M. J. CHAPMAN.

Is it true, that men of genius and high talents always want judgment, and are unfit for the conduct of affairs? Or is this cry nothing more than the mode by which coarse, dull, hard-headed men, reconcile to themselves their own deficiencies? It may be said, that the former class think and judge rightly upon admitted data, but that their warmth is apt to assume inaccurate or false data. This may sometimes happen, but not exclusively to genius and talents; and coldness may as probably see too little of facts, as warmth may see too much of them.

Genius, indeed, is, from its generous and noble nature, too commonly inclined to give mankind credit for more virtue and philanthropy than they possess. In this respect, genius is undoubtedly more liable to err in its premises than common minds; and we hear enough, every day, of the charge of "arguing right upon wrong premises." But then we are bound to avoid the dishonesty of taking advantage of this supposed deficiency of judgment with regard to the assumption of premises, to throw doubt on the accuracy of judgments founded on admitted premises. Mere vulgar men, of dry, hard business, do indeed frequently contrive to conduct things to a successful issue, without being able to give any satisfactory reason for what they do, or

shew any principle of action. They blunder on by a mere sort of tact, which may be said to have something of the character of instinct. But then this does not apply when any question is raised; when that happens, it must be determined by the rules of reason and the principles of justice.

Men of business never raise abstract questions, and with still more certainty it may be said, that they are never capable of resolving them. It was never said or thought, that men of genius or high talent were fitted to execute the drudgery of their own designs or speculations. The question is, What faith is to be put on the soundness of the designs or speculations? Now, the soundness of a design or speculation must be two-fold; not only the superstructure must be true, but the foundation must be good.

The genius or talent, therefore, is not solid, of whose mind the products do not partake of both these qualities. With regard to execution, a general-inchief, who forms an able and profound plan of a campaign, is no otherwise to blame for the ill-execution of any of the respective parts of his generals of division, than so far as it depended on his own discretion to make choice of his instruments or agents; and so far as the choice afforded him, was sufficiently ample. I say, then, that if the

design or speculation, taken abstractedly, be not solid, he who forms it must want solid genius or talents.

solid

It is necessary to notice the words, "abstractedly taken;" because, where the design or speculation touches SELF, there passion may intervene to discolour and falsify.

I presume it is to this last circumstance that we must look, as furnishing a reason to account for so many men of genius having led a life of error, and exposed themselves to an unbroken series of disappointments and misfortunes.

The knowledge of these distinctions, if they are true, is not unimportant. Coarse practical men are so puffed up with their own success, and are apt to use such degrading raillery on unfortunate genius or talent, that whatever has a tendency to set them right in the minds of men must be beneficial. So far as the encouragement of INTELLECT is useful or ornamental to society, every thing which tends to degrade it ought to be counteracted.

Intellect throws its direction in unseen ways, even upon those who imagine themselves to go on only by the impulse of mere brutal force.

There is a sort of awe and respect which it is necessary for high minds to command, before they can be enabled to exert the influence which it is so desirable that they should carry with them. If the false stigmas which the sordid wretches engaged in carrying on the haphazard game of common life are so anxious and expert to cast upon them should succeed, a large portion of genius would be blighted in the bud, and never advance towards fruit or flower.

It cannot be denied that there is a species of serpentine cunning, which in the world's eye, and for the purpose of worldly ends, is a good substitute for wisdom. This consists principally in deceit, in simulation and dissimulation, in taking advantage of men's passions and follies in the plausible profession of principle or honourable sentiment, only for the purpose of lure or trap, and abandon them the instant they cease to answer some selfish benefit.

But such opinions do not deserve

encouragement

they lead

every

their own mean passions and private interests to give them every nutriment in their heads and hearts for which they can find any pretext.

To justify them, therefore, in theory to set them up, as entitling those who put them in practice to deference and authority over genius and high talent (as if these two last were rather for show than use), is going beyond practical abandonment into theoretic depravity is making virtue a sound, and deliberately and systematically confounding the distinctions of right and wrong.

It must be recollected, that these arguments are in answer to those who make an attempt to deny or diminish the weight of the authority of genius or high talent; the prima facie leaning in favour of the rectitude of their decisions, or resolves, or reasonings, or sentiments. We know that, strictly, these ought to depend solely on their own intrinsic strength and truth; but when collateral presumptions towards the contrary side are set up, it is time to speak out in their defence.

No man ought lightly to be driven from his hold at a late period of life: he has long taken his stand, and, probably, no other is then open to him. If he is decidedly in the wrong indeed, it is never too late to give way; but others ought to be very cautious, and very sure of their right, before they begin the attack. No doubtful arguments or plausibilities will justify it.

At this late period, and where there is no opening for a retreat, it is not in human nature to bear, without a severe struggle, such an effort to destroy one's self-complacence.

Unquestionably, multitudes of human beings discover on looking back, when near their journey's end, that they have been wandering in wrong paths. They are bound to endure their own discoveries, however painful; but it is not to be endured that they should have the sight of these errors (still less supposed errors) rudely obtruded on them by others: and it is least of all endurable if it should happen to be done for private ends, or for the gratification of malignant passions.

