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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 arts 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 is 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 it's every minutest energy; because each of these, however minute, partakes 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 other 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 intention 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 complete; is neither heightened nor diminished by the quantity of it's duration, but is the same to it's 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 inquiries. 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 preconceptions. 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 remember, that one preconception 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 laudable 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 be willingly 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 preconception of the Sovereign Good was, to be agreeable to nature. It was. And can any thing be more agreeable to a 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 wellbeing. Admitted. And, can any thing, believe you, conduce so probably to the wellbeing of a rational, social animal, as the right exercise of that reason, and of those social affections? Nothing. And what is this same exercise, but the highest Rectitude of Conduct? Certainly.

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AND how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last night? O, 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 stopwatch, 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 stopwatch, my lord.-Excellent observer! ter And what of this new book the whole world makes such rout about?-O! 'tis out of all plumb, my lord,-quite an irregular thing! not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle. I had my rule and compasses, &c., my lord, in my pocket.-Excellent critic!

And for the epic poem your lordship bid me look at; ―upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of it, and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bossu's'tis out, my lord, in every one of it's dimensions. Admirable connoisseur!

-And did you step in, to take a look at the grand picture in your way back?-Tis a melancholy daub! my lord; not one principle of the pyramid in any one group!-and what a price!for there is nothing of the colouring of

Titian the expression of Rubens-the grace of Raphael -the purity of Dominichino-the corregiescity of Corregio -the learning of Poussin-the air of Guido-the taste of the Caraccis or the grand contour of Angelo.

Grant me patience, just Heaven!—Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world-though the cant of hypocrites may be the worst-the cant of criticism is the most tormenting!

I would go fifty miles on foot, to kiss the hand of that man, whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author's hands-be pleased he knows not why, and cares not wherefore. STERNE.



WHEN Tom, an' please your honour, got to the shop there was nobody in it but a poor negro girl, with a bunch of white feathers slightly tied to the end of a long cane, flapping away flies-not killing them.-Tis a pretty picture! said my uncle Toby-she had suffered persecution, Trim, and had learnt mercy—

-She was good, an' please your honour, from nature as well as from hardships; and there are circumstances in the story of that poor friendless slut, that would melt a heart of stone, said Trim; and some dismal winter's evening, when your honour is in the humour, they shall be told you with the rest of Tom's story, for it makes a part of it

Then do not forget, Trim, said my uncle Toby.

A negro has a soul, an' please your honour, said the corporal (doubtingly).

I am not much versed, corporal, quoth mynitcle Toby, in things of that kind; but I suppose God would not leave him without one, any more than thee or me.

-It would be putting one sadly over the head of another, quoth the corporal.

It would so, said my uncle Toby. Why, then, an' please

your honour, is a black wench to be used worse than a white one?

I can give no reason, said my uncle Toby

-Only, cried the corporal, shaking his head, because she has no one to stand up for her

Tis that very thing, Trim, quoth my unele Toby, which recommends her to protection, and her brethren with her ;-'tis the fortune of war which has put the whip into our hands now-where it may be hereafter, Heaven knows!-but be it where it will, the brave, Trim, will not use it unkindly.

-God forbid, said the corporal.

Amen, responded my uncle Toby, laying his hand upon STERNE.

his heart.



Sir Har. COLONEL, your most obedient; I am come upon the old business; for unless I am allowed to entertain hopes of Miss Rivers, I shall be the most miserable of all human beings.

Riv. Sir Harry, I have already told you by letter, and I now tell you personally, I cannot listen to your proposals. Sir Har. No, Sir?

Riv. No, Sir; I have promised my daughter to Mr. Sidney; do you know that, Sir?

Sir Har. I do; but what then? engagements of this kind, you know

Riv. So then, you do know I have promised her to Mr. Sidney?

Sir Har. I do; but I also know, that matters are not finally settled between Mr. Sidney and you; and I moreover know, that his fortune is by no means equal to mine,


Riv. Sir Harry, let me ask you one question, before you make your consequence.

Sir Har. A thousand, if you please, Sir.

Riv. Why then, Sir, let me ask you, what you have ever

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