitical craft, nor learned sophistry can entirely expel from our\nbreasts. By these we judge, and we cannot otherwise judge, of the\nseveral artificial modes of religion and society, and determine of them\nas they approach to or recede from this standard.\n\nThe simplest form of government is _despotism_, where all the inferior\norbs of power are moved merely by the will of the Supreme, and all that\nare subjected to them directed in the same manner, merely by the\noccasional will of the magistrate. This form, as it is the most simple,\nso it is infinitely the most general. Scarcely any part of the world is\nexempted from its power. And in those few places where men enjoy what\nthey call liberty, it is continually in a tottering situation, and makes\ngreater and greater strides to that gulf of despotism which at last\nswallows up every species of government. The manner of ruling being\ndirected merely by the will of the weakest, and generally the worst man\nin the society, becomes the most foolish and capricious thing, at the\nsame time that it is the most terrible and destructive that well can be\nconceived. In a despotism, the principal person finds that, let the\nwant, misery, and indigence of his subjects be what they will, he can\nyet possess abundantly of everything to gratify his most insatiable\nwishes. He does more. He finds that these gratifications increase in\nproportion to the wretchedness and slavery of his subjects. Thus\nencouraged both by passion and interest to trample on the public\nwelfare, and by his station placed above both shame and fear, he\nproceeds to the most horrid and shocking outrages upon mankind. Their\npersons become victims of his suspicions. The slightest displeasure is\ndeath; and a disagreeable aspect is often as great a crime as high\ntreason. In the court of Nero, a person of learning, of unquestioned\nmerit, and of unsuspected loyalty, was put to death for no other reason,\nthan that he had a pedantic countenance which displeased the emperor.\nThis very monster of mankind appeared in the beginning of his reign to\nbe a person of virtue. Many of the greatest tyrants on the records of\nhistory have begun their reigns in the fairest manner. But the truth\nis, this unnatural power corrupts both the heart and the understanding.\nAnd to prevent the least hope of amendment, a king is ever surrounded by\na crowd of infamous flatterers, who find their account in keeping him\nfrom the least light of reason, till all ideas of rectitude and justice\nare utterly erased from his mind. When Alexander had in his fury\ninhumanly butchered one of his best friends and bravest captains; on the\nreturn of reason he began to conceive an horror suitable to the guilt of\nsuch a murder. In this juncture his council came to his assistance. But\nwhat did his council? They found him out a philosopher who gave him\ncomfort. And in what manner did this philosopher comfort him for the\nloss of such a man, and heal his conscience, flagrant with the smart of\nsuch a crime? You have the matter at length in Plutarch. He told him,\n\"_that let a sovereign do what he wilt, all his actions are just and\nlawful, because they are his_.\" The palaces of all princes abound with\nsuch courtly philosophers. The consequence was such as might be\nexpected. He grew every day a monster more abandoned to unnatural lust,\nto debauchery, to drunkenness, and to murder. And yet this was\noriginally a great man, of uncommon capacity, and a strong propensity to\nvirtue. But unbounded power proceeds step by step, until it has\neradicated every laudable principle. It has been remarked, that there is\nno prince so bad, whose favorites and ministers are not worse. There is\nhardly any prince without a favorite, by whom he is governed in as\narbitrary a manner as he governs the wretches subjected to him. Here the\ntyranny is doubled. There are two courts, and two interests; both very\ndifferent from the interests of the people. The favorite knows that the\nregard of a tyrant is as unconstant and capricious as that of a woman;\nand concluding his time to be short, he makes haste to fill up the\nmeasure of his iniquity, in rapine, in luxury, and in revenge. Every\navenue to the throne is shut up. He oppresses and ruins the people,\nwhilst he persuades the prince that those murmurs raised by his own\noppression are the effects of disaffection to the prince's government.\nThen is the natural violence of despotism inflamed and aggravated by\nhatred and revenge. To deserve well of the state is a crime against the\nprince. To be popular, and to be a traitor, are considered as synonymous\nterms. Even virtue is dangerous, as an aspiring quality, that claims an\nesteem by itself, and independent of the countenance of the court. What\nhas been said of the chief, is true of the inferior officers of this\nspecies of government; each in his province exercising the same tyranny,\nand grinding the people by an oppression, the more severely felt, as it\nis near them, and exercised by base and subordinate persons. For the\ngross of the people, they are considered as a mere herd of cattle; and\nreally in a little time become no better; all principle of honest pride,\nall sense of the dignity of their nature, is lost in their slavery. The\nday, says Homer, which makes a man a slave, takes away half his worth;\nand, in fact, he loses every impulse to action, but that low and base\none of fear. In this kind of government human nature is not only abused\nand insulted, but it is actually degraded and sunk into a species of\nbrutality. The consideration of this made Mr. Locke say, with great\njustice, that a government of this kind was worse than anarchy: indeed\nit is so abhorred and detested by all who live under forms that have a\nmilder appearance, that there is scarcely a rational man in Europe that\nwould not prefer death to Asiatic despotism. Here then we have the\nacknowledgment of a great philosopher, that an irregular state of nature\nis preferable to such a government; we have the consent of all sensible\nand generous men, who carry it yet further, and avow that death itself\nis preferable; and yet this species of government, so justly condemned,\nand so generally detested, is what infinitely the greater part of\nmankind groan under, and have groaned under from the beginning. So that,\nby sure and uncontested principles, the greatest part of the governments\non earth must be concluded tyrannies, impostures, violations of the\nnatural rights of mankind, and worse than the most disorderly anarchies.\nHow much other forms exceed this we shall consider immediately.\n\nIn all parts of the world, mankind, however debased, retains still the\nsense of _feeling_; the weight of tyranny at last becomes insupportable;\nbut the remedy is not so easy: in general, the only remedy by which they\nattempt to cure the tyranny is to change the tyrant. This is, and always\nwas, the case for the greater part. In some countries, however, were\nfound men of more penetration, who discovered \"_that to live by one\nman's will was the cause of all men's misery_.\" They therefore changed\ntheir former method, and assembling the men in their several societies\nthe most respectable for their understanding and fortunes, they confided\nto them the charge of the public welfare. This originally formed what is\ncalled an _aristocracy_. They hoped it would be impossible that such a\nnumber could ever join in any design against the general good; and they\npromised themselves a great deal of security and happiness from the\nunited counsels of so many able and experienced persons. But it is now\nfound by abundant experience, that an _aristocracy_, and a _despotism_,\ndiffer but in name; and that a people who are in general excluded from\nany share of the legislative, are, to all intents and purposes, as much\nslaves, when twenty, independent of them, govern, as when but one\ndomineers. The tyranny is even more felt, as every individual of the\nnobles has the haughtiness of a sultan; the people are more miserable,\nas they seem on the verge of liberty, from which they are forever\ndebarred; this fallacious idea of liberty, whilst it presents a vain\nshadow of happiness to the subject, binds faster the chains of his\nsubjection. What is left undone by the natural avarice and pride of\nthose who are raised above the others, is completed by their suspicions,\nand their dread of losing an authority, which has no support in the\ncommon utility of the nation. A Genoese or a Venetian republic is a\nconcealed _despotism_; where you find the same pride of the rulers, the\nsame base subjection of the people, the same bloody maxims of a\nsuspicious policy. In one respect the _aristocracy_ is worse than the\n_despotism_. A body politic, whilst it retains its authority, never\nchanges its maxims; a _despotism_, which is this day horrible to a\nsupreme degree, by the caprice natural to the heart of man, may, by the\nsame caprice otherwise exerted, be as lovely the next; in a succession,\nit is possible to meet with some good princes. If there have been\nTiberiuses, Caligulas, Neros, there have been likewise the serener days\nof Vespasians, Tituses, Trajans, and Antonines; but a body politic is\nnot influenced by caprice or whim, it proceeds in a regular manner, its\nsuccession is insensible; and every man as he enters it, either has, or\nsoon attains, the spirit of the whole body. Never was it known that an\n_aristocracy_, which was haughty and tyrannical in one century, became\neasy and mild in the next. In effect, the yoke of this species of\ngovernment is so galling, that whenever the people have got the least\npower, they have shaken it off with the utmost indignation, and\nestablished a popular form. And when they have not had strength enough\nto support themselves, they have thrown themselves into the arms of\n_despotism_, as the more eligible of the two evils. This latter was the\ncase of Denmark, who sought a refuge from the oppression of its\nnobility, in the strong hold of arbitrary power. Poland has at present\nthe name of republic, and it is one of the _aristocratic_ form; but it\nis well known that the little finger of this government is heavier than\nthe loins of arbitrary power in most nations. The people are not only\npolitically, but personally slaves, and treated with the utmost\nindignity. The republic of Venice is somewhat more moderate; yet even\nhere, so heavy is the _aristocratic_ yoke, that the nobles have been\nobliged to enervate the spirit of their subjects by every sort of\ndebauchery; they have denied them the liberty of reason, and they have\nmade them amends by what a base soul will think a more valuable liberty,\nby not only allowing, but encouraging them to corrupt themselves in the\nmost scandalous manner. They consider their subjects as the farmer does\nthe hog he keeps to feast upon. He holds him fast in his sty, but allows\nhim to wallow as much as he pleases in his beloved filth and gluttony.\nSo scandalously debauched a people as that of Venice is to be met with\nnowhere else. High, low, men, women, clergy, and laity, are all alike.\nThe ruling nobility are no less afraid of one another than they are of\nthe people; and, for that reason, politically enervate their own body by\nthe same effeminate luxury by which they corrupt their subjects. They\nare impoverished by every means which can be invented; and they are kept\nin a perpetual terror by the horrors of a state inquisition. Here you\nsee a people deprived of all rational freedom, and tyrannized over by\nabout two thousand men; and yet this body of two thousand are so far\nfrom enjoying any liberty by the subjection of the rest, that they are\nin an infinitely severer state of slavery; they make themselves the most\ndegenerate and unhappy of mankind, for no other purpose than that they\nmay the more effectually contribute to the misery of a whole nation. In\nshort, the regular and methodical proceedings of an _aristocracy_ are\nmore intolerable than the very excesses of a _despotism_, and, in\ngeneral, much further from any remedy.\n\nThus, my lord, we have pursued _aristocracy_ through its whole progress;\nwe have seen the seeds, the growth, and the fruit. It could boast none\nof the advantages of a _despotism_, miserable as those advantages were,\nand it was overloaded with an exuberance of mischiefs, unknown even to\n_despotism_ itself. In effect, it is no more than a disorderly tyranny.\nThis form, therefore, could be little approved, even in speculation, by\nthose who were capable of thinking, and could be less borne in practice\nby any who were capable of feeling. However, the fruitful policy of man\nwas not yet exhausted. He had yet another farthing candle to supply the\ndeficiencies of the sun. This was the third form, known by political\nwriters under the name of _democracy_. Here the people transacted all\npublic business, or the greater part of it, in their own persons; their\nlaws were made by themselves, and, upon any failure of duty, their\nofficers were accountable to themselves, and to them only. In all\nappearance, they had secured by this method the advantages of order and\ngood government, without paying their liberty for the purchase. Now, my\nlord, we are come to the masterpiece of Grecian refinement, and Roman\nsolidity,--a popular government. The earliest and most celebrated\nrepublic of this model was that of Athens. It was constructed by no less\nan artist than the celebrated poet and philosopher, Solon. But no sooner\nwas this political vessel launched from the stocks, than it overset,\neven in the lifetime of the builder. A tyranny immediately supervened;\nnot by a foreign conquest, not by accident, but by the very nature and\nconstitution of a _democracy_. An artful man became popular, the people\nhad power in their hands, and they devolved a considerable share of\ntheir power upon their favorite; and the only use he made of this power\nwas, to plunge those who gave it into slavery. Accident restored their\nliberty, and the same good fortune produced men of uncommon abilities\nand uncommon virtues amongst them. But these abilities were suffered to\nbe of little service either to their possessors or to the state. Some of\nthese men, for whose sakes alone we read their history, they banished;\nothers they imprisoned, and all they treated with various circumstances\nof the most shameful ingratitude. Republics have many things in the\nspirit of absolute monarchy, but none more than this. A shining merit\nis ever hated or suspected in a popular assembly, as well as in a court;\nand all services done the state are looked upon as dangerous to the\nrulers, whether sultans or senators. The _ostracism_ at Athens was built\nupon this principle. The giddy people whom we have now under\nconsideration, being elated with some flashes of success, which they\nowed to nothing less than any merit of their own, began to tyrannize\nover their equals, who had associated with them for their common\ndefence. With their prudence they renounced all appearance of justice.\nThey entered into wars rashly and wantonly. If they were unsuccessful,\ninstead of growing wiser by their misfortune, they threw the whole blame\nof their own misconduct on the ministers who had advised, and the\ngenerals who had conducted, those wars; until by degrees they had cut\noff all who could serve them in their councils or their battles. If at\nany time these wars had a happier issue, it was no less difficult to\ndeal with them on account of their pride and insolence. Furious in their\nadversity, tyrannical in their successes, a commander had more trouble\nto concert his defence before the people, than to plan the operations of\nthe campaign. It was not uncommon for a general, under the horrid\n_despotism_ of the Roman emperors, to be ill received in proportion to\nthe greatness of his services. Agricola is a strong instance of this. No\nman had done greater things, nor with more honest ambition. Yet, on his\nreturn to court, he was obliged to enter Rome with all the secrecy of a\ncriminal. He went to the palace, not like a victorious commander who had\nmerited and might demand the greatest rewards, but like an offender who\nhad come to supplicate a pardon for his crimes. His reception was\nanswerable; \"_Exceptusque brevi osculo et nullo sermone, turbae\nservientium immixtus est_.\" Yet in that worst season of this worst of\nmonarchical[9] tyrannies, modesty, discretion, and a coolness of temper,\nformed some kind of security, even for the highest merit. But at Athens,\nthe nicest and best studied behavior was not a sufficient guard for a\nman of great capacity. Some of their bravest commanders were obliged to\nfly their country, some to enter into the service of its enemies, rather\nthan abide a popular determination on their conduct, lest, as one of\nthem said, their giddiness might make the people condemn where they\nmeant to acquit; to throw in a black bean even when they intended a\nwhite one.\n\nThe Athenians made a very rapid progress to the most enormous excesses.\nThe people, under no restraint, soon grew dissolute, luxurious, and\nidle. They renounced all labor, and began to subsist themselves from the\npublic revenues. They lost all concern for their common honor or safety,\nand could bear no advice that tended to reform them. At this time truth\nbecame offensive to those lords the people, and most highly dangerous to\nthe speaker. The orators no longer ascended the _rostrum_, but to\ncorrupt them further with the most fulsome adulation. These orators were\nall bribed by foreign princes on the one side or the other. And besides\nits own parties, in this city there were parties, and avowed ones too,\nfor the Persians, Spartans, and Macedonians, supported each of them by\none or more demagogues pensioned and bribed to this iniquitous service.\nThe people, forgetful of all virtue and public spirit, and intoxicated\nwith the flatteries of their orators (these courtiers of republics, and\nendowed with the distinguishing characteristics of all other courtiers),\nthis people, I say, at last arrived at that pitch of madness, that they\ncoolly and deliberately, by an express law, made it capital for any man\nto propose an application of the immense sums squandered in public\nshows, even to the most necessary purposes of the state. When you see\nthe people of this republic banishing and murdering their best and\nablest citizens, dissipating the public treasure with the most senseless\nextravagance, and spending their whole time, as spectators or actors, in\nplaying, fiddling, dancing, and singing, does it not, my lord, strike\nyour imagination with the image of a sort of complex Nero? And does it\nnot strike you with the greater horror, when you observe, not one man\nonly, but a whole city, grown drunk with pride and power, running with a\nrage of folly into the same mean and senseless debauchery and\nextravagance? But if this people resembled Nero in their extravagance,\nmuch more did they resemble and even exceed him in cruelty and\ninjustice. In the time of Pericles, one of the most celebrated times in\nthe history of that commonwealth, a king of Egypt sent them a donation\nof corn. This they were mean enough to accept. And had the Egyptian\nprince intended the ruin of this city of wicked Bedlamites, he could not\nhave taken a more effectual method to do it than by such an ensnaring\nlargess. The distribution of this bounty caused a quarrel; the majority\nset on foot an inquiry into the title of the citizens; and upon a vain\npretence of illegitimacy, newly and occasionally set up, they deprived\nof their share of the royal donation no less than five thousand of\ntheir own body. They went further; they disfranchised them; and, having\nonce begun with an act of injustice, they could set no bounds to it. Not\ncontent with cutting them off from the rights of citizens, they\nplundered these unfortunate wretches of all their substance; and, to\ncrown this masterpiece of violence and tyranny, they actually sold every\nman of the five thousand as slaves in the public market. Observe, my\nlord, that the five thousand we here speak of were cut off from a body\nof no more than nineteen thousand; for the entire number of citizens was\nno greater at that time. Could the tyrant who wished the Roman people\nbut one neck; could the tyrant Caligula himself have done, nay, he could\nscarcely wish for, a greater mischief than to have cut off, at one\nstroke, a fourth of his people? Or has the cruelty of that series of\nsanguine tyrants, the Caesars, ever presented such a piece of flagrant\nand extensive wickedness? The whole history of this celebrated republic\nis but one tissue of rashness, folly, ingratitude, injustice, tumult,\nviolence, and tyranny, and, indeed, of every species of wickedness that\ncan well be imagined. This was a city of wise men, in which a minister\ncould not exercise his functions; a warlike people, amongst whom a\ngeneral did not dare either to gain or lose a battle; a learned nation,\nin which a philosopher could not venture on a free inquiry. This was the\ncity which banished Themistocles, starved Aristides, forced into exile\nMiltiades, drove out Anaxagoras, and poisoned Socrates. This was a city\nwhich changed the form of its government with the moon; eternal\nconspiracies, revolutions daily, nothing fixed and established. A\nrepublic, as an ancient philosopher has observed, is no one species of\ngovernment, but a magazine of every species; here you find every sort of\nit, and that in the worst form. As there is a perpetual change, one\nrising and the other falling, you have all the violence and wicked\npolicy by which a beginning power must always acquire its strength, and\nall the weakness by which falling states are brought to a complete\ndestruction.\n\nRome has a more venerable aspect than Athens; and she conducted her\naffairs, so far as related to the ruin and oppression of the greatest\npart of the world, with greater wisdom and more uniformity. But the\ndomestic economy of these two states was nearly or altogether the same.\nAn internal dissension constantly tore to pieces the bowels of the Roman\ncommonwealth. You find the same confusion, the same factions, which\nsubsisted at Athens, the same tumults, the same revolutions, and, in\nfine, the same slavery; if, perhaps, their former condition did not\ndeserve that name altogether as well. All other republics were of the\nsame character. Florence was a transcript of Athens. And the modern\nrepublics, as they approach more or less to the democratic form, partake\nmore or less of the nature of those which I have described.\n\nWe are now at the close of our review of the three simple forms of\nartificial society; and we have shown them, however they may differ in\nname, or in some slight circumstances, to be all alike in effect: in\neffect, to be all tyrannies. But suppose we were inclined to make the\nmost ample concessions; let us concede Athens, Rome, Carthage, and two\nor three more of the ancient, and as many of the modern, commonwealths,\nto have been, or to be, free and happy, and to owe their freedom and\nhappiness to their political constitution. Yet, allowing all this, what\ndefence does this make for artificial society in general, that these\ninconsiderable spots of the globe have for some short space of time\nstood as exceptions to a charge so general? But when we call these\ngovernments free, or concede that their citizens were happier than those\nwhich lived under different forms, it is merely _ex abundanti_. For we\nshould be greatly mistaken, if we really thought that the majority of\nthe people which filled these cities enjoyed even that nominal political\nfreedom of which I have spoken so much already. In reality, they had no\npart of it. In Athens there were usually from ten to thirty thousand\nfreemen; this was the utmost. But the slaves usually amounted to four\nhundred thousand, and sometimes to a great many more. The freemen of\nSparta and Rome were not more numerous in proportion to those whom they\nheld in a slavery even more terrible than the Athenian. Therefore state\nthe matter fairly: the free states never formed, though they were taken\naltogether, the thousandth part of the habitable globe; the freemen in\nthese states were never the twentieth part of the people, and the time\nthey subsisted is scarce anything in that immense ocean of duration in\nwhich time and slavery are so nearly commensurate. Therefore call these\nfree states, or popular governments, or what you please; when we\nconsider the majority of their inhabitants, and regard the natural\nrights of mankind, they must appear, in reality and truth, no better\nthan pitiful and oppressive oligarchies.\n\nAfter so fair an examen, wherein nothing has been exaggerated; no fact\nproduced which cannot be proved, and none which has been produced in\nany wise forced or strained, while thousands have, for brevity, been\nomitted; after so candid a discussion in all respects; what slave so\npassive, what bigot so blind, what enthusiast so headlong, what\npolitician so hardened, as to stand up in defence of a system calculated\nfor a curse to mankind? a curse under which they smart and groan to this\nhour, without thoroughly knowing the nature of the disease, and wanting\nunderstanding or courage to supply the remedy.\n\nI need not excuse myself to your lordship, nor, I think, to any honest\nman, for the zeal I have shown in this cause; for it is an honest zeal,\nand in a good cause. I have defended natural religion against a\nconfederacy of atheists and divines. I now plead for natural society\nagainst politicians, and for natural reason against all three. When the\nworld is in a fitter temper than it is at present to hear truth, or when\nI shall be more indifferent about its temper, my thoughts may become\nmore public. In the mean time, let them repose in my own bosom, and in\nthe bosoms of such men as are fit to be initiated in the sober mysteries\nof truth and reason. My antagonists have already done as much as I could\ndesire. Parties in religion and politics make sufficient discoveries\nconcerning each other, to give a sober man a proper caution against them\nall. The monarchic, and aristocratical, and popular partisans, have been\njointly laying their axes to the root of all government, and have, in\ntheir turns, proved each other absurd and inconvenient. In vain you tell\nme that artificial government is good, but that I fall out only with the\nabuse. The thing! the thing itself is the abuse! Observe, my lord, I\npray you, that grand error upon which all artificial legislative power\nis founded. It was observed, that men had ungovernable passions, which\nmade it necessary to guard against the violence they might offer to each\nother. They appointed governors over them for this reason. But a worse\nand more perplexing difficulty arises, how to be defended against the\ngovernors? _Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?_ In vain they change from a\nsingle person to a few. These few have the passions of the one; and they\nunite to strengthen themselves, and to secure the gratification of their\nlawless passions at the expense of the general good. In vain do we fly\nto the many. The case is worse; their passions are less under the\ngovernment of reason, they are augmented by the contagion, and defended\nagainst all attacks by their multitude.\n\nI have purposely avoided the mention of the mixed form of government,\nfor reasons that will be very obvious to your lordship. But my caution\ncan avail me but little. You will not fail to urge it against me in\nfavor of political society. You will not fail to show how the errors of\nthe several simple modes are corrected by a mixture of all of them, and\na proper balance of the several powers in such a state. I confess, my\nlord, that this has been long a darling mistake of my own; and that of\nall the sacrifices I have made to truth, this has been by far the\ngreatest. When I confess that I think this notion a mistake, I know to\nwhom I am speaking, for I am satisfied that reasons are like liquors,\nand there are some of such a nature as none but strong heads can bear.\nThere are few with whom I can communicate so freely as with Pope. But\nPope cannot bear every truth. He has a timidity which hinders the full\nexertion of his faculties, almost as effectually as bigotry cramps those\nof the general herd of mankind. But whoever is a genuine follower of\ntruth keeps his eye steady upon his guide, indifferent whither he is\nled, provided that she is the leader. And, my lord, if it be properly\nconsidered, it were infinitely better to remain possessed by the whole\nlegion of vulgar mistakes, than to reject some, and at the same time to\nretain a fondness for others altogether as absurd and irrational. The\nfirst has at least a consistency, that makes a man, however erroneously,\nuniform at least; but the latter way of proceeding is such an\ninconsistent chimera and jumble of philosophy and vulgar prejudice, that\nhardly anything more ridiculous can be conceived. Let us therefore\nfreely, and without fear or prejudice, examine this last contrivance of\npolicy. And, without considering how near the quick our instruments may\ncome, let us search it to the bottom.\n\nFirst, then, all men are agreed that this junction of regal,\naristocratic, and popular power, must form a very complex, nice, and\nintricate machine, which being composed of such a variety of parts, with\nsuch opposite tendencies and movements, it must be liable on every\naccident to be disordered. To speak without metaphor, such a government\nmust be liable to frequent cabals, tumults, and revolutions, from its\nvery constitution. These are undoubtedly as ill effects as can happen in\na society; for in such a case, the closeness acquired by community,\ninstead of serving for mutual defence, serves only to increase the\ndanger. Such a system is like a city, where trades that require constant\nfires are much exercised, where the houses are built of combustible\nmaterials, and where they stand extremely close.\n\nIn the second place, the several constituent parts having their distinct\nrights, and these many of them so necessary to be determined with\nexactness, are yet so indeterminate in their nature, that it becomes a\nnew and constant source of debate and confusion. Hence it is, that\nwhilst the business of government should be carrying on, the question\nis, Who has a right to exercise this or that function of it, or what men\nhave power to keep their offices in any function? Whilst this contest\ncontinues, and whilst the balance in any sort continues, it has never\nany remission; all manner of abuses and villanies in officers remain\nunpunished; the greatest frauds and robberies in the public revenues are\ncommitted in defiance of justice; and abuses grow, by time and impunity,\ninto customs; until they prescribe against the laws, and grow too\ninveterate often to admit a cure, unless such as may be as bad as the\ndisease.\n\nThirdly, the several parts of this species of government, though united,\npreserve the spirit which each form has separately. Kings are ambitious;\nthe nobility haughty; and the populace tumultuous and ungovernable. Each\nparty, however in appearance peaceable, carries on a design upon the\nothers; and it is owing to this, that in all questions, whether\nconcerning foreign or domestic affairs, the whole generally turns more\nupon some party-matter than upon the nature of the thing itself; whether\nsuch a step will diminish or augment the power of the crown, or how far\nthe privileges of the subject are likely to be extended or restricted by\nit. And these questions are constantly resolved, without any\nconsideration of the merits of the cause, merely as the parties who\nuphold these jarring interests may chance to prevail; and as they\nprevail, the balance is overset, now upon one side, now upon the other.\nThe government is, one day, arbitrary power in a single person; another,\na juggling confederacy of a few to cheat the prince and enslave the\npeople; and the third, a frantic and unmanageable democracy. The great\ninstrument of all these changes, and what infuses a peculiar venom into\nall of them, is party. It is of no consequence what the principles of\nany party, or what their pretensions are; the spirit which actuates all\nparties is the same; the spirit of ambition, of self-interest, of\noppression and treachery. This spirit entirely reverses all the\nprinciples which a benevolent nature has erected within us; all honesty,\nall equal justice, and even the ties of natural society, the natural\naffections. In a word, my lord, we have all _seen_, and, if any outward\nconsiderations were worthy the lasting concern of a wise man, we have\nsome of us _felt_, such oppression from party government as no other\ntyranny can parallel. We behold daily the most important rights, rights\nupon which all the others depend, we behold these rights determined in\nthe last resort, without the least attention even to the appearance or\ncolor of justice; we behold this without emotion, because we have grown\nup in the constant view of such practices; and we are not surprised to\nhear a man requested to be a knave and a traitor, with as much\nindifference as if the most ordinary favor were asked; and we hear this\nrequest refused, not because it is a most unjust and unreasonable\ndesire, but because this worthy has already engaged his injustice to\nanother. These and many more points I am for from spreading to their\nfull extent. You are sensible that I do not put forth half my strength;\nand you cannot be at a loss for the reason. A man is allowed sufficient\nfreedom of thought, provided he knows how to choose his subject\nproperly. You may criticise freely upon the Chinese constitution, and\nobserve with as much severity as you please upon the absurd tricks, or\ndestructive bigotry of the bonzees. But the scene is changed as you come\nhomeward, and atheism or treason may be the names given in Britain, to\nwhat would be reason and truth if asserted of China. I submit to the\ncondition, and though I have a notorious advantage before me, I waive\nthe pursuit. For else, my lord, it is very obvious what a picture might\nbe drawn of the excesses of party even in our own nation. I could show,\nthat the same faction has, in one reign, promoted popular seditions,\nand, in the next, been a patron of tyranny: I could show that they have\nall of them betrayed the public safety at all times, and have very\nfrequently with equal perfidy made a market of their own cause and their\nown associates. I could show how vehemently they have contended for\nnames, and how silently they have passed over things of the last\nimportance. And I could demonstrate that they have had the opportunity\nof doing all this mischief, nay, that they themselves had their origin\nand growth from that complex form of government, which we are wisely\ntaught to look upon as so great a blessing. Revolve, my lord, our\nhistory from the Conquest. We scarcely ever had a prince, who, by fraud\nor violence, had not made some infringement on the constitution. We\nscarcely ever had a Parliament which knew, when it attempted to set\nlimits to the royal authority, how to set limits to its own. Evils we\nhave had continually calling for reformation, and reformations more\ngrievous than any evils. Our boasted liberty sometimes trodden down,\nsometimes giddily set up, and ever precariously fluctuating and\nunsettled; it has only been kept alive by the blasts of continual feuds,\nwars, and conspiracies. In no country in Europe has the scaffold so\noften blushed with the blood of its nobility. Confiscations,\nbanishments, attainders, executions, make a large part of the history of\nsuch of our families as are not utterly extinguished by them. Formerly,\nindeed, things had a more ferocious appearance than they have at this\nday. In these early and unrefined ages, the jarring part of a certain\nchaotic constitution supported their several pretensions by the sword.\nExperience and policy have since taught other methods.\n\n     At nunc res agitur tenui pulmone rubetae.\n\nBut how far corruption, venality, the contempt of honor, the oblivion of\nall duty to our country, and the most abandoned public prostitution, are\npreferable to the more glaring and violent effects of faction, I will\nnot presume to determine. Sure I am that they are very great evils.\n\nI have done with the forms of government. During the course of my\ninquiry you may have observed a very material difference between my\nmanner of reasoning and that which is in use amongst the abettors of\nartificial society. They form their plans upon what seems most eligible\nto their imaginations, for the ordering of mankind. I discover the\nmistakes in those plans, from the real known consequences which have\nresulted from them. They have enlisted reason to fight against itself,\nand employ its whole force to prove that it is an insufficient guide to\nthem in the conduct of their lives. But unhappily for us, in proportion\nas we have deviated from the plain rule of our nature, and turned our\nreason against itself, in that proportion have we increased the follies\nand miseries of mankind. The more deeply we penetrate into the labyrinth\nof art, the further we find ourselves from those ends for which we\nentered it. This has happened in almost every species of artificial\nsociety, and in all times. We found, or we thought we found, an\ninconvenience in having every man the judge of his own cause. Therefore\njudges were set up, at first, with discretionary powers. But it was soon\nfound a miserable slavery to have our lives and properties precarious,\nand hanging upon the arbitrary determination of any one man, or set of\nmen. We fled to laws as a remedy for this evil. By these we persuaded\nourselves we might know with some certainty upon what ground we stood.\nBut lo! differences arose upon the sense and interpretation of those\nlaws. Thus we were brought back to our old incertitude. New laws were\nmade to expound the old; and new difficulties arose upon the new laws;\nas words multiplied, opportunities of cavilling upon them multiplied\nalso. Then recourse was had to notes, comments, glosses, reports,\n_responsa prudentum_, learned readings: eagle stood against eagle:\nauthority was set up against authority. Some were allured by the modern,\nothers reverenced the ancient. The new were more enlightened, the old\nwere more venerable. Some adopted the comment, others stuck to the text.\nThe confusion increased, the mist thickened, until it could be\ndiscovered no longer what was allowed or forbidden, what things were in\nproperty, and what common. In this uncertainty, (uncertain even to the\nprofessors, an Egyptian darkness to the rest of mankind), the contending\nparties felt themselves more effectually ruined by the delay, than they\ncould have been by the injustice of any decision. Our inheritances are\nbecome a prize for disputation; and disputes and litigations are become\nan inheritance.\n\nThe professors of artificial law have always walked hand in hand with\nthe professors of artificial theology. As their end, in confounding the\nreason of man, and abridging his natural freedom, is exactly the same,\nthey have adjusted the means to that end in a way entirely similar. The\ndivine thunders out his _anathemas_ with more noise and terror against\nthe breach of one of his positive institutions, or the neglect of some\nof his trivial forms, than against the neglect or breach of those duties\nand commandments of natural religion, which by these forms and\ninstitutions he pretends to enforce. The lawyer has his forms, and his\npositive institutions too, and he adheres to them with a veneration\naltogether as religious. The worst cause cannot be so prejudicial to the\nlitigant, as his advocate's or attorney's ignorance or neglect of these\nforms. A lawsuit is like an ill-managed dispute, in which the first\nobject is soon out of sight, and the parties end upon a matter wholly\nforeign to that on which they began. In a lawsuit the question is, who\nhas a right to a certain house or farm? And this question is daily\ndetermined, not upon the evidence of the right, but upon the observance\nor neglect of some forms of words in use with the gentlemen of the robe,\nabout which there is even amongst themselves such a disagreement, that\nthe most experienced veterans in the profession can never be positively\nassured that they are not mistaken.\n\nLet us expostulate with these learned sages, these priests of the sacred\ntemple of justice. Are we judges of our own property? By no means. You\nthen, who are initiated into the mysteries of the blindfold goddess,\ninform me whether I have a right to eat the bread I have earned by the\nhazard of my life or the sweat of my brow? The grave doctor answers me\nin the affirmative; the reverend serjeant replies in the negative; the\nlearned barrister reasons upon one side and upon the other, and\nconcludes nothing. What shall I do? An antagonist starts up and presses\nme hard. I enter the field, and retain these three persons to defend my\ncause. My cause, which two farmers from the plough could have decided in\nhalf an hour, takes the court twenty years. I am however at the end of\nmy labor, and have in reward for all my toil and vexation a judgment in\nmy favor. But hold--a sagacious commander, in the adversary's army, has\nfound a flaw in the proceeding. My triumph is turned into mourning. I\nhave used _or_, instead of _and_, or some mistake, small in appearance,\nbut dreadful in its consequences; and have the whole of my success\nquashed in a writ of error. I remove my suit; I shift from court to\ncourt; I fly from equity to law, and from law to equity; equal\nuncertainty attends me everywhere; and a mistake in which I had no\nshare, decides at once upon my liberty and property, sending me from the\ncourt to a prison, and adjudging my family to beggary and famine. I am\ninnocent, gentlemen, of the darkness and uncertainty of your science. I\nnever darkened it with absurd and contradictory notions, nor confounded\nit with chicane and sophistry. You have excluded me from any share in\nthe conduct of my own cause; the science was too deep for me; I\nacknowledged it; but it was too deep even for yourselves: you have made\nthe way so intricate, that you are yourselves lost in it; you err, and\nyou punish me for your errors.\n\nThe delay of the law is, your lordship will tell me, a trite topic, and\nwhich of its abuses have not been too severely felt not to be complained\nof? A man's property is to serve for the purposes of his support; and\ntherefore, to delay a determination concerning that, is the worst\ninjustice, because it cuts off the very end and purpose for which I\napplied to the judicature for relief. Quite contrary in the case of a\nman's life; there the determination can hardly be too much protracted.\nMistakes in this case are as often fallen into as many other; and if the\njudgment is sudden, the mistakes are the most irretrievable of all\nothers. Of this the gentlemen of the robe are themselves sensible, and\nthey have brought it into a maxim. _De morte hominis nulla est cunctatio\nlonga._ But what could have induced them to reverse the rules, and to\ncontradict that reason which dictated them, I am utterly unable to\nguess. A point concerning property, which ought, for the reasons I have\njust mentioned, to be most speedily decided, frequently exercises the\nwit of successions of lawyers, for many generations. _Multa virum\nvolvens durando saecula vincit._ But the question concerning a man's\nlife, that great question in which no delay ought to be counted tedious,\nis commonly determined in twenty-four hours at the utmost. It is not to\nbe wondered at, that injustice and absurdity should be inseparable\ncompanions.\n\nAsk of politicians the end for which laws were originally designed; and\nthey will answer, that the laws were designed as a protection for the\npoor and weak, against the oppression of the rich and powerful. But\nsurely no pretence can be so ridiculous; a man might as well tell me he\nhas taken off my load, because he has changed the burden. If the poor\nman is not able to support his suit, according to the vexatious and\nexpensive manner established in civilized countries, has not the rich as\ngreat an advantage over him as the strong has over the weak in a state\nof nature? But we will not place the state of nature, which is the reign\nof God, in competition with political society, which is the absurd\nusurpation of man. In a state of nature, it is true that a man of\nsuperior force may beat or rob me; but then it is true, that I am at\nfull liberty to defend myself, or make reprisal by surprise or by\ncunning, or by any other way in which I may be superior to him. But in\npolitical society, a rich man may rob me in another way. I cannot defend\nmyself; for money is the only weapon with which we are allowed to fight.\nAnd if I attempt to avenge myself the whole force of that society is\nready to complete my ruin.\n\nA good parson once said, that where mystery begins, religion ends.\nCannot I say, as truly at least, of human laws, that where mystery\nbegins, justice ends? It is hard to say, whether the doctors of law or\ndivinity have made the greater advances in the lucrative business of\nmystery. The lawyers, as well as the theologians, have erected another\nreason besides natural reason; and the result has been, another justice\nbesides natural justice. They have so bewildered the world and\nthemselves in unmeaning forms and ceremonies, and so perplexed the\nplainest matters with metaphysical jargon, that it carries the highest\ndanger to a man out of that profession, to make the least step without\ntheir advice and assistance. Thus, by confining to themselves the\nknowledge of the foundation of all men's lives and properties, they have\nreduced all mankind into the most abject and servile dependence. We are\ntenants at the will of these gentlemen for everything; and a\nmetaphysical quibble is to decide whether the greatest villain breathing\nshall meet his deserts, or escape with impunity, or whether the best man\nin the society shall not be reduced to the lowest and most despicable\ncondition it affords. In a word, my lord, the injustice, delay,\npuerility, false refinement, and affected mystery of the law are such,\nthat many who live under it come to admire and envy the expedition,\nsimplicity, and equality of arbitrary judgments. I need insist the less\non this article to your lordship, as you have frequently lamented the\nmiseries derived to us from artificial law, and your candor is the more\nto be admired and applauded in this, as your lordship's noble house has\nderived its wealth and its honors from that profession.\n\nBefore we finish our examination of artificial society, I shall lead\nyour lordship into a closer consideration of the relations which it\ngives birth to, and the benefits, if such they are, which result from\nthese relations. The most obvious division of society is into rich and\npoor; and it is no less obvious, that the number of the former bear a\ngreat disproportion to those of the latter. The whole business of the\npoor is to administer to the idleness, folly, and luxury of the rich;\nand that of the rich, in return, is to find the best methods of\nconfirming the slavery and increasing the burdens of the poor. In a\nstate of nature, it is an invariable law, that a man's acquisitions are\nin proportion to his labors. In a state of artificial society, it is a\nlaw as constant and as invariable, that those who labor most enjoy the\nfewest things; and that those who labor not at all have the greatest\nnumber of enjoyments. A constitution of things this, strange and\nridiculous beyond expression! We scarce believe a thing when we are told\nit, which we actually see before our eyes every day without being in the\nleast surprised. I suppose that there are in Great Britain upwards of a\nhundred thousand people employed in lead, tin, iron, copper, and coal\nmines; these unhappy wretches scarce ever see the light of the sun; they\nare buried in the bowels of the earth; there they work at a severe and\ndismal task, without the least prospect of being delivered from it; they\nsubsist upon the coarsest and worst sort of fare; they have their health\nmiserably impaired, and their lives cut short, by being perpetually\nconfined in the close vapor of these malignant minerals. A hundred\nthousand more at least are tortured without remission by the suffocating\nsmoke, intense fires, and constant drudgery necessary in refining and\nmanaging the products of those mines. If any man informed us that two\nhundred thousand innocent persons were condemned to so intolerable\nslavery, how should we pity the unhappy sufferers, and how great would\nbe our just indignation against those who inflicted so cruel and\nignominious a punishment! This is an instance--I could not wish a\nstronger--of the numberless things which we pass by in their common\ndress, yet which shock us when they are nakedly represented. But this\nnumber, considerable as it is, and the slavery, with all its baseness\nand horror, which we have at home, is nothing to what the rest of the\nworld affords of the same nature. Millions daily bathed in the\npoisonous damps and destructive effluvia of lead, silver, copper, and\narsenic. To say nothing of those other employments, those stations of\nwretchedness and contempt, in which civil society has placed the\nnumerous _enfans perdus_ of her army. Would any rational man submit to\none of the most tolerable of these drudgeries, for all the artificial\nenjoyments which policy has made to result from them? By no means. And\nyet need I suggest to your lordship, that those who find the means, and\nthose who arrive at the end, are not at all the same persons? On\nconsidering the strange and unaccountable fancies and contrivances of\nartificial reason, I have somewhere called this earth the Bedlam of our\nsystem. Looking now upon the effects of some of those fancies, may we\nnot with equal reason call it likewise the Newgate and the Bridewell of\nthe universe? Indeed the blindness of one part of mankind co-operating\nwith the frenzy and villany of the other, has been the real builder of\nthis respectable fabric of political society: and as the blindness of\nmankind has caused their slavery, in return their state of slavery is\nmade a pretence for continuing them in a state of blindness; for the\npolitician will tell you gravely, that their life of servitude\ndisqualifies the greater part of the race of man for a search of truth,\nand supplies them with no other than mean and insufficient ideas. This\nis but too true; and this is one of the reasons for which I blame such\ninstitutions.\n\nIn a misery of this sort, admitting some few lenitives, and those too\nbut a few, nine parts in ten of the whole race of mankind drudge through\nlife. It may be urged perhaps, in palliation of this, that at least the\nrich few find a considerable and real benefit from the wretchedness of\nthe many. But is this so in fact? Let us examine the point with a little\nmore attention. For this purpose the rich in all societies may he thrown\ninto two classes. The first is of those who are powerful as well as\nrich, and conduct the operations of the vast political machine. The\nother is of those who employ their riches wholly in the acquisition of\npleasure. As to the first sort, their continual care and anxiety, their\ntoilsome days, and sleepless nights, are next to proverbial. These\ncircumstances are sufficient almost to level their condition to that of\nthe unhappy majority; but there are other circumstances which place\nthem, in a far lower condition. Not only their understandings labor\ncontinually, which is the severest labor, but their hearts are torn by\nthe worst, most troublesome, and insatiable of all passions, by avarice,\nby ambition, by fear and jealousy. No part of the mind has rest. Power\ngradually extirpates from the mind every humane and gentle virtue. Pity,\nbenevolence, friendship, are things almost unknown in high stations.\n_Verae amicitiae rarissime inveniuntur in iis qui in honoribus reque\npublica versantur_, says Cicero. And indeed courts are the schools where\ncruelty, pride, dissimulation, and treachery are studied and taught in\nthe most vicious perfection. This is a point so clear and acknowledged,\nthat if it did not make a necessary part of my subject, I should pass it\nby entirely. And this has hindered me from drawing at full length, and\nin the most striking colors, this shocking picture of the degeneracy and\nwretchedness of human nature, in that part which is vulgarly thought its\nhappiest and most amiable state. You know from what originals I could\ncopy such pictures. Happy are they who know enough of them to know the\nlittle value of the possessors of such things, and of all that they\npossess; and happy they who have been snatched from that post of danger\nwhich they occupy, with the remains of their virtue; loss of honors,\nwealth, titles, and even the loss of one's country, is nothing in\nbalance with so great an advantage.\n\nLet us now view the other species of the rich, those who devote their\ntime and fortunes to idleness and pleasure. How much happier are they?\nThe pleasures which are agreeable to nature are within the reach of all,\nand therefore can form no distinction in favor of the rich. The\npleasures which art forces up are seldom sincere, and never satisfying.\nWhat is worse, this constant application to pleasure takes away from the\nenjoyment, or rather turns it into the nature of a very burdensome and\nlaborious business. It has consequences much more fatal. It produces a\nweak valetudinary state of body, attended by all those horrid disorders,\nand yet more horrid methods of cure, which are the result of luxury on\nthe one hand, and the weak and ridiculous efforts of human art on the\nother. The pleasures of such men are scarcely felt as pleasures; at the\nsame time that they bring on pains and diseases, which are felt but too\nseverely. The mind has its share of the misfortune; it grows lazy and\nenervate, unwilling and unable to search for truth, and utterly\nuncapable of knowing, much less of relishing, real happiness. The poor\nby their excessive labor, and the rich by their enormous luxury, are set\nupon a level, and rendered equally ignorant of any knowledge which might\nconduce to their happiness. A dismal view of the interior of all civil\nsociety! The lower part broken and ground down by the most cruel\noppression; and the rich by their artificial method of life bringing\nworse evils on themselves than their tyranny could possibly inflict on\nthose below them. Very different is the prospect of the natural state.\nHere there are no wants which nature gives, and in this state men can be\nsensible of no other wants, which are not to be supplied by a very\nmoderate degree of labor; therefore there is no slavery. Neither is\nthere any luxury, because no single man can supply the materials of it.\nLife is simple, and therefore it is happy.\n\nI am conscious, my lord, that your politician will urge in his defence,\nthat this unequal state is highly useful. That without dooming some part\nof mankind to extraordinary toil, the arts which cultivate life could\nnot be exercised. But I demand of this politician, how such arts came to\nbe necessary? He answers, that civil society could not well exist\nwithout them. So that these arts are necessary to civil society, and\ncivil society necessary again to these arts. Thus are we running in a\ncircle, without modesty, and without end, and making one error and\nextravagance an excuse for the other. My sentiments about these arts and\ntheir cause, I have often discoursed with my friends at large. Pope has\nexpressed them in good verse, where he talks with so much force of\nreason and elegance of language, in praise of the state of nature:\n\n   \"Then was not pride, nor arts that pride to aid,\n    Man walked with beast, joint tenant of the shade.\"\n\n\nOn the whole, my lord, if political society, in whatever form, has still\nmade the many the property of the few; if it has introduced labors\nunnecessary, vices and diseases unknown, and pleasures incompatible\nwith nature; if in all countries it abridges the lives of millions, and\nrenders those of millions more utterly abject and miserable, shall we\nstill worship so destructive an idol, and daily sacrifice to it our\nhealth, our liberty, and our peace? Or shall we pass by this monstrous\nheap of absurd notions, and abominable practices, thinking we have\nsufficiently discharged our duty in exposing the trifling, cheats, and\nridiculous juggles of a few mad, designing, or ambitious priests? Alas!\nmy lord, we labor under a mortal consumption, whilst we are so anxious\nabout the cure of a sore finger. For has not this leviathan of civil\npower overflowed the earth with a deluge of blood, as if he were made to\ndisport and play therein? We have shown that political society, on a\nmoderate calculation, has been the means of murdering several times the\nnumber of inhabitants now upon the earth, during its short existence,\nnot upwards of four thousand years in any accounts to be depended on.\nBut we have said nothing of the other, and perhaps as bad, consequence\nof these wars, which have spilled such seas of blood, and reduced so\nmany millions to a merciless slavery. But these are only the ceremonies\nperformed in the porch of the political temple. Much more horrid ones\nare seen as you enter it. The several species of government vie with\neach other in the absurdity of their constitutions, and the oppression\nwhich they make their subjects endure. Take them under what form you\nplease, they are in effect but a despotism, and they fall, both in\neffect and appearance too, after a very short period, into that cruel\nand detestable species of tyranny: which I rather call it, because we\nhave been educated under another form, than that this is of worse\nconsequences to mankind. For the free governments, for the point of\ntheir space, and the moment of their duration, have felt more confusion,\nand committed more flagrant acts of tyranny, than the most perfect\ndespotic governments which we have ever known. Turn your eye next to the\nlabyrinth of the law, and the iniquity conceived in its intricate\nrecesses. Consider the ravages committed in the bowels of all\ncommonwealths by ambition, by avarice, envy, fraud, open injustice, and\npretended friendship; vices which could draw little support from a state\nof nature, but which blossom and flourish in the rankness of political\nsociety. Revolve our whole discourse; add to it all those reflections\nwhich your own good understanding shall suggest, and make a strenuous\neffort beyond the reach of vulgar philosophy, to confess that the cause\nof artificial society is more defenceless even than that of artificial\nreligion; that it is as derogatory from the honor of the Creator, as\nsubversive of human reason, and productive of infinitely more mischief\nto the human race.\n\nIf pretended revelations have caused wars where they were opposed, and\nslavery where they were received, the pretended wise inventions of\npoliticians have done the same. But the slavery has been much heavier,\nthe wars far more bloody, and both more universal by many degrees. Show\nme any mischief produced by the madness or wickedness of theologians,\nand I will show you a hundred resulting from the ambition and villany of\nconquerors and statesmen. Show me an absurdity in religion, and I will\nundertake to show you a hundred for one in political laws and\ninstitutions. If you say that natural religion is a sufficient guide\nwithout the foreign aid of revelation, on what principle should\npolitical laws become necessary? Is not the same reason available in\ntheology and in politics? If the laws of nature are the laws of God, is\nit consistent with the Divine wisdom to prescribe rules to us, and leave\nthe enforcement of them to the folly of human institutions? Will you\nfollow truth but to a certain point?\n\nWe are indebted for all our miseries to our distrust of that guide which\nProvidence thought sufficient for our condition, our own natural reason,\nwhich rejecting both in human and divine things, we have given our necks\nto the yoke of political and theological slavery. We have renounced the\nprerogative of man, and it is no wonder that we should be treated like\nbeasts. But our misery is much greater than theirs, as the crime we\ncommit in rejecting the lawful dominion of our reason is greater than\nany which they can commit. If, after all, you should confess all these\nthings, yet plead the necessity of political institutions, weak and\nwicked as they are, I can argue with equal, perhaps superior, force,\nconcerning the necessity of artificial religion; and every step you\nadvance in your argument, you add a strength to mine. So that if we are\nresolved to submit our reason, and our liberty to civil usurpation, we\nhave nothing to do but to conform as quietly as we can to the vulgar\nnotions which are connected with this, and take up the theology of the\nvulgar as well as their politics. But if we think this necessity rather\nimaginary than real, we should renounce their dreams of society,\ntogether with their visions of religion, and vindicate ourselves into\nperfect liberty.\n\nYou are, my lord, but just entering into the world; I am going out of\nit. I have played long enough to be heartily tired of the drama. Whether\nI have acted my part in it well or ill, posterity will judge with more\ncandor than I, or than the present age, with our present passions, can\npossibly pretend to. For my part, I quit it without a sigh, and submit\nto the sovereign order without murmuring. The nearer we approach to the\ngoal of life, the better we begin to understand the true value of our\nexistence, and the real weight of our opinions. We set out much in love\nwith both; but we leave much behind us as we advance. We first throw\naway the tales along with the rattles of our nurses: those of the priest\nkeep their hold a little longer; those of our governors the longest of\nall. But the passions which prop these opinions are withdrawn one after\nanother; and the cool light of reason, at the setting of our life, shows\nus what a false splendor played upon these objects during our more\nsanguine seasons. Happy, my lord, if instructed by my experience, and\neven by my errors, you come early to make such an estimate of things, as\nmay give freedom and ease to your life. I am happy that such an estimate\npromises me comfort at my death.\n\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[8] Had his lordship lived to our days, to have seen the noble relief\ngiven by this nation to the distressed Portuguese, he had perhaps owned\nthis part of his argument a little weakened; but we do not think\nourselves entitled to alter his lordship's words, but that we are bound\nto follow him exactly.\n\n[9] Sciant quibus moris illicita mirari, posse etiam sub malis\nprincipibus magnos viros, &c. See 42, to the end of it.\n\n\n\n\nA\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY\n\nINTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF\n\nTHE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL\n\nWITH\n\nAN INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE\n\nCONCERNING\n\nTASTE,\n\nAND SEVERAL OTHER ADDITIONS\n\n*** _The first edition of this work was published in 1756;\n     the second with large additions, in the year 1757._\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nI have endeavored to make this edition something more full and\nsatisfactory than the first. I have sought with the utmost care, and\nread with equal attention, everything which has appeared in public\nagainst my opinions; I have taken advantage of the candid liberty of my\nfriends; and if by these means I have been better enabled to discover\nthe imperfections of the work, the indulgence it has received, imperfect\nas it was, furnished me with a new motive to spare no reasonable pains\nfor its improvement. Though I have not found sufficient reason, or what\nappeared to me sufficient, for making any material change in my theory,\nI have found it necessary in many places to explain, illustrate, and\nenforce it. I have prefixed an introductory discourse concerning Taste;\nit is a matter curious in itself; and it leads naturally enough to the\nprincipal inquiry. This, with the other explanations, has made the work\nconsiderably larger; and by increasing its bulk has, I am afraid, added\nto its faults; so that notwithstanding all my attention, it may stand in\nneed of a yet greater share of indulgence than it required at its first\nappearance.\n\nThey who are accustomed to studies of this nature will expect, and they\nwill allow too for many faults. They know that many of the objects of\nour inquiry are in themselves obscure and intricate; and that many\nothers have been rendered so by affected refinements, or false learning;\nthey know that there are many impediments in the subject, in the\nprejudices of others, and even in our own, that render it a matter of no\nsmall difficulty to show in a clear light the genuine face of nature.\nThey know that whilst the mind is intent on the general scheme of\nthings, some particular parts must be neglected; that we must often\nsubmit the style to the matter, and frequently give up the praise of\nelegance, satisfied with being clear.\n\nThe characters of nature are legible, it is true; but they are not plain\nenough to enable those who run, to read them. We must make use of a\ncautious, I had almost said, a timorous method of proceeding. We must\nnot attempt to fly, when we can scarcely pretend to creep. In\nconsidering any complex matter, we ought to examine every distinct\ningredient in the composition, one by one; and reduce everything to the\nutmost simplicity; since the condition of our nature binds us to a\nstrict law and very narrow limits. We ought afterwards to re-examine the\nprinciples by the effect of the composition, as well as the composition\nby that of the principles. We ought to compare our subject with things\nof a similar nature, and even with things of a contrary nature; for\ndiscoveries may be, and often are made by the contrast, which would\nescape us on the single view. The greater number of the comparisons we\nmake, the more general and the more certain our knowledge is likely to\nprove, as built upon a more extensive and perfect induction.\n\nIf an inquiry thus carefully conducted should fail at last of\ndiscovering the truth, it may answer an end perhaps as useful, in\ndiscovering to us the weakness of our own understanding. If it does not\nmake us knowing, it may make us modest. If it does not preserve us from\nerror, it may at least from the spirit of error; and may make us\ncautious of pronouncing with positiveness or with haste, when so much\nlabor may end in so much uncertainty.\n\nI could wish that, in examining this theory, the same method were\npursued which I endeavored to observe in forming it. The objections, in\nmy opinion, ought to be proposed, either to the several principles as\nthey are distinctly considered, or to the justness of the conclusion\nwhich is drawn from them. But it is common to pass over both the\npremises and conclusion in silence, and to produce, as an objection,\nsome poetical passage which does not seem easily accounted for upon the\nprinciples I endeavor to establish. This manner of proceeding I should\nthink very improper. The task would be infinite, if we could establish\nno principle until we had previously unravelled the complex texture of\nevery image or description to be found in poets and orators. And though\nwe should never be able to reconcile the effect of such images to our\nprinciples, this can never overturn the theory itself, whilst it is\nfounded on certain and indisputable facts. A theory founded on\nexperiment, and not assumed, is always good for so much as it explains.\nOur inability to push it indefinitely is no argument at all against it.\nThis inability may be owing to our ignorance of some necessary\n_mediums_; to a want of proper application; to many other causes besides\na defect in the principles we employ. In reality, the subject requires a\nmuch closer attention than we dare claim from our manner of treating\nit.\n\nIf it should not appear on the face of the work, I must caution the\nreader against imagining that I intended a full dissertation on the\nSublime and Beautiful. My inquiry went no farther than to the origin of\nthese ideas. If the qualities which I have ranged under the head of the\nSublime be all found consistent with each other, and all different from\nthose which I place under the head of Beauty; and if those which compose\nthe class of the Beautiful have the same consistency with themselves,\nand the same opposition to those which are classed under the\ndenomination of Sublime, I am in little pain whether anybody chooses to\nfollow the name I give them or not, provided he allows that what I\ndispose under different heads are in reality different things in nature.\nThe use I make of the words may be blamed, as too confined or too\nextended; my meaning cannot well be misunderstood.\n\nTo conclude: whatever progress may be made towards the discovery of\ntruth in this matter, I do not repent the pains I have taken in it. The\nuse of such inquiries may be very considerable. Whatever turns the soul\ninward on itself, tends to concentre its forces, and to fit it for\ngreater and stronger flights of science. By looking into physical causes\nour minds are opened and enlarged; and in this pursuit, whether we take\nor whether we lose our game, the chase is certainly of service. Cicero,\ntrue as he was to the academic philosophy, and consequently led to\nreject the certainty of physical, as of every other kind of knowledge,\nyet freely confesses its great importance to the human understanding:\n\"_Est animorum ingeniorumque nostrorum naturale quoddam quasi pabulum\nconsideratio contemplatioque naturae_.\" If we can direct the lights we\nderive from such exalted speculations upon the humbler field of the\nimagination, whilst we investigate the springs, and trace the courses of\nour passions, we may not only communicate to the taste a sort of\nphilosophical solidity, but we may reflect back on the severer sciences\nsome of the graces and elegances of taste, without which the greatest\nproficiency in those sciences will always have the appearance of\nsomething illiberal.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\nINTRODUCTION: On Taste                                                79\n\n\nPART I\n\nI.     Novelty                                                       101\n\nII.    Pain and Pleasure                                             102\n\nIII.   The Difference between the Removal of Pain and Positive\n       Pleasure                                                      104\n\nIV.    Of Delight and Pleasure, as opposed to each other             106\n\nV.     Joy and Grief                                                 108\n\nVI.    Of the Passions which belong to Self-Preservation             110\n\nVII.   Of the Sublime                                                110\n\nVIII.  Of the Passions which belong to Society                       111\n\nIX.    The Final Cause of the Difference between the Passions\n       belonging to Self-Preservation, and those which regard\n       the Society of the Sexes                                      113\n\nX.     Of Beauty                                                     114\n\nXI.    Society and Solitude                                          115\n\nXII.   Sympathy, Imitation, and Ambition                             116\n\nXIII.  Sympathy                                                      117\n\nXIV.   The Effects of Sympathy in the Distresses of Others           119\n\nXV.    Of the Effects of Tragedy                                     120\n\nXVI.   Imitation                                                     122\n\nXVII.  Ambition                                                      123\n\nXVIII. The Recapitulation                                            125\n\nXIX.   The Conclusion                                                126\n\n\nPART II.\n\nI.     Of the Passion caused by the Sublime                          130\n\nII.    Terror                                                        130\n\nIII.   Obscurity                                                     132\n\nIV.    Of the Difference between Clearness and Obscurity\n       with regard to the Passions                                   133\n\n[IV.]  The Same Subject continued                                    134\n\nV.     Power                                                         138\n\nVI.    Privation                                                     146\n\nVII.   Vastness                                                      147\n\nVIII.  Infinity                                                      148\n\nIX.    Succession and Uniformity                                     149\n\nX.     Magnitude in Building                                         152\n\nXI.    Infinity in Pleasing Objects                                  153\n\nXII.   Difficulty                                                    153\n\nXIII.  Magnificence                                                  154\n\nXIV.   Light                                                         156\n\nXV.    Light in Building                                             157\n\nXVI.   Color considered as productive of the Sublime                 158\n\nXVII.  Sound and Loudness                                            159\n\nXVIII. Suddenness                                                    160\n\nXIX.   Intermitting                                                  160\n\nXX.    The Cries of Animals                                          161\n\nXXI.   Smell and Taste--Bitters and Stenches                         162\n\nXXII.  Feeling.--Pain                                                164\n\n\nPART III.\n\nI.     Of Beauty                                                     165\n\nII.    Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Vegetables              166\n\nIII.   Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in Animals                 170\n\nIV.    Proportion not the Cause of Beauty in the Human Species       172\n\nV.     Proportion further considered                                 178\n\nVI.    Fitness not the Cause of Beauty                               181\n\nVII.   The Real Effects of Fitness                                   184\n\nVIII.  The Recapitulation                                            187\n\nIX.    Perfection not the Cause of Beauty                            187\n\nX.     How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to the\n       Qualities of the Mind                                         188\n\nXI.    How far the Idea of Beauty may be applied to Virtue           190\n\nXII.   The Real Cause of Beauty                                      191\n\nXIII.  Beautiful Objects Small                                       191\n\nXIV.   Smoothness                                                    193\n\nXV.    Gradual Variation                                             194\n\nXVI.   Delicacy                                                      195\n\nXVII.  Beauty in Color                                               196\n\nXVIII. Recapitulation                                                197\n\nXIX.   The Physiognomy                                               198\n\nXX.    The Eye                                                       198\n\nXXI.   Ugliness                                                      199\n\nXXII.  Grace                                                         200\n\nXXIII. Elegance and Speciousness                                     200\n\nXXIV.  The Beautiful in Feeling                                      201\n\nXXV.   The Beautiful in Sounds                                       203\n\nXXVI.  Taste and Smell                                               205\n\nXXVII. The Sublime and Beautiful compared                            205\n\n\nPART IV.\n\nI.     Of the Efficient Cause of the Sublime and Beautiful           208\n\nII.    Association                                                   209\n\nIII.   Cause of Pain and Fear                                        210\n\nIV.    Continued                                                     212\n\nV.     How the Sublime is produced                                   215\n\nVI.    How Pain can be a Cause of Delight                            215\n\nVII.   Exercise necessary for the Finer Organs                       216\n\nVIII.  Why Things not Dangerous sometimes produce a\n       Passion like Terror                                           217\n\nIX.    Why Visual Objects of Great Dimensions are Sublime            217\n\nX.     Unity, why requisite to Vastness                              219\n\nXI.    The Artificial Infinite                                       220\n\nXII.   The Vibrations must be Similar                                222\n\nXIII.  The Effects of Succession in Visual Objects explained         222\n\nXIV.   Locke's Opinion concerning Darkness considered                225\n\nXV.    Darkness Terrible in its own Nature                           226\n\nXVI.   Why Darkness is Terrible                                      227\n\nXVII.  The Effects of Blackness                                      229\n\nXVIII. The Effects of Blackness moderated                            231\n\nXIX.   The Physical Cause of Love                                    232\n\nXX.    Why Smoothness is Beautiful                                   234\n\nXXI.   Sweetness, its Nature                                         235\n\nXXII.  Sweetness relaxing                                            237\n\nXXIII. Variation, why Beautiful                                      239\n\nXXIV.  Concerning Smallness                                          240\n\nXXV.   Of Color                                                      244\n\n\nPART V.\n\nI.     Of Words                                                      246\n\nII.    The Common Effect of Poetry, not by raising Ideas of Things   246\n\nIII.   General Words before Ideas                                    249\n\nIV.    The Effect of Words                                           250\n\nV.     Examples that Words may affect without raising Images         252\n\nVI.    Poetry not strictly an Imitative Art                          257\n\nVII.   How Words influence the Passions                              258\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nON TASTE.\n\n\nOn a superficial view we may seem to differ very widely from each other\nin our reasonings, and no less in our pleasures: but, notwithstanding\nthis difference, which I think to be rather apparent than real, it is\nprobable that the standard both of reason and taste is the same in all\nhuman creatures. For if there were not some principles of judgment as\nwell as of sentiment common to all mankind, no hold could possibly be\ntaken either on their reason or their passions, sufficient to maintain\nthe ordinary correspondence of life. It appears, indeed, to be generally\nacknowledged, that with regard to truth and falsehood there is something\nfixed. We find people in their disputes continually appealing to certain\ntests and standards, which are allowed on all sides, and are supposed to\nbe established in our common nature. But there is not the same obvious\nconcurrence in any uniform or settled principles which relate to taste.\nIt is even commonly supposed that this delicate and aerial faculty,\nwhich seems too volatile to endure even the chains of a definition,\ncannot be properly tried by any test, nor regulated by any standard.\nThere is so continual a call for the exercise of the reasoning facility;\nand it is so much strengthened by perpetual contention, that certain\nmaxims of right reason seem to be tacitly settled amongst the most\nignorant. The learned have improved on this rude science, and reduced\nthose maxims into a system. If taste has not been so happily cultivated,\nit was not that the subject was barren, but that the laborers were few\nor negligent; for, to say the truth, there are not the same interesting\nmotives to impel us to fix the one, which urge us to ascertain the\nother. And, after all, if men differ in their opinion concerning such\nmatters, their difference is not attended with the same important\nconsequences; else I make no doubt but that the logic of taste, if I may\nbe allowed the expression, might very possibly be as well digested, and\nwe might come to discuss matters of this nature with as much certainty,\nas those which seem more immediately within the province of mere reason.\nAnd, indeed, it is very necessary, at the entrance into such an inquiry\nas our present, to make this point as clear as possible; for if taste\nhas no fixed principles, if the imagination is not affected according to\nsome invariable and certain laws, our labor is likely to be employed to\nvery little purpose; as it must be judged an useless, if not an absurd\nundertaking, to lay down rules for caprice, and to set up for a\nlegislator of whims and fancies.\n\nThe term taste, like all other figurative terms, is not extremely\naccurate; the thing which we understand by it is far from a simple and\ndeterminate idea in the minds of most men, and it is therefore liable to\nuncertainty and confusion. I have no great opinion of a definition, the\ncelebrated remedy for the cure of this disorder. For, when we define, we\nseem in danger of circumscribing nature within the bounds of our own\nnotions, which we often take up by hazard or embrace on trust, or form\nout of a limited and partial consideration of the object before us;\ninstead of extending our ideas to take in all that nature comprehends,\naccording to her manner of combining. We are limited in our inquiry by\nthe strict laws to which we have submitted at our setting out.\n\n        Circa vilem patulumque morabimur orbem,\n    Unde pudor proferre pedem vetat aut operis lex.\n\n\nA definition may be very exact, and yet go but a very little way towards\ninforming us of the nature of the thing defined; but let the virtue of a\ndefinition be what it will, in the order of things, it seems rather to\nfollow than to precede our inquiry, of which it ought to be considered\nas the result. It must be acknowledged that the methods of disquisition\nand teaching may be sometimes different, and on very good reason\nundoubtedly; but, for my part, I am convinced that the method of\nteaching which approaches most nearly to the method of investigation is\nincomparably the best; since, not content with serving up a few barren\nand lifeless truths, it leads to the stock on which they grew; it tends\nto set the reader himself in the track of invention, and to direct him\ninto those paths in which the author has made his own discoveries, if he\nshould be so happy as to have made any that are valuable.\n\nBut to cut off all pretence for cavilling, I mean by the word taste, no\nmore than that faculty or those faculties of the mind, which are\naffected with, or which form a judgment of, the works of imagination and\nthe elegant arts. This is, I think, the most general idea of that word,\nand what is the least connected with any particular theory. And my point\nin this inquiry is, to find whether there are any principles, on which\nthe imagination is affected, so common to all, so grounded and certain,\nas to supply the means of reasoning satisfactorily about them. And such\nprinciples of taste I fancy there are; however paradoxical it may seem\nto those, who on a superficial view imagine that there is so great a\ndiversity of tastes, both in kind and degree, that nothing can be more\nindeterminate.\n\nAll the natural powers in man, which I know, that are conversant about\nexternal objects, are the senses; the imagination; and the judgment. And\nfirst with regard to the senses. We do and we must suppose, that as the\nconformation of their organs are nearly or altogether the same in all\nmen, so the manner of perceiving external objects is in all men the\nsame, or with little difference. We are satisfied that what appears to\nbe light to one eye, appears light to another; that what seems sweet to\none palate, is sweet to another; that what is dark and bitter to this\nman, is likewise dark and bitter to that; and we conclude in the same\nmanner of great and little, hard and soft, hot and cold, rough and\nsmooth; and indeed of all the natural qualities and affections of\nbodies. If we suffer ourselves to imagine, that their senses present to\ndifferent men different images of things, this sceptical proceeding will\nmake every sort of reasoning on every subject vain and frivolous, even\nthat sceptical reasoning itself which had persuaded us to entertain a\ndoubt concerning the agreement of our perceptions. But as there will be\nlittle doubt that bodies present similar images to the whole species, it\nmust necessarily be allowed, that the pleasures and the pains which\nevery object excites in one man, it must raise in all mankind, whilst\nit operates naturally, simply, and by its proper powers only: for if we\ndeny this, we must imagine that the same cause, operating in the same\nmanner, and on subjects of the same kind, will produce different\neffects; which would be highly absurd. Let us first consider this point\nin the sense of taste, and the rather as the faculty in question has\ntaken its name from that sense. All men are agreed to call vinegar sour,\nhoney sweet, and aloes bitter; and as they are all agreed in finding\nthose qualities in those objects, they do not in the least differ\nconcerning their effects with regard to pleasure and pain. They all\nconcur in calling sweetness pleasant, and sourness and bitterness\nunpleasant. Here there is no diversity in their sentiments; and that\nthere is not, appears fully from the consent of all men in the metaphors\nwhich are taken, from the souse of taste. A sour temper, bitter\nexpressions, bitter curses, a bitter fate, are terms well and strongly\nunderstood by all. And we are altogether as well understood when we say,\na sweet disposition, a sweet person, a sweet condition and the like. It\nis confessed, that custom and some other causes have made many\ndeviations from the natural pleasures or pains which belong to these\nseveral tastes; but then the power of distinguishing between the natural\nand the acquired relish remains to the very last. A man frequently comes\nto prefer the taste of tobacco to that of sugar, and the flavor of\nvinegar to that of milk; but this makes no confusion in tastes, whilst\nhe is sensible that the tobacco and vinegar are not sweet, and whilst he\nknows that habit alone has reconciled his palate to these alien\npleasures. Even with such a person we may speak, and with sufficient\nprecision, concerning tastes. But should any man be found who declares,\nthat to him tobacco has a taste like sugar, and that he cannot\ndistinguish between milk and vinegar; or that tobacco and vinegar are\nsweet, milk bitter, and sugar sour; we immediately conclude that the\norgans of this man are out of order, and that his palate is utterly\nvitiated. We are as far from conferring with such a person upon tastes,\nas from reasoning concerning the relations of quantity with one who\nshould deny that all the parts together were equal to the whole. We do\nnot call a man of this kind wrong in his notions, but absolutely mad.\nExceptions of this sort, in either way, do not at all impeach our\ngeneral rule, nor make us conclude that men have various principles\nconcerning the relations of quantity or the taste of things. So that\nwhen it is said, taste cannot be disputed, it can only mean, that no one\ncan strictly answer what pleasure or pain some particular man may find\nfrom the taste of some particular thing. This indeed cannot be disputed;\nbut we may dispute, and with sufficient clearness too, concerning the\nthings which are naturally pleasing or disagreeable to the sense. But\nwhen we talk of any peculiar or acquired relish, then we must know the\nhabits, the prejudices, or the distempers of this particular man, and we\nmust draw our conclusion from those.\n\nThis agreement of mankind is not confined to the taste solely. The\nprinciple of pleasure derived from sight is the same in all. Light is\nmore pleasing than darkness. Summer, when the earth is clad in green,\nwhen the heavens are serene and bright, is more agreeable than winter,\nwhen everything makes a different appearance. I never remember that\nanything beautiful, whether a man, a beast, a bird, or a plant, was\never shown, though it were to a hundred people, that they did not all\nimmediately agree that it was beautiful, though some might have thought\nthat it fell short of their expectation, or that other things were still\nfiner. I believe no man thinks a goose to be more beautiful than a swan,\nor imagines that what they call a Friesland hen excels a peacock. It\nmust be observed too, that the pleasures of the sight are not near so\ncomplicated, and confused, and altered by unnatural habits and\nassociations, as the pleasures of the taste are; because the pleasures\nof the sight more commonly acquiesce in themselves; and are not so often\naltered by considerations which are independent of the sight itself. But\nthings do not spontaneously present themselves to the palate as they do\nto the sight; they are generally applied to it, either as food or as\nmedicine; and from the qualities which they possess for nutritive or\nmedicinal purposes they often form the palate by degrees, and by force\nof these associations. Thus opium is pleasing to Turks, on account of\nthe agreeable delirium it produces. Tobacco is the delight of Dutchmen,\nas it diffuses a torpor and pleasing stupefaction. Fermented spirits\nplease our common people, because they banish care, and all\nconsideration of future or present evils. All of these would lie\nabsolutely neglected if their properties had originally gone no further\nthan the taste; but all these, together with tea and coffee, and some\nother things, have passed from the apothecary's shop to our tables, and\nwere taken for health long before they were thought of for pleasure. The\neffect of the drug has made us use it frequently; and frequent use,\ncombined with the agreeable effect, has made the taste itself at last\nagreeable. But this does not in the least perplex our reasoning;\nbecause we distinguish to the last the acquired from the natural relish.\nIn describing the taste of an unknown fruit, you would scarcely say that\nit had a sweet and pleasant flavor like tobacco, opium, or garlic,\nalthough you spoke to those who were in the constant use of those drugs,\nand had great pleasure in them. There is in all men a sufficient\nremembrance of the original natural causes of pleasure, to enable them\nto bring all things offered to their senses to that standard, and to\nregulate their feelings and opinions by it. Suppose one who had so\nvitiated his palate as to take more pleasure in the taste of opium than\nin that of butter or honey, to be presented with a bolus of squills;\nthere is hardly any doubt but that he would prefer the butter or honey\nto this nauseous morsel, or to any other bitter drug to which he had not\nbeen accustomed; which proves that his palate was naturally like that of\nother men in all things, that it is still like the palate of other men\nin many things, and only vitiated in some particular points. For in\njudging of any new thing, even of a taste similar to that which he has\nbeen formed by habit to like, he finds his palate affected in the\nnatural manner, and on the common principles. Thus the pleasure of all\nthe senses, of the sight, and even of the taste, that most ambiguous of\nthe senses, is the same in all, high and low, learned and unlearned.\n\nBesides the ideas, with their annexed pains and pleasures, which are\npresented by the sense; the mind of man possesses a sort of creative\npower of its own; either in representing at pleasure the images of\nthings in the order and manner in which they were received by the\nsenses, or in combining those images in a new manner, and according to\na different order. This power is called imagination; and to this belongs\nwhatever is called wit, fancy, invention, and the like. But it must be\nobserved, that this power of the imagination is incapable of producing\nanything absolutely new; it can only vary the disposition of those ideas\nwhich it has received from the senses. Now the imagination is the most\nextensive province of pleasure and pain, as it is the region of our\nfears and our hopes, and of all our passions that are connected with\nthem; and whatever is calculated to affect the imagination with these\ncommanding ideas, by force of any original natural impression, must have\nthe same power pretty equally over all men. For since the imagination is\nonly the representation of the senses, it can only be pleased or\ndispleased with the images, from the same principle on which the sense\nis pleased or displeased with the realities; and consequently there must\nbe just as close an agreement in the imaginations as in the senses of\nmen. A little attention will convince us that this must of necessity be\nthe case.\n\nBut in the imagination, besides the pain or pleasure arising from the\nproperties of the natural object, a pleasure is perceived from the\nresemblance which the imitation has to the original: the imagination, I\nconceive, can have no pleasure but what results from one or other of\nthese causes. And these causes operate pretty uniformly upon all men,\nbecause they operate by principles in nature, and which are not derived\nfrom any particular habits or advantages. Mr. Locke very justly and\nfinely observes of wit, that it is chiefly conversant in tracing\nresemblances; he remarks, at the same time, that the business of\njudgment is rather in finding differences. It may perhaps appear, on\nthis supposition, that there is no material distinction between the wit\nand the judgment, as they both seem to result from different operations\nof the same faculty of _comparing_. But in reality, whether they are or\nare not dependent on the same power of the mind, they differ so very\nmaterially in many respects, that a perfect union of wit and judgment is\none of the rarest things in the world. When two distinct objects are\nunlike to each other, it is only what we expect; things are in their\ncommon way; and therefore they make no impression on the imagination:\nbut when two distinct objects have a resemblance, we are struck, we\nattend to them, and we are pleased. The mind of man has naturally a far\ngreater alacrity and satisfaction in tracing resemblances than in\nsearching for differences; because by making resemblances we produce\n_new images_; we unite, we create, we enlarge our stock; but in making\ndistinctions we offer no food at all to the imagination; the task itself\nis more severe and irksome, and what pleasure we derive from it is\nsomething of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of news is told me\nin the morning; this, merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to my\nstock, gives me some pleasure. In the evening I find there was nothing\nin it. What do I gain by this, but the dissatisfaction to find that I\nhad been imposed upon? Hence it is that men are much more naturally\ninclined to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle,\nthat the most ignorant and barbarous nations have frequently excelled in\nsimilitudes, comparisons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been weak\nand backward in distinguishing and sorting their ideas. And it is for a\nreason of this kind, that Homer and the oriental writers, though very\nfond of similitudes, and though they often strike out such as are truly\nadmirable, seldom take care to have them exact; that is, they are taken\nwith the general resemblance, they paint it strongly, and they take no\nnotice of the difference which may be found between the things compared.\n\nNow as the pleasure of resemblance is that which principally flatters\nthe imagination, all men are nearly equal in this point, as far as their\nknowledge of the things represented or compared extends. The principle\nof this knowledge is very much accidental, as it depends upon experience\nand observation, and not on the strength or weakness of any natural\nfaculty; and it is from this difference in knowledge, that what we\ncommonly, though with no great exactness, call a difference in taste\nproceeds. A man to whom sculpture is new, sees a barber's block, or some\nordinary piece of statuary; he is immediately struck and pleased,\nbecause he sees something like a human figure; and, entirely taken up\nwith this likeness, he does not at all attend to its defects. No person,\nI believe, at the first time of seeing a piece of imitation ever did.\nSome time after, we suppose that this novice lights upon a more\nartificial work of the same nature; he now begins to look with contempt\non what he admired at first; not that he admired it even then for its\nunlikeness to a man, but for that general though inaccurate resemblance\nwhich it bore to the human figure. What he admired at different times in\nthese so different figures, is strictly the same; and though his\nknowledge is improved, his taste is not altered. Hitherto his mistake\nwas from a want of knowledge in art, and this arose from his\ninexperience; but he may be still deficient from a want of knowledge in\nnature. For it is possible that the man in question may stop here, and\nthat the masterpiece of a great hand may please him no more than the\nmiddling performance of a vulgar artist; and this not for want of better\nor higher relish, but because all men do not observe with sufficient\naccuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of an\nimitation of it. And that the critical taste does not depend upon a\nsuperior principle in men, but upon superior knowledge, may appear from\nseveral instances. The story of the ancient painter and the shoemaker is\nvery well known. The shoemaker set the painter right with regard to some\nmistakes he had made in the shoe of one of his figures, which the\npainter, who had not made such accurate observations on shoes, and was\ncontent with a general resemblance, had never observed. But this was no\nimpeachment to the taste of the painter; it only showed some want of\nknowledge in the art of making shoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomist\nhad come into the painter's working-room. His piece is in general well\ndone, the figure in question in a good attitude, and the parts well\nadjusted to their various movements; yet the anatomist, critical in his\nart, may observe the swell of some muscle not quite just in the peculiar\naction of the figure. Here the anatomist observes what the painter had\nnot observed; and he passes by what the shoemaker had remarked. But a\nwant of the last critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on the\nnatural good taste of the painter, or of any common observer of his\npiece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the formation of a shoe. A\nfine piece of a decollated head of St. John the Baptist was shown to a\nTurkish emperor: he praised many things, but he observed one defect: he\nobserved that the skin did not shrink from the wounded part of the neck.\nThe sultan on this occasion, though his observation was very just,\ndiscovered no more natural taste than the painter who executed this\npiece, or than a thousand European connoisseurs, who probably never\nwould have made the same observation. His Turkish majesty had indeed\nbeen well acquainted with that terrible spectacle, which the others\ncould only have represented in their imagination. On the subject of\ntheir dislike there is a difference between all these people, arising\nfrom the different kinds and degrees of their knowledge; but there is\nsomething in common to the painter, the shoemaker, the anatomist, and\nthe Turkish emperor, the pleasure arising from a natural object, so far\nas each perceives it justly imitated; the satisfaction in seeing an\nagreeable figure; the sympathy proceeding from a striking and affecting\nincident. So far as taste is natural, it is nearly common to all.\n\nIn poetry, and other pieces of imagination, the same parity may be\nobserved. It is true, that one man is charmed with Don Bellianis, and\nreads Virgil coldly; whilst another is transported with the AEneid, and\nleaves Don Bellianis to children. These two men seem to have a taste\nvery different from each other; but in fact they differ very little. In\nboth these pieces, which inspire such opposite sentiments, a tale\nexciting admiration is told; both are full of action, both are\npassionate; in both are voyages, battles, triumphs, and continual\nchanges of fortune. The admirer of Don Bellianis perhaps does not\nunderstand the refined language of the AEneid, who, if it was degraded\ninto the style of the \"Pilgrim's Progress,\" might feel it in all its\nenergy, on the same principle which made him an admirer of Don\nBellianis.\n\nIn his favorite author he is not shocked with the continual breaches of\nprobability, the confusion of times, the offences against manners, the\ntrampling upon geography; for he knows nothing of geography and\nchronology, and he has never examined the grounds of probability. He\nperhaps reads of a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia: wholly taken up\nwith so interesting an event, and only solicitous for the fate of his\nhero, he is not in the least troubled at this extravagant blunder. For\nwhy should he be shocked at a shipwreck on the coast of Bohemia, who\ndoes not know but that Bohemia may be an island in the Atlantic ocean?\nand after all, what reflection is this on the natural good taste of the\nperson here supposed?\n\nSo far then as taste belongs to the imagination, its principle is the\nsame in all men; there is no difference in the manner of their being\naffected, nor in the causes of the affection; but in the _degree_ there\nis a difference, which arises from two causes principally; either from a\ngreater degree of natural sensibility, or from a closer and longer\nattention to the object. To illustrate this by the procedure of the\nsenses, in which the same difference is found, let us suppose a very\nsmooth marble table to be set before two men; they both perceive it to\nbe smooth, and they are both pleased with it because of this quality. So\nfar they agree. But suppose another, and after that another table, the\nlatter still smoother than the former, to be set before them. It is now\nvery probable that these men, who are so agreed upon what is smooth, and\nin the pleasure from thence, will disagree when they come to settle\nwhich table has the advantage in point of polish. Here is indeed the\ngreat difference between tastes, when men come to compare the excess or\ndiminution of things which are judged by degree and not by measure. Nor\nis it easy, when such a difference arises, to settle the point, if the\nexcess or diminution be not glaring. If we differ in opinion about two\nquantities, we can have recourse to a common measure, which may decide\nthe question with the utmost exactness; and this, I take it, is what\ngives mathematical knowledge a greater certainty than any other. But in\nthings whose excess is not judged by greater or smaller, as smoothness\nand roughness, hardness and softness, darkness and light, the shades of\ncolors, all these are very easily distinguished when the difference is\nany way considerable, but not when it is minute, for want of some common\nmeasures, which perhaps may never come to be discovered. In these nice\ncases, supposing the acuteness of the sense equal, the greater attention\nand habit in such things will have the advantage. In the question about\nthe tables, the marble-polisher will unquestionably determine the most\naccurately. But notwithstanding this want of a common measure for\nsettling many disputes relative to the senses, and their representative\nthe imagination, we find that the principles are the same in all, and\nthat there is no disagreement until we come to examine into the\npre-eminence or difference of things, which brings us within the\nprovince of the judgment.