The common opinion would deem, that there is a superfluity of subtle and over-refined reasoning and sentiment in all this. Mankind in general,

latter days, or in any part of their lives.

It may be granted, that the mass of society are very much hardened, if not brutalised, in their daily conflict of human necessities, human interests, and human vanities. But, still, there are great numbers who are alive to all the mental disquietudes which I have mentioned; and these are they to whom the most respect is due, and on whose happiness the infliction of such severe injuries is a flagrant crime.

Sensibility may be morbidit may be selfish; its care may be to avoid pain to itself: but whence does that

principle which must throw the frailty of poor humanity into entire despondency. The will must sometimes be taken for the deed; the charity of the heart must sometimes be taken for a redeeming virtue, even when it ends in wishes and dreams, leaving the act unaccomplished, unembodied-as airy as a passing vapour; or, if effected, productive of an opposite end.

The conscience with regard to others, the scrupulous and anxious desire to do as one would be done by, is indeed immeasurably different in different persons. There are a few noble beings in whom not only the benevolent feel

to the pain or ill-doing of others. It is not selfish, therefore, in its cause, if it is so in its effect.

A good deal is said against sensibility, and more especially since the time of Rousseau; but very little skill is used, or pains are taken, to distinguish the true from the false. Both are confounded-the use and the abuse -in one sweeping condemnation.

As far as genius is concerned, it is quite impossible that any eminent degree of poetical or moral genius should exist without it. If the senses were not susceptible and vivid, the fancy could never be duly furnished; if the heart were not tender, or active and strong in its emotions, there would be a deficiency of all just and impressive sentiment. Poetical or moral genius could, therefore, no more exist without sensibility, than a fountain without

water.

The art and duty lies in the discipline, direction, and control of this sensibility. If not properly managed, it cannot be denied that it may gradually absorb all regard but to its own selfish pains and pleasures; but it then changes its nature, and becomes rather corporeal and personal than mental: for, surely, there is an original corporeal sensitiveness, which belongs to many who have hearts natively hard, and certainly not softened by time or age.

But persons of sensibility, deep both by nature and culture, may have it still ruling over them in all its force, even while they may be the cause, both to themselves and others, of great suffering. If nothing is to be deemed sensibility towards the happiness to others, but that of which the effects are happiness to others, we judge by a

occasion is presented, but which is not suffered to evaporate in internal emotion, but is urged, in every practicable way, into action. I have seen one or two instances; but the trying solicitudes to which such high virtue is exposed, are almost too great for the fortitude of the human heart.

There is a sort of coarse practical benevolence little touched by painful sensibility, which Providence seems to have ordained, as more consistent with the fallen state of the ordinary class of mankind.

That those operations of genius which are occupied in the delineation of the visionary part of our nature should be assigned as a blessing and an ornament to us, and yet that a large portion of those who are warmed and cheered by its beams should be insensible or ungrateful to the sources whence they derive these enjoyments, may perhaps be a dispensation to hide from them the mortifying sense of their own native inferiority.

I am fully aware of the surprise with which many persons view these sorts of discussions, which they_call not merely idle but vexatious. It is not to be denied that many are not at leisure to pursue them, and many are not formed with a capacity to pursue them; but there are others, who have both the leisure and the capacity, and in whom it seems a desertion of duty not to pursue them. A part of mankind are as much destined for speculation as others are for mere action: to them, it is not sufficient to go round and round in the same mechanical steps, like a blind horse in a mill. But all sophistry is detestable; all that kind of artful discussion, which goes just far enough to confound the simple,

plain, and true colours of things, and disturbs and displaces every thing, without replacing any thing. The weapons of discussion should not be permitted to those who have not the talent, the integrity, or the leisure to use them fairly. There is nothing which gives one a more despondent view of human nature, than the impression that principle and reasoning have nothing to do with practical life that they are mere empty ornament, well enough for the idle amusement of the closet, but not capable of being brought into use. If this be true, then this same principle and reasoning become subjects of odium and evil, because they are then the tools for deception and fraud to work with.

If it be said that sagacious common sense hits on right means, and aims at right results, in the conduct of human business, though it may be to explain them by, or reconcile them to, what is deemed correct principle and correct reasoning, then it must be inferred that man is intended to be governed, like brutes, by something in the nature of instinct rather than intellect.

Perhaps it will be answered, that all the objections made to impracticability of speculative opinions are solely directed against carrying them to unbending extremes, and thereby allowing no exceptions or qualifications. But this is not accurate--the objections made are to the general truth of them: for though almost all principles will allow of some limitations, the general rule must be taken to be binding, till the ground of exception is clearly and strictly shewn; whereas these practical Solomons insist upon the presumption being against the sage of abstract principle, and arrogate to themselves the right of throwing the onus probandi on him. Hence they cannot, without inconsistence, deny that the position to which they hold is this: that general reasonings and principles are to be taken as GENERALLY wrong! !!!

There is another mode of varying the charge against the applicability of general truths, which these practical Solomons sometimes resort to. They raise a question of prudence and expediency as to time, place, or person.

It may be admitted that truth is not to be spoken at all times, in all places,

in general, most beneficial virtues; and the habitual practice of the contrary falls under the odious immorality of dissimulation, or falsehood.

