The generous nations we just now mentioned understood this s_The Ontario Readers: The High School Reader, 1886

that there was hardly an oration ever made, which did not turn upon

this general sense, "That the love of their country was the first and

most essential quality in an honest mind." Demosthenes, in a cause

wherein his fame, reputation, and fortune, were embarked, puts his all

upon this issue; "Let the Athenians," says he, "be benevolent to me, as

they think I have been zealous for them." This great and discerning

orator knew, there was nothing else in nature could bear him up against

his adversaries, but this one quality of having shown himself willing or

able to serve his country. This certainly is the test of merit; and the

first foundation for deserving good-will is, having it yourself. The

adversary of this orator at that time was AEschines, a man of wily arts

and skill in the world, who could, as occasion served, fall in with a

national start of passion, or sullenness of humor, which a whole nation

is sometimes taken with as well as a private man; and by that means

divert them from their common sense, into an aversion for receiving

anything in its true light. But when Demosthenes had awakened his

audience with that one hint of judging by the general tenor of his life

towards them, his services bore down his opponent before him, who fled

to the covert of his mean arts, until some more favorable opportunity

should offer against the superior merit of Demosthenes.

It were to be wished, that love of their country were the first

principle of action in men of business, even for their own sakes; for

when the world begins to examine into their conduct, the generality, who

have no share in, or hopes of any part in power or riches, but what is

the effect of their own labor or prosperity, will judge of them by no

other method, than that of how profitable their administration has been

to the whole. They who are out of the influence of men's fortune or

favor, will let them stand or fall by this one only rule; and men who

can bear being tried by it, are always popular in their fall. Those, who

cannot suffer such a scrutiny, are contemptible in their advancement.

But I am here running into shreds of maxims from reading Tacitus this

morning, which has driven me from my recommendation of public spirit,

which was the intended purpose of this lucubration. There is not a more

glorious instance of it, than in the character of Regulus. This same

Regulus was taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, and was sent by them to

Rome, in order to demand some Punic noblemen, who were prisoners, in

exchange for himself; and was bound by an oath that he would return to

Carthage, if he failed in his commission. He proposes this to the

senate, who were in suspense upon it, which Regulus observing, without

having the least notion of putting the care of his own life in

competition with the public good, desired them to consider that he was

old, and almost useless; that those demanded in exchange were men of

daring tempers, and great merit in military affairs; and wondered they

would make any doubt of permitting him to go back to the short tortures

prepared for him at Carthage, where he should have the advantage of

ending a long life both gloriously and usefully. This generous advice

was consented to; and he took his leave of his country and his weeping

friends, to go to certain death, with that cheerful composure, as a man,

after the fatigue of business in a court or a city, retires to the next

village for the air.

* * * * *

_When the heart is right there is true patriotism_.

BISHOP BERKELEY.--1684-1753.

XV. THE GOLDEN SCALES.

JOSEPH ADDISON.--1672-1719.

_From_ THE SPECTATOR, August 21, 1712.

I was lately entertaining myself with comparing Homer's balance, in

which Jupiter is represented as weighing the fates of Hector and

Achilles, with a passage of Virgil, wherein that deity is introduced as

weighing the fates of Turnus and AEneas. I then considered how the same

way of thinking prevailed in the eastern parts of the world, as in those

noble passages of Scripture, where we are told, that the great king of

Babylon, the day before his death, had been weighed in the balance, and

been found wanting. In other places of the holy writings the Almighty is

described as weighing the mountains in scales, making the weight for the

winds, knowing the balancings of the clouds; and, in others, as weighing

the actions of men, and laying their calamities together in a balance.

Milton, as I have observed in a former paper, had an eye to several of

these foregoing instances, in that beautiful description wherein he

represents the archangel and the evil spirit as addressing themselves

for the combat, but parted by the balance which appeared in the heavens,

and weighed the consequences of such a battle.

The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray,

Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen

Betwixt Astrea and the Scorpion sign,

Wherein all things created first he weigh'd,

The pendulous round earth with balanced air

In counterpoise; now ponder; all events,

Battles and realms: in these he puts two weights,

The sequel each of parting and of fight:

The latter quick up flew, and kick'd the beam;

Which Gabriel spying, thus bespake the fiend.

"Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know'st mine,

Neither our own, but given; what folly then

To boast what arms can do! since thine no more

Than Heaven permits; nor mine, though doubled now

To trample thee as mire: for proof look up,

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign,

Where thou art weigh'd, and shewn how light, how weak,

If thou resist." The fiend look'd up and knew

His mounted scale aloft; nor more: but fled

Murm'ring, and with him fled the shades of night.

