at so rapid a rate, that no effort could be made to save them. When the
fury of the tempest had abated, the two friends descended to the cabin;
where Oriel, observing that Zabra seemed ill and faint, wanted him
to take such refreshment as his exhausted frame needed, and tried to
strengthen the effect of his command by setting before him a good
example. A long fast, and the excitement of danger, continued for such
a period of time, required nourishment; and the young merchant seemed
desirous of showing his companion that his fatigues had not spoiled his
appetite; but though he pressed him frequently to partake liberally of
the different things he had ordered for him, he could not induce him to
follow his directions to any thing like the extent he desired. In fact,
Zabra appeared to have suffered too much from the state of feeling in
which he had existed during the recent tempest to be able to realise the
kind wishes of his patron.
"My dear Zabra you are not well," observed Oriel Porphyry, finding his
endeavours and example so little attended to. "You look perfectly
exhausted. Go to your hammock and endeavour to sleep off your fatigues.
If I do not see that you take proper care of yourself, I shall deserve
censure from Eureka. So if you do not wish to get me into trouble, you
will do as I desire you."
"She will not blame you," murmured his youthful associate, as he
proceeded to his little cabin.
"What an extraordinary creature he is!" he exclaimed, as soon as Zabra
had left him; and he was reflecting upon the cause of that mystery in
which the character of his youthful friend seemed enveloped, when he was
disturbed by the entrance of the two philosophers. Fortyfolios looked
somewhat paler than usual, nor did Tourniquet appear quite at his ease.
They had also suffered from the effects of the storm, though neither of
them had appeared on deck while it lasted.
"It is extraordinary to me, Dr. Tourniquet," said the professor gravely,
as he entered the cabin--"It is extraordinary to me that you will argue
from wrong premises."
"It is as extraordinary to me that you will argue to wrong conclusions,
don't you see," replied the surgeon good humouredly.
"What is the matter in dispute now, gentlemen?" inquired the young
merchant.
"We differ in our ideas concerning the true nature of happiness,"
responded Fortyfolios. "Now, I maintain that happiness consists in
virtue; for there can be no true happiness without the existence of
virtuous inclinations; and virtue is but another name for purity--a
state of being perfectly free from the pollution of vice."
"And I maintain a very different sort of thing altogether, don't you
see," replied the doctor. "But first of all let us examine the idea that
happiness consists in virtue--by which I suppose is meant that virtue
produces happiness. There are a thousand instances of virtuous people
being as miserable as a bear with his fur shaved off. One from
disappointed love--another from the death of a friend or relative,
and a third from constitutional irritability. One finds misery in the
past--another meets with it in the present--a third looks for it in the
future; and although all these are virtuous in the common acceptation of
the word, they are far from being happy, don't you see. But there is a
stronger case against the argument that virtue produces happiness in
the instance of----Suppose a noble spirited youth, or an amiable and
excellent girl, who may be, in thought or action, the beau ideals of
virtue, yet if they are disgraced in their own eyes by their near
relationship to individuals notorious for some degrading vice, their
very notions of virtue create in them a continual misery. They have done
no evil, yet they are ashamed of themselves--they have a most decided
inclination for sincerity; and yet, knowing that if the world knew of
their connection with vice, they would be considered to be vicious as a
natural consequence (for such is the unjust conduct of the world), they
are obliged to practise deception; and the practice of deception soon
becomes habitual--they deceive all around them. Their principles are
thus continually warring with their actions; and the dread of their
deceit being discovered, and the disgrace which attaches to them
becoming known, creates a state of misery not easily to be exceeded."
"But I cannot imagine such a state of things," remarked Oriel Porphyry.
"No child can be made answerable for the criminality of its relatives;
and a well educated mind will care little for an opinion by which it is
sought to be degraded, if that opinion is unjust."
"Certainly," observed the professor approvingly.