\n\nSo long as we are conversant with the sensible qualities of things,\nhardly any more than the imagination seems concerned; little more also\nthan the imagination seems concerned when the passions are represented,\nbecause by the force of natural sympathy they are felt in all men\nwithout any recourse to reasoning, and their justness recognized in\nevery breast. Love, grief, fear, anger, joy, all these passions have, in\ntheir turns, affected every mind; and they do not affect it in an\narbitrary or casual manner, but upon certain, natural, and uniform\nprinciples. But as many of the works of imagination are not confined to\nthe representation of sensible objects, nor to efforts upon the\npassions, but extend themselves to the manners, the characters, the\nactions, and designs of men, their relations, their virtues and vices,\nthey come within the province of the judgment, which is improved by\nattention, and by the habit of reasoning. All these make a very\nconsiderable part of what are considered as the objects of taste; and\nHorace sends us to the schools of philosophy and the world for our\ninstruction in them. Whatever certainty is to be acquired in morality\nand the science of life; just the same degree of certainty have we in\nwhat relates to them in works of imitation. Indeed it is for the most\npart in our skill in manners, and in the observances of time and place,\nand of decency in general, which is only to be learned in those schools\nto which Horace recommends us, that what is called taste, by way of\ndistinction, consists: and which is in reality no other than a more\nrefined judgment. On the whole, it appears to me, that what is called\ntaste, in its most general acceptation, is not a simple idea, but is\npartly made up of a perception of the primary pleasures of sense, of the\nsecondary pleasures of the imagination, and of the conclusions of the\nreasoning faculty, concerning the various relations of these, and\nconcerning the human passions, manners, and actions. All this is\nrequisite to form taste, and the groundwork of all these is the same in\nthe human mind; for as the senses are the great originals of all our\nideas, and consequently of all our pleasures, if they are not uncertain\nand arbitrary, the whole groundwork of taste is common to all, and\ntherefore there is a sufficient foundation for a conclusive reasoning on\nthese matters.\n\nWhilst we consider taste merely according to its nature and species, we\nshall find its principles entirely uniform; but the degree in which\nthese principles prevail, in the several individuals of mankind, is\naltogether as different as the principles themselves are similar. For\nsensibility and judgment, which are the qualities that compose what we\ncommonly call a _taste_, vary exceedingly in various people. From a\ndefect in the former of these qualities arises a want of taste; a\nweakness in the latter constitutes a wrong or a bad one. There are some\nmen formed with feelings so blunt, with tempers so cold and phlegmatic,\nthat they can hardly be said to be awake during the whole course of\ntheir lives. Upon such persons the most striking objects make but a\nfaint and obscure impression. There are others so continually in the\nagitation of gross and merely sensual pleasures, or so occupied in the\nlow drudgery of avarice, or so heated in the chase of honors and\ndistinction, that their minds, which had been used continually to the\nstorms of these violent and tempestuous passions, can hardly be put in\nmotion by the delicate and refined play of the imagination. These men,\nthough from a different cause, become as stupid and insensible as the\nformer; but whenever either of these happen to be struck with any\nnatural elegance or greatness, or with these qualities in any work of\nart, they are moved upon the same principle.\n\nThe cause of a wrong taste is a defect of judgment. And this may arise\nfrom a natural weakness of understanding (in whatever the strength of\nthat faculty may consist), or, which is much more commonly the case, it\nmay arise from a want of a proper and well-directed exercise, which\nalone can make it strong and ready. Besides, that ignorance,\ninattention, prejudice, rashness, levity, obstinacy, in short, all those\npassions, and all those vices, which pervert the judgment in other\nmatters, prejudice it no less in this its more refined and elegant\nprovince. These causes produce different opinions upon everything which\nis an object of the understanding, without inducing us to suppose that\nthere are no settled principles of reason. And indeed, on the whole, one\nmay observe, that there is rather less difference upon matters of taste\namong mankind, than upon most of those which depend upon the naked\nreason; and that men are far better agreed on the excellence of a\ndescription in Virgil, than on the truth or falsehood of a theory of\nAristotle.\n\nA rectitude of judgment in the arts, which may be called a good taste,\ndoes in a great measure depend upon sensibility; because if the mind has\nno bent to the pleasures of the imagination, it will never apply itself\nsufficiently to works of that species to acquire a competent knowledge\nin them. But though a degree of sensibility is requisite to form a good\njudgment, yet a good judgment does not necessarily arise from a quick\nsensibility of pleasure; it frequently happens that a very poor judge,\nmerely by force of a greater complexional sensibility, is more affected\nby a very poor piece, than the best judge by the most perfect; for as\neverything now, extraordinary, grand, or passionate, is well calculated\nto affect such a person, and that the faults do not affect him, his\npleasure is more pure and unmixed; and as it is merely a pleasure of the\nimagination, it is much higher than any which is derived from a\nrectitude of the judgment; the judgment is for the greater part employed\nin throwing stumbling-blocks in the way of the imagination, in\ndissipating the scenes of its enchantment, and in tying us down to the\ndisagreeable yoke of our reason: for almost the only pleasure that men\nhave in judging better than others, consists in a sort of conscious\npride and superiority, which arises from thinking rightly; but then this\nis an indirect pleasure, a pleasure which does not immediately result\nfrom the object which is under contemplation. In the morning of our\ndays, when the senses are unworn and tender, when the whole man is awake\nin every part, and the gloss of novelty fresh upon all the objects that\nsurround us, how lively at that time are our sensations, but how false\nand inaccurate the judgments we form of things! I despair of ever\nreceiving the same degree of pleasure from the most excellent\nperformances of genius, which I felt at that age from pieces which my\npresent judgment regards as trifling and contemptible. Every trivial\ncause of pleasure is apt to affect the man of too sanguine a complexion:\nhis appetite is too keen to suffer his taste to be delicate; and he is\nin all respects what Ovid says of himself in love,\n\n    Molle meum levibus cor est violabile telis,\n    Et semper causa est, cur ego semper amem.\n\nOne of this character can never be a refined judge; never what the\ncomic poet calls _elegans formarum spectator_. The excellence and force\nof a composition must always he imperfectly estimated from its effect on\nthe minds of any, except we know the temper and character of those\nminds. The most powerful effects of poetry and music have been\ndisplayed, and perhaps are still displayed, where these arts are but in\na very low and imperfect state. The rude hearer is affected by the\nprinciples which operate in these arts even in their rudest condition;\nand he is not skilful enough to perceive the defects. But as the arts\nadvance towards their perfection, the science of criticism advances with\nequal pace, and the pleasure of judges is frequently interrupted by the\nfaults which we discovered in the most finished compositions.\n\nBefore I leave this subject, I cannot help taking notice of an opinion\nwhich many persons entertain, as if the taste were a separate faculty of\nthe mind, and distinct from the judgment and imagination; a species of\ninstinct, by which we are struck naturally, and at the first glance,\nwithout any previous reasoning, with the excellences or the defects of a\ncomposition. So far as the imagination, and the passions are concerned,\nI believe it true, that the reason is little consulted; but where\ndisposition, where decorum, where congruity are concerned, in short,\nwherever the best taste differs from the worst, I am convinced that the\nunderstanding operates, and nothing else; and its operation is in\nreality far from being always sudden, or, when it is sudden, it is often\nfar from being right. Men of the best taste by consideration come\nfrequently to change these early and precipitate judgments, which the\nmind, from its aversion to neutrality and doubt, loves to form on the\nspot. It is known that the taste (whatever it is) is improved exactly\nas we improve our judgment, by extending our knowledge, by a steady\nattention to our object, and by frequent exercise. They who have not\ntaken these methods, if their taste decides quickly, it is always\nuncertainly; and their quickness is owing to their presumption and\nrashness, and not to any sudden irradiation, that in a moment dispels\nall darkness from their minds. But they who have cultivated that species\nof knowledge which makes the object of taste, by degrees and habitually\nattain not only a soundness but a readiness of judgment, as men do by\nthe same methods on all other occasions. At first they are obliged to\nspell, but at last they read with ease and with celerity; but this\ncelerity of its operation is no proof that the taste is a distinct\nfaculty. Nobody, I believe, has attended the course of a discussion\nwhich turned upon matters within the sphere of mere naked reason, but\nmust have observed the extreme readiness with which the whole process of\nthe argument is carried on, the grounds discovered, the objections\nraised and answered, and the conclusions drawn from premises, with a\nquickness altogether as great as the taste can be supposed to work with;\nand yet where nothing but plain reason either is or can be suspected to\noperate. To multiply principles for every different appearance is\nuseless, and unphilosophical too in a high degree.\n\nThis matter might be pursued much farther; but it is not the extent of\nthe subject which must prescribe our bounds, for what subject does not\nbranch out to infinity? It is the nature of our particular scheme, and\nthe single point of view in which we consider it, which ought to put a\nstop to our researches.\n\n\n\n\nA\n\nPHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY\n\nINTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF\n\nTHE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL\n\n\nPART I.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nNOVELTY.\n\nThe first and the simplest emotion which we discover in the human mind\nis curiosity. By curiosity I mean whatever desire we have for, or\nwhatever pleasure we take in, novelty. We see children perpetually\nrunning from place to place, to hunt out something new: they catch with\ngreat eagerness, and with very little choice, at whatever comes before\nthem; their attention is engaged by everything, because everything has,\nin that stage of life, the charm of novelty to recommend it. But as\nthose things, which engage us merely by their novelty, cannot attach us\nfor any length of time, curiosity is the most superficial of all the\naffections; it changes its object perpetually; it has an appetite which\nis very sharp, but very easily satisfied; and it has always an\nappearance of giddiness, restlessness, and anxiety. Curiosity, from its\nnature, is a very active principle; it quickly runs over the greatest\npart of its objects, and soon exhausts the variety which is commonly to\nbe met with in nature; the same things make frequent returns, and they\nreturn with less and less of any agreeable effect. In short, the\noccurrences of life, by the time we come to know it a little, would be\nincapable of affecting the mind with any other sensations than those of\nloathing and weariness, if many things were not adapted to affect the\nmind by means of other powers besides novelty in them, and of other\npassions besides curiosity in ourselves. These powers and passions shall\nbe considered in their place. But, whatever these powers are, or upon\nwhat principle soever they affect the mind, it is absolutely necessary\nthat they should not be exerted in those things which a daily and vulgar\nuse have brought into a stale unaffecting familiarity. Some degree of\nnovelty must be one of the materials in every instrument which works\nupon the mind; and curiosity blends itself more or less with all our\npassions.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nPAIN AND PLEASURE.\n\nIt seems, then, necessary towards moving the passions of people advanced\nin life to any considerable degree, that the objects designed for that\npurpose, besides their being in some measure new, should be capable of\nexciting pain or pleasure from other causes. Pain and pleasure are\nsimple ideas, incapable of definition. People are not liable to be\nmistaken in their feelings, but they are very frequently wrong in the\nnames they give them, and in their reasonings about them. Many are of\nopinion, that pain arises necessarily from the removal of some pleasure;\nas they think pleasure does from the ceasing or diminution of some pain.\nFor my part, I am rather inclined to imagine, that pain and pleasure,\nin their most simple and natural manner of affecting, are each of a\npositive nature, and by no means necessarily dependent on each other for\ntheir existence. The human mind is often, and I think it is for the most\npart, in a state neither of pain nor pleasure, which I call a state of\nindifference. When I am carried from this state into a state of actual\npleasure, it does not appear necessary that I should pass through the\nmedium of any sort of pain. If in such a state of indifference, or ease,\nor tranquillity, or call it what you please, you were to be suddenly\nentertained with a concert of music; or suppose some object of a fine\nshape, and bright, lively colors, to be presented before you; or imagine\nyour smell is gratified with the fragrance of a rose; or if, without any\nprevious thirst, you were to drink of some pleasant kind of wine, or to\ntaste of some sweetmeat without being hungry; in all the several senses,\nof hearing, smelling, and tasting, you undoubtedly find a pleasure; yet,\nif I inquire into the state of your mind previous to these\ngratifications, you will hardly tell me that they found you in any kind\nof pain; or, having satisfied these several senses with their several\npleasures, will you say that any pain has succeeded, though the pleasure\nis absolutely over? Suppose, on the other hand, a man in the same state\nof indifference to receive a violent blow, or to drink of some bitter\npotion, or to have his ears wounded with some harsh and grating sound;\nhere is no removal of pleasure; and yet here is felt, his every sense\nwhich is affected, a pain very distinguishable. It may be said, perhaps,\nthat the pain in these cases had its rise from the removal of the\npleasure which the man enjoyed before, though that pleasure was of so\nlow a degree as to be perceived only by the removal. But this seems to\nme a subtilty that is not discoverable in nature. For if, previous to\nthe pain, I do not feel any actual pleasure, I have no reason to judge\nthat any such thing exists; since pleasure is only pleasure as it is\nfelt. The same may be said of pain, and with equal reason. I can never\npersuade myself that pleasure and pain are mere relations, which can\nonly exist as they are contrasted; but I think I can discern clearly\nthat there are positive pains and pleasures, which do not at all depend\nupon each other. Nothing is more certain to my own feelings than this.\nThere is nothing which I can distinguish in my mind with more clearness\nthan the three states, of indifference, of pleasure, and of pain. Every\none of these I can perceive without any sort of idea of its relation to\nanything else. Caius is afflicted with a fit of the colic; this man is\nactually in pain; stretch Caius upon the rack, he will feel a much\ngreater pain: but does this pain of the rack arise from the removal of\nany pleasure? or is the fit of the colic a pleasure or a pain just as we\nare pleased to consider it?\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nTHE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE REMOVAL OF PAIN AND POSITIVE PLEASURE.\n\nWe shall carry this proposition yet a step further. We shall venture to\npropose, that pain and pleasure are not only not necessarily dependent\nfor their existence on their mutual diminution or removal, but that, in\nreality, the diminution or ceasing of pleasure does not operate like\npositive pain; and that the removal or diminution of pain, in its\neffect, has very little resemblance to positive pleasure.[10] The former\nof these propositions will, I believe, be much more readily allowed than\nthe latter; because it is very evident that pleasure, when it has run\nits career, sets us down very nearly where it found us. Pleasure of\nevery kind quickly satisfies; and, when it is over, we relapse into\nindifference, or, rather, we fall into a soft tranquillity which is\ntinged with the agreeable color of the former sensation. I own it is not\nat first view so apparent that the removal of a great pain does not\nresemble positive pleasure: but let us recollect in what state we have\nfound our minds upon escaping some imminent danger, or on being released\nfrom the severity of some cruel pain. We have on such occasions found,\nif I am not much mistaken, the temper of our minds in a tenor very\nremote from that which attends the presence of positive pleasure; we\nhave found them in a state of much sobriety, impressed with a sense of\nawe, in a sort of tranquillity shadowed with horror. The fashion of the\ncountenance and the gesture of the body on such occasions is so\ncorrespondent to this state of mind, that any person, a stranger to the\ncause of the appearance, would rather judge us under some consternation,\nthan in the enjoyment of anything like positive pleasure.\n\n    [Greek:\n    Hos d' hotan andr' ate pykine labe, host' eni patre,\n    Phota katakteinas, allon exiketo demon,\n    Andros es aphneiou, thambos d' echei eisoroontas.]\n\n                                        Iliad, [Greek: O]. 480.\n\n   \"As when a wretch, who, conscious of his crime,\n    Pursued for murder from his native clime,\n    Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed;\n    All gaze, all wonder!\"\n\nThis striking appearance of the man whom Homer supposes to have just\nescaped an imminent danger, the sort of mixed passion of terror and\nsurprise, with which he affects the spectators, paints very strongly the\nmanner in which we find ourselves affected upon occasions any way\nsimilar. For when we have suffered from any violent emotion, the mind\nnaturally continues in something like the same condition, after the\ncause which first produced it has ceased to operate. The tossing of the\nsea remains after the storm; and when this remain of horror has entirely\nsubsided, all the passion which the accident raised subsides along with\nit; and the mind returns to its usual state of indifference. In short,\npleasure (I mean anything either in the inward sensation, or in the\noutward appearance, like pleasure from a positive cause) has never, I\nimagine, its origin from the removal of pain or danger.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nOF DELIGHT AND PLEASURE, AS OPPOSED TO EACH OTHER.\n\nBut shall we therefore say, that the removal of pain or its diminution\nis always simply painful? or affirm that the cessation or the lessening\nof pleasure is always attended itself with a pleasure? By no means. What\nI advance is no more than this; first, that there are pleasures and\npains of a positive and independent nature; and, secondly, that the\nfeeling which results from the ceasing or diminution of pain does not\nbear a sufficient resemblance to positive pleasure, to have it\nconsidered as of the same nature, or to entitle it to be known by the\nsame name; and thirdly, that upon the same principle the removal or\nqualification of pleasure has no resemblance to positive pain. It is\ncertain that the former feeling (the removal or moderation of pain) has\nsomething in it far from distressing, or disagreeable in its nature.\nThis feeling, in many cases so agreeable, but in all so different from\npositive pleasure, has no name which I know; but that hinders not its\nbeing a very real one, and very different from all others. It is most\ncertain, that every species of satisfaction or pleasure, how different\nsoever in its manner of affecting, is of a positive nature in the mind\nof him who feels it. The affection is undoubtedly positive; but the\ncause may be, as in this case it certainly is, a sort of _privation_.\nAnd it is very reasonable that we should distinguish by some term two\nthings so distinct in nature, as a pleasure that is such simply, and\nwithout any relation, from that pleasure which cannot exist without a\nrelation, and that, too, a relation to pain. Very extraordinary it would\nbe, if these affections, so distinguishable in their causes, so\ndifferent in their effects, should be confounded with each other,\nbecause vulgar use has ranged them under the same general title.\nWhenever I have occasion to speak of this species of relative pleasure,\nI call it _delight_; and I shall take the best care I can to use that\nword in no other sense. I am satisfied the word is not commonly used in\nthis appropriated signification; but I thought it better to take up a\nword already known, and to limit its signification, than to introduce a\nnew one, which would not perhaps incorporate so well with the language.\nI should never have presumed the least alteration in our words, if the\nnature of the language, framed for the purposes of business rather than\nthose of philosophy, and the nature of my subject, that leads me out of\nthe common track of discourse, did not in a manner necessitate me to it.\nI shall make use of this liberty with all possible caution. As I make\nuse of the word _delight_ to express the sensation which accompanies the\nremoval of pain or danger, so, when I speak of positive pleasure, I\nshall for the most part call it simply _pleasure_.\n\n\nSECTION V.\n\nJOY AND GRIEF.\n\nIt must be observed, that the cessation of pleasure affects the mind\nthree ways. If it simply ceases after having continued a proper time,\nthe effect is _indifference_; if it be abruptly broken off, there ensues\nan uneasy sense called _disappointment_; if the object be so totally\nlost that there is no chance of enjoying it again, a passion arises in\nthe mind which is called _grief_. Now there is none of these, not even\ngrief, which is the most violent, that I think has any resemblance to\npositive pain. The person who grieves suffers his passion to grow upon\nhim; he indulges it, he loves it: but this never happens in the case of\nactual pain, which no man ever willingly endured for any considerable\ntime. That grief should be willingly endured, though far from a simply\npleasing sensation, is not so difficult to be understood. It is the\nnature of grief to keep its object perpetually in its eye, to present it\nin its most pleasurable views, to repeat all the circumstances that\nattend it, even to the last minuteness; to go back to every particular\nenjoyment, to dwell upon each, and to find a thousand new perfections in\nall, that were not sufficiently understood before; in grief, the\n_pleasure_ is still uppermost; and the affliction we suffer has no\nresemblance to absolute pain, which is always odious, and which we\nendeavor to shake off as soon as possible. The Odyssey of Homer, which\nabounds with so many natural and affecting images, has none more\nstriking than those which Menelaus raises of the calamitous fate of his\nfriends, and his own manner of feeling it. He owns, indeed, that he\noften gives himself some intermission from such melancholy reflections;\nbut he observes, too, that, melancholy as they are, they give him\npleasure.\n\n    [Greek:\n    All empes pantas men odyromenos kai acheuon,\n    Pollakis en megaroisi kathemenos hemeteroisin,\n    Allote men te goo phrena terpomai, allote d' aute\n    Pauomai; aipseros de koros kryeroio gooio]\n\n                                        Hom. Od. [Greek: D]. 100\n\n   \"Still in short intervals of _pleasing woe_,\n    Regardful of the friendly dues I owe,\n    I to the glorious dead, forever dear,\n    _Indulge_ the tribute of a _grateful_ tear.\"\n\nOn the other hand, when we recover our health, when we escape an\nimminent danger, is it with joy that we are affected? The sense on these\noccasions is far from that smooth and voluptuous satisfaction which the\nassured prospect of pleasure bestows. The delight which arises from the\nmodifications of pain confesses the stock from whence it sprung, in its\nsolid, strong, and severe nature.\n\n\nSECTION VI.\n\nOF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SELF-PRESERVATION.\n\nMost of the ideas which are capable of making a powerful impression on\nthe mind, whether simply of pain or pleasure, or of the modifications of\nthose, may be reduced very nearly to these two heads,\n_self-preservation_, and _society_; to the ends of one or the other of\nwhich all our passions are calculated to answer. The passions which\nconcern self-preservation, turn mostly on _pain_ or _danger_. The ideas\nof _pain_, _sickness_, and _death_, fill the mind with strong emotions\nof horror; but _life_ and _health_, though they put us in a capacity of\nbeing affected with pleasure, make no such impression by the simple\nenjoyment. The passions therefore which are conversant about the\npreservation of the individual turn chiefly on _pain_ and _danger_, and\nthey are the most powerful of all the passions.\n\n\nSECTION VII.\n\nOF THE SUBLIME.\n\nWhatever is fitted in any sort to excite the ideas of pain and danger,\nthat is to say, whatever is in any sort terrible, or is conversant about\nterrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a\nsource of the _sublime_; that is, it is productive of the strongest\nemotion which the mind is capable of feeling. I say the strongest\nemotion, because I am satisfied the ideas of pain are much more powerful\nthan those which enter on the part of pleasure. Without all doubt, the\ntorments which we may be made to suffer are much greater in their\neffect on the body and mind, than any pleasures which the most learned\nvoluptuary could suggest, or than the liveliest imagination, and the\nmost sound and exquisitely sensible body, could enjoy. Nay, I am in\ngreat doubt whether any man could be found, who would earn a life of the\nmost perfect satisfaction at the price of ending it in the torments,\nwhich justice inflicted in a few hours on the late unfortunate regicide\nin France. But as pain is stronger in its operation than pleasure, so\ndeath is in general a much more affecting idea than pain; because there\nare very few pains, however exquisite, which are not preferred to death:\nnay, what generally makes pain itself, if I may say so, more painful,\nis, that it is considered as an emissary of this king of terrors. When\ndanger or pain press too nearly, they are incapable of giving any\ndelight, and are simply terrible; but at certain distances, and with\ncertain modifications, they may be, and they are, delightful, as we\nevery day experience. The cause of this I shall endeavor to investigate\nhereafter.\n\n\nSECTION VIII.\n\nOF THE PASSIONS WHICH BELONG TO SOCIETY.\n\nThe other head under which I class our passions, is that of _society_,\nwhich may be divided into two sorts. 1. The society of the _sexes_,\nwhich answers the purpose of propagation; and next, that more _general\nsociety_, which we have with men and with other animals, and which we\nmay in some sort be said to have even with the inanimate world. The\npassions belonging to the preservation of the individual turn wholly on\npain and danger: those which belong to _generation_ have their origin in\ngratifications and _pleasures_; the pleasure most directly belonging to\nthis purpose is of a lively character, rapturous and violent, and\nconfessedly the highest pleasure of sense; yet the absence of this so\ngreat an enjoyment scarce amounts to an uneasiness; and, except at\nparticular times, I do not think it affects at all. When men describe in\nwhat manner they are affected by pain and danger, they do not dwell on\nthe pleasure of health and the comfort of security, and then lament the\n_loss_ of these satisfactions: the whole turns upon the actual pains and\nhorrors which they endure. But if you listen to the complaints of a\nforsaken lover, you observe that he insists largely on the pleasures\nwhich he enjoyed, or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the object\nof his desires; it is the _loss_ which is always uppermost in his mind.\nThe violent effects produced by love, which has sometimes been even\nwrought up to madness, is no objection to the rule which we seek to\nestablish. When men have suffered their imaginations to be long affected\nwith any idea, it so wholly engrosses them as to shut out by degrees\nalmost every other, and to break down every partition of the mind which\nwould confine it. Any idea is sufficient for the purpose, as is evident\nfrom the infinite variety of causes, which give rise to madness: but\nthis at most can only prove, that the passion of love is capable of\nproducing very extraordinary effects, not that its extraordinary\nemotions have any connection with positive pain.\n\n\nSECTION IX.\n\nTHE FINAL CAUSE OF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PASSIONS BELONGING TO\nSELF-PRESERVATION AND THOSE WHICH REGARD THE SOCIETY OF THE SEXES.\n\nThe final cause of the difference in character between the passions\nwhich regard self-preservation, and those which are directed to the\nmultiplication of the species, will illustrate the foregoing remarks yet\nfurther; and it is, I imagine, worthy of observation even upon its own\naccount. As the performance of our duties of every kind depends upon\nlife, and the performing them with vigor and efficacy depends upon\nhealth, we are very strongly affected with whatever threatens the\ndestruction of either: but as we were not made to acquiesce in life and\nhealth, the simple enjoyment of them is not attended with any real\npleasure, lest, satisfied with that, we should give ourselves over to\nindolence and inaction. On the other hand, the generation of mankind is\na great purpose, and it is requisite that men should be animated to the\npursuit of it by some great incentive. It is therefore attended with a\nvery high pleasure; but as it is by no means designed to be our constant\nbusiness, it is not fit that the absence of this pleasure should be\nattended with any considerable pain. The difference between men and\nbrutes, in this point, seems to be remarkable. Men are at all times\npretty equally disposed to the pleasures of love, because they are to be\nguided by reason in the time and manner of indulging them. Had any great\npain arisen from the want of this satisfaction, reason, I am afraid,\nwould find great difficulties in the performance of its office. But\nbrutes that obey laws, in the execution of which their own reason has\nbut little share, have their stated seasons; at such times it is not\nimprobable that the sensation from the want is very troublesome, because\nthe end must be then answered, or be missed in many, perhaps forever; as\nthe inclination returns only with its season.\n\n\nSECTION X.\n\nOF BEAUTY.\n\nThe passion which belongs to generation, merely as such, is lust only.\nThis is evident in brutes, whose passions are more unmixed, and which\npursue their purposes more directly than ours. The only distinction they\nobserve with regard to their mates, is that of sex. It is true, that\nthey stick severally to their own species in preference to all others.\nBut this preference, I imagine, does not arise from any sense of beauty\nwhich they find in their species, as Mr. Addison supposes, but from a\nlaw of some other kind, to which they are subject; and this we may\nfairly conclude, from their apparent want of choice amongst those\nobjects to which the barriers of their species have confined them. But\nman, who is a creature adapted to a greater variety and intricacy of\nrelation, connects with the general passion the idea of some _social_\nqualities, which direct and heighten the appetite which he has in common\nwith all other animals; and as he is not designed like them to live at\nlarge, it is fit that he should have some thing to create a preference,\nand fix his choice; and this in general should be some sensible quality;\nas no other can so quickly, so powerfully, or so surely produce its\neffect. The object therefore of this mixed passion, which we call love,\nis the _beauty_ of the _sex_. Men are carried to the sex in general, as\nit is the sex, and by the common law of nature; but they are attached to\nparticulars by personal _beauty_. I call beauty a social quality; for\nwhere women and men, and not only they, but when other animals give us a\nsense of joy and pleasure in beholding them (and there are many that do\nso), they inspire us with sentiments of tenderness and affection towards\ntheir persons; we like to have them near us, and we enter willingly into\na kind of relation with them, unless we should have strong reasons to\nthe contrary. But to what end, in many cases, this was designed, I am\nunable to discover; for I see no greater reason for a connection between\nman and several animals who are attired in so engaging a manner, than\nbetween him and some others who entirely want this attraction, or\npossess it in a far weaker degree. But it is probable that Providence\ndid not make even this distinction, but with a view to some great end;\nthough we cannot perceive distinctly what it is, as his wisdom is not\nour wisdom, nor our ways his ways.\n\n\nSECTION XI.\n\nSOCIETY AND SOLITUDE.\n\nThe second branch of the social passions is that which administers to\n_society in general_. With regard to this, I observe, that society,\nmerely as society, without any particular heightenings, gives us no\npositive pleasure in the enjoyment; but absolute and entire _solitude_,\nthat is, the total and perpetual exclusion from all society, is as\ngreat a positive pain as can almost be conceived. Therefore in the\nbalance between the pleasure of general _society_, and the pain of\nabsolute solitude, _pain_ is the predominant idea. But the pleasure of\nany particular social enjoyment outweighs very considerably the\nuneasiness caused by the want of that particular enjoyment; so that the\nstrongest sensations relative to the habitudes of _particular society_\nare sensations of pleasure. Good company, lively conversations, and the\nendearments of friendship, fill the mind with great pleasure; a\ntemporary solitude, on the other hand, is itself agreeable. This may\nperhaps prove that we are creatures designed for contemplation as well\nas action; since solitude as well as society has its pleasures; as from\nthe former observation we may discern, that an entire life of solitude\ncontradicts the purposes of our being, since death itself is scarcely an\nidea of more terror.\n\n\nSECTION XII.\n\nSYMPATHY, IMITATION, AND AMBITION.\n\nUnder this denomination of society, the passions are of a complicated\nkind, and branch out into a variety of forms, agreeably to that variety\nof ends they are to serve in the great chain of society. The three\nprincipal links in this chain are _sympathy_, _imitation,_ and\n_ambition_.\n\n\nSECTION XIII.\n\nSYMPATHY.\n\nIt is by the first of these passions that we enter into the concerns of\nothers; that we are moved as they are moved, and are never suffered to\nbe indifferent spectators of almost anything which men can do or suffer.\nFor sympathy must be considered as a sort of substitution, by which we\nare put into the place of another man, and affected in many respects as\nhe is affected: so that this passion may either partake of the nature of\nthose which regard self-preservation, and turning upon pain may be a\nsource of the sublime; or it may turn upon ideas of pleasure; and then\nwhatever has been said of the social affections, whether they regard\nsociety in general, or only some particular modes of it, may be\napplicable here. It is by this principle chiefly that poetry, painting,\nand other affecting arts, transfuse their passions from one breast to\nanother, and are often capable of grafting a delight on wretchedness,\nmisery, and death itself. It is a common observation, that objects which\nin the reality would shock, are in tragical, and such like\nrepresentations, the source of a very high species of pleasure. This,\ntaken as a fact, has been the cause of much reasoning. The satisfaction\nhas been commonly attributed, first, to the comfort we receive in\nconsidering that so melancholy a story is no more than a fiction; and,\nnext, to the contemplation of our own freedom from the evils which we\nsee represented. I am afraid it is a practice much too common in\ninquiries of this nature, to attribute the cause of feelings which\nmerely arise from the mechanical structure of our bodies, or from the\nnatural frame and constitution of our minds, to certain conclusions of\nthe reasoning faculty on the objects presented to us; for I should\nimagine, that the influence of reason in producing our passions is\nnothing near so extensive as it is commonly believed.\n\n\nSECTION XIV.\n\nTHE EFFECTS OF SYMPATHY IN THE DISTRESSES OF OTHERS.\n\nTo examine this point concerning the effect of tragedy in a proper\nmanner, we must previously consider how we are affected by the feelings\nof our fellow creatures in circumstances of real distress. I am\nconvinced we have a degree of delight, and that no small one, in the\nreal misfortunes and pains of others; for let the affection be what it\nwill in appearance, if it does not make us shun such objects, if on the\ncontrary it induces us to approach them, if it makes us dwell upon them,\nin this case I conceive we must have a delight or pleasure of some\nspecies or other in contemplating objects of this kind. Do we not read\nthe authentic histories of scenes of this nature with as much pleasure\nas romances or poems, where the incidents are fictitious? The prosperity\nof no empire, nor the grandeur of no king, can so agreeably affect in\nthe reading, as the ruin of the state of Macedon, and the distress of\nits unhappy prince. Such a catastrophe touches us in history as much as\nthe destruction of Troy does in fable. Our delight, in cases of this\nkind, is very greatly heightened, if the sufferer be some excellent\nperson who sinks under an unworthy fortune. Scipio and Cato are both\nvirtuous characters; but we are more deeply affected by the violent\ndeath of the one, and the ruin of the great cause he adhered to, than\nwith the deserved triumphs and uninterrupted prosperity of the other:\nfor terror is a passion which always produces delight when it does not\npress too closely; and pity is a passion accompanied with pleasure,\nbecause it arises from love and social affection. Whenever we are formed\nby nature to any active purpose, the passion which animates us to it is\nattended with delight, or a pleasure of some kind, let the\nsubject-matter be what it will; and as our Creator has designed that we\nshould be united by the bond of sympathy, he has strengthened that bond\nby a proportionable delight; and there most where our sympathy is most\nwanted,--in the distresses of others. If this passion was simply\npainful, we would shun with the greatest care all persons and places\nthat could excite such a passion; as some, who are so far gone in\nindolence as not to endure any strong impression, actually do. But the\ncase is widely different with the greater part of mankind; there is no\nspectacle we so eagerly pursue, as that of some uncommon and grievous\ncalamity; so that whether the misfortune is before our eyes, or whether\nthey are turned back to it in history, it always touches with delight.\nThis is not an unmixed delight, but blended with no small uneasiness.\nThe delight we have in such things hinders us from shunning scenes of\nmisery; and the pain we feel prompts us to relieve ourselves in\nrelieving those who suffer; and all this antecedent to any reasoning, by\nan instinct that works us to its own purposes without our concurrence.\n\n\nSECTION XV.\n\nOF THE EFFECTS OF TRAGEDY.\n\nIt is thus in real calamities. In imitated distresses the only\ndifference is the pleasure resulting from the effects of imitation; for\nit is never so perfect, but we can perceive it is imitation, and on that\nprinciple are somewhat pleased with it. And indeed in some cases we\nderive as much or more pleasure from that source than from the thing\nitself. But then I imagine we shall be much mistaken if we attribute any\nconsiderable part of our satisfaction in tragedy to the consideration\nthat tragedy is a deceit, and its representations no realities. The\nnearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all\nidea of fiction, the more perfect is its power. But be its power of what\nkind it will, it never approaches to what it represents. Choose a day on\nwhich to represent the most sublime and affecting tragedy we have;\nappoint the most favorite actors; spare no cost upon the scenes and\ndecorations; unite the greatest efforts of poetry, painting, and music;\nand when you have collected your audience, just at the moment when their\nminds are erect with expectation, let it be reported that a state\ncriminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining\nsquare; in a moment the emptiness of the theatre would demonstrate the\ncomparative weakness of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of\nthe real sympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a simple\npain in the reality, yet a delight in the representation, arises from\nhence, that we do not sufficiently distinguish what we would by no means\nchoose to do, from what we should be eager enough to see if it was once\ndone. We delight in seeing things, which so far from doing, our\nheartiest wishes would be to see redressed. This noble capital, the\npride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is so strangely wicked\nas to desire to see destroyed by a conflagration or an earthquake,\nthough he should be removed himself to the greatest distance from the\ndanger. But suppose such a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers\nfrom all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongst them many\nwho would have been content never to have seen London in its glory! Nor\nis it, either in real or fictitious distresses, our immunity from them\nwhich produces our delight; in my own mind I can discover nothing like\nit. I apprehend that this mistake is owing to a sort of sophism, by\nwhich we are frequently imposed upon; it arises from our not\ndistinguishing between what is indeed a necessary condition to our doing\nor suffering anything in general, and what is the _cause_ of some\nparticular act. If a man kills me with a sword, it is a necessary\ncondition to this that we should have been both of us alive before the\nfact; and yet it would be absurd to say that our being both living\ncreatures was the cause of his crime and of my death. So it is certain\nthat it is absolutely necessary my life should be out of any imminent\nhazard, before I can take a delight in the sufferings of others, real or\nimaginary, or indeed in anything else from any cause whatsoever. But\nthen it is a sophism to argue from thence that this immunity is the\ncause of my delight either on these or on any occasions. No one can\ndistinguish such a cause of satisfaction in his own mind, I believe;\nnay, when we do not suffer any very acute pain, nor are exposed to any\nimminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilst we suffer\nourselves; and often then most when we are softened by affliction; we\nsee with pity even distresses which we would accept in the place of our\nown.\n\n\nSECTION XVI.\n\nIMITATION.\n\nThe second passion belonging to society is imitation, or, if you will, a\ndesire of imitating, and consequently a pleasure in it. This passion\narises from much the same cause with sympathy. For as sympathy makes us\ntake a concern in whatever men feel, so this affection prompts us to\ncopy whatever they do; and consequently we have a pleasure in imitating,\nand in whatever belongs to imitation merely as it is such, without any\nintervention of the reasoning faculty, but solely from our natural\nconstitution, which Providence has framed in such a manner as to find\neither pleasure or delight, according to the nature of the object, in\nwhatever regards the purposes of our being. It is by imitation far more\nthan by precept, that we learn everything; and what we learn thus, we\nacquire not only more effectually, but more pleasantly. This forms our\nmanners, our opinions, our lives. It is one of the strongest links of\nsociety; it is a species of mutual compliance, which all men yield to\neach other, without constraint to themselves, and which is extremely\nflattering to all. Herein it is that painting and many other agreeable\narts have laid one of the principal foundations of their power. And\nsince, by its influence on our manners and our passions, it is of such\ngreat consequence, I shall here venture to lay down a rule, which may\ninform us with a good degree of certainty when we are to attribute the\npower of the arts to imitation, or to our pleasure in the skill of the\nimitator merely, and when to sympathy, or some other cause in\nconjunction, with it. When the object represented in poetry or painting\nis such as we could have no desire of seeing in the reality, then I may\nbe sure that its power in poetry or painting is owing to the power of\nimitation, and to no cause operating in the thing itself. So it is with\nmost of the pieces which the painters call still-life. In these a\ncottage, a dung-hill, the meanest and most ordinary utensils of the\nkitchen, are capable of giving us pleasure. But when the object of the\npainting or poem is such as we should run to see if real, let it affect\nus with what odd sort of sense it will, we may rely upon it that the\npower of the poem or picture is more owing to the nature of the thing\nitself than to the mere effect of imitation, or to a consideration of\nthe skill of the imitator, however excellent. Aristotle has spoken so\nmuch and so solidly upon the force of imitation in his Poetics, that it\nmakes any further discourse upon this subject the less necessary.\n\n\nSECTION XVII.\n\nAMBITION.\n\nAlthough imitation is one of the great instruments used by Providence in\nbringing our nature towards its perfection, yet if men gave themselves\nup to imitation entirely, and each followed the other, and so on in an\neternal circle, it is easy to see that there never could be any\nimprovement amongst them. Men must remain as brutes do, the same at the\nend that they are at this day, and that they were in the beginning of\nthe world. To prevent this, God has planted in man a sense of ambition,\nand a satisfaction arising from the contemplation of his excelling his\nfellows in something deemed valuable amongst them. It is this passion\nthat drives men to all the ways we see in use of signalizing themselves,\nand that tends to make whatever excites in a man the idea of this\ndistinction so very pleasant. It has been so strong as to make very\nmiserable men take comfort, that they were supreme in misery; and\ncertain it is that, where we cannot distinguish ourselves by something\nexcellent, we begin to take a complacency in some singular infirmities,\nfollies, or defects of one kind or other. It is on this principle that\nflattery is so prevalent; for flattery is no more than what raises in a\nman's mind an idea of a preference which he has not. Now, whatever,\neither on good or upon bad grounds, tends to raise a man in his own\nopinion, produces a sort of swelling and triumph, that is extremely\ngrateful to the human mind; and this swelling is never more perceived,\nnor operates with more force, than when without danger we are conversant\nwith terrible objects; the mind always claiming to itself some part of\nthe dignity and importance of the things which it contemplates. Hence\nproceeds what Longinus has observed of that glorying and sense of inward\ngreatness, that always fills the reader of such passages in poets and\norators as are sublime: it is what every man must have felt in himself\nupon such occasions.\n\n\nSECTION XVIII.\n\nTHE RECAPITULATION.\n\nTo draw the whole of what has been said into a few distinct points:--The\npassions which belong to self-preservation turn on pain and danger; they\nare simply painful when their causes immediately affect us; they are\ndelightful when we have an idea of pain and danger, without being\nactually in such circumstances; this delight I have not called pleasure,\nbecause it turns on pain, and because it is different enough from any\nidea of positive pleasure. Whatever excites this delight, I call\n_sublime_. The passions belonging to self-preservation are the strongest\nof all the passions.\n\nThe second head to which the passions are referred with relation to\ntheir final cause, is society. There are two sorts of societies. The\nfirst is, the society of sex. The passion belonging to this is called\nlove, and it contains a mixture of lust; its object is the beauty of\nwomen. The other is the great society with man and all other animals.\nThe passion subservient to this is called likewise love, but it has no\nmixture of lust, and its object is beauty; which is a name I shall apply\nto all such qualities in things as induce in us a sense of affection and\ntenderness, or some other passion the most nearly resembling these. The\npassion of love has its rise in positive pleasure; it is, like all\nthings which grow out of pleasure, capable of being mixed with a mode of\nuneasiness, that is, when an idea of its object is excited in the mind\nwith an idea at the same time of having irretrievably lost it. This\nmixed sense of pleasure I have not called _pain_, because it turns upon\nactual pleasure, and because it is, both in its cause and in most of its\neffects, of a nature altogether different.\n\nNext to the general passion we have for society, to a choice in which we\nare directed by the pleasure we have in the object, the particular\npassion under this head called sympathy has the greatest extent. The\nnature of this passion is, to put us in the place of another in whatever\ncircumstance he is in, and to affect us in a like manner; so that this\npassion may, as the occasion requires, turn either on pain or pleasure;\nbut with the modifications mentioned in some cases in Sect. 11. As to\nimitation and preference, nothing more need be said.\n\n\nSECTION XIX.\n\nTHE CONCLUSION.\n\nI believed that an attempt to range and methodize some of our most\nleading passions would be a good preparative to such an inquiry as we\nare going to make in the ensuing discourse. The passions I have\nmentioned are almost the only ones which it can be necessary to consider\nin our present design; though the variety of the passions is great, and\nworthy, in every branch of that variety, of an attentive investigation.\nThe more accurately we search into the human mind, the stronger traces\nwe everywhere find of His wisdom who made it. If a discourse on the use\nof the parts of the body may be considered as a hymn to the Creator; the\nuse of the passions, which are the organs of the mind, cannot be barren\nof praise to him, nor unproductive to ourselves of that noble and\nuncommon union of science and admiration, which a contemplation of the\nworks of infinite wisdom alone can afford to a rational mind; whilst,\nreferring to him whatever we find of right or good or fair in ourselves,\ndiscovering his strength and wisdom even in our own weakness and\nimperfection, honoring them where we discover them clearly, and adoring\ntheir profundity where we are lost in our search, we may be inquisitive\nwithout impertinence, and elevated without pride; we may be admitted, if\nI may dare to say so, into the counsels of the Almighty by a\nconsideration of his works. The elevation of the mind ought to be the\nprincipal end of all our studies; which, if they do not in some measure\neffect, they are of very little service to us. But, besides this great\npurpose, a consideration of the rationale of our passions seems to me\nvery necessary for all who would affect them upon solid and sure\nprinciples. It is not enough to know them in general; to affect them\nafter a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any work designed to\naffect them, we should know the exact boundaries of their several\njurisdictions; we should pursue them through all their variety of\noperations, and pierce into the inmost, and what might appear\ninaccessible parts of our nature,\n\n     Quod latet arcana non enarrabile fibra.\n\nWithout all this it is possible for a man, after a confused manner\nsometimes to satisfy his own mind of the truth of his work; but he can\nnever have a certain determinate rule to go by, nor can he ever make his\npropositions sufficiently clear to others. Poets, and orators, and\npainters, and those who cultivate other branches of the liberal arts,\nhave, without this critical knowledge, succeeded well in their several\nprovinces, and will succeed: as among artificers there are many machines\nmade and even invented without any exact knowledge of the principles\nthey are governed by. It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theory,\nand right in practice: and we are happy that it is so. Men often act\nright from their feelings, who afterwards reason but ill on them from\nprinciple; but as it is impossible to avoid an attempt at such\nreasoning, and equally impossible to prevent its having some influence\non our practice, surely it is worth taking some pains to have it just,\nand founded on the basis of sure experience. We might expect that the\nartists themselves would have been our surest guides; but the artists\nhave been too much occupied in the practice: the philosophers have done\nlittle; and what they have done, was mostly with a view to their own\nschemes and systems; and as for those called critics, they have\ngenerally sought the rule of the arts in the wrong place; they sought it\namong poems, pictures, engravings, statues, and buildings. But art can\nnever give the rules that make an art. This is, I believe, the reason\nwhy artists in general, and poets, principally, have been confined in so\nnarrow a circle: they have been rather imitators of one another than of\nnature; and this with so faithful an uniformity, and to so remote an\nantiquity, that it is hard to say who gave the first model. Critics\nfollow them, and therefore can do little as guides. I can judge but\npoorly of anything, whilst I measure it by no other standard than\nitself. The true standard of the arts is in every man's power; and an\neasy observation of the most common, sometimes of the meanest things in\nnature, will give the truest lights, where the greatest sagacity and\nindustry, that slights such observation, must leave us in the dark, or,\nwhat is worse, amuse and mislead us by false lights. In an inquiry it is\nalmost everything to be once in a right road. I am satisfied I have done\nbut little by these observations considered in themselves; and I never\nshould have taken the pains to digest them, much less should I have ever\nventured to publish them, if I was not convinced that nothing tends more\nto the corruption of science than to suffer it to stagnate. These waters\nmust be troubled, before they can exert their virtues. A man who works\nbeyond the surface of things, though he may be wrong himself, yet he\nclears the way for others, and may chance to make even his errors\nsubservient to the cause of truth. In the following parts I shall\ninquire what things they are that cause in us the affections of the\nsublime and beautiful, as in this I have considered the affections\nthemselves. I only desire one favor,--that no part of this discourse may\nbe judged of by itself, and independently of the rest; for I am sensible\nI have not disposed my materials to abide the test of a captious\ncontroversy, but of a sober and even forgiving examination; that they\nare not armed at all points for battle, but dressed to visit those who\nare willing to give a peaceful entrance to truth.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[10] Mr. Locke [Essay on Human Understanding, l. ii. c. 20, sect. 16,]\nthinks that the removal or lessening of a pain is considered and\noperates as a pleasure, and the loss or diminishing of pleasure as a\npain. It is this opinion which we consider here.\n\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nOF THE PASSION CAUSED BY THE SUBLIME.\n\nThe passion caused by the great and sublime in _nature_, when those\ncauses operate most powerfully, is astonishment: and astonishment is\nthat state of the soul in which all its motions are suspended, with some\ndegree of horror.[11] In this case the mind is so entirely filled with\nits object, that it cannot entertain any other, nor by consequence\nreason on that object which employs it. Hence arises the great power of\nthe sublime, that, far from being produced by them, it anticipates our\nreasonings, and hurries us on by an irresistible force. Astonishment, as\nI have said, is the effect of the sublime in its highest degree; the\ninferior effects are admiration, reverence, and respect.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nTERROR.\n\nNo passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and\nreasoning as _fear_.[12] For fear being an apprehension of pain or\ndeath, it operates in a manner that resembles actual pain. Whatever\ntherefore is terrible, with regard to sight, is sublime too, whether\nthis cause of terror be endued with greatness of dimensions or not; for\nit is impossible to look on anything as trifling, or contemptible, that\nmay be dangerous. There are many animals, who, though far from being\nlarge, are yet capable of raising ideas of the sublime, because they are\nconsidered as objects of terror. As serpents and poisonous animals of\nalmost all kinds. And to things of great dimensions, if we annex an\nadventitious idea of terror, they become without comparison greater. A\nlevel plain of a vast extent on land, is certainly no mean idea; the\nprospect of such a plain may be as extensive as a prospect of the ocean;\nbut can it ever fill the mind with anything so great as the ocean\nitself? This is owing to several causes; but it is owing to none more\nthan this, that the ocean is an object of no small terror. Indeed terror\nis in all cases whatsoever, either more openly or latently, the ruling\nprinciple of the sublime. Several languages bear a strong testimony to\nthe affinity of these ideas. They frequently use the same word to\nsignify indifferently the modes of astonishment or admiration and those\nof terror. [Greek: Thambos] is in Greek either fear or wonder; [Greek:\ndeinos] is terrible or respectable; [Greek: ahideo], to reverence or to\nfear. _Vereor_ in Latin is what [Greek: ahideo] is in Greek. The Romans\nused the verb _stupeo_, a term which strongly marks the state of an\nastonished mind, to express the effect either of simple fear, or of\nastonishment; the word _attonitus_ (thunderstruck) is equally expressive\nof the alliance of these ideas; and do not the French _etonnement_, and\nthe English _astonishment_ and _amazement_, point out as clearly the\nkindred emotions which attend fear and wonder? They who have a more\ngeneral knowledge of languages, could produce, I make no doubt, many\nother and equally striking examples.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nOBSCURITY.\n\nTo make anything very terrible, obscurity[13] seems in general to be\nnecessary. When we know the full extent of any danger, when we can\naccustom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehension vanishes.\nEvery one will be sensible of this, who considers how greatly night adds\nto our dread, in all cases of danger, and how much the notions of ghosts\nand goblins, of which none can form clear ideas, affect minds which give\ncredit to the popular tales concerning such sorts of beings. Those\ndespotic governments which are founded on the passions of men, and\nprincipally upon the passion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be\nfrom the public eye. The policy has been the same in many cases of\nreligion. Almost all the heathen temples were dark. Even in the\nbarbarous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol in\na dark part of the hut, which is consecrated to his worship. For this\npurpose too the Druids performed all their ceremonies in the bosom of\nthe darkest woods, and in the shade of the oldest and most spreading\noaks. No person seems better to have understood the secret of\nheightening, or of setting terrible things, if I may use the expression,\nin their strongest light, by the force of a judicious obscurity than\nMilton. His description of death in the second book is admirably\nstudied; it is astonishing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a\nsignificant and expressive uncertainty of strokes and coloring, he has\nfinished the portrait of the king of terrors:\n\n                        \"The other shape,\n    If shape it might be called that shape had none\n    Distinguishable, in member, joint, or limb;\n    Or substance might be called that shadow seemed;\n    For each seemed either; black he stood as night;\n    Fierce as ten furies; terrible as hell;\n    And shook a deadly dart. What seemed his head\n    The likeness of a kingly crown had on.\"\n\nIn this description all is dark, uncertain, confused, terrible, and\nsublime to the last degree.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nOF THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN CLEARNESS AND OBSCURITY WITH REGARD TO THE\nPASSIONS.\n\nIt is one thing to make an idea clear, and another to make it\n_affecting_ to the imagination. If I make a drawing of a palace, or a\ntemple, or a landscape, I present a very clear idea of those objects;\nbut then (allowing for the effect of imitation which is something) my\npicture can at most affect only as the palace, temple, or landscape,\nwould have affected in the reality. On the other hand, the most lively\nand spirited verbal description I can give raises a very obscure and\nimperfect _idea_ of such objects; but then it is in my power to raise a\nstronger _emotion_ by the description than I could do by the best\npainting. This experience constantly evinces. The proper manner of\nconveying the _affections_ of the mind from one to another is by words;\nthere is a great insufficiency in all other methods of communication;\nand so far is a clearness of imagery from being absolutely necessary to\nan influence upon the passions, that they may be considerably operated\nupon, without presenting any image at all, by certain sounds adapted to\nthat purpose; of which we have a sufficient proof in the acknowledged\nand powerful effects of instrumental music. In reality, a great\nclearness helps but little towards affecting the passions, as it is in\nsome sort an enemy to all enthusiasms whatsoever.\n\n\nSECTION [IV].\n\nTHE SAME SUBJECT CONTINUED.\n\nThere are two verses in Horace's Art of Poetry that seem to contradict\nthis opinion; for which reason I shall take a little more pains in\nclearing it up. The verses are,\n\n    Segnius irritant animos demissa per aures,\n    Quam quae sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus.\n\n\nOn this the Abbe du Bos founds a criticism, wherein he gives painting\nthe preference to poetry in the article of moving the passions;\nprincipally on account of the greater _clearness_ of the ideas it\nrepresents. I believe this excellent judge was led into this mistake (if\nit be a mistake) by his system; to which he found it more conformable\nthan I imagine it will be found to experience. I know several who admire\nand love painting, and yet who regard the objects of their admiration in\nthat art with coolness enough in comparison of that warmth with which\nthey are animated by affecting pieces of poetry or rhetoric. Among the\ncommon sort of people, I never could perceive that painting had much\ninfluence on their passions. It is true that the best sorts of painting,\nas well as the best sorts of poetry, are not much understood in that\nsphere. But it is most certain that their passions are very strongly\nroused by a fanatic preacher, or by the ballads of Chevy Chase, or the\nChildren in the Wood, and by other little popular poems and tales that\nare current in that rank of life. I do not know of any paintings, bad or\ngood, that produce the same effect. So that poetry, with all its\nobscurity, has a more general, as well as a more powerful dominion over\nthe passions, than the other art. And I think there are reasons in\nnature, why the obscure idea, when properly conveyed, should be more\naffecting than the clear. It is our ignorance of things that causes all\nour admiration, and chiefly excites our passions. Knowledge and\nacquaintance make the most striking causes affect but little. It is thus\nwith the vulgar; and all men are as the vulgar in what they do not\nunderstand. The ideas of eternity, and infinity, are among the most\naffecting we have: and yet perhaps there is nothing of which we really\nunderstand so little, as of infinity and eternity. We do not anywhere\nmeet a more sublime description than this justly-celebrated one of\nMilton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity so\nsuitable to the subject:\n\n              \"He above the rest\n    In shape and gesture proudly eminent\n    Stood like a tower; his form had yet not lost\n    All her original brightness, nor appeared\n    Less than archangel ruined, and th' excess\n    Of glory obscured: as when the sun new risen\n    Looks through the horizontal misty air\n    Shorn of his beams; or from behind the moon\n    In dim eclipse disastrous twilight sheds\n    On half the nations; and with fear of change\n    Perplexes monarchs.\"\n\nHere is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical picture\nconsist? In images of a tower, an archangel, the sun rising through\nmists, or in an eclipse, the ruin of monarchs and the revolutions of\nkingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itself, by a crowd of great and\nconfused images; which affect because they are crowded and confused. For\nseparate them, and you lose much of the greatness; and join them, and\nyou infallibly lose the clearness. The images raised by poetry are\nalways of this obscure kind; though in general the effects of poetry are\nby no means to be attributed to the images it raises; which point we\nshall examine more at large hereafter.[14] But painting, when we have\nallowed for the pleasure of imitation, can only affect simply by the\nimages it presents; and even in painting, a judicious obscurity in some\nthings contributes to the effect of the picture; because the images in\npainting are exactly similar to those in nature; and in nature, dark,\nconfused, uncertain images have a greater power on the fancy to form the\ngrander passions, than those have which are more clear and determinate.\nBut where and when this observation may be applied to practice, and how\nfar it shall be extended, will be better deduced from the nature of the\nsubject, and from the occasion, than from any rules that can be given.\n\nI am sensible that this idea has met with opposition, and is likely\nstill to be rejected by several. But let it be considered that hardly\nanything can strike the mind with its greatness, which does not make\nsome sort of approach towards infinity; which nothing can do whilst we\nare able to perceive its bounds; but to see an object distinctly, and to\nperceive its bounds, is one and the same thing. A clear idea is\ntherefore another name for a little idea. There is a passage in the book\nof Job amazingly sublime, and this sublimity is principally due to the\nterrible uncertainty of the thing described: _In thoughts from the\nvisions of the night, when deep sleep falleth upon men, fear came upon\nme and trembling, which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit\npassed before my face. The hair of my flesh stood up. It stood still_,\nbut I could not discern the form thereof; _an image was before mine\neyes; there was silence; and I heard a voice,--Shall mortal man be more\njust than God?_ We are first prepared with the utmost solemnity for the\nvision; we are first terrified, before we are let even into the obscure\ncause of our emotion: but when this grand cause of terror makes its\nappearance, what is it? Is it not wrapt up in the shades of its own\nincomprehensible darkness, more awful, more striking, more terrible,\nthan the liveliest description, than the clearest painting, could\npossibly represent it? When painters have attempted to give us clear\nrepresentations of these very fanciful and terrible ideas, they have, I\nthink, almost always failed; insomuch that I have been at a loss, in all\nthe pictures I have seen of hell, to determine whether the painter did\nnot intend something ludicrous. Several painters have handled a subject\nof this kind, with a view of assembling as many horrid phantoms as their\nimagination could suggest; but all the designs I have chanced to meet of\nthe temptations of St. Anthony were rather a sort of odd, wild\ngrotesques, than any thing capable of producing a serious passion. In\nall these subjects poetry is very happy. Its apparitions, its chimeras,\nits harpies, its allegorical figures, are grand and affecting; and\nthough Virgil's Fame and Homer's Discord are obscure, they are\nmagnificent figures. These figures in painting would be clear enough,\nbut I fear they might become ridiculous.\n\n\nSECTION V.\n\nPOWER.\n\nBesides those things which _directly_ suggest the idea of danger, and\nthose which produce a similar effect from a mechanical cause, I know of\nnothing sublime, which is not some modification of power. And this\nbranch rises, as naturally as the other two branches, from terror, the\ncommon stock of everything that is sublime. The idea of power, at first\nview, seems of the class of those indifferent ones, which may equally\nbelong to pain or to pleasure. But in reality, the affection arising\nfrom the idea of vast power is extremely remote from that neutral\ncharacter. For first, we must remember[15] that the idea of pain, in its\nhighest degree, is much stronger than the highest degree of pleasure;\nand that it preserves the same superiority through all the subordinate\ngradations. From hence it is, that where the chances for equal degrees\nof suffering or enjoyment are in any sort equal, the idea of the\nsuffering must always be prevalent. And indeed the ideas of pain, and,\nabove all, of death, are so very affecting, that whilst we remain in the\npresence of whatever is supposed to have the power of inflicting either,\nit is impossible to be perfectly free from terror. Again, we know by\nexperience, that, for the enjoyment of pleasure, no great efforts of\npower are at all necessary; nay, we know that such efforts would go a\ngreat way towards destroying our satisfaction: for pleasure must be\nstolen, and not forced upon us; pleasure follows the will; and therefore\nwe are generally affected with it by many things of a force greatly\ninferior to our own. But pain is always inflicted by a power in some way\nsuperior, because we never submit to pain willingly. So that strength,\nviolence, pain, and terror, are ideas that rush in upon the mind\ntogether. Look at a man, or any other animal of prodigious strength, and\nwhat is your idea before reflection? Is it that this strength will be\nsubservient to you, to your ease, to your pleasure, to your interest in\nany sense? No; the emotion you feel is, lest this enormous strength\nshould be employed to the purposes of[16] rapine and destruction. That\npower derives all its sublimity from the terror with which it is\ngenerally accompanied, will appear evidently from its effect in the very\nfew cases, in which it may be possible to strip a considerable degree of\nstrength of its ability to hurt. When you do this, you spoil it of\neverything sublime, and it immediately becomes contemptible. An ox is a\ncreature of vast strength; but he is an innocent creature, extremely\nserviceable, and not at all dangerous; for which reason the idea of an\nox is by no means grand. A bull is strong too; but his strength is of\nanother kind; often very destructive, seldom (at least amongst us) of\nany use in our business; the idea of a bull is therefore great, and it\nhas frequently a place in sublime descriptions, and elevating\ncomparisons. Let us look at another strong animal, in the two distinct\nlights in which we may consider him. The horse in the light of an\nuseful beast, fit for the plough, the road, the draft; in every social\nuseful light, the horse has nothing sublime; but is it thus that we are\naffected with him, _whose neck is clothed with thunder, the glory of\nwhose nostrils is terrible, who swalloweth the ground with fierceness\nand rage, neither believeth that it is the sound of the trumpet_? In\nthis description, the useful character of the horse entirely disappears,\nand the terrible and sublime blaze out together. We have continually\nabout us animals of a strength that is considerable, but not pernicious.\nAmongst these we never look for the sublime; it comes upon us in the\ngloomy forest, and in the howling wilderness, in the form of the lion,\nthe tiger, the panther, or rhinoceros. Whenever strength is only useful,\nand employed for our benefit or our pleasure, then it is never sublime;\nfor nothing can act agreeably to us, that does not act in conformity to\nour will; but to act agreeably to our will, it must be subject to us,\nand therefore can never be the cause of a grand and commanding\nconception. The description of the wild ass, in Job, is worked up into\nno small sublimity, merely by insisting on his freedom, and his setting\nmankind at defiance; otherwise the description of such an animal could\nhave had nothing noble in it. _Who hath loosed_ (says he) _the bands of\nthe wild ass? whose house I have made the wilderness and the barren land\nhis dwellings. He scorneth the multitude of the city, neither regardeth\nhe the voice of the driver. The range of the mountains is his pasture._\nThe magnificent description of the unicorn and of leviathan, in the same\nbook, is full of the same heightening circumstances: _Will the unicorn\nbe willing to serve thee? canst thou bind the unicorn with his band in\nthe furrow? wilt thou trust him because his strength is great?--Canst\nthou draw out leviathan with an hook? will he make a covenant with thee?\nwilt thou take him for a servant forever? shall not one be cast down\neven at the sight of him?_ In short, wheresoever we find strength, and\nin what light soever we look upon power, we shall all along observe the\nsublime the concomitant of terror, and contempt the attendant on a\nstrength that is subservient and innoxious. The race of dogs, in many of\ntheir kinds, have generally a competent degree of strength and\nswiftness; and they exert these and other valuable qualities which they\npossess, greatly to our convenience and pleasure. Dogs are indeed the\nmost social, affectionate, and amiable animals of the whole brute\ncreation; but love approaches much nearer to contempt than is commonly\nimagined; and accordingly, though we caress dogs, we borrow from them an\nappellation of the most despicable kind, when we employ terms of\nreproach; and this appellation is the common mark of the last vileness\nand contempt in every language. Wolves have not more strength than\nseveral species of dogs; but, on account of their unmanageable\nfierceness, the idea of a wolf is not despicable; it is not excluded\nfrom grand descriptions and similitudes. Thus we are affected by\nstrength, which is _natural_ power. The power which arises from\ninstitution in kings and commanders, has the same connection with\nterror. Sovereigns are frequently addressed with the title of _dread\nmajesty_. And it may be observed, that young persons, little acquainted\nwith the world, and who have not been used to approach men in power, are\ncommonly struck with an awe which takes away the free use of their\nfaculties. _When I prepared my seat in the street,_ (says Job,) _the\nyoung men saw me, and hid themselves._ Indeed so natural is this\ntimidity with regard to power, and so strongly does it inhere in our\nconstitution, that very few are able to conquer it, but by mixing much\nin the business of the great world, or by using no small violence to\ntheir natural dispositions. I know some people are of opinion, that no\nawe, no degree of terror, accompanies the idea of power; and have\nhazarded to affirm, that we can contemplate the idea of God himself\nwithout any such emotion. I purposely avoided, when I first considered\nthis subject, to introduce the idea of that great and tremendous Being,\nas an example in an argument so light as this; though it frequently\noccurred to me, not as an objection to, but as a strong confirmation of,\nmy notions in this matter. I hope, in what I am going to say, I shall\navoid presumption, where it is almost impossible for any mortal to speak\nwith strict propriety. I say then, that whilst we consider the Godhead\nmerely as he is an object of the understanding, which forms a complex\nidea of power, wisdom, justice, goodness, all stretched to a degree far\nexceeding the bounds of our comprehension, whilst we consider the\ndivinity in this refined and abstracted light, the imagination and\npassions are little or nothing affected. But because we are bound, by\nthe condition of our nature, to ascend to these pure and intellectual\nideas, through the medium of sensible images, and to judge of these\ndivine qualities by their evident acts and exertions, it becomes\nextremely hard to disentangle our idea of the cause from the effect by\nwhich we are led to know it. Thus, when we contemplate the Deity, his\nattributes and their operation, coming united on the mind, form a sort\nof sensible image, and as such are capable of affecting the\nimagination. Now, though in a just idea of the Deity, perhaps none of\nhis attributes are predominant, yet, to our imagination, his power is by\nfar the most striking. Some reflection, some comparing, is necessary to\nsatisfy us of his wisdom, his justice, and his goodness. To be struck\nwith his power, it is only necessary that we should open our eyes. But\nwhilst we contemplate so vast an object, under the arm, as it were, of\nalmighty power, and invested upon every side with omnipresence, we\nshrink into the minuteness of our own nature, and are, in a manner,\nannihilated before him. And though a consideration of his other\nattributes may relieve, in some measure, our apprehensions; yet no\nconviction of the justice with which it is exercised, nor the mercy with\nwhich it is tempered, can wholly remove the terror that naturally arises\nfrom a force which nothing can withstand. If we rejoice, we rejoice with\ntrembling; and even whilst we are receiving benefits, we cannot but\nshudder at a power which can confer benefits of such mighty importance.\nWhen the prophet David contemplated the wonders of wisdom and power\nwhich are displayed in the economy of man, he seems to be struck with a\nsort of divine horror, and cries out, _fearfully and wonderfully am I\nmade_! An heathen poet has a sentiment of a similar nature; Horace looks\nupon it as the last effort of philosophical fortitude, to behold without\nterror and amazement, this immense and glorious fabric of the universe:\n\n    Hunc solem, et stellas, et decedentia certis\n    Tempora momentis, sunt qui formidine nulla\n    Imbuti spectent.\n\nLucretius is a poet not to be suspected of giving way to superstitious\nterrors; yet, when he supposes the whole mechanism of nature laid open\nby the master of his philosophy, his transport on this magnificent view,\nwhich he has represented in the colors of such bold and lively poetry,\nis overcast with a shade of secret dread and horror:\n\n    His ibi me rebus quaedam divina voluptas\n    Percipit, atque horror; quod sic natura, tua vi\n    Tam manifesta patens, ex omni parte retecta est.\n\nBut the Scripture alone can supply ideas answerable to the majesty of\nthis subject. In the Scripture, wherever God is represented as appearing\nor speaking, everything terrible in nature is called up to heighten the\nawe and solemnity of the Divine presence. The Psalms, and the\nprophetical books, are crowded with instances of this kind. _The earth\nshook,_ (says the Psalmist,) _the heavens also dropped at the presence\nof the Lord._ And what is remarkable, the painting preserves the same\ncharacter, not only when he is supposed descending to take vengeance\nupon the wicked, but even when he exerts the like plenitude of power in\nacts of beneficence to mankind. _Tremble, thou earth! at the presence of\nthe Lord; at the presence of the God of Jacob; which turned the rock\ninto standing water, the flint into a fountain of waters!_ It were\nendless to enumerate all the passages, both in the sacred and profane\nwriters, which establish the general sentiment of mankind, concerning\nthe inseparable union of a sacred and reverential awe, with our ideas of\nthe divinity. Hence the common maxim, _Primus in orbe deos fecit timor_.\nThis maxim may be, as I believe it is, false with regard to the origin\nof religion. The maker of the maxim saw how inseparable these ideas\nwere, without considering that the notion of some great power must be\nalways precedent to our dread of it. But this dread must necessarily\nfollow the idea of such a power, when it is once excited in the mind. It\nis on this principle that true religion has, and must have, so large a\nmixture of salutary fear; and that false religions have generally\nnothing else but fear to support them. Before the Christian religion\nhad, as it were, humanized the idea of the Divinity, and brought it\nsomewhat nearer to us, there was very little said of the love of God.\nThe followers of Plato have something of it, and only something; the\nother writers of pagan antiquity, whether poets or philosophers, nothing\nat all. And they who consider with what infinite attention, by what a\ndisregard of every perishable object, through what long habits of piety\nand contemplation it is that any man is able to attain an entire love\nand devotion to the Deity, will easily perceive that it is not the\nfirst, the most natural, and the most striking effect which proceeds\nfrom that idea. Thus we have traced power through its several gradations\nunto the highest of all, where our imagination is finally lost; and we\nfind terror, quite throughout the progress, its inseparable companion,\nand growing along with it, as far as we can possibly trace them. Now, as\npower is undoubtedly a capital source of the sublime, this will point\nout evidently from whence its energy is derived, and to what class of\nideas we ought to unite it.\n\n\nSECTION VI.\n\nPRIVATION.\n\nALL _general_ privations are great, because they are all terrible;\n_vacuity_, _darkness_, _solitude_, and _silence_. With what a fire of\nimagination, yet with what severity of judgment, has Virgil amassed all\nthese circumstances, where he knows that all the images of a tremendous\ndignity ought to be united at the mouth of hell! Where, before he\nunlocks the secrets of the great deep, he seems to be seized with a\nreligious horror, and to retire astonished at the boldness of his own\ndesign:\n\n    Dii, quibus imperium est animarum, umbraeque _silentes_!\n    Et Chaos, et Phlegethon! loca _nocte silentia_ late!\n    Sit mihi fas audita loqui! sit numine vestro\n    Pandere res alta terra et _caligine_ mersas!\n    Ibant _obscuri_, _sola_ sub _nocte_, per _umbram_,\n    Perque domos Ditis _vacuas_, et _inania_ regus.\n\n   \"Ye subterraneous gods! whose awful sway\n    The gliding ghosts, and _silent_ shades obey:\n    O Chaos hoar! and Phlegethon profound!\n    Whose solemn empire stretches wide around;\n    Give me, ye great, tremendous powers, to tell\n    Of scenes and wonders in the depth of hell;\n    Give me your mighty secrets to display\n    From those _black_ realms of darkness to the day.\"\n\n                                        PITT.\n\n   \"_Obscure_ they went through dreary _shades_ that led\n    Along the _waste_ dominions of the _dead_.\"\n\n                                        DRYDEN.\n\n\nSECTION VII.\n\nVASTNESS.\n\nGreatness[17] of dimension is a powerful cause of the sublime. This is\ntoo evident, and the observation too common, to need any illustration;\nit is not so common to consider in what ways greatness of dimension,\nvastness of extent or quantity, has the most striking effect. For,\ncertainly, there are ways and modes wherein the same quantity of\nextension shall produce greater effects than it is found to do in\nothers. Extension is either in length, height, or depth. Of these the\nlength strikes least; a hundred yards of even ground will never work\nsuch an effect as a tower a hundred yards high, or a rock or mountain of\nthat altitude. I am apt to imagine, likewise, that height is less grand\nthan depth; and that we are more struck at looking down from a\nprecipice, than looking up at an object of equal height; but of that I\nam not very positive. A perpendicular has more force in forming the\nsublime, than an inclined plane, and the effects of a rugged and broken\nsurface seem stronger than where it is smooth and polished. It would\ncarry us out of our way to enter in this place into the cause of these\nappearances, but certain it is they afford a large and fruitful field of\nspeculation. However, it may not be amiss to add to these remarks upon\nmagnitude, that as the great extreme of dimension is sublime, so the\nlast extreme of littleness is in some measure sublime likewise; when we\nattend to the infinite divisibility of matter, when we pursue animal\nlife into these excessively small, and yet organized beings, that\nescape the nicest inquisition of the sense; when we push our discoveries\nyet downward, and consider those creatures so many degrees yet smaller,\nand the still diminishing scale of existence, in tracing which the\nimagination is lost as well as the sense; we become amazed and\nconfounded at the wonders of minuteness; nor can we distinguish in its\neffect this extreme of littleness from the vast itself. For division\nmust be infinite as well as addition; because the idea of a perfect\nunity can no more be arrived at, than that of a complete whole, to which\nnothing may be added.\n\n\nSECTION VIII.\n\nINFINITY.\n\nAnother source of the sublime is _infinity_; if it does not rather\nbelong to the last. Infinity has a tendency to fill the mind with that\nsort of delightful horror, which is the most genuine effect, and truest\ntest of the sublime. There are scarce any things which can become the\nobjects of our senses, that are really and in their own nature infinite.\nBut the eye not being able to perceive the bounds of many things, they\nseem to be infinite, and they produce the same effects as if they were\nreally so. We are deceived in the like manner, if the parts of some\nlarge object are so continued to any indefinite number, that the\nimagination meets no check which may hinder its extending them at\npleasure.\n\nWhenever we repeat any idea frequently, the mind, by a sort of\nmechanism, repeats it long after the first cause has ceased to\noperate.[18] After whirling about, when we sit down, the objects about\nus still seem to whirl. After a long succession of noises, as the fall\nof waters, or the beating of forge-hammers, the hammers beat and the\nwaters roar in the imagination long after the first sounds have ceased\nto affect it; and they die away at last by gradations which are scarcely\nperceptible. If you hold up a straight pole, with your eye to one end,\nit will seem extended to a length almost incredible.[19] Place a number\nof uniform and equi-distant marks on this pole, they will cause the same\ndeception, and seem multiplied without end. The senses, strongly\naffected in some one manner, cannot quickly change their tenor, or adapt\nthemselves to other things; but they continue in their old channel until\nthe strength of the first mover decays. This is the reason of an\nappearance very frequent in madmen; that they remain whole days and\nnights, sometimes whole years, in the constant repetition of some\nremark, some complaint, or song; which having struck powerfully on their\ndisordered imagination, in the beginning of their frenzy, every\nrepetition reinforces it with new strength, and the hurry of their\nspirits, unrestrained by the curb of reason, continues it to the end of\ntheir lives.\n\n\nSECTION IX.\n\nSUCCESSION AND UNIFORMITY.\n\nSuccession and _uniformity_ of parts are what constitute the artificial\ninfinite. 1. _Succession_; which is requisite that the parts may be\ncontinued so long and in such a direction, as by their frequent impulses\non the sense to impress the imagination with an idea of their progress\nbeyond their actual limits. 2. _Uniformity_; because, if the figures of\nthe parts should be changed, the imagination at every change finds a\ncheck; you are presented at every alteration with the termination of one\nidea, and the beginning of another; by which means it becomes impossible\nto continue that uninterrupted progression, which alone can stamp on\nbounded objects the character of infinity. It is in this kind of\nartificial infinity, I believe, we ought to look for the cause why a\nrotund has such a noble effect.[20] For in a rotund, whether it be a\nbuilding or a plantation, you can nowhere fix a boundary; turn which way\nyou will, the same object still seems to continue, and the imagination\nhas no rest. But the parts must be uniform, as well as circularly\ndisposed, to give this figure its full force; because any difference,\nwhether it be in the disposition, or in the figure, or even in the color\nof the parts, is highly prejudicial to the idea of infinity, which every\nchange must check and interrupt, at every alteration commencing a new\nseries. On the same principles of succession and uniformity, the grand\nappearance of the ancient heathen temples, which were generally oblong\nforms, with a range of uniform pillars on every side, will be easily\naccounted for. From the same cause also may be derived the grand effect\nof the aisles in many of our own old cathedrals. The form of a cross\nused in some churches seems to me not so eligible as the parallelogram\nof the ancients; at least, I imagine it is not so proper for the\noutside. For, supposing the arms of the cross every way equal, if you\nstand in a direction parallel to any of the side walls, or colonnades,\ninstead of a deception that makes the building more extended than it is,\nyou are cut off from a considerable part (two thirds) of its _actual_\nlength; and, to prevent all possibility of progression, the arms of the\ncross taking a new direction, make a right angle with the beam, and\nthereby wholly turn the imagination from the repetition of the former\nidea. Or suppose the spectator placed where he may take a direct view of\nsuch a building, what will be the consequence? the necessary consequence\nwill be, that a good part of the basis of each angle formed by the\nintersection of the arms of the cross, must be inevitably lost; the\nwhole must of course assume a broken, unconnected figure; the lights\nmust be unequal, here strong, and there weak; without that noble\ngradation which the perspective always effects on parts disposed\nuninterruptedly in a right line. Some or all of these objections will\nlie against every figure of a cross, in whatever view you take it. I\nexemplified them in the Greek cross, in which these faults appear the\nmost strongly; but they appear in some degree in all sorts of crosses.\nIndeed, there is nothing more prejudicial to the grandeur of buildings\nthan to abound in angles; a fault obvious in many; and owing to an\ninordinate thirst for variety, which, whenever it prevails, is sure to\nleave very little true taste.\n\n\nSECTION X.\n\nMAGNITUDE IN BUILDING.\n\nTo the sublime in building, greatness of dimension seems requisite; for\non a few parts, and those small, the imagination cannot rise to any idea\nof infinity. No greatness in the manner can effectually compensate for\nthe want of proper dimensions. There is no danger of drawing men into\nextravagant designs by this rule; it carries its own caution along with\nit. Because too great a length in buildings destroys the purpose of\ngreatness, which it was intended to promote; the perspective will lessen\nit in height as it gains in length; and will bring it at last to a\npoint; turning the whole figure into a sort of triangle, the poorest in\nits effect of almost any figure that can be presented to the eye. I have\never observed, that colonnades and avenues of trees of a moderate length\nwere, without comparison, far grander than when they were suffered to\nrun to immense distances. A true artist should put a generous deceit on\nthe spectators, and effect the noblest designs by easy methods. Designs\nthat are vast only by their dimensions are always the sign of a common\nand low imagination. No work of art can be great, but as it deceives; to\nbe otherwise is the prerogative of nature only. A good eye will fix the\nmedium betwixt an excessive length or height (for the same objection\nlies against both), and a short or broken quantity: and perhaps it might\nbe ascertained to a tolerable degree of exactness, if it was my purpose\nto descend far into the particulars of any art.\n\n\nSECTION XI.\n\nINFINITY IN PLEASING OBJECTS.\n\nInfinity, though of another kind, causes much of our pleasure in\nagreeable, as well as of our delight in sublime images. The spring is\nthe pleasantest of the seasons; and the young of most animals, though\nfar from being completely fashioned, afford a more agreeable sensation\nthan the full-grown; because the imagination is entertained with the\npromise of something more, and does not acquiesce in the present object\nof the sense. In unfinished sketches of drawing, I have often seen\nsomething which pleased me beyond the best finishing; and this I believe\nproceeds from the cause I have just now assigned.\n\n\nSECTION XII.\n\nDIFFICULTY.\n\nAnother source of greatness is _difficulty_.[21] When any work seems to\nhave required immense force and labor to effect it, the idea is grand.\nStonehenge, neither for disposition nor ornament, has anything\nadmirable; but those huge rude masses of stone, set on end, and piled\neach on other, turn the mind on the immense force necessary for such a\nwork. Nay, the rudeness of the work increases this cause of grandeur, as\nit excludes the idea of art and contrivance; for dexterity produces\nanother sort of effect, which is different enough from this.\n\n\nSECTION XIII.\n\nMAGNIFICENCE.\n\nMagnificence is likewise a source of the sublime. A great profusion of\nthings, which are splendid or valuable in themselves, is _magnificent_.\nThe starry heaven, though it occurs so very frequently to our view never\nfails to excite an idea of grandeur. This cannot be owing to the stars\nthemselves, separately considered. The number is certainly the cause.\nThe apparent disorder augments the grandeur, for the appearance of care\nis highly contrary to our ideas of magnificence. Besides, the stars lie\nin such apparent confusion, as makes it impossible on ordinary occasions\nto reckon them. This gives them the advantage of a sort of infinity. In\nworks of art, this kind of grandeur which consists in multitude, is to\nbe very cautiously admitted; because a profusion of excellent things is\nnot to be attained, or with too much difficulty; and because in many\ncases this splendid confusion would destroy all use, which should be\nattended to in most of the works of art with the greatest care; besides,\nit is to be considered, that unless you can produce an appearance of\ninfinity by your disorder, you will have disorder only without\nmagnificence. There are, however, a sort of fireworks, and some other\nthings, that in this way succeed well, and are truly grand. There are\nalso many descriptions in the poets and orators, which owe their\nsublimity to a richness and profusion of images, in which the mind is so\ndazzled as to make it impossible to attend to that exact coherence and\nagreement of the allusions, which we should require on every other\noccasion. I do not now remember a more striking example of this, than\nthe description which is given of the king's army in the play of Henry\nIV.:--\n\n              \"All furnished, all in arms,\n    All plumed like ostriches that with the wind\n    Baited like eagles having lately bathed:\n    As full of spirit us the month of May,\n    And gorgeous as the sun in midsummer,\n    Wanton as youthful goats, wild as young bulls.\n    I saw young Harry with his beaver on\n    Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury;\n    And vaulted with such ease into his seat,\n    As if an angel dropped down from the clouds\n    To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus.\"\n\n\nIn that excellent book, so remarkable for the vivacity of its\ndescriptions, as well as the solidity and penetration of its sentences,\nthe Wisdom of the Son of Sirach, there is a noble panegyric on the\nhigh-priest Simon the son of Onias; and it is a very fine example of the\npoint before us:--\n\n    _How was he honored in the midst of the people, in his coming out of\n    the sanctuary! He was as the morning star in the midst of a cloud,\n    and as the moon at the full; as the sun shining upon the temple of\n    the Most High, and as the rainbow giving light in the bright clouds:\n    and as the flower of roses in the spring of the year, as lilies by\n    the rivers of waters, and as the frankincense-tree in summer; as\n    fire and incense in the censer, and as a vessel of gold set with\n    precious stones; as a fair olive-tree budding forth fruit, and as a\n    cypress which groweth up to the clouds. When he put on the robe of\n    honor, and was clothed with the perfection of glory, when he went up\n    to the holy altar, he made the garment of holiness honorable. He\n    himself stood by the hearth of the altar, compassed with his\n    brethren round about; as a young cedar in Libanus, and as\n    palm-trees compassed they him about. So were all the sons of Aaron\n    in their glory, and the oblations of the Lord in their hands, &c._\n\n\nSECTION XIV.\n\nLIGHT.\n\nHaving considered extension, so far as it is capable of raising ideas of\ngreatness; _color_ comes next under consideration. All colors depend on\n_light_. Light therefore ought previously to be examined; and with it\nits opposite, darkness. With regard to light, to make it a cause capable\nof producing the sublime, it must be attended with some circumstances,\nbesides its bare faculty of showing other objects. Mere light is too\ncommon a thing to make a strong impression on the mind, and without a\nstrong impression nothing can be sublime. But such a light as that of\nthe sun, immediately exerted on the eye, as it overpowers the sense, is\na very great idea. Light of an inferior strength to this, if it moves\nwith great celerity, has the same power; for lightning is certainly\nproductive of grandeur, which it owes chiefly to the extreme velocity of\nits motion. A quick transition from light to darkness, or from darkness\nto light, has yet a greater effect. But darkness is more productive of\nsublime ideas than light. Our great poet was convinced of this; and\nindeed so full was he of this idea, so entirely possessed with the power\nof a well-managed darkness, that in describing the appearance of the\nDeity, amidst that profusion of magnificent images, which the grandeur\nof his subject provokes him to pour out upon every side, he is far from\nforgetting the obscurity which surrounds the most incomprehensible of\nall beings, but\n\n          \"With majesty of _darkness_ round\n    Circles his throne.\"\n\nAnd what is no less remarkable, our author had the secret of preserving\nthis idea, even when he seemed to depart the farthest from it, when he\ndescribes the light and glory which flows from the Divine presence; a\nlight which by its very excess is converted into a species of\ndarkness:--\n\n   \"_Dark_ with excessive _light_ thy skirts appear.\"\n\nHere is an idea not only poetical in a high degree, but strictly and\nphilosophically just. Extreme light, by overcoming the organs of sight,\nobliterates all objects, so as in its effect exactly to resemble\ndarkness. After looking for some time at the sun, two black spots, the\nimpression which it leaves, seem to dance before our eyes. Thus are two\nideas as opposite as can be imagined reconciled in the extremes of both;\nand both, in spite of their opposite nature, brought to concur in\nproducing the sublime. And this is not the only instance wherein the\nopposite extremes operate equally in favor of the sublime, which in all\nthings abhors mediocrity.\n\n\nSECTION XV.\n\nLIGHT IN BUILDING.\n\nAs the management of light is a matter of importance in architecture, it\nis worth inquiring, how far this remark is applicable to building. I\nthink, then, that all edifices calculated to produce an idea of the\nsublime, ought rather to be dark and gloomy, and this for two reasons;\nthe first is, that darkness itself on other occasions is known by\nexperience to have a greater effect on the passions than light. The\nsecond is, that to make an object very striking, we should make it as\ndifferent as possible from the objects with which we have been\nimmediately conversant; when therefore you enter a building, you cannot\npass into a greater light than you had in the open air; to go into one\nsome few degrees less luminous, can make only a trifling change; but to\nmake the transition thoroughly striking, you ought to pass from the\ngreatest light, to as much darkness as is consistent with the uses of\narchitecture. At night the contrary rule will hold, but for the very\nsame reason; and the more highly a room is then illuminated, the grander\nwill the passion be.\n\n\nSECTION XVI.\n\nCOLOR CONSIDERED AS PRODUCTIVE OF THE SUBLIME.\n\nAmong colors, such as are soft or cheerful (except perhaps a strong red,\nwhich is cheerful) are unfit to produce grand images. An immense\nmountain covered with a shining green turf, is nothing, in this respect,\nto one dark and gloomy; the cloudy sky is more grand than the blue; and\nnight more sublime and solemn than day. Therefore in historical\npainting, a gay or gaudy drapery can never have a happy effect: and in\nbuildings, when the highest degree of the sublime is intended, the\nmaterials and ornaments ought neither to be white, nor green, nor\nyellow, nor blue, nor of a pale red, nor violet, nor spotted, but of\nsad and fuscous colors, as black, or brown, or deep purple, and the\nlike. Much of gilding, mosaics, painting, or statues, contribute but\nlittle to the sublime. This rule need not be put in practice, except\nwhere an uniform degree of the most striking sublimity is to be\nproduced, and that in every particular; for it ought to be observed,\nthat this melancholy kind of greatness, though it be certainly the\nhighest, ought not to be studied in all sorts of edifices, where yet\ngrandeur must be studied; in such cases the sublimity must be drawn from\nthe other sources; with a strict caution however against anything light\nand riant; as nothing so effectually deadens the whole taste of the\nsublime.\n\n\nSECTION XVII.\n\nSOUND AND LOUDNESS.\n\nThe eye is not the only organ of sensation by which a sublime passion\nmay be produced. Sounds have a great power in these as in most other\npassions. I do not mean words, because words do not affect simply by\ntheir sounds, but by means altogether different. Excessive loudness\nalone is sufficient to overpower the soul, to suspend its action, and to\nfill it with terror. The noise of vast cataracts, raging storms,\nthunder, or artillery, awakes a great and awful sensation in the mind,\nthough we can observe no nicety or artifice in those sorts of music. The\nshouting of multitudes has a similar effect; and by the sole strength of\nthe sound, so amazes and confounds the imagination, that, in this\nstaggering and hurry of the mind, the best established tempers can\nscarcely forbear being borne down, and joining in the common cry, and\ncommon resolution of the crowd.\n\n\nSECTION XVIII.\n\nSUDDENNESS.\n\nA sudden beginning, or sudden cessation of sound of any considerable\nforce, has the same power. The attention is roused by this; and the\nfaculties driven forward, as it were, on their guard. Whatever, either\nin sights or sounds, makes the transition from one extreme to the other\neasy, causes no terror, and consequently can be no cause of greatness.\nIn everything sudden and unexpected, we are apt to start; that is, we\nhave a perception of danger, and our nature rouses us to guard against\nit. It may be observed that a single sound of some strength, though but\nof short duration, if repeated after intervals, has a grand effect. Few\nthings are more awful than the striking of a great clock, when the\nsilence of the night prevents the attention from being too much\ndissipated. The same may be said of a single stroke on a drum, repeated\nwith pauses; and of the successive firing of cannon at a distance. All\nthe effects mentioned in this section have causes very nearly alike.