thus operate in its relation to mankind, the moralist is too apt to dwell on the great and visible desolations to which in a few striking cases it gives rise,-when the ambitious man has the power of leading armies and forcing nations to be slaves, and of achieving all that iniquity which the audacious heart of man may have had the guilt and folly of considering as greatness. We forget or neglect, merely because they are less striking than those rare evils, the immediate beneficial influence which the passion is constantly exercising in the conduct of the humbler individuals, whose power, under the preventive guardianship of laws, is limited to actions that scarcely can fail to be of service to the community. All the works of human industry are, in a great measure, referable to an ambition of some sort; that, however humble it may seem to minds of prouder views, is yet relatively as strong as the ambition of the proudest. We toil, that we may have some little influence, or some little distinction, however small the number of our inferiors may be; and the toils which raise to the petty distinction, are toils of public, though humble, utility; and even the means of distinction which the opulent possess, are chiefly in the support of those, who, but for the pride which supports them, while it seems only to impose on them the labour of ministering to all the various wants of their luxury, would have little to hope from a charity that might not be easy to be excited by the appearance of mere suffering, in those slight, and ordinary degrees in which it makes its appeal rather to the heart than to the senses. It is this silent influence of the passion, contributing to general happiness, where general happiness is not even an object of thought, which it is most delightful to trace; and it is an influence which is felt in every place, at every moment, while the ravages of political ambition, desolating as they may be in their tempestuous violence, pass away, and give place to a prosperity like that which they seemed wholly to overwhelm,-a prosperity which, as the result of innumerable labours, and, therefore, of innumerable wishes that have prompted these labours, rises again, and continues through a long period of years, by the gentler influence of those very principles to which before it owed its destruction.

But while we perceive with gladness the happy social uses to which nature has made the passion for power in mankind instrumental, or rather, to speak with more accuracy, the uses for

which nature has made us susceptible of this passion,-and while we know well, that the world, therefore, never can be without those who will be moved by ambition to seek the honours and dignities which it is necessary for the happiness of the world that some should seek, it is pleasing for those whose fortune or whose wishes lead them to more tranquil and happier, though less envied occupations, to think, that the happiness which so many are seeking, is not confined by nature to the dignities which so very few only are capable of attaining,—that it is as wide as the situations of men,—and that, while no rank is too high for the enjoyment of virtue, there is no rank that can be regarded as too low for it. It has been as truly as eloquently said, that "when Providence divided the earth among a few lordly masters, it neither forgot nor abandoned those who seemed to have been left out in the partition. These last, too, enjoy their share of all that it produces. In what constitutes the real happiness of human life, they are in no respect inferior to those, who would seem so much above them. In ease of body and peace of mind, all the different ranks of life are nearly upon a level; and the beggar, who suns himself by the side of the high-way, possesses that security which kings are fighting for."

58

LECTURE LXIX.

til. PROSPECTIVE EMOTIONS-6. DESIRE OF POWER-OF INDI RECT POWER, AS IN AVARICE.

GENTLEMEN, after the remarks which I made in my last Lecture on power, as an immediate object of desire, we are naturally led to consider that peculiar and very interesting modification of the desire of power, in which the object seems to be less the direct command itself, than the means by which the command may indirectly be exercised. Such is that form of ambition which is commonly denominated avarice.

By the affections which we excite,-by our talents, whether of pure reason or of eloquence,-by the authority of public station, we exercise, as you have seen, a ready dominion over the minds of others. We obtain a command over them, which, though less direct, is not less powerful, by the possession of those things which they are desirous of possessing, and for which, accordingly, they are ready to dispose of their personal services, or to transfer to us some of those means of enjoyment which they possess, and of which we, in our turn, are desirous. To have what all men wish to have, with the power of transferring it to them, is to have a dominion over every thing which they can transfer to us, equal to the extent of the wishes on their part.

