[] THE BEAUTIES OF BURKE.

LAW—As a Science of methodized and artificial Equity, aboliſhed in France.

A Government of the nature of that ſet up at our very door (France) has never been hitherto ſeen or even imagined in Europe. What our relation to it will be cannot be judged by other relations. It is a ſerious thing to have a connection with a people who live only under poſitive, arbitrary, and changeable inſtitutions; and thoſe not perfected nor ſupplied, nor explained by any common acknowledged rule of moral ſcience. I remember that in one of my laſt converſations with the late Lord Camden, we were ſtruck much in the ſame manner with the abolition in France of the law, as a ſcience of methodized and artificial equity. France, ſince her revolution, is under the ſway of a ſect, whoſe leaders have deliberately, at one ſtroke, demoliſhed the whole body of that juriſprudence which France had pretty nearly in common with other civilized coun⯑tries. In that juriſprudence were contained the ele⯑ments and principles of the law of nations, the great ligament of mankind. With the law they have of courſe deſtroyed all ſeminaries in which juriſprudence was taught, as well as all the corporations eſtabliſhed for its conſervation. I have not heard of any coun⯑try, whether in Europe or Aſia, or even in Africa, on this ſide of Mount Atlas, which is wholly without ſome ſuch colleges and ſuch corporations, except France. No man, in a public or private concern, can divine by what rule or principle her judgments are to be directed; nor is there to be found a Profeſſor in any Univerſity, or a Practitioner in any Court, who will hazard an opinion of what is or is not law in France, in any caſe whatever. They have not only annulled all their old treaties, but they have renounced the law of nations, from whence treaties have their force. [178] With a fixed deſign they have outlawed themſelves, and to their power outlawed all other nations. Inſtead of the religion and the law by which they were in a great and politic communion with the Chriſtian world, they have conſtructed their republic on three baſes, all fundamentally oppoſite to thoſe on which the com⯑munities of Europe are built Its foundation is laid in Regicide, in Jacobiniſm, and in Atheiſm; and it has joined to thoſe principles a body of ſyſtematic man⯑ners which ſecures their operation.—Regicide Peace.

LAW OF CHANGE.

WE muſt all obey the great law of change. It is the moſt powerful law of nature, and the means perhaps of its conſervation. All we can do, and that human wiſ⯑dom can do, is to provide that the change ſhall pro⯑ceed by inſenſible degrees. This has all the benefits which may be in change, without any of the inconve⯑niencies of mutation. Every thing is provided for as it arrives. This mode will, on the one hand, prevent the unfixing old intereſts at once; a thing which is apt to breed a black and ſullen diſcontent in thoſe who are at once diſpoſſeſſed of all their influence and conſidera⯑tion. This gradual courſe, on the other ſide, will pre⯑vent men, long under depreſſion, from being intoxicated with a large draught of new power, which they always abuſe with a licentious inſolence. But wiſhing, as I do, the change to be gradual and cautious, I would, in my firſt ſteps, lean rather to the ſide of enlargement than reſtriction.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

LAWS (BAD.)

BAD laws are the worſt ſort of tyranny. In ſuch a country as this, they are of all bad things the worſt, worſe by far than any where elſe; and they derive a particular malignity even from the wiſdom and ſound⯑neſs of the reſt of our inſtitutions. For very obvious reaſons you cannot truſt the Crown with a diſpenſing power over any of your laws—Speech previous to the Election at Briſtol.

LAWGIVER. Character of a true Lawgiver.

BUT it ſeems as if it were the prevalent opinion in Paris, that an unfeeling heart, and an undoubting confidence, are the ſole qualifications for a perfect legiſlator. Far different are my ideas of that high office. The true lawgiver ought to have an heart full of ſenſibility. He ought to love and reſpect his kind, and to fear himſelf. It may be allowed to his temperament to catch his ultimate object with an in⯑tuitive glance; but his movements towards it ought to be deliberate. Political arrangement, as it is a work for ſocial ends, is to be only wrought by ſocial means. There mind muſt conſpire with mind. Time is required to produce that union of minds which alone can produce all the good we aim at. Our pa⯑tience will atchieve more than our force. If I might venture to appeal to what is ſo much out of faſhion in Paris, I mean to experience, I ſhould tell you, that in my courſe I have known, and, accord⯑ing to my meaſure, have co-operated with great men, and I have never yet ſeen any plan which has not been mended by the obſervations of thoſe who were much inferior in underſtanding to the perſon who took the lead in the buſineſs. By a ſlow but well-ſuſtained progreſs, the effect of each ſtep is watched; the good or ill ſucceſs of the firſt, gives light to us in the ſecond; and ſo, from light to light, we are conducted with ſafety through the whole ſeries. We ſee, that the parts of the ſyſtem do not claſh. The evils latent in the moſt promiſing contrivances are provided for as they ariſe. One advantage is as little as poſſible ſacrificed to another. We compenſate, we reconcile, we balance. We are enabled to unite into a conſiſtent whole the various anomalies and contending principles that are found in the minds and affairs of men. From hence ariſes, not an excellence in ſimplicity, but one far ſuperior, an excellence in compoſition. Where the great intereſts of mankind [180] are concerned through a long ſucceſſion of genera⯑tion, that ſucceſſion ought to be admitted into ſome ſhare in the councils which are ſo deeply to affect them. If juſtice requires this, the work itſelf re⯑quires the aid of more minds than one age can fur⯑niſh. It is from this view of things that the beſt legiſlators have been often ſatisfied with the eſtabliſh⯑ment of ſome ſure, ſolid, and ruling principle in government; a power like that which ſome of the philoſophers have called a plaſtic nature; and having fixed the principle, they have leſt it afterwards to its own operation.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

LEGISLATOR AND POPULAR GOVERNMENTS.

NO legiſlator, at any period of the world, has willingly pla [...]d the ſeat of active power in the hands of the multitude: becauſe there it admits of no control, no regulation, no ſteady direction what⯑ſoever. The people are the natural control on au⯑thority; but to exerciſe and to control together is contradictory and impoſſible.

As the exorbitant exerciſe of power cannot, under popular ſway, be effectually reſtrained, the other great object of political arrangement, the means of abating an exceſſive deſire of it, is in ſuch a ſtate ſtill worſe provided for. The democratic common⯑wealth is the foodful nurſe of ambition. Under the other forms it meets with many reſtraints. Whenever, in ſtates which have had a democratic baſis, the le⯑giſlators have endeavoured to put reſtraints upon ambition, their methods were as violent, as in the end they were ineffectual; as violent indeed as any the moſt jealous deſpotiſm could invent. The oſtraciſm could not very long ſave itſelf, and much leſs the ſtate which it was meant to guard, from the attempts of ambition, one of the natural inbred incurable diſtempers of a powerful democracy.—Appeal from the new to the old Whigs.

LEGISLATORS (FRENCH.)

WHILST they (French Legiſlators) are poſſeſſed by theſe notions, (theoretical) it is vain to talk to them of the practice of their anceſtors, the funda⯑mental laws of their country, the fixed form of a conſtitution, whoſe merits are confirmed by the ſolid teſt of long experience, and an increaſing public ſtrength and national proſperity. They deſpiſe ex⯑perience as the wiſdom of unlettered men; and as for the reſt, they have wrought under ground a mine that will blow up at one grand exploſion all examples of antiquity, all precedents, charters, and acts of parliament. They have ‘"The Rights of Men."’ Againſt theſe there can be no preſcription; againſt theſe no agreement is binding: theſe admit no tem⯑perament, and no compromiſe: any thing withheld from their full demand is ſo much of fraud and in⯑juſtice. Againſt theſe their rights of men let no government look for ſecurity in the length of its continuance, or in the juſtice and lenity of its ad⯑miniſtration. The objections of theſe ſpeculatiſts, if its forms do not quadrate with their theories, are as valid againſt ſuch an old and beneficent government as againſt the moſt violent tyranny, or the greeneſt uſurpation. They are always at iſſue with govern⯑ments, not on a queſtion of abuſe, but a queſtion of competency, and a queſtion of title. I have nothing to ſay to the clumſy ſubtilty of their political meta⯑phyſics. Let them be their amuſement in the ſchools.‘—"Illâ ſe jaclet in auld—Aeolus, et clauſo ventorum carcere regnet."—’ But let them not break priſon to burſt like a Levanter, to ſweep the earth with their hurricane, and to break up the fountains of the great deep to overwhelm us.—Reflections on the Revo⯑lution in France.

LIBERTY. (SEE FREEDOM.)

LIBERTY, if I underſtand it at all, is a general principle, and the clear right of all the ſubjects [182] within the realm, or of none. Partial freedom ſeem to me a moſt invidious mode of ſlavery; but unfor⯑tunately, it is the kind of ſlavery the moſt eaſily ad⯑mitted in times of civil diſcord.—Letter to the She⯑riffs of Briſtol.

LIBERTY. Genuine Love of Liberty.

IT is but too true, that the love, and even the very idea, of genuine liberty, is extremely rare. It is but too true, that there are many, whoſe whole ſcheme of freedom is made up of pride, perverſeneſs, and inſo⯑lence. They feel themſelves in a ſtate of thraldom; they imagine that their ſouls are cooped and cabined in, unleſs they have ſome man, or ſome body of men, dependent on their mercy. This deſire of having ſome one below them, deſcends to thoſe who are the very loweſt of all; and a Proteſtant cobler, debaſed by his poverty, but exalted by his ſhare of the ruling church, feels a pride in knowing it is by his genero⯑ſity alone, that the peer, whoſe footman's inſtep he meaſures, is able to keep his chaplain from a jail. This diſpoſition is the true ſource of the paſſion which many men in very humble life have taken to the American war. Our ſubjects in America; our colo⯑nies; our dependants. This luſt of party power, is the liberty they hunger and thirſt for; and this Syren ſong of ambition, has charmed ears, that one would have thought were never organized to that ſort of muſic.—Ibid.

LIBERTY.

THE true danger is, when liberty is nibbled away, for expedients, and by parts.—Ibid.

LIBERTY, Without Wiſdom and Virtue, the greateſt of Evils.

THE effects of the incapacity ſhewn by the popular leaders in all the great members of the commonwealth are to be covered with the ‘"all-atoning name"’ of [183] liberty. In ſome people I ſee great liberty indeed; in many, if not in the moſt, an oppreſſive degrading ſervitude. But what is liberty without wiſdom, and without virtue? It is the greateſt of all poſſible evils; for it is folly, vice, and madneſs, without tuition or reſtraint. Thoſe who know what virtuous liberty is, cannot bear to ſee it diſgraced by incapable heads, on account of their having high-ſounding words in their mouths. Grand, ſwelling ſentiments of liberty, I am ſure I do not deſpiſe. They warm the heart; they enlarge and liberalize our minds; they animate our courage in a time of conflict.—

LIBERTY AND PEACE.

LIBERTY is a good to be improved, and not an evil to be leſſened. It is not only a private bleſſing of the firſt order, but the vital ſpring and energy of the ſtate itſelf, which has juſt ſo much life and vigour as there is liberty in it. But whether liberty be ad⯑vantageous or not, (for I know it is a faſhion to decry the very principle) none will diſpute that peace is a bleſſing; and peace muſt in the courſe of human affairs be frequently bought by ſome indulgence and toleration at leaſt to liberty.—Speech on Conciliation with America.

LIBERTY AND SERVITUDE.

A brave people will certainly prefer liberty, ac⯑companied with a virtuous poverty, to a depraved and wealthy ſervitude. But before the price of com⯑fort and opulence is paid, one ought to be pretty ſure it is real liberty which is purchaſed, and that ſhe is to be purchaſed at no other price. I ſhall always, however, conſider that liberty is very equivocal in her appearance, which has not wiſdom and juſtice for her companions; and does not lead proſperity and plenty in her train.—Reflections on the Revolu⯑tion in France.

LIFE.

TAKING in the whole view of life, it is more ſafe to live under the juriſdiction of ſevere but ſteady rea⯑ſon, than under the empire of indulgent, but capri⯑cious paſſion.—Appeal from the new to the old Whigs.

LEARNING. (SEE NOBILITY AND PRIESTHOOD.)

WE are but too apt to conſider things in the ſtate in which we find them, without ſufficiently adverting to the cauſes by which they have been produced, and poſſibly may be upheld. Nothing is more cer⯑tain, than that our manners, our civilization, and all the good things which are connected with manners, and with civilization, have, in this European world of ours, depended for ages upon two principles; and were indeed the reſult of both combined; I mean the ſpirit of a gentleman, and the ſpirit of religion. The nobility and the clergy, the one by profeſſion, the other by patronage, kept learning in exiſtence, even in the midſt of arms and confuſions, and whilſt governments were rather in their cauſes than formed. Learning paid back what it received to nobility and to prieſthood; and paid it with uſury, by enlarging their ideas, and by furniſhing their minds. Happy if they had all continued to know their indiſſoluble union, and their proper place! Happy if learning, not debauched by ambition, had been ſatisfied to continue the inſtructor, and not aſpired to be the maſter! Along with its natural protectors and guar⯑dians, learning will be caſt into the mire, and trodden down under the hoofs of a ſwiniſh multitude.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

LOVE. The phyſical Cauſe of Love.

WHEN we have before us ſuch objects as excite love and complacency, the body is affected, ſo far as I could obſerve, much in the following manner: The head reclines ſomething on one ſide; the eye⯑lids [185] are more cloſed than uſual, and the eyes roll gently with an inclination to the object; the mouth is a little opened, and the breath drawn ſlowly, with now and then a low ſigh; the whole body is com⯑poſed, and the hands fall idly to the ſides. All this is accompanied with an inward ſenſe of melting and languor. Theſe appearances are always propor⯑tioned to the degree of beauty in the object, and of ſenſibility in the obſerver. And this gradation from the higheſt pitch of beauty and ſenſibility, even to the loweſt of mediocrity and indifference, and their correſpondent effects, ought to be kept in view, elſe this deſcription will ſeem exaggerated, which it cer⯑tainly is not. But from this deſcription it is almoſt impoſſible not to conclude, that beauty acts by re⯑laxing the ſolids of the whole ſyſtem. There are all the appearances of ſuch a relaxation; and a relaxa⯑tion ſomewhat below the natural tone ſeems to me to be the cauſe of all poſitive pleaſure. Who is a ſtranger to that manner of expreſſion ſo common in all times and in all countries, of being ſoftened, re⯑laxed, enervated, diſſolved, melted away by plea⯑ſure? The univerſal voice of mankind, faithful to their feelings, concurs in affirming this uniform and general effect: and although ſome odd and particular inſtance may perhaps be found, wherein there ap⯑pears a conſiderable degree of poſitive pleaſure, without all the characters of relaxation, we muſt not therefore reject the concluſion we had drawn from a concurrence of many experiments; but we muſt ſtill retain it, ſubjoining the exceptions which may occur according to the judicious rule laid down by Sir Iſaac Newton in the third book of his Optics. Our poſition will, I conceive, appear confirmed beyond any reaſonable doubt, if we can ſhew that ſuch things as we have already obſerved to be the ge⯑nuine conſtituents of beauty, have each of them, ſeparately taken, a natural tendency to relax the fibres. And if it muſt be allowed us, that the ap⯑pearance of the human body, when all theſe con⯑ſtituents [186] are united together before the ſenſory, fur ther favours this opinion, we may venture, I believe, to conclude, that the paſſion called love is produced by this relaxation. By the ſame method of reaſon⯑ing which we have uſed in the enquiry into the cauſes of the ſublime, we may likewiſe conclude, that as a beautiful object preſented to the ſenſe, by cauſing a relaxation in the body, produces the paſ⯑ſion of love in the mind; ſo if by any means the paſſion ſhould firſt have its origin in the mind, a re⯑laxation of the outward organs will as certainly en⯑ſue in a degree proportioned to the cauſe.—Sublime and Beautiful.

LOVE (NOT ARISING FROM LUST.)

I likewiſe diſtinguiſh love, by which I mean that ſatisfaction which ariſes to the mind upon contem⯑plating any thing beautiful, of whatſoever nature it may be, from deſire or luſt; which is an energy of the mind, that hurries us on to the poſſeſſion of cer⯑tain objects, that do not affect us as they are beauti⯑ful, but by means altogether different. We ſhall have a ſtrong deſire for a woman of no remarkable beauty; whilſt the greateſt beauty in men, or in other animals, though it cauſes love, yet excites no⯑thing at all of deſire. Which ſhews that beauty, and the paſſion cauſed by beauty, which I call love, is different from deſire, though deſire may ſometimes operate along with it; but it is to this latter that we muſt attribute thoſe violent and tempeſtuous paſſions, and the conſequent emotions of the body which at⯑tend what is called love in ſome of its ordinary ac⯑ceptations, and not to the effects of beauty merely as it is ſuch.—Ibid.

LOVE AND ADMIRATION.

THERE is a wide difference between admiration and love. The ſublime, which is the cauſe of the [187] former, always dwells on great objects, and terrible; the latter on ſmall ones, and pleaſing; we ſubmit to what we admire, but we love what ſubmits to us; in one caſe we are forced, in the other we are flattered, into compliance.—

LOVER (FORSAKEN.)

IF you liſten to the complaints of a forſaken lover, you obſerve that he inſiſts largely on the plea⯑ſures which he enjoyed or hoped to enjoy, and on the perfection of the object of his deſires; it is the loſs which is always uppermoſt in his mind. The violent effects produced by love, which has ſometimes been even wrought up to madneſs, is no objection to the rule which we ſeek to eſtabliſh. When men have ſuffered their imaginations to be long affected with any idea, it ſo wholly engroſſes them as to ſhut out by degrees almoſt every other, and to break down every partition of the mind which would con⯑fine it. Any idea is ſufficient for the purpoſe, as is evident from the infinite variety of cauſes, which give riſe to madneſs; but this at moſt can only prove that the paſſion of love is capable of producing very extraordinary effects, not that its extraordinary emo⯑tions have any connection with poſitive pain.—Ibid.

LANGUAGE. Effects of outrageous Language. (See AMERICA.)

THIS outrageous language, (relative to America) which has been encouraged and kept alive by every art, has already done incredible miſchief. For a long time, even amidſt the deſolations of war, and the inſults of hoſtile laws daily accumulated on one another; the American leaders ſeem to have had the greateſt difficulty in bringing up their people to a declaration of total independence. But the Court Gazette accompliſhed what the abettors of indepen⯑dence had attempted in vain. When that diſinge⯑nuous compilation, and ſtrange medley of railing [188] and flattery, was adduced, as a proof of the united ſentiments of the people of Great Britain, there was a great change throughout all America. The tide of popular affection, which had ſtill ſet towards the parent country, began immediately to turn; and to ſlow with great rapidity in a contrary courſe. Far from concealing theſe wild declarations of enmity, the author of the celebrated pamphlet which prepared the minds of the people for independence, inſiſts largely on the multitude and the ſpirit of theſe ad⯑dreſſes; and he draws an argument from them, which (if the fact were as he ſuppoſes) muſt be irre⯑ſiſtible. For I never knew a writer on the theory of government ſo partial to authority, as not to allow, that the hoſtile mind of the rulers to their people, did fully juſtify a change of government; nor can any reaſon whatever be given, why one people ſhould voluntarily yield any degree of pre-eminence to another, but on a ſuppoſition of great affection and benevolence towards them. Unfortunately your ruler, truſting to other things, took no notice of this great principle of connexion. From the begin⯑ning of this affair, they have done all they could to alienate your minds from your own kindred; and if they could excite hatred enough in one of the parties towards the other, they ſeemed to be of opinion that they had gone half the way towards reconciling the quarrel.—Letter to the Sheriffs of Briſtol.

LOYALTY (TRUE)

CAN it be true loyalty to any government, or true patriotiſm towards any country, to degrade their ſolemn councils into ſervile drawing-rooms, to flatter their pride and paſſions, rather than to enlighten their reaſon, and to prevent them from being caution⯑ed againſt violence leſt others ſhould be encouraged to reſiſtance? By ſuch acquieſcence great kings and mighty nations have been undone; and if any are at this day in a perilous ſituation from rejecting [189] truth, and liſtening to flattery, it would rather become them to reform the errors under which they ſuffer, than to reproach thoſe who forewarned them of their danger.—

LEVELLERS.

THOSE who attempt to level, never equalize. In all ſocieties, conſiſting of various deſcriptions of citizens, ſome deſcription muſt be uppermoſt. The levellers therefore only change and pervert the na⯑tural order of things; they load the edifice of ſociety, by ſetting up in the air what the ſolidity of the ſtructure requires to be on the ground. The aſſociations of taylors and carpenters, of which the republic (of Paris, for inſtance) is compoſed, cannot be equal to the ſituation, into which, by the worſt of uſurpations, an uſurpation on the prerogatives of nature, you attempt to force them.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

LANDED PROPERTY. Laudable courſe of its Surplus.

WHY ſhould the expenditure of a great landed property, which is a diſperſion of the ſurplus product of the ſoil, appear intolerable to you or to me, when it takes its courſe through the accumulation of vaſt libraries, which are the hiſtory of the force and weakneſs of the human mind; through great col⯑lections of ancient records, medals, and coins, which atteſt and explain laws and cuſtoms; through paint⯑ings and ſtatues, that, by imitating nature, ſeem to extend the limits of creation; through grand monu⯑ments of the dead, which continue the regards and connexions of life beyond the grave; through col⯑lections of the ſpecimens of nature, which become a repreſentative aſſembly of all the claſſes and families of the world, that by diſpoſition facilitate, and, by exciting curioſity, open the avenues to ſcience? If, [190] by great permanent eſtabliſhments, all theſe objects of expence are better ſecured from the inconſtant ſport of perſonal caprice and perſonal extravagance, are they worſe than if the ſame taſtes prevailed in ſcattered individuals? Does not the ſweat of the maſon and carpenter, who toil in order to partake the ſweat of the peaſant, flow as pleaſantly and as ſalubriouſly, in the conſtruction and repair of the majeſtic edifices of religion, as in the painted booths and ſordid ſties of vice and luxury—

LANDED PROPERTY. Always diſſolving into Individuality.

THE very nature of a country life, the very nature of landed property, in all the occupations, and all the pleaſures they afford, render combination and arrangement (the ſole way of procuring and exerting influence) in a manner impoſſible amongſt country people. Combine them by all the art you can, and all the induſtry, they are always diſſolving into indi⯑viduality. Any thing in the nature of incorporation is almoſt impracticable amongſt them. Hope, fear, alarm, jealouſy, the ephemerous tale that does its buſineſs and dies in a day; all theſe things, which are the reins and ſpurs by which leaders check or urge the minds of followers, are not eaſily employed, or hardly at all, amongſt ſcattered people. They aſ⯑ſemble, they arm, they act with the utmoſt difficulty, and at the greateſt charge. Their efforts, if ever they can be commenced, cannot be ſuſtained. They cannot proceed ſyſtematically. If the country gen⯑tlemen attempt an influence through the mere income of their property, what is it to that of thoſe who have ten times their income to ſell, and who can ruin their property by bringing their plunder to meet it at market. If the landed man wiſhes to mortgage, he falls the value of his land, and raiſes the value of [191] aſſignats. He augments the power of his enemy by the very means he muſt take to contend with him. The country gentleman therefore, the officer by ſea and land, the man of liberal views and habits, at⯑tached to no profeſſion, will be as completely ex⯑cluded from the government of his country as if he were legiſlatively proſcribed. It is obvious, that in the towns, all the things which conſpire againſt the country gentleman, combine in favour of the money manager and director. In towns combination is natural. The habits of burghers, their occupations, their diverſion, their buſineſs, their idleneſs, conti⯑nually bring them into mutual contact. Their virtues and their vices are ſociable; they are always in garriſon; and they come embodied and half diſci⯑plined into the hands of thoſe who mean to form them for civil or for military action.—Ibid.

MINISTERS (FAVOURITES.) Effects of the Court Syſtem (Favouritiſm) on our fo⯑reign Affairs, on the Policy of our Government with regard to our Dependencies, and on the anterior Oeconomy of the Commonwealth, with ſome Obſer⯑vations on the grand Principle which firſt recom⯑mended this Syſtem at Court. (See KING'S MEN, CABINET (DOUBLE), POLICY.

A PLAN of favouritiſm for our executory govern⯑ment is eſſentially at variance with the plan of our legiſlature. One great end, undoubtedly, of a mixed government like ours, compoſed of monarchy, and of controuls, on the part of the higher people and the lower, is that the prince ſhall not be able to vio⯑late the laws. This is uſeful, indeed, and funda⯑mental; but this, even at firſt view, is no more than a negative advantage; an armour merely defenſive. It is therefore next in order, and equal in import⯑ance, that the diſcretionary powers which are neceſſarily [192] veſted in the monarch, whether for the execution of the [...], or for the nomination to magiſtracy and office, or for [...]ing the affairs of peace and war, or for or⯑dering the revenue, ſhould all be exerciſed upon public principles and national grounds, and not on the likings or prejudices, the intrigues or policies, of a court.—This, I ſaid, is equal in importance to the ſecuring a government according to law. The laws reach but a very little way.

Conſtitute government how you pleaſe, infinitely the greater part of it muſt depend upon the exer⯑ciſe of the powers which are left at large to the prudence and uprightneſs of miniſters of ſtate. Even all the uſe and potency of the laws depends upon them. Without them, your commonwealth is no better than a ſcheme upon paper; and not a living, acting, effective conſtitution. It is poſſible, that through negligence, or ignorance, or deſign artfully conducted, miniſters may ſuffer one part of govern⯑ment to languiſh, another to be perverted from its purpoſes, and every valuable intereſt of the country to fall into ruin and decay, without poſſibility of fixing any ſingle act on which a criminal proſecution can be juſtly grounded. The due arrangement of men in the active part of the ſtate, far from being foreign to the purpoſes of a wiſe government, ought to be among its very firſt and deareſt objects. When, therefore, the abettors of the new ſyſtem tell us, that between them and their oppoſers there is nothing but a ſtruggle for power, and that therefore we are no ways concerned in it; we muſt tell thoſe who have the impudence to inſult us in this manner, that of all things we ought to be the moſt concerned, who and what ſort of men they are, that hold the truſt of every thing that is dear to us. Nothing can render this a point of indifference to the nation, but what muſt either render us totally deſperate, or ſoothe us into the ſecurity of ideots. We muſt ſoften into a credulity below the milkineſs of infancy, to think all men virtuous. We muſt be tainted with a [193] malignity truly diabolical, to believe all the world to be equally wicked and corrupt. Men are in public life as in private, ſome good, ſome evil. The elevation of the one, and the depreſſion of the other, are the firſt objects of all true policy. But that form of government, which, neither in its direct inſtitu⯑tions, nor in their immediate tendency, has contrived to throw its affairs into the moſt truſt worthy hands, but has left its whole executory ſyſtem to be diſpoſed of agreeably to the uncontrouled pleaſure of any one man, however excellent or virtuous, is a plan of polity defective not only in that member, but con⯑ſequentially erroneous in every part of it.

In arbitrary governments, the conſtitution of the miniſtry follows the conſtitution of the legiſlature. Both the law and the magiſtrate are the creatures of will. It muſt be ſo. Nothing, indeed, will appear more certain, on any tolerable conſideration of this matter, than that every ſort of government ought to have its adminiſtration correſpondent to its legiſlature. If it ſhould be otherwiſe, things muſt fall into an hideous diſorder. The people of a free common⯑wealth, who have taken ſuch care that their laws ſhould be the reſult of general conſent, cannot be ſo ſenſeleſs as to ſuffer their executory ſyſtem to be compoſed of perſons on whom they have no de⯑pendance, and whom no proofs of the public love and confidence have recommended to thoſe powers, upon the uſe of which the very being of the ſtate depends.

The popular election of magiſtrates, and popular diſpoſition of rewards and honours, is one of the firſt advantages of a free ſtate. Without it, or ſomething equivalent to it, perhaps the people can⯑not long enjoy the ſubſtance of freedom; certainly none of the vivifying energy of good government. The frame of our commonwealth did not admit of ſuch an actual election: but it provided as well, and (while the ſpirit of the conſtitution is preſerved) [194] better for all the effects of it than by the method of ſuffrage in any democratic ſtate whatſoever. It had always, until of late, been held the firſt duty of Parliament, to refuſe to ſupport Government, until power was in the hands of perſons who were acceptable to the people, or while factions predominated in the Court in which the nation had no confidence. Thus all the good effects of popular election were ſuppoſed to be ſe⯑cured to us, without the miſchiefs attending on per⯑petual intrigue, and a diſtinct canvaſs for every par⯑ticular office throughout the body of the people. This was the moſt noble and refined part of our con⯑ſtitution. The people, by their repreſentatives and grandees, were intruſted with a deliberative power in making laws; the king with the controul of his negative. The king was intruſted with the delibe⯑rative choice and the election to office; the people had the negative in a parliamentary refuſal to ſupport. Formerly this power of controul was what kept miniſters in awe of parliaments, and parliaments in reverence with the people. If the uſe of this power of controul on the ſyſtem and perſons of admini⯑ſtration is gone, every thing is loſt, parliament and all. We may aſſure ourſelves, that if parliament will tamely ſee evil men take poſſeſſion of all the ſtrong holds of their country, and allow them time and means to fortify themſelves, under a pretence of giving them a fair trial, and upon a hope of diſcover⯑ing, whether they will not be reformed by power, and whether their meaſures will not be better than their morals; ſuch a parliament will give countenance to their meaſures alſo, whatever that parliament may pretend, and whatever thoſe meaſures may be.

Every good political inſtitution muſt have a pre⯑ventive operation as well as a remedial. It ought to have a natural tendency to exclude bad men from government, and not to truſt for the ſafety of the ſtate to ſubſequent puniſhment alone: puniſhment, which has ever been tardy and uncertain; and which, [195] when power is ſuffered in bad hands, may chance to fall rather on the injured than the criminal.

Before men are put forward into the great truſts of the ſtate, they ought by their conduct to have ob⯑tained ſuch a degree of eſtimation in their country, as may be ſome ſort of pledge and ſecurity to the public, that they will not abuſe thoſe truſts. It is no mean ſecurity for a proper uſe of power, that a man has ſhewn by the general tenor of his actions, that the affection, the good opinion, the confidence, of his fellow citizens have been among the principal objects of his life; and that he has owed none of the gradations of his power or fortune to a ſettled con⯑tempt, or occaſional forfeiture of their eſteem.

That man who before he comes into power has no friends, or who coming into power is obliged to deſert his friends, or who loſing it has no friends to ſym⯑pathize with him; he who has no ſway among any part of the landed or commercial intereſt, but whoſe whole importance has begun with his office, and is ſure to end with it; is a perſon who ought never to be ſuffered by a controuling parliament to continue in any of thoſe ſituations which confer the lead and direction of all our public affairs; becauſe ſuch a man has no connexion with the intereſt of the people.

Thoſe knots or cabals of men who have got toge⯑ther, avowedly without any public principle, in order to ſell their conjunct iniquity at the higher rate, and are therefore univerſally odious, ought never to be ſuffered to domineer in the ſtate; be⯑cauſe they have no connexion with the ſentiments and opinions of the people.

Theſe are conſiderations which in my opinion enforce the neceſſity of having ſome better reaſon, in a free country, and a free parliament, for ſup⯑porting the miniſters of the crown, than that ſhort one, That the king has thought proper to appoint them. There is ſomething very courtly in this. But it is a principle pregnant with all ſorts of miſchief, in a [196] conſtitution like ours, to turn the views of active men from the country to the court. Whatever be the road to power, that is the road which will be trod. If the opinion of the country be of no uſe as a means of power or conſideration, the qualities which uſually procure that opinion will be no longer cultivated. And whether it will be right, in a ſtate ſo popular in its conſtitution as ours, to leave ambi⯑tion without popular motives, and to truſt all to the operation of pure virtue in the minds of kings and miniſters, and public men, muſt be ſubmitted to the judgment and good ſenſe of the people of England.

Cunning men are here apt to break in, and, with⯑out directly controverting the principle, to raiſe ob⯑jections from the difficulty under which the ſovereign labours to diſtinguiſh the genuine voice and ſenti⯑ments of his people, from the clamour of a faction, by which it is ſo eaſily counterfeited. The nation, they ſay, is generally divided into parties, with views and paſſions utterly irreconcileable. If the king ſhould put his affairs into the hands of any one of them, he is ſure to diſguſt the reſt; if he ſelect par⯑ticular men from among them all, it is an hazard that he diſguſts them all. Thoſe who are left out, however divided before, will ſoon run into a body of oppoſition; which, being a collection of many diſcontents into one focus, will without doubt be hot and violent enough. Faction will make its cries reſound through the nation, as if the whole were in an uproar, when by far the majority, and much the better part, will ſeem for a while as it were annihi⯑lated by the quiet in which their virtue and modera⯑tion incline them to enjoy the bleſſings of govern⯑ment. Beſides that the opinion of the mere vulgar is a miſerable rule even with regard to themſelves, on account of their violence and inſtability. So that if you were to gratify them in their humour to⯑day, that very gratification would be a ground of their diſſatisfaction on the next. Now as all theſe [197] rules of public opinion are to be collected with great difficulty, and to be applied with equal uncer⯑tainty as to the effect, what better can a king of England do, than to employ ſuch men as he finds to have views and inclinations moſt conformable to his own; who are leaſt infected with pride and ſelf will, and who are leaſt moved by ſuch popular humours as are perpetually traverſing his deſigns, and diſturb⯑ing his ſervice; truſting that, when he means no ill to his people, he will be ſupported in his appoint⯑ments, whether he chooſes to keep or to change, as his private judgment or his pleaſure leads him? He will find a ſure reſource in the real weight and in⯑fluence of the crown, when it is not ſuffered to be⯑come an inſtrument in the hands of a faction.

I will not pretend to ſay that there is nothing at all in this mode of reaſoning; becauſe I will not aſſert that there is no difficulty in the art of govern⯑ment. Undoubtedly the very beſt adminiſtration muſt encounter a great deal of oppoſition; and the very worſt will find more ſupport than it deſerves. Sufficient appearances will never be wanting to thoſe who have a mind to deceive themſelves. It is a fallacy in conſtant uſe with thoſe who would level all things, and confound right with wrong, to inſiſt upon the inconveniencies which are attached to every choice, without taking into conſideration the diffe⯑rent weight and conſequence of thoſe inconvenien⯑cies. The queſtion is not concerning abſolute diſ⯑content or perfect ſatisfaction in government; nei⯑ther of which can be pure and unmixed at any time, or upon any ſyſtem. The controverſy is about that degree of good humour in the people, which may poſſibly be attained, and ought certainly to be looked for. While ſome politicians may be waiting to know whether the ſenſe of every individual be againſt them, accurately diſtinguiſhing the vulgar from the better ſort, drawing lines between the enterprizes of a faction and the efforts of a people, they may chance [198] to ſee the government, which they are ſo nicely weighing and dividing, and diſtinguiſhing, tumble to the ground in the midſt of their wiſe deliberation. Prudent men, when ſo great an object as the ſecurity of government, or even its peace, is at ſtake, will not run the riſk of a deciſion which may be fatal to it. They who can read the political ſky will ſee an hurricane in a cloud no bigger than an hand at the very edge of the horizon, and will run into the firſt harbour. No lines can be laid down for civil or political wiſdom. They are a matter incapable of exact definition. But, though no man can draw a ſtroke between the confines of day and night, yet light and darkneſs are upon the whole tolerably diſ⯑tinguiſhable. Nor will it be impoſſible for a prince to find out ſuch a mode of government, and ſuch perſons to adminiſter it, as will give a great degree of content to his people; without any curious and anxious reſearch for that abſtract, univerſal, perfect harmony, which while he is ſeeking, he abandons thoſe means of ordinary tranquillity which are in his power without any reſearch at all.

It is not more the duty than it is the intereſt of a prince, to aim at giving tranquillity to his govern⯑ment. But thoſe who adviſe him may have an in⯑tereſt in diſorder and confuſion. If the opinion of the people is againſt them, they will naturally wiſh that it ſhould have no prevalence. Here it is that the people muſt on their part ſhew themſelves ſenſi⯑ble of their own value. Their whole importance, in the firſt inſtance, and afterwards their whole free⯑dom, is at ſtake. Their freedom cannot long ſur⯑vive their importance. Here it is that the natural ſtrength of the kingdom, the great peers, the leading landed gentlemen, the opulent merchants and manu⯑facturers, the ſubſtantial yeomanry, muſt interpoſe, to reſcue their prince, themſelves, and their poſterity.—Ibid.

MINISTERS. Character of the interior Miniſtry, (See CABINET (DOUBLE.)

THE interior miniſtry are ſenſible, that war is a ſituation which ſets in its full light the value of the hearts of a people; and they well know, that the be⯑ginning of the importance of the people muſt be the end of theirs. For this reaſon they diſcover upon all occaſions the utmoſt fear of every thing, which by poſſibility may lead to ſuch an event. I do not mean that they manifeſt any of that pious fear which is backward to commit the ſafety of the country to the dubious experiment of war. Such a fear, being the tender ſenſation of virtue, excited, as it is regu⯑lated, by reaſon, frequently ſhews itſelf in a ſeaſon⯑able boldneſs, which keeps danger at a diſtance, by ſeeming to deſpiſe it. Their fear betrays to the firſt glance of the eye, its true cauſe, and its real object. Foreign powers, confident in the knowledge of their character, have not ſcrupled to violate the moſt ſo⯑lemn treaties; and, in defiance of them, to make conqueſts in the midſt of a general peace, and in the heart of Europe. Such was the conqueſt of Corſica, by the profeſſed enemies of the freedom of mankind, in defiance of thoſe who were formerly its profeſſed defenders. We have had juſt claims upon the ſame powers; rights which ought to have been ſacred to them as well as to us, as they had their origin in our lenity and generoſity towards France and Spain in the day of their great humiliation. Such I call the ran⯑ſom of Manilla, and the demand on France for the Eaſt India priſoners. But theſe powers put a juſt confidence in their reſource of the double cabinet. Theſe demands (one of them at leaſt) are haſtening faſt towards an acquittal by preſcription. Oblivion begins to ſpread her cobwebs over all our ſpirited remonſtrances. Some of the moſt valuable branches of our trade are alſo on the point of periſhing from [200] the ſame cauſe. I do not mean thoſe branches which bear without the hand of the vine-dreſſer; I mean thoſe which the policy of treaties had formerly ſe⯑cured to us; I mean to mark and diſtinguiſh the trade of Portugal, the loſs of which, and the power of the cabal, have one and the ſame aera.

If, by any chance, the miniſters who ſtand before the curtain poſſeſs or affect any ſpirit, it makes little or no impreſſion. Foreign courts and miniſters, who were among the firſt to diſcover and to profit by this invention of the double cabinet, attend very little to their remonſtrances. They know that thoſe ſhadows of miniſters have nothing to do in the ultimate diſ⯑poſal of things. Jealouſies and animoſities are ſedu⯑louſly nouriſhed in the outward adminiſtration, and have been even conſidered as a cauſa ſine qua non in its conſtitution: thence foreign courts have a cer⯑tainty, that nothing can be done by common counſel in this nation. If one of thoſe miniſters officially takes up a buſineſs with ſpirit, it ſerves only the better to ſignalize the meanneſs of the reſt, and the diſcord of them all. His colleagues in office are in haſte to ſhake him off, and to diſclaim the whole of his proceedings. Of this nature was that aſtoniſhing tranſaction, in which Lord Rochford, our ambaſſador at Paris, remonſtrated againſt the attempt upon Cor⯑ſica, in conſequence of a direct authority from Lord Shelburne. This remonſtrance the French miniſter treated with the contempt that was natural; as he was aſſured, from the ambaſſador of his court to ours, that theſe orders of Lord Shelburne were not ſup⯑ported by the reſt of the (I had like to have ſaid Britiſh) adminiſtration. Lord Rochford, a man of ſpirit, could not endure this ſituation. The conſe⯑quences were, however, curious. He returns from Paris, and comes home full of anger. Lord Shel⯑burne, who gave the orders, is obliged to give up the ſeals. Lord Rochford, who obeyed theſe orders, receives them. He goes, however, into another [201] department of the ſame office, that he might not be obliged officially to acquieſce in one ſituation under what he had officially remonſtrated againſt in another. At Paris, the Duke of Choiſcul conſidered this office arrangement as a compliment to him: here it was ſpoke of as an attention to the delicacy of Lord Rochford. But whether the compliment was to one or both, to this nation it was the ſame. By this tranſaction the condition of our court lay expoſed in all its nakedneſs. Our office correſpondence has loſt all pretence to authenticity; Britiſh policy is brought into deriſion in thoſe nations, that a while ago trembled at the power of our arms, whilſt they looked up with confidence to the equity, firmneſs, and candour, which ſhone in all our negotiations. I repreſent this matter exactly in the light in which it has been univerſally received.

Such has been the aſpect of our foreign politics, under the influence of a double cabinet. With ſuch an arrangement at court, it is impoſſible it ſhould have been otherwiſe. Nor is it poſſible that this ſcheme ſhould have a better effect upon the govern⯑ment of our dependencies, the firſt, the deareſt, and moſt delicate objects, of the interior policy of this empire. The colonies know, that adminiſtration is ſeparated from the court, divided within itſelf, and deteſted by the nation. The double cabinet has, in both the parts of it, ſhewn the moſt malignant diſpo⯑ſitions towards them, without being able to do them the ſmalleſt miſchief.

They are convinced, by ſufficient experience, that no plan, either of lenity or rigour, can be pur⯑ſued with uniformity and perſeverance. Therefore they turn their eyes entirely from Great Britain, where they have neither dependence on friendſhip, nor apprehenſion from enmity. They look to them⯑ſelves, and their own arrangements. They grow every day into alienation from this country; and whilſt they are becoming diſconnected with our go⯑vernment, [202] we have not the conſolation to find, that they are even friendly in their new independence. Nothing can equal the futility, the weakneſs, the raſhneſs, the timidity, the perpetual contradiction, in the management of our affairs in that part of the world. A volume might be written on this melan⯑choly ſubject; but it were better to leave it entirely to the reflexions of the reader himſelf than not to treat it in the extent it deſerves.

In what manner our domeſtic oeconomy is affected by this ſyſtem, it is needleſs to explain. It is the perpetual ſubject of their own complaints.

The court party reſolve the whole into faction. Having ſaid ſomething before upon this ſubject, I ſhall only obſerve here, that when they give this account of the prevalence of faction, they preſent no very favourable aſpect of the confidence of the people in their own government. They may be aſſured, that however they amuſe themſelves with a variety of projects for ſubſtituting ſomething elſe in the place of that great and only foundation of go⯑vernment, the confidence of the people, every attempt will but make their condition worſe. When men imagine that their food is only a cover for poiſon, and when they neither love nor truſt the hand that ſerves it, it is not the name of the roaſt beef of Old England, that will perſuade them to ſit down to the table that is ſpread for them. When the people conceive that laws, and tribunals, and even popular aſſemblies, are perverted from the ends of their inſtitution, they find in thoſe names of degenerated eſtabliſhments only new motives to diſcontent. Thoſe bodies, which, when full of life and beauty, lay in their arms, and were their joy and comfort, when dead and putrid, become but the more loathſome from remembrance of former endearments. A ſullen gloom, and furious diſorder, prevail by fits; the nation loſes its reliſh for peace and proſperity, as it did in that ſeaſon of fullneſs [203] which opened our troubles in the time of Charles the Firſt. A ſpecies of men to whom a ſtate of order would become a ſentence of obſcurity, are nouriſhed into a dangerous magnitude by the heat of inteſtine diſturbances; and it is no wonder that, by a ſort of ſiniſter piety, they cheriſh, in their turn, the diſ⯑orders which are the parents of all their conſequence. Superficial obſervers conſider ſuch perſons as the cauſe of the public uneaſineſs, when, in truth, they are nothing more than the effect of it. Good men look upon this diſtracted ſcene with ſorrow and in⯑dignation. Their hands are tied behind them. They are deſpoiled of all the power which might enable them to reconcile the ſtrength of government with the rights of the people. They ſtand in a moſt diſtreſſing alternative. But in the election among evils they hope better things from temporary con⯑fuſion, than from eſtabliſhed ſervitude. In the mean time, the voice of law is not to be heard. Fierce licentiouſneſs begets violent reſtraints. The military arm is the ſole reliance; and then, call your conſtitution what you pleaſe, it is the ſword that governs. The civil power, like every other that calls in the aid of an ally ſtronger than itſelf, periſhes by the aſſiſtance it recieves. But the contrivers of this ſcheme of government will not truſt ſolely to the military power; becauſe they are cunning men. Their reſtleſs and crooked ſpirit drives them to rake in the dirt of every kind of expedient. Unable to rule the multitude, they endeavour to raiſe diviſions amongſt them. One mob is hired to deſtroy another; a procedure which at once encourages the boldneſs of the populace, and juſtly increaſes their diſcontent. Men become penſioners of ſtate on account of their abilities in the array of riot, and the diſcipline of confuſion. Government is put under the diſgraceful neceſſity of protecting from the ſeverity of the laws that very licentiouſneſs, which the laws had been before violated to repreſs. Every thing partakes of [204] the original diſorder. Anarchy predominates without freedom, and ſervitude without ſubmiſſion or ſubor⯑dination. Theſe are the conſequences inevitable to our public peace, from the ſcheme of rendering the executory government at once odious and feeble; of freeing adminiſtration from the conſtitutional and ſalutary controul of parliament, and inventing for it a new controul, unknown to the conſtitution, an interior cabinet; which brings the whole body of government into confuſion and contempt.

After having ſtated, as ſhortly as I am able, the effects of this ſyſtem on our foreign affairs, on the policy of our government with regard to our depen⯑dencies, and on the interior oeconomy of the com⯑monwealth; there remains only, in this part of my deſign, to ſay ſomething of the grand principle which firſt recommended this ſyſtem at court. The pretence was, to prevent the king from being enſlaved by a faction, and made a priſoner in his cloſet. This ſcheme might have been expected to anſwer at leaſt its own end, and to indemnify the king, in his per⯑ſonal capacity, for all the confuſion into which it has thrown his government. But has it in reality anſwered this purpoſe? I am ſure, if it had, every affectionate ſubject would have one motive for endur⯑ing with patience all the evils which attend it.

In order to come at the truth in this matter, it may not be amiſs to conſider it ſomewhat in detail. I ſpeak here of the king, and not of the crown; the intereſts of which we have already touched. Inde⯑pendent of that greatneſs which a king poſſeſſes merely by being a repreſentative of the national dig⯑nity, the things in which he may have an individual intereſt ſeem to be theſe: wealth accumulated; wealth ſpent in magnificence, pleaſure, or beneficence; per⯑ſonal reſpect and attention; and above all, private eaſe and repoſe of mind. Theſe compoſe the in⯑ventory of proſperous circumſtances, whether they regard a prince or a ſubject; their enjoyments differ⯑ing only in the ſcales upon which they are formed.

[205]Suppoſe then we were to aſk, whether the king has been richer than his predeceſſors in accumu⯑lated wealth, ſince the eſtabliſhment of the plan of favouritiſm? I believe it will be found that the pic⯑ture of royal indigence which our court has pre⯑ſented until this year, has been truly humiliating. Nor has it been relieved from this unſeemly diſtreſs, but by means which have hazarded the affection of the people, and ſhaken their confidence in parlia⯑ment. If the public treaſures had been exhauſted in magnificence and ſplendour, this diſtreſs would have been accounted for, and in ſome meaſure juſtified. Nothing would be more unworthy of this nation, than with a mean and mechanical rule, to mete out the ſplendour of the crown. Indeed I have found very few perſons diſpoſed to ſo ungenerous a pro⯑cedure. But the generality of people, it muſt be confeſſed, do feel a good deal mortified, when they compare the wants of the court with its expences. They do not behold the cauſe of this diſtreſs in any part of the apparatus of royal magnificence. In all this, they ſee nothing but the operations of parſi⯑mony, attended with all the conſequences of profu⯑ſion. Nothing expended, nothing ſaved. Their wonder is encreaſed by their knowledge, that beſides the revenue ſettled on his majeſty's civil liſt to the amount of 800,000 l. a year, he has a farther aid, from a large penſion liſt, near 90,000 l. a year, in Ireland; from the produce of the dutchy of Lan⯑caſter (which we are told has been greatly improved); from the revenue of the dutchy of Cornwall; from the American quit-rents; from the four and a half per cent. duty in the Leeward Iſlands; this laſt worth to be ſure conſiderably more than 40,000 l. a year. The whole is certainly not much ſhort of a million annually.

Theſe are revenues within the knowledge and cognizance of our national councils. We have no direct right to examine into the receipts from his [206] majeſty's German dominions, and the biſhopric of Oſnabrug. This is unqueſtionably true. But that which is not within the province of parliament, is yet within the ſphere of every man's own reflexion. If a foreign prince reſided amongſt us, the ſtate of his revenues could not fail of becoming the ſubject of our ſpeculation. Filled with an anxious concern for whatever regards the welfare of our ſovereign, it is impoſſible, in conſidering the miſerable circumſtances into which he has been brought, that this obvious topic ſhould be entirely paſſed over. There is an opinion univerſal, that theſe revenues produce ſome⯑thing not inconſiderable, clear of all charges and eſtabliſhments. This produce the people do not be⯑lieve to be hoarded, nor perceive to be ſpent. It is accounted for in the only manner it can, by ſuppoſing that it is drawn away, for the ſupport of that court faction, which, whilſt it diſtreſſes the nation, impo⯑veriſhes the prince in every one of his reſources. I once more caution the reader, that I do not urge this conſideration concerning the foreign revenue, as if I ſuppoſed we had a direct right to examine into the ex⯑penditure of any part of it; but ſolely for the pur⯑poſe of ſhewing how little this ſyſtem of favouritiſm has been advantageous to the monarch himſelf; which, without magnificence, has ſunk him into a ſtate of unnatural poverty; at the ſame time that he poſſeſſed every means of affluence, from ample re⯑venues, both in this country, and in other parts of his dominions.

Has this ſyſtem provided better for the treatment becoming his high and ſacred character, and ſecured the king from thoſe diſguſts attached to the neceſſity of employing men who are not perſonally agreeable? This is a topic upon which for many reaſons I could wiſh to be ſilent; but the pretence of ſecuring againſt ſuch cauſes of uneaſineſs, is the corner-ſtone of the court party. It has, however, ſo happened, that if I were to fix upon any one point, in which this ſyſ⯑tem [207] has been more particularly and ſhamefully blame⯑able, the effects which it has produced would juſtify me in chooſing for that point its tendency to degrade the perſonal dignity of the ſovereign, and to expoſe him to a thouſand contradictions and mortifications. It is but too evident in what manner theſe projectors of royal greatneſs have fulfilled all their magnificent promiſes. Without recapitulating all the circum⯑ſtances of the reign, every one of which is more or leſs a melancholy proof of the truth of what I have advanced, let us conſider the language of the court but a few years ago, concerning moſt of the perſons now in the external adminiſtration: let me aſk, whether any enemy to the perſonal feelings of the ſovereign, could poſſibly contrive a keener inſtru⯑ment of mortification, and degradation of all dig⯑nity, than almoſt every part and member of the pre⯑ſent arrangement? nor, in the whole courſe of our hiſtory, has any compliance with the will of the peo⯑ple ever been known to extort from any prince a greater contradiction to all his own declared affecti⯑ons and diſlikes than that which is now adopted, in direct oppoſition to every thing the people approve and deſire.

An opinion prevails, that greatneſs has been more than once adviſed to ſubmit to certain condeſcen⯑ſions towards individuals, which have been denied to the entreaties of a nation. For the meaneſt and moſt dependent inſtrument of this ſyſtem knows, that there are hours when its exiſtence may depend upon his adherence to it; and he takes his advantage accordingly. Indeed it is a law of nature, that whoever is neceſſary to what we have made our ob⯑ject, is ſure, in ſome way, or in ſome time or other, to become our maſter. All this, however, is ſub⯑mitted to, in order to avoid that monſtrous evil of governing in concurrence with the opinion of the people. For it ſeems to be laid down as a maxim, [208] that a king has ſome ſort of intereſt in giving un⯑eaſineſs to his ſubjects: that all who are pleaſing to them, are to be of courſe diſagreeable to him: that as ſoon as the perſons who are odious at court are known to be odious to the people, it is ſnatched at as a lucky occaſion of ſhowering down upon them all kinds of emoluments and honours. None are conſidered as well-wiſhers to the crown, but thoſe who adviſe to ſome unpopular courſe of action; none capable of ſerving it, but thoſe who are obliged to call at every inſtant upon all its power for the ſafety of their lives. None are ſuppoſed to be fit prieſts in the temple of government, but the perſons who are compelled to fly into it for ſanctuary. Such is the effect of this refined project; ſuch is ever the reſult of all the contrivances which are uſed to free men from the ſervitude of their reaſon, and from the neceſſity of ordering their affairs according to their evident intereſts. Theſe contrivances oblige them to run into a real and ruinous ſervitude, in order to avoid a ſuppoſed reſtraint that might be attended with advantage.