These several amusing thoughts having taken possession of my mind some

time before I went to sleep, and mingling themselves with my ordinary

ideas, raised in my imagination a very odd kind of vision. I was,

methought, replaced in my study, and seated in my elbow-chair, where I

had indulged the foregoing speculations, with my lamp burning by me, as

usual. Whilst I was here meditating on several subjects of morality, and

considering the nature of many virtues and vices, as materials for those

discourses with which I daily entertain the public; I saw, methought, a

pair of golden scales hanging by a chain in the same metal over the

table that stood before me; when, on a sudden, there were great heaps of

weights thrown down on each side of them. I found upon examining these

weights, they showed the value of everything that is in esteem among

men. I made an essay of them, by putting the weight of wisdom in one

scale, and that of riches in another, upon which the latter, to show its

comparative lightness, immediately "flew up and kicked the beam."

But, before I proceed, I must inform my reader, that these weights did

not exert their natural gravity, till they were laid in the golden

balance, insomuch that I could not guess which was light or heavy,

whilst I held them in my hand. This I found by several instances, for

upon my laying a weight in one of the scales, which was inscribed by the

word Eternity; though I threw in that of time, prosperity, affliction,

wealth, poverty, interest, success, with many other weights, which in my

hand seemed very ponderous, they were not able to stir the opposite

balance, nor could they have prevailed, though assisted with the weight

of the sun, the stars, and the earth.

Upon emptying the scales, I laid several titles and honors, with pomps,

triumphs, and many weights of the like nature, in one of them, and

seeing a little glittering weight lie by me, I threw it accidentally

into the other scale, when, to my great surprise, it proved so exact a

counterpoise, that it kept the balance in an equilibrium. This little

glittering weight was inscribed upon the edges of it with the word

Vanity. I found there were several other weights which were equally

heavy, and exact counterpoises to one another; a few of them I tried, as

avarice and poverty, riches and content, with some others.

There were likewise several weights that were of the same figure, and

seemed to correspond with each other, but were entirely different when

thrown into the scales, as religion and hypocrisy, pedantry and

learning, wit and vivacity, superstition and devotion, gravity and

wisdom, with many others.

I observed one particular weight lettered on both sides, and upon

applying myself to the reading of it, I found on one side written "_In

the dialect of men_," and underneath it, "CALAMITIES;" on the other side

was written, "_In the language of the gods_," and underneath,

"BLESSINGS." I found the intrinsic value of this weight to be much

greater than I imagined, for it overpowered health, wealth,

good-fortune, and many other weights, which were much more ponderous in

my hand than the other.

There is a saying among the Scotch, that "an ounce of mother is worth a

pound of clergy;" I was sensible of the truth of this saying, when I saw

the difference between the weight of natural parts and that of learning.

The observation which I made upon these two weights opened to me a new

field of discoveries, for notwithstanding the weight of natural parts

was much heavier than that of learning, I observed that it weighed an

hundred times heavier than it did before, when I put learning into the

same scale with it. I made the same observation upon faith and morality;

for notwithstanding the latter outweighed the former separately, it

received a thousand times more additional weight from its conjunction

with the former, than what it had by itself. This odd phenomenon showed

itself in other particulars, as in wit and judgment, philosophy and

religion, justice and humanity, zeal and charity, depth of sense and

perspicuity of style, with innumerable other particulars, too long to be

mentioned in this paper.

As a dream seldom fails of dashing seriousness with impertinence, mirth

with gravity, methought I made several other experiments of a more

ludicrous nature, by one of which I found that an English octavo was

very often heavier than a French folio; and by another, that an old

Greek or Latin author weighed down a whole library of moderns. Seeing

one of my _Spectators_ lying by me, I laid it into one of the scales,

and flung a twopenny piece in the other. The reader will not inquire

into the event, if he remembers the first trial which I have recorded in

this paper. I afterwards threw both the sexes into the balance; but as

it is not for my interest to disoblige either of them, I shall desire to

be excused from telling the result of this experiment. Having an

opportunity of this nature in my hands, I could not forbear throwing

into one scale the principles of a Tory, and in the other those of a

Whig; but as I have all along declared this to be a neutral paper, I

shall likewise desire to be silent under this head also, though upon

examining one of the weights, I saw the word TEKEL engraven on it in

capital letters.

I made many other experiments, and though I have not room for them all

in this day's speculation, I may perhaps reserve them for another. I

shall only add, that upon my awaking I was sorry to find my golden

scales vanished, but resolved for the future to learn this lesson from

them, not to despise or value any things for their appearances, but to

regulate my esteem and passions towards them according to their real and

intrinsic value.