\n\n\nSECTION XIX.\n\nINTERMITTING.\n\nA low, tremulous, intermitting sound, though it seems, in some respects,\nopposite to that just mentioned, is productive of the sublime. It is\nworth while to examine this a little. The fact itself must be determined\nby every man's own experience and reflection. I have already observed,\nthat night[22] increases our terror, more perhaps than anything else; it\nis our nature, when we do not know what may happen to us, to fear the\nworst that can happen; and hence it is that uncertainty is so terrible,\nthat we often seek to be rid of it, at the hazard of a certain mischief.\nNow some low, confused, uncertain sounds, leave us in the same fearful\nanxiety concerning their causes, that no light, or an uncertain light,\ndoes concerning the objects that surround us.\n\n      Quale per incertam lunam sub luce maligna\n      Est iter in sylvis.\n\n          \"A faint shadow of uncertain light,\n      Like as a lamp, whose life doth fade away;\n      Or as the moon clothed with cloudy night\n    Doth show to him who walks in fear and great affright.\"\n\n                                          SPENSER.\n\nBut light now appearing, and now leaving us, and so off and on, is even\nmore terrible than total darkness; and a sort of uncertain sounds are,\nwhen the necessary dispositions concur, more alarming than a total\nsilence.\n\n\nSECTION XX.\n\nTHE CRIES OF ANIMALS.\n\nSuch sounds as imitate the natural inarticulate voices of men, or any\nanimals in pain or danger, are capable of conveying great ideas; unless\nit be the well-known voice of some creature, on which we are used to\nlook with contempt. The angry tones of wild beasts are equally capable\nof causing a great and awful sensation.\n\n    Hinc exaudiri gemitus, iraeque leonum\n    Vincia recusantum, et sera sub nocte rudentum;\n    Setigerique sues, atque in praesepibus ursi\n    Saevire; et formae magnorum ululare luporam.\n\nIt might seem that those modulations of sound carry some connection with\nthe nature of the things they represent, and are not merely arbitrary;\nbecause the natural cries of all animals, even of those animals with\nwhom we have not been acquainted, never fail to make themselves\nsufficiently understood; this cannot be said of language. The\nmodifications of sound, which may be productive of the sublime, are\nalmost infinite. Those I have mentioned are only a few instances to show\non what principles they are all built.\n\n\nSECTION XXI.\n\nSMELL AND TASTE.--BITTERS AND STENCHES.\n\n_Smells_ and _tastes_ have some share too in ideas of greatness; but it\nis a small one, weak in its nature, and confined in its operations. I\nshall only observe that no smells or tastes can produce a grand\nsensation, except excessive bitters, and intolerable stenches. It is\ntrue that these affections of the smell and taste, when they are in\ntheir full force, and lean directly upon the sensory, are simply\npainful, and accompanied with no sort of delight; but when they are\nmoderated, as in a description or narrative, they become sources of the\nsublime, as genuine as any other, and upon the very same principle of a\nmoderated pain. \"A cup of bitterness\"; \"to drain the bitter cup of\nfortune\"; \"the bitter apples of Sodom\"; these are all ideas suitable to\na sublime description. Nor is this passage of Virgil without sublimity,\nwhere the stench of the vapor in Albunea conspires so happily with the\nsacred horror and gloominess of that prophetic forest:\n\n    At rex sollicitus monstris oracula Fauni\n    Fatidici genitoris adit, lucosque sub alta\n    Consulit Albunea, nemorum quae maxima sacro\n    Fonte sonat; _saevamque exhalat opaca Mephitim_.\n\nIn the sixth book, and in a very sublime description, the poisonous\nexhalation of Acheron is not forgotten, nor does it at all disagree with\nthe other images amongst which it is introduced:\n\n    Spelunca _alta_ fuit, _vastoque immanis_ hiatu\n    Scrupea, tuta _lacu nigro_, nemorumque _tenebris_;\n    Quam super haud ullae poterant impune volantes\n    Tendere iter pennis: _talis sese halitus atris_\n    _Faucibus effundens supera ad convexa ferebat_.\n\nI have added these examples, because some friends, for whose judgment I\nhave great deference, were of opinion that if the sentiment stood\nnakedly by itself, it would be subject, at first view, to burlesque and\nridicule; but this I imagine would principally arise from considering\nthe bitterness and stench in company with mean and contemptible ideas,\nwith which it must be owned they are often united; such an union\ndegrades the sublime in all other instances as well as in those. But it\nis one of the tests by which the sublimity of an image is to be tried,\nnot whether it becomes mean when associated with mean ideas; but\nwhether, when united with images of an allowed grandeur, the whole\ncomposition is supported with dignity. Things which are terrible are\nalways great; but when things possess disagreeable qualities, or such\nas have indeed some degree of danger, but of a danger easily overcome,\nthey are merely _odious_; as toads and spiders.\n\n\nSECTION XXII.\n\nFEELING.--PAIN.\n\nOf _feeling_ little more can be said than that the idea of bodily pain,\nin all the modes and degrees of labor, pain, anguish, torment, is\nproductive of the sublime; and nothing else in this sense can produce\nit. I need not give here any fresh instances, as those given in the\nformer sections abundantly illustrate a remark that, in reality, wants\nonly an attention to nature, to be made by everybody.\n\nHaving thus run through the causes of the sublime with reference to all\nthe senses, my first observation (Sect. 7) will be found very nearly\ntrue; that the sublime is an idea belonging to self-preservation; that\nit is, therefore, one of the most affecting we have; that its strongest\nemotion is an emotion of distress; and that no pleasure[23] from a\npositive cause belongs to it. Numberless examples, besides those\nmentioned, might be brought in support of these truths, and many perhaps\nuseful consequences drawn from them--\n\n    Sed fugit interea, fugit irrevocabile tempus,\n    Singula dum capti circumvectamur amore.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[11] Part I. sect. 3, 4, 7.\n\n[12] Part IV. sect. 3, 4, 5, 6.\n\n[13] Part IV. sect. 14, 15, 16.\n\n[14] Part V.\n\n[15] Part I. sect. 7.\n\n[16] Vide Part III. sect. 21.\n\n[17] Part IV. sect. 9.\n\n[18] Part IV. sect. 11.\n\n[19] Part IV. sect. 13.\n\n[20] Mr. Addison, in the Spectators concerning the pleasures of the\nimagination, thinks it is because in the rotund at one glance you see\nhalf the building. This I do not imagine to be the real cause.\n\n[21] Part IV. sect. 4, 5, 6.\n\n[22] Sect. 3.\n\n[23] Vide Part I. sect. 6.\n\n\n\n\nPART III.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nOF BEAUTY.\n\nIt is my design to consider beauty as distinguished from the sublime;\nand, in the course of the inquiry, to examine how far it is consistent\nwith it. But previous to this, we must take a short review of the\nopinions already entertained of this quality; which I think are hardly\nto be reduced to any fixed principles; because men are used to talk of\nbeauty in a figurative manner, that is to say, in a manner extremely\nuncertain, and indeterminate. By beauty, I mean that quality, or those\nqualities in bodies, by which they cause love, or some passion similar\nto it. I confine this definition to the merely sensible qualities of\nthings, for the sake of preserving the utmost simplicity in a subject,\nwhich must always distract us whenever we take in those various causes\nof sympathy which attach us to any persons or things from secondary\nconsiderations, and not from the direct force which they have merely on\nbeing viewed. I likewise distinguish love, (by which I mean that\nsatisfaction which arises to the mind upon contemplating anything\nbeautiful, of whatsoever nature it may be,) from desire or lust; which\nis an energy of the mind, that hurries us on to the possession of\ncertain objects, that do not affect us as they are beautiful, but by\nmeans altogether different. We shall have a strong desire for a woman of\nno remarkable beauty; whilst the greatest beauty in men, or in other\nanimals, though it causes love, yet excites nothing at all of desire.\nWhich shows that beauty, and the passion caused by beauty, which I call\nlove, is different from desire, though desire may sometimes operate\nalong with it; but it is to this latter that we must attribute those\nviolent and tempestuous passions, and the consequent emotions of the\nbody which attend what is called love in some of its ordinary\nacceptations, and not to the effects of beauty merely as it is such.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nPROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN VEGETABLES.\n\nBeauty hath usually been said to consist in certain proportions of\nparts. On considering the matter, I have great reason to doubt, whether\nbeauty be at all an idea belonging to proportion. Proportion relates\nalmost wholly to convenience, as every idea of order seems to do; and it\nmust therefore be considered as a creature of the understanding, rather\nthan a primary cause acting on the senses and imagination. It is not by\nthe force of long attention and inquiry that we find any object to be\nbeautiful; beauty demands no assistance from our reasoning; even the\nwill is unconcerned; the appearance of beauty as effectually causes some\ndegree of love in us, as the application of ice or fire produces the\nideas of heat or cold. To gain something like a satisfactory conclusion\nin this point, it were well to examine what proportion is; since several\nwho make use of that word do not always seem to understand very clearly\nthe force of the term, nor to have very distinct ideas concerning the\nthing itself. Proportion is the measure of relative quantity. Since all\nquantity is divisible, it is evident that every distinct part into which\nany quantity is divided must bear some relation to the other parts, or\nto the whole. These relations give an origin to the idea of proportion.\nThey are discovered by mensuration, and they are the objects of\nmathematical inquiry. But whether any part of any determinate quantity\nbe a fourth, or a fifth, or a sixth, or a moiety of the whole; or\nwhether it be of equal length with any other part, or double its length,\nor but one half, is a matter merely indifferent to the mind; it stands\nneuter in the question: and it is from this absolute indifference and\ntranquillity of the mind, that mathematical speculations derive some of\ntheir most considerable advantages; because there is nothing to interest\nthe imagination; because the judgment sits free and unbiassed to examine\nthe point. All proportions, every arrangement of quantity, is alike to\nthe understanding, because the same truths result to it from all; from\ngreater, from lesser, from equality and inequality. But surely beauty is\nno idea belonging to mensuration; nor has it anything to do with\ncalculation and geometry. If it had, we might then point out some\ncertain measures which we could demonstrate to be beautiful, either as\nsimply considered, or as related to others; and we could call in those\nnatural objects, for whose beauty we have no voucher but the sense, to\nthis happy standard, and confirm the voice of our passions by the\ndetermination of our reason. But since we have not this help, let us see\nwhether proportion can in any sense be considered as the cause of\nbeauty, as hath been so generally, and, by some, so confidently\naffirmed. If proportion be one of the constituents of beauty, it must\nderive that power either from some natural properties inherent in\ncertain measures, which operate mechanically; from the operation of\ncustom; or from the fitness which some measures have to answer some\nparticular ends of conveniency. Our business therefore is to inquire,\nwhether the parts of those objects, which are found beautiful in the\nvegetable or animal kingdoms, are constantly so formed according to such\ncertain measures, as may serve to satisfy us that their beauty results\nfrom those measures, on the principle of a natural mechanical cause; or\nfrom custom; or, in fine, from their fitness for any determinate\npurposes. I intend to examine this point under each of these heads in\ntheir order. But before I proceed further, I hope it will not be thought\namiss, if I lay down the rules which governed me in this inquiry, and\nwhich have misled me in it, if I have gone astray. 1. If two bodies\nproduce the same or a similar effect on the mind, and on examination\nthey are found to agree in some of their properties, and to differ in\nothers; the common effect is to be attributed to the properties in which\nthey agree, and not to those in which they differ. 2. Not to account for\nthe effect of a natural object from the effect of an artificial object.\n3. Not to account for the effect of any natural object from a conclusion\nof our reason concerning its uses, if a natural cause may be assigned.\n4. Not to admit any determinate quantity, or any relation of quantity,\nas the cause of a certain effect, if the effect is produced by different\nor opposite measures and relations; or if these measures and relations\nmay exist, and yet the effect may not be produced. These are the rules\nwhich I have chiefly followed, whilst I examined into the power of\nproportion considered as a natural cause; and these, if he thinks them\njust, I request the reader to carry with him throughout the following\ndiscussion; whilst we inquire, in the first place, in what things we\nfind this quality of beauty; next, to see whether in these we can find\nany assignable proportions in such a manner as ought to convince us that\nour idea of beauty results from them. We shall consider this pleasing\npower as it appears in vegetables, in the inferior animals, and in man.\nTurning our eyes to the vegetable creation, we find nothing there so\nbeautiful as flowers; but flowers are almost of every sort of shape, and\nof every sort of disposition; they are turned and fashioned into an\ninfinite variety of forms; and from these forms botanists have given\nthem their names, which are almost as various. What proportion do we\ndiscover between the stalks and the leaves of flowers, or between the\nleaves and the pistils? How does the slender stalk of the rose agree\nwith the bulky head under which it bends? but the rose is a beautiful\nflower; and can we undertake to say that it does not owe a great deal of\nits beauty even to that disproportion; the rose is a large flower, yet\nit grows upon a small shrub; the flower of the apple is very small, and\ngrows upon a large tree; yet the rose and the apple blossom are both\nbeautiful, and the plants that bear them are most engagingly attired,\nnotwithstanding this disproportion. What by general consent is allowed\nto be a more beautiful object than an orange-tree, nourishing at once\nwith its leaves, its blossoms, and its fruit? but it is in vain that we\nsearch here for any proportion between the height, the breadth, or\nanything else concerning the dimensions of the whole, or concerning the\nrelation of the particular parts to each other. I grant that we may\nobserve in many flowers something of a regular figure, and of a\nmethodical disposition of the leaves. The rose has such a figure and\nsuch a disposition of its petals; but in an oblique view, when this\nfigure is in a good measure lost, and the order of the leaves\nconfounded, it yet retains its beauty; the rose is even more beautiful\nbefore it is full blown; in the bud; before this exact figure is formed;\nand this is not the only instance wherein method and exactness, the soul\nof proportion, are found rather prejudicial than serviceable to the\ncause of beauty.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nPROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN ANIMALS.\n\nThat proportion has but a small share in the formation of beauty is full\nas evident among animals. Here the greatest variety of shapes and\ndispositions of parts are well fitted to excite this idea. The swan,\nconfessedly a beautiful bird, has a neck longer than the rest of his\nbody, and but a very short tail: is this a beautiful proportion? We must\nallow that it is. But then what shall we say to the peacock, who has\ncomparatively but a short neck, with a tail longer than the neck and the\nrest of the body taken together? How many birds are there that vary\ninfinitely from each of these standards, and from every other which you\ncan fix; with proportions different, and often directly opposite to each\nother! and yet many of these birds are extremely beautiful; when upon\nconsidering them we find nothing in any one part that might determine\nus, _a priori_, to say what the others ought to be, nor indeed to guess\nanything about them, but what experience might show to be full of\ndisappointment and mistake. And with regard to the colors either of\nbirds or flowers, for there is something similar in the coloring of\nboth, whether they are considered in their extension or gradation, there\nis nothing of proportion to be observed. Some are of but one single\ncolor; others have all the colors of the rainbow; some are of the\nprimary colors, others are of the mixed; in short, an attentive observer\nmay soon conclude that there is as little of proportion in the coloring\nas in the shapes of these objects. Turn next to beasts; examine the head\nof a beautiful horse; find what proportion that bears to his body, and\nto his limbs, and what relation these have to each other; and when you\nhave settled these proportions as a standard of beauty, then take a dog\nor cat, or any other animal, and examine how far the same proportions\nbetween their heads and their necks, between those and the body, and so\non, are found to hold; I think we may safely say, that they differ in\nevery species, yet that there are individuals, found in a great many\nspecies so differing, that have a very striking beauty. Now, if it be\nallowed that very different, and even contrary forms and dispositions\nare consistent with beauty, it amounts I believe to a concession, that\nno certain measures, operating from a natural principle, are necessary\nto produce it; at least so far as the brute species is concerned.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nPROPORTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY IN THE HUMAN SPECIES.\n\nThere are some parts of the human body that are observed to hold certain\nproportions to each other; but before it can be proved that the\nefficient cause of beauty lies in these, it must be shown that, wherever\nthese are found exact, the person to whom they belong is beautiful: I\nmean in the effect produced on the view, either of any member distinctly\nconsidered, or of the whole body together. It must be likewise shown,\nthat these parts stand in such a relation to each other, that the\ncomparison between them may be easily made, and that the affection of\nthe mind may naturally result from it. For my part, I have at several\ntimes very carefully examined many of those proportions, and found them\nhold very nearly, or altogether alike in many subjects, which were not\nonly very different from one another, but where one has been very\nbeautiful, and the other very remote from beauty. With regard to the\nparts which are found so proportioned, they are often so remote from\neach other, in situation, nature, and office, that I cannot see how they\nadmit of any comparison, nor consequently how any effect owing to\nproportion can result from them. The neck, say they, in beautiful\nbodies, should measure with the calf of the leg; it should likewise be\ntwice the circumference of the wrist. And an infinity of observations of\nthis kind are to be found in the writings and conversations of many. But\nwhat relation has the calf of the leg to the neck; or either of these\nparts to the wrist? These proportions are certainly to be found in\nhandsome bodies. They are as certainly in ugly ones; as any who will\ntake the pains to try may find. Nay, I do not know but they may be least\nperfect in some of the most beautiful. You may assign any proportions\nyou please to every part of the human body; and I undertake that a\npainter shall religiously observe them all, and notwithstanding produce,\nif he pleases, a very ugly figure. The same painter shall considerably\ndeviate from these proportions, and produce a very beautiful one. And,\nindeed, it may be observed in the masterpieces of the ancient and modern\nstatuary, that several of them differ very widely from the proportions\nof others, in parts very conspicuous and of great consideration; and\nthat they differ no less from the proportions we find in living men, of\nforms extremely striking and agreeable. And after all, how are the\npartisans of proportional beauty agreed amongst themselves about the\nproportions of the human body? Some hold it to be seven heads; some make\nit eight; whilst others extend it even to ten: a vast difference in such\na small number of divisions! Others take other methods of estimating the\nproportions, and all with equal success. But are these proportions\nexactly the same in all handsome men? or are they at all the proportions\nfound in beautiful women? Nobody will say that they are; yet both sexes\nare undoubtedly capable of beauty, and the female of the greatest; which\nadvantage I believe will hardly be attributed to the superior exactness\nof proportion in the fair sex. Let us rest a moment on this point; and\nconsider how much difference there is between the measures that prevail\nin many similar parts of the body, in the two sexes of this single\nspecies only. If you assign any determinate proportions to the limbs of\na man, and if you limit human beauty to these proportions, when you find\na woman who differs in the make and measures of almost every part, you\nmust conclude her not to be beautiful, in spite of the suggestions of\nyour imagination; or, in obedience to your imagination, you must\nrenounce your rules; you must lay by the scale and compass, and look out\nfor some other cause of beauty. For if beauty be attached to certain\nmeasures which operate from a _principle in nature_, why should similar\nparts with different measures of proportion be found to have beauty, and\nthis too in the very same species? But to open our view a little, it is\nworth observing, that almost all animals have parts of very much the\nsame nature, and destined nearly to the same purposes; a head, neck,\nbody, feet, eyes, ears, nose, and mouth; yet Providence, to provide in\nthe best manner for their several wants, and to display the riches of\nhis wisdom and goodness in his creation, has worked out of these few and\nsimilar organs, and members, a diversity hardly short of infinite in\ntheir disposition, measures and relation. But, as we have before\nobserved, amidst this infinite diversity, one particular is common to\nmany species: several of the individuals which compose them are capable\nof affecting us with a sense of loveliness: and whilst they agree in\nproducing this effect, they differ extremely in the relative measures of\nthose parts which have produced it. These considerations were sufficient\nto induce me to reject the notion of any particular proportions that\noperated by nature to produce a pleasing effect; but those who will\nagree with me with regard to a particular proportion, are strongly\nprepossessed in favor of one more indefinite. They imagine, that\nalthough beauty in general is annexed to no certain measures common to\nthe several kinds of pleasing plants and animals; yet that there is a\ncertain proportion in each species absolutely essential to the beauty of\nthat particular kind. If we consider the animal world in general, we\nfind beauty confined to no certain measures; but as some peculiar\nmeasure and relation of parts is what distinguishes each peculiar class\nof animals, it must of necessity be, that the beautiful in each kind\nwill be found in the measures and proportions of that kind; for\notherwise it would deviate from its proper species, and become in some\nsort monstrous: however, no species is so strictly confined to any\ncertain proportions, that there is not a considerable variation amongst\nthe individuals; and as it has been shown of the human, so it may be\nshown of the brute kinds, that beauty is found indifferently in all the\nproportions which each kind can admit, without quitting its common form;\nand it is this idea of a common form that makes the proportion of parts\nat all regarded, and not the operation of any natural cause: indeed a\nlittle consideration will make it appear, that it is not measure, but\nmanner, that creates all the beauty which belongs to shape. What light\ndo we borrow from these boasted proportions, when we study ornamental\ndesign? It seems amazing to me, that artists, if they were as well\nconvinced as they pretend to be, that proportion is a principal cause of\nbeauty, have not by them at all times accurate measurements of all sorts\nof beautiful animals to help them to proper proportions, when they would\ncontrive anything elegant; especially as they frequently assert that it\nis from an observation of the beautiful in nature they direct their\npractice. I know that it has been said long since, and echoed backward\nand forward from one writer to another a thousand times, that the\nproportions of building have been taken from those of the human body. To\nmake this forced analogy complete, they represent a man with his arms\nraised and extended at full length, and then describe a sort of square,\nas it is formed by passing lines along the extremities of this strange\nfigure. But it appears very clearly to me that the human figure never\nsupplied the architect with any of his ideas. For, in the first place,\nmen are very rarely seen in this strained posture; it is not natural to\nthem; neither is it at all becoming. Secondly, the view of the human\nfigure so disposed, does not naturally suggest the idea of a square, but\nrather of a cross; as that large space be tween the arms and the ground\nmust be filled with something before it can make anybody think of a\nsquare. Thirdly, several buildings are by no means of the form of that\nparticular square, which are notwithstanding planned by the best\narchitects, and produce an effect altogether as good, and perhaps a\nbetter. And certainly nothing could he more unaccountably whimsical,\nthan for an architect to model his performance by the human figure,\nsince no two things can have less resemblance or analogy, than a man,\nand a house or temple: do we need to observe that their purposes are\nentirely different? What I am apt to suspect is this: that these\nanalogies were devised to give a credit to the works of art, by showing\na conformity between them and the noblest works in nature; not that the\nlatter served at all to supply hints for the perfection of the former.\nAnd I am the more fully convinced, that the patrons of proportion have\ntransferred their artificial ideas to nature, and not borrowed from\nthence the proportions they use in works of art; because in any\ndiscussion of this subject they always quit as soon as possible the open\nfield of natural beauties, the animal and vegetable kingdoms, and\nfortify themselves within the artificial lines and angles of\narchitecture. For there is in mankind an unfortunate propensity to make\nthemselves, their views, and their works, the measure of excellence in\neverything whatsoever. Therefore having observed that their dwellings\nwere most commodious and firm when they were thrown into regular\nfigures, with parts answerable to each other; they transferred these\nideas to their gardens; they turned their trees into pillars, pyramids,\nand obelisks; they formed their hedges into so many green walls, and\nfashioned their walks into squares, triangles, and other mathematical\nfigures, with exactness and symmetry; and they thought, if they were not\nimitating, they were at least improving nature, and teaching her to know\nher business. But nature has at last escaped from their discipline and\ntheir fetters; and our gardens, if nothing else, declare, we begin to\nfeel that mathematical ideas are not the true measures of beauty. And\nsurely they are full as little so in the animal as the vegetable world.\nFor is it not extraordinary, that in these fine descriptive pieces,\nthese innumerable odes and elegies which are in the mouths of all the\nworld, and many of which have been the entertainment of ages, that in\nthese pieces which describe love with such a passionate energy, and\nrepresent its object in such an infinite variety of lights, not one word\nis said of proportion, if it be, what some insist it is, the principal\ncomponent of beauty; whilst, at the same time, several other qualities\nare very frequently and warmly mentioned? But if proportion has not this\npower, it may appear odd how men came originally to be so prepossessed\nin its favor. It arose, I imagine, from the fondness I have just\nmentioned, which men bear so remarkably to their own works and notions;\nit arose from false reasonings on the effects of the customary figure of\nanimals; it arose from the Platonic theory of fitness and aptitude. For\nwhich reason, in the next section, I shall consider the effects of\ncustom in the figure of animals; and afterwards the idea of fitness:\nsince if proportion does not operate by a natural power attending some\nmeasures, it must be either by custom, or the idea of utility; there is\nno other way.\n\n\nSECTION V.\n\nPROPORTION FURTHER CONSIDERED.\n\nIf I am not mistaken, a great deal of the prejudice in favor of\nproportion has arisen, not so much from the observation of any certain\nmeasures found in beautiful bodies, as from a wrong idea of the relation\nwhich deformity bears to beauty, to which it has been considered as the\nopposite; on this principle it was concluded that where the causes of\ndeformity were removed, beauty must naturally and necessarily be\nintroduced. This I believe is a mistake. For _deformity_ is opposed not\nto beauty, but to the _complete common form_. If one of the legs of a\nman be found shorter than the other, the man is deformed; because there\nis something wanting to complete the whole idea we form of a man; and\nthis has the same effect in natural faults, as maiming and mutilation\nproduce from accidents. So if the back be humped, the man is deformed;\nbecause his back has an unusual figure, and what carries with it the\nidea of some disease or misfortune; So if a man's neck be considerably\nlonger or shorter than usual, we say he is deformed in that part,\nbecause men are not commonly made in that manner. But surely every\nhour's experience may convince us that a man may have his legs of an\nequal length, and resembling each other in all respects, and his neck of\na just size, and his back quite straight, without having at the same\ntime the least perceivable beauty. Indeed beauty is so far from\nbelonging to the idea of custom, that in reality what affects us in that\nmanner is extremely rare and uncommon. The beautiful strikes us as much\nby its novelty as the deformed itself. It is thus in those species of\nanimals with which we are acquainted; and if one of a new species were\nrepresented, we should by no means wait until custom had settled an idea\nof proportion, before we decided concerning its beauty or ugliness:\nwhich shows that the general idea of beauty can be no more owing to\ncustomary than to natural proportion. Deformity arises from the want of\nthe common proportions; but the necessary result of their existence in\nany object is not beauty. If we suppose proportion in natural things to\nbe relative to custom and use, the nature of use and custom will show\nthat beauty, which is a _positive_ and powerful quality, cannot result\nfrom it. We are so wonderfully formed, that, whilst we are creatures\nvehemently desirous of novelty, we are as strongly attached to habit and\ncustom. But it is the nature of things which hold us by custom, to\naffect us very little whilst we are in possession of them, but strongly\nwhen they are absent. I remember to have frequented a certain place,\nevery day for a long time together; and I may truly say that, so far\nfrom finding pleasure in it, I was affected with a sort of weariness and\ndisgust; I came, I went, I returned, without pleasure; yet if by any\nmeans I passed by the usual time of my going thither, I was remarkably\nuneasy, and was not quiet till I had got into my old track. They who use\nsnuff, take it almost without being sensible that they take it, and the\nacute sense of smell is deadened, so as to feel hardly anything from so\nsharp a stimulus; yet deprive the snuff-taker of his box, and he is the\nmost uneasy mortal in the world. Indeed so far are use and habit from\nbeing causes of pleasure merely as such, that the effect of constant use\nis to make all things of whatever kind entirely unaffecting. For as use\nat last takes off the painful effect of many things, it reduces the\npleasurable effect in others in the same manner, and brings both to a\nsort of mediocrity and indifference. Very justly is use called a second\nnature; and our natural and common state is one of absolute\nindifference, equally prepared for pain or pleasure. But when we are\nthrown out of this state, or deprived of anything requisite to maintain\nus in it; when this chance does not happen by pleasure from some\nmechanical cause, we are always hurt. It is so with the second nature,\ncustom, in all things which relate to it. Thus the want of the usual\nproportions in men and other animals is sure to disgust, though their\npresence is by no means any cause of real pleasure. It is true that the\nproportions laid down as causes of beauty in the human body, are\nfrequently found in beautiful ones, because they are generally found in\nall mankind; but if it can be shown too that they are found without\nbeauty, and that beauty frequently exists without them, and that this\nbeauty, where it exists, always can be assigned to other less equivocal\ncauses, it will naturally lead us to conclude that proportion and beauty\nare not ideas of the same nature. The true opposite to beauty is not\ndisproportion or deformity, but _ugliness_: and as it proceeds from\ncauses opposite to those of positive beauty, we cannot consider it until\nwe come to treat of that. Between beauty and ugliness there is a sort of\nmediocrity, in which the assigned proportions are most commonly found;\nbut this has no effect upon the passions.\n\n\nSECTION VI.\n\nFITNESS NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY.\n\nIt is said that the idea of utility, or of a part's being well adapted\nto answer its end, is the cause of beauty, or indeed beauty itself. If\nit were not for this opinion, it had been impossible for the doctrine of\nproportion to have held its ground very long; the world would be soon\nweary of hearing of measures which related to nothing, either of a\nnatural principle, or of a fitness to answer some end; the idea which\nmankind most commonly conceive of proportion, is the suitableness of\nmeans to certain ends, and, where this is not the question, very seldom\ntrouble themselves about the effect of different measures of things.\nTherefore it was necessary for this theory to insist that not only\nartificial, but natural objects took their beauty from the fitness of\nthe parts for their several purposes. But in framing this theory, I am\napprehensive that experience was not sufficiently consulted. For, on\nthat principle, the wedge-like snout of a swine, with its tough\ncartilage at the end, the little sunk eyes, and the whole make of the\nhead, so well adapted to its offices of digging and rooting, would be\nextremely beautiful. The great bag hanging to the bill of a pelican, a\nthing highly useful to this animal, would be likewise as beautiful in\nour eyes. The hedge-hog, so well secured against all assaults by his\nprickly hide, and the porcupine with his missile quills, would be then\nconsidered as creatures of no small elegance. There are few animals\nwhose parts are better contrived than those of a monkey: he has the\nhands of a man, joined to the springy limbs of a beast; he is admirably\ncalculated for running, leaping, grappling, and climbing; and yet there\nare few animals which seem to have less beauty in the eyes of all\nmankind. I need say little on the trunk of the elephant, of such various\nusefulness, and which is so far from contributing to his beauty. How\nwell fitted is the wolf for running and leaping! how admirably is the\nlion armed for battle! but will any one therefore call the elephant, the\nwolf, and the lion, beautiful animals? I believe nobody will think the\nform of a man's leg so well adapted to running, as those of a horse, a\ndog, a deer, and several other creatures; at least they have not that\nappearance: yet, I believe, a well-fashioned human leg will be allowed\nto far exceed all these in beauty. If the fitness of parts was what\nconstituted the loveliness of their form, the actual employment of them\nwould undoubtedly much augment it; but this, though it is sometimes so\nupon another principle, is far from being always the case. A bird on the\nwing is not so beautiful as when it is perched; nay, there are several\nof the domestic fowls which are seldom seen to fly, and which are\nnothing the less beautiful on that account; yet birds are so extremely\ndifferent in their form from the beast and human kinds, that you cannot,\non the principle of fitness, allow them anything agreeable, but in\nconsideration of their parts being designed for quite other purposes. I\nnever in my life chanced to see a peacock fly; and yet before, very long\nbefore I considered any aptitude in his form for the aerial life, I was\nstruck with the extreme beauty which raises that bird above many of the\nbest flying fowls in the world; though, for anything I saw, his way of\nliving was much like that of the swine, which fed in the farm-yard along\nwith him. The same may be said of cocks, hens, and the like; they are of\nthe flying kind in figure; in their manner of moving not very different\nfrom men and beasts. To leave these foreign examples; if beauty in our\nown species was annexed to use, men would be much more lovely than\nwomen; and strength and agility would be considered as the only\nbeauties. But to call strength by the name of beauty, to have but one\ndenomination for the qualities of a Venus and Hercules, so totally\ndifferent in almost all respects, is surely a strange confusion of\nideas, or abuse of words. The cause of this confusion, I imagine,\nproceeds from our frequently perceiving the parts of the human and other\nanimal bodies to be at once very beautiful, and very well adapted to\ntheir purposes; and we are deceived by a sophism, which makes us take\nthat for a cause which is only a concomitant: this is the sophism of the\nfly; who imagined he raised a great dust, because he stood upon the\nchariot that really raised it. The stomach, the lungs, the liver, as\nwell as other parts, are incomparably well adapted to their purposes;\nyet they are far from having any beauty. Again, many things are very\nbeautiful, in which it is impossible to discern any idea of use. And I\nappeal to the first and most natural feelings of mankind, whether on\nbeholding a beautiful eye, or a well-fashioned mouth, or a well-turned\nleg, any ideas of their being well fitted for seeing, eating, or\nrunning, ever present themselves. What idea of use is it that flowers\nexcite, the most beautiful part of the vegetable world? It is true that\nthe infinitely wise and good Creator has, of his bounty, frequently\njoined beauty to those things which he has made useful to us; but this\ndoes not prove that an idea of use and beauty are the same thing, or\nthat they are any way dependent on each other.\n\n\nSECTION VII.\n\nTHE REAL EFFECTS OF FITNESS.\n\nWhen I excluded proportion and fitness from any share in beauty, I did\nnot by any means intend to say that they were of no value, or that they\nought to be disregarded in works of art. Works of art are the proper\nsphere of their power; and here it is that they have their full effect.\nWhenever the wisdom of our Creator intended that we should be affected\nwith anything, he did not confide the execution of his design to the\nlanguid and precarious operation of our reason; but he endued it with\npowers and properties that prevent the understanding, and even the will;\nwhich, seizing upon the senses and imagination, captivate the soul,\nbefore the understanding is ready either to join with them, or to\noppose them. It is by a long deduction, and much study, that we discover\nthe adorable wisdom of God in his works: when we discover it the effect\nis very different, not only in the manner of acquiring it, but in its\nown nature, from that which strikes us without any preparation from the\nsublime or the beautiful. How different is the satisfaction of an\nanatomist, who discovers the use of the muscles and of the skin, the\nexcellent contrivance of the one for the various movements of the body,\nand the wonderful texture of the other, at once a general covering, and\nat once a general outlet as well as inlet; how different is this from\nthe affection which possesses an ordinary man at the sight of a\ndelicate, smooth skin, and all the other parts of beauty, which require\nno investigation to be perceived! In the former case, whilst we look up\nto the Maker with admiration and praise, the object which causes it may\nbe odious and distasteful; the latter very often so touches us by its\npower on the imagination, that we examine but little into the artifice\nof its contrivance; and we have need of a strong effort of our reason to\ndisentangle our minds from the allurements of the object, to a\nconsideration of that wisdom which invented so powerful a machine. The\neffect of proportion and fitness, at least so far as they proceed from a\nmere consideration of the work itself, produce approbation, the\nacquiescence of the understanding, but not love, nor any passion of that\nspecies. When we examine the structure of a watch, when we come to know\nthoroughly the use of every part of it, satisfied as we are with the\nfitness of the whole, we are far enough from perceiving anything like\nbeauty in the watch-work itself; but let us look on the case, the labor\nof some curious artist in engraving, with little or no idea of use, we\nshall have a much livelier idea of beauty than we ever could have had\nfrom the watch itself, though the masterpiece of Graham. In beauty, as I\nsaid, the effect is previous to any knowledge of the use; but to judge\nof proportion, we must know the end for which any work is designed.\nAccording to the end, the proportion varies. Thus there is one\nproportion of a tower, another of a house; one proportion of a gallery,\nanother of a hall, another of a chamber. To judge of the proportions of\nthese, you must be first acquainted with the purposes for which they\nwere designed. Good sense and experience acting together, find out what\nis fit to be done in every work of art. We are rational creatures, and\nin all our works we ought to regard their end and purpose; the\ngratification of any passion, how innocent soever, ought only to be of\nsecondary consideration. Herein is placed the real power of fitness and\nproportion; they operate on the understanding considering them, which\n_approves_ the work and acquiesces in it. The passions, and the\nimagination which principally raises them, have here very little to do.\nWhen a room appears in its original nakedness, bare walls and a plain\nceiling: let its proportion be ever so excellent, it pleases very\nlittle; a cold approbation is the utmost we can reach; a much worse\nproportioned room with elegant mouldings and fine festoons, glasses, and\nother merely ornamental furniture, will make the imagination revolt\nagainst the reason; it will please much more than the naked proportion\nof the first room, which the understanding has so much approved, as\nadmirably fitted for its purposes. What I have here said and before\nconcerning proportion, is by no means to persuade people absurdly to\nneglect the idea of use in the works of art. It is only to show that\nthese excellent things, beauty and proportion, are not the same; not\nthat they should either of them be disregarded.\n\n\nSECTION VIII.\n\nTHE RECAPITULATION.\n\nOn the whole; if such parts in human bodies as are found proportioned,\nwere likewise constantly found beautiful, as they certainly are not; or\nif they were so situated, as that a pleasure might flow from the\ncomparison, which they seldom are; or if any assignable proportions were\nfound, either in plants or animals, which were always attended with\nbeauty, which never was the case; or if, where parts were well adapted\nto their purposes, they were constantly beautiful, and when no use\nappeared, there was no beauty, which is contrary to all experience; we\nmight conclude that beauty consisted in proportion or utility. But\nsince, in all respects, the case is quite otherwise; we may be satisfied\nthat beauty does not depend on these, let it owe its origin to what else\nit will.\n\n\nSECTION IX.\n\nPERFECTION NOT THE CAUSE OF BEAUTY.\n\nThere is another notion current, pretty closely allied to the former;\nthat _perfection_ is the constituent cause of beauty. This opinion has\nbeen made to extend much further than to sensible objects. But in\nthese, so far is perfection, considered as such, from being the cause of\nbeauty; that this quality, where it is highest, in the female sex,\nalmost always carries with it an idea of weakness and imperfection.\nWomen are very sensible of this; for which reason they learn to lisp, to\ntotter in their walk, to counterfeit weakness, and even sickness. In all\nthis they are guided by nature. Beauty in distress is much the most\naffecting beauty. Blushing has little less power; and modesty in\ngeneral, which is a tacit allowance of imperfection, is itself\nconsidered as an amiable quality, and certainly heightens every other\nthat is so. I know it is in every body's mouth, that we ought to love\nperfection. This is to me a sufficient proof, that it is not the proper\nobject of love. Who ever said we _ought_ to love a fine woman, or even\nany of these beautiful animals which please us? Here to be affected,\nthere is no need of the concurrence of our will.\n\n\nSECTION X.\n\nHOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO THE QUALITIES OF THE MIND.\n\nNor is this remark in general less applicable to the qualities of the\nmind. Those virtues which cause admiration, and are of the sublimer\nkind, produce terror rather than love; such as fortitude, justice,\nwisdom, and the like. Never was any man amiable by force of these\nqualities. Those which engage our hearts, which impress us with a sense\nof loveliness, are the softer virtues; easiness of temper, compassion,\nkindness, and liberality; though certainly those latter are of less\nimmediate and momentous concern to society, and of less dignity. But it\nis for that reason that they are so amiable. The great virtues turn\nprincipally on dangers, punishments, and troubles, and are exercised,\nrather in preventing the worst mischiefs, than in dispensing favors; and\nare therefore not lovely, though highly venerable. The subordinate turn\non reliefs, gratifications, and indulgences; and are therefore more\nlovely, though inferior in dignity. Those persons who creep into the\nhearts of most people, who are chosen as the companions of their softer\nhours, and their reliefs from care and anxiety, are never persons of\nshining qualities or strong virtues. It is rather the soft green of the\nsoul on which we rest our eyes, that are fatigued with beholding more\nglaring objects. It is worth observing how we feel ourselves affected in\nreading the characters of Caesar and Cato, as they are so finely drawn\nand contrasted in Sallust. In one the _ignoscendo largiundo_; in the\nother, _nil largiundo_. In one, the _miseris perfugium_; in the other,\n_malis perniciem_. In the latter we have much to admire, much to\nreverence, and perhaps something to fear; we respect him, but we respect\nhim at a distance. The former makes us familiar with him; we love him,\nand he leads us whither he pleases. To draw things closer to our first\nand most natural feelings, I will add a remark made upon reading this\nsection by an ingenious friend. The authority of a father, so useful to\nour well-being, and so justly venerable upon all accounts, hinders us\nfrom having that entire love for him that we have for our mothers, where\nthe parental authority is almost melted down into the mother's fondness\nand indulgence. But we generally have a great love for our\ngrandfathers, in whom this authority is removed a degree from us, and\nwhere the weakness of age mellows it into something of a feminine\npartiality.\n\n\nSECTION XI.\n\nHOW FAR THE IDEA OF BEAUTY MAY BE APPLIED TO VIRTUE.\n\nFrom what has been said in the foregoing section, we may easily see how\nfar the application of beauty to virtue may be made with propriety. The\ngeneral application of this quality to virtue has a strong tendency to\nconfound our ideas of things, and it has given rise to an infinite deal\nof whimsical theory; as the affixing the name of beauty to proportion,\ncongruity, and perfection, as well as to qualities of things yet more\nremote from our natural ideas of it, and from one another, has tended to\nconfound our ideas of beauty, and left us no standard or rule to judge\nby, that was not even more uncertain and fallacious than our own\nfancies. This loose and inaccurate manner of speaking has therefore\nmisled us both in the theory of taste and of morals; and induced us to\nremove the science of our duties from their proper basis (our reason,\nour relations, and our necessities), to rest it upon, foundations\naltogether visionary and unsubstantial.\n\n\nSECTION XII.\n\nTHE REAL CAUSE OF BEAUTY.\n\nHaving endeavored to show what beauty is not, it remains that we should\nexamine, at least with equal attention, in what it really consists.\nBeauty is a thing much too affecting not to depend upon some positive\nqualities. And since it is no creature of our reason, since it strikes\nus without any reference to use, and even where no use at all can be\ndiscerned, since the order and method of nature is generally very\ndifferent from our measures and proportions, we must conclude that\nbeauty is, for the greater part, some quality in bodies acting\nmechanically upon the human mind by the intervention of the senses. We\nought, therefore, to consider attentively in what manner those sensible\nqualities are disposed, in such things as by experience we find\nbeautiful, or which excite in us the passion of love, or some\ncorrespondent affection.\n\n\nSECTION XIII.\n\nBEAUTIFUL OBJECTS SMALL.\n\nThe most obvious point that presents itself to us in examining any\nobject is its extent or quantity. And what degree of extent prevails in\nbodies that are held beautiful, may be gathered from the usual manner of\nexpression concerning it. I am told that, in most languages, the objects\nof love are spoken of under diminutive epithets. It is so in all the\nlanguages of which I have any knowledge. In Greek the [Greek: ion] and\nother diminutive terms are almost always the terms of affection and\ntenderness. These diminutives were commonly added by the Greeks to the\nnames of persons with whom they conversed on terms of friendship and\nfamiliarity. Though the Romans were a people of less quick and delicate\nfeelings, yet they naturally slid into the lessening termination upon\nthe same occasions. Anciently, in the English language, the diminishing\n_ling_ was added to the names of persons and things that were the\nobjects of love. Some we retain still, as _darling_ (or little dear),\nand a few others. But to this day, in ordinary conversation, it is usual\nto add the endearing name of _little_ to everything we love; the French\nand Italians make use of these affectionate diminutives even more than\nwe. In the animal creation, out of our own species, it is the small we\nare inclined to be fond of; little birds, and some of the smaller kinds\nof beasts. A great beautiful thing is a manner of expression scarcely\never used; but that of a great ugly thing is very common. There is a\nwide difference between admiration and love. The sublime, which is the\ncause of the former, always dwells on great objects, and terrible; the\nlatter on small ones, and pleasing; we submit to what we admire, but we\nlove what submits to us; in one case we are forced, in the other we are\nflattered, into compliance. In short, the ideas of the sublime and the\nbeautiful stand on foundations so different, that it is hard, I had\nalmost said impossible, to think of reconciling them in the same\nsubject, without considerably lessening the effect of the one or the\nother upon the passions. So that, attending to their quantity, beautiful\nobjects are comparatively small.\n\n\nSECTION XIV.\n\nSMOOTHNESS.\n\nThe next property constantly observable in such objects is\n_smoothness_;[24] a quality so essential to beauty, that I do not now\nrecollect anything beautiful that is not smooth. In trees and flowers,\nsmooth leaves are beautiful; smooth slopes of earth in gardens; smooth\nstreams in the landscape; smooth coats of birds and beasts in animal\nbeauties; in fine women, smooth skins; and in several sorts of\nornamental furniture, smooth and polished surfaces. A very considerable\npart of the effect of beauty is owing to this quality; indeed the most\nconsiderable. For, take any beautiful object, and give it a broken, and\nrugged surface; and, however well formed it may be in other respects, it\npleases no longer. Whereas, let it want ever so many of the other\nconstituents, if it wants not this, it becomes more pleasing than almost\nall the others without it. This seems to me so evident, that I am a good\ndeal surprised that none who have handled the subject have made any\nmention of the quality of smoothness in the enumeration of those that go\nto the forming of beauty. For, indeed, any ruggedness, any sudden,\nprojection, any sharp angle, is in the highest degree contrary to that\nidea.\n\n\nSECTION XV.\n\nGRADUAL VARIATION.\n\nBut as perfectly beautiful bodies are not composed of angular parts, so\ntheir parts never continue long in the same right line.[25] They vary\ntheir direction every moment, and they change under the eye by a\ndeviation continually carrying on, but for whose beginning or end you\nwill find it difficult to ascertain a point. The view of a beautiful\nbird will illustrate this observation. Here we see the head increasing\ninsensibly to the middle, from whence it lessens gradually until it\nmixes with the neck; the neck loses itself in a larger swell, which\ncontinues to the middle of the body, when the whole decreases again to\nthe tail; the tail takes a new direction, but it soon varies its new\ncourse, it blends again with the other parts, and the line is\nperpetually changing, above, below, upon every side. In this description\nI have before me the idea of a dove; it agrees very well with most of\nthe conditions of beauty. It is smooth and downy; its parts are (to use\nthat expression) melted into one another; you are presented with no\nsudden protuberance through the whole, and yet the whole is continually\nchanging. Observe that part of a beautiful woman where she is perhaps\nthe most beautiful, about the neck and breasts; the smoothness, the\nsoftness, the easy and insensible swell; the variety of the surface,\nwhich is never for the smallest space the same; the deceitful maze\nthrough which the unsteady eye slides giddily, without knowing where to\nfix, or whither it is carried. Is not this a demonstration of that\nchange of surface, continual, and yet hardly perceptible at any point,\nwhich forms one of the great constituents of beauty? It gives me no\nsmall pleasure to find that I can strengthen my theory in this point by\nthe opinion of the very ingenious Mr. Hogarth, whose idea of the line of\nbeauty I take in general to be extremely just. But the idea of\nvariation, without attending so accurately to the _manner_ of the\nvariation, has led him to consider angular figures as beautiful; these\nfigures, it is true, vary greatly, yet they vary in a sudden and broken\nmanner, and I do not find any natural object which is angular, and at\nthe same time beautiful. Indeed, few natural objects are entirely\nangular. But I think those which approach the most nearly to it are the\nugliest. I must add, too, that so for as I could observe of nature,\nthough the varied line is that alone in which complete beauty is found,\nyet there is no particular line which is always found in the most\ncompletely beautiful, and which is therefore beautiful in preference to\nall other lines. At least I never could observe it.\n\n\nSECTION XVI.\n\nDELICACY.\n\nAn air of robustness and strength is very prejudicial to beauty. An\nappearance of _delicacy_, and even of fragility, is almost essential to\nit. Whoever examines the vegetable or animal creation will find this\nobservation to be founded in nature. It is not the oak, the ash, or the\nelm, or any of the robust trees of the forest which we consider as\nbeautiful; they are awful and majestic, they inspire a sort of\nreverence. It is the delicate myrtle, it is the orange, it is the\nalmond, it is the jasmine, it is the vine which we look on as vegetable\nbeauties. It is the flowery species, so remarkable for its weakness and\nmomentary duration, that gives us the liveliest idea of beauty and\nelegance. Among animals, the greyhound is more beautiful than the\nmastiff, and the delicacy of a jennet, a barb, or an Arabian horse, is\nmuch more amiable than the strength and stability of some horses of war\nor carriage. I need here say little of the fair sex, where I believe the\npoint will be easily allowed me. The beauty of women is considerably\nowing to their weakness or delicacy, and is even enhanced by their\ntimidity, a quality of mind analogous to it. I would not here be\nunderstood to say, that weakness betraying very bad health has any share\nin beauty; but the ill effect of this is not because it is weakness, but\nbecause the ill state of health, which produces such weakness, alters\nthe other conditions of beauty; the parts in such a case collapse, the\nbright color, the _lumen purpureum juventae_ is gone, and the fine\nvariation is lost in wrinkles, sudden breaks, and right lines.\n\n\nSECTION XVII.\n\nBEAUTY IN COLOR.\n\nAs to the colors usually found in beautiful bodies, it may be somewhat\ndifficult to ascertain them, because, in the several parts of nature,\nthere is an infinite variety. However, even in this variety, we may mark\nout something on which to settle. First, the colors of beautiful bodies\nmust not be dusky or muddy, but clean and fair. Secondly, they must not\nbe of the strongest kind. Those which seem most appropriated to beauty,\nare the milder of every sort; light greens; soft blues; weak whites;\npink reds; and violets. Thirdly, if the colors be strong and vivid, they\nare always diversified, and the object is never of one strong color;\nthere are almost always such a number of them (as in variegated flowers)\nthat the strength and glare of each is considerably abated. In a fine\ncomplexion there is not only some variety in the coloring, but the\ncolors: neither the red nor the white are strong and glaring. Besides,\nthey are mixed in such a manner, and with such gradations, that it is\nimpossible to fix the bounds. On the same principle it is that the\ndubious color in the necks and tails of peacocks, and about the heads of\ndrakes, is so very agreeable. In reality, the beauty both of shape and\ncoloring are as nearly related as we can well suppose it possible for\nthings of such different natures to be.\n\n\nSECTION XVIII.\n\nRECAPITULATION.\n\nOn the whole, the qualities of beauty, as they are merely sensible\nqualities, are the following: First, to be comparatively small.\nSecondly, to be smooth. Thirdly, to have a variety in the direction of\nthe parts; but, fourthly, to have those parts not angular, but melted,\nas it were, into each other. Fifthly, to be of a delicate frame, without\nany remarkable appearance of strength. Sixthly, to have its colors clear\nand bright, but not very strong and glaring. Seventhly, or if it should\nhave any glaring color, to have it diversified with others. These are, I\nbelieve, the properties on which beauty depends; properties that operate\nby nature, and are less liable to be altered by caprice, or confounded\nby a diversity of tastes, than any other.\n\n\nSECTION XIX.\n\nTHE PHYSIOGNOMY.\n\nThe _physiognomy_ has a considerable share in beauty, especially in that\nof our own species. The manners give a certain determination to the\ncountenance; which, being observed to correspond pretty regularly with\nthem, is capable of joining the effect of certain agreeable qualities of\nthe mind to those of the body. So that to form a finished human beauty,\nand to give it its full influence, the face must be expressive of such\ngentle and amiable qualities, as correspond with the softness,\nsmoothness, and delicacy of the outward form.\n\n\nSECTION XX.\n\nTHE EYE.\n\nI have hitherto purposely omitted to speak of the _eye_, which has so\ngreat a share in the beauty of the animal creation, as it did not fall\nso easily under the foregoing heads, though in fact it is reducible to\nthe same principles. I think, then, that the beauty of the eye consists,\nfirst, in its _clearness_; what _colored_ eye shall please most, depends\na good deal on particular fancies; but none are pleased with an eye\nwhose water (to use that term) is dull and muddy.[26] We are pleased\nwith the eye in this view, on the principle upon which we like diamonds,\nclear water, glass, and such like transparent substances. Secondly, the\nmotion of the eye contributes to its beauty, by continually shifting its\ndirection; but a slow and languid motion is more beautiful than a brisk\none; the latter is enlivening; the former lovely. Thirdly, with regard\nto the union of the eye with the neighboring parts, it is to hold the\nsame rule that is given of other beautiful ones; it is not to make a\nstrong deviation from the line of the neighboring parts; nor to verge\ninto any exact geometrical figure. Besides all this, the eye affects, as\nit is expressive of some qualities of the mind, and its principal power\ngenerally arises from this; so that what we have just said of the\nphysiognomy is applicable here.\n\n\nSECTION XXI.\n\nUGLINESS.\n\nIt may perhaps appear like a sort of repetition of what we have before\nsaid, to insist here upon the nature of _ugliness_; as I imagine it to\nbe in all respects the opposite to those qualities which we have laid\ndown for the constituents of beauty. But though ugliness be the opposite\nto beauty, it is not the opposite to proportion and fitness. For it is\npossible that a thing may be very ugly with any proportions, and with a\nperfect fitness to any uses. Ugliness I imagine likewise to be\nconsistent enough with an idea of the sublime. But I would by no means\ninsinuate that ugliness of itself is a sublime idea, unless united with\nsuch qualities as excite a strong terror.\n\n\nSECTION XXII.\n\nGRACE.\n\nGracefulness is an idea not very different from beauty; it consists in\nmuch the same things. Gracefulness is an idea belonging to _posture_ and\n_motion_. In both these, to be graceful, it is requisite that there be\nno appearance of difficulty; there is required a small inflection of the\nbody; and a composure of the parts in such a manner, as not to incumber\neach other, not to appear divided by sharp and sudden angles. In this\ncase, this roundness, this delicacy of attitude and motion, it is that\nall the magic of grace consists, and what is called its _je ne scai\nquoi_; as will be obvious to any observer, who considers attentively the\nVenus de Medicis, the Antinous or any statue generally allowed to be\ngraceful in a high degree.\n\n\nSECTION XXIII.\n\nELEGANCE AND SPECIOUSNESS.\n\nWhen any body is composed of parts smooth and polished, without pressing\nupon each other, without showing any ruggedness or confusion, and at the\nsame time affecting some _regular shape_, I call it _elegant_. It is\nclosely allied to the beautiful, differing from it only in this\n_regularity_; which, however, as it makes a very material difference in\nthe affection produced, may very well constitute another species. Under\nthis head I rank those delicate and regular works of art, that imitate\nno determinate object in nature, as elegant buildings, and pieces of\nfurniture. When any object partakes of the above-mentioned qualities, or\nof those of beautiful bodies, and is withal of great dimensions, it is\nfull as remote from the idea of mere beauty; I call _fine_ or\n_specious_.\n\n\nSECTION XXIV.\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL IN FEELING.\n\nThe foregoing description of beauty, so far as it is taken in by the\neye, may he greatly illustrated by describing the nature of objects,\nwhich produce a similar effect through the touch. This I call the\nbeautiful in _feeling_. It corresponds wonderfully with what causes the\nsame species of pleasure to the sight. There is a chain in all our\nsensations; they are all but different sorts of feelings calculated to\nbe affected by various sorts of objects, but all to be affected after\nthe same manner. All bodies that are pleasant to the touch, are so by\nthe slightness of the resistance they make. Resistance is either to\nmotion along the surface, or to the pressure of the parts on one\nanother: if the former be slight, we call the body smooth; if the\nlatter, soft. The chief pleasure we receive by feeling, is in the one or\nthe other of these qualities; and if there be a combination of both, our\npleasure is greatly increased. This is so plain, that it is rather more\nfit to illustrate other things, than to be illustrated itself by an\nexample. The next source of pleasure in this sense, as in every other,\nis the continually presenting somewhat new; and we find that bodies\nwhich continually vary their surface, are much the most pleasant or\nbeautiful to the feeling, as any one that pleases may experience. The\nthird property in such objects is, that though the surface continually\nvaries its direction, it never varies it suddenly. The application of\nanything sudden, even though the impression itself have little or\nnothing of violence, is disagreeable. The quick application of a finger\na little warmer or colder than usual, without notice, makes us start; a\nslight tap on the shoulder, not expected, has the same effect. Hence it\nis that angular bodies, bodies that suddenly vary the direction of the\noutline, afford so little pleasure to the feeling. Every such change is\na sort of climbing or falling in miniature; so that squares, triangles,\nand other angular figures are neither beautiful to the sight nor\nfeeling. Whoever compares his state of mind, on feeling soft, smooth,\nvariated, unangular bodies, with that in which he finds himself, on the\nview of a beautiful object, will perceive a very striking analogy in the\neffects of both; and which may go a good way towards discovering their\ncommon cause. Feeling and sight, in this respect, differ in but a few\npoints. The touch takes in the pleasure of softness, which is not\nprimarily an object of sight; the sight, on the other hand, comprehends\ncolor, which can hardly he made perceptible to the touch: the touch,\nagain, has the advantage in a new idea of pleasure resulting from a\nmoderate degree of warmth; but the eye triumphs in the infinite extent\nand multiplicity of its objects. But there is such a similitude in the\npleasures of these senses, that I am apt to fancy, if it were possible\nthat one might discern color by feeling (as it is said some blind men\nhave done) that the same colors, and the same disposition of coloring,\nwhich are found beautiful to the sight, would be found likewise most\ngrateful to the touch. But, setting aside conjectures, let us pass to\nthe other sense; of hearing.\n\n\nSECTION XXV.\n\nTHE BEAUTIFUL IN SOUNDS.\n\nIn this sense we find an equal aptitude to be affected in a soft and\ndelicate manner; and how far sweet or beautiful sounds agree with our\ndescriptions of beauty in other senses, the experience of every one must\ndecide. Milton has described this species of music in one of his\njuvenile poems.[27] I need not say that Milton was perfectly well versed\nin that art; and that no man had a finer ear, with a happier manner of\nexpressing the affections of one sense by metaphors taken from another.\nThe description is as follows:--\n\n          \"And ever against eating cares,\n    Lap me in _soft_ Lydian airs;\n    In notes with many a _winding_ bout\n    Of _linked sweetness long drawn_ out;\n    With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,\n    The _melting_ voice through _mazes_ running;\n    _Untwisting_ all the chains that tie\n    The hidden soul of harmony.\"\n\nLet us parallel this with the softness, the winding surface, the\nunbroken continuance, the easy gradation of the beautiful in other\nthings; and all the diversities of the several senses, with all their\nseveral affections, will rather help to throw lights from one another to\nfinish one clear, consistent idea of the whole, than to obscure it by\ntheir intricacy and variety.\n\nTo the above-mentioned description I shall add one or two remarks. The\nfirst is; that the beautiful in music will not hear that loudness and\nstrength of sounds, which may be used to raise other passions; nor notes\nwhich are shrill, or harsh, or deep; it agrees best with such as are\nclear, even, smooth, and weak. The second is; that great variety, and\nquick transitions from one measure or tone to another, are contrary to\nthe genius of the beautiful in music. Such[28] transitions often excite\nmirth, or other sudden or tumultuous passions; but not that sinking,\nthat melting, that languor, which is the characteristical effect of the\nbeautiful as it regards every sense. The passion excited by beauty is in\nfact nearer to a species of melancholy, than to jollity and mirth. I do\nnot here mean to confine music to any one species of notes, or tones,\nneither is it an art in which I can say I have any great skill. My sole\ndesign in this remark is to settle a consistent idea of beauty. The\ninfinite variety of the affections of the soul will suggest to a good\nhead, and skilful ear, a variety of such sounds as are fitted to raise\nthem. It can be no prejudice to this, to clear and distinguish some few\nparticulars that belong to the same class, and are consistent with each\nother, from the immense crowd of different and sometimes contradictory\nideas, that rank vulgarly under the standard of beauty. And of these it\nis my intention to mark such only of the leading points as show the\nconformity of the sense of hearing with all the other senses, in the\narticle of their pleasures.\n\n\nSECTION XXVI.\n\nTASTE AND SMELL.\n\nThis general agreement of the senses is yet more evident on minutely\nconsidering those of taste and smell. We metaphorically apply the idea\nof sweetness to sights and sounds; but as the qualities of bodies by\nwhich they are fitted to excite either pleasure or pain in these senses\nare not so obvious as they are in the others, we shall refer an\nexplanation of their analogy, which is a very close one, to that part\nwherein we come to consider the common efficient cause of beauty, as it\nregards all the senses. I do not think anything better fitted to\nestablish a clear and settled idea of visual beauty than this way of\nexamining the similar pleasures of other senses; for one part is\nsometimes clear in one of the senses that is more obscure in another;\nand where there is a clear concurrence of all, we may with more\ncertainty speak of any one of them. By this means, they bear witness to\neach other; nature is, as it were, scrutinized; and we report nothing of\nher but what we receive from her own information.\n\n\nSECTION XXVII.\n\nTHE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL COMPARED.\n\nOn closing this general view of beauty, it naturally occurs that we\nshould compare it with the sublime; and in this comparison there appears\na remarkable contrast. For sublime objects are vast in their dimensions,\nbeautiful ones comparatively small; beauty should be smooth and\npolished; the great, rugged and negligent: beauty should shun the right\nline, yet deviate from it insensibly; the great in many cases loves the\nright line; and when it deviates, it often makes a strong deviation:\nbeauty should not be obscure; the great ought to be dark and gloomy:\nbeauty should be light and delicate; the great ought to be solid, and\neven massive. They are indeed ideas of a very different nature, one\nbeing founded on pain, the other on pleasure; and, however they may vary\nafterwards from the direct nature of their causes, yet these causes keep\nup an eternal distinction between them, a distinction never to be\nforgotten by any whose business it is to affect the passions. In the\ninfinite variety of natural combinations, we must expect to find the\nqualities of things the most remote imaginable from each other united in\nthe same object. We must expect also to find combinations of the same\nkind in the works of art. But when we consider the power of an object\nupon our passions, we must know that when anything is intended to affect\nthe mind by the force of some predominant property, the affection\nproduced is like to be the more uniform and perfect, if all the other\nproperties or qualities of the object be of the same nature, and tending\nto the same design as the principal.\n\n   \"If black and white blend, soften, and unite\n    A thousand ways, are there no black and white?\"\n\nIf the qualities of the sublime and beautiful are sometimes found\nunited, does this prove that they are the same; does it prove that they\nare any way allied; does it prove even that they are not opposite and\ncontradictory? Black and white may soften, may blend; but they are not\ntherefore the same. Nor, when they are so softened and blended with each\nother, or with different colors, is the power of black as black, or of\nwhite as white, so strong as when each stands uniform and distinguished.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[24] Part IV. sect. 20.\n\n[25] Part IV. sect. 23.\n\n[26] Part IV. sect. 25.\n\n[27] L'Allegro.\n\n[28]\n\n   \"I ne'er am merry, when I hear sweet music.\"\n\n                                        SHAKESPEARE.\n\n\n\n\nPART IV.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nOF THE EFFICIENT CAUSE OF THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL.\n\nWhen I say, I intend to inquire into the efficient cause of sublimity\nand beauty, I would not be understood to say, that I can come to the\nultimate cause. I do not pretend that I shall ever be able to explain\nwhy certain affections of the body produce such a distinct emotion of\nmind, and no other; or why the body is at all affected by the mind, or\nthe mind by the body. A little thought will show this to be impossible.\nBut I conceive, if we can discover what affections of the mind produce\ncertain emotions of the body; and what distinct feelings and qualities\nof body shall produce certain determinate passions in the mind, and no\nothers, I fancy a great deal will be done; something not unuseful\ntowards a distinct knowledge of our passions, so far at least as we have\nthem at present under our consideration. This is all, I believe, we can\ndo. If we could advance a step farther, difficulties would still remain,\nas we should be still equally distant from the first cause. When Newton\nfirst discovered the property of attraction, and settled its laws, he\nfound it served very well to explain several of the most remarkable\nphenomena in nature; but yet, with reference to the general system of\nthings, he could consider attraction but as an effect, whose cause at\nthat time he did not attempt to trace. But when he afterwards began to\naccount for it by a subtle elastic ether, this great man (if in so\ngreat a man it be not impious to discover anything like a blemish)\nseemed to have quitted his usual cautious manner of philosophizing;\nsince, perhaps, allowing all that has been advanced on this subject to\nbe sufficiently proved, I think it leaves us with as many difficulties\nas it found us. That great chain of causes, which, linking one to\nanother, even to the throne of God himself, can never be unravelled by\nany industry of ours. When we go but one step beyond the immediate\nsensible qualities of things, we go out of our depth. All we do after is\nbut a faint struggle, that shows we are in an element which does not\nbelong to us. So that when I speak of cause, and efficient cause, I only\nmean certain affections of the mind, that cause certain changes in the\nbody; or certain powers and properties in bodies, that work a change in\nthe mind. As, if I were to explain the motion of a body falling to the\nground, I would say it was caused by gravity; and I would endeavor to\nshow after what manner this power operated, without attempting to show\nwhy it operated in this manner: or, if I were to explain the effects of\nbodies striking one another by the common laws of percussion, I should\nnot endeavor to explain how motion itself is communicated.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nASSOCIATION.\n\nIt is no small bar in the way of our inquiry into the cause of our\npassions, that the occasions of many of them are given, and that their\ngoverning motions are communicated at a time when we have not capacity\nto reflect on them; at a time of which all sort of memory is worn out\nof our minds. For besides such things as affect us in various manners,\naccording to their natural powers, there are associations made at that\nearly season, which we find it very hard afterwards to distinguish from\nnatural effects. Not to mention the unaccountable antipathies which we\nfind in many persons, we all find it impossible to remember when a steep\nbecame more terrible than a plain; or fire or water more terrible than a\nclod of earth; though all these are very probably either conclusions\nfrom experience, or arising from the premonitions of others; and some of\nthem impressed, in all likelihood, pretty late. But as it must be\nallowed that many things affect us after a certain manner, not by any\nnatural powers they have for that purpose, but by association; so it\nwould be absurd, on the other hand, to say that all things affect us by\nassociation only; since some things must have been originally and\nnaturally agreeable or disagreeable, from which the others derive their\nassociated powers; and it would be, I fancy, to little purpose to look\nfor the cause of our passions in association, until we fail of it in the\nnatural properties of things.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nCAUSE OF PAIN AND FEAR.\n\nI have before observed,[29] that whatever is qualified to cause terror\nis a foundation capable of the sublime; to which I add, that not only\nthese, but many things from which we cannot probably apprehend any\ndanger, have a similar effect, because they operate in a similar manner.\nI observed, too,[30] that whatever produces pleasure, positive and\noriginal pleasure, is fit to have beauty engrafted on it. Therefore, to\nclear up the nature of these qualities, it may be necessary to explain\nthe nature of pain and pleasure on which they depend. A man who suffers\nunder violent bodily pain, (I suppose the most violent, because the\neffect may be the more obvious,) I say a man in great pain has his teeth\nset, his eyebrows are violently contracted, his forehead is wrinkled,\nhis eyes are dragged inwards, and rolled with great vehemence, his hair\nstands on end, the voice is forced out in short shrieks and groans, and\nthe whole fabric totters. Fear or terror, which is an apprehension of\npain or death, exhibits exactly the same effects, approaching in\nviolence to those just mentioned, in proportion to the nearness of the\ncause, and the weakness of the subject. This is not only so in the human\nspecies: but I have more than once observed in dogs, under an\napprehension of punishment, that they have writhed their bodies, and\nyelped, and howled, as if they had actually felt the blows. From hence I\nconclude, that pain and fear act upon the same parts of the body, and in\nthe same manner, though somewhat differing in degree: that pain and fear\nconsist in an unnatural tension of the nerves; that this is sometimes\naccompanied with an unnatural strength, which sometimes suddenly changes\ninto an extraordinary weakness; that these effects often come on\nalternately, and are sometimes mixed with each other. This is the nature\nof all convulsive agitations, especially in weaker subjects, which are\nthe most liable to the severest impressions of pain and fear. The only\ndifference between pain and terror is, that things which cause pain\noperate on the mind by the intervention of the body; whereas things that\ncause terror generally affect the bodily organs by the operation of the\nmind suggesting the danger; but both agreeing, either primarily or\nsecondarily, in producing a tension, contraction, or violent emotion of\nthe nerves,[31] they agree likewise in everything else. For it appears\nvery clearly to me from this, as well as from many other examples, that\nwhen the body is disposed, by any means whatsoever, to such emotions as\nit would acquire by the means of a certain passion; it will of itself\nexcite something very like that passion in the mind.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nCONTINUED.\n\nTo this purpose Mr. Spon, in his \"Recherches d'Antiquite,\" gives us a\ncurious story of the celebrated physiognomist Campanella. This man, it\nseems, had not only made very accurate observations on human faces, but\nwas very expert in mimicking such as were any way remarkable. When he\nhad a mind to penetrate into the inclinations of those he had to deal\nwith, he composed his face, his gesture, and his whole body, as nearly\nas he could into the exact similitude of the person he intended to\nexamine; and then carefully observed what turn of mind he seemed to\nacquire by this change. So that, says my author, he was able to enter\ninto the dispositions and thoughts of people as effectually as if he had\nbeen changed into the very men. I have often observed, that on mimicking\nthe looks and gestures of angry, or placid, or frighted, or daring men,\nI have involuntarily found my mind turned to that passion, whose\nappearance I endeavored to imitate; nay, I am convinced it is hard to\navoid it, though one strove to separate the passion from its\ncorrespondent gestures. Our minds and bodies are so closely and\nintimately connected, that one is incapable of pain or pleasure without\nthe other. Campanella, of whom we have been speaking, could so abstract\nhis attention from any sufferings of his body, that he was able to\nendure the rack itself without much pain; and in lesser pains everybody\nmust have observed that, when we can employ our attention on anything\nelse, the pain has been for a time suspended: on the other hand, if by\nany means the body is indisposed to perform such gestures, or to be\nstimulated into such emotions as any passion usually produces in it,\nthat passion itself never can arise, though its cause should be never so\nstrongly in action; though it should be merely mental, and immediately\naffecting none of the senses. As an opiate, or spirituous liquors, shall\nsuspend the operation of grief, or fear, or anger, in spite of all our\nefforts to the contrary; and this by inducing in the body a disposition\ncontrary to that which it receives from these passions.\n\n\nSECTION V.\n\nHOW THE SUBLIME IS PRODUCED.\n\nHaving considered terror as producing an unnatural tension and certain\nviolent emotions of the nerves; it easily follows, from what we have\njust said, that whatever is fitted to produce such a tension must be\nproductive of a passion similar to terror,[32] and consequently must be\na source of the sublime, though it should have no idea of danger\nconnected with it. So that little remains towards showing the cause of\nthe sublime, but to show that the instances we have given of it in the\nsecond part relate to such things, as are fitted by nature to produce\nthis sort of tension, either by the primary operation of the mind or the\nbody. With regard to such things as affect by the associated idea of\ndanger, there can be no doubt but that they produce terror, and act by\nsome modification of that passion; and that terror, when sufficiently\nviolent, raises the emotions of the body just mentioned, can as little\nbe doubted. But if the sublime is built on terror or some passion like\nit, which has pain for its object, it is previously proper to inquire\nhow any species of delight can be derived from a cause so apparently\ncontrary to it. I say _delight_, because, as I have often remarked, it\nis very evidently different in its cause, and in its own nature, from\nactual and positive pleasure.\n\n\nSECTION VI.\n\nHOW PAIN CAN BE A CAUSE OF DELIGHT.\n\nProvidence has so ordered it, that a state of rest and inaction, however\nit may flatter our indolence, should be productive of many\ninconveniences; that it should generate such disorders, as may force us\nto have recourse to some labor, as a thing absolutely requisite to make\nus pass our lives with tolerable satisfaction; for the nature of rest is\nto suffer all the parts of our bodies to fall into a relaxation, that\nnot only disables the members from performing their functions, but takes\naway the vigorous tone of fibre which is requisite for carrying on the\nnatural and necessary secretions. At the same time, that in this languid\nin active state, the nerves are more liable to the most horrid\nconvulsions, than when they are sufficiently braced and strengthened.\nMelancholy, dejection, despair, and often self-murder, is the\nconsequence of the gloomy view we take of things in this relaxed state\nof body. The best remedy for all these evils is exercise or _labor_; and\nlabor is a surmounting of _difficulties_, an exertion of the contracting\npower of the muscles; and as such resembles pain, which consists in\ntension or contraction, in everything but degree. Labor is not only\nrequisite to preserve the coarser organs, in a state fit for their\nfunctions; but it is equally necessary to these finer and more delicate\norgans, on which, and by which, the imagination and perhaps the other\nmental powers act. Since it is probable, that not only the inferior\nparts of the soul, as the passions are called, but the understanding\nitself makes use of some fine corporeal instruments in its operation;\nthough what they are, and where they are, may be somewhat hard to\nsettle: but that it does make use of such, appears from hence; that a\nlong exercise of the mental powers induces a remarkable lassitude of the\nwhole body; and on the other hand, that great bodily labor, or pain,\nweakens and sometimes actually destroys the mental faculties. Now, as a\ndue exercise is essential to the coarse muscular parts of the\nconstitution, and that without this rousing they would become languid\nand diseased, the very same rule holds with regard to those finer parts\nwe have mentioned; to have them in proper order, they must be shaken and\nworked to a proper degree.\n\n\nSECTION VII.\n\nEXERCISE NECESSARY FOR THE FINER ORGANS.\n\nAs common labor, which is a mode of pain, is the exercise of the\ngrosser, a mode of terror is the exercise of the finer parts of the\nsystem; and if a certain mode of pain be of such a nature as to act upon\nthe eye or the ear, as they are the most delicate organs, the affection\napproaches more nearly to that which has a mental cause. In all these\ncases, if the pain and terror are so modified as not to be actually\nnoxious; if the pain is not carried to violence, and the terror is not\nconversant about the present destruction of the person, as these\nemotions clear the parts, whether fine or gross, of a dangerous and\ntroublesome incumbrance, they are capable of producing delight; not\npleasure, but a sort of delightful horror, a sort of tranquillity tinged\nwith terror; which, as it belongs to self-preservation, is one of the\nstrongest of all the passions. Its object is the sublime.[33] Its\nhighest degree I call _astonishment_; the subordinate degrees are awe,\nreverence, and respect, which, by the very etymology of the words, show\nfrom what source they are derived, and how they stand distinguished from\npositive pleasure.\n\n\nSECTION VIII.\n\nWHY THINGS NOT DANGEROUS SOMETIMES PRODUCE A PASSION LIKE TERROR.\n\nA mode of terror or pain is always the cause of the sublime.[34] For\nterror or associated danger, the foregoing explication is, I believe,\nsufficient. It will require something more trouble to show, that such\nexamples as I have given of the sublime in the second part are capable\nof producing a mode of pain, and of being thus allied to terror, and to\nbe accounted for on the same principles. And first of such objects as\nare great in their dimensions. I speak of visual objects.\n\n\nSECTION IX.\n\nWHY VISUAL OBJECTS OF GREAT DIMENSIONS ARE SUBLIME.\n\nVision is performed by having a picture, formed by the rays of light\nwhich are reflected from the object, painted in one piece,\ninstantaneously, on the retina, or last nervous part of the eye. Or,\naccording to others, there is but one point of any object painted on the\neye in such a manner as to be perceived at once, but by moving the eye,\nwe gather up, with great celerity, the several parts of the object, so\nas to form one uniform piece. If the former opinion be allowed, it will\nbe considered,[35] that though all the light reflected from a large body\nshould strike the eye in one instant; yet we must suppose that the body\nitself is formed of a vast number of distinct points, every one of\nwhich, or the ray from every one, makes an impression on the retina. So\nthat, though the image of one point should cause but a small tension of\nthis membrane, another, and another, and another stroke, must in their\nprogress cause a very great one, until it arrives at last to the highest\ndegree; and the whole capacity of the eye, vibrating in all its parts,\nmust approach near to the nature of what causes pain, and consequently\nmust produce an idea of the sublime. Again, if we take it, that one\npoint only of an object is distinguishable at once; the matter will\namount nearly to the same thing, or rather it will make the origin of\nthe sublime from greatness of dimension yet clearer. For if but one\npoint is observed at once, the eye must traverse the vast space of such\nbodies with great quickness, and consequently the fine nerves and\nmuscles destined to the motion of that part must be very much strained;\nand their great sensibility must make them highly affected by this\nstraining. Besides, it signifies just nothing to the effect produced,\nwhether a body has its parts connected and makes its impression at once;\nor, making but one impression of a point at a time, it causes a\nsuccession of the same or others so quickly as to make them seem united;\nas is evident from the common effect of whirling about a lighted torch\nor piece of wood: which, if done with celerity, seems a circle of fire.\n\n\nSECTION X.\n\nUNITY WHY REQUISITE TO VASTNESS.\n\nIt may be objected to this theory, that the eye generally receives an\nequal number of rays at all times, and that therefore a great object\ncannot affect it by the number of rays, more than that variety of\nobjects which the eye must always discern whilst it remains open. But to\nthis I answer, that admitting an equal number of rays, or an equal\nquantity of luminous particles to strike the eye at all times, yet if\nthese rays frequently vary their nature, now to blue, now to red, and so\non, or their manner of termination, as to a number of petty squares,\ntriangles, or the like, at every change, whether of color or shape, the\norgan has a sort of relaxation or rest; but this relaxation and labor so\noften interrupted, is by no means productive of ease; neither has it the\neffect of vigorous and uniform labor. Whoever has remarked the different\neffects of some strong exercise, and some little piddling action, will\nunderstand why a teasing, fretful employment, which at once wearies and\nweakens the body, should have nothing great; these sorts of impulses,\nwhich are rather teasing than painful, by continually and suddenly\naltering their tenor and direction, prevent that full tension, that\nspecies of uniform labor, which is allied to strong pain, and causes the\nsublime. The sum total of things of various kinds, though it should\nequal the number of the uniform parts composing some _one_ entire\nobject, is not equal in its effect upon the organs of our bodies.\nBesides the one already assigned, there is another very strong reason\nfor the difference. The mind in reality hardly ever can attend\ndiligently to more than one thing at a time; if this thing be little,\nthe effect is little, and a number of other little objects cannot engage\nthe attention; the mind is bounded by the bounds of the object; and what\nis not attended to, and what does not exist, are much the same in the\neffect; but the eye or the mind, (for in this case there is no\ndifference,) in great, uniform objects, does not readily arrive at their\nbounds; it has no rest, whilst it contemplates them; the image is much\nthe same everywhere. So that everything great by its quantity must\nnecessarily be one, simple and entire.\n\n\nSECTION XI.\n\nTHE ARTIFICIAL INFINITE.\n\nWe have observed that a species of greatness arises from the artificial\ninfinite; and that this infinite consists in an uniform succession of\ngreat parts: we observed too, that the same uniform succession had a\nlike power in sounds. But because the effects of many things are clearer\nin one of the senses than in another, and that all the senses bear\nanalogy to and illustrate one another, I shall begin with this power in\nsounds, as the cause of the sublimity from succession is rather more\nobvious in the sense of hearing. And I shall here, once for all,\nobserve, that an investigation of the natural and mechanical causes of\nour passions, besides the curiosity of the subject, gives, if they are\ndiscovered, a double strength and lustre to any rules we deliver on such\nmatters. When the ear receives any simple sound, it is struck by a\nsingle pulse of the air which makes the ear-drum and the other\nmembranous parts vibrate according to the nature and species of the\nstroke. If the stroke be strong, the organ of hearing suffers a\nconsiderable degree of tension. If the stroke be repeated pretty soon\nafter, the repetition causes an expectation of another stroke. And it\nmust be observed, that expectation itself causes a tension. This is\napparent in many animals, who, when they prepare for hearing any sound,\nrouse themselves, and prick up their ears; so that here the effect of\nthe sounds is considerably augmented by a new auxiliary, the\nexpectation. But though after a number of strokes, we expect still more,\nnot being able to ascertain the exact time of their arrival, when they\narrive, they produce a sort of surprise, which increases this tension\nyet further. For I have observed, that when at any time I have waited\nvery earnestly for some sound, that returned at intervals, (as the\nsuccessive firing of cannon,) though I fully expected the return of the\nsound, when it came it always made me start a little; the ear-drum\nsuffered a convulsion, and the whole body consented with it. The tension\nof the part thus increasing at every blow, by the united forces of the\nstroke itself, the expectation and the surprise, it is worked up to such\na pitch as to be capable of the sublime; it is brought just to the verge\nof pain. Even when the cause has ceased, the organs of hearing being\noften successively struck in a similar manner, continue to vibrate in\nthat manner for some time longer; this is an additional help to the\ngreatness of the effect.\n\n\nSECTION XII.\n\nTHE VIBRATIONS MUST BE SIMILAR.\n\nBut if the vibration be not similar at every impression, it can never be\ncarried beyond the number of actual impressions; for, move any body as a\npendulum, in one way, and it will continue to oscillate in an arch of\nthe same circle, until the known causes make it rest; but if, after\nfirst putting it in motion in one direction, you push it into another,\nit can never reassume the first direction; because it can never move\nitself, and consequently it can have but the effect of that last motion;\nwhereas, if in the same direction you act upon it several times, it will\ndescribe a greater arch, and move a longer time.\n\n\nSECTION XIII.\n\nTHE EFFECTS OF SUCCESSION IN VISUAL OBJECTS EXPLAINED.\n\nIf we can comprehend clearly how things operate upon one of our senses,\nthere can be very little difficulty in conceiving in what manner they\naffect the rest. To say a great deal therefore upon the corresponding\naffections of every sense, would tend rather to fatigue us by an useless\nrepetition, than to throw any new light upon the subject by that ample\nand diffuse manner of treating it; but as in this discourse we chiefly\nattach ourselves to the sublime, as it affects the eye, we shall\nconsider particularly why a successive disposition of uniform parts in\nthe same right line should be sublime,[36] and upon what principle this\ndisposition is enabled to make a comparatively small quantity of matter\nproduce a grander effect, than a much larger quantity disposed in\nanother manner. To avoid the perplexity of general notions; let us set\nbefore our eyes, a colonnade of uniform pillars planted in a right line;\nlet us take our stand in such a manner, that the eye may shoot along\nthis colonnade, for it has its best effect in this view. In our present\nsituation it is plain, that the rays from the first round pillar will\ncause in the eye a vibration of that species; an image of the pillar\nitself. The pillar immediately succeeding increases it; that which\nfollows renews and enforces the impression; each in its order as it\nsucceeds, repeats impulse after impulse, and stroke after stroke, until\nthe eye, long exercised in one particular way, cannot lose that object\nimmediately, and, being violently roused by this continued agitation, it\npresents the mind with a grand or sublime conception. But instead of\nviewing a rank of uniform pillars, let us suppose that they succeed each\nother, a round and a square one alternately. In this case the vibration\ncaused by the first round pillar perishes as soon as it is formed; and\none of quite another sort (the square) directly occupies its place;\nwhich however it resigns as quickly to the round one; and thus the eye\nproceeds, alternately, taking up one image, and laying down another, as\nlong as the building continues. From whence it is obvious that, at the\nlast pillar, the impression is as far from continuing as it was at the\nvery first; because, in fact, the sensory can receive no distinct\nimpression but from the last; and it can never of itself resume a\ndissimilar impression: besides every variation of the object is a rest\nand relaxation to the organs of sight; and these reliefs prevent that\npowerful emotion so necessary to produce the sublime. To produce\ntherefore a perfect grandeur in such things as we have been mentioning,\nthere should be a perfect simplicity, an absolute uniformity in\ndisposition, shape, and coloring. Upon this principle of succession and\nuniformity it may be asked, why a long bare wall should not be a more\nsublime object than a colonnade; since the succession is no way\ninterrupted; since the eye meets no check; since nothing more uniform\ncan be conceived? A long bare wall is certainly not so grand an object\nas a colonnade of the same length and height. It is not altogether\ndifficult to account for this difference. When we look at a naked wall,\nfrom the evenness of the object, the eye runs along its whole space, and\narrives quickly at its termination; the eye meets nothing which may\ninterrupt its progress; but then it meets nothing which may detain it a\nproper time to produce a very great and lasting effect. The view of a\nbare wall, if it be of a great height and length, is undoubtedly grand;\nbut this is only _one_ idea, and not a _repetition_ of _similar_ ideas:\nit is therefore great, not so much upon the principle of _infinity_, as\nupon that of _vastness_. But we are not so powerfully affected with any\none impulse, unless it be one of a prodigious force indeed, as we are\nwith a succession of similar impulses; because the nerves of the sensory\ndo not (if I may use the expression) acquire a habit of repeating the\nsame feeling in such a manner as to continue it longer than its cause is\nin action; besides, all the effects which I have attributed to\nexpectation and surprise in Sect. 11, can have no place in a bare wall.\n\n\nSECTION XIV.\n\nLOCKE'S OPINION CONCERNING DARKNESS CONSIDERED.\n\nIt is Mr. Locke's opinion, that darkness is not naturally an idea of\nterror; and that, though an excessive light is painful to the sense, the\ngreatest excess of darkness is no ways troublesome. He observes indeed\nin another place, that a nurse or an old woman having once associated\nthe ideas of ghosts and goblins with that of darkness, night, ever\nafter, becomes painful and horrible to the imagination. The authority of\nthis great man is doubtless as great as that of any man can be, and it\nseems to stand in the way of our general principle.[37] We have\nconsidered darkness as a cause of the sublime; and we have all along\nconsidered the sublime as depending on some modification of pain or\nterror: so that if darkness be no way painful or terrible to any, who\nhave not had their minds early tainted with superstitions, it can be no\nsource of the sublime to them. But, with all deference to such an\nauthority, it seems to me, that an association of a more general nature,\nan association which takes in all mankind, may make darkness terrible;\nfor in utter darkness it is impossible to know in what degree of safety\nwe stand; we are ignorant of the objects that surround us; we may every\nmoment strike against some dangerous obstruction; we may fall down a\nprecipice the first step we take; and if an enemy approach, we know not\nin what quarter to defend ourselves; in such a case strength is no sure\nprotection; wisdom can only act by guess; the boldest are staggered, and\nhe who would pray for nothing else towards his defence is forced to\npray for light.\n\n    [Greek:\n    Zeu pater, alla su rusai up eeros uias Achaion\n    Poieson d' aithren, dos d' ophthalmoisin idesthai\n    En de phaei kai olesson....]\n\n\nAs to the association of ghosts and goblins; surely it is more natural\nto think that darkness, being originally an idea of terror, was chosen\nas a fit scene for such terrible representations, than that such\nrepresentations have made darkness terrible. The mind of man very easily\nslides into an error of the former sort; but it is very hard to imagine,\nthat the effect of an idea so universally terrible in all times, and in\nall countries, as darkness, could possibly have been owing to a set of\nidle stories, or to any cause of a nature so trivial, and of an\noperation so precarious.\n\n\nSECTION XV.\n\nDARKNESS TERRIBLE IN ITS OWN NATURE.\n\nPerhaps it may appear on inquiry, that blackness and darkness are in\nsome degree painful by their natural operation, independent of any\nassociations whatsoever. I must observe, that the ideas of darkness and\nblackness are much the same; and they differ only in this, that\nblackness is a more confined idea. Mr. Cheselden has given us a very\ncurious story of a boy who had been born blind, and continued so until\nhe was thirteen or fourteen years old; he was then couched for a\ncataract, by which operation he received his sight. Among many\nremarkable particulars that attended his first perceptions and judgments\non visual objects, Cheselden tells us, that the first time the boy saw\na black object, it gave him great uneasiness; and that some time after,\nupon accidentally seeing a negro woman, he was struck with great horror\nat the sight. The horror, in this case, can scarcely be supposed to\narise from any association. The boy appears by the account to have been\nparticularly observing and sensible for one of his age; and therefore it\nis probable, if the great uneasiness he felt at the first sight of black\nhad arisen from its connection with any other disagreeable ideas, he\nwould have observed and mentioned it. For an idea, disagreeable only by\nassociation, has the cause of its ill effect on the passions evident\nenough at the first impression; in ordinary cases, it is indeed\nfrequently lost; but this is because the original association was made\nvery early, and the consequent impression repeated often. In our\ninstance, there was no time for such a habit; and there is no reason to\nthink that the ill effects of black on his imagination were more owing\nto its connection with any disagreeable ideas, than that the good\neffects of more cheerful colors were derived from their connection with\npleasing ones. They had both probably their effects from their natural\noperation.