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SKETCH V

Manners ¹

Some persons have a peculiar air, a peculiar manner of speaking or of acting, which, in opposition to the manners of the generality, are termed their manners. Such peculiarities in a whole nation, by which it differs from other nations or from itself at different periods, are termed the manners of that nation. Manners therefore signify a mode of behaviour peculiar to a certain person, or to a certain nation. The term is not applied to mankind in general; except perhaps in contradistinction to other beings.

Manners are distinguished from morals; but in what respect has not been clearly stated. Do not the same actions come under both? Certainly; but in different respects: an action considered as right or wrong, belongs to morals; considered as peculiar to a person or to a people, it belongs to manners.<315>

The intention of the present sketch is, to trace out such manners only as appear to proceed immediately from the nature and character of a people, whether influenced by the form of government, or depending on the degree of civilization. I am far from regretting, that manners produced by climate, by soil, and by other permanent causes, fall not under my plan: I should indeed make a sorry figure upon a subject that has been acutely discussed by the greatest genius of the present age^(a).

I begin with external appearance, being the first thing that draws attention. The human countenance and gestures have a greater variety of expressions than those of any other animal: and some persons differ widely from the generality in these expressions, so as to be known by their manner of walking, or even by so slight an action as that of putting on or taking off a hat: some men are known even by the sound of their feet in walking. Whole nations are distinguishable by such peculiarities. And yet there is less variety in looks and gestures, than the different tones of mind would produce, were men left to<316> the impulses of pure nature: man, an imitative animal, is prone to copy others; and by imitation, external behaviour is nearly uniform among those who study to be agreeable; witness people of fashion in France.² I rest upon these outlines: to enter fully into the subject would be an endless work; disproportioned at any rate to the narrowness of my plan.

Dress must not be omitted, because it enters also into external appearance. Providence hath clothed all animals that are unable to clothe themselves. Man can clothe himself; and he is endowed beside with an appetite for dress, no less natural than an appetite for food. That appetite is proportioned in degree to its use: in cold climates it is vigorous; in hot climates, faint. Savages must go naked till they learn to cover themselves; and they soon learn where covering is necessary. The Patagonians, who go naked in a bitter-cold climate, must be woefully stupid. And the Picts, a Scotch tribe, who, it is said, continued naked down to the time of Severus, did not probably much surpass the Patagonians in the talent of invention.<317>

Modesty is another cause for clothing: few savages expose the whole of the body. It gives no high idea of Grecian modesty, that at the Olympic games people wrestled and run races stark naked.

There is a third cause for clothing, which is, the pleasure it affords. A fine woman, seen naked once in her life, is made a desirable object by novelty. But let her go naked for a month, how much more charming will she appear, when dressed with propriety and elegance! Clothing is so essential to health, that to be less agreeable than nakedness would argue an incongruity in our nature. Savages probably at first thought of clothing as a protection only against the weather; but they soon discovered a beauty in dress: men led the way, and women followed. Such savages as go naked paint their bodies, excited by the same fondness for ornament that our women shew in their party-coloured garments. Among the Jews, the men wore ear-rings as well as the women^(a). When Media was governed by its own kings, the men were sumptuous in dress: they wore loose robes, <318> floating in the air; had long hair covered with a rich bonnet, bracelets, chains of gold, and precious stones: they painted their faces, and mixed artificial hair with that of nature. As authors are silent about the women, they probably made no figure in that kingdom, being shut up, as at present, in seraglios. In the days of Socrates, married women in Greece were confined to be household drudges merely. Xenophon in his Memorabilia Socratis, introduces Ischomachus, an Athenian of great riches and reputation, discoursing to Socrates of his family affairs, “that he told his wife that his main object in marrying her was to have a person in whose discretion he could confide, who would take proper care of his servants, and lay out his money with oeconomy”; that one day he observed her face painted, and with high heeled shoes; that he chid her severely for such follies, “could she imagine to pass such silly tricks on a husband? If she wanted to have a better complection, why not weave at her loom standing upright, why not employ herself in baking and other family exercises, which would give her such a bloom as<319> no paint could imitate?” But when the Athenian manners came to be more polished, greater indulgence was given to the ladies in dress and ornament.³ They consumed the whole morning at the toilette; employing paint, and every drug for cleaning and whitening the skin: they laid red even upon their lips, and took great care of their teeth: their hair, made up in buckles with a hot iron, was perfumed and spread upon the shoulders: their dress was elegant, and artfully contrived to set off a fine shape. Such is the influence of appetite for dress: vanity could not be the sole motive, as married ladies were never seen in public.^* We learn from St. Gregory, that women in his time dressed the head extremely high, environing it with many tresses of false hair, disposed in knots and buckles, so as to resemble a regular fortification. Josephus reports, that the Jewish ladies powdered their hair with gold dust; a fashion that was carried from Asia to Rome. The first<320> writer who mentions white powder for the hair, the same we use at present, is L’Etoile, in his journal for the year 1593. He relates, that nuns walked the streets of Paris curled and powdered. That fashion spread by degrees through Europe. For many years after the civil wars in France, it was a fashion in Paris to wear boots and spurs with a long sword: a gentleman was not in full dress without these accouttrements. The sword continues an article of dress, though it distinguishes not a gentleman from his valet. To show that a taste for dress and ornament is deeply rooted in human nature, savages display that taste upon the body, having no covering to display it upon. Seldom is a child of a savage left to nature: it is deprived of a testicle, a finger, a tooth; or its skin is engraved with figures.

Clothing hath no slight influence, even with respect to morals. I venture to affirm, at the hazard of being thought paradoxical, that nakedness is more friendly to chastity than covering. Adultery is unknown among savages, even in hot climates where they have scarce any covering.⁴ Dress gives play to the imagination, <321> which pictures to itself many secret beauties which vanish when rendered familiar by sight: if a lady accidentally discover half a leg, imagination is instantly inflamed; tho’ an actress appearing in breeches is beheld with indifference: a naked Venus makes not such an impression as when a garter only is discovered.

Cleanness is an article in external appearance. Whether cleanliness be inherent in the nature of man, or only a refinement of polished nations, may at first appear doubtful. What pleads for the former is, that cleanness is remarkable in several nations which have made little progress in the arts of life. The savages of the Caribbee islands, once a numerous tribe, were remarked by writers as neat and cleanly. In the island Otaheite, or King George’s island, both sexes are cleanly: they bathe frequently, never eat nor drink without washing before and after, and their garments, as well as their persons, are kept free of spot or blemish. Ammianus Marcellinus, describing the Gauls, says, that they were cleanly; and that even the poorest women were never seen with dirty garments. The negroes, parti-<322>cularly those of Ardrah in the slave-coast, have a scrupulous regard to cleanness. They wash morning and evening, and perfume themselves with aromatic herbs. In the city of Benin, women are employed to keep the streets clean; and in that respect they are not outdone by the Dutch. In Corea, people mourn three years for the death of their parents; during which time they never wash. Dirtiness must appear dismal to that people, as to us.^* But instances are no less numerous that favour the other side of the question. Ammianus Marcellinus reports of the Huns, that they wore a coat till it fell to pieces with dirt and rottenness. Plan Carpin, who visited the Tartars anno 1246, says, “That they never wash face nor hands; that they never clean a dish, a pot, nor a garment; that, like swine, they make food of every thing, not excepting the vermin that crawl on them.” The present people of Kamskatka answer to that description in every article. The nasti-<323>ness of North-American savages, in their food, in their cabins, and in their garments, passes all conception. As they never change their garments till they fall to rags, nor ever think of washing them, they are eat up with vermin. The Esquimaux, and many other tribes, are equally nasty.

As cleanness requires attention and industry, the cleanness of some savages must be the work of nature, and the dirtiness of others must proceed from indolence counteracting nature. In fact, cleanness is agreeable to all, and nastiness disagreeable: no person prefers dirt; and even those who are the most accustomed to it are pleased with a cleanly appearance in others. It is true, that a taste for cleanness, like that for order, for symmetry, for congruity, is extremely faint during its infancy among savages. Its strongest antagonist is indolence, which savages indulge to excess: the great fatigue they undergo in hunting, makes them fond of ease at home; and dirtiness, when once habitual, is not easily conquered. But cleanness improves gradually with manners, and makes a figure in every industrious nation. Nor is a taste for clean-<324>ness bestowed on man in vain: its final cause is conspicuous, cleanness being extremely wholesome, and nastiness no less unwholesome.^*<325>

Thus it appears, that a taste for cleanness is inherent in our nature. I say more: cleanness is evidently a branch of propriety, and consequently a self-duty. The performance is rewarded with approbation; and the neglect is punished with contempt^(a).

A taste for cleanness is not equally distributed among all men; nor indeed is any branch of the moral sense equally distributed: and if, by nature, one person be more cleanly than another, a whole nation may be so. I judge that to be the case of the Japanese, so finically clean as to find fault even with the Dutch for dirtiness. Their inns are not an exception; nor their little-houses, in which water is always at hand for washing after the operation. I judged it to be also the case of<326> the English, who, high and low, rich and poor, are remarkable for cleanness all the world over; and I have often amused myself with so singular a resemblance between islanders, removed at the greatest distance from each other. But I was forced to abandon the resemblance, upon a discovery that the English have not always been so clean as at present. Many centuries ago, as recorded in Monkish history, one cause of the aversion the English had to the Danes was their cleanness: they combed their hair, and put on a clean shirt once a-week. It was reputed an extraordinary effort in Thomas a Becket, that he had his parlor strewed every day with clean straw. The celebrated Erasmus, who visited England in the reign of Henry VIII. complains of the nastiness and slovenly habits of its people; ascribing to that cause the frequent plagues which infested them. “Their floors,” says he, “are commonly of clay strewed with rushes, under which lies unmolested a collection of beer, grease, fragments, bones, spittle, excrements of dogs and cats, and of every thing that is nauseous”^(a). And the strewing a<327> floor with straw or rushes was common in Queen Elisabeth’s time, not excepting even her presence-chamber. A change so extraordinary in the taste and manners of the English, rouses our curiosity; and I flatter myself that the following cause will be satisfactory. A savage, remarkably indolent at home, though not insensible of his dirtiness, cannot rouse up activity sufficient to attempt a serious purgation; and would be at a loss where to begin. The industrious, on the contrary, are improved in neatness and propriety, by the art or manufacture that constantly employs them: they are never reduced to purge the stable of Augeas; for being prone to action, they suffer not dirt to rest unmolested. Industrious nations, accordingly, all the world over, are the most cleanly. Arts and industry had long flourished in Holland, where Erasmus was born and educated: the people were clean above all their neighbours, because they were industrious above all their neighbours; and, upon that account, the dirtiness of England could not fail to strike a Hollander. At the period mentioned, industry was as great a stranger to England as cleanness: <328> from which consideration, may it not fairly be inferred, that the English are indebted for their cleanliness to the great progress of industry among them in later times? If this inference hold, it places industry in an amiable light. The Spaniards, who are indolent to a degree, are to this day as dirty as the English were three centuries ago. Madrid, their capital, is nauseously nasty: heaps of unmolested dirt in every street, raise in that warm climate a pestiferous steam, which threatens to knock down every stranger. A purgation was lately set on foot by royal authority. But people habituated to dirt are not easily reclaimed: to promote industry is the only effectual remedy.^* The nastiness of the<329> streets of Lisbon before the late earthquake, was intolerable; and so is at present the nastiness of the streets of Cadiz.

Though industry be the chief promoter of cleanness, yet it is seldom left to operate alone: other causes mix, some to accelerate the progress, some to retard it. The moisture of the Dutch climate has a considerable influence in promoting cleanliness; and, joined with industry, produces a surprising neatness and cleanness among people of business: men of figure and fashion, who generally resort to the Hague, the seat of government, are not so cleanly. On the other hand, the French are less cleanly than the English, though not less industrious. But the lower classes of people being in England more at their ease than in France, have a greater taste for living well, and in particular for keeping themselves clean.^†<330>

A beard gives to the countenance a rough and fierce air, suited to the manners of a rough and fierce people. The same face without a beard appears milder; for which reason, a beard becomes unfashionable in a polished nation. Demosthenes, the orator, lived in the same period with Alexander the Great, at which time the Greeks began to leave off beards. A bust, however, of that orator, found in Herculaneum, has a beard, which must either have been done for him when he was young, or from reluctance in an old man to a new fashion. Barbers were brought to Rome from Sicily the 454th year after the building of Rome. And it must relate to a time after that period what Aulus Gellius says^(a), that people accused of any crime, were prohibited to shave their beards till they were absolved. From Hadrian downward, the Roman Emperors wore beards. Julius Capitolinus reproaches the Emperor Verus for cutting his beard at the instigation of a concubine. All the Roman generals wore beards in Justinian’s<331> time^(b). The Pope shaved his beard, which was held a manifest apostasy by the Greek church, because Moses, Jesus Christ, and even God the Father, were always drawn with beards by the Greek and Latin painters. Upon the dawn of smooth manners in France, the beaus cut the beard into shapes, and curled the whiskers. That fashion produced a whimsical effect: men of gravity left off beards altogether. A beard, in its natural shape, was too fierce even for them; and they could not for shame copy after the beaus. This accounts for a regulation, anno 1534, of the University of Paris, forbidding the professors to wear a beard.⁵

Language, when brought to any perfection among a polished people, may justly be considered as one of the fine arts; and, in that view, is handled above. But, considered as a branch of external behaviour, it belongs to the present sketch. Every part of external behaviour is influenced by temper and disposition, and speech more than any other part. In Elements of Criticism^(c) it is observed, that an emotion<332> in many instances bears a resemblance to its cause. The like holds universally in all the natural sounds prompted by passion. Let a passion be bold, rough, cheerful, tender, or humble, still it holds, that the natural sounds prompted by it, are in the same tone: and hence the reason why these sounds are the same in all languages. Some slight resemblance of the same kind is discoverable in many artificial sounds. The language of a savage is harsh; of polite people, smooth; and of women, soft and musical. The tongues of savage nations abound in gutturals, or in nasals: yet one would imagine that such words, being pronounced with difficulty, should be avoided by savages, as they are by children. But temper prevails, and suggests to savages harsh sounds, conformable to their roughness. The Esquimaux have a language composed of the harshest gutturals; and the languages of the northern European nations are not remarkably smoother. The Scotch peasants are a frank and plain people; and their dialect is in the tone of their character. The Huron tongue hath stateliness and energy<333> above most known languages, which is more conformable to the elevation of their sentiments, than to their present low condition. Thus the manners of a people may, in some measure, be gathered from their language. Nay, manners may frequently be gathered from single words. The Hebrew word LECHOM signifies both food and fighting; and TEREPH signifies both food and plunder. KARAB signifies to draw near to one, and signifies also to fight. The Greek word LEIA, which signified originally spoil procured by war or piracy, came to signify wealth. And the great variety of Greek words signifying good and better, signified originally strong and violent.

Government, according to its different kinds, hath considerable influence in forming the tone of a language. Language in a democracy is commonly rough and coarse; in an aristocracy, manly and plain; in a monarchy, courteous and insinuating; in despotism, imperious with respect to inferiors, and humble with respect to superiors. The government of the Greek empire is well represented in<334> Justinian’s edicts, termed Novellae Constitutiones; the style of which is stiff, formal, and affectedly stately, but destitute of order, of force, and of ligament. About three centuries ago, Tuscany was filled with small republics, whose dialect was manly and plain. Its rough tones were purged off by their union under the Great Duke of Tuscany; and the Tuscan dialect has arrived nearer to perfection than any other in Italy. The tone of the French language is well suited to the nature of its government: every man is politely submissive to those above him; and this tone forms the character of the language in general, so as even to regulate the tone of the few who have occasion to speak with authority. The freedom of the English government forms the manners of the people: the English language is accordingly more manly and nervous than the French, and abounds more with rough sounds. The Lacedemonians of old, a proud and austere people, affected to talk with brevity, in the tone of command more than of advice; and hence the Laconic style, dry but masculine. The Attic<335> style is more difficult to be accounted for: it is sweet and copious, and had a remarkable delicacy above the style of any other nation. And yet the democracy of Athens produced rough manners; witness the comedies of Aristophanes, and the orations of Eschines and Demosthenes. We are not so intimately acquainted with the Athenians, as to account for the difference between their language and their manners. We are equally at a loss about the Russian tongue, which, notwithstanding the barbarity of the people, is smooth and sonorous: and, though the Malayans are the fiercest people in the universe, their language is the softest of all that are spoken in Asia. All that can be said is, that the operation of a general cause may be disturbed by particular circumstances. Languages resemble tides: the influence of the moon, which is the general cause of tides, is in several instances overbalanced by particular causes acting in opposition.

There may be observed in some savage tribes a certain refinement of language that might do honour to a polished people. The Canadians never give a man his proper<336> name, in speaking to him. If he be a relation, he is addressed to in that quality: if a stranger, the speaker gives him some appellation that marks affection; such as brother, cousin, friend.

In early times, people lived in a very simple manner, ignorant of such habitual wants as are commonly termed luxury. Rebecca, Rachel, and the daughters of Jethro, tended their father’s flocks: they were really shepherdesses. Young women of fashion drew water from the well with their own hands. The joiner who made the bridal bed of Ulysses, was Ulysses himself^(a). The Princess Nausicaa washes the family-clothes; and the Princes her brothers, upon her return, unyoke the car, and carry in the clothes^(b). Queens, and even female deities, are employed in spinning^(c). Is it from this fashion that young women in England are denominated spinsters? Telemachus goes to council with no attendants but two dogs:<337>

Soon as in solemn form th’ assembly sat,

From his high dome himself descends in state;

Bright in his hand a pond’rous jav’lin shin’d;

Two dogs, a faithful guard, attend behind.

ODYSSEY, book 2.

Priam’s car is yoked by his own sons, when he goes to redeem from Achilles the body of his son Hector. Telemachus yokes his own car^(a). Homer’s heroes kill and dress their own victuals^(b). Achilles entertaining Priam, slew a snow-white sheep; and his two friends flea’d and dressed it. Achilles himself divided the roasted meat among his guests.^* The story of Ruth is a pleasing instance of simplicity in ancient times; and her laying herself down to sleep at the feet of Boaz, a no less pleasing instance of innocence in these times.⁶ No people lived more innocently than the ancient Germans, though men and women lived together without<338> reserve. They slept promiscuously round the walls of their houses; and yet we never read of adultery among them. The Scotch Highlanders to this day live in the same manner. In Sparta, men and women lived familiarly together: public baths were common to both; and in certain games, they danced and combated together naked as when born. In a later period, the Spartan dames were much corrupted; occasioned, as authors say, by a shameful freedom of intercourse between the sexes. But remark, that corruption was not confined to the female sex, men having degenerated as much from their original manhood as women from their original chastity; and I have no difficulty to maintain, that gold and silver, admitted contrary to the laws of Lycurgus, were what corrupted both sexes. Opulence could not fail to have the same effect there that it has every where; which is to excite luxury and every species of sensuality. The Spartans accordingly, renouncing austerity of manners, abandoned themselves to pleasure: the most expensive furniture, the softest beds, superb tapestry, precious vases, exquisite wines, delicious viands, were not<339> now too delicate for an effeminate Spartan, once illustrious for every manly virtue. Lycurgus understood human nature better than the writers do who carp at him. It was his intention, to make his countrymen soldiers, not whining lovers: and he justly thought, that familiar intercourse between the sexes, would confine their appetites within the bounds of nature; an useful lesson to women of fashion in our days, who expose their nakedness in order to attract and enflame lovers. What justifies this reasoning is, the ascendant that Spartan dames had over their husbands while the laws of Lycurgus were in vigour: they in effect ruled the state as well as their own families. Such ascendant cannot be obtained nor preserved but by strict virtue: a woman of loose manners may be the object of loose desire; but seldom will she gain an ascendant over any man, and never over her husband.

