when endeavours fail? It is true. If this then be evident, said he, it would seem, that whatever we desire as our chief and Sovereign Good is something, which, as far as possible, we would accommodate to all places and times. I answered, So it appeared. See then, said he, another of its characteristics, and ther pre-conception.

But farther still; What contests for wealth! What scrambling for property! What perils in the pursuit; what solicitude in the maintenance! And why all this? To what purpose, what end? Or is not the reason plain? Is it not that wealth may continually procure us whatever we fancy good; and make that perpetual, which would otherwise be transient? I replied, it seemed so. Is it not farther desired, as supplying us from ourselves; when, without it, we must be beholden to the benevolence of others, and depend on their caprice for all that we enjoy? It is true, said I, this seems a reason.

Again, Is not power of every degree as much contested for as wealth? Are not the magistracies, honcurs, principalities, and empire, the subjects of strife, and everlasting contention? I replied, they were. And why, said he, this? To obtain what end? Is it not to help us, like wealth, to the pos session of what we desire? Is it not farther to ascertain, to secure our enjoyments; that when others would deprive us, we may be strong enough to resist them? I replied it was.

Or to invert the whole; Why are there, who seek recesses the most distant and retired? Flee courts and power, and submit to parsimony and ob scurity? Why all this, but from the same inten tion From an opinion that small possessions, used moderately, are permanent; that larger possessions raise envy, and are more frequently invaded; that the safety of power and dignity is more precarious than that of retreat and that therefore they have chosen what is mest eligible upon the whole?

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It is not, said I, improbable, that they act by some such motive.

Do you not see, then, continued he, two or three nore pre conceptions of the Sovereigu Good, which are sought for by all, as essential to constitute it? And what, said I, are these? That it should not be transient, nor derived from the will of others, nor in their power 10 take away; but be durable, selfderived, and (if I may use the expression) indeprirable. I confess, said I, it appears so. But we have already found it to be considered, as something agreeable to our nature; conducive not to mere being, but to well being; and what we aim to have accommodated to all places and times. We have.

There may be other characteristics, said he, but these I think sufficient. See then its idea; behold it, as collected from the original, natural, and universal pre-conceptions of all mankind. The Sovereign Good they have taught us, ought to be something agreeable to our nature; conducive to well being; accom modated to all places and t.mes; durable, self derived, and indeprivalle. Your account, said I, appears just. HARRIS.

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CHAP. II.

THE SAME SUBJECT.

BRUTUS perished untimely, and Cæsar did no more. These words I was repeating the next day to myself, when my friend appeared, and cheerully bade me good morrow. I could not return his compliment with an equal gaiety, being intent, some、 what more than usual, on what had passed the day before. Seeing this, he proposed a walk into the fields. The face of nature, said he, will perhaps dispel these glooms. No assistance, on my part, shall be wanting, you may be assured. I accepted his

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proposal;

proposal; the walk began; and our former conversation insensibly renewed.

Brutus, said he, perished untimely, and Cæsar did no more-It was thus, as I remember, not long since you were expressing yourself. And yet suppose their fortunes to have been exactly parallel,

Which would you have preferred? Would you have been Cæsar, or Brutus? Brutus, replied I, beyond all controversy. He asked me, why? Where was the difference, when their fortunes, as we now suppose them, were considered as the same? There seems, said I, abstract from their fortunes, some thing, I know not what, intrinsically preferable in the life and character of Brutus. If that, said he, be true, then must we derive it, not from the success of his endeavours, but from their truth and rectitude. He had the comfort to be conscious, that his cause was a just one. It was impossible the other should have any such feeling. I believe, said I, you have. explained it.

Suppose then, continued he, fit is but merely an hypothesis) suppose, I say, we were to place the Sovereign Good in such a rectitude of conduct, in the Conduct merely, and not in the Event. Suppose we were tofix our Happiness, not in the actual attainment of the health, that perfection of a social state, that for tunate concurrence of externals which is congruous to our nature, and which all have a right to pursue but solely fix it in the mere doing whatever is corres pondent to such an end, even though we never attain, or are near attaining it. In fewer words; What if we make our natural state the standard only to de❤ termine our conduct, and place our happiness in the rectitude of this conduct alone? On such an hypothesis (and we consider it as nothing farther) we should not want a good, perhaps, to correspond to our preconceptions; for this, it is evident, would be correspondent to them a Your doctrine, replied I, is so new and strange, that though you have been copious in explaining, I can hardly yet comprehend you.

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.

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But why then, said I, such accuracy about externals? So much pains to be informed, what are jursuable, 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. out a just experience of them, he can never prove himself an artist. You know 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 him 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 de fective, must not his conduct be defective also? I replied, So it should seem. And if his conduct,

then his happiness? It is true.

You see then, continued he, even though exter nals were as nothing; though it was true, in their own nature,, they were neither goed nor evil; yet an accurate knowledge of them is, from our hypothe sis, absolutely necessary. Indeed, said I, you have proved it.

He continued--Inferior artists may be at a stand, because they want materials. From their stubborn. ress and intractability, they may often be disappointed. But as long as life is passing, and nature contis naes to operate, the moral artist of life has at all times all he desires Hdcan never want a subject ât

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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 suc cess 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 prérogative 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 ia. the moral art of life, the very conduct is the end; the very conduct, I say, itself, throughout its every mi Lutest energy; because each of these, however minute, partakes as truly of rectitude, as the lugest 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, anding in no sense capable of either intention or remission. And hence too, by necessary connection (which is a greater paradox than all) even that Hap piness or Sovereign Good, the end of this moral art,