society its greatest charin), avoided any topic which was not likely to be equally interesting and intelligible to all. Many things were said not worth repeating; but the disposition from which they flowed was more precious than a thousand bons mots. Johnson recommends convivial meetings, not so much for colloquial recreation, as for the promotion of kindness; and I could have exchanged some of the wit and wisdom of the surly sage, for more examples of attention to his own recommendation. Mrs Carter having withdrawn with the children, who had for a few minutes been readmitted, we were left to sip our wine, and nibble at our filberts. A dessert of this kind is not unfavourable to conversation; for, like a lady's knotting, it supplies a gentle and optional exercise, just sufficient to keep the mind alert, but not to engross its attention. It serves the same purpose as those expedients, which some men habitually employ, to quicken mental by muscular action. A certain clergyman, I have been told, could not compose a sentence, unless he was turning his snuffbox in his hand. The thread of a discourse is an expression which Joe Miller derives from the custom of a counsellor, who, when speaking, continued to wind and unwind a thread round his finger; and having one day lost his auxiliary clew, lost his eloquence, and his cause along with it: and of the same nature was the habit of a Roman pleader, who, during his harangues, always paced to and fro at the bar, so that he was sometimes asked, not how many hours, but how many furlongs he had spoken? To persons like these, the act of passing the bottle, or peeling an orange, gives some relief: and, indeed, I believe most men will acknowledge, that there are times when, from a dislike to speak, without some interruption to apologise for their failures, they feel a propensity to interrupt themselves; and that, under the cover of a few skirmishing manoeuvres with their fingers, they can advance their colloquial forces with less solicitude and more success, than when expectation is raised, by seeing them free to give undivided attention to their discourse. But, to proceed with my arrative, our conversation, after va

rious changes of subject, took the following turn:

R. That remark was happily expressed, Vanstricht. How well you speak English!

V. Not so well as I ought, after having been for years in this country. Some of your words I shall never learn to pronounce.

R. Why so?

V. From physical impossibility. If there be any sound, which we are not accustomed to utter, while our infant organs are flexible and soft, no exertion will make us do it, after these become rigid, and have their action circumscribed by habit. Transfer a Northumbrian, at the age of three or four, to another county, and he will soon pronounce the letter R in the usual way; but at twenty, it is out of his power.

R. Well, I only wish that I could speak any one continental language as correctly as you do ours. By the way, Homerton sets off for Paris on Monday.

C. Yes; and I had nearly been of the party.

R. Pray what prevents it?

C. The same weakness which, I fear, has defrauded me of many enjoyments: Indecision. It is about a fortnight since Homerton told me of his intention, and of his wish that I should accompany him. Being, at that time, perplexed with a multiplicity of professional concerns, I found the call to decide on this proposal a teasing and gratuitous addition to my perplexities. My first impression, therefore, was unfavourable to it; and first impressions, though we may think them effaced, are, oftener than we suppose, the latent cause of our final resolutions. At length, I found time to hear the pleadings of my own mind on both sides. Indolence opened the case, and represented the trouble of packing up, for a longer journey, and making arrangements at home for a longer absence than I am accustomed to; the anxiety I should feel about my family when at a distance; the chances of sea-sickness, and overfatigue, and every other discouraging circumstance. These objections were repelled by Curiosity, which reminded me of the pleasure of visiting new scenes, characters. and manners; of actually beholding

characters, and manners; of actually beholding things which I had so often heard and read of, and comparing my conception of them with the original; of the enlivened interest I should ever after feel in what concerned them, and of the increased confidence and precision with which I could talk of them. Next came Timidity, anticipating mortification, embarrassment, and awkwardness, from imperfect practice in the language. This was answered by the unrefutable fact, that I had now the very best opportunity, which had ever offered, of doing what I had long intended, in the company of a friend who was familiar with the language and the country, and with a long vacation just commencing.

R. I should say, "the Ayes have it." But I suppose you delayed judgment till another hearing.

C. I did so. Yet this could not prevent the question from forcing itself upon my thoughts, at the most unseasonable times; and even when the pressure of occupation made me forget it, I could not forget that there was a cause of disquiet awaiting me when my business should be finished.

R. I, and I suppose all others, have experienced similar feelings. Suspense, indeed, even on matters of no great moment, is so subversive of peace, that I have sometimes thought a wrong decision preferable to a slow

one.

The former may lose you a prospective good, but it relieves you from a present evil. I have observed, that men like you, Carter, of a lively fancy, and quick association of ideas, sustain a more uneasy conflict, before coming to a determination, than the dull and obtuse. The latter have before them only the prominent, or at least the real alternatives of the case; while the former exhaust the strength which the act of deciding requires, in balancing, not only realities, but a thousand imaginary consequences, none of which will probably occur. An argument for one of the alternatives, which suggests itself to a man of this description, begets a second, and that a third, till they accumulate to such a number as he hopes will easily turn the scale; but when he encounters, in the train, an objection to his reasoning, the same process of thought is repeated

in favour of a contrary decision, and, by a similar accumulation, restores the equipoise. A mind in this state may be compared to a Welch stream, which rushes obliquely through the valley till it strike the mountain on one side, and, when reflected, hurries with equal violence to the barrier upon the other. But pray conclude your account.

C. That I can do in a moment. Finding suspense impair, not only my tranquillity, but the attention which my business required, I was under an indispensable necessity of ending it; and not having time to work up my mind to a positive decision, I suffered my vis inertia to decide in the negative, which, implying no change, and coming nearest to no decision at all, demanded less consideration. To avoid a short uneasiness, I incurred the danger of a long repentance.

R. It were well if decisions, from the same motive, were confined to matters so insignificant as a Trip to Paris. But many, I fear, are under its influence, in adopting their most important and irretrievable measures, such as resolving on a profession, on a marriage, or on plausible pecuniary speculations. Young men, who are the most impatient of disquiet, and the least qualified to guide even their internal reasonings to a conclusion, will fluctuate between several professions, till they become hypochondriacal, and make their choice at last, not from rational preference, but to get once more a night of sound refreshing sleep, to which they have long been strangers. A friend told me that he deliberated on his marriage, which had many reasons for, and many against it, till the distraction of his mind became intolerable, and, in the end, forced him to marry, for the cure of a malady which the thought of marriage had created. The match proved rather unfortunate; but he consoles himself with the reflection, that though he has got a vixen, he has escaped insanity.

V. The cases you have stated are the most puzzling of any, because they generally occur but once in our lives; and when we have to resolve a question, which is not only difficult, but altogether new, we know not how

Fates.

He must acquire the habit of chusing, almost without consideration, between the hazardous alternatives, which the unexpected casualties of a battle are momentarily presenting; yet even this habit we see experience confer.

R. He gains it, I suppose, by gaining confidence in himself, from repeated success; and by learning not to be too curious and minute in his anticipation of consequences.

C. The first of these lessons produces the last; for if he knows that his extempore decisions have formerly issued well, he will rest on this conscious evidence of his possessing that sort of intuitive judgment, of which the reasoning is so rapid as not to be perceptible. He trusts that its effects will continue the same as before, and is thus relieved from much of that anxious toiling of thought, which is the greatest impediment to decision.

R. Knowledge, we are told, is power; and perhaps the same thing may be said of decision; for a man, in whom the symptoms of this quality are strong, generally acquires great influence over others. Inability to resolve is accompanied with a mortifying consciousness of helplessness and imbecility. It is natural for us, therefore, to infer, that unusual promptness of resolution flows

from a proportional superiority of mental vigour, and disposes us to resort for aid to him who possesses it. The tear of emotion with which we receive any account of high and happy decision, such as Wellington's order for a general charge, at the precise moment when it ought to have been given, springs from our instant perception of the numerous exalted qualities, which must combine, like rays in a focus, to produce this splendid result; and our admiration of a mind so singularly gifted, shews with what facility we would acquiesce in its powerful and salutary guidance.

C. Yes; and our contempt for the reverse. A physician of my acquaintance has an injudicious and unfortunate habit of hesitating, in the presence of his patients, between will even adopt any proposal of the different modes of cure. Nay, he patient himself, provided it be harmless; and, in consequence of this artless simplicity, and apparent poverty of resource, though he is a man of great professional skill, the confidence of his employers has been withdrawn, and transferred to inferior practitioners, who have address to disguise their doubts, and who are presumed to understand, because they affect a steady and peculiar opinion both on the case and the

cure.

V. I knew two counsellors at Dresden, one of whom was much employed in arbitration, chiefly because, from a constitutional impatience of laborious thought, he was always ready, or rather hasty, to decide; while few applied to the other, though of higher talents, whose minute investigation of circumstances caused a slowness of progress, which was interpreted into slowness of parts. It is difficult to say, whether decision without talent, or talent without decision, be more disadvantageous.

C. The conduct of these clients was natural, though proceeding partly from a weakness of their own. Men will often compound, by losing money, or risking injustice, for deliverance from the pressure of suspense.

V. I doubt if this can, with propristy, be called a weakness. Per

sons of feeble character cling to delay and uncertainty for the sake of the slight portion of hope which is mixed with them, instead of boldly confronting their destiny, and suffering the worst at once. You surely would not ascribe such dastardly endurance to force of mind, any more than you would ascribe that virtue to one, who should prefer the lingering, but lenient pain of a white-swelling, to the momentary agony of amputation.

R. The conduct we are speaking of may unquestionably proceed from opposite motives. A man who thinks his plea sufficiently investigated, and urges decision that he may clear his mind of a curable disquiet, acts with propriety and vigour; while he, who first submits his case to enquiry, and, from childish impatience, presses for a sentence, though the enquiry may be incomplete, exhibits the imbecility of undertaking what he wants fortitude to go through with. Human dispositions are so various, even when leading to the same act, that any general proposition concerning them is liable to error; but we are so fond of system, and so delighted with the discovery of universal truths, that we often invent them when they do not exist.

C. I shall, notwithstanding, venture on another, which is, that there belongs to the human mind, in its sound and natural state, a craving after certainty, on every subject, and a constant struggle to obtain it.

R. Not universally. Were this craving as uniform as you suppose it, pleasure would uniformly accompany its gratification; but I can enumerate many things from which the mind derives pleasure by remaining in doubt; things which a man, who knows how to minister to his own satisfaction, would desire to continue obscure and undefined, so that his imagination might delight itself with magnifying or diminishing them at will. I shall instance the affection of a friend. Who would wish to know its precise extent? Who would be so foolish as to subject it to the Lydian stone? From a dread of this folly, I always deprecate pecuniary transactions among friends. By friends I do not mean relatives nor ordinary acquaintance,

but men who possess in each others affection a treasure far beyond any that money can purchase; and one, therefore, which should never be staked for the mere removal of a temporary embarrassment. Such persons never think of computing the limits of each others regard. They indulge the dream that it has none; but when money-dealings are introduced, these seldom fail to dissolve the fiction. The introducer wrings from his friend the painful truth, "thus far does my affection go, and no farther ;" and even though its extent may seem to others singularly great, it will always disappoint the romantic fondness, which had swelled it to infinity, but which, forgetting the occasions, on which "ignorance is bliss," provokes the same fate as the hero of the Arabian tale, who unlocked the mysterious and forbidden chamber, and forfeited a paradise of sweets for his pains.

V. I have experienced what you describe. I once had a young eléve, who thought, as indeed I thought myself, that my affection for him was proof against every trial. I had never grudged him small accommodations; but, at length he asked one of such amount, as I judged it proper, for his own sake, to refuse; and though I conceived his grateful veneration for me such as nothing could shake, his disappointment betrayed him into expressions of unequivocal disrespect. Here, therefore, by the fatal touchstone, we ascertained exactly the quantity and quality of that regard which, till then, had been, like omne ignotum, pro magnifico. The soothing vision vanished with the obscurity which gave it birth; and a friendship, which was in the gratifying state of daily increase, instantly changed to that of daily decline, which, I believe, is harsher to the feelings than total dissolution.

R. I will now extend my remark to the understanding of a friend. Of that we delight to think highly, as a justification of our attachment; and it is, therefore, unpleasing to sce it, by any circumstance, reduced below the rank which we had assigned it. The feeling of friendship is restricted to beings of our own species, and is strengthened by every new

discovery of congeniality between the nature of our friend and our own, the last of which we are ever prone to exalt into the standard of specific excellence. I suspect we should relish a companion less, on finding the report of his bodily organs differ from that of ours, so as to preclude the comparison of our sensations; if, for example, he saw a yellow colour, where we saw a green; or if a substance which to us was sweet, to him was bitter. But similarity of operation in our rational powers is still more necessary; and hence I believe few men differ on any speculative subject, to which the judgment is frequently and keenly directed, without a diminution in their estimate of each others understanding. It is this, in part, which, of all topics of conversation, makes politics the least kindly. In politics, a man approves or disapproves of certain measures, as best or worst for the good of the whole community, and consequently of himself; and it is therefore a subject which, though apparently general, excites all the irritation of a private and personal concern. On that subject, therefore, as on all subjects of individual interest, we are sure that the reasoning powers will be tasked to their full extent; and when we find their possessor irrationally opposing what we consider to be, not only for our advantage, but for his own, we are inclined to think, that we have seen his understanding fairly weighed in the balance, and found wanting. According to Cicero, idem sentire de republica is one of the strongest bonds of friendship; the cause of which I conceive to be, that, if we do not suspect the integrity of one who differs with us, on public questions, we have no alternative, but to lay the blame on his understanding, which cannot perceive what to us is so obvious; and friendship will naturally decrease, with an apprchended decrease in the intellectual worth of its object.

V. When I came to this country. I got acquainted with a man of letters, to whom, from what I had heard of his various excellence, I procured an introduction. My admiration of him was excessive. To me he appeared in that state of in

definite elevation which Relton describes, leaving my imagination free to invest him with all the noble qualities it could devise. Hearing him discourse in public on the general principles of politics, I thought him far exalted above its petty details, and formed to move in the region of principles alone; but when he at tached himself keenly to one of the parties of the day, confining, according to the vulgar custom, all his praise and patronage to its adherents, his character became subject to analysis, and sunk from the lofty eminence to which my fancy had raised it.

Before this, his soul appeared to be something, as the Psalmist says, "too high to understand." After this, I understood it perfectly. It was just like the other souls around

me.

C. Truly, gentlemen, between you both, my poor theory has met but with scurvy treatment. I am still bold enough, however, to hazard another general proposition, on which you may try your acumen; and it is, that certainty and clearness are constituents of beauty; and the dubious and obscure, of sublimity.

R. I doubt, Carter, if this be much less vulnerable than the other. It is too peremptory and unqualified; though it does not seem so unphilo sophical as the theory of Burke, when he accounted for the emotion of beauty from a relaxation, and for that of sublimity from a tension of the nerves. I question if Burke had ascertained the fact, that the emotions of which he speaks are really accompanied by these physical changes; but even if he had, as long as the connection of body and mind is so completely unknown, they could no more be stated as cause and effect, than the submersion of the Goodwin sands, and the building of Tenterden Steeple. Our natural love of symmetry and arrangement makes us separate things that are scarcely capable of separation. Beauty and sublimity are generally blended, and unite in exciting an agreeable emotion. The north view from Windsor Terrace is beautiful by its softness and amenity; while the vastness of its extent, and the glimmering hues into which its horizon gra dually melts, partake of the sublime,