Not to talk of gold, silver was scarce in England during the reign of the third Edward. Rents were paid in kind; and what money they had, was locked up in the coffers of the great barons. Pieces of<340> plate were bequeathed even by kings of England, so trifling in our estimation, that a gentleman of a moderate fortune would be ashamed to mention such in his will.

Next of action. Man is naturally prone to motion; witness children, who are never at rest but when asleep. Where reason governs, a man restrains that restless disposition, and never acts without a motive. Savages have few motives to action when the belly is full; their huts require little work, and their covering of skins still less. Hunting and fishing employ all their activity. After much fatigue in hunting, rest is sweet; which the savage prolongs, having no motive to action till the time of hunting returns. Savages accordingly, like dogs, are extremely active in the field, and extremely indolent at home.^* Sava-<341>ges in the torrid zone are indolent above all others: they go naked; their huts cost them no trouble; and vegetables, that grow spontaneously, are their only food. The Spaniards who first landed in Hispaniola, were surprised at the manners of the inhabitants. They are described as lazy, and without ambition; passing part of their time in eating and dancing, and the rest in sleep; having no great share of memory, and still less of understanding. The character given of these savages belongs to all, especially to savages in hot climates. The imperfection of their memory and judgement is occasioned by want of exercise. The same imperfection was remarkable in the people of Paraguay, when under Jesuit government; of which afterward^(a).<342>

We now take under consideration, the progress of such manners as are more peculiarly influenced by internal disposition; preparing the reader by a general view, before entering into particulars. Man is by nature a timid animal, having little ability to secure himself against harm: but he becomes bold in society, and gives vent to passion against his enemies. In the hunter-state, the daily practice of slaughtering innocent animals for food, hardens men in cruelty: more savage than bears or wolves, they are cruel even to their own kind.^* The calm and sedentary life of<343> a shepherd, tends to soften the harsh manners of hunters; and agriculture, requiring the union of many hands in one operation, improves benevolence. But here<344> the hoarding appetite starts up to disturb that auspicious commencement of civilization. Skilful husbandry, producing the necessaries of life in plenty, paves the way<345> to arts and manufactures. Fine houses, splendid gardens, and rich apparel, are desirable objects: the appetite for property becomes headstrong, and to obtain gratification tramples down every obstacle of justice or honour^(a). Differences arise, fomenting discord and resentment: war springs up, even among those of the same tribe; and while it was lawful for a man to take revenge at his own hand^(b), that fierce passion swallowed up all others. Inequality of rank and fortune fostered dissocial passions; witness pride in particular, which produced a custom, once universal among barbarians, of killing men, women, dogs, and horses, for the use of a chieftain in the other world. Such complication of hateful and violent passions, rendering society uncomfortable, cannot be stemmed by any human means, other than wholesome laws: a momentary obstacle inflames desire; but perpetual restraint deadens even the most fervid passion. The authority of good government<346> gave vigour to kindly affections; and appetite for society, which acts incessantly, though not violently, gave a currency to mutual good offices. A circumstance concurred to blunt the edge of dissocial passions: the first societies were small; and small states in close neighbourhood engender discord and resentment without end: the junction of many such states into a great kingdom, removes people farther from their enemies, and renders them more gentle^(c). In that situation, men have leisure and sedateness to relish the comforts of social life: they find that selfish and turbulent passions are subversive of society; and through fondness for social intercourse, they patiently undergo the severe discipline, of restraining passion and smoothing manners. Violent passions that disturb the peace of society have subsided, and are now seldom heard of: humanity is in fashion, and social affections prevail. Men improve in urbanity by conversing with women; and, however selfish at heart, they conciliate favour by assuming an air of disinterestedness. Selfishness, <347> thus refined, becomes an effectual cause of civilization. But what follows? Turbulent and violent passions are buried, never again to revive; leaving the mind totally ingrossed by self-interest. In the original state of hunters, there being little connection among individuals, every man minds his own concerns, and selfishness governs. The discovery that hunting is best carried on in company, promotes some degree of society in that state: it gains ground in the shepherd state, and makes a capital figure where husbandry and commerce flourish. Private concord is promoted by social affection; and a nation is prosperous in proportion as the amor patriae prevails. But wealth, acquired whether by conquest or commerce, is productive of luxury, and every species of sensuality. As these increase, social affections decline, and at last vanish. This is visible in every opulent city that has long flourished in extensive commerce. Selfishness becomes the ruling passion: friendship is no more; and even blood-relation is little regarded. Every man studies his own interest: opulence and sensual pleasure are idols worshipped by all. And thus, in the progress of manners, <348> men end as they began: selfishness is no less eminent in the last and most polished state of society, than in the first and most rude state.

From a general view of the progress of manners we descend to particulars. And the first scene that presents itself is, cruelty to strangers, extended, in process of time, against members of the same tribe. Anger and resentment are predominant in savages, who never think of restraining passion. But this character is not universal: some tribes are remarkable for humanity, as mentioned in the first sketch. Anger and resentment formed the character of our European ancestors, and rendered them fierce and cruel. The Goths were so prone to blood, that, in their first inroads into the Roman territories, they massacred man, woman, and child. Procopius reports, that in one of these inroads they left Italy thin of inhabitants. They were however an honest people; and by the polish they received in the civilized parts of Europe, they became no less remarkable for humanity, than formerly for cruelty. Totila, their king, having mastered Rome after a long and bloody<349> siege, permitted not a single person to be killed in cold blood, nor the chastity of any woman to be attempted. One cannot without horror think of the wanton cruelties exercised by the Tartars against the nations invaded by them under Gengizcan and Timor Bec.

A Scythian, says Herodotus, presents the king with the heads of the enemies he has killed in battle; and the man who brings not a head, gets no share of the plunder. He adds, that many Scythians clothe themselves with the skins of men, and make use of the skulls of their enemies to drink out of. Diodorus Siculus reports of the Gauls, that they carry home the heads of their enemies slain in battle; and after embalming them, deposit them in chests as their chief trophy; bragging of the sums offered for these heads by the friends of the deceased, and refused. In similar circumstances, men are the same all the world over. The scalping of enemies, in daily use among the North-American savages, is equally cruel and barbarous.

No savages are more cruel than the Greeks and Trojans were, as described by Homer; men butchered in cold blood, <350> towns reduced to ashes, sovereigns exposed to the most humbling indignities, no respect paid to age nor to sex. The young Adrastus^(a), thrown from his car, and lying in the dust, obtained quarter from Menelaus. Agamemnon upbraided his brother for lenity: “Let none from destruction escape, not even the lisping infant in the mother’s arms: all her sons must with Ilium fall, and on her ruins unburied remain.” He pierced the supplicant with his spear; and setting his foot on the body, pulled it out. Hector, having stripped Patroclus of his arms, drags the slain along, vowing to lop the head from the trunk, and to give the mangled corse a prey to the dogs of Troy. And the seventeenth book of the Iliad is wholly employed in describing the contest about the body between the Greeks and Trojans. Beside the brutality of preventing the last duties from being performed to a deceased friend, it is a low scene, unworthy of heroes. It was equally brutal in Achilles to drag the corse of Hector to the ships tied to his car. In a scene be-<351>tween Hector and Andromache^(b), the treatment of vanquished enemies is pathetically described; sovereigns massacred, and their bodies left a prey to dogs and vultures; sucking infants dashed against the pavement; ladies of the first rank forced to perform the lowest acts of slavery. Hector doth not dissemble, that if Troy should be conquered, his poor wife would be condemned to draw water like the vilest slave. Hecuba, in Euripides, laments that she was chained like a dog at Agamemnon’s gate; and the same savage manners are described in many other Greek tragedies. Prometheus makes free with the heavenly fire, in order to give life to man. As a punishment for bringing rational creatures into existence, the gods decree, that he be chained to a rock, and abandoned to birds of prey. Vulcan is introduced by Eschylus rattling the chain, nailing one end to a rock, and the other to the breast-bone of the criminal. Who but an American savage can at present behold such a spectacle and not be shocked? A scene representing a woman murdered by her children would be hissed<352> by every modern audience; and yet that horrid scene was represented with applause in the Electra of Sophocles. Stoboeus reports a saying of Menander, that even the gods cannot inspire a soldier with civility: no wonder that the Greek soldiers were brutes and barbarians, when war was waged, not only against the state, but against every individual. At present, humanity prevails among soldiers as among others; because we make war only against a state, not against individuals. The Greeks are the less excusable for their cruelty, as they appear to have been sensible that humanity is a cardinal virtue. Barbarians are always painted by Homer as cruel; polished nations as tender and compassionate:

Ye Gods! (he cried) upon what barren coast,

In what new region is Ulysses tost?

Possess’d by wild barbarians fierce in arms,

Or men whose bosom tender pity warms?

ODYSSEY, book 13. 241.

Cruelty is inconsistent with true heroism; and, accordingly, very little of the latter is discoverable in any of Homer’s warriors. So much did they retain of the savage character, as, even without blushing, to fly from an enemy superior in bo-<353>dily strength. Diomedes, who makes an illustrious figure in the fifth book of the Iliad, retires when Hector appears: “Diomedes beheld the chief, and shuddered to his inmost soul.” Antilochus, son of Nestor, having slain Melanippus^(a), rushed forward, eager to seize his bright arms. But seeing Hector, he fled like a beast of prey who shuns the gathering hinds. And the great Hector himself shamefully turns his back upon the near approach of Achilles: “Periphetes, endowed with every virtue, renowned in the race, great in war, in prudence excelling his fellows, gave glory to Hector, covering the chief with renown.” One would expect a fierce combat between these two bold warriors. Not so, Periphetes stumbling, fell to the ground; and Hector was not ashamed to transfix with his spear the unresisting hero.

In the same tone of character, nothing is more common among Homer’s warriors than to insult a vanquished foe. Patroclus, having beat Cebriones to the ground with a huge stone, derides his fall in the following words:<354>

Good heav’ns! what active feats yon artist shows,

What skilful divers are our Phrygian foes!

Mark with what ease they sink into the sand.

Pity! that all their practice is by land.⁷

The Greeks are represented^(a) one after another stabbing the dead body of Hector: “Nor stood an Argive near the chief who inflicted not a wound. Surely now, said they, more easy of access is Hector, than when he launched on the ships brands of devouring fire.”

When such were the manners of warriors at the siege of Troy, it is no surprise to find the heroes on both sides no less intent on stripping the slain than on victory. They are every where represented as greedy of spoil.

The Jews did not yield to the Greeks in cruelty. It is unnecessary to give instances, as the historical books of the Old Testament are in the hands of every one. I shall select one instance for a specimen, dreadfully cruel without any just provocation: “And David gathered all the people together, and went to Rabbah, and fought against it, and took it. And he<355> brought forth the people that were therein, and put them under saws, and under harrows of iron, and under axes of iron, and made them pass through the brick-kiln: and thus did he unto all the cities of the children of Ammon”^(b).

That cruelty was predominant among the Romans, is evident from every one of their historians. If a Roman citizen was found murdered in his own house, his whole household slaves, perhaps two or three hundred, were put to death without mercy, unless they could detect the murderer. Such a law, cruel and unjust, could never have been enacted among a people of any humanity. Brutality to their offspring was glaring. Children were held, like cattle, to be the father’s property: and so tenacious was the patria potestas, that if a son or daughter sold to be a slave was set free, he or she fell again under the father’s power, to be sold a second time, and even a third time. The power of life and death over children was much less unnatural, while no public tribunal existed for punishing crimes. A<356> son, being a slave, could have no property of his own. Julius Caesar was the first who privileged a son to retain for his own use spoils acquired in war. When law became a lucrative profession, what a son gained in that way was declared to be his property. In Athens, a man had power of life and death over his children; but, as they were not slaves, what they acquired belonged to themselves. So late as the days of Dioclesian, a son’s marriage did not dissolve the Roman patria potestas ^(a). But the power of selling children wore out of use^(b). When powers so unnatural were given to men over their children, and exercised so tyranically, can there be any doubt of their cruelty to others?^* <357> During the second triumvirate, horrid cruelties were every day perpetrated without pity or remorse. Antony, having ordered Cicero to be beheaded, and the head to be brought to him, viewed it with savage pleasure. His wife Fulvia laid hold of it, struck it on the face, uttered many bitter execrations, and, having placed it between her knees, drew out the tongue, and pierced it with a bodkin. The delight it gave the Romans to see wild beasts set loose against one another in their circus, is a proof not at all ambiguous of their taste for blood, even at the time of their highest civilization. The Edile Scaurus sent at one time to Rome 150 panthers, Pompey 410, and Augustus 420, for the public spectacles. Their gladiato-<358>rian combats are a less evident proof of their ferocity: the courage and address exerted in these combats gave a manly pleasure, that balanced in some measure the pain of seeing these poor fellows cut and slash one another. And, that the Romans were never cured of their thirst for blood, appears from Caligula, Nero, and many other monsters, who tormented the Romans after Augustus. There is no example in modern times of such monsters in France, though an absolute monarchy, nor even in Turkey.

Ferocity was, in the Roman empire, considerably mollified by literature and other fine arts; but it acquired new force upon the irruption of the barbarous nations who crushed that empire. In the year 559, Clotaire, King of the Franks, burnt alive his son, with all his friends, because they had rebelled against him. Queen Brunehaud, being by Clotaire II. condemned to die, was dragged through the camp at a horse’s tail, till she gave up the ghost. The ferocity of European nations became boundless during the anarchy of the feudal system. Many peasants in the northern provinces of France being<359> sorely oppressed in civil wars carried on by the nobles against each other, turned desperate, gathered together in bodies, resolving to extirpate all the nobles. A party of them, anno 1358, forced open the castle of a knight, hung him upon a gallows, violated in his presence his wife and daughters, roasted him upon a spit, compelled his wife and children to eat of his flesh, and terminated that horrid scene with massacring the whole family, and burning the castle. When they were asked, says Froissard, why they committed such abominable actions, their answer was, “That they did as they saw others do; and that all the nobles in the world ought to be destroyed.” The nobles, when they got the upper hand, were equally cruel. They put all to fire and sword, and massacred every peasant who came in the way, without troubling themselves to separate the innocent from the guilty. The Count de Ligny encouraged his nephew, a boy of fifteen, to kill with his own hand some prisoners who were his countrymen; in which, says Monstrelet, the young man took great delight. How much worse than brutal must have been<360> the manners of that age! for even a beast of prey kills not but when instigated by hunger. The third act of stealing from the lead-mines in Derby was, by a law of Edward I. punished in the following manner. A hand of the criminal was nailed to a table; and, in that condition, he was left without meat or drink, having no means for freedom but to employ the one hand to cut off the other. The barbarity of the English at that period made severe punishments necessary: but the punishment mentioned goes beyond severity; it is brutal cruelty. The barbarous treatment of the Jews during the dark ages of Christianity, gives pregnant evidence, that Christians were not short of Pagans in cruelty. Poisoning and assassination were most licentiously perpetrated no farther back than the last century. Some pious men made vigorous efforts in more than one general council to have assassination condemned, as repugnant to the law of God; but in vain.^*<361>

I wish to soften the foregoing scene: it may be softened a little. Among barbarians, punishments must be sanguinary, as their bodies only are sensible of pain, not their minds.^†

The restoration of arts and sciences in Europe, and a reformation in religion, had a wonderful effect in sweetening manners, and promoting the interests of society. Of all crimes high treason is the most involved in circumstances, and the most difficult to be defined or circumscribed. And yet, for that crime are reserved the most exquisite torments. In England, the punishment is, to cut up the criminal a-<362>live, to tear out his heart, to dash it about his ears, and to throw it into the flames. The same punishment continues in form, not in reality: the heart indeed is torn out, but not till the criminal is strangled. Even the virulence of religious zeal is considerably abated. Savonarola was condemned to the flames as an impious impostor; but he was first privately strangled. The fine arts, which humanize manners, were in Italy at that time accelerating toward perfection. The famous Latimer was in England condemned to be burnt for heresy: but bags of gunpowder were put under his arms, that he might be burnt with the least pain. Even Knox, a violent Scotch reformer, acknowledges, that Wishart was strangled before he was thrown into the flames for heresy. So bitter was the late persecution against the Jesuits, that not only were their persons proscribed, but in many places their books, not even excepting books upon mathematics, and other abstract subjects. That persecution resembled in many particulars the persecution against the knights-templars: fifty-nine of the latter were burnt alive: the former were really less inno-<363>cent; and yet such humanity prevails at present, that not a drop of Jesuit-blood has been shed. A bankrupt in Scotland, if he have not suffered by unavoidable misfortune, is by law condemned to wear a party-coloured garment. That law is not now put in execution, unless where a bankrupt deserves to be stigmatized for his culpable misconduct.

Whether the following late instance of barbarity do not equal any of those above mentioned, I leave to the reader. No traveller who visited Petersburgh during the reign of the Empress Elizabeth can be ignorant of Madam Lapouchin, the great ornament of that court. Her intimacy with a foreign ambassador having brought her under suspicion of plotting with him against the government, she was condemned to undergo the punishment of the knout. At the place of execution, she appeared in a genteel undress, which heightened her beauty. Of whatever indiscretion she might have been guilty, the sweetness of her countenance and her composure, left not in the spectators the slightest suspicion of guilt. Her youth also, her beauty, her life and spirit pleaded for her. <364> But all in vain: she was deserted by all, and abandoned to surly executioners; whom she beheld with astonishment, seeming to doubt whether such preparations were intended for her. The cloak that covered her bosom being pulled off, modesty took the alarm, and made her start back: she turned pale, and burst into tears. One of the executioners stripped her naked to the waste, seized her with both hands, and threw her on his back, raising her some inches from the ground. The other executioner laying hold of her delicate limbs with his rough fists, put her in a posture for receiving the punishment. Then laying hold of the knout, a sort of whip made of a leathern strap, he with a single stroke tore off a slip of skin from the neck downward, repeating his strokes till all the skin of her back was cut off in small slips. The executioner finished his task with cutting out her tongue; after which she was banished to Siberia.^*<365>

The native inhabitants of the island Amboyna are Malayans. Those on the sea-coast are subject to the Dutch: those in the inland parts are their declared enemies, and never give quarter. A Dutch captive, after being confined five days without food, is ripped up, his heart cut out, and the head severed from the body, is preserved in spice for a trophy. Those who can show the greatest number of Dutch heads are the most honourable.

