midnight. Even now a loftier speculation than we have yet attempted courts our endeavours. We would indite something about the solar system. Betty, bring the candles!

WILLIAM PALEY.

HAPPINESS OF THE ANIMAL WORLD.

(FROM "NATURAL THEOLOGY," PUBLISHED IN 1802.)

Ir is a happy world after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with delighted existence. In a spring noon, or a summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my view. "The insect youth are on the wing." Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions in the air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without use or purpose, testify their joy, and the exultation they feel in their lately-discovered faculties. A bee amongst the flowers, in spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment, so busy, and so pleased: yet it is only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of the animal being half-domesticated, we happen to be better acquainted than we are with that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by the offices which the Author of their nature has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants are covered with aphides, greedily sucking their juices, and constantly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratification. What else should fix them so close to the operation, and so long! Other species are running about, with an alacrity in

(1) "Paley's style is as near perfection in its kind as any in our language."— Mackintosh, "Ethical Philosophy."

(2) Gray, "Ode on the Spring."

(3) Gratuitous, what one does for nothing, but is not called upon to do at all, spontaneous, what one does of one's own accord or will. This word would perhaps have been more correct above.

their motions which carries with it every mark of pleasure. Large patches of ground are sometimes covered with these brisk and sprightly natures. If we look to what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the margins of fakes, and of the sea itself. These are so happy that they know not what to do with themselves. Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics in it (which I have noticed a thousand times with equal attention and amusement) all conduce to show their excess of spirits, and are simply the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side, in a calm evening, upon a sandy shore, and with an ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or rather very thick mist, hanging over the edge of the water, to the height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring with the water. When this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing else than so much space filled with young shrimps in the act of bounding into the air, from the shallow margin of the water, or from the wet sand. If any motion of a mute animal could express delight, it was this: if they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose then, what I have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in a state of positive enjoyment, what a sum, collectively, of gratification and pleasure have we here before our view!

The young of all animals appear to me to receive pleasure, simply from the exercise of their limbs and bodily faculties, without reference to any end to be attained, or any use to be answered by the exertions. A child, without knowing anything of the use of language, is in a high degree delighted with being able to speak. The incessant repetition of a few articulate sounds, or perhaps of the single word which it has learned to pronounce, proves this point clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first successful endeavours to walk, or rather to run (which precedes walking), although entirely ignorant of the importance of the attainment to its future life, and even without applying it to any present purpose. A child is delighted with speaking, without having anything to say, and with walking, without knowing where to go. And prior to both these, I am disposed to believe that the waking hours of infancy are agreeably taken up with the exercise of vision, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, with learning to see.

will be the exact measure of our future depression, as it will measure the fears and jealousies of those who subdue us. While the smallest vestige remains of our former greatness, while any trace or memorial exists of our having been once a flourishing and independent empire, while the nation breathes, they will be afraid of its recovering its strength, and never think themselves secure of their conquest till our navy is consumed, our wealth dissipated, our commerce extinguished, every liberal institution abolished, our nobles extirpated; whatever in rank, character, and talents gives distinction in society, called out and destroyed, and the refuse which remains swept together into a putrefying heap by the besom of destruction. The enemy will not need to proclaim his triumph; it will be felt in the more expressive silence of extended desolation.'

Though these are undoubted truths, and ought to be seriously considered, yet I would rather choose to appeal to sentiments more elevated than such topics can inspire. To form an adequate idea of the duties of this crisis, it will be necessary to raise your minds to a level with your station, to extend your views to a distant futurity, and to consequences the most certain, though most remote.

By a series of criminal enterprises, by the successes of guilty ambition, the liberties of Europe have been gradually extinguished the subjugation of Holland, Switzerland, and the free towns of Germany has completed that catastrophe; and we are the only people in the eastern hemisphere who are in possession of equal laws and a free constitution. Freedom,3 driven from every spot on the Continent, has sought an asylum in a country which she always chose for her favourite abode; but she is pursued even here, and threatened with destruction. inundation of lawless power, after covering the whole earth, threatens to follow us here; and we are most exactly, most critically placed, in the only aperture where it can be successfully repelled, in the Thermopylae of the universe. As far as (1) "Solitudinem faciunt; pacem appellant."-1acitus.

"They make a solitude, and call it peace."-Byron.

The

(2) Crisis, fr. Gr. κpíơis, the judgment, or decision, hence the moment of decision, the turning point of affairs. Cognate with this is "critical," "critically," as used lower down, where the writer says, "we are most exactly, most critically placed," i.e., placed at the point where the event must be decided.

