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pain of hunger must give us the pleasure of eating: and here the pain outbalances the pleasure; and, as the pain is more vehement, so it lasts much longer. for, as it is upon us before the pleasure comes, so it does not cease; but with the pleasure that extinguishes it, and that goes off with it; so that they think none of those pleasures are to be valued, but as they are necessary. Yet they rejoice in them, and with due gratitude acknowledge the tenderness of the great Author of nature, who has planted in us appetites, by which those things that are necessary for our preservation are likewise made pleasant to us. For how miserable a thing would life be, if those daily diseases of hunger and thirst were to be carried off by such bitter drugs as we must use for those diseases that return seldomer upon us! And thus these pleasant, as well as proper gifts of nature, do main. tain the strength and the sprightliness of our bodies.
enatching another man's pieasures from him. And, on the contrary, they think it a sign of a gentle and good soul for a man to dispense with his own advan. tage for the good of others; and that, by so doing, a good man finds as much pleasure one way as he parts with another; for, as he may expect the like from others when he may come to need it, so, if that should fail him, yet the sense of a good action, and the reflections that one makes on the love and grati. tude of those whom he has so obliged, give the mind more pleasure than the body could have found in that from which it has restrained itself. They are also persuaded that God will make up the loss of those small pleasures with a vast and endless jov, of which religion does easily convince a good soul. Thus, upon an inquiry into the whole matter, they reckon that all our actions, and even all our virtues, terminate in pleasure, as in our chief end and great. est happiness; and they call every motion or state, either of body or mind, in which nature teaches us to delight, a pleasure. And thus they cautiously limit pleasure only to those appetites to which nature leads us; for they reckon that nature leads us only to those delights to which reason as well as sense carries us, and by which we neither injure any other person, nor let go greater pleasures for it, and which do not draw troubles on us after them; but they look upon those delights which men, by a foolish though com. mon mi-take, call pleasure, as if they could change the nature of things, as well as the use of words, as things that not only do not advance our happiness, but do rather obstruct it very much, because they do so entirely possess the minds of those that once go into them with a false notion of pleasure, that there is no room left for truer and purer pleasures.
But of all pleasures, they esteem those to be the most valuable that lie in the mind; and the chief of these are those that arise out of true virtue, and the witness of a good conscience. They account health the chief pleasure that belongs to the body; for they think that the pleasure of eating and drinking, and all the other delights of the body, are only so far di sirable as they give or maintain health. But they are not pleasant in themselves, otherwise than as they resist those impressions that our natural infirm. ity is still making upon us; and, as a wise man de. sires rather to avoid diseases than to take physic, and to be freed from pain rather than to find ease by remedies so it were a more desirable state not to need this sort of pleasure, than to be obliged to indulge in it. And if any man imagines that there is a real happiness in t. is pleasure, he must then confess that he would be the happiest of all men, if he were to lead his life in a perpetual hunger, thirst, and itching, and by consequence in perpetual eating, drinking, and scratching himself, which, any one may easily see, would be not only a base but a miserable state of life. These are, indeed, the lowest of pleasures, and the least pure; for we can never relish them but when they are mixed with the contrary pains. The
As the plough is the typical instrument of indus. try, so the fetter is the typical instrument of the restraint or subjection necessary in a nation-either literally, for its evil-doers, or figuratively, in accepted laws, for its wise and good men. You have to choose between this figurative and literal use; for depend upon it, the more laws you accept, the fewer penal. ties you will have to endure, and the fewer punishe ments to enforce. For wise laws and just restraints are to a noble nation not chains, but chain-mail-strength and defence, though something also of an incum. brance. And this necessity of restraint, remember, is just as honorable to man as the necessity of labor. You hear every day greater numbers of foolish peo. ple speaking about liberty, as if it were such an honorable thing: so far from being that, it is, on the whole, and in the broadest sense, dishonorable, and an attribute of the lower creatures. No human be. ing, however great or powerful, was ever so free as a fish. There is always something that he must, or must not do; while the fish may do whatever he likes. All the kingdoms of the world put together are not half so large as the sea, and all the railroads and wheels that ever were, or will be invented, are not so easy as fins. You will find, on fairly thinking ot' it, that it is his restraint which is honorable to man, not his liberty; and, what is more, it is restraint which is honorable even in the lower animals. A butterfly is much more free than a bee; but you honor the bee more, just because it is subject to cer. tain laws which fit it for orderly function in bee society. And throughout the world, of the two ab. stract things, liberty and restraint, restraint is always the more honorable. It is true, indeed, that in these and all other matters you never can reason finally from the abstraction, for both liberty and restraint are good when they are nobly chosen, and both
are bad when they are badly chosen; but of the this alternative do so by narrowing their thoughts two, I repeat, it is restraint which characterizes the and interest to things which can be spoken of withni her creature and betters the lower creature; and, out venturing within the region of principles that from the ministering of the archangel to the labor of is, to small practical matters which would come right the insect-from the poising of the planets to the of themselves if but the minds of mankind were gravitation of a grain of dust-the power and glory strengthened and enlarged, and which will never be of all creatures, and all matter, consist in their obedi- made effectually right until then—while that which ence, not in their freedom. The sun has no liberty would strengthen and enlarge men's minds, free and -a dead leaf has much. The dust of which you are daring speculation on the highest subjects, is aban. formed has no liberty. Its liberty will come-with doned. its corruption. And, therefore, I say boldly, though it seems a strange thing to say in England, that as
EARTHLY HAPPINESS. the first power of a nation consists in knowing how to guide the plough, its second power consists in
CALEB COLTON—“ LACOX." knowing how to wear the fetter.