In early times, when revenge and cruelty trampled on law, people formed associations for securing their lives and their possessions. These were common in Scandinavia and in Scotland. They were also common in England during the Anglo-Saxon government, and for some ages after the Conquest. But, instead of support-<366>ing justice, they contributed more than any other cause to confusion and anarchy, the members protecting each other, even in robbery and murder. They were suppressed in England by a statute of Richard II.; and in Scotland by reiterated statutes.

Roughness and harshness of manners are generally connected with cruelty; and the manners of the Greeks and Trojans are accordingly represented in the Iliad as remarkably rough and harsh. When the armies were ready to engage^(a), Menestheus King of Athens, and Ulysses of Ithaca, are bitterly reproached by Agamemnon for lingering, while others were more forward. “Son of Peleus,” he said, “and thou versed in artful deceit, in mischief only wise, why trembling shrink ye back from the field; why wait till others engage in fight? You it became, as first in rank, the first to meet the flame of war. Ye first to the banquet are called, when we spread the feast. Your delight is to eat, to regale, to quaff unstinted the generous wine.” In the fifth book, Sarpedon upbraids Hector<367> for cowardice. And Tle polemus, ready to engage with Sarpedon, attacks him first with reviling and scurrilous words. Because Hector was not able to rescue the dead body of Sarpedon from the Greeks, he is upbraided by Glaucus, Sarpedon’s friend, in the following words: “Hector, though specious in form, distant art thou from valour in arms. Undeserved hast thou fame acquired, when thus thou shrinkest from the field. Thou sustainest not the dreadful arm, not even the sight of godlike Ajax. Thou hast shunned his face in the fight: thou darest not approach his spear.”

Rough and harsh manners produced slavery; and slavery fostered rough and harsh manners, by giving them constant exercise. The brutality of the Spartans to the Helots, their slaves, is a reproach to the human species. Beside suffering the harshest usage, they were prevented from multiplying by downright murder and massacre. Why did not such barbarity render the Spartans detestable, instead of being respected by their neighbours as the most virtuous people in Greece? There can be but one reason, that the Greeks<368> were all of them cruel, the Spartans a little more perhaps than the rest. In Rome, a slave, chained at the gate of every great house, gave admittance to the guests invited to a feast: could any but barbarians behold such a spectacle without pain?

Whence the rough and harsh manners of our West-Indian planters, but from the unrestrained licence of venting ill humour upon their negro slaves?^* Why art car-<369>ters a rugged set of men? Plainly because horses, their slaves, submit without resistance. An ingenious writer, describing Guiana in the southern continent of America, observes, that the negroes, who are more numerous than the whites, must be kept in awe by severity of discipline.⁸ And he endeavours to justify the practice; ur-<370>ging, that beside contributing to the safety of the white inhabitants, it makes the slaves themselves less unhappy. “Impossibility of attainment,” says he, “never fails to annihilate desire of enjoyment; and rigid treatment, suppressing every hope of liberty, makes them peaceably submit to slavery.” Sad indeed must be the condition of slaves, if harsh treatment contribute to make them less unhappy. Such reasoning may be relished by rough European planters, intent upon gain: I am inclined, however, to believe, that the harsh treatment of these poor people is more owing to the avarice of their masters than to their own perverseness.^* That slaves in all ages have been harshly treated, is a melancholy truth. One exception I know, and but one, which I gladly mention in honour of the Mandingo negroes. Their slaves, who are numerous, <371> receive very gentle treatment; the women especially, who are generally so well dressed as not to be distinguishable from those who are free.

Many political writers are of opinion, that for crimes instigated by avarice only, slavery for life, and hard work, would be a more adequate punishment than death. I would subscribe to that opinion but for the following consideration, that the having such criminals perpetually in view, would harden our hearts, and eradicate pity, a capital moral passion. Behold the behaviour of the Dutch in the island of Amboyna. A native who is found guilty of theft, is deprived of his ears and nose, and made a slave for life. William Funnel, who was there anno 1705, reports, that 500 of these wretches were secured in prison, and never suffered to go abroad but in order to saw timber, to cut stone, or to carry heavy burdens. Their food is a pittance of coarse rice boiled in water, and their bed the hard ground. What is still worse, poor people who happen to run in debt are turned over to the servants of the East India company, who send them to work among their slaves, with a daily al-<372>lowance of two-pence, which goes to the creditor. A nation must be devoid of bowels who can establish such inhumanity by law. But time has rendered that practice so familiar to the Dutch, that they behold with absolute indifference the multiplied miseries of their fellow creatures. It appears, indeed, that such a punishment would be more effectual than death to repress theft; but can any one doubt, that society would suffer more by eradicating pity and humanity, than it would gain by punishing capitally every one who is guilty of theft? At the same time, the Dutch, however cruel to the natives, are extremely complaisant to one another: seldom is any of them punished but for murder: a small sum will procure pardon for any other crime.

Upon the brutality and harsh manners of savages, was founded an opinion universally prevalent, that man is an obdurate being who must be governed by fear, not by love. It was the politic of princes to keep their subjects in awe; and every subject became a creeping slave. Hence the universal practice of never appearing before a sovereign or a prince but with a<373> splendid present, in order to deprecate his wrath or soften his temper. Philosophy has in time banished these crude notions of human nature, and taught us that man is a social being, upon whom benevolence has a more powerful influence than fear. Benevolence, accordingly, has become the ruling principle in society; and it is now the glory of princes to bestow favours and to receive none. This change of manners governs equally the worship paid to the Deity. Among rude nations, the Deity is represented as an angry God, visiting the sins of the fathers upon the children; and hence oblations, offerings, sacrifices, not even excepting human victims. Happy it is for us to have received more refined notions of the Deity. The opinion, justly founded, that benevolence is his prime attribute, has banished oblations, sacrifices, and such trumpery; and we depend on the goodness of the Deity, without any retribution but that of a grateful heart.

A degree of coarseness and indelicacy is connected with rough manners. The manners of the Greeks, as copied by Plautus and Terence from Menander and other Greek writers, were extremely coarse; such<374> as may be expected from a people living among their slaves, without any society with virtuous women. The behaviour of Demosthenes and Eschines to each other in their public harangues is wofully coarse. But Athens was a democracy; and a democracy, above all other governments, is rough and licentious. In the Athenian comedy, neither gods nor men are spared. The most respectable persons of the republic are ridiculed by name in the comedies of Aristophanes, which wallow in looseness and detraction. In the third act of Andromaché, a tragedy of Euripides, Peleus and Menelaus, Kings of Thessaly and Sparta, fall into downright ribaldry; Menelaus swearing that he will not give up his victim, and Peleus threatening to knock him down with his staff. The manners of Jason, in the tragedy of Medea by Euripides, are wofully indelicate. With unparallelled ingratitude to his wife Medea, he, even in her presence, makes love to the King of Corinth’s daughter, and obtains her in marriage. Instead of blushing to see a person he had so deeply injured, he coolly endeavours to excuse himself, “that he was an exile like herself, without support; and<375> that his marriage would acquire powerful friends to them and to their children.” Could he imagine that such frigid reasons would touch a woman of any spirit? A most striking picture of indelicate manners is exhibited in the tragedy of Alcestes. Admetus prevails upon Alcestes, his loving and beloved wife, to die in his stead. What a barbarian must the man be who grasps at life upon such a condition? How ridiculous is the bombast flourish of Admetus, that, if he were Orpheus, he would pierce to hell, brave the three-headed Cerberus, and bring his wife to earth again! and how indecently does he scold his father for refusing to die for him! What pretext could the monster have to complain of his father, when he himself was so disgracefully fond of life, as even to solicit his beloved spouse to die in his stead! What stronger instance, after all, would one require of indelicacy in the manners of the Greeks, than that they held all the world except themselves to be barbarians? In that particular, however, they are not altogether singular. Though the Tartars, as mentioned above, were foul feeders, and hoggishly nasty, yet they were extremely proud, despising, like<376> the Greeks, every other nation. The people of Congo think the world to be the work of angels, except their own country, which they hold to be the handiwork of the supreme architect. The Greenlanders have a high conceit of themselves; and in private make a mock of the Europeans, or Kablunets, as they call them. Despising arts and sciences, they value themselves on their skill in catching seals, conceiving it to be the only useful art. They hold themselves to be the only civilized and well-bred people; and when they see a modest stranger, they say, “he begins to be a man”; that is, to be like one of themselves. Sometimes, however, sparks of light are perceived breaking through the deepest gloom. When the Athenians were at war with Philip King of Macedon, they intercepted some letters addressed by him to his ministers. These they opened for intelligence: but one to his Queen Olympias they left with the messenger untouched. This was done not by a single person, but by authority of the whole people.⁹

So coarse and indelicate were Roman manners, that whipping was a punishment inflicted on the officers of the army, <377> not even excepting centurions^(a). Doth it not show extreme grossness of manners to express in plain words the parts that modesty bids us conceal? and yet this is common in Greek and Roman writers. In the Cyclops of Euripides, there is represented a scene of the vice against nature, grossly obscene, without the least disguise. How wofully indelicate must the man have been, who could sit down gravely to compose such a piece! and how dissolute must the spectators have been who could behold such a scene without hissing! Next to the indecency of exposing one’s nudities in good company, is the talking of them without reserve. Horace is extremely obscene, and Martial no less. But I censure neither of them, and as little the Queen of Navarre for her tales; for they wrote according to the manners of the times: it is the manners I censure, not the writers. In Rome, a woman taken in adultery was prostituted on the public street to all comers, a bell ringing the whole time. This abominable practice was abolished by the Emperor Theodosius^(a).<378>

The manners of Europe, before the revival of letters, were no less coarse than cruel. In the Cartularies of Charlemagne, judges are forbidden to hold courts but in the morning, with an empty stomach. It would appear, that men in those days were not ashamed to be seen drunk, even in a court of justice. It was customary, both in France and Italy, to collect for sport all the strumpets in the neighbourhood, and to make then run races. Several feudal tenures give evidence of manners both low and coarse. Struvius mentions a tenure, binding the vassal, on the birth-day of his lord, to dance and fart before him. The cod-piece, which, a few centuries ago, made part of a man’s dress, and which swelled by degrees to a monstrous size, testifies shamefully-coarse manners; and yet it was a modest ornament, compared with one used in France during the reign of Lewis XI. which was the figure of a man’s privy parts fixed to the coat of breeches. In the same period, the judgment of Paris was a favourite theatrical entertainment: three women stark-naked represented the three goddesses, Juno, Venus, and Minerva. Nick-names, so com-<379>mon not long ago, are an instance of the same coarseness of manners; for to fix a nick-name on a man, is to use him with contemptuous familiarity. In the thirteenth century, many clergymen refused to administer the sacrament of the Lord’s supper, unless they were paid for it.^* In the tenth century, Edmond King of England, at a festival in the county of Gloucester, observed Leolf, a notorious robber under sentence of banishment, sitting at table with the King’s attendants. Enraged at this insolence, he ordered Leolf to leave the room. On his refusing to obey, the King leaped on him, and seized him by the hair. The ruffian drew his dagger, and gave the King a wound, of which he immediately expired. How lamentable would be our condition, were we as much persecuted as our forefathers were with omens, dreams, prophesies, astrologers, witches, and apparitions? Our forefathers were robust both in mind and body, and<380> could bear without much pain what would totally overwhelm us.

Even after the revival of letters, the European manners were a long time coarse and indelicate. In the year 1480, the Cardinal Bibiena exhibited the Calendra, a comedy of intrigue upon a good model, but extremely licentious, as all compositions of that age were. The Mandragora of Machiavel is equally licentious; and, considering the author, the Queen of Navarre’s tales, worst of all.¹⁰

Swearing as an expletive of speech, is a violent symptom of rough and coarse manners. It prevails among all barbarous nations. Even women in Plautus use it fluently. It prevailed in Spain and in France, till it was banished by polite manners. Our Queen Elisabeth was a bold swearer;^* and the English populace, who are rough beyond their neighbours, <381> are noted by strangers for that vice. John King of England swore commonly “by the teeth of God.” Charles VIII. of France “by God’s day.” Francis I. “upon the faith of a gentleman.” And the oath of Lewis XII. was “may the devil take me.”¹¹ Though swearing, in order to enforce an expression, is not in itself immoral; it is, however, hurtful in its consequences, rendering sacred names too familiar. God’s beard, the common oath of William Rufus, suggests an image of our Maker as an old man with a long beard. In vain have acts of parliament been made against swearing: it is easy to evade the penalty, by coining new oaths; and, as that vice proceeds from an overflow of spirits, people in that condition brave penalties. Polished manners are the only effectual cure for that malady.

When a people begin to emerge out of barbarity, loud mirth and rough jokes come in place of rancour and resentment. About a century ago, it was usual for the servants and retainers of the Court of Session in Scotland, to break out into riotous mirth and uproar the last day of every term, throwing bags, dust, sand, or stones, <382> all around. We have undoubted evidence of that disorderly practice from an act of the Court, prohibiting it under a severe penalty, as dishonourable to the Court, and unbecoming the civility requisite in such a place^(a).

And this leads to the lowness of ancient manners; plainly distinguishable from simplicity of manners: the latter is agreeable, not the former. Among the ancient Egyptians, to cram a man was an act of high respect. Joseph, the King’s first minister, in order to honour Benjamin above his brethren, gave him a five-fold mess^(b). The Greeks, in their feasts, distinguished their heroes by a double portion^(c). Ulysses cut a fat piece out of the chine of a wild boar for Demodocus the bard^(d). The same respectful politeness is practised at present among the American savages; so much are all men alike in similar circumstances. Telemachus^(e) complains bitterly of Penelope’s suitors, that they were gluttons, and consumed his beef and<383> mutton. The whole 14th book of the Odyssey, containing the reception of Ulysses by Eumaeus the swine-herd, is miserably low. Manners must be both gross and low, where common beggars are admitted to the feasts of princes, and receive scraps from their hands^(f). In Rome every guest brought his own napkin to a feast. A slave carried it home, filled with what was left from the entertainment. Sophocles, in his tragedy of Iphigenia in Aulis, represents Clytemnestra, stepping down from her car, and exhorting her servants to look after her baggage, with the anxiety and minuteness of a lady’s waiting-woman. In the tragedy of Ion, this man, a servant in the temple of Delphos, is represented cleaning the temple, and calling out to a flock of birds, each by name, threatening to pierce them with his arrows if they dunged upon the offerings. Homer paints in lively colours the riches of the Phoeacians, their skill in navigation, the magnificence of the King’s court, of his palace, and of the public buildings. But, with the same breath, he describes Nausicaa, the King’s daughter, travelling<384> to the river on a waggon of greasy clothes, to be washed by her and her maids. Possibly it may be urged, that such circumstances, however low in our opinion, did not appear low in Greece, as they were introduced by their chief poet, and the greatest that ever existed. I acknowledge the force of this argument: but what does it prove, more than that the Greeks were not sensible of the lowness of their manners? Is any nation sensible of the lowness of their own manners? The manners of the Greeks did not correspond to the delicacy of their taste in the fine arts: nor can it be expected, when they were strangers to that polite society with women, which refines behaviour, and elevates manners. The first kings in Greece, as Thucydides observes, were elective, having no power but to command their armies in time of war; which resembles the government that obtains at present in the isthmus of Darien. The Greeks had no written laws, being governed by custom merely. To live by plunder was held honourable; for it was their opinion, that the rules of justice are not intended for restraining the powerful. All strangers were accounted<385> enemies, as among the Romans; and inns were unknown, because people lived at home, having very little intercourse even with those of their own nation. Inns were unknown in Germany, and to this day are unknown in the remote parts of the highlands of Scotland; but for an opposite reason, that hospitality prevailed greatly among the ancient Germans, and continues to prevail so much among our highlanders, that a gentleman takes it for an affront if a stranger pass his door. At a congress between Francis I. of France and Henry VIII. of England, among other spectacles for public entertainment, the two Kings had a wrestling-match. Had they forgot that they were sovereign princes?

One would imagine war to be a soil too rough for the growth of civilization; and yet it is not always an unkindly soil. War between two small tribes is fierce and cruel: but a large state mitigates resentment, by directing it not against individuals, but against the state. We know no enemies but those who are in arms: we have no resentment against others, but rather find a pleasure in treating<386> them with humanity.^* Cruelty, having thus in war few individuals for its object, naturally subsides; and magnanimity in its stead transforms soldiers from brutes to heroes. Some time ago, it was usual in France to demand battle; and it was held dishonourable to decline it, however unequal the match. Before the battle of Pavia, Francis I. wrote to the Marquis Pescara, the Imperial General, “You will find me before Pavia, and you ought to be here in six days: I give you twenty. Let not the superiority of my forces serve for an excuse; I will fight you with equal numbers.” Here was heroism without prudence; but, in all reformations, it is natural to go from one extreme to the other. While the King of England held any possessions in France, war was perpetual between the two nations, which was commonly carried on<387> with more magnanimity than is usual between inveterate enemies. It became customary to give prisoners their freedom, upon a simple parole to return with their ransom at a day named. The same was the custom in the border-wars between the English and Scots, before their union under one monarch. But parties found their account equally in such honourable behaviour. Edward Prince of Wales, in a pitched battle against the French, took the illustrious Bertrand du Gueselin prisoner. He long declined to accept a ransom; but, finding it whispered that he was afraid of that hero, he instantly set him at liberty without a ransom. This may be deemed impolitic or whimsical: but is love of glory less praise-worthy than love of conquest? The Duke of Guise, victor in the battle of Dreux, rested all night in the field of battle; and gave the Prince of Condé, his prisoner, a share of his bed, where they lay like brothers. The Chevalier Bayard, commander of a French army anno 1524, being mortally wounded in retreating from the Imperialists, placed himself under a tree, his face, however, to the enemy. The Marquis de Pescara, ge-<388>neral of the Imperialists, finding him dead in that posture, behaved with the generosity of a gallant adversary: he directed his body to be embalmed, and to be sent to his relations in the most honourable manner. Magnanimity and heroism, in which benevolence is an essential ingredient, are inconsistent with cruelty, perfidy, or any grovelling passion. Never was gallantry in war carried to a greater height, than between the English and Scotch borderers before the crowns were united. The night after the battle of Otterburn, the victors and vanquished lay promiscuously in the same camp, without apprehending the least danger one from the other. The manners of ancient warriors were very different. Homer’s hero, though superior to all in bodily strength, takes every advantage of his enemy, and never feels either compassion or remorse. The policy of the Greeks and Romans in war, was to weaken a state by plundering its territory, and destroying its people. Humanity with us prevails even in war. Individuals not in arms are secure, which saves much innocent blood. Prisoners were set at liberty upon paying a ransom; and, by later im-<389>provements in manners, even that practice is left off as too mercantile, a more honourable practice being substituted, namely, a cartel for exchange of prisoners. Humanity was carried to a still greater height, in our late war with France, by an agreement between the Duke de Noailes and the Earl of Stair, That the hospitals for the sick and wounded soldiers should be secure from all hostilities. The humanity of the Duke de Randan in the same war, makes an illustrious figure even in the present age, remarkable for humanity to enemies. When the French troops were compelled to abandon their conquests in the electorate of Hanover, their Generals every where burnt their magazines, and plundered the people. The Duke de Randan, who commanded in the city of Hanover, put the magistrates in possession of his magazines, requesting them to distribute the contents among the poor; and he was, beside, extremely vigilant to prevent his soldiers from committing acts of violence.^* <390> I relish not the brutality exercised in the present war between the Turks and Russians. The latter, to secure their winter<391> quarters on the left hand of the Danube, laid waste a large territory on the right. To reduce so many people to misery merely to prevent a surprise, which can be more effectually done by strict discipline, is a barbarous remedy. But the peace concluded between these great powers, has given an opening to manners very different from what were to be expected from the fact now mentioned. This peace has been attended with signal marks not only of candour, but of courtesy. The Grand Signior, of his own accord, has dismissed from chains every Christian taken prisoner<392> during the war; and the Empress of Russia has set at liberty 3000 Turks, with an order to set at liberty every Turk within her dominions.¹² The necessity of fortifying towns to guard from destruction the innocent and defenceless, affords convincing evidence of the savage cruelty that prevailed in former times. By the growth of humanity, such fortifications have become less frequent: and they serve no purpose at present, but to defend against invasion; in which view a small fortification, if but sufficient for the garrison, is greatly preferable, being constructed at a much less expence, and having the garrison only to provide for.