\n\n\nSECTION XVI.\n\nWHY DARKNESS IS TERRIBLE.\n\nIt may be worth while to examine how darkness can operate in such a\nmanner as to cause pain. It is observable, that still as we recede from\nthe light, nature has so contrived it, that the pupil is enlarged by the\nretiring of the iris, in proportion to our recess. Now, instead of\ndeclining from it but a little, suppose that we withdraw entirely from\nthe light; it is reasonable to think that the contraction of the radial\nfibres of the iris is proportionally greater; and that this part may by\ngreat darkness come to be so contracted, as to strain the nerves that\ncompose it beyond their natural tone; and by this means to produce a\npainful sensation. Such a tension it seems there certainly is, whilst we\nare involved in darkness; for in such a state, whilst the eye remains\nopen, there is a continual nisus to receive light; this is manifest from\nthe flashes and luminous appearances which often seem in these\ncircumstances to play before it; and which can be nothing but the effect\nof spasms, produced by its own efforts in pursuit of its object: several\nother strong impulses will produce the idea of light in the eye, besides\nthe substance of light itself, as we experience on many occasions. Some,\nwho allow darkness to be a cause of the sublime, would infer, from the\ndilatation of the pupil, that a relaxation may be productive of the\nsublime as well as a convulsion: but they do not, I believe, consider,\nthat although the circular ring of the iris be in some sense a\nsphincter, which may possibly be dilated by a simple relaxation, yet in\none respect it differs from most of the other sphincters of the body,\nthat it is furnished with antagonist muscles, which are the radial\nfibres of the iris: no sooner does the circular muscle begin to relax,\nthan these fibres, wanting their counterpoise, are forcibly drawn back,\nand open the pupil to a considerable wideness. But though we were not\napprised of this, I believe any one will find, if he opens his eyes and\nmakes an effort to see in a dark place, that a very perceivable pain\nensues. And I have heard some ladies remark, that after having worked a\nlong time upon a ground of black, their eyes were so pained and\nweakened, they could hardly see. It may perhaps be objected to this\ntheory of the mechanical effect of darkness, that the ill effects of\ndarkness or blackness seem rather mental than corporeal: and I own it is\ntrue that they do so; and so do all those that depend on the affections\nof the finer parts of our system. The ill effects of bad weather appear\noften no otherwise than in a melancholy and dejection of spirits; though\nwithout doubt, in this case, the bodily organs suffer first, and the\nmind through these organs.\n\n\nSECTION XVII.\n\nTHE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS.\n\nBlackness is but a _partial darkness_; and therefore it derives some of\nits powers from being mixed and surrounded with colored bodies. In its\nown nature, it cannot be considered as a color. Black bodies, reflecting\nnone, or but a few rays, with regard to sight, are but as so many vacant\nspaces, dispersed among the objects we view. When the eye lights on one\nof these vacuities, after having been kept in some degree of tension by\nthe play of the adjacent colors upon it, it suddenly falls into a\nrelaxation; out of which it as suddenly recovers by a convulsive spring.\nTo illustrate this: let us consider that when we intend to sit on a\nchair, and find it much lower than was expected, the shock is very\nviolent; much more violent than could be thought from so slight a fall\nas the difference between one chair and another can possibly make. If,\nafter descending a flight of stairs, we attempt inadvertently to take\nanother step in the manner of the former ones, the shock is extremely\nrude and disagreeable: and by no art can we cause such a shock by the\nsame means when we expect and prepare for it. When I say that this is\nowing to having the change made contrary to expectation; I do not mean\nsolely, when the _mind_ expects. I mean likewise, that when any organ of\nsense is for some time affected in some one manner, if it be suddenly\naffected otherwise, there ensues a convulsive motion; such a convulsion\nas is caused when anything happens against the expectance of the mind.\nAnd though it may appear strange that such a change as produces a\nrelaxation should immediately produce a sudden convulsion; it is yet\nmost certainly so, and so in all the senses. Every one knows that sleep\nis a relaxation; and that silence, where nothing keeps the organs of\nhearing in action, is in general fittest to bring on this relaxation;\nyet when a sort of murmuring sounds dispose a man to sleep, let these\nsounds cease suddenly, and the person immediately awakes; that is, the\nparts are braced up suddenly, and he awakes. This I have often\nexperienced myself, and I have heard the same from observing persons. In\nlike manner, if a person in broad daylight were falling asleep, to\nintroduce a sudden darkness would prevent his sleep for that time,\nthough silence and darkness in themselves, and not suddenly introduced,\nare very favorable to it. This I knew only by conjecture on the analogy\nof the senses when I first digested these observations; but I have since\nexperienced it. And I have often experienced, and so have a thousand\nothers, that on the first inclining towards sleep, we have been suddenly\nawakened with a most violent start; and that this start was generally\npreceded by a sort of dream of our falling down a precipice: whence does\nthis strange motion arise, but from the too sudden relaxation of the\nbody, which by some mechanism in nature restores itself by as quick and\nvigorous an exertion of the contracting power of the muscles? The dream\nitself is caused by this relaxation; and it is of too uniform a nature\nto be attributed to any other cause. The parts relax too suddenly, which\nis in the nature of falling; and this accident of the body induces this\nimage in the mind. When we are in a confirmed state of health and vigor,\nas all changes are then less sudden, and less on the extreme, we can\nseldom complain of this disagreeable sensation.\n\n\nSECTION XVIII.\n\nTHE EFFECTS OF BLACKNESS MODERATED.\n\nThough the effects of black be painful originally, we must not think\nthey always continue so. Custom reconciles us to everything. After we\nhave been used to the sight of black objects, the terror abates, and the\nsmoothness and glossiness, or some agreeable accident of bodies so\ncolored, softens in some measure the horror and sternness of their\noriginal nature; yet the nature of the original impression still\ncontinues. Black will always have something melancholy in it, because\nthe sensory will always find the change to it from other colors too\nviolent; or if it occupy the whole compass of the sight, it will then be\ndarkness; and what was said of darkness will be applicable here. I do\nnot purpose to go into all that might be said to illustrate this theory\nof the effects of light and darkness; neither will I examine all the\ndifferent effects produced by the various modifications and mixtures of\nthese two causes. If the foregoing observations have any foundation in\nnature, I conceive them very sufficient to account for all the phenomena\nthat can arise from all the combinations of black with other colors. To\nenter into every particular, or to answer every objection, would be an\nendless labor. We have only followed the most leading roads; and we\nshall observe the same conduct in our inquiry into the cause of beauty.\n\n\nSECTION XIX.\n\nTHE PHYSICAL CAUSE OF LOVE.\n\nWhen we have before us such objects as excite love and complacency, the\nbody is affected, so far as I could observe, much in the following\nmanner: the head reclines something on one side; the eyelids are more\nclosed than usual, and the eyes roll gently with an inclination to the\nobject; the mouth is a little opened, and the breath drawn slowly, with\nnow and then a low sigh; the whole body is composed, and the hands fall\nidly to the sides. All this is accompanied with an inward sense of\nmelting and languor. These appearances are always proportioned to the\ndegree of beauty in the object, and of sensibility in the observer. And\nthis gradation from the highest pitch of beauty and sensibility, even to\nthe lowest of mediocrity and indifference, and their correspondent\neffects, ought to be kept in view, else this description will seem\nexaggerated, which it certainly is not. But from this description it is\nalmost impossible not to conclude that beauty acts by relaxing the\nsolids of the whole system. There are all the appearances of such a\nrelaxation; and a relaxation somewhat below the natural tone seems to me\nto be the cause of all positive pleasure. Who is a stranger to that\nmanner of expression so common in all times and in all countries, of\nbeing softened, relaxed, enervated, dissolved, melted away by pleasure?\nThe universal voice of mankind, faithful to their feelings, concurs in\naffirming this uniform and general effect: and although some odd and\nparticular instance may perhaps be found, wherein there appears a\nconsiderable degree of positive pleasure, without all the characters of\nrelaxation, we must not therefore reject the conclusion we had drawn\nfrom a concurrence of many experiments; but we must still retain it,\nsubjoining the exceptions which may occur according to the judicious\nrule laid down by Sir Isaac Newton in the third book of his Optics. Our\nposition will, I conceive, appear confirmed beyond any reasonable doubt,\nif we can show that such things as we have already observed to be the\ngenuine constituents of beauty have each of them, separately taken, a\nnatural tendency to relax the fibres. And if it must be allowed us, that\nthe appearance of the human body, when all these constituents are united\ntogether before the sensory, further favors this opinion, we may\nventure, I believe, to conclude that the passion called love is produced\nby this relaxation. By the same method of reasoning which we have used\nin the inquiry into the causes of the sublime, we may likewise conclude,\nthat as a beautiful object presented to the sense, by causing a\nrelaxation of the body, produces the passion of love in the mind; so if\nby any means the passion should first have its origin in the mind, a\nrelaxation of the outward organs will as certainly ensue in a degree\nproportioned to the cause.\n\n\nSECTION XX.\n\nWHY SMOOTHNESS IS BEAUTIFUL.\n\nIt is to explain the true cause of visual beauty that I call in the\nassistance of the other senses. If it appears that _smoothness_ is a\nprincipal cause of pleasure to the touch, taste, smell, and hearing, it\nwill be easily admitted a constituent of visual beauty; especially as we\nhave before shown, that this quality is found almost without exception\nin all bodies that are by general consent held beautiful. There can be\nno doubt that bodies which are rough and angular, rouse and vellicate\nthe organs of feeling, causing a sense of pain, which consists in the\nviolent tension or contraction of the muscular fibres. On the contrary,\nthe application of smooth bodies relaxes; gentle stroking with a smooth\nhand allays violent pains and cramps, and relaxes the suffering parts\nfrom their unnatural tension; and it has therefore very often no mean\neffect in removing swellings and obstructions. The sense of feeling is\nhighly gratified with smooth bodies. A bed smoothly laid, and soft, that\nis, where the resistance is every way inconsiderable, is a great luxury,\ndisposing to an universal relaxation, and inducing beyond anything else\nthat species of it called sleep.\n\n\nSECTION XXI.\n\nSWEETNESS, ITS NATURE.\n\nNor is it only in the touch that smooth bodies cause positive pleasure\nby relaxation. In the smell and taste, we find all things agreeable to\nthem, and which are commonly called sweet, to be of a smooth nature, and\nthat they all evidently tend to relax their respective sensories. Let us\nfirst consider the taste. Since it is most easy to inquire into the\nproperty of liquids, and since all things seem to want a fluid vehicle\nto make them tasted at all, I intend rather to consider the liquid than\nthe solid parts of our food. The vehicles of all tastes are _water_ and\n_oil_. And what determines the taste is some salt, which affects\nvariously according to its nature, or its manner of being combined with\nother things. Water and oil, simply considered, are capable of giving\nsome pleasure to the taste. Water, when simple, is insipid, inodorous,\ncolorless, and smooth; it is found, when _not cold_, to be a great\nresolver of spasms, and lubricator of the fibres; this power it probably\nowes to its smoothness. For as fluidity depends, according to the most\ngeneral opinion, on the roundness, smoothness, and weak cohesion of the\ncomponent parts of any body, and as water acts merely as a simple fluid,\nit follows that the cause of its fluidity is likewise the cause of its\nrelaxing quality, namely, the smoothness and slippery texture of its\nparts. The other fluid vehicle of tastes is _oil_. This too, when\nsimple, is insipid, inodorous, colorless, and smooth to the touch and\ntaste. It is smoother than water, and in many cases yet more relaxing.\nOil is in some degree pleasant to the eye, the touch, and the taste,\ninsipid as it is. Water is not so grateful; which I do not know on what\nprinciple to account for, other than that water is not so soft and\nsmooth. Suppose that to this oil or water were added a certain quantity\nof a specific salt, which had a power of putting the nervous papillae of\nthe tongue into a gentle vibratory motion; as suppose sugar dissolved in\nit. The smoothness of the oil and the vibratory power of the salt cause\nthe sense we call sweetness. In all sweet bodies, sugar, or a substance\nvery little different from sugar, is constantly found. Every species of\nsalt, examined by the microscope, has its own distinct, regular,\ninvariable form. That of nitre is a pointed oblong; that of sea-salt an\nexact cube; that of sugar a perfect globe. If you have tried how smooth\nglobular bodies, as the marbles with which boys amuse themselves, have\naffected the touch when they are rolled backward and forward and over\none another, you will easily conceive how sweetness, which consists in a\nsalt of such nature, affects the taste; for a single globe (though\nsomewhat pleasant to the feeling), yet by the regularity of its form,\nand the somewhat too sudden deviation of its parts from a right line, is\nnothing near so pleasant to the touch as several globes, where the hand\ngently rises to one and falls to another; and this pleasure is greatly\nincreased if the globes are in motion, and sliding over one another; for\nthis soft variety prevents that weariness, which the uniform disposition\nof the several globes would otherwise produce. Thus in sweet liquors,\nthe parts of the fluid vehicle, though most probably round, are yet so\nminute, as to conceal the figure of their component parts from the\nnicest inquisition of the microscope; and consequently, being so\nexcessively minute, they have a sort of flat simplicity to the taste,\nresembling the effects of plain smooth bodies to the touch; for if a\nbody be composed of round parts excessively small, and packed pretty\nclosely together, the surface will be both to the sight and touch as if\nit were nearly plain and smooth. It is clear from their unveiling their\nfigure to the microscope, that the particles of sugar are considerably\nlarger than those of water or oil, and consequently that their effects\nfrom their roundness will be more distinct and palpable to the nervous\npapillae of that nice organ the tongue; they will induce that sense\ncalled sweetness, which in a weak manner we discover in oil, and in a\nyet weaker in water; for, insipid as they are, water and oil are in some\ndegree sweet; and it may be observed, that insipid things of all kinds\napproach more nearly to the nature of sweetness than to that of any\nother taste.\n\n\nSECTION XXII.\n\nSWEETNESS RELAXING.\n\nIn the other senses we have remarked, that smooth things are relaxing.\nNow it ought to appear that sweet things, which are the smooth of taste,\nare relaxing too. It is remarkable, that in some languages soft and\nsweet have but one name. _Doux_ in French signifies soft as well as\nsweet. The Latin _dulcis_, and the Italian _dolce_, have in many cases\nthe same double signification. That sweet things are generally relaxing,\nis evident; because all such, especially those which are most oily,\ntaken frequently, or in a large quantity, very much enfeeble the tone of\nthe stomach. Sweet smells, which bear a great affinity to sweet tastes,\nrelax very remarkably. The smell of flowers disposes people to\ndrowsiness; and this relaxing effect is further apparent from the\nprejudice which people of weak nerves receive from their use. It were\nworth while to examine, whether tastes of this kind, sweet ones, tastes\nthat are caused by smooth oils and a relaxing salt, are not the\noriginally pleasant tastes. For many, which use has rendered such, were\nnot at all agreeable at first. The way to examine this is, to try what\nnature has originally provided for us, which she has undoubtedly made\noriginally pleasant; and to analyze this provision. _Milk_ is the first\nsupport of our childhood. The component parts of this are water, oil,\nand a sort of a very sweet salt, called the sugar of milk. All these\nwhen blended have a great _smoothness_ to the taste, and a relaxing\nquality to the skin. The next thing children covet is _fruit_, and of\nfruits those principally which are sweet; and every one knows that the\nsweetness of fruit is caused by a subtle oil, and such a salt as that\nmentioned in the last section. Afterwards custom, habit, the desire of\nnovelty, and a thousand other causes, confound, adulterate, and change\nour palates, so that we can no longer reason with any satisfaction about\nthem. Before we quit this article, we must observe, that as smooth\nthings are, as such, agreeable to the taste, and are found of a relaxing\nquality; so on the other hand, things which are found by experience to\nbe of a strengthening quality, and fit to brace the fibres, are almost\nuniversally rough and pungent to the taste, and in many cases rough even\nto the touch. We often apply the quality of sweetness, metaphorically,\nto visual objects. For the better carrying on this remarkable analogy\nof the senses, we may here call sweetness the beautiful of the taste.\n\n\nSECTION XXIII.\n\nVARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL.\n\nAnother principal property of beautiful objects is, that the line of\ntheir parts is continually varying its direction; but it varies it by a\nvery insensible deviation; it never varies it so quickly as to surprise,\nor by the sharpness of its angle to cause any twitching or convulsion of\nthe optic nerve. Nothing long continued in the same manner, nothing very\nsuddenly varied, can be beautiful; because both are opposite to that\nagreeable relaxation which is the characteristic effect of beauty. It is\nthus in all the senses. A motion in a right line is that manner of\nmoving, next to a very gentle descent, in which we meet the least\nresistance; yet it is not that manner of moving, which next to a\ndescent, wearies us the least. Rest certainly tends to relax: yet there\nis a species of motion which relaxes more than rest; a gentle\noscillatory motion, a rising and falling. Rocking sets children to sleep\nbetter than absolute rest; there is indeed scarcely anything at that\nage, which gives more pleasure than to be gently lifted up and down; the\nmanner of playing which their nurses use with children, and the weighing\nand swinging used afterwards by themselves as a favorite amusement,\nevince this very sufficiently. Most people must have observed the sort\nof sense they have had on being swiftly drawn in an easy coach on a\nsmooth turf, with gradual ascents and declivities. This will give a\nbetter idea of the beautiful, and point out its probable cause better,\nthan almost anything else. On the contrary, when one is hurried over a\nrough, rocky, broken road, the pain felt by these sudden inequalities\nshows why similar sights, feelings, and sounds, are so contrary to\nbeauty: and with regard to the feeling, it is exactly the same in its\neffect, or very nearly the same, whether, for instance, I move my hand\nalong the surface of a body of a certain shape, or whether such a body\nis moved along my hand. But to bring this analogy of the senses home to\nthe eye; if a body presented to that sense has such a waving surface,\nthat the rays of light reflected from it are in a continual insensible\ndeviation from the strongest to the weakest (which is always the case in\na surface gradually unequal), it must be exactly similar in its effects\non the eye and touch; upon the one of which it operates directly, on the\nother indirectly. And this body will be beautiful if the lines which\ncompose its surface are not continued, even so varied, in a manner that\nmay weary or dissipate the attention. The variation itself must be\ncontinually varied.\n\n\nSECTION XXIV.\n\nCONCERNING SMALLNESS.\n\nTo avoid a sameness which may arise from the too frequent repetition of\nthe same reasonings, and of illustrations of the same nature, I will not\nenter very minutely into every particular that regards beauty, as it is\nfounded on the disposition of its quantity, or its quantity itself. In\nspeaking of the magnitude of bodies there is great uncertainty, because\nthe ideas of great and small are terms almost entirely relative to the\nspecies of the objects, which are infinite. It is true, that having once\nfixed the species of any object, and the dimensions common in the\nindividuals of that species, we may observe some that exceed, and some\nthat fall short of, the ordinary standard: those which greatly exceed\nare, by that excess, provided the species itself be not very small,\nrather great and terrible than beautiful; but as in the animal world,\nand in a good measure in the vegetable world likewise, the qualities\nthat constitute beauty may possibly be united to things of greater\ndimensions; when they are so united, they constitute a species something\ndifferent both from the sublime and beautiful, which I have before\ncalled _fine_; but this kind, I imagine, has not such a power on the\npassions, either as vast bodies have which are endued with the\ncorrespondent qualities of the sublime; or as the qualities of beauty\nhave when united in a small object. The affection produced by large\nbodies adorned with the spoils of beauty, is a tension continually\nrelieved; which approaches to the nature of mediocrity. But if I were to\nsay how I find myself affected upon such occasions, I should say that\nthe sublime suffers less by being united to some of the qualities of\nbeauty, than beauty does by being joined to greatness of quantity, or\nany other properties of the sublime. There is something so overruling in\nwhatever inspires us with awe, in all things which belong ever so\nremotely to terror, that nothing else can stand in their presence. There\nlie the qualities of beauty either dead or unoperative; or at most\nexerted to mollify the rigor and sternness of the terror, which is the\nnatural concomitant of greatness. Besides the extraordinary great in\nevery species, the opposite to this, the dwarfish and diminutive, ought\nto be considered. Littleness, merely as such, has nothing contrary to\nthe idea of beauty. The humming-bird, both in shape and coloring, yields\nto none of the winged species, of which it is the least; and perhaps his\nbeauty is enhanced by his smallness. But there are animals, which, when\nthey are extremely small, are rarely (if ever) beautiful. There is a\ndwarfish size of men and women, which is almost constantly so gross and\nmassive in comparison of their height, that they present us with a very\ndisagreeable image. But should a man be found not above two or three\nfeet high, supposing such a person to have all the parts of his body of\na delicacy suitable to such a size, and otherwise endued with the common\nqualities of other beautiful bodies, I am pretty well convinced that a\nperson of such a stature might be considered as beautiful; might be the\nobject of love; might give us very pleasing ideas on viewing him. The\nonly thing which could possibly interpose to check our pleasure is, that\nsuch creatures, however formed, are unusual, and are often therefore\nconsidered as something monstrous. The large and gigantic, though very\ncompatible with the sublime, is contrary to the beautiful. It is\nimpossible to suppose a giant the object of love. When we let our\nimagination loose in romance, the ideas we naturally annex to that size\nare those of tyranny, cruelty, injustice, and everything horrid and\nabominable. We paint the giant ravaging the country, plundering the\ninnocent traveller, and afterwards gorged with his half-living flesh:\nsuch are Polyphemus, Cacus, and others, who make so great a figure in\nromances and heroic poems. The event we attend to with the greatest\nsatisfaction is their defeat and death. I do not remember, in all that\nmultitude of deaths with which the Iliad is filled, that the fall of any\nman, remarkable for his great stature and strength, touches us with\npity; nor does it appear that the author, so well read in human nature,\never intended it should. It is Simoisius, in the soft bloom of youth,\ntorn from his parents, who tremble for a courage so ill suited to his\nstrength; it is another hurried by war from the new embraces of his\nbride, young and fair, and a novice to the field, who melts us by his\nuntimely fate. Achilles, in spite of the many qualities of beauty which\nHomer has bestowed on his outward form, and the many great virtues with\nwhich he has adorned his mind, can never make us love him. It may be\nobserved, that Homer has given the Trojans, whose fate he has designed\nto excite our compassion, infinitely more of the amiable, social virtues\nthan he has distributed among his Greeks. With regard to the Trojans,\nthe passion he chooses to raise is pity; pity is a passion founded on\nlove; and these _lesser_, and if I may say domestic virtues, are\ncertainly the most amiable. But he has made the Greeks far their\nsuperiors in the politic and military virtues. The councils of Priam are\nweak; the arms of Hector comparatively feeble; his courage far below\nthat of Achilles. Yet we love Priam more than Agamemnon, and Hector more\nthan his conqueror Achilles. Admiration is the passion which Homer would\nexcite in favor of the Greeks, and he has done it by bestowing on them\nthe virtues which have but little to do with love. This short digression\nis perhaps not wholly beside our purpose, where our business is to show\nthat objects of great dimensions are incompatible with beauty, the more\nincompatible as they are greater; whereas the small, if ever they fail\nof beauty, this failure is not to be attributed to their size.\n\n\nSECTION XXV.\n\nOF COLOR.\n\nWith regard to color, the disquisition is almost infinite; but I\nconceive the principles laid down in the beginning of this part are\nsufficient to account for the effects of them all, as well as for the\nagreeable effects of transparent bodies, whether fluid or solid. Suppose\nI look at a bottle of muddy liquor, of a blue or red color; the blue or\nred rays cannot pass clearly to the eye, but are suddenly and unequally\nstopped by the intervention of little opaque bodies, which without\npreparation change the idea, and change it too into one disagreeable in\nits own nature, conformably to the principles laid down in Sect. 24. But\nwhen the ray passes without such opposition through the glass or liquor,\nwhen the glass or liquor is quite transparent, the light is sometimes\nsoftened in the passage, which makes it more agreeable even as light;\nand the liquor reflecting all the rays of its proper color _evenly_, it\nhas such an effect on the eye, as smooth opaque bodies have on the eye\nand touch. So that the pleasure here is compounded of the softness of\nthe transmitted, and the evenness of the reflected light. This pleasure\nmay be heightened by the common principles in other things, if the shape\nof the glass which holds the transparent liquor be so judiciously\nvaried, as to present the color gradually and interchangeably, weakened\nand strengthened with all the variety which judgment in affairs of this\nnature shall suggest. On a review of all that has been said of the\neffects, as well as the causes of both, it will appear that the sublime\nand beautiful are built on principles very different, and that their\naffections are as different: the great has terror for its basis, which,\nwhen it is modified, causes that emotion in the mind, which I have\ncalled astonishment; the beautiful is founded on mere positive pleasure,\nand excites in the soul that feeling which is called love. Their causes\nhave made the subject of this fourth part.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[29] Part I. sect. 7.\n\n[30] Part I. sect. 10.\n\n[31] I do not here enter into the question debated among physiologists,\nwhether pain be the effect of a contraction, or a tension of the nerves.\nEither will serve my purpose; for by tension, I mean no more than a\nviolent pulling of the fibres which compose any muscle or membrane, in\nwhatever way this is done.\n\n[32] Part II. sect. 2.\n\n[33] Part II. sect. 1.\n\n[34] Part I. sect. 7. Part II. sect. 2.\n\n[35] Part II. sect. 7.\n\n[36] Part II. sect. 10.\n\n[37] Part II. sect. 3.\n\n\n\n\nPART V.\n\n\nSECTION I.\n\nOF WORDS.\n\nNatural objects affect us by the laws of that connection which\nProvidence has established between certain motions and configurations of\nbodies, and certain consequent feelings in our mind. Painting affects in\nthe same manner, but with the superadded pleasure of imitation.\nArchitecture affects by the laws of nature and the law of reason; from\nwhich latter result the rules of proportion, which make a work to be\npraised or censured, in the whole or in some part, when the end for\nwhich it was designed is or is not properly answered. But as to words;\nthey seem to me to affect us in a manner very different from that in\nwhich we are affected by natural objects, or by painting or\narchitecture; yet words have as considerable a share in exciting ideas\nof beauty and of the sublime as many of those, and sometimes a much\ngreater than any of them; therefore an inquiry into the manner by which\nthey excite such emotions is far from being unnecessary in a discourse\nof this kind.\n\n\nSECTION II.\n\nTHE COMMON EFFECTS OF POETRY, NOT BY RAISING IDEAS OF THINGS.\n\nThe common notion of the power of poetry and eloquence, as well as that\nof words in ordinary conversation, is, that they affect the mind by\nraising in it ideas of those things for which custom has appointed them\nto stand. To examine the truth of this notion, it may be requisite to\nobserve that words may be divided into three sorts. The first are such\nas represent many simple ideas _united by nature_ to form some one\ndeterminate composition, as man, horse, tree, castle, &c. These I call\n_aggregate words_. The second are they that stand for one simple idea of\nsuch compositions, and no more; as red, blue, round, square, and the\nlike. These I call _simple abstract_ words. The third are those which\nare formed by an union, an _arbitrary_ union of both the others, and of\nthe various relations between them in greater or lesser degrees of\ncomplexity; as virtue, honor, persuasion, magistrate, and the like.\nThese I call _compound abstract_ words. Words, I am sensible, are\ncapable of being classed into more curious distinctions; but these seem\nto be natural, and enough for our purpose; and they are disposed in that\norder in which they are commonly taught, and in which the mind gets the\nideas they are substituted for. I shall begin with the third sort of\nwords; compound abstracts, such as virtue, honor, persuasion, docility.\nOf these I am convinced, that whatever power they may have on the\npassions, they do not derive it from any representation raised in the\nmind of the things for which they stand. As compositions, they are not\nreal essences, and hardly cause, I think, any real ideas. Nobody, I\nbelieve, immediately on hearing the sounds, virtue, liberty, or honor,\nconceives any precise notions of the particular modes of action and\nthinking, together with the mixed and simple ideas, and the several\nrelations of them for which these words are substituted; neither has he\nany general idea compounded of them; for if he had, then some of those\nparticular ones, though indistinct perhaps, and confused, might come\nsoon to be perceived. But this, I take it, is hardly ever the case. For,\nput yourself upon analyzing one of these words, and you must reduce it\nfrom one set of general words to another, and then into the simple\nabstracts and aggregates, in a much longer series than may be at first\nimagined, before any real idea emerges to light, before you come to\ndiscover anything like the first principles of such compositions; and\nwhen you have made such a discovery of the original ideas, the effect of\nthe composition is utterly lost. A train of thinking of this sort is\nmuch too long to be pursued in the ordinary ways of conversation; nor is\nit at all necessary that it should. Such words are in reality but mere\nsounds; but they are sounds which being used on particular occasions,\nwherein we receive some good, or suffer some evil; or see others\naffected with good or evil; or which we hear applied to other\ninteresting things or events; and being applied in such a variety of\ncases, that we know readily by habit to what things they belong, they\nproduce in the mind, whenever they are afterwards mentioned, effects\nsimilar to those of their occasions. The sounds being often used without\nreference to any particular occasion, and carrying still their first\nimpressions, they at last utterly lose their connection with the\nparticular occasions that gave rise to them; yet the sound, without any\nannexed notion, continues to operate as before.\n\n\nSECTION III.\n\nGENERAL WORDS BEFORE IDEAS.\n\nMr. Locke has somewhere observed, with his usual sagacity, that most\ngeneral words, those belonging to virtue and vice, good and evil\nespecially, are taught before the particular modes of action to which\nthey belong are presented to the mind; and with them, the love of the\none, and the abhorrence of the other; for the minds of children are so\nductile, that a nurse, or any person about a child, by seeming pleased\nor displeased with anything, or even any word, may give the disposition\nof the child a similar turn. When, afterwards, the several occurrences\nin life come to be applied to these words, and that which is pleasant\noften appears under the name of evil; and what is disagreeable to nature\nis called good and virtuous; a strange confusion of ideas and affections\narises in the minds of many; and an appearance of no small contradiction\nbetween their notions and their actions. There are many who love virtue\nand who detest vice, and this not from hypocrisy or affectation, who\nnotwithstanding very frequently act ill and wickedly in particulars\nwithout the least remorse; because these particular occasions never came\ninto view, when the passions on the side of virtue were so warmly\naffected by certain words heated originally by the breath of others; and\nfor this reason, it is hard to repeat certain sets of words, though\nowned by themselves unoperative, without being in some degree affected;\nespecially if a warm and affecting tone of voice accompanies them, as\nsuppose,\n\n  Wise, valiant, generous, good, and great.\n\nThese words, by having no application, ought to be unoperative; but\nwhen words commonly sacred to great occasions are used, we are affected\nby them even without the occasions. When words which have been generally\nso applied are put together without any rational view, or in such a\nmanner that they do not rightly agree with each other, the style is\ncalled bombast. And it requires in several cases much good sense and\nexperience to be guarded against the force of such language; for when\npropriety is neglected, a greater number of these affecting words may be\ntaken into the service, and a greater variety may be indulged in\ncombining them.\n\n\nSECTION IV.\n\nTHE EFFECT OF WORDS.\n\nIf words have all their possible extent of power, three effects arise in\nthe mind of the hearer. The first is, the _sound_; the second, the\n_picture_, or representation of the thing signified by the sound; the\nthird is, the _affection_ of the soul produced by one or by both of the\nforegoing. _Compounded abstract_ words, of which we have been speaking,\n(honor, justice, liberty, and the like,) produce the first and the last\nof these effects, but not the second. _Simple abstracts_ are used to\nsignify some one simple idea without much adverting to others which may\nchance to attend it, as blue, green, hot, cold, and the like; these are\ncapable of affecting all three of the purposes of words; as the\n_aggregate_ words, man, castle, horse, &c. are in a yet higher degree.\nBut I am of opinion, that the most general effect, even of these words,\ndoes not arise from their forming pictures of the several things they\nwould represent in the imagination; because, on a very diligent\nexamination of my own mind, and getting others to consider theirs, I do\nnot find that once in twenty times any such picture is formed, and when\nit is, there is most commonly a particular effort of the imagination for\nthat purpose. But the aggregate words operate, as I said of the\ncompound-abstracts, not by presenting any image to the mind, but by\nhaving from use the same effect on being mentioned, that their original\nhas when it is seen. Suppose we were to read a passage to this effect:\n\"The river Danube rises in a moist and mountainous soil in the heart of\nGermany, where, winding to and fro, it waters several principalities,\nuntil, turning into Austria, and laving the walls of Vienna, it passes\ninto Hungary; there with a vast flood, augmented by the Save and the\nDrave, it quits Christendom, and rolling through the barbarous countries\nwhich border on Tartary, it enters by many mouths in the Black Sea.\" In\nthis description many things are mentioned, as mountains, rivers,\ncities, the sea, &c. But let anybody examine himself, and see whether he\nhas had impressed on his imagination any pictures of a river, mountain,\nwatery soil, Germany, &c. Indeed it is impossible, in the rapidity and\nquick succession of words in conversation, to have ideas both of the\nsound of the word, and of the thing represented; besides, some words,\nexpressing real essences, are so mixed with others of a general and\nnominal import, that it is impracticable to jump from sense to thought,\nfrom particulars to generals, from things to words, in such a manner as\nto answer the purposes of life; nor is it necessary that we should.\n\n\nSECTION V.\n\nEXAMPLES THAT WORDS MAY AFFECT WITHOUT RAISING IMAGES.\n\nI find it very hard to persuade several that their passions are affected\nby words from whence they have no ideas; and yet harder to convince them\nthat in the ordinary course of conversation we are sufficiently\nunderstood without raising any images of the things concerning which we\nspeak. It seems to be an odd subject of dispute with any man, whether he\nhas ideas in his mind or not. Of this, at first view, every man, in his\nown forum, ought to judge without appeal. But, strange as it may appear,\nwe are often at a loss to know what ideas we have of things, or whether\nwe have any ideas at all upon some subjects. It even requires a good\ndeal of attention to be thoroughly satisfied on this head. Since I wrote\nthese papers, I found two very striking instances of the possibility\nthere is, that a man may hear words without having any idea of the\nthings which they represent, and yet afterwards be capable of returning\nthem to others, combined in a new way, and with great propriety, energy,\nand instruction. The first instance is that of Mr. Blacklock, a poet\nblind from his birth. Few men blessed with the most perfect sight can\ndescribe visual objects with more spirit and justness than this blind\nman; which cannot possibly be attributed to his having a clearer\nconception of the things he describes than is common to other persons.\nMr. Spence, in an elegant preface which he has written to the works of\nthis poet, reasons very ingeniously, and, I imagine, for the most part,\nvery rightly, upon the cause of this extraordinary phenomenon; but I\ncannot altogether agree with him, that some improprieties in language\nand thought, which occur in these poems, have arisen from the blind\npoet's imperfect conception of visual objects, since such improprieties,\nand much greater, may be found in writers even of a higher class than\nMr. Blacklock, and who, notwithstanding, possessed the faculty of seeing\nin its full perfection. Here is a poet doubtless as much affected by his\nown descriptions as any that reads them can be; and yet he is affected\nwith this strong enthusiasm by things of which he neither has, nor can\npossibly have, any idea further than that of a bare sound: and why may\nnot those who read his works be affected in the same manner that he was;\nwith as little of any real ideas of the things described? The second\ninstance is of Mr. Saunderson, professor of mathematics in the\nUniversity of Cambridge. This learned man had acquired great knowledge\nin natural philosophy, in astronomy, and whatever sciences depend upon\nmathematical skill. What was the most extraordinary and the most to my\npurpose, he gave excellent lectures upon light and colors; and this man\ntaught others the theory of those ideas which they had, and which he\nhimself undoubtedly had not. But it is probable that the words red,\nblue, green, answered to him as well as the ideas of the colors\nthemselves; for the ideas of greater or lesser degrees of refrangibility\nbeing applied to these words, and the blind man being instructed in what\nother respects they were found to agree or to disagree, it was as easy\nfor him to reason upon the words as if he had been fully master of the\nideas. Indeed it must be owned he could make no new discoveries in the\nway of experiment. He did nothing but what we do every day in common\ndiscourse. When I wrote this last sentence, and used the words _every\nday_ and _common discourse_, I had no images in my mind of any\nsuccession of time; nor of men in conference with each other; nor do I\nimagine that the reader will have any such ideas on reading it. Neither\nwhen I spoke of red, or blue, and green, as well as refrangibility, had\nI these several colors, or the rays of light passing into a different\nmedium, and there diverted from their course, painted before me in the\nway of images. I know very well that the mind possesses a faculty of\nraising such images at pleasure; but then an act of the will is\nnecessary to this; and in ordinary conversation or reading it is very\nrarely that any image at all is excited in the mind. If I say, \"I shall\ngo to Italy next summer,\" I am well understood. Yet I believe nobody has\nby this painted in his imagination the exact figure of the speaker\npassing by land or by water, or both; sometimes on horseback, sometimes\nin a carriage: with all the particulars of the journey. Still less has\nhe any idea of Italy, the country to which I proposed to go; or of the\ngreenness of the fields, the ripening of the fruits, and the warmth of\nthe air, with the change to this from a different season, which are the\nideas for which the word _summer_ is substituted; but least of all has\nhe any image from the word _next_; for this word stands for the idea of\nmany summers, with the exclusion of all but one: and surely the man who\nsays _next summer_ has no images of such a succession, and such an\nexclusion. In short, it is not only of those ideas which are commonly\ncalled abstract, and of which no image at all can be formed, but even of\nparticular, real beings, that we converse without having any idea of\nthem excited in the imagination; as will certainly appear on a diligent\nexamination of our own minds. Indeed, so little does poetry depend for\nits effect on the power of raising sensible images, that I am convinced\nit would lose a very considerable part of its energy, if this were the\nnecessary result of all description. Because that union of affecting\nwords, which is the most powerful of all poetical instruments, would\nfrequently lose its force along with its propriety and consistency, if\nthe sensible images were always excited. There is not, perhaps, in the\nwhole AEneid a more grand and labored passage than the description of\nVulcan's cavern in Etna, and the works that are there carried on. Virgil\ndwells particularly on the formation of the thunder which he describes\nunfinished under the hammers of the Cyclops. But what are the principles\nof this extraordinary composition?\n\n    Tres imbris torti radios, tres nubis aquosae\n    Addiderant; rutili tres ignis, et alitis austri:\n    Fulgores nunc terrificos, sonitumque, metumque\n    Miscebant operi, flammisque sequacibus iras.\n\nThis seems to me admirably sublime: yet if we attend coolly to the kind\nof sensible images which a combination of ideas of this sort must form,\nthe chimeras of madmen cannot appear more wild and absurd than such a\npicture. \"_Three rays of twisted showers, three of watery clouds, three\nof fire, and three of the winged south wind; then mixed they in the work\nterrific lightnings, and sound, and fear, and anger, with pursuing\nflames._\" This strange composition is formed into a gross body; it is\nhammered by the Cyclops, it is in part polished, and partly continues\nrough. The truth is, if poetry gives us a noble assemblage of words\ncorresponding to many noble ideas, which are connected by circumstances\nof time or place, or related to each other as cause and effect, or\nassociated in any natural way, they may be moulded together in any form,\nand perfectly answer their end. The picturesque connection is not\ndemanded; because no real picture is formed; nor is the effect of the\ndescription at all the less upon this account. What is said of Helen by\nPriam and the old men of his council, is generally thought to give us\nthe highest possible idea of that fatal beauty.\n\n    [Greek:\n    Ou nemesis, Troas kai euknemidas 'Achaious\n    Toied' amphi gunaiki polun chronon algea paschein\n    Ainos athanatesi thees eis opa eoiken.]\n\n   \"They cried, No wonder such celestial charms\n    For nine long years have set the world in arms;\n    What winning graces! what majestic mien!\n    She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen.\"\n\n                                        POPE.\n\nHere is not one word said of the particulars of her beauty; nothing\nwhich can in the least help us to any precise idea of her person; but\nyet we are much more touched by this manner of mentioning her, than by\nthose long and labored descriptions of Helen, whether handed down by\ntradition, or formed by fancy, which are to be met with in some authors.\nI am sure it affects me much more than the minute description which\nSpenser has given of Belphebe; though I own that there are parts, in\nthat description, as there are in all the descriptions of that excellent\nwriter, extremely fine and poetical. The terrible picture which\nLucretius has drawn of religion in order to display the magnanimity of\nhis philosophical hero in opposing her, is thought to be designed with\ngreat boldness and spirit:--\n\n    Humana ante oculos foede cum vita jaceret,\n    In terris, oppressa gravi sub religione,\n    Quae caput e coeli regionibus ostendebat\n    Horribili super aspectu mortalibus instans;\n    Primus Graius homo mortales tollere contra\n    Est oculos ausus.\n\nWhat idea do you derive from so excellent a picture? none at all, most\ncertainly: neither has the poet said a single word which might in the\nleast serve to mark a single limb or feature of the phantom, which he\nintended to represent in all the horrors imagination can conceive. In\nreality, poetry and rhetoric do not succeed in exact description so well\nas painting does; their business is, to affect rather by sympathy than\nimitation; to display rather the effect of things on the mind of the\nspeaker, or of others, than to present a clear idea of the things\nthemselves. This is their most extensive province, and that in which\nthey succeed the best.\n\n\nSECTION VI.\n\nPOETRY NOT STRICTLY AN IMITATIVE ART.\n\nHence we may observe that poetry, taken in its most general sense,\ncannot with strict propriety be called an art of imitation. It is indeed\nan imitation so far as it describes the manners and passions of men\nwhich their words can express; where _animi motus effert interprete\nlingua_. There it is strictly imitation; and all merely _dramatic_\npoetry is of this sort. But _descriptive_ poetry operates chiefly by\n_substitution_; by the means of sounds, which by custom have the effect\nof realities. Nothing is an imitation further than as it resembles some\nother thing; and words undoubtedly have no sort of resemblance to the\nideas for which they stand.\n\n\nSECTION VII.\n\nHOW WORDS INFLUENCE THE PASSIONS.\n\nNow, as words affect, not by any original power, but by representation,\nit might be supposed, that their influence over the passions should be\nbut light; yet it is quite otherwise; for we find by experience, that\neloquence and poetry are as capable, nay indeed much more capable, of\nmaking deep and lively impressions than any other arts, and even than\nnature itself in very many cases. And this arises chiefly from these\nthree causes. First, that we take an extraordinary part in the passions\nof others, and that we are easily affected and brought into sympathy by\nany tokens which are shown of them; and there are no tokens which can\nexpress all the circumstances of most passions so fully as words; so\nthat if a person speaks upon any subject, he can not only convey the\nsubject to you, but likewise the manner in which he is himself affected\nby it. Certain it is, that the influence of most things on our passions\nis not so much from the things themselves, as from our opinions\nconcerning them; and these again depend very much on the opinions of\nother men, conveyable for the most part by words only. Secondly, there\nare many things of a very affecting nature, which can seldom occur in\nthe reality, but the words that represent them often do; and thus they\nhave an opportunity of making a deep impression and taking root in the\nmind, whilst the idea of the reality was transient; and to some perhaps\nnever really occurred in any shape, to whom it is notwithstanding very\naffecting, as war, death, famine, &c. Besides many ideas have never been\nat all presented to the senses of any men but by words, as God, angels,\ndevils, heaven, and hell, all of which have however a great influence\nover the passions. Thirdly, by words we have it in our power to make\nsuch _combinations_ as we cannot possibly do otherwise. By this power of\ncombining we are able, by the addition of well-chosen circumstances, to\ngive a new life and force to the simple object. In painting we may\nrepresent any fine figure we please; but we never can give it those\nenlivening touches which it may receive from words. To represent an\nangel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged: but\nwhat painting can furnish out anything so grand as the addition of one\nword, \"the angel of the _Lord_\"? It is true, I have here no clear idea;\nbut these words affect the mind more than the sensible image did; which\nis all I contend for. A picture of Priam dragged to the altar's foot,\nand there murdered, if it were well executed, would undoubtedly be very\nmoving; but there are very aggravating circumstances, which it could\nnever represent:\n\n     Sanguine foedantem _quos ipse sacraverat_ ignes.\n\nAs a further instance, let us consider those lines of Milton, where he\ndescribes the travels of the fallen angels through their dismal\nhabitation:\n\n          \"O'er many a dark and dreary vale\n    They passed, and many a region dolorous;\n    O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp;\n    Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death,\n    A universe of death.\"\n\nHere is displayed the force of union in\n\n   \"Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades\"\n\nwhich yet would lose the greatest part of their effect, if they were not\nthe\n\n   \"Rocks, caves, lakes, dens, bogs, fens, and shades--of _Death_.\"\n\n\nThis idea or this affection caused by a word, which nothing but a word\ncould annex to the others, raises a very great degree of the sublime,\nand this sublime is raised yet higher by what follows, a \"_universe of\ndeath_.\" Here are again two ideas not presentable but by language, and\nan union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they may\nproperly be called ideas which present no distinct image to the mind;\nbut still it will be difficult to conceive how words can move the\npassions which belong to real objects, without representing these\nobjects clearly. This is difficult to us, because we do not sufficiently\ndistinguish, in our observations upon language, between a clear\nexpression and a strong expression. These are frequently confounded with\neach other, though they are in reality extremely different. The former\nregards the understanding, the latter belongs to the passions. The one\ndescribes a thing as it is, the latter describes it as it is felt. Now,\nas there is a moving tone of voice, an impassioned countenance, an\nagitated gesture, which affect independently of the things about which\nthey are exerted, so there are words, and certain dispositions of words,\nwhich being peculiarly devoted to passionate subjects, and always used\nby those who are under the influence of any passion, touch and move us\nmore than those which far more clearly and distinctly express the\nsubject-matter. We yield to sympathy what we refuse to description. The\ntruth is, all verbal description, merely as naked description, though\nnever so exact, conveys so poor and insufficient an idea of the thing\ndescribed, that it could scarcely have the smallest effect, if the\nspeaker did not call in to his aid those modes of speech that mark a\nstrong and lively feeling in himself. Then, by the contagion of our\npassions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probably\nmight never have been struck out by the object described. Words, by\nstrongly conveying the passions by those means which we have already\nmentioned, fully compensate for their weakness in other respects. It may\nbe observed, that very polished languages, and such as are praised for\ntheir superior clearness and perspicuity, are generally deficient in\nstrength. The French language has that perfection and that defect.\nWhereas the Oriental tongues, and in general the languages of most\nunpolished people, have a great force and energy of expression, and this\nis but natural. Uncultivated people are but ordinary observers of\nthings, and not critical in distinguishing them; but, for that reason\nthey admire more, and are more affected with what they see, and\ntherefore express themselves in a warmer and more passionate manner. If\nthe affection be well conveyed, it will work its effect without any\nclear idea, often without any idea at all of the thing which has\noriginally given rise to it.\n\nIt might be expected, from the fertility of the subject, that I should\nconsider poetry, as it regards the sublime and beautiful, more at large;\nbut it must be observed, that in this light it has been often and well\nhandled already. It was not my design to enter into the criticism of the\nsublime and beautiful in any art, but to attempt to lay down such\nprinciples as may tend to ascertain, to distinguish, and to form a sort\nof standard for them; which purposes I thought might be best effected\nby an inquiry into the properties of such things in nature, as raise\nlove and astonishment in us; and by showing in what manner they operated\nto produce these passions. Words were only so far to be considered as to\nshow upon what principle they were capable of being the representatives\nof these natural things, and by what powers they were able to affect us\noften as strongly as the things they represent, and sometimes much more\nstrongly.\n\n\n\n\nA\n\nSHORT ACCOUNT\n\nOF\n\nA LATE SHORT ADMINISTRATION.\n\n1766.\n\n\nThe late administration came into employment, under the mediation of the\nDuke of Cumberland, on the tenth day of July, 1765; and was removed,\nupon a plan settled by the Earl of Chatham, on the thirtieth day of\nJuly, 1766, having lasted just one year and twenty days.\n\nIn that space of time\n\nThe distractions of the British empire were composed, by _the repeal of\nthe American stamp act_;\n\nBut the constitutional superiority of Great Britain was preserved by\n_the act for securing the dependence of the colonies_.\n\n_Private_ houses were relieved from the jurisdiction of the excise, by\n_the repeal of the cider tax_.\n\nThe personal liberty of the subject was confirmed, by _the resolution\nagainst general warrants_.\n\nThe lawful secrets of business and friendship were rendered inviolable,\nby _the resolution for condemning the seizure of papers_.\n\nThe trade of America was set free from injudicious and ruinous\nimpositions,--its revenue was improved, and settled upon a rational\nfoundation,--its commerce extended with foreign countries; while all\nthe advantages were secured to Great Britain, by _the act for repealing\ncertain duties, and encouraging, regulating, and securing the trade of\nthis kingdom, and the British dominions in America_.\n\nMaterials were provided and insured to our manufactures,--the sale of\nthese manufactures was increased,--the African trade preserved and\nextended,--the principles of the act of navigation pursued, and the plan\nimproved,--and the trade for bullion rendered free, secure, and\npermanent, by _the act for opening certain ports in Dominica and\nJamaica_.\n\nThat administration was the first which proposed and encouraged public\nmeetings and free consultations of merchants from all parts of the\nkingdom; by which means the truest lights have been received; great\nbenefits have been already derived to manufactures and commerce; and the\nmost extensive prospects are opened for further improvement.\n\nUnder them, the interests of our northern and southern colonies, before\nthat time jarring and dissonant, were understood, compared, adjusted,\nand perfectly reconciled. The passions and animosities of the colonies,\nby judicious and lenient measures, were allayed and composed, and the\nfoundation laid for a lasting agreement amongst them.\n\nWhilst that administration provided for the liberty and commerce of\ntheir country, as the true basis of its power, they consulted its\ninterests, they asserted its honor abroad, with temper and with\nfirmness; by making an advantageous treaty of commerce with Russia; by\nobtaining a liquidation of the Canada bills, to the satisfaction of the\nproprietors; by reviving and raising from its ashes the negotiation for\nthe Manilla ransom, which had been extinguished and abandoned by their\npredecessors.\n\nThey treated their sovereign with decency; with reverence. They\ndiscountenanced, and, it is hoped, forever abolished, the dangerous and\nunconstitutional practice of removing military officers for their votes\nin Parliament. They firmly adhered to those friends of liberty, who had\nrun all hazards in its cause; and provided for them in preference to\nevery other claim.\n\nWith the Earl of Bute they had no personal connection; no correspondence\nof councils. They neither courted him nor persecuted him. They practised\nno corruption; nor were they even suspected of it. They sold no offices.\nThey obtained no reversions or pensions, either coming in or going out,\nfor them selves, their families, or their dependents.\n\nIn the prosecution of their measures they were traversed by an\nopposition of a new and singular character; an opposition of placemen\nand pensioners. They were supported by the confidence of the nation. And\nhaving held their offices under many difficulties and discouragements,\nthey left them at the express command, as they had accepted them at the\nearnest request, of their royal master.\n\nThese are plain facts; of a clear and public nature; neither extended by\nelaborate reasoning, nor heightened by the coloring of eloquence. They\nare the services of a single year.\n\nThe removal of that administration from power is not to them premature;\nsince they were in office long enough to accomplish many plans of public\nutility; and, by their perseverance and resolution, rendered the way\nsmooth and easy to their successors; having left their king and their\ncountry in a much better condition than they found them. By the temper\nthey manifest, they seem to have now no other wish than that their\nsuccessors may do the public as real and as faithful service as they\nhave done.\n\n\n\n\nOBSERVATIONS\n\nON A LATE PUBLICATION,\n\nINTITULED\n\n\"THE PRESENT STATE OF THE NATION.\"\n\n   \"O Tite, si quid ego adjuvero curamve levasso,\n    Quae nunc te coquit, et versat sub pectore fixa,\n    Ecquid erit pretii?\"\n\n                                        ENN. ap. CIC.\n\n1769.\n\n\nParty divisions, whether on the whole operating for good or evil, are\nthings inseparable from free government. This is a truth which, I\nbelieve, admits little dispute, having been established by the uniform\nexperience of all ages. The part a good citizen ought to take in these\ndivisions has been a matter of much deeper controversy. But God forbid\nthat any controversy relating to our essential morals should admit of no\ndecision. It appears to me, that this question, like most of the others\nwhich regard our duties in life, is to be determined by our station in\nit. Private men may be wholly neutral, and entirely innocent: but they\nwho are legally invested with public trust, or stand on the high ground\nof rank and dignity, which is trust implied, can hardly in any case\nremain indifferent, without the certainty of sinking into\ninsignificance; and thereby in effect deserting that post in which, with\nthe fullest authority, and for the wisest purposes, the laws and\ninstitutions of their country have fixed them. However, if it be the\noffice of those who are thus circumstanced, to take a decided part, it\nis no less their duty that it should be a sober one. It ought to be\ncircumscribed by the same laws of decorum, and balanced by the same\ntemper, which bound and regulate all the virtues. In a word, we ought to\nact in party with all the moderation which does not absolutely enervate\nthat vigor, and quench that fervency of spirit, without which the best\nwishes for the public good must evaporate in empty speculation.\n\nIt is probably from some such motives that the friends of a very\nrespectable party in this kingdom have been hitherto silent. For these\ntwo years past, from one and the same quarter of politics, a continual\nfire has been kept upon them; sometimes from the unwieldy column of\nquartos and octavos; sometimes from the light squadrons of occasional\npamphlets and flying sheets. Every month has brought on its periodical\ncalumny. The abuse has taken every shape which the ability of the\nwriters could give it; plain invective, clumsy raillery, misrepresented\nanecdote.[38] No method of vilifying the measures, the abilities, the\nintentions, or the persons which compose that body, has been omitted.\n\nOn their part nothing was opposed but patience and character. It was a\nmatter of the most serious and indignant affliction to persons who\nthought themselves in conscience bound to oppose a ministry dangerous\nfrom its very constitution, as well as its measures, to find themselves,\nwhenever they faced their adversaries, continually attacked on the rear\nby a set of men who pretended to be actuated by motives similar to\ntheirs. They saw that the plan long pursued, with but too fatal a\nsuccess, was to break the strength of this kingdom, by frittering down\nthe bodies which compose it, by fomenting bitter and sanguinary\nanimosities, and by dissolving every tie of social affection and public\ntrust. These virtuous men, such I am warranted by public opinion to call\nthem, were resolved rather to endure everything, than co-operate in that\ndesign. A diversity of opinion upon almost every principle of politics\nhad indeed drawn a strong line of separation between them and some\nothers. However, they were desirous not to extend the misfortune by\nunnecessary bitterness; they wished to prevent a difference of opinion\non the commonwealth from festering into rancorous and incurable\nhostility. Accordingly they endeavored that all past controversies\nshould be forgotten; and that enough for the day should be the evil\nthereof. There is however a limit at which forbearance ceases to be a\nvirtue. Men may tolerate injuries whilst they are only personal to\nthemselves. But it is not the first of virtues to bear with moderation\nthe indignities that are offered to our country. A piece has at length\nappeared, from the quarter of all the former attacks, which upon every\npublic consideration demands an answer. Whilst persons more equal to\nthis business may be engaged in affairs of greater moment, I hope I\nshall be excused, if, in a few hours of a time not very important, and\nfrom such materials as I have by me (more than enough however for this\npurpose), I undertake to set the facts and arguments of this wonderful\nperformance in a proper light. I will endeavor to state what this piece\nis; the purpose for which I take it to have been written; and the\neffects (supposing it should have any effect at all) it must necessarily\nproduce.\n\nThis piece is called \"The Present State of the Nation.\" It may be\nconsidered as a sort of digest of the avowed maxims of a certain\npolitical school, the effects of whose doctrines and practices this\ncountry will fuel long and severely. It is made up of a farrago of\nalmost every topic which has been agitated on national affairs in\nparliamentary debate, or private conversation, for these last seven\nyears. The oldest controversies are hauled out of the dust with which\ntime and neglect had covered them. Arguments ten times repeated, a\nthousand times answered before, are here repeated again. Public accounts\nformerly printed and reprinted revolve once more, and find their old\nstation in this sober meridian. All the commonplace lamentations upon\nthe decay of trade, the increase of taxes, and the high price of labor\nand provisions, are here retailed again and again in the same tone with\nwhich they have drawled through columns of Gazetteers and Advertisers\nfor a century together. Paradoxes which affront common sense, and\nuninteresting barren truths which generate no conclusion, are thrown in\nto augment unwieldy bulk, without adding anything to weight. Because two\naccusations are better than one, contradictions are set staring one\nanother in the face, without even an attempt to reconcile them. And, to\ngive the whole a sort of portentous air of labor and information, the\ntable of the House of Commons is swept into this grand reservoir of\npolitics.\n\nAs to the composition, it bears a striking and whimsical resemblance to\na funeral sermon, not only in the pathetic prayer with which it\nconcludes, but in the style and tenor of the whole performance. It is\npiteously doleful, nodding every now and then towards dulness; well\nstored with pious frauds, and, like most discourses of the sort, much\nbetter calculated for the private advantage of the preacher than the\nedification of the hearers.\n\nThe author has indeed so involved his subject, that it is frequently far\nfrom being easy to comprehend his meaning. It is happy for the public\nthat it is never difficult to fathom his design. The apparent intention\nof this author is to draw the most aggravated, hideous and deformed\npicture of the state of this country, which his querulous eloquence,\naided by the arbitrary dominion he assumes over fact, is capable of\nexhibiting. Had he attributed our misfortunes to their true cause, the\ninjudicious tampering of bold, improvident, and visionary ministers at\none period, or to their supine negligence and traitorous dissensions at\nanother, the complaint had been just, and might have been useful. But\nfar the greater and much the worst part of the state which he exhibits\nis owing, according to his representation, not to accidental and\nextrinsic mischiefs attendant on the nation, but to its radical weakness\nand constitutional distempers. All this however is not without purpose.\nThe author is in hopes, that, when we are fallen into a fanatical terror\nfor the national salvation, we shall then be ready to throw\nourselves,--in a sort of precipitate trust, some strange disposition of\nthe mind jumbled up of presumption and despair,--into the hands of the\nmost pretending and forward undertaker. One such undertaker at least he\nhas in readiness for our service. But let me assure this generous\nperson, that however he may succeed in exciting our fears for the public\ndanger, he will find it hard indeed to engage us to place any confidence\nin the system he proposes for our security.\n\nHis undertaking is great. The purpose of this pamphlet, at which it\naims directly or obliquely in every page, is to persuade the public of\nthree or four of the most difficult points in the world,--that all the\nadvantages of the late war were on the part of the Bourbon alliance;\nthat the peace of Paris perfectly consulted the dignity and interest of\nthis country; and that the American Stamp Act was a masterpiece of\npolicy and finance; that the only good minister this nation has enjoyed\nsince his Majesty's accession, is the Earl of Bute; and the only good\nmanagers of revenue we have seen are Lord Despenser and Mr. George\nGrenville; and, under the description of men of virtue and ability, he\nholds them out to us as the only persons fit to put our affairs in\norder. Let not the reader mistake me: he does not actually name these\npersons; but having highly applauded their conduct in all its parts, and\nheavily censured every other set of men in the kingdom, he then\nrecommends us to his men of virtue and ability.\n\nSuch is the author's scheme. Whether it will answer his purpose I know\nnot. But surely that purpose ought to be a wonderfully good one, to\nwarrant the methods he has taken to compass it. If the facts and\nreasonings in this piece are admitted, it is all over with us. The\ncontinuance of our tranquillity depends upon the compassion of our\nrivals. Unable to secure to ourselves the advantages of peace, we are at\nthe same time utterly unfit for war. It is impossible, if this state of\nthings be credited abroad, that we can have any alliance; all nations\nwill fly from so dangerous a connection, lest, instead of being\npartakers of our strength, they should only become sharers in our ruin.\nIf it is believed at home, all that firmness of mind, and dignified\nnational courage, which used to be the great support of this isle\nagainst the powers of the world, must melt away, and fail within us.\n\nIn such a state of things can it be amiss if I aim at holding out some\ncomfort to the nation; another sort of comfort, indeed, than that which\nthis writer provides for it; a comfort not from its physician, but from\nits constitution: if I attempt to show that all the arguments upon which\nhe founds the decay of that constitution, and the necessity of that\nphysician, are vain and frivolous? I will follow the author closely in\nhis own long career, through the war, the peace, the finances, our\ntrade, and our foreign politics: not for the sake of the particular\nmeasures which he discusses; that can be of no use; they are all\ndecided; their good is all enjoyed, or their evil incurred: but for the\nsake of the principles of war, peace, trade, and finances. These\nprinciples are of infinite moment. They must come again and again under\nconsideration; and it imports the public, of all things, that those of\nits ministers be enlarged, and just, and well confirmed, upon all these\nsubjects. What notions this author entertains we shall see presently;\nnotions in my opinion very irrational, and extremely dangerous; and\nwhich, if they should crawl from pamphlets into counsels, and be\nrealized from private speculation into national measures, cannot fail of\nhastening and completing our ruin.\n\nThis author, after having paid his compliment to the showy appearances\nof the late war in our favor, is in the utmost haste to tell you that\nthese appearances were _fallacious_, that they were no more than an\n_imposition_.--I fear I must trouble the reader with a pretty long\nquotation, in order to set before him the more clearly this author's\npeculiar way of conceiving and reasoning:\n\n\"Happily (the K.) was then advised by ministers, who did not suffer\nthemselves to be dazzled by the glare of brilliant appearances; but,\nknowing them to be _fallacious_, they wisely resolved to profit of their\nsplendor before our enemies should also _discover the imposition_.--The\nincrease in the exports was found to have been occasioned chiefly by the\ndemands of _our own fleets and armies_, and, instead of bringing wealth\nto the nation, was to be paid for by oppressive taxes upon the people of\nEngland. While the British seamen were consuming on board our men of war\nand privateers, foreign ships and foreign seamen were employed in the\ntransportation of our merchandise; and the carrying trade, so great a\nsource of wealth and marine, _was entirely engrossed by the neutral\nnations_. The number of British ships annually arriving in our ports was\nreduced 1756 sail, containing 92,559 tons, on a medium of the six years'\nwar, compared with the six years of peace preceding it.--The conquest of\nthe Havannah had, indeed, stopped the remittance of specie from Mexico\nto Spain; but it had not enabled England to seize it: on the contrary,\nour merchants suffered by the detention of the galleons, as their\n_correspondents in Spain were disabled from paying them for their goods\nsent to America. The loss of the trade to Old Spain was a further bar to\nan influx of specie_; and the attempt upon Portugal had not only\ndeprived us of an import of bullion from thence, but the payment of our\ntroops employed in its defence was a fresh drain opened for the\ndiminution of our circulating specie.--The high premiums given for new\nloans had sunk the price of the old stock near a third of its original\nvalue; so that the purchasers had an obligation from the state to repay\nthem with an addition of 33 per cent to their capital. Every new loan\nrequired new taxes to be imposed; new taxes must add to the price of our\nmanufactures, _and lessen their consumption among foreigners_. The decay\nof our trade must necessarily _occasion a decrease of the public\nrevenue_; and a deficiency of our funds must either be made up by fresh\ntaxes, which would only add to the calamity, or our national credit must\nbe destroyed, by showing the public creditors the inability of the\nnation to repay them their principal money.--Bounties had already been\ngiven for recruits which exceeded the year's wages of the ploughman and\nreaper; and as these were exhausted, and _husbandry stood still for want\nof hands_, the manufacturers were next to be tempted to quit the anvil\nand the loom by higher offers.--_France, bankrupt France, had no such\ncalamities impending over her; her distresses were great, but they were\nimmediate and temporary; her want of credit preserved her from a great\nincrease of debt, and the loss of her ultramarine dominions lessened her\nexpenses. Her colonies had, indeed, put themselves into the hands of the\nEnglish; but the property of her subjects had been preserved by\ncapitulations, and a way opened for making her those remittances which\nthe war had before suspended, with as much security as in time of\npeace_.--Her armies in Germany had been hitherto prevented from seizing\nupon Hanover; but they continued to encamp on the same ground on which\nthe first battle was fought; and, as it must ever happen from the policy\nof that government, _the last troops she sent into the field were\nalways found to be the best, and her frequent losses only served to fill\nher regiments with better soldiers. The conquest of Hanover became\ntherefore every campaign more probable_.--It is to be noted, that the\nFrench troops received subsistence only, for the last three years of the\nwar; and that, although large arrears were due to them at its\nconclusion, the charge was the less during its continuance.\"[39]\n\nIf any one be willing to see to how much greater lengths the author\ncarries these ideas, he will recur to the book. This is sufficient for a\nspecimen of his manner of thinking. I believe one reflection uniformly\nobtrudes itself upon every reader of these paragraphs. For what purpose,\nin any cause, shall we hereafter contend with France? Can we ever\nflatter ourselves that we shall wage a more successful war? If, on our\npart, in a war the most prosperous we ever carried on, by sea and by\nland, and in every part of the globe, attended with the unparalleled\ncircumstance of an immense increase of trade and augmentation of\nrevenue; if a continued series of disappointments, disgraces, and\ndefeats, followed by public bankruptcy, on the part of France; if all\nthese still leave her a gainer on the whole balance, will it not be\ndownright frenzy in us ever to look her in the face again, or to contend\nwith her any, even the most essential points, since victory and defeat,\nthough by different ways, equally conduct us to our ruin? Subjection to\nFrance without a struggle will indeed be less for our honor, but on\nevery principle of our author it must be more for our advantage.\nAccording to his representation of things, the question is only\nconcerning the most easy fall. France had not discovered, our statesman\ntells us, at the end of that war, the triumphs of defeat, and the\nresources which are derived from bankruptcy. For my poor part, I do not\nwonder at their blindness. But the English ministers saw further. Our\nauthor has at length let foreigners also into the secret, and made them\naltogether as wise as ourselves. It is their own fault if (_vulgato\nimperii arcano_) they are imposed upon any longer. They now are apprised\nof the sentiments which the great candidate for the government of this\ngreat empire entertains; and they will act accordingly. They are taught\nour weakness and their own advantages.\n\nHe tells the world,[40] that if France carries on the war against us in\nGermany, every loss she sustains contributes to the achievement of her\nconquest. If her armies are three years unpaid, she is the less\nexhausted by expense. If her credit is destroyed, she is the less\noppressed with debt. If her troops are cut to pieces, they will by her\npolicy (and a wonderful policy it is) be improved, and will be supplied\nwith much better men. If the war is carried on in the colonies, he tells\nthem[41] that the loss of her ultramarine dominions lessens her\nexpenses, and insures her remittances:--\n\n    Per damna, per caedes, ab ipso\n    Ducit opes animumque ferro.\n\nIf so, what is it we can do to hurt her?--it will be all an\n_imposition_, all _fallacious_. Why, the result must be,--\n\n                Occidit, occidit\n    Spes omnis, et fortuna nostri\n    Nominis.\n\n\nThe only way which the author's principles leave for our escape, is to\nreverse our condition into that of France, and to take her losing cards\ninto our hands. But though his principles drive him to it, his politics\nwill not suffer him to walk on this ground. Talking at our ease and of\nother countries, we may bear to be diverted with such speculations; but\nin England we shall never be taught to look upon the annihilation of our\ntrade, the ruin of our credit, the defeat of our armies, and the loss of\nour ultramarine dominions (whatever the author may think of them), to be\nthe high road to prosperity and greatness.\n\nThe reader does not, I hope, imagine that I mean seriously to set about\nthe refutation of these uningenious paradoxes and reveries without\nimagination. I state them only that we may discern a little in the\nquestions of war and peace, the most weighty of all questions, what is\nthe wisdom of those men who are held out to us as the only hope of an\nexpiring nation. The present ministry is indeed of a strange character:\nat once indolent and distracted. But if a ministerial system should be\nformed, actuated by such maxims as are avowed in this piece, the vices\nof the present ministry would become their virtues; their indolence\nwould be the greatest of all public benefits, and a distraction that\nentirely defeated every one of their schemes would be our only security\nfrom destruction.\n\nTo have stated these reasonings is enough, I presume, to do their\nbusiness. But they are accompanied with facts and records, which may\nseem of a little more weight. I trust, however, that the facts of this\nauthor will be as far from bearing the touchstone, as his arguments. On\na little inquiry, they will be found as great an imposition as the\nsuccesses they are meant to depreciate; for they are all either false\nor fallaciously applied; or not in the least to the purpose for which\nthey are produced.\n\nFirst the author, in order to support his favorite paradox, that our\npossession of the French colonies was of no detriment to France, has\nthought proper to inform us, that[42] \"they put themselves into the\nhands of the English.\" He uses the same assertion, in nearly the same\nwords, in another place;[43] \"her colonies had put themselves into our\nhands.\" Now, in justice, not only to fact and common sense, but to the\nincomparable valor and perseverance of our military and naval forces\nthus unhandsomely traduced, I must tell this author, that the French\ncolonies did not \"put themselves into the hands of the English.\" They\nwere compelled to submit; they were subdued by dint of English valor.\nWill the five years' war carried on in Canada, in which fell one of the\nprincipal hopes of this nation, and all the battles lost and gained\nduring that anxious period, convince this author of his mistake? Let him\ninquire of Sir Jeffery Amherst, under whose conduct that war was carried\non; of Sir Charles Saunders, whose steadiness and presence of mind saved\nour fleet, and were so eminently serviceable in the whole course of the\nsiege of Quebec; of General Monckton, who was shot through the body\nthere, whether France \"put her colonies into the hands of the English.\"\n\nThough he has made no exception, yet I would be liberal to him; perhaps\nhe means to confine himself to her colonies in the West Indies. But\nsurely it will fare as ill with him there as in North America, whilst we\nremember that in our first attempt at Martinico we were actually\ndefeated; that it was three months before we reduced Guadaloupe; and\nthat the conquest of the Havannah was achieved by the highest conduct,\naided by circumstances of the greatest good fortune. He knows the\nexpense both of men and treasure at which we bought that place. However,\nif it had so pleased the peacemakers, it was no dear purchase; for it\nwas decisive of the fortune of the war and the terms of the treaty: the\nDuke of Nivernois thought so; France, England, Europe, considered it in\nthat light; all the world, except the then friends of the then ministry,\nwho wept for our victories, and were in haste to get rid of the burden\nof our conquests. This author knows that France did not put those\ncolonies into the hands of England; but he well knows who did put the\nmost valuable of them into the hands of France.\n\nIn the next place, our author[44] is pleased to consider the conquest of\nthose colonies in no other light than as a convenience for the\nremittances to France, which he asserts that the war had before\nsuspended, but for which a way was opened (by our conquest) as secure as\nin time of peace. I charitably hope he knows nothing of the subject. I\nreferred him lately to our commanders, for the resistance of the French\ncolonies; I now wish he would apply to our custom-house entries, and our\nmerchants, for the advantages which we derived from them.\n\nIn 1761, there was no entry of goods from any of the conquered places\nbut Guadaloupe; in that year it stood thus:--\n\n  Imports from Guadaloupe,       value, L482,179\n                                        --------\n\nIn 1762, when we had not yet delivered up our conquests, the account\nwas,\n\n  Guadaloupe                            L513,244\n  Martinico                              288,425\n                                        --------\n  Total imports in 1762,         value, L801,669\n                                        --------\n\nIn 1763, after we had delivered up the sovereignty of these islands, but\nkept open a communication with them, the imports were,\n\n  Guadaloupe                            L412,303\n  Martinico                              344,161\n  Havannah                               249,386\n                                      ----------\n  Total imports in 1763,         value, L1,005,850\n                                      ----------\n\nBesides, I find, in the account of bullion imported and brought to the\nBank, that, during that period in which the intercourse with the\nHavannah was open, we received at that one shop, in treasure, from that\none place, 559,810_l._; in the year 1763, 389,450_l._; so that the\nimport from these places in that year amounted to 1,395,300_l._\n\nOn this state the reader will observe, that I take the imports from, and\nnot the exports to, these conquests, as the measure of the advantages\nwhich we derived from them. I do so for reasons which will be somewhat\nworthy the attention of such readers as are fond of this species of\ninquiry. I say therefore I choose the import article, as the best, and\nindeed the only standard we can have, of the value of the West India\ntrade. Our export entry does not comprehend the greatest trade we carry\non with any of the West India islands, the sale of negroes: nor does it\ngive any idea of two other advantages we draw from them; the\nremittances for money spent here, and the payment of part of the balance\nof the North American trade. It is therefore quite ridiculous, to strike\na balance merely on the face of an excess of imports and exports, in\nthat commerce; though, in most foreign branches, it is, on the whole,\nthe best method. If we should take that standard, it would appear, that\nthe balance with our own islands is, annually, several hundred thousand\npounds against this country.[45] Such is its aspect on the custom-house\nentries; but we know the direct contrary to be the fact. We know that\nthe West-Indians are always indebted to our merchants, and that the\nvalue of every shilling of West India produce is English property. So\nthat our import from them, and not our export, ought always to be\nconsidered as their true value; and this corrective ought to be applied\nto all general balances of our trade, which are formed on the ordinary\nprinciples.\n\nIf possible, this was more emphatically true of the French West India\nislands, whilst they continued in our hands. That none or only a very\ncontemptible part, of the value of this produce could be remitted to\nFrance, the author will see, perhaps with unwillingness, but with the\nclearest conviction, if he considers, that in the year 1763, _after we\nhad ceased to export_ to the isles of Guadaloupe and Martinico, and to\nthe Havannah, and after the colonies were free to send all their\nproduce to Old France and Spain, if they had any remittance to make; he\nwill see, that we imported from those places, in that year, to the\namount of 1,395,300_l._ So far was the whole annual produce of these\nislands from being adequate to the payments of their annual call upon\nus, that this mighty additional importation was necessary, though not\nquite sufficient, to discharge the debts contracted in the few years we\nheld them. The property, therefore, of their whole produce was ours; not\nonly during the war, but even for more than a year after the peace. The\nauthor, I hope, will not again venture upon so rash and discouraging a\nproposition concerning the nature and effect of those conquests, as to\ncall them a convenience to the remittances of France; he sees, by this\naccount, that what he asserts is not only without foundation, but even\nimpossible to be true.\n\nAs to our trade at that time, he labors with all his might to represent\nit as absolutely ruined, or on the very edge of ruin. Indeed, as usual\nwith him, he is often as equivocal in his expression as he is clear in\nhis design. Sometimes he more than insinuates a decay of our commerce in\nthat war; sometimes he admits an increase of exports; but it is in order\nto depreciate the advantages we might appear to derive from that\nincrease, whenever it should come to be proved against him. He tells\nyou,[46] \"that it was chiefly occasioned by the demands of our own\nfleets and armies, and, instead or bringing wealth to the nation, was to\nbe paid for by oppressive taxes upon the people of England.\" Never was\nanything more destitute of foundation. It might be proved, with the\ngreatest ease, from the nature and quality of the goods exported, as\nwell as from the situation of the places to which our merchandise was\nsent, and which the war could no wise affect, that the supply of our\nfleets and armies could not have been the cause of this wonderful\nincrease of trade: its cause was evident to the whole world; the ruin of\nthe trade of France, and our possession of her colonies. What wonderful\neffects this cause produced the reader will see below;[47] and he will\nform on that account some judgment of the author's candor or\ninformation.\n\nAdmit however that a great part of our export, though nothing is more\nremote from fact, was owing to the supply of our fleets and armies; was\nit not something?--was it not peculiarly fortunate for a nation, that\nshe was able from her own bosom to contribute largely to the supply of\nher armies militating in so many distant countries? The author allows\nthat France did not enjoy the same advantages. But it is remarkable,\nthroughout his whole book, that those circumstances which have ever been\nconsidered as great benefits, and decisive proofs of national\nsuperiority, are, when in our hands, taken either in diminution of some\nother apparent advantage, or even sometimes as positive misfortunes. The\noptics of that politician must be of a strange conformation, who beholds\neverything in this distorted shape.\n\nSo far as to our trade. With regard to our navigation, he is still more\nuneasy at our situation, and still more fallacious in his state of it.\nIn his text, he affirms it \"to have been _entirely_ engrossed by the\nneutral nations.\"[48] This he asserts roundly and boldly, and without\nthe least concern; although it cost no more than a single glance of the\neye upon his own margin to see the full refutation of this assertion.\nHis own account proves against him, that, in the year 1761, the British\nshipping amounted to 527,557 tons,--the foreign to no more than 180,102.\nThe medium of his six years British, 2,449,555 tons,--foreign only\n906,690. This state (his own) demonstrates that the neutral nations did\nnot _entirely engross our navigation_.\n\nI am willing from a strain of candor to admit that this author speaks at\nrandom; that he is only slovenly and inaccurate, and not fallacious. In\nmatters of account, however, this want of care is not excusable; and the\ndifference between neutral nations entirely engrossing our navigation,\nand being only subsidiary to a vastly augmented trade, makes a most\nmaterial difference to his argument. From that principle of fairness,\nthough the author speaks otherwise, I am willing to suppose he means no\nmore than that our navigation had so declined as to alarm us with the\nprobable loss of this valuable object. I shall however show, that his\nwhole proposition, whatever modifications he may please to give it, is\nwithout foundation; that our navigation had not decreased; that, on the\ncontrary, it had greatly increased in the war; that it had increased by\nthe war; and that it was probable the same cause would continue to\naugment it to a still greater height; to what an height it is hard to\nsay, had our success continued.\n\nBut first I must observe, I am much less solicitous whether his fact be\ntrue or no, than whether his principle is well established. Cases are\ndead things, principles are living and productive. I affirm then, that,\nif in time of war our trade had the good fortune to increase, and at the\nsame time a large, nay the largest, proportion of carriage had been\nengrossed by neutral nations, it ought not in itself to have been\nconsidered as a circumstance of distress. War is a time of inconvenience\nto trade; in general it must be straitened, and must find its way as it\ncan. It is often happy for nations that they are able to call in neutral\nnavigation. They all aim at it. France endeavored at it, but could not\ncompass it. Will this author say, that, in a war with Spain, such an\nassistance would not be of absolute necessity? that it would not be the\nmost gross of all follies to refuse it?\n\nIn the next place, his method of stating a medium of six years of war,\nand six years of peace, to decide this question, is altogether unfair.\nTo say, in derogation of the advantages of a war, that navigation is not\nequal to what it was in time of peace, is what hitherto has never been\nheard of. No war ever bore that test but the war which he so bitterly\nlaments. One may lay it down as a maxim, that an average estimate of an\nobject in a steady course of rising or of falling, must in its nature be\nan unfair one; more particularly if the cause of the rise or fall be\nvisible, and its continuance in any degree probable. Average estimates\nare never just but when the object fluctuates, and no reason can be\nassigned why it should not continue still to fluctuate. The author\nchooses to allow nothing at all for this: he has taken an average of six\nyears of the war. He knew, for everybody knows, that the first three\nyears were on the whole rather unsuccessful; and that, in consequence of\nthis ill success, trade sunk, and navigation declined with it; but _that\ngrand delusion_ of the three last years turned the scale in our favor.\nAt the beginning of that war (as in the commencement of every war),\ntraders were struck with a sort of panic. Many went out of the\nfreighting business. But by degrees, as the war continued, the terror\nwore off; the danger came to be better appreciated, and better provided\nagainst; our trade was carried on in large fleets, under regular\nconvoys, and with great safety. The freighting business revived. The\nships were fewer, but much larger; and though the number decreased, the\ntonnage was vastly augmented: insomuch that in 1761 the _British_\nshipping had risen by the author's own account to 527,557 tons.--In the\nlast year he has given us of the peace, it amounted to no more than\n494,772; that is, in the last year of the war it was 32,785 tons more\nthan in the correspondent year of his peace average. No year of the\npeace exceeded it except one, and that but little.\n\nThe fair account of the matter is this. Our trade had, as we have just\nseen, increased to so astonishing a degree in 1761, as to employ British\nand foreign ships to the amount of 707,659 tons, which is 149,500 more\nthan we employed in the last year of the peace.--Thus our trade\nincreased more than a fifth; our British navigation had increased\nlikewise with this astonishing increase of trade, but was not able to\nkeep pace with it; and we added about 120,000 tons of foreign shipping\nto the 60,000, which had been employed in the last year of the peace.\nWhatever happened to our shipping in the former years of the war, this\nwould be no true state of the case at the time of the treaty. If we had\nlost something in the beginning, we had then recovered, and more than\nrecovered, all our losses. Such is the ground of the doleful complaints\nof the author, that _the carrying trade was wholly engrossed by the\nneutral nations_.\n\nI have done fairly, and even very moderately, in taking this year, and\nnot his average, as the standard of what might be expected in future,\nhad the war continued. The author will be compelled to allow it, unless\nhe undertakes to show; first, that the possession of Canada, Martinico,\nGuadaloupe, Grenada, the Havannah, the Philippines, the whole African\ntrade, the whole East India trade, and the whole Newfoundland fishery,\nhad no certain inevitable tendency to increase the British shipping;\nunless, in the second place, he can prove that those trades were, or\nmight be, by law or indulgence, carried on in foreign vessels; and\nunless, thirdly, he can demonstrate that the premium of insurance on\nBritish ships was rising as the war continued. He can prove not one of\nthese points. I will show him a fact more that is mortal to his\nassertions. It is the state of our shipping in 1762. The author had his\nreasons for stopping short at the preceding year. It would have\nappeared, had he proceeded farther, that our tonnage was in a course of\nuniform augmentation, owing to the freight derived from our foreign\nconquests, and to the perfect security of our navigation from our clear\nand decided superiority at sea. This, I say, would have appeared from\nthe state of the two years:--\n\n  1761. British       527,557 tons.\n  1762. Ditto         559,537 tons.\n  1761. Foreign       180,102 tons.\n  1762. Ditto         129,502 tons.\n\nThe two last years of the peace were in no degree equal to these. Much\nof the navigation of 1763 was also owing to the war; this is manifest\nfrom the large part of it employed in the carriage from the ceded\nislands, with which the communication still continued open. No such\ncircumstances of glory and advantage ever attended upon a war. Too happy\nwill be our lot, if we should again be forced into a war, to behold\nanything that shall resemble them; and if we were not then the better\nfor them, it is net in the ordinary course of God's providence to mend\nour condition.\n\nIn vain does the author declaim on the high premiums given for the loans\nduring the war. His long note swelled with calculations on that subject\n(even supposing the most inaccurate of all calculations to be just)\nwould be entirety thrown away, did it not serve to raise a wonderful\nopinion of his financial skill in those who are not less surprised than\nedified, when, with a solemn face and mysterious air, they are told that\ntwo and two make four. For what else do we learn from this note? That\nthe more expense is incurred by a nation, the more money will be\nrequired to defray it; that in proportion to the continuance of that\nexpense, will be the continuance of borrowing; that the increase of\nborrowing and the increase of debt will go hand in hand; and lastly,\nthat the more money you want, the harder it will be to get it; and that\nthe scarcity of the commodity will enhance the price. Who ever doubted\nthe truth, or the insignificance, of these propositions? what do they\nprove? that war is expensive, and peace desirable. They contain nothing\nmore than a commonplace against war; the easiest of all topics. To bring\nthem home to his purpose, he ought to have shown that our enemies had\nmoney upon better terms; which he has not shown, neither can he. I shall\nspeak more fully to this point in another place. He ought to have shown\nthat the money they raised, upon whatever terms, had procured them a\nmore lucrative return. He knows that our expenditure purchased commerce\nand conquest: theirs acquired nothing but defeat and bankruptcy.\n\nThus the author has laid down his ideas on the subject of war. Next\nfollow those he entertains on that of peace. The treaty of Paris upon\nthe whole has his approbation. Indeed, if his account of the war be\njust, he might have spared himself all further trouble. The rest is\ndrawn on as an inevitable conclusion.[49] If the House of Bourbon had\nthe advantage, she must give the law; and the peace, though it were much\nworse than it is, had still been a good one. But as the world is yet\n_deluded_ on the state of that war, other arguments are necessary; and\nthe author has in my opinion very ill supplied them. He tells of many\nthings we have got, and of which he has made out a kind of bill. This\nmatter may be brought within a very narrow compass, if we come to\nconsider the requisites of a good peace under some plain distinct heads.\nI apprehend they may be reduced to these: 1. Stability; 2.\nIndemnification; 3. Alliance.\n\nAs to the first, the author more than obscurely hints in several places,\nthat he thinks the peace not likely to last. However, he does furnish a\nsecurity; a security, in any light, I fear, but insufficient; on his\nhypothesis, surely a very odd one. \"By stipulating for the entire\npossession of the Continent (says he) the restored French islands are\nbecome in some measure dependent on the British empire; and the good\nfaith of France in observing the treaty guaranteed by the value at which\nshe estimates their possession.\"[50] This author soon grows weary of his\nprinciples. They seldom last him for two pages together. When the\nadvantages of the war were to be depreciated, then the loss of the\nultramarine colonies lightened the expenses of France, facilitated her\nremittances, and therefore _her colonists put them into our hands_.\nAccording to this author's system, the actual possession of those\ncolonies ought to give us little or no advantage in the negotiation for\npeace; and yet the chance of possessing them on a future occasion gives\na perfect security for the preservation of that peace.[51] The conquest\nof the Havannah, if it did not serve Spain, rather distressed England,\nsays our author.[52] But the molestation which her galleons may suffer\nfrom our station in Pensacola gives us advantages, for which we were not\nallowed to credit the nation for the Havannah itself; a place surely\nfull as well situated for every external purpose as Pensacola, and of\nmore internal benefit than ten thousand Pensacolas.\n\nThe author sets very little by conquests;[53] I suppose it is because he\nmakes them so very lightly. On this subject he speaks with the greatest\ncertainty imaginable. We have, according to him, nothing to do, but to\ngo and take possession, whenever we think proper, of the French and\nSpanish settlements. It were better that he had examined a little what\nadvantage the peace gave us towards the invasion of these colonies,\nwhich we did not possess before the peace. It would not have been amiss\nif he had consulted the public experience, and our commanders,\nconcerning the absolute certainty of those conquests on which he is\npleased to found our security. And if, after all, he should have\ndiscovered them to be so very sure, and so very easy, he might at least,\nto preserve consistency, have looked a few pages back, and (no\nunpleasing thing to him) listened to himself, where he says, \"that the\nmost successful enterprise could not compensate to the nation for the\nwaste of its people, by carrying on war in unhealthy climates.