What is earthly happiness? That phantom of which we hear so much and see so little; whose
promises are constantly given and constantly broken, SOCIAL INTOLERANCE.
but as constantly believed; that cheats us with the
sound inste:ad of the substance, and with the blossom JOHN STUART MILL.
instead of the fruit. Like Juno, she is a goddess in Though we do not inflict so much evil on those
pursuit, but a cloud in possession, deified by those who think differently from us as it was formerly our who cannot enjoy her, and despised by those who custom to do, it may be that we do ourselves as can. Anticipation is her herald, but disappointment much evil as ever by our treatment of them. Soco is her companion; the first addresses itself to our rates was put to death, but the Socratic philosophy imagination, that would believe, but the latter to our rose like the sun in heaven, and spread its illumina
experience, that must. Happiness, that great mistion over the whole intellectual firmament. Chris- tress of the ceremonies in the dance of life, impels tians were cast to the lions, but the Christian Church
us through all its mazes and meanderings, but leads grew up a stately and spreading tree, overtopping none of us by the same route. Aristippus pursued the older and less vigorous growths, and stilling them her in pleasure, Socrates in wisdom, and Epicurus in by its shade. Our merely social intolerance kills no both; she received the attentions of each, but bestowed one, roots out no opinions, but induces men to dis- her endearments on neither, although, like some guise them, or to abstain from any active effort for other gillants, they all boasted of more favours thar. their diffusion. With us, heretical opinions do not they had received. Warned by their failure, the stoic perceptibly gain or even lose ground in each decade adopted a most paradoxical mode of preferring his or generation. They never blaze out far and wide, suit; he thought, by slandering, to woo her; by shunbut continue to smoulder in the narrow circles of
ing, to win her; and proudly presumed that, by flee. thinking and studious persons, among whom they ing her, she would turn and follow him. She is originate, without ever lighting up the general affairs deceitful as the calm that precedes the hurricane, of mankind with either a true or a deceptive light. smooth as the water on the verge of a catıract, and
A convenient plan for having peace in the beautiful as the rainbow, that smiling daughter of the intellectual world, and keeping all things going on storm; but, like the mirage in the desert, she tantal. therein very much as they do already. But the price izes us with a delusion that distance creates, and that paid for this sort of intellectual pacification is the contiguity destroys. Yet, when unsought, she is sacrifice of the entire moral courage of the human often found, and, when unexpected, often obtained; mind. A state of things in which a large portion of while those who seek for her the most diligentiy fail the most active and inquiring intellects find it advis- the most, because they seek her where she is not. able to keep the genuine principles and grounds of Antony sought her in love; Brutus in glory; Cæsar their convictions within their own breasts, and at- in dominion; the first found disgrace, the second distempt, in what they address to the public, to fit as gust, the last ingratitude, and each destruction. To much as they can of their own conclusions to pre- some she is more kind, but not less cruel; she hands mises which they have internally renounced, cannot them her cup, and they drink even to stupefaction, send forth the open, fearless characters, and logical until they doubt whether they are men with Philip, consistent intellects who once adorned the thinking or dream that they are gods with Alexander. On world.