If, therefore, this ſyſtem has ſo ill anſwered its own grand pretence of ſaving the king from the neceſſity of employing perſons diſagreeable to him, has it given more peace and tranquillity to his majeſty's private hours? No, moſt certainly. The father of his people cannot poſſibly enjoy repoſe, while his family is in ſuch a ſtate of diſtraction. Then what has the crown or the king profitted by all this fine-wrought ſcheme? Is he more rich, or more ſplendid, or more powerful, or more at his eaſe, by ſo many labours and contrivances? Have they not beggared his exchequer, tarniſhed the ſplen⯑dour of his court, ſunk his dignity, galled his feel⯑ings, diſcompoſed the whole order and happineſs of his private life.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

MATERNAL INDULGENCE.

THE authority of a father, ſo uſeful to our well-being, and ſo juſtly venerable upon all accounts, hinders us from having that entire love for him that we have for our mothers, where the parental authority is almoſt melted down into the mother's fondneſs and indulgence. But we generally have a great love for our grandfathers, in whom this authority is re⯑moved a degree from us, and where the weakneſs of age mellows it into ſomething of a feminine par⯑tiality.—Sublime and Beautiful.

MUSIC.

THE beautiful in muſic will not bear that loudneſs and ſtrength of ſounds, which may be uſed to raiſe other paſſions; nor notes, which are ſhrill or harſh, or deep; it agrees beſt with ſuch as are clear, even, ſmooth, and weak. The ſecond is, that great variety and quick tranſitions from one meaſure or tone to another, are contrary to the genius of the beautiful in muſic. Such^* tranſitions often excite mirth, or other ſudden and tumultuous paſſions; but not that ſinking, that melting, that languor, which is the cha⯑racteriſtical effect of the beautiful as it regards every ſenſe. The paſſion excited by beauty, is, in fact, nearer to a ſpecies of a melancholy, than to jollity and mirth. I do not here mean to confine muſic to any one ſpecies of notes, or tones, neither is it an art in which I can ſay I have any great ſkill. My ſole deſign in this remark is, to ſettle a conſiſtent idea of beauty. The infinite variety of the affections of the ſoul will ſuggeſt to a good head, and ſkilful ear, a variety of ſuch ſounds as are fitted to raiſe them.—Ibid.

MANNERS.

MANNERS are of more importance than laws. In a great meaſure the laws depend upon them. The law touches us but here and there, and now and then. Manners are what vex or ſooth, corrupt or purify, exalt or debaſe, barbarize or refine us, by a conſtant, ſteady, uniform, inſenſible operation, like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole form and colour to our lives. According to their quality, they aid morals, they ſupply them, or they totally deſtroy them. Of this the new French Legiſlators were aware; therefore, with the ſame method, and under the ſame authority, they ſettled a ſyſtem of manners, the moſt licentious, proſtitute, and abandoned, and, at the ſame time, the moſt coarſe, rude, ſavage, and ſerocious. Nothing in the Revolution, no, not to a phraſe or a geſture, not to the faſhion of a hat or a ſhoe, was left to accident. All was the reſult of deſign; all was matter of inſtitu⯑tion. No mechanical means could be deviſed in fa⯑vour of this incredible ſyſtem of wickedneſs and vice, that has not been employed. The nobleſt paſſions, the love of glory, the love of country, were debauched into means of it's preſervation and it's propagation. All ſorts of ſhews and exhibitions calculated to inflame and vitiate the imagination, and pervert the moral ſenſe, have been contrived. They have ſometimes brought forth five or ſix hundred drunken women, calling at the bar of the Aſſembly for the blood of their own children, as being royal⯑iſts or conſtitutionals. Sometimes they have got a body of wretches, calling themſelves fathers, to de⯑mand the murder of their ſons; boaſting that Rome had but one Brutus, but that they could ſhew five hundred. There were inſtances, in which they in⯑verted, and retaliated the impiety, and produced ſons, who called for the execution of their parents. The foundation of their republic is founded in moral [211] paradoxes. Their patriotiſm is always prodigy. All thoſe inſtances to be found in hiſtory, whether real or fabulous, of a doubtful public ſpirit, at which morality is perplexed, reaſon is ſtaggered, and from which a frighted nature recoils, are their choſen, and almoſt ſole examples for the inſtruction of their youth.—

MANNERS (MODERN.)

THE royal houſehold has been carried away by the reſiſtleſs tide of manners: but with this very material difference; private men have got rid of the eſtabliſhments along with the reaſons of them; whereas the royal houſehold has loſt all that was ſtately and venerable in the antique manners, with⯑out retrenching any thing of the cumbrous charge of a Gothic eſtabliſhment. It is ſhrunk into the poliſhed littleneſs of modern elegance and perſonal accommodation; it has evaporated from the groſs concrete, into an eſſence and rectified ſpirit of ex⯑pence, where you have tuns of antient pomp in a vial of modern luxury.—Oecon. Reform.

MARRIAGE.

OTHER Legiſlators, knowing that marriage is the origin of all relations, and conſequently the firſt element of all duties, have endeavoured, by every art, to make it ſacred. The Chriſtian religion, by confining it to the pairs, and by rendering that rela⯑tion indiſſoluble, has, by theſe two things, done more towards the peace, happineſs, ſettlement, and civili⯑zation of the world, than by any other part in this whole ſcheme of Divine Wiſdom. The direct con⯑trary courſe was taken in the Synagogue of Anti⯑chriſt, I mean in that forge and manufactory of all [212] evil, the ſect which predominated in the Conſtituent Aſſembly of 1789. Thoſe monſters employed the ſame, or greater induſtry, to deſecrate and degrade that State, which other Legiſlators have uſed to ren⯑der it holy and honourable. By a ſtrange, uncalled for declaration, they pronounced, that marriage was no better than a common, civil contract. It was one of their ordinary tricks, to put their ſentiments into the mouths of certain perſonated characters, which they theatrically exhibited at the bar of what ought to be a ſerious Aſſembly. One of theſe was brought out in the figure of a proſtitute, whom they called by the affected name of ‘"a mother without being a wife."’ This creature they made to call for a repeal of the incapacities, which in civilized States are put upon baſtards. The proſtitutes of the Aſ⯑ſembly gave to this their puppet, the ſanction of their greater impudence. In conſequence of the principles laid down, and the manners authoriſed, baſtards were not long after put on the footing of the iſſue of lawful unions. Proceeding in the ſpirit of the firſt authors of their conſtitution, they went the full length of the principle, and gave a licence to divorce at the mere pleaſure of either party, and at four day's notice. With them the matrimonial connexion was brought into ſo degrading a ſtate of concubinage, that, I believe, none of the wretches in London, who keep warehouſes of infamy, would give out one of their victims to private cuſtody on ſo ſhort and inſolent a tenure. There was, indeed, a kind of profligate equity in thus giving to women the ſame licentious power. The reaſon they aſſigned was as infamous as the act, declaring that women had been too long under the tyranny of parents and of huſbands. It is not neceſſary to obſerve upon the horrible conſequences of taking one half of the ſpe⯑cies wholly out of the guardianſhip and protection of the other.—Regicide Peace.

MONASTIC INSTITUTIONS.

THERE are moments in the fortune of ſtates when particular men are called to make improvements by great mental exertion. In thoſe moments, even when they ſeem to enjoy the confidence of their prince and country, and to be inveſted with full au⯑thority, they have not always apt inſtruments. A politician, to do great things, looks for a power, what our workmen call a purchaſe; and if he finds that power, in politics as in mechanics, he cannot be at a loſs to apply it. In the monaſtic inſtitutions, in my opinion, was found a great power for the mechaniſm of politic benevolence. There were revenues with a public direction; there were men wholly ſet apart and dedicated to public purpoſes, without any other than public ties and public principles; men without the poſſibility of converting the eſtate of the commu⯑nity into a private fortune; men denied to ſelf-intereſts, whoſe avarice is for ſome community; men to whom perſonal poverty is honour, and im⯑plicit obedience ſtands in the place of freedom. In vain ſhall a man look to the poſſibility of making ſuch things when he wants them. The winds blow as they liſt. Theſe inſtitutions are the products of enthuſiaſm; they are the inſtruments of wiſdom. Wiſdom cannot create materials; they are the gifts of nature or of chance; her pride is in the uſe. The perennial exiſtence of bodies corporate and their for⯑tunes, are things particularly ſuited to a man who has long views; who meditates deſigns that require time in faſhioning; and which propoſe duration when they are accompliſhed. He is not deſerving to rank high, or even to be mentioned in the order of great ſtateſmen, who, having obtained the command and direction of ſuch a power as exiſted in the wealth, the diſcipline, and the habits of ſuch corporations, as thoſe which you have raſhly deſtroyed, cannot find any way of converting it to the great and laſting [214] benefit of his country. On the view of this ſubject a thouſand uſes ſuggeſt themſelves to a contriving mind. To deſtroy any power, growing wild from the rank productive force of the human mind, is almoſt tantamount, in the moral world, to the de⯑ſtruction of the apparently active properties of bodies in the material. It would be like the attempt to de⯑ſtroy (if it were in our competence to deſtroy) the expanſive force of fixed air in nitre, or the power of ſteam, or of electricity, or of magnetiſm. Theſe energies always exiſted in nature, and they were al⯑ways diſcernible. They ſeemed, ſome of them un⯑ſerviceable, ſome noxious, ſome no better than a ſport to children; until contemplative ability, com⯑bining with practic ſkill, tamed their wild nature, ſubdued them to uſe, and rendered them at once the moſt powerful and the moſt tractable agents, in ſub⯑ſervience to the great views and deſigns of men. Did fifty thouſand perſons, whoſe mental and whoſe bodily labour you might direct, and ſo many hun⯑dred thouſand a year of a revenue, which was nei⯑ther lazy nor ſuperſtitious, appear too big for your abilities to wield? Had you no way of uſing the men but by converting monks into penſioners? Had you no way of turning the revenue to account, but through the improvident reſource of a ſpendthrift ſale? If you were thus deſtitute of mental funds, the proceeding is in its natural courſe. Your politicians do not underſtand their trade; and therefore they ſell their tools.

But the inſtitutions favour of ſuperſtition in their very principle; and they nouriſh it by a permanent and ſtanding influence. This I do not mean to diſpute; but this ought not to hinder you from de⯑riving from ſuperſtition itſelf any reſources which may thence be furniſhed for the public advantage. You derive benefits from many diſpoſitions and many paſſions of the human mind, which are of as doubtful a colour in the moral eye, as ſuperſtition itſelf. It [215] was your buſineſs to correct and mitigate every thing which was noxious in this paſſion, as in all the paſ⯑ſions. But is ſuperſtition the greateſt of all poſſible vices? In its poſſible exceſs I think it becomes a very great evil. It is, however, a moral ſubject; and, of courſe, admits of all degrees and all modifi⯑cations. Superſtition is the religion of feeble minds; and they muſt be tolerated in an intermixture of it, in ſome trifling or ſome enthuſiaſtic ſhape or other, elſe you will deprive weak minds of a reſource found neceſſary to the ſtrongeſt. The body of all true religion conſiſts, to be ſure, in obedience to the will of the ſovereign of the world; in a confidence in his declarations; and an imitation of his perfections. The reſt is our own. It may be prejudicial to the great end; it may be auxiliary. Wiſe men, who as ſuch, are not admirers (not admirers at leaſt of the Manera Terrae) are not violently attached to theſe things, nor do they violently hate them. Wiſdom is not the moſt ſevere corrector of folly. They are the rival follies, which mutually wage ſo unrelenting a war; and which make ſo cruel a uſe of their ad⯑vantages, as they can happen to engage the immo⯑derate vulgar on the one ſide or the other in their quarrels. Prudence would be neuter; but if, in the contention between fond attachment and fierce anti⯑pathy concerning things in their nature not made to produce ſuch heats, a prudent man were obliged to make a choice of what errors and exceſſes of enthu⯑ſiaſm he would condemn or bear, perhaps he would think the ſuperſtition which builds, to be more toler⯑able than that which demoliſhes—that which adorns a country, than that which deforms it—that which endows, than that which plunders— that which diſ⯑poſes to miſtaken beneficence, than that which ſtimu⯑lates to real injuſtice—that which leads a man to re⯑fuſe to himſelf lawful pleaſures, than that which ſnatches from others the ſcanty ſubſiſtence of their ſelf-denial. Such, I think, is very nearly the ſtate of [216] the queſtion between the antient founders of monkiſh ſuperſtition, and the ſuperſtition of the pretended philoſophers of the hour.—

MISFORTUNE.

MISFORTUNE is not crime, nor is indiſcretion always the greateſt guilt.—Ibid.

MAGNA CHARTA. (SEE PETITION OF RIGHTS, DECLARATION OF RIGHTS.

OUR oldeſt reformation is that of Magna Charta. Sir Edward Coke, that great oracle of our law, and, indeed, all the great men who follow him, to Black⯑ſtone, are induſtrious to prove the pedigree of our liberties. They endeavour to prove, that the ancient charter, the Magna Charta of King John, was con⯑nected with another poſitive charter from Henry the Firſt, and that both the one and the other were no⯑thing more than a re-affirmative of the ſtill more ancient ſtanding law of the kingdom. In the matter of fact, for the quarter part, theſe authors appear to be in the right, perhaps not always; but if the lawyers miſtaſte in ſome particulars, it proves my poſition ſtill the more ſtrongly; becauſe it demonſtrates the powerful prepoſſeſſion towards antiquity, with which the minds of all our lawyers, and legiſlators, and of all the people, when they wiſh to influence, have been always filled; and the ſtationary policy of this kingdom in conſidering their moſt ſacred rights and franchiſes as an inheritance.—Ibid.

MONARCHY ABSOLUTE.

NONE of us love abſolute and uncontroled mo⯑narchy; but we could not rejoice at the ſufferings of a Marcus Aurelius, or a Trajan, who were abſo⯑lute monarchs, as we do when Nero is condemned by the ſenate to be puniſhed more majorum: Nor [217] when that monſter was obliged to fly with his wife Sporus, and to drink puddle, were men affected in the ſame manner, as when the venerable Galba, with all his faults and errors, was murdered by a re⯑volted mercenary ſoldiery. With ſuch things before our eyes, our feelings contradict our theories; and when this is the caſe, the feelings are true, and the theory is falſe. What I contend for is, that in com⯑mending the deſtruction of an abſolute monarchy, all the circumſtances ought not to be wholly over⯑looked, as conſiderations fit only for ſhallow and ſuperficial minds.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

MORALITY.

THE lines of morality are not like the ideal lines of mathematics. They are broad and deep as well as long. They admit of exceptions; they demand modifications.—Ibid.

METAPHYSICS.

METAPHYSICS cannot live without definition.—Ibid.

MANNERS AND POLITICS Applicable to every Age.

EVERY age has its own manners, and its politics dependent upon them; and the ſame attempts will not be made againſt a conſtitution fully formed and matured, that were uſed to deſtroy it in the cradle, or to reſiſt its growth during its infancy.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

MERCHANTS. Properties of Merchants applied to the Eaſt-India Company.

THE principle of buying cheap and ſelling dear is the firſt, the great foundation of mercantile dealing.

[218]A great deal of ſtrictneſs in driving bargains for whatever we contract, is another of the principles of mercantile policy. Try the company by that teſt! Look at the contracts that are made for them. Is the company ſo much as a good commiſſary to their own armies? I engage to ſelect for you, out of the innumerable maſs of their dealings, all conducted very nearly alike, one contract only, the exceſſive profits on which during a ſhort term would pay the whole of their year's dividend. I ſhall undertake to ſhew, that upon two others, that the inordinate pro⯑fits given, with the loſſes incurred in order to ſecure thoſe profits, would pay a year's dividend more.

It is a third property of trading men, to ſee that their clerks do not divert the dealings of the maſter to their own benefit. It was the other day only, when their governor and council taxed the company's inveſtment with a ſum of fifty thouſand pounds, as an inducement to perſuade only ſeven members of their board of trade to give their honour that they would abſtain from ſuch profits upon that inveſtment as they muſt have violated their oaths if they had made at all.

It is a fourth quality of a merchant to be exact in his accounts. What will be thought, when you have fully before you the mode of accounting made uſe of in the treaſury of Bengal?—I hope you will have it ſoon. With regard to one of their agencies, when it came to the material part, the prime coſt of the goods on which a commiſſion of fifteen per cent. was allowed, to the aſtoniſhment of the factory to whom the commodities were ſent, the accountant-ge⯑neral reports that he did not think himſelf authorized to call for vouchers relative to this and other particu⯑lars—becauſe the agent was upon his honour with regard to them. A new principle of account upon honour ſeems to be regularly eſtabliſhed in their dealings and their treaſury, which in reality amounts [219] to an entire annihilation of the principle of all ac⯑counts.

It is a fifth property of a merchant, who does not meditate a fraudulent bankruptcy, to calculate his probable profits upon the money he takes up to veſt in buſineſs. Did the company, when they bought goods on bonds bearing 8 per cent. intereſt, at 10, and even 20 per cent. diſcount, even aſk themſelves a queſtion concerning the poſſibility of advantage from dealing on theſe terms?

The laſt quality of a merchant I ſhall advert to, is the taking care to be properly prepared, in caſh or goods, in the ordinary courſe of ſale, for the bills which are drawn on them. Now I aſk, whether they have ever calculated the clear produce of any given ſales, to make them tally with the four million of bills which are come and coming upon them, ſo as at the proper periods to enable the one to liqui⯑date the other? No, they have not. They are now obliged to borrow money of their own ſervants to purchaſe their inveſtment. The ſervants ſtipulate five per cent. on the capital they advance, if their bills ſhould not be paid at the time when they be⯑come due; and the value of the rupee on which they charge this intereſt is taken at two ſhillings and a penny. Has the company ever troubled themſelves to enquire whether their ſales can bear the payment of that intereſt, and at that rate of exchange? Have they once conſidered the dilemma in which they are placed—the ruin of their credit in the Eaſt Indies, if they refuſe the bills—the ruin of their credit and exiſtence in England, if they accept them? Indeed no trace of equitable government is found in their politics; not one trace of commercial principle in their mercantile dealing; and hence is the deepeſt and ma⯑trueſt wiſdom of parliament demanded, and the beſt reſources of this kingdom muſt be ſtrained, to re⯑ſtore them; that is, to reſtore the countries deſtroyed by the miſconduct of the company, and to reſtore [220] the company itſelf, ruined by the conſequences of their plans for deſtroying what they were bound to preſerve.—

MIDDLESEX ELECTION. Conteſt (how to be conſidered.)

WE muſt purpoſely ſhut our eyes, if we conſider this matter (the incapacitation of Mr. Wilkes) merely as a conteſt between the Houſe of Commons and the electors. The true conteſt is between the elec⯑tors of the kingdom and the crown; the crown acting by an inſtrumental Houſe of Commons. It is pre⯑ciſely the ſame, whether the miniſters of the crown can diſqualify by a dependent Houſe of Commons, or by a dependent court of ſtar-chamber, or by a dependent court of King's Bench. If once members of parliament can be practically convinced, that they do not depend on the affection or opinion of the people for their political being, they will give them⯑ſelves over, without even an appearance of reſerve, to the influence of the court. Indeed, a parliament unconnected with the people, is eſſential to a miniſtry unconnected with the people; and therefore thoſe who ſaw through what mighty difficulties the interior miniſtry waded, and the exterior were dragged, in this buſineſs, will conceive of what prodigious im⯑portance, the new corps of king's men held this principle of occaſional and perſonal incapacitation, to the whole body of their deſign.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

MINISTERS, Our natural Rulers.

MINISTERS are not only our natural rulers, but our natural guides. Reaſon, clearly and manfully delivered, has in itſelf a mighty force; but reaſon, in [221] the mouth of legal authority, is, I may ſay, irreſiſti⯑ble.—Regicide Peace.

MEANS (EXTRAORDINARY.)

WE may reſt aſſured, that when the maxims of any government eſtabliſh among its reſources extra⯑ordinary means, and thoſe exerted with a ſtrong hand, that ſtrong hand will provide thoſe extraordi⯑nary means for itſelf.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

THE MINT.

THE Mint, though not a department of the houſe⯑hold, has the ſame vices. It is a great expence to the nation, chiefly for the ſake of members of par⯑liament. It has its officers of parade and dignity. It has its treaſury too. It is a ſort of corporate body; and formerly was a body of great importance; as much ſo on the then ſcale of things, and the then order of buſineſs, as the bank is at this day. It was the great center of money tranſactions and remit⯑tances for our own, and for other nations; until king Charles the firſt, among other arbitrary projects, dictated by deſpoſtic neceſſity, made him withhold the money that lay there for remittance. That blow (and happily too) the mint never recovered. Now it is no bank; no remittance-ſhop. The mint, Sir, is a manufacture, and it is nothing elſe; and it ought to be undertaken upon the principles of a manufac⯑ture; that is, for the beſt and cheapeſt execution, by a contract, upon proper ſecurities, and under proper regulations.—Oecon. Reform.

MONEY. Want of Money how ſupplied.

THEY (the French) are embarraſſed indeed in the higheſt degree, but not wholly reſourceleſs. They [222] are without the ſpecies of money. Circulation of money is a great convenience, but a ſubſtitute for it may be found. Whilſt the great objects of produc⯑tion and conſumption, corn, cattle, wine, and the like, exiſt in a country, the means of giving them circulation with more or leſs convenience, cannot be wholly wanting. The great confiſcation of the church and of the crown lands, and of the appenages of the princes, for the purchaſe of all which their paper is always received at par, gives means of con⯑tinually deſtroying and continually creating, and this perpetual deſtruction and renovation feeds the ſpe⯑culative market, and prevents, and will prevent, till that fund of confiſcation begins to fail, a total depre⯑ciation.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

MONIED INTEREST.

THE monied intereſt is, in its nature, more ready for any adventure; and its poſſeſſors more diſpoſed to new enterprizes of any kind. Being of a recent acquiſition, it falls in more naturally with any novel⯑ties. It is therefore the kind of wealth which will be reſorted to by all who wiſh for change.—Reflec⯑tions on the Revolution in France.

MONIED INTEREST Not neceſſary to the French.

BUT all conſideration of public credit in France is of little avail at preſent. The action, indeed, of the monied intereſt, was of abſolute neceſſity at the beginning of this Revolution; but the French re⯑publics can ſtand without any aſſiſtance from that deſcription of men, which, as things are now cir⯑cumſtanced, rather ſtands in need of aſſiſtance itſelf from the power which alone ſubſtantially exiſts in France; I mean the ſeveral diſtricts and municipal [223] republics, and the ſeveral clubs which direct all their affairs and appoint all their magiſtrates. This is the power now paramount to every thing, even to the Aſſembly itſelf called National, and that to which tribunals, prieſthood, laws, finances, and both de⯑ſcriptions of military power, are wholly ſubſervient, ſo far as the military power of either deſcription yields obedience to any name of authority.—Memo⯑morial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

MARSEILLES.

MARSEILLES, the hotteſt focus of ſedition in France.—Ibid.

MUNICIPALITIES.

IN my opinion there never was ſeen ſo ſtrong a government internally as that of the French Munici⯑palities. If ever any rebellion can ariſe againſt the preſent ſyſtem, it muſt begin where the Revolution which gave birth to it did, at the capital. Paris is the only place in which there is the leaſt freedom of intercourſe. But even there, ſo many ſervants as any man has, ſo many ſpies, and irreconcileable do⯑meſtic enemies.—Ibid.

MEDITERRANEAN.

THE great object for which we preſerved Minorca, whilſt we could keep it, and for which we ſtill re⯑tain Gibraltar, both at a great expence, was, and is, to prevent the predominance of France over the Mediterranean.—Ibid.

MARINE (FRENCH.)

THE French marine reſembles not a little the old armaments of the Flibuſtriers, which about a cen⯑tury back, in conjunction with pirates of our nation, brought ſuch calamities upon the Spaniſh colonies. [224] They differ only in this, that the preſent piratical force is, out of all meaſure and compariſon, greater; one hundred and fifty ſhips of the line, and frigates being ready built, moſt of them in a manner new, and all applicable in different ways to that ſervice. Privateers and Mooriſh corſairs poſſeſs not the beſt ſeamanſhip, and very little diſcipline, and, indeed, can make no figure in regular ſervice, but in deſpe⯑rate adventures, and animated with a luſt of plun⯑der, they are truly formidable.—Ibid.

NEWSPAPERS. (See REVOLUTION (FRENCH.) The Progreſs of the French Revolution indebted to Newſpapers.

WHAT direction the French ſpirit of proſelytiſm is likely to take, and in what order it is likely to prevail in the ſeveral parts of Europe, it is not eaſy to determine. The ſeeds are ſown almoſt every where, chiefly by newſpaper circulations, infinitely more efficacious and extenſive than ever they were. And they are a more important inſtrument than ge⯑nerally is imagined. They are a part of the read⯑ing of all, they are the whole of the reading of the far greater number. There are thirty of them in Paris alone. The language diffuſes them more widely than the Engliſh, though the Engliſh too are much read. The writers of theſe papers, indeed, for the greater part, are either unknown, or in contempt, but they are like a battery, in which the ſtroke of any one ball produces no great effect, but the amount of continual repetition is deciſive. Let us only ſuffer any perſon to tell us his ſtory, morning and evening, but for one twelve months, and he will become our maſter.—Ibid.

NEUTRALITY IN PARTIES, A Crime againſt the State.

SOME legiſlators went ſo far as to make neutrality in party a crime againſt the ſtate. I do not know [225] whether this might not have been rather to overſtrain the principle. Certain it is, the beſt patriots in the greateſt commonwealths have always commended and promoted ſuch connexions. Idem ſentire de repub⯑lica, was with them a principal ground of friendſhip and attachment; nor do I know any other capable of forming firmer, dearer, more pleaſing, more ho⯑nourable, and more virtuous habitudes. The Ro⯑mans carried this principle a great way. Even the holding of offices together, the diſpoſition of which aroſe from chance not ſelection, gave riſe to a rela⯑tion which continued for life. It was called neceſſi⯑tudo ſortis; and it was looked upon with a ſacred re⯑verence. Breaches of any of theſe kinds of civil relation were conſidered as acts of the moſt diſtin⯑guiſhed turpitude. The whole people was diſtributed into political ſocieties, in which they acted in ſupport of ſuch intereſts in the ſtate as they ſeverally affected. For it was then thought no crime to endeavour, by every honeſt means, to advance to ſuperiority and power thoſe of your own ſentiments and opinions. This wiſe people was far from imagining that thoſe connexions had no tie, and obliged to no duty; but that men might quit them without ſhame, upon every call of intereſt. They believed private honour to be the great foundation of public truſt; that friend⯑ſhip was no mean ſtep towards patriotiſm; that he who, in the common intercourſe of life, ſhewed he regarded ſomebody beſides himſelf, when he came to act in a public ſituation, might probably conſult ſome other intereſt than his own. Never may we become plus ſages que les ſages, as the French come⯑dian has happily expreſſed it, wiſer than all the wiſe and good men who have lived before us. It was their wiſh to ſee public and private virtues not diſſo⯑lute and jarring, and mutually deſtructive, but har⯑moniouſly combined, growing out of one another in a noble and orderly gradation, reciprocally ſup⯑porting and ſupported.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

NOBILITY.(SEE KING, VENICE, &c.)

ALL this violent cry againſt the nobility I take to be a mere work of art. To be honoured and even privileged by the laws, opinions, and inveterate uſages of our country, growing out of the prejudice of ages, has nothing to provoke horror and indignation in any man. Even to be too tenacious of thoſe privi⯑leges, is not abſolutely a crime. The ſtrong ſtruggle in every individual to preſerve poſſeſſion of what he has found to belong to him and to diſtinguiſh him, is one of the ſecurities againſt injuſtice and deſpotiſm, implanted in our nature. It operates as an inſtinct to ſecure property, and to preſerve communities in a ſettled ſtate. What is there to ſhock in this? Nobi⯑lity is a graceful ornament to the civil order. It is the Corinthian capital of poliſhed ſociety. Omnes boni nobilitati ſemper favemus, was the ſaying of a wiſe and good man. It is, indeed, one ſign of a liberal and benevolent mind to incline to it with ſome ſort of partial propenſity. He feels no ennobling principle in his own heart who wiſhes to level all the artificial inſtitutions which have been adopted for giving a body to opinion, and permanence to fugi⯑tive eſteem. It is a ſour, malignant, envious diſpo⯑ſition, without taſte for the reality, or for any image or repreſentation of virtue, that ſees with joy the unmerited fall of what had long flouriſhed in ſplen⯑dour and in honour. I do not like to ſee any thing deſtroyed; any void produced in ſociety; any ruin on the face of the land. It was therefore with no diſappointment or diſſatisfaction that my enquiries and obſervation did not preſent to me any incorri⯑gible vices in the nobleſſe of France, or any abuſe which could not be removed by a reform very ſhort of abolition. Your nobleſſe did not deſerve puniſh⯑ment; but to degrade is to puniſh.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

NETHERLANDS.

THE Emperor's own politics with regard to the Netherlands ſeem to me to be exactly calculated to anſwer the purpoſe of the French Revolutioniſts. He endeavours to cruſh the Ariſtocratic party, and to nouriſh one in avowed connexion with the moſt furious Democratiſts in France.

Theſe provinces in which the French game is ſo well played, they conſider as part of the Old French Empire: certainly they were amongſt the oldeſt parts of it. Theſe they think very well ſituated, as their party is well diſpoſed to a re-union. As to the greater nations, they do not aim at making a direct conqueſt of them, but by diſturbing them through a propagation of their principles, they hope to weaken, as they will weaken them, and to keep them in perpetual alarm and agitation, and thus render all their efforts againſt them utterly imprac⯑ticable, whilſt they extend the dominion of their ſovereign anarchy on all ſides.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

NATIONAL TIES.

THE operation of dangerous and deluſive firſt principles obliges us to have recourſe to the true ones. In the intercourſe between nations, we are apt to rely too much on the inſtrumental part. We lay too much weight upon the formality of treaties and compacts. We do not act much more wiſely when we truſt to the intereſt of men as guarantees of their engagements. The intereſts frequently tear to pieces the engagements; and the paſſions trample upon both. Entirely to truſt to either is to diſregard our own ſafety, or not to know mankind. Men are not tied to one another by papers and ſeals. They are led to aſſociate by reſemblances, by conformities, by ſympathies. It is with nations as with individuals. [228] Nothing is ſo ſtrong a tie of amity between nation and nation as correſpondence in laws, cuſtoms, man⯑ners, and habits of life. They have more than the force of treaties in themſelves. They are obligations written in the heart. They approximate men to men, without their knowledge, and ſometimes againſt their intentions. The ſecret, unſeen, but irrefragable bond of habitual intercourſe, holds them together, even when their perverſe and litigious nature ſets them to equivocate, ſcuffle, and ſight about the terms of their written obligations.

As to war, if it be the means of wrong and vio⯑lence, it is the ſole means of juſtice amongſt nations. Nothing can baniſh it from the world. They who ſay otherwiſe, intending to impoſe upon us, do not impoſe upon themſelves. But it is one of the greateſt objects of human wiſdom to mitigate thoſe evils which we cannot remove. The conformity and analogy of which I ſpeak, incapable, like every thing elſe, of preſerving perfect truſt and tranquillity among men, has a ſtrong tendency to facilitate accommo⯑dation, and to produce a generous oblivion of the rancour of their quarrels. With this ſimilitude, peace is more of peace, and war is leſs of war. I will go further. There have been periods of time in which communities, apparently in peace with each other, have been more perfectly ſeparated than, in later times, many nations in Europe have been in the courſe of long and bloody wars. The cauſe muſt be ſought in the ſimilitude in Europe of religion, laws, and manners. At bottom, theſe are all the ſame. The writers on public law have often called this aggregate of nations a Commonwealth. They had reaſon. It is virtually one great ſtate having the ſame baſis of general law; with ſome diverſity of provincial cuſtoms and local eſtabliſhments. The nations of Europe have had the very ſame Chriſtian religion, agreeing in the fundamental parts, varying a little in the ceremonies and in the ſubordinate doc⯑trines.—Regicide Peace.

NOVELTY.

SOME degree of novelty muſt be one of the ma⯑terials in every inſtrument which works upon the mind; and curioſity blends itſelf more or leſs with all our paſſions.—Sublime and Beautiful.

NAMES.

GREAT names have great prevalence.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

NAPLES. (See SICILY.)

NAPLES has an old inveterate diſpoſition to Re⯑publicaniſm, and (however for ſome time paſt quiet) is as liable to exploſion as its own Veſuvius.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

OECONOMY. It is not a predilection to mean, ſordid, home-bred cares, that will avert the Conſequences of a falſe Eſtimation of our Intereſt, or prevent the ſhameful Dilapidation into which a great Empire muſt fall, by mean Repa⯑rations upon mighty Ruins.

I CONFESS I feel a degree of diſguſt, almoſt leading to deſpair, at the manner in which we are acting in the great exigencies of our country. There is now a bill in this houſe, appointing a rigid inqui⯑ſition into the minuteſt detail of our offices at home. The collection of ſixteen millions annually; a col⯑lection on which the public greatneſs, ſafety, and credit have their reliance; the whole order of criminal juriſprudence, which holds together ſociety itſelf, have at no time obliged us to call forth ſuch powers; no, nor any thing like them. There is not a principle of the law and conſtitution of this country that is not [230] ſubverted to favour the execution of that project^*. And for what is all this apparatus of buſtle and terror? Is it becauſe any thing ſubſtantial is expected from it? No. The ſtir and buſtle itſelf is the end propoſed. The eye-ſervants of a ſhort-fighted maſter will employ themſelves, not on what is moſt eſſential to his affairs, but on what his neareſt to his ken. Great difficulties have given a juſt value to oeconomy; and our mini⯑ſter of the day muſt be an oeconomiſt, whatever it may coſt us. But where is he to exert his talents? At home, to be ſure; for where elſe can he obtain a profit⯑able credit for their exertion? It is nothing to him, whether the object on which he works under our eye be promiſing or not. If he does not obtain any public be⯑nefit, he may make regulations without end. Thoſe are ſure to pay in preſent expectation, whilſt the effect is at a diſtance, and may be the concern of other times, and other men. On theſe principles he chooſes to ſuppoſe (for he does not pretend more than to ſup⯑poſe) a naked poſſibility, that he ſhall draw ſome reſource out of crumbs dropped from the trenchers of penury; that ſomething ſhall be laid in ſtore from the ſhort allowance of revenue officers, overloaded with duty, and famiſhed for want of bread; by a reduction from officers who are at this very hour ready to batter the treaſury with what breaks through ſtone walls, for an increaſe of their appointments. From the marrowleſs bones of theſe ſkeleton eſta⯑bliſhments, by the uſe of every ſort of cutting, and of every ſort of fretting tool, he flatters himſelf that he may chip and raſp an empirical alimentary powder, to diet into ſome ſimilitude of health and ſubſtance the languiſhing chimeras of fraudulent reformation.

Whilſt he is thus employed according to his policy and to his taſte, he has not leiſure to enquire into thoſe abuſes in India that are drawing off money by millions from the treaſures of this country, which are exhauſting the vital juices from members of to [231] ſtate, where the public inanition is far more ſorely felt than in the local exchequer of England. Not content with winking at theſe abuſes, whilſt he at⯑tempts to ſqueeze the laborious ill-paid drudges of Engliſh revenue, he laviſhes in one act of corrupt prodigality, upon thoſe who never ſerved the public in any honeſt occupation at all, an annual income equal to two thirds of the whole collection of the revenues of this kingdom.—Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts.

OECONOMIST.

IT is impoſſible for a man to be an oeconomiſt, who is not able to take a comparative view of his means, and of his expences, for the year which lies before him; it is impoſſible for a man to be an oeconomiſt, under whom various officers in their ſeveral departments may ſpend,—even juſt what they pleaſe,—and often with an emulation of expence, as contributing to the importance, if not profit, of their ſeveral departments.—Oecon. Reform.

OPPRESSION, AND OPPRESSED.

WHAT I have always thought of the matter is this—that the moſt poor, illiterate, and uninformed creatures upon earth, are judges of a practical op⯑preſſion. It is a matter of feeling; and as ſuch perſons generally have felt moſt of it, and are not of an over-lively ſenſibility, they are the beſt judges of it. But for the real cauſe, or the appropriate remedy, they ought never to be called into council about the one or the other. They ought to be totally ſhut out; becauſe their reaſon is weak; becauſe when once rouſed, their paſſions are ungoverned; becauſe they want information; becauſe the ſmallneſs of the property which individually they poſſeſs, renders them leſs attentive to the conſequence of the mea⯑ſures they adopt in affairs of moment.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

OPPRESSION, (EFFECTS OF.)

MAN irritated by oppreſſion, and elevated by a triumph over it, are apt to abandon themſelves to violent and extreme courſes.—Ibid.

OPINION.

BUT, ſay ſome, you force opinion. You can never extirpate opinion without extirpating a whole nation. Nay, by purſuing it, you only increaſe its partizans. Opinions are things out of human juriſ⯑diction. I have formerly heard this from the mouths of great men, with more ſurprize than ſatisfaction. They alledged as a proof of their doctrine, the wars of Charles the Fifth, and ſome of his ſucceſſors, againſt the reformation.

It is ſo common, though ſo unreaſonable, it is hardly worth remarking, that no perſons purſue more fiercely with criminal proceſs, and with every kind of coercion, the publication of opinions contrary to their own, than thoſe do, who claim in this reſpect the moſt unbounded latitude to themſelves. If it were not for this inconſiſtency, then war againſt opi⯑nions might be juſtified as all others, more or leſs, according to the reaſon of the caſe: for the caſe judged on by moral prudence, and not by any uni⯑verſal abſtract principle of right, is to guide govern⯑ment in this delicate point.

As to the mere matter of extirpation of all kinds of opinions, whether right or wrong, without the extirpation of a people, it is a thing ſo very common, that would be clouded and obſcured rather than il⯑luſtrated by examples. Every revolution in the pre⯑dominant opinion made by the force of domeſtic legal government, by the force of any uſurpation, by the force of any conqueſt, is a proof to the con⯑trary;—and there is no nation which has not expe⯑rienced thoſe changes. Inſtances enough may be [233] furniſhed of people who have enthuſiaſtically, and with force, propagated thoſe opinions, which ſome time before they reſiſted with their blood. Rarely have ever great changes in opinion taken place with⯑out the application of force, more or leſs. Like every thing elſe in human life and human affairs, it is not univerſally true, that a perſecution of opinions leſſens or increaſes the number of their votaries. In finding where it may or may not have gathered theſe effects, the ſagacity of government ſhines or is diſ⯑graced, as well as in the time, the manner, the choice of the opinions on which it ought to uſe or forbear the ſword of domeſtic or of foreign juſtice. But it is a falſe maxim, that opinions ought to be indifferent to us, either as men or as a ſtate. Opinion is the rudder of human action; and as the opinion is wiſe or fooliſh, vicious or moral, the cauſe of action is noxious or ſalutary. It has even been the great primary object of ſpeculative and doctrinal philoſophy to regulate opinion. It is the great object of poli⯑tical philoſophy to promote that which is found; and to extirpate what is miſchievous, and which directly tends to render men bad citizens in the community, and miſchievous neighbours out of it. Opinions are of infinite conſequence. They make the manners—in fact, they make the laws: they make the legiſlator. They are, therefore, of all things, thoſe to which provident government ought to look moſt to in their beginnings. After a time they may look to them in vain. When, therefore, I am told that a war is a war of opinions, I am told that it is the moſt im⯑portant of all wars.

Here I muſt not be told that this would lead to eternal war and perſecution. It would certainly, if we argued like metaphyſicians run mad, who do not correct prudence, the queen of virtues, to be any virtue at all,—and would either throw the bridle on the neck of headlong nature, or tie it up for ever to the poſt. No ſophiſtry—no chicane here. Govern⯑ment [234] is not to refine men out of innocent and moral liberty by forced inferences, drawn by a torturing logic; or to ſuffer them to go down hill the highway that leads directly to every crime and every vice.—

ORDER.

A particular order of things may be altered; order itſelf cannot loſe its value.—Letter to a Noble Lord.

OBSCURITY.

TO make any thing very terrible, obſcurity ſeems in general to be neceſſary. When we know the full extent of any danger, when we can accuſtom our eyes to it, a great deal of the apprehenſion vaniſhes. Every one will be ſenſible of this, who conſiders how greatly night adds to our dread, in all caſes of dan⯑ger, and how much the notions of ghoſts and goblins, of which none can form clear ideas, affect minds which give credit to the popular tales concerning ſuch ſorts of beings. Thoſe deſpotic governments, which are founded on the paſſions of men, and prin⯑cipally upon the paſſion of fear, keep their chief as much as may be from the public eye. The policy has been the ſame in many caſes of religion. Almoſt all the heathen temples were dark. Even in the bar⯑barous temples of the Americans at this day, they keep their idol in a dark part of the hut, which is conſecrated to his worſhip. For this purpoſe too the Druids performed all their ceremonies in the boſom of the darkeſt woods, and in the ſhade of the oldeſt and moſt ſpreading oak. No perſon ſeems better to have underſtood the ſecret of heightening, or of ſetting terrible things, if I may uſe the expreſſion, in their ſtrongeſt light, by the force of a judicious ob⯑ſcurity, than Milton. His deſcription of death in [235] the ſecond book is admirably ſtudied; it is aſtoniſh⯑ing with what a gloomy pomp, with what a ſignificant and expreſſive uncertainty of ſtrokes and colouring, he has finiſhed the portrait of the king of terrors:

In this deſcription all is dark, uncertain, confuſed, terrible, and ſublime to the laſt degree.—

PROPORTION AND BEAUTY.

LET us ſee whether proportion can in any ſenſe be conſidered as the cauſe of beauty, as hath been ſo generally, and by ſome ſo confidently affirmed. If proportion be one of the conſtituents of beauty, it muſt derive that power either from ſome natural properties inherent in certain meaſures, which operate mechanically; from the operation of cuſtom; or from the fitneſs which ſome meaſures have to anſwer ſome particular ends of conveniency. Our buſineſs therefore is to enquire, whether the parts of thoſe objects, which are found beautiful in the vegetable or animal kingdoms, are conſtantly ſo formed accord⯑ing to ſuch certain meaſures, as may ſerve to ſatisfy us that their beauty reſults from thoſe meaſures on the principle of a natural mechanical cauſe; or from cuſtom; or, in fine, from their fitneſs for any deter⯑minate purpoſes. I intend to examine this point under each of theſe heads in their order. But before I proceed further, I hope it will not be thought amiſs, if I lay down the rules which governed me in [236] this enquiry, and which have miſſed me in it, if I have gone aſtray. 1. If two bodies produce the ſame or a ſimilar effect on the mind, and on exami⯑nation they are found to agree in ſome of their properties, and to differ in others; the common effect is to be attributed to the properties in which they agree, and not to thoſe in which they differ. 2. Not to account for the effect of a natural object from the effect of an artificial object. 3. Not to account for the effect of any natural object from a concluſion of our reaſon concerning its uſes, if a natural cauſe may be aſſigned. 4. Not to admit any determinate quantity, or any relation of quantity, as the cauſe of a certain effect, if the effect is produced by different or oppoſite meaſures and relations; or if theſe mea⯑ſures and relations may exiſt, and yet the effect may not be produced. Theſe are the rules which I have chiefly followed, whilſt I examined into the power of proportion conſidered as a natural cauſe; and theſe, if he thinks them juſt, I requeſt the reader to carry with him throughout the following diſcuſſion; whilſt we enquire in the firſt place, in what things we find this quality of beauty; next, to ſee whether in theſe we can find any aſſignable proportions, in ſuch a manner as ought to convince us that our idea of beauty reſults from them. We ſhall conſider this pleaſing power, as it appears in vegetables, in the inferior animals, and in man. Turning our eyes to the vegetable creation, we find nothing there ſo beautiful as flowers; but flowers are almoſt of every ſort of ſhape, and of every ſort of diſpoſition; they are turned and faſhioned into an infinite variety of forms; and from theſe forms botaniſts have given them their names, which are almoſt as various. What proportion do we diſcover between the ſtalks and the leaves of flowers, or between the leaves and the piſtils? How does the ſlender ſtalk of the roſe agree with the bulky head under which it bends? but the roſe is a beautiful flower; and can we undertake [237] to ſay that it does not owe a great deal of its beauty even to that diſproportion? the roſe is a large flower, yet it grows upon a ſmall ſhrub; the flower of the apple is very ſmall, and grows upon a large tree, yet the roſe and the apple bloſſom are both beautiful, and the plants that bear them are moſt engagingly attired, notwithſtanding this diſproportion. What by general conſent is allowed to be a more beautiful object than an orange tree, flouriſhing at once with its leaves, its bloſſoms, and its fruit? but it is in vain that we ſearch here for any propor [...]ion between the height, the breadth, or any thing elſe concerning the dimenſions of the whole, or concerning the re⯑lation of the particular part, to each other. I grant that we may obſerve in many flo [...]ers, [...]ething of a regular figure, and of a methodical diſpoſit [...]on of the leaves. The roſe has ſuch a figure and ſuch a diſ⯑poſition of its petals; but in an oblique view, when this figure is in a good meaſure loſt, and the order of the leaves confounded, it yet retains its beauty, the roſe is even more beautiful before it is full blown; and the bud, before this exact figure [...]s for [...]d; and this is not the on [...]y inſtan [...] wherein method and exactneſs, the ſoul of proportion, are found rather prejudicial than ſerviceable to the cauſe of beauty.—Sublime and Beautiful.

PARLIAMENT, (SEE VOTE.) Qualities, favourable and unfavourable to obtain a Seat in Parliament in popular Elections.

A STRENUOUS reſiſtance to every appearance of lawleſs power; a ſpirit of independ [...]nce [...]ed to ſome degree of enthuſiaſm; an [...] character to diſcover, and a bold one to [...], every cor⯑ruption and every error of government, th [...]e are the qualities which recommend a [...] a ſeat in the houſe of commons, in open and [...] popular elections. An indolent and ſub [...]ve diſpoſition; [238] a diſpoſition to think charitably of all the actions of men in power, and to live in a mutual intercourſe of favours with them; an inclination rather to counte⯑nance a ſtrong uſe of authority, than to bear any ſort of licentiouſneſs on the part of the people; theſe are unfavourable qualities in an open election for members of parliament.

The inſtinct which carries the people towards the choice of the former, is juſtified by reaſon; becauſe a man of ſuch a character, even in its exorbitancies, does not directly contradict the purpoſes of a truſt, the end of which is a controul on power. The latter character, even when it is not in its extreme, will execute this truſt but very imperfectly; and, if de⯑viating to the leaſt exceſs, will certainly fruſtrate inſtead of forwarding the purpoſes of a controul on government. But when the houſe of commons was to be new modelled, this principle was not only to be changed but reverſed. Whilſt any errors com⯑mitted in ſupport of power were left to the law, with every advantage of favourable conſtruction, of miti⯑gation, and finally of pardon; all exceſſes on the ſide of liberty, or in purſuit of popular favour, or in defence of popular rights and privileges, were not only to be puniſhed by the rigour of the known law, but by a diſcretionary proceeding which brought on the loſs of the popular object itſelf. Popularity was to be rendered, if not directly penal, at leaſt highly dangerous. The favour of the people might lead even to a diſqualification of repreſenting them. Their odium might become ſtrained through the medium of two or three conſtructions, the means of ſitting as the truſtee of all that was dear to them. This is pu⯑niſhing the offence in the offending part. Until this time, the opinion of the people, through the power of an aſſembly, ſtill in ſome ſort popular, led to the greateſt honours and emoluments in the gift of the crown. Now the principle is reverſed; and the favour of the court is the only ſure way of ob⯑taining [239] and holding thoſe honours which ought to be in the diſpoſal of the people.

It ſignifies very little how this matter may be quibbled away. Example, the only argument of effect in civil life, demonſtrates the truth of my pro⯑poſition. Nothing can alter my opinion concerning the pernicious tendency of this example, until I ſee ſome man for his indiſcretion in the ſupport of power, for his violent and intemperate ſervility, rendered incapable of ſitting in parliament. For as it now ſtands, the fault of overſtraining popular qualities, and, irregularly if you pleaſe, aſſerting popular pri⯑vileges, has led to diſqualification; the oppoſite fault never has produced the ſlighteſt puniſhment. Re⯑ſiſtance to power, has ſhut the door of the houſe of commons to one man; obſequiouſneſs and ſervility to none.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſ⯑contents.

PARLIAMENT AND PREROGATIVE (SEE MINI⯑STER'S, FAVOURITE, REVOLUTION.)

I WOULD not increaſe an evil, becauſe I was not able to remove it; and becauſe it was not in my power to keep the houſe of commons religiouſly true to its firſt principles, I would not argue for carrying it to a total oblivion of them. This has been the great ſcheme of power in our time. They who will not conform their conduct to the public good, and cannot ſupport it by the prerogative of the crown, have adopted a new plan. They have totally aban⯑doned the ſhattered and old-faſhioned fortreſs of prerogative, and made a lodgement in the ſtrong hold of parliament itſelf. If they have any evil deſign to which there is no ordinary legal power commenſurate, they bring it into parliament. In parliament the whole is executed from the beginning to the end. In parliament the power of obtaining their object is abſolute; and the ſafety in the pro⯑ceeding [240] perfect; no rules to confine, no after-reckon⯑ings to terrify. Parliament cannot with any great propriety puniſh others, for things in which they themſelves have been accomplices. Thus the con⯑troul of parliament upon the executory power is loſt; becauſe parliament is made to partake in every con⯑ſiderable act of government. Impeachment, that great guardian of the purity of the conſtitution, is in danger of being loſt, even to the idea of it.

By this plan ſeveral important ends are anſwered to the Cabal. If the authority of parliament ſupports itſelf, the credit of every act of government which they contrive, is ſaved; but if the act be ſo very odious that the whole ſtrength of parliament is inſuf⯑ficient to recommend it, then parliament is itſelf diſ⯑credited; and this diſcredit increaſes more and more that indifference to the conſtitution, which it is the conſtant aim of its enemies, by their abuſe of parlia⯑mentary powers, to render general among the people. Whenever parliament is perſuaded to aſſume the offices of executive government, it will loſe all the confidence, love, and veneration, which it has ever enjoyed whilſt it was ſuppoſed the corrective and controul of the acting powers of the ſtate.—Ibid.

PARLIAMENT (SEPTENNIAL.)

I know, that ſince the revolution, along with many dangerous, many uſeful powers of government have been weakened. It is abſolutely neceſſary to have frequent recourſe to the legiſlature. Parliaments muſt therefore ſit every year, and for great part of the year. The dreadful diſorders of frequent elec⯑tions have alſo neceſſitated a ſeptennial inſtead of a triennial duration. Theſe circumſtances, I mean the conſtant habit of authority, and the unfrequency of elections, have tended very much to draw the houſe of commons towards the character of a ſtand⯑ing ſenate. It is a diſorder which has ariſen from [241] the cure of greater diſorders; it has ariſen from the extreme difficulty of reconciling liberty under a mo⯑narchical government, with external ſtrength and with internal tranquillity.—Ibid.

PARLIAMENT AND PEOPLE.

ALL the people have a deep intereſt in the dignity of parliament.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

PARLIAMENT (TRIENNIAL AND PLACE BILL.) A triennial Parliament, or a Place Bill, not competent to effect the Ends propoſed by them.

THE firſt ideas which generally ſuggeſt themſelves, for the cure of parliamentary diſorders, are, to ſhorten the duration of parliaments; and to diſqualify all, or a great number of placemen, from a ſeat in the Houſe of Commons. Whatever efficacy there may be in thoſe remedies, I am ſure, in the preſent ſtate of things, it is impoſſible to apply them. A re⯑ſtoration of the right of free election is a preliminary indiſpenſable to every other reformation. What al⯑terations ought afterwards to be made in the conſti⯑tution, is a matter of deep and difficult reſearch.

If I wrote merely to pleaſe the popular palate, it would indeed be as little troubleſome to me as to another, to extol theſe remedies, ſo famous in ſpe⯑culation, but to which their greateſt admirers have never attempted ſeriouſly to reſort in practice.

I confeſs that I have no ſort of reliance upon either a triennial Parliament, or a Place Bill. With regard to the former, perhaps it might rather ſerve to coun⯑teract than to promote the ends that are propoſed by it. To ſay nothing of the horrible diſorders among the people attending frequent elections, I ſhould be fearful of committing, every three years, the inde⯑pendent gentlemen of the country into a conteſt with [242] the Treaſury. It is eaſy to ſee which of the contend⯑ing parties would be ruined firſt. Whoever has taken a [...]ul view of public proceedings, ſo as to en⯑deavour to ground his ſpeculations on his experience, muſt have obſerved how prodigiouſly greater the power of Miniſtry is in the firſt and laſt ſeſſion of a parliament, than it is in the intermediate period, when members ſit a little firm on their ſeats. The perſons of the greateſt parliamentary experience, with whom I have converſed, did conſtantly, in canvaſſing the ſate of queſtions, allow ſomething to the Court ſide, upon account of the elections depending or imminent. The evil complained of, if it exiſts in the preſent ſtate of things, would hardly be removed by a trien⯑nial parliament; for, unleſs the influence of Govern⯑ment in elections can be entirely taken away, the more frequently they return, the more they will har⯑raſs private independence; the more generally men will be compelled to ſly to the ſettled ſyſtematic in⯑tereſt of Government, and to the reſources of a boundleſs civil liſt. Certainly ſomething may be done, and ought to be done, towards leſſening that influence in elections; and this will be neceſſary upon a plan either of longer or ſhorter duration of parlia⯑ment. But nothing can ſo perfectly remove the evil, as not to render ſuch contentions, too frequently re⯑peated, utterly ruinous, firſt to independence of for⯑tune, and then to independence of ſpirit.