\"[54] A\nposition which he repeats again, p. 9. So that, according to himself,\nhis security is not worth the suit; according to fact, he has only a\nchance, God knows what a chance, of getting at it; and therefore,\naccording to reason, the giving up the most valuable of all possessions,\nin hopes to conquer them back, under any advantage of situation, is the\nmost ridiculous security that ever was imagined for the peace of a\nnation. It is true his friends did not give up Canada; they could not\ngive up everything; let us make the most of it. We have Canada, we know\nits value. We have not the French any longer to fight in North America;\nand from this circumstance we derive considerable advantages. But here\nlet me rest a little. The author touches upon a string which sounds\nunder his fingers but a tremulous and melancholy note. North America was\nonce indeed a great strength to this nation, in opportunity of ports, in\nships, in provisions, in men. We found her a sound, an active, a\nvigorous member of the empire. I hope, by wise management, she will\nagain become so. But one of our capital present misfortunes is her\ndiscontent and disobedience. To which of the author's favorites this\ndiscontent is owing, we all know but too sufficiently. It would be a\ndismal event, if this foundation of his security, and indeed of all our\npublic strength, should, in reality, become our weakness; and if all the\npowers of this empire, which ought to fall with a compacted weight upon\nthe head of our enemies, should be dissipated and distracted by a\njealous vigilance, or by hostile attempts upon one another. Ten Canadas\ncannot restore that security for the peace, and for everything valuable\nto this country, which we have lost along with the affection and the\nobedience of our colonies. He is the wise minister, he is the true\nfriend to Britain, who shall be able to restore it.\n\nTo return to the security for the peace. The author tells us, that the\noriginal great purposes of the war were more than accomplished by the\ntreaty. Surely he has experience and reading enough to know, that, in\nthe course of a war, events may happen, that render its original very\nfar from being its principal purpose. This original may dwindle by\ncircumstances, so as to become not a purpose of the second or even the\nthird magnitude. I trust this is so obvious that it will not be\nnecessary to put cases for its illustration. In that war, as soon as\nSpain entered into the quarrel, the security of North America was no\nlonger the sole nor the foremost object. The _Family Compact_ had been I\nknow not how long before in agitation. But then it was that we saw\nproduced into daylight and action the most odious and most formidable of\nall the conspiracies against the liberties of Europe that ever has been\nframed. The war with Spain was the first fruits of that league; and a\nsecurity against that league ought to have been the fundamental point of\na pacification with the powers who compose it. We had materials in our\nhands to have constructed that security in such a manner as never to be\nshaken. But how did the virtuous and able men of our author labor for\nthis great end? They took no one step towards it. On the contrary they\ncountenanced, and, indeed, as far as it depended on them, recognized it\nin all its parts; for our plenipotentiary treated with those who acted\nfor the two crowns, as if they had been different ministers of the same\nmonarch. The Spanish minister received his instructions, not from\nMadrid, but from Versailles.\n\nThis was not hid from our ministers at home; and the discovery ought to\nhave alarmed them, if the good of their country had been the object of\ntheir anxiety. They could not but have seen that the whole Spanish\nmonarchy was melted down into the cabinet of Versailles. But they\nthought this circumstance an advantage; as it enabled them to go through\nwith their work the more expeditiously. Expedition was everything to\nthem; because France might happen during a protracted negotiation to\ndiscover the great imposition of our victories.\n\nIn the same spirit they negotiated the terms of the peace. If it were\nthought advisable not to take any positive security from Spain, the most\nobvious principles of policy dictated that the burden of the cessions\nought to fall upon France; and that everything which was of grace and\nfavor should be given to Spain. Spain could not, on her part, have\nexecuted a capital article in the family compact, which obliged her to\ncompensate the losses of France. At least she could not do it in\nAmerica; for she was expressly precluded by the treaty of Utrecht from\nceding any territory or giving any advantage in trade to that power.\nWhat did our ministers? They took from Spain the territory of Florida,\nan object of no value except to show our dispositions to be quite equal\nat least towards both powers; and they enabled France to compensate\nSpain by the gift of Louisiana: loading us with all the harshness,\nleaving the act of kindness with France, and opening thereby a door to\nthe fulfilling of this the most consolidating article of the family\ncompact. Accordingly that dangerous league, thus abetted and authorized\nby the English ministry without an attempt to invalidate it in any way,\nor in any of its parts, exists to this hour; and has grown stronger and\nstronger every hour of its existence.\n\nAs to the second component of a good peace, _compensation_, I have but\nlittle trouble; the author has said nothing upon that head. He has\nnothing to say. After a war of such expense, this ought to have been a\ncapital consideration. But on what he has been so prudently silent, I\nthink it is right to speak plainly. All our new acquisitions together,\nat this time, scarce afford matter of revenue, either at home or abroad,\nsufficient to defray the expense of their establishments; not one\nshilling towards the reduction of our debt. Guadaloupe or Martinico\nalone would have given us material aid; much in the way of duties, much\nin the way of trade and navigation. A good ministry would have\nconsidered how a renewal of the _Assiento_ might have been obtained. We\nhad as much right to ask it at the treaty of Paris as at the treaty of\nUtrecht. We had incomparably more in our hands to purchase it. Floods of\ntreasure would have poured into this kingdom from such a source; and,\nunder proper management, no small part of it would have taken a public\ndirection, and have fructified an exhausted exchequer.\n\nIf this gentleman's hero of finance, instead of flying from a treaty,\nwhich, though he now defends, he could not approve, and would not\noppose; if he, instead of shifting into an office, which removed him\nfrom the manufacture of the treaty, had, by his credit with the then\ngreat director, acquired for us these, or any of these, objects, the\npossession of Guadaloupe or Martinico, or the renewal of the _Assiento_,\nhe might have held his head high in his country; because he would have\nperformed real service; ten thousand times more real service, than all\nthe economy of which this writer is perpetually talking, or all the\nlittle tricks of finance which the expertest juggler of the treasury can\npractise, could amount to in a thousand years. But the occasion is lost;\nthe time is gone, perhaps forever.\n\nAs to the third requisite, _alliance_, there too the author is silent.\nWhat strength of that kind did they acquire? They got no one new ally;\nthey stript the enemy of not a single old one. They disgusted (how\njustly, or unjustly, matters not) every ally we had; and from that time\nto this we stand friendless in Europe. But of this naked condition of\ntheir country I know some people are not ashamed. They have their system\nof politics; our ancestors grew great by another. In this manner these\nvirtuous men concluded the peace; and their practice is only consonant\nto their theory.\n\nMany things more might be observed on this curious head of our author's\nspeculations. But, taking leave of what the writer says in his serious\npart, if he be serious in any part, I shall only just point out a piece\nof his pleasantry. No man, I believe, ever denied that the time for\nmaking peace is that in which the best terms maybe obtained. But what\nthat time is, together with the use that has been made of it, we are to\njudge by seeing whether terms adequate to our advantages, and to our\nnecessities, have been actually obtained. Here is the pinch of the\nquestion, to which the author ought to have set his shoulders in\nearnest. Instead of doing this, he slips out of the harness by a jest;\nand sneeringly tells us, that, to determine this point, we must know the\nsecrets of the French and Spanish cabinets[55], and that Parliament was\npleased to approve the treaty of peace without calling for the\ncorrespondence concerning it. How just this sarcasm on that Parliament\nmay be, I say not; but how becoming in the author, I leave it to his\nfriends to determine.\n\nHaving thus gone through the questions of war and peace, the author\nproceeds to state our debt, and the interest which it carried, at the\ntime of the treaty, with the unfairness and inaccuracy, however, which\ndistinguish all his assertions, and all his calculations. To detect\nevery fallacy, and rectify every mistake, would be endless. It will be\nenough to point out a few of them, in order to show how unsafe it is to\nplace anything like an implicit trust in such a writer.\n\nThe interest of debt contracted during the war is stated by the author\nat 2,614,892_l._ The particulars appear in pp. 14 and 15. Among them is\nstated the unfunded debt, 9,975,017_l._, supposed to carry interest on a\nmedium at 3 per cent, which amounts to 299,250_l._ We are referred to\nthe \"Considerations on the Trade and Finances of the Kingdom,\" p. 22,\nfor the particulars of that unfunded debt. Turn to the work, and to the\nplace referred to by the author himself, if you have a mind to see a\nclear detection of a capital fallacy of this article in his account. You\nwill there see that this unfunded debt consists of the nine following\narticles: the remaining subsidy to the Duke of Brunswick; the remaining\n_dedommagement_ to the Landgrave of Hesse; the German demands; the army\nand ordnance extraordinaries; the deficiencies of grants and funds; Mr.\nTouchet's claim; the debts due to Nova Scotia and Barbadoes; exchequer\nbills; and navy debt. The extreme fallacy of this state cannot escape\nany reader who will be at the pains to compare the interest money, with\nwhich he affirms us to have been loaded, in his \"State of the Nation,\"\nwith the items of the principal debt to which he refers in his\n\"Considerations.\" The reader must observe, that of this long list of\nnine articles, only two, the exchequer bills, and part of the navy debt,\ncarried any interest at all. The first amounted to 1,800,000_l._; and\nthis undoubtedly carried interest. The whole navy debt indeed amounted\nto 4,576,915_l._; but of this only a _part_ carried interest. The author\nof the \"Considerations,\" &c. labors to prove this very point in p. 18;\nand Mr. G. has always defended himself upon the same ground, for the\ninsufficient provision he made for the discharge of that debt. The\nreader may see their own authority for it.[56]\n\nMr. G. did in fact provide no more than 2,150,000_l._ for the discharge\nof these bills in two years. It is much to be wished that these\ngentlemen would lay their heads together, that they would consider well\nthis matter, and agree upon something. For when the scanty provision\nmade for the unfunded debt is to be vindicated, then we are told it is a\nvery _small part_ of that debt which carries interest. But when the\npublic is to be represented in a miserable condition, and the\nconsequences of the late war to be laid before us in dreadful colors,\nthen we are to be told that the unfunded debt is within a trifle of ten\nmillions, and so large a portion of it carries interest that we must not\ncompute less than 3 per cent upon the _whole_.\n\nIn the year 1764, Parliament voted 650,000_l._ towards the discharge of\nthe navy debt. This sum could not be applied solely to the discharge of\nbills carrying interest; because part of the debt due on seamen's wages\nmust have been paid, and some bills carried no interest at all.\nNotwithstanding this, we find by an account in the journals of the House\nof Commons, in the following session, that the navy debt carrying\ninterest was, on the 31st of December, 1764, no more than 1,687,442_l._\nI am sure therefore that I admit too much when I admit the navy debt\ncarrying interest, after the creation of the navy annuities in the year\n1763, to have been 2,200,000_l._ Add the exchequer bills; and the whole\nunfunded debt carrying interest will be four millions instead of ten;\nand the annual interest paid for it at 4 per cent will be 160,000_l._\ninstead of 299,250_l._ An error of no small magnitude, and which could\nnot have been owing to inadvertency.\n\nThe misrepresentation of the increase of the peace establishment is\nstill more extraordinary than that of the interest of the unfunded debt.\nThe increase is great, undoubtedly. However, the author finds no fault\nwith it, and urges it only as a matter of argument to support the\nstrange chimerical proposals he is to make us in the close of his work\nfor the increase of revenue. The greater he made that establishment, the\nstronger he expected to stand in argument: but, whatever he expected or\nproposed, he should have stated the matter fairly. He tells us that this\nestablishment is nearly 1,500,000_l._ more than it was in 1752, 1753,\nand other years of peace. This he has done in his usual manner, by\nassertion, without troubling himself either with proof or probability.\nFor he has not given us any state of the peace establishment in the\nyears 1753 and 1754, the time which he means to compare with the\npresent. As I am obliged to force him to that precision, from which he\nalways flies as from his most dangerous enemy, I have been at the\ntrouble to search the journals in the period between the two last wars:\nand I find that the peace establishment, consisting of the navy, the\nordnance, and the several incidental expenses, amounted to 2,346,594_l._\nNow is this writer wild enough to imagine, that the peace establishment\nof 1764 and the subsequent years, made up from the same articles, is\n3,800,000_l._ and upwards? His assertion however goes to this. But I\nmust take the liberty of correcting him in this gross mistake, and from\nan authority he cannot refuse, from his favorite work, and standing\nauthority, the \"Considerations.\" We find there, p. 43[57], the peace\nestablishment of 1764 and 1765 stated at 3,609,700_l._ This is near two\nhundred thousand pounds less than that given in \"The State of the\nNation.\" But even from this, in order to render the articles which\ncompose the peace establishment in the two periods correspondent (for\notherwise they cannot be compared), we must deduct first, his articles\nof the deficiency of land and malt, which amount to 300,000_l._ They\ncertainly are no part of the establishment; nor are they included in\nthat sum, which I have stated above for the establishment in the time of\nthe former peace. If they were proper to be stated at all, they ought to\nbe stated in both accounts. We must also deduct the deficiencies of\nfunds, 202,400_l._ These deficiencies are the difference between the\ninterest charged on the public for moneys borrowed, and the produce of\nthe taxes laid for the discharge of that interest. Annual provision is\nindeed to be made for them by Parliament: but in the inquiry before us,\nwhich is only what charge is brought on the public by interest paid or\nto be paid for money borrowed, the utmost that the author should do, is\nto bring into the account the full interest for all that money. This he\nhas done in p. 15; and he repeats it in p. 18, the very page I am now\nexamining, 2,614,892_l._ To comprehend afterwards in the peace\nestablishment the deficiency of the fund created for payment of that\ninterest, would be laying twice to the account of the war part of the\nsame sum. Suppose ten millions borrowed at 4 per cent, and the fund for\npayment of the interest to produce no more than 200,000_l._ The whole\nannual charge on the public is 400,000_l._ It can be no more. But to\ncharge the interest in one part of the account, and then the deficiency\nin the other, would be charging 600,000_l._ The deficiency of funds must\ntherefore be also deducted from the peace establishment in the\n\"Considerations\"; and then the peace establishment in that author will\nbe reduced to the same articles with those included in the sum I have\nalready mentioned for the peace establishment before the last war, in\nthe year 1753, and 1754.\n\n  Peace establishment in the \"Considerations\"     L3,609,700\n  Deduct deficiency of land and malt    L300,000\n  Ditto of funds                         202,400\n                                        --------     502,400\n                                                   ---------\n                                                   3,107,300\n  Peace establishment before the late war, in\n    which no deficiencies of land and malt, or\n    funds are included                             2,346,594\n                                                   ---------\n\n                           Difference               L760,706\n\n\nBeing about half the sum which our author has been pleased to suppose\nit.\n\nLet us put the whole together. The author states,--\n\n  Difference of peace establishment before and\n    since the war                                 L1,500,000\n  Interest of Debt contracted by the war           2,614,892\n                                                   ---------\n                                                   4,114,892\n  The _real_ difference in the peace\n    establishment is                    L760,706\n\n  The actual interest of the\n    funded debt, including\n    that charged on the\n    sinking fund            L2,315,642\n\n  The actual interest of\n    unfunded debt at most      160,000\n                             ---------\n  Total interest of debt\n    contracted by the war              2,475,642\n                                       ---------\n  Increase of peace establishment, and interest of\n    new debt                                       3,236,348\n                                                   ---------\n  Error of the author                               L878,544\n\n\nIt is true, the extraordinaries of the army have been found considerably\ngreater than the author of the \"Considerations\" was pleased to foretell\nthey would be. The author of \"The Present State\" avails himself of that\nincrease, and, finding it suit his purpose, sets the whole down in the\npeace establishment of the present times. If this is allowed him, his\nerror perhaps may be reduced to 700,000_l._ But I doubt the author of\nthe \"Considerations\" will not thank him for admitting 200,000_l._ and\nupwards, as the peace establishment for extraordinaries, when that\nauthor has so much labored to confine them within 35,000_l._\n\nThese are some of the capital fallacies of the author. To break the\nthread of my discourse as little as possible, I have thrown into the\nmargin many instances, though God knows far from the whole of his\ninaccuracies, inconsistencies, and want of common care. I think myself\nobliged to take some notice of them, in order to take off from any\nauthority this writer may have; and to put an end to the deference which\ncareless men are apt to pay to one who boldly arrays his accounts, and\nmarshals his figures, in perfect confidence that their correctness will\nnever be examined.[58]\n\nHowever, for argument, I am content to take his state of it. The debt\nwas and is enormous. The war was expensive. The best economy had not\nperhaps been used. But I must observe, that war and economy are things\nnot easily reconciled; and that the attempt of leaning towards parsimony\nin such a state may be the worst management, and in the end the worst\neconomy in the world, hazarding the total loss of all the charge\nincurred, and of everything along with it.\n\nBut _cui bono_ all this detail of our debt? Has the author given a\nsingle light towards any material reduction of it? Not a glimmering. We\nshall see in its place what sort of thing he proposes. But before he\ncommences his operations, in order to scare the public imagination, he\nraises by art magic a thick mist before our eyes, through which glare\nthe most ghastly and horrible phantoms:\n\n    Hunc igitur terrorem animi tenebrasque necesse est.\n    Non radii solis, neque lucida tela diei\n    Discutiant, sed naturae species ratioque.\n\nLet us therefore calmly, if we can for the fright into which he has put\nus, appreciate those dreadful and deformed gorgons and hydras, which\ninhabit the joyless regions of an imagination fruitful in nothing but\nthe production of monsters.\n\nHis whole representation, is founded on the supposed operation of our\ndebt, upon our manufactures, and our trade. To this cause he attributes\na certain supposed dearness of the necessaries of life, which must\ncompel our manufacturers to emigrate to cheaper countries, particularly\nto France, and with them the manufacture. Thence consumption declining,\nand with it revenue. He will not permit the real balance of our trade to\nbe estimated so high as 2,500,000_l._; and the interest of the debt to\nforeigners carries off 1,500,000_l._ of that balance. France is not in\nthe same condition. Then follow his wailings and lamentings, which he\nrenews over and over, according to his custom--a declining trade, and\ndecreasing specie--on the point of becoming tributary to France--of\nlosing Ireland--of having the colonies torn away from us.\n\nThe first thing upon which I shall observe is,[60] what he takes for\ngranted as the clearest of all propositions, the emigration of our\nmanufacturers to France. I undertake to say that this assertion is\ntotally groundless, and I challenge the author to bring any sort of\nproof of it. If living is cheaper in France, that is, to be had for less\nspecie, wages are proportionably lower. No manufacturer, let the living\nbe what it will, was ever known to fly for refuge to low wages. Money is\nthe first thing which attracts him. Accordingly our wages attract\nartificers from all parts of the world. From two shillings to one\nshilling, is a fall in all men's imaginations, which no calculation upon\na difference in the price of the necessaries of life can compensate. But\nit will be hard to prove that a French artificer is better fed, clothed,\nlodged, and warmed, than one in England; for that is the sense, and the\nonly sense, of living cheaper. If, in truth and fact, our artificer\nfares as well in all these respects as one in the same state in\nFrance,--how stands the matter in point of opinion and prejudice, the\nsprings by which people in that class of life are chiefly actuated? The\nidea of our common people concerning French living is dreadful;\naltogether as dreadful as our author's can possibly be of the state of\nhis own country; a way of thinking that will hardly ever prevail on them\nto desert to France.[61]\n\nBut, leaving the author's speculations, the fact is, that they have not\ndeserted; and of course the manufacture cannot be departed, or\ndeparting, with them. I am not indeed able to get at all the details of\nour manufactures; though, I think, I have taken full as much pains for\nthat purpose as our author. Some I have by me; and they do not hitherto,\nthank God, support the author's complaint, unless a vast increase of the\nquantity of goods manufactured be a proof of losing the manufacture. On\na view of the registers in the West Riding of Yorkshire, for three years\nbefore the war, and for the three last, it appears, that the quantities\nof cloths entered were as follows:\n\n                            Pieces broad.    Pieces narrow.\n                  1752           60,724           72,442\n                  1753           55,358           71,618\n                  1754           56,070           72,394\n                                -------          -------\n                                172,152          216,454\n\n                            Pieces broad.    Pieces narrow.\n                  1765           54,660           77,419\n                  1766           72,575           78,893\n                  1767          102,428           78,819\n                                -------          -------\n  3 years, ending 1767          229,663          235,131\n  3 years, ending 1754          172,152          216,464\n                                -------          -------\n                   Increase      57,511           18,677\n\n\nIn this manner this capital branch of manufacture has increased, under\nthe increase of taxes; and this not from a declining, but from a greatly\nflourishing period of commerce. I may say the same on the best authority\nof the fabric of thin goods at Halifax; of the bays at Rochdale; and of\nthat infinite variety of admirable manufactures that grow and extend\nevery year among the spirited, inventive, and enterprising traders of\nManchester.\n\nA trade sometimes seems to perish when it only assumes a different form.\nThus the coarsest woollens were formerly exported in great quantities to\nRussia. The Russians now supply themselves with these goods. But the\nexport thither of finer cloths has increased in proportion as the other\nhas declined. Possibly some parts of the kingdom may have felt something\nlike a languor in business. Objects like trade and manufacture, which\nthe very attempt to confine would certainly destroy, frequently change\ntheir place; and thereby, far from being lost, are often highly\nimproved. Thus some manufactures have decayed in the west and south,\nwhich have made new and more vigorous shoots when transplanted into the\nnorth. And here it is impossible to pass by, though the author has said\nnothing upon it, the vast addition to the mass of British trade, which\nhas been made by the improvement of Scotland. What does he think of the\ncommerce of the city of Glasgow, and of the manufactures of Paisley and\nall the adjacent country? Has this anything like the deadly aspect and\n_facies Hippocratica_ which the false diagnostic of our state physician\nhas given to our trade in general? Has he not heard of the iron-works of\nsuch magnitude even in their cradle which are set up on the Carron, and\nwhich at the same time have drawn nothing from Sheffield, Birmingham, or\nWolverhampton?\n\nThis might perhaps be enough to show the entire falsity of the complaint\nconcerning the decline of our manufactures. But every step we advance,\nthis matter clears up more; and the false terrors of the author are\ndissipated, and fade away as the light appears. \"The trade and\nmanufactures of this country (says he) going to ruin, and a diminution\nof our _revenue from consumption_ must attend the loss of so many seamen\nand artificers.\" Nothing more true than the general observation: nothing\nmore false than its application to our circumstances. Let the revenue on\nconsumption speak for itself:--\n\n  Average of net excise, since the new duties,\n    three years ending 1767                       L4,590,734\n  Ditto before the new duties, three years\n    ending 1759                                    3,261,694\n                                                   ---------\n                    Average increase              L1,329,040\n\nHere is no diminution. Here is, on the contrary, an immense increase.\nThis is owing, I shall be told, to the new duties, which may increase\nthe total bulk, but at the same time may make some diminution of the\nproduce of the old. Were this the fact, it would be far from supporting\nthe author's complaint. It might have proved that the burden lay rather\ntoo heavy; but it would never prove that the _revenue from, consumption_\nwas impaired, which it was his business to do. But what is the real\nfact? Let us take, as the best instance for the purpose, the produce of\nthe old hereditary and temporary excise granted in the reign of Charles\nthe Second, whose object is that of most of the new impositions, from\ntwo averages, each of eight years.\n\n  Average, first period, eight years, ending 1754   L525,317\n  Ditto, second period, eight years, ending 1767     538,542\n                                                     -------\n                             Increase               L613,225\n\nI have taken these averages as including in each a war and a peace\nperiod; the first before the imposition of the new duties, the other\nsince those impositions; and such is the state of the oldest branch of\nthe revenue from consumption. Besides the acquisition of so much new,\nthis article, to speak of no other, has rather increased under the\npressure of all those additional taxes to which the author is pleased to\nattribute its destruction. But as the author has made his grand effort\nagainst those moderate, judicious, and necessary levies, which support\nall the dignity, the credit, and the power of his country, the reader\nwill excuse a little further detail on this subject; that we may see how\nlittle oppressive those taxes are on the shoulders of the public, with\nwhich he labors so earnestly to load its imagination. For this purpose\nwe take the state of that specific article upon which the two capital\nburdens of the war leaned the most immediately, by the additional\nduties on malt, and upon beer.\n\n                                                  Barrels.\n  Average of strong beer, brewed in eight years\n    before the additional malt and beer duties   3,895,059\n\n  Average of strong beer, eight years since\n    the duties                                   4,060,726\n                                                 ---------\n              Increase in the last period          165,667\n\nHere is the effect of two such daring taxes as 3_d._ by the bushel\nadditional on malt, and 3_s._ by the barrel additional on beer. Two\nimpositions laid without remission one upon the neck of the other; and\nlaid upon an object which before had been immensely loaded. They did not\nin the least impair the consumption: it has grown under them. It appears\nthat, upon the whole, the people did not feel so much inconvenience from\nthe new duties as to oblige them to take refuge in the private brewery.\nQuite the contrary happened in both these respects in the reign of King\nWilliam; and it happened from much slighter impositions.[62] No people\ncan long consume a commodity for which they are not well able to pay. An\nenlightened reader laughs at the inconsistent chimera of our author, of\na people universally luxurious, and at the same time oppressed with\ntaxes and declining in trade. For my part, I cannot look on these duties\nas the author does. He sees nothing but the burden. I can perceive the\nburden as well as he; but I cannot avoid contemplating also the strength\nthat supports it. From thence I draw the most comfortable assurances of\nthe future vigor, and the ample resources, of this great, misrepresented\ncountry; and can never prevail on myself to make complaints which have\nno cause, in order to raise hopes which have no foundation.\n\nWhen a representation is built on truth and nature, one member supports\nthe other, and mutual lights are given and received from every part.\nThus, as our manufacturers have not deserted, nor the manufacture left\nus, nor the consumption declined, nor the revenue sunk; so neither has\ntrade, which is at once the result, measure, and cause of the whole, in\nthe least decayed, as our author has thought proper sometimes to affirm,\nconstantly to suppose, as if it were the most indisputable of all\npropositions. The reader will see below the comparative state of our\ntrade[63] in three of the best years before our increase of debt and\ntaxes, and with it the three last years since the author's date of our\nruin.\n\nIn the last three years the whole of our exports was between 44 and 45\nmillions. In the three years preceding the war, it was no more than from\n35 to 36 millions. The average balance of the former period was\n3,706,000_l._; of the latter, something above four millions. It is true,\nthat whilst the impressions of the author's destructive war continued,\nour trade was greater than it is at present. One of the necessary\nconsequences of the peace was, that France must gradually recover a part\nof those markets of which she had been originally in possession.\nHowever, after all these deductions, still the gross trade in the worst\nyear of the present is better than in the best year of any former period\nof peace. A very great part of our taxes, if not the greatest, has been\nimposed since the beginning of the century. On the author's principles,\nthis continual increase of taxes must have ruined our trade, or at least\nentirely checked its growth. But I have a manuscript of Davenant, which\ncontains an abstract of our trade for the years 1703 and 1704; by which\nit appears that the whole export from England did not then exceed\n6,552,019_l._ It is now considerably more than double that amount. Yet\nEngland was then a rich and flourishing nation.\n\nThe author endeavors to derogate from the balance in our favor as it\nstands on the entries, and reduces it from four millions, as it there\nappears, to no more than 2,500,000_l._ His observation on the looseness\nand inaccuracy of the export entries is just; and that the error is\nalways an error of excess, I readily admit. But because, as usual, he\nhas wholly omitted some very material facts, his conclusion is as\nerroneous as the entries he complains of.\n\nOn this point of the custom-house entries I shall make a few\nobservations. 1st. The inaccuracy of these entries can extend only to\nFREE GOODS, that is, to such British products and manufactures, as are\nexported without drawback and without bounty; which do not in general\namount to more than two thirds at the very utmost of the whole export\neven of _our home products_. The valuable articles of corn, malt,\nleather, hops, beer, and many others, do not come under this objection\nof inaccuracy. The article of CERTIFICATE GOODS re-exported, a vast\nbranch of our commerce, admits of no error, (except some smaller frauds\nwhich cannot be estimated,) as they have all a drawback of duty, and the\nexporter must therefore correctly specify their quantity and kind. The\nauthor therefore is not warranted from the known error in some of the\nentries, to make a general defalcation from the whole balance in our\nfavor. This error cannot affect more than half, if so much, of the\nexport article. 2dly. In the account made up at the Inspector-General's\noffice, they estimate only the original cost of British products as they\nare here purchased; and on foreign goods, only the prices in the country\nfrom whence they are sent. This was the method established by Mr.\nDavenant; and as far as it goes, it certainly is a good one. But the\nprofits of the merchant at home, and of our factories abroad, are not\ntaken into the account; which profit on such an immense quantity of\ngoods exported and re-exported cannot fail of being very great: five per\ncent, upon the whole, I should think, a very moderate allowance. 3dly.\nIt does not comprehend the advantage arising from the employment of\n600,000 tons of shipping, which must be paid by the foreign consumer,\nand which, in many bulky articles of commerce, is equal to the value of\nthe commodity. This can scarcely be rated at less than a million\nannually. 4thly. The whole import from Ireland and America, and from the\nWest Indies, is set against us in the ordinary way of striking a balance\nof imports and exports; whereas the import and export are both our own.\nThis is just as ridiculous, as to put against the general balance of the\nnation, how much more goods Cheshire receives from London than London\nfrom Cheshire. The whole revolves and circulates through this kingdom,\nand is, so far as regards our profit, in the nature of home trade, as\nmuch as if the several countries of America and Ireland were all pieced\nto Cornwall. The course of exchange with all these places is fully\nsufficient to demonstrate that this kingdom has the whole advantage of\ntheir commerce. When the final profit upon a whole system of trade rests\nand centres in a certain place, a balance struck in that place merely on\nthe mutual sale of commodities is quite fallacious. 5thly. The\ncustom-house entries furnish a most defective, and, indeed, ridiculous\nidea of the most valuable branch of trade we have in the world,--that\nwith Newfoundland. Observe what you export thither; a little spirits,\nprovision, fishing-lines, and fishing-hooks. Is this _export_ the true\nidea of the Newfoundland trade in the light of a beneficial branch of\ncommerce? Nothing less. Examine our imports from thence; it seems upon\nthis vulgar idea of exports and imports, to turn the balance against\nyou. But your exports to Newfoundland are your own goods. Your import is\nyour own food; as much your own, as that you raise with your ploughs out\nof your own soil; and not your loss, but your gain; your riches, not\nyour poverty. But so fallacious is this way of judging, that neither the\nexport nor import, nor both together, supply any idea approaching to\nadequate of that branch of business. The vessels in that trade go\nstraight from Newfoundland to the foreign market; and the sale there,\nnot the import here, is the measure of its value. That trade, which is\none of your greatest and best, is hardly so much as seen in the\ncustom-house entries; and it is not of less annual value to this nation\nthan 400,000_l._ 6thly. The quality of your imports must be considered\nas well as the quantity. To state the whole of the foreign import _as\nloss_, is exceedingly absurd. All the iron, hemp, flax, cotton, Spanish\nwool, raw silk, woollen and linen-yarn, which we import, are by no means\nto be considered as the matter of a merely luxurious consumption; which\nis the idea too generally and loosely annexed to our import article.\nThese above mentioned are materials of industry, not of luxury, which\nare wrought up here, in many instances, to ten times, and more, of their\noriginal value. Even where they are not subservient to our exports, they\nstill add to our internal wealth, which consists in the stock of useful\ncommodities, as much as in gold and silver. In looking over the specific\narticles of our export and import, I have often been astonished to see\nfor how small a part of the supply of our consumption, either luxurious\nor convenient, we are indebted to nations properly foreign to us.\n\nThese considerations are entirely passed over by the author; they have\nbeen but too much neglected by most who have speculated on this subject.\nBut they ought never to be omitted by those who mean to come to anything\nlike the true state of the British trade. They compensate, and they more\nthan compensate, everything which the author can cut off with any\nappearance of reason for the over-entry of British goods; and they\nrestore to us that balance of four millions, which the author has\nthought proper on such a very poor and limited comprehension of the\nobject to reduce to 2,500,000_l._\n\nIn general this author is so circumstanced, that to support his theory\nhe is obliged to assume his facts: and then, if you allow his facts,\nthey will not support his conclusions. What if all he says of the state\nof this balance were true? did not the same objections always lie to\ncustom-house entries? do they defalcate more from the entries of 1766\nthan from those of 1754? If they prove us ruined, we were always ruined.\nSome ravens have always indeed croaked out this kind of song. They have\na malignant delight in presaging mischief, when they are not employed in\ndoing it: they are miserable and disappointed at every instance of the\npublic prosperity. They overlook us like the malevolent being of the\npoet:--\n\n             Tritonida conspicit arcem\n    Ingeniis, opibusque, et festa pace virentem;\n    Vixque tenet lacrymas quia nil lacrymabile cernit.\n\n\nIt is in this spirit that some have looked upon those accidents that\ncast an occasional damp upon trade. Their imaginations entail these\naccidents upon us in perpetuity. We have had some bad harvests. This\nmust very disadvantageously affect the balance of trade, and the\nnavigation of a people, so large a part of whose commerce is in grain.\nBut, in knowing the cause, we are morally certain, that, according to\nthe course of events, it cannot long subsist. In the three last years,\nwe have exported scarcely any grain; in good years, that export hath\nbeen worth twelve hundred thousand pounds and more; in the two last\nyears, far from exporting, we have been obliged to import to the amount\nperhaps of our former exportation. So that in this article the balance\nmust be 2,000,000_l._ against us; that is, one million in the ceasing of\ngain, the other in the increase of expenditure. But none of the author's\npromises or projects could have prevented this misfortune; and, thank\nGod, we do not want him or them to relieve us from it; although, if his\nfriends should now come into power, I doubt not but they will be ready\nto take credit for any increase of trade or excise, that may arise from\nthe happy circumstance of a good harvest.\n\nThis connects with his loud laments and melancholy prognostications\nconcerning the high price of the necessaries of life and the products of\nlabor. With all his others, I deny this fact; and I again call upon him\nto prove it. Take average and not accident, the grand and first\nnecessary of life is cheap in this country; and that too as weighed, not\nagainst labor, which is its true counterpoise, but against money. Does\nhe call the price of wheat at this day, between 32 and 40 shillings per\nquarter in London dear?[64] He must know that fuel (an object of the\nhighest order in the necessaries of life, and of the first necessity in\nalmost every kind of manufacture) is in many of our provinces cheaper\nthan in any part of the globe. Meat is on the whole not excessively\ndear, whatever its price may be at particular times and from particular\naccidents. If it has had anything like an uniform rise, this enhancement\nmay easily be proved not to be owing to the increase of taxes, but to\nuniform increase of consumption and of money. Diminish the latter, and\nmeat in your markets will be sufficiently cheap in account, but much\ndearer in effect: because fewer will be in a condition to buy. Thus your\napparent plenty will be real indigence. At present, even under temporary\ndisadvantages, the use of flesh is greater here than anywhere else; it\nis continued without any interruption of Lents or meagre days; it is\nsustained and growing even with the increase of our taxes. But some have\nthe art of converting even the signs of national prosperity into\nsymptoms of decay and ruin. And our author, who so loudly disclaims\npopularity, never fails to lay hold of the most vulgar popular\nprejudices and humors, in hopes to captivate the crowd. Even those\npeevish dispositions which grow out of some transitory suffering, those\npassing clouds which float in our changeable atmosphere, are by him\nindustriously figured into frightful shapes, in order first to terrify,\nand then to govern the populace.\n\nIt was not enough for the author's purpose to give this false and\ndiscouraging picture of the state of his own country. It did not fully\nanswer his end, to exaggerate her burdens, to depreciate her successes,\nand to vilify her character. Nothing had been done, unless the\nsituation of France were exalted in proportion as that of England had\nbeen abased. The reader will excuse the citation I make at length from\nhis book; he outdoes himself upon this occasion. His confidence is\nindeed unparalleled, and altogether of the heroic cast:--\n\n\"If our rival nations were in the same circumstances with ourselves, the\n_augmentation of our taxes would produce no ill consequences_: if we\nwere obliged to raise our prices, they must, from the same causes, do\nthe like, and could take no advantage by underselling and under-working\nus. But the alarming consideration to Great Britain is, _that France is\nnot in the same condition_. Her distresses, during the war, were great,\nbut they were immediate; her want of credit, as has been said, compelled\nher to impoverish her people, by raising the greatest part of her\nsupplies within the year; _but the burdens she imposed on them were, in\na great measure, temporary, and must be greatly diminished by a few\nyears of peace_. She could procure no considerable loans, therefore she\nhas mortgaged no _such oppressive taxes as those Great Britain has\nimposed in perpetuity for payment of interest_. Peace must, therefore,\nsoon re-establish her commerce and manufactures, especially as the\ncomparative _lightness of taxes_, and the cheapness of living, in that\ncountry, must make France an asylum for British manufacturers and\nartificers.\" On this the author rests the merit of his whole system. And\non this point I will join issue with him. If France is not at least in\nthe _same condition_, even in that very condition which the author\nfalsely represents to be ours,--if the very reverse of his proposition\nbe not true, then I will admit his state of the nation to be just; and\nall his inferences from that state to be logical and conclusive. It is\nnot surprising, that the author should hazard our opinion of his\nveracity. That is a virtue on which great statesmen do not perhaps pique\nthemselves so much; but it is somewhat extraordinary, that he should\nstake on a very poor calculation of chances, all credit for care, for\naccuracy, and for knowledge of the subject of which he treats. He is\nrash and inaccurate, because he thinks he writes to a public ignorant\nand inattentive. But he may find himself in that respect, as in many\nothers, greatly mistaken. In order to contrast the light and vigorous\ncondition of France with that of England, weak, and sinking under her\nburdens, he states, in his tenth page, that France had raised\n50,314,378_l._ sterling _by taxes within the several years_ from the\nyear 1756 to 1762 both inclusive. All Englishman must stand aghast at\nsuch a representation: To find France able to _raise within the year_\nsums little inferior to all that we were able even to _borrow_ on\ninterest with all the resources of the greatest and most established\ncredit in the world! Europe was filled with astonishment when they saw\nEngland _borrow_ in one year twelve millions. It was thought, and very\njustly, no small proof of national strength and financial skill, to find\na fund for the payment of the interest upon this sum. The interest of\nthis, computed with the one per cent annuities, amounted only to\n600,000_l._ a year. This, I say, was thought a surprising effort even of\ncredit. But this author talks, as of a thing not worth proving, and but\njust worth observing, that France in one year raised sixteen times that\nsum without borrowing, and continued to raise sums not far from equal to\nit for several years together. Suppose some Jacob Henriques had\nproposed, in the year 1762, to prevent a perpetual charge on the nation\nby raising ten millions within the year: he would have been considered,\nnot as a harsh financier, who laid a heavy hand on the public; but as a\npoor visionary, who had run mad on supplies and taxes. They who know\nthat the whole land-tax of England, at 4_s._ in the pound, raises but\ntwo millions, will not easily apprehend that any such sums as the author\nhas conjured up can be raised even in the most opulent nations. France\nowed a large debt, and was encumbered with heavy establishments, before\nthat war. The author does not formally deny that she borrowed something\nin every year of its continuance; let him produce the funds for this\nastonishing annual addition to all her vast preceding taxes; an\naddition, equal to the whole excise, customs, land and malt-taxes of\nEngland taken together.\n\nBut what must be the reader's astonishment, perhaps his indignation, if\nhe should find that this great financier has fallen into the most\nunaccountable of all errors, no less an error than that of mistaking the\n_identical sums borrowed by France upon interest, for supplies raised\nwithin the year_! Can it be conceived that any man, only entered into\nthe first rudiments of finance, should make so egregious a blunder;\nshould write it, should print it; should carry it to a second edition;\nshould take it not collaterally and incidentally, but lay it down as the\ncorner-stone of his whole system, in such an important point as the\ncomparative states of France and England? But it will be said, that it\nwas his misfortune to be ill-informed. Not at all. A man of any loose\ngeneral knowledge, and of the most ordinary sagacity, never could have\nbeen misinformed in so gross a manner; because he would have immediately\nrejected so wild and extravagant an account.\n\nThe fact is this: the credit of France, bad as it might have been, did\nenable her (not to raise within the year) but to _borrow_ the very sums\nthe author mentions; that is to say, 1,106,916,261 livres, making, in\nthe author's computation, 50,314,378_l._ The credit of France was low;\nbut it was not annihilated. She did not derive, as our author chooses to\nassert, any advantages from the debility of her credit. Its consequence\nwas the natural one: she borrowed; but she borrowed upon bad terms,\nindeed on the most exorbitant usury.\n\nIn speaking of a foreign revenue, the very pretence to accuracy would be\nthe most inaccurate thing in the world. Neither the author nor I can\nwith certainty authenticate the information we communicate to the\npublic, nor in an affair of eternal fluctuation arrive at perfect\nexactness. All we can do, and this we may be expected to do, is to avoid\ngross errors and blunders of a capital nature. We cannot order the\nproper officer to lay the accounts before the House. But the reader must\njudge on the probability of the accounts we lay before him. The author\nspeaks of France as raising her supplies for war by taxes within the\nyear; and of her debt, as a thing scarcely worthy of notice. I affirm\nthat she borrowed large sums in every year; and has thereby accumulated\nan immense debt. This debt continued after the war infinitely to\nembarrass her affairs; and to find some means for its reduction was then\nand has ever since been the first object of her policy. But she has so\nlittle succeeded in all her efforts, that the _perpetual_ debt of\nFrance is at this hour little short of 100,000,000_l._ sterling; and she\nstands charged with at least 40,000,000 of English pounds on life-rents\nand tontines. The annuities paid at this day at the Hotel de Ville of\nParis, which are by no means her sole payments of that nature, amount to\n139,000,000 of livres, that is to 6,318,000_l._; besides _billets au\nporteur_, and various detached and unfunded debts, to a great amount,\nand which bear an interest.\n\nAt the end of the war, the interest payable on her debt amounted to\nupwards of seven millions sterling. M. de la Verdy, the last hope of the\nFrench finances, was called in, to aid in the reduction of an interest,\nso light to our author, so intolerably heavy upon those who are to pay\nit. After many unsuccessful efforts towards reconciling arbitrary\nreduction with public credit, he was obliged to go the plain high road\nof power, and to impose a tax of 10 per cent upon a very great part of\nthe capital debt of that kingdom; and this measure of present ease, to\nthe destruction of future credit, produced about 500,000_l._ a year,\nwhich was carried to their _Caisse d'amortissement_ or sinking fund. But\nso unfaithfully and unsteadily has this and all the other articles which\ncompose that fund been applied to their purposes, that they have given\nthe state but very little even of present relief, since it is known to\nthe whole world that she is behindhand on every one of her\nestablishments. Since the year 1763, there has been no operation of any\nconsequence on the French finances; and in this enviable condition is\nFrance at present with regard to her debt.\n\nEverybody knows that the principal of the debt is but a name; the\ninterest is the only thing which can distress a nation. Take this idea,\nwhich will not be disputed, and compare the interest paid by England\nwith that paid by France:\n\n  Interest paid by France, funded and\n    unfunded, for perpetuity or on lives,\n    after the tax of 10 per cent                L6,500,000\n  Interest paid by England, as stated by\n    the author, p. 27                            4,600,000\n                                                ----------\n  Interest paid by France exceeds that\n    paid by England                             L1,900,000\n\n\nThe author cannot complain, that I state the interest paid by England as\ntoo low. He takes it himself as the extremest term. Nobody who knows\nanything of the French finances will affirm that I state the interest\npaid by that kingdom too high. It might be easily proved to amount to a\ngreat deal more: even this is near two millions above what is paid by\nEngland.\n\nThere are three standards to judge of the good condition of a nation\nwith regard to its finances. 1st, The relief of the people. 2nd, The\nequality of supplies to establishments. 3rd, The state of public credit.\nTry France on all these standards.\n\nAlthough our author very liberally administers relief to the people of\nFrance, its government has not been altogether so gracious. Since the\npeace, she has taken off but a single _vingtieme_, or shilling in the\npound, and some small matter in the capitation. But, if the government\nhas relieved them in one point, it has only burdened them the more\nheavily in another. The _Taille_,[65] that grievous and destructive\nimposition, which all their financiers lament, without being able to\nremove or to replace, has been augmented no less than six millions of\nlivres, or 270,000 pounds English. A further augmentation of this or\nother duties is now talked of; and it is certainly necessary to their\naffairs: so exceedingly remote from either truth or verisimilitude is\nthe author's amazing assertion, _that the burdens of France in the war\nwere in a great measure temporary, and must be greatly diminished by a\nfew years of peace_.\n\nIn the next place, if the people of France are not lightened of taxes,\nso neither is the state disburdened of charges. I speak from very good\ninformation, that the annual income of that state is at this day thirty\nmillions of livres, or 1,350,000_l._ sterling, short of a provision for\ntheir ordinary peace establishment; so far are they from the attempt or\neven hope to discharge any part of the capital of their enormous debt.\nIndeed, under such extreme straitness and distraction labors the whole\nbody of their finances, so far does their charge outrun their supply in\nevery particular, that no man, I believe, who has considered their\naffairs with any degree of attention or information, but must hourly\nlook for some extraordinary convulsion in that whole system: the effect\nof which on France, and even on all Europe, it is difficult to\nconjecture.\n\nIn the third point of view, their credit. Let the reader cast his eye on\na table of the price of French funds, as they stood a few weeks ago,\ncompared with the state of some of our English stocks, even in their\npresent low condition:--\n\n        French.                          British.\n  5 per cents              63      Bank stock, 5-1/2   159\n  4 per cent (not taxed)   57      4 per cent cons.    100\n  3 per cent    \"   \"      49      3 per cent cons.     88\n\n\nThis state of the funds of France and England is sufficient to convince\neven prejudice and obstinacy, that if France and England are not in the\nsame condition (as the author affirms they are not) the difference is\ninfinitely to the disadvantage of France. This depreciation of their\nfunds has not much the air of a nation lightening burdens and\ndischarging debts.\n\nSuch is the true comparative state of the two kingdoms in those capital\npoints of view. Now as to the nature of the taxes which provide for this\ndebt, as well as for their ordinary establishments, the author has\nthought proper to affirm that \"they are comparatively light\"; that \"she\nhas mortgaged no such oppressive taxes as ours\"; his effrontery on this\nhead is intolerable. Does the author recollect a single tax in England\nto which something parallel in nature, and as heavy in burden, does not\nexist in France; does he not know that the lands of the noblesse are\nstill under the load of the greater part of the old feudal charges, from\nwhich the gentry of England have been relieved for upwards of a hundred\nyears, and which were in kind, as well as burden, much worse than our\nmodern land-tax? Besides that all the gentry of France serve in the army\non very slender pay, and to the utter ruin of their fortunes, all those\nwho are not noble have their lands heavily taxed. Does he not know that\nwine, brandy, soap, candles, leather, saltpetre, gunpowder, are taxed in\nFrance? Has he not heard that government in France has made a monopoly\nof that great article of _salt?_ that they compel the people to take a\ncertain quantity of it, and at a certain rate, both rate and quantity\nfixed at the arbitrary pleasure of the imposer?[66] that they pay in\nFrance the _Taille_, an arbitrary imposition on presumed property? that\na tax is laid in fact and name, on the same arbitrary standard, upon the\nacquisitions of their _industry_? and that in France a heavy\n_capitation-tax_ is also paid, from the highest to the very poorest sort\nof people? Have we taxes of such weight, or anything at all of the\ncompulsion, in the article of _salt_? do we pay any _taillage_, any\n_faculty-tax_, any _industry-tax?_ do we pay any _capitation-tax_\nwhatsoever? I believe the people of London would fall into an agony to\nhear of such taxes proposed upon them as are paid at Paris. There is not\na single article of provision for man or beast which enters that great\ncity, and is not excised; corn, hay, meal, butcher's-meat, fish, fowls,\neverything. I do not here mean to censure the policy of taxes laid on\nthe consumption of great luxurious cities. I only state the fact. We\nshould be with difficulty brought to hear of a tax of 50_s._ upon every\nox sold in Smithfield. Yet this tax is paid in Paris. Wine, the lower\nsort of wine, little better than English small beer, pays 2_d._ a\nbottle.\n\nWe, indeed, tax our beer; but the imposition on small beer is very far\nfrom heavy. In no part of England are eatables of any kind the object of\ntaxation. In almost every other country in Europe they are excised, more\nor less. I have by me the state of the revenues of many of the principal\nnations on the Continent; and, on comparing them with ours, I think I am\nfairly warranted to assert, that England is the most lightly taxed of\nany of the great states of Europe. They, whose unnatural and sullen joy\narises from a contemplation of the distresses of their country, will\nrevolt at this position. But if I am called upon, I will prove it beyond\nall possibility of dispute; even though this proof should deprive these\ngentlemen of the singular satisfaction of considering their country as\nundone; and though the best civil government, the best constituted, and\nthe best managed revenue that ever the world beheld, should be\nthoroughly vindicated from their perpetual clamors and complaints. As to\nour neighbor and rival France, in addition to what I have here\nsuggested, I say, and when the author chooses formally to deny, I shall\nformally prove it, that her subjects pay more than England, on a\ncomputation of the wealth of both countries; that her taxes are more\ninjudiciously and more oppressively imposed; more vexatiously collected;\ncome in a smaller proportion to the royal coffers, and are less applied\nby far to the public service. I am not one of those who choose to take\nthe author's word for this happy and flourishing condition of the French\nfinances, rather than attend to the changes, the violent pushes and the\ndespair of all her own financiers. Does he choose to be referred for the\neasy and happy condition of the subject in France to the remonstrances\nof their own parliaments, written with such an eloquence, feeling, and\nenergy, as I have not seen exceeded in any other writings? The author\nmay say, their complaints are exaggerated, and the effects of faction. I\nanswer, that they are the representations of numerous, grave, and most\nrespectable bodies of men, upon the affairs of their own country. But,\nallowing that discontent and faction may pervert the judgment of such\nvenerable bodies in France, we have as good a right to suppose that the\nsame causes may full as probably have produced from a private, however\nrespectable person, that frightful, and, I trust I have shown,\ngroundless representation of our own affairs in England.\n\nThe author is so conscious of the dangerous effects of that\nrepresentation, that he thinks it necessary, and very necessary it is,\nto guard against them. He assures us, \"that he has not made that display\nof the difficulties of his country, to expose her counsels to the\nridicule of other states, or to provoke a vanquished enemy to insult\nher; nor to excite the people's rage against their governors, or sink\nthem into a despondency of the public welfare.\" I readily admit this\napology for his intentions. God forbid I should think any man capable of\nentertaining so execrable and senseless a design. The true cause of his\ndrawing so shocking a picture is no more than this; and it ought rather\nto claim our pity than excite our indignation; he finds himself out of\npower; and this condition is intolerable to him. The same sun which\ngilds all nature, and exhilarates the whole creation, does not shine\nupon disappointed ambition. It is something that rays out of darkness,\nand inspires nothing but gloom and melancholy. Men in this deplorable\nstate of mind find a comfort in spreading the contagion of their spleen.\nThey find an advantage too; for it is a general, popular error, to\nimagine the loudest complainers for the public to be the most anxious\nfor its welfare. If such persons can answer the ends of relief and\nprofit to themselves, they are apt to be careless enough about either\nthe means or the consequences.\n\nWhatever this complainant's motives may be, the effects can by no\npossibility be other than those which he so strongly, and I hope truly,\ndisclaims all intention of producing. To verify this, the reader has\nonly to consider how dreadful a picture he has drawn in his 32nd page,\nof the state of this kingdom; such a picture as, I believe, has hardly\nbeen applicable, without some exaggeration, to the most degenerate and\nundone commonwealth that ever existed. Let this view of things be\ncompared with the prospect of a remedy which he proposes in the page\ndirectly opposite, and the subsequent. I believe no man living could\nhave imagined it possible, except for the sake of burlesquing a subject,\nto propose remedies so ridiculously disproportionate to the evil, so\nfull of uncertainty in their operation, and depending for their success\nin every step upon the happy event of so many new, dangerous, and\nvisionary projects. It is not amiss, that he has thought proper to give\nthe public some little notice of what they may expect from his friends,\nwhen our affairs shall be committed to their management. Let us see how\nthe accounts of disease and remedy are balanced in his \"State of the\nNation.\" In the first place, on the side of evils, he states, \"an\nimpoverished and heavily-burdened public. A declining trade and\ndecreasing specie. The power of the crown never so much extended over\nthe great; but the great without influence over the lower sort.\nParliament losing its reverence with the people. The voice of the\nmultitude set up against the sense of the legislature; a people\nluxurious and licentious, impatient of rule, and despising all\nauthority. Government relaxed in every sinew, and a corrupt selfish\nspirit pervading the whole. An opinion of many, that the form of\ngovernment is not worth contending for. No attachment in the bulk of\nthe people towards the constitution. No reverence for the customs of our\nancestors. No attachment but to private interest, nor any zeal but for\nselfish gratifications. Trade and manufactures going to ruin. Great\nBritain in danger of becoming tributary to France, and the descent of\nthe crown dependent on her pleasure. Ireland, in case of a war, to\nbecome a prey to France; and Great Britain, unable to recover Ireland,\ncede it by treaty,\" (the author never can think of a treaty without\nmaking cessions,) \"in order to purchase peace for herself. The colonies\nleft exposed to the ravages of a domestic, or the conquest of a foreign\nenemy.\"--Gloomy enough, God knows. The author well observes,[67] _that a\nmind not totally devoid of feeling cannot look upon such a prospect\nwithout horror; and an heart capable of humanity must be unable to hear\nits description_. He ought to have added, that no man of common\ndiscretion ought to have exhibited it to the public, if it were true; or\nof common honesty, if it were false.\n\nBut now for the comfort; the day-star which is to arise in our hearts;\nthe author's grand scheme for totally reversing this dismal state of\nthings, and making us[68] \"happy at home and respected abroad,\nformidable in war and flourishing in peace.\"\n\nIn this great work he proceeds with a facility equally astonishing and\npleasing. Never was financier less embarrassed by the burden of\nestablishments, or with the difficulty of finding ways and means. If an\nestablishment is troublesome to him, he lops off at a stroke just as\nmuch of it as he chooses. He mows down, without giving quarter, or\nassigning reason, army, navy, ordnance, ordinary, extraordinaries;\nnothing can stand before him. Then, when he comes to provide, Amalthea's\nhorn is in his hands; and he pours out with an inexhaustible bounty,\ntaxes, duties, loans, and revenues, without uneasiness to himself, or\nburden to the public. Insomuch that, when we consider the abundance of\nhis resources, we cannot avoid being surprised at his extraordinary\nattention to savings. But it is all the exuberance of his goodness.\n\nThis book has so much of a certain tone of power, that one would be\nalmost tempted to think it written by some person who had been high in\noffice. A man is generally rendered somewhat a worse reasoner for having\nbeen a minister. In private, the assent of listening and obsequious\nfriends; in public, the venal cry and prepared vote of a passive senate,\nconfirm him in habits of begging the question with impunity, and\nasserting without thinking himself obliged to prove. Had it not been for\nsome such habits, the author could never have expected that we should\ntake his estimate for a peace establishment solely on his word.\n\nThis estimate which he gives,[69] is the great groundwork of his plan\nfor the national redemption; and it ought to be well and firmly laid, or\nwhat must become of the superstructure? One would have thought the\nnatural method in a plan of reformation would be, to take the present\nexisting estimates as they stand; and then to show what may be\npracticably and safely defalcated from them. This would, I say, be the\nnatural course; and what would be expected from a man of business. But\nthis author takes a very different method. For the ground of his\nspeculation of a present peace establishment, he resorts to a former\nspeculation of the same kind, which was in the mind of the minister of\nthe year 1764. Indeed it never existed anywhere else. \"The plan,\"[70]\nsays he, with his usual ease, \"has been already formed, and the outline\ndrawn, by the administration of 1764. I shall attempt to fill up the\nvoid and obliterated parts, and trace its operation. The standing\nexpense of the present (his projected) peace establishment, _improved by\nthe experience of the two last years, may be thus estimated_\"; and he\nestimates it at 3,468,161_l._\n\nHere too it would be natural to expect some reasons for condemning the\nsubsequent actual establishments, which have so much transgressed the\nlimits of his plan of 1764, as well as some arguments in favor of his\nnew project; which has in some articles exceeded, in others fallen\nshort, but on the whole is much below his old one. Hardly a word on any\nof these points, the only points however that are in the least\nessential; for unless you assign reasons for the increase or diminution\nof the several articles of public charge, the playing at establishments\nand estimates is an amusement of no higher order, and of much less\ningenuity, than _Questions and commands_, or _What is my thought like_?\nTo bring more distinctly under the reader's view this author's strange\nmethod of proceeding, I will lay before him the three schemes; viz. the\nidea of the ministers in 1764, the actual estimates of the two last\nyears as given by the author himself, and lastly the new project of his\npolitical millennium:--\n\n  Plan of establishment for 1764, as by\n    \"Considerations,\" p. 43              [71]   L3,609,700\n  Medium of 1767 and 1768, as by\n    \"State of the Nation,\" p. 29 and 30          3,919,375\n  Present peace establishment, as by the\n    project in \"State of the Nation,\" p. 33      3,468,161\n\n\nIt is not from anything our author has anywhere said, that you are\nenabled to find the ground, much less the justification, of the immense\ndifference between these several systems; you must compare them\nyourself, article by article; no very pleasing employment, by the way,\nto compare the agreement or disagreement of two chimeras. I now only\nspeak of the comparison of his own two projects. As to the latter of\nthem, it differs from the former, by having some of the articles\ndiminished, and others increased.[72] I find the chief article of\nreduction arises from the smaller deficiency of land and malt, and of\nthe annuity funds, which he brings down to 295,561_l._ in his new\nestimate, from 502,400_l._ which he had allowed for those articles in\nthe \"Considerations.\" With this _reduction_, owing, as it must be,\nmerely to a smaller deficiency of funds, he has nothing at all to do. It\ncan be no work and no merit of his. But with regard to the _increase_,\nthe matter is very different. It is all his own; the public is loaded\n(for anything we can see to the contrary) entirely _gratis_. The chief\narticles of the increase are on the navy,[73] and on the army and\nordnance extraordinaries; the navy being estimated in his \"State of the\nNation\" 50,000_l._ a year more, and the army and ordnance\nextraordinaries 40,000_l._ more, than he had thought proper to allow for\nthem in that estimate in his \"Considerations,\" which he makes the\nfoundation of his present project. He has given no sort of reason,\nstated no sort of necessity, for this additional allowance, either in\nthe one article or the other. What is still stronger, he admits that his\nallowance for the army and ordnance extras is too great, and expressly\nrefers you to the \"Considerations\";[74] where, far from giving\n75,000_l._ a year to that service, as the \"State of the Nation\" has\ndone, the author apprehends his own scanty provision of 35,000_l._ to be\nby far too considerable, and thinks it may well admit of further\nreductions.[75] Thus, according to his own principles, this great\neconomist falls into a vicious prodigality; and is as far in his\nestimate from a consistency with his own principles as with the real\nnature of the services.\n\nStill, however, his present establishment differs from its archetype of\n1764, by being, though raised in particular parts, upon the whole, about\n141,000_l._ smaller. It is improved, he tells us, by the experience of\nthe two last years. One would have concluded that the peace\nestablishment of these two years had been less than that of 1764, in\norder to suggest to the author his improvements, which enabled him to\nreduce it. But how does that turn out?\n\n  Peace establishment[76] 1767 and 1768, medium       L3,919,375\n  Ditto, estimate in the \"Considerations,\" for 1764    3,609,700\n                                                       ---------\n                            Difference                  L309,675\n\nA vast increase instead of diminution. The experience then of the two\nlast years ought naturally to have given the idea of a heavier\nestablishment; but this writer is able to diminish by increasing, and to\ndraw the effects of subtraction from the operations of addition. By\nmeans of these new powers, he may certainly do whatever he pleases. He\nis indeed moderate enough in the use of them, and condescends to settle\nhis establishments at 3,468,161_l._ a year.\n\nHowever, he has not yet done with it; he has further ideas of saving,\nand new resources of revenue. These additional savings are principally\ntwo: 1st, _It is to be hoped_,[77] says he, that the sum of 250,000_l._\n(which in the estimate he allows for the deficiency of land and malt)\nwill be less by 37,924_l._[78]\n\n2nd, That the sum of 20,000_l._ allowed for the Foundling Hospital, and\n1800_l._ for American Surveys, will soon cease to be necessary, as the\nservices will be completed.\n\nWhat follows, with regard to the resources,[79] is very well worthy the\nreader's attention. \"Of this estimate,\" says he, \"upwards of 300,000_l._\nwill be for the plantation service; and that sum, _I hope_, the people\nof Ireland and the colonies _might be induced_ to take off Great\nBritain, and defray between them, in the proportion of 200,000_l._ by\nthe colonies, and 100,000_l._ by Ireland.\"\n\nSuch is the whole of this mighty scheme. Take his reduced estimate, and\nhis further reductions, and his resources all together, and the result\nwill be,--he will _certainly_ lower the provision made for the navy. He\nwill cut off largely (God knows what or how) from the army and ordnance\nextraordinaries. He may be _expected_ to cut off more. He _hopes_ that\nthe deficiencies on land and malt will be less than usual; and he\n_hopes_ that America and Ireland might be _induced_ to take off\n300,000_l._ of our annual charges.\n\nIf any of these Hopes, Mights, Insinuations, Expectations, and\nInducements, should fail him, there will be a formidable gaping breach\nin his whole project. If all of them should fail, he has left the nation\nwithout a glimmering of hope in this thick night of terrors which he has\nthought fit to spread about us. If every one of them, which, attended\nwith success, would signify anything to our revenue, can have no effect\nbut to add to our distractions and dangers, we shall be if possible in a\nstill worse condition from his projects of cure, than he represents us\nfrom our original disorders.\n\nBefore we examine into the consequences of these schemes, and the\nprobability of these savings, let us suppose them all real and all safe,\nand then see what it is they amount to, and how he reasons on them:--\n\n  Deficiency on land and malt, less by             L37,000\n  Foundling Hospital                                20,000\n  American Surveys                                   1,800\n                                                   -------\n                                                   L58,800\n\nThis is the amount of the only articles of saving he specifies: and yet\nhe chooses to assert,[81] \"that we may venture on the credit of them to\nreduce the standing expenses of the estimate (from 3,468,161_l._) to\n3,300,000_l._\"; that is, for a saving of 58,000_l._ he is not ashamed\nto take credit for a defalcation from his own ideal establishment in a\nsum of no less than 168,161_l._! Suppose even that we were to take up\nthe estimate of the \"Considerations\" (which is however abandoned in the\n\"State of the Nation\"), and reduce his 75,000_l._ extraordinaries to the\noriginal 35,000_l._, still all these savings joined together give us but\n98,800_l._; that is, near 70,000_l._ short of the credit he calls for,\nand for which he has neither given any reason, nor furnished any data\nwhatsoever for others to reason upon.\n\nSuch are his savings, as operating on his own project of a peace\nestablishment. Let us now consider them as they affect the existing\nestablishment and our actual services. He tells us, the sum allowed in\nhis estimate for the navy is \"69,321_l._ less than the grant for that\nservice in 1767; but in that grant 30,000_l._ was included for the\npurchase of hemp, and a saving of about 25,000_l._ was made in that\nyear.\" The author has got some secret in arithmetic. These two sums put\ntogether amount, in the ordinary way of computing, to 55,000_l._, and\nnot to 69,321_l._ On what principle has he chosen to take credit for\n14,321_l._ more? To what this strange inaccuracy is owing, I cannot\npossibly comprehend; nor is it very material, where the logic is so bad,\nand the policy so erroneous, whether the arithmetic be just or\notherwise. But in a scheme for making this nation \"happy at home and\nrespected abroad, formidable in war and flourishing in peace,\" it is\nsurely a little unfortunate for us, that he has picked out the _Navy_,\nas the very first object of his economical experiments. Of all the\npublic services, that of the navy is the one in which tampering may be\nof the greatest danger, which can worst be supplied upon an emergency,\nand of which any failure draws after it the longest and heaviest train\nof consequences. I am far from saying, that this or any service ought\nnot to be conducted with economy. But I will never suffer the sacred\nname of economy to be bestowed upon arbitrary defalcation of charge. The\nauthor tells us himself, \"that to suffer the navy to rot in harbor for\nwant of repairs and marines, would be to invite destruction.\" It would\nbe so. When the author talks therefore of savings on the navy estimate,\nit is incumbent on him to let us know, not what sums he will cut off,\nbut what branch of that service he deems superfluous. Instead of putting\nus off with unmeaning generalities, he ought to have stated what naval\nforce, what naval works, and what naval stores, with the lowest\nestimated expense, are necessary to keep our marine in a condition\ncommensurate to its great ends. And this too not for the contracted and\ndeceitful space of a single year, but for some reasonable term.\nEverybody knows that many charges cannot be in their nature regular or\nannual. In the year 1767 a stock of hemp, &c., was to be laid in; that\ncharge intermits, but it does not end. Other charges of other kinds take\ntheir place. Great works are now carrying on at Portsmouth, but not of\ngreater magnitude than utility; and they must be provided for. A year's\nestimate is therefore no just idea at all of a permanent peace\nestablishment. Had the author opened this matter upon these plain\nprinciples, a judgment might have been formed, how far he had contrived\nto reconcile national defence with public economy. Till he has done it,\nthose who had rather depend on any man's reason than the greatest man's\nauthority, will not give him credit on this head, for the saving of a\nsingle shilling. As to those savings which are already made, or in\ncourse of being made, whether right or wrong, he has nothing at all to\ndo with them; they can be no part of his project, considered as a plan\nof reformation. I greatly fear that the error has not lately been on the\nside of profusion.\n\nAnother head is the saving on the army and ordnance extraordinaries,\nparticularly in the American branch. What or how much reduction may be\nmade, none of us, I believe, can with any fairness pretend to say; very\nlittle, I am convinced. The state of America is extremely unsettled;\nmore troops have been sent thither; new dispositions have been made; and\nthis augmentation of number, and change of disposition, has rarely, I\nbelieve, the effect of lessening the bill for extraordinaries, which, if\nnot this year, yet in the next we must certainly feel. Care has not been\nwanting to introduce economy into that part of the service. The author's\ngreat friend has made, I admit, some regulations: his immediate\nsuccessors have made more and better. This part will be handled more\nably and more minutely at another time: but no one can cut down this\nbill of extraordinaries at his pleasure. The author has given us\nnothing, but his word, for any certain or considerable reduction; and\nthis we ought to be the more cautious in taking, as he has promised\ngreat savings in his \"Considerations,\" which he has not chosen to abide\nby in his \"State of the Nation.\"\n\nOn this head also of the American extraordinaries, he can take credit\nfor nothing. As to his next, the lessening of the deficiency of the land\nand malt-tax, particularly of the malt-tax, any person the least\nconversant in that subject cannot avoid a smile. This deficiency arises\nfrom charge of collection, from anticipation, and from defective\nproduce. What has the author said on the reduction of any head of this\ndeficiency upon the land-tax? On these points he is absolutely silent.\nAs to the deficiency on the malt-tax, which is chiefly owing to a\ndefective produce, he has and can have nothing to propose. If this\ndeficiency should he lessened by the increase of malting in any years\nmore than in others, (as it is a greatly fluctuating object,) how much\nof this obligation shall we owe to this author's ministry? will it not\nbe the case under any administration? must it not go to the general\nservice of the year, in some way or other, let the finances be in whose\nhands they will? But why take credit for so extremely reduced a\ndeficiency at all? I can tell him he has no rational ground for it in\nthe produce of the year 1767; and I suspect will have full as little\nreason from the produce of the year 1768. That produce may indeed become\ngreater, and the deficiency of course will be less. It may too be far\notherwise. A fair and judicious financier will not, as this writer has\ndone, for the sake of making out a specious account, select a favorable\nyear or two, at remote periods, and ground his calculations on those. In\n1768 he will not take the deficiencies of 1753 and 1754 for his\nstandard. Sober men have hitherto (and must continue this course, to\npreserve this character,) taken indifferently the mediums of the years\nimmediately preceding. But a person who has a scheme from which he\npromises much to the public ought to be still more cautious; he should\nground his speculation rather on the lowest mediums because all new\nschemes are known to be subject to some defect or failure not foreseen;\nand which therefore every prudent proposer will be ready to allow for,\nin order to lay his foundation as low and as solid as possible. Quite\ncontrary is the practice of some politicians. They first propose\nsavings, which they well know cannot be made, in order to get a\nreputation for economy. In due time they assume another, but a different\nmethod, by providing for the service they had before cut off or\nstraitened, and which they can then very easily prove to be necessary.\nIn the same spirit they raise magnificent ideas of revenue on funds\nwhich they know to be insufficient. Afterwards, who can blame them, if\nthey do not satisfy the public desires? They are great artificers but\nthey cannot work without materials.\n\nThese are some of the little arts of great statesmen. To such we leave\nthem, and follow where the author leads us, to his next resource, the\nFoundling Hospital. Whatever particular virtue there is in the mode of\nthis saving, there seems to be nothing at all new, and indeed nothing\nwonderfully important in it. The sum annually voted for the support of\nthe Foundling Hospital has been in a former Parliament limited to the\nestablishment of the children then in the hospital. When they are\napprenticed, this provision will cease. It will therefore fall in more\nor less at different times; and will at length cease entirely. But,\nuntil it does, we cannot reckon upon it as the saving on the\nestablishment of any given year: nor can any one conceive how the author\ncomes to mention this, any more than some other articles, as a part of a\n_new_ plan of economy which is to retrieve our affairs. This charge will\nindeed cease in its own time. But will no other succeed to it? Has he\never known the public free from some contingent charge, either for the\njust support of royal dignity or for national magnificence, or for\npublic charity, or for public service? does he choose to flatter his\nreaders that no such will ever return? or does he in good earnest\ndeclare, that let the reason, or necessity, be what they will, he is\nresolved not to provide for such services?\n\nAnother resource of economy yet remains, for he gleans the field very\nclosely,--1800_l._ for the American surveys. Why, what signifies a\ndispute about trifles? he shall have it. But while he is carrying it\noff, I shall just whisper in his ear, that neither the saving that is\nallowed, nor that which is doubted of, can at all belong to that future\nproposed administration, whose touch is to cure all our evils. Both the\none and the other belong equally (as indeed all the rest do) to the\npresent administration, to any administration; because they are the gift\nof time, and not the bounty of the exchequer.\n\nI have now done with all the minor, preparatory parts of the author's\nscheme, the several articles of saving which he proposes. At length\ncomes the capital operation, his new resources. Three hundred thousand\npounds a year from America and Ireland.--Alas! alas! if that too should\nfail us, what will become of this poor undone nation? The author, in a\ntone of great humility, _hopes_ they may be induced to pay it. Well, if\nthat be all, we may hope so too: and for any light he is pleased to give\nus into the ground of this hope, and the ways and means of this\ninducement, here is a speedy end both of the question and the revenue.\n\nIt is the constant custom of this author, in all his writings, to take\nit for granted, that he has given you a revenue, whenever he can point\nout to you where you may have money, if you can contrive how to get at\nit; and this seems to be the masterpiece of his financial ability. I\nthink, however, in his way of proceeding, he has behaved rather like a\nharsh step-dame, than a kind nursing-mother to his country. Why stop at\n300,000_l._ If his state of things be at all founded, America and\nIreland are much better able to pay 600,000_l._ than we are to satisfy\nourselves with half that sum. However, let us forgive him this one\ninstance of tenderness towards Ireland and the colonies.\n\nHe spends a vast deal of time[82] in an endeavor to prove that Ireland\nis able to bear greater impositions. He is of opinion, that the poverty\nof the lower class of people there is, in a great measure, owing to _a\nwant_ of judicious taxes; that a land-tax will enrich her tenants; that\ntaxes are paid in England which are not paid there; that the colony\ntrade is increased above 100,000_l._ since the peace; that she _ought_\nto have further indulgence in that trade; and ought to have further\nprivileges in the woollen manufacture. From these premises, of what she\nhas, what she has not, and what she ought to have, he infers that\nIreland will contribute 100,000_l._ towards the extraordinaries of the\nAmerican establishment.\n\nI shall make no objections whatsoever, logical or financial, to this\nreasoning: many occur; but they would lead me from my purpose, from\nwhich I do not intend to be diverted, because it seems to me of no small\nimportance. It will be just enough to hint, what I dare say many readers\nhave before observed, that when any man proposes new taxes in a country\nwith which he is not personally conversant by residence or office, he\nought to lay open its situation much more minutely and critically than\nthis author has done, or than perhaps he is able to do. He ought not to\ncontent himself with saying that a single article of her trade is\nincreased 100,000_l._ a year; he ought, if he argues from the increase\nof trade to the increase of taxes, to state the whole trade, and not one\nbranch of trade only; he ought to enter fully into the state of its\nremittances, and the course of its exchange; he ought likewise to\nexamine whether all its establishments are increased or diminished; and\nwhether it incurs or discharges debts annually. But I pass over all\nthis; and am content to ask a few plain questions.\n\nDoes the author then seriously mean to propose in Parliament a land-tax,\nor any tax for 100,000_l._ a year upon Ireland? If he does, and if\nfatally, by his temerity and our weakness, he should succeed; then I say\nhe will throw the whole empire from one end of it to the other into\nmortal convulsions. What is it that can satisfy the furious and\nperturbed mind of this man? is it not enough for him that such projects\nhave alienated our colonies from the mother-country, and not to propose\nviolently to tear our sister kingdom also from our side, and to convince\nevery dependent part of the empire, that, when a little money is to be\nraised, we have no sort of regard to their ancient customs, their\nopinions, their circumstances, or their affections? He has however a\n_douceur_ for Ireland in his pocket; benefits in trade, by opening the\nwoollen manufacture to that nation. A very right idea in my opinion; but\nnot more strong in reason, than likely to be opposed by the most\npowerful and most violent of all local prejudices and popular passions.\nFirst, a fire is already kindled by his schemes of taxation in America;\nhe then proposes one which will set all Ireland in a blaze; and his way\nof quenching both is by a plan which may kindle perhaps ten times a\ngreater flame in Britain.\n\nWill the author pledge himself, previously to his proposal of such a\ntax, to carry this enlargement of the Irish trade? If he does not, then\nthe tax will be certain; the benefit will be less than problematical. In\nthis view, his compensation to Ireland vanishes into smoke; the tax, to\ntheir prejudices, will appear stark naked in the light of an act of\narbitrary power and oppression. But, if he should propose the benefit\nand tax together, then the people of Ireland, a very high and spirited\npeople, would think it the worst bargain in the world. They would look\nupon the one as wholly vitiated and poisoned by the other; and, if they\ncould not be separated, would infallibly resist them both together. Here\nwould be taxes, indeed, amounting to a handsome sum; 100,000_l._ very\neffectually voted, and passed through the best and most authentic forms;\nbut how to be collected?--This is his perpetual manner. One of his\nprojects depends for success upon another project, and this upon a\nthird, all of them equally visionary. His finance is like the Indian\nphilosophy; his earth is poised on the horns of a bull, his bull stands\nupon an elephant, his elephant is supported by a tortoise; and so on\nforever.\n\nAs to his American 200,000_l._ a year, he is satisfied to repeat\ngravely, as he has done an hundred times before, that the Americans are\nable to pay it. Well, and what then? does he lay open any part of his\nplan how they may be compelled to pay it, without plunging ourselves\ninto calamities that outweigh tenfold the proposed benefit? or does he\nshow how they may be induced to submit to it quietly? or does he give\nany satisfaction concerning the mode of levying it; in commercial\ncolonies, one of the most important and difficult of all considerations?\nNothing like it. To the Stamp Act, whatever its excellences may be, I\nthink he will not in reality recur, or even choose to assert that he\nmeans to do so, in case his minister should come again into power. If he\ndoes, I will predict that some of the fastest friends of that minister\nwill desert him upon this point. As to port duties he has damned them\nall in the lump, by declaring them[83] \"contrary to the first principles\nof colonization, and not less prejudicial to the interests of Great\nBritain than to those of the colonies.\" Surely this single observation\nof his ought to have taught him a little caution; he ought to have begun\nto doubt, whether there is not something in the nature of commercial\ncolonies, which renders them an unfit object of taxation; when port\nduties, so large a fund of revenue in all countries, are by himself\nfound, in this case, not only improper, but destructive. However, he has\nhere pretty well narrowed the field of taxation. Stamp Act, hardly to be\nresumed. Port duties, mischievous. Excises, I believe, he will scarcely\nthink worth the collection (if any revenue should be so) in America.\nLand-tax (notwithstanding his opinion of its immense use to agriculture)\nhe will not directly propose, before he has thought again and again on\nthe subject. Indeed he very readily recommends it for Ireland, and\nseems to think it not improper for America; because, he observes, they\nalready raise most of their taxes internally, including this tax. A most\ncurious reason, truly! because their lands are already heavily burdened,\nhe thinks it right to burden them still further. But he will recollect,\nfor surely he cannot be ignorant of it, that the lands of America are\nnot, as in England, let at a rent certain in money, and therefore\ncannot, as here, be taxed at a certain pound rate. They value them in\ngross among themselves; and none but themselves in their several\ndistricts can value them. Without their hearty concurrence and\nco-operation, it is evident, we cannot advance a step in the assessing\nor collecting any land-tax. As to the taxes which in some places the\nAmericans pay by the acre, they are merely duties of regulation; they\nare small; and to increase them, notwithstanding the secret virtues of a\nland-tax, would be the most effectual means of preventing that\ncultivation they are intended to promote. Besides, the whole country is\nheavily in arrear already for land-taxes and quit-rents. They have\ndifferent methods of taxation in the different provinces, agreeable to\ntheir several local circumstances. In New England by far the greatest\npart of their revenue is raised by _faculty-taxes_ and _capitations_.\nSuch is the method in many others. It is obvious that Parliament,\nunassisted by the colonies themselves, cannot take so much as a single\nstep in this mode of taxation. Then what tax is it he will impose? Why,\nafter all the boasting speeches and writings of his faction for these\nfour years, after all the vain expectations which they have held out to\na deluded public, this their great advocate, after twisting the subject\nevery way, after writhing himself in every posture, after knocking at\nevery door, is obliged fairly to abandon every mode of taxation\nwhatsoever in America.[84] He thinks it the best method for Parliament\nto impose the sum, and reserve the account to itself, leaving the mode\nof taxation to the colonies. But how and in what proportion? what does\nthe author say? O, not a single syllable on this the most material part\nof the whole question! Will he, in Parliament, undertake to settle the\nproportions of such payments from Nova Scotia to Nevis, in no fewer than\nsix-and-twenty different countries, varying in almost every possible\ncircumstance one from another? If he does, I tell him, he adjourns his\nrevenue to a very long day. If he leaves it to themselves to settle\nthese proportions, he adjourns it to doomsday.\n\nThen what does he get by this method on the side of acquiescence? will\nthe people of America relish this course, of giving and granting and\napplying their money, the better because their assemblies are made\ncommissioners of the taxes? This is far worse than all his former\nprojects; for here, if the assemblies shall refuse, or delay, or be\nnegligent, or fraudulent, in this new-imposed duty, we are wholly\nwithout remedy; and neither our custom-house officers, nor our troops,\nnor our armed ships can be of the least use in the collection. No idea\ncan be more contemptible (I will not call it an oppressive one, the\nharshness is lost in the folly) than that of proposing to get any\nrevenue from the Americans but by their freest and most cheerful\nconsent. Most moneyed men know their own interest right well; and are as\nable as any financier, in the valuation of risks. Yet I think this\nfinancier will scarcely find that adventurer hardy enough, at any\npremium, to advance a shilling upon a vote of such taxes. Let him name\nthe man, or set of men, that would do it. This is the only proof of the\nvalue of revenues; what would an interested man rate them at? His\nsubscription would be at ninety-nine per cent discount the very first\nday of its opening. Here is our only national security from ruin; a\nsecurity upon which no man in his senses would venture a shilling of his\nfortune. Yet he puts down those articles as gravely in his supply for\nthe peace establishment, as if the money had been all fairly lodged in\nthe exchequer.\n\n          American revenue                      L200,000\n          Ireland                                100,000\n\nVery handsome indeed! But if supply is to be got in such a manner,\nfarewell the lucrative mystery of finance! If you are to be credited for\nsavings, without showing how, why, or with what safety, they are to be\nmade; and for revenues, without specifying on what articles, or by what\nmeans, or at what expense, they are to be collected; there is not a\nclerk in a public office who may not outbid this author, or his friend,\nfor the department of chancellor of the exchequer; not an apprentice in\nthe city, that will not strike out, with the same advantages, the same,\nor a much larger plan of supply.\n\nHere is the whole of what belongs to the author's scheme for saving us\nfrom impending destruction. Take it even in its most favorable point of\nview, as a thing within possibility; and imagine what must be the wisdom\nof this gentleman, or his opinion of ours, who could first think of\nrepresenting this nation in such a state, as no friend can look upon but\nwith horror, and scarcely an enemy without compassion, and afterwards\nof diverting himself with such inadequate, impracticable, puerile\nmethods for our relief! If these had been the dreams of some unknown,\nunnamed, and nameless writer, they would excite no alarm; their weakness\nhad been an antidote to their malignity. But as they are universally\nbelieved to be written by the hand, or, what amounts to the same thing,\nunder the immediate direction, of a person who has been in the\nmanagement of the highest affairs, and may soon be in the same\nsituation, I think it is not to be reckoned amongst our greatest\nconsolations, that the yet remaining power of this kingdom is to be\nemployed in an attempt to realize notions that are at once so frivolous,\nand so full of danger. That consideration will justify me in dwelling a\nlittle longer on the difficulties of the nation, and the solutions of\nour author.\n\nI am then persuaded that he cannot be in the least alarmed about our\nsituation, let his outcry be what he pleases. I will give him a reason\nfor my opinion, which, I think, he cannot dispute. All that he bestows\nupon the nation, which it does not possess without him, and supposing it\nall sure money, amounts to no more than a sum of 300,000_l._ a year.\nThis, he thinks, will do the business completely, and render us\nflourishing at home, and respectable abroad. If the option between glory\nand shame, if our salvation or destruction, depended on this sum, it is\nimpossible that he should have been active, and made a merit of that\nactivity, in taking off a shilling in the pound of the land-tax, which\ncame up to his grand desideratum, and upwards of 100,000_l._ more. By\nthis manoeuvre, he left our trade, navigation, and manufactures, on the\nverge of destruction, our finances in ruin, our credit expiring, Ireland\non the point of being ceded to France, the colonies of being torn to\npieces, the succession of the crown at the mercy of our great rival, and\nthe kingdom itself on the very point of becoming tributary to that\nhaughty power. All this for want of 300,000_l._; for I defy the reader\nto point out any other revenue, or any other precise and defined scheme\nof politics, which he assigns for our redemption.\n\nI know that two things may be said in his defence, as bad reasons are\nalways at hand in an indifferent cause; that he was not sure the money\nwould be applied as he thinks it ought to be, by the present ministers.\nI think as ill of them as he does to the full. They have done very near\nas much mischief as they can do, to a constitution so robust as this is.\nNothing can make them more dangerous, but that, as they are already in\ngeneral composed of his disciples and instruments, they may add to the\npublic calamity of their own measures, the adoption of his projects. But\nbe the ministers what they may, the author knows that they could not\navoid applying this 450,000_l._ to the service of the establishment, as\nfaithfully as he, or any other minister, could do. I say they could not\navoid it, and have no merit at all for the application. But supposing\nthat they should greatly mismanage this revenue. Here is a good deal of\nroom for mistake and prodigality before you come to the edge of ruin.\nThe difference between the amount of that real and his imaginary revenue\nis, 150,000_l._ a year at least; a tolerable sum for them to play with:\nthis might compensate the difference between the author's economy and\ntheir profusion; and still, notwithstanding their vices and ignorance,\nthe nation might he saved. The author ought also to recollect, that a\ngood man would hardly deny, even to the worst of ministers, the means of\ndoing their duty; especially in a crisis when our being depended on\nsupplying them with some means or other. In such a case their penury of\nmind, in discovering resources, would make it rather the more necessary,\nnot to strip such poor providers of the little stock they had in hand.\n\nBesides, here is another subject of distress, and a very serious one,\nwhich puts us again to a stand. The author may possibly not come into\npower (I only state the possibility): he may not always continue in it:\nand if the contrary to all this should fortunately for us happen, what\ninsurance on his life can be made for a sum adequate to his loss? Then\nwe are thus unluckily situated, that the _chance_ of an American and\nIrish revenue of 300,000_l._ to be managed by him, is to save us from\nruin two or three years hence at best, to make us happy at home and\nglorious abroad; and the actual possession of 400,000_l._ English taxes\ncannot so much as protract our ruin without him. So we are staked on\nfour chances; his power, its permanence, the success of his projects,\nand the duration of his life. Any one of these failing, we are gone.\n_Propria haec si dona fuissent!_ This is no unfair representation;\nultimately all hangs on his life, because, in his account of every set\nof men that have held or supported administration, he finds neither\nvirtue nor ability in any but himself. Indeed he pays (through their\nmeasures) some compliments to Lord Bute and Lord Despenser. But to the\nlatter, this is, I suppose, but a civility to old acquaintance: to the\nformer, a little stroke of politics. We may therefore fairly say, that\nour only hope is his life; and he has, to make it the more so, taken\ncare to cut off any resource which we possessed independently of him.\n\nIn the next place it may be said, to excuse any appearance of\ninconsistency between the author's actions and his declarations, that he\nthought it right to relieve the landed interest, and lay the burden\nwhere it ought to lie, on the colonies. What! to take off a revenue so\nnecessary to our being, before anything whatsoever was acquired in the\nplace of it? In prudence, he ought to have waited at least for the first\nquarter's receipt of the new anonymous American revenue, and Irish\nland-tax. Is there something so specific for our disorders in American,\nand something so poisonous in English money, that one is to heal, the\nother to destroy us? To say that the landed interest _could_ not\ncontinue to pay it for a year or two longer, is more than the author\nwill attempt to prove. To say that they _would_ pay it no longer, is to\ntreat the landed interest, in my opinion, very scurvily. To suppose that\nthe gentry, clergy, and freeholders of England do not rate the commerce,\nthe credit, the religion, the liberty, the independency of their\ncountry, and the succession of their crown, at a shilling in the pound\nland-tax! They never gave him reason to think so meanly of them. And, if\nI am rightly informed, when that measure was debated in Parliament, a\nvery different reason was assigned by the author's great friend, as well\nas by others, for that reduction: one very different from the critical\nand almost desperate state of our finances. Some people then endeavored\nto prove, that the reduction might be made without detriment to the\nnational credit, or the due support of a proper peace establishment;\notherwise it is obvious that the reduction could not be defended in\nargument. So that this author cannot despair so much of the\ncommonwealth, without this American and Irish revenue, as he pretends to\ndo. If he does, the reader sees how handsomely he has provided for us,\nby voting away one revenue, and by giving us a pamphlet on the other.\n\nI do not mean to blame the relief which was then given by Parliament to\nthe land. It was grounded on very weighty reasons. The administration\ncontended only for its continuance for a year, in order to have the\nmerit of taking off the shilling in the pound immediately before the\nelections; and thus to bribe the freeholders of England with their own\nmoney.