"We must take society as we find it, don't you see," added the doctor,
"with all its prejudices and all its injustice. If the circle in which
moves a youth of either sex, whose conduct is irreproachable and whose
motives are admirable, discover that the father of their young associate
was hanged for murder, or that the mother was noted for profligacy, they
will shrink from him as if he was as vile as his origin; but to the
young female this sort of connection bears with a most cruel severity.
There are many children born out of wedlock, of mothers of infamous
characters, which the father, who may be of a somewhat higher rank of
life, with a laudable anxiety for the welfare of his offspring, takes
from the mother and educates. Imagine a child thus originated, carefully
instructed in virtuous principles till she approaches the period of
womanhood, when, with the knowledge of her mother's infamy, she ventures
into a society in which her beauty and intelligence would render her one
of its best ornaments, she is acutely sensitive of her own disgraceful
position in the eyes of the world, and enters into companionship with
individuals of her own sex whom she is well aware would consider
themselves contaminated by her presence if they knew her secret; or
becomes beloved by a youth of the other sex, who, thinking her what she
appears to be, honours her above all human beings, with a continual
dread that the truth will be disclosed, and that she will be pointed
at, avoided, insulted, and abandoned by those now so eager to seek her
society. There is no state of misery so deplorable as this. In time, the
constant anxiety and fear in which she exists will affect her health,
and she gradually wastes away with the bitter consciousness that she is
the victim of a prejudice: although perfectly innocent, is punished as
if she was the vilest of criminals; and, although formed to diffuse
happiness around her, is obliged, from day to day, to endure the
crushing agonies of an unceasing misery. And this is an example of
virtue without happiness, don't you see."
"But possibly the dread of insult, or a sense of shame," continued the
doctor, "prevents her from entering the society in which she ought to
find an honourable place. She is confined to a narrow circle, out of
which she dare not step, and is obliged to associate with the worthless
of her own sex and the profligate of the other. Her companions are the
vulgar and the vile. They having no proper conception of the value of
either truth or virtue, and she looking on the world that has abandoned
her as unjust, and smarting under the wrong it inflicts, begins to
think them as much ill treated as herself, and believes that a false
interpretation has been given to their conduct. Gradually she parts with
her conviction of what is honourable. One by one she acquires the mean
and contemptible vices of her associates. She sees them dissimulate,
and practises deception. Falsehood becomes habitual. She loses all
self-respect. She becomes criminal, degraded, and depraved. In fact, by
an atrocious verdict, she is at first considered one of the very Pariahs
of society, don't you see, and is at last forced to be the vile thing
the world had thought her."
"The prejudice which so punishes is a disgrace to any civilised
community," exclaimed Oriel with warmth, "and the laws which press so
cruelly upon natural children are both impolitic and inhuman."
"They are undoubtedly severe," observed Fortyfolios; "but their severity
is caused by the detestation of society for vice."
"That I deny," eagerly replied Tourniquet. "Change the condition of the
child. Suppose it to be the offspring of a prince; and, although the
mother be a sink of iniquity, the girl will be eagerly sought after
by honourables and right honourables, most nobles, and others that
entertain the highest notions about virtue. So much for the community's
detestation of vice, don't you see. Now for my conception of the true
nature of happiness. I consider happiness, in the first place, to be
the result of a peculiar temperament. There must be a disposition to be
happy in the individual before any happiness can be created. In some
persons this disposition is so strong, that the most afflicting things
will scarcely, if at all, affect it; in others, the disposition is so
weak that it is continually overpowered by external circumstances; and
in others, the disposition is not to be traced, for it does not exist.
That virtue is necessary to a state of happiness there is no doubt;
but what is called virtue by different communities appears in so many
various shapes, that it requires a more catholic sense attached to it
than it possesses to make it universally understood. I consider virtue
to be a moderate indulgence in our inclinations when they do no injury
to the individual, to the object, and to any other person, with a
perfect and exclusive sympathy of an individual of one sex for an
individual of the other. Modesty is called a virtue, chastity is called
a virtue, and sobriety is called a virtue; but they are only distinct
features of the virtue I have described."
