THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN PRINCIPLE AND SENTIMENT CONSIDERED. PRINCIPLE is the foundation of virtue as well as the ground-work of knowledge; it must, consequently, have truth for its basis; for where truth is not to be found, it will be in vain to search for principle. Every action that is truly meritorious is the effect of a disposition governed by a principle that is intrinsically good, and may with ease be traced to the root from whence it sprung; but many actions have the appearance, and wear the form and character of real goodness, which - cannot be traced to any virtuous origin. Actions of this description are only nominally, but not radically good. Of this kind are many of those actions, and much of that conduct which proceed from sentiment; for sentiment appears to have nothing in its nature of a permanent and consistent texture. Unlike principle, which remains ever the same, sentiment is subject to a variety of changes as difficult, in many respects, accurately to describe as correctly to account for. Oftentimes sentiment is the offspring of the imagination, the child of whim, the slave of passion, or the mere plaything of opinion. It commands sorrow from circumstances of a suppositious nature; it excites joy from contemplations of the most visionary kind. Simpathy, compassion, and judgment are on many occasions subservient to the dominion of sentiment. The man of sentiment is as feelingly affected by a pathetic relation of an imaginary calamity, which never happened, as by a description of a real one, similar in all the circumstances of narration. Destitute of principle, if furnished with sentiment, he can weep with those who weep, and rejoice with those who rejoice; he can become all things to all men, as far as externals can be recognized. The feelings of the moment, warmed by passion or irritated by prejudice, are the feelings of the man of sentiment; in his estimation, characters, actions, and conduct, are decidedly good or bad at first view, by an instantaneous conception of his own, independent of any reference to principle, of any assistance from reason, of any advantage from knowledge, or any correction from judgment. He hears, he sees, he feels and decides for himself and the world; and has more of contempt than respect for those whose opinions being different from his own, are the result of much experience, of deep research, and profound observation. Novelty has charms; but the charms of sentimental novelty are of a description extremely dangerous. They warm, they interest the pas sions, but they chill those active powers and energies of the mind with which we are endowed, for the purpose of just discrimination and accurate decision. In narrations, although unfounded in truth, the man of sentiment can cause the breast to swell with sorrow, or the eye to sparkle with joy. He can congratulate and console with equal ability and address; with equal ease he can excite pity or disgust, and produce admiration or terror! For the unfortunate he can crave the good offices of others without stretching forth an assisting hand himself; his goodness is destitute of solidily; it is a chimera playing on the surface of the brain without descending to the region of the heart; it is a goodness purely sentimental; it is produced without labour, and exercised without discretion; the beneficence of others affords him a smile wherewith to adorn his brow; and sentiment procures him merit in the estimation of others that his ówn heart cannot recognize, nor his conscience claim. Like the fig-tree, observed by the most penetrating of beings, the appearance may indeed be promising when viewed at a distance, although on a nearer inspection no fruit can be found. As rational beings, no conduct can constitute a good action either in our own estimation, or in the estimation of the Supreme Being, whatever it may do in the estimation of others, that does not proceed from a good principle, which is at all times the only certain criterion by which we can possibly judge of the very small degree of merit that it is permitted us at any time to lay claim to. A gift for a charitable purpose, of as large a sum as can be named, is not an act of charity, if it does not proceed from a genuine principle of generosity, benevolence, and love, every way consistent with the precepts of justice, frugality, and discretion. All ostentation, injustice, and extravagance proceed from a depravity of sentiment, which virtuous and sound principles are calculated to correct and eradicate. Actions that are performed for the purpose of being sen, admired or applauded, or because such actions are become fashionable, or because the example has been set by others, can have no rightful claim to a particle of intrinsic merit. Motives like these disqualify the mind for the enjoyment of real goodness, which more