* * * * *

_It must be so--Plato, thou reasonest well!--

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire,

This longing after immortality?

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror,

Of falling into nought? Why shrinks the soul

Back on herself, and startles at destruction?

'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;

'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter,

And intimates eternity to man._

_From Cato._--ADDISON.

XVI. MISJUDGED HOSPITALITY.

JONATHAN SWIFT.--1667-1745.

_From_ THE TATLER, March 6, 1711.

_Ingenuas didicisse fideliter artes

Emollit mores._

OVID.

Those inferior duties of life which the French call _les petites

morales_, or the smaller morals, are with us distinguished by the name

of good manners or breeding. This I look upon, in the general notion of

it, to be a sort of artificial good sense, adapted to the meanest

capacities, and introduced to make mankind easy in their commerce with

each other. Low and little understandings, without some rules of this

kind, would be perpetually wandering into a thousand indecencies and

irregularities in behavior; and in their ordinary conversation, fall

into the same boisterous familiarities that one observeth amongst them

when a debauch hath quite taken away the use of their reason. In other

instances, it is odd to consider, that for want of common discretion,

the very end of good breeding is wholly perverted; and civility,

intended to make us easy, is employed in laying chains and fetters upon

us, in debarring us of our wishes, and in crossing our most reasonable

desires and inclinations. This abuse reigneth chiefly in the country, as

I found to my vexation, when I was last there, in a visit I made to a

neighbor about two miles from my cousin. As soon as I entered the

parlor, they put me into the great chair that stood close by a huge

fire, and kept me there by force, until I was almost stifled. Then a boy

came in great hurry to pull off my boots, which I in vain opposed,

urging that I must return soon after dinner. In the meantime, the good

lady whispered her eldest daughter, and slipped a key into her hand. The

girl returned instantly with a beer-glass half full of _aqua mirabilis_

and syrup of gillyflowers. I took as much as I had a mind for; but madam

avowed I should drink it off--for she was sure it would do me good,

after coming out of the cold air--and I was forced to obey; which

absolutely took away my stomach. When dinner came in, I had a mind to

sit at a distance from the fire; but they told me it was as much as my

life was worth, and set me with my back just against it. Although my

appetite was quite gone, I resolved to force down as much as I could;

and desired the leg of a pullet. "Indeed, Mr. Bickerstaff," says the

lady, "you must eat a wing, to oblige me;" and so put a couple upon my

plate. I was persecuted at this rate during the whole meal. As often as

I called for small-beer, the master tipped the wink, and the servant

brought me a brimmer of October. Some time after dinner, I ordered my

cousin's man, who came with me, to get ready the horses; but it was

resolved I should not stir that night; and when I seemed pretty much

bent upon going, they ordered the stable door to be locked; and the

children hid my cloak and boots. The next question was, what I would

have for supper. I said I never ate anything at night; but was at last,

in my own defence, obliged to name the first thing that came into my

head. After three hours spent chiefly in apologies for my entertainment,

insinuating to me, "that this was the worst time of the year for

provisions; that they were at a great distance from any market; that

they were afraid I should be starved; and that they knew they kept me to

my loss," the lady went, and left me to her husband--for they took

special care I should never be alone. As soon as her back was turned,

the little misses ran backward and forward every moment; and constantly

as they came in, or went out, made a courtesy directly at me, which, in

good manners, I was forced to return with a bow, and, "Your humble

servant, pretty miss." Exactly at eight the mother came up, and

discovered by the redness of her face that supper was not far off. It

was twice as large as the dinner, and my persecution doubled in

proportion. I desired, at my usual hour, to go to my repose, and was

conducted to my chamber by the gentleman, his lady, and the whole train

of children. They importuned me to drink something before I went to bed;

and upon my refusing, at last left a bottle of _stingo_, as they called

it, for fear I should wake and be thirsty in the night. I was forced in

the morning to rise and dress myself in the dark, because they would not

suffer my kinsman's servant to disturb me at the hour I desired to be

called. I was now resolved to break through all measures to get away;

and after sitting down to a monstrous breakfast of cold beef, mutton,

neats' tongues, venison-pasty, and stale-beer, took leave of the family.

But the gentleman would needs see me part of my way, and carry me a

short-cut through his own grounds, which he told me would save half a

mile's riding. This last piece of civility had like to have cost me

dear, being once or twice in danger of my neck, by leaping over his

ditches, and at last forced to alight in the dirt; when my horse, having

slipped his bridle, ran away, and took us up more than an hour to

recover him again. It is evident that none of the absurdities I met with

in this visit proceeded from an ill intention, but from a wrong judgment

of complaisance, and a misapplication in the rules of it.

