aware of the cases of the ascetic and the misanthropic. But upon the first we habitually look as a gloomy fanatic or enthusiastic devotee, and upon the last as an unnatural monster, in whose bosom the milk of human kindness flows not. Philosophy must not draw her examples or vary her conclusions from the cases of the madman or the brute.

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I cannot forbear to engraft on what I have said the just and beautiful remarks of the author of the Philosophy of the Active and Moral Powers of Man," premising however that I do not at this time enter into the question whether the social principle is selfish or disinterested.

"The question with respect to the social or the solitary nature of man seems to me to amount to this, whether man has any disinterested principles which lead him to unite with his fellow creatures; or whether the social union be the result of prudential views of self-interest, suggested by the experience of his own insufficiency to procure the objects of his natural desires. Of these two opinions Hobbes has maintained the latter, and has endeavoured to establish it by proving, that in what he calls the state of nature every man is an enemy to his brother, and that it was the experience of the evils arising from these hostile dispositions that induced men to unite in a political society. In proof of this he insists on the terror which children feel at the sight of a stranger; on the apprehension which, he says, a person naturally feels when he hears the tread of a foot in the dark; on the universal invention of locks and keys; and on various other circumstances of a similar nature.

"That this theory of Hobbes is contrary to the universal history of mankind cannot be disputed. Man has always been found in a social state; and there is reason even for thinking, that the principles of union which nature has implanted in his heart operate with the greatest force in those situations in

which the advantages of the social union are the smallest. As society advances, the relations among individuals are continually multiplied, and man is rendered the more necessary to man: But it may be doubted, if, in a period of great refinement, the social affections be as warm and powerful as when the species were wandering in the forest.

Besides, it does not seem to be easy to conceive in what manner Hobbes' supposition could be realized. Surely, if there be a foundation for any thing laid in the constitution of man's nature it is for family union. The infant of our species continues longer in a helpless state, and requires longer the protecting care of both parents, than the young of any other animal. Before the first child is able to provide for itself a second and a third are produced, and thus the union of the sexes, supposing it at first to have been merely casual, is insensibly confirmed by habit, and cemented by the common interest which both parents take in their offspring. So just is the simple and beautiful statement of the fact given by Montesquieu, "That man is born in society, and there he remains."

"From these considerations, it appears that the social union does not take-its rise from views of selfinterest, but that it forms a necessary part of the condition of man from the constitution of his nature. It is true, indeed, that before he begins to reflect he finds himself connected with society by a thousand ties; so that, independently of any social instinct, prudence would undoubtedly prevent him from abandoning his fellow creatures. But still it is evident that the social instinct forms a part of human nature, and has a tendency to unite men even when they stand in no need of each other's assistance. Were the case otherwise, prudence and the social disposition would be only different names for the same principle, whereas it is matter of common remark, that although the two principles be by no

means inconsistent when kept within reasonable bounds, yet that the former, when it rises to any excess, is in a great measure exclusive of the latter. I hinted too already, that it is in societies where individuals are most independent of each other as to their animal wants, that the social principles operate with the greatest force.

According to the view of the subject now given, the multiplied wants and necessities of man in his infant state, by laying the foundation of the family union, impose upon our species, as a necessary part of their condition, those social connexions which are so essential to our improvement and happiness. And, therefore, nothing could be more unphilosophical than the complaints which the ancient Epicureans founded upon this circumstance, and which Lucretius has so pathetically expressed in the following verses:

"Tum porro puer, ut sævis projectus ab undis
Navita, nudis humi jacet, infans, indigus omni
Vitali auxilio, cum primum in luminis oras
Nixibus ex alvo matris natura profudit:
Vagituque locum lugubri complet, ut æquum est,
Cui tantum in vitâ restat transire malorum."*

The philosophy of Pope is in this respect much more pleasing and much more solid:

"Heaven forming each on other to depend,

A master, or a servant, or a friend,

Bids each on other for assistance call,

Till one man's weakness grows the strength of all.
Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally

The common interest, or endear the tie.

To these we owe true friendship, love sincere,
Each home-felt joy, that life inherits here."+

The considerations now stated afford a beautiful illustration of the beneficent design with which the physical condition of man is adapted to the principles of his moral constitution; an adaptation so stri

* Lib. v. 1. 223.

† See on this subject the Moralists of Lord Shaftesbury,

king, that it is not surprising those philosophers, who are fond of simplifying the theory of human nature, should have attempted to account for the origin of these principles from the habits which our external circumstances impose. In this as in many other instances, their attention has been misled by the spirit of system from those wonderful combinations of means to particular ends, which are every where conspicuous in the universe. It is not by the physical condition of man that the essential principles of his mind are formed; but the one is fitted to the other by the same superintending wisdom which adapts the fin of the fish to the water, and the wing of the bird to the air, and which scatters the seeds of the vegetable tribes in those soils and exposures where they are fitted to vegetate. It is not

the wants and necessitics of his animal being which create his social principles, and which produce an artificial and interesting league among individuals who are naturally solitary and hostile; but, determined by instinct to society, endowed with innumerable principles which have a reference to his fellow creatures, he is placed by the condition of his birth in that element, where alone the perfection and happiness of his nature are to found.

"In speaking of the lower animals, I before observed, that such of them as are instinctively social discover the secret workings of nature even when removed from the society of their kind. This fact amounts in their case to a demonstration of that mutual adaptation of the different parts of nature to each other which I have just remarked. It demonstrates that the structure of their internal frame is purposely adjusted to that external scene in which they are destined to be placed. As the lamb, when it strikes with its forehead while yet unarmed, proves that it is not its weapons which determine its instincts, but that it has pre-existent instincts suited to its weapons, so when we see an animal deprived

of the sight of his fellows cling to a stranger, or disarm, by his caresses, the rage of an enemy, we perceive the workings of a social instinct, not only not superinduced by external circumstances, but manifesting itself in spite of circumstances which are adverse to its operation. The same remark may be extended to man. When in solitude, he languishes, and by making companions of the lower animals, or by attaching himself to inanimate objects, strives to fill up the void of which he is conscious. "Were

I in a desert," (says an author who, amid all his extravagances and absurdities, sometimes writes like a wise man, and, where the moral feelings are at all concerned, never fails to write like a good man)"Were I in a desert, I would find out wherewith in it to call forth my affections. If I could not do better, I would fasten them upon some sweet myrtle, or seek some melancholy cypress to connect myself to; I would court their shade, and greet them kindly for their protection. I would cut my name upon them, and swear they were the loveliest trees throughout the desert. If their leaves withered, I would teach myself to mourn, and when they rejoiced, I would rejoice along with them."

"The Count de Lauzun was confined by Louis the Fourteenth for nine years in the Castle of Pignerol, in a small room where no light could enter but from a chink in the roof. In this solitude he attached himself to a spider, and contrived for some time to amuse himself with attempting to tame it, with catching flies for its support, and with superintending the progress of its web. The jailor discovered his amusement, and killed the spider; and the Count used afterwards to declare, that the pang he felt on the occasion could be compared only to that of a mother for the loss of a child.*

* In Delille's poem on the Imagination, the same anecdote which is here told of the Count de Lauzun is attributed to Pellisson, a celebrated literary and political character in the