In the progress of society, there is commonly a remarkable period, when social and dissocial passions seem to bear equal sway, prevailing alternately. In the history of Alexander’s successors, there are frequent instances of cruelty, equalling that of American savages; and instances no less frequent of gratitude, of generosity, and even of clemency, that betoken manners highly polished. Ptolemy of Egypt, having gained a complete victory over Demetrius, son of Antigonus, restored<393> to him his equipage, his friends, and his domestics, saying, that “they ought not to make war for plunder, but for glory.” Demetrius having defeated one of Ptolemy’s generals, was less delighted with the victory, than with the opportunity of rivalling his antagonist in humanity. The same Demetrius having restored liberty to the Athenians, was treated by them as a demi-god; and yet afterward, in his adversity, found their gates shut against him. Upon a change of fortune, he laid siege to Athens, resolving to chastise that rebellious and ungrateful people. He assembled the inhabitants in the theatre, surrounding them with his army, as preparing for a total massacre. Their terror was extreme, but short: he pronounced their pardon, and bestowed on them 100,000 measures of wheat. Ptolemy, the same who is mentioned above, having, at the siege of Tyre, summoned Andronicus the governour to surrender, received a provoking and contemptuous answer. The town being taken, Andronicus gave himself up to despair: but the King, thinking it below his dignity to resent an injury done to him by an inferior, now his prisoner, not only o-<394>verlooked the injury, but courted Andronicus to be his friend. Edward, the Black Prince, is an instance of refined manners, breaking, like a spark of fire, through the gloom of barbarity. The Emperor Charles V. after losing 30,000 men at the siege of Metz, made an ignominious retreat, leaving his camp filled with sick and wounded, dead and dying. Though the war between him and the King of France was carried on with unusual rancour, yet the Duke of Guise, governour of the town, exerted, in those barbarous times, a degree of humanity that would make a splendid figure even at present. He ordered plenty of food for those who were dying of hunger, appointed surgeons to attend the sick and wounded, removed to the adjacent villages those who could bear motion, and admitted the remainder into the hospitals that he had fitted up for his own soldiers: those who recovered their health were sent home, with money to defray the expence of the journey.

In the period that intervenes between barbarity and humanity, there are not wanting instances of opposite passions in the same person, governing alternately; <395> as if a man could this moment be mild and gentle, and next moment harsh and brutal. To vouch the truth of this observation, I beg leave to introduce two rival monarchs, who for many years distressed their own people, and disturbed Europe, the Emperor Charles, and the French King Francis. The Emperor, driven by contrary winds on the coast of France, was invited by Francis, who happened to be in the neighbourhood, to take shelter in his dominions, proposing an interview at Aigues-Mortes, a sea-port town. The Emperor instantly repaired there in his galley; and Francis, relying on the Emperor’s honour, visited him on shipboard, and was received with every expression of affection. Next day the Emperor repaid the confidence reposed in him: he landed at Aigues-Mortes with as little precaution, and found a reception equally cordial. After twenty years of open hostilities or of secret enmity, after having formally given the lie and challenged each other to single combat, after the Emperor had publicly inveighed against Francis as void of honour, and Francis had accused the Emperor as murderer of his<396> own son; a behaviour so open and frank will scarce be thought consistent with human nature. But these monarchs lived in a period verging from cruelty to humanity; and such periods abound with surprising changes of temper and behaviour. In the present times, changes so violent are unknown.

Conquest has not always the same effect upon the manners of the conquered. The Tartars who subdued China in the thirteenth century, adopted immediately the Chinese manners: the government, laws, customs, continued without variation. And the same happened upon their second conquest of China in the seventeenth century. The barbarous nations also who crushed the Roman empire, adopted the laws, customs, and manners, of the conquered. Very different was the fate of the Greek empire when conquered by the Turks. That warlike nation introduced every where their own laws and manners: even at this day they continue a distinct people as much as ever. The Tartars, as well as the barbarians who overthrew the Roman empire, were all of them rude and illiterate, destitute of laws, and igno-<397>rant of government. Such nations readily adopt the laws and manners of a civilized people, whom they admire. The Turks had laws, and a regular government; and the Greeks, when subdued by them, were reduced by sensuality to be objects of contempt, not of imitation.

Manners are deeply affected by persecution. The forms of procedure in the Inquisition enable the inquisitors to ruin whom they please. A person accused is not confronted with the accuser: every sort of accusation is welcome, and from every person: a child, a common prostitute, one branded with infamy, are reputable witnesses: a man is compelled to give evidence against his father, and a woman against her husband. Nay, the persons accused are compelled to inform against themselves, by guessing what sin they may have been guilty of. Such odious, cruel, and tyrannical proceedings, made all Spain tremble: every man distrusted his neighbour, and even his own family: a total end was put to friendship, and to social freedom. Hence the gravity and reserve of a people, who have naturally all the vivacity arising from a tem-<398>perate clime and bountiful soil.^* Hence the profound ignorance of that people, while other European nations are daily improving in every art and in every science. Human nature is reduced to its lowest state, when governed by superstition clothed with power.

We proceed to another capital article in the history of manners, namely, the selfish and social branches of our nature, by which manners are greatly influenced. Selfishness prevails among savages; because corporeal pleasures are its chief objects, and of these every savage is perfectly sensible. Benevolence and kindly affection are too refined for a savage, unless of the simplest kind, such as the ties of blood. While artificial wants were unknown, selfishness, tho’ prevalent, made no capital figure: the means of gratifying the calls of nature were in plenty; and men who are not afraid of ever being in want, never think of providing against it; and far less do they think of co-<399>veting what belongs to another. The Caribbeans, who know no wants but what nature inspires, are amazed at the industry of the Europeans in amassing wealth. Listen to one of them expostulating with a Frenchman in the following terms: “How miserable art thou, to expose thy person to tedious and dangerous voyages, and to suffer thyself to be oppressed with anxiety about futurity! An inordinate appetite for wealth is thy bane; and yet thou art no less tormented in preserving the goods thou hast acquired, than in acquiring more: fear of robbery or shipwreck suffers thee not to enjoy a quiet moment. Thus thou growest old in thy youth, thy hair turns gray, thy forehead is wrinkled, a thousand ailments afflict thy body, a thousand distresses surround thy heart, and thou movest with painful hurry to the grave. Why art thou not content with what thy own country produceth? Why not contemn superfluities, as we do?”¹³ But men are not long contented with simple necessaries: an unwearied appetite to be more and more comfortably provided, leads them from necessaries to<400> conveniencies, and from these to every sort of luxury. Avarice turns headstrong; and locks and bars, formerly unknown, become necessary to protect people from the rapacity of their neighbours. When the goods of fortune, money in particular, come to be prized, selfishness soon displays itself. In Madagascar, a man who makes a present of an ox or a calf, expects the value in return; and scruples not to say, “You my friend, I your friend; you no my friend, I no your friend; I salamanca you, you salamanca me”^(a). Admiral Watson being introduced to the King of Baba, in Madagascar, was asked by his Majesty, What presents he had brought? Hence the custom, universal among barbarians, of always accosting a king, or any man of high rank, with presents. Sir John Chardin says, that this custom goes through all Asia. It is reckoned an honour to receive presents: they are received in public; and a time is chosen when the croud is greatest. It is a maxim too refined for the potentates of Asia, that there is more honour in bestowing than in receiving.¹⁴<401>

The peculiar excellence of man above all other animals, is the capacity he has of improving by education and example. In proportion as his faculties refine, he acquires a relish for society, and finds a pleasure in benevolence, generosity, and in every other kindly affection, far above what selfishness can afford. How agreeable is this scene! Alas, too agreeable to be lasting. Opulence and luxury inflame the hording appetite; and selfishness at last prevails as it did originally. The selfishness, however, of savages differs from that of pampered people. Luxury confining a man’s whole views to himself, admits not of friendship, and scarce of any other social passion. But where a savage takes a liking to a particular person, the whole force of his social affection being directed to a single object, becomes extremely fervid. Hence the unexampled friendship between Achilles and Patroclus in the Iliad; and hence many such friendships among savages.

But there is much more to be said of the influence of opulence on manners. Rude and illiterate nations are tenacious<402> of their laws and manners; for they are governed by custom, which is more and more rivetted by length of time. A people, on the contrary, who are polished by having passed through various scenes, are full of invention, and constantly thinking of new modes. Manners, in particular, can never be stationary in a nation refined by prosperity and the arts of peace. Good government will advance men to a high degree of civilization; but the very best government will not preserve them from corruption, after becoming rich by prosperity. Opulence begets luxury, and envigorates the appetite for sensual pleasure. The appetite, when inflamed, is never confined within moderate bounds, but clings to every object of gratification, without regard to propriety or decency. When Septimius Severus was elected Emperor, he found on the roll of causes depending before the judges in Rome no fewer than three thousand accusations of adultery. From that moment he abandoned all thoughts of a reformation. Love of pleasure is similar to love of money: the more it is indulged the more it is inflamed. Polygamy is an incentive to the<403> vice against nature; one act of incontinence leading to others without end. When the Sultan Achmet was deposed at Constantinople, the people, breaking into the house of one of his favourites, found not a single woman. It is reported of the Algerines, that in many of their seraglios there are no women. For the same reason polygamy is far from preventing adultery, a truth finely illustrated in Nathan’s parable to David. What judgement then are we to form of the opulent cities London and Paris, where pleasure is the ruling passion, and where riches are coveted as instruments of sensuality? What is to be expected but a pestiferous corruption of manners? Selfishness, ingrossing the whole soul, eradicates patriotism, and leaves not a cranny for social virtue. If in that condition men abstain from robbery or from murder, it is not love of justice that restrains them, but dread of punishment. Babylon is arraigned by Greek writers for luxury, sensuality, and profligacy. But Babylon represents the capital of every opulent kingdom, ancient and modern: the manners of all are the same; for power and riches never fail to<404> produce luxury, sensuality, and profligacy.^* Canghi, Emperor of China, who died in the year 1722, deserves to be recorded in the annals of fame, for resisting the softness and effeminacy of an Asiatic court. Far from abandoning himself to sensual pleasure, he passed several months yearly in the mountains of Tartary, mostly on horseback, and declining no fatigue. Nor in that situation were affairs of state neglected: many hours he borrowed from sleep, to hear his ministers, and to issue orders. How few monarchs, bred up like Canghi in the downy indolence of a seraglio, have resolution to withstand the temptations of sensual pleasure!

In no other history is the influence of prosperity and opulence on manners so conspicuous as in that of old Rome. During the second Punic war, when the Romans were reduced by Hannibal to fight pro aris et focis, Hiero, King of Syracuse, <405> sent to Rome a large quantity of corn, with a golden statue of victory weighing three hundred and twenty pounds, which the senate accepted. But, though their finances were at the lowest ebb, they accepted but the lightest of forty golden vases presented to them by the city of Naples; and politely returned, with many thanks, some golden vases sent by the city of Paestum, in Lucania: a rare instance of magnanimity. But no degree of virtue is proof against the corruption of conquest and opulence. Upon the influx of Asiatic riches and luxury, the Romans abandoned themselves to every vice: they became, in particular, wonderfully avaricious, breaking through every restraint of justice and humanity.^* Spain in parti-<406>cular, which abounded with gold and silver, was for many years a scene, not only of oppression and cruelty, but of the basest treachery, practised against the natives by successive Roman generals, in order to accumulate wealth. Lucullus, who afterward made a capital figure in the Mithridatic war, attacked Cauca, a Celtiberian city, without the slightest provocation. Some of the principal citizens repaired to his camp with olive branches, desiring to be informed upon what conditions they could purchase his friendship. It was agreed that they should give hostages, with a hundred talents of silver. They also consented to admit a garrison of 2000 men, in order, said Lucullus, to protect them against their enemies. But how were they protected? The gates were opened by the garrison to the whole army; and the inhabitants were butchered, without distinction of sex or age. What other remedy had they, but to invoke the gods presiding over oaths and covenants, and to pour out execrations against the Ro-<407>mans for their perfidy? Lucullus, enriched with the spoils of the town, felt no remorse for leaving 20,000 persons dead upon the spot. Shortly after, having laid siege to Intercatia, he solicited a treaty of peace. The citizens reproaching him with the slaughter of the Cauceans, asked, Whether, in making peace, he was not to employ the same right hand, and the same faith, he had already pledged to their countrymen? Seroclius Galba, another Roman general, persuaded the Lusitanians to lay down their arms, promising them a fruitful territory instead of their own mountains; and having thus got them into his power, he ordered all of them to be murdered. Of the few that escaped, Viriatus was one, who, in a long and bloody war against the Romans, amply avenged the massacre of his countrymen. Our author Appian reports, that Galba, surpassing even Lucullus in covetousness, distributed but a small share of the plunder among the soldiers, converting the bulk of it to his own use. He adds, that though Galba was one of the richest men in Rome, yet he never scrupled at lies nor perjury to procure money. But the corruption was general: <408> Galba being accused of many misdemeanors, was acquitted by the senate through the force of bribes. A tribe of the Celtiberians, who had long served the Romans against the Lusitanians, had an offer made them by Titus Didius of a territory in their neighbourhood, lately conquered by him. He appointed them a day to receive possession; and having inclosed them in his camp, under shew of friendship, he put them all to the sword; for which mighty deed he obtained the honour of a triumph. The double-dealing and treachery of the Romans, in their last war against Carthage, is beyond example. The Carthaginians, suspecting that a storm was gathering against them, sent deputies to Rome for securing peace at any rate. The senate, in appearance, were disposed to amicable measures, demanding only hostages; and yet, though three hundred hostages were delivered without loss of time, the Roman army landed at Utica. The Carthaginian deputies attended the Consuls there, desiring to know what more was to be done on their part. They were required to deliver up their arms; which they chearfully did, <409> imagining that they were now certain of peace. Instead of which, they received peremptory orders to evacuate the city, with their wives and children, and to make no settlement within eighty furlongs of the sea. In perusing Appian’s history of that memorable event, compassion for the distressed Carthaginians is stifled by indignation at their treacherous oppressors. Could the monsters, after such treachery, have the impudence to talk of Punica fides? The profligacy of the Roman people, during the triumvirate of Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus, is painted in lively colours by the same author. “For a long time, disorder and confusion overspread the commonwealth: no office was obtained but by faction, bribery, or criminal service: no man was ashamed to buy votes, which were sold in open market. One man there was, who, to obtain a lucrative office, expended eight hundred talents^(a): ill men enriched themselves with public money, or with bribes: no honest man would stand candidate for an office; and, into a situa- <410>tion so miserable was the commonwealth reduced, that once for eight months it had not a single magistrate.” Cicero, writing to Atticus, that Clodius was acquitted by the influence of Crassus, expresses himself in the following words: “Biduo, per unum servum, et eum ex gladiatorio ludo, confecit totum negotium. Accersivit ad se, promisit, intercessit, dedit. I am vero, O dii boni, rem perditam! etiam noctes certarum mulierum, atque adolescentulorum nobilium, introductiones nonnullis judicibus pro mercedis cumulo fuerunt”^(a).^* Ptolomy King of Egypt was dethroned by his subjects for tyranny. Having repaired to Rome for protection, he found means to poison the greater part of a hundred<411> Egyptians, his accusers, and to assassinate Dion, their chief. And yet these crimes, perpetrated in the heart of Rome, were suffered to pass with impunity. But he had secured the leading men by money, and was protected by Pompey. The following instance is, if possible, still more gross. Ptolomy, King of Cyprus, had always been a faithful ally to the Romans. But his gold, jewels, and precious moveables, were a tempting bait: and all was confiscated by a decree of the people, without even a pretext. Money procured by profligacy is not commonly hoarded up; and the Romans were no less voluptuous than avaricious. Alexander ab Alexandro mentions the Fanian, Orchian, Didian, Oppian, Cornelian, Ancian, and Julian laws, for repressing luxury of dress and of eating, all of which proved ineffectual. He adds, that Tiberius had it long at heart to contrive some effectual law against luxury, which now had surpassed all bounds, but that he found it impracticable to stem the tide. He concludes, that by tacit agreement among a corrupted people, all sumptuary laws were in effect abrogated; <412> and that the Roman people, abandoning themselves to vice, broke through every restraint of morality and religion^(b). Tremble, O Britain, on the brink of a precipice! how little distant in rapacity from Roman senators are the leaders of thy people!^*

The free states of Italy, which had become rich by commerce, employed mer-<413>cenary troops to save their own people, who were more profitably employed at home. But, as mercenaries gained nothing by victory or bloodshed, they did very little execution against one another. They exhausted the states which employed them, without doing any real service. Our condition is in some degree similar. We employ generals and admirals, who, by great appointments, soon lose relish for glory, intent only to prolong a war for their own benefit. According to our present manners, where luxury and selfishness prevail, it appears an egregious blunder, to enrich a general or admiral during his command: have we any reason to expect, that he will fight like one whose fortune depends on his good behaviour? This single error against good policy has reduced Britain more than once to a low condition, and will prove its ruin at last.¹⁵

Riches produce another lamentable effect: they enervate the possessor, and degrade him into a coward. He who commands the labour of others, who eats without hunger, and rests without fatigue, becomes feeble in mind as well as in body, <414> has no confidence in his own abilities, and is reduced to flatter his enemies, because he hath not courage to brave them.

