ture; we experience greater confidence, are more strong against difficulty, and better prepared for happiness.

Unless these maxims are well founded, morality contradicts itself, counselling us to spread among others the enjoyments that we must ourselves reject. It would even condemn the satisfaction that we feel, in witnessing the pleasures of which we have been the authors.

There is then an art of tasting repose and pleasure in a moral view. This art is not only useful, it is laudable; there is almost an obligation for us to discover and to observe it. It embraces the time, measure, and choice of enjoyments; the circumstances which accompany, and the spirit which should be carried into them. Its rules are simple in the conception, but not always easy in observation.

Let pleasure and repose always fill up these intervals of labor, in proportion to its fatigues! Let them be always a reward of preceding efforts, and a necessary preparation to those which are to follow! The satisfaction which accompanies them, the new hopes which are excited, will enhance their price, and increase their sweetness. This moral intention, so just and so useful, will consecrate, as it were, the enjoyments which would have been almost entirely material, to which will be joined also even a religious sentiment, purifying and ennobling them. Pleasure and repose ought to be subjected, doubtless, to just limits, for the mere interest of enjoyment; but personal feeling has not the prudence to recognize and observe these limits: we ought to thank virtue for having instituted and guarantied an economy so useful to our happiness. Besides, limits are necessary to preserve self-government and liberty: they attest the presence of the moral being even in the midst of pleasure, by the power exercised over pleasure, whether in accepting, rejecting, or moderating it. In the choice of pleasures, we should avoid whatever tends to degrade us; in tasting repose, whatever would stupify us. The refreshments of repose should be as animated as possible; those of pleasure, on the contrary, should preserve a certain degree of calmness. In both, we should avoid grossness, and whatever engenders, agitation, or resembles self-abandonment. Repose does not exclude vigilance, pleasure invokes it to preserve itself from the intoxication by which it would be corrupted. The means of rendering pleasure more pure and its influence more useful, is to unite its secret relations, which address themselves to our

noblest faculties, to the sensible impressions which compose its train, thus interesting both the heart and mind. The senses ought never so to invade the existence of man, as to occupy him exclusively: this would be, on his part, an abdication of his nature. Pleasure should be an ornament of life; the images of order should be reproduced in enjoyment; for the sense of beauty and propriety, rendering enjoyment more delicate, preserves its purity.

Pleasure can only be legitimate and pure, can only be salutary, to him who is innocent of all pain caused to another. Not only so: pleasure to be complete, must be fed by social intercourse: solitary pleasure is always imperfect, narrow, and dry. Pleasures the most material take a new character, when tasted in common, and become a sort of symbol or channel, for the delightful affections of social intercourse. Pleasure disposing the heart to openness, the communication of enjoyment gives a deeper sympathy, and, reciprocally, sympathy gives to pleasure something tender and delicate. Selfishness is less displayed, when we thus enjoy the pleasure of others at the same time as our own. The tie which unites for a moment those, who sit down to the banquet of innocent pleasure, is one of the ties of humanity: it makes us feel and recall other ties, at least, confusedly, and thus raises what might have been entirely material in pleasure, indirectly favoring communication and overflowing of hearts, and the tacit engagement to reciprocal benevolence. These are pleasures really complete, shedding exquisite perfumes. Let us reanimate them by beneficence.

Philosophers have left to men of the world to eulogize gaiety: in this they have done wrong. They might have shown how an innocent gaiety strengthens and renovates the heart, in the midst of the fatigues of life; how gaiety prevents or dissipates the storms of passion; appeases anger, disarms enemies, dissipates the delusions of pride, brings us back to nature and truth, makes men approach each other, disposing them to confidence, indulgence, and mutual concession; how it favors the transmission of the most serious and useful truths, covering them with a veil, which softens their severity. We may often insinuate, under the shelter of gaiety, what we could not have made men adopt by the most rigorous demonstration. An innocent gaiety seems to be the smile of virtue, recommending her, by showing her amiable, and announcing her happy.

The unemployed, who are discontented with themselves, not being able to find in pleasure its true end, a refreshment and a preparation, demand of it emotions which may excite or divert them. Thus they are driven to seek it out of nature, and consequently, out of the conditions of truth, and the prescriptions of wisdom. They, therefore, find it a poison, instead of drawing from it strength.

There is a repose fruitful and full of activity: how few are the men who find it out; but what power they find in it, who know how to taste it!

Human nature exhibits a union of two different natures; and to this fundamental contrast, correspond a crowd of subordinate contrasts, originating from it; these are the active and passive faculties; infinite desire and limited strength; adherence to the past and avidity for the new; the instinct of imitation, and the deep desire of independence; inclinations and reason; influences peculiar to contemplation and influences peculiar to practice; to lonely and to solitary life; lastly, labor and repose, pleasure and pain. But, in this long train of contrasts, the struggle is only apparent, and harmony, like utility, arises from combinations, which reconcile opposite principles. This grand result, which has been foreseen from the first, is constantly confirmed by the development of our faculties, explaining our destiny, and affording a multitude of useful directions for our conduct, Man, a mixed being, aspiring to a better existence, yet subject to an imperfect condition, finds in it a remedy against pride, an encouragement for weakness, and a rule of temperance in every thing.

INTELLECTUAL PROGRESS

Conduces to Moral Progress.

WHEN We speak of intellectual progress, in its relation to moral progress, it is necessary to distinguish two branches of the cultivation of the mind, which we are too much accustomed to confound; viz. that which consists in the acquisition of knowledge, and that which consists in the development of the faculties. By not having attended to this essential distinction, we have often perplexed important questions, and fallen into great errors.

It is not, that there is no natural tie between these two orders of intellectual progress; for the faculties of the un

derstanding are only developed by exercise, and their culti vation profits by the acquisition of knowledge: while, on the other hand, in proportion as the faculties of the understanding are better cultivated, knowledge is more easily obtained, preserved, and applied. But these two kinds of progress do not go on always in accordance, and do not exercise a similar influence upon the character. Reason itself does not always become wiser, as the mind is more enlightened. Instruction must have some relation to the notions we possess already, and the applications we propose to make. Incom plete, incoherent knowledge may become an embarrassment and a cause of error, unless this relation is preserved; the merit and usefulness of knowledge consists in its opportuneness and conformity to plan. Hence, every acquisition of knowledge is not profitable to the character; that alone is profitable, which is connected with the art of improvement, and is in relation with our condition and destination. There is sometimes a salutary ignorance, which protects our happiness, in preserving us from indiscreet desire and deceptive ambition. There are also some truths, which we may abuse, and which may become, in our hands, hurtful instruments because we have not sufficient experience to employ them, or, because we are not placed in a situation favorable to apply them, or, in fine, because we ourselves have not the dispositions, the qualities, and the strength necessary to use well an instrument, the management of which is much more difficult than we think. For we must remember that knowledge is only a means, lending itself in active life to every kind of effect; and it may be made subservient to evil as well as to good. Not that knowledge is in fault: the fault is in the want of address, the imprudence, and especially in the blind vanity, which turns what might be a good into a poison.

There is, however, an influence which the intellectual faculties exercise over the moral faculties. This influence is directly propitious, and, as long as the intellect is well balanced, continues to be so: it begins to be hurtful only when the equilibrium of the intellect is lost, and one faculty usurps an exclusive sway. In other words intellectual progress is always in itself favorable to moral progress. But we must not admit that the first can supply the place of the second. The first only imposes, on the contrary, a greater necessity and a greater duty of laboring for the latter, in order to preserve constantly the harmony of the two systems.

Neither do we say, that one conducts necessarily to the other. We only remark, that progress of mind furnishes valuable aid for moral amelioration, but it rests with us to make this aid, of avail in self-education; hence, we should be careful that the cultivation of the mind should tend to this noble end of human destiny.

It is true, that, in general, the cultivation of the mind, when it is well directed, tends of itself to nourish the sentiment of what is noble, pure and distinguished; bringing us back constantly to truth, which is the essence of good, and to beauty, which is its resplendence: it makes us feel a want, a presentiment of virtue; it is a foretaste nourishing the love of virtue, rendering the practice of it more easy and delightful when its sacred flame shall have penetrated the heart, to which it is attached by the most enduring ties. The sentiments of the true and of the good, being in their nature essentially disinterested, dispose the soul to generous movements, and prepare it also for acts of devotedness. We consult our own testimony in the moments of self-recollection, when, free from the search after the treasures of intellect, having succeeded in seeing them, we enjoy them fully, and, when following the traces of genius and gathering its lessons, a new truth, or sublime conception takes captive our mind. How far are we then from the regions agitated by passion, or withered by selfishness! Is there not in the profound conviction produced by truth' in the emotion excited by the beautiful, a secret power, which renders us more capable of feeling what is honorable, just, praiseworthy, moral? If at this moment we meet other men, do we not greet them with a deep and more animated good will? If at this moment an opportunity for a good action is presented, do we not accept it more naturally and earnestly? There is in truth, a solemn character, which disposes to respect; in the beautiful, an amiable character which attracts us. The acts of approbation and esteem strengthen the soul, and give it repose: admiration elevates, purifies, expands the heart. To draw these salutary influences, however, from the exercises of the mind, our faculties must be directed to cherish the love of truth and the beautiful; too often, we must confess, we abuse these gifts, so that the mind corrupts and withers the heart.