"That is clearly enough defined; and I should think could not be
disputed," remarked Oriel.
The professor said nothing.
"Now this virtue does not create happiness any more than does the
virtue of my learned friend," continued the doctor; "but in by far the
majority of instances it is necessary to its existence. The happiness
that arises from alleviating suffering has often been found in an
individual possessing no pretensions to virtue. But happiness itself is
pleasure. There is the pleasure of creating enjoyment in an object, and
there is the pleasure which succeeds it in the individual. There never
was happiness without pleasure; there ought not to be pleasure without
happiness. There is no pleasure like that of doing good; consequently,
there is no happiness like that of making others happy: and wherever
there is a disposition to be happy, it will exhibit itself in a desire
to create happiness in others; and wherever there is no disposition to
be happy, the individual will be just as careless of the happiness of
those around him as he is regardless of his own. That's my idea of
happiness, don't you see."
"And it appears to me a very rational one," observed the young merchant.
"But how does the disposition to happiness arise?"
"There are some very curious phenomena connected with the origin and
growth of these dispositions," replied the surgeon. "In the first
place, all dispositions are formed in the individual by the pressure of
external circumstances, no matter how or from whence directed: evil
dispositions and good, and they arise at different times and sometimes
in succession. When created, they set with a certain impetus in a
certain direction; and as in these the extremes meet, if another impetus
is given, they will proceed from bad to good to the same distance they
advanced from good to bad. This is the cause of individuals having been
notorious for vice becoming eminent for virtue. Water flowing from the
top of a mountain is capable by its own power of finding its level on a
mountain of a similar elevation; and the impetus of vice being carried
down a certain way ascends by the impetus of good a like height. This
accounts for the old proverb, 'The greater the sinner the greater the
saint;' that is to say, the force in one produces a like force in the
other. Again, the disposition to love has frequently been followed by
the disposition to hate, as nearly as possible to the same extent; and
the disposition to happiness may as frequently be succeeded by the
disposition to misery."
"But supposing the impetus to be carried down, it will want the
application of no other power to carry it up; and if carried up, will
unassisted carry itself down," remarked the professor.
"Not so," replied the doctor: "Evil is of a heavy nature; and when it
descends, clings to the soil at the bottom, unless it receive another
impetus: and good is of a light nature, that naturally rises, and when
it has attained its highest elevation would there remain, were it not
sent down with a similar force."
"The idea is ingenious, certainly," said the young merchant.
"And that is all the merit it possesses," observed Fortyfolios, whose
more orthodox notions could not tolerate such an hypothesis. "Were such
a theory generally adopted, its mischief would be incalculable. It would
loosen our sense of the moral obligations, and utterly destroy all the
established ideas of right and wrong."
"As for the moral obligations, don't you see," replied Tourniquet, "I
am perfectly convinced that it would place them on a much more secure
footing than they now possess; and if established notions on the subject
are erroneous, which I can prove them to be, the sooner they are knocked
on the head the better. I have already shown to you, in the instance
of the natural child, that the idea of virtue in the community is very
vague, unsettled, and unphilosophical, and creates more mischief than it
does good; and if we take the ideas of the same principle existing at
different times and in different communities, we shall find even this
confusion worse confounded. Things the most opposite to the true
character of virtue have been considered worthy of general adoption as
virtues. Thieving has existed as a virtue; drunkenness has existed as
a virtue; profligacy has existed as a virtue; murder has existed as a
virtue; and many others of the most abominable vices have, at various
intervals, with various people, been practised, avowed, and defended,
as if they were the most admirable of virtues. It is not many centuries
since the natives, on the coast of Guinea, and the inhabitants of other
countries, were taught to steal, and the cleverest thief was an object
of as much admiration among them as the most virtuous member of the
community; but there is no necessity to go to a state of barbarism for
an illustration of the honour with which dishonesty has been regarded;
for in all speculations, in all trading dealings, in all gambling
transactions, and in all appropriations of property acquired by one
party from another by a certain cunning or skill, of which the other
is not possessed, there is nothing else but stealing; and yet a person
acquiring property by such means is generally thought to be respectable,
and respectability is considered a virtue."