Selfishness among the rude and illiterate is rough, blunt, and undisguised. Selfishness, which in an opulent kingdom usurps the place of patriotism, is smooth, refined, and covered with a veil. Pecuniary interest, a low object, must be covered with the thickest veil: ambition, less dishonourable, is less covered: but delicacy as to character and love of fame, are so honourable, that even the thinnest veil is held unnecessary. History justifies these observations. During the prosperity of Greece and Rome, when patriotism was the ruling passion, no man ever thought of employing a hostile weapon but against the enemies of his country: swords were not worn during peace, nor was there an instance of a private duel. The frequency of duels in modern times, is no slight symptom of degeneracy: regardless of our country, selfishness is exerted without disguise when reputation or character is in question; and a nice sense of honour prompts revenge for every imagined af-<415>front, without regard to justice. How much more manly and patriotic was the behaviour of Themistocles, when insulted by the Lacedemonian general in deliberating about the concerns of Greece! “Strike,” says he, “but first hear me.”^*<416>

When a nation, formerly in prosperity, is depressed by luxury and selfishness, what follows next? Let the Egyptians an-<417>swer the question. That unhappy people, having for many ages been a prey to every barbarous invader, are now become effe-<418>minate, treacherous, cruel, and corrupted with every vice that debases humanity. A nation in its infancy, however savage, is susceptible of every improvement; but a nation worn out with age and disease is susceptible of no improvement. There is no remedy, but to let the natives die<419> out, and to repeople the country with better men. Egypt has for many ages been in the same languid and servile state. An Arabian author, who wrote the history of the great Saladin, observes, that the Egyptians never thought of supporting the monarch in possession, but tamely submitted to every conqueror. “It was,” says he, “the custom in Egypt at that time to deliver to the victor the ensigns of royalty, without ever thinking of inquiring into his title.” What better than a flock of sheep, obedient to the call of the present shepherd!

I fly from a scene so dismal to one that will give no pain. Light is intended by our Maker for action, and darkness for rest. In the fourteenth century, the shops in Paris were opened at four in the morning: at present, a shopkeeper is scarce awake at seven. The King of France dined at eight in the morning, and retired to his bed-chamber at the same hour in the evening; an early hour at present for public amusements.^* The Spaniards ad-<420>here to ancient customs.^† Their King to this day dines precisely at noon, and sups no less precisely at nine in the evening. During the reign of Henry VIII. fashionable people in England breakfasted at seven in the morning, and dined at ten in the forenoon. In Elizabeth’s time, the nobility, gentry, and students, dined at eleven forenoon, and supped between five and six afternoon. In the reign of Charles II. four in the afternoon was the appointed hour for acting plays. At present, even dinner is at a later hour. The King of Yeman, the greatest prince in Arabia Felix, dines at nine in the morning, sups at five afternoon, and goes to rest at eleven. From this short specimen it appears, that the occupations of day-light commence gradually later and later; as if there were a tendency in polite nations, of converting night into day, and day into night. No-<421>thing happens without a cause. Light disposes to action, darkness to rest: the diversions of day are tournaments, tennis, hunting, racing, and other active exercises: the diversions of night are sedentary; plays, cards, conversation. Balls are of a mixed nature, partly active in dancing, partly sedentary in conversing. Formerly, active exercises prevailed among a robust and plain people:^* the milder pleasures of society prevail as manners refine. Hence it is, that candle-light amusements are now fashionable in France, and in other polished countries; and when such amusements are much relished, they banish the robust exercises of the field. Balls, I conjecture, were formerly more frequent in day-light: at present, candle-light is their favourite time: the active part is at that time equally agreeable; and the sedentary part, more so.

Gaming is the vice of idle people. Savages are addicted to gaming; and those of North America in particular are fond<422> to distraction of a game termed the platter. A losing gamester will strip himself to the skin; and some have been known to stake their liberty, though by them valued above all other blessings. Negroes in the slave-coast of Guinea, will stake their wives, their children, and even themselves. Tacitus^(a), talking of gaming among the Germans, says, “Extremo ac novissimo jactu, de libertate et de corpore contendant.”^† The Greeks were an active and sprightly people, constantly engaged in war, or in cultivating the fine arts. They had no leisure for gaming, nor any knowledge of it. Happy for them was their ignorance; for no other vice tends more to render men selfish, dishonest, and, in the modish style, dishonourable. A gamester, a friend to no man, is a bitter enemy to himself. The luxurious of the present age, pass every hour in gaming that can be spared from sensual pleasure. Idleness is their excuse, as it is among savages; and they would in some degree<423> be excusable, were they never actuated by a more disgraceful motive.

Writers do not carefully distinguish particular customs from general manners. Formerly, women were not admitted upon the stage in France, Italy, or England: at that very time, none but women were admitted in Spain. From that fashion it would be rash to infer, that women have more liberty in Spain than in the other countries mentioned; for the contrary is true. In Hindostan, established custom prompts women to burn themselves alive with the bodies of their deceased husbands; but from that singular custom, it would be a false inference, that the Hindow women are either more bold, or more affectionate to their husbands, than in other countries. The Polanders, even after they became Christians in the thirteenth century, adhered to the customs of their forefathers, the Sarmatians, in killing infants born deformed, and men debilitated by age; which would betoken horrid barbarity, if it were not a singular custom. Roman Catholics imagine, that there is no religion in England nor in Holland; because, from a spirit of civil liber-<424>ty, all sects are there tolerated. The encouragement given to assassination in Italy, where every church is a sanctuary, makes strangers rashly infer, that the Italians are all assassins. Writers sometimes fall into an opposite mistake, attributing to a particular nation, certain manners and customs common to all nations in one or other period of their progress. It is remarked by Heraclides Ponticus as peculiar to the Athamanes, that the men fed the flocks, and the women cultivated the ground. This has been the practice of all nations, in their progress from the shepherd-state to that of husbandry; and is at present the practice among American savages. The same author observes, as peculiar to the Celtae and Aphitaei, that they leave their doors open without hazard of theft. But that practice is common among all savages in the first stage of society, before the use of money is known.

Hitherto there appears as great uniformity in the progress of manners, as can reasonably be expected among so many different nations. There is one exception, extraordinary indeed if true, which is, the manners of the Caledonians described by<425> Ossian, manners so pure and refined as scarce to be parallelled in the most cultivated nations. Such manners among a people in the first stage of society, acquainted with no arts but hunting and making war, I acknowledge, miraculous. And yet to suppose these manners to be the invention of an illiterate savage, is really no less miraculous: I should as soon expect from a savage a performance equal to the elements of Euclid, or even to the Principia of Newton. One, at first view, will boldly declare the whole a modern fiction; for how is it credible, that a people, rude at present and illiterate, were, in the infancy of their society, highly refined in sentiment and manners? And yet, upon a more accurate inspection, many weighty considerations occur to balance that opinion.

From a thousand circumstances it appears, that the works of Ossian are not a late production. They are composed in an old dialect of the Celtic tongue; and as, till lately, they were known only in the highlands of Scotland, the author must have been a Caledonian. The translator^(a) <426> saw, in the Isle of Sky, the first four books of the poem Fingal, written in a fair hand on vellum and bearing date in the year 1403. The natives believe that poem to be very ancient: every person has passages of it by heart, transmitted by memory from their forefathers. Their dogs bear commonly the name of Luath, Bran, &c. mentioned in these poems, as our dogs do of Pompey and Caesar.^* Many other particulars might be mentioned; but these are sufficient to prove, that the work must have existed at least three or four centuries. Taking that for granted, I proceed to certain considerations tending to evince, that the manners described in Ossian were Caledonian manners, and not a pure fiction. And, after perusing with attention these considerations, I am not afraid that even the most incredulous will continue altogether unshaken.<427>

It is a noted and well-founded observation, That manners are never painted to the life by any one to whom they are not familiar. It is not difficult to draw the outlines of imaginary manners; but to fill up the picture with all the variety of tints that manners assume in different circumstances, uniting all concordantly in one whole—hic labor, hoc opus est. Yet the manners here supposed to be invented, are delineated in a variety of incidents, of sentiments, of images, and of allusions, making one entire picture, without once deviating into the slightest incongruity. Every scene in Ossian relates to hunting, to fighting, or to love, the sole occupations of men in the original state of society; there is not a single image, simile, or allusion, but what is borrowed from that state, without a jarring circumstance.—Supposing all to be mere invention, is it not amazing to find no mention of highland clans, or of any name now in use? Is it not still more amazing, that there is not the slightest hint of the Christian religion, not even in a metaphor or allusion? Is it not equally amazing, that, in a work where deer’s flesh is frequently mentioned, <428> and a curious method of roasting it, there should not be a word of fish as food, so common in later times? Very few highlanders know that their forefathers did not eat fish; and, supposing it to be known, it would require singular attention, never to let a hint of it enter the poem. Can it be supposed, that a modern writer could be so constantly on his guard, as never to mention corn nor cattle? In a story so scanty of poetical images, the sedentary life of a shepherd, and the industry of a husbandman, would make a capital figure: the cloven foot would somewhere peep out. And yet, in all the works of Ossian, there is no mention of agriculture; and but a slight hint of a herd of cattle in one or two allusions. I willingly give all advantages to the unbeliever: Supposing the author of Ossian to be a late writer, adorned with every refinement of modern education; yet, even upon that supposition, he is a miracle, far from being equalled by any other author ancient or modern.

But difficulties multiply when it is taken into the account, that the poems of Ossian have existed three or four centuries at least. Our highlanders at present are<429> rude and illiterate; and were in fact little better than savages at the period mentioned. Now, to hold the manners described in that work to be imaginary, is in effect to hold, that they were invented by a highland savage, acquainted with the rude manners of his country, but utterly unacquainted with every other system of manners. The manners of different countries are now so well known as to make it an easy task to invent manners by blending the manners of one country with those of another; but to invent manners of which the author has no example, and yet neither whimsical nor absurd, but congruous to human nature in its most polished state, I pronounce to be far above the powers of man. Is it so much as supposable, that such a work could be the production of a Tartar, or of a Hottentot? From what source then did Ossian draw the refined manners so deliciously painted by him? Supposing him to have been a traveller, of which we have not the slightest hint, the manners of France at that period, of Italy, and of other neighbouring nations, were little less barbarous than those of his own country. I can discover no source<430> but inspiration. In a word, whoever seriously believes the manners of Ossian to be fictitious, may well say, with the religious enthusiast, “Credo quia impossible est: I believe it because it is impossible.”

But further: The uncommon talents of the author of this work will cheerfully be acknowledged by every reader of taste: he certainly was a great master in his way. Now, whether the work be late, or composed four centuries ago, a man of such talents inventing a historical fable, and laying the scene of action among savages in the hunter-state, would naturally frame a system of manners the best suited in his opinion to that state. What then could tempt him to adopt a system of manners, so opposite to any notion he could form of savage manners? The absurdity is so gross, that we are forced, however reluctantly, to believe, that these manners are not fictitious, but in reality the manners of his country, coloured perhaps, or a little heightened, according to the privilege of an epic poet. And once admitting that fact, there can be no hesitation in ascribing the work to Ossian, son of Fingal, <431> whose name it bears: we have no better evidence for the authors of several Greek and Roman books. Upon the same evidence, we must believe, that Ossian lived in the reign of the Emperor Caracalla, of whom frequent mention is made under the designation of Caracul the Great King; at which period, the shepherd-state was scarce known in Caledonia, and husbandry not at all. Had he lived so late as the twelfth century, when there were flocks and herds in that country, and some sort of agriculture, a poet of genius, such as Ossian undoubtedly was, would have drawn from these his finest images.

The foregoing considerations, I am persuaded, would not fail to convert the most incredulous; were it not for a consequence extremely improbable, that a people, little better at present than savages, were in their primitive hunter-state highly refined; for such Ossian describes them. And yet it is no less improbable, that such manners should be invented by an illiterate highland bard. Let a man chuse either side, the difficulty cannot be solved but by a sort of miracle. What shall we conclude upon the whole? for the mind cannot for<432> ever remain in suspense. As dry reasoning has left us in a dilemma, taste perhaps and feeling may extricate us. May not the case be here as in real painting? A portrait drawn from fancy, may resemble the human visage; but such peculiarity of countenance and expression as serves to distinguish a certain person from every other, is always wanting. Present a portrait to a man of taste, and he will be at no loss to say, whether it be copied from life, or be the product of fancy. If Ossian paint from fancy, the cloven foot will appear: but if his portraits be complete, so as to express every peculiarity of character, why should we doubt of their being copied from life? In that view, the reader, I am hopeful, will not think his time thrown away in examining some of Ossian’s striking pictures. I perceive not another resource.

Love of fame is painted by Ossian as the ruling passion of his countrymen the Caledonians. Warriors are every where described, as esteeming it their chief happiness to be recorded in the songs of the bards: that feature is never wanting in<433> any of Ossian’s heroes. Take the following instances.

“King of the roaring Strumon,” said the rising joy of Fingal, “do I behold thee in arms after thy strength has failed? Often hath Morni shone in battles, like the beam of the rising sun, when he disperses the storms of the hill, and brings peace to the glittering fields. But why didst thou not rest in thine age? Thy renown is in the song: the people behold thee, and bless the departure of mighty Morni”^(a). “Son of Fingal,” he said, “why burns the soul of Gaul? My heart beats high: my steps are disordered; and my hand trembles on my sword. When I look toward the foe, my soul lightens before me, and I see their sleeping host. Tremble thus the souls of the valiant, in battles of the spear? How would the soul of Morni rise, if we should rush on the foe! Our renown would grow in the song, and our steps be stately in the eye of the brave”^(b).^*<434>

That a warrior has acquired his fame is a consolation in every distress:

“Carril,” said the King in secret, “the strength of Cuchullin fails. My days are with the years that are past; and no morning of mine shall arise. They shall seek me at Temora, but I shall not be found. Cormac will weep in his hall, and say, Where is Tura’s chief? But my name is renowned, my fame in the song of bards. The youth will say, O let me die as Cuchillin died: renown clothed him like a robe; and the light of his fame is great. Draw the arrow from my side; and lay Cuchullin below that oak. Place the shield of Caithbat near, that they may behold me amid the arms of my fathers”^(a).

Fingal speaks:

Ullin, my aged bard, take the ship of the King. Carry Oscar to Selma, and let the daughters of Morven weep. We shall fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac. The days of my years begin to fail: I feel the weakness of my arm. My fathers bend from their clouds to receive their gray-hair’d son. But, Trenmore! before I go hence, one beam of my fame shall rise: in fame shall my days end, as my years begun: my life shall be one stream of light to other times^(b).

Ossian speaks:

Did thy beauty last, O Ryno! stood the strength<435> of car-borne Oscar!^* Fingal himself passed away, and the halls of his fathers forgot his steps. And shalt thou remain, aged bard, when the mighty have failed? But my fame shall remain; and grow like the oak of Morven, which lifts its broad head to the storm, and rejoiceth in the course of the wind^(c).

The chief cause of affliction when a young man is cut off in battle, is his not having received his fame:

“And fell the swiftest in the race,” said the King, “the first to bend the bow? Thou scarce hast been known to me; why did young Ryno fall? But sleep thou softly on Lena, Fingal shall soon behold thee. Soon shall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps cease to be seen. The bards will tell of Fingal’s name; the stones will talk of me. But, Ryno! thou art low indeed, thou hast not received thy fame. Ullin, strike the harp for Ryno; tell what the chief would have been. Farewell thou first in every field. No more shall I direct thy dart. Thou that hast been so fair; I behold thee not.—Farewell”^(a). “Cal-<436>thon rushed into the stream: I bounded forward on my spear: Teutha’s race fell before us: night came rolling down. Dunthalmo rested on a rock, amidst an aged wood: the rage of his bosom burned against the car-borne Calthon. But Calthon stood in his grief; he mourned the fallen Colmar; Colmar slain in youth, before his fame arose”^(b).

Lamentation for loss of fame. Cuchullin speaks:

But, O ye ghosts of the lonely Cromla! ye souls of chiefs that are no more! be ye the companions of Cuchullin, and talk to him in the cave of his sorrow. For never more shall I be renowned among the mighty in the land. I am like a beam that has shone; like a mist that fled away when the blast of the morning came, and brightened the shaggy side of the hill. Connal, talk of arms no more; departed is my fame. My sighs shall be on Cromla’s wind, till my footsteps cease to be seen. And thou white bosom’d Bragéla, mourn over the fall of my fame; for, vanquished, never will I return to thee, thou sun-beam of Dunscaich^(c).

Love of fame begets heroic actions, which go hand in hand with elevated sentiments: of the former there are examples in every page; of the latter take the following examples:

“And let him come,” replied the King. “I love<437> a foe like Cathmor: his soul is great; his arm strong; and his battles full of fame. But the little soul is like a vapour that hovers round the marshy lake, which never rises on the green hill, lest the winds meet it there”^(d).

Ossian speaks:

“But let us fly, son of Morni, Lathmon descends the hill.” “Then let our steps be slow,” replied the fair-hair’d Gaul, “lest the foe say with a smile, Behold the warriors of night: they are like ghosts, terrible in darkness; but they melt away before the beam of the East”^(a). “Son of the feeble hand,” said Lathmon, “shall my host descend! They are but two, and shall a thousand lift their steel! Nuah would mourn in his hall for the departure of Lathmon’s fame: his eyes would turn from Lathmon, when the tread of his feet approached. Go thou to the heroes, son of Dutha, for I behold the stately steps of Ossian. His fame is worthy of my steel: let him fight with Lathmon”^(b). “Fingal does not delight in battle, though his arm is strong. My renown grows on the fall of the haughty: the lightning of my steel pours on the proud in arms. The battle comes; and the tombs of the valiant rise; the tombs of my people rise, O my fathers! and I at last must remain alone. But I will remain renowned, and the departure of my soul shall be one stream of light”^(c). “I raised my voice for Fovar-gormo, when they laid the chief in earth. The aged Crothar was there, but his sigh was not heard. He searched for the wound of his son, <438> and found it in his breast: joy arose in the face of the aged: he came and spoke to Ossian: ‘King of spears, my son hath not fallen without his fame: the young warrior did not fly, but met death as he went forward in his strength. Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is heard: their memory shall be honoured in the song; the young tear of the virgin falls’ ”^(d). “Cuchullin kindled at the sight, and darkness gathered on his brow. His hand was on the sword of his fathers: his red-rolling eye on the foe. He thrice attempted to rush to battle, and thrice did Connal stop him. ‘Chief of the isle of mist,’ he said, ‘Fingal subdues the foe: seek not a part of the fame of the King’ ”^(e).

