break, our Polish General wandered unperceived by his guide, along the front of the army, and close to the river's edge, with his pipe in his mouth. The Russians seeing him to be an officer of rank, and assuming such airs of indifference and nonchalance, sent a few of their best marksmen to see if they could plant a shot in the general's uniform. They tried for some time, and the shot plied like hailstones round the old veteran, while he, in return, showed the most complete carelessness of life, by twirling his cane on his finger, and putting on the most indifferent airs imaginable. But he had the good fortune to escape unhurt, and when he was stammering back the Russians gave him three cheers for his bravery. It happened that an armistice was opened by the two contending armies, and the commander of the Poles invited the Russian general and his staff to his camp. The latter, perhaps by way of compliment, were very liberal in their praises on the courage and bravery of the Poles, and instanced the contempt of personal danger evinced by one of their officers that morning. Some of the Polish camp, who had heard of the circumstance alluded to, could not contain themselves from laughing outright; and the Russians could not conceal their chagrin, when they were

told, that the person on whom they had bestowed such praises for his magnanimity and contempt of danger, and whom they had endeavoured so industriously to remove from this world, was both blind and deaf.

Dr. Smith very justly observes that "The degree of the self-approbation with which every man, upon such occasions, surveys his own conduct, is higher or lower, exactly in proportion to the degree of self-command which is necessary in order to obtain the self-approbation. Where little self-command is necessary, little self-approbation is due. The man who has only scratched his finger, cannot much applaud himself, though he should immediately appear to have forgot this paltry misfortune. The man who has lost his leg by a cannon-shot, and who the moment after speaks and acts with his usual coolness and tranquillity, as he exerts a much higher degree of self-command, so he naturally feels a much higher degree of self-approbation."*

What a noble, disinterested, and truly virtuous public character does Cincinnatus appear to us, when the deputies of the Roman senate waited upon him to invest him with the office of consul, and clothe him in the purple robes of that high office,

* Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments, vol. i. p. 327. ·

they found him peaceably ploughing his field, and attending to his domestic concerns. Instead of manifesting, by sudden or extravagant expressions of joy, what might be looked upon as a natural degree of pride, in being elected to such a high situation, he accepted the offer with unassuming diffidence and modesty; and calmly remarked to his wife, when about to leave his home, that their little farm would have to remain untilled until his return. Having succeeded by his steadiness, justice, and impartiality, in restoring peace and harmony amongst the jarring factions and interests of Rome, and in securing the affections of all the citizens, he laid down his public authority, contrary to the expressed wishes of the state, and returned to his peaceable and humble mansion, and way of life. Nothing can be more truly noble than such conduct as this. We admire the man who could lay down power, riches, and worldly distinctions of his own accord, things which men in general pursue with such ardour, and relinquish frequently only with the loss of life itself. We are led by this conducț to suppose a high degree of self-command, which could keep in subjection passions of a strong and overwhelming nature. This act of volition is the constituent element in our admiration. Any thing like compulsion or necessity would prove entirely

destructive of the honour and praise we bestow upon such a character.

How high is our admiration of the man who becomes a martyr for the good of his country, or to testify the truth of his religion. We are surprised at his firmness and composure at the sight of the instruments of torment and of death; and marvel how he is able to subdue the conflicting passions which we suppose must agitate his bosom when, for instance, he casts the last look on his wife and children. But how slight would our sympathy be for his sufferings, and how slender a portion of praise would we bestow upon him, were we satisfied that there was no great self-denial exercised by him, or that the power of volition was but feebly exerted. We would view his fate with little or no

concern.

In all these instances which have been mentioned respecting the public virtues, we may see the power the will has in regulating our opinions and expressions in moral virtue. Let us suppose in all, or any of the cases, cited, that the freedom of the will, or the power of volition, were taken away, and what would then remain to be an object of praise to the individuals? What would then be left which would entitle us to use the epithets, moral obligation, fitness, and propriety?

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CHAPTER V.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE FOREGOING PRINCIPLES, FROM AN EXAMINATION OF THE PRIVATE VIRTUES.

VIRTUE is frequently considered by moral writers, or rather defined by them to be-a proper balancing of the affections and passions; and if we consider for a moment the real constitution of our moral natures, this will not appear a very improper or defective definition. Man is a being possessed of various moral powers, affections, and passions, suited to the various ends and objects in his progressive state. These powers, affections, and passions are developed in a regular and systematic order, so as to correspond with his years, his wants, and the other physical and intellectual principles of his constitution. But as our faculties are narrow and circumscribed, and our passions apt to lead us into errors in practice, by holding out prospects of pre