feel those passions unequally. All men, however, are not susceptible of love, of hatred, of envy, or of despair. The strongest men, too, have their various points of weakness. Johnson united moral credulity to mental vigour, and he dishonoured his strength by arguing for victory rather than for truth.

Men, also, have their master wants. Addison, though richly endowed, was deficient in vigour. Locke aspired to imagination. He was zealous, and, on great occasions, vigorous, both in speech and action; yet he was, naturally, timid and irresolute. He could plan for

others; but, I think, if required, he could never have carried his own plans into execution. He could plant the seed, as it were; but he would never, perhaps, have been able either to plough or to harrow, to reap or to

mow.

CLXIV.

WHOSE ACTIONS CANNOT BE ADEQUATELY APPRECIATED.

THERE are some excellent deeds, and some admirable laws, which, from the nature of the subjects, or the circumstances, can never command their merited applause. As an instance of the latter, we may refer to Pliny's account of the conduct of a wife, on learning from her husband that he was afflicted with an incurable disease; and of the former, we may allude to Napoleon's edict prohibiting the creation of eunuchs on pain of death.

CLXV.

WHOSE CHARACTERS DO NOT APPEAR TILL THE TIME FOR ACTION ARRIVES.

SOME men are so discreet and profound in observance, that they appear neither equal to circumstances, nor masters of evil, till the time arrives in which they can seize opportunities. Thus, it is said of Henry IV. of England, that his vices did not become visible till his ambition brought him in sight of a crown; and then it was he discovered himself to be, not what he had previously appeared, but gloomy and unjust, tyrannical and cruel.

CLXVI.

MEN IN MASQUERADE.

MEN are the more difficult to be known, since they seem seldom to be more at their pleasure than when acting in masquerade. They even remind us of the feast and ceremony of the Wirtschaft.

Lord Shaftesbury says, that if a native of Ethiopia were to be transported to Venice during a carnival, it is probable he would be some time before he discovered that a whole people could be so fantastic, as, upon agreement, to practise on one another such a universal confusion of characters and persons. This disguise is not practised in the times of the carnival alone. It is (only not quite in so evident a manner) the common custom of every-day life. If men were as they appear, we could understand them at first sight

nearly as well as professors can read musical notes. I must say, however, that I think this masquerade system is going out of fashion. Men are becoming ashamed of it. Nature, perhaps, shows itself more now than in any former period. No one is scorned for showing his heart; though there are but too many ever on the watch to take advantage of the display.

*

CLXVII.

PERSONS WHOM IT IS DIFFICULT TO KNOW.

Ir is as difficult to estimate some men's characters, as it is to determine whether the guelder-rose, the hydrangea, and some other plants, exhibit the appearances naturally belonging to them, or whether they are the artificial effect of permanent culture. An Italian writer has well observed, that a large landscape by Poussin, or by Salvator Rosa, is seen in half the time that it takes to examine even a small one by Claude; since that small one embraces so many objects, and admits so ample a perspective, that a spectator almost anticipates the fatigue of a long journey. Thus is it with certain orders of men. Some we may know at a mere glance; others only after a long study. In paintings, an apostle may be known by his rags; a Madonna by a circle; an angel by his wings: but in real life, no warrior can be known by his sash; no counsellor by his robe; no priest by his surplice; nor any statesman his riband or his garter. There is no royal road'

*Lanzi. Storia Pittorica.

one can

to an extensive knowledge of man; for no know man amply, unless he has suffered. Thousands, however, know sufficiently well to be able to take the best advantage of every one they meet. But to ascertain how little real knowledge that implies, no one needs travel a thousand miles from home.

Warburton gives us one great cause why it is so difficult to judge of persons in general. It arises,' says he, 'from that obscurity, which is thrown over the 'character through the contest and strife between na

case.

ture and custom, reason and appetite, truth and opi'nion.' It may be here, too, remarked, that we are most esteemed when the utmost of our capacities are not fully known. This, however, cannot always be the For some are sufficiently fortunate as to be the more valued the more explicitly they are searched; and this serves to account for the surprise of Horace Walpole, that in writing men's lives, biographers should so frequently become enamoured of their subjects. 'One would think,' says he, that the nicer disquisi'tion one makes into the life of any one, the less reaC son we should find to love and admire him.' No! the more deeply we search, the more springs of action we find, and the more we feel, in consequence, disposed to tolerate imperfection. Were we made fully acquainted with all the motives even of a Catiline, a Borgia, a Philip II., a Danton, or a Robespierre, we should, perhaps, have less reason to blush for the depravity of a certain class of politicians; consciousness of evil making even harsh judges merciful. If we form too debased an opinion of mankind, we wrong the in

tegrity of all men's natures: if too elevated an one, we court disappointment at every step. In the consideration of all which, happy is the hope, that philosophers will, one day, know more than at present they even guess at; and taking their stand upon the poles of society, they will not only, as it were,

'Behold new seas beyond another sky;'

but acquire new species of vision with which to observe, compare, and judge of them. Three thousand years hence, and the whole character of man may assume the colour, as it were, of

Another morn

Risen on mid-noon.'

For that man is a progressive being, can, I think, admit of little reasonable doubt.

CLXVIII.

WHO ARE NOT APPRECIATED TILL AFTER THEY ARE DEAD.

THIS is but too commonly the case. 'You do not 'know me,' said Henry IV. of France to Bossompiere and the Duke of Guise; ' but I shall die one of these days, and then you will know the difference between ' other men and myself.'

Great warriors are appreciated during their lives or never; great statesmen are mostly so; great writers seldom. These must die, as it were, before they begin essentially to live; greatness of merit and slowness of appreciation being the warp and the woof of true literary reputation.