\n\nIt is true, the author, in his estimate of ways and means, takes credit\nfor 400,000_l._ a year, _Indian Revenue_. But he will not very\npositively insist, that we should put this revenue to the account of his\nplans or his power; and for a very plain reason: we are already near two\nyears in possession of it. By what means we came to that possession, is\na pretty long story; however, I shall give nothing more than a short\nabstract of the proceeding, in order to see whether the author will take\nto himself any part in that measure.\n\nThe fact is this; the East India Company had for a good while solicited\nthe ministry for a negotiation, by which they proposed to pay largely\nfor some advantages in their trade, and for the renewal of their\ncharter. This had been the former method of transacting with that body.\nGovernment having only leased the monopoly for short terms, the Company\nhas been obliged to resort to it frequently for renewals. These two\nparties had always negotiated (on the true principle of credit) not as\ngovernment and subject, but as equal dealers, on the footing of mutual\nadvantage. The public had derived great benefit from such dealing. But\nat that time new ideas prevailed. The ministry, instead of listening to\nthe proposals of that Company, chose to set up a claim of the crown to\ntheir possessions. The original plan seems to have been, to get the\nHouse of Commons to compliment the crown with a sort of juridical\ndeclaration of a title to the Company's acquisitions in India; which the\ncrown on its part, with the best air in the world, was to bestow upon\nthe public. Then it would come to the turn of the House of Commons again\nto be liberal and grateful to the crown. The civil list debts were to be\npaid off; with perhaps a pretty augmentation of income. All this was to\nbe done on the most public-spirited principles, and with a politeness\nand mutual interchange of good offices, that could not but have charmed.\nBut what was best of all, these civilities were to be without a farthing\nof charge to either of the kind and obliging parties. The East India\nCompany was to be covered with infamy and disgrace, and at the same time\nwas to pay the whole bill.\n\nIn consequence of this scheme, the terrors of a parliamentary inquiry\nwere hung over them. A judicature was asserted in Parliament to try this\nquestion. But lest this judicial character should chance to inspire\ncertain stubborn ideas of law and right, it was argued, that the\njudicature was arbitrary, and ought not to determine by the rules of\nlaw, but by their opinion of policy and expediency. Nothing exceeded the\nviolence of some of the managers, except their impotence. They were\nbewildered by their passions, and by their want of knowledge or want of\nconsideration of the subject. The more they advanced, the further they\nfound themselves from their object.--All things ran into confusion. The\nministers quarrelled among themselves. They disclaimed one another. They\nsuspended violence, and shrunk from treaty. The inquiry was almost at\nits last gasp; when some active persons of the Company were given to\nunderstand that this hostile proceeding was only set up _in terrorem_;\nthat government was far from an intention of seizing upon the\npossessions of the Company. Administration, they said, was sensible,\nthat the idea was in every light full of absurdity; and that such a\nseizure was not more out of their power, than remote from their wishes;\nand therefore, if the Company would come in a liberal manner to the\nHouse, they certainly could not fail of putting a speedy end to this\ndisagreeable business, and of opening a way to an advantageous treaty.\n\nOn this hint the Company acted: they came at once to a resolution of\ngetting rid of the difficulties which arose from the complication of\ntheir trade with their revenue; a step which despoiled them of their\nbest defensive armor, and put them at once into the power of\nadministration. They threw their whole stock of every kind, the revenue,\nthe trade, and even their debt from government, into one fund, which\nthey computed on the surest grounds would amount to 800,000_l._, with a\nlarge probable surplus for the payment of debt. Then they agreed to\ndivide this sum in equal portions between themselves and the public,\n400,000_l._ to each. This gave to the proprietors of that fund an annual\naugmentation of no more than 80,000_l._ dividend. They ought to receive\nfrom government 120,000_l._ for the loan of their capital. So that, in\nfact, the whole, which on this plan they reserved to themselves, from\ntheir vast revenues, from their extensive trade, and in consideration of\nthe great risks and mighty expenses which purchased these advantages,\namounted to no more than 280,000_l._, whilst government was to receive,\nas I said, 400,000_l._\n\nThis proposal was thought by themselves liberal indeed; and they\nexpected the highest applauses for it. However, their reception was very\ndifferent from their expectations. When they brought up their plan to\nthe House of Commons, the offer, as it was natural, of 400,000_l._ was\nvery well relished. But nothing could be more disgustful than the\n80,000_l._ which the Company had divided amongst themselves. A violent\ntempest of public indignation and fury rose against them. The heads of\npeople turned. The Company was held well able to pay 400,000_l._ a year\nto government; but bankrupts, if they attempted to divide the fifth part\nof it among themselves. An _ex post facto_ law was brought in with great\nprecipitation, for annulling this dividend. In the bill was inserted a\nclause, which suspended for about a year the right, which, under the\npublic faith, the Company enjoyed, of making their own dividends. Such\nwas the disposition and temper of the House, that although the plain\nface of facts, reason, arithmetic, all the authority, parts, and\neloquence in the kingdom, were against this bill; though all the\nChancellors of the Exchequer, who had held that office from the\nbeginning of this reign, opposed it; yet a few placemen of the\nsubordinate departments sprung out of their ranks, took the lead, and,\nby an opinion _of some sort of secret support_, carried the bill with a\nhigh hand, leaving the then Secretary of State and the Chancellor of the\nExchequer in a very moderate minority. In this distracted situation, the\nmanagers of the bill, notwithstanding their triumph, did not venture to\npropose the payment of the civil list debt. The Chancellor of the\nExchequer was not in good humor enough, after his late defeat by his own\ntroops, to co-operate in such a design; so they made an act, to lock up\nthe money in the exchequer until they should have time to look about\nthem, and settle among themselves what they were to do with it.\n\nThus ended this unparalleled transaction. The author, I believe, will\nnot claim any part of the glory of it: he will leave it whole and entire\nto the authors of the measure. The money was the voluntary, free gift of\nthe Company; the rescinding bill was the act of legislature, to which\nthey and we owe submission: the author has nothing to do with the one or\nwith the other. However, he cannot avoid rubbing himself against this\nsubject merely for the pleasure of stirring controversies, and\ngratifying a certain pruriency of taxation that seems to infect his\nblood. It is merely to indulge himself in speculations of taxing, that\nhe chooses to harangue on this subject. For he takes credit for no\ngreater sum than the public is already in possession of. He does not\nhint that the Company means, or has ever shown any disposition, if\nmanaged with common prudence, to pay less in future; and he cannot doubt\nthat the present ministry are as well inclined to drive them by their\nmock inquiries, and real rescinding bills, as he can possibly be with\nhis taxes. Besides, it is obvious, that as great a sum might have been\ndrawn from that Company, without affecting property, or shaking the\nconstitution, or endangering the principle of public credit, or running\ninto his golden dreams of cockets on the Ganges, or visions of\nstamp-duties on _Perwannas_, _Dusticks_, _Kistbundees_, and\n_Husbulhookums_. For once, I will disappoint him in this part of the\ndispute; and only in a very few words recommend to his consideration,\nhow he is to get off the dangerous idea of taxing a public fund, if he\nlevies those duties in England; and if he is to levy them in India, what\nprovision he has made for a revenue establishment there; supposing that\nhe undertakes this new scheme of finance independently of the Company,\nand against its inclinations.\n\nSo much for these revenues; which are nothing but his visions, or\nalready the national possessions without any act of his. It is easy to\nparade with a high talk of Parliamentary rights, of the universality of\nlegislative powers, and of uniform taxation. Men of sense, when new\nprojects come before them, always think a discourse proving the mere\nright or mere power of acting in the manner proposed, to be no more than\na very unpleasant way of misspending time. They must see the object to\nbe of proper magnitude to engage them; they must see the means of\ncompassing it to be next to certain; the mischiefs not to counterbalance\nthe profit; they will examine how a proposed imposition or regulation\nagrees with the opinion of those who are likely to be affected by it;\nthey will not despise the consideration even of their habitudes and\nprejudices. They wish to know how it accords or disagrees with the true\nspirit of prior establishments, whether of government or of finance;\nbecause they well know, that in the complicated economy of great\nkingdoms, and immense revenues, which in a length of time, and by a\nvariety of accidents have coalesced into a sort of body, an attempt\ntowards a compulsory equality in all circumstances, and an exact\npractical definition of the supreme rights in every case, is the most\ndangerous and chimerical of all enterprises. The old building stands\nwell enough, though part Gothic, part Grecian, and part Chinese, until\nan attempt is made to square it into uniformity. Then it may come down\nupon our heads altogether, in much uniformity of ruin; and great will be\nthe fall thereof. Some people, instead of inclining to debate the\nmatter, only feel a sort of nausea, when they are told, that \"protection\ncalls for supply,\" and that \"all the parts ought to contribute to the\nsupport of the whole.\" Strange argument for great and grave\ndeliberation! As if the same end may not, and must not, be compassed,\naccording to its circumstances, by a great diversity of ways. Thus, in\nGreat Britain, some of our establishments are apt for the support of\ncredit. They stand therefore upon a principle of their own, distinct\nfrom, and in some respects contrary to, the relation between prince and\nsubject. It is a new species of contract superinduced upon the old\ncontract of the state. The idea of power must as much as possible be\nbanished from it; for power and credit are things adverse, incompatible;\n_Non bene conveniunt, nec in una sede morantur_. Such establishments are\nour great _moneyed_ companies. To tax them would be critical and\ndangerous, and contradictory to the very purpose of their institution;\nwhich is credit, and cannot therefore be taxation. But the nation, when\nit gave up that power, did not give up the advantage; but supposed, and\nwith reason, that government was overpaid in credit, for what it seemed\nto lose in authority. In such a case to talk of the rights of\nsovereignty is quite idle. Other establishments supply other modes of\npublic contribution. Our _trading_ companies, as well as individual\nimporters, are a fit subject of revenue by customs. Some establishments\npay us by a _monopoly_ of their consumption and their produce. This,\nnominally no tax, in reality comprehends all taxes. Such establishments\nare our colonies. To tax them would be as erroneous in policy, as\nrigorous in equity. Ireland supplies us by furnishing troops in war; and\nby bearing part of our foreign establishment in peace. She aids us at\nall times by the money that her absentees spend amongst us; which is no\nsmall part of the rental of that kingdom. Thus Ireland contributes her\npart. Some objects bear port-duties. Some are fitter for an inland\nexcise. The mode varies, the object is the same. To strain these from\ntheir old and inveterate leanings, might impair the old benefit, and not\nanswer the end of the new project. Among all the great men of antiquity,\n_Procrustes_ shall never be my hero of legislation; with his iron bed,\nthe allegory of his government, and the type of some modern policy, by\nwhich the long limb was to be cut short, and the short tortured into\nlength. Such was the state-bed of uniformity! He would, I conceive, be a\nvery indifferent farmer, who complained that his sheep did not plough,\nor his horses yield him wool, though it would be an idea full of\nequality. They may think this right in rustic economy, who think it\navailable in the politic:\n\n    Qui Bavium non odit, amet tua carimna, Maevi!\n    Atque idem jungat vulpes, et mulgeat hircos.\n\n\nAs the author has stated this Indian taxation for no visible purpose\nrelative to his plan of supply, so he has stated many other projects\nwith as little, if any distinct end; unless perhaps to show you how full\nhe is of projects for the public good; and what vast expectations may be\nformed of him or his friends, if they should be translated into\nadministration. It is also from some opinion that these speculations may\none day become our public measures, that I think it worth while to\ntrouble the reader at all about them.\n\nTwo of them stand out in high relievo beyond the rest. The first is a\nchange in the internal representation of this country, by enlarging our\nnumber of constituents. The second is an addition to our\nrepresentatives, by new American members of Parliament. I pass over here\nall considerations how far such a system will be an improvement of our\nconstitution according to any sound theory. Not that I mean to condemn\nsuch speculative inquiries concerning this great object of the national\nattention. They may tend to clear doubtful points, and possibly may\nlead, as they have often done, to real improvements. What I object to,\nis their introduction into a discourse relating to the immediate state\nof our affairs, and recommending plans of practical government. In this\nview, I see nothing in them but what is usual with the author; an\nattempt to raise discontent in the people of England, to balance those\ndiscontents which the measures of his friends had already raised in\nAmerica. What other reason can he have for suggesting, that we are not\nhappy enough to enjoy a sufficient number of voters in England? I\nbelieve that most sober thinkers on this subject are rather of opinion,\nthat our fault is on the other side; and that it would be more in the\nspirit of our constitution, and more agreeable to the pattern of our\nbest laws, by lessening the number, to add to the weight and\nindependency of our voters. And truly, considering the immense and\ndangerous charge of elections; the prostitute and daring venality, the\ncorruption of manners, the idleness and profligacy of the lower sort of\nvoters, no prudent man would propose to increase such an evil, if it be,\nas I fear it is, out of our power to administer to it any remedy. The\nauthor proposes nothing further. If he has any improvements that may\nbalance or may lessen this inconvenience, he has thought proper to keep\nthem as usual in his own breast. Since he has been so reserved, I should\nhave wished he had been as cautious with regard to the project itself.\nFirst, because he observes justly, that his scheme, however it might\nimprove the platform, can add nothing to the authority of the\nlegislature; much I fear, it will have a contrary operation; for,\nauthority depending on opinion at least as much as on duty, an idea\ncirculated among the people that our constitution is not so perfect as\nit ought to be, before you are sure of mending it, is a certain method\nof lessening it in the public opinion. Of this irreverent opinion of\nParliament, the author himself complains in one part of his book; and he\nendeavors to increase it in the other.\n\nHas he well considered what an immense operation any change in our\nconstitution is? how many discussions, parties, and passions, it will\nnecessarily excite; and when you open it to inquiry in one part, where\nthe inquiry will stop? Experience shows us, that no time can be fit for\nsuch changes but a time of general confusion; when good men, finding\neverything already broken up, think it right to take advantage of the\nopportunity of such derangement in favor of an useful alteration.\nPerhaps a time of the greatest security and tranquillity both at home\nand abroad may likewise be fit; but will the author affirm this to be\njust such a time? Transferring an idea of military to civil prudence, he\nought to know how dangerous it is to make an alteration of your\ndisposition in the face of an enemy.\n\nNow comes his American representation. Here too, as usual, he takes no\nnotice of any difficulty, nor says anything to obviate those objections\nthat must naturally arise in the minds of his readers. He throws you his\npolitics as he does his revenue; do you make something of them if you\ncan. Is not the reader a little astonished at the proposal of an\nAmerican representation from that quarter? It is proposed merely as a\nproject[85] of speculative improvement; not from the necessity in the\ncase, not to add anything to the authority of Parliament, but that we\nmay afford a greater attention to the concerns of the Americans, and\ngive them a better opportunity of stating their grievances, and of\nobtaining redress. I am glad to find the author has at length discovered\nthat we have not given a sufficient attention to their concerns, or a\nproper redress to their grievances. His great friend would once have\nbeen exceedingly displeased with any person, who should tell him, that\nhe did not attend sufficiently to those concerns. He thought he did so,\nwhen he regulated the colonies over and over again: he thought he did so\nwhen he formed two general systems of revenue; one of port-duties, and\nthe other of internal taxation. These systems supposed, or ought to\nsuppose, the greatest attention to and the most detailed information\nof, all their affairs. However, by contending for the American\nrepresentation, he seems at last driven virtually to admit, that great\ncaution ought to be used in the exercise of _all_ our legislative rights\nover an object so remote from our eye, and so little connected with our\nimmediate feelings; that in prudence we ought not to be quite so ready\nwith our taxes, until we can secure the desired representation in\nParliament. Perhaps it may be some time before this hopeful scheme can\nbe brought to perfect maturity, although the author seems to be in no\nwise aware of any obstructions that lie in the way of it. He talks of\nhis union, just as he does of his taxes and his savings, with as much\n_sang froid_ and ease as if his wish and the enjoyment were exactly the\nsame thing. He appears not to have troubled his head with the infinite\ndifficulty of settling that representation on a fair balance of wealth\nand numbers throughout the several provinces of America and the West\nIndies, under such an infinite variety of circumstances. It costs him\nnothing to fight with nature, and to conquer the order of Providence,\nwhich manifestly opposes itself to the possibility of such a\nParliamentary union.\n\nBut let us, to indulge his passion for projects and power, suppose the\nhappy time arrived, when the author comes into the ministry, and is to\nrealize his speculations. The writs are issued for electing members for\nAmerica and the West Indies. Some provinces receive them in six weeks,\nsome in ten, some in twenty. A vessel may be lost, and then some\nprovinces may not receive them at all. But let it be, that they all\nreceive them at once, and in the shortest time. A proper space must be\ngiven for proclamation and for the election; some weeks at least. But\nthe members are chosen; and if ships are ready to sail, in about six\nmore they arrive in London. In the mean time the Parliament has sat and\nbusiness far advanced without American representatives. Nay, by this\ntime, it may happen that the Parliament is dissolved; and then the\nmembers ship themselves again, to be again elected. The writs may arrive\nin America, before the poor members of a Parliament in which they never\nsat, can arrive at their several provinces. A new interest is formed,\nand they find other members are chosen whilst they are on the high seas.\nBut, if the writs and members arrive together, here is at best a new\ntrial of skill amongst the candidates, after one set of them have well\naired themselves with their two voyages of 6000 miles.\n\nHowever, in order to facilitate everything to the author, we will\nsuppose them all once more elected, and steering again to Old England,\nwith a good heart, and a fair westerly wind in their stern. On their\narrival, they find all in a hurry and bustle; in and out; condolence and\ncongratulation; the crown is demised. Another Parliament is to be\ncalled. Away back to America again on a fourth voyage, and to a third\nelection. Does the author mean to make our kings as immortal in their\npersonal as in their politic character? or whilst he bountifully adds to\ntheir life, will he take from them their prerogative of dissolving\nParliaments, in favor of the American union? or are the American\nrepresentatives to be perpetual, and to feel neither demises of the\ncrown, nor dissolutions of Parliament?\n\nBut these things may be granted to him, without bringing him much nearer\nto his point. What does he think of re-election? is the American member\nthe only one who is not to take a place, or the only one to be exempted\nfrom the ceremony of re-election? How will this great politician\npreserve the rights of electors, the fairness of returns, and the\nprivilege of the House of Commons, as the sole judge of such contests?\nIt would undoubtedly be a glorious sight to have eight or ten petitions,\nor double returns, from Boston and Barbadoes, from Philadelphia and\nJamaica, the members returned, and the petitioners, with all their train\nof attorneys, solicitors, mayors, selectmen, provost-marshals, and above\nfive hundred or a thousand witnesses, come to the bar of the House of\nCommons. Possibly we might be interrupted in the enjoyment of this\npleasing spectacle, if a war should break out, and our constitutional\nfleet, loaded with members of Parliament, returning-officers, petitions,\nand witnesses, the electors and elected, should become a prize to the\nFrench or Spaniards, and be conveyed to Carthagena, or to La Vera Cruz,\nand from thence perhaps to Mexico or Lima, there to remain until a\ncartel for members of Parliament can be settled, or until the war is\nended.\n\nIn truth the author has little studied this business; or he might have\nknown, that some of the most considerable provinces of America, such,\nfor instance, as Connecticut and Massachusetts Bay, have not in each of\nthem two men who can afford, at a distance from their estates, to spend\na thousand pounds a year. How can these provinces be represented at\nWestminster? If their province pays them, they are American agents, with\nsalaries, and not independent members of Parliament. It is true, that\nformerly in England members had salaries from their constituents; but\nthey all had salaries, and were all, in this way, upon a par. If these\nAmerican representatives have no salaries, then they must add to the\nlist of our pensioners and dependents at court, or they must starve.\nThere is no alternative.\n\nEnough of this visionary union; in which much extravagance appears\nwithout any fancy, and the judgment is shocked without anything to\nrefresh the imagination. It looks as if the author had dropped down from\nthe moon, without any knowledge of the general nature of this globe, of\nthe general nature of its inhabitants, without the least acquaintance\nwith the affairs of this country. Governor Pownall has handled the same\nsubject. To do him justice, he treats it upon far more rational\nprinciples of speculation; and much more like a man of business. He\nthinks (erroneously, I conceive; but he does think) that our legislative\nrights are incomplete without such a representation. It is no wonder,\ntherefore, that he endeavors by every means to obtain it. Not like our\nauthor, who is always on velvet, he is aware of some difficulties; and\nhe proposes some solutions. But nature is too hard for both these\nauthors; and America is, and ever will be, without actual representation\nin the House of Commons; nor will any minister be wild enough even to\npropose such a representation in Parliament; however he may choose to\nthrow out that project, together with others equally far from his real\nopinions, and remote from his designs, merely to fall in with the\ndifferent views, and captivate the affections, of different sorts of\nmen.\n\nWhether these projects arise from the author's real political\nprinciples, or are only brought out in subservience to his political\nviews, they compose the whole of anything that is like precise and\ndefinite, which the author has given us to expect from that\nadministration which is so much the subject of his praises and prayers.\nAs to his general propositions, that \"there is a deal of difference\nbetween impossibilities and great difficulties\"; that \"a great scheme\ncannot be carried unless made the business of successive\nadministrations\"; that \"virtuous and able men are the fittest to serve\ntheir country\"; all this I look on as no more than so much rubble to\nfill up the spaces between the regular masonry. Pretty much in the same\nlight I cannot forbear considering his detached observations on\ncommerce; such as, that \"the system for colony regulations would be very\nsimple, and mutually beneficial to Great Britain and her colonies, if\nthe old navigation laws were adhered to.\"[86] That \"the transportation\nshould be in all cases in ships belonging to British subjects.\" That\n\"even British ships should not be _generally_ received into the colonies\nfrom any part of Europe, except the dominions of Great Britain.\" That\n\"it is unreasonable that corn and such like products should be\nrestrained to come first to a British port.\" What do all these fine\nobservations signify? Some of them condemn, as ill practices, things\nthat were never practised at all. Some recommend to be done, things that\nalways have been done. Others indeed convey, though obliquely and\nloosely, some insinuations highly dangerous to our commerce. If I could\nprevail on myself to think the author meant to ground any practice upon\nthese general propositions, I should think it very necessary to ask a\nfew questions about some of them. For instance, what does he mean by\ntalking of an adherence to the old navigation laws? Does he mean, that\nthe particular law, 12 Car. II. c. 19, commonly called \"The Act of\nNavigation,\" is to be adhered to, and that the several subsequent\nadditions, amendments, and exceptions, ought to be all repealed? If so,\nhe will make a strange havoc in the whole system of our trade laws,\nwhich have been universally acknowledged to be full as well founded in\nthe alterations and exceptions, as the act of Charles the Second in the\noriginal provisions; and to pursue full as wisely the great end of that\nvery politic law, the increase of the British navigation. I fancy the\nwriter could hardly propose anything more alarming to those immediately\ninterested in that navigation than such a repeal. If he does not mean\nthis, he has got no farther than a nugatory proposition, which nobody\ncan contradict, and for which no man is the wiser.\n\nThat \"the regulations for the colony trade would be few and simple if\nthe old navigation laws were adhered to,\" I utterly deny as a fact. That\nthey ought to be so, sounds well enough; but this proposition is of the\nsame nugatory nature with some of the former. The regulations for the\ncolony trade ought not to be more nor fewer, nor more nor less complex,\nthan the occasion requires. And, as that trade is in a great measure a\nsystem of art and restriction, they can neither be few nor simple. It is\ntrue, that the very principle may be destroyed, by multiplying to excess\nthe means of securing it. Never did a minister depart more from the\nauthor's ideas of simplicity, or more embarrass the trade of America\nwith the multiplicity and intricacy of regulations and ordinances, than\nhis boasted minister of 1764. That minister seemed to be possessed with\nsomething, hardly short of a rage, for regulation and restriction. He\nhad so multiplied bonds, certificates, affidavits, warrants,\nsufferances, and cockets; had supported them with such severe penalties,\nand extended them without the least consideration of circumstances to so\nmany objects, that, had they all continued in their original force,\ncommerce must speedily have expired under them. Some of them, the\nministry which gave them birth was obliged to destroy: with their own\nhand they signed the condemnation of their own regulations; confessing\nin so many words, in the preamble of their act of the 5th Geo. III.,\nthat some of these regulations had laid _an unnecessary restraint on the\ntrade and correspondence of his Majesty's American subjects_. This, in\nthat ministry, was a candid confession of a mistake; but every\nalteration made in those regulations by their successors is to be the\neffect of envy, and American misrepresentation. So much for the author's\nsimplicity in regulation.\n\nI have now gone through all which I think immediately essential in the\nauthor's idea of war, of peace, of the comparative states of England and\nFrance, of our actual situation; in his projects of economy, of finance,\nof commerce, and of constitutional improvement. There remains nothing\nnow to be considered, except his heavy censures upon the administration\nwhich was formed in 1765; which is commonly known by the name of the\nMarquis of Rockingham's administration, as the administration which\npreceded it is by that of Mr. Grenville. These censures relate chiefly\nto three heads:--1. To the repeal of the American Stamp Act. 2. To the\ncommercial regulations then made. 3. To the course of foreign\nnegotiations during that short period.\n\nA person who knew nothing of public affairs but from the writings of\nthis author, would be led to conclude, that, at the time of the change\nin June, 1765, some well-digested system of administration, founded in\nnational strength, and in the affections of the people, proceeding in\nall points with the most reverential and tender regard to the laws, and\npursuing with equal wisdom and success everything which could tend to\nthe internal prosperity, and to the external honor and dignity of this\ncountry, had been all at once subverted, by an irruption of a sort of\nwild, licentious, unprincipled invaders, who wantonly, and with a\nbarbarous rage, had defaced a thousand fair monuments of the\nconstitutional and political skill of their predecessors. It is natural\nindeed that this author should have some dislike to the administration\nwhich was formed in 1765. Its views, in most things, were different from\nthose of his friends; in some, altogether opposite to them. It is\nimpossible that both of these administrations should be the objects of\npublic esteem. Their different principles compose some of the strongest\npolitical lines which discriminate the parties even now subsisting\namongst us. The ministers of 1764 are not indeed followed by very many\nin their opposition; yet a large part of the people now in office\nentertain, or pretend to entertain, sentiments entirely conformable to\ntheirs; whilst some of the former colleagues of the ministry which was\nformed in 1765, however they may have abandoned the connection, and\ncontradicted by their conduct the principles of their former friends,\npretend, on their parts, still to adhere to the same maxims. All the\nlesser divisions, which are indeed rather names of personal attachment\nthan of party distinction, fall in with the one or the other of these\nleading parties.\n\nI intend to state, as shortly as I am able, the general condition of\npublic affairs, and the disposition of the minds of men, at the time of\nthe remarkable change of system in 1765. The reader will have thereby a\nmore distinct view of the comparative merits of these several plans, and\nwill receive more satisfaction concerning the ground and reason of the\nmeasures which were then pursued, than, I believe, can be derived from\nthe perusal of those partial representations contained in the \"State of\nthe Nation,\" and the other writings of those who have continued, for now\nnearly three years, in the undisturbed possession of the press. This\nwill, I hope, be some apology for my dwelling a little on this part of\nthe subject.\n\nOn the resignation of the Earl of Bute, in 1763, our affairs had been\ndelivered into the hands of three ministers of his recommendation: Mr.\nGrenville, the Earl of Egremont, and the Earl of Halifax. This\narrangement, notwithstanding the retirement of Lord Bute, announced to\nthe public a continuance of the same measures; nor was there more reason\nto expect a change from the death of the Earl of Egremont. The Earl of\nSandwich supplied his place. The Duke of Bedford, and the gentlemen who\nact in that connection, and whose general character and politics were\nsufficiently understood, added to the strength of the ministry, without\nmaking any alteration in their plan of conduct. Such was the\nconstitution of the ministry which was changed in 1765.\n\nAs to their politics, the principles of the peace of Paris governed in\nforeign affairs. In domestic, the same scheme prevailed, of\ncontradicting the opinions, and disgracing most of the persons, who had\nbeen countenanced and employed in the late reign. The inclinations of\nthe people were little attended to; and a disposition to the use of\nforcible methods ran through the whole tenor of administration. The\nnation in general was uneasy and dissatisfied. Sober men saw causes for\nit, in the constitution of the ministry and the conduct of the\nministers. The ministers, who have usually a short method on such\noccasions, attributed their unpopularity wholly to the efforts of\nfaction. However this might be, the licentiousness and tumults of the\ncommon people, and the contempt of government, of which our author so\noften and so bitterly complains, as owing to the mismanagement of the\nsubsequent administrations, had at no time risen to a greater or more\ndangerous height. The measures taken to suppress that spirit were as\nviolent and licentious as the spirit itself; injudicious, precipitate,\nand some of them illegal. Instead of allaying, they tended infinitely to\ninflame the distemper; and whoever will be at the least pains to\nexamine, will find those measures not only the causes of the tumults\nwhich then prevailed, but the real sources of almost all the disorders\nwhich have arisen since that time. More intent on making a victim to\nparty than an example of justice, they blundered in the method of\npursuing their vengeance. By this means a discovery was made of many\npractices, common indeed in the office of Secretary of State, but wholly\nrepugnant to our laws, and to the genius of the English constitution.\nOne of the worst of these was, the wanton and indiscriminate seizure of\npapers, even in cases where the safety of the state was not pretended in\njustification of so harsh a proceeding. The temper of the ministry had\nexcited a jealousy, which made the people more than commonly vigilant\nconcerning every power which was exercised by government. The abuse,\nhowever sanctioned by custom, was evident; but the ministry, instead of\nresting in a prudent inactivity, or (what would have been still more\nprudent) taking the lead, in quieting the minds of the people, and\nascertaining the law upon those delicate points, made use of the whole\ninfluence of government to prevent a Parliamentary resolution against\nthese practices of office. And lest the colorable reasons, offered in\nargument against this Parliamentary procedure, should be mistaken for\nthe real motives of their conduct, all the advantage of privilege, all\nthe arts and finesses of pleading, and great sums of public money were\nlavished, to prevent any decision upon those practices in the courts of\njustice. In the mean time, in order to weaken, since they could not\nimmediately destroy, the liberty of the press, the privilege of\nParliament was voted away in all accusations for a seditious libel. The\nfreedom of debate in Parliament itself was no less menaced. Officers of\nthe army, of long and meritorious service, and of small fortunes, were\nchosen as victims for a single vote, by an exertion of ministerial\npower, which had been very rarely used, and which is extremely unjust,\nas depriving men not only of a place, but a profession, and is indeed of\nthe most pernicious example both in a civil and a military light.\n\nWhilst all things were managed at home with such a spirit of disorderly\ndespotism, abroad there was a proportionable abatement of all spirit.\nSome of our most just and valuable claims were in a manner abandoned.\nThis indeed seemed not very inconsistent conduct in the ministers who\nhad made the treaty of Paris. With regard to our domestic affairs, there\nwas no want of industry; but there was a great deficiency of temper and\njudgment, and manly comprehension of the public interest. The nation\ncertainly wanted relief, and government attempted to administer it. Two\nways were principally chosen for this great purpose. The first by\nregulations; the second by new funds of revenue. Agreeably to this plan,\na new naval establishment was formed at a good deal of expense, and to\nlittle effect, to aid in the collection of the customs. Regulation was\nadded to regulation; and the strictest and most unreserved orders were\ngiven, for a prevention of all contraband trade here, and in every part\nof America. A teasing custom-house, and a multiplicity of perplexing\nregulations, ever have, and ever will appear, the masterpiece of finance\nto people of narrow views; as a paper against smuggling, and the\nimportation of French finery, never fails of furnishing a very popular\ncolumn in a newspaper.\n\nThe greatest part of these regulations were made for America; and they\nfell so indiscriminately on all sorts of contraband, or supposed\ncontraband, that some of the most valuable branches of trade were driven\nviolently from our ports; which caused an universal consternation\nthroughout the colonies. Every part of the trade was infinitely\ndistressed by them. Men-of-war now for the first time, armed with\nregular commissions of custom-house officers, invested the coasts, and\ngave to the collection of revenue the air of hostile contribution. About\nthe same time that these regulations seemed to threaten the destruction\nof the only trade from whence the plantations derived any specie, an act\nwas made, putting a stop to the future emission of paper currency, which\nused to supply its place among them. Hand in hand with this went\nanother act, for obliging the colonies to provide quarters for soldiers.\nInstantly followed another law, for levying throughout all America new\nport duties, upon a vast variety of commodities of their consumption,\nand some of which lay heavy upon objects necessary for their trade and\nfishery. Immediately upon the heels of these, and amidst the uneasiness\nand confusion produced by a crowd of new impositions and regulations,\nsome good, some evil, some doubtful, all crude and ill-considered, came\nanother act, for imposing an universal stamp-duty on the colonies; and\nthis was declared to be little more than an experiment, and a foundation\nof future revenue. To render these proceedings the more irritating to\nthe colonies, the principal argument used in favor of their ability to\npay such duties was the liberality of the grants of their assemblies\nduring the late war. Never could any argument be more insulting and\nmortifying to a people habituated to the granting of their own money.\n\nTaxes for the purpose of raising revenue had hitherto been sparingly\nattempted in America. Without ever doubting the extent of its lawful\npower, Parliament always doubted the propriety of such impositions. And\nthe Americans on their part never thought of contesting a right by which\nthey were so little affected. Their assemblies in the main answered all\nthe purposes necessary to the internal economy of a free people, and\nprovided for all the exigencies of government which arose amongst\nthemselves. In the midst of that happy enjoyment, they never thought of\ncritically settling the exact limits of a power, which was necessary to\ntheir union, their safety, their equality, and even their liberty. Thus\nthe two very difficult points, superiority in the presiding state, and\nfreedom in the subordinate, were on the whole sufficiently, that is,\npractically, reconciled; without agitating those vexatious questions,\nwhich in truth rather belong to metaphysics than politics, and which can\nnever be moved without shaking the foundations of the best governments\nthat have ever been constituted by human wisdom. By this measure was let\nloose that dangerous spirit of disquisition, not in the coolness of\nphilosophical inquiry, but inflamed with all the passions of a haughty,\nresentful people, who thought themselves deeply injured, and that they\nwere contending for everything that was valuable in the world.\n\nIn England, our ministers went on without the least attention to these\nalarming dispositions; just as if they were doing the most common things\nin the most usual way, and among a people not only passive, but pleased.\nThey took no one step to divert the dangerous spirit which began even\nthen to appear in the colonies, to compromise with it, to mollify it, or\nto subdue it. No new arrangements were made in civil government; no new\npowers or instructions were given to governors; no augmentation was\nmade, or new disposition, of forces. Never was so critical a measure\npursued with so little provision against its necessary consequences. As\nif all common prudence had abandoned the ministers, and as if they meant\nto plunge themselves and us headlong into that gulf which stood gaping\nbefore them; by giving a year's notice of the project of their Stamp\nAct, they allowed time for all the discontents of that country to fester\nand come to a head, and for all the arrangements which factious men\ncould make towards an opposition to the law. At the same time they\ncarefully concealed from the eye of Parliament those remonstrances which\nthey had actually received; and which in the strongest manner indicated\nthe discontent of some of the colonies, and the consequences which might\nbe expected; they concealed them even in defiance of an order of\ncouncil, that they should be laid before Parliament. Thus, by concealing\nthe true state of the case, they rendered the wisdom of the nation as\nimprovident as their own temerity, either in preventing or guarding\nagainst the mischief. It has indeed, from the beginning to this hour,\nbeen the uniform policy of this set of men, in order at any hazard to\nobtain a present credit, to propose whatever might be pleasing, as\nattended with no difficulty; and afterwards to throw all the\ndisappointment of the wild expectations they had raised, upon those who\nhave the hard task of freeing the public from the consequences of their\npernicious projects.\n\nWhilst the commerce and tranquillity of the whole empire were shaken in\nthis manner, our affairs grew still more distracted by the internal\ndissensions of our ministers. Treachery and ingratitude were charged\nfrom one side; despotism and tyranny from the other; the vertigo of the\nregency bill; the awkward reception of the silk bill in the House of\nCommons, and the inconsiderate and abrupt rejection of it in the House\nof Lords; the strange and violent tumults which arose in consequence,\nand which were rendered more serious by being charged by the ministers\nupon one another; the report of a gross and brutal treatment of the\n----, by a minister at the same time odious to the people; all conspired\nto leave the public, at the close of the session of 1765, in as\ncritical and perilous a situation, as ever the nation was, or could be,\nin a time when she was not immediately threatened by her neighbors.\n\nIt was at this time, and in these circumstances, that a new\nadministration was formed. Professing even industriously, in this public\nmatter, to avoid anecdotes; I say nothing of those famous\nreconciliations and quarrels, which weakened the body that should have\nbeen the natural support of this administration. I run no risk in\naffirming, that, surrounded as they were with difficulties of every\nspecies, nothing but the strongest and most uncorrupt sense of their\nduty to the public could have prevailed upon some of the persons who\ncomposed it to undertake the king's business at such a time. Their\npreceding character, their measures while in power, and the subsequent\nconduct of many of them, I think, leave no room to charge this assertion\nto flattery. Having undertaken the commonwealth, what remained for them\nto do? to piece their conduct upon the broken chain of former measures?\nIf they had been so inclined, the ruinous nature of those measures,\nwhich began instantly to appear, would not have permitted it. Scarcely\nhad they entered into office, when letters arrived from all parts of\nAmerica, making loud complaints, backed by strong reasons, against\nseveral of the principal regulations of the late ministry, as\nthreatening destruction to many valuable branches of commerce. These\nwere attended with representations from many merchants and capital\nmanufacturers at home, who had all their interests involved in the\nsupport of lawful trade, and in the suppression of every sort of\ncontraband. Whilst these things were under consideration, that\nconflagration blazed out at once in North America; an universal\ndisobedience, and open resistance to the Stamp Act; and, in consequence,\nan universal stop to the course of justice, and to trade and navigation,\nthroughout that great important country; an interval during which the\ntrading interest of England lay under the most dreadful anxiety which it\never felt.\n\nThe repeal of that act was proposed. It was much too serious a measure,\nand attended with too many difficulties upon every side, for the then\nministry to have undertaken it, as some paltry writers have asserted,\nfrom envy and dislike to their predecessors in office. As little could\nit be owing to personal cowardice, and dread of consequences to\nthemselves. Ministers, timorous from their attachment to place and\npower, will fear more from the consequences of one court intrigue, than\nfrom a thousand difficulties to the commerce and credit of their country\nby disturbances at three thousand miles distance. From which of these\nthe ministers had most to apprehend at that time, is known, I presume,\nuniversally. Nor did they take that resolution from a want of the\nfullest sense of the inconveniences which must necessarily attend a\nmeasure of concession from the sovereign to the subject. That it must\nincrease the insolence of the mutinous spirits in America, was but too\nobvious. No great measure indeed, at a very difficult crisis, can be\npursued, which is not attended with some mischief; none but conceited\npretenders in public business will hold any other language: and none but\nweak and unexperienced men will believe them, if they should. If we were\nfound in such a crisis, let those, whose bold designs, and whose\ndefective arrangements, brought us into it, answer for the consequences.\nThe business of the then ministry evidently was, to take such steps, not\nas the wishes of our author, or as their own wishes dictated, but as the\nbad situation in which their predecessors had left them, absolutely\nrequired.\n\nThe disobedience to this act was universal throughout America; nothing,\nit was evident, but the sending a very strong military, backed by a very\nstrong naval force, would reduce the seditious to obedience. To send it\nto one town, would not be sufficient; every province of America must be\ntraversed, and must be subdued. I do not entertain the least doubt but\nthis could be done. We might, I think, without much difficulty, have\ndestroyed our colonies. This destruction might be effected, probably in\na year, or in two at the utmost. If the question was upon a foreign\nnation, where every successful stroke adds to your own power, and takes\nfrom that of a rival, a just war with such a certain superiority would\nbe undoubtedly an advisable measure. But _four million_ of debt due to\nour merchants, the total cessation of a trade annually worth _four\nmillion_more, a large foreign traffic, much home manufacture, a very\ncapital immediate revenue arising from colony imports, indeed the\nproduce of every one of our revenues greatly depending on this trade,\nall these were very weighty accumulated considerations, at least well to\nbe weighed, before that sword was drawn, which even by its victories\nmust produce all the evil effects of the greatest national defeat. How\npublic credit must have suffered, I need not say. If the condition of\nthe nation, at the close of our foreign war, was what this author\nrepresents it, such a civil war would have been a bad couch, on which\nto repose our wearied virtue. Far from being able to have entered into\nnew plans of economy, we must have launched into a new sea, I fear a\nboundless sea, of expense. Such an addition of debt, with such a\ndiminution of revenue and trade, would have left us in no want of a\n\"State of the Nation\" to aggravate the picture of our distresses.\n\nOur trade felt this to its vitals; and our then ministers were not\nashamed to say, that they sympathized with the feelings of our\nmerchants. The universal alarm of the whole trading body of England,\nwill never be laughed at by them as an ill-grounded or a pretended\npanic. The universal desire of that body will always have great weight\nwith them in every consideration connected with commerce: neither ought\nthe opinion of that body to be slighted (notwithstanding the\ncontemptuous and indecent language of this author and his associates) in\nany consideration whatsoever of revenue. Nothing amongst us is more\nquickly or deeply affected by taxes of any kind than trade; and if an\nAmerican tax was a real relief to England, no part of the community\nwould be sooner or more materially relieved by it than our merchants.\nBut they well know that the trade of England must be more burdened by\none penny raised in America, than by three in England; and if that penny\nbe raised with the uneasiness, the discontent, and the confusion of\nAmerica, more than by ten.\n\nIf the opinion and wish of the landed interest is a motive, and it is a\nfair and just one, for taking away a real and large revenue, the desire\nof the trading interest of England ought to be a just ground for taking\naway a tax of little better than speculation, which was to be collected\nby a war, which was to be kept up with the perpetual discontent of those\nwho were to be affected by it, and the value of whose produce even after\nthe _ordinary_ charges of collection, was very uncertain;[87] after the\n_extraordinary_, the dearest purchased revenue that ever was made by any\nnation.\n\nThese were some of the motives drawn from principles of convenience for\nthat repeal. When the object came to be more narrowly inspected, every\nmotive concurred. These colonies were evidently founded in subservience\nto the commerce of Great Britain. From this principle, the whole system\nof our laws concerning them became a system of restriction. A double\nmonopoly was established on the part of the parent country; 1. A\nmonopoly of their whole import, which is to be altogether from Great\nBritain; 2. A monopoly of all their export, which is to be nowhere but\nto Great Britain, as far as it can serve any purpose here. On the same\nidea it was contrived that they should send all their products to us\nraw, and in their first state; and that they should take everything from\nus in the last stage of manufacture.\n\nWere ever a people under such circumstances, that is, a people who were\nto export raw, and to receive manufactured, and this, not a few\nluxurious articles, but all articles, even to those of the grossest,\nmost vulgar, and necessary consumption, a people who were in the hands\nof a general monopolist, were ever such a people suspected of a\npossibility of becoming a just object of revenue? All the ends of their\nfoundation must be supposed utterly contradicted before they could\nbecome such an object. Every trade law we have made must have been\neluded, and become useless, before they could be in such a condition.\n\nThe partisans of the new system, who, on most occasions, take credit for\nfull as much knowledge as they possess, think proper on this occasion to\ncounterfeit an extraordinary degree of ignorance, and in consequence of\nit to assert, \"that the balance (between the colonies and Great Britain)\nis unknown, and that no important conclusion can be drawn from premises\nso very uncertain.\"[88] Now to what can this ignorance be owing? were\nthe navigation laws made, that this balance should be unknown? is it\nfrom the course of exchange that it is unknown, which all the world\nknows to be greatly and perpetually against the colonies? is it from the\ndoubtful nature of the trade we carry on with the colonies? are not\nthese schemists well apprised that the colonists, particularly those of\nthe northern provinces, import more from Great Britain, ten times more,\nthan they send in return to us? that a great part of their foreign\nbalance is and must be remitted to London? I shall be ready to admit\nthat the colonies ought to be taxed to the revenues of this country,\nwhen I know that they are out of debt to its commerce. This author will\nfurnish some ground to his theories, and communicate a discovery to the\npublic, if he can show this by any medium. But he tells us that \"their\nseas are covered with ships, and their rivers floating with\ncommerce.\"[89] This is true. But it is with _our_ ships that these seas\nare covered; and their rivers float with British commerce. The American\nmerchants are our factors; all in reality, most even in name. The\nAmericans trade, navigate, cultivate, with English capitals; to their\nown advantage, to be sure; for without these capitals their ploughs\nwould be stopped, and their ships wind-bound. But he who furnishes the\ncapital must, on the whole, be the person principally benefited; the\nperson who works upon it profits on his part too; but he profits in a\nsubordinate way, as our colonies do; that is, as the servant of a wise\nand indulgent master, and no otherwise. We have all, except the\n_peculium_; without which even slaves will not labor.\n\nIf the author's principles, which are the common notions, be right, that\nthe price of our manufactures is so greatly enhanced by our taxes; then\nthe Americans already pay in that way a share of our impositions. He is\nnot ashamed to assert, that \"France and China may be said, on the same\nprinciple, to bear a part of our charges, for they consume our\ncommodities.\"[90] Was ever such a method of reasoning heard of? Do not\nthe laws absolutely confine the colonies to buy from us, whether foreign\nnations sell cheaper or not? On what other idea are all our\nprohibitions, regulations, guards, penalties, and forfeitures, framed?\nTo secure to us, not a commercial preference, which stands in need of no\npenalties to enforce it; it finds its own way; but to secure to us a\ntrade, which is a creature of law and institution. What has this to do\nwith the principles of a foreign trade, which is under no monopoly, and\nin which we cannot raise the price of our goods, without hazarding the\ndemand for them? None but the authors of such measures could ever think\nof making use of such arguments.\n\nWhoever goes about to reason on any part of the policy of this country\nwith regard to America, upon the mere abstract principles of government,\nor even upon those of our own ancient constitution, will be often\nmisled. Those who resort for arguments to the most respectable\nauthorities, ancient or modern, or rest upon the clearest maxims, drawn\nfrom the experience of other states and empires, will be liable to the\ngreatest errors imaginable. The object is wholly new in the world. It is\nsingular; it is grown up to this magnitude and importance within the\nmemory of man; nothing in history is parallel to it. All the reasonings\nabout it, that are likely to be at all solid, must be drawn from its\nactual circumstances. In this new system a principle of commerce, of\nartificial commerce, must predominate. This commerce must be secured by\na multitude of restraints very alien from the spirit of liberty; and a\npowerful authority must reside in the principal state, in order to\nenforce them. But the people who are to be the subjects of these\nrestraints are descendants of Englishmen; and of a high and free spirit.\nTo hold over them a government made up of nothing but restraints and\npenalties, and taxes in the granting of which they can have no share,\nwill neither be wise nor long practicable. People must be governed in a\nmanner agreeable to their temper and disposition; and men of free\ncharacter and spirit must be ruled with, at least, some condescension to\nthis spirit and this character. The British, colonist must see something\nwhich will distinguish him from the colonists of other nations.\n\nThose seasonings, which infer from the many restraints under which we\nhave already laid America, to our right to lay it under still more, and\nindeed under all manner of restraints, are conclusive; conclusive as to\nright; but the very reverse as to policy and practice. We ought rather\nto infer from our having laid the colonies under many restraints, that\nit is reasonable to compensate them by every indulgence that can by any\nmeans be reconciled to our interest. We have a great empire to rule,\ncomposed of a vast mass of heterogeneous governments, all more or less\nfree and popular in their forms, all to be kept in peace, and kept out\nof conspiracy, with one another, all to be held in subordination to this\ncountry; while the spirit of an extensive and intricate and trading\ninterest pervades the whole, always qualifying, and often controlling,\nevery general idea of constitution and government. It is a great and\ndifficult object; and I wish we may possess wisdom and temper enough to\nmanage it as we ought. Its importance is infinite. I believe the reader\nwill be struck, as I have been, with one singular fact. In the year\n1704, but sixty-five years ago, the whole trade with our plantations was\nbut a few thousand pounds more in the export article, and a third less\nin the import, than that which we now carry on with the single island of\nJamaica:--\n\n                                      Exports.    Imports.\n  Total English plantations in 1704  L488,265     L814,491\n  Jamaica, 1767                       467,681    1,243,742\n\n\nFrom the same information I find that our dealing with most of the\nEuropean nations is but little increased: these nations have been pretty\nmuch at a stand since that time, and we have rivals in their trade. This\ncolony intercourse is a new world of commerce in a manner created; it\nstands upon principles of its own; principles hardly worth endangering\nfor any little consideration of extorted revenue.\n\nThe reader sees, that I do not enter so fully into this matter as\nobviously I might. I have already been led into greater lengths than I\nintended. It is enough to say, that before the ministers of 1765 had\ndetermined to propose the repeal of the Stamp Act in Parliament, they\nhad the whole of the American constitution and commerce very fully\nbefore them. They considered maturely; they decided with wisdom: let me\nadd, with firmness. For they resolved, as a preliminary to that repeal,\nto assert in the fullest and least equivocal terms the unlimited\nlegislative right of this country over its colonies; and, having done\nthis, to propose the repeal, on principles, not of constitutional right,\nbut on those of expediency, of equity, of lenity, and of the true\ninterests present and future of that great object for which alone the\ncolonies were founded, navigation and commerce. This plan I say,\nrequired an uncommon degree of firmness, when we consider that some of\nthose persons who might be of the greatest use in promoting the repeal,\nviolently withstood the declaratory act; and they who agreed with\nadministration in the principles of that law, equally made, as well the\nreasons on which the declaratory act itself stood, as those on which it\nwas opposed, grounds for an opposition to the repeal.\n\nIf the then ministry resolved first to declare the right, it was not\nfrom any opinion they entertained of its future use in regular\ntaxation. Their opinions were full and declared against the ordinary use\nof such a power. But it was plain, that the general reasonings which\nwere employed against that power went directly to our whole legislative\nright; and one part of it could not be yielded to such arguments,\nwithout a virtual surrender of all the rest. Besides, if that very\nspecific power of levying money in the colonies were not retained as a\nsacred trust in the hands of Great Britain (to be used, not in the first\ninstance for supply, but in the last exigence for control), it is\nobvious, that the presiding authority of Great Britain, as the head, the\narbiter, and director of the whole empire, would vanish into an empty\nname, without operation or energy. With the habitual exercise of such a\npower in the ordinary course of supply, no trace of freedom could remain\nto America.[91] If Great Britain were stripped of this right, every\nprinciple of unity and subordination in the empire was gone forever.\nWhether all this can be reconciled in legal speculation, is a matter of\nno consequence. It is reconciled in policy: and politics ought to be\nadjusted, not to human reasonings, but to human nature; of which the\nreason is but a part, and by no means the greatest part.\n\nFounding the repeal on this basis, it was judged proper to lay before\nParliament the whole detail of the American affairs, as fully as it had\nbeen laid before the ministry themselves. Ignorance of those affairs had\nmisled Parliament. Knowledge alone could bring it into the right road.\nEvery paper of office was laid upon the table of the two Houses; every\ndenomination of men, either of America, or connected with it by office,\nby residence, by commerce, by interest, even by injury; men of civil and\nmilitary capacity, officers of the revenue, merchants, manufacturers of\nevery species, and from every town in England, attended at the bar. Such\nevidence never was laid before Parliament. If an emulation arose among\nthe ministers and members of Parliament, as the author rightly\nobserves,[92] for the repeal of this act, as well as for the other\nregulations, it was not on the confident assertions, the airy\nspeculations, or the vain promises of ministers, that it arose. It was\nthe sense of Parliament on the evidence before them. No one so much as\nsuspects that ministerial allurements or terrors had any share in it.\n\nOur author is very much displeased, that so much credit was given to the\ntestimony of merchants. He has a habit of railing at them: and he may,\nif he pleases, indulge himself in it. It will not do great mischief to\nthat respectable set of men. The substance of their testimony was, that\ntheir debts in America were very great: that the Americans declined to\npay them, or to renew their orders, whilst this act continued: that,\nunder these circumstances, they despaired of the recovery of their\ndebts, or the renewal of their trade in that country: that they\napprehended a general failure of mercantile credit. The manufacturers\ndeposed to the same general purpose, with this addition, that many of\nthem had discharged several of their artificers; and, if the law and the\nresistance to it should continue, must dismiss them all.\n\nThis testimony is treated with great contempt by our author. It must be,\nI suppose, because it was contradicted by the plain nature of things.\nSuppose then that the merchants had, to gratify this author, given a\ncontrary evidence; and had deposed, that while America remained in a\nstate of resistance, whilst four million of debt remained unpaid, whilst\nthe course of justice was suspended for want of stamped paper, so that\nno debt could be recovered, whilst there was a total stop to trade,\nbecause every ship was subject to seizure for want of stamped\nclearances, and while the colonies were to be declared in rebellion, and\nsubdued by armed force, that in these circumstances they would still\ncontinue to trade cheerfully and fearlessly as before: would not such\nwitnesses provoke universal indignation for their folly or their\nwickedness, and be deservedly hooted from the bar:[93] would any human\nfaith have given credit to such assertions? The testimony of the\nmerchants was necessary for the detail, and to bring the matter home to\nthe feeling of the House; as to the general reasons, they spoke\nabundantly for themselves.\n\nUpon these principles was the act repealed, and it produced all the good\neffect which was expected from it: quiet was restored; trade generally\nreturned to its ancient channels; time and means were furnished for the\nbetter strengthening of government there, as well as for recovering, by\njudicious measures, the affections of the people, had that ministry\ncontinued, or had a ministry succeeded with dispositions to improve that\nopportunity.\n\nSuch an administration did not succeed. Instead of profiting of that\nseason of tranquillity, in the very next year they chose to return to\nmeasures of the very same nature with those which had been so solemnly\ncondemned; though upon a smaller scale. The effects have been\ncorrespondent, America is again in disorder; not indeed in the same\ndegree as formerly, nor anything like it. Such good effects have\nattended the repeal of the Stamp Act, that the colonies have actually\npaid the taxes; and they have sought their redress (upon however\nimproper principles) not in their own violence, as formerly;[94] but in\nthe experienced benignity of Parliament. They are not easy indeed, nor\never will be so, under this author's schemes of taxation; but we see no\nlonger the same general fury and confusion, which attended their\nresistance to the Stamp Act. The author may rail at the repeal, and\nthose who proposed it, as he pleases. Those honest men suffer all his\nobloquy with pleasure, in the midst of the quiet which they have been\nthe means of giving to their country; and would think his praises for\ntheir perseverance in a pernicious scheme, a very bad compensation for\nthe disturbance of our peace, and the ruin of our commerce. Whether the\nreturn to the system of 1764, for raising a revenue in America, the\ndiscontents which have ensued in consequence of it, the general\nsuspension of the assemblies in consequence of these discontents, the\nuse of the military power, and the new and dangerous commissions which\nnow hang over them, will produce equally good effects, is greatly to be\ndoubted. Never, I fear, will this nation and the colonies fall back upon\ntheir true centre of gravity, and natural point of repose, until the\nideas of 1766 are resumed, and steadily pursued.\n\nAs to the regulations, a great subject of the author's accusation, they\nare of two sorts; one of a mixed nature, of revenue and trade; the other\nsimply relative to trade. With regard to the former I shall observe,\nthat, in all deliberations concerning America, the ideas of that\nadministration were principally these; to take trade as the primary end,\nand revenue but as a very subordinate consideration. Where trade was\nlikely to suffer, they did not hesitate for an instant to prefer it to\ntaxes, whose produce at best was contemptible, in comparison of the\nobject which they might endanger. The other of their principles was, to\nsuit the revenue to the object. Where the difficulty of collection, from\nthe nature of the country, and of the revenue establishment, is so very\nnotorious, it was their policy to hold out as few temptations to\nsmuggling as possible, by keeping the duties as nearly as they could on\na balance with the risk. On these principles they made many alterations\nin the port-duties of 1764, both in the mode and in the quantity. The\nauthor has not attempted to prove them erroneous. He complains enough to\nshow that he is in an ill-humor, not that his adversaries have done\namiss.\n\nAs to the regulations which were merely relative to commerce, many were\nthen made; and they were all made upon this principle, that many of the\ncolonies, and those some of the most abounding in people, were so\nsituated as to have very few means of traffic with this country. It\nbecame therefore our interest to let them into as much foreign trade as\ncould be given them without interfering with our own; and to secure by\nevery method the returns to the mother country. Without some such scheme\nof enlargement, it was obvious that any benefit we could expect from\nthese colonies must be extremely limited. Accordingly many facilities\nwere given to their trade with the foreign plantations, and with the\nsouthern parts of Europe. As to the confining the returns to this\ncountry, administration saw the mischief and folly of a plan of\nindiscriminate restraint. They applied their remedy to that part where\nthe disease existed, and to that only: on this idea they established\nregulations, far more likely to check the dangerous, clandestine trade\nwith Hamburg and Holland, than this author's friends, or any of their\npredecessors had ever done.\n\nThe friends of the author have a method surely a little whimsical in all\nthis sort of discussions. They have made an innumerable multitude of\ncommercial regulations, at which the trade of England exclaimed with one\nvoice, and many of which have been altered on the unanimous opinion of\nthat trade. Still they go on, just as before, in a sort of droning\npanegyric on themselves, talking of these regulations as prodigies of\nwisdom; and, instead of appealing to those who are most affected and the\nbest judges, they turn round in a perpetual circle of their own\nreasonings and pretences; they hand you over from one of their own\npamphlets to another: \"See,\" say they, \"this demonstrated in the\n'Regulations of the Colonies.'\" \"See this satisfactorily proved in 'The\nConsiderations.'\" By and by we shall have another: \"See for this 'The\nState of the Nation.'\" I wish to take another method in vindicating the\nopposite system. I refer to the petitions of merchants for these\nregulations; to their thanks when they were obtained; and to the strong\nand grateful sense they have ever since expressed of the benefits\nreceived under that administration.\n\nAll administrations have in their commercial regulations been generally\naided by the opinion of some merchants; too frequently by that of a few,\nand those a sort of favorites: they have been directed by the opinion of\none or two merchants, who were to merit in flatteries, and to be paid in\ncontracts; who frequently advised, not for the general good of trade,\nbut for their private advantage. During the administration of which this\nauthor complains, the meetings of merchants upon the business of trade\nwere numerous and public; sometimes at the house of the Marquis of\nRockingham; sometimes at Mr. Dowdeswell's; sometimes at Sir George\nSavile's, a house always open to every deliberation favorable to the\nliberty or the commerce of his country. Nor were these meetings confined\nto the merchants of London. Merchants and manufacturers were invited\nfrom all the considerable towns in England. They conferred with the\nministers and active members of Parliament. No private views, no local\ninterests prevailed. Never were points in trade settled upon a larger\nscale of information. They who attended these meetings well know what\nministers they were who heard the most patiently, who comprehended the\nmost clearly, and who provided the most wisely. Let then this author and\nhis friends still continue in possession of the practice of exalting\ntheir own abilities, in their pamphlets and in the newspapers. They\nnever will persuade the public, that the merchants of England were in a\ngeneral confederacy to sacrifice their own interests to those of North\nAmerica, and to destroy the vent of their own goods in favor of the\nmanufactures of France and Holland.\n\nHad the friends of this author taken these means of information, his\nextreme terrors of contraband in the West India islands would have been\ngreatly quieted, and his objections to the opening of the ports would\nhave ceased. He would have learned, from the most satisfactory analysis\nof the West India trade, that we have the advantage in every essential\narticle of it; and that almost every restriction on our communication\nwith our neighbors there, is a restriction unfavorable to ourselves.\n\nSuch were the principles that guided, and the authority that sanctioned,\nthese regulations. No man ever said, that, in the multiplicity of\nregulations made in the administration of their predecessors, none were\nuseful; some certainly were so; and I defy the author to show a\ncommercial regulation of that period, which he can prove, from any\nauthority except his own, to have a tendency beneficial to commerce,\nthat has been repealed. So far were that ministry from being guided by a\nspirit of contradiction or of innovation.\n\nThe author's attack on that administration, for their neglect of our\nclaims on foreign powers, is by much the most astonishing instance he\nhas given, or that, I believe, any man ever did give, of an intrepid\neffrontery. It relates to the Manilla ransom; to the Canada bills; and\nto the Russian treaty. Could one imagine, that these very things, which\nhe thus chooses to object to others, have been the principal subject of\ncharge against his favorite ministry? Instead of clearing them of these\ncharges, he appears not so much as to have heard of them; but throws\nthem directly upon the administration which succeeded to that of his\nfriends.\n\nIt is not always very pleasant to be obliged to produce the detail of\nthis kind of transactions to the public view. I will content myself\ntherefore with giving a short state of facts, which, when the author\nchooses to contradict, he shall see proved, more, perhaps, to his\nconviction, than to his liking. The first fact then is, that the demand\nfor the Manilla ransom had been in the author's favorite administration\nso neglected as to appear to have been little less than tacitly\nabandoned. At home, no countenance was given to the claimants; and when\nit was mentioned in Parliament, the then leader did not seem, at least,\n_a very sanguine advocate in favor of the claim_. These things made it a\nmatter of no small difficulty to resume and press that negotiation with\nSpain. However, so clear was our right, that the then ministers resolved\nto revive it; and so little time was lost, that though that\nadministration was not completed until the 9th of July, 1765, on the\n20th of the following August, General Conway transmitted a strong and\nfull remonstrance on that subject to the Earl of Rochfort. The argument,\non which the court of Madrid most relied, was the dereliction of that\nclaim by the preceding ministers. However, it was still pushed with so\nmuch vigor, that the Spaniards, from a positive denial to pay, offered\nto refer the demand to arbitration. That proposition was rejected; and\nthe demand being still pressed, there was all the reason in the world to\nexpect its being brought to a favorable issue; when it was thought\nproper to change the administration. Whether under their circumstances,\nand in the time they continued in power, more could be done, the reader\nwill judge; who will hear with astonishment a charge of remissness from\nthose very men, whose inactivity, to call it by no worse a name, laid\nthe chief difficulties in the way of the revived negotiation.\n\nAs to the Canada bills, this author thinks proper to assert, \"that the\nproprietors found themselves under a necessity of compounding their\ndemands upon the French court, and accepting terms which they had often\nrejected, and which the Earl of Halifax had declared he would sooner\nforfeit his hand than sign.\"[95] When I know that the Earl of Halifax\nsays so, the Earl of Halifax shall have an answer; but I persuade myself\nthat his Lordship has given no authority for this ridiculous rant. In\nthe mean time, I shall only speak of it as a common concern of that\nministry.\n\nIn the first place, then, I observe, that a convention, for the\nliquidation of the Canada bills, was concluded under the administration\nof 1766; when nothing was concluded under that of the favorites of this\nauthor.\n\n2. This transaction was, in every step of it, carried on in concert with\nthe persons interested, and was terminated to their entire satisfaction.\nThey would have acquiesced perhaps in terms somewhat lower than those\nwhich were obtained. The author is indeed too kind to them. He will,\nhowever, let them speak for themselves, and show what their own opinion\nwas of the measures pursued in their favor.[96] In what manner the\nexecution of the convention has been since provided for, it is not my\npresent business to examine.\n\n3. The proprietors had absolutely despaired of being paid, at any time,\nany proportion, of their demand, until the change of that ministry. The\nmerchants were checked and discountenanced; they had often been told, by\nsome in authority, of the cheap rate at which these Canada bills had\nbeen procured; yet the author can talk of the composition of them as a\nnecessity induced by the change in administration. They found themselves\nindeed, before that change, under a necessity of hinting somewhat of\nbringing the matter into Parliament; but they were soon silenced, and\nput in mind of the fate which the Newfoundland business had there met\nwith. Nothing struck them more than the strong contrast between the\nspirit, and method of proceeding, of the two administrations.\n\n4. The Earl of Halifax never did, nor could, refuse to sign this\nconvention; because this convention, as it stands, never was before\nhim.[97]\n\nThe author's last charge on that ministry, with regard to foreign\naffairs, is the Russian treaty of commerce, which the author thinks fit\nto assert, was concluded \"on terms the Earl of Buckinghamshire had\nrefused to accept of, and which had been deemed by former ministers\ndisadvantageous to the nation, and by the merchants unsafe and\nunprofitable.\"[98]\n\nBoth the assertions in this paragraph are equally groundless. The treaty\nthen concluded by Sir George Macartney was not on the terms which the\nEarl of Buckinghamshire had refused. The Earl of Buckinghamshire never\ndid refuse terms, because the business never came to the point of\nrefusal, or acceptance; all that he did was, to receive the Russian\nproject for a treaty of commerce, and to transmit it to England. This\nwas in November, 1764; and he left Petersburg the January following,\nbefore he could even receive an answer from his own court. The\nconclusion of the treaty fell to his successor. Whoever will be at the\ntrouble to compare it with the treaty of 1734, will, I believe, confess,\nthat, if the former ministers could have obtained such terms, they were\ncriminal in not accepting them.\n\nBut the merchants \"deemed them unsafe and unprofitable.\" What merchants?\nAs no treaty ever was more maturely considered, so the opinion of the\nRussia merchants in London was all along taken; and all the instructions\nsent over were in exact conformity to that opinion. Our minister there\nmade no step without having previously consulted our merchants resident\nin Petersburg, who, before the signing of the treaty, gave the most full\nand unanimous testimony in its favor. In their address to our minister\nat that court, among other things they say, \"It may afford some\nadditional satisfaction to your Excellency, to receive a public\nacknowledgment of _the entire and unreserved approbation of every\narticle_ in this treaty, from us who are so immediately and so nearly\nconcerned in its consequences.\" This was signed by the consul-general,\nand every British merchant in Petersburg.\n\nThe approbation of those immediately concerned in the consequences is\nnothing to this author. He and his friends have so much tenderness for\npeople's interests, and understand them so much better than they do\nthemselves, that, whilst these politicians are contending for the best\nof possible terms, the claimants are obliged to go without any terms at\nall.\n\nOne of the first and justest complaints against the administration of\nthe author's friends, was the want of rigor in their foreign\nnegotiations. Their immediate successors endeavored to correct that\nerror, along with others; and there was scarcely a foreign court, in\nwhich the new spirit that had arisen was not sensibly felt,\nacknowledged, and sometimes complained of. On their coming into\nadministration, they found the demolition of Dunkirk entirely at a\nstand: instead of demolition, they found construction; for the French\nwere then at work on the repair of the jettees. On the remonstrances of\nGeneral Conway, some parts of these jettees were immediately destroyed.\nThe Duke of Richmond personally surveyed the place, and obtained a\nfuller knowledge of its true state and condition than any of our\nministers had done; and, in consequence, had larger offers from the Duke\nof Choiseul than had ever been received. But, as these were short of our\njust expectations under the treaty, he rejected them. Our then\nministers, knowing that, in their administration, the people's minds\nwere set at ease upon all the essential points of public and private\nliberty, and that no project of theirs could endanger the concord of the\nempire, were under no restraint from pursuing every just demand upon\nforeign nations.\n\nThe author, towards the end of this work, falls into reflections upon\nthe state of public morals in this country: he draws use from this\ndoctrine, by recommending his friend to the king and the public, as\nanother Duke of Sully; and he concludes the whole performance with a\nvery devout prayer.\n\nThe prayers of politicians may sometimes be sincere; and as this prayer\nis in substance, that the author, or his friends, may be soon brought\ninto power, I have great reason to believe it is very much from the\nheart. It must be owned too that after he has drawn such a picture, such\na shocking picture, of the state of this country, he has great faith in\nthinking the means he prays for sufficient to relieve us: after the\ncharacter he has given of its inhabitants of all ranks and classes, he\nhas great charity in caring much about them; and indeed no less hope, in\nbeing of opinion, that such a detestable nation can ever become the care\nof Providence. He has not even found five good men in our devoted city.\n\nHe talks indeed of men of virtue and ability. But where are his _men_ of\nvirtue and ability to be found? Are they in the present administration?\nNever were a set of people more blackened by this author. Are they among\nthe party of those (no small body) who adhere to the system of 1766?\nThese it is the great purpose of this book to calumniate. Are they the\npersons who acted with his great friend, since the change in 1762, to\nhis removal in 1765? Scarcely any of these are now out of employment;\nand we are in possession of his desideratum. Yet I think he hardly means\nto select, even some of the highest of them, as examples fit for the\nreformation of a corrupt world.\n\nHe observes, that the virtue of the most exemplary prince that ever\nswayed a sceptre \"can never warm or illuminate the body of his people,\nif foul mirrors are placed so near him as to refract and dissipate the\nrays at their first emanation.\"[99] Without observing upon the\npropriety of this metaphor, or asking how mirrors come to have lost\ntheir old quality of reflecting, and to have acquired that of\nrefracting, and dissipating rays, and how far their foulness will\naccount for this change; the remark itself is common and true: no less\ntrue, and equally surprising from him, is that which immediately\nprecedes it: \"It is in vain to endeavor to check the progress of\nirreligion and licentiousness, by punishing such crimes in _one\nindividual_, if others equally culpable are rewarded with the honors and\nemoluments of the state.\"[100] I am not in the secret of the author's\nmanner of writing; but it appears to me, that he must intend these\nreflections as a satire upon the administration of his happy years. Were\nover the honors and emoluments of the state more lavishly squandered\nupon persons scandalous in their lives than during that period? In these\nscandalous lives, was there anything more scandalous than the mode of\npunishing _one culpable individual_? In that individual, is anything\nmore culpable than his having been seduced by the example of some of\nthose very persons by whom he was thus persecuted?\n\nThe author is so eager to attack others, that he provides but\nindifferently for his own defence. I believe, without going beyond the\npage I have now before me, he is very sensible, that I have sufficient\nmatter of further, and, if possible, of heavier charge against his\nfriends, upon his own principle. But it is because the advantage is too\ngreat, that I decline making use of it. I wish the author had not\nthought that all methods are lawful in party. Above all he ought to have\ntaken care not to wound his enemies through the sides of his country.\nThis he has done, by making that monstrous and overcharged picture of\nthe distresses of our situation. No wonder that he, who finds this\ncountry in the same condition with that of France at the time of Henry\nthe Fourth, could also find a resemblance between his political friend\nand the Duke of Sully. As to those personal resemblances, people will\noften judge of them from their affections: they may imagine in these\nclouds whatsoever figures they please; but what is the conformation of\nthat eye which can discover a resemblance of this country and these\ntimes to those with which the author compares them? France, a country\njust recovered out of twenty-five years of the most cruel and desolating\ncivil war that perhaps was ever known. The kingdom, under the veil of\nmomentary quiet, full of the most atrocious political, operating upon\nthe most furious fanatical factions. Some pretenders even to the crown;\nand those who did not pretend to the whole, aimed at the partition of\nthe monarchy. There were almost as many competitors as provinces; and\nall abetted by the greatest, the most ambitious, and most enterprising\npower in Europe. No place safe from treason; no, not the bosoms on which\nthe most amiable prince that ever lived reposed his head; not his\nmistresses; not even his queen. As to the finances, they had scarce an\nexistence, but as a matter of plunder to the managers, and of grants to\ninsatiable and ungrateful courtiers.\n\nHow can our author have the heart to describe this as any sort of\nparallel to our situation? To be sure, an April shower has some\nresemblance to a waterspout; for they are both wet: and there is some\nlikeness between a summer evening's breeze and a hurricane; they are\nboth wind: but who can compare our disturbances, our situation, or our\nfinances, to those of France in the time of Henry? Great Britain is\nindeed at this time wearied, but not broken, with the efforts of a\nvictorious foreign war; not sufficiently relieved by an inadequate\npeace, but somewhat benefited by that peace, and infinitely by the\nconsequences of that war. The powers of Europe awed by our victories,\nand lying in ruins upon every side of us. Burdened indeed we are with\ndebt, but abounding with resources. We have a trade, not perhaps equal\nto our wishes, but more than ever we possessed. In effect, no pretender\nto the crown; nor nutriment for such desperate and destructive factions\nas have formerly shaken this kingdom.\n\nAs to our finances, the author trifles with us. When Sully came to those\nof France, in what order was any part of the financial system? or what\nsystem was there at all? There is no man in office who must not be\nsensible that ours is, without the act of any parading minister, the\nmost regular and orderly system perhaps that was ever known; the best\nsecured against all frauds in the collection, and all misapplication in\nthe expenditure of public money.\n\nI admit that, in this flourishing state of things, there are appearances\nenough to excite uneasiness and apprehension. I admit there is a\ncankerworm in the rose:\n\n             Medio de fonte leporum\n    Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.\n\nThis is nothing else than a spirit of disconnection, of distrust, and of\ntreachery among public men. It is no accidental evil, nor has its effect\nbeen trusted to the usual frailty of nature; the distemper has been\ninoculated. The author is sensible of it, and we lament it together.\nThis distemper is alone sufficient to take away considerably from the\nbenefits of our constitution and situation, and perhaps to render their\ncontinuance precarious. If these evil dispositions should spread much\nfarther, they must end in our destruction; for nothing can save a people\ndestitute of public and private faith. However, the author, for the\npresent state of things, has extended the charge by much too widely; as\nmen are but too apt to take the measure of all mankind from their own\nparticular acquaintance. Barren as this age may be in the growth of\nhonor and virtue, the country does not want, at this moment, as strong,\nand those not a few examples, as were ever known, of an unshaken\nadherence to principle, and attachment to connection, against every\nallurement of interest. Those examples are not furnished by the great\nalone; nor by those, whose activity in public affairs may render it\nsuspected that they make such a character one of the rounds in their\nladder of ambition; but by men more quiet, and more in the shade, on\nwhom an unmixed sense of honor alone could operate. Such examples indeed\nare not furnished in great abundance amongst those who are the subjects\nof the author's panegyric. He must look for them in another camp. He who\ncomplains of the ill effects of a divided and heterogeneous\nadministration, is not justifiable in laboring to render odious in the\neyes of the public those men, whose principles, whose maxims of policy,\nand whose personal character, can alone administer a remedy to this\ncapital evil of the age: neither is he consistent with himself, in\nconstantly extolling those whom he knows to be the authors of the very\nmischief of which he complains, and which the whole nation feels so\ndeeply.\n\nThe persons who are the objects of his dislike and complaint are many\nof them of the first families, and weightiest properties, in the\nkingdom; but infinitely more distinguished for their untainted honor,\npublic and private, and their zealous, but sober attachment to the\nconstitution of their country, than they can be by any birth, or any\nstation. If they are the friends of any one great man rather than\nanother, it is not that they make his aggrandizement the end of their\nunion; or because they know him to be the most active in caballing for\nhis connections the largest and speediest emoluments. It is because they\nknow him, by personal experience, to have wise and enlarged ideas of the\npublic good, and an invincible constancy in adhering to it; because they\nare convinced, by the whole tenor of his actions, that he will never\nnegotiate away their honor or his own: and that, in or out of power,\nchange of situation will make no alteration in his conduct. This will\ngive to such a person in such a body, an authority and respect that no\nminister ever enjoyed among his venal dependents, in the highest\nplenitude of his power; such as servility never can give, such as\nambition never can receive or relish.\n\nThis body will often be reproached by their adversaries, for want of\nability in their political transactions; they will be ridiculed for\nmissing many favorable conjunctures, and not profiting of several\nbrilliant opportunities of fortune; but they must be contented to endure\nthat reproach; for they cannot acquire the reputation of _that kind_ of\nability without losing all the other reputation they possess.\n\nThey will be charged too with a dangerous spirit of exclusion and\nproscription, for being unwilling to mix in schemes of administration,\nwhich have no bond of union, or principle of confidence. That charge too\nthey must suffer with patience. If the reason of the thing had not\nspoken loudly enough, the miserable examples of the several\nadministrations constructed upon the idea of systematic discord would be\nenough to frighten them from such, monstrous and ruinous conjunctions.\nIt is however false, that the idea of an united administration carries\nwith it that of a proscription of any other party. It does indeed imply\nthe necessity of having the great strongholds of government in\nwell-united hands, in order to secure the predominance of right and\nuniform principles; of having the capital offices of deliberation and\nexecution of those who can deliberate with mutual confidence, and who\nwill execute what is resolved with firmness and fidelity. If this system\ncannot be rigorously adhered to in practice, (and what system can be\nso?) it ought to be the constant aim of good men to approach as nearly\nto it as possible. No system of that kind can be formed, which will not\nleave room fully sufficient for healing coalitions: but no coalition,\nwhich, under the specious name of independency, carries in its bosom the\nunreconciled principles of the original discord of parties, ever was, or\nwill be, an healing coalition. Nor will the mind of our sovereign ever\nknow repose, his kingdom settlement, or his business order, efficiency,\nor grace with his people, until things are established upon the basis of\nsome set of men, who are trusted by the public, and who can trust one\nanother.\n\nThis comes rather nearer to the mark than the author's description of a\nproper administration, under the name of _men of ability and virtue_,\nwhich conveys no definite idea at all; nor does it apply specifically\nto our grand national distemper. All parties pretend to these qualities.\nThe present ministry, no favorites of the author, will be ready enough\nto declare themselves persons of virtue and ability; and if they choose\na vote for that purpose, perhaps it would not be quite impossible for\nthem to procure it. But, if the disease be this distrust and\ndisconnection, it is easy to know who are sound and who are tainted; who\nare fit to restore us to health, who to continue, and to spread the\ncontagion. The present ministry being made up of draughts from all\nparties in the kingdom, if they should profess any adherence to the\nconnections they have left, they must convict themselves of the blackest\ntreachery. They therefore choose rather to renounce the principle\nitself, and to brand it with the name of pride and faction. This test\nwith certainty discriminates the opinions of men. The other is a\ndescription vague and unsatisfactory.\n\nAs to the unfortunate gentlemen who may at any time compose that system,\nwhich, under the plausible title of an administration, subsists but for\nthe establishment of weakness and confusion; they fall into different\nclasses, with different merits. I think the situation of some people in\nthat state may deserve a certain degree of compassion; at the same time\nthat they furnish an example, which, it is to be hoped, by being a\nsevere one, will have its effect, at least, on the growing generation;\nif an original seduction, on plausible but hollow pretences, into loss\nof honor, friendship, consistency, security, and repose, can furnish it.\nIt is possible to draw, even from the very prosperity of ambition,\nexamples of terror, and motives to compassion.\n\nI believe the instances are exceedingly rare of men immediately passing\nover a clear, marked line of virtue into declared vice and corruption.\nThere are a sort of middle tints and shades between the two extremes;\nthere is something uncertain on the confines of the two empires which\nthey first pass through, and which renders the change easy and\nimperceptible. There are even a sort of splendid impositions so well\ncontrived, that, at the very time the path of rectitude is quitted\nforever, men seem to be advancing into some higher and nobler road of\npublic conduct. Not that such impositions are strong enough in\nthemselves; but a powerful interest, often concealed from those whom it\naffects, works at the bottom, and secures the operation. Men are thus\ndebauched away from those legitimate connections, which they had formed\non a judgment, early perhaps, but sufficiently mature, and wholly\nunbiassed. They do not quit them upon any ground of complaint, for\ngrounds of just complaint may exist, but upon the flattering and most\ndangerous of all principles, that of mending what is well. Gradually\nthey are habituated to other company; and a change in their habitudes\nsoon makes a way for a change in their opinions. Certain persons are no\nlonger so very frightful, when they come to be known and to be\nserviceable. As to their old friends, the transition is easy; from\nfriendship to civility; from civility to enmity: few are the steps from\ndereliction to persecution.\n\nPeople not very well grounded in the principles of public morality find\na set of maxims in office ready made for them, which they assume as\nnaturally and inevitably, as any of the insignia or instruments of the\nsituation. A certain tone of the solid and practical is immediately\nacquired. Every former profession of public spirit is to be considered\nas a debauch of youth, or, at best, as a visionary scheme of\nunattainable perfection. The very idea of consistency is exploded. The\nconvenience of the business of the day is to furnish the principle for\ndoing it. Then the whole ministerial cant is quickly got by heart. The\nprevalence of faction is to be lamented. All opposition is to be\nregarded as the effect of envy and disappointed ambition. All\nadministrations are declared to be alike. The same necessity justifies\nall their measures. It is no longer a matter of discussion, who or what\nadministration is; but that administration is to be supported, is a\ngeneral maxim. Flattering themselves that their power is become\nnecessary to the support of all order and government; everything which\ntends to the support of that power is sanctified, and becomes a part of\nthe public interest.\n\nGrowing every day more formed to affairs, and better knit in their\nlimbs, when the occasion (now the only rule) requires it, they become\ncapable of sacrificing those very persons to whom they had before\nsacrificed their original friends. It is now only in the ordinary course\nof business to alter an opinion, or to betray a connection. Frequently\nrelinquishing one set of men and adopting another, they grow into a\ntotal indifference to human feeling, as they had before to moral\nobligation; until at length, no one original impression remains upon\ntheir minds: every principle is obliterated; every sentiment effaced.\n\nIn the mean time, that power, which all these changes aimed at securing,\nremains still as tottering and as uncertain as ever. They are delivered\nup into the hands of those who feel neither respect for their persons,\nnor gratitude for their favors; who are put about them in appearance to\nserve, in reality to govern them; and, when the signal is given, to\nabandon and destroy them in order to set up some new dupe of ambition,\nwho in his turn is to be abandoned and destroyed. Thus living in a state\nof continual uneasiness and ferment, softened only by the miserable\nconsolation of giving now and then preferments to those for whom they\nhave no value; they are unhappy in their situation, yet find it\nimpossible to resign. Until, at length, soured in temper, and\ndisappointed by the very attainment of their ends, in some angry, in\nsome haughty, or some negligent moment, they incur the displeasure of\nthose upon whom they have rendered their very being dependent. Then\n_perierunt tempora longi servitii;_ they are cast off with scorn; they\nare turned out, emptied of all natural character, of all intrinsic\nworth, of all essential dignity, and deprived of every consolation of\nfriendship. Having rendered all retreat to old principles ridiculous,\nand to old regards impracticable, not being able to counterfeit\npleasure, or to discharge discontent, nothing being sincere, or right,\nor balanced in their minds, it is more than a chance, that, in the\ndelirium of the last stage of their distempered power, they make an\ninsane political testament, by which they throw all their remaining\nweight and consequence into the scale of their declared enemies, and the\navowed authors of their destruction. Thus they finish their course. Had\nit been possible that the whole, or even a great part of these effects\non their minds, I say nothing of the effect upon their fortunes, could\nhave appeared to them in their first departure from the right line, it\nis certain they would have rejected every temptation with horror. The\nprinciple of these remarks, like every good principle in morality, is\ntrite; but its frequent application is not the less necessary.\n\nAs to others, who are plain practical men, they have been guiltless at\nall times of all public pretence. Neither the author nor any one else\nhas reason to be angry with them. They belonged to his friend for their\ninterest; for their interest they quitted him; and when it is their\ninterest, he may depend upon it, they will return to their former\nconnection. Such people subsist at all times, and, though the nuisance\nof all, are at no time a worthy subject of discussion. It is false\nvirtue and plausible error that do the mischief.\n\nIf men come to government with right dispositions, they have not that\nunfavorable subject which this author represents to work upon. Our\ncircumstances are indeed critical; but then they are the critical\ncircumstances of a strong and mighty nation. If corruption and meanness\nare greatly spread, they are not spread universally. Many public men are\nhitherto examples of public spirit and integrity. Whole parties, as far\nas large bodies can be uniform, have preserved character. However they\nmay be deceived in some particulars, I know of no set of men amongst us,\nwhich does not contain persons on whom the nation, in a difficult\nexigence, may well value itself. Private life, which is the nursery of\nthe commonwealth, is yet in general pure, and on the whole disposed to\nvirtue; and the people at large want neither generosity nor spirit. No\nsmall part of that very luxury, which is so much the subject of the\nauthor's declamation, but which, in most parts of life, by being well\nbalanced and diffused, is only decency and convenience, has perhaps as\nmany, or more good than evil consequences attending it. It certainly\nexcites industry, nourishes emulation, and inspires some sense of\npersonal value into all ranks of people. What we want is to establish\nmore fully an opinion of uniformity, and consistency of character, in\nthe leading men of the state; such as will restore some confidence to\nprofession and appearance, such as will fix subordination upon esteem.\nWithout this, all schemes are begun at the wrong end. All who join in\nthem are liable to their consequences. All men who, under whatever\npretext, take a part in the formation or the support of systems\nconstructed in such a manner as must, in their nature, disable them from\nthe execution of their duty, have made themselves guilty of all the\npresent distraction, and of the future ruin, which they may bring upon\ntheir country.