The pictures that Ossian draws of his countrymen, are no less remarkable for tender sentiments, than for elevation. Parental affection is finely couched in the following passage:

“Son of Comhal,” replied the chief, “the strength of Morni’s arm has failed. I attempt to draw the sword of my youth, but it remains in its place: I throw the spear, but it falls short of the mark; and I feel the weight of my shield. We decay like the grass of the mountain, and our strength returns no more. I have a son, O Fingal! his soul has delighted in the actions of Morni’s youth; but his sword has not been lifted against the foe, neither has his fame begun. I come with him to battle, to direct his arm. His renown will be a<439> sun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people, that the heroes would only say, Behold the father of Gaul!”^(a)

And no less finely touched is grief for the loss of children:

We saw Oscar leaning on his shield: we saw his blood around. Silence darkened on the face of every hero: each turned his back and wept. The King strove to hide his tears. He bends his head over his son; and his words are mixed with sighs. “And art thou fallen, Oscar, in the midst of thy course! The heart of the aged beats over thee. I see thy coming battles: I behold the battles that ought to come, but they are cut off from thy fame. When shall joy dwell at Selma? when shall the song of grief cease on Morven? My son falls by degrees, Fingal will be the last of his race. The fame I have received shall pass away: my age shall be without friends. I shall sit like a grey cloud in my hall: nor shall I expect the return of a son with his sounding arms. Weep, ye heroes of Morven; never more will Oscar rise”^(b).

Crothar speaks:

Son of Fingal! dost thou not behold the darkness of Crothar’s hall of shells? My soul was not dark at the feast, when my people lived. I rejoiced in the presence of strangers, when my son shone in the hall. But, Ossian, he is a beam<440> that is departed, and left no streak of light behind. He is fallen, son of Fingal, in the battles of his father.—Rothmar, the chief of grassy Tromlo, heard that my eyes had failed; he heard that my arms were fixed in the hall, and the pride of his soul arose. He came toward Croma; my people fell before him. I took my arms in the hall; but what could sightless Crothar do? My steps were unequal; my grief was great. I wished for the days that were past, days wherein I fought and won in the field of blood. My son returned from the chace, the fair-hair’d Fovar-gormo. He had not lifted his sword in battle, for his arm was young. But the soul of the youth was great; the fire of valour burnt in his eyes. He saw the disordered steps of his father, and his sigh arose. “King of Croma,” he said, “is it because thou hast no son; is it for the weakness of Fovar-gormo’s arm that thy sighs arise? I begin, my father, to feel the strength of my arm; I have drawn the sword of my youth; and I have bent the bow. Let me meet this Rothmar with the youths of Croma: let me meet him, O my father; for I feel my burning soul.” “And thou shalt meet him,” I said, “son of the sightless Crothar! But let others advance before thee, that I may hear the tread of thy feet at thy return; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-hair’d Fovar-gormo!”—He went, he met the foe; he fell. The foe advances toward Croma. He who slew my son is near, with all his pointed spears^(a).

The following sentiments about the shortness of human life are pathetic.<441>

“Desolate is the dwelling of Moinna, silence in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of mourning over the strangers. One day we must fall; and they have only fallen before us.—Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days! Thou lookest from thy towers to day: soon will the blast of the desert come. It howls in thy empty court, and whistles over thy half-worn shield”^(b). “How long shall we weep on Lena, or pour tears in Ullin! The mighty will not return; nor Oscar rise in his strength: the valiant must fall one day, and be no more known. Where are our fathers, O warriors, the chiefs of the times of old! They are set, like stars that have shone: we only hear the sound of their praise. But they were renowned in their day, and the terror of other times. Thus shall we pass, O warriors, in the day of our fall. Then let us be renowned while we may; and leave our fame behind us, like the last beams of the sun, when he hides his red head in the west”^(c).

In Homer’s time, heroes were greedy of plunder; and, like robbers, were much disposed to insult a vanquished foe. According to Ossian, the ancient Caledonians had no idea of plunder: and as they fought for fame only, their humanity overflowed to the vanquished. American savages, it is true, are not addicted to plunder, and are ready to bestow on the<442> first comer what trifles they force from the enemy. But they have no notion of a pitched battle, nor of single combat: on the contrary, they value themselves upon slaughtering their enemies by surprise, without risking their own sweet persons. Agreeable to the magnanimous character given by Ossian of his countrymen, we find humanity blended with courage in all their actions.

Fingal pitied the white-armed maid: he stayed the uplifted sword. The tear was in the eye of the King, as bending forward he spoke: “King of streamy Sora, fear not the sword of Fingal: it was never stained with the blood of the vanquished; it never pierced a fallen foe. Let thy people rejoice along the blue waters of Tora: let the maids of thy love be glad. Why should’st thou fall in thy youth, King of streamy Sora!”^(a)

Fingal speaks:

“Son of my strength,” he said, “take the spear of Fingal: go to Teutha’s mighty stream, and save the car-borne Colmar. Let thy fame return before thee like a pleasant gale; that my soul may rejoice over my son, who renews the renown of our fathers. Ossian! be thou a storm in battle, but mild where the foes are low. It was thus my fame arose, O my son; and be thou like Selma’s chief. When the haughty come to my hall, my<443> eyes behold them not; but my arm is stretched forth to the unhappy, my sword defends the weak”^(b). “O Oscar! bend the strong in arm, but spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes of thy people, but like the gale that moves the grass to those who ask thy aid. Never search for the battle, nor shun it when it comes. So Trenmor lived; such Trathal was; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured; and the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel”^(c).

Humanity to the vanquished is displayed in the following passages. After defeating in battle Swaran King of Lochlin, Fingal says,

“Raise, Ullin, raise the song of peace, and soothe my soul after battle, that my ear may forget the noise of arms. And let a hundred harps be near to gladden the King of Lochlin: he must depart from us with joy: none ever went sad from Fingal. Oscar, the lightening of my sword is against the strong; but peaceful it hangs by my side when warriors yield in battle”^(a). “Uthal fell beneath my sword, and the sons of Berrathon fled. It was then I saw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye. Thou art fallen, young tree, I said, with all thy budding beauties round thee. The winds come from the desert, and there is no sound in thy leaves. Lovely art thou in death, son of car-borne Lathmor”^(b).<444>

After perusing these quotations, it will not be thought that Ossian deviates from the manners represented by him, in describing the hospitality of his chieftains:

“We heard the voice of joy on the coast, and we thought that the mighty Cathmor came; Cathmor, the friend of strangers, the brother of red-hair’d Cairbar. But their souls were not the same; for the light of heaven was in the bosom of Cathmor. His towers rose on the banks of Atha: seven paths led to his hall: seven chiefs stood on these paths, and called the stranger to the feast. But Cathmor dwelt in the wood, to avoid the voice of praise^(c).” “Rathmor was a chief of Clutha. The feeble dwelt in his hall. The gates of Rathmor were never closed: his feast was always spread. The sons of the stranger came, and blessed the generous chief of Clutha. Bards raised the song, and touched the harp: joy brightened on the face of the mournful. Dunthalmo came in his pride, and rushed into combat with Rathmor. The chief of Clutha overcame. The rage of Dunthalmo rose: he came by night with his warriors; and the mighty Rathmor fell: he fell in his hall, where his feast had been often spread for strangers”^(d).

It seems not to exceed the magnanimity of his chieftains, intent upon glory only, <445> to feast even an enemy before a battle. Cuchullin, after the first day’s engagement with Swaran, King of Lochlin or Scandinavia, says to Carril, one of his bards,

Is this feast spread for me alone, and the King of Lochlin on Ullin’s shore; far from the deer of his hills, and sounding halls of his feasts? Rise, Carril of other times, and carry my words to Swaran; tell him from the roaring of waters, that Cuchullin gives his feast. Here let him listen to the sound of my groves amid the clouds of night: for cold and bleak the blustering winds rush over the foam of his seas. Here let him praise the trembling harp, and hear the songs of heroes^(a).

The Scandinavian King, less polished, refused the invitation. Cairbar speaks:

“Spread the feast on Lena, and let my hundred bards attend. And thou, red-hair’d Olla, take the harp of the King. Go to Oscar, King of swords, and bid him to our feast. To-day we feast and hear the song; to-morrow break the spears”^(b). “Olla came with his songs. Oscar went to Cairbar’s feast. Three hundred heroes attend the chief, and the clang of their arms is terrible. The gray dogs bound on the heath, and their howling is frequent. Fingal saw the<446> departure of the hero: the soul of the King was sad. He dreads the gloomy Cairbar: but who of the race of Trenmor fears the foe?”^(c)

Cruelty is every where condemned as an infamous vice. Speaking of the bards,

“Cairbar feared to stretch his sword to the bards, tho’ his soul was dark; but he closed us in the midst of darkness. Three days we pined alone: on the fourth the noble Cathmor came. He heard our voice from the cave, and turned the eye of his wrath on Cairbar. Chief of Atha, he said, how long wilt thou pain my soul? Thy heart is like the rock of the desert, and thy thoughts are dark. But thou art the brother of Cathmor, and he will fight thy battles. Cathmor’s soul is not like thine, thou feeble hand of war. The light of my bosom is stained with thy deeds. The bards will not sing of my renown: they may say, Cathmor was brave, but he fought for gloomy Cairbar: they will pass over my tomb in silence, and my fame shall not be heard. Cairbar, loose the bards; they are the sons of other times: their voice shall be heard in other ages when the Kings of Temora have failed”^(a). “Ullin raised his white sails: the wind of the south came forth. He bounded on the waves toward Selma’s walls. The feast is spread on Lena: an hundred heroes reared the tomb of Cairbar; but no song is raised over the chief, for his soul had been dark and bloody. We remembered the<447> fall of Cormac; and what could we say in Cairbar’s praise?”^(b)

Genuine manners never were represented more to the life by a Tacitus nor a Shakespeare. Such painting is above the reach of pure invention: it must be the work of knowledge and feeling.

One may discover the manners of a nation from the figure their women make. Among savages, women are treated like slaves; and they acquire not the dignity that belongs to the sex, till manners be considerably refined^(c). According to the manners above described, women ought to have made a considerable figure among the ancient Caledonians. Let us examine Ossian upon that subject, in order to judge whether he carries on the same tone of manners through every particular. That women were highly regarded, appears from the following passages.

“Daughter of the hand of snow! I was not so mournful and blind, I was not so dark and forlorn, when Everallin loved me, Everallin with the dark-brown hair, the white-bosomed love of<448> Cormac. A thousand heroes sought the maid, she denied her love to a thousand: the sons of the sword were despised; for graceful in her eyes was Ossian. I went in suit of the maid to Lego’s sable surge; twelve of my people were there, sons of the streamy Morven. We came to Branno friend of strangers, Branno of the sounding mail.—From whence, he said, are the arms of steel? Not easy to win is the maid that had denied the blue-eyed sons of Erin. But blest be thou, O son of Fingal, happy is the maid that waits thee. Though twelve daughters of beauty were mine, thine were the choice, thou son of fame! Then he opened the hall of the maid, the dark-haired Everallin. Joy kindled in our breasts of steel, and blest the maid of Branno”^(a). “Now Connal, on Cromla’s windy side, spoke to the chief of the noble car. Why that gloom, son of Semo? Our friends are the mighty in battle. And renowned art thou, O warrior! many were the deaths of thy steel. Often has Bragela met thee with blue-rolling eyes of joy; often has she met her hero returning in the midst of the valiant, when his sword was red with slaughter, and his foes silent in the field of the tomb. Pleasant to her ears were thy bards, when thine actions rose in the song”^(b). “But, King of Morven, if I shall fall, as one time the warrior must fall, raise my tomb in the midst, and let it be the greatest on Lena. And send over the dark-blue wave the sword of Orla, to the spouse of his love; that she may show it to her son, with tears, to kindle<449> his soul to war”^(c). “I lifted my eyes to Cromla, and I saw the son of generous Semo.—Sad and slow he retired from his hill toward the lonely cave of Tura. He saw Fingal victorious, and mixed his joy with grief. The sun is bright on his armour, and Connal slowly followed. They sunk behind the hill, like two pillars of the fire of night, when winds pursue them over the mountain, and the flaming heath resounds. Beside a stream of roaring foam, his cave is in a rock. One tree bends above it; and the rushing winds echo against its sides. There rests the chief of Dunscaich, the son of generous Semo. His thoughts are on the battles he lost; and the tear is on his cheek. He mourned the departure of his fame, that fled like the mist of Cona. O Bragela, thou art too far remote to cheer the soul of the hero. But let him see thy bright form in his soul; that his thoughts may return to the lonely sun-beam of Dunscaich”^(d). “Ossian King of swords,” replied the bard, “thou best raisest the song. Long hast thou been known to Carril, thou ruler of battles. Often have I touched the harp to lovely Everallin. Thou, too, hast often accompanied my voice in Branno’s hall of shells. And often amidst our voices was heard the mildest Everallin. One day she sung of Cormac’s fall, the youth that died for her love. I saw the tears on her cheek, and on thine, thou chief of men. Her soul was touched for the unhappy, though she loved him not. How fair among a thousand maids, was the daughter of the generous<450> Branno”^(a). “It was in the days of peace,” replied the great Clessammor, “I came in my bounding ship to Balclutha’s walls of towers. The winds had roared behind my sails, and Clutha’s streams received my dark-bosomed vessel. Three days I remained in Reuthamir’s halls, and saw that beam of light, his daughter. The joy of the shell went round, and the aged hero gave the fair. Her breasts were like foam on the wave, and her eyes like stars of light: her hair was dark as the raven’s wing: her soul was generous and mild. My love for Moina was great: and my heart poured forth in joy”^(b). “The fame of Ossian shall rise: his deeds shall be like his father’s. Let us rush in our arms, son of Morni, let us rush to battle. Gaul, if thou shalt return, go to Selma’s lofty hall. Tell Everallin that I fell with fame: carry the sword to Branno’s daughter: let her give it to Oscar when the years of his youth shall arise”^(c).

Next to war, love makes the principal figure: and well it may; for in Ossian’s poems it breathes every thing sweet, tender, and elevated.

“On Lubar’s grassy banks they fought; and Grudar fell. Fierce Cairbar came to the vale of the echoing Tura, where Brassolis, fairest of his sisters, all alone raised the song of grief. She sung the actions of Grudar, the youth of her se-<451>cret soul: she mourned him in the field of blood; but still she hoped his return. Her white bosom is seen from her robe, as the moon from the clouds of night: her voice was softer than the harp, to raise the song of grief: her soul was fixed on Grudar, the secret look of her eye was his;—when wilt thou come in thine arms, thou mighty in the war? Take, Brassolis, Cairbar said, take this shield of blood: fix it on high within my hall, the armour of my foe. Her soft heart beat against her side: distracted, pale, she flew, and found her youth in his blood.—She died on Cromla’s heath. Here rests their dust, Cuchullin; and these two lonely yews, sprung from their tombs, wish to meet on high. Fair was Brassolis on the plain, and Grudar on the hill. The bard shall preserve their names, and repeat them to future times”^(d). “Pleasant is thy voice, O Carril, said the blue-eyed chief of Erin; and lovely are the words of other times: they are like the calm shower of spring, when the sun looks on the field, and the light cloud flies over the hill. O strike the harp in praise of my love, the lonely sun-beam of Dunscaich: strike the harp in praise of Bragela, whom I left in the isle of mist, the spouse of Semo’s son.—Dost thou raise thy fair face from the rock to find the sails of Cuchullin? the sea is rolling far distant, and its white foam will deceive thee for my sails. Retire, my love, for it is night, and the dark winds sigh in thy hair: retire to the hall of my feasts, and think of times that are past; for I will not return till the storm of war cease. O Connal, speak of war and<452> arms, and send her from my mind; for lovely with her raven hair is the white-bosomed daughter of Sorglan”^(a).

Malvina speaks.

“But thou dwellest in the soul of Malvina, son of mighty Ossian. My sighs arise with the beam of the east, my tears descend with the drops of the night. I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me: but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low: the spring returned with its showers, but of me not a leaf sprung. The virgins saw me silent in the hall, and they touched the harp of joy. The tear was on the cheek of Malvina, and the virgins beheld my grief. Why art thou sad, they said, thou first of the maids of Lutha? Was he lovely as the beam of the morning, and stately in thy sight?”^(b) “Fingal came in his mildness, rejoicing in secret over the actions of his son. Morni’s face brightened with gladness, and his aged eyes looked faintly through tears of joy. We came to the halls of Selma, and sat round the feast of shells. The maids of the song came into our presence, and the mildly-blushing Everallin. Her dark hair spreads on her neck of snow, her eye rolls in secret on Ossian. She touches the harp of music, and we bless the daughter of Branno”^(c).

Had the Caledonians made slaves of<453> their women, and thought as meanly of them as savages commonly do, Ossian could never have thought, even in a dream, of bestowing on them those numberless graces that exalt the female sex, and render many of them objects of pure and elevated affection. I say more: Supposing a savage to have been divinely inspired, manners so inconsistent with their own would not have been relished, nor even comprehended, by his countrymen. And yet that they were highly relished is certain, having been diffused among all ranks, and preserved for many ages by memory alone, without writing. Here the argument mentioned above strikes with double force, to evince, that the manners of the Caledonians must have been really such as Ossian describes.

Catharina Alexowna, Empress of Russia, promoted assemblies of men and women, as a means to polish the manners of her subjects. And in order to preserve decency in such assemblies, she published a body of regulations, of which the following are a specimen. “Ladies who play at forfeitures, questions and commands, &c. shall not be noisy nor riotous. No<454> gentleman must attempt to force a kiss, nor strike a woman in the assembly, under pain of exclusion. Ladies are not to get drunk upon any pretence whatever; nor gentlemen before nine.” Compare the manners that required such regulations with those described above. Can we suppose, that the ladies and gentlemen of Ossian’s poems ever amused themselves, after the age of twelve, with hide and seek, questions and commands, or such childish play. Can it enter into our thoughts, that Bragela or Malvina were so often drunk, as to require the reprimand of a public regulation? or that any hero of Ossian ever struck a woman of fashion in ire?

The immortality of the soul was a capital article in the Celtic creed, inculcated by the Druids^(a). And in Valerius Maximus we find the following passage:—“Gallos, memoriae proditum est, pecunias mutuas, quae sibi apud inferos redderentur, dare: quia persuasum habuerint, animas hominum immortales esse. Dicerem stultos, nisi idem braccati sensissent quod palliatus Pythagoras<455> sensit”^(b).^* All savages have an impression of immortality; but few, even of the most enlightened before Christianity prevailed, had the least notion of any occupations in another life, but what they were accustomed to in this. Even Virgil, in his poetical fervency, finds no amusements for his departed heroes, but what they were fond of when alive; the same love for war, the same taste for hunting, and the same affection to their friends. As we have no reason to expect more invention in Ossian, the observation may serve as a key to the ghosts introduced by him, and to his whole machinery, as termed by critics. His description of these ghosts is copied plainly from the creed of his country.