As I am only giving an opinion on this point, and not at all debating it in adverſe line, I hope I may be excuſed in another obſervation. With great truth I may aver, that I never remember to have talked on this ſubject with any man much converſant with public buſineſs, who conſidered ſhort parliaments as a real improvement of the conſtitution. Gentlemen, warm in a popular cauſe, are ready enough to attri⯑bute all the declarations of ſuch perſons to corrupt motives. But the habit of affairs, if, on one hand, it tends to corrupt the mind, furniſhes it, on the [243] other, with the means of better information. The authority of ſuch perſons will always have ſome weight. It may ſtand upon a par with the ſpecula⯑tions of thoſe who are leſs practiſed in buſineſs; and who, with perhaps purer intentions, have not ſo ef⯑fectual means of judging. It is, beſides, an effect of vulgar and puerile malignity to imagine, that every ſtateſman is of courſe corrupt, and that his opinion, upon every conſtitutional point, is ſolely formed upon ſome ſiniſter intereſt.

The next favourite remedy is a place-bill. The ſame principle guides in both; I mean, the opinion which is entertained by many, of the infallibility of laws and regulations, in the cure of public diſtempers. Without being as unreaſonably doubtful as many are unwiſely confident, I will only ſay, that this alſo is a matter very well worthy of ſerious and mature re⯑flection. It is not eaſy to foreſee what the effect would be of diſconnecting with parliament, the greateſt part of thoſe who hold civil employments, and of ſuch mighty and important bodies as the military and naval eſtabliſhments. It were better, perhaps, that they ſhould have a corrupt intereſt in the forms of the conſtitution, than that they ſhould have none at all. This is a queſtion altogether diffe⯑rent from the diſqualification of a particular de⯑ſcription of revenue officers from ſeats in parliament; or, perhaps, of all the lower ſorts of them from votes in elections. In the former caſe, only the few are affected; in the latter, only the inconſiderable. But a great official, a great profeſſional, a great military and naval intereſt, all neceſſarily comprehending many people of the firſt weight, ability, wealth, and ſpirit, has been gradually formed in the kingdom. Theſe new intereſts muſt be let into a ſhare of repre⯑ſentation, elſe poſſibly they may be inclined to deſtroy thoſe inſtitutions of which they are not per⯑mitted to partake. This is not a thing to be trifled [244] with; nor is it every well-meaning man, that is fit to put his hands to it.—

PARLIAMENT. Character of Parliament at the Commencement of the French Revolution.

UPON a view indeed of the compoſition of all parties, he (Mr. Burke) finds great ſatisfaction. It is, that in leaving the ſervice of his country, he leaves parliament without all compariſon richer in abilities than he found it. Very ſolid and very bril⯑liant talents diſtinguiſh the miniſterial benches. The oppoſite rows are a ſort of ſeminary of genius, and have brought forth ſuch and ſo great talents as never before (amongſt us at leaſt) have appeared together. If their owners are diſpoſed to ſerve their country, (he truſts they are) they are in a condition to render it ſervices of the higheſt importance. If, through miſtake or paſſion, they are led to contribute to its ruin, we ſhall at leaſt have a conſolation denied to the ruined country that adjoins us—we ſhall not be deſtroyed by men of mean or ſecondary capacities.—Appeal from the New to the Old Wigs.

PARLIAMENT, (MEMBERS OF.)

TO be a good member of parliament is, let me tell you, no eaſy taſk; eſpecially at this time, when there is ſo ſtrong a diſpoſition to run into the perilous extremes of ſervile compliance, or wild popularity. To unite circumſpection with vigour, is abſolutely neceſſary; but it is extremely difficult. We are now members for a rich commercial city, (Briſtol) this city, however, is but a part of a rich commercial nation, the intereſts of which are various, multiform, and intricate. We are members for that great nation which, however, is itſelf but part of a great empire, extended by our virtue and our fortune to the fartheſt limits of the eaſt and of the weſt. All theſe [245] wide-ſpread intereſts muſt be conſidered; muſt be compared; muſt be reconciled, if poſſible. We are members for a free country; and ſurely we all know that the machine of a free conſtitution is no ſimple thing; but as intricate and as delicate, as it is valuable. We are members in a great and antient MONARCHY; and we muſt preſerve religiouſly the true legal rights of the ſovereign, which form the key-ſtone that binds together the noble and well-conſtructed arch of our empire and our conſtitution. A conſtitution made up of balanced powers, muſt ever be a critical thing. As ſuch I mean to touch that part of it which comes within my reach."—Speech at the cloſe of the poll at Briſtol.

POLITY OF THE SEVERAL COUNTRIES OF EUROPE.

THE whole of the polity and oeconomy of every country in Europe have been derived from the ſame ſources. They were drawn from the old Germanic or Gothic cuſtumary; from the feudal inſtitutions which muſt be conſidered as an emanation from thoſe cuſtoms; and the whole has been improved and di⯑geſted into ſyſtem and diſcipline by the Roman law. From hence aroſe the ſeveral orders, with or without a Monarch, which are called States in every country; the ſtrong traces of which, where Monarchy predo⯑minated, were never wholly extinguiſhed or merged in deſpotiſm. In the few places where Monarchy was caſt off, the ſpirit of European Monarchy was ſtill left. Thoſe countries ſtill contiued countries of States, that is, of claſſes, orders and diſtinctions, ſuch as had before ſubſiſted, or nearly ſo. Indeed the force and form of the inſtitution called States, continued in greater perfection in thoſe republican countries than under Monarchies. From all thoſe ſources aroſe a ſyſtem of manners and of education which was nearly ſimilar in all countries, and which [246] ſoftened, blended, and harmonized the colours of the whole. There was little difference in the form of their Univerſities for the education of their youth, whether with regard to faculties, to ſciences, or to that erudition which is uſed to impart, with liberal morals, a kind of elegance to the mind. From this reſemblance in the modes of intercourſe, and in the whole form and faſhion of life, no citizen of Europe could be altogether an exile in any part of it. There nothing more than a pleaſing variety to recreate and inſtruct the mind; to enrich the imagination; and to meliorate the heart. When a man travelled or re⯑ſided for health, pleaſure, buſineſs or neceſſity, from his own country, he never felt himſelf quite abroad. My friend, Mr. Wyld, the late profeſſor of law in Edinburgh, a young man of infinite promiſe, and whoſe loſs at this time is ineſtimable, has beautifully applied two lines of Ovid to this unity and diverſity in Europe, before the curſe of the French Revolu⯑tion had fallen upon us all.

PRINCIPLES.

GENERAL principles cannot be debauched or cor⯑rupted by intereſt or caprice.—Oecon. Reform.

PRINCIPLES (PROPAGATION OF.)

THEY who have made but ſuperficial ſtudies in the natural hiſtory of the human mind, have been taught to look on religious opinions as the only cauſe of enthuſiaſtic zeal, and ſectarian propagation. But there is no doctrine whatever, on which men can warm, that is not capable of the very ſame effect. The ſocial nature of man impels him to propagate his principles.—Regicide Peace.

PALACES.

OUR palaces are vaſt inhoſpitable halls. There the bleak winds, there ‘"Boreas, and Eurus, and Caurus, and Argeſtes loud,"’ howling through the vacant lobbies, and clattering the doors of deſerted guard rooms, appal the imagination, and conjure up the grim ſpectres of departed tyrants—the Saxon, the Norman, and the Dane; the ſtern Edwards and fierce Henries—who ſtalk from deſolation to deſo⯑lation, through the dreary vacuity, and melancholy ſucceſſion of chill and comfortleſs chambers. When this tumult ſubſides, a dead, and ſtill more frightful ſilence would reign in this deſert, if every now and then the tacking of hammers did not announce, that thoſe conſtant attendants upon all courts in all ages, Jobs, were ſtill alive; for whoſe ſake alone it is, that any trace of ancient grandeur is ſuffered to re⯑main. Theſe palaces are a true emblem of ſome governments; the inhabitants are decayed, but the governors and magiſtrates ſtill flouriſh. They put me in mind of Old Sarum, where the repreſentatives, more in number than the conſtituents, only ſerve to inform us, that this was once a place of trade, and founding with ‘"the buſy hum of men,"’ though now you can only trace the ſtreets by the colour of the corn; and its ſole manufacture is in members of parliament.—Oecon. Reform.

PENSIONS.

INDEED no man knows, when he cuts off the incitements to a virtuous ambition, and the juſt re⯑wards of public ſervice, what infinite miſchief he may do his country, through all generations. Such ſaving to the public may prove the worſt mode of robbing it. The crown, which has in its hands the truſt of the daily pay for national ſervice, ought to have in its hands alſo the means for the repoſe of public labour, and the fixed ſettlement of acknow⯑ledged [248] merit. There is a time, when the weather-beaten veſſels of the ſtate ought to come into harbour. They muſt at length have a retreat from the malice of rivals, from the perfidy of political friends, and the inconſtancy of the people. Many of the perſons, who in all times have filled the great offices of ſtate, have been younger brothers, who had originally little, if any fortune. Theſe offices do not furniſh the means of amaſſing wealth. There ought to be ſome power in the crown of granting penſions out of the reach of its own caprices. An intail of depen⯑dence is a bad reward of merit.

I would, therefore, leave to the crown the poſſibi⯑lity of conferring ſome favours, which, whilſt they are received as a reward, do not operate as corrup⯑tion. When men receive obligations from the crown through the pious hands of fathers, or of connexions as venerable as the paternal, the dependences which ariſe from thence, are the obligations of gratitude, and not the fetters of ſervility. Such ties originate in virtue, and they promote it. They continue men in thoſe habitudes of friendſhip, thoſe political con⯑nexions, and thoſe political principles in which they began life. They are antidotes againſt a corrupt levity, inſtead of cauſes of it. What an unſeemly ſpectacle would it afford, what a diſgrace would it be to the commonwealth that ſuffered ſuch things, to ſee the hopeful ſon of a meritorious miniſter begging his bread at the door of that treaſury, from whence his father diſpenſed the oeconomy of an empire, and promoted the happineſs and glory of his country? Why ſhould he be obliged to proſtrate his honour, and to ſubmit his principles at the levee of ſome proud favourite, ſhouldered and thruſt aſide by every impudent pretender, on the very ſpot where a few days before he ſaw himſelf adored?—obliged to cringe to the author of the calamities of his houſe, and to kiſs the hands that are red with his father's blood?—No, Sir, theſe things are unfit—They are intolerable.

[249]Sir, I ſhall be aſked, why I do not chuſe to deſtroy thoſe offices which are penſions, and appoint penſions under the direct title in their ſtead? I allow, that in ſome caſes it leads to abuſe; to have things appointed for one purpoſe, and applied to another. I have no great objection to ſuch a change: but I do not think it quite prudent for me to propoſe it. If I ſhould take away the preſent eſtabliſhment, the burthen of proof reſts upon me, that ſo many penſions, and no more, and to ſuch an amount each, and no more, are neceſſary for the public ſervice. This is what I can never prove; for it is a thing incapable of defi⯑nition. I do not like to take away an object that I think anſwers my purpoſe, in hopes of getting it back again in a better ſhape. People will bear an old eſtabliſhment when its exceſs is corrected, who will revolt at a new one. I do not think theſe office-penſions to be more in number than ſufficient: but on that point the houſe will exerciſe its diſcretion. As to abuſe, I am convinced, that very few truſts in the ordinary courſe of adminiſtration, have admitted leſs abuſe than this. Efficient miniſters have been their own paymaſters. It is true. But their very partiality has operated as a kind of juſtice; and ſtill it was ſervice that was paid. When we look over this exchequer liſt, we find it filled with the de⯑ſcendants of the Walpoles, of the Pelhams, of the Townſhends; names to whom this country owes its liberties; and to whom his majeſty owes his crown. It was in one of theſe lines, that the immenſe and envied employment he now holds, came to a certain duke^*, who is now probably ſitting quietly at a very good dinner directly under us; and acting high life below ſtairs, whilſt we, his maſters, are filling our mouths with unſubſtantial ſounds, and talking of hungry oeconomy over his head. But he is the elder branch of an ancient and decayed houſe, joined to, [250] and repaired by the reward of ſervices done by another. I reſpect the original title, and the firſt purchaſe of merited wealth and honour through all its d [...]cents, through all its transfers, and all its aſſignments. May ſuch fountains never be dried up! May they ever flow with their original purity, and refreſh and fructify the commonwealth for ages!—Oecon. Reform.

PUNISHMENTS (PARTICULAR).

PARTICULAR puniſhments are the cure for acci⯑dental diſtempers in the ſtate; they inflame rather than allay thoſe heats which ariſe from the ſettled miſ⯑management of the government, or from a natural ill diſpoſition in the people. It is of the utmoſt moment not to make miſtakes in the uſe of ſtrong meaſures; and firmneſs is then only a virtue, when it accompa⯑nies the moſt perfect wiſdom. In truth, inconſtancy is a ſort of natural corrective of folly and ignorance.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

PROTECTION. The Influence of Protection deſtroyed by Mr. Fox's India Bill.

BUT, Sir, there is one kind of influence far greater than that of the nomination to office. This, gentle⯑men in oppoſition have totally overlooked, although it now exiſts in its full vigour; and it will do ſo, upon their ſcheme, in at leaſt as much force as it does now. That influence this bill cuts up by the roots; I mean the influence of protection. I ſhall explain myſelf:—The office given to a young man going to India is of trifling conſequence. But he that goes out an inſig⯑nificant boy, in a few years returns a great Nabob. Mr. Haſtings ſays he has two hundred and fifty of that kind of raw materials, who expect to be ſpeedily manufactured into the merchantable quality I men⯑tion. [251] One of theſe gentlemen, ſuppoſe, returns hither, loaded with odium and with riches. When he comes to England, he comes as to a priſon or as to a ſanc⯑tuary; and either are ready for him, according to his demeanor. What is the influence in the grant of any place in India, to that which is acquired by the pro⯑tection or compromiſe with ſuch guilt, and with the command of ſuch riches, under the dominion of the hopes and fears which power is able to hold out to every man in that condition? That man's whole for⯑tune, half a million perhaps, becomes an inſtrument of influence, without a ſhilling of charge to the civil liſt; and the inſlux of fortunes which ſtand in need of this protection is continual. It works both ways; it influences the delinquent, and it may corrupt the miniſter. Compare the influence acquired by ap⯑pointing, for inſtance, even a Governor General, and that obtained by protecting him. I ſhall puſh this no further. But I wiſh gentlemen to roll it a little in their own minds.

The bill before you cuts off this ſource of influence. Its deſign and main ſcope is to regulate the admini⯑ſtration of India upon the principles of a Court of Judicature; and to exclude, as far as human prudence can exclude, all poſſibility of a corrupt partiality, in appointing to office, or ſupporting in office, or co⯑vering from enquiry and puniſhment, any perſon who has abuſed, or ſhall abuſe his authority. At the Board, as appointed and regulated by this bill, re⯑ward and puniſhment cannot be ſhifted and reverſed by a whiſper. That commiſſion becomes fatal to cabal, to intrigue, and to ſecret repreſentation, thoſe inſtruments of the ruin of India. He that cuts off the means of premature fortune, and the power of pro⯑tecting it when acquired, ſtrikes a deadly blow at the great fund, the bank, the capital ſtock of Indian in⯑fluence, which cannot be veſted any where, or in any hands, without moſt dangerous conſequences to the public.—Speech on Mr. Fox's Eaſt-India Bill.

PRINCES. (SEE KINGS, &c.)

THEIR (princes) power is therefore by no means compleat; nor are they ſafe in extreme abuſe. Such perſons, however elevated by flattery, arrogance, and ſelf-opinion, muſt be ſenſible that, whether covered or not by poſitive law, in ſome way or other they are accountable even here for the abuſe of their truſt. If they are not cut off by a rebellion of their people, they may be ſtrangled by the very Janiſſaries kept for their ſecurity.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

PATRIOT.

A MAN full of warm ſpeculative benevolence may wiſh his ſociety otherwiſe conſtituted than he finds it; but a good patriot, and a true politician, always conſiders how he ſhall make the moſt of the exiſting materials of his country.—Ibid.

PATRIOTISM.

TO be attached to the ſubdiviſion, to love the little platoon we belong to in ſociety, is the firſt principle (the germ as it were) of public affections. It is the firſt link in the ſeries by which we proceed towards a love to our country and to mankind. The intereſts of that portion of ſocial arrangement is a truſt in the hands of all thoſe who compoſe it; and as none but bad men would juſtify it in abuſe, none but traitors would barter it away for their own perſonal advan⯑tage.—Ibid.

PAIN. Violent Pain deſcribed.

A man who ſuffers under violent bodily pain, (I ſuppoſe the moſt violent, becauſe the effect may be the more obvious;) I ſay a man in great pain has his [253] teeth ſet, his eye-brows are violently contracted, his forehead is wrinkled, his eyes are dragged inwards, and rolled with great vehemence, his hair ſtands an end, the voice is forced out in ſhort ſhrieks and groans, and the whole fabric totters.—

PROBERT. The famous Hiſtory of the Revenue Adventures of the bold Baron North and the good Knight Probert, upon the Mountains of Venodotia.

AN attempt was lately made to improve this branch of local influence, (Principality of Wales) and to transfer it to the fund of general corruption. I have on the ſeat behind me, the conſtitution of Mr. John Probert, a knight errant, dubbed by the noble lord in the blue ribbon^*, and ſent to ſearch for revenues and adventures upon the mountains of Wales. The commiſſion is remarkable; and the event not leſs ſo. The commiſſion ſets forth, that ‘"Upon a report of the deputy auditor (for there is a deputy auditor) of the principality of Wales,) it appeared, that his Majeſty's land revenues in the ſaid principality, are greatly diminiſhed;"’ and ‘"that upon a report of the ſurveyor general of his Majeſty's land reve⯑nues, upon a memorial of the auditor of his Majeſty's revenues within the ſaid principality, that his mines and foreſts have produced very little profit either to the public revenue or to individuals;"’ and therefore they appoint Mr. Probert, with a penſion of three hundred pounds a year from the ſaid principality, to try whe⯑ther he can make any thing more of that very little which is ſtated to be ſo greatly diminiſhed. ‘"A beg⯑garly account of empty boxes."’ And yet, Sir, you will remark, that this diminution from littleneſs (which ſerves only to prove the infinite diviſibility of matter) was not for want of the tender and officious care (as we ſee) of ſurveyors general, and ſurveyors particu⯑lar; [254] of auditors and deputy-auditors; not for want of memorials, and remonſtrances, and reports, and commiſſions, and conſtitutions, and inquiſitions, and penſions.

Probert, thus armed, and accoutred, and paid, proceeded on his adventure; but he was no ſooner arrived on the confines of Wales, than all Wales was in arms to meet him. That nation is brave, and full of ſpirit. Since the invaſion of King Edward, and the maſſacre of the bards, there never was ſuch a tu⯑mult, and alarm, and uproar, through the region of Preſta [...]ya. Snowden ſhook to its baſe; Cader Edris was looſened from its foundations. The fury of li⯑tigious was blew her horn on the mountains. The rocks poured down their goatherds, and the deep caverns vomited out their miners. Every thing above ground, and every thing under ground, was in arms. In ſhort, Sir, to alight from my Welſh Pegaſus, and to come to level ground; the preux Chevalier Probert went to look for revenue, like his maſters upon other occaſions, and like his maſters, he found rebellion. But we were grown cautious by experience. A civil war of paper might end in a more ſerious war; for now remonſtrance met remonſtrance, and memorial was oppoſed to memorial. The wiſe Britons thought it more reaſonable, that the poor, waſted, decrepit revenue of the principality, ſhould die a natural than a violent death. In truth, Sir, the attempt was no leſs an affront upon the underſtanding of that reſpect⯑able people, than it was an attack on their property. They choſe that their ancient moſs-grown caſtles ſhould moulder into decay, under the ſilent touches of time, and the ſlow formality of an oblivious and drowſy Exchequer, than that they ſhould be battered down all at once by the lively efforts of a penſioned engineer. As it is the fortune of the noble lord to whom the auſpices of this campaign belonged, fre⯑quently to provoke reſiſtance, ſo it is his rule and nature to yield to that reſiſtance in all caſes whatſoever. [255] He was true to himſelf on this occaſion. He ſub⯑mitted with ſpirit to the ſpirited remonſtrances of the Welch. Mr. Probert gave up his adventure, and keeps his penſion; and ſo ends ‘"the famous hiſtory of the revenue and adventures of the bold Baron North, and the good Knight Probert, upon the mountains of Venodotia."—’ Oeconomical Reform.

PARTY DEFINED.

PARTY is a body of men united for promoting, by their joint endeavours, the national intereſt, upon ſome particular principle in which they are all agreed.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

POETRY. Its Powers and Province.

SO little does poetry depend for its effect on the power of raiſing ſenſible images, that I am con⯑vinced it would loſe a very conſiderable part of its energy if this were the neceſſary reſult of all de⯑ſcription. Becauſe that union of affecting words, which is the moſt powerful of all poetical inſtru⯑ments, would frequently loſe its force along with its propriety and conſiſtency, if the ſenſible images were always excited. There is not perhaps in the whole Aeneid a more grand and laboured paſſage than the deſcription of Vulcan's cavern in Aetna, and the works that are there carried on. Virgil dwells particularly on the formation of the thun⯑der, which he deſcribes unfiniſhed under the ham⯑mers of the Cyclops. But what are the principles of this extraordinary compoſition?

This ſeems to me admirably ſublime; yet if we attend coolly to the kind of ſenſible images which a [256] combination of ideas of this ſort muſt form, the chi⯑meras of madmen cannot appear more wild and ab⯑ſurd than ſuch a picture. ‘"Three rays of twiſted ſhowers, three of watery clouds, three of fire, and three of the winged ſouth wind; then mixed they in the work terrific lightnings, and ſound, and fear, and anger, with purſuing flames."’ This ſtrange com⯑poſition is formed into a groſs body; it is hammered by the Cyclops, it is in part poliſhed, and partly continues rough. The truth is, if poetry gives us a noble aſſemblage of words, correſponding to many noble ideas, which are connected by circumſtances of time or place, or related to each other as cauſe and effect, or aſſociated in any natural way, they may be moulded together in any form, and perfectly anſwer their end. The pictureſque connexion is not demanded; becauſe no real picture is formed; nor is the effect of the deſcription at all the leſs upon this account. What is ſaid of Helen by Priam and the old men of his council, is generally thought to give us the higheſt poſſible idea of that fatal beauty.

Here is not one word ſaid of the particulars of her beauty; nothing which can in the leaſt help us to any preciſe idea of her perſon; but yet we are much more touched by this manner of mentioning her than by thoſe long and laboured deſcriptions of Helen, whe⯑ther handed down by tradition, or formed by fancy, which are to be met with in ſome authors. I am ſure it affects me much more than the minute deſcription which Spencer has given of Belphebe; though I own [257] that there are parts in that deſcription, as there are in all the deſcriptions of that excellent writer, ex⯑tremely fine and poetical. The terrible picture which Lucretius has drawn of religion, in order to diſplay the magnanimity of his philoſophical hero in oppoſing her, is thought to be deſigned with great boldneſs and ſpirit;

What idea do you derive from ſo excellent a picture? None at all, moſt certainly; neither has the poet ſaid a ſingle word which might in the leaſt ſerve to mark a ſingle limb or feature of the phantom, which he intended to repreſent in all the horrors imagination can conceive. In reality poetry and rhetoric do not ſucceed in exact deſcription ſo well as painting does; their buſineſs is, to affect rather by ſympathy than imitation; to diſplay rather the effect of things on the mind of the ſpeaker, or of others, than to pre⯑ſent a clear idea of the things themſelves. This is their moſt extenſive province, and that in which they ſucceed the beſt.—Sublime and Beautiful.

POETRY, Not ſtrictly an imitative Art.

HENCE we may obſerve that poetry, taken in its moſt general ſenſe, cannot with ſtrict propriety be called an art of imitation. It is indeed an imitation ſo far as it deſcribes the manners and paſſions of men which their words can expreſs; where animi motus effert interprete lingua. There it is ſtrictly imitation; and all merely dramatic poetry is of this ſort. But [258] deſcriptive poetry operates chiefly by ſubſtitution; by the means of ſounds, which by cuſtom have the effect of realities. Nothing is an imitation further than as it reſembles ſome other thing; and words undoubt⯑edly have no ſort of reſemblance to the ideas for which they ſtand—Ibid.

PROGNOSTICS.

VAIN are all the prognoſtics taken from ideas and paſſions, which ſurvive the ſtate of things which gave riſe to them.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

PROSCRIPTION.

IF a ſtate ſhould be ſo unhappy as to think it can⯑not ſubſiſt without a barbarous proſcription, the per⯑ſons ſo proſcribed ought to be indemnified by the remiſſion of a large part of their taxes, by an im⯑munity from the offices of public burden, and by an exemption from being preſſed into any military or naval ſervice.—Letter to an Iriſh Peer on the Penal Laws.

PEASANTS, (FRENCH.)

THE rich peaſants are bribed with church lands; and the poorer of that deſcription are, and can be, counted for nothing. They may riſe in ferocious, ill directed tumults—but they can only diſgrace them⯑ſelves and ſignalize the triumph of their adverſaries.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

PROFESSION.

THE degree of eſtimation in which any profeſſion is held becomes the ſtandard of the eſtimation in which the profeſſors hold themſelves.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

PASSIONS. The Rationale of our Paſſions very neceſſary.

THE more accurately we ſearch into the human mind, the ſtronger traces we every where find of his wiſdom who made it. If a diſcourſe on the uſe of the parts of the body may be conſidered as an hymn to the Creator; the uſe of the paſſions, which are the organs of the mind, cannot be barren of praiſe to him, nor unproductive to ourſelves of that noble and uncommon union of ſcience and admira⯑tion, which a contemplation of the works of infinite wiſdom alone can afford to a rational mind; whilſt, referring to him whatever we find of right or good or fair in ourſelves, diſcovering his ſtrength and wiſdom even in our own weakneſs and imperfection, honouring them where we diſcover them clearly, and adoring their profundity where we are loſt in our ſearch, we may be inquiſitive without impertinence, and elevated without pride; we may be admitted, if I may dare to ſay ſo, into the counſels of the Al⯑mighty by a conſideration of his works. The eleva⯑tion of the mind ought to be the principal end of all our ſtudies, which if they do not in ſome meaſure effect, they are of very little ſervice to us. But, beſides this great purpoſe, a conſideration of the ra⯑tionale of our paſſions ſeems to me very neceſſary for all who would affect them upon ſolid and ſure principles. It is not enough to know them in general: to affect them after a delicate manner, or to judge properly of any work deſigned to affect them, we ſhould know the exact boundaries of their ſeveral juriſdictions; we ſhould purſue them through all their variety of operations, and pierce into the in⯑moſt, and what might appear inacceſſible parts of our nature, ‘Quod latet arcanâ non enarrabile fibrâ.’ Without all this it is poſſible for a man, after a con⯑fuſed manner, ſometimes to ſatisfy his own mind of [260] the truth of his work; but he can never have a cer⯑tain determinate rule to go by, not can he ever make his propoſitions ſufficiently clear to others. Poets, and orators, and painters, and thoſe who cultivate other branches of the liberal arts, have without this critical knowledge ſucceeded well in their ſeveral provinces, and will ſucceed; as among artificers there are many machines made, and even invented without any exact knowledge of the principles they are go⯑verned by. It is, I own, not uncommon to be wrong in theory, and right in practice; and we are happy that it is ſo. Men often act right from their feelings, who afterwards reaſon but ill on them from principle; but as it is impoſſible to avoid an attempt at ſuch reaſoning, and equally impoſſible to prevent its having ſome influence on our practice, ſurely it is worth taking ſome pains to have it juſt, and founded on the baſis of ſure experience. We might expect that the artiſts themſelves would have been our ſureſt guides; but the artiſts have been too much occupied in the practice: the philoſophers have done little; and what they have done, was moſtly with a view to their own ſchemes and ſyſtems: and as for thoſe called critics, they have generally ſought the rule of the arts in the wrong place; they ſought it among poems, pictures, engravings, ſtatues, and buildings. But art can never give the rules that make an art. This is, I believe, the reaſon why artiſts in general, and poets principally, have been confined in ſo narrow a circle; they have been rather imita⯑tors of one another than of nature; and this with ſo faithful an uniformity, and to ſo remote an antiquity, that it is h [...]d to ſay who gave the firſt model. Cri⯑tics follow them, and therefore can do little as guides. I can judge but poorly of any thing, whilſt I mea⯑ſure it by no other ſtandard than itſelf. The true ſtandard of the arts is in every man's power; and an eaſy obſervation of the moſt common, ſometimes of the meaneſt things in nature, will give the trueſt [261] lights, where the greateſt ſagacity and induſtry that ſlights ſuch obſervation, muſt leave us in the dark, or, what is worſe, amuſe and miſlead us by falſe lights. In an enquiry it is almoſt every thing to be once in a right road. I am ſatisfied I have done but little by theſe obſervations conſidered in themſelves; and I never ſhould have taken the pains to digeſt them, much leſs ſhould I have ever ventured to pub⯑liſh them, if I was not convinced that nothing tends more to the corruption of ſcience than to ſuffer it to ſlagnate. Theſe waters muſt be troubled before they can exert their virtues. A man who works beyond the ſurface of things, though he may be wrong him⯑ſelf, yet he clears the way for others, and may chance to make even his errors ſubſervient to the cauſe of truth.—Sublime and Beautiful.

PAPER CURRENCY.

SO ſoon as a nation compels a creditor to take paper currency in diſcharge of his debt, there is a bankruptcy. Whilſt paper is taken, paper will be iſſued.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

PERSECUTION.

IT is injuſtice, and not a miſtaken conſcience that has been the principle of perſecution, at leaſt as far as it has fallen under my obſervation.—Letter to an Iriſh Peer on the penal Laws.

PRUDENCE.

PRUDENCE is the queen of virtues.—Regicide Peace.

PRUDENCE.

PRUDENCE is not only the firſt in rank of the virtues political and moral, but ſhe is the director, [262] the regulator, the ſtandard of them all.—

PRUDENCE.

PRUDENCE in new caſes can do nothing on grounds of retroſpect.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

PROPERTY AND FRANCHISE.

IF property be artificially ſeparated from franchiſe, the franchiſe muſt in ſome way or other, and in ſome proportion, naturally attract property to it.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

PROPERTY (TRANSFER OF.)

A great object is always anſwered, whenever any property is transferr'd from hands that are not fit for that property, to thoſe that are.—Oecon. Reform.

PROPERTY, Ought to be, out of all Proportion, predominant in the Repreſentation.

NOTHING is a due and adequate repreſentation of a ſtate, that does not repreſent its ability, as well as its property. But as ability is a vigorous and active principle, and as property is ſluggiſh, inert, and ti⯑mid, it never can be ſafe from the invaſions of ability, unleſs it be, out of all proportion, predominant in the repreſentation. It muſt be repreſented too in great maſſes of accumulation, or it is not rightly pro⯑tected. The characteriſtic eſſence of property, formed out of the combined principles of its acquiſition and conſervation, is to be unequal. The great maſſes, therefore, which excite envy, and tempt rapacity, [263] muſt be put out of the poſſibility of danger. Then they form a natural rampart about the leſſer proper⯑ties in all their gradations. The ſame quantity of property, which is by the natural courſe of things di⯑vided among many, has not the ſame operation. Its defenſive power is weakened as it is diffuſed. In this diffuſion each man's portion is leſs than what, in the eagerneſs of his deſires, he may flatter himſelf to obtain by diſſipating the accumulations of others.—The plunder of the few would indeed give but a ſhare inconceivably ſmall in the diſtribution to the many. But the many are not capable of making this calcula⯑tion; and thoſe who lead them to rapine, never intend this diſtribution.

The power of perpetuating our property in our families, is one of the moſt valuable and intereſting circumſtances belonging to it, and that which tends the moſt to the perpetuation of ſociety itſelf. It makes our weakneſs ſubſervient to our virtue; it grafts benevolence even upon avarice. The poſ⯑ſeſſors of family wealth, and of the diſtinction which attends hereditary poſſeſſion, (as moſt concerned in it) are the natural ſecurities for this tranſmiſſion.—With us, the Houſe of Peers is formed upon this principle. It is wholly compoſed of hereditary pro⯑perty and hereditary diſtinction; and made therefore the third of the Legiſlature; and in the laſt event, the ſole judge of all property in all its ſubdiviſions. The Houſe of Commons too, though not neceſſarily, yet in fact is always ſo compoſed in the far greater part. Let thoſe large proprietors be what they will, and they have their chance of being among the beſt, they are at the very worſt, the ballaſt in the veſſel of the commonwealth. For though hereditary wealth, and the rank which goes with it, are too much idolized by creeping ſycophants, and the blind abject admirers of power, they are too raſhly ſlighted in ſhallow ſpe⯑culations of the petulant, aſſuming, ſhort-ſighted cox⯑combs of philoſophy. Some decent regulated pre⯑eminence, [264] ſome preference (not excluſive appropri⯑ation) given to birth, is neither unnatural, nor unjuſt, nor impolitic.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

POLISH REVOLUTION.

THE ſtate of Poland was ſuch, that there could ſcarcely exiſt two opinions, but that a reformation of its conſtitution, even at ſome expence of blood, might be ſeen without much diſapprobation. No confuſion could be ſeared in ſuch an enterprize; be⯑cauſe the eſtabliſhment to be reformed was itſelf a ſtate of confuſion. A king without authority; nobles without union or ſubordination; a people without arts, induſtry, commerce, or liberty; no order within; [...]ence without; no effective public force, but a foreign force, which entered a naked country at will, and diſpoſed of every thing at pleaſure.—Here was a ſtate of things which ſeemed to invite, and might perhaps juſtify, bold enterprize and deſ⯑perate experiment. But in what manner was this chaos brought into order? The means were as ſtriking to the imagination, as ſatisfactory to the reaſon, and ſoothing to the moral ſentiments. In contemplating that change, humanity has every thing to rejoice and to glory in; nothing to be aſhamed of, nothing to ſuffer. So far as it has gone, it probably is the moſt pure and defecated public good which has ever been conferred on mankind. We have ſeen anarchy and ſervitude at once removed; a throne ſtrengthened for the protection of the people, without trenching on their liberties; all foreign cabal baniſhed, by changing the crown from elective to hereditary; and what was a matter of pleaſing wonder, we have ſeen a reigning king, from an heroic love to his country, exerting himſelf with all the toil, the dexterity, the management, the intrigue, in favour of a family of ſtrangers, with which ambitious men labour for the aggrandiſement of their own. Ten millions of men [265] in a way of being freed gradually, and therefore ſafely to themſelves and the ſtate, not from civil or political chains, which, bad as they were, could not bind the mind, but from ſubſtantial perſonal bondage. Inhabitants of cities, before without privileges, placed in the conſideration which belongs to that improved and connecting ſituation of ſocial life. One of the moſt proud, numerous, and fierce bodies of nobi⯑lity and gentry ever known in the world, arranged only in the foremoſt rank of free and generous citi⯑zens. Not one man incurred loſs, or ſuffered de⯑gradation. All, from the king to the day labourer, were improved in their condition. Every thing was kept in its place and order; but in that place and order every thing was bettered. To add to this happy wonder, this unheard of conjunction of wiſdom and fortune, not one drop of blood was ſpilled; no treachery; no outrage; no ſyſtem of ſlander, more cruel than the ſword; no ſtudied inſults on religion, morals, or manners; no ſpoil; no confiſcation; no citizen beggared; none impriſoned; none exiled: the whole was effected with a policy, a diſcretion, an unanimity and ſecreſy, ſuch as have never been be⯑fore known on any occaſion; but ſuch wonderful conduct was reſerved for this glorious conſpiracy in favour of the true and genuine rights and intereſts of men. Happy people, if they know to proceed as they have begun! Happy prince, worthy to begin with ſplendor, or to cloſe with glory, a race of pa⯑triots and of kings; and to leave

To finiſh all—this great good, as in the inſtant it is, contains in it the ſeeds of all further improvement, and may be conſidered as in a regular progreſs, be⯑cauſe founded on ſimilar principles, towards the ſtable excellence of a Britiſh conſtitution.

Here was a matter for congratulation and for feſtive remembrance through ages. Here moraliſts and [266] divines might indeed relax in their temperance to exhilarate their humanity.—

POLISH AND FRENCH REVOLUTION COMPARED.

THEY (the French faction) cannot pretend that France had ſtood ſo much in need of a change as Poland. They cannot pretend that Poland has not obtained a better ſyſtem of liberty or of government than it enjoyed before. They cannot aſſert, that the Poliſh revolution coſt more dearly than that of France to the intereſts and feelings of multitudes of men. But the cold and ſubordinate light in which they look upon the one, and the pains they take to preach up the other of theſe revolutions, leave us no choice in fixing on their motives. Both revolutions profeſs liberty as their object; but in obtaining this object the one proceeds from anarchy to order: the other from order to anarchy. The firſt ſecures its liberty by eſtabliſhing its throne; the other builds its freedom on the ſubverſion of its monarchy. In the one their means are unſtained by crimes, and their ſettlement favours morality. In the other, vice and confuſion are in the very eſſence of their purſuit and of their enjoyment. The circumſtances in which theſe two events differ, muſt cauſe the difference we make in their comparative eſtimation. Theſe turn the ſcale with the ſocieties in favour of France. Ferrum eſt quod amant. The frauds, the violences, the ſacrileges, the havock and ruin of families, the diſperſion and exile of the pride and flower of a great country, the diſorder, the confuſion, the anarchy, the violation of property, the cruel murders, the inhuman confiſcations, and in the end the in⯑ſolent domination of bloody, ferocious, and ſenſe⯑leſs clubs. Theſe are the things which they love and admire. What men admire and love, they would ſurely act. Let us ſee what is done in France; and [267] then let us undervalue any the ſlighteſt danger of falling into the hands of ſuch a mercileſs and ſavage faction!—

POLAND. (SEE SAXONY.)

POLAND, from one cauſe or other, is always un⯑quiet. The new conſtitution only ſerves to ſupply that reſtleſs people with new means, at leaſt new modes, of cheriſhing their turbulent diſpoſition. The bottom of the character is the ſame.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

POWER. Always accompanied by Terror.

I KNOW ſome people are of opinion, that no awe, no degree of terror, accompanies the idea of power; and have hazarded to affirm, that we can contemplate the idea of God himſelf, without any ſuch emotion. I purpoſely avoided, when I firſt conſidered this ſub⯑ject, to introduce the idea of that great and tremen⯑dous Being, as an example in an argument ſo light as this; though it frequently occurred to me, not as an objection to, but as a ſtrong confirmation of, my notions in this matter. I hope, in what I am going to ſay, I ſhall avoid preſumption, where it is almoſt impoſſible for any mortal to ſpeak with ſtrict propriety. I ſay then, that whilſt we conſider the Godhead merely as he is an object of the underſtanding, which forms a complex idea of power, wiſdom, juſtice, goodneſs, all ſtretched to a degree far exceeding the bounds of our comprehenſion, whilſt we conſider the Divinity in this refined and abſtracted light, the ima⯑gination and paſſions are little or nothing affected. But becauſe we are bound, by the condition of our nature, to aſcend to theſe pure and intellectual ideas, through the medium of ſenſible images, and to judge of theſe divine qualities by their evident acts and ex⯑ertions, it becomes extremely hard to diſentangle our [268] idea of the cauſe from the effect by which we are led to know it. Thus when we contemplate the Deity, his attributes and their operation coming united on the mind, form a ſort of ſenſible image, and as ſuch are capable of affecting the imagination. Now, though in a juſt idea of the Deity, perhaps none of his attributes are predominant, yet to our imagination, his power is by far the moſt ſtriking. Some reflec⯑tion, ſome comparing, is neceſſary to ſatisfy us of his wiſdom, his juſtice, and his goodneſs. To be ſtruck with his power, it is only neceſſary that we ſhould open our eyes. But whilſt we contemplate ſo vaſt an object, under the arm, as it were, of almighty power, and inveſted upon every ſide with omnipre⯑ſence, we ſhrink into the minuteneſs of our own nature, and are, in a manner, annihilated before him. And though a conſideration of his other attributes may relieve in ſome meaſure our apprehenſions; yet no conviction of the juſtice with which it is exerciſed, nor the mercy with which it is tempered, can wholly remove the terror that naturally ariſes from a force which nothing can withſtand. If we rejoice, we re⯑joice with trembling; and even whilſt we are receiv⯑ing benefits, we cannot but ſhudder at a power which can confer benefits of ſuch mighty importance.—When the prophet David contemplated the wonders of wiſdom and power which are diſplayed in the oeco⯑nomy of man, he ſeems to be ſtruck with a ſort of divine horror, and cries out, Fearfully and wonder⯑fully am I made! An heathen poet has a ſentiment of a ſimilar nature; Horace looks upon it as the laſt effort of philoſophical fortitude, to behold without terror and amazement, this immenſe and glorious fabric of the univerſe:

Lucretius is a poet not to be ſuſpected of giving way to ſuperſtitious terrors; yet when he ſuppoſes the [269] whole mechaniſm of nature laid open by the maſter of his philoſophy, his tranſport on this magnificent view, which he has repreſented in the colours of ſuch bold and lively poetry, is overcaſt with a ſhade of ſecret dread and horror:

But the ſcripture alone can ſupply ideas anſwerable to the majeſty of this ſubject. In the ſcripture, wherever God is repreſented as appearing or ſpeak⯑ing, every thing terrible in nature is called up to heighten the awe and ſolemnity of the divine pre⯑ſence. The pſalms, and the prophetical books, are crowded with inſtances of this kind. The earth ſhook (ſays the pſalmiſt), the heavens alſo dropped at the preſence of the Lord. And what is remarkable, the painting preſerves the ſame character, not only when he is ſuppoſed deſcending to take vengeance upon the wicked, but even when he exerts the like pleni⯑tude of power in acts of beneficence to mankind. Tremble thou earth! at the preſence of the Lord; at the preſence of the God of Jacob; which turned the rock into ſtanding water, the ſlint vnto a fountain of waters! It were endleſs to enumerate all the paſſages, both in the ſacred and profane writers, which eſtabliſh the general ſentiment of mankind, concerning the inſe⯑parable union of a ſacred and reverential awe, with our ideas of the divinity. Hence the common maxim, Primos in orbe deos fecit timor. This maxim may be, as I believe it is, falſe with regard to the origin of religion. The maker of the maxim ſaw how inſeparable theſe ideas were, without conſidering that the notion of ſome great power muſt be always precedent to our dread of it. But this dread muſt neceſſarily follow the idea of ſuch a power, when it is once excited in the mind. It is on this principle [270] that true religion has, and muſt have, ſo large a mixture of ſalutary fear; and that falſe religions have generally nothing elſe but fear to ſupport them. Before the chriſtian religion had, as it were, human⯑ized the idea of the Divinity, and brought it ſome⯑what nearer to us, there was very little ſaid of the love of God. The followers of Plato have ſomething of it, and only ſomething; the other writers of pagan antiquity, whether poets or philoſophers, nothing at all. And they who conſider with what infinite at⯑tention, by what a diſregard of every periſhable object, through what long habits of piety and con⯑templation it is, any man is able to attain an entire love and devotion to the Deity, will eaſily perceive, that it is not the firſt, the moſt natural, and the moſt ſtriking effect which proceeds from that idea. Thus we have traced power through its ſeveral gradations unto the higheſt of all, where our imagination is finally loſt; and we find terror, quite throughout the progreſs, its inſeparable companion, and growing along with it, as far as we can poſſibly trace them. Now, as power is undoubtedly a capital ſource of the ſublime, this will point out evidently from whence its energy is derived, and to what claſs of ideas we ought to unite it.—Sublime and Beautiful.

POWER AND PROPERTY.

THAT power goes with property is not univerſally true, and the idea that the operation of it is certain and invariable, may miſlead us very fatally.—Me⯑morial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

POWER (DISCRETION OF.)

If the diſcretion of power is once let looſe upon property, we can be at no loſs to determine whoſe power, and what diſcretion it is that will prevail at laſt.—Oecon. Reform.

POWERS. Conduct of the Coaleſced Powers in the War againſt France.

WITHOUT their principles, perhaps without any principles at all, they played the game of the Jaco⯑bins. There was a beaten road before them. The Powers of Europe were armed; France had always appeared dangerous; the war was eaſily diverted from France as a faction, to France as a ſtate. The Princes were eaſily taught to ſlide back into their old habitual courſe of politics. They were eaſily led to conſider the flames that were conſuming France, not as a warning to protect their own buildings, (which were without any party wall, and linked by a contig⯑nation into the edifice of France) as an happy occa⯑ſion for the pillaging the goods, and for carrying off the materials of their neighbour's houſe. Their provident fears were changed into avaricious hopes. They carried on their new deſigns without ſeeming to abandon the principles of their old policy. They pretended to ſeek, or they flattered themſelves that they ſought, in the acceſſion of new fortreſſes, and new territories, a defenſive ſecurity. But the ſecu⯑rity wanted was againſt a kind of power, which was not dangerous in its fortreſſes nor in it's territories, but in it's ſpirit and it's principles. They aimed, or pretended to aim, at deſending themſelves againſt a danger, from which there can be no ſecurity in any defenſive plan. If armies and fortreſſes were a de⯑fence againſt Jacobiniſm, Louis the Sixteenth would this day reign a powerful monarch over an happy people.

This error obliged them, even in their offenſive operations, to adopt a plan of war againſt the ſucceſs of which there was ſomething little ſhort of mathe⯑matical demonſtration. They refuſed to take any ſtep which might ſtrike at the heart of affairs. They ſeemed unwilling to wound the enemy in any vital [272] part. They acted through the whole, as if they really wiſhed the conſervation of the Jacobin power; as what might be more favourable than the lawful Go⯑vernment to the attainment of the petty objects they looked for. They always kept on the circumfer⯑ence; and the wider and remoter the circle was, the more eagerly they choſe as their ſphere of action. The plan they purſued, in it's nature, demanded great length of time. In it's execution they who went the neareſt way to work were obliged to cover an incre⯑dible extent of country. It leſt to the enemy every means of deſtroying this extended line of weakneſs. Ill ſucceſs in any part was ſure to defeat the effect of the whole. This is true of Auſtria. It is ſtill more true of England. On this falſe plan, even good fortune, by further weakening the victor, put him but the further off from his object.

As long as there was any appearance of ſucceſs, the ſpirit of aggrandizement, and conſequently the ſpirit of mutual jealouſy ſeized upon all the coaleſeed Powers. Some ſought an acceſſion of territory at the expence of France, ſome at the expence of each other, ſome at the expence of third parties; and when the viciſſitude of diſaſter took it's turn, they found common diſtreſs a treacherous bond of faith and friendſhip.—Regicide Peace.

PEOPLE.

AMONGST theſe nice, and therefore dangerous points of caſuiſtry, may be reckoned the queſtion ſo much agitated in the preſent hour—Whether, after the people have diſcharged themſelves of their ori⯑ginal power by an habitual delegation, no occaſion can poſſibly occur which may juſtify their reſumption of it? This queſtion, in this latitude, is very hard to affirm or deny: but I am ſatisfied that no occaſion can juſtify ſuch a reſumption, which would not equally authorize a diſpenſation with any other moral [273] duty, perhaps with all of them together. However, if in general it be not eaſy to determine concerning the lawfulneſs of ſuch devious proceedings, which muſt be ever on the edge of crimes, it is far from difficult to foreſee the perilous conſequences of the reſuſcitation of ſuch a power in the people. The practical conſequences of any political tenet go a great way in deciding upon its value. Political pro⯑blems do not primarily concern truth or falſehood. They relate to good or evil. What in the reſult is likely to produce evil, is politically falſe: that which is productive of good, politically is true.

Believing it therefore a queſtion at leaſt arduous in the theory, and in the practice very critical, it would become us to aſcertain, as well as we can, what form it is that our incantations are about to call up from darkneſs and the ſleep of ages. When the ſupreme authority of the people is in queſtion, be⯑fore we attempt to extend or to confine it, we ought to fix in our minds, with ſome degree of diſtinctneſs, an idea of what it is we mean when we ſay the PEOPLE.

In a ſtate of rude nature there is no ſuch thing as a people. A number of men in themſelves have no collective capacity. The idea of a people is the idea of a corporation. It is wholly artificial; and made like all other legal fictions by common agree⯑ment. What the particular nature of that agreement was, is collected from the form into which the parti⯑cular ſociety has been caſt. Any other is not their covenant. When men, therefore, break up the ori⯑ginal compact or agreement which gives its corporate form and capacity to a ſtate, they are no longer a people; they have no longer a corporate exiſtence; they have no longer a legal coactive force to bind within, nor a claim to be recognized abroad. They are a number of vague looſe individuals, and no⯑thing more. With them all is to begin again. Alas! they little know how many a weary ſtep is to be taken [274] before they can form themſelves into a maſs, which has a true politic perſonality.

We hear much from men, who have not acquired their hardineſs of aſſertion from the proſundity of their thinking, about the omnipotence of a majority, in ſuch a diſſolution of an antient ſociety as hath taken place in France. But amongſt men ſo diſ⯑banded, there can be no ſuch thing as majority or minority; or power in any one perſon to bind an⯑other. The power of acting by a majority, which the gentlemen theoriſts ſeem to aſſume ſo readily, after they have violated the contract out of which it has ariſen, (if at all it exiſted) muſt be grounded on two aſſumptions; firſt, that of an incorporation pro⯑duced by unanimity; and ſecondly, an unanimous agreement, that the act of a mere majority (ſay of one) ſhall paſs with them and with others as the act of the whole.

We are ſo little affected by things which are ha⯑bitual, that we conſider this idea of the deciſion of a majority as if it were a law of our original nature: but ſuch conſtructive whole, reſiding in a part only, is one of the moſt violent fictions of poſitive law, that ever has been or can be made on the principles of artificial incorporation. Out of civil ſociety nature knows nothing of it; nor are men, even when ar⯑ranged according to civil order, otherwiſe than by very long training, brought at all to ſubmit to it. The mind is brought far more eaſily to acquieſce in the proceedings of one man, or a few, who act under a general procuration for the ſtate, than in the vote of a victorious majority in councils in which every man has his ſhare in the deliberation. For there the beaten party are exaſperated and ſoured by the pre⯑vious contention, and mortified by the concluſive defeat. This mode of deciſion, where wills may be ſo nearly equal, where, according to circumſtances, the ſmaller number may be the ſtronger force, and where apparent reaſon may be all upon one ſide, [275] and on the other little elſe than impetuous appetite; all this muſt be the reſult of a very particular and ſpecial convention, confirmed afterwards by long habits of obedience, by a ſort of diſcipline in ſociety, and by a ſtrong hand, veſted with ſtationary perma⯑nent power, to enforce this ſort of conſtructive ge⯑neral will. What organ it is that ſhall declare the corporate mind is ſo much a matter of poſitive ar⯑rangement, that ſeveral ſtates, for the validity of ſeveral of their acts, have required a proportion of voices much greater than that of a mere majority.—Theſe proportions are ſo entirely governed by con⯑vention, that in ſome caſes the minority decides. The laws in many countries to condemn require more than a mere majority; leſs than an equal number to acquit. In our judicial trials we require unanimity either to condemn or to abſolve. In ſome incor⯑porations one man ſpeaks for the whole; in others, a few. Until the other day, in the conſtitution of Po⯑land, unanimity was required to give validity to any act of their great national council or diet. This ap⯑proaches much more nearly to rude nature than the inſtitutions of any other country. Such, indeed, every commonwealth muſt be, without a poſitive law to recognize in a certain number the will of the entire body.

If men diſſolve their ancient incorporation, in or⯑der to regenerate their community, in that ſtate of things each man has a right, if he pleaſes, to remain an individual. Any number of individuals, who can agree upon it, have an undoubted right to form themſelves into a ſtate apart and wholly independent. If any of theſe is forced into the fellowſhip of an⯑other, this is conqueſt and not compact. On every principle, which ſuppoſes ſociety to be in virtue of a free covenant, this compulſive incorporation muſt be null and void.

As a people can have no right to a corporate ca⯑pacity without univerſal conſent, ſo neither have they [276] a right to hold excluſively any lands in the name and title of a corporation. On the ſcheme of the preſent rulers in our neighbouring country, regenerated as they are, they have no more right to the territory called France than I have. I have a right to pitch my tent in any unoccupied place I can find for it; and I may apply to my own maintenance any part of their unoccupied ſoil. I may purchaſe the houſe or vineyard of any individual proprietor who refuſes his conſent (and moſt proprietors have, as far as they dared, refuſed it) to the new incorporation. I ſtand in his independent place. Who are theſe inſolent men calling themſelves the French nation, that would monopolize this fair domain of nature? Is it becauſe they ſpeak a certain jargon? Is it their mode of chat⯑tering, to me unintelligible, that forms their title to my land? Who are they who claim by preſcription and deſcent from certain gangs of banditti called Franks, and Burgundians, and Viſigoths, of whom I may have never heard, and ninety-nine out of an hundred of themſelves certainly never have heard; whilſt at the very time they tell me, that preſcription and long poſſeſſion form no title to property? Who are they that preſume to aſſert that the land which I purchaſed of the individual, a natural perſon, and not a f [...]tion of ſtate, belongs to them, who in the very capacity in which they make their claim can exiſt only a [...] an imaginary being, and in virtue of the very preſcription which they reject and diſown? This mode of arguing might be puſhed into all the detail, ſo as to leave no ſort of doubt, that on their principles, and on the ſort of footing on which they have thought proper to place themſelves, the crowd of men, on the other ſide of the channel, who have the impudence to call themſelves a people, can never be the lawful excluſive poſſeſſors of the ſoil. By what they call reaſoning without prejudice, they leave not one ſtone upon another in the fabric of human ſociety. They ſubvert all the authority which they hold, as well as [277] all that which they have deſtroyed.—

PEOPLE. Proſperity of the People.