Of the power of gratifying these wishes, wealth is the universal representative, or rather the universal instrument. To pos sess it, is to exercise a sway less obvious indeed, but, in its extent, far more imperial than that which ever rewarded or punished the successful arms of the most illustrious conqueror,-a sway as universal as the wishes of mankind,—a sway, too, which is exercised

in every case without compulsion, and even with an eagerness, on the part of him who obeys, equal to that which is felt by him who is obeyed.

What conqueror is there, who has not seen, beyond the march of his armies, some stubborn tribe that resisted still the force which had crushed whole nations in its dreadful career;-beyond which, if they too had been crushed, some other tribe as stubborn would still have risen, to remind the victor of his weakness, even at the very moment in which his sway was stretched over a wider space than had ever been covered with slavery and misery before by a single individual? The empire which a rich man exercises finds no nation or tribe that wishes to resist it. It commands the services of man, wherever man can be reached, because it offers to the desires of man the power of acquiring whatever objects of external enjoyment he is most eager to acquire. From the north to the south, from the east to the west, every thing that can be rendered active is put in motion by him, who remains tranquilly at home exciting the industry of those of whose very existence he is ignorant, and receiving the products of labour for his own use, without knowing from whom he receives them. It is almost as in the magic stories of romance, in which the hero is represented as led from the castle-gate by hands that are invisible to him,-ushered to a splendid banquet, where no one seems present,—where wine is poured into the goblet before him at his very wish, and luxurious refreshment after refreshment appears upon the board, but appears as if no hand had brought it. To the rich man, in like manner, whatever he wishes seems to come merely because he wishes it to come. Without knowing who they are who are contributing to his idle luxury, he receives the gratification itself, and receives it from hands that operate as invisibly as the fairy hands at the banquet. He gathers around him the products of every sea and every soil. The sunshine of one climate, the snows of another, are made subsidiary to his artificial wants; and though it is impossible to discern the particular arms which he is every instant setting in motion, or the particular efforts of inventive thought which he is every instant stimulating, there can be no doubt that such a relation truly exists, which connects with his wishes, and with his power, the industry of those who labour on

the remotest corner of the earth, which the enterprizing commerce of man can reach.

Since the possession of wealth is thus the possession of indirect power over the labour of millions, it is not wonderful that our desire of every gratification,, which the labour of millions can afford, should be attended with the desire of that, by which the labour that is to minister to our gratification can be commanded. When viewed in this light, the desire of wealth is only another form of those very desires, to which wealth can be rendered instrumental, by affording them the means of indulgence.

But the passion assumes a very different appearance, when it seems confined to the means of exercising an indirect command over the labours of others, without the slightest intention of exercising that sway,-certainly without the least attempt to exercise it. If he who was most desirous of wealth, were most desirous of obtaining with it those enjoyments, in relation to which alone, wealth has any value, there would be no mystery in avarice; and we should scarcely think of giving it a name, as a separate passion, distinct from the passions to which it was subsequent, and of which it was only representative. But it happens, that, though prodigality may, in all cases, or nearly in all cases, be considered as connected with avarice, avarice very often exists, and is characterized as avarice only when it exists, without any disposition to employ, for purposes of enjoyment, what it is so eager to acquire. The mere gold is valued, as if it were a source of every happiness, when every happiness which it truly affords, and without relation to which it is nothing, is despised, as if of little value, compared with that, which derives from its power over the very enjoyments that are despised, all the absolute value which it possesses.

The anchoret, who, to render himself more acceptable to God, retires from the society and service of man,-who sleeps upon the earth, who wraps his feeble limbs in the coarsest garments,-who lives on roots and water, and sees his meagre frame waste every day, without a wish to restore its vigour by a diet of richer nourishment, is one whose superstitious weakness we may lament, while we respect the very error from which it flows. But what should we think of him, if, while he slept upon the earth, and covered himself with sackcloth, and scarcely tasted even his