93. IF the affections in themselves were pliant and obedient to reason, it were true, there would be no great use of persuasions and insinuations to the will, more than of naked proposition and proofs; but in regard of the continual mutinies and seditions of the affections,

Video meliora, proboque

Deteriora sequor;

Reason would become captive and servile, if eloquence of persuasions did not practise and win the imagination from the affections' part, and contract a confederacy between the reason and imagination against the affections; for the affections themselves carry ever an appetite to good, as reason doth. The difference is, that the affection beholdeth merely the the future and sum of time. filling the imagination more, reason is commonly vanquished; but after that force of eloquence and persuasion hath made things future and remote appear as present, then upon revolt of the imagination reason prevaileth. [King's College, 1839.]

present, reason beholdeth And therefore the present

94. AN established system is not to be tried by those tests, which may with perfect correctness be applied to a new theory. A civilised nation, long in possession of a code of laws, under which with all its inconveniences they have found means to flourish, is not to be regarded as an Infant Colony, in which experiments in legislation may without much charge of presumption be hazarded. A philosopher is not entitled to investigate such a system by those ideas, which he has fixed in his own mind as the standard of excellence. The only unerring test of every old establishment is the effect it has actually produced.

For that must be held to be good, whence good is derived. The people have by degrees moulded their habits to the law which they are compelled to obey. For some of its imperfections remedies have been found; to others they have reconciled themselves; till at last they have, from various causes, attained the object, which the most sanguine visionary could promise to himself from his own perfect unembodied system. Not indeed that a superstitious regard for antiquity ought at any time to stay the hand of a temperate reform: but the task is delicate and full of danger; perilous in its execution, and extremely doubtful in its issue. A newly discovered remedy may introduce more mischief into the system, than the evil occasioned by the original disorder;-neutralised, as that disorder shall have become, by long incorporation with the several juices and humours of the body itself.

[Trinity College Fellowships, 1839.]

95. To instruct delightfully is the general end of all poetry. Philosophy instructs, but it performs its work by precept; which is not delightful, or not so delightful as example. To purge the passions by example is therefore the particular instruction which belongs to tragedy. Rapin, a judicious critic, has observed from Aristotle, that pride and want of commiseration are the most predominant vices of mankind; therefore to cure us of these two, the inventors of tragedy have chosen to work upon two other passions, which are fear and pity. We are wrought to fear by their setting before our eyes some terrible example of misfortune, which happened to persons of the highest quality; for such an action demonstrates to us that no condition is privileged from the turns of fortune: this must of necessity cause terror in

us, and consequently abate our pride.

But when we

see that the most virtuous, as well as the greatest, are not exempt from such misfortunes, that consideration moves pity in us, and insensibly works us to be helpful to, and tender over, the distressed; which is the noblest and most godlike of moral virtues.

[Craven Scholarships, 1840.]

96. IN every species of creatures, those who have been least time in the world, appear best pleased with their condition: for, besides that to a new comer the world hath a freshness on it that strikes the sense after a most agreeable manner, being itself, unattended with any great variety of enjoyments, excites a sensation of pleasure. But as age advances, every thing seems to wither, the senses are disgusted with their old entertainments, and existence turns flat and insipid. We may see this exemplified in mankind; the child, let him be free from pain, and gratified in his change of toys, is diverted with the smallest trifle. Nothing disturbs the mirth of the boy, but a little punishment or confinement. The youth must have more violent pleasures to employ his time; the man loves the hurry of an active life, devoted to the pursuits of wealth or ambition; and lastly, old age, having lost its capacity for these avocations, becomes its own insupportable burden. And as novelty is of a very powerful, so of a most extensive influence. Moralists have long since observed it to be the source of admiration, which lessens in proportion to our familiarity with objects, and upon a thorough acquaintance is utterly extinguished. But I think it hath not been so commonly remarked, that all the other passions depend considerably on the same circumstances. What is it but novelty

that awakens desire, enhances delight, kindles anger, provokes envy, inspires horror? To this cause we must ascribe it, that love languishes with fruition, and friendship itself is recommended by intervals of absence: hence monsters, by use, are beheld without loathing, and the most enchanting beauty without rapture. That emotion of the spirits in which passion consists, is usually the effect of surprise, and as long as it continues, heightens the agreeable or disagreeable qualities or its object; but as this emotion ceases (and it ceases with the novelty) things appear in another light, and affect us even less than might be expected from their proper energy, for having moved us too much before.

[Trinity College Scholarships, 1840.]

97. SUPPOSE a fertile, but empty island, to lie within the reach of a country in which arts and manufactures are already established; suppose a colony sent out from such a country, to take possession of the island, and to live there under the protection and authority of their native government: the new settlers will naturally convert their labour to the cultivation of the vacant soil, and with the produce of that soil will draw a supply of manufactures from their countrymen at home. Whilst the inhabitants continue few, and lands cheap and fresh, the colonists will find it easier and more profitable to raise corn or rear cattle, and with corn and cattle to purchase woollen cloth, for instance, or linen, than to spin or weave these articles for themselves. The mother-country, meanwhile, derives from this connexion an increase both of provision and employment. It promotes at once the two great requisites upon which the facility of subsistence, and by consequence the state of population,

depend,-production and distribution; and this in a manner the most direct and beneficial. No situation can be imagined more favourable to population, than that of a country which works up goods for others, whilst these others are cultivating new tracts of land for them.

[St John's College Voluntary Classical, 1840.]

98. In his private conduct, he was severe, morose, inexorable; banishing all the softer affections, as natural enemies to justice, and as suggesting false motives of acting, from favour, clemency, and compassion: in public affairs he was the same; had but one rule of policy, to adhere to what was right; without regard to times or circumstances, or even to a force that could controul him: for, instead of managing the power of the great, so as to mitigate the ill, or extract any good from it, he was urging it always to acts of violence by a perpetual defiance; so that, with the best intentions in the world, he often did great harm to the republic. This was his general behaviour; yet, from some particular facts explained above, it appears that his strength of mind was not always impregnable, but had its weak places of pride, ambition, and party zeal; which, when managed and flattered to a certain point, would betray him sometimes into measures contrary to his ordinary rule of right and truth. The last act of his life was agreeable to his nature and philosophy: when he could no longer be what he had been; or when the ills of life overbalanced the good, which, by the principles of his sect, was a just cause for dying; he put an end to his life, with a spirit and resolution which would make one imagine, that he was glad to have found an occasion of dying in his proper character.

On the whole, his life was rather