"I am afraid, if your argument be true, that there is but little real
honesty in the world," remarked Oriel.
"It is as I have stated," replied the doctor. "I have read of states
in which the man who could swallow some half a dozen bottles of wine,
and make his friends follow his example--in other words, a man who
practised habitual intoxication--had the reputation of being 'a good
fellow,' when amongst the same people goodness was considered virtue;
but even at the present day, in some parts of the world, intemperance
is regarded as a thing to be applauded rather than censured, although
it is not only a vice, but being the most direct channel to all other
vices ought to be held in detestation as the most vicious of evil
inclinations."
Oriel Porphyry thought of the scene he had witnessed at Canton; but he
smiled, and said nothing.
"With regard to the next of these vices which are considered as
virtues," continued the doctor, "there are few so destructive to
happiness. What is vulgarly called virtue in the government or
indulgence of the affections, in a majority of instances, should go by
an opposite name. It is upon record, that a certain king of Ashantee was
possessed of 3333 wives: other monarchs have been equally affectionate
towards their female subjects; and it is very rare, indeed, to find
these potentates, even with the wise king Solomon at their head,
possessing any pretensions to this identical virtue; and yet they have
been honoured more than the most virtuous character in their dominions.
But I maintain that all marriages against the inclination of one or both
parties, such as those formed for convenience, from state policy, or by
the authority of parents and guardians, is a state of absolute vice; and
yet the individuals so existing are regarded as if living in a state of
perfect virtue."
"Undoubtedly they live in a state of perfect virtue as long as they have
no vicious inclinations," said the professor.
"But it frequently happens that one of these parties has entertained
an inclination for another before marriage," replied Tourniquet. "An
inclination perfectly virtuous, but circumstances over which either
have no control, force them into a marriage, and then in the opinion of
the world that inclination (which is rarely destroyed) is considered
vicious, though perfectly virtuous in itself, and the state in which
the individual exists, against his or her inclination, is considered
virtuous, though perfectly vicious in itself, because it tends either
to destroy the virtuous inclination, or if that inclination is indulged
under those circumstances, it creates a state of things which is just
as far removed from virtue. The same species of vice is created by an
inclination after marriage--which is likely to occur when the marriage
has taken place without an inclination."
"At one time the punishment used to be very severe for endeavouring to
effect a marriage or a similar state of things against the inclination
of one of the parties," remarked the young merchant. "And I imagine that
if the mis-marriages to which you have alluded were punished after the
same fashion, both the public morals and the public happiness would be
much increased."
"No doubt of it, don't you see," responded the doctor. "And now for
an examination of the manner in which murder has been regarded. About
a thousand years since there was a religious community in India who
practised murder as a virtue. They were called Thugs, and after long
watching for an opportunity, with abundance of prayers and other holy
ceremonies, they fell upon their victims and strangled them with a cord.
Previous to this, there arose a military and religious order in Persia,
called Assassins, who stabbed or poisoned in secrecy and without shame;
and by both these communities murder was practised as the highest kind
of virtue. But they were not the only people who entertained similar
notions. The heathens murdered the Christians, and the Christians
slaughtered the heathens. The Catholics destroyed heretics, and heretics
waged a religious war upon one another. The Mahometans killed Jews or
Christians, or any other sect not professing their form of faith; and
the Jews, Christians, and others, retaliated to the best of their
ability; and under the name of religion nearly all religious sects have
murdered by wholesale, and, practising this inhuman vice, each party has
conceived that they were exhibiting the highest kind of virtue. But at
the present day, murder in a variety of shapes exists, and is regarded
as a virtue of a very high order. Even in an offender, the destruction
of human life is murder, unless, which is a very extreme case, it be
impossible for the security of society, to allow the offender to exist;
yet the sanguinary executions that disgrace the penal codes of many
communities, boasting a superior degree of civilisation, is called
justice, which is but another name for virtue. Killing a man in a duel
is murder. All warfare is murder; yet he who distinguishes himself most
in the destruction of those to whom he is opposed is honoured as being
peculiarly brave--and bravery is considered a virtue."
"Occasions arise when warfare is absolutely necessary," said Oriel
Porphyry; "and I cannot help the conviction, that the man who signalises
himself in the defence of his country, and in the destruction of his
enemies, is entitled to rank with the most virtuous characters."
"Certainly," observed Fortyfolios.
"With regard to wars being necessary, don't you see, in the present
state of the world they may be," replied the surgeon. "But in an
improved order of things they would not be required, for then the force
of opinion would be much more effective than the force of arms; and as
to the superior character of valour, although few can admire heroic
actions more than myself, I know that the courage by which they are
created is an impulse which may exist to the same extent in the
savage and in the brute. This is not necessary to virtue, for in some
organisations the want of physical energy renders the existence and the
exhibition of martial courage impossible; and it is not produced by
virtue, for it is often found existing in persons of the most vicious
inclinations. Now I think I have said enough to show the want of
clearness in the ideas of virtue that have existed and do exist in the
world, and the danger which must arise from attempting to build any
happiness upon so insecure a foundation."
"I differ with you _in toto_," exclaimed the professor, with more than
his usual seriousness. "And glad I am that such is the case; for your
heathenish theories are destructive of every religious principle that
the human mind possesses."
"Pish!" muttered the doctor.
"It is an argument, the tendency of which goes directly to level all
the existing distinctions between right and wrong, and to weaken the
influence of those sacred truths which have been professed by mankind
for so many generations," continued Fortyfolios.
"Bah!" exclaimed Tourniquet.
"You may profess what opinions you please," he added; "but the opinions
on which multitudes of people rest their expectations of future
happiness ought not to be disturbed by the contemplation of such vain
and idle speculations as those in which you indulge."
"Nonsense, don't you see," said the other.
"I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, it is rank atheism," exclaimed the
professor, rather warmly.
"I tell you, Professor Fortyfolios, you're a goose," replied his
antagonist.
"As usual, gentlemen, your argument ends in a dispute," observed Oriel
Porphyry. "But you must excuse me for the present. I am really tired
out, and have been yawning in a manner that would have silenced any
disputants less eager than yourselves. I shall go to my berth, which
example I should advise you to follow; and let us hope that the terrible
monsoon will allow us some repose."
The philosophers took the advice that was offered; and in less than half
an hour all three were fast asleep in their hammocks.
CHAP. IX.
GAME LAWS IN INDIA.
"Pooh, pooh! Come and hunt. Come and hunt. There is no use in looking
after a parcel of buildings, and running to see sights: now you are in
this part of the country you ought to enjoy the pleasures it affords.
Come and hunt, man. Come and hunt."
This was said by a fine, stout, middle-aged man, dressed in a light jean
jacket and full lower garments of a similar fabric, with a very broad
brimmed hat of fine straw, which he was then putting on. Although
his complexion was sallow, his features were lively and intelligent;
and there was a bluff, free, careless manner with him that seemed
particularly agreeable to his companions. They were in a handsome
chamber with an open veranda, through which the slight breeze that
was stirring, entered; and the furniture, though rather faded, still
possessed an air of elegance. Wines, fruits, and sweetmeats were on a
large table in the centre, near which Oriel Porphyry and the speaker
stood. Zabra was leaning over the back of a cane-bottomed seat, watching
the motions of a lizard crawling up part of the framework of the
veranda. Fortyfolios was busily engaged endeavouring to beat off several
mosquitoes that seemed to have taken a fancy to his bald head; and Dr.
Tourniquet was examining the tusk of an elephant that lay, with several
skins, in a corner of the room.