principle of variety, and more particularly of that of privation, and is also agreeable to experience.

After dwelling so long on variety, we need add little under the present head. We shall therefore confine ourselves to a very few illustrations.

If

Nothing is more generally recommended by moralists, parents, and guardians, than temperance, and this is voluntary privation in a limited degree. Without temperance, our minds as well as our bodies are prematurely worn out, and we become old in feelings and constitution before we have numbered half our days, palsied in sensibility as well as limb, spectres who seem to live for no purpose but to warn and terrify others. Abstinence is more powerful and often more practicable than temperance, because, after a temporary but total denial the return is a greater change than after partial fruition; and because a partial enjoyment creates a hankering for more. then, an indulgence be bad, endeavour to get rid of it at once, rather than by slow degrees. Total abstinence is more powerful than partial, for who does not relish a feast the better for a long fast? Often a few mouthfuls can blunt the edge of appetite, as knowing epicures can tell. A long fast is also a sovereign remedy for many bodily ills, especially for derangement of stomach and the other digestive organs. How refreshed is the mind by getting rid of a subject entirely, and how improved in force does it return to the favourite theme! After the privations of school, home is indeed delightful; and after the hardships of the sea, every haven is happy.

The pleasures peculiar to winter depend very much

on privation; for if we felt no cold without, should we care for the warmth within? One who has been long exposed to the inclemencies of the weather, is so much pleased with a cheerful fire and a smoking dinner, that he is content to bask in the heat, and asks for no other amusement than to watch the changing embers. He feels an inward contentment, which excludes even a touch of ennui, and puts him in good humour with every one that surrounds him.

And here we may remark, that summer, with all its enchantments, seems more to favour ennui than the dreary season of winter. Winter may be cold and uncomfortable, but summer is apt to be listless. This difference seems in part to depend upon the presence or absence of privation peculiar to these seasons, for privation not only enhances pleasure, but it serves to occupy the mind. To keep one's self warm in very cold weather, is quite an important affair, requiring many shifts and expedients. Moreover, force is required to resist the attacks of cold, and force is opposed to listlessness. Besides all this, the long days and the fine weather in summer render greater exertions possible, especially in the open air, and knowing them to be possible, therefore we feel a want of them. If any definite desire arise out of this want, activity of course ensues, otherwise we are conscious of indolence, and instantly fall into ennui. In proof of this, where the climate is so hot, as scarcely to admit of exercise during the day, exercise is neither thought of nor missed. There, the object is to keep one's self cool, and even this may become an occupation.

It would be vain to deny that the rich have im

mense advantages over the poor, but the principal drawback to their enjoyments arises from very abundance. They are constantly striving to do away with all privations, to level all difficulties, and to smooth the path of life as we have our highways; but such, alas! is the fatality attached to man, that with all his efforts he cannot get rid of uneasiness. In vain does he put on armour and betake himself to a tower of strength, fortified by every art; for a foe that ever watches an opportunity, must find some unguarded spot. Were there nothing to fear without, there would still be an enemy within; and were there peace abroad, there would be sedition at home. When a man has nothing substantial to annoy him, he raises an airy spirit and fights with it as a reality. If we must have some uneasiness, it is better on the whole that it assume a palpable form; as an open enemy is preferable to one in ambuscade. Some degree of hardship and privation is therefore certainly a good, for this is the true magician that lays the phantoms of the brain. In combating with real evils, the mind exerts force and feels a pride in the victory; but in warring with spectres, it knows its weakness, and is conscious only of humility. In these combats alone, while defeat is disgraceful, conquest brings no triumph.

But however wholesome privation may be for the mind as well as for the body, yet, always implying some uneasiness, it is seldom a welcome visitor. To the mass of mankind who are employed in labour, it is, alas! but too well known, and therefore to recommend it to them, would be only a mockery. By the

rich, however, it ought to be considered as a necessary whet to the numerous sources of enjoyment which fortune has placed within their reach. And let them not turn away from this useful but rough remedy, like children from a bitter dose, for they will find that the subsequent good far more than compensates the evil. Besides, the consciousness of privations and hardships undergone is attended with a secret satisfaction, unknown to the pampered sons of ease and luxury.

There is another grand principle of happiness, which it may be necessary here to mention, though after what has been said elsewhere, I do not intend to dilate on it in this place. This is Liberty, so dear to every human heart. Liberty in every form is not only eminently delightful in itself, but is also essential to many other sources of enjoyment; in particular, to activity and variety, those powerful causes of happiness to the individual. Nor is liberty of less importance to man, as member of a political society, for without liberty there can be no security for good government. But, as this subject has been already treated at large, I shall content myself on the present occasion with referring to a former work; for, though civil liberty be there more particularly dwelt upon, yet the nature of liberty in general, and its influence upon the happiness of the individual, have also been pointed out.15

15 See Political Discourses, Dis. on Civil Liberty, in particular chap. i. and iv.

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CHAPTER IV.

ON CUSTOM OR REPETITION.

OR

PPOSED to the principle of Variety, is that of Repetition. Custom and repetition mean the same thing, but the latter term is precise and clear, whereas the former is often confounded with habit, which is properly one of its effects. On this account, the phrase, principle of repetition, seems to me to be preferable. But whichever term we may adopt, the principle is highly important, and its effects are so complicated, that they appear to me to have never been thoroughly understood. It is hoped then, that the reader will not refuse his attention, should it even be more called upon, than in the course of the preceding pages.

The effects of repetition are two-fold, primary or original, and secondary or derivative. Of the former kind we may enumerate three distinct effects. First, repetition gives a facility in performing all bodily and mental exercises, even those which at first were very difficult. This effect of repetition is so well known, that it is unnecessary to dwell upon it, or to bring forward many particular instances; but it may not be amiss to mention one of the most remarkable. To the uninitiated, nothing is more surprising or puzzling than feats of jugglery and sleight of hand, whereby