She placed a decent stone his grave Here will she come, and on the grave will above, Neatly engraved, an offering of her love: For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed, Awake alike to duty and the dead, She would have grieved had they presumed to spare sit, Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit; Then go again, and thus her hour The least assistance-Twas her proper While visions please her, and while woes care. destroy. 291.-OF SECURITY. JEREMY BENTHAM. [JEREMY BENTHAM, in many respects one of the most distinguished men of the reign of George III., was born in 1747. He died in 1832. His first publication was a 'Fragment on Government,' which appeared in 1776. Of Mr. Bentham's labours as a philosophical writer, it would be impossible to give any notion, without minute details. His later style was remarkable for many peculiarities, which in some degree injured the value of his thoughts; but his early writings are forcible and elegant-admirable specimens of pure English. His works have been collected under the superintendence of his executor, Dr. Bowring. The following is from 'The Principles of the Civil Code.'] This inestimable good is the distinctive mark of civilization; it is entirely the work of the laws. Without law there is no security; consequently no abundance, nor even certain subsistence. And the only equality which can exist in such a condition is the equality of misery. In order rightly to estimate this great benefit of the laws, it is only necessary to consider the condition of savages. They struggle, without ceasing, against famine, which sometimes cuts off, in a few days, whole nations. Rivalry with respect to the means of subsistence produces among them the most cruel wars; and, like the most ferocious beasts, men pursue men, that they may feed on one another. The dread of this horrible calamity destroys amongst them the gentlest sentiments of nature pity connects itself with insensibility in putting the old persons to death, because they can no longer follow their prey. : Examine, also, what passes at those periods, during which civilized societies almost return into the savage state ;-I refer to a time of war, when the laws which give security are, in part, suspended. Every instant of its duration is fruitful in calamity at every step which it imprints upon the globe, at every movement which it makes, the existing mass of riches-the foundation of abundance and subsistence is decreased, and disappears: the lowly cottage and the lofty palace are alike subject to its ravages; and often the anger or caprice of a moment consigns to destruction the slow productions of an age of labour. Law, alene, has accomplished what all the natural feelings were not able to do; Law, alone, has been able to create a fixed and durable possession, which deserves the name of Property. The law, alone, could accustom men to submit to the yoke of foresight, at first painful to be borne, but, afterwards, agreeable and mild; it alone could encourage them in labour-superfluous at present, and which they are not to enjoy till the future. Economy has as many enemies as there are spendthrifts, or men who would enjoy without taking the trouble to produce. Labour is too painful for idleness; it is too slow for impatience: Cunning and Injustice underhandedly conspire to appropriate its fruits; Insolence and Audacity plot to seize them by open force. Hence Society, always tottering, always threatened, never at rest, lives in the midst of snares. It requires, in the legislator, vigilance continually sustained, and power always in action, to defend it against his constantly reviving crowd of adversaries. The law does not say to a man, " Work, and I will reward you;" but it says to him, "Work, and, by stopping the hand that would take them from you, I will insure to you the fruits of your labour, its natural and sufficient reward, which, without me, you could not preserve." If industry creates, it is the law which preserves; if, at the first moment, we owe every thing to labour, at the second, and every succeeding moment, we owe every thing to the law. In order to form a clear idea of the whole extent which ought to be given to the principle of security, it is necessary to consider, that man is not like the brutes, limited to the present time, either in enjoyment or suffering; but that he is susceptible of pleasure and pain by anticipation, and that it is not enough to guard him. against an actual loss, but also to guarantee to him, as much as possible, his possessions against future losses. The idea of his security must be prolonged to him throughout the whole vista that his imagination can measure. This disposition to look forward, which has so marked an influence upon the condition of man, may be called expectation-expectation of the future. It is by means of this we are enabled to form a general plan of conduct; it is by means of this that the successive moments which compose the duration of life are not like isolated and independent points, but become parts of a continuous whole. Expectation is a chain which unites our present and our future existence, and passes beyond ourselves to the generations which follow us. The sensibility of the individual is prolonged through all the links of this chain. The principle of security comprehends the maintenance of all these hopes; it directs that events, inasmuch as they are dependent upon the laws, should be conformed to the expectations to which the laws have given birth. Every injury which happens to this sentiment produces a distinct, a peculiar evil, which may be called pain of disappointed expectation. The views of jurists must have been extremely confused, since they have paid no particular attention to a sentiment so fundamental in human life; the word expectation is scarcely to be found in their vocabulary; an argument can scarcely be found in their works, founded upon this principle. They have followed it, without doubt, in many instances, but it has been from instinct, and not from reason. The laws, in creating property, have created wealth; but, with respect to poverty, it is not the work of the laws,-it is the primitive condition of the human race. The man who lives only from day to day is precisely the man in a state of nature. The savage, the poor in society, I acknowledge, obtain nothing but by painful labour; but in a state of nature what could he obtain but at the price of his toil. Has