In a historical account of the progress of manners, it would argue gross insensibility to overlook those above mentioned. <456> The subject, it is true, has swelled upon my hands beyond expectation; but it is not a little interesting. If these manners be genuine, they are a singular phenomenon in the History of Man: if they be the invention of an illiterate bard, among savages utterly ignorant of such manners, the phenomenon is no less singular. Let either side be taken, and a sort of miracle must be admitted. In the instances above given, such a beautiful mixture there is of simplicity and dignity, and so much life given to the manners described, that real manners were never represented with a more striking appearance of truth. If these manners be fictitious, I say again, that the author must have been inspired: they plainly exceed the invention of a savage; nay, they exceed the invention of any known writer. Every man will judge for himself: it is perhaps fondness for such refined manners, that makes me incline to reality against fiction.

I am aware at the same time, that manners so pure and elevated, in the first stage of society, are difficult to be accounted for. The Caledonians were not an original tribe, who may be supposed to have<457> had manners peculiar to themselves: they were a branch of the Celtae, and had a language common to them with the inhabitants of Gaul, and of England. The manners probably of all were the same, or nearly so; and if we expect any light for explaining Caledonian manners, it must be from that quarter: we have indeed no other resource. Diodorus Siculus^(a) reports of the Celtae, that, though warlike, they were upright in their dealings, and far removed from deceit and duplicity. Caesar^(b), “Galli homines aperti minimeque insidiosi, qui per virtutem, non per dolum, dimicare consueverunt.”^* And though cruel to their enemies, yet Pomponius Mela^(a) observes, that they were kind and compassionate to the supplicant and unfortunate. Strabo^(b) describes the Gauls as studious of war, and of great alacrity in fighting; otherwise an innocent people, altogether void of malignity. He says, that they had three orders of<458> men, bards, priests, and druids; that the province of the bards was to study poetry, and to compose songs in praise of their deceased heroes; that the priests presided over divine worship; and that the druids, beside studying moral and natural philosophy, determined all controversies, and had some direction even in war. Caesar, less attentive to civil matters, comprehends these three orders under the name of druids; and observes, that the druids teach their disciples a vast number of verses, which they must get by heart. Diodorus Siculus says, that the Gauls had poets termed bards, who sung airs accompanied with the harp, in praise of some, and dispraise of others. Lucan, speaking of the three orders, says,

Vos quoque, qui fortes animas, belloque peremptas,

Laudibus in longum, vates, dimittitis aevum,

Plurima securi sudistis carmina bardi.^† <459>

With respect to the Celtic women in particular, it is agreed by all writers, that they were extremely beautiful^(c); and no less remarkable for spirit than for beauty. If we can rely on Diodorus Siculus, the women in Gaul equalled the men in courage. Tacitus, in his life of Agricola, says, that the British women frequently joined with the men, when attacked by an enemy. And so much were they regarded, as to be thought capable of the highest command. “Neque enim sexum in imperiis discernunt,”^* says the same author^(a). And accordingly, during the war carried on by Caractacus, a gallant British King, against the Romans, Cartismandua was Queen of the Brigantes. Boadicea is recorded in Roman annals as a Queen of a warlike spirit. She led on a great army against the Romans; and in exhorting her people to behave with courage, she observed, that it was not unusual to see a British army led on to battle<460> by a woman; to which Tacitus adds his testimony: “Solitum quidem Britannis foeminarum ductu bellare”^(b).^† No wonder that Celtic women, so amply provided with spirit, as well as beauty, made a capital figure in every public entertainment^(c).

The Gallic Celtae undoubtedly carried with them their manners and customs to Britain, and spread them gradually from south to north. And as the Caledonians, inhabiting a mountainous country in the northern parts of the island, had little commerce with other nations, they preserved long in purity many Celtic customs, particularly that of retaining bards. Arthur the last Celtic King of England, who was a hero in the defence of his country against the Saxons, protected the bards, and was immortalized by them. All the chieftains had bards in their pay, whose province it was to compose songs in praise of their ancestors, and to accom-<461>pany these songs with the harp. This entertainment enflamed their love for war, and at the same time softened their manners, which, as Strabo reports, were naturally innocent and void of malignity. It had beside a wonderful influence in forming virtuous manners: the bards, in praising deceased heroes, would naturally select virtuous actions, which are peculiarly adapted to heroic poetry, and tend the most to illustrate the hero of their song: vice may be flattered; but praise is never willingly nor successfully bestowed upon any atchievement but what is virtuous and heroic. It is accordingly observed by Ammianus Marcellinus^(a), that the bards inculcated in their songs virtue and actions worthy of praise. The bards, who were in high estimation, became great proficients in poetry; of which we have a conspicuous instance in the works of Ossian. Their capital compositions were diligently studied by those of their own order, and admired by all. The songs of the bards, accompanied with the harp, made a deep impression on the young war-<462>rior, elevated some into heroes, and promoted virtue in every hearer.^* Another circumstance, common to the Caledonians with every other nation in the first stage of society, concurred to form their manners; which is, that avarice was unknown among them. People in that stage, ignorant of habitual wants, and having a ready supply of all that nature requires, have little notion of property, and not the slightest desire of accumulating the goods of fortune; and for that reason are always found honest and disinterested. With respect to the female sex, who make an illustrious figure in Ossian’s poems, if they were so eminent both for courage and beauty as they are represented by the best authors, it is no wonder to find them painted by Ossian as objects of love the<463> most pure and refined. Nor ought it to be overlooked, that the soft and delicate notes of the harp have a tendency to purify manners, and to refine love.

Whether the causes here assigned of Celtic manners be fully adequate, may well admit of a doubt; but if authentic history be relied on, we can entertain no doubt, that the manners of the Gallic and British Celtae, including the Caledonians, were such as are above described. And as the manners ascribed by Ossian to his countrymen the Caledonians, are in every particular conformable to those now mentioned, it clearly follows, that Ossian was no inventor, but drew his pictures of manners from real life. This is made highly probable from intrinsic evidence, the same that is so copiously urged above: and now by authentic history, that probability is so much heightened, as scarce to leave room for a doubt.

Our present highlanders are but a small part of the inhabitants of Britain; and they have been sinking in their importance, from the time that arts and sciences made a figure, and peaceable manners prevailed. And yet in that people are dis-<464>cernible many remaining features of their forefathers the Caledonians. They have to this day a disposition to war, and when disciplined make excellent soldiers, sober, active, and obedient. They are eminently hospitable; and the character given by Strabo of the Gallic Celtae, that they were innocent and devoid of malignity, is to them perfectly applicable. That they have not the magnanimity and heroism of the Caledonians, is easily accounted for. The Caledonians were a free and independent people, unawed by any superior power, and living under the mild government of their own chieftains; compared with their forefathers, the present highlanders make a very inconsiderable figure: their country is barren, and at any rate is but a small part of a potent kingdom; and their language deprives them of intercourse with their polished neighbours.

There certainly never happened in literature, a discovery more extraordinary than the works of Ossian. To lay the scene of action among hunters in the first stage of society, and to bestow upon such a people a system of manners that would do honour to the most polished state, seem-<465>ed at first an ill-contrived forgery. But if a forgery, why so bold and improbable? why not invent manners more congruous to the savage state? And as at any rate the work has great merit, why did the author conceal himself? These considerations roused my attention, and produced the foregoing disquisition; which I finished, without imagining that any more light could be obtained. But, after a long interval, a thought struck me, that as the Caledonians formerly were much connected with the Scandinavians, the manners of the latter might probably give light in the present inquiry. I cheerfully spread my sails in a wide ocean, not without hopes of importing precious merchandise. Many volumes did I turn over of Scandinavian history; attentive to those passages where the manners of the inhabitants in the first stage of society are delineated. And now I proceed to present my reader with the goods imported.

The Danes, says Adam of Bremen, are remarkable for elevation of mind: the punishment of death is less dreaded by them than that of whipping. “The philosophy of the Cimbri,” says Valerius Ma-<466>ximus, “is gay and resolute: they leap for joy in a battle, hoping for a glorious end; in sickness they lament, for fear of the contrary.” What fortified their courage, was a persuasion, that those who die in battle fighting bravely are instantly translated to the hall of Odin, to drink beer out of the skull of an enemy. “Happy in their mistake,” says Lucan, “are the people who live near the pole: persuaded that death is only a passage to long life, they are undisturbed by the most grievous of all fears, that of dying: they eagerly run to arms, and esteem it cowardice to spare a life they shall soon recover in another world.” Such was their magnanimity, that they scorned to snatch a victory by surprise. Even in their piratical expeditions, instances are recorded of setting aside all the ships that exceeded those of the enemy, lest the victory should be attributed to superiority of numbers. It was held unmanly to decline a combat, however unequal; for courage, it was thought, rendered all men equal. The shedding tears was unmanly, even for the death of friends.

The Scandinavians were sensible in a<467> high degree to praise and reproach; for love of fame was their darling passion. Olave, King of Norway, placing three of his scalds or bards around him in a battle, “You shall not relate,” said he, “what you have only heard, but what you are eye-witnesses of.” Upon every occasion we find them insisting upon glory, honour, and contempt of death, as leading principles. The bare suspicion of cowardice was attended with universal contempt: a man who lost his buckler, or received a wound behind, durst never again appear in public. Frotho King of Denmark, made captive in a battle, obstinately refused either liberty or life. “To what end,” says he, “should I survive the disgrace of being made a captive? Should you even restore to me my sister, my treasure, and my kingdom, would these benefits restore me to my honour? Future ages will always have to say, that Frotho was taken by his enemy”^(a).

Much efficacy is above ascribed to the songs of Caledonian bards; and with satisfaction I find my observations justified<468> in every Scandinavian history. The Kings of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden, are represented in ancient chronicles as constantly attended with scalds or bards, who were treated with great respect, especially by princes distinguished in war. Harold Harfager at his feasts placed them above all his other officers; and employed them in negociations of the greatest importance. The poetic art, held in great estimation, was cultivated by men of the first rank. Rogvald, Earl of Orkney, passed for an able poet. King Regnar was distinguished in poetry, no less than in war. It was the proper province of bards in Scandinavia, as in other countries, to celebrate in odes the atchievements of deceased heroes. They were frequently employed in animating the troops before a battle. Hacon, Earl of Norway, in his famous engagement against the warriors of Iomsburg, had five celebrated poets, each of whom sung an ode to the soldiers ready to engage. Saxo Grammaticus, describing a battle between Waldemar and Sueno, mentions a scald belonging to the former, who, advancing to the front of the<469> army, reproached the latter in a pathetic ode as the murderer of his own father.

The odes of the Scandinavian bards have a peculiar energy; which is not difficult to be accounted for. The propensity of the Scandinavians to war, their love of glory, their undaunted courage, and their warlike exploits, naturally produced elevated sentiments, and an elevated tone of language; both of which were displayed in celebrating heroic deeds. Take the following instances. The first is from the Edda, which contains the birth and genealogy of their Gods.

The giant Rymer arrives from the east, carried in a chariot: the great serpent, rolling himself furiously in the waters, lifteth up the sea. The eagle screams, and with his horrid beak tears the dead. The vessel of the gods is set afloat. The black prince of fire issues from the south, surrounded with flames: the swords of the gods beam like the sun: shaken are the rocks, and fall to pieces. The female giants wander about weeping: men in crouds tread the paths of death. Heaven is split asunder, the sun darkened, and the earth sunk in<470> the ocean. The shining stars vanish: the fire rages: the world draws to an end; and the flame ascending licks the vault of heaven. From the bosom of the waves an earth emerges, clothed with lovely green: the floods retire: the fields produce without culture: misfortunes are banished from the world. Balder and his brother, gods of war, return to inhabit the ruin’d palace of Odin. A palace more resplendent than the sun, rises now to view; adorned with a roof of gold: there good men shall inhabit; and live in joy and pleasure through all ages.

In a collection of ancient historical monuments of the north, published by Bioner, a learned Swede, there is the following passage. “Grunder, perceiving Grymer rushing furiously through opposing battalians, cries aloud, Thou alone remainest to engage with me in single combat. It is now thy turn to feel the keenness of my sword. Their sabres, like dark and threatening clouds, hang dreadful in the air. Grymer’s weapon darts down like a thunderbolt: their swords furiously strike: they are bathed in gore. Grymer cleaves the<471> casque of his enemy, hews his armour in pieces, and pours the light into his bosom. Grunder sinks to the ground; and Grymer gives a dreadful shout of triumph.” This picture is done with a masterly hand. The capital circumstances are judiciously selected; and the narration is compact and rapid. Indulge me with a moment’s pause to compare this picture with one or two in Ossian’s manner. “As Autumn’s dark storms pour from two echoing hills; so to each other approach the heroes. As from high rocks two dark streams meet, and mix and roar on the plain; so meet Lochlin and Innis-fail, loud, rough, and dark in battle. Chief mixes his strokes with chief, and man with man; steel sounds on steel, helmets are cleft on high. Blood bursts, and smoaks around. Strings murmur on the polished yew. Darts rush along the sky. Spears fall like sparks of flame that gild the stormy face of night. As the noise of the troubled ocean when roll the waves on high, as the last peal of thundering heaven, such is the noise of battle. Tho’ Cormac’s hundred bards<472> were there, feeble were the voice of an hundred bards to send the deaths to future times; for many were the heroes who fell, and wide poured the blood of the valiant.” Again, “As roll a thousand waves to the rocks, so came on Swaran’s host: as meets a rock a thousand waves, so Innis-fail met Swaran. The voice of death is heard all around, and mixes with the sound of shields. Each hero is a pillar of darkness, and the sword a beam of fire in his hand. From wing to wing echoes the field, like a hundred hammers that rise by turns on the red sun of the furnace. Who are those on Lena’s heath, so gloomy and dark? they are like two clouds, and their swords lighten above. Who is it but Ossian’s son and the car-borne chief of Erin?” These two descriptions make a deeper impression, and swell the heart more than the former: they are more poetical by short similes finely interwoven; and the images are far more lofty. And yet Ossian’s chief talent is sentiment, in which Scandinavian bards are far inferior: in the generosity, tenderness, <473> and humanity of his sentiments, he has not a rival.

The ancient Scandinavians were undoubtedly a barbarous people, compared with the southern nations of Europe; but that they were far from being gross savages, may be gathered from a poem still extant, named Havamaal; or, The sublime discourse of Odin. Tho’ that poem is of great antiquity, it is replete with good lessons and judicious reflections; of which the following are a specimen.

Happy he who gains the applause and good will of men.

Love your friends, and love also their friends.

Be not the first to break with your friend: sorrow gnaws the heart of him who has not a single friend to advise with.

Where is the virtuous man that hath not a failing? Where is the wicked man that hath not some good quality?

Riches take wing; relations die: you yourself shall die. One thing only is out of the reach of fate; which is, the judgement that passes on the dead.

There is no malady more severe than the being discontented with one’s lot.<474>

Let not a man be overwise nor overcurious: if he would sleep in quiet, let him not seek to know his destiny.

While we live, let us live well: a man lights his fire, but before it be burnt out death may enter.

A coward dreams that he may live for ever: if he should escape every other weapon, he cannot escape old age.

The flocks know when to retire from pasture: the glutton knows not when to retire from the feast.

The lewd and dissolute make a mock of every thing, not considering how much they deserve to be mocked.

The best provision for a journey, is strength of understanding: more useful than treasure, it welcomes one to the table of the stranger.

Hitherto the manners of the Scandinavians resemble in many capital circumstances those delineated in the works of Ossian. I lay not, however, great stress upon that resemblance, because such manners are found among several other warlike nations in the first stage of society. The circumstance that has occasioned the greatest doubt about Ossian’s system of<475> manners, is the figure his women make. Among other savage nations, they are held to be beings of an inferior rank; and as such are treated with very little respect: in Ossian they make an illustrious figure, and are highly regarded by the men. I have not words to express my satisfaction, when I discovered, that anciently among the barbarous Scandinavians, the female sex made a figure no less illustrious. A resemblance so complete with respect to a matter extremely singular among barbarians, cannot fail to convert the most obstinate infidel, leaving no doubt of Ossian’s veracity.—But I ought not to anticipate. One cannot pass a verdict till the evidence be summed up; and to that task I now proceed with sanguine hopes of success.

It is a fact ascertained by many writers, That women in the north of Europe were eminent for resolution and courage. Caesar, in the first book of his commentaries, describing a battle he fought with the Helvetii, says, that the women with a warlike spirit exhorted their husbands to persist, and placed the waggons in a line to prevent their flight. Florus and Taci-<476>tus mention, that several battles of those barbarous nations were renewed by their women, presenting their naked bosoms, and declaring their abhorrence of captivity. Flavius Vopiscus, writing of Proculus Caesar, says, that a hundred Sarmatian virgins were taken in battle. The Longobard women, when many of their husbands were cut off in a battle, took up arms, and obtained the victory^(a). The females of the Galactophagi, a Scythian tribe, were as warlike as the males, and went often with them to war^(b). In former times, many women in Denmark applied themselves to arms^(c). Jornandes describes the women of the Goths as full of courage, and trained to arms like the men. Joannes Magnus, Archbishop of Upsal, says the same; and mentions in particular an expedition of the Goths to invade a neighbouring country, in which more women went along with the men than were left at home^(d). Several Scandinavian women exercised piracy^(a). The Cimbri were always attended with their<477> wives even in their distant expeditions, and were more afraid of their reproaches than of the blows of the enemy. The Goths, compelled by famine to surrender to Belisarius the city of Ravenna, were bitterly reproached by their wives for cowardice^(b). In a battle between Regner King of Denmark and Fro King of Sweden, many women took part with the former, Langertha in particular, who fought with her hair flowing about her shoulders. Regner, being victorious, demanded who that woman was who had behaved so gallantly; and finding her to be a virgin of noble birth, he took her to wife. He afterward divorced her, in order to make way for a daughter of the King of Sweden. Regner being unhappily engaged in a civil war with Harald, who aspired to the throne of Denmark; Langertha, overlooking her wrongs, brought from Norway a body of men to assist her husband; and behaved so gallantly, that, in the opinion of all, Regner was indebted to her for the victory.

To find women, in no considerable portion of the globe, rivalling men in<478> their capital property of courage, is a singular phenomenon. That this phenomenon must have had an adequate cause, is certain; but of that cause, it is better to acknowledge our utter ignorance, however mortifying, than to squeeze out conjectures that will not bear examination.

In rude nations, prophets and soothsayers are held to be a superior class of men: what a figure then must the Vandal women have made, when in that nation, as Procopius says, all the prophets and soothsayers were of the female sex? In Scandinavia, women are said to have been skilful in magic arts, as well as men. Tacitus informs us, that the Germans had no other physicians but their women. They followed the armies, to staunch the blood, and suck the wounds of their husbands.^* He mentions a fact that sets the<479> German women in a conspicuous light, That female hostages bound the Germans more strictly to their engagements than male hostages. He adds, “Inesse quinetiam sanctum aliquid et providum putant: nec aut consilia earum aspernantur, aut responsa negliguntur.”^* The histories and romances of the north represent women, and even princesses, acting as physicians in war.