particularly delights to exercise its amiable qualities in the circles of private, retired, and domestic life; where its salutary effects are much more bene. excellence and opinionative perfection; or it ficially felt than generally known. drives us with merciless impetuosity from the path of reason into the abyss of despair. Under the influence of sentiment we are always much above or much below what we ought to be. We are generous without justice, or the man of sentiment never stops to enquire what A sound judgment can be influenced by solidity of principle alone; but the superficiality of sentiment is influenced by custom, by fancy, and by fashion, as the tendency of a particular passion may at the moment happen to prevail.just without generosity; pleased with what he is, The world is frequently and grossly deceived by sentiment. In every age sentiment has very generally been mistaken and adopted for principle. On many occasions it acquires an ascendency over principle that very materially and very extensively injures the truest interests of religion, morality, and social harmony. It gives to cunning the appearance of honesty; and to selfinterest the fascinating outline of generosity. To the efforts of childhood, singularly conspicuous rather than extraordinarily virtuous, it dis-passions or the tide of opinion. Sentiment tributes unbounded applause and incalculable rewards; while to the persevering and indefatigable efforts of manhood, to a life of studious application, and to years of merited exertion, it is apparently unwilling to call forth a smile of approbation. Great is the number of those who, having unsuccessfully merited reward, wait for death to close the eye of disap-hypocrisy; principle never. Sentiment adopts pointed hope, and heal the wound which the ingratitude of sentiment had inflicted in the heart. The present is the age of sentiment; it abounds, it predominates; it rages with unprecedented fury; it exalts to heaven by its praise, or it consigns to ruin by its censures, its prejudices, and its prepossessions; it delights in extremes; it is every thing by turns, but nothing with consistency of conduct or permanency of character. Opinions singularly bold and daring are the adopted favourites of Sentiment. Justice is excluded from its councils, and truth from its enquiries. There is a fashion in sentiment which is as changeable as the humours and the dispositions of mankind can render it; a fashion that occasionally triumphs over little minds and weak capacities, and entices them from the paths of discretion and judgment into the labyrinths of fancy and opinion, from which nothing but sober reflection, determined fortitude, and unceasing and impartial investigation, can rescue them. Principle without sentiment will eventually produce much real good, but sentiment without principle, like promises without performances, or like faith without works, is of little value. It may, indeed, afford some small temporary amusement, but it cannot in re prmanent satisfaction. The influence of sentiment to feeble and inconsiderate minds is truly a fascinating influence. It is at once pleasing and agreeable; it carries us imperceptibly beyond the confines of prudence into the regions of visionary slavishly submits to the former, bows assent to the latter, and becomes the servile tool of capri. cious humour rather than an instrument of general utility. The one is the source of all social benefits, and valuable enjoyments; the other is the origin of all chimerical and fantastical pursuits. Sentiment is oftentimes the cloak of forms of various descriptions; and in every form it assumes every character that the whim, the caprice, the inclination, or the passion of the moment may be disposed to exhibit; it sickens with flattery, or disgusts with censure; it gives to fortune or to accident the rewards of merit, and from the failure of a conduct the most laudable, it not unfrequently withholds even the credit of good intentions. In its decisions it is too hasty to be correct, and too warm to be candid. Ever jealous of its influence, and tenacious of its authority, it spurns at advice, and contemns contradiction. It sees not its weaknesses, it discovers not its errors; its defects are concealed by the darkness of ignorance, or the inactivity of indolence; unconscious of its imperfections it feels not the necessity of removing them; un accustomed to make the necessay enquiries con cerning the first principles of rational conduct, the man of sentiment is right or wrong by chance only, and not by the effect of knowledge or judgment. No part of his conduct can consequently be entitled either to thanks, to praise, or reward; the self-sufficiency of ignorance is of all others the least likely to be conquered; and as the man of sentiment is positive and headstrong in proportion as he is uninformed, it is scarcely to be expected that he will seriously attend to, or suffer himself to be informed or corrected by one whose doctrines and opinions are in direct opposition to his own. Far otherwise is the conduct of the man of principle; having thoroughly examined the ground he stands on, and finding it these particulars, will and must arrive at the highest possible point of intellectual happiness, even in this life, that their nature is capable of enjoying. Even love, the most amiable, the most interesting, and the most powerful of the affections of the mind, unless it be subject to the control and the influence of principle, degenerates into a passion of the most dishonourable species, and counteracts the promotion and destroys the enjoyments of that happiness which it otherwise was so peculiarly calculated to heighten, to pro long, and insure. In truth, every kind of attachment that goes under the denomination of love, and is unfounded in principle, is nothing more than a self-created chimera of a sentimental kind, altogether tenable, he never quits it in pursuit of | who arrive at the highest pitch of excellence in novelties; every subsequent step bespeaks a mind determined not to be taken by surprize, imposed on by appearances or declamation, nor deluded by artful misrepresentations, and incor. rect inferences. Whatever there is of dignity in man must derive its consequence froin his adherence to principle; when he departs from this point there is no other to which he can repair that will insure him equal respect attention, and advantages; the favoured admirer, the faithful husband, the affectionate wife, the dutiful child, the confidential friend, the conscientious patron, tradesman, neighbour, and servant, are all, if under the influence of sound principle, characters of inestimable value; by such cha racters the world is enriched beyond all calcula-aided by a warm imagination, the common offtion. Here neither rank nor elevation, neither honour nor power, neither wealth nor interest, neither the brilliancy of court, nor the dazzling splendour of a throne, can add to the dignity of characters sincerely and truly attached to, and governed by the powerful interest and operation of religious and virtuous principle. To be good and to do good is the glory of man; and those spring of a depraved appetite, or the base pro- April 16, 1906. MISCELLANIES. SENECA says, that at his time the woinen | however, bear away the palm in this kind of inwore no less than three pearls in each ear, of such sensate luxury. The son of the tragedian, extraordinary value, that the smallest was worth Esopus Claudius, whose father had left him iman ample patrimony. Their vanity in this par- mense wealth, furnished an example of this ticular was carried to such a pitch that their very scandalous magnificence; and the action of the shoes were bordered with them. Pearls were player was greater, if that epithet may be applied always considered by the antients as one of the to such actions, since it was not provoked by a most valuable productions of nature. They not wager. Cladius wished to have the glory of beonly formed part of the dress of the rich, but, ing the first that tried the taste of pearls; he from a refinement in luxury, truly ridiculous, thought it wonderfully fine, and that he might they were served at entertainments as an uncom not enjoy the pleasure alone, he caused one to mon delicacy. Every one is acquainted with the be served to each of the guests who were at his extravagance of Cleopatra, that crowned courte- table. zan, who laid a wager with Anthony that she would consume alone, at a single supper, ten millions of sesterces, about eighty thousand During the reign of Louis XIV. Colbert perpounds sterling. She actually began with swal-ceiving that considerable sums of money were lowing a pearl worth half that sum, which she had dissolved in vinegar. She was going to do the same with a second, when Plancur, the umpire, seized the pearl, and declared that Anthony had lost. After this too celebrated princess had fallen into the hands of the conqueror, this second pearl was cut and made into two ear-pendants for the Venus of the Pantheon. Thus the half of a supper for this courtezan served to decorate a goddess.-Cleopatra and her lover did not," which had not yet reached the neighbouring sent out of the kingdom to purchase hair of foreigners, proposed the abolition of wigs and the introduction of the use of caps. Several models were tried before the King; but the company of peruke-makers, alarmed at the utter destruction with which they were threatened, presented to the council a memorial, accompanied with circumstantial details, which demonstrated, that, being the first who practised that new art, countries, the value of the wigs they exported far surpassed the money expended abroad, and brought into the kingdom much larger sums than were remitted from it for the purchase of hair. In consequence of this, the project of wearing caps was relinquished. Frederick I. of Prussia, standing one day at a window in his palace, perceived that one of his pages took a pinch of snuff from his box which lay on the table. He did not interrupt him, but turning round immediately afterwards, he asked, "Do you like that snuff-box?" The page was confounded, and made no reply. The King repeated his question, and the page said, trembling, that he thought it very beautiful. "In that case," rejoined Frederick, "take it, for it is too sınall for us both." Moliere said, contempt is a pill which may be swallowed, but which it is impossible to chew without making wry faces. The Farmer-General, Bouret, possessed the secret of being continually embarrassed, notwithstanding his immense riches. At his death he was but a step from actual indigence. He left debts to the amount of five millions of livres, and died almost insolvent. A splendor and luxury of which it is impossible to form any conception, had reduced him to this condition. He carried this extravagance to such a pitch as to have feed a cow with young pease at 150 livres (71. sterling), a quart, to furnish a regale for a woman who lived on nothing but milk. Louis XV. at the age of sixteen, was as deficient in gallantry as he was ridiculous for too much of it at fifty. He wept when in informed of his intended marriage with the young and handsome Infanta of Spain; and nothing was capable of comforting him till he was assured that he was not to live with her for a long time to come. On her arrival in France, the King went as far as Bourg la Reine to meet her. braced her without saying a word, and returned to Paris to receive her at the Louvre. There he still maintained profound silence, which caused the young Princess to say, that the King was handsome, but he had nothing more to say than her doll. He em When the Ambassadors of John V. Duke of Braganza, returned from Scotland, whither they had been sent to negociate a match between his son Francis and Isabel, he made inquiry concerning the person of the Princess, and they replied: She has beauty sufficient, and is likely enough to bear children; but her language is neither elevated nor refined. That is just what I want replied John; and I think that woman learned enough, who knows the difference between her husband's waistcoat and his doublet. In 1773, an Englishman, struck with the beauty, the accomplishments, and the discretion of a French actress, sent her the following letter: "Mademoiselle, I am told that you are discreet, and that you have taken the resolution always to remain so; I exhort you to keep it. The contract I have sent, secures to you fifty guineas a month, as long as this fancy lasts. Should you happen to change your mind, I will give you one hundred, and request the preference." A French officer having killed another in a duel, was obliged to quit the service and his country. He retired to Berlin, where the French minister recommended him to the favour of the great Frederick. The officer was presented to iim. The King enquired his reason for leaving the service of France. "Sire," replied the officer, "I was one day in a coffee-house at Metz, with several officers of the garrison; I had a dispute with one of my comrades, and said to him, in the warmth of altercation, that he would not hearken to reason any more than a Swiss. A Swiss officer who happened to be present took affront at the expression; he picked a German quarrel with me; we met, and I killed him." "It appears to me," said Frederick, "that you are not happy in proverbs." The King, how` ever soon gave him a commission. Moliere lodged at the house of a physician, whose wife was avaricious. She wanted to raise the rent of his apartments, which obliged him to seek other lodgings. Vexed at this circumstance, Moliere let slip no opportunity of turning the profession into ridicule. Into his piece, entitled l'Amour Medecin, he introduced the first physicians of the court with masks which perfectly resembled the persons he had in view. These were, Messrs. de Fougerais, Esprit, Guenaut, and Daquin. As Moliere wished to disguise their names, he applied to his friend\ Boileau for suitable appellations. These Boileau borrowed from Greek terms descriptive of the characters of those gentlemen. To M. de Fougerais he gave the name of Desfonandres, which signifies killer of men; to M. Esprit, who stammered, that of Behis, yelper or barker; to M. Guenaut, who spoke very deliberately, that of Macroton; and to M. Daquin, who generally prescribed bleeding, that of Tomes, the bleeder, A lady of much good sense was told that her husband paid court to several handsome women, I don't care, replied she, if my husband sends his heart abroad all day, provided he brings it back to me at night. Under the kings of the first dynasty the women shaved in France. On the wedding-day the wife was obliged to shave her husband, which was always stipulated in the marriage contract. The illustrious M. de Malsherbes, in the interval between his two administrations, travelled for the purpose of adding to his knowledge. On one of these occasions, he found at an inn two young officers who were proceeding to the camp which was at that time near Brest. They were conversing on natural history, and M. de Mal sherbes, who had bestowed considerable attention to the subject, gave his opinion and the reasons for it, on the question proposed. The officers appeared surprized, that this fat man whose appearance had nothing striking, should thus mingle in their conversation; but they knew enough to be sensible that he was better acquainted with the subject than they, and that he had given them some new information; they invited him to dine with them. The conversation fell upon M. de Malsherbes, and his retirement from the administration. The two officers extolled him as the best minister, and the most to be regretted that France had ever had. Their praises placed M. de Malsherbes in the same situation as Henry IV. with the miller, when the A singular contrast, says a French writer, between the manners of our neighbours and ourselves is, that the English esteem modesty in women more highly after marriage, while the French set a greater value upon it before. It seems as if we were more tenacious of innocence and they of virtue. They allow their young females a kind of liberty which is not permitted among us; they think it very natural that young ladies should look out for husbands; whereas we should think it just as strange if they were not to await the choice of their parents, as the Eng-modest coldness with which he spoke of that lish would think it odd for a woman to be unfaithful to a husband who lies down drunk by her side every night. Hold up your head, keep your eyes on the ground, and hold your tongue, were for a long time almost the only instructions given in France by a mother to her daughter, on taking her from the convent to introduce her into the world. In London, on the contrary, a young lady has parties, rides out on horseback with gentlemen, and indulges in coquetry till the moment when marriage transports her to a beautiful country seat to attend to her children, and to read novels of twelve volumes. In France marriage produces an opposite metamorphosis; the timid virgin who durst neither move her tongue, nor raise her eyes, soon learns to make use of both, and soon finds some one to speak to. A bon mot is often productive of fatal consequences. Theocritus had highly offended king Antigonus, who had but one eye; that prince promised to pardon the culprit if he would appear before him. With this condition he refused to comply; but his friends drew him along almost by force, continually repeating, that his life would be safe as soon as he should appear before the eyes of the king. The unfortunate wit, recollecting that the king had but one eye, could not refrain from a bon mot, notwithstanding the critical circumstances in which he was placed. "Ah!" said he, "if the safety of my life depends on my appearing before the eyes of the king, I am undone." This raillery was the cause of his death. good king excited a suspicion that he was one of the Leaguers. "Gentlemen," said he, "nobody is better acquainted with M. de Malsherbes than myself; he is a very honest man, with intentions the most upright, but he is not fit for a prime minister." At these words the fat man lost threefourths of the consideration which his companions entertained for him. Without any regard for his decision, they redoubled their praises of M. de Malsherbes, and his panegyrists declared, that they extremely regretted never having seen or known him. "Gentlemen, he is not perhaps so far from this place as you may think, for I know he is on his way to see his son-in-law, M. de Montboissier, at the camp before Brest." They now listened with some interest to the fat man, who had spoken so ill, but who was so well acquainted with M. de Malsherbes, and even inspired them with the hope of seeing him. "Ah!" if you could but meet with him and "Your curiosity, gentle introduce us to him!" men, would flatter him much, and surprise him still more." "There is nothing we would not do to gratify it." "You shall not go far for that purpose-Receive his thanks for your obliging illusion with respect to him; it is he himself who has the honour to be speaking to you." we might have guessed so; none but he could have spoken of himself with such unjust and excessive modesty." The new friends made an appointment to meet again, first at the camp, and afterwards at Paris, where a friendship begun under such happy auspices was carefully culti vated on both sides. "Ah! |