may be made to pass at pleasure either for a good one or a bad one. If I may be permitted in this place to add an observation, it shall be an observation founded upon many years' experience. I have often heard declamations against the present race of men; declamations against them, as if they were the worst of animals; treacherous, false, selfish, envious, oppressive, tyrannical, &c. &c. This (I say) I have often heard from grave declaimers, and have heard the sentiment delivered with a kind of oracular pomp.-Yet I never heard any such declaimer say (what would have been sincere at least, if it had been nothing more) "I prove my asser❝tion by an example where I cannot err; "I assert myself to be the wretch I have "been just describing." So far from this, it would be perhaps dangerous to ask him, even in a gentle whisper-"You have been talking, with much confidence, about certain profligate beings-Are you certain, that you yourself are not one of the number." I hope I may be pardoned for the following anecdote, although compelled, in relating it, to make myself a party. "Sitting once in my library with a "friend, a worthy but melancholy man, "I read him out of a book, the follow"ing passage "In our time it may be spoken more "truly than of old, that virtue is gone; the "church is underfoot; the clergy is in "error; the devil reigneth, &c. &c. My "friend interrupted me with a sigh, and "said, Alas! how true! How just a pic"ture of the times!—I asked him, of what "times? Of what times! replied he with "emotion! can you suppose any other but "the present? were any before ever so "bad, so corrupt, so, &c.-Forgive me "(said I) for stopping you the times I "am reading of are older than you ima"gine; the sentiment was delivered about "four hundred years ago; its author Sir "John Mandeville, who died in 1371.” to the universe, then they lead to some. thing worse, for they lead to Atheism. The melancholy and morose character being thus insensibly formed, morals and piety sink of course; for what equals have we to love, or what superior have we to revere, when we have no other objects left than those of hatred or of terror? It should seem then expedient, if we value our better principles, nay, if we value our own happiness, to withstand such dreary sentiments. It was the advice of a wise man-" Say not thou, what is the cause that the former days were better than these? For thou dost not inquire wisely concerning this." Eccl. vii. 10. Things present make impressions ama zingly superior to things remote; so that, in objects of every kind, we are easily mistaken as to their comparative magnitude. Upon the canvas of the same picture a near sparrow occupies the space of a dis tant eagle; a near mole-hill that of a distant mountain. In the perpetration of crimes there are few persons, I believe, who would not be more shocked at actually seeing a single man assassinated (even taking away the idea of personal danger) than they would be shocked in reading the massacre of Paris. The wise man, just quoted, wishes to save us from these errors. He has already informed us-"The thing that hath been, is that which shall be; and there is no new thing under the sun. Is there any thing whereof it may be said, See, this is new? It hath been already of old time, which was before us." He then subjoins the cause of this apparent novelty-"Things past, when they return, appear new, if they are forgotten; and things present will ap pear so, should they too be forgotten, when they return." Ecc. i. 9. 11. 16. This forgetfulness of what is similar in events which return (for in every returning event such similarity exists) is the for getfulness of a mind uninstructed and weak; a mind ignorant of that great, that providential circulation which never ceases for a moment through every part of the universe. As man is by nature a social animal, good-humour seems an ingredient highly necessary to his character. It is the salt which gives a seasoning to the feast of life: and which, if it be wanting, surely renders the feast incomplete. Many causes contribute to impair this amiable quality, and nothing perhaps more than bad opinions of mankind. Bad opinions of mankind naturally lead us to Misanthropy. If these bad opinions go farther, and are applied" all new." It is not like that forgetfulness which I once remember in a man of letters; who when, at the conclusion of a long life, he found his memory began to fail, said cheerfully-"Now I shall have a plea "sure I could not have before; "reading my old books, and finding them that of There There was in this consolation something philosophical and pleasing. And yet perhaps it is a higher philosophy (could we attain it) not to forget the past but in contemplation of the past to view the future; so that we may say, on the worst prospects, with a becoming resignation, what Æneas said of old to the Cumean Prophetess, --Virgin, no scenes of ill I've seen 'em all; have seen, and long before Æn. VI. :03, 104, 105. In such a conduct, if well founded, there is not only fortitude, but piety: Fortitude, which never sinks, from a conscious integrity; and Piety, which never resists, by referring all to the Divine Will. Harris. 