der my tale palatable to them; and particularly to accompany it with proofs of kindness, which probably I little thought of when I spoke of their faults in their absence. Though the subject be the same, my style of treating it will therefore be considerably different.

From these observations it appears that politeness, properly considered, is no enemy to admonition. There is indeed a weak and half-witted humanity, that refuses to incur the possibility of inflicting pain upon its neighbour, where it can be avoided; and would rather allow him to incur the most serious inconvenience, than risk the appearing to his recollection an ungracious monitor. But it is the office of virtue, to view pleasure and pain in a more comprehensive way, and to prefer for another, as for one's self, the less evil to the greater. True politeness is a branch of virtue; and the corner-stone upon which it rests, is, in the minuter and continually recurring incidents of human life, to seek to secure to its neighbour the greatest sum of pleasurable sensation, with the least balance of painful.

Why is admonition so frequently unpalatable? Not so much, as lord Shaftesbury has well observed, because few people know how to take advice, as because still fewer know how to give it.

* Characteristics, Vol. I, Essay III.

The monitor usually assumes the tone of a master. At this usurpation human independence reasonably spurns. The countenance composed to unusual gravity, and a peculiar solemnity of voice fitted to the occasion, cannot fail to alarm and revolt every man of an ingenuous temper. Why this parade, this triumphal entry as if into a conquered province? Why treat a moral or a practical truth, in a way so different from truths of any other kind? There is a difference of opinion between me and the person whose conduct I apprehend to be imprudent or erroneous. Why not discuss this dif ference upon equal terms? Why not suppose that I may be ignorant of a part of the question? Why not, as is reasonable, offer what occurs to me, rather as a hint for enquiry, than as a decision emanating from an oracle of truth? Why not trust rather to the reason of the case, than to the arts or the passion with which I may inforce it?

"But I wish to leave a serious impression." Am I so ignorant as to suppose that a large, sober and bland view of the subject, will not produce this effect? Do I imagine that a greater impression ought to be produced, than can thus be produced?

It may further be objected, "I am perfectly sure of the grounds upon which I proceed; why should I be expected to play the hypocrite, and pretend to be uncertain?" To this it can only be answered, It ought not to be expected from you,

since you shew yourself thus ignorant of the first principles of morality and reason. The first principle of reason, and that which ought particularly to modify my practical judgments, is, that I should distrust myself and the completeness of my information, both in point of argument and fact.

It is scarcely necessary in this place to enter a caveat against misapprehension, under the form of an eulogium upon the virtue of sincerity. Without habits of entire, unqualified sincerity, the human character can never be raised to its true eminence. It gives what nothing else can so effectually give, an assured, unembarrassed and ingenuous manner. It is the true progenitor of contentment, and of the complacency with which a virtuous man should be able to advert to his modes of proceeding. Insincerity corrupts and empoisons the soul of the actor, and is of pernicious example to every spectator.

Yet sincerity ought not to be practised solely for its own sake. The man who thinks only how to preserve his sincerity, is a glaringly imperfect character. He feels not for the suffering, and sympathises not in the deliverance of others, but is actuated solely by a selfish and cold-hearted pride. He cares not whom he insults, nor whom he injures. There is nothing against which it behoves a well-intentioned man to be more upon his guard, than the mistaking a part for the whole,

or the substituting a branch of the tree of beneficence, for the root from which it is derived.

Politeness however, as has abundantly appeared, is, in its genuine sense, seldom or never at variance with sincerity. Sincerity, in its principle, is nearer, and in more direct communication with, the root of virtue, utility, than politeness can ever be. The original purpose of sincerity, without which it is no more than idle rant and mysticism, is to provide for the cardinal interests of a human being, the great stamina of his happiness. The purpose of politeness is of a humbler nature. follows in the same direction, like a gleaner in a corn-field, and picks up and husbands those smaller and scattered ears of happiness, which the pride of Stoicism, like the pride of wealth, condescended not to observe.

It

ESSAY XI.

OF LEARNING.

If we examine with a curious and attentive eye those individuals who may be said to have in any degree exerted themselves for the improvement of their intellectual faculties, we shall find ourselves easily able to distinguish those who are usually de

nominated the self-educated, from every other description of mentally industrious persons.

By the self-educated in this place I would understand not merely those who have not passed through the regular forms of a liberal education; I include, in addition to this, the notion of their not having engaged in any methodical and persevering course of reading, but devoted themselves rather to the labour of investigating their own thoughts, than the thoughts of others.

These persons are well worthy of the intercourse and careful observation of men who are desirous of embracing every means of adding to their own stock of knowledge. There is a striking independence of mind about them. There is a sort of audaciousness of thinking, that has a most happy tendency to counteract that stationariness and sacredness of opinion which are too apt to insinuate themselves among mankind. New thoughts, daring opinions, intrepid enquiries, are thus set afloat, upon which more disciplined minds would perhaps scarcely have ventured. There is frequently a happiness in their reflections, that flashes light and conviction upon us at once.

Yet such persons are often wholly, perhaps always very considerably, deficient in the art of reasoning. There is no sufficient arrangement in their arguments, or lucidness in their order. Often they assign reasons wholly foreign to the question;