NO government ought to own that it exiſts for the purpoſe of checking the proſperity of its people, or that there is ſuch a principle involved in its policy.—Two Letters to Gentlemen in Briſtol.

PEOPLE AND GOVERNORS.

THE people have no intereſt in diſorder. When they do wrong, it is their error, and not their crime. But with the governing part of the ſtate it is far other⯑wiſe. They certainly may act ill by deſign, as well as by miſtake.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

PEOPLE.

THEY who ſtir up the people to improper deſires, whether of peace or war, will be condemned by themſelves. They who weakly yield to them will be condemned by hiſtory.—Regicide Peace.

PEOPLE. Their Intereſt and Humours ought to be conſulted.

I would not only conſult the intereſt of the peo⯑ple, but I would chearfully gratify their humours. We are all a ſort of children, that muſt be ſoothed and managed. I think I am not auſtere or formal in my nature. I would bear, I would even myſelf play my part in, any innocent buffooneries to divert them. But I never will act the tyrant for their amuſement. If they will mix malice in their ſports, I ſhall never conſent to throw them any living, ſen⯑tient, [278] creature whatſoever, no not ſo much as a kit⯑ling, to torment.—Speech previous to the Election at Briſtol.

PEOPLE (PRIVILEGED.)

MANY are the collateral diſadvantages, amongſt a privileged people, which muſt attend on thoſe who have no privileges.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

POPULAR SPIRIT.

BUT whatever may be repreſented concerning the meanneſs of the popular ſpirit, I, (Burke) for one, do not think ſo deſperately of the Britiſh nation. Our minds are light, but they are not evil. We are dreadfully open to deluſion and to dejection, but we are capable of being animated and undeceived.—Regicide Peace.

PUBLIC MAN, HIS DUTY.

WHEN the public man omits to put himſelf in a ſituation of doing his duty with effect, it is an omiſſion that fruſtrates the purpoſes of his truſt, almoſt as much as if he had formally deſtroyed it. It is ſurely no very rational account of a man's life, that he has al⯑ways acted right, but has taken ſpecial care to act in ſuch a manner that his endeavours could not poſſibly be productive of any conſequence.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

PUBLIC ESTATES.

ALL public eſtates which are more ſubſervient to the purpoſes of vexing, overawing, and influencing thoſe who hold under them, and to the expence of perception and management, than of benefit to the revenue, ought, upon every principle, both of re⯑venue and of freedom, to be diſpoſed of.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

PUBLIC.

I PERFECTLY agree with you, that times and circumſtances, conſidered with reference to the public, ought very much to govern our conduct; though I am far from ſlighting, when applied with diſcretion to thoſe circumſtances, general prin⯑ciples and maxims of policy.—Letter to Sir H. Lang⯑riſhe, M. P.

PUBLIC OFFICES.

ALL offices which bring more charge than propor⯑tional advantage to the ſtate; all offices which may be engraſted on others, uniting and ſimplifying their duties, ought, in the firſt caſe, to be taken away; and in the ſecond, to be conſolidated.

All ſuch offices ought to be aboliſhed as obſtruct the proſpect of the general ſuperintendant of finance; which deſtroy his ſuperintendancy, which diſable him from foreſeeing and providing for charges as they may occur; from preventing expence in its origin, checking it in its progreſs, or ſecuring its application to its proper purpoſes. A miniſter under whom expences can be made without his knowledge, can never ſay what it is that he can ſpend, or what it is that he can ſave.—Oecon. Reform.

POLITICIANS (VULGAR.)

THE condition of princes, and ſometimes of mi⯑niſters too, is to be pitied. The creatures of the deſk, and the creatures of favour had no reliſh for the principles of the manifeſtoes of the combined powers againſt France. They promiſed no govern⯑ments, no regiments, no revenues from whence emo⯑luments might ariſe, by perquiſite or by grant. In truth, the tribe of vulgar politicians are the loweſt of our ſpecies. There is no trade ſo vile and mecha⯑nical as government in their hands. Virtue is not [280] their habit. They are out of themſelves in any courſe of conduct recommended only by conſcience and glory. A large, liberal, and proſpective view of the intereſts of States paſſes with them for ro⯑mance; and the principles that recommended it for the wanderings of a diſordered imagination. The calculators compute them out of their ſenſes. The jeſters and buſſoons ſhame them out of every thing grand and elevated. Littleneſs in object and in means, to them appears ſoundneſs and ſobriety. They think there is nothing worth purſuit, but that which they can handle; which they can meaſure with a two foot rule; which they can tell upon ten fingers.—Regicide Peace.

POLITICAL REASON DEFINED.

POLITICAL reaſon is a computing principle; add⯑ing, ſubtracting, multiplying, and dividing, morally and not metaphyſically, true moral denominations.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

POLITICAL ARRANGEMENTS.

IN their political arrangements, men have no right to put the well-being of the preſent generation wholly out of the queſtion. Perhaps the only moral truſt with any certainty in our hands, is the care of our own time. With regard to futurity, we are to treat it like a ward. We are not ſo to attempt an improve⯑ment of his fortune, as to put the capital of his eſtate to any hazard.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

POLITICS (NEW SYSTEM.) (SEE RELIGION.)

THESE principles of internal, as well as external diviſion and coalition, are but juſt now extinguiſhed. But they who will examine into the true character and genius of ſome late events, muſt be ſatisfied that [281] other ſources of faction, combining parties among the inhabitants of different countries into one con⯑nexion, are opened, and that from theſe ſources are likely to ariſe effects full as important as thoſe which had formerly ariſen from the jarring intereſts of the religious ſects. The intention of the ſeveral actors in the change in France, is not a matter of doubt. It is very openly profeſſed.

In the modern world, before this time, there has been no inſtance of this ſpirit of general political faction, ſeparated from religion, pervading ſeveral countries, and forming a principle of union between the partizans in each. But the thing is not leſs in human nature. The ancient world has furniſhed a ſtrong and ſtriking inſtance of ſuch a ground for faction, full as powerful, and full as miſchievous as our ſpirit of religious ſyſtem had ever been, exciting in all the ſtates of Greece (European and Aſiatic) the moſt violent animoſities, and the moſt cruel and bloody perſecutions and proſcriptions. Theſe an⯑cient factions in each commonwealth of Greece, connected themſelves with thoſe of the ſame deſcrip⯑tion in ſome other States; and ſecret cabals and public alliances were carried on and made, not upon a conformity of general political intereſts, but for the ſupport and aggrandizement of the two leading ſtates which headed the ariſtocratic and democratic factions. For, as in later times, the King of Spain was at the head of a catholic, and the King of Sweden of a proteſtant intereſt, France, (though catholic, acting ſubordinately to the latter,) in the like manner the Lacedemonians were every where at the head of the ariſtocratic intereſts, and the Athenians of the demo⯑cratic. The two leading powers kept alive a con⯑ſtant cabal and conſpiracy in every ſtate, and the political dogmas concerning the conſtitution of a republic, were the great inſtruments by which theſe leading States choſe to aggrandize themſelves. Their choice was not unwiſe; becauſe the intereſt in opi⯑nions [282] (merely as opinions, and without any experi⯑mental reference to their effects) when once they take ſtrong hold of the mind, become the moſt ope⯑rative of all intereſts, and indeed very often ſuper⯑cede every other.

I might further exemplify the poſſibility of a poli⯑tical ſentiment running through various ſtates and combining factions in them, from the hiſtory of the middle ages in the Guelfs and Ghibellines. Theſe were political factions originally in favour of the Emperor and the Pope, with no mixture of religious doginas; or if any thing religiouſly doctrinal they had in them originally, it very ſoon diſappeared; as their firſt political objects diſappeared alſo, though the ſpirit remained. They became no more than names to diſtinguiſh factions; but they were not the leſs powerful in their operation, when they had no direct point of doctrine, either religious or civil, to aſſert. For a long time, however, thoſe factions gave no ſmall degree of influence to the foreign chiefs in every commonwealth in which they exiſted. I do not mean to purſue further the track of theſe parties. I allude to this part of hiſtory only, as it furniſhes an inſtance of that ſpecies of faction which broke the locality of public affections, and united deſcriptions of citizens more with ſtrangers than with their coun⯑trymen of different opinions.—Memorial on tho Affairs of France in 1791.

PROTESTANT RELIGION.

WE know, and what is better, we feel inwardly, that religion is the baſis of civil ſociety, and the ſource of all good and of all comfort^*. In Eng⯑land [283] we are ſo convinced of this, that there is no ruſt of ſuperſtition, with which the accumulated ab⯑ſurdity of the human mind might have cruſted it over in the courſe of ages, that ninety-nine in an hundred of the people of England would not prefer to impiety. We ſhall never be ſuch fools as to call in an enemy to the ſubſtance of any ſyſtem to remove its corruptions, to ſupply its defects, or to perfect its conſtruction. If our religious tenets ſhould ever want a further elucidation, we ſhall not call on atheiſm to explain them. We ſhall not light up our temple from that unhallowed fire. It will be illu⯑minated with other lights. It will be perfumed with other incenſe, than the infectious ſtuff which is im⯑ported by the ſmugglers of adulterated metaphyſics. If our eccleſiaſtical eſtabliſhment ſhould want a reviſion, it is not avarice or rapacity, public or private, that we ſhall employ for the audit, or re⯑ceipt, or application of its conſecrated revenue.—Violently condemning neither the Greek nor the Armenian, nor, ſince heats are ſubſided, the Roman ſyſtem of religion, we prefer the Proteſtant; not be⯑cauſe we think it has leſs of the Chriſtian religion in it, but becauſe, in our judgment, it has more. We are proteſtants, not from indifference but from zeal.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

POPISH CLERGY.

A POPISH clergy, who are not reſtrained by the moſt auſtere ſubordination, will become a nuiſance, a real public grievance of the heavieſt kind, in any country that entertains them.—Letter to a Peer of Ireland on the Penal Laws.

PARSIMONY. Mere Parſimony not Oeconomy.

MERE parſimony is not oeconomy. It is ſepara⯑ble in theory from it; and in fact it may, or it may [284] not, be a part of oeconomy, according to circum⯑ſtances. Expence, and great expence, may be an eſſential part in true oeconomy. If parſimony were to be conſidered as one of the kinds of that virtue, there is, however, another and an higher oeconomy Oeconomy is a diſtributive virtue, and conſiſts not in ſaving, but in ſelection. Parſimony requires no pro⯑vidence, no ſagacity, no powers of combination, no compariſon, no judgment. Meer inſtinct, and that not an inſtinct of the nobleſt kind, may produce this falſe oeconomy in perfection. The other oeconomy has larger views. It demands a diſcriminating judg⯑ment, and a firm ſagacious mind. It ſhuts one door to impudent importunity, only to open another, and a wider, to unpreſuming merit. If none but meri⯑torious ſervice or real talent were to be rewarded, this nation has not wanted, and this nation will not want, the means of rewarding all the ſervice it ever will receive, and encouraging all the merit it ever will produce. No ſtate, ſince the foundation of ſo⯑ciety, has been impoveriſhed by that ſpecies of pro⯑fuſion.—Letter to a Noble Lord.

PROFESSORS OF ARTIFICIAL LAW. (SEE LAW.)

THE profeſſors of artificial law have always walked hand in hand with the profeſſors of artificial theology. As their end, in confounding the reaſon of man, and abridging his natural freedom, is exactly the ſame, they have adjuſted the means to that end in a way entirely ſimilar. The divine thunders out his ana⯑themas with more noiſe and terror againſt the breach of one of his poſitive inſtitutions, or the neglect of ſome of his trivial forms, than againſt the neglect or breach of thoſe duties and commandments of natural religion, which by theſe forms and inſtitutions he pretends to enforce. The lawyer has his forms, and his poſitive inſtitutions too, and he adheres to them [285] with a veneration altogether as religious. The worſt cauſe cannot be ſo prejudicial to the litigant, as his advocate's or attorney's ignorance or neglect of theſe forms. A law-ſuit is like an ill-managed diſpute, in which the firſt object is ſoon out of ſight, and the parties end upon a matter wholly foreign to that on which they began. In a law-ſuit the queſtion is, who has a right to a certain houſe or farm? And this queſtion is daily determined, not upon the evidences of the right, but upon the obſervance or neglect of ſome forms of words in uſe with the gentlemen of the robe, about which there is even amongſt them⯑ſelves ſuch a diſagreement, that the moſt experienced veterans in the profeſſion can never be poſitively aſſured that they are not miſtaken.

Let us expoſtulate with theſe learned ſages, theſe prieſts of the ſacred temple of juſtice. Are we judges of our own property? By no means. You then, who are initiated into the myſteries of the blindfold goddeſs, inform me whether I have a right to eat the bread I have earned by the hazard of my life, or the ſweat of my brow? The grave doctor anſwers me in the affirmative. The reverend ſer⯑jeant replies in the negative; the learned barriſter reaſons upon one ſide and upon the other, and con⯑cludes nothing. What ſhall I do? An antagoniſt ſtarts up and preſſes me hard. I enter the field, and retain theſe three perſons to defend my cauſe. My cauſe, which two farmers from the plough could have decided in half an hour, takes the court twenty years. I am, however, at the end of my labour, and have, in reward for all my toil and vexation, a judgment in my favour. But hold—a ſagacious commander, in the adverſary's army has found a ſlaw in the pro⯑ceeding. My triumph is turned into mourning. I have uſed or inſtead of and, or ſome miſtake, ſmall in appearance, but dreadful in its conſequences, and have the whole of my ſucceſs quaſhed in a writ of error. I remove my ſuit; I ſhift from court to [286] court; I fly from equity to law, and from law to equity; equal uncertainty attends me every where: and a miſtake in which I had no ſhare, decides at once upon my liberty and property, ſending me from the court to a priſon, and adjudging my family to beggary and famine. I am innocent, gentlemen, of the darkneſs and uncertainty of your ſcience. I never darkened it with abſurd and contradictory notions, nor confounded it with chicane and ſophiſ⯑try. You have excluded me from my having any ſhare in the conduct of my own cauſe; the ſcience was too deep for me; I acknowledged it; but it was too deep even for yourſelves; you have made the way ſo intricate, that you are yourſelves loſt in it. You err, and you puniſh me for your errors.—Vin⯑dication of Natural Society.

PRUSSIA AND THE EMPEROR.

IF the two great leading Powers of Germany do not regard this danger^*, (as apparently they do not) in the light in which it preſents itſelf ſo naturally, it is becauſe they are powers too great to have a ſocial intereſt. That ſort of intereſt belongs only to thoſe, whoſe ſtate of weakneſs or mediocrity is ſuch, as to give them greater cauſe of apprehenſion from what may deſtroy them, than of hope from any thing by which they may be aggrandized.

As long as thoſe two Princes are at variance, ſo long the liberties of Germany are ſafe. But if ever they ſhould ſo far underſtand one another as to be perſuaded that they have a more direct and more certainly defined intereſt in a proportioned mutual aggrandizement than in a reciprocal reduction, that is, if they come to think that they are more likely to be enriched by a diviſion of ſpoil, than to be ren⯑dered ſecure by keeping to the old policy of pre⯑venting [287] others from being ſpoiled by either of them, from that moment the liberties of Germany are no more.

That a junction of two in ſuch a ſcheme is nei⯑ther impoſſible nor improbable, is evident from the partition of Poland in 1773, which was effected by ſuch a junction as made the interpoſition of other nations to prevent it, not eaſy. Their circumſtances, at that time, hindered any other three ſtates, or in⯑deed any two, from taking meaſures in common to prevent it, though France was at that time an exiſt⯑ing power, and had not yet learned to act upon a ſyſtem of politics of her own invention. The geo⯑graphical poſition of Poland was a great obſtacle to any movements of France in oppoſition to this, at that time unparalleled league. To my certain know⯑ledge, if Great Britain had, at that time, been willing to concur in preventing the execution of a project ſo dangerous in the example, even exhauſted as France then was by the preceding war, and under a lazy and unenterpriſing Prince, ſhe would have at every riſque taken an active part in this buſineſs. But a languor with regard to ſo remote an intereſt, and the principles and paſſions which were then ſtrongly at work at home, were the cauſes why Great Britain would not give France any encouragement in ſuch an enterprize. At that time, however, and with regard to that object, in my opinion, Great Britain and France had a common intereſt.

But the poſition of Germany is not like that of Poland, with regard to France, either for good or for evil. If a conjunction between Pruſſia and the Emperor ſhould be formed for the purpoſe of ſecu⯑lariſing and rendering hereditary the Eccleſiaſtical Electorates and the Biſhopric of Munſter, for ſet⯑tling two of them on the children of the Emperor, and uniting Cologne and Munſter to the dominions of the King of Pruſſia on the Rhine; or if any other project of mutual aggrandizement ſhould be in proſ⯑pect, [288] and that to facilitate ſuch a ſcheme, the modern French ſhould be permitted and encouraged to ſhake the internal and external ſecurity of theſe Eccleſi⯑aſtical Electorates, Great Britain is ſo ſituated that ſhe could not, with any effect, ſet herſelf in oppo⯑ſition to ſuch a deſign. Her principal arm, her ma⯑rine, could here be of no ſort of uſe.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

PITY.

PITY is a paſſion founded on love.—Sublime and Beautiful.

PRECEDENTS.

I ſhall never quit precedents where I find them ap⯑plicable.—Oecon. Reform.

PRESCRIPTION (THE SACRED RULES OF).

THE Crown has conſidered me after long ſervice: the Crown has paid the Duke of Bedford by advance. He has had a long credit for any ſervice which he may perform hereafter. He is ſecure, and long may he be ſecure, in his advance, whether he performs any ſervices or not. But let him take care how he en⯑dangers the ſafety of that conſtitution which ſecures his own utility, or his own inſignificance; or how he diſcourages thoſe who take up, even puny arms, to defend an order of things, which, like the ſun of Heaven, ſhines alike on the uſeful and the worthleſs. His grants are engrafted on the public law of Europe, covered with the awful hoar of innumerable ages. They are guarded by the ſacred rules of preſcription, found in that full treaſury of juriſprudence from which the jejuneneſs and penury of our municipal law has, by degrees, been enriched and ſtrengthened. This preſcription I had my ſhare (a very full ſhare) in [289] bringing to its perfection^*. The Duke of Bedford will ſtand as long as preſcriptive law endures; as long as the great ſtable laws of property, common to us with all civilized nations, are kept in their integrity, and without the ſmalleſt intermixture of the laws, maxims, principles, or precedents of the grand revo⯑lution. They are ſecure againſt all changes but one. The whole revolutionary ſyſtem, inſtitutes, digeſt, code, novels, text, gloſs, comment, are not only not the ſame, but they are the very reverſe, and the re⯑verſe fundamentally, of all the laws on which civil life has hitherto been upheld in all the governments of the world. The learned profeſſors of the Rights of Man regard preſcription, not as a title to bar all claim, ſet up againſt old poſſeſſion, but they look on preſcription as itſelf a bar againſt the poſſeſſor and proprietor. They hold an immemorial poſſeſſion to be no more than a long continued, and therefore an aggravated injuſtice.

Such are their ideas; ſuch their religion, and ſuch their law. But as to our country and our race, as long as the well-compacted ſtructure of our church and ſtate, the ſanctuary, the holy of holies of that ancient law, de⯑fended by reverence, defended by power, a fortreſs at once and a temple^†, ſhall ſtand inviolate on the brow of the Britiſh Sion, as long as the Britiſh Monarchy, not more limited than fenced by the orders of the State, ſhall, like the proud Keep of Windſor, riſing in the majeſty of proportion, and girt with the double belt of its kindred and coeval towers, as long as this awful ſtructure ſhall overſee and guard the ſubjected land, ſo long the mounds and dykes of the low, fat, Bedford level will have nothing to fear from all the pickaxes of all the levellers of France. As long as our ſovereign Lord the King, and his faithful ſub⯑jects, [290] the Lords and Commons of this realm, the triple cord, which no man can break; the ſolemn, ſworn, conſtitutional frank-pledge of this nation; the firm guarantees of each others being, and each others rights; the joint and ſeveral ſecurities, each in its place and order, for every kind and every quality, of property and of dignity; as long as theſe endure, ſo long the Duke of Bedford is ſafe; and we are all ſafe together; the high from the blights of envy and the ſpoliations of rapacity; the low from the iron hand of oppreſſion and the inſolent ſpurn of contempt. Amen! and ſo be it: and ſo it will be,

But if the rude inroad of Gallic tumult, with its ſophiſtical Rights of Man, to falſify the account, and its ſword as a makeweight to throw into the ſcale, ſhall be introduced into our city by a miſguided po⯑pulace, ſet on by proud great men, themſelves blinded and intoxicated by a frantic ambition, we ſhall, all of us, periſh and be overwhelmed in a common ruin. If a great ſtorm blow on our coaſt, it will caſt the whales on the ſtrand as well as the periwinkles.—Letter to a noble Lord.

PARTY, (FRENCH) HOW COMPOSED.

IN the mean time a ſyſtem of French conſpiracy is gaining ground in every country. This ſyſtem hap⯑pening to be founded on principles the moſt deluſive indeed, but the moſt flattering to the natural propen⯑ſities of the unthinking multitude, and to the ſpecu⯑lations of all thoſe who think, without thinking very profoundly, muſt daily extend it's influence. A predominant inclination towards it appears in all thoſe who have no religion, when otherwiſe their diſpoſi⯑tion leads them to be advocates even for deſpotiſm. [291] Hence Hume, though I cannot ſay that he does not throw out ſome expreſſions of diſapprobation on the proceedings of the levellers in the reign of Richard the Second, yet affirms that the doctrines of John Ball were ‘"conformable to the primitive ideas of primitive equality, which are engraven on the hearts of all men."—’ Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

PEACE. Not to be too eagerly ſought.

A peace too eagerly ſought, is not always the ſooner obtained; and when obtained, it never can be every thing we wiſh. The diſcovery of vehement wiſhes generally fruſtrates their attainment; and your adverſary has gained a great advantage over you when he finds you impatient to conclude a treaty. There is in reſerve, not only ſomething of dignity, but a great deal of prudence too. A ſort of courage be⯑longs to negociation as well as to operations of the field. A negociator muſt ſeem willing to hazard all, if he wiſhes to ſecure any material point.—Regicide Peace.

PRESERVATION (SELF.)

THE paſſions belonging to ſelf-preſervation, are the ſtrongeſt of all the paſſions.—Ibid.

PRACTICABILITY.

THOSE things which are not practicable, are not deſirable. There is nothing in the world really be⯑neficial, that does not lie within the reach of an in⯑formed underſtanding, and a well-directed purſuit. There is nothing that God has judged good for us, that he has not given us the means to accompliſh, both [292] in the natural and the moral world. If we cry, like children for the moon, like children we muſt cry on.—

PHYSICAL CAUSES. (SEE TASTE.)

BY looking into phyſical cauſes, our minds are opened and enlarged; and in this purſuit, whether we take or whether we loſe our game, the chace is certainly of ſervice. Cicero, true as he was to the academic philoſophy, and conſequently led to reject the certainty of phyſical, as of every other kind of knowledge, yet freely confeſſes its great importance to the human underſtanding; ‘"Eſt animorum inge⯑niorumque noſtrorum naturale quoddam quaſi pabulum conſideratio contemplatioque naturae."’ If we can di⯑rect the lights we derive from ſuch exalted ſpecula⯑tions, upon the humbler field of the imagination, whilſt we inveſtigate the ſprings, and trace the courſes of our paſſions, we may not only communicate to the taſte a ſort of philoſophical ſolidity, but we may reflect back on the ſeverer ſciences ſome of the graces and elegances of taſte, without which the greateſt proficiency in thoſe ſciences will always have the appearance of ſomething illiberal.—Sublime and Beautiful.

PARALLELOGRAM.

THE form of a croſs uſed in ſome churches ſeems to me not ſo eligible as the parallelogram of the antients; at leaſt, I imagine it is not ſo proper for the outſide.—Ibid.

QUALIFICATIONS FOR GOVERNMENT.

THERE is no qualification for Government, but virtue and wiſdom, actual or preſumptive; wherever they are actually found, they have, in whatever ſtate, condition, profeſſion, or trade, the paſſport of Heaven to human place and honour.—Reflections on the Re⯑volution in France.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH.) State of France in 1793.

THE State of France is perfectly ſimple. It con⯑ſiſts of but two deſcriptions—the Oppreſſors and the Oppreſſed.

The firſt have the whole authority of the State in their hands, all the arms, all the revenues of the public, all the confiſcations of individuals and cor⯑porations. They have taken the lower ſort from their occupations, and have put them into pay, that they may form them into a body of Janiſaries to overrule and awe property. The heads of theſe wretches they never ſuffer to cool. They ſupply them with a food for fury varied by the day—beſides the ſenſual ſtate of intoxication from which they are rarely free. They have made the prieſts and people formally abjure the divinity: they have eſtranged them from every civil, moral, and ſocial, or even natural and inſtinctive ſentiment, habit, and practice, and have rendered them ſyſtematically ſavages, to make it impoſſible for them to be the inſtruments of any ſober and virtuous arrangement, or to be recon⯑ciled to any ſtate of order, under any name what⯑ſoever.

The other deſcription, the Oppreſſed—are people of ſome property; they are the ſmall reliques of the perſecuted Landed Intereſt; they are the burghers and the farmers. By the very circumſtance of their being of ſome property, though numerous in ſome points of view, they cannot be very conſiderable as a number. In cities the nature of their occupations renders them domeſtic and feeble; in the country it confines them to their farm for ſubſiſtence. The National Guards are all changed and reformed. Every thing ſuſpicious in the deſcription of which they were compoſed, is rigourouſly diſarmed. Com⯑mittees, [294] called of Vigilance and Safety, are every where formed; a moſt ſevere and ſcrutinizing in⯑quiſition, far more rigid than any thing ever known or imagined. Two perſons cannot meet and confer without hazard to their liberty, and even to their lives. Numbers ſcarcely credible have been exe⯑cuted, and their property confiſcated. At Paris, and in moſt other towns, the bread they buy is a daily dole—which they cannot obtain without a daily ticket delivered to them by their Maſters. Multi⯑tudes of all ages and ſexes are actually impriſoned. I have reaſon to believe, that in France there are not, for various ſtate crimes, ſo few as twenty thou⯑ſand^* actually in jail—a large portion of people of property in any State. If a father of a family ſhould ſhew any diſpoſitions to reſiſt, or to withdraw him⯑ſelf from their power, his wife and children are cru⯑elly to anſwer for it. It is by means of theſe hoſ⯑tages, that they keep the troops, which they force by maſſes (as they call it) into the field—true to their colours.

Another of their reſources is not to be forgotten.—They have lately found a way of giving a ſort of ubiquity to the ſupreme Sovereign Authority, which no Monarch has been able yet to give to any repre⯑ſentation of his.

The Commiſſioners of the National Convention, who are the Members of the Convention itſelf, and really exerciſe all its powers, make continual circuits through every province, and viſits to every army. There they ſuperſede all the ordinary authorities, civil and military, and change and alter every thing at their pleaſure. So that in effect, no deliberative capacity exiſts in any portion of the inhabitants.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1793.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH). Oppreſſive, but ſpirited and daring.

FRANCE differs eſſentially from all thoſe Govern⯑ments which are formed without ſyſtem, which exiſt by habit, and which are confuſed with the multitude, and with the complexity of their purſuits. What now ſtands as government in France, is ſtruck out at a heat. The deſign is wicked, immoral, impious, oppreſſive; but it is ſpirited and daring: it is ſyſte⯑matic; it is ſimple in its principle; it has unity and conſiſtency in perfection. In that country, entirely to cut off a branch of commerce, to extinguiſh a ma⯑nufacture, to deſtroy the circulation of money, to violate credit, to ſuſpend the courſe of agriculture, even to burn a city, or to lay waſte a province of their own, does not coſt them a moment's anxiety. To them, the will, the wiſh, the want, the liberty, the toil, the blood of individuals is as nothing. In⯑dividuality is left out of their ſcheme of government. The ſtate is all in all. Every thing is referred to the production of force; afterwards every thing is truſted to the uſe of it. It is military in its principle, in its maxims, in its ſpirit, and in all its movements. The ſtate has dominion and conqueſt for its ſole objects; dominion over minds by proſelytiſm, over bodies by arms.

Thus conſtituted with an immenſe body of natural means, which are leſſened in their amount only to be increaſed in their effect, France has ſince the accom⯑pliſhment of the revolution, a complete unity in its direction. It has deſtroyed every reſource of the ſtate, which depends upon opinion and the good will of individuals. The riches of convention diſappear. The advantages of nature in ſome conſiderable mea⯑ſure remain; the command over them is complete and abſolute. We go about aſking when aſſignats will expire, and laugh at the laſt price of them: but what ſignifies the fate of theſe tickets of deſpotiſm? [296] The deſpotiſm will find deſpotic means of ſupply. They have found the ſhort cut to the productions of Nature, while others in purſuit of them are obliged to wind through the labyrinth of artificial ſociety. They ſeize upon the fruit of the labour; they ſeize upon the labourer himſelf. The natural means of France are ſtill great. They are very materially leſ⯑ſened, I admit; but the power over them is increaſed. Were France but half what it is in population, in compactneſs, in applicability of its force, ſituated as it is, and being what it is, it would be too ſtrong for moſt of the States of Europe, conſtituted as they are, and proceeding as they proceed. Would it be wiſe to eſtimate what the world of Europe, as well as the world of Aſia, had to dread from Jinghiz Khan, upon a contemplation of the reſources of the cold and bar⯑ren ſpot in the remoteſt Tartary, from whence firſt iſſued that ſcourge of the human race? Ought we to judge from the exciſe and ſtamp duties of the rocks, or from the paper circulation of the ſands of Arabia, the power by which Mahomet and his tribes laid hold at once on the two moſt powerful empires of the world; beat one of them totally to the ground, broke to pieces the other, and, in not much longer ſpace of time than I have lived, overturned governments, laws, manners, religion, and extended an empire from In⯑dus to the Pyrennees.

Material reſources never have ſupplied, nor ever can ſupply the want of unity in deſign and conſtancy in purſuit. But unity in deſign, and perſeverance, and boldneſs in purſuit, have never wanted reſources, and never will. We have not conſidered as we ought the dreadful energy of a State, in which the property has nothing to do with the Government. Reflect, my dear Sir, reflect again and again on a Government, in which the property is in ſubjection, and where nothing rules but the minds of deſperate men. The condition of a commonwealth not go⯑verned by its property, was a combination of things, [297] which the learned and ingenious ſpeculator Harring⯑ton, who has toſſed about ſociety into all forms, never could imagine to be poſſible. We have ſeen it; the world has felt it; and if the world will ſhut their eyes to this ſtate of things, they will feel it more. The rulers there have found their reſources in crimes. The diſcovery is dreadful, the mine exhauſtleſs. They have every thing to gain, and they have nothing to loſe. They have a boundleſs inheritance in hope; and there is no medium for them betwixt the higheſt elevation, and death with infamy. Never can thoſe, who, from the miſerable ſervitude of the deſk have been raiſed to empire, again ſubmit to the bondage of a ſtarving bureau, or the profit of copying muſic, or writing plaidoyers by the ſheet. It has made me often ſmile in bitterneſs, when I heard talk of an in⯑demnity to ſuch men, provided they returned to their allegiance.

From all this, what is my inference? It is, that this new ſyſtem of robbery in France cannot be ren⯑dered ſafe by any art, or any means. That it muſt be deſtroyed, or that it will deſtroy all Europe. That by ſome means or other the force oppoſed to her ſhould be made to bear, in a contrary direction, ſome analogy and reſemblance to the force and ſpirit ſhe employs.—Regicide Peace.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH.) Difference between this Revolution and others.

THERE have been many internal revolutions in the government of countries, both as to perſons and forms, in which the neighbouring ſtates have had little or no concern. Whatever the government might be, with reſpect to theſe perſons and theſe forms, the ſtationary intereſts of the nation concerned have moſt commonly influenced the new governments in the ſame manner in which they influenced the old; [298] and the revolution turning on matter of local griev⯑ance or of local accommodation, did not extend be⯑yond its territory.

The preſent revolution in France ſeems to me to be quite of another character and deſcription; and to bear little reſemblance or analogy to any of thoſe which have been brought about in Europe upon prin⯑ciples merely political. It is a revolution of doctrine [...] theoretic dogma. It has a much greater reſem⯑blance to thoſe changes which have been made upon religious grounds, in which a ſpirit of proſelytiſm makes an eſſential part.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH). France not to be encountered as a State, but as a Faction.

MY ideas and my principles led me, in this con⯑teſt, to encounter France, not as a State, but as a Faction. The vaſt territorial extent of that country, its immenſe population, its riches of production, its riches of commerce and convention, the whole ag⯑gregate maſs of what, in ordinary caſes, conſtitutes the force of a ſtate, to me were but objects of ſecon⯑dary conſideration. They might be balanced; and they have been often more than balanced. Great as th [...]ſe things are, they are not what make the faction formidable. It is the faction that makes them truly dreadful. That faction is the evil ſpirit that poſſeſſes the body of France; that informs it as a ſoul; that ſtamps upon its ambition, and upon all its purſuits, a characteriſtic mark, which ſtrongly diſtinguiſhes them from the ſame general paſſions, and the ſame general views, in other men and in other communities. It is that ſpirit which inſpires into them a new, a per⯑nicious, a deſolating activity. Conſtituted as France was ten years ago, it was not in that France to ſhake, to ſhatter, and to overwhelm Europe in the manner that we behold. A ſure deſtruction impends over [299] thoſe infatuated princes, who, in the conflict with this new and unheard-of power, proceeds as if they were engaged in a war that bore a reſemblance to their former conteſts; or that they can make peace in the ſpirit of their former arrangements of pacifica⯑tion. Here the beaten path is the very reverſe of the ſafe road.—Regicide Peace.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH) THE OBJECT OF.

THE revolution in France had the relation of France to other nations as one of its principal ob⯑jects. The changes made by that revolution were not the better to accommodate her to the old and uſual relations, but to produce new ones. The re⯑volution was made, not to make France free, but to make her formidable; not to make her a neighbour, but a miſtreſs; not to make her more obſervant of laws, but to put her in a condition to impoſe them. To make France truly formidable, it was neceſſary that France ſhould be new modelled. They who have not followed the train of the late proceedings, have been led by deceitful repreſentations (which deceit made a part in the plan) to conceive that this totally new model of a ſtate, in which nothing eſcaped a change, was made with a view to its internal rela⯑tions only.—Regicide Peace.

REVOLUTION (FRENCH) Contraſt between the Revolution in England in 1688, and that in France 1789.

IN truth, the circumſtances of our revolution (as it is called) and that of France are juſt the reverſe of each other in almoſt every particular, and in the whole ſpirit of the tranſaction. With us it was the caſe of a legal monarch attempting arbitrary power—in France it is the caſe of an arbitrary monarch, be⯑ginning, from whatever cauſe, to legalize his autho⯑rity. [300] The one was to be reſiſted, the other was to be managed and directed; but in neither caſe was the order of the [...] to be changed, leſt government might be ruined, which ought only to be corrected and legalized. With us we got rid of the man, and preſerved the conſtituent parts of the ſtate. There they get rid of the conſtituent parts of the ſtate, and keep [...] man. What we did was in truth and ſub⯑ſtance, and in a conſtitutional light, a revolution, not made, but prevented. We took ſolid ſecurities; we ſettled doubtful queſtions; we corrected anomalies in [...]ur law. In the ſtable fundamental parts of our con [...]ution we made no revolution; no, nor any alteration at all. We did not impair the monarchy. Perhaps it might be ſhewn that we ſtrengthened it very conſiderably. The nation kept the ſame ranks, the ſame orders, the ſame privileges, the ſame fran⯑chiſes, the ſame rules for property, the ſame ſubor⯑dinations, the ſame order in the law, in the revenue, and in the magiſtracy; the ſame lords, the ſame commons, the ſame corporations, the ſame electors.

The church was not impaired. Her eſtates, her majeſty, her ſplendor, her orders and gradations continued the ſame. She was preſerved in her full efficiency, and cleared only of a certain intolerance, which was her weakneſs and diſgrace. The church and the ſtate were the ſame after the revolution that they were before, but better ſecured in every part.

Was little done becauſe a revolution was not made in the conſtitution? No! Every thing was done; be⯑cauſe we commenced with reparation not with ruin. Accordingly the ſtate flouriſhed. Inſtead of lying as dead, in a ſort of trance, or expoſed as ſome others, in an epileptic ſit, to the pity or deriſion of the world, for her wild, ridiculous, convulſive movements, im⯑potent to every purpoſe but that of daſhing out her brains againſt the pavement, Great Britain roſe above the ſtandard, even of her former ſelf. An aera of a more improved domeſtic proſperity then commenced, [301] and ſtill continues, not only unimpaired, but grow⯑ing, under the waſting hand of time. All the ener⯑gies of the country were awakened. England never preſented a firmer countenance, or a more vigorous arm, to all her enemies, and to all her rivals. Europe under her reſpired and revived. Every where ſhe appeared as the protector, aſſertor, or avenger, of liberty. A war was made and ſupported againſt for⯑tune itſelf. The treaty of Ryſwick, which firſt li⯑mited the power of France, was ſoon after made: the grand alliance very ſhortly followed, which ſhook to the foundations the dreadful power which menaced the independence of mankind. The ſtates of Europe lay happy under the ſhade of a great and free mo⯑narchy, which knew how to be great without endan⯑gering its own peace at home, or the internal or ex⯑ternal peace of any of its neighbours.—Speech on the Army Eſtimates in 1790.

REVOLUTION, (FRENCH.) Partizans of the French Syſtem.

THIS ſyſtem, (the French) as it has been firſt realized, dogmatically, as well as practically, in France, makes France the natural head of all fac⯑tious formed on a ſimilar principle, whenever they may prevail, as much as Athens was the head and ſettled ally of all democratic factions, wherever they exiſted. The other ſyſtem has no head.

This ſyſtem has very many partizans in every country in Europe, but particularly in England, where they are already formed into a body, compre⯑hending moſt of the diſſenters of the three leading denominations; to theſe are readily aggregated all who are diſſenters in character, temper, and diſpoſi⯑tion, though not belonging to any of their congrega⯑tions—that is, all the reſtleſs people who reſemble them, of all ranks and all parties—whigs, and even [302] tories—the whole race of half bred ſpeculators;—all the atheiſts, deiſts, and ſocinians;—all thoſe who hate the clergy, and envy the nobility;—a good many among the monied people;—the Eaſt Indians almoſt to a man, who cannot bear to find that their preſent importance does not bear a proportion to their wealth. Theſe latter have united themſelves into one great, and in my opinion, formidable club^*, which, though now quiet, may be brought into action with conſider⯑able unanimity and force.

Formerly few, except the ambitious great, or the deſperate and indigent, were to be feared as inſtru⯑ments in revolutions. What has happened in France teaches us, with many other things, that there are more cauſes than have commonly been taken into our conſideration, by which government may be ſub⯑verted. The monied men, merchants, principal tradeſmen, and men of letters (hitherto generally thought the peaceable and even timid part of ſociety) are the chief actors in the French Revolution. But the fact is, that as money increaſes and circulates, and as the circulation of news, in politics and letters, becomes more and more diffuſed, the perſons who diffuſe this money, and this intelligence, become more and more important. This was not long un⯑diſcovered. Views of ambition were in France, for the firſt time, preſented to theſe claſſes of men. Objects in the ſtate, in the army, in the ſyſtem of civil offices of every kind. Their eyes were dazzled with this new proſpect. They were, as it were, electrified and made to loſe the natural ſpirit of their ſituation. A bribe, great without example in the hiſtory of the world, was held out to them—the whole government of a very large kingdom.

There are ſeveral who are perſuaded that the ſame thing cannot happen in England, becauſe here, (they [303] ſay) the occupations of merchants, tradeſmen, and manufacturers, are not held as degrading ſituations. I once thought that the low eſtimation in which com⯑merce was held in France, might be reckoned among the cauſes of the late revolution; and I am ſtill of opinion, that the excluſive ſpirit of the French no⯑bility, did irritate the wealthy of other claſſes. But I found long ſince, that perſons in trade and buſineſs were by no means deſpiſed in France in the manner I had been taught to believe. As to men of letters, they were ſo far from being deſpiſed or neglected, that there was no country perhaps in the univerſe, in which they were ſo highly eſteemed, courted, ca⯑reſſed, and even feared; tradeſmen naturally were not ſo much ſought in ſociety (as not furniſhing ſo largely to the fund of converſation as they do to the revenues of the ſtate) but the latter deſcription got forward every day. M. Bailly, who made himſelf the popular mayor on the rebellion of the Baſtile, and is a pricipal actor in the revolt, before the change poſſeſſed a penſion or office under the crown, of ſix hundred pound Engliſh, a year, for that country, no contemptible proviſion: And this he obtained ſolely as a man of letters, and on no other title. As to the monied men—whilſt the monarchy continued, there is no doubt, that merely as ſuch, they did not enjoy the privileges of nobility, but nobility was of ſo eaſy an acquiſition, that it was the fault or neglect of all of that deſcription, who did not obtain its pri⯑vileges, for their lives at leaſt in virtue of office. It attached under the royal government to an innu⯑merable multitude of places, real and nominal, that were vendible; and ſuch nobility were as capable of every thing as their degree of influence or intereſt could make them, that is, as nobility of no conſider⯑able rank or conſequence. M. Neckar, ſo far from being a French gentleman, was not ſo much as a Frenchman born, and yet we all know the rank in [304] which he ſtood on the day of the meeting of the ſtates.

As to the mere matter of eſtimation of the mer⯑cantile or any other claſs, this is regulated by opi⯑nion and prejudice. In England a ſecurity againſt the envy of men in theſe claſſes, is not ſo very com⯑plete as we may imagine. We muſt not impoſe upon ourſelves. What inſtitutions and manners together had done in France, manners alone do here. It is the natural operation of things where there exiſts a crown, a court, ſplendid orders of knighthood, and an hereditary nobility;—where there exiſts a fixed, permanent, landed gentry, continued in greatneſs and opulence by the law of primogeniture, and by a protection given to family ſettlements; where there exiſts a ſtanding army and navy;—where there exiſts a church eſtabliſhment, which beſtows on learning and parts an intereſt combined with that of religion and the ſtate;—in a country where ſuch things exiſt, wealth, new in it's acquiſition, and precarious in it's duration, can never rank firſt, or even near the firſt; though wealth has it's natural weight, further, than as it is balanced and even preponderated amongſt us as amongſt other nations, by artificial inſtitutions and opinions growing out of them. At no period in the hiſtory of England have ſo few peers been taken out of trade or from families newly created by com⯑merce. In no period has ſo ſmall a number of noble families entered into the counting-houſe. I can call to mind but one in all England, and his is of near fifty years ſtanding. Be that as it may, it appears plain to me from my beſt obſervation, that envy and ambition may by art, management and diſpoſition, be as much excited amongſt theſe deſcriptions of men in England, as in any other country; and that they are juſt as capable of acting a part in any great change.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

REVOLUTION. Policy at the Revolution, different Syſtem purſued for ſome Years paſt. (See KING'S MEN, CABINET (DOUBLE.)

AT the revolution, the crown, deprived, for the ends of the revolution itſelf, of many prerogatives, was found too weak to ſtruggle againſt all the diffi⯑culties which preſſed ſo new and unſettled a govern⯑ment. The court was obliged therefore to delegate a part of its powers to men of ſuch intereſt as could ſupport, and of ſuch fidelity as would adhere to, its eſtabliſhment. Such men were able to draw in a greater number to a concurrence in the common defence. This connection, neceſſary at firſt, con⯑tinued long after convenient; and properly conducted might indeed, in all ſituations, be an uſeful inſtru⯑ment of government. At the ſame time, through the intervention of men of popular weight and cha⯑racter, the people poſſeſſed a ſecurity for their juſt portion of importance in the ſtate. But as the title to the crown grew ſtronger by long poſſeſſion, and by the conſtant increaſe of its influence, theſe helps have of late ſeemed to certain perſons no better than incumbrances. The powerful managers for govern⯑ment were not ſufficiently ſubmiſſive to the pleaſure of the poſſeſſors of immediate and perſonal favour, ſometimes from a confidence in their own ſtrength, natural and acquired; ſometimes from a fear of of⯑fending their friends, and weakening that lead in the country, which gave them a conſideration indepen⯑dent of the court. Men acted as if the court could receive, as well as confer, an obligation. The in⯑fluence of government, thus divided in appearance between the court and the leaders of parties, became in many caſes an acceſſion rather to the popular than to the royal ſcale; and ſome part of that influence which would otherwiſe have been poſſeſſed as in a ſort of mortmain and unalienable domain, returned again to the great ocean from whence it aroſe, and [306] circulated among the people. This method, there⯑fore, of governing, by men of great natural intereſt, or great acquired conſideration, was viewed in a very invidious light by the true lovers of abſolute mo⯑narchy. It is the nature of deſpotiſm to abhor power held by any means but its own momentary pleaſure; and to annihilate all intermediate ſituations between boundleſs ſtrength on its own part, and total debility on the part of the people.

To get rid of all this intermediate and indepen⯑dant importance, and to ſecure to the court the unli⯑mited and uncontrouled uſe of its own vaſt influence, under the ſole direction of its own private favour, has for ſome years paſt been the great object of policy. If this were compaſſed, the influence of the crown muſt, of courſe, produce all the effects which the moſt ſanguine partizans of the court could poſſibly deſire. Government might then be carried on with⯑out any concurrence on the part of the peeple; without any attention to the dignity of the greater, or to the affections of the lower ſorts. A new project was therefore deviſed, by a certain ſet of in⯑triguing men, totally different from the ſyſtem of adminiſtration which had prevailed ſince the acceſſion of the Houſe of Brunſwick. This project, I have heard, was firſt conceived by ſome perſons in the court of Frederick Prince of Wales.

The earlieſt attempt in the execution of this de⯑ſign was to ſet up for miniſter, a perſon, in rank in⯑deed reſpectable, and very ample in fortune; but who, to the moment of this vaſt and ſudden eleva⯑tion, was little known or conſidered in the kingdom. To him the whole nation was to yield an immediate and implicit ſubmiſſion. But whether it was for want of firmneſs to bear up againſt the firſt oppoſi⯑tion; or that things were not yet fully ripened, or that this method was not found the moſt eligible; that idea was ſoon abandoned. The inſtrumental part of the project was a little altered, to accommo⯑date [307] it to the time, and to bring things more gradu⯑ally and more ſurely to the one great end propoſed.

The firſt part of the reformed plan was to draw a line which ſhould ſeparate the court from the miniſtry. Hitherto theſe names had been looked upon as ſy⯑nonymous; but for the future, court and adminiſtra⯑tion were to be conſidered as things totally diſtinct. By this operation, two ſyſtems of adminiſtration were to be formed; one which ſhould be in the real ſecret and confidence; the other merely oſtenſible, to per⯑form the official and executory duties of govern⯑ment. The latter were alone to be reſponſible; whilſt the real adviſers, who enjoyed all the power, were effectually removed from all the danger.

Secondly, A party under theſe leaders was to be formed in favour of the court againſt the miniſtry: this party was to have a large ſhare in the emoluments of government, and to hold it totally ſeparate from, and independent of, oſtenſible adminiſtration.

The third point, and that on which the ſucceſs of the whole ſcheme ultimately depended, was to bring parliament to an acquieſcence in this project. Parliament was therefore to be taught, by degrees, a total indifference to the perſons, rank, influence, abilities, connexions, and character, of the miniſters of the crown. By means of a diſcipline, on which I ſhall ſay more hereafter, that body was to be ha⯑bituated to the moſt oppoſite intereſts, and the moſt diſcordant politics. All connexions and dependen⯑cies among ſubjects were to be entirely diſſolved. As hitherto buſineſs had gone through the hands of leaders of Whigs or Tories, men of talents to con⯑ciliate the people, and engage to their confidence, now the method was to be altered; and the lead was to be given to men of no ſort of conſideration or credit in the country. This want of natural import⯑ance was to be their very title to delegated power. Members of parliament were to be hardened into an [308] inſenſibility to pride as well as to duty. Thoſe high and haughty ſentiments, which are the great ſupport of independence, were to be let down gradually. Point of honour and precedence were no more to be regarded in parliamentary decorum, than in a Turkiſh army. It was to be avowed as a conſtitu⯑tional maxim, that the king might appoint one of his footmen, or one of your footmen, for miniſter; and that he ought to be, and that he would be, as well followed as the firſt name for rank or wiſdom in the nation. Thus parliament was to look on, as if per⯑fectly unconcerned, while a cabal of the cloſet and back-ſtairs was ſubſtituted in the place of a national adminiſtration.

With ſuch a degree of acquieſcence, any meaſure of any court might well be deemed thoroughly ſe⯑cure. The capital objects, and by much the moſt flattering characteriſtics of arbitrary power, would be obtained. Every thing would be drawn from its holdings in the country to the perſonal favour and inclination of the prince. This favour would be the ſole introduction to power, and the only tenure by which it was to be held: ſo that no perſon look⯑ing towards another, and all looking towards the court, it was impoſſible but that the motive which ſolely influenced every man's hopes muſt come in time to govern every man's conduct; till at laſt the ſervility became univerſal, in ſpite of the dead letter of any laws or inſtitutions whatſoever.

How it ſhould happen that any man could be tempted to venture upon ſuch a project of govern⯑ment, may, at firſt view, appear ſurpriſing. But the fact is, that opportunities very inviting to ſuch an attempt have offered; and the ſcheme itſelf was not deſ [...]ute of ſome arguments not wholly unplauſible to recommend it.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

REVOLUTION, (JACOBIN.)

IN all that we do, whether in the ſtruggle or after it, it is neceſſary that we ſhould conſtantly have in our eye, the nature and character of the enemy we have to contend with. The Jacobin revolution is carried on by men of no rank, of no conſideration, of wild ſavage minds, full of levity, arrogance and preſumption, without morals, without probity, with⯑out prudence. What have they then to ſupply their innumerable defects, and to make them terrible even to the firmeſt minds? One thing, and one thing only—but that one thing is worth a thouſand—they have energy. In France, all things being put into an univerſal ferment, in the decompoſition of ſociety, no man comes forward but by his ſpirit of enterprize and the vigour of his mind. If we meet this dreadful and potentous energy, reſtrained by no conſideration of God or man, that is always vigilant, always on the attack, that allows itſelf no repoſe, and ſuffers none to reſt an hour with impunity; if we meet this energy with poor common place proceeding, with trivial maxims, paltry old ſaws, with doubts, fears and ſuſ⯑picions, with a languid, uncertain heſitation, with a formal, official ſpirit, which is turned aſide by every obſtacle from it's purpoſe, and which never ſees a difficulty but to yield to it, or at beſt to evade it; down we go to the bottom of the abyſs—and nothing ſhort of Omnipotence can ſave us. We muſt meet a vicious and diſtempered energy with a manly and ra⯑tional vigour [...] As virtue is limited in its reſources—we are doubly bound to uſe all that, in the circle drawn about us by our morals, we are able to com⯑mand.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

REPUBLIC, (FRENCH.) Impracticability of Reſiſtance to it.

IT is true, amidſt all theſe turbulent means of ſe⯑curity to their ſyſtem, very great diſcontents every [310] where prevail. But they only produce miſery to thoſe who nurſe them at home, or exile beggary, and in the end, confiſcation, to thoſe who are ſo impa⯑tient as to remove from them. Each municipal re⯑public has a committee, or ſomething in the nature of a Committee of Reſearch. In theſe petty republics the tyranny is ſo near it's object, that it becomes in⯑ſtantly acquainted with every act of every man. It ſtifles conſpiracy in its very firſt movements. Their power is abſolute and uncontroulable. No ſtand can be made againſt it. Theſe republics are beſides ſo diſconnected, that very little intelligence of what happens in them is to be obtained, beyond their own bounds, except by the means of their clubs, who keep up a conſtant correſpondence, and who give what colour they pleaſe to ſuch facts as they chooſe to communicate out of the track of their correſpon⯑dence. They all have ſome ſort of communication, juſt as much or as little as they pleaſe, with the center. By this confinement of all communication to the ruling faction, any combination grounded on the abuſes and diſcontents in one, ſcarcely can reach the other. There is not one man, in any one place, to head them. The old government had ſo much abſtracted the nobility from the cultivation of pro⯑vincial intereſt, that no man in France exiſts, whoſe power, credit, or conſequence extends to two diſtricts, or who is capable of uniting them in any deſign, even if any man could aſſemble ten men together, without being ſure of a ſpeedy lodging in a priſon. One muſt not judge of the ſtate of France by what has been obſerved elſewhere. It does not in the leaſt reſemble any other country. Analogical reaſon⯑ing from hiſtory or from recent experience in other places is wholly deluſive.—Ibid.

REPUBLICS (ANCIENT.) The old Republican Legiſlators followed, with a ſolicitous accuracy, the moral Conditions and Properties of Men.

THE legiſlators who framed the antient republics knew that their buſineſs was too arduous to be accom⯑pliſhed with no better apparatus than the metaphyſics of an under-graduate, and the mathematics and arith⯑metic of an exciſeman. They had to do with men, and they were obliged to ſtudy human nature. They had to do with citizens, and they were obliged to ſtudy the effects of thoſe habits which are commu⯑nicated by the circumſtances of civil life. They were ſenſible that the operation of this ſecond nature on the firſt produced a new combination; and thence aroſe many diverſities amongſt men, according to their birth, their education, their profeſſions, the periods of their lives, their reſidence in towns or in the country, their ſeveral ways of acquiring and of fixing property, and according to the quality of the property itſelf, all which rendered them as it were ſo many different ſpecies of animals. From hence they thought themſelves obliged to diſpoſe their citizens into ſuch claſſes, and to place them in ſuch ſituations in the ſtate as their peculiar habits might qualify them to fill, and to allot to them ſuch appropriated privi⯑leges as might ſecure to them what their ſpecific occaſions required, and which might furniſh to each deſcription ſuch force as might protect it in the con⯑flict cauſed by the diverſity of intereſts, that muſt exiſt, and muſt contend in all complex ſociety: for the legiſlator would have been aſhamed, that the coarſe huſbandman ſhould well know how to aſſort and to uſe his ſheep, horſes, and oxen, and ſhould have enough of common ſenſe not to abſtract and equalize them all into animals, without providing for each kind an appropriate food, care, and employment; whilſt he, the oeconomiſt, diſpoſer, and ſhepherd of his own kindred, ſubliming himſelf into an airy metaphyſician, [312] was reſolved to know nothing of his flocks but as men in general. It is for this reaſon that Monteſquien ob⯑ſerved very juſtly, that in their claſſification of the citizens, the great legiſlators of antiquity made the greateſt diſplay of their powers, and even ſoared above themſelves. It is here that your modern legiſ⯑lators have gone deep into the negative ſeries, and ſunk even below their own nothing. As the firſt ſort of legiſlators attended to the different kinds of citizens, and combined them into one commonwealth, the others, the metaphyſical and alchemiſtical legiſlators, (French) have taken the direct contrary courſe. They have attempted to confound all ſorts of citizens, as well as they could, into one homogeneous maſs; and then they divided th [...] their amalgama into a number of incoherent republics. They reduce men to looſe counters merely for the ſake of ſimple telling, and not to figures whoſe power is to ariſe from their place in the table. The elements of their own metaphyſics might have taught them better leſſons. The troll of their categorical table might have informed them that there was ſomething elſe in the intellectual world beſides ſubſtance and quantity. They might learn from the catechiſm of metaphyſics that there were eight heads more^*, in every complex deliberation, which they have never thought of, though theſe, of all the [...], are the ſubject on which the ſkill of man can operate any thing at all.

So far from this able diſpoſition of ſome of the old republican legiſlators, which follows with a ſolicitous accuracy, the moral conditions and propenſities of men, they have levelled and cruſhed together all the orders which they found, even under the coarſe unar⯑tificial arrangement of the monarchy, in which mode of government the claſſing of the citizens is not of ſo much importance as in a republic. It is true, how⯑ever, that every ſuch claſſification, if properly or⯑dered, [313] is good in all forms of government; and compoſes a ſtrong barrier againſt the exceſſes of de⯑ſpotiſm, as well as it is the neceſſary means of giving effect and permanence to a republic. For want of ſomething of this kind, if the preſent project of a republic ſhould fail, all ſecurities to a moderated free⯑dom fail along with it; all the indirect reſtraints which mitigate deſpotiſm are removed; inſomuch that if monarchy ſhould ever again obtain an entire aſcen⯑dancy in France, under this or under any other dy⯑naſty, it will probably be, if not voluntarily tem⯑pered at letting out, by the wiſe and virtuous counſels of the prince, the moſt completely arbitrary power that has ever appeared on earth. This is to play a moſt deſperate game.

The confuſion, which attends on all ſuch proceed⯑ings, they even declare to be one of their objects, and they hope to ſecure their conſtitution by a terror of a return of thoſe evils which attended their making it. ‘"By this,"’ ſay they, ‘"its deſtruction will become difficult to authority, which cannot break it up without the entire diſorganization of the whole ſtate."’ They preſume, that if this authority ſhould ever come to the ſame degree of power that they have acquired, it would make a more moderate and chaſ⯑tiſed uſe of it, and would piouſly tremble entirely to diſorganize the ſtate in the ſavage manner that they have done. They expect, from the virtues of re⯑turning deſpotiſm, the ſecurity which is to be enjoyed by the offspring of their popular vices.—Reflexions on the Revolution in France.

ROME AND ATHENS, Analogy between.

ROME has a more venerable aſpect than Athens; and ſhe conducted her affairs, ſo far as related to the ruin and oppreſſion of the greateſt part of the [314] world, with greater wiſdom, and more uniformity. But the domeſtic oeconomy of theſe two ſtates was nearly or altogether the ſame. An internal diſſention conſtantly tore to pieces the bowels of the Roman commonwealth. You find the ſame confuſion, the ſame factions which ſubſiſted at Athens, the ſame tu⯑mults, the ſame revolutions, and in fine, the ſame ſlavery. If perhaps their former condition did not deſerve that name altogether as well. All other re⯑publics were of the ſame character. Florence was a tranſcript of Athens. And the modern republics, as they approach more or leſs to the democratic form, partake more or leſs of the nature of thoſe which I have deſcribed.—Vindication of Natural Society.

ROME (CHURCH OF.)

IF mere diſſent from the Church of Rome be a merit, he that diſſents the moſt perfectly is the moſt meritorious. In many points we hold ſtrongly with that Church. He that diſſents throughout with that Church (Rome) will diſſent with the Church of England, and then it will be a part of his merit that he diſſents with ourſelves:—a whimſical ſpecies of merit for any ſet of men to eſtabliſh. We quarrel to extremity with thoſe, who we know agree with us in many things, but we are to be ſo malicious even in the principle of our friendſhips, that we are to cheriſh in our boſom thoſe who accord with us in nothing, becauſe whilſt they deſpiſe ourſelves, they abhor even more than we do, thoſe with whom we have ſome diſagreement.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

RIGOUR (EXTREME.)

An extreme rigour is ſure to arm every thing againſt it, and at length to relax into a ſupine neglect.—Oecon. Reform.

REFORM. Timely Reform recommended. (See GRIEVANCES.)

Inſtead of a public officer in an abuſive department, whoſe province is an object to be regulated, he be⯑comes a criminal who is to be puniſhed. I do moſt ſeriouſly put it to adminiſtration, to conſider the wiſdom of a timely reform. Early reformations are amicable arrangements with a friend in power; late reformations are terms impoſed upon a conquered enemy; early reformations are made in cool blood; late reformations are made under a ſtate of inflamma⯑tion. In that ſtate of things the people behold in government nothing that is reſpectable. They ſee the abuſe, and they will ſee nothing elſe—They fall into the temper of a furious populace provoked at the diſorder of a houſe of ill fame; they never at⯑tempt to correct or regulate; they go to work by the ſhorteſt way—They abate the nuiſance, they pull down the houſe.

This is my opinion with regard to the true intereſt of government. But as it is the intereſt of govern⯑ment that reformation ſhould be early, it is the in⯑tereſt of the people that it ſhould be temperate. It is their intereſt, becauſe a temperate reform is per⯑manent; and becauſe it has a principle of growth. Whenever we improve, it is right to leave room for a further improvement. It is right to conſider, to look about us, to examine the effect of what we have done.—Then we can proceed with confidence, be⯑cauſe we can proceed with intelligence. Whereas in hot reformations, in what men, more zealous than conſiderate, call making clear work, the whole is ge⯑nerally ſo crude, ſo harſh, ſo indigeſted; mixed with ſo much imprudence, and ſo much injuſtice; ſo con⯑trary to the whole courſe of human nature, and hu⯑man inſtitutions, that the very people who are moſt eager for it, are among the firſt to grow diſguſted at what they have done. Then ſome part of the abdi⯑cated [316] grievance is recalled from its exile in order to become a corrective of the correction. Then the abuſe aſſumes all the credit and popularity of a re⯑form. The very idea of purity and diſintereſtedneſs in politics falls into diſrepute, and is conſidered as a viſion of hot and inexperienced men; and thus diſ⯑orders become incurable, not by the virulence of their own quality, but by the unapt and violent na⯑ture of the remedies. A great part therefore, of my idea of reform, is meant to operate gradually; ſome benefits will come at a nearer, ſome at a more remote period. We muſt no more make haſte to be rich by parſimony, than by intemperate acquiſition.—Oecon. Reform.

REFORM. To innovate is not to reform.

REFORM is, not a change in the ſubſtance, or in the primary modification of the object, but a direct application of a remedy to the grievance complained of. So far as that is removed, all is ſure. It ſtops there; and if it fails, the ſubſtance which underwent the operation, at the very worſt, is but where it was.

All this, in effect, I think, but am not ſure, I have ſaid elſewhere. It cannot at this time be too often repeated; line upon line, precept upon pre⯑cept, until it comes into the currency of a proverb, To innovate is not to reform.

The French revolutioniſts complained of every thing; they refuſed to reform any thing; and they left nothing, no, nothing at all unchanged. The conſequences are before us—not in remote hiſtory; not in future prognoſtication: they are about us; they are upon us. They ſhake the public ſecurity; they menace private enjoyment. They dwarf the growth of the young; they break the quiet of the old. If we travel, they ſtop our way. They infeſt us in town; they purſue us to the country. Our bu⯑ſineſs [317] is interrupted; our repoſe is troubled; our pleaſures are ſaddened; our very ſtudies are poiſoned and perverted, and knowledge is rendered worſe than ignorance, by the enormous evils of this dreadful in⯑novation. The revolution harpies of France, ſprung from night and hell, or from that chaotic anarchy, which generates equivocally ‘"all monſtrous, all pro⯑digious things,"’ cuckoo-like, adulterouſly lay their eggs, and brood over, and hatch them in the neſt of every neighbouring ſtate. Theſe obſcene harpies, who deck themſelves in I know not what divine at⯑tributes, but who in reality are foul and ravenous birds of prey, (both mothers and daughters) flutter over our heads, and ſouſe down upon our tables, and leave nothing unrent, unrifled, unravaged, or unpolluted with the ſlime of their filthy offal^*.

If his Grace (Bedford) can contemplate the reſult of this compleat innovation, or, as ſome friends of his will call it reform, in the whole body of its ſolidity and compound maſs, at which, as Hamlet ſays, the face of Heaven glows with horror and indignation, and which, in truth, makes every reflecting mind, and every feeling heart, perfectly thought-ſick, without a thorough abhorrence of every thing they ſay, and every thing they do, I am amazed at the morbid ſtrength, or the natural infirmity of his mind.—Letter to a noble Lord.

REFORM, (PARLIAMENTARY.)

HAPPILY, France was not then jacobinized, (1780.) Her hoſtility was at a good diſtance. We had a limb cut off; but we reſerved the body. We loſt our colonies; but we kept our conſtitution. There was, indeed, much inteſtine heat; there was a dreadful fermentation. Wild and ſavage inſurrection quitted the woods, and prowled about our ſtreets in the name of reform. Such was the diſtemper of the public mind, that there was no madman, in his maddeſt ideas, and maddeſt projects, that might not count upon numbers to ſupport his principles and execute his deſigns.

Many of the changes, by a great miſnomer called parliamentary reforms, went, not in the intention of all the profeſſors and ſupporters of them, undoubt⯑edly, but went in their certain, and, in my opinion, not very remote effect, home to the utter deſtruction of the conſtitution of this kingdom. Had they taken place, not France, but England, would have had the honour of leading up the death-dance of democratic revolution. Other projects, exactly coincident in time with thoſe, ſtruck at the very exiſtence of the kingdom under any conſtitution. There are, who remember the blind fury of ſome, and the lamentable helpleſſneſs of others; here, a torpid confuſion, from a panic fear of the danger; there, the ſame inaction from a ſtupid inſenſibility to it; here, well-wiſhers to the miſchief; there, indifferent lookers-on. At the ſame time, a ſort of National Convention, dubious in its nature, and perilous in its example, noſed par⯑liament in the very ſeat of its authority; ſat with a ſort of ſuperintendance over it; and little leſs than dictated to it, not only laws, but the very form and eſſence of legiſlature itſelf. In Ireland things ran in a ſtill more eccentric courſe. Government was un⯑nerved, confounded, and in a manner ſuſpended. It's equipoiſe was totally gone. I do not mean to [319] ſpeak diſreſpectfully of Lord North. He was a man of admirable parts; of general knowledge; of a ver⯑ſatile underſtanding fitted for every ſort of buſineſs; of infinite wit and pleaſantry; of a delightful temper; and with a mind moſt perfectly diſintereſted. But it would be only to degrade myſelf by a weak adulation, and not to honour the memory of a great man, to deny that he wanted ſomething of the vigilance, and ſpirit of command, that the time required. Indeed, a darkneſs, next to the fog of this awful day, loured over the whole region. For a little time the helm appeared abandoned—

REFORMATION.

REFORMATION is one of thoſe pieces which muſt be put at ſome diſtance in order to pleaſe. Its greateſt favourers love it better in the abſtract than in the ſubſtance. When any old prejudice of their own, or any intereſt that they value, is touched, they be⯑come ſcrupulous, they become captious, and every man has his ſeparate exception. Some pluck out the black hairs, ſome the grey; one point muſt be given up to one; another point muſt be yielded to another; nothing is ſuffered to prevail upon its own principles: the whole is ſo frittered down, and diſ⯑jointed, that ſcarcely a trace of the original ſcheme remains! Thus, between the reſiſtance of power, and the unſyſtematical proceſs of popularity, the under⯑taker and the undertaking are both expoſed, and the poor reformer is hiſſed off the ſtage, both by friends and foes.—Oecon Reform.

REFORMATION.

A SPIRIT of reformation is never more conſiſtent with itſelf, than when it refuſes to be rendered the means of deſtruction.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

REFORMATION. Its Effects. (See REVOLUTION (FRENCH) RELIGION, POLITICS, NEW SYSTEM.)

THE laſt revolution of doctrine and theory which has happened in Europe, is the Reformation. It is not for my purpoſe to take any notice here of the merits of that Revolution, but to ſtate one only of it's effects.

That effect was to introduce other intereſts into all countries, than thoſe which aroſe from their locality and natural circumſtances. The principle of the Refor⯑mation was ſuch, as by it's eſſence, could not be local or confined to the country in which it had it's origin. For inſtance, the doctrine of ‘"Juſti⯑fication by Faith or by Works,"’ which was the ori⯑ginal baſis of the Reformation, could not have one of it's alternatives true as to Germany, and falſe as to every other country. Neither are queſtions of true and theoretic falſehood, governed by circum⯑ſtances, any more than by places. On that occaſion, therefore, the ſpirit of proſelytiſm expanded itſelf with great elaſticity upon all ſides, and great divi⯑ſions were every where the reſult.

Theſe diviſions, however, in appearance merely dogmatic, ſoon became mixed with political; and their effects were rendered much more intenſe from this combination. Europe was, for a long time, di⯑vided into two great factions, under the name of Catholic and Proteſtant, which not only often alie⯑nated ſtate from ſtate, but alſo divided almoſt every [321] ſtate within itſelf. The warm parties in each ſtate were more affectionately attached to thoſe of their own doctrinal intereſt in ſome other country than to their fellow-citizens, or to their natural government, when they, or either of them, happened to be of a different perſuaſion. Theſe factions, whenever they prevailed, if they did not abſolutely deſtroy, at leaſt weakened and diſtracted the locality of patriotiſm, the public affections came to have other motives and other ties.

Although the principles to which it gave riſe, did not operate with a perfect regularity and conſtancy, they never wholly ceaſed to operate. Few wars were made, and few treaties were entered into in which they did not come in for ſome part. They gave a colour, a character, and direction to all the politics of Europe.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

REASON AND AUTHORITY.

TO reaſon is not to revolt againſt authority. Rea⯑ſon and authority do not move in the ſame parallel. That reaſon is an amicus curioe who ſpeaks de plano, not pro tribunali; who makes an uſeful ſuggeſtion to the Court, without queſtioning its juriſdiction.—Whilſt he acknowledges its competence, he promotes its efficiency.—Regicide Peace.

REPRESENTATION (VIRTUAL.) (SEE IRISH CATHOLICS.)

VIRTUAL repreſentation is that in which there is a communion of intereſts, and a ſympathy in feelings and deſires between thoſe who act in the name of any deſcription of people, and the people in whoſe name they act, though the truſtees are not actually choſen by them. This is virtual repreſentation. Such a repreſentation I think to be, in many caſes, even [322] better than the actual: it poſſeſſes moſt of its advan⯑tages, and is free from many of its inconveniences; it corrects the irregularities in the literal repreſenta⯑tion, when the ſhifting current of human affairs, or the acting of public intereſts in different ways, carry it obliquely from its firſt line of direction. The people may err in their choice; but common intereſt and common ſentiment are rarely miſtaken. But this ſort of virtual repreſentation cannot have a long or ſure exiſtence, if it has not a ſubſtratum in the actual. The member muſt have ſome relation to the conſti⯑tuent.—Letter to Sir H. Langriſhe, M. P.

REPRESENTATIVE, HIS DUTY.

IN my opinion, it is our duty when we have the deſires of the people before us, to purſue them, not in the ſpirit of literal obedience, which may militate with their very principle, much leſs to treat them with a peeviſh and contentious litigation, as if we were adverſe parties in a ſuit. It would, Sir, be moſt diſhonourable for a faithful repreſentative of the commons, to take advantage of any inartificial expreſſion of the people's wiſhes, in order to fruſtrate their attainment of what they have an undoubted right to expect. We are under infinite obligations to our conſtituents, who have raiſed us to ſo diſtin⯑guiſhed a truſt, and have imparted ſuch a degree of ſanctity to common characters. We ought to walk before them with purity, plainneſs, and integrity of heart; with filial love, and not with ſlaviſh fear, which is always a low and tricking thing.—Ibid.

REST AND LABOUR.

PROVIDENCE has ſo ordered it, that a ſtate of reſt and inaction, however it may flatter our indo⯑lence, ſhould be productive of many inconvenien⯑cies; that it ſhould generate ſuch diſorders, as may [323] force us to have recourſe to ſome labour, as a thing abſolutely requiſite to make us paſs our lives with tolerable ſatisfaction; for the nature of reſt is to ſuffer all the parts of our bodies to fall into a relaxa⯑tion, that not only diſables the members from per⯑forming their functions, but takes away the vigorous tone of fibre which is requiſite for carrying on the natural and neceſſary ſecretions. At the ſame time, that in this languid inactive ſtate, the nerves are more liable to the moſt horrid convulſions, than when they are ſufficiently braced and ſtrengthened. Melancholy, dejection, deſpair, and often ſelf-mur⯑der, is the conſequence of the gloomy view we take of things in this relaxed ſtate of body. The beſt remedy for all theſe evils is exerciſe or labour; and labour is a ſurmounting of difficulties, an exertion of the contracting power of the muſcles; and as ſuch reſembles pain, which conſiſts in tenſion or contrac⯑tion, in every thing but degree. Labour is not only requiſite to preſerve the coarſer organs in a ſtate fit for their functions; but it is equally neceſſary to theſe finer and more delicate organs, on which, and by which, the imagination, and perhaps the other mental powers, act. Since it is probable, that not only the inferior parts of the ſoul, as the paſſions are called, but the underſtanding itſelf makes uſe of ſome fine corporeal inſtruments in it's operation; though what they are, and where they are, may be ſomewhat hard to ſettle: but that it does make uſe of ſuch, appears from hence; that a long exerciſe of the mental powers induces a remarkable laſſitude of the whole body; and on the other hand, that great bodily la⯑bour, or pain, weakens and ſometimes actually de⯑ſtroys the mental faculties. Now, as a due exerciſe is eſſential to the coarſe muſcular parts of the conſti⯑tution, and that without this rouſing they would be⯑come languid and diſeaſed, the very ſame rule holds with regard to thoſe finer parts we have mentioned; [324] to have them in proper order, they muſt be ſhaken and worked to a proper degree.—

ROYALISTS (FRENCH.) (SEE NOBILITY.)

WHEN I ſpeak of Royaliſts, I wiſh to be under⯑ſtood of thoſe who were always ſuch from principle. Every arm lifted up for Royalty from the beginning, was the arm of a man ſo principled. I do not think there are ten exceptions.

The principled Royaliſts are certainly not of force to effect theſe objects by themſelves. If they were, the operations of the preſent great combination would be wholly unneceſſary. What I contend for is, that they ſhould be conſulted with, treated with, and employed; and that no foreigners whatſoever are either in intereſt ſo engaged, or in judgment and local knowledge ſo competent, to anſwer all theſe purpoſes as the natural proprietors of the country.

Their number for an exiled party is alſo conſider⯑able. Almoſt the whole body of the landed proprie⯑tors of France, eccleſiaſtical and civil, have been ſteadily devoted to the monarchy. This body does not amount to leſs than ſeventy thouſand—a very great number in the compoſition of the reſpectable claſſes in any ſociety. I am ſure, that if half that number of the ſame deſcription were taken out of this country, it would leave hardly any thing that I ſhould call the people of England. On the faith of the Emperor and the King of Pruſſia, a body of ten thouſand nobility on horſeback, with the King's two brothers at their head, ſerved with the King of Pruſſia in the campaign of 1792, and equipped themſelves with the laſt ſhilling of their ruined fortunes and exhauſted credit^*. It is not now the queſtion how [325] that great force came to be rendered uſeleſs and to⯑tally diſſipated. I ſtate it now, only to remark, that a great part of the ſame force exiſts; and would act if it were enabled. I am ſure every thing has ſhewn us that in this war with France, one Frenchman is worth twenty foreigners. La Vendée is a proof of this.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1793.

REPUBLICANS (HIGH-BRED.)

ALMOST all the high-bred republicans of my time have, after a ſhort ſpace, become the moſt decided, thorough paced courtiers; they ſoon left the buſineſs of a tedious, moderate, but practical reſiſtance to thoſe of us whom, in the pride and intoxication of their theories, they have ſlighted, as not much better than tories.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

RANCOUR.

PROCEED in what you do, whatever you do, from policy, and not from rancour.—Speech on American Taxation.

RICH (THE). (SEE SOCIETY.) The Rich thrown into two Claſſes, viz. Stateſmen and Men of Pleaſure—Deſcription of both.

THE rich in all ſocieties may be thrown into two claſſes. The firſt is of thoſe who are powerful as well as rich, and conduct the operations of the vaſt political machine. The other is of thoſe who employ their riches wholly in the acquiſition of pleaſure. As to the firſt, ſort, their continual care and anxiety, their [326] toilſome days, and ſleepleſs nights, are next to pro⯑verbial. Theſe circumſtances are ſufficient almoſt to level their condition to that of the unhappy majo⯑rity; but there are other circumſtances which place them in a far lower condition. Not only their under⯑ſtandings labour continually, which is the ſevereſt labour, but their hearts are torn by the worſt, moſt troubleſome, and inſatiable of all paſſions, by ava⯑rice, by ambition, by fear, and jealouſy. No part of the mind has reſt. Power gradually extirpates from the mind every humane and gentle virtue. Pity, benevolence, friendſhip, are things almoſt unknown in high ſtations. Veroe amicitioe rariſſime inveniuntur in iis qui i [...] honoribus reque publica verſantur, ſays Cicero. And indeed, courts are the ſchools where cruelty, pride, diſſimulation and treachery are ſtudied and taught in the moſt vicious perfection. This is a point ſo clear and acknowledged, that if it did not make a neceſſary part of my ſubject, I ſhould paſs it by entirely. And this has hindered me from draw⯑ing at full length, and in the moſt ſtriking colours, this ſhocking picture of the degeneracy and wretch⯑edneſs of human nature, in that part which is vul⯑garly thought its happieſt and moſt amiable ſtate.—You know from what originals I could copy ſuch pictures. Happy are they who know enough of them to know the little value of the poſſeſſors of ſuch things, and of all that they poſſeſs; and happy they who have been ſnatched from that poſt of danger which they occupy, with the remains of their virtue; loſs of honours, wealth, titles, and even the loſs of one's country, is nothing in balance with ſo great an advantage.

Let us now view the other ſpecies of the rich, thoſe who devote their time and fortunes to idleneſs and pleaſure. How much happier are they? The plea⯑ſures which are agreeable to nature are within the reach of all, and therefore can form no diſtinction in favour of the rich. The pleaſures which art forces [327] up are ſeldom ſincere, and never ſatisfying. What is worſe, this conſtant application to pleaſure takes away from the enjoyment, or rather turns it into the nature of a very burthenſome and laborious buſineſs. It has conſequences much more fatal. It produces a weak valetudinary ſtate of body, attended by all thoſe horrid diſorders, and yet more horrid methods of cure, which are the reſult of luxury on one hand, and the weak and ridiculous efforts of human art on the other. The pleaſures of ſuch men are ſcarcely felt as pleaſures; at the ſame time that they bring on pains and diſeaſes, which are felt but too ſeverely. The mind has its ſhare of the misfortune; it grows lazy and enervate, unwilling and unable to ſearch for truth, and utterly uncapable of knowing, much leſs of reliſhing real happineſs. The poor by their ex⯑ceſſive labour, and the rich by their enormous luxury, are ſet upon a level, and rendered equally ignorant of any knowledge which might conduce to their hap⯑pineſs. A diſmal view of the interior of all civil ſo⯑ciety. The lower part broken and ground down by the moſt cruel oppreſſion; and the rich by their ar⯑tificial method of life bringing worſe evils on them⯑ſelves, than their tyranny could poſſibly inflict on thoſe below them. Very different is the proſpect of the natural ſtate. Here there are no wants which nature gives, and in this ſtate men can be ſenſible of no other wants, which are not to be ſupplied by a very moderate degree of labour; therefore there is no ſlavery. Neither is there any luxury, becauſe no ſingle man can ſupply the materials of it. Life is ſimple, and therefore it is happy.—Vindication of Natural Society.

RELIGION. Conſolution in Religion.

THE Engliſh people are ſatisfied, that to the great the conſolations of religion are as neceſſary as its in⯑ſtructions. [328] They too are among the unhappy. They feel perſonal pain and domeſtic ſorrow. In theſe they have no privilege, but are ſubject to pay their full contingent to the contributions levied on mor⯑tality. They want this ſovereign balm under their gnawing cares and anxieties, which being leſs con⯑verſant about the limited wants of animal life, range without limit, and are diverſified by infinite combi⯑nations in the wild and unbounded regions of imagi⯑nation. Some charitable dole is wanting to theſe, our often very unhappy brethren, to fill the gloomy void that reigns in minds which have nothing on earth to hope or fear; ſomething to relieve in the killing languor and over-laboured laſſitude of thoſe who have nothing to do; ſomething to excite an appetite to exiſtence in the p [...]lled ſatiety which attends on all pleaſures which may be bought, where nature is not left to her own proceſs, where even deſire is anticipated, and therefore fruition defeated by meditated ſchemes and contrivances of delight; and no interval, no obſtacle, is interpoſed between the wiſh and the accompliſhment.—Re⯑flections on the Revolution in France.

RELIGION. (SEE ATHEISM.)

RELIGION is among the moſt powerful cauſes of enthuſiaſm. When any thing concerning it becomes an object of much meditation, it cannot be indifferent to the mind. They who do not love religion, hate it. The rebels to God perfectly abhor the author of their being. They hate him ‘"with all their heart, with all their mind, with all their ſoul, and with all their ſtrength."’ He never preſents himſelf to their thoughts, but to menace and alarm them. They cannot ſtrike the Sun out of Heaven, but they are able to raiſe as mouldering ſmoke that obſcures him from their own eyes. Not being able to revenge themſelves on God, they have a delight in vicariouſly [329] defacing, degrading, torturing, and tearing in pieces his image in man.—

RUSSIA. (SEE REVOLUTION (FRENCH.)

THE Ruſſian government is of all others the moſt liable to be ſubverted by military ſedition, by court conſpiracies, and ſometimes by head-long rebellious people, ſuch as the turbinating movement of Pugat⯑chef. It is not quite ſo probable, that in any of theſe changes the ſpirit of ſyſtem may mingle in the manner it has done in France. The Muſcovites are no great ſpeculators; but I ſhould not much rely on their uninquiſitive diſpoſition, if any of their ordinary motives to ſedition ſhould ariſe. The little catechiſm of the Rights of Man is ſoon learned, and the refe⯑rences are in the paſſions.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

RIGHTS. Natural and Chartered.

THE rights of men, that is to ſay, the natural rights of mankind, are indeed ſacred things; and if any public meaſure is proved miſchievouſly to aff [...]ct them, the objection ought to be fatal to that meaſure, even if no charter at all could be ſet up againſt it. If theſe natural rights are further affirmed and de⯑clared by expreſs covenants, if they are clearly de⯑fined and ſecured againſt chicane, againſt power, and authority, by written inſtruments and poſitive en⯑gagements, they are ſtill in a better condition: they partake not only of the ſanctity of the object ſo ſe⯑cured, but of that ſolemn public faith itſelf, which ſecures an object of ſuch importance. Indeed this formal recognition, by the ſovereign power, of an original right in the ſubject, can never be ſubverted, but by rooting up the holding radical principles of Government, and even of ſociety itſelf. The char⯑ters, [330] which we call by diſtinction great, are public inſtruments of this nature; I mean the charters of King John and King Henry the Third. The things ſecured by theſe inſtruments may, without any de⯑ceitful ambiguity, be very fitly called the chartered rights of men.

Theſe charters have made the very name of a char⯑ter dear to the heart of every Engliſhman. But, Sir, there may be, and there are charters, not only dif⯑ferent in [...]ature, but formed on principles the very reverſe of thoſe of the great charter. Of this kind is the charter of the Eaſt-India Company. Magna charta is a charter to reſtrain power, and to deſtroy monopoly. The Eaſt-India charter is a charter to eſtabliſh monopoly, and to create power. Political power and commercial monopoly are not the rights of men; and the rights to them derived from charters, it is fallacious and ſophiſtical to call ‘"the chartered rights of men."’ Theſe chartered rights, (to ſpeak of ſuch charters and of their effects in terms of the greateſt poſſible moderation) do at leaſt ſuſpend the natural rights of mankind at large; and in their very frame and conſtitution are liable to fall into a direct violation of them.—Speech on Mr. Fox's Eaſt-India Bill.

RIGHTS OF MAN.

THEY (the French) made and recorded a ſort of inſtitute and digeſt of anarchy, called the Rights of Man, in ſuch a pedantic abuſe of elementary prin⯑ciples, as would have diſgraced boys at ſchool; but this declaration of rights was worſe than trifling and pedantic in them; as by their name and authority they ſyſtematically deſtroyed every hold of authority by opinion, religious or civil, on the minds of the people. By this mad declaration, they ſubverted the ſtate; and brought on ſuch calamities as no country, without a long war, has ever been known to ſuffer.—Speeeh on the Army Eſtimates.

RIGHTS OF MAN (FRENCH.) Compared to a portentous Comet.

ASTRONOMERS have ſuppoſed, that if a certain comet, whoſe path interſected the ecliptic, had met the earth in ſome (I forget what) ſign, it would have whirled us along with it, in its eccentric courſe, into God knows what regions of heat and cold. Had the portentous comet of the Rights of Man, (which ‘"from its horrid hair ſhakes peſtilence, and war,"’ and ‘"with fear of change perplexes Monarchs,")’ had that comet croſſed upon us in that internal ſtate of England, in 1780, nothing human could have pre⯑vented our being irreſiſtibly hurried, out of the high⯑way of heaven, into all the vices, crimes, horrors, and miſeries of the French revolution.—Letter to a noble Lord.

RIGHTS OF MAN (REAL).

FAR am I from denying in theory, full as far is my heart from withholding in practice, (if I were of power to give or to withhold) the real rights of men. In denying their falſe claims of right, I do not mean to injure thoſe which are real, and are ſuch as their pretended rights would totally deſtroy. If civil ſo⯑ciety be made for the advantage of man, all the ad⯑vantages for which it is made become his right. It is an inſtitution of beneficence; and law itſelf is only beneficence acting by a rule. Men have a right to live by that rule; they have a right to juſtice; as be⯑tween their fellows, whether their fellows are in po⯑litic function or in ordinary occupation. They have a right to the fruits of their induſtry; and to the means of making their induſtry fruitful. They have a right to the acquiſitions of their parents; to the nouriſhment and improvement of their offspring; to inſtruction in life, and to conſolation in death. Whatever each man can ſeparately do, without treſpaſſing upon others, he has a right to do for himſelf; and he has a right to a fair portion of all which ſociety, with all [332] its combinations of ſkill and force, can do in his fa⯑vour. In this partnerſhip all men have equal rights; but not to equal things. He that has but five ſhil⯑lings in the partnerſhip, has as good a right to it, as he that has five hundred pounds has to his larger pro⯑portion. But he has not a right to an equal dividend in the product of the joint ſtock; and as to the ſhare of power, authority, and direction which each indi⯑vidual ought to have in the management of the ſtate, that I muſt deny to be amongſt the direct original rights of man in civil ſociety; for I have in my con⯑templation the civil ſocial man, and no other. It is a thing to be ſettled by convention.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

RIGHTS OF MAN, (THE OBJECT OF.)

THE political dogma, which upon the new French ſyſtem, is to unite the factions of different nations, turns on this, ‘"That the majority told, by the head, of the taxable people in every country, is the per⯑petual, natural, unceaſing, indefeaſible ſovereign; that this majority is perfectly maſter of the form, as well as the adminiſtration of the ſtate, and that the magiſtrates, under whatever names they are called, are only functionaries to obey the orders, (general as laws or particular as decrees) which that majority may make; that this is the only na⯑tural government; that all others are tyranny and uſurpation."’

In order to reduce this dogma into practice, the republicans in France, and their aſſociates in other countries, make it always their buſineſs, and often their public profeſſion, to deſtroy all traces of antient eſtabliſhments, and to form a new commonwealth in each country, upon the baſis of the French Rights of Men. On the principle of theſe rights, they mean to inſtitute in every country, and as it were, the germ of the whole, parochial governments, for the [333] purpoſe of what they call equal repreſentation. From them is to grow, by ſome media, a general council and repreſentative of all the parochial governments. In that repreſentative is to be veſted the whole na⯑tional power; totally aboliſhing hereditary name and office, levelling all conditions of men, (except where money muſt make a difference) breaking all con⯑nexion between territory and dignity, and aboliſhing every ſpecies of nobility, gentry, and church eſta⯑bliſhments; all their prieſts, and all their magiſtrates being only creatures of election, and penſioners at will.

Knowing how oppoſite a permanent landed intereſt is to that ſcheme, they have reſolved, and it is the great drift of all their regulations, to reduce that de⯑ſcription of men to a mere peaſantry, for the ſuſte⯑nance of the towns, and to place the true effective government in cities, among the tradeſmen, bankers, and voluntary clubs of bold, preſuming young per⯑ſons;—advocates, attornies, notaries, managers of newſpapers, and thoſe cabals of literary men, called academies. Their republic is to have a firſt func⯑tionary, (as they call him) under the name of king, or not, as they think fit. This officer, when ſuch an officer is permitted, is however, neither in fact nor name, to be conſidered as ſovereign, nor the people as his ſubjects. The very uſe of theſe appellations is offenſive to their ears.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

RIGHTS OF MAN.

HER (France) good and ill diſpoſitions are ſhewn by the ſame means. To communicate peaceably the rights of men is the true mode of her ſhewing her friendſhip;; to force Sovereigns to ſubmit to thoſe rights is her mode of hoſtility. So that either as friend or foe, her whole ſcheme has been and is, to throw the Empire (Germany) into confuſion.—Ibid.

RIGHTS OF MAN. This Doctrine has pervaded Germany.

IN ſhort, the Germanic body is a vaſt maſs of heterogeneous States, held together by that hetero⯑geneous body of old principles which formed the public law poſitive and doctrinal. The modern laws and liberties which the new power in France propoſes to introduce into Germany, and to ſupport with all its force, of intrigue and of arms, is of a very different nature, utterly irreconcileable with the firſt, and, indeed, fundamentally the reverſe of it: I mean the Rights and Liberties of the Man, the Droit de l' Homme. That this doctrine has made an amazing progreſs in Germany, there cannot be a ſhadow of doubt. They are infected by it along the whole courſe of the Rhine, the Maeſe, the Mo⯑ſelle, and in the greater part of Suabia and Fran⯑conia. It is particularly prevalent amongſt all the lower people, churchmen and laity, in the dominions of the Eccleſiaſtical Electors. It is not eaſy to find or to conceive Governments more mild and indul⯑gent than theſe Church Sovereignties; but good government is as nothing when the Rights of Man take poſſeſſion of the mind. Indeed the looſe rein held over the people in theſe provinces, muſt be conſidered as one cauſe of the facility with which they lend themſelves to any ſchemes of innovation, by inducing them to think lightly of their govern⯑ments, and to judge of grievances not by feeling, but by imagination.—Ibid.

RIGHTS OF MEN.

THE rights of men in governments are their advan⯑tages; and theſe are often in balances between the dif⯑ferences of good; in compromiſes ſometimes between good and evil.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

RIGHTS OF MEN.

THE moment you abate any thing from the full rights of men, each to govern himſelf, and ſuffer any artificial poſitive limitation upon thoſe rights, from that moment the whole organization of government becomes a conſideration of convenience. This it is which makes the conſtitution of a ſtate, and the due diſtribution of its powers, a matter of the moſt delicate and complicated ſkill. It requires a deep knowledge of human nature and human neceſſities, and of the things which facilitate or obſtruct the va⯑rious ends which are to be purſued by the mechaniſm of civil inſtitutions. The ſtate is to have recruits to its ſtrength, and remedies to its diſtempers. What is the uſe of diſcuſſing a man's abſtract right to food or to medicine? The queſtion is upon the method of procuring and adminiſtering them. In that delibe⯑ration I ſhall always adviſe to call in the aid of the farmer and the phyſician, rather than the profeſſor of metaphyſics.—Ibid.

RIGHTS OF MEN. Men have no Right to what is not reaſonable.

MEN have no right to what is not reaſonable, and to what is not for their benefit; for though a pleaſant writer ſaid, Liceat perire poetis, when one of them in cold blood is ſaid to have leaped into the flames of a Volcanic revolution, Ardentem frigidus Aetnam inſiluit; I conſider ſuch a frolic rather as an unjuſti⯑fiable poetic licence, than as one of the franchiſes of Parnaſſus; and whether he was poet or divine, or politician, that choſe to exerciſe this kind of right, I think that more wiſe, becauſe more charitable thoughts would urge me rather to ſave the man, than to preſerve his brazen ſlippers as the monuments of his folly.—Ibid.

RIGHTS OF MAN.

THE peaſants, in all probability, are the deſcen⯑dants of theſe antient proprietors, Romans or Gauls. But if they fail, in any degree, in the titles which they make on the principles of antiquaries and law⯑yers, they retreat into the citadel of the rights of men. There they find that men are equal; and the earth, the kind and equal mother of all, ought not to be monopolized to foſter the pride and luxury of any men, who by nature are no better than themſelves, and who, if they do not labour for their bread, are worſe. They find, that by the laws of nature the oc⯑cupant and ſubduer of the ſoil is the true proprietor; that there is no preſcription againſt nature; and that the agreements (where any there are) which have been made with their landlords, during the time of ſlavery, are only the effect of dureſſe and force; and that when the people re-entered into the rights of men, thoſe agreements were made as void as every thing elſe which had been ſettled under the prevalence of the old feudal and ariſtocratic tyranny. They will tell you that they ſee no difference between an idler with a hat and a national cockade, and an idler in a cowl or in a rochet. If you ground the title to rents on ſucceſſion and preſcription, they tell you, from the ſpeech of Mr. Camus, publiſhed by the national aſſembly for their information, that things ill begun cannot avail themſelves of preſcription; that the title of theſe lords was vicious in its origin; and that force is at leaſt as bad as fraud. As to the title by ſucceſ⯑ſion, they will tell you, that the ſucceſſion of thoſe who have cultivated the ſoil is the true pedigree of property, and not rotten parchments and ſilly ſubſti⯑tutions; that the lords have enjoyed their uſurpation too long; and that if they allow to theſe lay monks any charitable penſion, they ought to be thankful to the bounty of the true proprietor, who is ſo generous towards a falſe claimant to his goods.

[337]When the peaſants give you back that coin of ſo⯑phiſtic reaſon, on which you have ſet your image and ſuperſcription, you cry it down as baſe money, and tell them you will pay for the future with French guards, and dragoons, and huſſars. You hold up, to chaſtiſe them, the ſecond-hand authority of a king, who is only the inſtrument of deſtroying, without any power of protecting either the people or his own per⯑ſon. Through him it ſeems you will make yourſelves obeyed. They anſwer, you have taught us that there are no gentlemen; and which of your principles teach us to bow to kings whom we have not elected? We know, without your teaching, that lands were given for the ſupport of feudal dignities, feudal titles, and feudal offices. When you took down the cauſe as a grievance, why ſhould the more grievous effect re⯑main? As there are now no hereditary honours, and no diſtinguiſhed families, why are we taxed to main⯑tain what you tell us ought not to exiſt? You have ſent down our old ariſtocratic landlords in no other character, and with no other title, but that of ex⯑actors under your authority. Have you endeavoured to make theſe your rent-gatherers reſpectable to us? No. You have ſent them to us with their arms re⯑verſed, their ſhields broken, their impreſſes defaced; and ſo diſplumed, degraded, and metamorphoſed, ſuch unfeathered two-legged things, that we no longer know them. They are ſtrangers to us. They do not even go by the names of our antient lords. Phy⯑ſically they may be the ſame men; though we are not quite ſure of that, on your new philoſophic doctrines of perſonal identity. In all other reſpects they are totally changed. We do not ſee why we have not as good a right to refuſe them their rents, as you have to abrogate all their honours, titles, and diſtinctions. This we have never commiſſioned you to do; and it is one inſtance, among many indeed, of your aſ⯑ſumption of undelegated power. We ſee the burghers of Paris, through their clubs, their mobs, and their [338] national guards, directing you at their pleaſure, and giving that as law to you, which, under your au⯑thority, is tranſmitted as law to us. Through you, theſe burghers diſpoſe of the lives and fortunes of us all. Why ſhould not you attend us as much to the deſires of the laborious huſbandman with regard to our rent, by which we are affected in the moſt ſerious manner, as you do to the demands of theſe inſolent burghers relative to diſtinctions and titles of honour, by which neither they nor we are affected at all? But we find you pay more regard to their fan⯑cies than to our neceſſities. Is it among the rights of man to pay tribute to his equals? Before this mea⯑ſure of yours, we might have thought we were not perfectly equal. We might have entertained ſome old, habitual, unmeaning prepoſſeſſion in favour of thoſe landlords; but we cannot conceive with what other view than that of deſtroying all reſpect to them, you could have made the law that degrades them. You have forbidden us to treat them with any of the old formalities of reſpect, and now you ſend troops to ſabre and to bayonet us into a ſubmiſſion to fear and force, which you did not ſuffer us to yield to the mild authority of opinion.

The ground of ſome of theſe arguments is horrid and ridiculous to all rational ears; but to the politi⯑cians of metaphyſics who have opened ſchools for ſophiſtry, and made eſtabliſhments for anarchy, it is ſolid and concluſive. It is obvious, that on a mere conſideration of the right, the leaders in the aſſembly would not in the leaſt have ſcrupled to abrogate the rents along with the titles and family enſigns. It would be only to follow up the principle of their reaſonings, and to complete the analogy of their conduct. But they had newly poſſeſſed themſelves of a great body of landed property by confiſcation. They had this commodity at market; and the market would have been wholly deſtroyed, if they were to permit the huſbandman to riot in the ſpeculations [339] with which they ſo freely intoxicated themſelves. The only ſecurity which property enjoys in any one of its deſcriptions, is from the intereſts of their rapa⯑city with regard to ſome other. They have left no⯑thing but their own arbitrary pleaſure to determine what property is to be protected and what ſubverted.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

RIGHTS (METAPHYSIC.)

THESE metaphyſic rights entering into common life, like rays of light which pierce into a denſe medium, are, by the laws of nature, refracted from their ſtraight line. Indeed in the groſs and compli⯑cated maſs of human paſſions and concerns, the primitive rights of men undergo ſuch a variety of refractions and reflections, that it becomes abſurd to talk of them as if they continued in the ſimplicity of their original direction. The nature of man is in⯑tricate; the objects of ſociety are of the greateſt poſ⯑ſible complexity; and therefore no ſimple diſpoſition or direction of power can be ſuitable either to man's nature, or to the quality of his affairs. When I hear the ſimplicity of contrivance aimed at and boaſted of in any new political conſtitutions, I am at no loſs to decide that the artificers are groſsly ignorant of their trade, or totally negligent of their duty. The ſimple governments are fundamentally defective, to ſay no worſe of them. If you were to comtemplate ſociety in but one point of view, all theſe ſimple modes of polity are infinitely captivating. In effect each would anſwer its ſingle end much more perfectly than the more complex is able to attain all its com⯑plex purpoſes. But it is better that the whole ſhould be imperfectly and anomalouſly anſwered, than that, while ſome parts are provided for with great exact⯑neſs, others might be totally neglected, or, perhaps, materially injured, by the over-care of a favourite member.—Ibid.

RIGHTS (PETITION AND DECLARATION OF.)

IN the famous law of the 3d of Charles I. called the Petition of Rights, the parliament ſays to the king, ‘"Your ſubjects have inherited this freedom,"’ claim⯑ing their franchiſes not on abſtract principles ‘"as the rights of men,"’ but as the rights of Engliſhmen, and as a patrimony derived from their forefathers. Selden, and the other profoundly learned men, who drew this petition of right, were as well acquainted, at leaſt, with all the general theories concerning the ‘"rights of men,"’ as any of the diſcourſers in our pulpits, or on your tribune; full as well as Dr. Price, or as the Abbè Sieyes. But, for reaſons wor⯑thy of that practical wiſdom which ſuperſeded their theoretic ſcience, they preferred this poſitive, re⯑corded, hereditary title to all which can be dear to the man and the citizen, to that vague ſpeculative right, which expoſed their ſure inheritance to be ſcrambled for and torn to pieces by every wild liti⯑gious ſpirit.

The ſame policy pervades all the laws which have ſince been made for the preſervation of our liberties. In the 1ſt of William and Mary, in the famous ſta⯑tute, called the Declaration of Right, the two houſes utter not a ſyllable of ‘"a right to frame a govern⯑ment for themſelves."’ You will ſee, that their whole care was to ſecure the religion, laws, and liberties, that had been long poſſeſſed, and had been lately endangered. ‘"Taking ^* into their moſt ſeri⯑ous conſideration the beſt means for making ſuch an eſtabliſhment, that their religion, laws, and liberties, might not be in danger of being again ſubverted,"’ they auſpicate all their proceedings, by ſtating as ſome of thoſe beſt means, ‘"in the firſt place"’ to do ‘"as their anceſtors in like caſes have uſually done for vindicating their antient rights and liberties, to declare;"—’and then they pray the king [341] and queen, ‘"that it may be declared and enacted, that all and ſingular the rights and liberties aſſerted and declared are the true antient and indubitable rights and liberties of the people of this kingdom."’

You will obſerve, that from Magna Charta to the declaration of right, it has been the uniform policy of our conſtitution to claim and aſſert our liberties, as an entailed inheritance derived to us from our forefathers, and to be tranſmitted to our poſterity.—Ibid.

REGICIDE PEACE.

IF the general diſpoſition of the people be, as I hear it is, for an immediate peace with regicide, without ſo much as conſidering our public and ſolemn engagements to the parties, or any inquiry into the terms, it is all over with us. It is ſtrange, but it may be true, that as the danger from advances to jacobiniſm is increaſed in my eyes and in yours, the fear of it is leſſened in theirs. It ſeems they act under the impreſſion of other ſort of terrors, which frighten them out of their firſt apprehenſions: but it is fit they ſhould recollect, that they who would make peace without a previous knowledge of the terms, make a ſurrender. They are conquered. They do not treat; they receive the law. Then the people of England are contented to ſeek in the kindneſs of a foreign ſyſtematic enemy combined with a dangerous faction at home; a ſecurity which they cannot find in their own patriotiſm and their own courage. They are willing to truſt to the ſympathy of regicides, the guarantee of the Britiſh monarchy. They are con⯑tent to reſt their religion on the piety of atheiſts by eſtabliſhment. They are ſatisfied to ſeek in the cle⯑mency of practiſed murderers the ſecurity of their lives. They are pleaſed to confide their property to the ſafeguard of thoſe who are robbers by inclination, intereſt, habit, and ſyſtem. If this be our deliberate [342] mind, truly we deſerve to loſe, what we cannot long retain, the name of a nation.—

REGICIDE PEACE.

WITH a regicide peace the King cannot long have a miniſter to ſerve him, nor the miniſter a King to ſerve. If the great diſpoſer, in reward of the royal and private virtues of our ſovereign, ſhould call him from the calamitous ſpectacle which will attend a ſtate of amity with regicide, his ſucceſſor will ſurely ſee them, unleſs the ſame providence greatly anticipates the courſe of nature. Thinking thus, (and not as I conceive on light grounds) I dare not flatter the reigning ſovereign, nor any miniſter he has, or can have, nor his ſucceſſor apparent, nor any of thoſe who may be called to ſerve him, with what appears to me a falſe ſtate of their ſituation. We cannot have them and that peace together.—Ibid.

REGICIDE AND REBELS (FRENCH.) (See HISTORY.) Indemnity and Puniſhment.

[...]F theſe princes had ſhewn a tyrannic diſpoſition, it would be much to be lamented. We have no others to govern France. If we ſereened the body of murderers from their juſtice, we ſhould only leave the innocent in future to the mercy of men of fierce and ſanguinary diſpoſitions, of which in ſpite of all our intermeddling in their conſtitution, we could not prevent the effects. But as we have much more reaſon to fear their ſeeble lenity than any blame⯑able rigour, we ought, in my opinion, to leave the matter to themſelves.

If, however, I were aſked to give an advice merely as ſuch—here are my ideas. I am not for a total indemnity, nor a general puniſhment. And firſt, the body and maſs of the people never ought to be treated as criminal. They may become an object of [343] more or leſs conſtant watchfulneſs and ſuſpicion, as their preſervation may beſt require, but they can never become an object of puniſhment. This is one of the few fundamental and unalterable principles of politics.

To puniſh them capitally would be to make maſ⯑ſacres. Maſſacres only increaſe the ferocity of men, and teach them to regard their own lives and thoſe of others as of little value; whereas the great policy of government is to teach the people to think both of great importance in the eyes of God and the State, and never to be ſacrificed or even hazarded to gra⯑tify their paſſions, or for any thing but the duties preſcribed by the rules of morality, and under the direction of public law and public authority. To puniſh them with leſſer penalties would be to debili⯑tate the commonwealth, and make the nation miſer⯑able, which it is the buſineſs of government to render happy and flouriſhing.

As to crimes too, I would draw a ſtrong line of limitation. For no one offence, politically an offence of rebellion, by council, contrivance, perſuaſion, or compulſion, for none properly a military offence of rebellion, or any thing done by open hoſtility in the field, ſhould any man at all be called in queſtion; becauſe ſuch ſeems to be the proper and natural death of civil diſſentions. The offences of war are obli⯑terated by peace.

Another claſs will of courſe be included in the indemnity, namely, all thoſe who by their activity in reſtoring lawful Government ſhall obliterate their offences. The offence previouſly known, the ac⯑ceptance of ſervice is a pardon for crimes. I fear that this claſs of men will not be very numerous.

So far as to indemnity. But where are the objects of juſtice, and of example, and of future ſecurity to the public peace? They are naturally pointed out, not by their having outraged political and civil laws, nor their having rebelled againſt the ſtate, as a State, [344] but by their having rebelled againſt the law of na⯑ture, and outraged man, as man. In this liſt, all the regicides in general, all thoſe who laid ſacrilegious hands on the King, who, without any thing in their own rebellious miſſion to the convention to juſtify them, brought him to his trial, and unanimouſly voted him guilty; all thoſe who had a ſhare in the cruel murder of the Queen, and the deteſtable proceed⯑ings with regard to the young King, and the unhappy Princeſſes; all thoſe who committed cold-blooded murder any where, and particularly in their revolu⯑tionary tribunals, where every idea of natural juſtice and of their own declared Rights of Man, have been trod under foot with the moſt inſolent mockery; all men concerned in the burning and demolition of houſes or churches, with audacious and marked acts of ſacrilege and ſcorns offered to religion; in general, all the leaders of Jacobin clubs; not one of theſe ſhould eſcape a puniſhment ſuitable to the nature, quality, and degree of their offence, by a ſteady but a meaſured juſtice.

In the firſt place, no man ought to be ſubject to any penalty, from the higheſt to the loweſt, but by a trial according to the courſe of law, carried on with all that caution and deliberation which has been uſed in the beſt times and precedents of the French juriſprudence, the criminal law of which country, faulty to be ſure in ſome particulars, was highly laudable and tender of the lives of men. In reſtor⯑ing order and juſtice, every thing like retaliation ought to be religiouſly avoided; and an example ought to be ſet of a total alienation from the Jacobin proceedings in their accurſed revolutionary tribunals. Every thing like lumping men in maſſes, and of forming tables of proſcription ought to be avoided.

In all theſe puniſhments, any thing which can be alledged in mitigation of the offence ſhould be fully conſidered. Mercy is not a thing oppoſed to juſtice. It is an eſſential part of it; as neceſſary in criminal [345] caſes, as in civil affairs equity is to law. It is only for the Jacobins never to pardon. They have not done it in a ſingle inſtance. A council of mercy ought therefore to be appointed, with powers to re⯑port on each caſe, to ſoften the penalty, or entirely to remit it, according to circumſtances.

With theſe precautions, the very firſt foundation of ſettlement muſt be to call to a ſtrict account thoſe bloody and mercileſs offenders. Without it govern⯑ment cannot ſtand a year. People little conſider the utter impoſſibility of getting thoſe who having emerged from very low, ſome from the loweſt claſſes of ſociety, have exerciſed a power ſo high, and with ſuch unrelenting and bloody a rage, quietly to fall back into their old ranks, and become humble, peaceable, laborious, and uſeful members of ſociety. It never can be. On the other hand, is it to be believed, that any worthy and virtuous ſubject, re⯑ſtored to the ruins of his houſe, will, with patience, ſee the cold-blooded murderer of his father, mother, wife, or children, or, perhaps, all of theſe relations (ſuch things have been) noſe him in his own village, and inſult him with the riches acquired from the plunder of his goods, ready again to head a Jacobin faction to attack his life? He is unworthy of the name of man who would ſuffer it. It is unworthy of the name of a government, which taking juſtice out of the private hand, will not exerciſe it for the injured by the public arm.

I know it ſounds plauſible, and is readily adopted by thoſe who have little ſympathy with the ſufferings of others, who wiſh to jumble the innocent and guilty into one maſs, by a general indemnity. This cruel indifference dignifies itſelf with the name of humanity.

It is extraordinary that as the wicked arts of this regicide and tyrannous faction increaſe in number, variety, and atrocity, the deſire of puniſhing them becomes more and more faint, and the talk of an [346] indemnity towards them, every day ſtronger and ſtronger. Our ideas of juſtice appear to be fairly conquered and overpowered by guilt when it is grown gigantic. It is not the point of view in which we are in the habit of viewing guilt. The crimes we every day puniſh, are really below the penalties we inflict. The criminals are obſcure and feeble. This is the view in which we ſee ordinary crimes and cri⯑minals. But when guilt is ſeen, though but for a time, to be furniſhed with the arms, and to be in⯑veſted with the robes of power, it ſeems to aſſume another nature, and to get, as it were, out of our juriſdiction. This I fear is the caſe with many. But there is another cauſe full as powerful towards this ſecurity to enormous guilt, the deſire which poſſeſſes people who have once obtained power, to enjoy it at their caſe. It is not humanity, but lazineſs and inertneſs of mind which produces the deſire of this kind of indemnities. This deſcription of men, love general and ſhort methods. If they puniſh, they make a promiſcuous maſſacre; if they ſpare, they make a general act of oblivion. This is a want of diſpoſition to proceed laboriouſly according to the caſes, and according to the rules and principles of juſtice on each caſe; a want of diſpoſition to aſſort criminals, to diſcriminate the degrees and modes of guilt, to ſeparate accomplices from principals, leaders from followers, ſeducers from the ſeduced, and then by following the ſame principles in the ſame detail, to claſs puniſhments, and to ſit them to the nature and kind of the delinquency. If that were once attempted, we ſhould ſoon ſee that the taſk was neither infinite, nor the execution cruel. There would be deaths, but for the number of criminals, and the extent of France, not many. There would be caſes of tran⯑ſportation; caſes of labour to reſtore what has been wickedly deſtroyed; caſes of impriſonment, and caſes of mere exile. But be this as it may, I am ſure that if juſtice is not done there, there can be [347] neither peace or juſtice there, nor in any part of Europe.

Hiſtory is reſorted to for other acts of indemnity in other times. The Princes are deſired to look back to Henry the Fourth. We are deſired to look to the reſtoration of king Charles. Theſe things, in my opinion, have no reſemblance whatſoever. They were caſes of a civil war; in France more ferocious, in England more moderate than common. In neither country were the orders of ſociety ſubverted; re⯑ligion and morality deſtroyed on principle, or pro⯑perty totally annihilated. In England the govern⯑ment of Cromwell was to be ſure ſomewhat rigid, but for a new power, no ſavage tyranny. The country was nearly as well in his hands as in thoſe of Charles the Second, and in ſome points much better. The laws in general had their courſe, and were ad⯑mirably adminiſtered. The king did not in reality grant an act of indemnity; the prevailing power, then in a manner the nation, in effect granted an indemnity to him. The idea of a preceding rebellion was not at all admitted in that convention and that parliament. The regicides were a common enemy, and as ſuch given up.

Among the ornaments of their place which emi⯑nently diſtinguiſh them, few people are better ac⯑quainted with the hiſtory of their own country than the illuſtrious Princes now in exile: but I caution them not to be led into error by that which has been ſuppoſed to be the guide of life. I would give the ſame caution to all princes. Not that I derogate from the uſe of hiſtory. It is a great improver of the underſtanding, by ſhewing both men and affairs in a great variety of views. From this ſource much political wiſdom may be learned; that is, may be learned as habit, not as precept; and as an exerciſe to ſtrengthen the mind, as furniſhing materials to enlarge and enrich it, not as a repertory of caſes and precedents for a lawyer; if it were, a thouſand times [348] better would it be that a Stateſman had never learned to read—vellem neſcirent literas. This method turns their underſtanding from the object before them, and from the preſent exigencies of the world, to compariſons with former times, of which after all, we can know very little and very imperfectly; and our guides, the hiſtorians, who are to give us their true interpretation, are often prejudiced, often ignorant, often fonder of ſyſtem than of truth. Whereas, if a man with reaſonable good parts and natural ſagacity, and not in the leading-ſtrings of any maſter, will look ſteadily on the buſineſs before him, without being diverted by retroſpect and compariſon, he may be capable of forming a reaſonable good judgement of what is to be done. There are ſome fundamental points in which nature never changes—but they are few and obvious, and belong rather to morals than to politics. But ſo far as regards political matter, the human mind and human affairs are ſuſceptible of infinite modifications, and of combinations wholly new and unlooked for. Very few, for inſtance, could have imagined that property, which has been taken for natural dominion, ſhould, through the whole of a vaſt kingdom, loſe all its importance and even its influence. This is what hiſtory or books of ſpeculation could hardly have taught us. How many could have thought, that the moſt complete and for⯑midable revolution in a great empire ſhould be made by men of letters, not as ſubordinate inſtruments and trumpeters of ſedition, but as the chief contrivers and managers, and in a ſhort time as the open admi⯑niſtrators and ſovereign rulers? Who could have imagined that atheiſm could produce one of the moſt violently operative principles of fanaticiſm? Who could have imagined, that in a commonwealth in a manner cradled in war, and in an extenſive and dreadful war, military commanders ſhould be of little or no account? That the convention ſhould not contain one military man of name? That admi⯑niſtrative [349] bodies in a ſtate of the utmoſt confuſion, and of but a momentary duration, and compoſed of men with not one impoſing part of character, ſhould be able to govern the country and its armies, with an authority which the moſt ſettled ſenates, and the moſt reſpected monarchs ſcarcely ever had in the ſame degree? This, for one, I confeſs I did not foreſee, though all the reſt was preſent to me very early, and not out of my apprehenſion even for ſeveral years.

I believe very few were able to enter into the effects of mere terror, as a principle not only for the ſupport of power in given hands or forms, but in thoſe things in which the ſoundeſt political ſpeculators were of opinion, that the leaſt appearance of force would be totally deſtructive, ſuch is the market, whether of money, proviſion, or commodities of any kind. Yet for four years we have ſeen loans made, treaſuries ſupplied, and armies levied and maintained, more numerous than France ever ſhewed in the field, by the effects of fear alone.

Here is a ſtate of things, of which, in its totality, if hiſtory furniſhes any examples at all, they are very remote and feeble. I therefore am not ſo ready as ſome are, to tax with folly or cowardice, thoſe who were not prepared to meet an evil of this nature. Even now, after the events, all the cauſes may be ſomewhat difficult to aſcertain. Very many are however traceable. But theſe things hiſtory and books of ſpeculation (as I have already ſaid) did not teach men to foreſee, and of courſe to reſiſt. Now that they are no longer a matter of ſagacity, but of experience, of recent experience, of our own ex⯑perience, it would be unjuſti [...]iable to go back to the records of other times, to inſtruct us to manage what they never enabled us to foreſee.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1793.

REGICIDES (INSOLENCE OF.)

WHILST the fortune of the field was wholly with the Regicides, nothing was thought of but to follow where it led; and it led to every thing. Not ſo much as a talk of treaty. Laws were laid down with arrogance. The moſt moderate politician amongſt them^* was choſen as the organ, not ſo much for preſcribing limits to their claims, as to mark what, for the preſent, they are content to leave to others. They made not laws, not Conventions, but late poſſeſſion, but phyſical nature, and political convenience the ſole foundation of their claims. The Rhine, the Mediterranean, and the ocean were the bounds which, for the time, they aſſigned to the empire of Regicide. In truth, with theſe limits, and their principle, they would not have left even the ſhadow of liberty or ſafety to any nation. This plan of empire was not taken up in the firſt intoxi⯑cation of unexpected ſucceſs. You muſt recollect, that it was projected juſt as the report has ſtated it, from the very firſt revolt of the faction againſt their monarchy; and it has been uniformly purſued, as a ſtanding maxim of national policy, from that time to this. It is in the ſeaſon of proſperity that men diſcover their real tempers, principles, and deſigns. This report, combined with their conduct, forms an infallible criterion of the views of this Republic.—Regicide Peace.

REASON. It is probable that the Standard of both Reaſon and Taſte is the ſame in all human Creatures.

ON a ſuperficial view, we may ſeem to differ very widely from each other in our reaſonings, and no leſs in our pleaſures: but notwithſtanding this diffe⯑rence, [351] which I think to be rather apparent, than real, it is probable that the ſtandard, both of reaſon and taſte is the ſame in all human creatures. For if there were not ſome principles of judgement as well as of ſentiment common to all mankind, no hold could poſſibly be taken either on their reaſon or their paſſions, ſufficient to maintain the ordinary corre⯑ſpondence of life. It appears indeed to be gene⯑rally acknowledged, that with regard to truth and falſehood there is ſomething fixed. We find people in their diſputes continually appealing to certain teſts and ſtandards, which are allowed on all ſides, and are ſuppoſed to be eſtabliſhed in our common nature. But there is not the ſame obvious concurrence in any uniform or ſettled principles which relate to taſte. It is even commonly ſuppoſed that this delicate and aërial faculty, which ſeems too volatile to endure even the chains of a definition, cannot be properly tried by any teſt, nor regulated by any ſtandard. There is ſo continual a call for the exerciſe of the reaſoning faculty, and it is ſo much ſtrengthened by perpetual contention, that certain maxims of right reaſon ſeem to be tacitly ſettled amongſt the moſt ignorant. The learned have improved on this rude ſcience, and reduced thoſe maxims into a ſyſtem. If taſte has not been ſo happily cultivated, it was not that the ſubject was barren, but that the labourers were few or negligent; for to ſay the truth, there are not the ſame intereſting motives to impel us to fix the one, which urge us to aſcertain the other. And after all, if men differ in their opinion con⯑cerning ſuch matters, their difference is not attended with the ſame important conſequences; elſe I make no doubt but that the logic of taſte, if I may be allowed the expreſſion, might very poſſibly be as well digeſted, and we might come to diſcuſs matters of this nature with as much certainty, as thoſe which ſeem more immediately within the province of mere reaſon.—Sublime and Beautiful.

RELIGION (CHRISTIAN.) The French have brought the Church to a State of Po⯑verty and Perſecution, &c.

ONE would think, that after an honeſt and neceſ⯑ſary revolution, (if they had a mind that theirs ſhould paſs for ſuch) your maſters would have imitated the virtuous policy of thoſe who have been at the head of revolutions of that glorious character. Burnet tells us, that nothing tended to reconcile the Engliſh na⯑tion to the government of King William ſo much as the care he took to fill the vacant biſhoprics with men who had attracted the public eſteem by their learning, eloquence, and piety, and above all, by their known moderation in the ſtate. With you, in your purify⯑ing revolution, whom have you choſen to regulate the church? Mr. Mirabeau is a fine ſpeaker—and a fine writer—and a fine—a very fine man; but really nothing gave more ſurprize to every body here, than to find him the ſupreme head of your eccleſiaſtical affairs. The reſt is of courſe. Your aſſembly ad⯑dreſſes a manifeſto to France, in which they tell the people, with an inſulting irony, that they have brought the church to its primitive condition. In one reſpect their declaration is undoubtedly true; for they have brought it to a ſtate of poverty and perſecution.—What can be hoped for after this? Have not men (if they deſerve the name) under this new hope and head of the church, been made biſhops, for no other merit than having acted as inſtruments of atheiſts; for no other merit than having thrown the children's bread to dogs; and in order to gorge the whole gang of uſurers, pedlars, and itinerant Jew diſcounters at the corners of ſtreets, ſtarved the poor of their Chriſ⯑tian flocks, and their own brother paſtors? Have not ſuch men been made biſhops to adminiſter in temples, in which (if the patriotic donations have not already ſtripped them of their veſſels) the churchwardens ought to take ſecurity for the altar plate, and not ſo [353] much as to truſt the chalice in their ſacrilegious hands, ſo long as Jews have aſſignats on eccleſiaſtic plunder, to exchange for the ſilver ſtolen from churches?

I am told, that the very ſons of ſuch Jew-jobbers have been made biſhops; perſons not to be ſuſpected of any ſort of Chriſtian ſuperſtition, fit colleagues to the holy prelate of Autun; and bred at the feet of that Gamaliel. We know who it was that drove the money changers out of the temple. We ſee too who it is that brings them in again. We have in London very reſpectable perſons of the Jewiſh nation, whom we will keep; but we have of the ſame tribe others of a very different deſcription,—houſe-breakers, and receivers of ſtolen goods, and forgers of paper cur⯑rency, more than we can conveniently hang. Theſe we can ſpare to France, to fill the new epiſcopal thrones: men well verſed in ſwearing; and who will ſcruple no oath which the fertile genius of any of your reformers can deviſe.

In matters ſo ridiculous, it is hard to be grave. On a view of their conſequences it is almoſt inhuman to treat them lightly. To what a ſtate of ſavage, ſtupid, ſervile inſenſibility muſt your people be re⯑duced, who can endure ſuch proceedings in their church, their ſtate, and their judicature, even for a moment! But the deluded people of France are like other madmen, who, to a miracle, bear hunger, and thirſt, and cold, and confinement, and the chains and laſh of their keeper, whilſt all the while they ſupport themſelves by the imagination that they are generals of armies, prophets, kings, and emperors. As to a change of mind in theſe men, who conſider infamy as honour, degradation as preferment, bon⯑dage to low tyrants as liberty, and the practical ſcorn and contumely of their upſtart maſters, as marks of reſpect and homage, I look upon it as abſolutely im⯑practicable. Theſe madmen, to be cured, muſt firſt, like other madmen, be ſubdued. The ſound part of the community, which I believe to be large, but by [354] no means the largeſt part, has been taken by ſurpriſe, and is disjointed, terrified, and diſarmed. That ſound part of the community muſt firſt be put into a better condition, before it can do any thing in the way of deliberation or of perſuaſion. This muſt be an act of power, as well as of wiſdom; of power, in the hands of firm, determined patriots, who can diſtin⯑guiſh the miſled from traitors, who will regulate the ſtate (if ſuch ſhould be their fortune) with a diſcrimi⯑nating, manly, and provident mercy; men who are purged of the ſurfeit and indigeſtion of ſyſtems, if ever they have been admitted into the habits of their minds; men who will lay the foundation of a real reform, in effacing every veſtige of that philoſophy which pretends to have made diſcoveries in the terra auſtralis of morality; men who will fix the ſtate upon theſe baſes of morals and politics, which are our old, and immemorial, and, I hope, will be our eternal poſſeſſion.

This power, to ſuch men, muſt come from without. It may be given to you in pity; for ſurely no nation ever called ſo pathetically on the compaſſion of all its neighbours. It may be given by thoſe neighbours on motives of ſafety to themſelves. Never ſhall I think any country in Europe to be ſecure, whilſt there is eſtabliſhed, in the very centre of it, a ſtate (if ſo it may be called) founded on principles of anarchy, and which is, in reality, a college of armed fanatics, for the propagation of the principles of aſſaſ⯑ſination, robbery, rebellion, fraud, faction, oppreſ⯑ſion, and impiety. Mahomet, hid, as for a time he was, in the bottom of the ſands of Arabia, had his ſpirit and character been diſcovered, would have been on object of precaution to provident minds. What if he had erected his frantic ſtandard for the deſtruc⯑tion of the Chriſtian religion in luce Aſioe, in the midſt of the then noon-day ſplendor of the then civi⯑lized world? The princes of Europe, in the begin⯑ning of this century, did well not to ſuffer the mo⯑narchy of France to ſwallow up the others. They [355] ought not now, in my opinion, to ſuffer all the mo⯑narchies and commonwealths to be ſwallowed up in the gulph of this polluted anarchy. They may be to⯑lerably ſafe at preſent, becauſe the comparative power of France for the preſent is little. But times and oc⯑caſions make dangers. Inteſtine troubles may ariſe in other countries. There is a power always on the watch, qualified and diſpoſed to profit of every con⯑juncture, to eſtabliſh its own principles and modes of miſchief, wherever it can hope for ſucceſs. What mercy would theſe uſurpers have on other ſovereigns, and on other nations, when they treat their own king with ſuch unparalleled indignities, and ſo cruelly op⯑preſs their own countrymen?—Letter to a Member of the National Aſſembly.

RECESS (PARLIAMENTARY.)

IN England, we cannot work ſo hard as French⯑men. Frequent relaxation is neceſſary to us. You are naturally more intenſe in your application. I did not know this part of your national character, until I went into France in 1773. At preſent, this your diſpoſition to labour is rather increaſed than leſſened. In your aſſembly you do not allow your⯑ſelves a receſs even on Sundays. We have two days in the week, beſides the feſtivals; and beſides five or ſix months of the ſummer and autumn. This con⯑tinued unremitted effort of the members of your aſ⯑ſembly, I take to be one among the cauſes of the miſchief they have done. They who always labour, can have no true judgment. You never give your⯑ſelves time to cool. You can never ſurvey, from its proper point of ſight, the work you have finiſhed, be⯑fore you decree its final execution. You can never plan the future by the paſt. You never go into the country, ſober and diſpaſſionately to obſerve the effect of your meaſures on their objects. You [356] cannot feel diſtinctly how far the people are rendered better and improved, or more miſerable and de⯑praved, by what you have done. You cannot ſee with your own eyes the ſufferings and afflictions you cauſe. You know them but at a diſtance, on the ſtatements of thoſe who always flatter the reigning power, and who, amidſt their repreſentations of the grievances, inflame your minds againſt thoſe who are oppreſſed. Theſe are amongſt the effects of unre⯑mitted labour, when men exhauſt their attention, burn out their candles, and are left in the dark. Malo meorum negligentiam, quam iſtorum obſcuram diligentiam.—Ibid.

RULERS (FRENCH).

YOUR rulers brought forth a ſet of men, ſteaming from the ſweat and drudgery, and all black with the ſmoak and ſoot of the forge of confiſcation and rob⯑bery—ardentis maſſoe fuligine lippos—a ſet of men brought forth from the trade of hammering arms of proof, offenſive and defenſive, in aid of the enter⯑prizes, and for the ſubſequent protection of houſe⯑breakers, murderers, traitors, and malefactors; men who had their minds ſeaſoned with theories perfectly conformable to their practice, and who had always laughed at poſſeſſion and preſcription, and defied all the fundamental maxims of juriſprudence, to the horror and ſtupefaction of all the honeſt part of this nation, and indeed of all nations who are ſpectators, we have ſeen, on the credit of thoſe very practices and principles, and to carry them further into effect, theſe very men placed on the ſacred ſeat of juſtice in the capital city of your late kingdom; we ſee, that in future, you are to be deſtroyed with more form and regularity. This is not peace; it is only the in⯑troduction of a ſort of diſcipline in their hoſtility; their tyranny is complete in their juſtice; and their lanthorn is not half ſo dreadful as their court.

[357]One would think, that out of common decency, they would have given you men who had not been in the habit of trampling upon law and juſtice in the Aſſembly, natural men, or men apparently natural, for Judges, who are to diſpoſe of your lives and for⯑tunes.—Ibid.

REVENUE (FRENCH.)

I SHALL now ſay ſomething of the ability ſhewed by your legiſlators with regard to the revenue.

In their proceedings relative to this object, if poſſible, ſtill fewer traces appear of political judg⯑ment or financial reſource. When the ſtates met, it ſeemed to be the great object to improve the ſyſtem of revenue, to enlarge its connexion, to cleanſe it of oppreſſion and vexation, and to eſtabliſh it on the moſt ſolid footing. Great were the expectations en⯑tertained on that head throughout Europe. It was by this grand arrangement that France was to ſtand or fall; and this became, in my opinion, very pro⯑perly, the teſt by which the ſkill and patriotiſm of thoſe who ruled in that aſſembly would be tried. The revenue of the ſtate is the ſtate. In effect all depends upon it, whether for ſupport or for refor⯑mation. The dignity of every occupation wholly depends upon the quantity and the kind of virtue that may be exerted in it. As all great qualities of the mind which operate in public, and are not merely ſuffering and paſſive, require force for their diſplay, I had almoſt ſaid for their unequivocal exiſtence, the revenue, which is the ſpring of all power, becomes in its adminiſtration the ſphere of every active vir⯑tue. Public virtue, being of a nature magnificent and ſplendid, inſtituted for great things, and conver⯑ſant about great concerns, requires abundant ſcope and room, and cannot ſpread and grow under con⯑finement, and in circumſtances ſtraitened, narrow, [358] and ſordid. Through the revenue alone, the body politic can act in its true genius and character, and therefore it will diſplay juſt as much of its col⯑lective virtue, and as much of that virtue which may characteriſe thoſe who move it, and are, as it were, its life and guiding principle, as it is poſſeſſed of a juſt revenue. For from hence not only magnani⯑mity, and liberality, and beneficence, and fortitude, and providence, and the tutelary protection of all good arts, derive their food, and the growth of their organs, but continence, and ſelf-denial, and labour, and vigilance, and frugality, and whatever elſe there is in which the mind ſhews itſelf above the appetite, are no where more in their proper element than in the proviſion and diſtribution of the public wealth. It is therefore not without reaſon that the ſcience of ſpeculative and practical finance, which muſt take to its aid ſo many auxiliary branches of knowledge, ſtands high in the eſtimation not only of the ordinary ſort, but of the wiſeſt and beſt men; and as this ſcience has grown with the progreſs of its object, the proſperity and improvement of nations has generally encreaſed with the encreaſe of their revenues; and they will both continue to grow and flouriſh, as long as the balance between what is left to ſtrengthen the efforts of individuals, and what is collected for the common efforts of the ſtate, bear to each other a due reciprocal proportion, and are kept in a cloſe correſpondence and communication. And perhaps it may be owing to the greatneſs of revenues, and to the urgency of ſtate neceſſities, that old abuſes in the conſtitution of finances are diſcovered, and their true nature and rational theory comes to be more perfectly underſtood; inſomuch, that a ſmaller reve⯑nue might have been more diſtreſſing in one period than a far greater is found to be in another; the pro⯑portionate wealth even remaining the ſame.—Reflec⯑tions on the Revolution in France.

RUIN (NATIONAL.) The French ſtiled the ableſt Architects of.

THE French have ſhewn themſelves the ableſt ar⯑chitects of ruin that have hitherto exiſted in the world. In that very ſhort ſpace of time they have completely pulled down to the ground, their monarchy; their church; their nobility; their law; their revenue; their army; their navy; their commerce; their arts; and their manufactures. They have done their buſi⯑neſs for us as rivals, in a way in which twenty Ra⯑milies or Blenheims could never have done it. Were we abſolute conquerors, and France to lie proſtrate at our feet, we ſhould be aſhamed to ſend a commiſ⯑ſion to ſettle their affairs; which could impoſe ſo hard a law upon the French, and ſo deſtructive of all their conſequence as a nation, as that they have im⯑poſed upon themſelves.—Speech on the Army Eſtimates.

RUSSEL (HOUSE OF.) Mr. Burke contraſts his own Merit with that of the Founder of the Houſe of Ruſſel.

THE merit of the origin of his Grace's (Bedford) fortune was in being a favourite and chief adviſer to a prince, who left no liberty to their native country. My endeavour was to obtain liberty for the municipal country in which I was born, and for all deſcriptions and denominations in it.—Mine was to ſupport with unrelaxing vigilance every right, every privilege, every franchiſe, in this my adopted, my dearer and more comprehenſive country; and not only to pre⯑ſerve thoſe rights in this chief feat of empire, but in every nation, in every land, in every climate, lan⯑guage and religion, in the vaſt domain that ſtill is under the protection, and the larger that was once under the protection, of the Britiſh crown.

His founder's merits were, by arts in which he ſerved his maſter and made his fortune, to bring po⯑verty, [360] wretchedneſs and depopulation on his country. Mine were under a benevolent prince, in promoting the commerce, manufactures and agriculture of his kingdom; in which his majeſty ſhews an eminent example, who even in his amuſements is a patriot, and in hours of leiſure an improver of his native ſoil.

His founder's merit, was the merit of a gentleman raiſed by the arts of a court, and the protection of a Wolſey, to the eminence of a great and potent lord. His merit in that eminence was by inſtigating a tyrant to injuſtice, to provoke a people to rebellion.—My merit was, to awaken the ſober part of the country, that they might put themſelves on their guard againſt any one potent lord, or any greater number of potent lords, or any combination of great leading men of any ſort, if ever they ſhould attempt to proceed in the ſame courſes, but in the reverſe order, that is, by inſtigating a corrupt populace to rebellion, and, through that rebellion, ſhould intro⯑duce a tyranny yet worſe than the tyranny which his Grace's anceſtor ſupported, and of which he profited in the manner we behold in the deſpotiſm of Henry the Eighth.

The political merit of the firſt penſioner of his Grace's houſe, was that of being concerned as a counſellor of ſtate in adviſing, and in his perſon exe⯑cuting the conditions of a diſhonourable peace with France; the ſurrendering the fortreſs of Boulogne, then our out guard on the continent. By that ſur⯑render, Calais, the key of France, and the bridle in the mouth of that power, was, not many years after⯑wards, finally loſt. My merit has been in reſiſting the power and pride of France, under any form of it's rule; but in oppoſing it with the greateſt zeal and earneſtneſs, when that rule appeared in the worſt form it could aſſume; the worſt indeed which the prime cauſe and principle of all evil could poſſibly give it. It was my endeavour by every means to ex⯑cite a ſpirit in the houſe, where I had the honour of [361] a ſeat, for carrying on with early vigour and deciſion, the moſt clearly juſt and neceſſary war, that this or any nation ever carried on; in order to ſave my country from the iron yoke of it's power, and from the more dreadful contagion of its principles; to pre⯑ſerve, while they can be preſerved pure and un⯑tainted, the ancient, inbred integrity, piety, good nature, and good humour of the people of England, from the dreadful peſtilence which beginning in France, threatens to lay waſte the whole moral, and in a great degree the whole phyſical world, having done both in the focus of it's moſt intenſe malignity.

The labours of his Grace's founder merited the curſes, not loud but deep, of the Commons of Eng⯑land, on whom he and his maſter had effected a complete parliamentary reform, in making them in their ſlavery and humiliation, the true and adequate repreſentatives of a debaſed, degraded, and undone people. My merits were, in having had an active, though not always an oſtentatious ſhare, in every one act, without exception, of undiſputed conſtitutional utility in my time, and in having ſupported on all occaſions, the authority, the efficiency, and the pri⯑vileges of the Commons of Great Britain. I ended my ſervices by a recorded and fully reaſoned aſſer⯑tion on their own journals of their conſtitutional rights, and a vindication of their conſtitutional con⯑duct. I laboured in all things to merit their inward approbation, and (along with the aſſiſtants of the largeſt, the greateſt, and beſt of my endeavours) I received their free, unbiaſſed, public, and ſolemn thanks.

Thus ſtands the account of the comparative merits of the crown grants which compoſe the duke of Bed⯑ford's fortune as balanced againſt mine. In the name of common ſenſe, why ſhould the duke of Bedford think, that none but of the houſe of Ruſſel are en⯑titled to the favour of the crown? Why ſhould he imagine that no king of England has been capable of judging of merit but king Henry the Eighth? Indeed, [362] he will pardon me; he is a little miſtaken; all virtue did not end in the firſt earl of Bedford. All diſcern⯑ment did not loſe its viſion when his creator cloſed his eyes. Let him remit his rigour on the diſpro⯑portion between merit and reward in others, and they will make no enquiry into the origin of his fortune. They will regard with much more ſatis⯑faction, as he will contemplate with infinitely more advantage, whatever in his pedigree has been dulci⯑fied by an expoſure to the influence of heaven in a long flow of generations, from the hard, acidulous, metallic tincture of the ſpring. It is little to be doubted, that ſeveral of his forefathers in that long ſeries, have degenerated into honour and virtue. Let the duke of Bedford (I am ſure he will) reject with ſcorn and horror, the counſels of the lecturers, thoſe wicked panders to avarice and ambition, who would tempt him in the troubles of his country, to ſeek another enormous fortune from the forfeitures of another nobility, and the plunder of another church. Let him (and I truſt that yet he will) em⯑ploy all the energy of his youth, and all the reſources of his wealth, to cruſh rebellious principles which have no foundation in morals, and rebellious move⯑ments, that have no provocation in tyranny.

Then will be forgot the rebellions, which, by a doubtful priority in crime, his anceſtor had pro⯑voked and extinguiſhed. On ſuch a conduct in the noble duke, many of his countrymen might, and with ſome excuſe might, give way to the enthuſiaſm of their gratitude, and in the daſhing ſtyle of ſome of the old declaimers, cry out, that if the fates had found no other way in which they could give a^* duke of Bedford and his opulence as props to a tottering world, then the butchery of the duke of Buckingham might be tolerated; it might be regarded even with complacency, whilſt in the heir of confiſcation they [363] ſaw the ſympathizing comforter of the martyrs, who ſuffer under the cruel confiſcation of this day; whilſt they beheld with admiration his zealous protection of the virtuous and loyal nobility of France, and his manly ſupport of his brethren, the yet ſtanding nobi⯑lity and gentry of his native land. Then his Grace's merit would be pure and new, and ſharp as freſh from the mint of honour. As he pleaſed he might reflect honour on his predeceſſors, or throw it forward on thoſe who were to ſucceed him. He might be the propagater of the ſtock of honour, or the root of it, as he thought proper.—Letter to a noble Lord.

REFORMAMION. Short View of the Reformation.

GENTLEMEN, the condition of our nature is ſuch, that we buy our bleſſings at a price. The Reforma⯑tion, one of the greateſt periods of human improve⯑ment, was a time of trouble and confuſion. The vaſt ſtructure of ſuperſtition and tyranny, which had been for ages in rearing, and which was combined with the intereſt of the great and of the many; which was moulded into the laws, the manners, and civil inſtitu⯑tions of nations, and blended with the frame and po⯑licy of ſtates; could not be brought to the ground without a fearful ſtruggle; nor could it fall without a violent concuſſion of itſelf and all about it. When this great revolution was attempted in a more regular mode by government, it was oppoſed by plots and ſeditions of the people; when by popular efforts, it was repreſſed as rebellion by the hand of power; and bloody executions (often bloodily returned) mark⯑ed the whole of its progreſs through all its ſtages. The affairs of religion, which are no longer heard of in the tumult of our preſent contentions, made a prin⯑cipal ingredient in the wars and politics of that time; the enthuſiaſm of religion threw a gloom over the politics; and political intereſts poiſoned and perverted [364] the ſpirit of religion upon all ſides. The Proteſtant religion in that violent ſtruggle, infected, as the Popiſh had been before, by worldly intereſts and worldly paſ⯑ſions, became a perſecutor in its turn, ſometimes of the new ſects, which carried their own principles fur⯑ther than it was convenient to the original reformers; and always of the body from whom they parted; and this perſecuting ſpirit aroſe, not only, from the bitter⯑neſs of retaliation, but from the mercileſs policy of fear.

It was long before the ſpirit of true piety and true wiſdom, involved in the principles of the Reforma⯑tion, could be depurated from the dregs and feculence of the contention with which it was carried through. However, until this be done, the Reformation is not complete; and thoſe who think themſelves good Pro⯑teſtants, from their animoſity to others, are, in that reſpect, no Proteſtants at all. It was at firſt thought neceſſary, perhaps, to oppoſe to Popery another Po⯑pery, to get the better of it. Whatever was the cauſe, laws were made in many countries, and in this king⯑dom in particular, againſt Papiſts, which are as bloody as any of thoſe which had been enacted by the popiſh princes and ſtates; and where thoſe laws were not bloody, in my opinion, they were worſe; as they were ſlow, cruel outrages on our nature, and kept men alive only to inſult in their perſons, every one of the rights and feelings of humanity. I paſs thoſe ſtatutes, becauſe I would ſpare your pious ears the repetition of ſuch ſhocking things.—Speech at Briſtol previous to the Election.

ROYAL NEGATIVE.

THE king's negative to bills is one of the moſt indiſputed of the royal prerogatives; and it extends to all caſes whatſoever.—Letter to the Sheriffs of Briſtol.

SAXONY. French Principles in that Country.

POLAND, with the Elector of Saxony, will con⯑tribute moſt to ſtrengthen the Royal authority of Po⯑land, or to ſhake the Ducal in Saxony. The Elector is a Catholic; the people of Saxony are, ſix-ſevenths at the very leaſt, Proteſtants. He muſt continue a Catholic, according to the Poliſh law, if he accepts that crown. The pride of the Saxons, formerly flattered by having a crown in the Houſe of their Prince, though an honour which coſt them dear; the German probity, fidelity, and loyalty; the weight of the conſtitution of the Empire under the Treaty of Weſtphalia; the good temper and good nature of the Princes of the Houſe of Saxony; had formerly removed from the people all apprehenſion with regard to their religion, and kept them perfectly quiet, obe⯑dient, and even affectionate. The ſeven years war made ſome change in the minds of the Saxons. They did not, I believe, regret the loſs of what might be conſidered almoſt as the ſucceſſion to the Crown of Poland, the poſſeſſion of which, by annexing them to a foreign intereſt, had often obliged them to act an arduous part, towards the ſupport of which that ſoreign intereſt afforded no proportionable ſtrength. In this very delicate ſituation of their political inte⯑reſts, the ſpeculations of the French and German Oeconomiſts, and the cabals, and the ſecret as well as public doctrines of the Illuminatenordens and Free⯑maſons, have made a conſiderable progreſs in that country, and a turbulent ſpirit, under colour of re⯑ligion, but in reality ariſing from the French Rights of Man, has already ſhewn itſelf, and is ready on every occaſion to blaze out.—Memorial on the Af⯑fairs of France in 1791.

SITUATION.

THE ſituation of man, is the preceptor of his duty.—Speech on Mr. Fox's Eaſt-India Bill.

SALARY. A Security againſt Avarice and Rapacity.

I WILL even go ſo far as to affirm, that if men were willing to ſerve in ſuch ſituations (offices of ſtate) without ſalary, they ought not to be permitted to do it. Ordinary ſervice muſt be ſecured by the motives to ordinary integrity. I do not heſitate to ſay that, that ſtate which lays its foundation in rare and heroic virtues, will be ſure to have its ſuperſtructure in the baſeſt profligacy and corruption. An honourable and fair profit is the beſt ſecurity againſt avarice and ra⯑pacity; as in all things elſe, a lawful and regulated enjoyment is the beſt ſecurity againſt debauchery and exceſs. For as wealth is power, ſo all power will infallibly draw wealth to itſelf by ſome means or other; and when men are le [...]t no way of aſcertaining their profits but by their means of obtaining them, thoſe means will be increaſed to infinity.—Oecon. Reform.

SECRETARY OF STATE.

A Secretary of State muſt not appear ſordid in the eyes of the Miniſters of other nations.—Oeconomical Reform.

SOCIETY.

THE retrogate order of ſociety has ſomething flat⯑tering to the diſpoſitions of mankind.—Letter to a Member of the National Aſſembly.

SOCIETY A Contract.

SOCIETY is indeed a contract. Subordinate con⯑tracts for objects of more occaſional intereſt may be depoſited at pleaſure, but the ſtate ought not to be conſidered as nothing better than a partnerſhip agree⯑ment in a trade of pepper and coffee, calico or to⯑bacco, [367] or ſome other ſuch low concern, to be taken up for a little temporary intereſt, and to be diſſolved by the fancy of the parties. It is to be looked on with other reverence; becauſe it is not a partnerſhip in things ſubſervient only to the groſs animal exiſt⯑ence of a temporary and periſhable nature. It is a partnerſhip in all ſcience; a partnerſhip in all art; a partnerſhip in every virtue, and in all perfection. As the ends of ſuch a partnerſhip cannot be obtained in many generations, it becomes a partnerſhip not only between thoſe who are living, but between thoſe who are living, thoſe who are dead, and thoſe who are to be born. Each contract of each particular ſtate is but a clauſe in the great primaeval contract of eternal ſociety, linking the lower with the higher natures, connecting the viſible and inviſible world, according to a fixed compact ſanctioned by the in⯑violable oath which holds all phyſical and all moral natures, each in their appointed place. This law is not ſubject to the will of thoſe, who by an obligation above them, and infinitely ſuperior, are bound to ſubmit their will to that law. The municipal corpo⯑rations of that univerſal kingdom are not morally at liberty at their pleaſure, and on their ſpeculations of a contingent improvement, wholly to ſeparate and tear aſunder the bands of their ſubordinate commu⯑nity, and to diſſolve it into an unſocial, uncivil, un⯑connected chaos of elementary principles. It is the firſt and ſupreme neceſſity only, a neceſſity that is not choſen but chooſes, a neceſſity paramount to deliberation, that admits no diſcuſſion, and demands no evidence, which alone can juſtify a reſort to anar⯑chy. This neceſſity is no exception to the rule; becauſe this neceſſity itſelf is a part too of that moral and phyſical diſpoſition of things to which man muſt be obedient by conſent or force; but if that which is only ſubmiſſion to neceſſity ſhould be made the object of choice, the law is broken, nature is diſ⯑obeyed, and the rebellious are outlawed, caſt forth, [368] and exiled, from this world of reaſon, and order, and peace, and virtue, and fruitful penitence, into the antagoniſt world of madneſs, diſcord, vice, confuſion, and unavailing ſorrow.—

SOCIETY. Origin of Laws in civil Society, and Difficulties ariſing thereon.

WE found, or we thought we found, an inconve⯑nience in having every man the judge of his own cauſe. Therefore judges were ſet up, at firſt with diſcretionary powers. But it was ſoon found a mi⯑ſerable ſlavery to have our lives and properties pre⯑carious, and hanging upon the arbitrary determina⯑tion of any one man, or ſet of men. We ſlew to laws as a remedy for this evil. By theſe we per⯑ſuaded ourſelves we might know with ſome certainty upon what ground we ſtood. But lo! differences aroſe upon the ſenſe and interpretation of theſe laws. Thus we were brought back to our old incertitude. New laws were made to expound the old; and new difficulties aroſe upon the new laws; as words mul⯑tiplied, opportunities of cavilling upon them multi⯑plied alſo. Then recourſe was had to notes, com⯑ments, gloſſes, reports, reſponſa prudentum, learned readings: eagle ſtood againſt eagle; authority was ſet up againſt authority. Some were allured by the modern, others reverenced the ancient. The new were more enlightened, the old were more venerable. Some adopted the comments, others ſtuck to the text. The confuſion encreaſed, the miſt thickened, until it could be diſcovered no longer what was al⯑lowed or forbidden, what things were in property, and what common. In this uncertainty, (uncertain even to the profeſſors, an Aegyptian darkneſs to the reſt of mankind) the contending parties felt them⯑ſelves more effectually ruined by the delay than they [369] could have been by the injuſtice of any deciſion. Our inheritances are become a prize for diſputation; and diſputes and litigations are become an inheri⯑tance.—Vindication of Natural Society.

SOCIETY. Artificial Diviſion of Mankind into ſeparate Societies a perpetual Source of Hatred.

IT is no leſs worth obſerving, that this artificial diviſion of mankind, into ſeparate ſocieties, is a per⯑petual ſource in itſelf of hatred and diſſention among them. The names which diſtinguiſh them are enough to blow up hatred and rage. Examine hiſtory; con⯑ſult preſent experience; and you will find, that far the greater part of the quarrels between ſeveral nations were different combinations of people, and called by different names;—to an Engliſhman the name of a Frenchman, a Spaniard, an Italian, much more a Turk, or a Tartar, raiſe of courſe ideas of hatred, and contempt. If you would inſpire this compatriot of ours with pity or regard, for one of theſe, would you not hide, that diſtinction? You would not pray him to compaſſionate the poor French⯑man, or the unhappy German. Far from it; you would ſpeak of him as a foreigner, an accident to which all are liable. You would repreſent him as a man; one partaking with us of the ſame common nature, and ſubject to the ſame law. There is ſome⯑thing ſo averſe from our nature in theſe artificial political diſtinctions, that we need no other trumpet to kindle us to war and deſtruction. But there is ſomething ſo benign and healing in the general voice of humanity, that maugre all our regulations to pre⯑vent it, the ſimple name of man applied properly, never fails to work a ſalutary effect.—Ibid.

SOCIETY. The moſt obvious Diviſion of Society into rich and poor. State of the latter deſcribed. (See RICH.)

THE moſt obvious diviſion of ſociety is into rich and poor; and it is no leſs obvious, that the number of the former bear a great diſproportion to thoſe of the latter. The whole buſineſs of the poor is to ad⯑miniſter to the idleneſs, folly, and luxury of the rich; and that of the rich, in return, is to find the beſt me⯑thods of confirming the ſlavery and increaſing the burthens of the poor. In a ſtate of nature, it is an invariable law, that a man's acquiſitions are in pro⯑portion to his labours. In a ſtate of artificial ſociety, it is a law as conſtant and as invariable, that thoſe who labour moſt, enjoy the feweſt things; and that thoſe who labour not at all, have the greateſt number of enjoyments. A conſtitution of things this, ſtrange and ridiculous beyond expreſſion. We ſcarce be⯑lieve a thing when we are told it, which we actually ſee before our eyes every day without being in the leaſt ſurprized. I ſuppoſe that there are in Great-Britain upwards of an hundred thouſand people em⯑ployed in lead, tin, iron, copper, and coal mines; theſe unhappy wretches ſcarce ever ſee the light of the ſun; they are buried in the bowels of the earth; there they work at a ſevere and diſmal taſk, without the leaſt proſpect of being delivered from it; they ſubſiſt upon the coarſeſt and worſt ſort of fare; they have their health miſerably impaired, and their lives cut ſhort, by being perpetually confined in the cloſe vapour of theſe malignant minerals. An hundred thouſand more at leaſt are tortured without remiſſion by the ſuffocating ſmoak, intenſe fires, and conſtant drudgery neceſſary in refining and managing the pro⯑ducts of thoſe mines. If any man informed us that two hundred thouſand innocent perſons were con⯑demned to ſo intolerable ſlavery, how ſhould we pity the unhappy ſufferers, and how great would be [371] our juſt indignation againſt thoſe who inflicted ſo cruel and ignominious a puniſhment? This is an in⯑ſtance, I could not wiſh a ſtronger, of the number⯑leſs things which we paſs by in their common dreſs, yet which ſhock us when they are nakedly repre⯑ſented. But this number, conſiderable as it is, and the ſlavery, with all its baſeneſs and horror, which we have at home, is nothing to what the reſt of the world affords of the ſame nature. Millions daily bathed in the poiſonous damps and deſtructive efflu⯑via of lead, ſilver, copper, and arſenic. To ſay nothing of thoſe other employments, thoſe ſtations of wretchedneſs and contempt in which civil ſociety has placed the numerous enfans perdus of her army.—Ibid.

SOCIETY. Natural and Artificial Society defined.

IN the ſtate of nature, without queſtion, mankind was ſubjected to many and great inconveniencies. Want of union, want of mutual aſſiſtance, want of a common arbitrator to reſort to in their differences. Theſe were evils which they could not but have felt pretty ſeverely on many occaſions. The original children of the earth lived with their brethren of the other kinds in much equality. Their diet muſt have been confined almoſt wholly to the vegetable kind; and the ſame tree, which in its flouriſhing ſtate pro⯑duced them berries, in its decay gave them an ha⯑bitation. The mutual deſires of the ſexes uniting their bodies and affections, and the children, which were the reſults of theſe intercourſes, introduced firſt the notion of ſociety, and taught its conveni⯑encies. This ſociety, founded in natural appetites and inſtincts, and not in any poſitive inſtitution, I ſhall call natural ſociety. Thus far nature went and ſucceeded; but man would go farther. The great error of our nature is, not to know where to ſtop, [372] not to be ſatisfied with any reaſonable acquirement; not to compound with our condition; but to loſe all we have gained by an inſatiable purſuit after more. Man found a conſiderable advantage by this union of many perſons to form one family; he therefore judged that he would find his account proportionably in an union of many families into one body politic. And as nature has formed no bond of union to hold them together, he ſupplied this defect by laws.

This is political ſoc [...]y. And hence the ſources of what are uſually called ſtates, civil ſoci [...]ties, or go⯑vernments; into ſome form of which, more extended or reſtrained, all mankind have gradually fallen.—Ibid.

SOCIETY. Requires that the Paſſions ſhould be ſubjected.

SOCIETY requires not only that the paſſions of in⯑dividuals ſhould be ſubjected, but that even in the maſs and body as well as in the individuals, the in⯑clinations of men ſhould frequently be thwarted, their will controlled, and their paſſions brought into ſubjection This can only be done by a power out of themſelves; and not, in the exerciſe of its function, ſubject to that will and to thoſe paſſions which it is its office to bridle and ſubdue. In this ſenſe the reſtraints on men, as well as their liberties, are to be reckoned among their rights. But as the liberties and the reſtrictions vary with times and circum⯑ſtances, and admit of infinite modifications, they cannot be ſettled upon any abſtract rule; and nothing is ſo fooliſh as to diſcuſs them upon that principle.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

SOCIETY, (POLITICAL.) Juſtly chargeable with much the greateſt part of the Deſtruction of the Species.

TO give the faireſt play to every ſide of the queſ⯑tion, I will own that there is a haughtineſs, and fierce⯑neſs [373] in human nature, which will cauſe innumerable broils, place men in what ſituation you pleaſe; but owning this, I ſtill inſiſt in charging it to political re⯑gulations, that theſe broils are ſo frequent, ſo cruel, and attended with conſequences ſo deplorable. In a ſtate of nature, it had been impoſſible to find a number of men, ſufficient for ſuch ſlaughters, agreed in the ſame bloody purpoſe; or allowing that they might have come to ſuch an agreement, (an impoſ⯑ſible ſuppoſition) yet the means that ſimple nature has ſupplied them with, are by no means adequate to ſuch an end; many ſcratches, many bruiſes undoubt⯑edly would be received upon all hands; but only a few, a very few deaths. Society, and politics, which have given us theſe deſtructive views, have given us alſo the means of ſatisfying them. From the earlieſt dawnings of policy to this day, the invention of men has been ſharpening and improving the myſtery of murder, from the firſt rude eſſays of clubs and ſtones, to the preſent perfection of gunnery, can⯑noneering, bombarding, mining, and all theſe ſpecies of artificial, learned, and refined cruelty, in which we are now ſo expert, and which make a principal part of what politicians have taught us to believe is our principal glory.

How far mere nature would have carried us, we may judge by the example of thoſe animals, who ſtill follow her laws, and even of thoſe to whom ſhe has given diſpoſitions more fierce, and arms more terrible than ever ſhe intended we ſhould uſe. It is an in⯑conteſtible truth, that there is more havock made in one year by men, of men, than has been made by all the lions, tygers, panthers, ounces, leopards, hy⯑enas, rhinoceroſes, elephants, bears, and wolves, upon their ſeveral ſpecies, ſince the beginning of the world; though theſe agree ill enough with each other, and have a much greater proportion of rage and fury in their compoſition than we have. But with reſpect to you, ye legiſlators, ye civilizers of mankind! ye [374] Orpheuſes, Moſeſes, Minoſes, Solons, Theſeuſes, Lycurguſes, Numas! with reſpect to you be it ſpoken, your regulations have done more miſchief in cold blood, than all the rage of the fierceſt animals in their greateſt terrors, or furies, has ever done, or ever could do!—

SOCIETIES (POPULAR.) Remarks on the Conſtitutional and Revolution Societies.

I certainly have the honour to belong to more clubs than one, in which the conſtitution of this kingdom, and the principles of the glorious revolu⯑tion are held in high reverence: and I reckon myſelf among the moſt forward in my zeal for maintaining that conſtitution and thoſe principles in the utmoſt purity and vigour. It is becauſe I do ſo, that I think it neceſſary for me, that there ſhould be no miſtake. Thoſe who cultivate the memory of our revolution, and thoſe who are attached to the conſti⯑tution of this kingdom, will take good care how they are involved with perſons who, under the pretext of zeal towards the revolution and conſtitution, too fre⯑quently wander from their true principles; and are ready, on every occaſion, to depart from the firm, but cautious and deliberate ſpirit which produced the one, and which preſides in the other. Before I pro⯑ceed to anſwer the more material particulars in your letter, I ſhall beg leave to give you ſuch information as I have been able to obtain of the two clubs which have thought proper, as bodies, to interfere in the concerns of France; firſt aſſuring you, that I am not, and that I have never been, a member of either of thoſe ſocieties.

The firſt, calling itſelf the Conſtitutional Society, or Society for Conſtitutional Information, or by ſome ſuch title, is, I believe, of ſeven or eight years ſtand⯑ing. The inſtitution of this ſociety appears to be of a charitable, and ſo far of a laudable, nature: it was intended for the circulation, at the expence of the [375] members, of many books, which few others would be at the expence of buying; and which might lie on the hands of the bookſellers, to the great loſs of an uſeful body of men. Whether the books ſo charitably circulated, were ever as charitably read, is more than I know. Poſſibly ſeveral of them have been exported to France; and, like goods not in requeſt here, may with you have found a market. I have heard much talk of the lights to be drawn from books that are ſent from hence. What im⯑provements they have had in their paſſage (as it is ſaid ſome liquors are meliorated by croſſing the ſea) I cannot tell: but I never heard a man of common judgment, or the leaſt degree of information, ſpeak a word in praiſe of the greater part of the publica⯑tions circulated by that ſociety; nor have their pro⯑ceedings been accounted, except by ſome of them⯑ſelves, as of any ſerious conſequence.

Your national aſſembly ſeems to entertain much the ſame opinion that I do of this poor charitable club. As a nation, you reſerved the whole ſtock of your eloquent acknowledgments for the Revolution Society; when their fellows in the Conſtitutional were, in equity, entitled to ſome ſhare. Since you have ſelected the Revolution Society as the great object of your national thanks and praiſes, you will think me excuſeable in making its late conduct the ſubject of my obſervations. The national aſſembly of France has given importance to theſe gentlemen by adopting them; and they return the favour, by acting as a committee in England for extending the principles of the national aſſembly. Henceforward we muſt conſider them as a kind of privileged per⯑ſons; as no inconſiderable members in the diplomatic body. This is one among the revolutions which have given ſplendor to obſcurity, and diſtinction to undiſcerned merit. Until very lately I do not re⯑collect to have heard of this club. I am quite ſure that it never occupied a moment of my thoughts; [376] nor, I believe, thoſe of any perſon out of their own ſet. I find, upon enquiry, that on the anniverſary of the revolution in 1688, a club of diſſenters, but of what denomination I know not, have long had the cuſtom of hearing a ſermon in one of their churches; and that afterwards they ſpent the day cheerfully, as other clubs do, at the tavern. But I never heard that any public meaſure, or political ſyſtem, much leſs that the merits of the conſtitution of any foreign nation, had been the ſubject of a formal proceeding at their feſtivals; until, to my inexpreſſible ſurprize, I found them in a ſort of pub⯑lic capacity, by a congratulatory addreſs, giving an authoritative ſanction to the proceedings of the nati⯑onal aſſembly in France.

In the antient principles and conduct of the club, ſo far at leaſt as they were declared, I ſee nothing to which I could take exception. I think it very probable, that for ſome purpoſe, new members may have entered among them; and that ſome truly chriſtian politicians, who love to diſpenſe benefits, but are careful to conceal the hand which diſtributes the dole, may have made them the inſtruments of their pious deſigns. Whatever I may have reaſon to ſuſpect concerning private management, I ſhall ſpeak of nothing as of a certainty but what is public.

For one, I ſhould be ſorry to be thought, directly or indirectly, concerned in their proceedings. I certainly take my full ſhare, along with the reſt of the world, in my individual and private capacity, in ſpeculating on what has been done, or is doing, on the public ſtage; in any place antient or modern; in the republic of Rome, or the republic of Paris: but having no general apoſtolical miſſion, being a citizen of a particular ſtate, and being bound up in a conſiderable degree, by its public will, I ſhould think it at leaſt improper and irregular for me to open a formal public correſpondence with the actual government of a foreign nation, without the expreſs authority of the government under which I live.

[377]I ſhould be ſtill more unwilling to enter into that correſpondence, under any thing like an equivocal deſcription, which to many, unacquainted with our uſages, might make the addreſs, in which I joined, appear as the act of perſons in ſome ſort of corporate capacity, acknowledged by the laws of this kingdom, and authorized to ſpeak the ſenſe of ſome part of it. On account of the ambiguity and uncertainty of unauthorized general deſcriptions, and of the deceit which may be practiſed under them, and not from mere formality, the Houſe of Commons would reject the moſt ſneaking petition for the moſt trifling ob⯑ject, under that mode of ſignature to which you have thrown open the folding-doors of your preſence chamber, and have uſhered into your National Aſſem⯑bly, with as much ceremony and parade, and with as great a buſtle of applauſe, as if you had been viſited by the whole repreſentave majeſty of the whole Eng⯑liſh nation. If what this ſociety has thought proper to ſend forth had been a piece of argument, it would have ſignified little whoſe argument it was. It would be neither the more nor the leſs convincing on ac⯑count of the party it came from. But this is only a vote and reſolution. It ſtands ſolely on authority; and in this caſe it is the mere authority of indivi⯑duals, few of whom appear. Their ſignatures ought, in my opinion, to have been annexed to their inſtru⯑ment. The world would then have the means of knowing how many they are; who they are; and of what value their opinions may be, from their per⯑ſonal abilities, from their knowledge, their experi⯑ence, or their lead and authority in this ſtate. To me, who am but a plain man, the proceeding looks a little too refined, and too ingenious; it has too much the air of a political ſtratagem, adopted for the ſake of giving, under an high ſounding name, an importance to the public declarations of this club, which, when the matter came to be cloſely inſpected, they did not altogether ſo well deſerve. It is a policy that has very much the complexion of a fraud.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

SCHEMES (FRENCH) Have nothing in Experience to prove their Tendency beneficial.

IN obtaining and ſecuring their power, the aſſem⯑bly proceeds upon principles the moſt oppoſite from thoſe which appear to direct them in the uſe of it. An obſervation on this difference will let us into the true ſpirit of their conduct. Every thing which they have done, or continue to do, in order to obtain and keep their power, is by the moſt common arts. They proceed exactly as their anceſtors of ambition have done before them. Trace them through all their artifices, frauds, and violences, you can find nothing at all that is new. They follow precedents and ex⯑amples with the punctilious exactneſs of a pleader. They never depart an iota from the authentic formu⯑las of tyranny and uſurpation. But in all the regu⯑lations relative to the public good, the ſpirit has been the very reverſe of this. There they commit the whole to the mercy of untried ſpeculations; they abandon the deareſt intereſts of the public to thoſe looſe theories, to which none of them would chuſe to truſt the ſlighteſt of his private concerns. They make this difference, becauſe in their deſire of obtaining and ſecuring power they are thoroughly in earneſt; there they travel in the beaten road. The public intereſts, becauſe about them they have no real ſolicitude, they abandon wholly to chance; I ſay to chance, becauſe their ſchemes have nothing in experience to prove their tendency beneficial.—Ibid.

SENSES To be ſubject to the Judgment in Politics.

IN our politics as in our common conduct, we ſhall be worſe than infants, if we do not put our ſenſes under the tuition of our judgment, and effectually [379] cure ourſelves of that optical illuſion which makes a briar at our noſe of greater magnitude than an oak at five hundred yards diſtance.—

SOLDIERY. Corruption of the Soldiery of Louis XVI. previous to the Revolution.

THE worſt effect of all their proceeding was on their military, which was rendered an army for every purpoſe but that of defence. If the queſtion was, whether ſoldiers were to forget they were citizens, as an abſtract propoſition, I could have no difference about it; though, as it is uſual, when abſtract prin⯑ciples are to be applied, much is to be thought on the manner of uniting the character of citizen and ſoldier. But as applied to the events which had hap⯑pened in France, where the abſtract principle it cloathed with its circumſtances, I think that my friend (Mr. Fox) would agree with me, that what was done there furniſhed no matter of exultation, either in the act or the example. Theſe ſoldiers were not citizens; but baſe hireling mutineers, and mer⯑cenary ſordid deſerters, wholly deſtitute of any ho⯑nourable principles. Their conduct was one of the fruits of that anarchic ſpirit, from the evils of which a democracy itſelf was to be reſorted to by thoſe who were the leaſt diſpoſed to that form as a ſort of refuge. It was not an army in corps and with diſci⯑pline, and embodied under the reſpectable patriot citizens of the ſtate in reſiſting tyranny. Nothing like it It was the caſe of common ſoldiers deſerting from their officers, to join a furious, licentious popu⯑lace. It was a deſertion to a cauſe, the real object of which was to level all thoſe inſtitutions, and to break all thoſe connections, natural and civil, that regulate and hold together the community by a chain of ſubordination; to raiſe ſoldiers againſt their offi⯑cers; [380] ſervants againſt their maſters; tradeſmen againſt their cuſtomers; artificers againſt their employers; te⯑nants againſt their landlords; curates againſt their biſhops; and children againſt their parents. That this cauſe of theirs was not an enemy to ſervitude, but to ſociety.—Speech on the Army Eſtimates.

SERMONS (ANNIVERSARY.)

THE kind of anniverſary ſermons, to which a great part of what I write refers, if men are not ſhamed out of their preſent courſe, in commemorating the fact, will cheat many out of the principles, and de⯑prive them of the benefits of the revolution they commemorate. I confeſs to you, Sir, I never liked this continual talk of reſiſtance and revolution, or the practice of making the extreme medicine of the conſtitution its daily bread. It renders the habit of ſociety dangerouſly valetudinary: it is taking perio⯑dical doſes of mercury ſublimate, and ſwallowing down repeated provocatives of cantharides to our love of liberty.

This diſtemper of remedy, grown habitual, relaxes and wears out, by a vulgar and proſtituted uſe, the ſpring of that ſpirit which is to be exerted on great occaſions. It was in the moſt patient period of Ro⯑man ſervitude that themes of tyrannicide made the ordinary exerciſe of boys at ſchool—cum perimit ſoe⯑vos claſſis numeroſa tyrannos. In the ordinary ſtate of things, it produces in a country like ours the worſt effects, even on the cauſe of that liberty which it abuſes with the diſſoluteneſs of an extravagant ſpe⯑culation.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

STATE. We have conſecrated the State.

TO avoid, therefore, the evils of inconſtancy and verſatility, ten thouſand times worſe than thoſe of [381] obſtinacy and the blindeſt prejudice, we have con⯑ſecrated the State, that no man ſhould approach to look into its defects or corruptions but with due cau⯑tion; that he ſhould never dream of beginning its reformation by its ſubverſion; that he ſhould ap⯑proach to the faults of the State as to the wounds of a father, with pious awe and trembling ſolicitude. By this wiſe prejudice we are taught to look with horror on thoſe children of their country, who are prompt raſhly to hack that aged parent in pieces, and put him into the kettle of magicians, in hopes that by their poiſonous weeds, and wild incantations, they may regenerate the paternal conſtitution, and renovate their father's life.—Ibid.

STATE, (REASONS OF.)

I ADMIT that reaſon of ſtate will not, in many circumſtances, permit the diſcloſure of the true ground of a public proceeding. In that caſe ſilence is manly and it is wiſe. It is fair to call for truſt when the principle of reaſon itſelf ſuſpends its public uſe. I take the diſtinction to be this. The ground of a particular meaſure, making a part of a plan, it is rarely proper to divulge. All the broader grounds of policy on which the general plan is to be adopted, ought as rarely to be concealed. They who have not the whole cauſe before them, call them politi⯑cians, call them people, call them what you will, are no judges. The difficulties of the caſe as well as its fair ſide, ought to be preſented. This ought to be done: and it is all that can be done. When we have our true ſituation diſtinctly preſented to us, if we reſolve with a blind and headlong violence, to reſiſt the admonitions of our friends, and to caſt ourſelves into the hands of our potent and irreconcileable foes, then, and not till then, the miniſters ſtand acquitted before God and man, for whatever may come.—Regicide Peace.

STATES (ECCLESIASTICAL.) Seeds of Revolution not wanting in the Eccleſiaſtical States.

IN the eſtates of the church, notwithſtanding their ſtrictneſs in baniſhing the French out of that country, there are not wanting the ſeeds of a revolution. The ſpirit of Nepotiſm prevails there nearly as ſtrong as ever. Every pope of courſe is to give origin or reſtoration to a great family, by the means of large donations. The foreign revenues have long been gradually on the decline, and ſeem now in a manner dried up. To ſupply this defect the reſource of vexatious and impolitic jobbing at home, if any thing, is rather encreaſed than leſſened. Various, well intended but ill underſtood practices, ſome of them exiſting, in their ſpirit at leaſt, from the time of the old Roman empire, ſtill prevail; and that go⯑vernment is as blindly attached to old abuſive cuſ⯑toms, as others are wildly diſpoſed to all ſorts of in⯑novations and experiments. Theſe abuſes were leſs felt whilſt the pontificate drew riches from abroad, which in ſome meaſure counterbalanced the evils of their remiſs and jobbiſh government at home. But now it can ſubſiſt only on the reſources of domeſtic management; and abuſes in that management of courſe will be more intimately and more ſeverely felt.

In the midſt of the apparently torpid languor of the eccleſiaſtical ſtate, thoſe who have had oppor⯑tunity of a near obſervation, have ſeen a little rip⯑pling in that ſmooth water, which indicates ſome⯑thing alive under it. There is in the eccleſiaſtical ſtate, a perſonage who ſeems capable of acting (but with more force and ſteadineſs) the part of the tri⯑bune Rienzi. The people once inflamed will not be deſtitute of a leader. They have ſuch an one already in the Cardinal or Archbiſhop Buon Campagna. He is, of all men, if I am not ill-informed, the moſt turbulent, ſeditious, intriguing, bold, and deſperate. [383] He is not at all made for a Roman of the preſent day. I think he lately held the firſt office of their ſtate, that of Great Chamberlain, which is equiva⯑lent to High Treaſurer. At preſent he is out of em⯑ployment, and in diſgrace. If he ſhould be elected pope, or even come to have any weight with a new pope, he will infallibly conjure up a democratic ſpirit in that country. He may indeed be able to effect it without theſe advantages. The next interregnum will probably ſhew more of him. There may be others of the ſame character, who have not come to my knowledge. This much is certain, that the Ro⯑man people, if once the blind reverence they bear to the ſanctity of the pope, which is their only bridle, ſhould relax, are naturally turbulent, ferocious, and headlong, whilſt the police is defective, and the go⯑vernment feeble and reſourceleſs beyond all imagi⯑nation.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

STATE (GREAT.)

I KNOW that a great ſtate ought to have ſome re⯑gard to its ancient maxims; eſpecially where they in⯑dicate its dignity; where they concur with the rules of prudence; and above all, where the circumſtances of the time require that a ſpirit of innovation ſhould be reſiſted, which leads to the humiliation of ſove⯑reign powers.—Regicide Peace.

STATESMAN.

A diſpoſition to preſerve, and an ability to im⯑prove, taken together, would be my ſtandard of a ſtateſman. Every thing elſe is vulgar in the con⯑ception, perilous in the execution.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

STATESMAN (UNCONSTITUTIONAL WISH OF.)

IT muſt be always the wiſh of an unconſtitutional ſtateſman, that an [...]ouſe of commons who are entirely dependent upon him, ſhould have every right of the people entirely dependent upon their pleaſure.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

STATESMEN. Sentiments of the New Stateſmen of France.

YOUR literary men, and your politicians, and ſo do the whole clan of the enlightened among us, eſ⯑ſentially differ in theſe points. They have no reſpect for the wiſdom of others; but they pay it off by a very full meaſure of confidence in their own. With them it is a ſufficient motive to deſtroy an old ſcheme of things, becauſe it is an old one. As to the new, they are in no ſort of fear with regard to the dura⯑tion of a building run up in haſte; becauſe duration is no object to thoſe who think little or nothing has been done before their time, and who place all their hopes in diſcovery. They conceive, very ſyſtemati⯑cally, that all things which give perpetuity are miſ⯑chievous, and therefore they are at inexpiable war with all eſtabliſhments. They think that government may vary like modes of dreſs, and with as little ill effect. That there needs no principle of attachment, except a ſenſe of preſent conveniency, to any conſti⯑tution of the ſtate. They always ſpeak as if they were of opinion that there is a ſingular ſpecies of compact between them and their magiſtrates, which binds the magiſtrate, but which has nothing reci⯑procal in it, but that the majeſty of the people has a right to diſſolve it without any reaſon, but its will. Their attachment to their country itſelf, is only ſo far as it agrees with ſome of their fleeting projects; it begins and ends with that ſcheme of polity which falls in with their momentary opinion.

[385]Theſe doctrines, or rather ſentiments, ſeem preva⯑lent with your new ſtateſmen. But they are wholly different from thoſe on which we have always acted in this country.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

STATESMEN.

STATESMEN are placed on an eminence, that they may have a larger horizon than we can poſſibly command. They have a whole before them, which we can contemplate only in the parts, and without the relations.—Regicide Peace.

STATESMEN. No Habits of Life diſqualify for Government.

I HAVE known merchants with the ſentiments and the abilities of great ſtateſmen; and I have ſeen perſons in the rank of ſtateſmen, with the conceptions and character of pedlars. Indeed, my obſervation has furniſhed me with nothing that is to be found in any habits of life or education, which tends wholly to diſqualify men for the functions of government, but that, by which the power of exerciſing thoſe functions is very frequently obtained, I mean, a ſpirit and habits of low cabal and intrigue.—Speech on Mr. Fox's India Bill.

SICILY.

SICILY, I think, has theſe diſpoſitions (repub⯑licaniſm) in as ſtrong a degree as Naples. In neither of theſe countries exiſts any thing which very well deſerves the name of government or exact police.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

SCOTLAND.

HOW much have you loſt by the participation of Scotland in all your commerce? The external trade [386] of England has more than doubled ſince that period, and I believe your internal (which is the moſt ad⯑vantageous) has been augmented at leaſt fourfold. Such virtue there is in liberality of ſentiment, that you have grown richer even by the partnerſhip of poverty.—Two Letters to Gentlemen in Briſtol.

SCOTIA (NOVA) DESCRIBED.

THE province of Nova Scotia was the youngeſt and the favourite child of the Board (of Trade.) Good God! What ſums the nurſing of that ill thriven, hard-viſaged, and ill-favoured brat, has coſt to this wittol nation! Sir, this colony has ſtood us in a ſum of not leſs than ſeven hundred thouſand pounds. To this day it has made no re-payment; it does not even ſupport thoſe offices of expence, which are miſcalled its government; the whole of that job ſtill lies upon the patient, callous ſhoulders of the people of England.

Sir, I am going to ſtate a fact to you, that will ſerve to ſet in full ſunſhine the real value of formality and official ſuperintendance. There was in the pro⯑vince of Nova Scotia, one little neglected corner; the country of the neutral French; which having the good fortune to eſcape the foſtering care both of France and England, and to have been ſhut out from the protection and regulation of Councils of Com⯑merce, and of Boards of Trade, did, in ſilence, with⯑out notice, and without aſſiſtance, increaſe to a con⯑ſiderable degree. But it ſeems our nation had more ſkill and ability in deſtroying, than in ſettling a colony. In the laſt war we did, in my opinion, moſt inhu⯑manly, and upon pretences that in the eye of an ho⯑neſt man are not worth a farthing, root out this poor innocent deſerving people, whom our utter inability to govern, or to reconcile, gave us no ſort of right to extirpate. Whatever the merits of that extirpation might have been, it was on the footſteps of a neglected [387] people, it was on the fund of unconſtrained poverty, it was on the acquiſitions of unregulated induſtry, that any thing which deſerves the name of a colony in that province, has been formed. It has been formed by overflowings from the exuberant population of New England, and by emigration, from other parts of Nova Scotia, of fugitives from the protection of the Board of Trade.—

SIEYES (ABBE.) Humourous Deſcription of the Abbé's Conſtitutional Warehouſe.

Abbé Sieyes has whole neſts of pigeon-holes full of conſtitutions ready made, ticketed, ſorted, and numbered; ſuited to every ſeaſon and every fancy; ſome with the top of the pattern at the bottom, and ſome with the bottom at the top; ſome plain, ſome flowered; ſome diſtinguiſhed for their ſimplicity; others for their complexity; ſome of blood-colour; ſome of boue de Paris; ſome with directories, others without a direction; ſome with councils of elders, and councils of youngſters; ſome with⯑out any council at all. Some where the electors chooſe the repreſentatives; others where the re⯑preſentatives chooſe the electors. Some in long coats, and ſome in ſhort cloaks; ſome with pan⯑taloons; ſome without breeches. Some with five-ſhilling qualifications, ſome totally unqualified. So that no conſtitution-fancier may go unſuited from his ſhop, provided he loves a pattern of pillage, oppreſ⯑ſion, arbitrary impriſonment, confiſcation, exile, re⯑volutionary judgment, and legalized premeditated murder, in any ſhapes into which they can be put.—Letter to a noble Lord.

STABLES (ROYAL.)

THERE are, indeed, two offices in his (the king's) ſtables which are ſinecures. By the change of manners, [388] and indeed by the nature of the thing, they muſt be ſo; I mean the ſeveral keepers of buck-hounds, ſtag-hounds, fox-hounds, and harriers. They anſwer no purpoſe of utility or of ſplendor. Theſe I propoſe to aboliſh. It is not proper that great noblemen ſhould be keepers of dogs, though they were the king's dogs.—

SOVEREIGN (BRITISH.)

I believe, Sir, that many on the continent alto⯑gether miſtake the condition of a king of Great Bri⯑tain. He is a real king, and not an executive of⯑ficer. If he will not trouble himſelf with contemptible details, nor wiſh to degrade himſelf by becoming a party in little ſquabbles, I am far from ſure, that a king of Great Britain, in whatever concerns him as a king, or indeed as a rational man, who combines his public intereſt with his perſonal ſatisfaction, does not poſſeſs a more real, ſolid, extenſive power, than the king of France was poſſeſſed of before this miſerable revolution. The direct power of the king of England is conſiderable. His indirect, and far more certain power, is great indeed. He ſtands in need of nothing towards dignity, of nothing towards ſplendor; of nothing towards authority; of nothing at all towards conſideration abroad. When was it that a king of England wanted wherewithal to make him reſpected, courted, or perhaps even ſcared in every ſtate in Eu⯑rope.—Letter to a Member of the National Aſſembly.

SOVEREIGNS. Their Diſpoſitions.

BUT indeed kings are to guard againſt the ſam [...] ſort of diſpoſitions in themſelves. They are very eaſily alienated from all the higher orders of their ſubjects, whether civil or military, laick or eccleſi⯑aſtical. It is with perſons of condition that Sove⯑reigns chiefly come into contact. It is from them [389] that they generally experience oppoſition to their will. It is with their pride and impracticability, that Princes are moſt hurt; it is with their ſervility and baſeneſs, that they are moſt commonly diſguſted; it is from their humours and cabals, that they find their affairs moſt frequently troubled and diſtracted. But of the common people in pure monarchical governments, Kings know little or nothing; and therefore being unacquainted with their faults (which are as many as thoſe of the great, and much more deciſive in their effects when accompanied with power) Kings gene⯑rally regard them with tenderneſs and favour, and turn their eyes towards that deſcription of their ſub⯑jects, particularly when hurt by oppoſition from the higher orders.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

SOVEREIGN JURISDICTIONS (SEE KING OF GREAT BRITAIN.)

WITH regard to the ſovereign juriſdictions, I muſt obſerve, Sir, that whoever takes a view of this kingdom in a curſory manner, will imagine, that he beholds a ſolid, compacted, uniform ſyſtem of monarchy; in which all inferior juriſdictions are but as rays diverging from one center. But on examining it more nearly, you find much eccentricity and con⯑fuſion. It is not a monarchy in ſtrictneſs. But, as in the Saxon times this country was an heptarchy, it is now a ſtrange ſort of pentarchy. It is divided into five ſeveral diſtinct principalities, beſides the ſu⯑preme. There is indeed this difference from the Saxon times, that as in the itinerant exhibitions of the ſtage, for want of a complete company, they are obliged to throw a variety of parts on their chief performer; ſo our ſovereign condeſcends himſelf to act, not only the principal but all the ſubordinate parts in the play. He condeſcends to diſſipate the royal character, and to trifle with thoſe light ſubor⯑dinate [390] lacquered ſceptres in thoſe hands that ſuſtain the ball, repreſenting the world, or which wield the trident that commands the ocean. Croſs a brook, and you loſe the king of England; but you have ſome comfort in coming again under his majeſty, though ‘"ſhorn of his beams,"’ and no more than prince of Wales. Go to the north, and you find him dwindled to a duke of Lancaſter; turn to the weſt of that north, and he pops upon you in the humble character of Earl of Cheſter. Travel a few miles on, the earl of Cheſter diſappears; and the king ſurpriſes you again as count palatine of Lan⯑caſter. If you travel beyond Mount Edgecombe, you find him once more in his incognito, and he is duke of Cornwall. So that, quite fatigued and ſa⯑tiated with this dull variety, you are infinitely re⯑freſhed when you return to the ſphere of his proper ſplendor, and behold your amiable ſovereign in his true, ſimple, undiſguiſed, native character of majeſty.—Oecon Reform.

SPAIN. Preſent State of that Country.

AS to Spain, it is a nerveleſs country. It does not poſſeſs the uſe, it only ſuffers the abuſe of a nobility. For ſome time, and even before the ſettle⯑ment of the Bourbon dynaſty, that body has been ſyſtematically lowered, and rendered incapable by excluſion, and for incapacity excluded from affairs. In this circle the body is in a manner annihilated—and ſo little means have they of any weighty exertion either to controul or to ſupport the crown, that if they at all interfere, it is only by abetting deſperate and mobbiſh inſurrections, like that at Madrid which drove Squillace from his place. Florida Blanca is a creature of office, and has little connexion, and no ſympathy with that body.

As to the clergy, they are the only thing in Spain that looks like an independent order, and they are [391] kept in ſome reſpect by the inquiſition, the ſole but unhappy reſource of public tranquillity and order now remaining in Spain. As in Venice, it is become moſtly an engine of ſtate, which indeed to a degree it has always been in Spain. It wars no longer with Jews and Heretics: It has no ſuch war to carry on. It's great object is to keep atheiſtic and republican doctrines from making their way in that kingdom. No French book upon any ſubject can enter there which does not contain ſuch matter. In Spain the clergy are of moment from their influence, but at the ſame time with the envy and jealouſy that attend great riches and power. Though the crown has by management with the Pope got a very great ſhare of the eccleſiaſtical revenues into it's own hands, much ſtill remains to them. There will always be about that court thoſe who look out to a farther diviſion of the church property as a reſource, and to be ob⯑tained by ſhorter methods than thoſe of negotiations with the clergy and their chief. But at preſent I think it likely that they will ſtop, leſt the buſineſs ſhould be taken out of their hands; and leſt that body in which remains the only life that exiſts in Spain, and is not a fever, may with their property loſe all the influence neceſſary to preſerve the mo⯑narchy, or being poor and deſperate, may employ whatever influence remains to them as active agents in it's deſtruction.

The Caſtilians have ſtill remaining a good deal of their old character, their Gravidad, Lealdad, and il Timor de Dios; but that character neither is, or ever was exactly true, except of the Caſtilians only. The ſeveral kingdoms which compoſe Spain, have perhaps ſome features which run through the whole; but they are in many particulars as different as nations who go by different names; the Catalans, for inſtance, and the Arragonians too, in a good meaſure have the ſpirit of the Miquelets, and much more of repub⯑licaniſm than of an attachment to royalty. They [392] are more in the way of trade and intercourſe with France; and upon the leaſt internal movement, will diſcloſe and probably let looſe a ſpirit that may throw the whole Spaniſh monarchy into convulſions.

It is a melancholy reflection that the ſpirit of me⯑lioration which has been going on in that part of Eu⯑rope, more or leſs during this century, and the va⯑rious ſchemes very lately on foot for further advance⯑ment are all put a ſtop to at once. Reformation certainly is nearly connected with innovation—and where that latter comes in for too large a ſhare, thoſe who undertake to improve their country may riſque their own ſafety. In times where the correction, which includes the confeſſion of an abuſe, is turned to criminate the authority which has long ſuffered it, rather than to honour thoſe who would amend it (which is the ſpirit of this malignant French diſ⯑temper) every ſtep out of the common courſe be⯑comes critical, and renders it a taſk full of peril for princes of moderate talents to engage in great under⯑takings. At preſent the only ſafety of Spain is the old national hatred to the French. How far that can be depended upon, if any great ferments ſhould be excited, it is impoſſible to ſay.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

SUBLIME. The Sublime and Beautiful compared.

ON cloſing this general view of beauty, it natu⯑rally occurs, that we ſhould compare it with the ſub⯑lime; and in this compariſon there appears a remark⯑able contraſt. For ſublime objects are vaſt in their dimenſions, beautiful ones comparatively ſmall: beauty ſhould be ſmooth and poliſhed; the great, rugged and negligent; beauty ſhould ſhun the right line, yet deviate from it inſenſibly; the great, in many caſes, loves the right line; and when it devi⯑ates, it often makes a ſtrong deviation: beauty ſhould not be obſcure; the great ought to be dark and [393] gloomy: beauty ſhould be light and delicate; the great ought to be ſolid, and even maſſive. They are, indeed, ideas of a very different nature, one being founded on pain, the other on pleaſure; and however they may vary afterwards from the direct nature of their cauſes, yet theſe cauſes keep up an eternal diſtinction between them, a diſtinction never to be forgotten by any whoſe buſineſs it is to affect the paſſions. In the infinite variety of natural com⯑binations, we muſt expect to find the qualities of things the moſt remote imaginable from each other united in the ſame object. We muſt expect alſo to find combinations of the ſame kind in the works of art. But when we conſider the power of an object upon our paſſions, we muſt know that when any thing is intended to affect the mind by the force of ſome predominant property, the affection produced is like to be the more uniform and perfect, if all the other properties or qualities of the object be of the ſame nature, and tending to the ſame deſign as the principal;

If the qualities of the ſublime and beautiful are ſometimes found united, does this prove that they are the ſame; does it prove that they are any way allied; does it prove even that they are not oppoſite and contradictory? Black and white may ſoften, may blend; but they are not therefore the ſame. Nor, when they are ſo ſoftened and blended with each other, or with different colours, is the power of black as black, or of white as white, ſo ſtrong as when each ſtands uniform and diſtinguiſhed.—

SUBLIME. Of the Paſſion cauſed by the Sublime.

THE paſſion cauſed by the great and ſublime in nature, when thoſe cauſes operate moſt powerfully, [394] is aſtoniſhment; and aſtoniſhment is that ſtate of the ſo [...] [...] which all its motions are ſuſpended, with [...] of horror. In this caſe the mind is ſo [...] with its object, that it cannot entertain [...] by conſequence reaſon on that object w [...] [...]ploys it. Hence ariſes the great power of the [...], that, far from being produced by them, it [...] reaſonings, and hurries us on by an irreſiſtible force. Aſtoniſhment, as I have ſaid, i [...] the effect of the ſublime in its higheſt degree; the inferior eff [...]cts are admiration, reverence, and re⯑ſpect.—Ibid.

SUBLIME. Source of the Sublime.

WHATEVER is fitted in any ſort to excite the ideas of pain and danger, that is to ſay, whatever is in any ſort terrible, or is converſant about terrible objects, or operates in a manner analogous to terror, is a ſource of the ſublime; that is, it is productive of the ſtrongeſt emotion which the mind is capable of feeling.—Ibid.

SUBLIME DESCRIPTION.

WE do not any where meet a more ſublime de⯑ſcription than this juſtly-celebrated one of Milton, wherein he gives the portrait of Satan with a dignity ſo ſuitable to the ſubject:

[395] Here is a very noble picture; and in what does this poetical picture conſiſt? in images of a tower, an archangel, the ſun riſing through miſts, or in an eclipſe, the ruin of monarchs, and the revolutions of kingdoms. The mind is hurried out of itſelf, by a crowd of great and confuſed images; which affect becauſe they are crowded and confuſed. For ſepa⯑rate them, and you loſe much of the greatneſs; and join them, and you infallibly loſe the clearneſs. The images raiſed by poetry are always of this obſcure kind; though in general the effects of poetry are by no means to be attributed to the images it raiſes. But painting, when we have allowed for the pleaſure of imitation, can only affect ſimply by the images it preſents; and even in painting, a judicious obſcurity in ſome things contributes to the effect of the picture; becauſe the images in painting are exactly ſimilar to thoſe in nature; and in nature dark, confuſed, un⯑certain images have a greater power on the fancy to form the grander paſſions, than thoſe have which are more clear and determinate. But where and when this obſervation may be applied to practice, and how far it ſhall be extended, will be better de⯑duced from the nature of the ſubject, and from the occaſion, than from any rules that can be given.

I am ſenſible that this idea has met with oppoſition, and is likely ſtill to be rejected by ſeveral. But let it be conſidered, that hardly any thing can ſtrike the mind with its greatneſs, which does not make ſome ſort of approach towards infinity; which nothing can do whilſt we are able to perceive its bounds; but to fee an object diſtinctly, and to perceive its bounds, is one and the ſame thing. A clear idea is therefore another name for a-little idea. There is a paſſage in the book of Job amazingly ſublime, and this ſub⯑limity is principally due to the terrible uncertainty of the thing deſcribed: In thoughts from the viſions of the night, when deep ſleep ſalleth upon men, fear came upon me and trembling, which made all my bones to [396] ſhake. Then a ſpirit paſſed before my face. The hair of my fleſh ſtood up. It ſtood ſtill, but I could not diſcern the form thereof; an image was before mine eyes; there was ſilence; and I heard a voice,—Shall mortal man be more juſt than God? We are firſt pre⯑pared with the utmoſt ſolemnity for the viſion; we are firſt terrified, before we are let even into the obſcure cauſe of our emotion: but when this grand cauſe of terror makes its appearance, what is it? is it not wrapt up in the ſhades of its own incompre⯑henſible darkneſs, more aweful, more ſtriking, more terrible, than the livelieſt deſcription, than the cleareſt painting, could poſſibly repreſent it? When painters have attempted to give us clear repreſentations of theſe very fanciful and terrible ideas, they have, I think, almoſt always failed; inſomuch that I have been at a loſs, in all the pictures I have ſeen of hell, whether the painter did not intend ſomething ludicrous. Several painters have handled a ſubject of this kind with a view of aſſembling as many horrid phantoms as their imaginations could ſuggeſt; but all the deſigns I have chanced to meet of the temptations of St. Anthony, were rather a ſort of odd wild groteſques, than any thing capable of producing a ſerious paſſion. In all theſe ſubjects poetry is very happy. Its appa⯑ritions, its chimeras, its harpies, its allegorical figures, are grand and affecting; and though Virgil's Fame, and Homer's Diſcord, are obſcure, they are magni⯑ficent figures. Theſe figures in painting would be clear enough, but I fear they might become ridi⯑culous.—Sublime and Beautiful.

SUPPLY.

THE ſacred and reſerved right of the Commons.—Speech on American Taxation.

SWITZERLAND.

As to Switzerland, it is a country whoſe long union, rather than its poſſible diviſion, is the matter of wonder. Here I know they entertain very ſan⯑guine hopes. The aggregation to France of the de⯑mocratic Swiſs republics appears to them to be a work half done by their very form; and it might ſeem to them rather an encreaſe of importance to theſe little commonwealths, than a derogation from their independency, or a change in the manner of their government. Upon any quarrel amongſt the cantons nothing is more likely than ſuch an event. As to the ariſtocratic republics, the general clamour and hatred which the French excite againſt the very name, (and with more facility and ſucceſs than againſt monarchs) and the utter impoſſibility of their govern⯑ment making any ſort of reſiſtance againſt an inſur⯑rection, where they have no troops, and the people are all armed and trained, render their hopes in that quarter, far indeed from unfounded. It is certain that the republic of Berne thinks itſelf obliged to a vigilance next to hoſtile, and to impriſon or expel all the French whom they find in their territories. But indeed thoſe ariſtocracies which comprehend whatever is conſiderable, wealthy, and valuable in Switzerland, do now ſo wholly depend upon opinion, and the humour of their multitude, that the lighteſt puff of wind is ſufficient to blow them down. If France, under its ancient regimen, and upon the ancient principles of policy, was the ſupport of the Germanic conſtitution, it was much more ſo of that of Switzerland, which almoſt from the very origin of that confederacy reſted upon the cloſeneſs of its connection with France, on which the Swiſs cantons wholly repoſed themſelves for the preſervation of the parts of their body in their reſpective rights and permanent forms, as well as for the maintenance of all in their general independency.

[398]Switzerland and Germany are the firſt objects of the new French politicians. When I contemplate what they have done at home, which is in effect little leſs than an amazing conqueſt wrought by a change of opinion, in a great part (to be ſure far from altogether) very ſudden, I cannot help letting my thoughts run along with their deſigns, and without attending to geographical order, to conſider the other ſtates of Europe ſo far as they may be any way affected by this aſtoniſhing revolution. If early ſteps are not taken in ſome way or other to prevent the ſpreading of this influence, I ſcarcely think any of them per⯑fectly ſecure.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1791.

SECT. (FRENCH ATHEISTS.)

I MUST declare, that the doctrine and diſcipline of this ſect is one of the moſt alarming circumſtances relating to it, and the attempt to compare them with the opinions of ſchool theologicians, is a thing in it⯑ſelf highly alarming. I know that when men poſſeſs the beſt principles, the paſſions lead them to act in oppoſition to them. But when the moral principles are formed ſyſtematically to play into the hand of the paſſions; when that which is to correct vice and to reſtrain violence, is by an infernal doctrine, daringly avowed, carefully propagated, enthuſiaſtically held, and practically followed, I ſhall think myſelf treated like a child, when I hear this compared to a con⯑troverſy in the ſchools. When I ſee a great coun⯑try, with all its reſources, poſſeſſed by this ſect, and turned to its purpoſes, I muſt be worſe than a child to conceive it a thing indifferent to me. When this great country is ſo near me, and otherwiſe ſo ſituated, that except through its territory, I can hardly have a communication with any other, the ſtate of moral and political opinion, and moral and political diſcipline in that country, becomes of ſtill greater [399] importance to me. When robbers, aſſaſſins, and re⯑bels, are not only debauched, but endoctrinated regularly, by a courſe of inverted education, into murder, inſurrection, and the violation of all pro⯑perty, I hold, that this, inſtead of excuſing, or pal⯑liating their offences, inſpires a peculiar venom into every evil act they do; and that all ſuch univerſities of crimes, and all ſuch pro [...]eſſors of robbery, are in a perpetual ſtate of hoſtility with mankind.—Regicide Peace.

SUMMUM JUS.

WHEN confidence is once reſtored, the odious and ſuſpicious ſummum jus will periſh of courſe.—Speech on American Taxation.

TASTE. General Idea of Taſte.

But to cut off all pretence for cavilling, I mean by the word Taſte, no more than that faculty or thoſe faculties of the mind, which are affected with, or which form a judgment of, the works of imagination and the elegant arts. This is, I think, the moſt general idea of that word, and what is the leaſt connected with any particular theory. And my point in this inquiry is, to find whether there are any principles, on which the imagination is affected, ſo common to all, ſo grounded and certain, as to ſupply the means of rea⯑ſoning ſatisfactorily about them. And ſuch principles of taſte I fancy there are; however paradoxical it may ſeem to thoſe who, on a ſuperficial view, ima⯑gine that there is ſo great a diverſity of taſtes, both in kind and degree, that nothing can be more deter⯑minate.

All the natural powers in man, which I know, that are converſant about external objects, are the ſenſes; the imagination; and the judgment. And firſt with [400] regard to the ſenſes. We do and we muſt ſuppoſe, that as the conformation of their organs are nearly or altogether the ſame in all men, ſo the manner of per⯑ceiving external objects is in all men the ſame, or with little difference. We are ſatisfied that what ap⯑pears to be light to one eye, appears light to another; that what ſeems ſweet to one palate, is ſweet to an⯑other; that what is dark and bitter to this man, is likewiſe dark and bitter to that; and we conclude in the ſame manner of great and little, hard and ſoft, hot and cold, rough and ſmooth; and indeed of all the natural qualities and affections of bodies. If we ſuffer ourſelves to imagine, that their ſenſes preſent to different men different images of things, this ſcep⯑tical proceeding will make every ſort of reaſoning on every ſubject vain and frivolous, even that ſceptical reaſoning itſelf which had perſuaded us to entertain a doubt concerning the agreement of our perceptions. But as there will be little doubt that bodies preſent ſimilar images to the whole ſpecies, it muſt neceſſarily be allowed, that the pleaſures and the pains which every object excites in one man, it muſt raiſe in all mankind, whilſt it operates naturally, ſimply, and by its proper powers only; for if we deny this, we muſt imagine that the ſame cauſe operating in the ſame man⯑ner, and on ſubjects of the ſame kind, will produce different effects, which would be highly abſurd. Let us firſt conſider this point in the ſenſe of taſte, and the rather as the faculty in queſtion has taken its name from that ſenſe. All men are agreed to call vinegar ſour, honey ſweet, and aloes bitter; and as they are all agreed in finding theſe qualities in thoſe objects, they do not in the leaſt differ concerning their effects with regard to pleaſure and pain. They all concur in call⯑ing ſweetneſs pleaſant, and ſourneſs and bitterneſs un⯑pleaſant. Here there is no diverſity in their ſenti⯑ments; and that there is not, appears fully from the conſent of all men in the metaphors which are taken from the ſenſe of taſte. A ſour temper, bitter expreſ⯑ſions, [401] bitter curſes, a bitter fate, are terms well and ſtrongly underſtood by all. And we are altogether as well underſtood when we ſay a ſweet diſpoſition, a ſweet perſon, a ſweet condition, and the like. It is con⯑feſſed, that cuſtom, and ſome other cauſes, have made many deviations from the natural pleaſures or pains which belong to theſe ſeveral taſtes; but then the power of diſtinguiſhing between the natural and the acquired reliſh remains to the very laſt. A man fre⯑quently comes to prefer the taſte of tobacco to that of ſugar, and the flavour of vinegar to that of milk; but this makes no confuſion in taſtes, whilſt he is ſenſible that the tobacco and vinegar are not ſweet, and whilſt he knows that habit alone has reconciled his palate to theſe alien pleaſures. Even with ſuch a perſon we may ſpeak, and with ſufficient preciſion, concerning taſtes. But ſhould any man be found who declares, that to him tobacco has a taſte like ſugar, and that he cannot diſtinguiſh between milk and vinegar; or that tobacco and vinegar are ſweet, milk bitter, and ſugar ſour; we immediately conclude that the organs of this man are out of order, and that his palate is utterly vitiated. We are as far from conferring with ſuch a perſon upon taſtes, as from reaſoning concerning the relations of quantity, with one who ſhould deny that all the parts together were equal to the whole. We do not call a man of this kind wrong in his notions, but abſolutely mad. Exceptions of this ſort, in either way, do not at all impeach our general rule, nor make us conclude that men have various principles concerning the rela⯑tions of quantity, or the taſte of things. So that when it is ſaid, taſte cannot be diſputed, it can only mean, that no one can ſtrictly anſwer what pleaſure or pain ſome particular man may find from the taſte of ſome parti⯑cular th [...]ng. This indeed cannot be diſputed; but we may diſpute, and with ſufficient clearneſs too, concern⯑ing the things which are naturally pleaſing or diſagree able to the ſenſe. But when we talk of any peculiar or acquired reliſh, then we muſt know the habits, the [402] prejudices, or the diſtempers of this particular man, and we muſt draw our concluſion from thoſe.

This agreement of mankind is not confined to the taſte ſolely. The principle of pleaſure derived from ſight is the ſame in all. Light is more pleaſing than darkneſs. Summer, when the earth is clad in green, when the heavens are ſerene and bright, is more agree⯑able than winter, when every thing makes a different appearance. I never remember that any thing beau⯑tiful, whether a man, a beaſt, a bird, or a plant, was ever ſhewn, though it were to an hundred people, that they did not all immediately agree that it was beautiful, though ſome might have thought that it fell ſhort of their expectation, or that other things were ſtill finer.—Sublime and Beautiful.

TASTE. Progreſs of Taſte.

A man to whom ſculpture is new ſees a barber's block, or ſome ordinary piece of ſtatuary, he is im⯑mediately ſtruck and pleaſed, becauſe he ſees ſome⯑thing like a human figure; and, entirely taken up with this likeneſs, he does not at all attend to its defects. No perſon, I believe, at the firſt time of ſeeing a piece of imitation ever did. Some time after, we ſuppoſe that this novice lights upon a more artificial work of the ſame nature. He now begins to look with contempt on what he admired at firſt; not that he admired it even then for its unlikeneſs to a man, but for that general though inaccurate reſem⯑blance which it bore to the human figure. What he admired at different times in theſe ſo different figures, is ſtrictly the ſame; and though his knowledge is improved, his taſte is not altered. Hitherto his miſtake was from a want of knowledge in art, and this aroſe from his inexperience; but he may be ſtill deficient from a want of knowledge in nature. For [403] it is poſſible that the man in queſtion may ſtop here, and that the maſter-piece of a great hand may pleaſe him no more than the middling performance of a vulgar artiſt; and this not for want of better or higher reliſh, but becauſe all men do not obſerve with ſuf⯑ficient accuracy on the human figure to enable them to judge properly of an imitation of it. And that the critical taſte does not depend upon a ſuperior principle in men, but upon ſuperior knowledge, may appear from ſeveral inſtances. The ſtory of the an⯑tient painter and the ſhoemaker is very well known. The ſhoemaker ſet the painter right with regard to ſome miſtakes he had made in the ſhoe of one of his figures, and which the painter, who had not made ſuch accurate obſervations on ſhoes, and was content with a general reſemblance, had never obſerved. But this was no impeachment to the taſte of the painter; it only ſhewed ſome want of knowledge in the art of making ſhoes. Let us imagine, that an anatomiſt had come into the painter's working room. His piece is in general well done, the figure in queſ⯑tion in a good attitude, and the parts well adjuſted to their various movements; yet the anatomiſt, criti⯑cal in his art, may obſerve the ſwell of ſome muſcle not quite juſt in the peculiar action of the figure. Here the anatomiſt obſerves what the painter had not obſerved; and he paſſes by what the ſhoemaker had remarked. But a want of the laſt critical knowledge in anatomy no more reflected on the natural good taſte of the painter, or of any common obſerver of his piece, than the want of an exact knowledge in the formation of a ſhoe. A fine piece of a decol⯑lated head of St. John the Baptiſt was ſhewn to a Turkiſh emperor; he praiſed many things, but he obſerved one defect; he obſerved that the ſkin did not ſhrink from the wounded part of the neck. The ſultan on this occaſion, though his obſervation was very juſt, diſcovered no more natural taſte than the painter who executed this piece, or than a thouſand [404] European connoiſſeurs, who probably never would have made the ſame obſervation. His Turkiſh ma⯑jeſty had indeed been well acquainted with that ter⯑rible ſpectacle, which the others could only have re⯑preſented in their imagination. On the ſubject of their diſlike there is a difference between all theſe people, ariſing from the different kinds and degrees of their knowledge; but there is ſomething in com⯑mon to the painter, the ſhoemaker, the anatomiſt, and the Turkiſh emperor, the pleaſure ariſing from a natural object, ſo far as each perceives it juſtly imitated; the ſatisfaction in ſeeing an agreeable figure; the ſympathy proceeding from a ſtriking and affecting incident. So far as taſte is natural, it is nearly com⯑mon to all.—Ibid.

TAXATION. An eaſy Buſineſs.

TAXING is an eaſy buſineſs. Any projector can contrive new impoſitions; any bungler can add to the old. But is it altogether wiſe to have no other bounds to your impoſitions, than the patience of thoſe who are to bear them?—Oecon. Reform.

TEACHERS (NEW).

IF we do not take to our aid the foregone ſtudies of men reputed intelligent and learned, we ſhall be always beginners. But in effect, men muſt learn ſomewhere; and the new teachers mean no more than what they effect, that is, to deprive men of the benefit of the collected wiſdom of mankind, and to make them blind diſciples of their own particular pre⯑ſumption. Talk to theſe deluded creatures, all the diſciples and moſt of the maſters, who are taught to think themſelves ſo newly fitted up and furniſhed, and you will find nothing in their houſes but the re⯑fuſe [405] of Knaves-Acre; nothing but the rotten ſtuff, worn out in the ſervice of deluſion and ſedition in all ages, and which being newly furbiſhed up, patched, and varniſhed, ſerves well enough for thoſe who be⯑ing unacquainted with the conflict which has always been maintained between the ſenſe and nonſenſe of mankind, know nothing of the former exiſtence and the ancient refutation of the ſame follies. It is near two thouſand years ſince it has been obſerved, that theſe devices of ambition, avarice, and turbulence, were antiquated. They are, indeed, the moſt an⯑cient of all common places; common places, ſome⯑times of good and neceſſary cauſes; more frequently of the worſt, but which decide upon neither.—Eadem ſemper cauſa, libido et avaritia, et mutandarum rerum amor.—Coeterum libertas et ſpecioſa nomina pretexuntur; nec quiſquam alienum ſervitium, et dominationem ſibi concupivit, ut non eadem iſta vocabula uſurparet.— Appeal from the New to the old Whigs.

TEACHING. The beſt Method of Teaching.

I AM convinced that the method of teaching which approaches moſt nearly to the method of inveſtiga⯑tion, is incomparably the beſt; ſince not content with ſerving up a few barren and lifeleſs truths, it leads to the ſtock on which they grew; it tends to ſet the reader himſelf in the track of invention, and to direct him into thoſe paths in which the author has made his own diſcoveries, if he ſhould be ſo happy as to have made any that are valuable.—Sublime and Beautiful.

THEORY.

A THEORY founded on experiment, and not aſ⯑ſumed, is always good for ſo much as it explains. Our inability to puſh it indefinitely is no argument at all againſt it. This inability may be owing to our [406] ignorance of ſome neceſſary mediums; to a want of proper application to many other cauſes beſides a defect in the principles we employ.—Ibid.

TRANQUILLITY.

A SORT of delightful horror, a ſort of tranquillity tinged with terror; which, as it belongs to ſelf pre⯑ſervation, is one of the ſtrongeſt of all the paſſions.—Ibid.

TREASON.

FELLOWSHIP in treaſon is a bad ground of conſi⯑dence.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1792.

TRIANGLE. Poor in its Effects.

BECAUSE too great a length in buildings deſtroys the purpoſe of greatneſs, which it was intended to promote; the perſpective will leſſen it in height as it gains in length; and will bring it at laſt to a point; turning the whole figure into a ſort of triangle, the pooreſt in its effect of almoſt any figure that can be preſented to the eye.—Sublime and Beautiful.

TERROR.

THE only difference between pain and terror is, that things which cauſe pain operate on the mind, by the intervention of the body; whereas things that cauſe terror, generally affect the bodily organs by the operation of the mind ſuggeſting the danger; but both agreeing, either primarily, or ſecondarily, in producing a tenſion, contraction, or violent emotion of the nerves, they agree likewiſe in every thing elſe. For it appears very clearly to me, from this, as well as from many other examples, that when the body is diſpoſed by any means whatſoever to ſuch emotions as it would acquire by the means of a certain paſſion, it will of itſelf excite ſomething very like the paſſion in the mind.—Ibid.

TIMIDITY.

INTERESTED timidity diſgraces as much in the ca⯑binet, as perſonal timidity does in the field. But ti⯑midity, with regard to the well-being of our country, is heroic virtue.—Speech on American Taxation.

TOLERATION.

WE all know, that toleration is odious to the into⯑lerant; freedom to oppreſſors; property to robbers; and all kinds and degrees of proſperity to the envi⯑ous.—Speech at Briſtol previous to the Election.

TOLERATION (RELIGIOUS.)

IN many parts of Germany, Proteſtants and Papiſts partake the ſame cities, the ſame councils, and even the ſame churches. The unbounded liberality of the King of Pruſſia's^* conduct on this occaſion, is known to all the world; and it is of a piece with the other grand maxims of his reign. The magnanimity of the imperial court, breaking through the narrow principles of its predeceſſors, has indulged its pro⯑teſtant ſubjects, not only with property, with wor⯑ſhip, with liberal education, but with honours and truſts, both civil and military. A worthy proteſtant gentleman of this country now fills, and fills with cre⯑dit, an high office in the Auſtrian Netherlands. Even the Lutheran obſtinacy of Sweden has thawed at length, and opened a toleration to all religions. I know myſelf, that in France the Proteſtants begin to be at reſt. The army, which in that country is every thing, is open to them; and ſome of the military re⯑wards and decorations which the laws deny, are ſup⯑plied by others, to make the ſervice acceptable and honourable. The firſt Miniſter of Finance in that country is a Proteſtant. Two years war without a tax, is among the firſt fruits of their liberality.—Ibid.

TRADE (DEFINED.)

TRADE is not a limited thing; as if the objects of mutual demand and conſumption could not ſtretch beyond the bounds of our jealouſies. God has given the earth to the children of men, and he has un⯑doubtedly, in giving it to them, given them what is abundantly ſufficient for all their exigencies; not a ſcanty, but a moſt liberal proviſion for them all. The author of our nature has written it ſtrongly in that nature, and has promulgated the ſame law in his written word, that man ſhall eat his bread by his la⯑bour; and I am perſuaded, that no man, and no combination of men, for their own ideas of their particular profit, can, without great impiety, under⯑take to ſay, that he ſhall not do ſo; that they have no ſort of right, either to prevent the labour, or to withhold the bread. Ireland having received no compenſation, directly or indirectly, for any reſtraints on their trade, ought not, in juſtice or common ho⯑neſty, be made ſubject to ſuch reſtraints.—Two Letters to Gentlemen in Briſtol.

TRAGEDY. The Effects of Tragedy.

IT is thus in real calamities. In imitated diſtreſſes the only difference is the pleaſure reſulting from the effects of imitation; for it is never ſo perfect, but we can perceive it is imitation, and on that principle are ſomewhat pleaſed with it. And indeed in ſome caſes we derive as much or more pleaſure from that ſource than from the thing itſelf. But then I imagine we ſhall be much miſtaken if we attribute any conſi⯑derable part of our ſatisfaction in tragedy to the con⯑ſideration that tragedy is a deceit, and its repreſenta⯑tion, no realities. The nearer it approaches the reality, and the further it removes us from all idea of fiction, the more perfect is its power. But be its [409] power of what kind it will, it never approaches to what it repreſents. Chooſe a day on which to repre⯑ſent the moſt ſublime and affecting tragedy we have; appoint the moſt favourite actors; ſpare no coſt upon the ſcenes and decorations; unite the greateſt efforts of poetry, painting, and muſic; and when you have collected your audience, juſt at the moment when their minds are erect with expectation, let it be re⯑ported that a ſtate criminal of high rank is on the point of being executed in the adjoining ſquare; in a moment the emptineſs of the theatre would demon⯑ſtrate the comparative weakneſs of the imitative arts, and proclaim the triumph of the real ſympathy. I believe that this notion of our having a ſimple pain in the reality, yet a delight in the repreſentation, ariſes from hence, that we do not ſufficiently diſtin⯑guiſh what we would by no means chooſe to do, from what we ſhould be eager enough to ſee if it was once done. We delight in ſeeing things, which ſo far from doing, our heartieſt wiſhes would be to ſee redreſſed. This noble capital, the pride of England and of Europe, I believe no man is ſo ſtrangely wicked as to deſire to ſee deſtroyed by a conflagra⯑tion or an earthquake, though he ſhould be removed himſelf to the greateſt diſtance from the danger. But ſuppoſe ſuch a fatal accident to have happened, what numbers from all parts would crowd to behold the ruins, and amongſt them many who would have been content never to have ſeen London in its glory! Nor is it, either in real or fictitious diſtreſſes, our immunity from them which produces our delight; in my own mind I can diſcover nothing like it. I ap⯑prehend that this miſtake is owing to a ſort of ſophiſm, by which we are frequently impoſed upon; it ariſes from our not diſtinguiſhing between what is indeed a neceſſary condition to our doing or ſuffering any thing in general, and what is the cauſe of ſome particular act. If a man kills me with a ſword, it is a neceſſary condition to this that we ſhould have been both of us [410] alive before the fact; and yet it would be abſurd to ſay, that our being both living creatures was the cauſe of his crime and of my death. So it is certain, that it is abſolutely neceſſary my life ſhould be out of any imminent hazard, before I can take a delight in the ſufferings of others, real or imaginary, or indeed in any thing elſe from any cauſe whatſoever. But then it is a ſophiſm to argue from thence, that this immunity is the cauſe of my delight either on theſe or on any occaſions. No one can diſtinguiſh ſuch a cauſe of ſatisfaction in his own mind, I believe; nay, when we do not ſuffer any very acute pain, nor are expoſed to any imminent danger of our lives, we can feel for others, whilſt we ſuffer ourſelves; and often then moſt when we are ſoftened by affliction; we ſee with pity even diſtreſſes which we would accept in the place of our own.—

TRANSACTIONS OF PAST AGES.