216. The Character of the Man of Business often united with, and adorned by, that of the Scholar and Philosopher. Philosophy, taking its name from the love of wisdom, and having for its end the investigation of truth, has an equal regard both to practice and speculation, in es much as truth of every kind is similar and congenial. Hence we find that some of the most illustrious actors upon the great theatre of the world have been engaged at times in philosophical speculation. Pericles, who governed Athens, was the disciple of Anaxagoras; Epaminondas spent his youth in the Pythagorean school; Alexander the Great had Aristotle for his preceptor; and Scipio made Polybius his companion and friend. Why need I mention Cicero, or Cato, or Brutus? The orations, the epistles, and the philosophical works of the first, shew him sufficiently conversant both in action and contemplation. So eager was Cato for knowledge, even when surrounded with business, that he used to read philosophy in the senatehouse, while the senate was assembling; and as for the patriot Brutus, though his life was a continual scene of the most important actions, he found time not only to study, but to compose a Treatise upon Virtue. When these were gone, and the worst of times succeeded, Thrasea Pætus, and Helvidius Priscus, were at the same period both senators and philosophers; and appear to have supported the severest trials of tyrannic oppression, by the manly system of the Stoic moral. The best emperor whom the Romans, or perhaps any nation, ever knew, Marcus Antoninus, was involved, during his whole life, in business of the last consequence; sometimes conspiracies forming, which he was obliged to dissipate; formidable wars arising at other times when he was obliged to take the field. Yet during none of these periods did he forsake philosophy, but still persisted in meditation, and in committing his thoughts to writing, during moments gained by stealth from the hurry of courts and campaigns. If we descend to later ages, and search our own country, we shall find Sir Thomas More, Sir Philip Sidney, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Herbert of Cherbury, Milton, Algernon Sidney, Sir Walter Temple, and many others, to have been all of them eminent in public life, and yet at the tions and literature. If we look abroad, same time conspicuous for their speculaexamples of like characters will occur in other countries. Grotius, the poet, the critic, the philosopher, and the divine, was employed by the court of Sweden as ambassador to France; and De Witt, that acute but unfortunate statesman, that pattern of parsimony and political accomplishments, was an able mathematician, wrote upon the elements of Curves, and applied his algebra with accuracy to the trade and commerce of his country. And so much in defence of Philosophy, against those who may possibly undervalue her, because they have succeeded without her; those I mean (and it must be confest they are many) who, having spent their whole lives in what Milton calls the "busy hum of men," have acquired to themselves habits of amazing efficacy, unassisted by the helps of science and erudition. To such the retired student may appear an awkward being, because they want a just standard to measure his merit, But let them recur to the bright examples before alleged; let them remember that these were eminent in their own way ; were men of action and business; men of the world; and yet did they not disdain to cultivate philosophy, nay, were many of them perhaps indebted to her for the splendour of their active character. This reasoning has a farther end. It justifies me in the address of these philosophical arrangements, as your Lord 2 G ship instruction. It may not perhaps be unentertaining to your Lordship to see in what manner the Preceptor of Alexander the Great arranged his pupil's ideas, so that they might not cause confusion, for want of accurate disposition.' It may be thought also a fact worthy your notice, that he became acquainted with this method from the venerable Pythagoras, who, unless he drew it from remoter sources, to us unknown, was, perhaps, himself its inventor and original teacher. Harris. 217. The Progressions of Art disgust ful, the Completion beautiful. Fables relate that Venus was wedded to Vulcan, the goddess of beauty to the god of deformity. The tale, as some explain it, gives a double representation of art; Vulcan shewing us the progressions of art, and Venus the completions. The progressions, such as the hewing of stone, the grinding of colours, the fusion of metals, these all of them are laborious, and many times disgustful; the completions, such as the temple, the palace, the picture, the statue, these all of them are beauties, and justly call for admiration. Now if logic be one of those arts, which help to improve human reason, it must necessarily be an art of the progressive character; an art which, not ending with itself, has a view to something far ther. If then, in the speculations upon it, it should appear dry rather than elegant, severe rather than pleasing, let it plead, by way of defence, that, though its importance may be great, it partakes from its very nature (which cannot be changed) more of the deformed god, than of the beautiful goddess. Ibid. § 218. Thoughts on Elegance. Having answered the objections usually brought against a permanent sense of * Addressed to the right honourable Thomas Lord Hyde, chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, &c. beauty, let us now proceed to single out the particular species or kinds of beauty; and begin with elegance of person, that so wonderfully elevates the human cha racter. Elegance, the most undoubted offspring and visible image of fine taste, the mo ment it appears, is universally admired: men disagree about the other constituent parts of beauty, but they all unite with out hesitation to acknowledge the power of elegance. The general opinion is, that this most conspicuous part of beauty, that is per ceived and acknowledged by every body, is yet utterly inexplicable, and retires from our search when we would discover what it is. Where shall I find the secret retreat of the graces, to explain to me the elegance they dictate, and to paint in visible colours, the fugitive and varying enchantment that hovers round a graceful person, yet leaves us for ever in agreeable and confusion? I need not seek suspence for them, madam; the graces are but emblems of the human mind, in its loveliest appearances; and while I write for you, it is impossible not to feel their influence. Personal elegance, for that is the ob ject of our present enquiry, may be de fined the image and reflection of the gran deur and beauty of the invisible soul. Grandeur and beauty in the soul itself are not objects of sense; colours cannot paint them, but they are united to sentiments that appear visible; they bestow a noble meaning and importance of attitude, and diffuse inexpressible loveliness over the person. or senti When two or more passions ments unite, they are not so readily distinguished, as if they had appeared sepa rate; however, it is easy to observe, th the complacency and admiration we feel in the presence of elegant persons, made up of respect and affection; and that we are disappointed when we see such persons act a base or indecent part. These symptoms plainly shew, that per sonal elegance appears to us be the image and reflection of an elevated and beautiful mind. In some characters, the grandeur of soul is predominant; in whom beauty is majestic and awful. In this style is Miss F. In other characters, a soft and attracting grace is more cos. spicuous: this latter kind is more pleas ing, for an obvious reason. But elegance 3 Cannot cannot exist in either alone, without a mixture of the other; for majesty with out the beautiful, would be haughty and disgusting; and easy accessible beauty would lose the idea of elegance, and become an object of contempt. The grandeur and beauty of the soul charm us universally, who have all of us implanted in our bosoms, even in the midst of misery, passions of high descent, immense ambition, and romantic hopes. You may conceive an imprisoned bird, whose wild notes, prompted by the approach of spring, gave her a confused notion of joy, although she has no distinct idea of airy flights and summer groves; so when man emerging from wretchedness assumes a nobler character, and the elevation of the human genius appears openly, we view, with secret joy and delightful amazement, the sure evidence and pledge of our dignity: the mind catches fire by a train that lies within itself, and expands with conscious pride and merit, like a generous youth over the images of his country's heroes. Of the softened and engaging part of elegance, I shall have occasion to speak at large hereafter. Personal elegance or grace is a fugitive lustre, that never settles in any part of the body, you see it glance and disappear in the features and motions of a graceful person; it strikes your view; it shines like an exhalation: but the moment you follow it, the wandering flame vanishes, and immediately lights up in something else; you may as well think of fixing the pleasing delusion of your dreams, or the colours of a dissolving rainbow. You have arisen early at times, in the summer season, to take the advantage of the cool of the morning, to ride abroad. Let us suppose you have mistaken an hour or two, and just got out a few minutes before the rising of the sun. You see the fields and woods that lay the night before in obscurity, attiring themselves in beauty and verdure; you see a profusion of brilliants shining in the dew; you see the stream gradually admitting the light into its pure bosom; and you hear the birds, which are awakened by a rapture, that comes upon them from the morning. If the eastern sky be clear, you see it glow with the promise of a fame that has not yet appeared; and if it be overcast with clouds, you see those clouds stained by a bright red, bordered with gold or silver, that by the changes appear volatile, and ready to vanish. How various and beautiful are those appearances, which are not the sun, but the distant effects of it over different objects! In like manner the soul flings inexpressible charms over the human person and actions; but then the cause is less known, because the soul for ever shines behind a cloud, and is always retired from our senses. You conceive why elegance is of a fugitive nature, and exists chiefly in motion: as it is communicated by the principle of action that governs the whole person, it is found over the whole body, and is fixed no where. The curious eye with eagerness pursues the wandering beauty, which it sees with surprise at every turn, but is never able to overtake. It is a waving flame, that, like the reflection of the sun from water, never settles; it glances on you in every motion and disposition of the body: its different powers through attitude and motion seem to be collected in dancing, wherein it plays over the arms, the legs, the breast, the neck, and in short the whole frame: but if grace has any fixed throne, it is in the face, the residence of the soul, where you think a thousand times it is just issuing into view. Elegance assumes to itself an empire equal to that of the soul; it rules and inspires every part of the body, and makes