If this, therefore, be the foundation of the charge of want of judgment or common sense, it must assume judgment or common sense to be nothing else than heartless, selfish, and dishonourable cunning.

"Come, then," the Solomons will now proceed to argue, "let us bring all this subtle conflict, or plausible argumentation, to the only sound testthe test of experience. What is the sort of sense that succeeds in the world? Is it not the very sense which the men of abstract and speculative wisdom decry?"

Admit it: what does it prove? Why, that Wickedness is more calculated to succeed in the world than Virtue; that Deceit will be more prosperous than Integrity, than Openness; and that, when the Solomons say that a man of high genius wants that part of intellect called judgment, they mean that he wants that freedom from conscience which adapts all the means and ends of the understanding to the accomplishment of its own selfish interests.

If it be the effect of high talents, and the noble thoughts which almost always accompany high talents, to deal with mankind as if they were better than they are, and thus to expose themselves to defeat by placing confidence where it is not deserved, let not this be attributed to a want of judgment, but to the self-sacrifice of Virtue. It is the price which Virtue pays, and the suffering which is to entitle it to part of its reward.

If, then, the frailty of human nature may be forgiven for wanting this virtue, it is yet too much that the possession of it should be made a charge liable to censure, and justifying ill-usage.

Many things which may be forgiven cannot be defended; and he that not only commits errors, but obstinately persists in arguing them to be truths, is much more faulty for the second part of the offence than the first. If he cannot distinguish truth from falsehood, he is a wilful fool; if he defends it in defiance of knowledge, he is still

worse.

brains at last, what colour have they for lamentation or abuse?

They are apt to mistake their hardheadedness for skill, and therefore encourage in themselves a self-confidence, which leads them in the end to meet obstacles, or snares, or quagmires, which they cannot overcome.

It is quite impossible that these men, who boast of their judgment or common sense, should penetrate into the real lights of steerage, when they come into the wide sea, and broad daylight fails, and they lose the sight of land. They know nothing of the interual movements of the human bosom; they have no compass to direct them in unknown seas; they mistake appearances not of ordinary and daily occurrence; the calm that precedes the tempest they suppose to be the presage of a long continuance of fair weather; and they sport with position in a blind and rash security. When the storm bursts, they rave, as if Providence had committed treason against their self-delusion.

If real judgment in the conduct of human affairs be (as I conceive it ought to be) mainly occupied in the double task, both of deciding the probable course of events under given circumstances, and of choosing the rule of right applicable to such events, then who can possess that degree of intelligent capacity which is equal to this task, but one who has an intimate insight into the springs of human action? Will it be pretended that these dull plodding fellows, to whom is ascribed this cool judgment and common sense, have any such insight?

If the opinions here combated were merely opinions thrown out in a particular case, for a particular purpose, they might not be worth all this toil of ideas and words to combat them. The obvious partiality of the view that prompted them might be left to be their sufficient answer; but they are opinions very extensively, very generally, if not universally cherished. The cause of this may be, that they flatter the popular conceit. The mass of mankind neither are, nor can be conversant with abstract principles and speculative wisdom.

The idle mind, which takes every thing carelessly as it comes, and makes itself the sport of whatever interest, or caprice, or folly, successively throws up in the air, will sneer or smile at all

this labour or froth, as it will call it, about nothing at all. But if no one takes any pains to dispense these vapours or bubbles, they will accumulate and conglomerate at last, till they sit upon the human understanding like a mantle of pestilential darkness.

Let them who feel no irritation at such dispersions of error, lull themselves in their ease as long as they will; I do not blame them: but if others cannot take it so quietly, let them also have their own way, and incur no censure for endeavouring to bring forward what they deem to be the truth.

MORAL DOUBTS SIT UPON SOME MINDS LIKE NIGHT-MARES ON THE BREAST; THERE IS NO BREATHING TILL THEY ARE THROWN OFF.

Innumerable difficulties as to the discipline of the mind and heart incessantly puzzle and harass me. Among these is to what extent we may be allowed to drink oblivion to our own private concerns, by draughts of the seductive cup of literature. It seems to me, that I have been unjustly and cruelly blamed (often indirectly where not directly) for this indulgence: I can only say, that I had no choice but to do this or to lose my reason. The intensity of interest attending one's own affairs is too exhausting for my feeble strength; the thought of them, after a little while, works on my heart like the beak and claws of the vulture. The question is not, therefore, between the degree of attention which I give to these affairs, and the greater degree which it is supposed I might give, but between the degree given and none at all; for how could I give my attention after my reason was lost?

Providence has intended that the mind should have relaxations, and those relaxations in proportion to the intensity with which it works. I cannot new-create myself, and give myself a fortitude and patience beyond nature

why should perfection be demandable of me? Why am I not given the ordinary latitude for the defects of frail humanity? I have heavy and unsparing task-masters; to indulge in innocent and elevating amusements is a crime in ME. What if it had been said to Milton, "You should have been making money for your daughters, by prostituting your pen to state-jobbery instead of writing Paradise Lost?" To be sure, Paradise Lost and the fruit of