WE are very uncorrupt and tolerably enlightened judges of the tranſactions of paſt ages; where no paſſions deceive, and where the whole train of cir⯑cumſtances, from the trifling cauſe to the tragical event, is ſet in an orderly ſeries before us.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

TYRANT AND HIS FAVOURITE, OR TYRANNY DOUBLED.

THERE is hardly any prince without a favourite, by whom he is governed in as arbitrary a manner as he governs the wretches ſubjected to him. Here the tyranny is doubled. There are two courts, and two intereſts; both very different from the intereſts of the people. The favourite knows that the regard of a tyrant is as unconſtant and capricious as that of a woman; and concluding his time to be ſhort, he makes haſte to fill up the meaſure of his iniquity, in [411] rapine, in luxury, and in revenge. Every avenue to the throne is ſhut up. He oppreſſes, and ruins the people, whilſt he perſuades the prince, that thoſe murmurs raiſed by his own oppreſſion are the effects of diſaffection to the prince's government. Then is the natural violence of deſpotiſm inflamed, and ag⯑gravated by hatred and revenge. To deſerve well of the ſtate is a crime againſt the prince. To be po⯑pular, and to be a traitor, are conſidered as ſynony⯑mous terms. Even virtue is dangerous, as an aſ⯑piring quality, that claims an eſteem by itſelf, and independent of the countenance of the court. What has been ſaid of the chief, is true of the inferior officers of this ſpecies of government; each in his province exerciſing the ſame tyranny, and grinding the people by an oppreſſion, the more ſeverely felt, as it is near them, and exerciſed by baſe and ſubordi⯑nate perſons. For the groſs of the people, they are conſidered as a mere herd of cattle; and really in a little time become no better; all principle of honeſt pride, all ſenſe of the dignity of their nature, is loſt in their ſlavery. The day, ſays Homer, which makes a man a ſlave, takes away half his worth; and in fact, he loſes every impulſe to action, but that low and baſe one of fear.—In this kind of govern⯑ment human nature is not only abuſed, and inſulted, but it is actually degraded and ſunk into a ſpecies of brutality.—Vindication of natural Society.

TYRANTS.

THE puniſhment of real tyrants is a noble and aw⯑ful act of juſtice; and it has with truth been ſaid to be conſolatory to the human mind.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

TYRANNY.

FEW are the partizans of departed tyranny.—Ibid.

TYRANNY.

TYRANNY is a poor provider. It neither knows how to accumulate, nor how to extract.—Speech on American Taxation.

TYRANNY.

THE arguments of tyranny are as contemptible as its force is dreadful.—Reflections on the Revolutions in France.

TYRANNY.

NOTHING aggravates tyranny ſo much as contu⯑mely. Quicquid ſuperbia in contumeliis was charged by a great man of antiquity, as a principal head of offence againſt the governor general of that day.—Speech on Mr. Fox's Eaſt-India Bill.

TYRANNY (ANCIENT.)

A GREAT deal of the furniture of ancient tyranny is torn to rags; the reſt is entirely out of faſhion.—Thoughts on the Cauſe of the preſent Diſcontents.

TOULON.

I HAVE Toulon in my eye. It was with infinite ſorrow I heard, that in taking the king of France's fleet in truſt, we inſtantly unrigged and diſmaſted the ſhips, inſtead of keeping them in a condition to eſ⯑cape in caſe of diſaſter, and in order to fulfil our truſt, that is, to hold them for the uſe of the owner, and, in the mean time, to employ them for our com⯑mon ſervice. Theſe ſhips are now ſo circumſtanced, that if we are forced to evacuate Toulon, they muſt fall into the hands of the enemy, or be burnt by ourſelves. I know this is by ſome conſidered as a fine thing for us. But the Athenians ought not to [413] be better than the Engliſh, or Mr. Pitt leſs virtuous than Ariſtides.

Are we then ſo poor in reſources that we can do no better with eighteen or twenty ſhips of the line than to burn them? Had we ſent for French Royaliſt naval officers, of which ſome hundreds are to be had, and made them ſelect ſuch ſeamen as they could truſt, and filled the reſt with our own and Mediterranean ſeamen, which are all over Italy, to be had by thouſands, and put them under judicious Engliſh commanders in chief, and with a judicious mixture of our own ſubordinates, the Weſt Indies would at this day have been ours. It may be ſaid that theſe French officers would take them for the King of France, and that they would not be in our power. Be it ſo. The iſlands would not be ours, but they would not be jacobinized. This is however a thing impoſſible. They muſt in effect and ſubſtance be ours. But all is upon that falſe principle of diſtruſt, which, not confiding in ſtrength, can never have the full uſe of it. They that pay, and feed, and equip, muſt direct. But I muſt ſpeak plain upon this ſub⯑ject. The French iſlands, if they were all our own, ought not to be all kept. A fair partition only ought to be made of thoſe territories. This is a ſubject of policy very ſerious, which has many relations and aſpects. Juſt here I only hint at it as anſwering an objection, whilſt I ſtate the miſchievous conſequences which ſuffer us to be ſurprized into a virtual breach of faith, by confounding our ally with our enemy, becauſe they both belong to the ſame geographical territory.

My clear opinion is, that Toulon ought to be made, what we ſet out with, a royal French city. By the neceſſity of the caſe, it muſt be under the influence, civil and military, of the allies. But the only way of keeping that jealous and diſcordant maſs from tearing its component parts to pieces, and hazarding the loſs of the whole, is to put the place into the no⯑minal [414] government of the Regent, his officers being approved by us. This, I ſay, is abſolutely neceſſary for a poiſe amongſt ourſelves. Otherwiſe is it to be believed that the Spaniards, who hold that place with us in a ſort of partnerſhip contrary to our mutual in⯑tereſt, will ſee us abſolute maſters of the Mediterra⯑nean, with Gibraltar on one ſide, and Toulon on the other, with a quiet and compoſed mind, whilſt we do little leſs than declare that we are to take the whole Weſt Indies into our hands, leaving the vaſt, unwieldy, and feeble body of the Spaniſh dominions in that part of the world abſolutely at our mercy, without any power to balance us in the ſmalleſt degree.

Nothing is ſo fatal to a nation as an extreme of ſelf-partiality, and the total want of conſideration of what others will naturally hope or fear. Spain muſt think ſhe ſees, that we are taking advantage of the confuſions which reign in France, to diſable that country, and, of courſe, every country from afford⯑ing her protection, and in the end, to turn the Spa⯑niſh monarchy into a province. If ſhe ſaw things in a proper point of light, to be ſure, ſhe would not conſider any other plan of politics as of the leaſt moment in compariſon of the extinction of jaco⯑biniſm. But her miniſters (to ſay the beſt of them) are vulgar politicians. It is no wonder that they ſhould poſtpone this great point, or balance it, by conſiderations of the common politics, that is, the queſtions of power between ſtate and ſtate. If we manifeſtly endeavour to deſtroy the balance, eſpe⯑cially the maritime and commercial balance, both in Europe and the Weſt Indies (the latter their ſore and vulnerable part) from fear of what France may do for Spain hereafter, is it to be wondered, that Spain, infinitely weaker than we are (weaker, in⯑deed, than ſuch a maſs of empire ever was) ſhould feel the ſame fears from our uncontrouled power, that we give way to ourſelves from a ſuppoſed reſur⯑rection of the ancient power of France under a [415] monarchy? It ſignifies nothing whether we are wrong or right in the abſtract; but in reſpect to our relation to Spain, with ſuch principles followed up in prac⯑tice, it is abſolutely impoſſible that any cordial alli⯑ance can ſubſiſt between the two nations. If Spain goes, Naples will ſpeedily follow. Pruſſia is quite certain, and thinks of nothing but making a market of the preſent confuſions. Italy is broken and di⯑vided; Switzerland is jacobinized, I am afraid, com⯑pletely. I have long ſeen with pain the progreſs of French principles in that country. Things cannot go on upon the preſent bottom. The poſſeſſion of Toulon, which, well managed, might be of the greateſt advantage, will be the greateſt misfortune that ever happened to this nation. The more we multiply troops there, the more we ſhall multiply cauſes and means of quarrel amongſt ourſelves. I know but one way of avoiding it, which is to give a greater degree of ſimplicity to our politics. Our ſituation does neceſſarily render them a good deal involved. And, to this evil, inſtead of increaſing it, we ought to apply all the remedies in our power.

See what is, in that place, the conſequence (to ſay nothing of every other) of this complexity. Toulon has, as it were, two gates, an Engliſh and a Spaniſh. The Engliſh gate is, by our policy, faſt barred againſt the entrance of any Royaliſts. The Spaniards open theirs, I fear, upon no fixed principle, and with very little judgment. By means, however, of this fooliſh, mean, and jealous policy on our ſide, all the Royaliſts whom the Engliſh might ſelect as moſt practicable, and moſt ſubſervient to honeſt views, are totally excluded. Of thoſe admitted, the Spaniards are maſters. As to the inhabitants they are a neſt of Jacobins which is delivered into our hands, not from principle, but from fear. The inhabitants of Toulon may be de⯑ſcribed in few words. It is differtum naulis, cauponi⯑bus atque malignis. The reſt of the ſeaports are of the ſame deſcription.

[416]Another thing which I cannot account for is, the ſending for the biſhop of Toulon, and afterwards forbidding his entrance. This is as directly contrary to the declaration, as it is to the practice of the allied powers. The king of Pruſſia did better. When he took Verdun, he actually re-inſtated the biſhop and his chapter. When he thought he ſhould be the maſter of Chalons, he called the biſhop from Flan⯑ders, to put him into poſſeſſion. The Auſtrians have reſtored the clergy wherever they obtained poſſeſſion. We have propoſed to reſtore religion as well as mo⯑narchy; and in Toulon we have reſtored neither the one nor the other. It is very likely that the Jacobin Sans-Culottes, or ſome of them, objected to this meaſure, who rather chuſe to have the atheiſtic buſ⯑ſoons of clergy they have got to ſport with, till they are ready to come forward, with the reſt of their worthy brethren, in Paris and other places, to de⯑clare that they are a ſet of impoſtors, that they never believed in God, and never will preach any ſort of religion. If we give way to our Jacobins in this point, it is fully and fairly putting the government, civil and eccleſiaſtical, not in the king of France, to whom, as the protector and governor, and in ſub⯑ſtance the head of the Gallican church, the nomina⯑tion to the biſhoprics belonged, and who made the biſhop of Toulon; it does not leave it with him, or even in the hands of the king of England, or the king of Spain; but in the baſeſt Jacobins of a low ſea-port, to exerciſe, pro tempore, the ſovereignty. If this point of religion is thus given up, the grand inſtrument for reclaiming France is abandoned.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1792.

TURKEY.

WHERE the fineſt countries in the moſt genial cli⯑mates in the world are waſted by peace more than any countries have been worried by war; where arts are [417] unknown, where manufactures languiſh, where ſcience is extinguiſhed, where agriculture decays, where the human race itſelf melts away and periſhes under the eye of the obſerver.—

VARIATION, WHY BEAUTIFUL.

ANOTHER principal property of beautiful objects is, that the line of their parts is continually varying its direction; but it varies it by a very inſenſible de⯑viation; it never varies it ſo quickly as to ſurprize, or by the ſharpneſs of its angle to cauſe any twitching or convulſion of the optic nerve. Nothing long con⯑tinued in the ſame manner, nothing very ſuddenly varied, can be beautiful; becauſe both are oppoſite to that agreeable relaxation which is the characteriſtic effect of beauty. It is thus in all the ſenſes. A motion in a right line, is that manner of moving next to a very gentle deſcent, in which we meet the leaſt reſiſtance; yet it is not that manner of moving, which, next to a deſcent, wearies us the leaſt. Reſt certainly tends to relax: yet there is a ſpecies of motion which relaxes more than reſt; a gentle oſcillatory mo⯑tion, ariſing and falling. Rocking ſets children to ſleep better than abſolute reſt; there is, indeed, ſcarce any thing at that age, which gives more pleaſure than to be gently lifted up and down; the manner of play⯑ing which their nurſes uſe with children, and the weighing and ſwinging uſed afterwards by themſelves as a favourite amuſement, evince this very ſuffici⯑ently. Moſt people muſt have obſerved the ſort of ſenſe they have had, on being ſwiftly drawn in an eaſy coach on a ſmooth turf, with gradual aſcents and declivities. This will give a better idea of the beautiful, and point out its probable cauſe better, than almoſt any thing elſe. On the contrary, when one is hurried over a rough, rocky, broken road, the pain felt by theſe ſudden inequalities ſhews why [418] ſimilar ſights, feelings, and ſounds, are ſo contrary to beauty: and with regard to the feeling, it is ex⯑actly the ſame in its effect, or very nearly the ſame, whether, for inſtance, I move my hand along the ſur⯑face of a body of a certain ſhape, or whether ſuch a body is moved along my hand. But to bring this analogy of the ſenſes home to the eye: if a body pre⯑ſented to that ſenſe has ſuch a waving ſurface, that the rays of light reflected from it are in a continual inſenſible deviation from the ſtrongeſt to the weakeſt (which is always the caſe in a ſurface gradually un⯑equal) it muſt be exactly ſimilar in its effect on the eye and touch; upon the one of which it operates directly, on the other indirectly. And this body will be beautiful if the lines which compoſe its ſur⯑face are not continued, even ſo varied, in a man⯑ner that may weary or diſſipate the attention. The variation itſelf muſt be continually varied.—Sublime and Beautiful.

VICTORY.

THE ſeaſon of victory is the time for treating with honor and advantage.—Letter to the Sheriffs of Briſtol.

VICTORS (BARBAROUS.) Their Policy.

THE policy of barbarous victors, who contemn a ſubdued people, and inſult their feelings, has ever been, as much as in them lay, to deſtroy all veſtiges of the ancient country, in religion, in polity, &c.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

VOTE. (SEE PARLIAMENT.)

THE taking away of a vote is the taking away the ſhield which the ſubject has, not only againſt the op⯑preſſion [419] of power, but that worſt of all oppreſſions, the perſecution of private ſociety, and private man⯑ners. No candidate for parliamentary influence is obliged to the leaſt attention towards them, either in cities or counties.—Letter on the Penal Laws againſt Iriſh Catholics.

VICINITY (CIVIL.) The Law of Civil Vicinity.

DISTANCE of place does not extinguiſh the duties or the rights of men; but it often renders their exer⯑ciſe impracticable. The ſame circumſtance of diſ⯑tance renders the noxious effects of an evil ſyſtem in any community leſs pernicious. But there are ſitu⯑ations where this difficulty does not occur; and in which, therefore, theſe duties are obligatory, and theſe rights are to be aſſerted. It has ever been the method of public juriſts to draw the analogies on which they form the law of nations, from the prin⯑ciples of law which prevail in civil community. Civil laws are not all of them merely poſitive. Thoſe which are rather concluſions of legal reaſon, than matters of ſtatutable proviſion, belong to univerſal equity, and are univerſally applicable. Almoſt the whole praetorian law is ſuch. There is a Law of Neighbourhood which does not leave a man perfect maſter on his own ground. When a neighbour ſees a new erection, in the nature of a nuiſance, ſet up at his door, he has a right to repreſent it to the Judge; who, on his part, has a right to order the work to be ſtaid; or if eſtabliſhed, to be removed. On this head, the parent law is expreſs and clear; and has made many wiſe proviſions, which, without deſtroy⯑ing, regulate and reſtrain the right of ownerſhip by the right of vicinage. No innovation is permitted that may redound, even ſecondarily, to the prejudice of a neighbour. The whole doctrine of that important head of praetorian law, ‘"De novi operis nunciatione,"’ [420] is founded on the principle, that no new uſe ſhould be made of a man's private liberty of operating upon his private property, from whence a detriment may be juſtly apprehended by his neighbour. This law of denunciation is proſpective. It is to anticipate what is called damnum infectum, or damnum nondum factum, that is a damage juſtly apprehended but not actually done. Even before it is clearly known whe⯑ther the innovation be damageable or not, the Judge is competent to iſſue a prohibition to innovate, until the point can be determined. This prompt interfe⯑rence is grounded on principles favourable to both parties. It is preventive of miſchief difficult to be repaired, and of ill blood difficult to be ſoftened.—The rule of law, therefore, which comes before the evil, is amongſt the very beſt parts of equity, and juſtifies the promptneſs of the remedy; becauſe, as it is well obſerved, Res damni infecti celeritatem deſi⯑derat, & periculoſa eſt dilatio. This right of denun⯑ciation does not hold, when things continue, how⯑ever inconveniently to the neighbourhood, according to the ancient mode. For there is a ſort of preſump⯑tion againſt novelty, drawn out of a deep conſidera⯑tion of human nature and human affairs; and the maxim of juriſprudence is well laid down, Veluſtas pro lege ſemper habetur.

Such is the law of civil vicinity. Now where there is no conſtituted Judge, as between independent ſtates there is not, the vicinage itſelf is the natural judge. It is, preventively, the aſſertor of its own rights, or remedially, their avenger. Neighbours are preſumed to take cognizance of each other's acts. ‘"Vicini, vi⯑cinorum ſacta preſumuntur ſcire."’ This principle, which, like the reſt, is as true of nations as of men, has beſtowed on the grand vicinage of Europe, a duty to know, and a right to prevent, any capital innova⯑tion which may amount to the erection of a dangerous nuiſance. Of the importance of that innovation, and the miſchief of that nuiſance, they are, to be ſure, bound to judge not litigiouſly; but it is in their [421] competence to judge. What in civil ſociety is a ground of action, in politic ſociety is a ground of war. But the exerciſe of that competent juriſdic⯑tion is a matter of moral prudence. As ſuits in civil ſociety, ſo war in the political, is ever a matter of great deliberation. It is not this or that particular proceeding picked out here and there, as a ſubject of quarrel, that will do. There muſt be an aggregate of miſchief.—Regicide Peace.

VULGAR AND MECHANICAL POLITICIANS. (SEE AMERICA.)

ALL this, I know well enough, will ſound wild and chimerical to the profane herd of thoſe vulgar and mechanical politicians, who have no place among us; a ſort of people who think that nothing exiſts but what is groſs and material; and who therefore, far from being qualified to be directors of the great move⯑ment of empire, are not fit to turn a wheel in the machine. But to men truly initiated and rightly taught, theſe ruling and maſter principles, which, in the opinion of ſuch men as I have mentioned, have no ſubſtantial exiſtence, are in truth every thing, and all in all. Magnanimity in politics is not ſeldom the trueſt wiſdom; and a great empire and little minds go ill together. If we are conſcious of our ſituation, and glow with zeal to fill our place as becomes our ſtation and ourſelves, we ought to auſpicate all our public proceedings on America, with the old warning of the church, Surſum corda! We ought to elevate our minds to the greatneſs of that truſt to which the order of Providence has called us. By adverting to the dignity of this high calling, our anceſtors have turned a ſavage wilderneſs into a glorious empire; and have made the moſt extenſive, and the only ho⯑nourable conqueſts; not by deſtroying, but by pro⯑moting, the wealth, the number, the happineſs, of the human race. Let us get an American revenue [422] as we have got an American empire. Engliſh privi⯑leges have made it all that it is; Engliſh privileges alone will make it all it can be.—Speech on Conci⯑liation with American.

UGLINESS.

THE true oppoſite to beauty is not diſproportion or deformity, but uglineſs; and as it proceeds from cauſes oppoſite to thoſe of poſitive beauty, we can⯑not conſider it until we come to treat of that. Be⯑tween beauty and uglineſs there is a ſort of medio⯑crity, in which the aſſigned proportions are moſt commonly found; but this has no effect upon the paſſions.—Sublime and Beautiful.

WAR. Ground of War with France.

VARIOUS perſons may concur in the ſame meaſure on various grounds. They may be various, without being contrary to, or excluſive of, each other. I thought the inſolent, unprovoked aggreſſion of the Regicide upon our ally of Holland, a good ground of war; I think his manifeſt attempt to overturn the balance of Europe a good ground of war; as a good ground of war I conſider his declaration of war on his Majeſty and his kingdom. But though I have taken all theſe to my aid, I conſider them as nothing more than as a ſort of evidence to indicate the trea⯑ſonable mind within. It was not for their former declaration of war, nor for any ſpecific act of hoſtility that I primarily wiſhed to reſiſt them, or to perſevere in my reſiſtance. It was becauſe the faction in France had aſſumed a form, had adopted a body of principles and maxims, and had regularly and ſyſtematically acted on them, by which ſhe virtually had put herſelf in a poſture which was in itſelf a declaration of war againſt mankind.—Regicide Peace.

WAR. View of War that touches our own Country.

LET the portion of our hiſtory from the year 1689 to 1713 be brought before us. We ſhall find, that in all that period of twenty-four years, there were not above ſix that could be called an interval of peace; and this interval was in reality nothing more than a very active preparation for war. During that period, every one of the propoſitions of peace came from the enemy. The firſt, when they were ac⯑cepted, at the peace of Ryſwick. The ſecond, where they were rejected at the congreſs at Gertru⯑denburgh. The laſt, when the war ended by the treaty of Utrecht. Even then, a very great part of the nation, and that which contained by far the moſt intelligent ſtateſmen, was againſt the concluſion of the war. I do not enter into the merits of that queſ⯑tion as between the parties. I only ſtate the exiſtence of that opinion as a fact. I mention the length of the war as a proof, that though the countries which now compoſe the kingdom, for a part of the time were not united, and through all the time continued with a raw and ill cemented union, and though they were further ſplit into parties as vehement, and more equally divided than now they are, and that we were poſſeſſed of far leſs abundant reſources in all kinds than we now enjoy.—I mean to mark, that under all theſe diſadvantages the Engliſh nation was then a great people; that we had then an high mind, and a conſtancy unconquerable; that we were then inſpired with no fluſhy paſſions, but ſuch as were durable as well as warm; ſuch as correſponded to the great intereſts we had at ſtake. This force of character was inſpired, as all ſuch ſpirit muſt ever be, from above. Government gave the impulſe. As well may we fancy that of itſelf the ſea will ſwell, and without winds the billows will inſult the adverſe ſhore, as that the groſs maſs of the people will be [424] moved and elevated without the influence of ſupe⯑rior authority, or ſuperior mind.

This impulſe ought, in my opinion, to have been given in this war; and it ought to have been conti⯑nued to it at every inſtant. It is made, if ever war was made, to touch all the great ſprings of action in the human breaſts. It ought not to have been a war of apology. The miniſter had, in this conflict, wherewithal to glory in ſucceſs; to be conſoled in adverſity; to hold high his principle in all fortunes. If it were not given him to ſupport the falling edi⯑fice, he ought to bury himſelf under the ruins of the civilized world. All the art of Greece, and all the pride and power of eaſtern monarchs, never heaped upon their aſhes ſo grand a monument.

There were days when his great mind was up to the criſis of the world he is called to act in. His manly eloquence was equal to the elevated wiſdom of ſuch ſentiments. But the little have triumphed over the great; and unnatural, not an unuſual victory. I am ſure you cannot forget with how much uneaſi⯑neſs we heard in converſation, the language of more than one gentleman at the opening of this conteſt, ‘"that he was willing to try the war for a year or two, and if it did not ſucceed, then to vote for peace."’ As if war was a matter of experiment! As if you could take it up or lay it down as an idle frolic! As if the dire goddeſs that preſides over it, with her murderous ſpear in her hand, and her gor⯑gon at her breaſt, was a coquette to be flirted with! We ought with reverence to approach that tremendous divinity, that loves courage, but commands counſel. War never leaves a nation where it was found. The interval between that and peace is, indeed, ‘"a very hideous dream, in which the genius and the mortal inſtruments are ſeriouſly at work."’ It is never to be entered into without a mature deliberation; not a deliberation lengthened out into a perplexing indeci⯑ſion, but a deliberation leading to a ſure and fixed [425] judgment. When ſo taken up, it is not to be aban⯑doned without reaſon as valid, as fully, and as exten⯑ſively conſidered; for peace may be made as unad⯑viſedly as war. Nothing is ſo raſh as fear; and the counſels of puſillanimity very rarely put off, whilſt they are always ſure to aggravate the evils they would fly from.

In that great war carried on againſt Louis the XIVth, for near eighteen years, Government ſpared no pains to ſatisfy the people, that though they were to be animated by a deſire of glory, glory was not their ultimate object: but that every thing dear to them, in religion, in law, in liberty, every thing which as freemen, as Engliſhmen, and as citizens of the great commonwealth of Chriſtendom, they had at heart, was then at ſtake. Whether they did not exaggerate the danger I will not diſpute. A danger, and no ſmall danger, unqueſtionably there was; and that long and arduous war was purſued, upon at leaſt as ſolid and manly grounds, as the peace was made which put an end to it. A danger to avert a danger—a preſent inconvenience and ſuffering to prevent a foreſeen future, and a worſe calamity—theſe are the motives that belong to an animal, who, in his conſtitution, is at once adventurous and provident; circumſpect, and daring; whom his Creator has made, as the Poet ſays, ‘"of large diſcourſe, looking before and after."’ But never can a vehement and ſuſ⯑tained ſpirit of fortitude be kindled in a people by a war of calculation. It has nothing that can keep the mind erect under the guſts of adverſity. Even where men are willing, as ſometimes they are, to barter their blood for lucre, to hazard their ſafety to gratify their avarice, that paſſion, like all the paſ⯑ſions, muſt ſee it's objects diſtinct and near at hand.

The paſſions are hungry and impatient. Specu⯑lative plunder; contingent ſpoil; future long ad⯑journed uncertain booty; pillage which muſt enrich a late poſterity, and which poſſibly may not reach to [426] poſterity at all; theſe, for any length of time, will never ſupport a mercenary war. The people are in the right. The calculation of profit in all ſuch wars is falſe. On balancing the account of ſuch wars, ten thouſand hogſheads of ſugar are purchaſed at ten thouſand times their price. The blood of man ſhould never be ſhed but to redeem the blood of man. It is well ſhed for our family, for our friends, for our God, for our country, for our kind. The reſt is vanity; the reſt is crime.

In the war of the Grand Alliance, moſt of theſe conſiderations voluntarily and naturally had their part. Some were preſſed into the ſervice. The political intereſt eaſily went in the track of the natural ſenti⯑ment. In the reverſe courſe the carriage does not follow freely. I am ſure the natural feeling, as I have juſt ſaid, is a far more predominant ingredient in this war, than in that of any other that ever was waged by this kingdom.

If the war made to prevent the union of two crowns upon one head was a juſt war, this, which is made to prevent the tearing all crowns from all heads which ought to wear them, and with the crowns to ſmite off the ſacred heads themſelves, this is a juſt war.

If a war to prevent Louis the Fourteenth from im⯑poſing his religion was juſt, a war to prevent the mur⯑derers of Louis the Sixteenth from impoſing their ir⯑religion upon us is juſt; a war to prevent the opera⯑tion of a ſyſtem, which makes life without dignity, and death without hope, is a juſt war.

If to preſerve political independence and civil freedom to nations, was a juſt ground of war; a war to preſerve national independence, property, liberty, life, and honour, from certain univerſal havock, is a war juſt, neceſſary, manly, pious; and we are bound to perſevere in it by every principle, divine and hu⯑man, as long as the ſyſtem which menaces them all, and all equally, has an exiſtence in the world.—Ibid.

WAR. The preſent a religious War.

WE cannot, if we would, delude ourſelves about the true ſtate of this dreadful conteſt. It is a reli⯑gious war. It includes in its object undoubtedly every other intereſt of ſociety as well as this; but this is the principal and leading feature. It is through this deſtruction of religion that our enemies propoſe the accompliſhment of all their other views. The French revolution, impious at once and fanatical, had no other plan for domeſtic power and foreign empire. Look at all the proceedings of the National Aſſembly, from the firſt day of declaring itſelf ſuch in the year 1789, to this very hour, and you will find full half of their buſineſs to be directly on this ſub⯑ject. In fact it is the ſpirit of the whole. The reli⯑gious ſyſtem, called the conſtitutional church, was on the face of the whole proceeding ſet up only as a mere temporary amuſement to the people, and ſo conſtantly ſtated in all their converſations, till the time ſhould come, when they might with ſafety caſt off the very appearance of all religion whatſoever, and perſecute chriſtianity throughout Europe with fire and ſword. The conſtitutional clergy are not the miniſters of any religion: they are the agents and inſtruments of this horrible conſpiracy againſt all morals. It was from a ſenſe of this, that in the Eng⯑liſh addition to the articles propoſed at St. Domingo, tolerating all religions, we very wiſely refuſed to ſuffer that kind of traitors and buffoons.

This religious war is not a controverſy between ſect and ſect as formerly, but a war againſt all ſects and all religions. The queſtion is not whether you are to overturn the catholic, to ſet up the proteſtant. Such an idea in the preſent ſtate of the world is too contemptible. Our buſineſs is to leave to the ſchools the diſcuſſion of the controverted points, abating as much as we can the acrimony of diſpu⯑tants [428] on all ſides. It is for chriſtian ſtateſmen, as the world is now circumſtanced, to ſecure their com⯑mon baſis, and not to riſque the ſubverſion of the whole fabric by purſuing theſe diſtinctions with an ill-timed zeal. We have in the preſent grand alli⯑ance, all modes of government as well as all modes of religion. In government, we mean to reſtore that which, notwithſtanding our diverſity of forms we are all agreed in, as fundamental in government. The ſame principle ought to guide us in the religious part; conforming the mode, not to our particular ideas (for in that point we have no ideas in common) but to what will beſt promote the great general ends of the alliance. As ſtateſmen we are to ſee which of thoſe modes beſt ſuits with the intereſts of ſuch a commonwealth as we wiſh to ſecure and promote. There can be no doubt, but that the catholic religion, which is fundamentally the religion of France, muſt go with the Monarchy of France; we know that the Monarchy did not ſurvive the Hierarchy, no not even in appearance, for many months; in ſubſtance, not for a ſingle hour. As little can it exiſt in fu⯑ture, if that pillar is taken away; or even ſhattered and impaired.—Memorial on the Affairs of France in 1792.

WALES. Sketch of Welch Hiſtory.

MY next example is Wales. This country was ſaid to be reduced by Henry the Third. It was ſaid more truly to be ſo by Edward the Firſt. But though then conquered, it was not looked upon as any part of the realm of England. Its old conſtitution, whatever that might have been, was deſtroyed; and no good one was ſubſtituted in its place. The care of that tract was put into the hands of lords marchers—a form of government of a very ſingular kind; a ſtrange heterogeneous monſter, ſomething between [429] hoſtility and government; perhaps it has a ſort of reſemblance, according to the modes of thoſe times, to that of commander in chief at preſent, to whom all civil power is granted as ſecondary. The man⯑ners of the Welſh nation followed the genius of the government: the people were ferocious, reſtive, ſa⯑vage, and uncultivated; ſometimes compoſed, never pacified. Wales within itſelf, was in perpetual diſ⯑order; and it kept the frontier of England in perpe⯑tual alarm. Benefits from it to the ſtate, there were none. Wales was only known to England, by in⯑curſion and invaſion.

Sir, during that ſtate of things, parliament was not idle. They attempted to ſubdue the fierce ſpirit of the Welch by all ſorts of rigorous laws. They prohibited by ſtatute the ſending all ſorts of arms into Wales, as you prohibit by proclamation (with ſomething more of doubt on the legality) the ſending arms to America. They diſarmed the Welſh by ſta⯑tute, as you attempted (but ſtill with more queſtion on the legality) to diſarm New England by an inſtruc⯑tion. They made an act to drag offenders from Wales into England for trial, as you have done (but with more hardſhip) with regard to America. By another act, where one of the parties was an En⯑gliſhman, they ordained, that his trial ſhould be always by Engliſh. They made acts to reſtrain trade, as you do; and they prevented the Welſh from the uſe of fairs and markets, as you do the Americans from fiſheries and foreign ports. In ſhort, when the ſta⯑tute-book was not quite ſo much ſwelled as it is now, you find no leſs than fifteen acts of penal regulation on the ſubject of Wales.

Here we rub our hands—A fine body of prece⯑dents for the authority of parliament and the uſe of it!—I admit it fully; and pray add likewiſe to theſe precedents, that all the while, Wales rid this kingdom like an incubus; that it was an unprofitable and op⯑preſſive burthen; and that an Engliſhman travelling [430] in that country could not go ſix yards from the high road without being murdered.

The march of the human mind is ſlow. Sir, it was not, until after two hundred years, diſcovered, that by an eternal law, providence had decreed vexa⯑tion to violence; and poverty to rapine. Your an⯑ceſtors did however at length open their eyes to the ill huſbandry of injuſtice. They found that the ty⯑ranny of a free people could of all tyrannies the leaſt be endured; and that laws made againſt an whole nation were not the moſt effectual methods for ſecuring its obedience. Accordingly, in the twenty-ſeventh year of Henry VIII. the courſe was entirely altered. With a preamble ſtating the entire and perfect rights of the crown of England, it gave to the Welſh all the rights and privileges of Engliſh ſubjects. A political order was eſtabliſhed; the mi⯑litary power gave way to the civil; the marches were turned into counties. But that a nation ſhould have a right to Engliſh liberties, and yet no ſhare at all in the fundamental ſecurity of theſe liberties, the grant of their own property, ſeemed a thing ſo incongru⯑ous, that eight years after, that is, in the thirty-fifth of that reign, a complete and not ill-proportioned repreſentation by counties and boroughs was be⯑ſtowed upon Wales, by act of parliament. From that moment, as by a charm, the tumults ſubſided; obedience was reſtored; peace, order, and civiliza⯑tion, followed in the train of liberty.—When the day-ſtar of the Engliſh conſtitution had ariſen in their hearts, all was harmony within and without—

WEALTH.

IT is the intent of the commercial world that wealth ſhould be found every where.—Two Letters to Gentlemen in Briſtol.

WEALTH OF FRANCE IN 1785.

THE wealth of a country is another, and no con⯑temptible ſtandard, by which me may judge whether, on the whole, a government be protecting or deſtruc⯑tive. France far exceeds England in the multitude of her people; but I apprehend that her comparative wealth is much inferior to ours; that it is not ſo equal in the diſtribution, nor ſo ready in the circu⯑lation. I believe the difference in the form of the two governments to be amongſt the cauſes of this ad⯑vantage on the ſide of England. I ſpeak of Eng⯑land, not of the whole Britiſh dominions; which, if compared with thoſe of France, will, in ſome de⯑gree, weaken the comparative rate of wealth upon our ſide. But that wealth, which will not endure a compariſon with the riches of England, may conſti⯑tute a very reſpectable degree of opulence. Mr. Necker's book publiſhed in 1785, contains an accu⯑rate and intereſting collection of facts relative to public oeconomy and to political arithmetic; and his ſpeculations on the ſubject are in general wiſe and liberal. In that work he gives an idea of the ſtate of France, very remote from the portrait of a coun⯑try whoſe government was a perfect grievance, an abſolute evil, admitting no cure but through the vio⯑lent and uncertain remedy of a total revolution. He affirms, that from the year 1726 to the year 1784, there was coined at the mint of France, in the ſpe⯑cies of gold and ſilver, to the amount of about one hundred millions of pounds ſterling.

It is impoſſible that Mr. Necker ſhould be miſtaken in the amount of the bullion which has been coined [432] in the mint. It is a matter of official record. The reaſonings of this able financier, concerning the quantity of gold and ſilver which remained for cir⯑culation, when he wrote in 1785, that is about four years before the depoſition and impriſonment of the French king, are not of equal certainty; but they are laid on grounds ſo apparently ſolid, that it is not eaſy to refuſe a conſiderable degree of aſſent to his calculation. He calculates the numeraire, or what we call ſpecie, then actually exiſting in France, at about eighty-eight millions of the ſame Engliſh mo⯑ney. A great accumulation of wealth for one coun⯑try, large as that country is? Mr. Neckar was ſo far from conſidering this influx of wealth as likely to ceaſe, when he wrote in 1785, that he preſumes upon a future annual increaſe of two per cent. upon the money brought into France during the periods from which he computed.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

WORDS. How Words influence the Paſſions.

NOW, as words affect, not by any original power, but by repreſentation, it might be ſuppoſed that their influence over the paſſions ſhould be but light; yet it is quite otherwiſe; for we find by experience that elo⯑quence and poetry are as capable, nay indeed much more capable, of making deep and lively impreſſions than any other arts, and even than nature itſelf, in very many caſes. And this ariſes chiefly from theſe three cauſes. Firſt, that we take an extraordinary part in the paſſions of others, and that we are eaſily affected and brought into ſympathy by any tokens which are ſhewn of them; and there are no tokens which can expreſs all the circumſtances of moſt paſ⯑ſions ſo fully as words; ſo that if a perſon ſpeaks upon any ſubject, he can not only convey the ſubject to you, but likewiſe the manner in which he is himſelf [433] affected by it. Certain it is, that the influence of moſt things on our paſſions, is not ſo much from the things themſelves, as from our opinions concerning them; and theſe again depend very much on the opi⯑nions of other men, conveyable for the moſt part by words only. Secondly, there are many things of a very affecting nature, which can ſeldom occur in the reality, but the words which repreſent them often do; and thus they have an opportunity of making a deep impreſſion, and taking root in the mind, whilſt the idea of the reality was tranſient; and to ſome perhaps never really occurred in any ſhape, to whom it is, not⯑withſtanding, very affecting, as war, death, famine, &c. Beſides, many ideas have never been at all preſented to the ſenſes of any men but by words, as God, angels, devils, heaven, and hell, all of which have however a great influence over the paſſions. Thirdly, by words we have it in our power to make ſuch combinations as we cannot poſſibly do otherwiſe. By this power of combining we are able, by the addi⯑tion of well-choſen circumſtances, to give a new life and force to the ſimple object. In painting we may repreſent any fine figure we pleaſe; but we never can give it thoſe enlivening touches which it may receive from words. To repreſent an angel in a picture, you can only draw a beautiful young man winged; but what painting can furniſh out any thing ſo grand as the addition of one word, ‘"the angel of the Lord?"’ It is true, I have here no clear idea; but theſe words affect the mind more than the ſenſible image did, which is all I contend for. A picture of Priam dragged to the altar's foot, and there murdered, if it were well executed, would undoubtedly be very moving; but there are very aggravating circum⯑ſtances, which it could never repreſent:

As a further inſtance, let us conſider thoſe lines of Milton, where he deſcribes the travels of the fallen angels through their diſmal habitation;

Here is diſplayed the force of union in

which yet would loſe the greateſt part of the effect, if they were not the

This idea, or this affection cauſed by a word, which nothing but a word could annex to the others, raiſes a very great degree of the ſublime; and this ſublime is raiſed yet higher by what follows, a ‘"univerſe of Death."’ Here are again two ideas not preſentable but by language; and an union of them great and amazing beyond conception; if they may properly be called ideas which preſent no diſtinct image to the mind;—but ſtill it will be difficult to conceive how words can move the paſſions which belong to real objects, without repreſenting theſe objects clearly. This is difficult to us, becauſe we do not ſufficiently diſtinguiſh, in our obſervations upon lan⯑guage, between a clear expreſſion, and a ſtrong ex⯑preſſion. Theſe are frequently confounded with each other, though they are in reality extremely different. The former regards the underſtanding; the latter be⯑longs to the paſſions. The one deſcribes a thing as it is; the other deſcribes it as it is felt. Now, as there is a moving tone of voice, an impaſſioned countenance, an agitated geſture, which affect inde⯑pendently of the things about which they are exerted, ſo there are words, and certain diſpoſitions of words, which being peculiarly devoted to paſſionate ſubjects, and always uſed by thoſe who are under the influence of any paſſion, touch and move us more than thoſe [435] which far more clearly and diſtinctly expreſs the ſub⯑ject matter. We yield to ſympathy what we refuſe to deſcription. The truth is, all verbal deſcription, merely as naked deſcription, though never ſo exact, conveys ſo poor and inſufficient an idea of the thing deſcribed, that it could ſcarcely have the ſmalleſt effect, if the ſpeaker did not call in to his aid thoſe modes of ſpeech that mark a ſtrong and lively feeling in himſelf. Then, by the contagion of our paſſions, we catch a fire already kindled in another, which probably might never have been ſtruck out by the object deſcribed. Words, by ſtrongly conveying the paſſions, by thoſe means which we have already men⯑tioned, fully compenſate for their weakneſs in other reſpects. It may be obſerved, that very poliſhed languages, and ſuch as are praiſed for their ſuperior clearneſs and perſpicuity, are generally deficient in ſtrength. The French language has that perfection and that defect. Whereas the oriental tongues, and in general the languages of moſt unpoliſhed people, have a great force and energy of expreſſion; and this is but natural. Uncultivated people are but ordinary obſervers of things, and not critical in diſtinguiſhing them; but, for that reaſon, they admire more, and are more affected with what they ſee, and therefore expreſs themſelves in a warmer and more paſſionate manner. If the affection be well conveyed, it will work its effect without any clear idea; often without any idea at all of the thing which has originally given riſe to it.

It might be expected from the fertility of the ſub⯑ject, that I ſhould conſider poetry as it regards the ſublime and beautiful more at large; but it muſt be obſerved that in this light it has been often and well handled already. It was not my deſign to enter into the criticiſm of the ſublime and beautiful in any art, but to attempt to lay down ſuch principles as may tend to aſcertain, to diſtinguiſh and to form a ſort of ſtandard for them; which purpoſes I thought [436] might be beſt effected by an enquiry into the por⯑perties of ſuch things in nature, as raiſe love and aſtoniſhment in us; and by ſhewing in what manner they operated to produce theſe paſſions. Words were only ſo far to be conſidered, as to ſhew upon what principle they were capable of being the repre⯑ſentatives of theſe natural things, and by what powers they were able to affect us often as ſtrongly as the things they repreſent, and ſometimes much more ſtrongly.—Sublime and Beautiful.

WHIGS (NEW AND ANCIENT.)

THESE new Whigs hold, that the ſovereignty, whether exerciſed by one or many, did not only ori⯑ginate from the people (a poſition not denied, nor worth denying or aſſenting to) but that, in the people the ſame ſovereignty conſtantly and unalienably re⯑ſides; that the people may lawfully depoſe kings, not only for miſconduct, but without any miſconduct at all; that they may ſet up any new faſhion of govern⯑ment for themſelves, or continue without any govern⯑ment at their pleaſure; that the people are eſſentially their own rule, and their will the meaſure of their conduct; that the tenure of magiſtracy is not a pro⯑per ſubject of contract; becauſe magiſtrates have duties, but no rights: and that if a contract de facto is made with them in one age, allowing that it binds at all, it only binds thoſe who were immediately con⯑cerned in it, but does not paſs to poſterity. Theſe doctrines concerning the people (a term which they are far from accurately defining, but by which, from many circumſtances, it is plain enough they mean their own faction, if they ſhould grow by early arm⯑ing, by treachery, or violence, into the prevailing force) tend, in my opinion, to the utter ſubverſion, not only of all government, in all modes, and to all ſtable ſecurities to rational freedom, but to all the rules and principles of morality itſelf.

[437]I aſſert, that the ancient whigs held doctrines, to⯑tally different from thoſe I have laſt mentioned. I aſſert, that the foundations laid down by the Com⯑mons, on the trial of Doctor Sacheverel, for juſtify⯑ing the revolution of 1688, are the very ſame laid down in Mr. Burke's Reflections; that is to ſay,—a breach of the original contract, implied and expreſſed in the conſtitution of this country, as a ſcheme of government fundamentally and inviolably fixed in King, Lords, and Commons.—That the fundamental ſubverſion of this antient conſtitution, by one of its parts, having been attempted, and in effect accom⯑pliſhed, juſtified the revolution. That it was juſtified only upon the neceſſity of the caſe; as the only means left for the recovery of that antient conſtitution, formed by the original contract of the Britiſh ſtate; as well as for the future preſervation of the ſame go⯑vernment.

Theſe ſocieties of modern Whigs puſh their inſo⯑lence as far as it can go. In order to prepare the minds of the people for treaſon and rebellion, they repreſent the king as tainted with principles of deſpo⯑tiſm, from the circumſtance of his having dominions in Germany. In direct defiance of the moſt notori⯑ous truth, they deſcribe his government there to be a deſpotiſm; whereas it is a free conſtitution, in which the ſtates of the electorate have their part in the go⯑vernment; and this privilege has never been infringed by the king, or, that I have heard of, by any of his predeceſſors. The conſtitution of the electoral do⯑minions has indeed a double control, both from the laws of the empire, and from the privileges of the country. Whatever rights the king enjoys as elector, have been always parentally exerciſed, and the ca⯑lumnies of theſe ſcandalous ſocieties have not been authorized by a ſingle complaint of oppreſſion—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

WHIGS. Character of the Whigs in the Reign of Queen Anne.

IN one of the moſt fortunate periods of our hiſtory this country was governed by a connexion; I mean the great connexion of Whigs in the reign of Queen Anne. They were complimented upon the principle of this connexion by a poet who was in high eſteem with them. Addiſon, who knew their ſentiments, could not praiſe them for what they conſidered as no proper ſubject of commendation. As a poet who knew his buſineſs, he could not applaud them for a thing which in general eſtimation was not highly re⯑putable. Addreſſing himſelf to Britain,

The Whigs of thoſe days believed that the only proper method of riſing into power, was through hard eſſays of practiſed friendſhip and experimented fidelity. At that time it was not imagined that patriotiſm was a bloody idol, which required the ſacrifice of children and parents, or deareſt connexions in private life, and of all the virtues that riſe from thoſe relations. They were not of that ingenious paradoxical morality, to imagine that a ſpirit of moderation was properly ſhewn in patiently bearing the ſufferings of your friends; or that diſintereſtedneſs was clearly manifeſted at the expence of other people's fortune. They be⯑lieved that no men could act with effect, who did not act in concert; that no men could act in concert who did not act with confidence; and that no men could act with confidence, who were not bound together by common opinions, common affections, and common intereſts.

Theſe wiſe men, for ſuch I muſt call Lord Sunder⯑land, Lord Godolphin, Lord Sommers, and Lord Marlborough, were too well principled in theſe maxims [439] upon which the whole fabric of public ſtrength is built, to be blown off their ground by the breath of every childiſh talker. They were not afraid that they ſhould be called an ambitious junto; or that their re⯑ſolution to ſtand or fall together ſhould, by placemen, be interpreted into a ſcuffle for places.—Ibid.

WIT AND JUDGMENT.

MR. LOCKE very juſtly and finely obſerves of wit, that it is chiefly converſant in tracing reſemblances: he remarks at the ſame time, that the buſineſs of judg⯑ment is rather in finding differences. It may perhaps appear, on this ſuppoſition, that there is no material diſtinction between the wit and the judgment, as they both ſeem to reſult from different operations of the ſame faculty of comparing. But in reality, whether they are or are not dependant on the ſame power of the mind, they differ ſo very materially in many re⯑ſpects, that a perfect union of wit and judgment is one of the rareſt things in the world. When two diſtinct objects are unlike to each other, it is only what we expect; things are in their common way; and therefore they make no impreſſion on the imagi⯑nation: but when two diſtinct objects have a reſem⯑blance, we are ſtruck, we attend to them, and we are pleaſed. The mind of man has naturally a far greater alacrity and ſatisfaction in tracing reſemblances than in ſearching for differences; becauſe by making reſemblances we produce new images; we unite, we create, we enlarge our ſtock; but in making diſtinc⯑tions, we offer no food at all to the imagination; the taſk itſelf is more ſevere and irkſome, and what plea⯑ſure we derive from it is ſomething of a negative and indirect nature. A piece of news is told me in the morning; this, merely as a piece of news, as a fact added to my ſtock, gives me ſome pleaſure. In the evening I find there was nothing in it. What do I gain by this, but the diſſatisfaction to find that I had been impoſed upon? Hence it is that men are much [440] more naturally inclined to belief than to incredulity. And it is upon this principle, that the moſt ignorant and barbarous nations have frequently excelled in ſimilitudes, compariſons, metaphors, and allegories, who have been weak and backward in diſtinguiſhing and ſorting their ideas. And it is for a reaſon of this kind, that Homer and the Oriental writers, though very fond of ſimilitudes, and though they often ſtrike out ſuch as are truly admirable, they ſeldom take care to have them exact; that is, they are taken with the general reſemblance; they paint it ſtrongly, and they take no notice of the difference which may be found between the things compared.—

WILL AND DUTY. The Author of our Being has diſpoſed us not according to our Will but his own.

I CANNOT too often recommend it to the ſerious conſideration of all men, who think civil ſociety to be within the province of moral juriſdiction, that if we owe to it any duty, it is not ſubject to our will. Duties are not voluntary. Duty and will are even contradictory terms. Now, though ſociety might be at firſt a voluntary act (which in many caſes it undoubtedly was) it continues under a permanent ſtanding covenant, co-exiſting with the ſociety; and it attaches upon every individual of that ſociety, without any formal act of his own. This is war⯑ranted by the general practice, ariſing out of the general ſenſe of mankind. Men without their choice derive benefits from that aſſociation; without their choice they are ſubjected to duties in conſequence of theſe benefits; and without their choice they enter into a virtual obligation as binding as any that is actual. Look through the whole of life and the whole ſyſtem of duties. Much the ſtrongeſt moral obligations are ſuch as were never the reſults of our option. I allow, that if no ſupreme ruler exiſts, wiſe to form, and potent to enforce, the moral law, there [441] is no ſanction to any contract, virtual or even actual, againſt the will of prevalent power. On that hypo⯑theſis, let any ſet of men be ſtrong enough to ſet their duties at defiance, and they ceaſe to be duties any longer. We have but this one appeal againſt irreſiſtible power—

Taking it for granted that I do not write to the diſ⯑ciples of the Pariſian philoſophy, I may aſſume, that the awful author of our being is the author of our place in the order of exiſtence; and that having diſ⯑poſed and marſhalled us by a divine tactic, not ac⯑cording to our will, but according to his, he has, in and by that diſpoſition, virtually ſubjected us to act the part which belongs to the place aſſigned us. We have obligations to mankind at large, which are not in conſequence of any ſpecial voluntary pact. They ariſe from the relation of man to man, and the rela⯑tion of man to God, which relations are not matters of choice. On the contrary, the force of all the pacts which we enter into with any particular perſon amongſt them, depends upon thoſe prior obligations. In ſome caſes the ſubordinate relations are voluntary, in others they are neceſſary, but the duties are all compulſive. When we marry, the choice is volun⯑tary, but the duties are not matter of choice. They are dictated by the nature of the ſituation. Dark and inſcrutable are the ways by which we come into the world. The inſtincts which give riſe to this myſ⯑terious proceſs of nature are not of our making. But out of phyſical cauſes, unknown to us, perhaps un⯑knowable, ariſe moral duties, which, as we are able perfectly to comprehend, we are bound indiſpenſably to perform. Children are not conſenting to their re⯑lation, but their relation, without their actual con⯑ſent, binds them to its duties; or rather it implies their conſent, becauſe the preſumed conſent of every rational creature is in uniſon with the prediſpoſed [442] order of things. Men come in that manner into a community with the ſocial ſtate of their parents, en⯑dowed with all the benefits, loaded with all the duties of their ſituation. If the ſocial ties and ligaments, ſpun out of thoſe phyſical relations which are the ele⯑ments of the commonwealth, in moſt caſes begin, and always continue, independently of our will, ſo does that relation called our country, which comprehends (as it has been well ſaid) ‘"all the charities of all,"’ bind us without any ſtipulation on our part. Nor are we left without powerful inſtincts to make this duty as dear and grateful to us, as it is awful and coercive. Our country is not a thing of mere phyſical locality. It conſiſts, in a great meaſure, in the ancient order into which we are born. We may have the ſame geographical ſituation, but another country; as we may have the ſame country in another ſoil. The place that determines our duty to our country is a ſo⯑cial, civil relation.—Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs.

WRITERS.

WRITERS, eſpecially when they act in a body, and with one direction, have great influence on the pub⯑lic mind.—Reflections on the Revolution in France.

WRITERS, (FRENCH.)

THESE writers, like the propagators of all novel⯑ties, pretended to a great zeal for the poor, and the lower orders, whilſt in their ſatires they rendered hateful, by every exaggeration, the faults of courts, of nobility, and of prieſthood. They became a ſort of demagogues. They ſerved as a link to unite, in favour of one object, obnoxious wealth to reſtleſs and deſperate poverty.—Ibid.

ZEAL.

A ZEAL in the larger part carries the force of the whole.—Regicide Peace.