use of all the human powers; but it particularly takes the passions under its charge and direction, and turns them into a kind of artillery, with which it does infinite execution. The passions that are favourites with the graces are modesty, good nature, particularly when it is heightened by a small colouring of affection into sweetness, and that fine languor which seems to be formed of a mixture of still joy and hope. Surprise, shame, and even grief and anger, have appeared pleasing under proper restrictions; for it must be observed, that all excess is shocking and disagreeable, and that even the most pleasing passions appear to most advantage when the tincture they cast over the countenance is enfeebled and gentle. The passions that are enemies to the graces are, impudence, affectation, strong and harsh degrees of pride, malice and austerity. 2 G 2 There There is an union of the fine passions, but so delicate that you cannot conceive any one of them separate from the rest, called sensibility, which is requisite in an elegant deportment; it chiefly resides in the eye, which is indeed the seat of the passions. I have spoken of the passions only as they are subservient to grace, which is the object of our present attention. The face is the mother country, if I may call it so, or the habitation of grace; and it visits the other parts of the body only as distant provinces, with some little partiality to the neck, and the fine basis that supports it but the countenance is the very palace in which it takes up its residence; it is there it revels through its various apartments: you see it wrapped in clouded majesty upon the brow; you discover it about the lips hardly rising to a smile, and vanishing in a moment, when it is rather perceived than seen; and then by the most engaging vicissitudes, it enlivens, flames, and dissolves in the eye. You have, I suppose, all along observed, that I am not treating of beauty, which depends on different principles, but of that elegance which is the effect of a delicate and awakened taste, and in every kind of form is the enchantment that attracts and pleases universally, even with out the assistance of any other charm: whereas without it no degree of beauty is charming. You have undoubtedly seen women lovely without much beauty, and handsome without being lovely; it is gracefulness causes this variation, and throws a lustre over disagreeable features, as the sun paints a showery cloud with the colours of the rainbow. I before remarked, that the grace of every elegant person is varied agreeable to the character and disposition of the person it beautifies; I am sensible you readily conceive the reason. Elegance is the natural habit and image of the soul beaming forth in action; it must therefore be expressed by the peculia features, air, and disposition of the person; it must arise from nature, and flow with ease and a propriety that distinguishes it. The imitation of any particular person, how ever graceful, is dangerous, lest the affectation appear; but the unstudied elegance of nature is acquired by the example and conversation of several elegant persons of different characters, which peo ple adapt to the import of their own ges tures, without knowing how. It is also because elegance is the reflection of the soul appearing in action, that good statues, and pictures drawn from life, are laid before the eye in motion. If you look at the old Gothic churches built in barbarous ages, you will see the statues reared up dead and inanimate against the walls. of I said, at the beginning of this little discourse, that the beauty of dress results from mode or fashion, and it certainly does so in a great measure; but I must limit that assertion by the following observation, that there is also a real beauty in attire that does not depend on the mode: those robes which leave the whole person at liberty in its motions, and that give to the imagination the natural proportions and symmetry of the body, are always more becoming than such as restrain any part the body, or in which it is lost or disfigur ed. You may easily imagine how a pair of stays, laced tightly about the Minerva we admired, would oppress the sublime beauty of her comportment and figure. Since persons of rank cannot chuse their own dress, but must run along with the present fashion, the secret of dressing gracefully must consist in the slender va riations that cannot be observed to desert the fashion, and yet approach nigher to the complexion and import of the coun tenance, and that at the same time allows to the whole body the greatest possible freedom, ease, and imagery: by imagery I mean, that as a good painter will shew the effect of the muscles that do not ap pear to the eye, so a person skilful in dress will display the elegance of the form, though it be covered and out of view. As the taste of dress approaches to per fection, all art disappears, and it seems the effect of negligence and instinctive inattention; for this reason its beauties arise from the manner and general air rather than from richness, which last, when it becomes too gross and oppressive, destroys the elegance. A brilliancy and parade in dress is therefore the infal lible sign of bad taste, that in this contraband manner endeavours to make amends for want of true elegance, and bears a relation to the heaps of ornament that encumbered the Gothic buildings. Apelles observing an Helen painted by one of his scholars, that was overcharged with a rich dress, "I find, young man," said he, |