not hunting its fatigues, fishing its dangers, war its uncertainties? And if man appear to love this adventurous life-if he have an instinct greedy of these kinds of peril-if the savage rejoice in the delights of an idleness so dearly purchased-ought it to be concluded that he is more happy than our day labourers? No: the labour of these is more uniform, but the reward is more certain; the lot of the woman is more gentle, infancy and old age have more resources; the species multiplics in a proportion a thousand times greater, and this alone would suffice to show on which side is the superiority of happiness. Hence the laws, in creating property, have been benefactors to those who remain in their original poverty. They participate more or less in the pleasures, advantages, and resources of civilized society; their industry and labour place them among the candidates for fortune; they enjoy the pleasures of acquisition; hope mingles with their labours. The security which the law gives them, is this of little importance? Those who look from above at the inferior ranks see all objects less than they really are; but, at the base of the pyramid, it is the summit which disappears in its turn. So far from making these comparisons, they dream not of them; they are not tormented with impossibilities; so that, all things considered, the protection of the laws contributes as much to the happiness of the cottage as to the security of the palace. It is surprising that so judicious a writer as Beccaria should have insisted, in a work dictated by the soundest philosophy, a doubt subversive of the social order. The right of property, says he, is a terrible right, and may not, perhaps, be necessary. Upon this right, tyrannical and sanguinary laws have been founded. It has been most frightfully abused; but the right itself presents only ideas of pleasure, of abundance, and of security. It is this right which has overcome the natural aversion to labour-which has bestowed on man the empire of the earth-which has led nations to give up their wandering habits-which has created a love of country and posterity. To enjoy quickly-to enjoy without punishment-this is the universal desire of man; this is the desire which is terrible, since it arms all those who possess nothing against those who possess any thing. But the law, which restrains this desire, is the most splendid triumph of humanity over itself. If I despair of enjoying the fruits of my labour, I shall only think of living from day to day I shall not undertake labours which will only benefit my enemies. But besides this, in order to the existence of labour, the will alone is not sufficient, -instruments are wanting. Whilst these are being provided, subsistence is necessary. A single loss may render me unable to act, without depriving me of the disposition to labour-without having paralyzed my will. Will For the development of industry, the union of power and will is required. depends upon circouragement-power upon means, These means are called, in the language of political economy, productive capital. With regard to a single individual, his capital may be destroyed, without his industrious disposition being destroyed, or even weakened. With regard to a nation, the destruction of its productive capital is impossible: but, long before this fatal term arrives, the mischief would have reached the will; and the spirit of industry would fall under a terrible marasmus, in the midst of the natural resources presented by a rich and fertile soil. The will, however, is excited by so many stimulants, that it resists a multitude of discouragements and losses: a passing calamity, how great soever it may be, docs not destroy the spirit of industry. This has been seen springing up again after destructive wars, which have impoverished nations; like a robust oak, which in a few years repairs the injuries inflicted by the tempest, and covers itself with new branches. Nothing less is requisite for freezing up industry than the operation of a permanent domestic cause; such as a tyrannical government, a bad legislation, an intolerant religion which repels men from each other, or a minute superstition which terrifies them. The first act of violence will produce a certain degree of apprehension-there are already some timid minds discouraged: a second outrage, quickly succeeding, will spread a more considerable alarm. The most prudent will begin to contract their enterprises, and, by degrees, to abandon an uncertain career. In proportion as these attacks are repeated, and the system of oppression assumes an habitual character, the dispersion augments: those who have fled are not replaced; those who remain fall into a state of languor. It is thus that, after a time, the field of industry, being beaten down by storms, becomes at last a desert. Asia Minor, Greece, Egypt, the wastes of Africa, so rich in agriculture, commerce, and population, whilst the Roman Empire flourished,-what have they become under the absurd despotism of the Turk? The palaces are changed into cabins, and the cities into small towns; this government, hateful to all persons of reflection, has never understood that a state can never become rich but by an inviolable respect for property. It has possessed only two secrets for governing—to drain and to brutify its subjects. Hence, the finest countries in the world, wasted, barren, or almost abandoned, can scarcely be recognised in the hands of their barbarous conquerors. For these evils need not be attributed to remote causes: civil wars, invasions-the scourges of nature: these might have dissipated the wealth, put the arts to flight, and swallowed up the cities; but the ports which have been filled up would have been re-opened, the communications re-established, the manufactures revived, the towns rebuilt, and all these ravages repaired in time, if the men had continued to be men. But they are not so in these unhappy countries; despair, the slow but fatal effect of long-continued insecurity, has destroyed all the active powers of their souls. If we trace the history of this contagion, we shall see, that its first effects fell upon the richest part of society. Wealth was the first object of depredation. Superfluity vanished by little and little; absolute necessity must still be provided for, notwithstanding obstacles; man must live; but, when he limits his efforts to mere existence, the state languishes, and the torch of industry