Polygamy sprung up in countries where women are treated as inferior beings: it can never take place where the two sexes are held to be of equal rank. For that reason, polygamy never was known among the northern nations of Europe. Saxo Grammaticus, who wrote the history of Denmark in the twelfth century, gives not the slightest hint of polygamy, even among kings and princes. Crantz, in his history of the Saxons^(a), affirms, that polygamy was never known among the nor-<480>thern nations of Europe; which is confirmed by every other writer who gives the history of any of these nations. Scheffer in particular, who writes the history of Lapland, observes, that neither polygamy nor divorce were ever heard of in that country, not even during Paganism.

We have the authority of Procopius^(b), that the women in those countries were remarkable for beauty, and that those of the Goths and Vandals were the finest that ever had been seen in Italy; and we have the authority of Crantz, that chastity was in high estimation among the Danes, Swedes, and other Scandinavians. When these facts are added to those above mentioned, it will not be thought strange, that love between the sexes, even among that rude people, was a pure and elevated passion. That it was in fact such, is certain, if history can be credited, or the sentiments of a people expressed in their poetical compositions. I begin with the latter, as evidence the most to be relied on. The ancient Poems of Scandinavia contain the warmest expressions of love and regard for the female sex. In an ode of King Regner<481> Lodbrog, a very ancient poem, we find the following sentiments. “We fought with swords upon a promontory of England, when I saw ten thousand of my foes rolling in the dust. A dew of blood distilled from our swords: the arrows, that flew in search of the helmets, hissed through the air. The pleasure of that day was like the clasping a fair virgin in my arms.” Again, “A young man should march early to the conflict of arms; in which consists the glory of the warrior. He who aspires to the love of a mistress, ought to be dauntless in the clash of swords.” These Hyperboreans, it would appear, had early learned to combine the ideas of love and of military prowess; which is still more conspicuous in an ode of Harald the Valiant, of a later date. That prince, who figured in the middle of the eleventh century, traversed all the seas of the north, and made piratical incursions even upon the coasts of the Mediterranean. In this ode he complains, that the glory he had acquired made no impression on Elissir, daughter to Jarislas, King of Russia. “I have made the tour of Sicily. My brown vessel, <482> full of mariners, made a swift progress. My course I thought would never slacken—and yet a Russian maiden scorns me. The troops of Drontheim, which I attacked in my youth, exceeded ours in number. Terrible was the conflict: I left their young king dead on the field—and yet a Russian maiden scorns me. Six exercises I can perform: I fight valiantly: firm is my seat on horseback: inured I am to swimming: swift is my motion on scates: I dart the lance: I am skilful at the oar—and yet a Russian maiden scorns me. Can she deny, this young and lovely maiden, that near a city in the south I joined battle, and left behind me lasting monuments of my exploits?—and yet a Russian maiden scorns me. My birth was in the high country of Norway, famous for archers: but ships were my delight; and, far from the habitations of men, I have traversed the seas from north to south—and yet a Russian maiden scorns me.” In the very ancient poem of Havamaal, mentioned above, there are many expressions of love to the fair sex. “He who would gain the love<483> of a maiden, must address her with smooth speeches, and showy gifts. It requires good sense to be a skilful lover.” Again, “If I aspire to the love of the chastest virgin, I can bend her mind, and make her yield to my desires.” The ancient Scandinavian chronicles present often to our view young warriors endeavouring to acquire the favour of their mistresses, by boasting of their accomplishments, such as their dexterity in swimming and scating, their talent in poetry, their skill in chess, and their knowing all the stars by name. Mallet, in the introduction to his history of Denmark, mentions many ancient Scandinavian novels that turn upon love and heroism. These may be justly held as authentic evidence of the manners of the people: it is common to invent facts; but it is not common to attempt the inventing manners.

It is an additional proof of the great regard paid to women in Scandinavia, that in Edda, the Scandinavian Bible, female deities make as great a figure as male deities.

Agreable to the manners described, we<484> find it universally admitted among the ancient Scandinavians, that beauty ought to be the reward of courage and military skill. A warrior was thought entitled to demand in marriage any young woman, even of the highest rank, if he overcame his rivals in single combat: nor was it thought any hardship on the young lady, to be yielded to the victor. The ladies were not always of that opinion; for the stoutest fighter is not always the handsomest man, nor the most engaging. And in the histories of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, many instances are related, of men generously interposing to rescue young beauties from brutes, destitute of every accomplishment but strength and boldness. Such stories have a fabulous air; and many of them probably are mere fables. Some of them, however, have a strong appearance of truth: men are introduced who make a figure in the real history of the country; and many circumstances are related that make links in the chain of that history, Take the following specimen. The ambassadors of Frotho, King of Denmark, commissioned to demand in marriage the daughter of a King<485> of the Huns, were feasted for three days, as the custom was in ancient times; and being admitted to the young Princess, she rejected the offer; “Because,” says she, “your King has acquired no reputation in war, but passes his time effeminately at home.” In Biorner’s collection of ancient historical monuments, mentioned above, there is the following history. Charles King of Sweden kept on foot an army of chosen men. He had a daughter named Inguegerda, whose lively and graceful accomplishments were admired still more than her birth and fortune. The breast of the King overflowed with felicity. Grymer, a youth of noble birth, knew to dye his sword in the blood of his enemies, to run over craggy mountains, to wrestle, to play at chess, and to trace the motions of the stars. He studied to show his skill in the apartment of the damsels, before the lovely Inguegerda. At length he ventured to open his mind. “Wilt thou, O fair Princess! accept of me for a husband, if I obtain the King’s consent?” “Go,” says she, “and supplicate my father.” The courtly youth respectfully addressing the King, said, “O<486> King! give me in marriage thy beautiful daughter.” He answered sternly, “Thou hast learned to handle thy arms: thou hast acquired some honourable distinctions: but hast thou ever gained a victory, or given a banquet to savage beasts that rejoice in blood?” “Where shall I go, O King! that I may dye my sword in crimson, and render myself worthy of being thy son-in-law?”—“Hialmar, son of Harec,” said the King, “who governs Biarmland, has become terrible by a keen sword: the firmest shields he hews in pieces, and loads his followers with booty. Go, and prove thy valour by attacking that hero: cause him to bite the dust, and Inguegerda shall be thy reward.” Grymer, returning to his fair mistress, saluted her with ardent looks of love. “What answer hast thou received from the King?” “To obtain thee I must deprive the fierce Hialmar of life.” Inguegerda exclaimed with grief, “Alas! my father hath devoted thee to death.” Grymer selected a troop of brave warriors, eager to follow him. They launch their vessels into the wide ocean: they unfurl the sails, <487> which catch the springing gale: the shrouds rattle: the waves foam, and dash against the prows: they steer their numerous vessels to the shore of Gothland; bent to glut the hungry raven, and to gorge the wolf with prey. Thus landed Grymer on Gothland! and thus did a beauteous maiden occasion the death of many heroes. Hialmar demanded who the strangers were. Grymer told his name; adding, that he had spent the summer in quest of him. “May your arrival,” replied Hialmar, “be fortunate; and may health and honour attend you. You shall partake of my gold, with the unmixed juice of the grape.” “Thy offers,” said Grymer, “I dare not accept. Prepare for battle; and let us hasten to give a banquet to beasts of prey.” Hialmar laid hold of his white cuirass, his sword, and his buckler. Grymer, with a violent blow of his sabre, transfixes Hialmar’s shield, and cuts off his left hand. Hialmar enraged, brandishes his sword, and striking off Grymer’s helmet and cuirass, pierces his breast and sides: an effusion of blood follows. Grymer raising his sabre with both hands, lays<488> Hialmar prostrate on the ground; and he himself sinks down upon the dead body of his adversary. He was put on shipboard, and when landed seemed to be at the last period of life. The distressed Princess undertook his cure; and restored him to health. They were married with great solemnity; and the beauteous bride of Grymer filled the heart of her hero with unfading joy.

According to the rude manners of those times, a lover did not always wait for the consent of his mistress. Joannes Magnus, Archbishop of Upsal, observes in his history of the Goths, that ravishing of women was of old no less frequent among the Scandinavians than among the Greeks. He relates, that Gram, son to the King of Denmark, carried off the King of Sweden’s daughter, whose beauty was celebrated in verses remembered even in his time. Another instance he gives, of Nicolaus King of Denmark^(a), who courted Uluilda, a noble and beautiful Norvegian lady, and obtained her consent. Nothing remained but the celebration of the nuptials, when she was carried off by Suercher, <489> King of Sweden. We have the authority of Saxo Grammaticus, that Skiold, one of the first Kings of Denmark, fought a duel for a beautiful young woman, and obtained her for a wife. That author relates many duels of the same kind. It was indeed common among the Scandinavians, before they became Christians, to fight for a wife, and to carry off the desired object by force of arms. No cause of war between neighbouring kings was more frequent. Fridlevus King of Denmark sent a solemn embassy to Hasmundus King of Norway, to demand in marriage his daughter. Hasmundus had a rooted aversion to the Danes, who had done much mischief in his country. “Go,” says he to the ambassadors, “and demand a wife where you are less hated than in Norway.” The young lady, who had no aversion to the match, intreated leave to speak. “You seem,” said she, “not to consult the good of your kingdom in rejecting so potent a son-in-law, who can carry by force what he is now applying for by intreaties.” The father continuing obstinate, dismissed the ambassadors. Fridlevus sent other ambassadors, redoubling<490> his intreaties for a favourable answer. Hasmundus said, that one refusal might be thought sufficient; and in a fit of passion put the ambassadors to death. Fridlevus invaded Norway with a potent army; and, after a desperate battle, carried off the lady in triumph.

The figure that women made in the north of Europe by their courage, their beauty, and their chastity, could not fail to produce mutual esteem and love between the sexes: nor could that love fail to be purified into the most tender affection, when their rough manners were smoothed in the progress of society. If love between the sexes prevail in Lapland as much as any where, which is vouched by Scheffer in his history of that country, it must be for a reason very different from that now mentioned. The males in Lapland, who are great cowards, have no reason to despise the females for their timidity; and in every country where the women equal the men, mutual esteem and affection naturally take place. Two Lapland odes communicated to us by the author mentioned, leave no doubt of this fact, being full of the tenderest sentiments<491> that love can inspire. The following is a literal translation.

FIRST ODE

I

Kulnasatz my rain-deer,

We have a long journey to go;

The moors are vast,

And we must haste;

Our strength, I fear,

Will fail if we are slow;

And so

Our songs will do.

II

Kaigé, the watery moor,

Is pleasant unto me,

Though long it be;

Since it doth to my mistress lead,

Whom I adore:

The Kilwa moor

I ne’er again will tread.

III

Thoughts fill’d my mind

Whilst I thro’ Kaigé past

Swift as the wind,

And my desire,

Wing’d with impatient fire,

My rain-deer let us haste.

IV

So shall we quickly end our pleasing pain:

Behold my mistress there,

With decent motion walking o’er the plain.

Kulnasatz my rain-deer, <492>

Look yonder, where

She washes in the lake:

See while she swims,

The waters from her purer limbs

New clearness take.

SECOND ODE

I

With brightest beams let the sun shine

On Orra moor

Could I be sure

That from the top o’ th’ lofty pine

I Orra moor might see,

I to its highest bow would climb,

And with industrious labour try

Thence to descry

My mistress, if that there she be.

II

Could I but know, amid what flowers,

Or in what shade she stays,

The gaudy bowers,

With all their verdant pride,

Their blossoms and their sprays,

Which make my mistress disappear,

And her in envious darkness hide,

I from the roots and bed of earth would tear.

III

Upon the raft of clouds I’d ride,

Which unto Orra fly:

O’ th’ ravens I would borrow wings,

And all the feather’d inmates of the sky:

But wings, alas, are me deny’d,

The stork and swan their pinions will not lend, <493>

There’s none who unto Orra brings,

Or will by that kind conduct me befriend.

IV

Enough, enough! thou hast delay’d

So many summers days,

The best of days that crown the year,

Which light upon the eye-lids dart,

And melting joy upon the heart:

But since that thou so long hast stay’d,

They in unwelcome darkness disappear.

Yet vainly dost thou me forsake;

I will pursue and overtake.

V

What stronger is than bolts of steel?

What can more surely bind?

Love is stronger far than it;

Upon the head in triumph she doth sit;

Fetters the mind,

And doth control

The thought and soul.

VI

A youth’s desire is the desire of wind;

All his essays

Are long delays:

No issue can they find.

Away fond counsellors, away,

No more advice obtrude:

I’ll rather prove

The guidance of blind love;

To follow you is certainly to stray:

One single counsel, tho’ unwise, is good.

In the Scandinavian manners here described, is discovered a striking resem-<494>blance to those described by Ossian. And as such were the manners of the Scandinavians in the first stage of society, it no longer remains a wonder, that the manners of Caledonia should be equally pure in the same early period. And now every argument above urged for Ossian as a genuine historian has its full weight, without the least counterpoise. It is true, that Caledonian manners appear from Ossian to have been still more polished and refined than those of Scandinavia; but that difference may have proceeded from accidents which time has buried in oblivion.

I make no apology for insisting so largely on Scandinavian manners; for they tend remarkably to support the credit of Ossian; and consequently to ascertain a fact not a little interesting, that our forefathers were not such barbarians as they are commonly held to be. All the inhabitants of Britain were of Celtic extraction; and there is reason to believe, that the manners of Caledonia were the manners of every part of the island, before the inhabitants of the plains were inslaved by the Romans. The only circumstance peculiar to the Caledonians, is their moun-<495>tainous situation: being less exposed to the oppression of foreigners, and farther removed from commerce, they did longer than their southern neighbours preserve their manners pure and untainted.

I have all along considered the poems of Ossian in a historical view merely. In the view of criticism they have been examined by a writer of distinguished taste^(a); and however bold to enter a field where he hath reaped laurels, I imagine that there still remain some trifles for me to glean. Two of these poems, Fingal and Temora, are regular epic poems; and perhaps the single instances of epic poetry moulded into the form of an opera. We have in these two poems both the Recitativo and Aria of an Italian opera; dropped indeed in the translation, from difficulty of imitation. Ossian’s poems were all of them composed with a view of music; though in the long poems mentioned, it is probable that the airs only were accompanied with the harp, the recitative being left to the voice. The poems of Ossian are singular in another respect, being probably the only regular<496> work now remaining that was composed in the hunter-state. Some songs of that early period may possibly have escaped oblivion; but no other poem of the epic kind. One may advance a step farther, and pronounce, with a high degree of probability, that Fingal and Temora are the only epic poems that ever were composed in that state. How great must have been the talents of the author, beset with every obstruction to genius, the manners of his country alone excepted; a cold unhospitable climate; the face of the country so deformed as scarce to afford a pleasing object; and he himself absolutely illiterate! One may venture boldly to affirm, that such a poem as Fingal or Temora never was composed in any other part of the world, under such disadvantageous circumstances.

Tho’ permanent manners enter not regularly into the present sketch, I am however tempted to add a few words concerning the influence of soil upon the manners of men. The stupidity of the inhabitants of New Holland, mentioned above, is occasioned by the barrenness of their soil, yielding nothing that can be food for man<497> or beast. Day and night they watch the ebb of the tide, in order to dig small fish out of the sand; and sleep in the intervals, without an hour to spare for any other occupation. People in that condition, must for ever remain ignorant and brutish. Were all the earth barren like New Holland, all men would be ignorant and brutish, like the inhabitants of New Holland. On the other hand, were every portion of this earth so fertile as spontaneously to feed all its inhabitants, which is the golden age figured by poets, what would follow? Upon the former supposition, man would be a meagre, patient, and timid animal: upon the latter supposition, he would be pampered, lazy, and effeminate. In both cases, he would be stupidly ignorant, and incapable of any manly exertion, whether of mind or body. But the soil of our earth is in general more wisely accommodated to man, its chief inhabitant. It is neither so fertile as to supersede labour, nor so barren as to require the utmost labour. The laborious occupation of hunting for food, produced originally some degree of industry: and though all the industry of man was at first necessary for procuring<498> food, cloathing, and habitation; yet the soil, by skill in agriculture, came to produce plenty with less labour; which to some afforded time for thinking of conveniencies. A habit of industry thus acquired, excited many to bestow their leisure hours upon the arts, proceeding from useful arts to fine arts, and from these to sciences. Wealth, accumulated by industry, has a wonderful influence upon manners: feuds and war, the offspring of wealth, call forth into action friendship, courage, heroism, and every social virtue, as well as many selfish vices. How like brutes do we pass our time, without once reflecting on the wisdom of Providence visible even in the soil we tread upon!

Diversity of manners, at the same time, enters into the plan of Providence, as well as diversity of talents, of feelings, and of opinions. Our Maker hath given us a taste for variety; and he hath provided objects in plenty for its gratification. Some soils, naturally fertile, require little labour: some soils, naturally barren, require much labour. But the advantages of the latter are more than sufficient to counterbalance its barrenness: the inha-<499>bitants are sober, industrious, vigorous; and consequently courageous, as far as courage depends on bodily strength.^* The disadvantages of a fertile soil, on the contrary, are more than sufficient to counterbalance its advantages: the inhabitants are rendered indolent, weak, and cowardly. Hindostan may seem to be an exception; for though it be extremely fertile, the people are industrious, and export manufactures in great abundance at a very low price. But Hindostan properly is not an exception. The Hindows, who are prohibited by their religion to kill any living creature, must abandon to animals for food a large proportion of land; which obliges them to cultivate what remains with double industry, in order to procure<500> food for themselves. The populousness of their country contributes also to make them industrious. Aragon was once the most limited monarchy in Europe, England not excepted: the barrenness of the soil was the cause, which rendered the people hardy and courageous. In a preamble to one of their laws, the states declare, that, were they not more free than other nations, the barrenness of their country would tempt them to abandon it. Opposed to Aragon stands Egypt, the fertility of which renders the inhabitants soft and effeminate, and consequently an easy prey to every invader.^* The fruitfulness of the province of Quito in Peru, and the low price of every necessary, occasioned by its<501> distance from the sea, have plunged the inhabitants into supine indolence, and excessive luxury. The people of the town of Quito in particular, have abandoned themselves to every sort of debauchery: the time they have to spare from wine and women, is employed in excessive gaming. In other respects also the manners of a people are influenced by the country they inhabit. A great part of Calabria, formerly populous and fertile, is at present covered with trees and shrubs, like the wilds of America; and the ferocity of its inhabitants corresponds to the rudeness of the fields. The same is visible in the inhabitants of Mount Etna in Sicily: the country and its inhabitants are equally rugged.

END of the FIRST VOLUME