XVII. FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN."[B]

ALEXANDER POPE.--1688-1744.

Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate,

All but the page prescrib'd, their present state;

From brutes what men, from men what spirits know;

Or who could suffer being here below?

The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day,

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?

Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flowery food,

And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.

O blindness to the future! kindly given,

That each may fill the circle mark'd by heaven;

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,

Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,

And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;

Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.

What future bliss he gives not thee to know,

But gives that hope to be thy blessing now.

Hope springs eternal in the human breast:

Man never is, but always to be, blest.

The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,

Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind

Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind;

His soul proud science never taught to stray

Far as the solar walk, or milky way;

Yet simple nature to his hope has given,

Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heaven;

Some safer world in depth of woods embraced,

Some happier island in the watery waste,

Where slaves once more their native land behold,

No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold.

To be, contents his natural desire;

He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire;

But thinks, admitted to that equal sky,

His faithful dog shall bear him company.

What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,

Or hand, to toil, aspir'd to be the head?

What if the head, the eye, or ear repin'd

To serve mere engines to the ruling mind?

Just as absurd for any part to claim

To be another, in this general frame;

Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains

The great directing Mind of All ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole,

Whose body Nature is, and God the soul;

That changed through all, and yet in all the same,

Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame,

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,

Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees;

Lives through all life, extends through all extent,

Spreads undivided, operates unspent;

Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,

As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:

To him no high, no low, no great, no small;

He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

All nature is but art unknown to thee;

All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;

All discord, harmony not understood;

All partial evil, universal good:

And spite of pride, in erring reason's spite,

One truth is clear, _Whatever is, is right_.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,

As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;

Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,

We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,

Few in the extreme, but all in the degree:

The rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise;

And even the best by fits what they despise.

Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,

Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw:

Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,

A little louder, but as empty quite:

Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage,

And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age:

Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before,

Till tired he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

Has God, thou fool! work'd solely for thy good

Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food?

Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn,

For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn.

Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings?

Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings.

Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat?

Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.

The bounding steed you pompously bestride

Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride.

Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain?

The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.

Thine the full harvest of the golden year?

Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer.

The hog, that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call,

Lives on the labors of this lord of all.

Know, Nature's children all divide her care;

The fur that warms a monarch warm'd a bear.

While man exclaims, "See all things for my use!"

"See man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose:

And just as short of reason he must fall,

Who thinks all made for one, not one for all.

For forms of government let fools contest;

Whate'er is best administer'd is best:

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight;

His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

In faith and hope the world will disagree,

But all mankind's concern is charity:

All must be false that thwart this one great end,

And all of God that bless mankind or mend.

Honor and shame from no condition rise;

Act well your part, there all the honor lies.

Fortune in men has some small difference made,

One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade;

The cobbler apron'd, and the parson gown'd,

The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd.

"What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?"

I'll tell you, friend, a wise man and a fool.

You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,

Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk,

Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow;

The rest is all but leather or prunello.

Go! if your ancient but ignoble blood

Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood,

Go! and pretend your family is young,

Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.

What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards?

Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.

Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,

Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.

Who noble ends by noble means obtains,

Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains,

Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed

Like Socrates,--that man is great indeed.

An honest man's the noblest work of God.

Know then this truth (enough for man to know),

"Virtue alone is happiness below."

... Never elated while one man's oppress'd;

Never dejected while another's bless'd....[C]

See the sole bliss heaven could on all bestow!

Which who but feels can taste, but thinks can know:

Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind,

The bad must miss, the good untaught will find:

Slave to no sect, who takes no private road,

But looks through nature up to nature's God;

Pursues that chain which links the immense design,

Joins heaven and earth, and mortal and divine:

Sees that no being any bliss can know,

But touches some above and some below;

Learns from this union of the rising whole,

The first, last purpose of the human soul;

And knows where faith, law, morals, all began,

All end, in love of God and love of man.

FOOTNOTES:

[B] If the _Essay on Man_ were shivered into fragments, it would not

lose its value: for it is precisely its details which constitute its

moral as well as literary beauties.--A. W. WARD, _quoted by_ MARK

PATTISON.

[C] In these two lines, which, so far as I know, are the most

complete, the most concise, and the most lofty expressions of moral

temper existing in English words, Pope sums the law of noble life.

RUSKIN, _Lectures on Art_.

XVIII. RULE, BRITANNIA.

JAMES THOMSON.--1700-1748.

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,

Arose from out the azure main,

This was the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sang this strain: