want a good, perhaps to correspond to our preconceptions; for this, it is evident, would be correspondent to them all. Your doctrine, replied I, is so new and strange, that though you have been copious in explainingit, I can hardly yet comprehend you.

2 It amounts all, said he, but to this: Place your happiness, where your praise is. I asked, Where he supposed that? Not, replied he, in the pleasures which you feel, more than your disgrace lies in the pain; not in the casual prosperity of fortune, more than your disgrace in the casual adversity; but in just complete action throughout every part of life, whatever be the face of things, whether favourable or the contrary.

But why then, said I, such accuracy about externals? So much pains to be informed, what are pursuable, what avoidable? It behoves the Pilot, replied he, to know the seas and the winds; the nature of tempests, calms and tides. They are the subjects, about which his art is conversant. Without a just experience of them, he can never prove himself an artist. Yet we look not for his reputation either in fair gales, or in adverse; but in the skilfulness of his conduct, be these events as they happen. In like manner fares it with the moral artist. He, for a subject, has the whole of human life: health and sickness; pleasure and pain; with every other possible incident, which can befal hin during his existence. If his knowledge of all these be accurate and exact, so too must his conduct, in which we place his happiness. But if his knowledge be defective, must not his conduct be defective also? I replied, so it should seem. And if his conduct, then his happiness? It is true..

Book vi. You see then, continued he, even though externals were as nothing; though it was true, in their own nature, they were neither good nor evil; yet an accurate knowledge of them is, from your hypothesis, absolutely necessary. Indeed, said I, you have proved it.

He continued · - Inferior artists may be at a stand, because they want materials. From their stubbornness and intractability, they may often be disappointed. But as long as life is passing, and nature continues to operate, the moral artist of life has at all times all he desires. He can never want a subject fit to exercise him in his proper calling; and that with this happy motive to the constancy of his endeavours, that the crosser, the harsher, the more untoward the events, the greater his praise, the more illustrious his reputation.

All this, said I, is true and cannot be denied. But one circumstance there appears, where your simile seems to fail. The praise indeed of the Pilot we allow to be in his conduct; but it is in the success of that conduct, where we look for his happiness. If a storm arise and the ship be lost, we call him not happy, how well soever he may have conducted it. It is then only we congratulate him, when he has reached the desired haven. Your distinction, said he, is just. And it is here lies the noble prerogative of moral artists, above all others. But yet I know not how to explain myself, I fear my doctrine will appear so strange. You may proceed, said I, safely, since you advance it but as an hypothesis.

Thus, then, continued he--The end in other hearts is ever distant and removed. It consists not in the mere conduct, much less in a single energy; but in the just result of many energies,

each of which are essential to it. Hence, by obstacles unavoidable, it may often be retarded: nay more, may be so embarrassed, as never possibly to be attained. But in the moral art of life, the very conduct is the End; the very conduct, I say, itself, throughout its every minutest energy; because each of these, however minute, partake as truly of rectitude, as the largest combinations of them, when considered collectively. Hence of all arts this is the only one perpetually complete in every instant, because it needs not, like ofher arts, time to arrive at that perfection, at which in every instant it is arrived already. Hence by duration, it is not rendered either more or less perfect; completion, like truth, admitting of no degrees, and being in no sense capable of either intension or remission. And hence too by necessary connection (which is a greater paradox than all) even that Happiness or Sovereign Good, the end of this moral art, is itself too, in every instant, consummate and compleat; is neither heightened nor diminished by the quantity of its duration, but is the same to its enjoyers, for a moment or a century.

Upon this I smiled. He asked me the reason. It is only to observe, said I, the course of our enquiries. A new hypothesis has been advanced : appearing somewhat strange, it is desired to be explained. You comply with the request, and in pursuit of the explanation, make it ten times. more obscure and unintelligible, than before. It is but too often the fate, said he, of us commentators. But you know in such cases what is usually done. When the comment will not explain the text, we try whether the text will not explain itself. This method, it is possible,

may assist us here. The hypothesis which we would have illustrated, was no more than this: That the Sovereign Good lay in Rectitude of Conduct; and that this Good corresponded to all our pre-conceptions. Let us examine then, whether, upon trial, this correspondence will appear to hold ; and, for all that we have advanced since, suffer it to pass, and not perplex us. Agreed, said I, willingly, for now I hope to comprehend you.

Recollect then, said he. Do you not remem ber that one pre-conception of the Sovereign Good, was to be accommodated to all times. and places? I remember it. And is there any time, or any place, whence Rectitude of Conduct may be excluded? Is there not a right action in prosperity, a right action in adversity? May there not be a decent, generous, and Jaudable behaviour, not only in peace, in power, and in health; but in war, in oppression, in sickness, and in death? There may.

And what shall we say to those other preconceptions; to being durable, self-derived, and indeprivable? Can there be any Good so durable, as the power of always doing right? Is there any Good conceivable, so entirely beyond the power of others? Or, if you hesitate, and are doubtful, I would willingly be informed, into what circumstances may fortune throw a brave and honest man, where it shall not be in his power to act bravely and honestly: If there be no such, then Rectitude of Conduct, if a Good, is a Good indeprivable. I confess, said I, it appears so.

But farther, said he: Another pre-conception of the Sovereign Good was, to be agreeable to nature. It was. And can any thing be more

187 agreeable to a rational and social animal, than rational and social conduct? Nothing. But Rectitude of Conduct is with us Rational and Social Conduct. It is.

Once more, continued he; Another preconception of this Good was, to be conducive not to mere being, but to well-being. Admit it. And can any thing, believe you, conduce so probably to the well-being of a rational, social animal, as the right exercise of that reason, and of those social affections! Nothing. And what is the same exercise, but the highest Rectitude of Conduct? Certainly. HARRIS.

CHA P. I I I.

On Criticism.

--AND how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night? Oh, against all rule, my lord, most ungrammatically! betwixt the substantive and the adjective, which should agree together in number, case and gender, he made a breach thus, -- stopping as if the point wanted settling ; and betwixt the nominative case, which your lordship knows should govern the verb, he suspended his voice in the epilogue a dozen times, three seconds and three fifths by a stop-watch my lord, each time. -- Admirable grammarian!

But in suspending his voice -- was the sense suspended likewise ? did no expression of attitude or countenance fill up the chasm? Was the eye silent? Did you narrowly look? I look'd only at the stop-watch, my lord. -Excellent observer.

And what of this new book the whole world makes such a rout about? Oh! 'tis out of all plumb, my lord,--quite an irregular thing! not