\n\nIt is a serious affair, this studied disunion in government. In cases\nwhere union is most consulted in the constitution of a ministry, and\nwhere persons are best disposed to promote it, differences, from the\nvarious ideas of men, will arise; and from their passions will often\nferment into violent heats, so as greatly to disorder all public\nbusiness. What must be the consequence, when the very distemper is made\nthe basis of the constitution; and the original weakness of human nature\nis still further enfeebled by art and contrivance? It must subvert\ngovernment from the very foundation. It turns our public councils into\nthe most mischievous cabals; where the consideration is, not how the\nnation's business shall be carried on, but how those who ought to carry\nit on shall circumvent each other. In such a state of things, no order,\nuniformity, dignity, or effect, can appear in our proceedings, either at\nhome or abroad. Nor will it make much difference, whether some of the\nconstituent parts of such an administration are men of virtue or\nability, or not; supposing it possible that such men, with their eyes\nopen, should choose to make a part in such a body.\n\nThe effects of all human contrivances are in the hand of Providence. I\ndo not like to answer, as our author so readily does, for the event of\nany speculation. But surely the nature of our disorders, if anything,\nmust indicate the proper remedy. Men who act steadily on the principles\nI have stated may in all events be very serviceable to their country; in\none case, by furnishing (if their sovereign should be so advised) an\nadministration formed upon ideas very different from those which have\nfor some time been unfortunately fashionable. But, if this should not be\nthe case, they may be still serviceable; for the example of a large body\nof men, steadily sacrificing ambition to principle, can never be without\nuse. It will certainly be prolific, and draw others to an imitation.\n_Vera gloria radices agit, atque etiam propagatur_.\n\nI do not think myself of consequence enough to imitate my author, in\ntroubling the world with the prayers or wishes I may form for the\npublic: full as little am I disposed to imitate his professions; those\nprofessions are long since worn out in the political service. If the\nwork will not speak for the author, his own declarations deserve but\nlittle credit.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[38] History of the Minority. History of the Repeal of the Stamp Act.\nConsiderations on Trade and Finance. Political Register, &c., &c.\n\n[39] Pages 6-10.\n\n[40] Pages 9, 10.\n\n[41] Page 9.\n\n[42] Page 9.\n\n[43] Page 6.\n\n[44] Page 9.\n\n[45]\n  Total imports from the West Indies in 1764    L2,909,411\n  Exports to ditto in ditto                        896,511\n                                                ----------\n  Excess of imports                             L2,012,900\n\nIn this, which is the common way of stating the balance, it will appear\nupwards of two millions against us, which is ridiculous.\n\n[46] Page 6.\n\n[47]\n            1754.                           L     _s.  d._\n  Total export of British goods  value, 8,317,506  15   3\n  Ditto of foreign goods in time        2,910,836  14   9\n  Ditto of ditto out of time              559,485   2  10\n                                       ------------------\n  Total exports of all kinds           11,787,828  12  10\n  Total imports                         8,093,479  15   0\n                                       ------------------\n  Balance in favor of England          L3,094,355  17  10\n                                       ------------------\n\n            1761.                           L      _s.  d._\n  Total export of British goods        10,649,581  12   6\n  Ditto of foreign goods in time        3,553,692   7   1\n  Ditto of ditto out of time              355,015   0   2\n                                       ------------------\n  Total exports of all kinds           14,558,288  19   9\n  Total imports                         9,294,915   1   6\n                                       ------------------\n  Balance in favor of England          L5,263,373  18   3\n                                       ------------------\n\nHere is the state of our trade in 1761, compared with a very good year\nof profound peace: both are taken from the authentic entries at the\ncustom-house. How the author can contrive to make this increase of the\nexport of English produce agree with his account of the dreadful want of\nhands in England, page 9, unless he supposes manufactures to be made\nwithout hands, I really do not see. It is painful to be so frequently\nobliged to set this author right in matters of fact. This state will\nfully refute all that he has said or insinuated upon the difficulties\nand decay of our trade, pages 6, 7, and 9.\n\n[48] Page 7. See also page 13.\n\n[49] Pages 12, 13.\n\n[50] Page 17.\n\n[51] Page 6.\n\n[52] \"Our merchants suffered by the detention of the galleons, as their\ncorrespondents in Spain were disabled from paying them for their goods\nsent to America.\"--State of the Nation, p. 7.\n\n[53] Pages 12, 13.\n\n[54] Page 6.\n\n[55] Something however has transpired in the quarrels among those\nconcerned in that transaction. It seems the _good Genius_ of Britain, so\nmuch vaunted by our author, did his duty nobly. Whilst we were gaining\nsuch advantages, the court of France was astonished at our concessions.\n\"J'ai apporte a Versailles, il est vrai, les Ratifications du Roi\nd'Angleterre, _a vostre grand etonnement, et a celui de bien d'autres_.\nJe dois cela au bontes du Roi d'Angleterre, a celles de Milord Bute, a\nMons. le Comte de Viry, a Mons. le Duc de Nivernois, et en fin a mon\nscavoir faire.\"--Lettres, &c., du Chev. D'Eon, p. 51.\n\n[56] \"The navy bills are not due till six months after they have been\nissued; six months also of the seamen's wages by act of Parliament must\nbe, and in consequence of the rules prescribed by that act, twelve\nmonths' wages generally, and often much more are retained; and there has\nbeen besides at all times a large arrear of pay, which, though kept in\nthe account, could never be claimed, the persons to whom it was due\nhaving left neither assignees nor representatives. The precise amount of\nsuch sums cannot be ascertained; but they can hardly be reckoned less\nthan thirteen or fourteen hundred thousand pounds. On 31st Dec, 1754,\nwhen the navy debt was reduced nearly as low as it could be, it still\namounted to 1,296,567_l._ 18_s._ 11-3/4_d._ consisting chiefly of\narticles which could not then be discharged; such articles will be\nlarger now, in proportion to the increase of the establishment; and an\nallowance must always be made for them in judging of the state of the\nnavy debt, though they are not distinguishable in the account. In\nproviding for that which is payable, the principal object of the\nlegislature is always to discharge the bills, for they are the greatest\narticle; they bear an interest of 4 per cent; and, when the quantity of\nthem is large, they are a heavy incumbrance upon all money transactions\"\n\n[57]\n  Navy                                            L1,450,900\n  Army                                             1,268,500\n  Ordnance                                           174,600\n  The four American governments                       19,200\n  General surveys in America                           1,600\n  Foundling Hospital                                  38,000\n  To the African committee                            13,000\n  For the civil establishment on the coast of Africa   5,500\n  Militia                                            100,000\n  Deficiency of land and malt                        300,000\n  Deficiency of funds                                202,400\n  Extraordinaries of the army and navy                35,000\n                                                  ----------\n                                   Total          L3,609,700\n\n[58] Upon the money borrowed in 1760, the premium of one per cent was\nfor twenty-one years, not for twenty; this annuity has been paid eight\nyears instead of seven; the sum paid is therefore 640,000_l._ instead of\n560,000_l._; the remaining term is worth, ten years and a quarter\ninstead of eleven years;[59] its value is 820,000_l._ instead of\n880,000_l._; and the whole value of that premium is 1,460,000_l._\ninstead of 1,440,000_l._ The like errors are observable in his\ncomputation on the additional capital of three per cent on the loan of\nthat year. In like manner, on the loan of 1762, the author computes on\nfive years' payment instead of six; and says in express terms, that take\n5 from 19, and there remain 13. These are not errors of the pen or the\npress; the several computations pursued in this part of the work with\ngreat diligence and earnestness prove them errors upon much\ndeliberation. Thus the premiums in 1759 are cast up 90,000_l._ too\nlittle, an error in the first rule of arithmetic. \"The annuities\nborrowed in 1756 and 1758 are,\" says he, \"to continue till redeemed by\nParliament.\" He does not take notice that the first are irredeemable\ntill February, 1771, the other till July, 1782. In this the amount of\nthe premiums is computed on the time which they have run. Weakly and\nignorantly; for he might have added to this, and strengthened his\nargument, such as it is, by charging also the value of the additional\none per cent from the day on which he wrote, to at least that day on\nwhich these annuities become redeemable. To make ample amends, however,\nhe has added to the premiums of 15 per cent in 1759, and three per cent\nin 1760, the annuity paid for them since their commencement; the fallacy\nof which is manifest; for the premiums in these cases can he neither\nmore nor less than the additional capital for which the public stands\nengaged, and is just the same whether five or five hundred years'\nannuity has been paid for it. In private life, no man persuades himself\nthat he has borrowed 200_l._ because he happens to have paid twenty\nyears' interest on a loan of 100_l._\n\n[59] See Smart and Demoivre.\n\n[60] Pages 30-32.\n\n[61] In a course of years a few manufacturers have been tempted abroad,\nnot by cheap living, but by immense premiums, to set up as masters, and\nto introduce the manufacture. This must happen in every country eminent\nfor the skill of its artificers, and has nothing to do with taxes and\nthe price of provisions.\n\n[62] Although the public brewery has considerably increased in this\nlatter period, the produce of the malt-tax has been something less than\nin the former; this cannot be attributed to the new malt-tax. Had this\nbeen the cause of the lessened consumption, the public brewery, so much\nmore burdened, must have felt it more. The cause of this diminution of\nthe malt-tax I take to have been principally owing to the greater\ndearness of corn in the second period than in the first, which, in all\nits consequences, affected the people in the country much more than\nthose in the towns. But the revenue from consumption was not, on the\nwhole, impaired; as we have seen in the foregoing page.\n\n[63]\n         Total Imports, value,                Exports, ditto.\n  1752           L7,889,369                    L11,694,912\n  1753            8,625,029                     12,243,604\n  1754            8,093,472                     11,787,828\n                  ---------                     ----------\n  Total         L24,607,870                     35,726,344\n                                                24,607,870\n                                                ----------\n           Exports exceed imports               11,118,474\n                                                ----------\n           Medium balance                       L3,706,158\n                                                ----------\n\n         Total Imports, value,                Exports, ditto.\n  1764          L10,818,946                    L16,104,532\n  1765           10,889,742                     14,550,507\n  1766           11,475,825                     14,024,964\n                -----------                    -----------\n  Total         L32,685,513                     44,740,003\n                -----------                     32,683,613\n                                               -----------\n           Exports exceed                       12,054,490\n                                               -----------\n  Medium balance for three last years           L4,018,163\n\n\n[64] It is dearer in some places, and rather cheaper in others; but it\nmust soon all come to a level.\n\n[65] A tax rated by the intendant in each generality, on the presumed\nfortune of every person below the degree of a gentleman.\n\n[66] Before the war it was sold to, or rather forced on, the consumer at\n11 sous, or about 5_d._ the pound. What it is at present, I am not\ninformed. Even this will appear no trivial imposition. In London, salt\nmay be had at a penny farthing per pound from the last retailer.\n\n[67] Page 31.\n\n[68] Page 33.\n\n[69] Page 33.\n\n[70] Page 33.\n\n[71] The figures in the \"Considerations\" are wrongly cast up; it should\nbe 3,608,700_l._\n\n[72] \"Considerations,\" p. 43. \"State of the Nation,\" p. 33.\n\n[73] Ibid.\n\n[74] Page 34.\n\n[75] The author of the \"State of the Nation,\" p. 34, informs us, that\nthe sum of 75,000_l._ allowed by him for the extras of the army and\nordnance, is far less than was allowed for the same service in the years\n1767 and 1768. It is so undoubtedly, and by at least 200,000_l._ He sees\nthat he cannot abide by the plan of the \"Considerations\" in this point,\nnor is he willing wholly to give it up. Such an enormous difference as\nthat between 35,000_l._ and 300,000_l._ puts him to a stand. Should he\nadopt the latter plan of increased expense, he must then confess that he\nhad, on a former occasion, egregiously trifled with the public; at the\nsame time all his future promises of reduction must fall to the ground.\nIf he stuck to the 35,000_l._ he was sure that every one must expect\nfrom him some account how this monstrous charge came to continue ever\nsince the war, when it was clearly unnecessary; how all those\nsuccessions of ministers (his own included) came to pay it, and why his\ngreat friend in Parliament, and his partisans without doors, came not to\npursue to ruin, at least to utter shame, the authors of so groundless\nand scandalous a profusion. In this strait he took a middle way; and, to\ncome nearer the real state of the service, he outbid the\n\"Considerations,\" at one stroke, 40,000_l._; at the same time he hints\nto you, that you may _expect_ some benefit also from the original plan.\nBut the author of the \"Considerations\" will not suffer him to escape it.\nHe has pinned him down to his 35,000_l._; for that is the sum he has\nchosen, not as what he thinks will probably be required, but as making\nthe most ample allowance for every possible contingency. See that\nauthor, p. 42 and 43.\n\n[76] He has done great injustice to the establishment of 1768; but I\nhave not here time for this discussion; nor is it necessary to this\nargument.\n\n[77] Page 34.\n\n[78] In making up this account, he falls into a surprising error of\narithmetic. \"The deficiency of the land-tax in the year 1754 and\n1755,[80] when it was at 2_s._, amounted to no more, on a medium, than\n49,372_l._; to which, if we add _half the sum_, it will give us\n79,058_l._ as the peace deficiency at 3_s._\"\n\n            Total                                 L49,372\n            Add the half                           24,686\n                                                  -------\n                                                  L74,058\n\nWhich he makes 79,058_l._ This is indeed in disfavor of his argument;\nbut we shall see that he has ways, by other errors, of reimbursing\nhimself.\n\n[79] Page 34.\n\n[80] Page 33.\n\n[81] Page 43.\n\n[82] Page 35.\n\n[83] Page 37.\n\n[84] Pages 37, 38.\n\n[85] Pages 39, 40.\n\n[86] Page 39.\n\n[87] It is observable, that the partisans of American taxation, when\nthey have a mind to represent this tax as wonderfully beneficial to\nEngland, state it as worth 100,000_l._ a year; when they are to\nrepresent it as very light on the Americans, it dwindles to 60,000_l._\nIndeed it is very difficult to compute what its produce might have been.\n\n[88] \"Considerations,\" p. 74.\n\n[89] \"Considerations,\" p. 79.\n\n[90] Ibid., p. 74.\n\n[91] I do not here enter into the unsatisfactory disquisition concerning\nrepresentation real or presumed. I only say, that a great people who\nhave their property, without any reserve, in all cases, disposed of by\nanother people, at an immense distance from them, will not think\nthemselves in the enjoyment of freedom. It will be hard to show to those\nwho are in such a state, which of the usual parts of the definition or\ndescription of a free people are applicable to them; and it is neither\npleasant nor wise to attempt to prove that they have no right to be\ncomprehended in such a description.\n\n[92] Page 21.\n\n[93] Here the author has a note altogether in his usual strain of\nreasoning; he finds out that somebody, in the course of this\nmultifarious evidence, had said, \"that a very considerable part of the\norders of 1765 transmitted from America had been afterwards suspended;\nbut that in case the Stamp Act was repealed, those orders were to be\nexecuted in the present year, 1766\"; and that, on the repeal of the\nStamp Act, \"the exports to the colonies would be at least double the\nvalue of the exports of the past year.\" He then triumphs exceedingly on\ntheir having fallen short of it on the state of the custom-house\nentries. I do not well know what conclusion he draws applicable to his\npurpose from these facts. He does not deny that all the orders which\ncame from America subsequent to the disturbances of the Stamp Act were\non the condition of that act being repealed; and he does not assert\nthat, notwithstanding that act should be enforced by a strong hand,\nstill the orders would be executed. Neither does he quite venture to say\nthat this decline of the trade in 1766 was owing to the repeal. What\ndoes he therefore infer from it, favorable to the enforcement of that\nlaw? It only comes to this, and no more; those merchants, who thought\nour trade would be doubled in the subsequent year, were mistaken in\ntheir speculations. So that the Stamp Act was not to be repealed unless\nthis speculation of theirs was a probable event. But it was not repealed\nin order to double our trade in that year, as everybody knows (whatever\nsome merchants might have said), but lest in that year we should have no\ntrade at all. The fact is, that during the greatest part of the year\n1755, that is, until about the month of October, when the accounts of\nthe disturbances came thick upon us, the American trade went on as\nusual. Before this time, the Stamp Act could not affect it. Afterwards,\nthe merchants fell into a great consternation; a general stagnation in\ntrade ensued. But as soon as it was known that the ministry favored the\nrepeal of the Stamp Act, several of the bolder merchants ventured to\nexecute their orders; others more timid hung back; in this manner the\ntrade continued in a state of dreadful fluctuation between the fears of\nthose who had ventured, for the event of their boldness, and the anxiety\nof those whose trade was suspended, until the royal assent was finally\ngiven to the bill of repeal. That the trade of 1766 was not equal to\nthat of 1765, could not be owing to the repeal; it arose from quite\ndifferent causes, of which the author seems not to be aware: 1st, Our\nconquests during the war had laid open the trade of the French and\nSpanish West Indies to our colonies much more largely than they had ever\nenjoyed it; this continued for some time after the peace; but at length\nit was extremely contracted, and in some places reduced to nothing. Such\nin particular was the state of Jamaica. On the taking the Havannah all\nthe stores of that island were emptied into that place, which produced\nunusual orders for goods, for supplying their own consumption, as well\nas for further speculations of trade. These ceasing, the trade stood on\nits own bottom. This is one cause of the diminished export to Jamaica,\nand not the childish idea of the author, of an impossible contraband\nfrom the opening of the ports.--2nd, The war had brought a great influx\nof cash into America, for the pay and provision of the troops; and this\nan unnatural increase of trade, which, as its cause failed, must in some\ndegree return to its ancient and natural bounds.--3rd, When the\nmerchants met from all parts, and compared their accounts, they were\nalarmed at the immensity of the debt due to them from America. They\nfound that the Americans had over-traded their abilities. And, as they\nfound too that several of them were capable of making the state of\npolitical events an excuse for their failure in commercial punctuality,\nmany of our merchants in some degree contracted their trade from that\nmoment. However, it is idle, in such an immense mass of trade, so liable\nto fluctuation, to infer anything from such a deficiency as one or even\ntwo hundred thousand pounds. In 1767, when the disturbances subsided,\nthis deficiency was made up again.\n\n[94] The disturbances have been in Boston only; and were not in\nconsequence of the late duties.\n\n[95] Page 24.\n\n[96] \"They are happy in having found, in your zeal for the dignity of\nthis nation, the means of liquidating their claims, and of concluding\nwith the court of France a convention for the final satisfaction of\ntheir demands; and have given us commission, in their names, and on\ntheir behalf, most earnestly to entreat your acceptance of their\ngrateful acknowledgments. Whether they consider themselves as Britons,\nor as men more particularly profiting by your generous and spirited\ninterposition, they see great reasons to be thankful, for having been\nsupported by a minister, in whose public affections, in whose wisdom and\nactivity, both the national honor, and the interests of individuals,\nhave been at once so well supported and secured.\"--Thanks of the Canada\nmerchants to General Conway, London, April 28, 1766.\n\n[97] See the Convention itself, printed by Owen and Harrison,\nWarwick-lane, 1766; particularly the articles two and thirteen.\n\n[98] Page 23.\n\n[99] Page 46.\n\n[100] Page 46.\n\n\n\n\nAPPENDIX.\n\n\nSo much misplaced industry has been used by the author of \"The State of\nthe Nation,\" as well as by other writers, to infuse discontent into the\npeople, on account of the late war, and of the effects of our national\ndebt; that nothing ought to be omitted which may tend to disabuse the\npublic upon these subjects. When I had gone through the foregoing\nsheets, I recollected, that, in pages 58, 59, 60, I only gave the\ncomparative states of the duties collected by the excise at large;\ntogether with the quantities of strong beer brewed in the two periods\nwhich are there compared. It might be still thought, that some other\narticles of popular consumption, of general convenience, and connected\nwith our manufactures, might possibly have declined. I therefore now\nthink it right to lay before the reader the state of the produce of\nthree capital duties on such articles; duties which have frequently been\nmade the subject of popular complaint. The duty on candles; that on\nsoap, paper, &c.; and that on hides.\n\n  Average of net produce of duty on soap,\n    &c., for eight years ending 1767              L264,902\n  Average of ditto for eight years ending 1754     228,114\n                                                  --------\n                    Average increase               L36,788\n\n  Average of net produce of duty on candles\n    for eight years ending 1767                   L155,789\n  Average of ditto for eight years ending 1754     136,716\n                                                  --------\n                    Average increase               L19,073\n\n  Average net produce of duty on hides,\n    eight years, ending 1767                      L189,216\n  Ditto eight years, ending 1754                   168,200\n                                                  --------\n                    Average increase               L21,016\n\nThis increase has not arisen from any additional duties. None have been\nimposed on these articles during the war. Notwithstanding the burdens of\nthe war, and the late dearness of provisions, the consumption of all\nthese articles has increased, and the revenue along with it.\n\nThere is another point in \"The State of the Nation,\" to which, I fear, I\nhave not been so full in my answer as I ought to have been, and as I am\nwell warranted to be. The author has endeavored to throw a suspicion, or\nsomething more, on that salutary, and indeed necessary measure of\nopening the ports in Jamaica. \"Orders were given,\" says he, \"in\n_August_, 1765, for the free admission of Spanish vessels into all the\ncolonies.\"[101] He then observes, that the exports to Jamaica fell\n40,904_l._ short of those of 1764; and that the exports of the\nsucceeding year, 1766, fell short of those of 1765, about eighty pounds;\nfrom whence he wisely infers, that this decline of exports being _since_\nthe relaxation of the laws of trade, there is a just ground of\nsuspicion, that the colonies have been supplied with foreign commodities\ninstead of British.\n\nHere, as usual with him, the author builds on a fact which is\nabsolutely false; and which, being so, renders his whole hypothesis\nabsurd and impossible. He asserts, that the order for admitting Spanish\nvessels was given in _August_, 1765. That order was not _signed at the\ntreasury board until the 15th day of the November following_; and\ntherefore so far from affecting the exports of the year 1765, that,\nsupposing all possible diligence in the commissioners of the customs in\nexpediting that order, and every advantage of vessels ready to sail, and\nthe most favorable wind, it would hardly even arrive in Jamaica, within\nthe limits of that year.\n\nThis order could therefore by no possibility be a cause of the decrease\nof exports in 1765. If it had any mischievous operation, it could not be\nbefore 1766. In that year, according to our author, the exports fell\nshort of the preceding, just _eighty_ pounds. He is welcome to that\ndiminution; and to all the consequences he can draw from it.\n\nBut, as an auxiliary to account for this dreadful loss, he brings in the\nFree-port Act, which he observes (for his convenience) to have been made\nin spring, 1766; but (for his convenience likewise) he forgets, that, by\nthe express provision of the act, the regulation was not to be in force\nin Jamaica until the November following. Miraculous must be the activity\nof that contraband whose operation in America could, before the end of\nthat year, have reacted upon England, and checked the exportation from\nhence! Unless he chooses to suppose, that the merchants at whose\nsolicitation this act had been obtained, were so frightened at the\naccomplishment of their own most earnest and anxious desire, that,\nbefore any good or evil effect from it could happen, they immediately\nput a stop to all further exportation.\n\nIt is obvious that we must look for the true effect of that act at the\ntime of its first possible operation, that is, in the year 1767. On this\nidea how stands the account?\n\n  1764, Exports to Jamaica                       L 456,528\n  1765                                             415,624\n  1766                                             415,544\n  1767  (first year of the Free-port Act)          467,681\n\nThis author, for the sake of a present momentary credit, will hazard any\nfuture and permanent disgrace. At the time he wrote, the account of 1767\ncould not be made up. This was the very first year of the trial of the\nFree-port Act; and we find that the sale of British commodities is so\nfar from being lessened by that act, that the export of 1767 amounts to\n52,000_l._ more than that of either of the two preceding years, and is\n11,000_l._ above that of his standard year 1764. If I could prevail on\nmyself to argue in favor of a great commercial scheme from the\nappearance of things in a single year, I should from this increase of\nexport infer the beneficial effects of that measure. In truth, it is not\nwanting. Nothing but the thickest ignorance of the Jamaica trade could\nhave made any one entertain a fancy, that the least ill effect on our\ncommerce could follow from this opening of the ports. But, if the author\nargues the effect of regulations in the American trade from the export\nof the year in which they are made, or even of the following; why did he\nnot apply this rule to his own? He had the same paper before him which I\nhave now before me. He must have seen that in his standard year (the\nyear 1764), the principal year of his new regulations, the export fell\nno less than 128,450_l._ short of that in 1763! Did the export trade\nrevive by these regulations in 1765, during which year they continued in\ntheir full force? It fell about 40,000_l._ still lower. Here is a fall\nof 168,000_l._; to account for which, would have become the author much\nbetter than piddling for an 80_l._ fall in the year 1766 (the only year\nin which _the order_ he objects to could operate), or in presuming a\nfall of exports from a regulation which took place only in November,\n1766; whose effects could not appear until the following year; and\nwhich, when they do appear, utterly overthrow all his flimsy reasons and\naffected suspicions upon the effect of opening the ports.\n\nThis author, in the same paragraph, says, that \"it was asserted by _the\nAmerican factors and agents_, that the commanders of our ships of war\nand tenders, having custom-house commissions, and the strict orders\ngiven in 1764 for a due execution of the laws of trade in the colonies,\nhad deterred the Spaniards from trading with us; that the sale of\nBritish manufactures in the West Indies had been greatly lessened, and\nthe receipt of large sums of specie prevented.\"\n\nIf the _American factors and agents_ asserted this, they had good ground\nfor their assertion. They knew that the Spanish vessels had been driven\nfrom our ports. The author does not positively deny the fact. If he\nshould, it will be proved. When the factors connected this measure, and\nits natural consequences, with an actual fall in the exports to Jamaica,\nto no less an amount than 128,460_l._ in one year, and with a further\nfall in the next, is their assertion very wonderful? The author himself\nis full as much alarmed by a fall of only 40,000_l._; for giving him\nthe facts which he chooses to coin, it is no more. The expulsion of the\nSpanish vessels must certainly have been one cause, if not of the first\ndeclension of the exports, yet of their continuance in their reduced\nstate. Other causes had their operation, without doubt. In what degree\neach cause produced its effect, it is hard to determine. But the fact of\na fall of exports upon the restraining plan, and of a rise upon the\ntaking place of the enlarging plan, is established beyond all\ncontradiction.\n\nThis author says, that the facts relative to the Spanish trade were\nasserted by _American factors and agents_; insinuating, that the\nministry of 1766 had no better authority for their plan of enlargement\nthan such assertions. The moment he chooses it, he shall see the very\nsame thing asserted by governors of provinces, by commanders of\nmen-of-war, and by officers of the customs; persons the most bound in\nduty to prevent contraband, and the most interested in the seizures to\nbe made in consequence of strict regulation. I suppress them for the\npresent; wishing that the author may not drive me to a more full\ndiscussion of this matter than it may be altogether prudent to enter\ninto. I wish he had not made any of these discussions necessary.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[101] His note, p. 22.\n\n\n\n\nTHOUGHTS\n\nON\n\nTHE CAUSE OF THE PRESENT DISCONTENTS.\n\n     Hoc vero occultum, intestinum, domesticum malum, non modo non\n     existit, verum etiam opprimit, antequam perspicere atque explorare\n     potueris.\n                                        CIC.\n\n1770.\n\n\n\nIt is an undertaking of some degree of delicacy to examine into the\ncause of public disorders. If a man happens not to succeed in such an\ninquiry, he will be thought weak and visionary; if he touches the true\ngrievance, there is a danger that he may come near to persons of weight\nand consequence, who will rather be exasperated at the discovery of\ntheir errors, than thankful for the occasion of correcting them. If he\nshould be obliged to blame the favorites of the people, he will be\nconsidered as the tool of power; if he censures those in power, he will\nbe looked on as an instrument of faction. But in all exertions of duty\nsomething is to be hazarded. In cases of tumult and disorder, our law\nhas invested every man, in some sort, with the authority of a\nmagistrate. When the affairs of the nation are distracted, private\npeople are, by the spirit of that law, justified in stepping a little\nout of their ordinary sphere. They enjoy a privilege, of somewhat more\ndignity and effect, than that of idle lamentation over the calamities of\ntheir country. They may look into them narrowly; they may reason upon\nthem liberally; and if they should be so fortunate as to discover the\ntrue source of the mischief, and to suggest any probable method of\nremoving it, though they may displease the rulers for the day, they are\ncertainly of service to the cause of government. Government is deeply\ninterested in everything which, even through the medium of some\ntemporary uneasiness, may tend finally to compose the minds of the\nsubject, and to conciliate their affections. I have nothing to do here\nwith the abstract value of the voice of the people. But as long as\nreputation, the most precious possession of every individual, and as\nlong as opinion, the great support of the state, depend entirely upon\nthat voice, it can never be considered as a thing of little consequence\neither to individuals or to governments. Nations are not primarily ruled\nby laws: less by violence. Whatever original energy may be supposed\neither in force or regulation, the operation of both is, in truth,\nmerely instrumental. Nations are governed by the same methods, and on\nthe same principles, by which an individual without authority is often\nable to govern those who are his equals or his superiors; by a knowledge\nof their temper, and by a judicious management of it; I mean,--when\npublic affairs are steadily and quietly conducted; not when government\nis nothing but a continued scuffle between the magistrate and the\nmultitude; in which sometimes the one and sometimes the other is\nuppermost; in which they alternately yield and prevail, in a series of\ncontemptible victories, and scandalous submissions. The temper of the\npeople amongst whom he presides ought therefore to be the first study of\na statesman. And the knowledge of this temper it is by no means\nimpossible for him to attain, if he has not an interest in being\nignorant of what it is his duty to learn.\n\nTo complain of the age we live in, to murmur at the present possessors\nof power, to lament the past, to conceive extravagant hopes of the\nfuture, are the common dispositions of the greatest part of mankind;\nindeed the necessary effects of the ignorance and levity of the vulgar.\nSuch complaints and humors have existed in all times; yet as all times\nhave _not_ been alike, true political sagacity manifests itself in\ndistinguishing that complaint which only characterizes the general\ninfirmity of human nature, from those which are symptoms of the\nparticular distemperature of our own air and season.\n\nNobody, I believe, will consider it merely as the language of spleen or\ndisappointment, if I say, that there is something particularly alarming\nin the present conjuncture. There is hardly a man, in or out of power,\nwho holds any other language. That government is at once dreaded and\ncontemned; that the laws are despoiled of all their respected and\nsalutary terrors; that their inaction is a subject of ridicule, and\ntheir exertion of abhorrence; that rank, and office and title, and all\nthe solemn plausibilities of the world, have lost their reverence and\neffect; that our foreign politics are as much deranged as our domestic\neconomy; that our dependencies are slackened in their affection, and\nloosened from their obedience; that we know neither how to yield nor how\nto enforce; that hardly anything above or below, abroad or at home, is\nsound and entire; but that disconnection and confusion, in offices, in\nparties, in families, in Parliament, in the nation, prevail beyond the\ndisorders of any former time: these are facts universally admitted and\nlamented.\n\nThis state of things is the more extraordinary, because the great\nparties which formerly divided and agitated the kingdom are known to be\nin a manner entirely dissolved. No great external calamity has visited\nthe nation; no pestilence or famine. We do not labor at present under\nany scheme of taxation new or oppressive in the quantity or in the mode.\nNor are we engaged in unsuccessful war; in which, our misfortunes might\neasily pervert our judgment; and our minds, sore from the loss of\nnational glory, might feel every blow of fortune as a crime in\ngovernment.\n\nIt is impossible that the cause of this strange distemper should not\nsometimes become a subject of discourse. It is a compliment due, and\nwhich I willingly pay, to those who administer our affairs, to take\nnotice in the first place of their speculation. Our ministers are of\nopinion, that the increase of our trade and manufactures, that our\ngrowth by colonization, and by conquest, have concurred to accumulate\nimmense wealth in the hands of some individuals; and this again being\ndispersed among the people, has rendered them universally proud,\nferocious, and ungovernable; that the insolence of some from their\nenormous wealth, and the boldness of others from a guilty poverty, have\nrendered them capable of the most atrocious attempts; so that they have\ntrampled upon all subordination, and violently borne down the unarmed\nlaws of a free government; barriers too feeble against the fury of a\npopulace so fierce and licentious as ours. They contend, that no\nadequate provocation has been given for so spreading a discontent; our\naffairs having been conducted throughout with remarkable temper and\nconsummate wisdom. The wicked industry of some libellers, joined to the\nintrigues of a few disappointed politicians, have, in their opinion,\nbeen able to produce this unnatural ferment in the nation.\n\nNothing indeed can be more unnatural than the present convulsions of\nthis country, if the above account be a true one. I confess I shall\nassent to it with great reluctance, and only on the compulsion of the\nclearest and firmest proofs; because their account resolves itself into\nthis short, but discouraging proposition, \"That we have a very good\nministry, but that we are a very bad people\"; that we set ourselves to\nbite the hand that feeds us; that with a malignant insanity, we oppose\nthe measures, and ungratefully vilify the persons, of those whose sole\nobject is our own peace and prosperity. If a few puny libellers, acting\nunder a knot of factious politicians, without virtue, parts, or\ncharacter, (such they are constantly represented by these gentlemen,)\nare sufficient to excite this disturbance, very perverse must be the\ndisposition of that people, amongst whom such a disturbance can be\nexcited by such means. It is besides no small aggravation of the public\nmisfortune, that the disease, on this hypothesis, appears to be without\nremedy. If the wealth of the nation be the cause of its turbulence, I\nimagine it is not proposed to introduce poverty, as a constable to keep\nthe peace. If our dominions abroad are the roots which feed all this\nrank luxuriance of sedition, it is not intended to cut them off in order\nto famish the fruit. If our liberty has enfeebled the executive power,\nthere is no design, I hope, to call in the aid of despotism, to fill up\nthe deficiencies of law. Whatever may be intended, these things are not\nyet professed. We seem therefore to be driven to absolute despair; for\nwe have no other materials to work upon, but those out of which God has\nbeen pleased to form the inhabitants of this island. If these be\nradically and essentially vicious, all that can be said is, that those\nmen are very unhappy, to whose fortune or duty it falls to administer\nthe affairs of this untoward people. I hear it indeed sometimes\nasserted, that a steady perseverance in the present measures, and a\nrigorous punishment of those who oppose them, will in course of time\ninfallibly put an end to these disorders. But this, in my opinion, is\nsaid without much observation of our present disposition, and without\nany knowledge at all of the general nature of mankind. If the matter of\nwhich this nation is composed be so very fermentable as these gentlemen\ndescribe it, leaven never will be wanting to work it up, as long as\ndiscontent, revenge, and ambition, have existence in the world.\nParticular punishments are the cure for accidental distempers in the\nstate; they inflame rather than allay those heats which arise from the\nsettled mismanagement of the government, or from a natural indisposition\nin the people. It is of the utmost moment not to make mistakes in the\nuse of strong measures; and firmness is then only a virtue when it\naccompanies the most perfect wisdom. In truth, inconstancy is a sort of\nnatural corrective of folly and ignorance.\n\nI am not one of those who think that the people are never in the wrong.\nThey have been so, frequently and outrageously, both in other countries\nand in this. But I do say, that in all disputes between them and their\nrulers, the presumption is at least upon a par in favor of the people.\nExperience may perhaps justify me in going further. When popular\ndiscontents have been very prevalent, it may well be affirmed and\nsupported, that there has been generally something found amiss in the\nconstitution, or in the conduct of government. The people have no\ninterest in disorder. When they do wrong, it is their error, and not\ntheir crime. But with the governing part of the state, it is for\notherwise. They certainly may act ill by design, as well as by mistake.\n\"_Les revolutions qui arrivent dans les grands etats ne sont point un\neffect du hazard, ni du caprice des peuples. Rien ne revolte _les\ngrands_ d'un royaume comme _un gouvernement foible et derange_. Pour la\n_populace_, ce n'est jamais par envie d'attaquer qu'elle se souleve,\nmais par impatience de souffrir._\"[102] These are the words of a great\nman; of a minister of state; and a zealous assertor of monarchy. They\nare applied to the _system of favoritism_ which was adopted by Henry the\nThird of France, and to the dreadful consequences it produced. What he\nsays of revolutions, is equally true of all great disturbances. If this\npresumption in favor of the subjects against the trustees of power be\nnot the more probable, I am sure it is the more comfortable speculation;\nbecause it is more easy to change an administration, than to reform a\npeople.\n\nUpon a supposition, therefore, that, in the opening of the cause, the\npresumptions stand equally balanced between the parties, there seems\nsufficient ground to entitle any person to a fair hearing, who attempts\nsome other scheme beside that easy one which is fashionable in some\nfashionable companies, to account for the present discontents. It is not\nto be argued that we endure no grievance, because our grievances are not\nof the same sort with those under which we labored formerly; not\nprecisely those which we bore from the Tudors, or vindicated on the\nStuarts. A great change has taken place in the affairs of this country.\nFor in the silent lapse of events as material alterations have been\ninsensibly brought about in the policy and character of governments and\nnations, as those which have been marked by the tumult of public\nrevolutions.\n\nIt is very rare indeed for men to be wrong in their feelings concerning\npublic misconduct; as rare to be right in their speculation upon the\ncause of it. I have constantly observed, that the generality of people\nare fifty years, at least, behindhand in their politics. There are but\nvery few who are capable of comparing and digesting what passes before\ntheir eyes at different times and occasions, so as to form the whole\ninto a distinct system. But in books everything is settled for them,\nwithout the exertion of any considerable diligence or sagacity. For\nwhich reason men are wise with but little reflection, and good with\nlittle self-denial, in the business of all times except their own. We\nare very uncorrupt and tolerably enlightened judges of the transactions\nof past ages; where no passions deceive, and where the whole train of\ncircumstances, from the trifling cause to the tragical event, is set in\nan orderly series before us. Few are the partisans of departed tyranny;\nand to be a Whig on the business of an hundred years ago, is very\nconsistent with every advantage of present servility. This retrospective\nwisdom, and historical patriotism, are things of wonderful convenience,\nand serve admirably to reconcile the old quarrel between speculation and\npractice. Many a stern republican, after gorging himself with a full\nfeast of admiration of the Grecian commonwealths and of our true Saxon\nconstitution, and discharging all the splendid bile of his virtuous\nindignation on King John and King James, sits down perfectly satisfied\nto the coarsest work and homeliest job of the day he lives in. I believe\nthere was no professed admirer of Henry the Eighth among the instruments\nof the last King James; nor in the court of Henry the Eighth was there,\nI dare say, to be found a single advocate for the favorites of Richard\nthe Second.\n\nNo complaisance to our court, or to our age, can make me believe nature\nto be so changed, but that public liberty will be among us as among our\nancestors, obnoxious to some person or other; and that opportunities\nwill be furnished for attempting, at least, some alteration to the\nprejudice of our constitution. These attempts will naturally vary in\ntheir mode according to times and circumstances. For ambition, though it\nhas ever the same general views, has not at all times the same means,\nnor the same particular objects. A great deal of the furniture of\nancient tyranny is worn to rags; the rest is entirely out of fashion.\nBesides, there are few statesmen so very clumsy and awkward in their\nbusiness, as to fall into the identical snare which has proved fatal to\ntheir predecessors. When an arbitrary imposition is attempted upon the\nsubject, undoubtedly it will not bear on its forehead the name of\n_Ship-money_. There is no danger that an extension of the _Forest laws_\nshould be the chosen mode of oppression in this age. And when we hear\nany instance of ministerial rapacity, to the prejudice of the rights of\nprivate life, it will certainly not be the exaction of two hundred\npullets, from a woman of fashion, for leave to lie with her own\nhusband.[103]\n\nEvery age has its own manners, and its politics dependent upon them;\nand the same attempts will not be made against a constitution fully\nformed and matured, that were used to destroy it in the cradle, or to\nresist its growth during its infancy.\n\nAgainst the being of Parliament, I am satisfied, no designs have ever\nbeen entertained since the revolution. Every one must perceive, that it\nis strongly the interest of the court, to have some second cause\ninterposed between the ministers and the people. The gentlemen of the\nHouse of Commons have an interest equally strong in sustaining the part\nof that intermediate cause. However they may hire out the _usufruct_ of\ntheir voices, they never will part with the _fee and inheritance_.\nAccordingly those who have been of the most known devotion to the will\nand pleasure of a court have, at the same time, been most forward in\nasserting a high authority in the House of Commons. When they knew who\nwere to use that authority, and how it was to be employed, they thought\nit never could be carried too far. It must be always the wish of an\nunconstitutional statesman, that a House of Commons, who are entirely\ndependent upon him, should have every right of the people entirely\ndependent upon their pleasure. It was soon discovered, that the forms of\na free, and the ends of an arbitrary government, were things not\naltogether incompatible.\n\nThe power of the crown, almost dead and rotten as Prerogative, has grown\nup anew, with much more strength, and far less odium, under the name of\nInfluence. An influence, which operated without noise and without\nviolence; an influence, which converted the very antagonist into the\ninstrument of power; which contained in itself a perpetual principle of\ngrowth and renovation; and which the distresses and the prosperity of\nthe country equally tended to augment, was an admirable substitute for a\nprerogative, that, being only the offspring of antiquated prejudices,\nhad moulded in its original stamina irresistible principles of decay and\ndissolution. The ignorance of the people is a bottom but for a temporary\nsystem; the interest of active men in the state is a foundation\nperpetual and infallible. However, some circumstances, arising, it must\nbe confessed, in a great degree from accident, prevented the effects of\nthis influence for a long time from breaking out in a manner capable of\nexciting any serious apprehensions. Although government was strong and\nflourished exceedingly, the _court_ had drawn far less advantage than\none would imagine from this great source of power.\n\nAt the revolution, the crown, deprived, for the ends of the revolution\nitself, of many prerogatives, was found too weak to struggle against all\nthe difficulties which pressed so new and unsettled a government. The\ncourt was obliged therefore to delegate a part of its powers to men of\nsuch interest as could support, and of such fidelity as would adhere to,\nits establishment. Such men were able to draw in a greater number to a\nconcurrence in the common defence. This connection, necessary at first,\ncontinued long after convenient; and properly conducted might indeed, in\nall situations, be an useful instrument of government. At the same time,\nthrough the intervention of men of popular weight and character, the\npeople possessed a security for their just proportion of importance in\nthe state. But as the title to the crown grew stronger by long\npossession, and by the constant increase of its influence, these helps\nhave of late seemed to certain persons no better than incumbrances. The\npowerful managers for government were not sufficiently submissive to the\npleasure of the possessors of immediate and personal favor, sometimes\nfrom a confidence in their own strength, natural and acquired; sometimes\nfrom a fear of offending their friends, and weakening that lead in the\ncountry which gave them a consideration independent of the court. Men\nacted as if the court could receive, as well as confer, an obligation.\nThe influence of government, thus divided in appearance between the\ncourt and the leaders of parties, became in many cases an accession\nrather to the popular than to the royal scale; and some part of that\ninfluence, which would otherwise have been possessed as in a sort of\nmortmain and unalienable domain, returned again to the great ocean from\nwhence it arose, and circulated among the people. This method,\ntherefore, of governing by men of great natural interest or great\nacquired consideration was viewed in a very invidious light by the true\nlovers of absolute monarchy. It is the nature of despotism to abhor\npower held by any means but its own momentary pleasure; and to\nannihilate all intermediate situations between boundless strength on its\nown part, and total debility on the part of the people.\n\nTo get rid of all this intermediate and independent importance, and _to\nsecure to the court the unlimited and uncontrolled use of its own vast\ninfluence, under the sole direction of its own private favor_, has for\nsome years past been the great object of policy. If this were\ncompassed, the influence of the crown must of course produce all the\neffects which the most sanguine partisans of the court could possibly\ndesire. Government might then be carried on without any concurrence on\nthe part of the people; without any attention to the dignity of the\ngreater, or to the affections of the lower sorts. A new project was\ntherefore devised by a certain set of intriguing men, totally different\nfrom the system of administration which had prevailed since the\naccession of the House of Brunswick. This project, I have heard, was\nfirst conceived by some persons in the court of Frederick Prince of\nWales.\n\nThe earliest attempt in the execution of this design was to set up for\nminister, a person, in rank indeed respectable, and very ample in\nfortune; but who, to the moment of this vast and sudden elevation, was\nlittle known or considered in the kingdom. To him the whole nation was\nto yield an immediate and implicit submission. But whether it was from\nwant of firmness to bear up against the first opposition; or that things\nwere not yet fully ripened, or that this method was not found the most\neligible; that idea was soon abandoned. The instrumental part of the\nproject was a little altered, to accommodate it to the time and to bring\nthings more gradually and more surely to the one great end proposed.\n\nThe first part of the reformed plan was to draw _a line which should\nseparate the court from the ministry_. Hitherto these names had been\nlooked upon as synonymous; but for the future, court and administration\nwere to be considered as things totally distinct. By this operation, two\nsystems of administration were to be formed; one which should be in the\nreal secret and confidence; the other merely ostensible to perform the\nofficial and executory duties of government. The latter were alone to be\nresponsible; whilst the real advisers, who enjoyed all the power, were\neffectually removed from all the danger.\n\nSecondly, _A party under these leaders was to be formed in favor of the\ncourt against the ministry_: this party was to have a large share in the\nemoluments of government, and to hold it totally separate from, and\nindependent of, ostensible administration.\n\nThe third point, and that on which the success of the whole scheme\nultimately depended, was _to bring Parliament to an acquiescence in this\nproject_. Parliament was therefore to be taught by degrees a total\nindifference to the persons, rank, influence, abilities, connections,\nand character of the ministers of the crown. By means of a discipline,\non which I shall say more hereafter, that body was to be habituated to\nthe most opposite interests, and the most discordant politics. All\nconnections and dependencies among subjects were to be entirely\ndissolved. As, hitherto, business had gone through the hands of leaders\nof Whigs or Tories, men of talents to conciliate the people, and to\nengage their confidence; now the method was to be altered: and the lead\nwas to be given to men of no sort of consideration or credit in the\ncountry. This want of natural importance was to be their very title to\ndelegated power. Members of Parliament were to be hardened into an\ninsensibility to pride as well as to duty. Those high and haughty\nsentiments, which are the great support of independence, were to be let\ndown gradually. Points of honor and precedence were no more to be\nregarded in Parliamentary decorum than in a Turkish army. It was to be\navowed, as a constitutional maxim, that the king might appoint one of\nhis footmen, or one of your footmen for minister; and that he ought to\nbe, and that he would be, as well followed as the first name for rank or\nwisdom in the nation. Thus Parliament was to look on as if perfectly\nunconcerned, while a cabal of the closet and back-stairs was substituted\nin the place of a national administration.\n\nWith such a degree of acquiescence, any measure of any court might well\nbe deemed thoroughly secure. The capital objects, and by much the most\nflattering characteristics of arbitrary power, would be obtained.\nEverything would be drawn from its holdings in the country to the\npersonal favor and inclination of the prince. This favor would be the\nsole introduction to power, and the only tenure by which it was to be\nheld; so that no person looking towards another, and all looking towards\nthe court, it was impossible but that the motive which solely influenced\nevery man's hopes must come in time to govern every man's conduct; till\nat last the servility became universal, in spite of the dead letter of\nany laws or institutions whatsoever.\n\nHow it should happen that any man could be tempted to venture upon such\na project of government, may at first view appear surprising. But the\nfact is that opportunities very inviting to such an attempt have\noffered; and the scheme itself was not destitute of some arguments, not\nwholly unplausible, to recommend it. These opportunities and these\narguments, the use that has been made of both, the plan for carrying\nthis new scheme of government into execution, and the effects which it\nhas produced, are, in my opinion, worthy of our serious consideration.\n\nHis Majesty came to the throne of these kingdoms with more advantages\nthan any of his predecessors since the revolution. Fourth in descent,\nand third in succession of his royal family, even the zealots of\nhereditary right, in him, saw something to flatter their favorite\nprejudices; and to justify a transfer of their attachments, without a\nchange in their principles. The person and cause of the Pretender were\nbecome contemptible; his title disowned throughout Europe; his party\ndisbanded in England. His Majesty came, indeed, to the inheritance of a\nmighty war; but, victorious in every part of the globe, peace was always\nin his power, not to negotiate, but to dictate. No foreign habitudes or\nattachments withdrew him from the cultivation of his power at home. His\nrevenue for the civil establishment, fixed (as it was then thought) at a\nlarge, but definite sum, was ample without being invidious. His\ninfluence, by additions from conquest, by an augmentation of debt, by an\nincrease of military and naval establishment, much strengthened and\nextended. And coming to the throne in the prime and full vigor of youth,\nas from affection there was a strong dislike, so from dread there seemed\nto be a general averseness, from giving anything like offence to a\nmonarch, against whose resentment opposition could not look for a refuge\nin any sort of reversionary hope.\n\nThese singular advantages inspired his Majesty only with a more ardent\ndesire to preserve unimpaired the spirit of that national freedom, to\nwhich he owed a situation so full of glory. But to others it suggested\nsentiments of a very different nature. They thought they now beheld an\nopportunity (by a certain sort of statesmen never long undiscovered or\nunemployed) of drawing to themselves by the aggrandizement of a court\nfaction, a degree of power which they could never hope to derive from\nnatural influence or from honorable service; and which it was impossible\nthey could hold with the least security, whilst the system of\nadministration rested upon its former bottom. In order to facilitate the\nexecution of their design, it was necessary to make many alterations in\npolitical arrangement, and a signal change in the opinions, habits, and\nconnections of the greatest part of those who at that time acted in\npublic.\n\nIn the first place, they proceeded gradually, but not slowly, to destroy\neverything of strength which did not derive its principal nourishment\nfrom the immediate pleasure of the court. The greatest weight of popular\nopinion and party connection were then with the Duke of Newcastle and\nMr. Pitt. Neither of these held their importance by the _new tenure_ of\nthe court; they were not therefore thought to be so proper as others for\nthe services which were required by that tenure. It happened very\nfavorably for the new system, that under a forced coalition there\nrankled an incurable alienation and disgust between the parties which\ncomposed the administration. Mr. Pitt was first attacked. Not satisfied\nwith removing him from power, they endeavored by various artifices to\nruin his character. The other party seemed rather pleased to get rid of\nso oppressive a support; not perceiving, that their own fall was\nprepared by his, and involved in it. Many other reasons prevented them\nfrom daring to look their true situation in the face. To the great Whig\nfamilies it was extremely disagreeable, and seemed almost unnatural, to\noppose the administration of a prince of the House of Brunswick. Day\nafter day they hesitated, and doubted, and lingered, expecting that\nother counsels would take place; and were slow to be persuaded, that all\nwhich had been done by the cabal was the effect not of humor, but of\nsystem. It was more strongly and evidently the interest of the new court\nfaction, to get rid of the great Whig connections, than to destroy Mr.\nPitt. The power of that gentleman was vast indeed and merited; but it\nwas in a great degree personal, and therefore transient. Theirs was\nrooted in the country. For, with a good deal less of popularity, they\npossessed a far more natural and fixed influence. Long possession of\ngovernment; vast property; obligations of favors given and received;\nconnection of office; ties of blood, of alliance, of friendship (things\nat that time supposed of some force); the name of Whig, dear to the\nmajority of the people; the zeal early begun and steadily continued to\nthe royal family: all these together formed a body of power in the\nnation, which was criminal and devoted. The great ruling principle of\nthe cabal, and that which animated and harmonized all their proceedings,\nhow various soever they may have been, was to signify to the world that\nthe court would proceed upon its own proper forces only; and that the\npretence of bringing any other into its service was an affront to it,\nand not a support. Therefore when the chiefs were removed, in order to\ngo to the root, the whole party was put under a proscription, so general\nand severe, as to take their hard-earned bread from the lowest officers,\nin a manner which had never been known before, even in general\nrevolutions. But it was thought necessary effectually to destroy all\ndependencies but one; and to show an example of the firmness and rigor\nwith which the new system was to be supported.\n\nThus for the time were pulled down, in the persons of the Whig leaders\nand of Mr. Pitt (in spite of the services of the one at the accession of\nthe royal family, and the recent services of the other in the war), the\n_two only securities for the importance of the people; power arising\nfrom popularity; and power arising from connection_. Here and there\nindeed a few individuals were left standing, who gave security for their\ntotal estrangement from the odious principles of party connection and\npersonal attachment; and it must be confessed that most of them have\nreligiously kept their faith. Such a change could not however be made\nwithout a mighty shock to government.\n\nTo reconcile the minds of the people to all these movements, principles\ncorrespondent to them had been preached up with great zeal. Every one\nmust remember that the cabal set out with the most astonishing prudery,\nboth moral and political. Those, who in a few months after soused over\nhead and ears into the deepest and dirtiest pits of corruption, cried\nout violently against the indirect practices in the electing and\nmanaging of Parliaments, which had formerly prevailed. This marvellous\nabhorrence which the court had suddenly taken to all influence, was not\nonly circulated in conversation through the kingdom, but pompously\nannounced to the public, with many other extraordinary things, in a\npamphlet[104] which had all the appearance of a manifesto preparatory to\nsome considerable enterprise. Throughout it was a satire, though in\nterms managed and decent enough, on the politics of the former reign.\nIt was indeed written with no small art and address.\n\nIn this piece appeared the first dawning of the new system: there first\nappeared the idea (then only in speculation) of _separating the court\nfrom the administration_; of carrying everything from national\nconnection to personal regards; and of forming a regular party for that\npurpose, under the name of _king's men_.\n\nTo recommend this system to the people, a perspective view of the court,\ngorgeously painted, and finely illuminated from within, was exhibited to\nthe gaping multitude. Party was to be totally done away, with all its\nevil works. Corruption was to be cast down from court, as _Ate_ was from\nheaven. Power was thenceforward to be the chosen residence of public\nspirit; and no one was to be supposed under any sinister influence,\nexcept those who had the misfortune to be in disgrace at court, which\nwas to stand in lieu of all vices and all corruptions. A scheme of\nperfection to be realized in a monarchy far beyond the visionary\nrepublic of Plato. The whole scenery was exactly disposed to captivate\nthose good souls, whose credulous morality is so invaluable a treasure\nto crafty politicians. Indeed there was wherewithal to charm everybody,\nexcept those few who are not much pleased with professions of\nsupernatural virtue, who know of what stuff such professions are made,\nfor what purposes they are designed, and in what they are sure\nconstantly to end. Many innocent gentlemen, who had been talking prose\nall their lives without knowing anything of the matter, began at last to\nopen their eyes upon their own merits, and to attribute their not having\nbeen lords of the treasury and lords of trade many years before, merely\nto the prevalence of party, and to the ministerial power, which had\nfrustrated the good intentions of the court in favor of their abilities.\nNow was the time to unlock the sealed fountain of royal bounty, which\nhad been infamously monopolized and huckstered, and to let it flow at\nlarge upon the whole people. The time was come, to restore royalty to\nits original splendor. _Mettre le Roy hors de page_, became a sort of\nwatchword. And it was constantly in the mouths of all the runners of the\ncourt, that nothing could preserve the balance of the constitution from\nbeing overturned by the rabble, or by a faction of the nobility, but to\nfree the sovereign effectually from that ministerial tyranny under which\nthe royal dignity had been oppressed in the person of his Majesty's\ngrandfather.\n\nThese were some of the many artifices used to reconcile the people to\nthe great change which was made in the persons who composed the\nministry, and the still greater which was made and avowed in its\nconstitution. As to individuals, other methods were employed with them;\nin order so thoroughly to disunite every party, and even every family,\nthat _no concert, order, or effect, might appear in any future\nopposition_. And in this manner an administration without connection\nwith the people, or with one another, was first put in possession of\ngovernment. What good consequences followed from it, we have all seen;\nwhether with regard to virtue, public or private; to the ease and\nhappiness of the sovereign; or to the real strength of government. But\nas so much stress was then laid on the necessity of this new project, it\nwill not be amiss to take a view of the effects of this royal servitude\nand vile durance, which was so deplored in the reign of the late\nmonarch, and was so carefully to be avoided in the reign of his\nsuccessor. The effects were these.\n\nIn times full of doubt and danger to his person and family, George II.\nmaintained the dignity of his crown connected with the liberty of his\npeople, not only unimpaired, but improved, for the space of thirty-three\nyears. He overcame a dangerous rebellion, abetted by foreign force, and\nraging in the heart of his kingdoms; and thereby destroyed the seeds of\nall future rebellion that could arise upon the same principle. He\ncarried the glory, the power, the commerce of England, to a height\nunknown even to this renowned nation in the times of its greatest\nprosperity: and he left his succession resting on the true and only true\nfoundations of all national and all regal greatness; affection at home,\nreputation abroad, trust in allies, terror in rival nations. The most\nardent lover of his country cannot wish for Great Britain a happier fate\nthan to continue as she was then left. A people, emulous as we are in\naffection to our present sovereign, know not how to form a prayer to\nheaven for a greater blessing upon his virtues, or a higher state of\nfelicity and glory, than that he should live, and should reign, and when\nProvidence ordains it, should die, exactly like his illustrious\npredecessor.\n\nA great prince may be obliged (though such a thing cannot happen very\noften) to sacrifice his private inclination to his public interest. A\nwise prince will not think that such a restraint implies a condition of\nservility; and truly, if such was the condition of the last reign, and\nthe effects were also such as we have described, we ought, no less for\nthe sake of the sovereign whom we love, than for our own, to hear\narguments convincing indeed, before we depart from the maxims of that\nreign, or fly in the face of this great body of strong and recent\nexperience.\n\nOne of the principal topics which was then, and has been since, much\nemployed by that political[105] school, is an affected terror of the\ngrowth of an aristocratic power, prejudicial to the rights of the crown,\nand the balance of the constitution. Any new powers exercised in the\nHouse of Lords, or in the House of Commons, or by the crown, ought\ncertainly to excite the vigilant and anxious jealousy of a free people.\nEven a new and unprecedented course of action in the whole legislature,\nwithout great and evident reason, may be a subject of just uneasiness. I\nwill not affirm, that there may not have lately appeared in the House of\nLords, a disposition to some attempts derogatory to the legal rights of\nthe subject. If any such have really appeared, they have arisen, not\nfrom a power properly aristocratic, but from the same influence which is\ncharged with having excited attempts of a similar nature in the House of\nCommons; which House, if it should have been betrayed into an\nunfortunate quarrel with its constituents, and involved in a charge of\nthe very same nature, could have neither power nor inclination to repel\nsuch attempts in others. Those attempts in the House of Lords can no\nmore be called aristocratic proceedings, than the proceedings with\nregard to the county of Middlesex in the House of Commons can with any\nsense be called democratical.\n\nIt is true, that the peers have a great influence in the kingdom, and\nin every part of the public concerns. While they are men of property, it\nis impossible to prevent it, except by such means as must prevent all\nproperty from its natural operation: an event not easily to be\ncompassed, while property is power; nor by any means to be wished, while\nthe least notion exists of the method by which the spirit of liberty\nacts, and of the means by which it is preserved. If any particular\npeers, by their uniform, upright, constitutional conduct, by their\npublic and their private virtues, have acquired an influence in the\ncountry; the people, on whose favor that influence depends, and from\nwhom it arose, will never be duped into an opinion, that such greatness\nin a peer is the despotism of an aristocracy, when they know and feel it\nto be the effect and pledge of their own importance.\n\nI am no friend to aristocracy, in the sense at least in which that word\nis usually understood. If it were not a bad habit to moot cases on the\nsupposed ruin of the constitution, I should be free to declare, that if\nit must perish, I would rather by far see it resolved into any other\nform, than lost in that austere and insolent domination. But, whatever\nmy dislikes may be, my fears are not upon that quarter. The question, on\nthe influence of a court, and of a peerage, is not, which of the two\ndangers is the more eligible, but which is the more imminent. He is but\na poor observer, who has not seen, that the generality of peers, far\nfrom supporting themselves in a state of independent greatness, are but\ntoo apt to fall into an oblivion of their proper dignity, and to run\nheadlong into an abject servitude. Would to God it were true, that the\nfault of our peers were too much spirit. It is worthy of some\nobservation that these gentlemen, so jealous of aristocracy, make no\ncomplaints of the power of those peers (neither few nor inconsiderable)\nwho are always in the train of a court, and whose whole weight must be\nconsidered as a portion of the settled influence of the crown. This is\nall safe and right; but if some peers (I am very sorry they are not as\nmany as they ought to be) set themselves, in the great concern of peers\nand commons, against a back-stairs influence and clandestine government,\nthen the alarm begins; then the constitution is in danger of being\nforced into an aristocracy.\n\nI rest a little the longer on this court topic, because it was much\ninsisted upon at the time of the great change, and has been since\nfrequently revived by many of the agents of that party; for, whilst they\nare terrifying the great and opulent with the horrors of mob-government,\nthey are by other managers attempting (though hitherto with little\nsuccess) to alarm the people with a phantom of tyranny in the nobles.\nAll this is done upon their favorite principle of disunion, of sowing\njealousies amongst the different orders of the state, and of disjointing\nthe natural strength of the kingdom; that it may be rendered incapable\nof resisting the sinister designs of wicked men, who have engrossed the\nroyal power.\n\nThus much of the topics chosen by the courtiers to recommend their\nsystem; it will be necessary to open a little more at large the nature\nof that party which was formed for its support. Without this, the whole\nwould have been no better than a visionary amusement, like the scheme of\nHarrington's political club, and not a business in which the nation had\na real concern. As a powerful party, and a party constructed on a new\nprinciple, it is a very inviting object of curiosity.\n\nIt must be remembered, that since the revolution, until the period we\nare speaking of, the influence of the crown had been always employed in\nsupporting the ministers of state, and in carrying on the public\nbusiness according to their opinions. But the party now in question is\nformed upon a very different idea. It is to intercept the favor,\nprotection, and confidence of the crown in the passage to its ministers;\nit is to come between them and their importance in Parliament; it is to\nseparate them from all their natural and acquired dependencies; it is\nintended as the control, not the support, of administration. The\nmachinery of this system is perplexed in its movements, and false in its\nprinciple. It is formed on a supposition that the king is something\nexternal to his government; and that he may be honored and aggrandized,\neven by its debility and disgrace. The plan proceeds expressly on the\nidea of enfeebling the regular executory power. It proceeds on the idea\nof weakening the state in order to strengthen the court. The scheme\ndepending entirely on distrust, on disconnection, on mutability by\nprinciple, on systematic weakness in every particular member; it is\nimpossible that the total result should be substantial strength of any\nkind.\n\nAs a foundation of their scheme, the cabal have established a sort of\n_rota_ in the court. All sorts of parties, by this means, have been\nbrought into administration; from whence few have had the good fortune\nto escape without disgrace; none at all without considerable losses. In\nthe beginning of each arrangement no professions of confidence and\nsupport are wanting, to induce the leading men to engage. But while the\nministers of the day appear in all the pomp and pride of power, while\nthey have all their canvas spread out to the wind, and every sail filled\nwith the fair and prosperous gale of royal favor, in a short time they\nfind, they know not how, a current, which sets directly against them:\nwhich prevents all progress; and even drives them backwards. They grow\nashamed and mortified in a situation, which, by its vicinity to power,\nonly serves to remind them the more strongly of their insignificance.\nThey are obliged either to execute the orders of their inferiors, or to\nsee themselves opposed by the natural instruments of their office. With\nthe loss of their dignity they lose their temper. In their turn they\ngrow troublesome to that cabal which, whether it supports or opposes,\nequally disgraces and equally betrays them. It is soon found necessary\nto get rid of the heads of administration; but it is of the heads only.\nAs there always are many rotten members belonging to the best\nconnections, it is not hard to persuade several to continue in office\nwithout their leaders. By this means the party goes out much thinner\nthan it came in; and is only reduced in strength by its temporary\npossession of power. Besides, if by accident, or in course of changes,\nthat power should be recovered, the junto have thrown up a retrenchment\nof these carcasses, which may serve to cover themselves in a day of\ndanger. They conclude, not unwisely, that such rotten members will\nbecome the first objects of disgust and resentment to their ancient\nconnections.\n\nThey contrive to form in the outward administration two parties at the\nleast; which, whilst they are tearing one another to pieces, are both\ncompetitors for the favor and protection of the cabal; and, by their\nemulation, contribute to throw everything more and more into the hands\nof the interior managers.\n\nA minister of state will sometimes keep himself totally estranged from\nall his colleagues; will differ from them in their councils, will\nprivately traverse, and publicly oppose, their measures. He will,\nhowever, continue in his employment. Instead of suffering any mark of\ndispleasure, he will be distinguished by an unbounded profusion of court\nrewards and caresses; because he does what is expected, and all that is\nexpected, from men in office. He helps to keep some form of\nadministration in being, and keeps it at the same time as weak and\ndivided as possible.\n\nHowever, we must take care not to be mistaken, or to imagine that such\npersons have any weight in their opposition. When, by them,\nadministration is convinced of its insignificancy, they are soon to be\nconvinced of their own. They never are suffered to succeed in their\nopposition. They and the world are to be satisfied, that neither office,\nnor authority, nor property, nor ability, eloquence, counsel, skill, or\nunion, are of the least importance; but that the mere influence of the\ncourt, naked of all support, and destitute of all management, is\nabundantly sufficient for all its own purposes.\n\nWhen any adverse connection is to be destroyed, the cabal seldom appear\nin the work themselves. They find out some person of whom the party\nentertains a high opinion. Such a person they endeavor to delude with\nvarious pretences. They teach him first to distrust, and then to quarrel\nwith his friends; among whom, by the same arts, they excite a similar\ndiffidence of him; so that in this mutual fear and distrust, he may\nsuffer himself to be employed as the instrument in the change which is\nbrought about. Afterwards they are sure to destroy him in his turn, by\nsetting up in his place some person in whom he had himself reposed the\ngreatest confidence, and who serves to carry off a considerable part of\nhis adherents.\n\nWhen such a person has broke in this manner with his connections, he is\nsoon compelled to commit some flagrant act of iniquitous, personal\nhostility against some of them (such as an attempt to strip a particular\nfriend of his family estate), by which the cabal hope to render the\nparties utterly irreconcilable. In truth, they have so contrived\nmatters, that people have a greater hatred to the subordinate\ninstruments than to the principal movers.\n\nAs in destroying their enemies they make use of instruments not\nimmediately belonging to their corps, so in advancing their own friends\nthey pursue exactly the same method. To promote any of them to\nconsiderable rank or emolument, they commonly take care that the\nrecommendation shall pass through the hands of the ostensible ministry:\nsuch a recommendation might however appear to the world, as some proof\nof the credit of ministers, and some means of increasing their strength.\nTo prevent this, the persons so advanced are directed, in all companies,\nindustriously to declare, that they are under no obligations whatsoever\nto administration; that they have received their office from another\nquarter; that they are totally free and independent.\n\nWhen the faction has any job of lucre to obtain, or of vengeance to\nperpetrate, their way is, to select, for the execution, those very\npersons to whose habits, friendships, principles, and declarations, such\nproceedings are publicly known to be the most adverse; at once to\nrender the instruments the more odious, and therefore the more\ndependent, and to prevent the people from ever reposing a confidence in\nany appearance of private friendship or public principle.\n\nIf the administration seem now and then, from remissness, or from fear\nof making themselves disagreeable, to suffer any popular excesses to go\nunpunished, the cabal immediately sets up some creature of theirs to\nraise a clamor against the ministers, as having shamefully betrayed the\ndignity of government. Then they compel the ministry to become active in\nconferring rewards and honors on the persons who have been the\ninstruments of their disgrace; and, after having first vilified them\nwith the higher orders for suffering the laws to sleep over the\nlicentiousness of the populace, they drive them (in order to make amends\nfor their former inactivity) to some act of atrocious violence, which\nrenders them completely abhorred by the people. They, who remember the\nriots which attended the Middlesex election, the opening of the present\nParliament, and the transactions relative to Saint George's Fields, will\nnot be at a loss for an application of these remarks.\n\nThat this body may be enabled to compass all the ends of its\ninstitution, its members are scarcely ever to aim at the high and\nresponsible offices of the state. They are distributed with art and\njudgment through all the secondary, but efficient, departments of\noffice, and through the households of all the branches of the royal\nfamily: so as on one hand to occupy all the avenues to the throne; and\non the other to forward or frustrate the execution of any measure,\naccording to their own interests. For with the credit and support which\nthey are known to have, though for the greater part in places which are\nonly a genteel excuse for salary, they possess all the influence of the\nhighest posts; and they dictate publicly in almost everything, even with\na parade of superiority. Whenever they dissent (as it often happens)\nfrom their nominal leaders, the trained part of the senate,\ninstinctively in the secret, is sure to follow them: provided the\nleaders, sensible of their situation, do not of themselves recede in\ntime from their most declared opinions. This latter is generally the\ncase. It will not be conceivable to any one who has not seen it, what\npleasure is taken by the cabal in rendering these heads of office\nthoroughly contemptible and ridiculous. And when they are become so,\nthey have then the best chance for being well supported.\n\nThe members of the court faction are fully indemnified for not holding\nplaces on the slippery heights of the kingdom, not only by the lead in\nall affairs, but also by the perfect security in which they enjoy less\nconspicuous, but very advantageous situations. Their places are in\nexpress legal tenure, or, in effect, all of them for life. Whilst the\nfirst and most respectable persons in the kingdom are tossed about like\ntennis-balls, the sport of a blind and insolent caprice, no minister\ndares even to cast an oblique glance at the lowest of their body. If an\nattempt be made upon one of this corps, immediately he flies to\nsanctuary, and pretends to the most inviolable of all promises. No\nconveniency of public arrangement is available to remove any one of them\nfrom the specific situation he holds; and the slightest attempt upon one\nof them, by the most powerful minister, is a certain preliminary to his\nown destruction.\n\nConscious of their independence, they bear themselves with a lofty air\nto the exterior ministers. Like janissaries, they derive a kind of\nfreedom from the very condition of their servitude. They may act just as\nthey please; provided they are true to the great ruling principle of\ntheir institution. It is, therefore, not at all wonderful, that people\nshould be so desirous of adding themselves to that body, in which they\nmay possess and reconcile satisfactions the most alluring, and seemingly\nthe most contradictory; enjoying at once all the spirited pleasure of\nindependence, and all the gross lucre and fat emoluments of servitude.\n\nHere is a sketch, though a slight one, of the constitution, laws, and\npolicy of this new court corporation. The name by which they choose to\ndistinguish themselves, is that of _king's men_ or the _king's friends_,\nby an invidious exclusion of the rest of his Majesty's most loyal and\naffectionate subjects. The whole system, comprehending the exterior and\ninterior administrations, is commonly called, in the technical language\nof the court, _double cabinet_; in French or English, as you choose to\npronounce it.\n\nWhether all this be a vision of a distracted brain, or the invention of\na malicious heart, or a real faction in the country, must be judged by\nthe appearances which things have worn for eight years past. Thus far I\nam certain, that there is not a single public man, in or out of office,\nwho has not, at some time or other, borne testimony to the truth of what\nI have now related. In particular, no persons have been more strong in\ntheir assertions, and louder and more indecent in their complaints, than\nthose who compose all the exterior part of the present administration;\nin whose time that faction has arrived at such an height of power, and\nof boldness in the use of it, as may, in the end, perhaps bring about\nits total destruction.\n\nIt is true, that about four years ago, during the administration of the\nMarquis of Rockingham, an attempt was made to carry on government\nwithout their concurrence. However, this was only a transient cloud;\nthey were hid but for a moment; and their constellation blazed out with\ngreater brightness, and a far more vigorous influence, some time after\nit was blown over. An attempt was at that time made (but without any\nidea of proscription) to break their corps, to discountenance their\ndoctrines, to revive connections of a different kind, to restore the\nprinciples and policy of the Whigs, to reanimate the cause of liberty by\nministerial countenance; and then for the first time were men seen\nattached in office to every principle they had maintained in opposition.\nNo one will doubt, that such men were abhorred and violently opposed by\nthe court faction, and that such a system could have but a short\nduration.\n\nIt may appear somewhat affected, that in so much discourse upon this\nextraordinary party, I should say so little of the Earl of Bute, who is\nthe supposed head of it. But this was neither owing to affectation nor\ninadvertence. I have carefully avoided the introduction of personal\nreflections of any kind. Much the greater part of the topics which have\nbeen used to blacken this nobleman are either unjust or frivolous. At\nbest, they have a tendency to give the resentment of this bitter\ncalamity a wrong direction, and to turn a public grievance into a mean,\npersonal, or a dangerous national quarrel. Where there is a regular\nscheme of operations carried on, it is the system, and not any\nindividual person who acts in it, that is truly dangerous. This system\nhas not arisen solely from the ambition of Lord Bute, but from the\ncircumstances which favored it, and from an indifference to the\nconstitution which had been for some time growing among our gentry. We\nshould have been tried with it, if the Earl of Bute had never existed;\nand it will want neither a contriving head nor active members, when the\nEarl of Bute exists no longer. It is not, therefore, to rail at Lord\nBute, but firmly to embody against this court party and its practices,\nwhich can afford us any prospect of relief in our present condition.\n\nAnother motive induces me to put the personal consideration of Lord Bute\nwholly out of the question. He communicates very little in a direct\nmanner with the greater part of our men of business. This has never been\nhis custom. It is enough for him that he surrounds them with his\ncreatures. Several imagine, therefore, that they have a very good excuse\nfor doing all the work of this faction, when they have no personal\nconnection with Lord Bute. But whoever becomes a party to an\nadministration, composed of insulated individuals, without faith\nplighted, tie, or common principle; an administration constitutionally\nimpotent, because supported by no party in the nation; he who\ncontributes to destroy the connections of men and their trust in one\nanother, or in any sort to throw the dependence of public counsels upon\nprivate will and favor, possibly may have nothing to do with the Earl of\nBute. It matters little whether he be the friend or the enemy of that\nparticular person. But let him be who or what he will, he abets a\nfaction that is driving hard to the ruin of his country. He is sapping\nthe foundation of its liberty, disturbing the sources of its domestic\ntranquillity, weakening its government over its dependencies, degrading\nit from all its importance in the system of Europe.\n\nIt is this unnatural infusion of a _system of favoritism_ into a\ngovernment which in a great part of its constitution is popular, that\nhas raised the present ferment in the nation. The people, without\nentering deeply into its principles, could plainly perceive its effects,\nin much violence, in a great spirit of innovation, and a general\ndisorder in all the functions of government. I keep my eye solely on\nthis system; if I speak of those measures which have arisen from it, it\nwill be so far only as they illustrate the general scheme. This is the\nfountain of all those bitter waters of which, through an hundred\ndifferent conduits, we have drunk until we are ready to burst. The\ndiscretionary power of the crown in the formation of ministry, abused by\nbad or weak men, has given rise to a system, which, without directly\nviolating the letter of any law, operates against the spirit of the\nwhole constitution.\n\nA plan of favoritism for our executory government is essentially at\nvariance with the plan of our legislature. One great end undoubtedly of\na mixed government like ours, composed of monarchy, and of controls, on\nthe part of the higher people and the lower, is that the prince shall\nnot be able to violate the laws. This is useful indeed and fundamental.\nBut this, even at first view, is no more than a negative advantage; an\narmor merely defensive. It is therefore next in order, and equal in\nimportance, _that the discretionary powers which are necessarily vested\nin the monarch, whether for the execution of the laws, or for the\nnomination to magistracy and office, or for conducting the affairs of\npeace and war, or for ordering the revenue, should all be exercised upon\npublic principles and national grounds, and, not on the likings or\nprejudices, the intrigues or policies, of a court_. This, I said, is\nequal in importance to the securing a government according to law. The\nlaws reach but a very little way. Constitute government how you please,\ninfinitely the greater part of it must depend upon the exercise of the\npowers which are left at large to the prudence and uprightness of\nministers of state. Even all the use and potency of the laws depends\nupon them. Without them, your commonwealth is no better than a scheme\nupon paper; and not a living, active, effective constitution. It is\npossible that through negligence, or ignorance, or design artfully\nconducted, ministers may suffer one part of government to languish,\nanother to be perverted from its purposes, and every valuable interest\nof the country to fall into ruin and decay, without possibility of\nfixing any single act on which a criminal prosecution can be justly\ngrounded. The due arrangement of men in the active part of the state,\nfar from being foreign to the purposes of a wise government, ought to be\namong its very first and dearest objects. When, therefore, the abettors\nof the new system tell us, that between them and their opposers there is\nnothing but a struggle for power, and that therefore we are no ways\nconcerned in it; we must tell those who have the impudence to insult us\nin this manner, that, of all things, we ought to be the most concerned\nwho, and what sort of men they are that hold the trust of everything\nthat is dear to us. Nothing can render this a point of indifference to\nthe nation, but what must either render us totally desperate, or soothe\nus into the security of idiots. We must soften into a credulity below\nthe milkiness of infancy to think all men virtuous. We must be tainted\nwith a malignity truly diabolical to believe all the world to be equally\nwicked and corrupt. Men are in public life as in private, some good,\nsome evil. The elevation of the one, and the depression of the other,\nare the first objects of all true policy. But that form of government,\nwhich, neither in its direct institutions, nor in their immediate\ntendency, has contrived to throw its affairs into the most trustworthy\nhands, but has left its whole executory system to be disposed of\nagreeably to the uncontrolled pleasure of any one man, however excellent\nor virtuous, is a plan of polity defective not only in that member, but\nconsequentially erroneous in every part of it.\n\nIn arbitrary governments, the constitution of the ministry follows the\nconstitution of the legislature. Both the law and the magistrate are the\ncreatures of will. It must be so. Nothing, indeed, will appear more\ncertain, on any tolerable consideration of this matter, than that _every\nsort of government ought to have its administration correspondent to its\nlegislature_. If it should be otherwise, things must fall into an\nhideous disorder. The people of a free commonwealth, who have taken such\ncare that their laws should be the result of general consent, cannot be\nso senseless as to suffer their executory system to be composed of\npersons on whom they have no dependence, and whom no proofs of the\npublic love and confidence have recommended to those powers, upon the\nuse of which the very being of the state depends.\n\nThe popular election of magistrates, and popular disposition of rewards\nand honors, is one of the first advantages of a free state. Without it,\nor something equivalent to it, perhaps the people cannot long enjoy the\nsubstance of freedom; certainly none of the vivifying energy of good\ngovernment. The frame of our commonwealth did not admit of such an\nactual election: but it provided as well, and (while the spirit of the\nconstitution is preserved) better for all the effects of it than by the\nmethod of suffrage in any democratic state whatsoever. It had always,\nuntil of late, been held the first duty of Parliament _to refuse to\nsupport government, until power was in the hands of persons who were\nacceptable to the people, or while factions predominated in the court in\nwhich the nation had no confidence_. Thus all the good effects of\npopular election were supposed to be secured to us, without the\nmischiefs attending on perpetual intrigue, and a distinct canvass for\nevery particular office throughout the body of the people. This was the\nmost noble and refined part of our constitution. The people, by their\nrepresentatives and grandees, were intrusted with a deliberative power\nin making laws; the king with the control of his negative. The king was\nintrusted with the deliberative choice and the election to office; the\npeople had the negative in a Parliamentary refusal to support. Formerly\nthis power of control was what kept ministers in awe of Parliaments, and\nParliaments in reverence with the people. If the use of this power of\ncontrol on the system and persons of administration is gone, everything\nis lost, Parliament and all. We may assure ourselves, that if Parliament\nwill tamely see evil men take possession of all the strongholds of their\ncountry, and allow them time and means to fortify themselves, under a\npretence of giving them a fair trial, and upon a hope of discovering,\nwhether they will not be reformed by power, and whether their measures\nwill not be better than their morals; such a Parliament will give\ncountenance to their measures also, whatever that Parliament may\npretend, and whatever those measures may be.\n\nEvery good political institution must have a preventive operation as\nwell as a remedial. It ought to have a natural tendency to exclude bad\nmen from government, and not to trust for the safety of the state to\nsubsequent punishment alone; punishment, which has ever been tardy and\nuncertain; and which, when power is suffered in bad hands, may chance to\nfall rather on the injured than the criminal.\n\nBefore men are put forward into the great trusts of the state, they\nought by their conduct to have obtained such a degree of estimation in\ntheir country, as may be some sort of pledge and security to the public,\nthat they will not abuse those trusts. It is no mean security for a\nproper use of power, that a man has shown by the general tenor of his\nactions, that the affection, the good opinion, the confidence of his\nfellow-citizens have been among the principal objects of his life; and\nthat he has owed none of the gradations of his power or fortune to a\nsettled contempt, or occasional forfeiture of their esteem.\n\nThat man who before he comes into power has no friends, or who coming\ninto power is obliged to desert his friends, or who losing it has no\nfriends to sympathize with him; he who has no sway among any part of the\nlanded or commercial interest, but whose whole importance has begun with\nhis office, and is sure to end with it, is a person who ought never to\nbe suffered by a controlling Parliament to continue in any of those\nsituations which confer the lead and direction of all our public\naffairs; because such a man _has no connection with the interest of the\npeople_.\n\nThose knots or cabals of men who have got together, avowedly without any\npublic principle, in order to sell their conjunct iniquity at the higher\nrate, and are therefore universally odious, ought never to be suffered\nto domineer in the state; because they have _no connection with the\nsentiments and opinions of the people_.\n\nThese are considerations which in my opinion enforce the necessity of\nhaving some better reason, in a free country, and a free Parliament, for\nsupporting the ministers of the crown, than that short one, _That the\nking has thought proper to appoint them_. There is something very\ncourtly in this. But it is a principle pregnant with all sorts of\nmischief, in a constitution like ours, to turn the views of active men\nfrom the country to the court. Whatever be the road to power, that is\nthe road which will be trod. If the opinion of the country be of no use\nas a means of power or consideration, the qualities which usually\nprocure that opinion will be no longer cultivated. And whether it will\nbe right, in a state so popular in its constitution as ours, to leave\nambition without popular motives, and to trust all to the operation of\npure virtue in the minds of kings, and ministers, and public men, must\nbe submitted to the judgment and good sense of the people of England.\n\nCunning men are here apt to break in, and, without directly\ncontroverting the principle, to raise objections from the difficulty\nunder which the sovereign labors, to distinguish the genuine voice and\nsentiments of his people, from the clamor of a faction, by which it is\nso easily counterfeited. The nation, they say, is generally divided into\nparties, with views and passions utterly irreconcilable. If the king\nshould put his affairs into the hands of any one of them, he is sure to\ndisgust the rest; if he select particular men from among them all, it is\na hazard that he disgusts them all. Those who are left out, however\ndivided before, will soon run into a body of opposition; which, being a\ncollection of many discontents into one focus, will without doubt be hot\nand violent enough. Faction will make its cries resound through the\nnation, as if the whole were in an uproar, when by far the majority, and\nmuch the better part, will seem for a while as it were annihilated by\nthe quiet in which their virtue and moderation incline them to enjoy the\nblessings of government. Besides that the opinion of the mere vulgar is\na miserable rule even with regard to themselves, on account of their\nviolence and instability. So that if you were to gratify them in their\nhumor to-day, that very gratification would be a ground of their\ndissatisfaction on the next. Now as all these rules of public opinion\nare to be collected with great difficulty, and to be applied with equal\nuncertainty as to the effect, what better can a king of England do, than\nto employ such men as he finds to have views and inclinations most\nconformable to his own; who are least infected with pride and self-will;\nand who are least moved by such popular humors as are perpetually\ntraversing his designs, and disturbing his service; trusting that, when\nhe means no ill to his people, he will be supported in his appointments,\nwhether he chooses to keep or to change, as his private judgment or his\npleasure leads him? He will find a sure resource in the real weight and\ninfluence of the crown, when it is not suffered to become an instrument\nin the hands of a faction.\n\nI will not pretend to say, that there is nothing at all in this mode of\nreasoning; because I will not assert that there is no difficulty in the\nart of government. Undoubtedly the very best administration must\nencounter a great deal of opposition; and the very worst will find more\nsupport than it deserves. Sufficient appearances will never be wanting\nto those who have a mind to deceive themselves. It is a fallacy in\nconstant use with those who would level all things, and confound right\nwith wrong, to insist upon the inconveniences which are attached to\nevery choice, without taking into consideration the different weight and\nconsequence of those inconveniences. The question is not concerning\n_absolute_ discontent or _perfect_ satisfaction in government; neither\nof which can be pure and unmixed at any time, or upon any system. The\ncontroversy is about that degree of good humor in the people, which may\npossibly be attained, and ought certainly to be looked for. While some\npoliticians may be waiting to know whether the sense of every individual\nbe against them, accurately distinguishing the vulgar from the better\nsort, drawing lines between the enterprises of a faction and the efforts\nof a people, they may chance to see the government, which they are so\nnicely weighing, and dividing, and distinguishing, tumble to the ground\nin the midst of their wise deliberation. Prudent men, when so great an\nobject as the security of government, or even its peace, is at stake,\nwill not run the risk of a decision which may be fatal to it. They who\ncan read the political sky will see a hurricane in a cloud no bigger\nthan a hand at the very edge of the horizon, and will run into the first\nharbor. No lines can be laid down for civil or political wisdom. They\nare a matter incapable of exact definition. But, though no man can draw\na stroke between the confines of day and night, yet light and darkness\nare upon the whole tolerably distinguishable. Nor will it be impossible\nfor a prince to find out such a mode of government, and such persons to\nadminister it, as will give a great degree of content to his people;\nwithout any curious and anxious research for that abstract, universal,\nperfect harmony, which while he is seeking, he abandons those means of\nordinary tranquillity which are in his power without any research at\nall.