some she smiles, as on Napoleon, with an aspect The sort of men who can be looked for under it more bewitching than an Italian sun; but it is only are either mere conformers to commonplace or time. to make her frown the more terrible, and by one servers for truth, whose arguments on all great sub- short caress to embitter the pangs of separation. Yet jects are meant for their hearers, and are not those is she, by universal homage and consent, a queen: which have convinced themselves. Those who avoid and the passions are the vassal lords that crowd her
court, await her mandate, and move at her control. But, like other mighty sovereigns, she is so surrounded by her envoys, her officers, and her ministers of state, that it is extremely difficult to be admitted to her presence-chamber, or to have any immediate communication with herself. Ambition, avarice, love, revenge, all these seek her, and her alone; alas! They are neither presented to her, nor will she come to them. She despatches, however, her envoys unto them—mean and poor representatives of their queen. To ambition, she sends power; to avarice, wealth; to love, jealousy; to revenge, remorse; alas! What are these, but so many other names for vexati&n or disappointment? Neither is she to be won by flattery or by brides; she is to be gained by waging war against her enemies, much sooner than by paying any partic. ular court to herself. Those that conquer her adversaries, will find that they need not go to her, for she will come unto them. None bid so high for her as kings; few are more willing, none more able to purchase her alliance at the fullest price. But she has no more respect for kings than for their subjicts; she mocks them, indeed, with the empty show ot' a visit, by sending to their palaces all her equipage, her pomp, and her train, but she comes not herself. What detains her? She is traveling incognita to keep a private assignation with contentment, and to partilhe of a tête-à-tête and a dinner of herbs in a cottage. Hear, then, mighty queen! What sovereigns seldom hear, the words of soberness and truth. I neither despise thee too little, nor desire thee too much; for thou wieldest an earthly sceptre, and thy gifts cannot exceed thy dominion. Like other potentates, thou also art a creature of circumstances, and an Ephemeris of time. Like other potentates, thou also, when stripped of thy auxiliaries, art no longer ro' apetent to thine own subsistence; nay, thou canst not even stand by thyself. Unsupported by content on the one hand, and by health on the other, ihou fallest an unwieldy and bloated fragment to the ground.
misery; a huge insensible force, beneath which all that is spiritual is sooner or later wounded, and is ever liable to be crushed. This conception of Fate is grand, is natural, and fully warranted to minds too lofty to be satisfied with the details of human life, but which have not risen to the far higher conception of a Providence to whom this uniformity and variety are but means to a higher end than they apparently
a involve. There is infinite blessing in having reached the nobler conception; the feeling of helplessness is re.ieved; the craving for sympathy from the ruling power is satisfied; there is a hold for veneration; there is room for hope: there is, above all, the stimulus and support of an end perceived or anticipated; a purpose which steeps in sanctity all huinan exper. ience. Yet even where this blessing is the most fully felt and recognized, the spirit cannot but be at times overwhelmed by the vast regularity of aggregate existence-thrown back upon its faith for sup. port, when it reflects how all things go on as they did before it became conscious of existence, and how all would go on as now, if it were to die to day. On it rolls—not only the great globe itself, but the life which stirs and hums on its surface, enveloping it like an atinosphere;-on it rolls; and the vastest tumult that may take place among its inhabitants can no more make itself seen and heard above the gen. eral stir and hum of life, than Chimborazo or the loftiest Himalaya can list its peak into space abuve the atmosphere. On-on it rolls; and the strong arm of the united race could not turn from its course one planetary mote of the myriads that swim in space; no shriek of passion, nor shrill song of joy, sent up from a group of nations or a continent, could attain the ear of the eternal silence, as she sits throned among the stars.
Death is less dreary than 1.fe in this view-a view which at times, perhaps, presents itself to every mind, but which speedily vanishes before the fa th of those who, with the heart, believe that they are not the accidents of fate, but the chil. dren of a Father.
ON-FOR EVER ON!
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
while hundreds of millions of human hearts Elizabeth or Mary a Paptist or Protestant; or their have stirring within them struggles and emotions father both or either, according to his humor; and eternally new!-an experience so diversified as that acting without any pangs of remorse, —but on the no two days appear alike to any one, and to no two contrary, with strict notions of duty fulfilled. Make does any one day appear the same. There is some. dogma absolute, and to inflict or suffer death becomes thiny so striking in this perpetual contrast between
necessary; and Mohammed's soldiers the externul uniformity and internal variety of the shouting “Paradise! Paradise!” and dying on ine procedure of existence, that it is n wonder that mul. Christian spears, are not more or less praisewoi thay titudes have formed a conception of Fate-ot a than the same men slaughtering a towniul of Jerry mighly unchanging power, blind to the differences of
or cutting off the heads of all prisoners wou wou.u spiriis, and deaf to the appeals of human delight and not acknowledge the prophet of God.
SCENES IN HELL.
DANTI—"HELL, PURGATORY AND PARADISE."
Such characters in colour dim I mark'd
forth To mine, with pleasant looks, whence I was cheer'd, Into that secret place he led me on.
Here sighs with lamentations and loud moans Resounded through the air pierc'd by no star, That e'en I wept at entering. Various tongues, Horrible languages, outcries of woe, Accents of anger, voices deep and hoarse, With hands together smote that swellid the sounds, Made up a tumult, that for ever whirls Round through that air with solid darkness stain'd, Like to the sand that in the whirlwind flies.