furnishes but a few dying sparks. Besides, abundance is never so distinct from subsistence that the one can be injured without a dangerous attack upon the other: whilst some lose only what is superfluous, others lose what is necessary. From the infinitely complicated system of economical relations, the wealth of one part of the citizens is, uniformly, the source from which a more numerous party derives its subsistence. But another and more smiling picture may be traced, and not less instructive, of the progress of security, and prosperity, its inseparable companion. North America presents the most striking contrast of these two states: savage nature is there placed by the side of civilization. The interior of this immense region presents only a frightful solitude; impenetrable forests or barren tracts, standing waters, noxious exhalations, venomous reptiles-such is the land left to itself. The barbarous hordes who traverse these deserts, without fixed habitation, always occupied in the pursuit of their prey, and always filled with implacable rivalry, only meet to attack and to destroy each other; so that the wild beasts are not so dangerous to inan as man himself. But upon the borders of these solitudes what a different prospect presents itself! One could almost believe that one saw, at one view, the two empires of good and evil. The forests have given place to cultivated fields; the morass is dried up; the land has become solid; is covered with meadows, pastures, domestic animals, smiling and healthy habitations; citics have risen up on regular plans; wide roads are traced between them; every thing shows that men are secking the means of drawing near to one another; they no longer dread, or seek to murder each other. The sca-ports are filled with vessels receiving all the productions of the earth, and serving to exchange its riches. A countless multitude, living in peace and abundance upon the fruits of their labours, has succeeded to the nations of hunters who were always struggling between war and famine. What has produced these wonders? What has renovated the surface of the earth? What has given to man this dominion over embellished, fruitful, and perfectionated nature? The benevolent genius is security. It is security which has wrought out this great metamorphosis. How rapid have been its operations! It is scarcely two centuries since William Penn reached these savage wilds with a colony of truc conquerors; for they were men of peace, who sullied not their establishment by force, and who made themselves respected only by acts of benevolence and justice. 202.-SANCHO PANZA IN HIS ISLAND. CERVANTES. [We have previously given a criticism on 'Don Quixote,' by Mr. Hallam. We need only therefore preface an extract from that immortal book, by stating that its author, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, was born in 1547; and that he who stands in the same eminent relation to the literature of Spain that Shakspere does to that of England died on the same day as his great contemporary, the 23rd of April, 1616.] Sancho, with all his attendants, came to a town that had about a thousand inhabitants, and was one of the best where the duke had any power. They gave him to understand that the name of the place was the Island of Barataria, either because the town was called Barataria, or because the government cost him so cheap. As soon as he came to the gates (for it was walled) the chief officers and inhabitants, in their formalities, came out to receive him, the bells rung, and all the people gave general demonstrations of their joy. The new governor was then carried in mighty pomp to the great church, to give Heaven thanks: and, after some ridiculous ceremonies, they delivered him the keys of the gates, and received him as perpetual governor of the Island of Barataria. In the meantime, the garb, the port, the huge beard, and the short and thick shape of the new governor, made every one who knew nothing of the jest wonder; and even those who were privy to the plot, who were many, were not a little surprised. In short, from the church they carried him to the court of justice; where, when they had placed him in his seat, "My Lord Governor," said the Duke's steward to him, "it is an antient custom here, that he who takes possession of this famous island must answer to some difficult and intricate question that is propounded to him; and, by the return he makes, the people feel the pulse of his understanding, and, by an estimate of his abilities, judge whether they ought to rejoice or to be sorry for his coming." 66 All the while the steward was speaking, Sancho was staring on an inscription in large characters on the wall over against his seat; aud, as he could not read, he asked, what was the meaning of that which he saw painted there upon the wall? 'Sir," said they, "it is an account of the day when your lordship took possession of this island; and the inscription runs thus: "This day, being such a day of this month, in such a year, the Lord Don Sancho Panza took possession of this island, which may he long enjoy.' "And who is he," asked Sancho ? "Your lordship," answered the steward; "for we know of no other Panza in this island but yourself, who now sit in this chair." Well, friend," said Sancho, "pray take notice that Don does not belong to me, nor was it borne by any of my family before me. Plain Sancho Panza is my name; my father was called Sancho, my grandfather Sancho, and all of us have been Panzas, without any Don or Donna added to our name. Now do I already guess your Dons are as thick as stones in this island. But it is enough that Heaven knows my meaning; if my government happens to last but four days to an end, it shall go hard but I will clear the island of these swarms of Dons that must needs be as troublesome as so many flesh-flies. Come, now for your question, good Mr. Steward, and I will answer it as well as I can, whether the town be sorry or pleased." At the same instant two men came into the court, the one dressed like a country fellow, the other looked like a tailor, with a pair of shears in his hand. "If it please you, my lord," cried the tailor, "I and this farmer here are come before your worship. This honest man came to my shop yesterday, for, saving your presence, I am a tailor, and, Heaven be praised, free of my company; so, my lord, he showed me a piece of cloth. 'Sir,' quoth he, 'is there enough of this to make a cap?' |