\n\nIt is not more the duty than it is the interest of a prince, to aim at\ngiving tranquillity to his government. But those who advise him may have\nan interest in disorder and confusion. If the opinion of the people is\nagainst them, they will naturally wish that it should have no\nprevalence. Here it is that the people must on their part show\nthemselves sensible of their own value. Their whole importance, in the\nfirst instance, and afterwards their whole freedom, is at stake. Their\nfreedom cannot long survive their importance. Here it is that the\nnatural strength of the kingdom, the great peers, the leading landed\ngentlemen, the opulent merchants and manufacturers, the substantial\nyeomanry, must interpose, to rescue their prince, themselves, and their\nposterity.\n\nWe are at present at issue upon this point. We are in the great crisis\nof this contention; and the part which men take, one way or other, will\nserve to discriminate their characters and their principles. Until the\nmatter is decided, the country will remain in its present confusion. For\nwhile a system of administration is attempted, entirely repugnant to the\ngenius of the people, and not conformable to the plan of their\ngovernment, everything must necessarily be disordered for a time, until\nthis system destroys the constitution, or the constitution gets the\nbetter of this system.\n\nThere is, in my opinion, a peculiar venom and malignity in this\npolitical distemper beyond any that I have heard or read of. In former\ntimes the projectors of arbitrary government attacked only the liberties\nof their country; a design surely mischievous enough to have satisfied a\nmind of the most unruly ambition. But a system unfavorable to freedom\nmay be so formed, as considerably to exalt the grandeur of the state;\nand men may find, in the pride and splendor of that prosperity, some\nsort of consolation for the loss of their solid privileges. Indeed the\nincrease of the power of the state has often been urged by artful men,\nas a pretext for some abridgment of the public liberty. But the scheme\nof the junto under consideration, not only strikes a palsy into every\nnerve of our free constitution, but in the same degree benumbs and\nstupefies the whole executive power: rendering government in all its\ngrand operations languid, uncertain, ineffective; making ministers\nfearful of attempting, and incapable of executing any useful plan of\ndomestic arrangement, or of foreign politics. It tends to produce\nneither the security of a free government, nor the energy of a monarchy\nthat is absolute. Accordingly the crown has dwindled away, in proportion\nto the unnatural and turgid growth of this excrescence on the court.\n\nThe interior ministry are sensible, that war is a situation which sets\nin its full light the value of the hearts of a people; and they well\nknow, that the beginning of the importance of the people must be the end\nof theirs. For this reason they discover upon all occasions the utmost\nfear of everything, which by possibility may lead to such an event. I do\nnot mean that they manifest any of that pious fear which is backward to\ncommit the safety of the country to the dubious experiment of war. Such\na fear, being the tender sensation of virtue, excited, as it is\nregulated, by reason, frequently shows itself in a seasonable boldness,\nwhich keeps danger at a distance, by seeming to despise it. Their fear\nbetrays to the first glance of the eye, its true cause, and its real\nobject. Foreign powers, confident in the knowledge of their character,\nhave not scrupled to violate the most solemn treaties; and, in defiance\nof them, to make conquests in the midst of a general peace, and in the\nheart of Europe. Such was the conquest of Corsica, by the professed\nenemies of the freedom of mankind, in defiance of those who were\nformerly its professed defenders. We have had just claims upon the same\npowers: rights which ought to have been sacred to them as well as to us,\nas they had their origin in our lenity and generosity towards France and\nSpain in the day of their great humiliation. Such I call the ransom of\nManilla, and the demand on France for the East India prisoners. But\nthese powers put a just confidence in their resource of the _double\ncabinet_. These demands (one of them at least) are hastening fast\ntowards an acquittal by prescription. Oblivion begins to spread her\ncobwebs over all our spirited remonstrances. Some of the most valuable\nbranches of our trade are also on the point of perishing from the same\ncause. I do not mean those branches which bear without the hand of the\nvine-dresser; I mean those which the policy of treaties had formerly\nsecured to us; I mean to mark and distinguish the trade of Portugal, the\nloss of which, and the power of the cabal, have one and the same era.\n\nIf by any chance, the ministers who stand before the curtain possess or\naffect any spirit, it makes little or no impression. Foreign courts and\nministers, who were among the first to discover and to profit by this\ninvention of the _double cabinet_, attend very little to their\nremonstrances. They know that those shadows of ministers have nothing to\ndo in the ultimate disposal of things. Jealousies and animosities are\nsedulously nourished in the outward administration, and have been even\nconsidered as a _causa sine qua non_ in its constitution: thence foreign\ncourts have a certainty, that nothing can be done by common counsel in\nthis nation. If one of those ministers officially takes up a business\nwith spirit, it serves only the better to signalize the meanness of the\nrest, and the discord of them all. His colleagues in office are in haste\nto shake him off, and to disclaim the whole of his proceedings. Of this\nnature was that astonishing transaction, in which Lord Rochford, our\nambassador at Paris, remonstrated against the attempt upon Corsica, in\nconsequence of a direct authority from Lord Shelburne. This remonstrance\nthe French minister treated with the contempt that was natural: as he\nwas assured, from the ambassador of his court to ours, that these orders\nof Lord Shelburne were not supported by the rest of the (I had like to\nhave said British) administration. Lord Rochford, a man of spirit,\ncould not endure this situation. The consequences were, however,\ncurious. He returns from Paris, and comes home full of anger. Lord\nShelburne, who gave the orders, is obliged to give up the seals. Lord\nRochford, who obeyed these orders, receives them. He goes, however, into\nanother department of the same office, that he might not be obliged\nofficially to acquiesce, in one situation, under what he had officially\nremonstrated against, in another. At Paris, the Duke of Choiseul\nconsidered this office arrangement as a compliment to him: here it was\nspoken of as an attention to the delicacy of Lord Rochford. But whether\nthe compliment was to one or both, to this nation it was the same. By\nthis transaction the condition of our court lay exposed in all its\nnakedness. Our office correspondence has lost all pretence to\nauthenticity: British policy is brought into derision in those nations,\nthat a while ago trembled at the power of our arms, whilst they looked\nup with confidence to the equity, firmness, and candor, which shone in\nall our negotiations. I represent this matter exactly in the light in\nwhich it has been universally received.\n\nSuch has been the aspect of our foreign politics, under the influence of\na _double cabinet_. With such an arrangement at court, it is impossible\nit should have been otherwise. Nor is it possible that this scheme\nshould have a better effect upon the government of our dependencies, the\nfirst, the dearest, and most delicate objects, of the interior policy of\nthis empire. The colonies know, that administration is separated from\nthe court, divided within itself, and detested by the nation. The\n_double cabinet_ has, in both the parts of it, shown the most malignant\ndispositions towards them, without being able to do them the smallest\nmischief.\n\nThey are convinced, by sufficient experience, that no plan, either of\nlenity, or rigor, can be pursued with uniformity and perseverance.\nTherefore they turn their eyes entirely from Great Britain, where they\nhave neither dependence on friendship, nor apprehension from enmity.\nThey look to themselves, and their own arrangements. They grow every day\ninto alienation from this country; and whilst they are becoming\ndisconnected with our government, we have not the consolation to find,\nthat they are even friendly in their new independence. Nothing can equal\nthe futility, the weakness, the rashness, the timidity, the perpetual\ncontradiction in the management of our affairs in that part of the\nworld. A volume might be written on this melancholy subject; but it were\nbetter to leave it entirely to the reflections of the reader himself,\nthan not to treat it in the extent it deserves.\n\nIn what manner our domestic economy is affected by this system, it is\nneedless to explain. It is the perpetual subject of their own\ncomplaints.\n\nThe court party resolve the whole into faction Having said something\nbefore upon this subject, I shall only observe here, that, when they\ngive this account of the prevalence of faction, they present no very\nfavorable aspect of the confidence of the people in their own\ngovernment. They may be assured, that however they amuse themselves with\na variety of projects for substituting something else in the place of\nthat great and only foundation of government, the confidence of the\npeople, every attempt will but make their condition worse. When men\nimagine that their food is only a cover for poison, and when they\nneither love nor trust the hand that serves it, it is not the name of\nthe roast beef of Old England, that will persuade them to sit down to\nthe table that is spread for them. When the people conceive that laws,\nand tribunals, and even popular assemblies, are perverted from the ends\nof their institution, they find in those names of degenerated\nestablishments only new motives to discontent. Those bodies, which, when\nfull of life and beauty, lay in their arms, and were their joy and\ncomfort, when dead and putrid, become but the more loathsome from\nremembrance of former endearments. A sullen gloom and furious disorder\nprevail by fits; the nation loses its relish for peace and prosperity;\nas it did in that season of fulness which opened our troubles in the\ntime of Charles the First. A species of men to whom a state of order\nwould become a sentence of obscurity are nourished into a dangerous\nmagnitude by the heat of intestine disturbances; and it is no wonder\nthat, by a sort of sinister piety, they cherish, in their turn, the\ndisorders which are the parents of all their consequence. Superficial\nobservers consider such persons as the cause of the public uneasiness,\nwhen, in truth, they are nothing more than the effect of it. Good men\nlook upon this distracted scene with sorrow and indignation. Their hands\nare tied behind them. They are despoiled of all the power which might\nenable them to reconcile the strength of government with the rights of\nthe people. They stand in a most distressing alternative. But in the\nelection among evils they hope better things from temporary confusion,\nthan from established servitude. In the mean time, the voice of law is\nnot to be heard. Fierce licentiousness begets violent restraints. The\nmilitary arm is the sole reliance; and then, call your constitution what\nyou please, it is the sword that governs. The civil power, like every\nother that calls in the aid of an ally stronger than itself, perishes by\nthe assistance it receives. But the contrivers of this scheme of\ngovernment will not trust solely to the military power; because they are\ncunning men. Their restless and crooked spirit drives them to rake in\nthe dirt of every kind of expedient. Unable to rule the multitude, they\nendeavor to raise divisions amongst them. One mob is hired to destroy\nanother; a procedure which at once encourages the boldness of the\npopulace, and justly increases their discontent. Men become pensioners\nof state on account of their abilities in the array of riot, and the\ndiscipline of confusion. Government is put under the disgraceful\nnecessity of protecting from the severity of the laws that very\nlicentiousness, which the laws had been before violated to repress.\nEverything partakes of the original disorder. Anarchy predominates\nwithout freedom, and servitude without submission or subordination.\nThese are the consequences inevitable to our public peace, from the\nscheme of rendering the executory government at once odious and feeble;\nof freeing administration from the constitutional and salutary control\nof Parliament, and inventing for it a _new control_, unknown to the\nconstitution, an _interior cabinet_; which brings the whole body of\ngovernment into confusion and contempt.\n\nAfter having stated, as shortly as I am able, the effects of this system\non our foreign affairs, on the policy of our government with regard to\nour dependencies, and on the interior economy of the commonwealth;\nthere remains only, in this part of my design, to say something of the\ngrand principle which first recommended this system at court. The\npretence was, to prevent the king from being enslaved by a faction, and\nmade a prisoner in his closet. This scheme might have been expected to\nanswer at least its own end, and to indemnify the king, in his personal\ncapacity, for all the confusion into which it has thrown his government.\nBut has it in reality answered this purpose? I am sure, if it had, every\naffectionate subject would have one motive for enduring with patience\nall the evils which attend it.\n\nIn order to come at the truth in this matter, it may not be amiss to\nconsider it somewhat in detail. I speak here of the king, and not of the\ncrown; the interests of which we have already touched. Independent of\nthat greatness which a king possesses merely by being a representative\nof the national dignity, the things in which he may have an individual\ninterest seem to be these:--wealth accumulated; wealth spent in\nmagnificence, pleasure, or beneficence; personal respect and attention;\nand, above all, private ease and repose of mind. These compose the\ninventory of prosperous circumstances, whether they regard a prince or a\nsubject; their enjoyments differing only in the scale upon which they\nare formed.\n\nSuppose then we were to ask, whether the king has been richer than his\npredecessors in accumulated wealth, since the establishment of the plan\nof favoritism? I believe it will be found that the picture of royal\nindigence, which our court has presented until this year, has been truly\nhumiliating. Nor has it been relieved from this unseemly distress, but\nby means which have hazarded the affection of the people, and shaken\ntheir confidence in Parliament. If the public treasures had been\nexhausted in magnificence and splendor, this distress would have been\naccounted for, and in some measure justified. Nothing would be more\nunworthy of this nation, than with a mean and mechanical rule, to mete\nout the splendor of the crown. Indeed I have found very few persons\ndisposed to so ungenerous a procedure. But the generality of people, it\nmust be confessed, do feel a good deal mortified, when they compare the\nwants of the court with its expenses. They do not behold the cause of\nthis distress in any part of the apparatus of royal magnificence. In all\nthis, they see nothing but the operations of parsimony, attended with\nall the consequences of profusion. Nothing expended, nothing saved.\nTheir wonder is increased by their knowledge, that besides the revenue\nsettled on his Majesty's civil list to the amount of 800,000_l._ a year,\nhe has a farther aid from a large pension list, near 90,000_l._ a year,\nin Ireland; from the produce of the duchy of Lancaster (which we are\ntold has been greatly improved); from the revenue of the duchy of\nCornwall; from the American quit-rents; from the four and a half per\ncent duty in the Leeward Islands; this last worth to be sure\nconsiderably more than 40,000_l._ a year. The whole is certainly not\nmuch short of a million annually.\n\nThese are revenues within the knowledge and cognizance of our national\ncouncils. We have no direct right to examine into the receipts from his\nMajesty's German dominions, and the bishopric of Osnaburg. This is\nunquestionably true. But that which is not within the province of\nParliament, is yet within the sphere of every man's own reflection. If\na foreign prince resided amongst us, the state of his revenues could not\nfail of becoming the subject of our speculation. Filled with an anxious\nconcern for whatever regards the welfare of our sovereign, it is\nimpossible, in considering the miserable circumstances into which he has\nbeen brought, that this obvious topic should be entirely passed over.\nThere is an opinion universal, that these revenues produce something not\ninconsiderable, clear of all charges and establishments. This produce\nthe people do not believe to be hoarded, nor perceive to be spent. It is\naccounted for in the only manner it can, by supposing that it is drawn\naway, for the support of that court faction, which, whilst it distresses\nthe nation, impoverishes the prince in every one of his resources. I\nonce more caution the reader, that I do not urge this consideration\nconcerning the foreign revenue, as if I supposed we had a direct right\nto examine into the expenditure of any part of it; but solely for the\npurpose of showing how little this system of favoritism has been\nadvantageous to the monarch himself; which, without magnificence, has\nsunk him into a state of unnatural poverty; at the same time that he\npossessed every means of affluence, from ample revenues, both in this\ncountry, and in other parts of his dominions.\n\nHas this system provided better for the treatment becoming his high and\nsacred character, and secured the king from those disgusts attached to\nthe necessity of employing men who are not personally agreeable? This is\na topic upon which for many reasons I could wish to be silent; but the\npretence of securing against such causes of uneasiness, is the\ncorner-stone of the court-party. It has however so happened, that if I\nwere to fix upon any one point, in which this system has been more\nparticularly and shamefully blamable, the effects which it has produced\nwould justify me in choosing for that point its tendency to degrade the\npersonal dignity of the sovereign, and to expose him to a thousand\ncontradictions and mortifications. It is but too evident in what manner\nthese projectors of royal greatness have fulfilled all their magnificent\npromises. Without recapitulating all the circumstances of the reign,\nevery one of which is, more or less, a melancholy proof of the truth of\nwhat I have advanced, let us consider the language of the court but a\nfew years ago, concerning most of the persons now in the external\nadministration: let me ask, whether any enemy to the personal feelings\nof the sovereign could possibly contrive a keener instrument of\nmortification, and degradation of all dignity, than almost every part\nand member of the present arrangement? Nor, in the whole course of our\nhistory, has any compliance with the will of the people ever been known\nto extort from any prince a greater contradiction to all his own\ndeclared affections and dislikes, than that which is now adopted, in\ndirect opposition to everything the people approve and desire.\n\nAn opinion prevails, that greatness has been more than once advised to\nsubmit to certain condescensions towards individuals, which have been\ndenied to the entreaties of a nation. For the meanest and most dependent\ninstrument of this system knows, that there are hours when its existence\nmay depend upon his adherence to it; and he takes his advantage\naccordingly. Indeed it is a law of nature, that whoever is necessary to\nwhat we have made our object is sure, in some way, or in some time or\nother, to become our master. All this however is submitted to, in order\nto avoid that monstrous evil of governing in concurrence with the\nopinion of the people. For it seems to be laid down as a maxim, that a\nking has some sort of interest in giving uneasiness to his subjects:\nthat all who are pleasing to them, are to be of course disagreeable to\nhim: that as soon as the persons who are odious at court are known to be\nodious to the people, it is snatched at as a lucky occasion of showering\ndown upon them all kinds of emoluments and honors. None are considered\nas well-wishers to the crown, but those who advise to some unpopular\ncourse of action; none capable of serving it, but those who are obliged\nto call at every instant upon all its power for the safety of their\nlives. None are supposed to be fit priests in the temple of government,\nbut the persons who are compelled to fly into it for sanctuary. Such is\nthe effect of this refined project; such is ever the result of all the\ncontrivances, which are used to free men from the servitude of their\nreason, and from the necessity of ordering their affairs according to\ntheir evident interests. These contrivances oblige them to run into a\nreal and ruinous servitude, in order to avoid a supposed restraint, that\nmight be attended with advantage.\n\nIf therefore this system has so ill answered its own grand pretence of\nsaving the king from the necessity of employing persons disagreeable to\nhim, has it given more peace and tranquillity to his Majesty's private\nhours? No, most certainly. The father of his people cannot possibly\nenjoy repose, while his family is in such a state of distraction. Then\nwhat has the crown or the king profited by all this fine-wrought scheme?\nIs he more rich, or more splendid, or more powerful, or more at his\nease, by so many labors and contrivances? Have they not beggared his\nexchequer, tarnished the splendor of his court, sunk his dignity, galled\nhis feelings, discomposed the whole order and happiness of his private\nlife?\n\nIt will be very hard, I believe, to state in what respect the king has\nprofited by that faction which presumptuously choose to call themselves\n_his friends_.\n\nIf particular men had grown into an attachment, by the distinguished\nhonor of the society of their sovereign; and, by being the partakers of\nhis amusements, came sometimes to prefer the gratification of his\npersonal inclinations to the support of his high character, the thing\nwould be very natural, and it would be excusable enough. But the\npleasant part of the story is, that these _king's friends_ have no more\nground for usurping such a title, than a resident freeholder in\nCumberland or in Cornwall. They are only known to their sovereign by\nkissing his hand, for the offices, pensions, and grants, into which they\nhave deceived his benignity. May no storm ever come, which will put the\nfirmness of their attachment to the proof; and which, in the midst of\nconfusions, and terrors, and sufferings, may demonstrate the eternal\ndifference between a true and severe friend to the monarchy, and a\nslippery sycophant of the court! _Quantum infido scurrae distabit\namicus._\n\nSo far I have considered the effect of the court system, chiefly as it\noperates upon the executive government, on the temper of the people, and\non the happiness of the sovereign. It remains that we should consider,\nwith a little attention, its operation upon Parliament.\n\nParliament was indeed the great object of all these politics, the end\nat which they aimed, as well as the instrument by which they were to\noperate. But, before Parliament could be made subservient to a system,\nby which it was to be degraded from the dignity of a national council\ninto a mere member of the court, it must be greatly changed from its\noriginal character.\n\nIn speaking of this body, I have my eye chiefly on the House of Commons.\nI hope I shall be indulged in a few observations on the nature and\ncharacter of that assembly; not with regard to its _legal form and\npower_, but to its _spirit_, and to the purposes it is meant to answer\nin the constitution.\n\nThe House of Commons was supposed originally to be _no part of the\nstanding government of this country_. It was considered as a _control_\nissuing _immediately_ from the people, and speedily to be resolved into\nthe mass from whence it arose. In this respect it was in the higher part\nof government what juries are in the lower. The capacity of a magistrate\nbeing transitory, and that of a citizen permanent, the latter capacity\nit was hoped would of course preponderate in all discussions, not only\nbetween the people and the standing authority of the crown, but between\nthe people and the fleeting authority of the House of Commons itself. It\nwas hoped that, being of a middle nature between subject and government,\nthey would feel with a more tender and a nearer interest everything that\nconcerned the people, than the other remoter and more permanent parts of\nlegislature.\n\nWhatever alterations time and the necessary accommodation of business\nmay have introduced, this character can never be sustained, unless the\nHouse of Commons shall be made to bear some stamp of the actual\ndisposition of the people at large. It would (among public misfortunes)\nbe an evil more natural and tolerable, that the House of Commons should\nbe infected with every epidemical frenzy of the people, as this would\nindicate some consanguinity, some sympathy of nature with their\nconstituents, than that they should in all cases be wholly untouched by\nthe opinions and feelings of the people out of doors. By this want of\nsympathy they would cease to be a House of Commons. For it is not the\nderivation of the power of that House from the people, which makes it in\na distinct sense their representative. The king is the representative of\nthe people; so are the lords; so are the judges. They all are trustees\nfor the people, as well as the commons; because no power is given for\nthe sole sake of the holder; and although government certainly is an\ninstitution of divine authority, yet its forms, and the persons who\nadminister it, all originate from the people.\n\nA popular origin cannot therefore be the characteristical distinction of\na popular representative. This belongs equally to all parts of\ngovernment and in all forms. The virtue, spirit, and essence of a House\nof Commons consists in its being the express image of the feelings of\nthe nation. It was not instituted to be a control _upon_ the people, as\nof late it has been taught, by a doctrine of the most pernicious\ntendency. It was designed as a control _for_ the people. Other\ninstitutions have been formed for the purpose of checking popular\nexcesses; and they are, I apprehend, fully adequate to their object. If\nnot, they ought to be made so. The House of Commons, as it was never\nintended for the support of peace and subordination, is miserably\nappointed for that service; having no stronger weapon than its mace,\nand no better officer than its serjeant-at-arms, which it can command of\nits own proper authority. A vigilant and jealous eye over executory and\njudicial magistracy; an anxious care of public money; an openness,\napproaching towards facility, to public complaint: these seem to be the\ntrue characteristics of a House of Commons. But an addressing House of\nCommons, and a petitioning nation; a House of Commons full of\nconfidence, when the nation is plunged in despair; in the utmost harmony\nwith ministers, whom the people regard with the utmost abhorrence; who\nvote thanks, when the public opinion calls upon them for impeachments;\nwho are eager to grant, when the general voice demands account; who, in\nall disputes between the people and administration, presume against the\npeople; who punish their disorders, but refuse even to inquire into the\nprovocations to them; this is an unnatural, a monstrous state of things\nin this constitution. Such an assembly may be a great, wise, awful\nsenate; but it is not, to any popular purpose, a House of Commons. This\nchange from an immediate state of procuration and delegation to a course\nof acting as from original power, is the way in which all the popular\nmagistracies in the world have been perverted from their purposes. It is\nindeed their greatest and sometimes their incurable corruption. For\nthere is a material distinction between that corruption by which\nparticular points are carried against reason, (this is a thing which\ncannot be prevented by human wisdom, and is of loss consequence,) and\nthe corruption of the principle itself For then the evil is not\naccidental, but settled. The distemper becomes the natural habit.\n\nFor my part, I shall be compelled to conclude the principle of\nParliament to be totally corrupted, and therefore its ends entirely\ndefeated, when I see two symptoms: first, a rule of indiscriminate\nsupport to all ministers; because this destroys the very end of\nParliament as a control, and is a general, previous sanction to\nmisgovernment: and secondly, the setting up any claims adverse to the\nright of free election; for this tends to subvert the legal authority by\nwhich the House of Commons sits.\n\nI know that, since the Revolution, along with many dangerous, many\nuseful powers of government have been weakened. It is absolutely\nnecessary to have frequent recourse to the legislature. Parliaments must\ntherefore sit every year, and for great part of the year. The dreadful\ndisorders of frequent elections have also necessitated a septennial\ninstead of a triennial duration. These circumstances, I mean the\nconstant habit of authority, and the unfrequency of elections, have\ntended very much to draw the House of Commons towards the character of a\nstanding senate. It is a disorder which has arisen from the cure of\ngreater disorders; it has arisen from the extreme difficulty of\nreconciling liberty under a monarchical government, with external\nstrength and with internal tranquillity.\n\nIt is very clear that we cannot free ourselves entirely from this great\ninconvenience; but I would not increase an evil, because I was not able\nto remove it; and because it was not in my power to keep the House of\nCommons religiously true to its first principles, I would not argue for\ncarrying it to a total oblivion of them. This has been the great scheme\nof power in our time. They, who will not conform their conduct to the\npublic good, and cannot support it by the prerogative of the crown, have\nadopted a new plan. They have totally abandoned the shattered and\nold-fashioned fortress of prerogative, and made a lodgment in the\nstronghold of Parliament itself. If they have any evil design to which\nthere is no ordinary legal power commensurate, they bring it into\nParliament. In Parliament the whole is executed from the beginning to\nthe end. In Parliament the power of obtaining their object is absolute;\nand the safety in the proceeding perfect: no rules to confine, no\nafter-reckonings to terrify. Parliament cannot, with any great\npropriety, punish others for things in which they themselves have been\naccomplices. Thus the control of Parliament upon the executory power is\nlost; because Parliament is made to partake in every considerable act of\ngovernment. _Impeachment, that great guardian of the purity of the\nconstitution, is in danger of being lost, even to the idea of it._\n\nBy this plan several important ends are answered to the cabal. If the\nauthority of Parliament supports itself, the credit of every act of\ngovernment, which they contrive, is saved; but if the act be so very\nodious that the whole strength of Parliament is insufficient to\nrecommend it, then Parliament is itself discredited; and this discredit\nincreases more and more that indifference to the constitution, which it\nis the constant aim of its enemies, by their abuse of Parliamentary\npowers, to render general among the people. Whenever Parliament is\npersuaded to assume the offices of executive government, it will lose\nall the confidence, love, and veneration, which it has ever enjoyed\nwhilst it was supposed the _corrective and control_ of the acting powers\nof the state. This would be the event, though its conduct in such a\nperversion of its functions should be tolerably just and moderate; but\nif it should be iniquitous, violent, full of passion, and full of\nfaction, it would be considered as the most intolerable of all the modes\nof tyranny.\n\nFor a considerable time this separation of the representatives from\ntheir constituents went on with a silent progress; and had those, who\nconducted the plan for their total separation, been persons of temper\nand abilities any way equal to the magnitude of their design, the\nsuccess would have been infallible: but by their precipitancy they have\nlaid it open in all its nakedness; the nation is alarmed at it: and the\nevent may not be pleasant to the contrivers of the scheme. In the last\nsession, the corps called the _king's friends_ made a hardy attempt, all\nat once, _to alter the right of election itself_; to put it into the\npower of the House of Commons to disable any person disagreeable to them\nfrom sitting in Parliament, without any other rule than their own\npleasure; to make incapacities, either general for descriptions of men,\nor particular for individuals; and to take into their body, persons who\navowedly had never been chosen by the majority of legal electors, nor\nagreeably to any known rule of law.\n\nThe arguments upon which this claim was founded and combated, are not my\nbusiness here. Never has a subject been more amply and more learnedly\nhandled, nor upon one side, in my opinion, more satisfactorily; they who\nare not convinced by what is already written would not receive\nconviction _though, one arose from the dead_.\n\nI too have thought on this subject: but my purpose here, is only to\nconsider it as a part of the favorite project of government; to observe\non the motives which led to it; and to trace its political consequences.\n\nA violent rage for the punishment of Mr. Wilkes was the pretence of the\nwhole. This gentleman, by setting himself strongly in opposition to the\ncourt cabal, had become at once an object of their persecution, and of\nthe popular favor. The hatred of the court party pursuing, and the\ncountenance of the people protecting him, it very soon became not at all\na question on the man, but a trial of strength between the two parties.\nThe advantage of the victory in this particular contest was the present,\nbut not the only, nor by any means the principal object. Its operation\nupon the character of the House of Commons was the great point in view.\nThe point to be gained by the cabal was this; that a precedent should be\nestablished, tending to show, _That the favor of the people was not so\nsure a road as the favor of the court even to popular honors and popular\ntrusts_. A strenuous resistance to every appearance of lawless power; a\nspirit of independence carried to some degree of enthusiasm; an\ninquisitive character to discover, and a bold one to display, every\ncorruption and every error of government; these are the qualities which\nrecommend a man to a seat in the House of Commons, in open and merely\npopular elections. An indolent and submissive disposition; a disposition\nto think charitably of all the actions of men in power, and to live in a\nmutual intercourse of favors with them; an inclination rather to\ncountenance a strong use of authority, than to bear any sort of\nlicentiousness on the part of the people; these are unfavorable\nqualities in an open election for members of Parliament.\n\nThe instinct which carries the people towards the choice of the former,\nis justified by reason; because a man of such a character, even in its\nexorbitances, does not directly contradict the purposes of a trust, the\nend of which is a control on power. The latter character, even when it\nis not in its extreme, will execute this trust but very imperfectly;\nand, if deviating to the least excess, will certainly frustrate instead\nof forwarding the purposes of a control on government. But when the\nHouse of Commons was to be new modelled, this principle was not only to\nbe changed but reversed. Whilst any errors committed in support of power\nwere left to the law, with every advantage of favorable construction, of\nmitigation, and finally of pardon; all excesses on the side of liberty,\nor in pursuit of popular favor, or in defence of popular rights and\nprivileges, were not only to be punished by the rigor of the known law,\nbut by a _discretionary_ proceeding, which brought on _the loss of the\npopular object itself_. Popularity was to be rendered, if not directly\npenal, at least highly dangerous. The favor of the people might lead\neven to a disqualification of representing them. Their odium might\nbecome, strained through the medium of two or three constructions, the\nmeans of sitting as the trustee of all that was dear to them. This is\npunishing the offence in the offending part. Until this time, the\nopinion of the people, through the power of an assembly, still in some\nsort popular, led to the greatest honors and emoluments in the gift of\nthe crown. Now the principle is reversed; and the favor of the court is\nthe only sure way of obtaining and holding those honors which ought to\nbe in the disposal of the people.\n\nIt signifies very little how this matter may be quibbled away. Example,\nthe only argument of effect in civil life, demonstrates the truth of my\nproposition. Nothing can alter my opinion concerting the pernicious\ntendency of this example, until I see some man for his indiscretion in\nthe support of power, for his violent and intemperate servility,\nrendered incapable of sitting in Parliament. For as it now stands, the\nfault of overstraining popular qualities, and, irregularly if you\nplease, asserting popular privileges, has led to disqualification; the\nopposite fault never has produced the slightest punishment. Resistance\nto power has shut the door of the House of Commons to one man;\nobsequiousness and servility, to none.\n\nNot that I would encourage popular disorder, or any disorder. But I\nwould leave such offences to the law, to be punished in measure and\nproportion. The laws of this country are for the most part constituted,\nand wisely so, for the general ends of government, rather than for the\npreservation of our particular liberties. Whatever therefore is done in\nsupport of liberty, by persons not in public trust, or not acting merely\nin that trust, is liable to be more or less out of the ordinary course\nof the law; and the law itself is sufficient to animadvert upon it with\ngreat severity. Nothing indeed can hinder that severe letter from\ncrushing us, except the temperaments it may receive from a trial by\njury. But if the habit prevails of _going beyond the law_, and\nsuperseding this judicature, of carrying offences, real or supposed,\ninto the legislative bodies, who shall establish themselves into _courts\nof criminal equity_ (so the _Star Chamber_ has been called by Lord\nBacon), all the evils of the _Star Chamber_ are revived. A large and\nliberal construction in ascertaining offences, and a discretionary\npower in punishing them, is the idea of _criminal equity_; which is in\ntruth a monster in jurisprudence. It signifies nothing whether a court\nfor this purpose be a committee of council, or a House of Commons, or a\nHouse of Lords; the liberty of the subject will be equally subverted by\nit. The true end and purpose of that House of Parliament, which\nentertains such a jurisdiction, will be destroyed by it.\n\nI will not believe, what no other man living believes, that Mr. Wilkes\nwas punished for the indecency of his publications, or the impiety of\nhis ransacked closet. If he had fallen in a common slaughter of\nlibellers and blasphemers, I could well believe that nothing more was\nmeant than was pretended. But when I see, that, for years together, full\nas impious, and perhaps more dangerous writings to religion, and virtue,\nand order, have not been punished, nor their authors discountenanced;\nthat the most audacious libels on royal majesty have passed without\nnotice; that the most treasonable invectives against the laws,\nliberties, and constitution of the country, have not met with the\nslightest animadversion; I must consider this as a shocking and\nshameless pretence. Never did an envenomed scurrility against everything\nsacred and civil, public and private, rage through the kingdom with such\na furious and unbridled license. All this while the peace of the nation\nmust be shaken, to ruin one libeller, and to tear from the populace a\nsingle favorite.\n\nNor is it that vice merely skulks in an obscure and contemptible\nimpunity. Does not the public behold with indignation, persons not only\ngenerally scandalous in their lives, but the identical persons who, by\ntheir society, their instruction, their example, their encouragement,\nhave drawn this man into the very faults which have furnished the cabal\nwith a pretence for his persecution, loaded with every kind of favor,\nhonor, and distinction, which a court can bestow? Add but the crime of\nservility (the _foedum crimen servitutis_) to every other crime, and the\nwhole mass is immediately transmuted into virtue, and becomes the just\nsubject of reward and honor. When therefore I reflect upon this method\npursued by the cabal in distributing rewards and punishments, I must\nconclude that Mr. Wilkes is the object of persecution, not on account of\nwhat he has done in common with others who are the objects of reward,\nbut for that in which he differs from many of them: that he is pursued\nfor the spirited dispositions which are blended with his vices; for his\nunconquerable firmness, for his resolute, indefatigable, strenuous\nresistance against oppression.\n\nIn this case, therefore, it was not the man that was to be punished, nor\nhis faults that were to be discountenanced. Opposition to acts of power\nwas to be marked by a kind of civil proscription. The popularity which\nshould arise from such an opposition was to be shown unable to protect\nit. The qualities by which court is made to the people, were to render\nevery fault inexpiable, and every error irretrievable. The qualities by\nwhich court is made to power, were to cover and to sanctify everything.\nHe that will have a sure and honorable seat in the House of Commons must\ntake care how he adventures to cultivate popular qualities; otherwise he\nmay remember the old maxim, _Breves et infaustos populi Romani amores_.\nIf, therefore, a pursuit of popularity expose a man to greater dangers\nthan a disposition to servility, the principle which is the life and\nsoul of popular elections will perish out of the constitution.\n\nIt behoves the people of England to consider how the House of Commons,\nunder the operation of these examples, must of necessity be constituted.\nOn the side of the court will be, all honors, offices, emoluments; every\nsort of personal gratification to avarice or vanity; and, what is of\nmore moment to most gentlemen, the means of growing, by innumerable\npetty services to individuals, into a spreading interest in their\ncountry. On the other hand, let us suppose a person unconnected with the\ncourt, and in opposition to its system. For his own person, no office,\nor emolument, or title; no promotion, ecclesiastical, or civil, or\nmilitary, or naval, for children, or brothers, or kindred. In vain an\nexpiring interest in a borough calls for offices, or small livings, for\nthe children of mayors, and aldermen, and capital burgesses. His court\nrival has them all. He can do an infinite number of acts of generosity\nand kindness, and even of public spirit. He can procure indemnity from\nquarters. He can procure advantages in trade. He can get pardons for\noffences. He can obtain a thousand favors, and avert a thousand evils.\nHe may, while he betrays every valuable interest of the kingdom, be a\nbenefactor, a patron, a father, a guardian angel to his borough. The\nunfortunate independent member has nothing to offer, but harsh refusal,\nor pitiful excuse, or despondent representation of a hopeless interest.\nExcept from his private fortune, in which he may be equalled, perhaps\nexceeded, by his court competitor, he has no way of showing any one good\nquality, or of making a single friend. In the House, he votes forever in\na dispirited minority. If he speaks, the doors are locked. A body of\nloquacious placemen go out to tell the world that all he aims at is to\nget into office. If he has not the talent of elocution, which is the\ncase of many as wise and knowing men as any in the House, he is liable\nto all these inconveniences, without the _eclat_ which attends upon any\ntolerably successful exertion of eloquence. Can we conceive a more\ndiscouraging post of duty than this? Strip it of the poor reward of\npopularity; suffer even the excesses committed in defence of the popular\ninterest to become a ground for the majority of that House to form a\ndisqualification out of the line of the law, and at their pleasure,\nattended not only with the loss of the franchise, but with every kind of\npersonal disgrace.--If this shall happen, the people of this kingdom may\nbe assured that they cannot be firmly or faithfully served by any man.\nIt is out of the nature of men and things that they should; and their\npresumption will be equal to their folly if they expect it. The power of\nthe people, within the laws, must show itself sufficient to protect\nevery representative in the animated performance of his duty, or that\nduty cannot be performed. The House of Commons can never be a control on\nother parts of government, unless they are controlled themselves by\ntheir constituents; and unless those constituents possess some right in\nthe choice of that House, which it is not in the power of that House to\ntake away. If they suffer this power of arbitrary incapacitation to\nstand, they have utterly perverted every other power of the House of\nCommons. The late proceeding I will not say _is_ contrary to law; it\n_must_ be so; for the power which is claimed cannot, by any possibility,\nbe a legal power in any limited member of government.\n\nThe power which they claim, of declaring incapacities, would not be\nabove the just claims of a final judicature, if they had not laid it\ndown as a leading principle, that they had no rule in the exercise of\nthis claim, but their own _discretion_. Not one of their abettors has\never undertaken to assign the principle of unfitness, the species or\ndegree of delinquency, on which the House of Commons will expel, nor the\nmode of proceeding upon it, nor the evidence upon which it is\nestablished. The direct consequence of which is, that the first\nfranchise of an Englishman, and that on which all the rest vitally\ndepend, is to be forfeited for some offence which no man knows, and\nwhich is to be proved by no known rule whatsoever of legal evidence.\nThis is so anomalous to our whole constitution, that I will venture to\nsay, the most trivial right, which the subject claims, never was, nor\ncan be, forfeited in such a manner.\n\nThe whole of their usurpation is established upon this method of\narguing. We do not _make_ laws. No; we do not contend for this power. We\nonly _declare_ law; and as we are a tribunal both competent and supreme,\nwhat we declare to be law becomes law, although it should not have been\nso before. Thus the circumstance of having no _appeal_ from their\njurisdiction is made to imply that they have no _rule_ in the exercise\nof it: the judgment does not derive its validity from its conformity to\nthe law; but preposterously the law is made to attend on the judgment;\nand the rule of the judgment is no other than the _occasional will of\nthe House_. An arbitrary discretion leads, legality follows; which is\njust the very nature and description of a legislative act.\n\nThis claim in their hands was no barren theory. It was pursued into its\nutmost consequences; and a dangerous principle has begot a correspondent\npractice. A systematic spirit has been shown upon both sides. The\nelectors of Middlesex chose a person whom the House of Commons had voted\nincapable; and the House of Commons has taken in a member whom the\nelectors of Middlesex had not chosen. By a construction on that\nlegislative power which had been assumed, they declared that the true\nlegal sense of the country was contained in the minority, on that\noccasion; and might, on a resistance to a vote of incapacity, be\ncontained in any minority.\n\nWhen any construction of law goes against the spirit of the privilege it\nwas meant to support, it is a vicious construction. It is material to us\nto be represented really and _bona fide_, and not in forms, in types,\nand shadows, and fictions of law. The right of election was not\nestablished merely as a _matter of form_, to satisfy some method and\nrule of technical reasoning; it was not a principle which might\nsubstitute a _Titius_ or a _Maevius_, a _John Doe_ or _Richard Roe_, in\nthe place of a man specially chosen; not a principle which was just as\nwell satisfied with one man as with another. It is a right, the effect\nof which is to give to the people that man, and _that man only_, whom,\nby their voices actually, not constructively given, they declare that\nthey know, esteem, love, and trust. This right is a matter within their\nown power of judging and feeling; not an _ens rationis_ and creature of\nlaw: nor can those devices, by which anything else is substituted in the\nplace of such an actual choice, answer in the least degree the end of\nrepresentation.\n\nI know that the courts of law have made as strained constructions in\nother cases. Such is the construction in common recoveries. The method\nof construction which in that case gives to the persons in remainder,\nfor their security and representative, the door-keeper, crier, or\nsweeper of the court, or some other shadowy being without substance or\neffect, is a fiction of a very coarse texture. This was however suffered\nby the acquiescence of the whole kingdom, for ages; because the evasion\nof the old statute of Westminster, which authorized perpetuities, had\nmore sense and utility than the law which was evaded. But an attempt to\nturn the right of election into such a farce and mockery as a fictitious\nfine and recovery, will, I hope, have another fate; because the laws\nwhich give it are infinitely dear to us, and the evasion is infinitely\ncontemptible.\n\nThe people indeed have been told, that this power of discretionary\ndisqualification is vested in hands that they may trust, and who will be\nsure not to abuse it to their prejudice. Until I find something in this\nargument differing from that on which every mode of despotism has been\ndefended, I shall not be inclined to pay it any great compliment. The\npeople are satisfied to trust themselves with the exercise of their own\nprivileges, and do not desire this kind intervention of the House of\nCommons to free them from the burden. They are certainly in the right.\nThey ought not to trust the House of Commons with a power over their\nfranchises; because the constitution, which placed two other co-ordinate\npowers to control it, reposed no such confidence in that body. It were a\nfolly well deserving servitude for its punishment, to be full of\nconfidence where the laws are full of distrust; and to give to a House\nof Commons, arrogating to its sole resolution the most harsh and odious\npart of legislative authority, that degree of submission which is due\nonly to the legislature itself.\n\nWhen the House of Commons, in an endeavor to obtain new advantages at\nthe expense of the other orders of the state, for the benefit of the\n_commons at large_, have pursued strong measures; if it were not just,\nit was at least natural, that the constituents should connive at all\ntheir proceedings; because we were ourselves ultimately to profit. But\nwhen this submission is urged to us, in a contest between the\nrepresentatives and ourselves, and where nothing can be put into their\nscale which is not taken from ours, they fancy us to be children when\nthey tell us they are our representatives, our own flesh and blood, and\nthat all the stripes they give us are for our good. The very desire of\nthat body to have such a trust contrary to law reposed in them, shows\nthat they are not worthy of it. They certainly will abuse it; because\nall men possessed of an uncontrolled discretionary power leading to the\naggrandizement and profit of their own body have always abused it: and I\nsee no particular sanctity in our times, that is at all likely, by a\nmiraculous operation, to overrule the course of nature.\n\nBut we must purposely shut our eyes, if we consider this matter merely\nas a contest between the House of Commons and the electors. The true\ncontest is between the electors of the kingdom and the crown; the crown\nacting by an instrumental House of Commons. It is precisely the same,\nwhether the ministers of the crown can disqualify by a dependent House\nof Commons, or by a dependent Court of _Star Chamber_, or by a dependent\nCourt of King's Bench If once members of Parliament can be practically\nconvinced that they do not depend on the affection or opinion of the\npeople for their political being, they will give themselves over,\nwithout even an appearance of reserve, to the influence of the court.\n\nIndeed a Parliament unconnected with the people is essential to a\nministry unconnected with the people; and therefore those who saw\nthrough what mighty difficulties the interior ministry waded, and the\nexterior were dragged, in this business, will conceive of what\nprodigious importance, the new corps of _king's men_ held this principle\nof occasional and personal incapacitation, to the whole body of their\ndesign.\n\nWhen the House of Commons was thus made to consider itself as the master\nof its constituents, there wanted but one thing to secure that House\nagainst all possible future deviation towards popularity: an _unlimited_\nfund of money to be laid out according to the pleasure of the court.\n\nTo complete the scheme of bringing our court to a resemblance to the\nneighboring monarchies, it was necessary, in effect, to destroy those\nappropriations of revenue, which seem to limit the property, as the\nother laws had done the powers, of the crown. An opportunity for this\npurpose was taken, upon an application to Parliament for payment of the\ndebts of the civil list; which in 1769 had amounted to 513,000_l._ Such\napplication had been made upon former occasions; but to do it in the\nformer manner would by no means answer the present purpose.\n\nWhenever the crown had come to the commons to desire a supply for the\ndischarging of debts due on the civil list, it was always asked and\ngranted with one of the three following qualifications; sometimes with\nall of them. Either it was stated, that the revenue had been diverted\nfrom its purposes by Parliament; or that those duties had fallen short\nof the sum for which they were given by Parliament, and that the\nintention of the legislature had not been fulfilled; or that the money\nrequired to discharge the civil list debt was to be raised chargeable on\nthe civil list duties. In the reign of Queen Anne, the crown was found\nin debt. The lessening and granting away some part of her revenue by\nParliament was alleged as the cause of that debt, and pleaded as an\nequitable ground, such it certainly was, for discharging it. It does not\nappear that the duties which were then applied to the ordinary\ngovernment produced clear above 580,000_l._ a year; because, when they\nwere afterwards granted to George the First, 120,000_l._ was added to\ncomplete the whole to 700,000_l._ a year. Indeed it was then asserted,\nand, I have no doubt, truly, that for many years the net produce did not\namount to above 550,000_l._ The queen's extraordinary charges were\nbesides very considerable; equal, at least, to any we have known in our\ntime. The application to Parliament was not for an absolute grant of\nmoney; but to empower the queen to raise it by borrowing upon the civil\nlist funds.\n\nThe civil list debt was twice paid in the reign of George the First. The\nmoney was granted upon the same plan which had been followed in the\nreign of Queen Anne. The civil list revenues were then mortgaged for the\nsum to be raised, and stood charged with the ransom of their own\ndeliverance.\n\nGeorge the Second received an addition to his civil list. Duties were\ngranted for the purpose of raising 800,000_l._ a year. It was not until\nhe had reigned nineteen years, and after the last rebellion, that he\ncalled upon Parliament for a discharge of the civil list debt. The\nextraordinary charges brought on by the rebellion, account fully for the\nnecessities of the crown. However, the extraordinary charges of\ngovernment were not thought a ground fit to be relied on.\n\nA deficiency of the civil list duties for several years before was\nstated as the principal, if not the sole ground on which an application\nto Parliament could be justified. About this time the produce of these\nduties had fallen pretty low; and even upon an average of the whole\nreign they never produced 800,000_l._ a year clear to the treasury.\n\nThat prince reigned fourteen years afterwards: not only no new demands\nwere made; but with so much good order were his revenues and expenses\nregulated, that, although many parts of the establishment of the court\nwere upon a larger and more liberal scale than they have been since,\nthere was a considerable sum in hand, on his decease, amounting to about\n170,000_l._ applicable to the service of the civil list of his present\nMajesty. So that, if this reign commenced with a greater charge than\nusual, there was enough and more than enough, abundantly to supply all\nthe extraordinary expense. That the civil list should have been exceeded\nin the two former reigns, especially in the reign of George the First,\nwas not at all surprising. His revenue was but 700,000_l._ annually; if\nit ever produced so much clear. The prodigious and dangerous\ndisaffection to the very being of the establishment, and the cause of a\npretender then powerfully abetted from abroad, produced many demands of\nan extraordinary nature both abroad and at home. Much management and\ngreat expenses were necessary. But the throne of no prince has stood\nupon more unshaken foundations than that of his present Majesty.\n\nTo have exceeded the sum given for the civil list, and to have incurred\na debt without special authority of Parliament, was _prima facie_, a\ncriminal act: as such, ministers ought naturally rather to have\nwithdrawn it from the inspection, than to have exposed it to the\nscrutiny of Parliament. Certainly they ought, of themselves, officially\nto have come armed with every sort of argument, which, by explaining,\ncould excuse, a matter in itself of presumptive guilt. But the terrors\nof the House of Commons are no longer for ministers.\n\nOn the other hand, the peculiar character of the House of Commons, as\ntrustee of the public purse, would have led them to call with a\npunctilious solicitude for every public account, and to have examined\ninto them with the most rigorous accuracy.\n\nThe capital use of an account is, that the reality of the charge, the\nreason of incurring it, and the justice and necessity of discharging it,\nshould all appear antecedent to the payment. No man ever pays first, and\ncalls for his account afterwards; because he would thereby let out of\nhis hands the principal, and indeed only effectual, means of compelling\na full and fair one. But, in national business, there is an additional\nreason for a previous production of every account. It is a check,\nperhaps the only one, upon a corrupt and prodigal use of public money.\nAn account after payment is to no rational purpose an account. However,\nthe House of Commons thought all these to be antiquated principles:\nthey were of opinion, that the most Parliamentary way of proceeding was,\nto pay first what the court thought proper to demand, and to take its\nchance for an examination into accounts at some time of greater leisure.\n\nThe nation had settled 800,000_l._ a year on the crown, as sufficient\nfor the support of its dignity, upon the estimate of its own ministers.\nWhen ministers came to Parliament, and said that this allowance had not\nbeen sufficient for the purpose, and that they had incurred a debt of\n500,000_l._, would it not have been natural for Parliament first to have\nasked how, and by what means, their appropriated allowance came to be\ninsufficient? Would it not have savored of some attention to justice, to\nhave seen in what periods of administration this debt had been\noriginally incurred; that they might discover, and if need were,\nanimadvert on the persons who were found the most culpable? To put their\nhands upon such articles of expenditure as they thought improper or\nexcessive, and to secure, in future, against such misapplication or\nexceeding? Accounts for any other purposes are but a matter of\ncuriosity, and no genuine Parliamentary object. All the accounts which\ncould answer any Parliamentary end were refused, or postponed by\nprevious questions. Every idea of prevention was rejected, as conveying\nan improper suspicion of the ministers of the crown.\n\nWhen every loading account had been refused, many others were granted\nwith sufficient facility.\n\nBut with great candor also, the House was informed, that hardly any of\nthem could be ready until the next session; some of them perhaps not so\nsoon. But, in order firmly to establish the precedent of _payment\nprevious to account_, and to form it into a settled rule of the House,\nthe god in the machine was brought down, nothing less than the\nwonder-working _law of Parliament_. It was alleged, that it is the law\nof Parliament, when any demand comes from the crown, that the House must\ngo immediately into the committee of supply; in which committee it was\nallowed, that the production and examination of accounts would be quite\nproper and regular. It was therefore carried, that they should go into\nthe committee without delay, and without accounts, in order to examine\nwith great order and regularity things that could not possibly come\nbefore them. After this stroke of orderly and Parliamentary wit and\nhumor, they went into the committee; and very generously voted the\npayment.\n\nThere was a circumstance in that debate too remarkable to be overlooked.\nThis debt of the civil list was all along argued upon the same footing\nas a debt of the state, contracted upon national authority. Its payment\nwas urged as equally pressing upon the public faith and honor; and when\nthe whole year's account was stated, in what is called _the budget_, the\nministry valued themselves on the payment of so much public debt, just\nas if they had discharged 500,000_l._ of navy or exchequer bills.\nThough, in truth, their payment, from the sinking fund, of debt which\nwas never contracted by Parliamentary authority, was, to all intents and\npurposes, so much debt incurred. But such is the present notion of\npublic credit, and payment of debt. No wonder that it produces such\neffects.\n\nNor was the House at all more attentive to a provident security against\nfuture, than it had been to a vindictive retrospect to past\nmismanagements. I should have thought indeed that a ministerial promise,\nduring their own continuance in office, might have been given, though\nthis would have been but a poor security for the public. Mr. Pelham gave\nsuch an assurance, and he kept his word. But nothing was capable of\nextorting from our ministers anything which had the least resemblance to\na promise of confining the expenses of the civil list within the limits\nwhich had been settled by Parliament. This reserve of theirs I look upon\nto be equivalent to the clearest declaration, that they were resolved\nupon a contrary course.\n\nHowever, to put the matter beyond all doubt, in the speech from the\nthrone, after thanking Parliament for the relief so liberally granted,\nthe ministers inform the two Houses, that they will _endeavor_ to\nconfine the expenses of the civil government--within what limits, think\nyou? those which the law had prescribed? Not in the least--\"such limits\nas the _honor of the crown_ can possibly admit.\"\n\nThus they established an _arbitrary_ standard for that dignity which\nParliament had defined and limited to a _legal_ standard. They gave\nthemselves, under the lax and indeterminate idea of the _honor of the\ncrown_, a full loose for all manner of dissipation, and all manner of\ncorruption. This arbitrary standard they were not afraid to hold out to\nboth Houses; while an idle and unoperative act of Parliament, estimating\nthe dignity of the crown at 800,000_l._ and confining it to that sum,\nadds to the number of obsolete statutes which load the shelves of\nlibraries, without any sort of advantage to the people.\n\nAfter this proceeding, I suppose that no man can be so weak as to think\nthat the crown is limited to any settled allowance whatsoever. For if\nthe ministry has 800,000_l._ a year by the law of the land; and if by\nthe law of Parliament all the debts which exceed it are to be paid\npreviously to the production of any account; I presume that this is\nequivalent to an income with no other limits than the abilities of the\nsubject and the moderation of the court; that is to say, it is such an\nincome as is possessed by every absolute monarch in Europe. It amounts,\nas a person of great ability said in the debate, to an unlimited power\nof drawing upon the sinking fund. Its effect on the public credit of\nthis kingdom must be obvious; for in vain is the sinking fund the great\nbuttress of all the rest, if it be in the power of the ministry to\nresort to it for the payment of any debts which they may choose to\nincur, under the name of the civil list, and through the medium of a\ncommittee, which thinks itself obliged by law to vote supplies without\nany other account than that of the mere existence of the debt.\n\nFive hundred thousand pounds is a serious sum. But it is nothing to the\nprolific principle upon which the sum was voted: a principle that may be\nwell called, _the fruitful mother of an hundred more_. Neither is the\ndamage to public credit of very great consequence, when compared with\nthat which results to public morals and to the safety of the\nconstitution, from the exhaustless mine of corruption opened by the\nprecedent, and to be wrought by the principle, of the late payment of\nthe debts of the civil list. The power of discretionary disqualification\nby one law of Parliament, and the necessity of paying every debt of the\ncivil list by another law of Parliament, if suffered to pass unnoticed,\nmust establish such a fund of rewards and terrors as will make\nParliament the best appendage and support of arbitrary power that ever\nwas invented by the wit of man. This is felt. The quarrel is begun\nbetween the representatives and the people. The court faction have at\nlength committed them.\n\nIn such a strait the wisest may well be perplexed, and the boldest\nstaggered. The circumstances are in a great measure new. We have hardly\nany landmarks from the wisdom of our ancestors, to guide us. At best we\ncan only follow the spirit of their proceeding in other cases. I know\nthe diligence with which my observations on our public disorders have\nbeen made; I am very sure of the integrity of the motives on which they\nare published; I cannot be equally confident in any plan for the\nabsolute cure of those disorders, or for their certain future\nprevention. My aim is to bring this matter into more public discussion.\nLet the sagacity of others work upon it. It is not uncommon for medical\nwriters to describe histories of diseases very accurately, on whose cure\nthey can say but very little.\n\nThe first ideas which generally suggest themselves, for the cure of\nParliamentary disorders, are, to shorten the duration of Parliaments;\nand to disqualify all, or a great number of placemen, from a seat in the\nHouse of Commons. Whatever efficacy there may be in those remedies, I am\nsure in the present state of things it is impossible to apply them. A\nrestoration of the right of free election is a preliminary indispensable\nto every other reformation. What alterations ought afterwards to be made\nin the constitution, is a matter of deep and difficult research.\n\nIf I wrote merely to please the popular palate, it would indeed be as\nlittle troublesome to me as to another, to extol these remedies, so\nfamous in speculation, but to which their greatest admirers have never\nattempted seriously to resort in practice. I confess then, that I have\nno sort of reliance upon either a triennial Parliament, or a place-bill.\nWith regard to the former, perhaps it might rather serve to counteract,\nthan to promote the ends that are proposed by it. To say nothing of the\nhorrible disorders among the people attending frequent elections, I\nshould be fearful of committing, every three years, the independent\ngentlemen of the country into a contest with the treasury. It is easy to\nsee which of the contending parties would be ruined first. Whoever has\ntaken a careful view of public proceedings, so as to endeavor to ground\nhis speculations on his experience, must have observed how prodigiously\ngreater the power of ministry is in the first and last session of a\nParliament, than it is in the intermediate period, when members sit a\nlittle firm on their seats. The persons of the greatest Parliamentary\nexperience, with whom I have conversed, did constantly, in canvassing\nthe fate of questions, allow something to the court side, upon account\nof the elections depending or imminent. The evil complained of, if it\nexists in the present state of things, would hardly be removed by a\ntriennial Parliament: for, unless the influence of government in\nelections can be entirely taken away, the more frequently they return,\nthe more they will harass private independence; the more generally men\nwill be compelled to fly to the settled systematic interest of\ngovernment, and to the resources of a boundless civil list. Certainly\nsomething may be done, and ought to be done, towards lessening that\ninfluence in elections; and this will be necessary upon a plan either\nof longer or shorter duration of Parliament. But nothing can so\nperfectly remove the evil, as not to render such contentions, too\nfrequently repeated, utterly ruinous, first to independence of fortune,\nand then to independence of spirit. As I am only giving an opinion on\nthis point, and not at all debating it in an adverse line, I hope I may\nbe excused in another observation. With great truth I may aver, that I\nnever remember to have talked on this subject with any man much\nconversant with public business, who considered short Parliaments as a\nreal improvement of the constitution. Gentlemen, warm in a popular\ncause, are ready enough to attribute all the declarations of such\npersons to corrupt motives. But the habit of affairs, if, on one hand,\nit tends to corrupt the mind, furnishes it, on the other, with the means\nof better information. The authority of such persons will always have\nsome weight. It may stand upon a par with the speculations of those who\nare less practised in business; and who, with perhaps purer intentions,\nhave not so effectual means of judging. It is besides an effect of\nvulgar and puerile malignity to imagine, that every statesman is of\ncourse corrupt; and that his opinion, upon every constitutional point,\nis solely formed upon some sinister interest.\n\nThe next favorite remedy is a place-bill. The same principle guides in\nboth; I mean, the opinion which is entertained by many, of the\ninfallibility of laws and regulations, in the cure of public distempers.\nWithout being as unreasonably doubtful as many are unwisely confident, I\nwill only say, that this also is a matter very well worthy of serious\nand mature reflection. It is not easy to foresee, what the effect would\nbe, of disconnecting with Parliament the greatest part of those who hold\ncivil employments, and of such mighty and important bodies as the\nmilitary and naval establishments. It were better, perhaps, that they\nshould have a corrupt interest in the forms of the constitution, than\nthat they should have none at all. This is a question altogether\ndifferent from the disqualification of a particular description of\nrevenue-officers from seats in Parliament; or, perhaps, of all the lower\nsorts of them from votes in elections. In the former case, only the few\nare affected; in the latter, only the inconsiderable. But a great\nofficial, a great professional, a great military and naval interest, all\nnecessarily comprehending many people of the first weight, ability,\nwealth, and spirit, has been gradually formed in the kingdom. These new\ninterests must be let into a share of representation, else possibly they\nmay be inclined to destroy those institutions of which they are not\npermitted to partake. This is not a thing to be trifled with; nor is it\nevery well-meaning man that is fit to put his hands to it. Many other\nserious considerations occur. I do not open them here, because they are\nnot directly to my purpose; proposing only to give the reader some taste\nof the difficulties that attend all capital changes in the constitution;\njust to hint the uncertainty, to say no worse, of being able to prevent\nthe court, as long as it has the means of influence abundantly in its\npower, of applying that influence to Parliament; and perhaps, if the\npublic method were precluded, of doing it in some worse and more\ndangerous method. Underhand and oblique ways would be studied. The\nscience of evasion, already tolerably understood, would then be brought\nto the greatest perfection. It is no inconsiderable part of wisdom, to\nknow how much of an evil ought to be tolerated; lest, by attempting a\ndegree of purity impracticable in degenerate times and manners, instead\nof cutting off the subsisting ill-practices, new corruptions might be\nproduced for the concealment and security of the old. It were better,\nundoubtedly, that no influence at all could affect the mind of a member\nof Parliament. But of all modes of influence, in my opinion, a place\nunder the government is the least disgraceful to the man who holds it,\nand by far the most safe to the country. I would not shut out that sort\nof influence which is open and visible, which is connected with the\ndignity and the service of the state, when it is not in my power to\nprevent the influence of contracts, of subscriptions, of direct bribery,\nand those innumerable methods of clandestine corruption, which are\nabundantly in the hands of the court, and which will be applied as long\nas these means of corruption, and the disposition to be corrupted, have\nexistence amongst us. Our constitution stands on a nice equipoise, with\nsteep precipices and deep waters upon all sides of it. In removing it\nfrom a dangerous leaning towards one side, there may be a risk of\noversetting it on the other. Every project of a material change in a\ngovernment so complicated as ours, combined at the same time with\nexternal circumstances still more complicated, is a matter full of\ndifficulties: in which a considerate man will not be too ready to\ndecide; a prudent man too ready to undertake; or an honest man too ready\nto promise. They do not respect the public nor themselves, who engage\nfor more than they are sure that they ought to attempt, or that they are\nable to perform. These are my sentiments, weak perhaps, but honest and\nunbiassed; and submitted entirely to the opinion of grave men,\nwell-affected to the constitution of their country, and of experience in\nwhat may best promote or hurt it.\n\nIndeed, in the situation in which we stand, with an immense revenue, an\nenormous debt, mighty establishments, government itself a great banker\nand a great merchant, I see no other way for the preservation of a\ndecent attention to public interest in the representatives, but _the\ninterposition of the body of the people itself_, whenever it shall\nappear, by some flagrant and notorious act, by some capital innovation,\nthat these representatives are going to overleap the fences of the law,\nand to introduce an arbitrary power. This interposition is a most\nunpleasant remedy. But, if it be a legal remedy, it is intended on some\noccasion to be used; to be used then only, when it is evident that\nnothing else can hold the constitution to its true principles.\n\nThe distempers of monarchy were the great subjects of apprehension and\nredress, in the last century; in this the distempers of Parliament. It\nis not in Parliament alone that the remedy for Parliamentary disorders\ncan be completed; hardly indeed can it begin there. Until a confidence\nin government is re-established, the people ought to be excited to a\nmore strict and detailed attention to the conduct of their\nrepresentatives. Standards for judging more systematically upon their\nconduct ought to be settled in the meetings of counties and\ncorporations. Frequent and correct lists of the voters in all important\nquestions ought to be procured.\n\nBy such means something may be done. By such means it may appear who\nthose are, that, by an indiscriminate support of all administrations,\nhave totally banished all integrity and confidence out of public\nproceedings; have confounded the best men with the worst; and weakened\nand dissolved, instead of strengthening and compacting, the general\nframe of government. If any person is more concerned for government and\norder, than for the liberties of his country; even he is equally\nconcerned to put an end to this course of indiscriminate support. It is\nthis blind and undistinguishing support, that feeds the spring of those\nvery disorders, by which he is frightened into the arms of the faction\nwhich contains in itself the source of all disorders, by enfeebling all\nthe visible and regular authority of the state. The distemper is\nincreased by his injudicious and preposterous endeavors, or pretences,\nfor the cure of it.\n\nAn exterior administration, chosen for its impotency, or after it is\nchosen purposely rendered impotent, in order to be rendered subservient,\nwill not be obeyed. The laws themselves will not be respected, when\nthose who execute them are despised: and they will be despised, when\ntheir power is not immediate from the crown, or natural in the kingdom.\nNever were ministers better supported in Parliament. Parliamentary\nsupport comes and goes with office, totally regardless of the man, or\nthe merit. Is government strengthened? It grows weaker and weaker. The\npopular torrent gains upon it every hour. Let us learn from our\nexperience. It is not support that is wanting to government, but\nreformation. When ministry rests upon public opinion, it is not indeed\nbuilt upon a rock of adamant; it has, however, some stability. But when\nit stands upon private humor, its structure is of stubble, and its\nfoundation is on quicksand. I repeat it again,--He that supports every\nadministration subverts all government. The reason is this: The whole\nbusiness in which a court usually takes an interest goes on at present\nequally well, in whatever hands, whether high or low, wise or foolish,\nscandalous or reputable; there is nothing therefore to hold it firm to\nany one body of men, or to any one consistent scheme of politics.\nNothing interposes, to prevent the full operation of all the caprices\nand all the passions of a court upon the servants of the public. The\nsystem of administration is open to continual shocks and changes, upon\nthe principles of the meanest cabal, and the most contemptible intrigue.\nNothing can be solid and permanent. All good men at length fly with\nhorror from such a service. Men of rank and ability, with the spirit\nwhich ought to animate such men in a free state, while they decline the\njurisdiction of dark cabal on their actions and their fortunes, will,\nfor both, cheerfully put themselves upon their country. They will trust\nan inquisitive and distinguishing Parliament; because it does inquire,\nand does distinguish. If they act well, they know, that, in such a\nParliament they will be supported against any intrigue; if they act ill,\nthey know that no intrigue can protect them. This situation, however\nawful, is honorable. But in one hour, and in the self-same assembly,\nwithout any assigned or assignable cause, to be precipitated from the\nhighest authority to the most marked neglect, possibly into the greatest\nperil of life and reputation, is a situation full of danger, and\ndestitute of honor. It will be shunned equally by every man of prudence,\nand every man of spirit.\n\nSuch are the consequences of the division of court from the\nadministration; and of the division of public men among themselves. By\nthe former of these, lawful government is undone; by the latter, all\nopposition to lawless power is rendered impotent. Government may in a\ngreat measure be restored, if any considerable bodies of men have\nhonesty and resolution enough never to accept administration, unless\nthis garrison of _king's men_, which is stationed, as in a citadel, to\ncontrol and enslave it, be entirely broken and disbanded, and every work\nthey have thrown up be levelled with the ground. The disposition of\npublic men to keep this corps together, and to act under it, or to\nco-operate with it, is a touchstone by which every administration ought\nin future to be tried. There has not been one which has not sufficiently\nexperienced the utter incompatibility of that faction with the public\npeace, and with all the ends of good government: since, if they opposed\nit, they soon lost every power of serving the crown; if they submitted\nto it, they lost all the esteem of their country. Until ministers give\nto the public a full proof of their entire alienation from that system,\nhowever plausible their pretences, we may be sure they are more intent\non the emoluments than the duties of office. If they refuse to give this\nproof, we know of what stuff they are made. In this particular, it ought\nto be the electors' business to look to their representatives. The\nelectors ought to esteem it no less culpable in their member to give a\nsingle vote in Parliament to such an administration, than to take an\noffice under it; to endure it, than to act in it. The notorious\ninfidelity and versatility of members of Parliament, in their opinions\nof men and things, ought in a particular manner to be considered by the\nelectors in the inquiry which is recommended to them. This is one of\nthe principal holdings of that destructive system, which has endeavored\nto unhinge all the virtuous, honorable, and useful connections in the\nkingdom.\n\nThis cabal has, with great success, propagated a doctrine which serves\nfor a color to those acts of treachery; and whilst it receives any\ndegree of countenance it will be utterly senseless to look for a\nvigorous opposition to the court party. The doctrine is this: That all\npolitical connections are in their nature factious, and as such ought to\nbe dissipated and destroyed; and that the rule for forming\nadministrations is more personal ability, rated by the judgment of this\ncabal upon it, and taken by draughts from every division and\ndenomination of public men. This decree was solemnly promulgated by the\nhead of the court corps, the Earl of Bute himself, in a speech which he\nmade, in the year 1766, against the then administration, the only\nadministration which he has ever been known directly and publicly to\noppose.\n\nIt is indeed in no way wonderful, that such persons should make such\ndeclarations. That connection and faction are equivalent terms, is an\nopinion which has been carefully inculcated at all times by\nunconstitutional statesmen. The reason is evident. Whilst men are linked\ntogether, they easily and speedily communicate the alarm of any evil\ndesign. They are enabled to fathom it with common counsel, and to oppose\nit with united strength. Whereas, when they lie dispersed, without\nconcert, order, or discipline, communication is uncertain, counsel\ndifficult, and resistance impracticable. Where men are not acquainted\nwith each other's principles, nor experienced in each other's talents,\nnor at all practised in their mutual habitudes and dispositions by\njoint efforts in business; no personal confidence, no friendship, no\ncommon interest, subsisting among them; it is evidently impossible that\nthey can act a public part with uniformity, perseverance, or efficacy.\nIn a connection, the most inconsiderable man, by adding to the weight of\nthe whole, has his value, and his use; out of it, the greatest talents\nare wholly unserviceable to the public. No man, who is not inflamed by\nvainglory into enthusiasm, can flatter himself that his single,\nunsupported, desultory, unsystematic endeavors are of power to defeat\nthe subtle designs and united cabals of ambitious citizens. When bad men\ncombine, the good must associate; else they will fall, one by one, an\nunpitied sacrifice in a contemptible struggle.\n\nIt is not enough in a situation of trust in the commonwealth, that a man\nmeans well to his country; it is not enough that in his single person he\nnever did an evil act, but always voted according to his conscience, and\neven harangued against every design which he apprehended to be\nprejudicial to the interests of his country. This innoxious and\nineffectual character, that seems formed upon a plan of apology and\ndisculpation, falls miserably short of the mark of public duty. That\nduty demands and requires, that what is right should not only be made\nknown, but made prevalent; that what is evil should not only be\ndetected, but defeated. When the public man omits to put himself in a\nsituation of doing his duty with effect, it is an omission that\nfrustrates the purposes of his trust almost as much as if he had\nformally betrayed it. It is surely no very rational account of a man's\nlife, that he has always acted right; but has taken special care, to act\nin such a manner that his endeavors could not possibly be productive of\nany consequence.\n\nI do not wonder that the behavior of many parties should have made\npersons of tender and scrupulous virtue somewhat out of humor with all\nsorts of connection in politics. I admit that people frequently acquire\nin such confederacies a narrow, bigoted, and prescriptive spirit; that\nthey are apt to sink the idea of the general good in this circumscribed\nand partial interest. But, where duty renders a critical situation a\nnecessary one, it is our business to keep free from the evils attendant\nupon it; and not to fly from the situation itself. If a fortress is\nseated in an unwholesome air, an officer of the garrison is obliged to\nbe attentive to his health, but he must not desert his station. Every\nprofession, not excepting the glorious one of a soldier, or the sacred\none of a priest, is liable to its own particular vices; which, however,\nform no argument against those ways of life; nor are the vices\nthemselves inevitable to every individual in those professions. Of such\na nature are connections in politics; essentially necessary for the full\nperformance of our public duty, accidentally liable to degenerate into\nfaction. Commonwealths are made of families, free commonwealths of\nparties also; and we may as well affirm, that our natural regards and\nties of blood tend inevitably to make men bad citizens, as that the\nbonds of our party weaken those by which we are held to our country.\n\nSome legislators went so far as to make neutrality in party a crime\nagainst the state. I do not know whether this might not have been rather\nto overstrain the principle. Certain it is, the best patriots in the\ngreatest commonwealths have always commended and promoted such\nconnections. _Idem sentire de republica_, was with them a principal\nground of friendship and attachment; nor do I know any other capable of\nforming firmer, dearer, more pleasing, more honorable, and more virtuous\nhabitudes. The Romans carried this principle a great way. Even the\nholding of offices together, the disposition of which arose from chance,\nnot selection, gave rise to a relation which continued for life. It was\ncalled _necessitudo sortis_; and it was looked upon with a sacred\nreverence. Breaches of any of these kinds of civil relation were\nconsidered as acts of the most distinguished turpitude. The whole people\nwas distributed into political societies, in which they acted in support\nof such interests in the state as they severally affected. For it was\nthen thought no crime to endeavor by every honest means to advance to\nsuperiority and power those of your own sentiments and opinions. This\nwise people was far from imagining that those connections had no tie,\nand obliged to no duty; but that men might quit them without shame, upon\nevery call of interest. They believed private honor to be the great\nfoundation of public trust; that friendship was no mean step towards\npatriotism; that he who, in the common intercourse of life, showed he\nregarded somebody besides himself, when he came to act in a public\nsituation, might probably consult some other interest than his own.\nNever may we become _plus sages que les sages_, as the French comedian\nhas happily expressed it, wiser than all the wise and good men who have\nlived before us. It was their wish, to see public and private virtues,\nnot dissonant and jarring, and mutually destructive, but harmoniously\ncombined, growing out of one another in a noble and orderly gradation,\nreciprocally supporting and supported. In one of the most fortunate\nperiods of our history this country was governed by a _connection_; I\nmean, the great connection of Whigs in the reign of Queen Anne. They\nwere complimented upon the principle of this connection by a poet who\nwas in high esteem with them. Addison, who knew their sentiments, could\nnot praise them for what they considered as no proper subject of\ncommendation. As a poet who knew his business, he could not applaud them\nfor a thing which in general estimation was not highly reputable.\nAddressing himself to Britain,--\n\n   \"Thy favorites grow not up by fortune's sport,\n    Or from the crimes or follies of a court.\n    On the firm basis of desert they rise,\n    From long-tried faith, and friendship's holy ties.\"\n\n\nThe Whigs of those days believed that the only proper method of rising\ninto power was through hard essays of practised friendship and\nexperimented fidelity. At that time it was not imagined, that patriotism\nwas a bloody idol, which required the sacrifice of children and parents,\nor dearest connections in private life, and of all the virtues that rise\nfrom those relations. They were not of that ingenious paradoxical\nmorality, to imagine that a spirit of moderation was properly shown in\npatiently bearing the sufferings of your friends; or that\ndisinterestedness was clearly manifested at the expense of other\npeople's fortune. They believed that no men could act with effect, who\ndid not act in concert; that no men could act in concert, who did not\nact with confidence; that no men could act with confidence, who were not\nbound together by common opinions, common affections, and common\ninterests.\n\nThese wise men, for such I must call Lord Sunderland, Lord Godolphin,\nLord Somers, and Lord Marlborough, were too well principled in these\nmaxims upon which the whole fabric of public strength is built, to be\nblown off their ground by the breath of every childish talker. They were\nnot afraid that they should be called an ambitious junto; or that their\nresolution to stand or fall together should, by placemen, be interpreted\ninto a scuffle for places.\n\nParty is a body of men united for promoting by their joint endeavors the\nnational interest upon some particular principle in which they are all\nagreed. For my part, I find it impossible to conceive, that any one\nbelieves in his own politics, or thinks them to be of any weight, who\nrefuses to adopt the means of having them reduced into practice. It is\nthe business of the speculative philosopher to mark the proper ends of\ngovernment. It is the business of the politician, who is the philosopher\nin action, to find out proper means towards those ends, and to employ\nthem with effect. Therefore every honorable connection will avow it is\ntheir first purpose, to pursue every just method to put the men who hold\ntheir opinions into such a condition as may enable them to carry their\ncommon plans into execution, with all the power and authority of the\nstate. As this power is attached to certain situations, it is their duty\nto contend for these situations. Without a proscription of others, they\nare bound to give to their own party the preference in all things; and\nby no means, for private considerations, to accept any offers of power\nin which the whole body is not included; nor to suffer themselves to be\nled, or to be controlled, or to be overbalanced, in office or in\ncouncil, by those who contradict the very fundamental principles on\nwhich their party is formed, and even those upon which every fair\nconnection must stand. Such a generous contention for power, on such\nmanly and honorable maxims, will easily be distinguished from the mean\nand interested struggle for place and emolument. The very style of such\npersons will serve to discriminate them from those numberless impostors,\nwho have deluded the ignorant with professions incompatible with human\npractice, and have afterwards incensed them by practices below the level\nof vulgar rectitude.\n\nIt is an advantage to all narrow wisdom and narrow morals, that their\nmaxims have a plausible air: and, on a cursory view, appear equal to\nfirst principles. They are light and portable. They are as current as\ncopper coin; and about as valuable. They serve equally the first\ncapacities and the lowest; and they are, at least, as useful to the\nworst men as to the best. Of this stamp is the cant of _Not men, but\nmeasures_; a sort of charm by which many people get loose from every\nhonorable engagement. When I see a man acting this desultory and\ndisconnected part, with as much detriment to his own fortune as\nprejudice to the cause of any party, I am not persuaded that he is\nright; but I am ready to believe he is in earnest. I respect virtue in\nall its situations; even when it is found in the unsuitable company of\nweakness. I lament to see qualities, rare and valuable, squandered away\nwithout any public utility. But when a gentleman with great visible\nemoluments abandons the party in which he has long acted, and tells you,\nit is because he proceeds upon his own judgment; that he acts on the\nmerits of the several measures as they arise; and that he is obliged to\nfollow his own conscience, and not that of others; he gives reasons\nwhich it is impossible to controvert, and discovers a character which it\nis impossible to mistake. What shall we think of him who never differed\nfrom a certain set of men until the moment they lost their power, and\nwho never agreed with them in a single instance afterwards? Would not\nsuch a coincidence of interest and opinion be rather fortunate? Would it\nnot be an extraordinary cast upon the dice, that a man's connections\nshould degenerate into faction, precisely at the critical moment when\nthey lose their power, or he accepts a place? When people desert their\nconnections, the desertion is a manifest _fact_, upon which a direct\nsimple issue lies, triable by plain men. Whether a _measure_ of\ngovernment be right or wrong, is _no matter of fact_, but a mere affair\nof opinion, on which men may, as they do, dispute and wrangle without\nend. But whether the individual _thinks_ the measure right or wrong, is\na point at still a greater distance from the reach of all human\ndecision. It is therefore very convenient to politicians, not to put the\njudgment of their conduct on overt acts, cognizable in any ordinary\ncourt, but upon such matter as can be triable only in that secret\ntribunal, where they are sure of being heard with favor, or where at\nworst the sentence will be only private whipping.\n\nI believe the reader would wish to find no substance in a doctrine which\nhas a tendency to destroy all test of character as deduced from conduct.\nHe will therefore excuse my adding something more, towards the further\nclearing up a point, which the great convenience of obscurity to\ndishonesty has been able to cover with some degree of darkness and\ndoubt.\n\nIn order to throw an odium on political connection, those politicians\nsuppose it a necessary incident to it, that you are blindly to follow\nthe opinions of your party, when in direct opposition to your own clear\nideas; a degree of servitude that no worthy man could bear the thought\nof submitting to; and such as, I believe, no connections (except some\ncourt factions) ever could be so senselessly tyrannical as to impose.\nMen thinking freely, will, in particular instances, think differently.\nBut still as the greater part of the measures which arise in the course\nof public business are related to, or dependent on, some great,\n_leading_, _general principles in government_, a man must be peculiarly\nunfortunate in the choice of his political company, if he does not agree\nwith them at least nine times in ten. If he does not concur in these\ngeneral principles upon which the party is founded, and which\nnecessarily draw on a concurrence in their application, he ought from\nthe beginning to have chosen some other, more conformable to his\nopinions. When the question is in its nature doubtful, or not very\nmaterial, the modesty which becomes an individual, and, (in spite of our\ncourt moralists) that partiality which becomes a well-chosen friendship,\nwill frequently bring on an acquiescence in the general sentiment. Thus\nthe disagreement will naturally be rare; it will be only enough to\nindulge freedom, without violating concord, or disturbing arrangement.\nAnd this is all that ever was required for a character of the greatest\nuniformity and steadiness in connection. How men can proceed without any\nconnection at all, is to me utterly incomprehensible. Of what sort of\nmaterials must that man be made, how must he be tempered and put\ntogether, who can sit whole years in Parliament, with five hundred and\nfifty of his fellow-citizens, amidst the storm of such tempestuous\npassions, in the sharp conflict of so many wits, and tempers, and\ncharacters, in the agitation of such mighty questions, in the discussion\nof such vast and ponderous interests, without seeing any one sort of\nmen, whose character, conduct, or disposition, would lead him to\nassociate himself with them, to aid and be aided, in any one system of\npublic utility?\n\nI remember an old scholastic aphorism, which says, \"that the man who\nlives wholly detached from others, must be either an angel or a devil.\"\nWhen I see in any of these detached gentlemen of our times the angelic\npurity, power, and beneficence, I shall admit them to be angels. In the\nmean time we are born only to be men. We shall do enough if we form\nourselves to be good ones. It is therefore our business carefully to\ncultivate in our minds, to rear to the most perfect vigor and maturity,\nevery sort of generous and honest feeling, that belongs to our nature.\nTo bring the dispositions that are lovely in private life into the\nservice and conduct of the commonwealth; so to be patriots, as not to\nforget we are gentlemen. To cultivate friendships, and to incur\nenmities. To have both strong, but both selected: in the one, to be\nplacable; in the other immovable. To model our principles to our duties\nand our situation. To be fully persuaded, that all virtue which is\nimpracticable is spurious; and rather to run the risk of falling into\nfaults in a course which leads us to act with effect and energy, than to\nloiter out our days without blame, and without use. Public life is a\nsituation of power and energy; he trespasses against his duty who sleeps\nupon his watch, as well as he that goes over to the enemy.\n\nThere is, however, a time for all things. It is not every conjuncture\nwhich calls with equal force upon the activity of honest men; but\ncritical exigencies now and then arise; and I am mistaken, if this be\nnot one of them. Men will see the necessity of honest combination; but\nthey may see it when it is too late. They may embody, when it will be\nruinous to themselves, and of no advantage to the country; when, for\nwant of such a timely union as may enable them to oppose in favor of the\nlaws, with the laws on their side, they may at length find themselves\nunder the necessity of conspiring, instead of consulting. The law, for\nwhich they stand, may become a weapon in the hands of its bitterest\nenemies; and they will be cast, at length, into that miserable\nalternative between slavery and civil confusion, which no good man can\nlook upon without horror; an alternative in which it is impossible he\nshould take either part, with a conscience perfectly at repose. To keep\nthat situation of guilt and remorse at the utmost distance is,\ntherefore, our first obligation. Early activity may prevent late and\nfruitless violence. As yet we work in the light. The scheme of the\nenemies of public tranquillity has disarranged, it has not destroyed us.\n\nIf the reader believes that there really exists such a faction as I have\ndescribed; a faction ruling by the private inclinations of a court,\nagainst the general sense of the people; and that this faction, whilst\nit pursues a scheme for undermining all the foundations of our freedom,\nweakens (for the present at least) all the powers of executory\ngovernment, rendering us abroad contemptible, and at home distracted; he\nwill believe also, that nothing but a firm combination of public men\nagainst this body, and that, too, supported by the hearty concurrence of\nthe people at large, can possibly get the better of it. The people will\nsee the necessity of restoring public men to an attention to the public\nopinion, and of restoring the constitution to its original principles.\nAbove all, they will endeavor to keep the House of Commons from assuming\na character which does not belong to it. They will endeavor to keep that\nHouse, for its existence, for its powers, and its privileges, as\nindependent of every other, and as dependent upon themselves, as\npossible. This servitude is to a House of Commons (like obedience to the\nDivine law) \"perfect freedom.\" For if they once quit this natural,\nrational, and liberal obedience, having deserted the only proper\nfoundation of their power, they must seek a support in an abject and\nunnatural dependence somewhere else. When, through the medium of this\njust connection with their constituents, the genuine dignity of the\nHouse of Commons is restored, it will begin to think of casting from it,\nwith scorn, as badges of servility, all the false ornaments of illegal\npower, with which it has been, for some time, disgraced. It will begin\nto think of its old office of CONTROL. It will not suffer that last of\nevils to predominate in the country: men without popular confidence,\npublic opinion, natural connection, or mutual trust, invested with all\nthe powers of government.\n\nWhen they have learned this lesson themselves, they will be willing and\nable to teach the court, that it is the true interest of the prince to\nhave but one administration; and that one composed of those who\nrecommend themselves to their sovereign through the opinion of their\ncountry, and not by their obsequiousness to a favorite. Such men will\nserve their sovereign with affection and fidelity; because his choice of\nthem, upon such principles, is a compliment to their virtue. They will\nbe able to serve him effectually; because they will add the weight of\nthe country to the force of the executory power. They will be able to\nserve their king with dignity; because they will never abuse his name to\nthe gratification of their private spleen or avarice. This, with\nallowances for human frailty, may probably be the general character of a\nministry, which thinks itself accountable to the House of Commons; when\nthe House of Commons thinks itself accountable to its constituents. If\nother ideas should prevail, things must remain in their present\nconfusion, until they are hurried into all the rage of civil violence,\nor until they sink into the dead repose of despotism.\n\nEND OF VOL. I.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[102] Mem. de Sully, tom. i. p. 133.\n\n[103] \"Uxor Hugonis de Nevill dat Domino Regi ducentas Gallinas, eo quod\npossit jacere una nocte cum Domino suo Hugone de Nevill.\"--Maddox, Hist.\nExch. c. xiii. p. 326.\n\n[104] Sentiments of an Honest Man.\n\n[105] See the political writings of the late Dr. Brown, and many others.\n\n\n\n\n*** Transcriber's notes, corrections ***\n\np329 behindhand         : was \"behind-hand\", inconsistent with p442\np403 pernicious         : was \"prenicious\"\n\n(see HTML version for pagenumbers)\n*** End Transcriber's notes ***","title":"The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, Vol. 01 (of 12)","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":154653}