(3) Freedom. See note 1, p. 323.

(4) A noble point, tending to enhance the orator's position in the highest degree; -not the Thermopyla of Greece, where her representatives fought for the freedom of a single country, but of the universe, where the decisive battle of Freedom herself must be fought.

the interests of freedom are concerned, the most important by far of sublunary interests, you, my countrymen, stand in the capacity of the federal representatives of the human race; for with you it is to determine, under God, in what condition the latest posterity shall be born; their fortunes are intrusted to your care, and on your conduct at this moment depends the colour and complexion of their destiny. If liberty, after being extinguished on the Continent, is suffered to expire here, whence is it ever to emerge in the midst of that thick night that will invest it? It remains with you, then, to decide whether that freedom, at whose voice the kingdoms of Europe awoke from the sleep of ages (ie. at the Reformation), to run a career of virtuous emulation in everything great and good; the freedom which dispelled the mists of superstition, and invited the nations to behold their God; whose magic touch kindled the rays of genius, the enthusiasm of poetry, and the flame of eloquence; the freedom which poured into our lap opulence and arts, and embellished life with innumerable institutions and improvements, till it became a theatre of wonders; it is for you to decide whether this freedom shall yet survive, or be covered with a funeral pall, and wrapt in eternal gloom. It is not necessary to await your determination. In the solicitude you feel to approve yourselves worthy of such a trust, every thought of what is afflicting in werfare, every apprehension of danger must vanish, and you are impatient to mingle in the battles of the civilised world. Go, then, ye defenders of your country,1 accompanied with every auspicious omen; advance with alacrity into the field, where God himself musters the hosts to war. Religion is too much interested in your success not to lend you her aid; she will shed over this enterprise her selectest influence. While you are engaged in the field many will repair to the closet, many to the sanctuary; the faithful of every name will employ that prayer which has power with God; the feeble hands which are unequal to any other weapon will grasp the sword of the Spirit; and from myriads of humble, contrite hearts, the voice of intercession, supplication, and weeping, will mingle in its ascent to heaven with the shouts of battle and the shock of arms.

While you have everything to fear from the success of the enemy, you have every means of preventing that success, so that it is next to impossible for victory not to crown your

(1) This was addressed to a company of volunteers that was present at the delivery of the sermon.

JOHN FOSTER.1

HOWARD'S DECISION OF CHARACTER.

(FROM ESSAY ON DECISION OF CHARACTER," PUBLISHED IN 1805.)

In this distinction (that of decision of character), no man ever exceeded, for instance, or ever will exceed the late illustrious Howard. The energy of his determination was so great, that if instead of being habitual, it had been shown only for a short time on particular occasions, it would have appeared a vehement impetuosity; but by being unintermitted, it had an equability of manner, which scarcely appeared to exceed the tone of a calm constancy, it was so totally the reverse of anything like turbulence or agitation. It was the calmness of an intensity, kept uniform by the nature of the human mind forbidding it to be more, and by the character of the individual forbidding it to be less. The habitual passion of his mind was a measure of feeling almost equal to the temporary extremes and paroxysms of common minds: as a great river in its customary state is equal to a small or moderate one when swollen to a torrent. The moment of finishing his plans in deliberation, and commencing them in action, was the same. I wonder what must have been the amount of that bribe, in emolument or pleasure, that would have detained him a week inactive after their final adjustment. The law which carries water down a declivity was not more unconquerable and invariable, than the determination of his feelings toward the main object. The

(1) "I have read with the greatest admiration the essays of Mr. Foster. He is one of the most profound and elegant writers that England has produced."— Mackintosh.

"In simplicity of language, in majesty of conception, in the eloquence of that conciseness which conveys, in a short sentence, more meaning than the mind dares at once admit, his writings are unmatched."-North British Review.

(2) Energy, fr. Gr. évépyeca, act, operation; hence the moving power of the mind which works in the act. Energy is not necessarily much exhibited in outward show; but it is the maintaining power to which the result is at last due. It is, of course, as shown in the example above, a necessary ingredient of decision of character.

(3) Compare Burke's brief but emphatic sketch of Howard's character, p. 327. He also dwells, it will be seen, on Howard's subordination of his taste for the fine arts to the performance of what he considered the duties of his mission. Perhaps Foster's reference to this feature of Howard was suggested by Burke's expressions. There is, however, no visible trace of imitation.