I then, with error yet encompass'd, cried : “O master! what is this I hear? what race Are these, who seem so overcome with woe?"
He thus to me: “ This miserable fate
I then: “Master! what doth aggrieve them thus,
And I, who straightway look'd, beheld a flag,
When some of these I recogniz'd, I saw
And knew the shade of him, who to base fear
Then looking farther onwards I beheld A throng upon the shore of a great stream: Whereat I thus: “Sir! grant me now to know Whom here we view, and whence impellid they seen. So eager to pass o'er, as I discern Through the blear light?” He thus to me in few: “ This shalt thou know, soon as our steps arrive Beside the woeful tide of Acheron." Then with eyes downward cast and fill'd with
shame, Fearing my words offensive to his ear, Till we had reach'd the river, I from speech Abstain'd. And lo! toward us in a bark Comes on an old man hoary white with eld, Crying, “Woe to you wicked spirits! hope not Ever to see the sky again. I come To take you to the other shore across, Into eternal darkness, there to dwell In fierce heat and in ice. And thou, who there Standest, live spirit! get thee hence, and leave These who are dead." But soon as he beheld I left them not, “ By other way,” said he, “ By other haven shalt thou come to shore, Not by this passage; thee a nimbler boat Must carry.” Then to him thus spake my guide: “Charon! thyself torment not: so 't is will’d. Where will and power are one: ask thou no more."
Straightway in silence fell the shaggy cheeks Of him the boatman o'er the livid lake, Around whose eyes glar'd wheeling flames. Mean.
while Those spirits, faint and naked, color chang'd, And gnash'd their teeth, soon as the cruel words They heard. God and their parents they blasphem'd The human kind, the place, the time, and seed That did engender them and g re them birth.
Then all together sorely wailing drew
Thus go they over through th- umber'd wave
Stii gainers. “Son,” thus spake the courteous guide,
This said, the gloomy region trembling shook
From the first circle I descended thus Down to the second, which a lesser space Embracing, so much more of grief contains Provoking bitter moans. There Minos stands Grinning with ghastly feature: he, of all Who enter, strict examining the crimes, Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, According as he foldeth him around: For when before hiin comes th’ ill-fated soul, It all confess 's; and that judge severe Of sins, considering what place in hell Suits the tran-gression, with his tail so oft Himself encircles, as degrees beneath He dooms it to descend. Before him stand Alway a num'rous throng; and in his turn Each one to judgment passing, speaks, and hears llis fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl'd.
“ () thou! who to this residence of woe Approachest,' when he saw me coming, cried alinos, relinquishing his dread employ, “ Look how thou enter here; beware in whom Thou place thy trust; let not the entrance broad Deceive thee to thv harm” To him my guide: " Wherefore exclaim st? Hinder not his way By destiny appointed; so 'tis will'd Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more.”
Now 'gin the rueful wailings to be heard.
I understood that to this torment sad
Chanting their dol'rous notes, traverse the sky,
My sense reviving, that erewhile had droop'd
Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange, Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog Over the multitude immers'd beneath. His eves glare crimson, black his unctuous beard, His belly large, and claw'd the hands, with which He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs, Under the rainy deluge, with one side The other screening, ost they roll them round, A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm Descried us, savage Cerberus, he op'd His jaws, and the fangs show'd us; not a limb Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms Expanding on the ground, thence filled with earth Rais'd them, and cast it in his ravenous maw. E'en as a dog, that yelling bays for food His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fali His fury, bent alone with eager haste To swallow it; so dropped the loathsome cheeks Of demon Cerberus, who t..und'ring stuns The spirits, that i 'y for deatness wish in vain.
We, o'er the shades thrown prostrate by the brunt Of the heavy tempest assing, set our feet Upon their emptiness, that substance seem'd.
They all along the earth extended lay Save one, that sudden rais'd himself to sit, Soon as that way he saw us pass. “ O thou!" He cried, “who through the infernal shades art led, Own, if again thou know’st me. Thou wast fram'a Or ere my frame was broken." I replied: “The anguish thou endur'st perchance so takes Thy forın from my remembrance, that it seems As if I saw thee never. But inform Me who thou art, that in a place so sad Art set, and in such torment, that although Other be greater, more disgustful none Can be imagin'd.” He in answer thus: “Thy city heap'd with envy to the brim, Aye that the measure overflows its bounds, Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin Of glutt'ny, damned vice, beneath this rain, E'en as thou seest, I with fatigue am worn; Nor I sole spirit in this woe: all these Have by like crime incurr'd like punishment."