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Footnote 14:
A gentleman much interested in these lectures, who was also present, has given the following version of the story, and it is so well done, that I am desirous of inserting it: —
"In all Mr. Coleridge's lectures he was a steady opposer of Mr. Pitt and the then existing war; and also an enthusiastic admirer of Fox, Sheridan, Grey, &c. &c., but his opposition to the reigning politics discovered little asperity; it chiefly appeared by wit and sarcasm, and commonly ended in that which was the speaker's chief object, a laugh. Few attended Mr. C.'s lectures but those whose political views were similar to his own; but on one occasion, some gentlemen of the opposite party came into the lecture-room, and at one sentiment they heard, testified their disapprobation by the only easy and safe way in their power; namely, by a hiss. The auditors were startled at so unusual a sound, not knowing to what it might conduct; but their noble leader soon quieted their fears, by instantly remarking, with great coolness, 'I am not at all surprised, when the red hot prejudices of aristocrats are suddenly plunged into the cool waters of reason, that they should go off with a hiss!' The words were electric. The assailants felt, as well as testified their confusion, and the whole company confirmed it by immense applause! There was no more hissing."
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Footnote 15:
This note was written at Highgate, in a copy of the
Conciones ad Populum
.
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Footnote 16:
"With the exception of one extraordinary man, I have never known an individual, least of all an individual of genius, healthy or happy without a profession, i.e., someregularemployment, which does not depend on the will of the moment, and which can be carried on so farmechanically, that an average quantum only of health, spirits, and intellectual exertion are requisite to its faithful discharge. Three hours of leisure, unannoyed by any alien anxiety, and looked forward to with delight as a change and recreation, will suffice to realize in literature a larger product of what is truly genial, than weeks of compulsion. Money, and immediate reputation form only an arbitrary and accidental end of literary labour. Thehopeof increasing them by any given exertion will often prove a stimulant to industry; but thenecessityof acquiring them will, in all works of genius, convert the stimulant into anarcotic. Motives by excess reverse their very nature, and instead of exciting, stun and stupify the mind; for it is one contra-distinction of genius from talent, that its predominant end is always comprised in the means; and this is one of the many points, which establish an analogy between genius and virtue. Now, though talents may exist without genius, yet, as genius cannot exist, certainly not manifest itself, without talents, I would advise every scholar, who feels the genial power working within him, so far to make a division between the two, as that he should devote histalentsto the acquirement of competence in some known trade or profession, and his genius to objects of his tranquil and unbiassed choice; while the consciousness of being actuated in both alike by the sincere desire to perform his duty, will alike ennoble both. "My dear young friend," (I would say), "suppose yourself established in any honourable occupation. From the manufactory or counting-house, from the law-court, or from having visited your last patient, you return at evening,'Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of homeIs sweetest...'to your family, prepared for its social enjoyments, with the very countenances of your wife and children brightened, and their voice of welcome made doubly welcome by the knowledge that, as far astheyare concerned, you have satisfied the demands of the day, by the labour of the day. Then, when you retire into your study, in the books on your shelves, you revisit so many venerable friends with whom you can converse. Your own spirit scarcely less free from personal anxieties than the great minds, that in those books are still living for you! Even your writing-desk, with its blank paper and all its other implements, will appear as a chain of flowers, capable of linking your feelings, as well as thoughts to events, and characters, past or to come: not a chain of iron which binds you down to think of the future and the remote, by recalling the claims and feelings of the peremptory present: but why should I say retire? The habits of active life and daily intercourse with the stir of the world, will tend to give you such self command, that the presence of your family will be no interruption. Nay, the social silence, or undisturbing voices of a wife or sister will be like a restorative atmosphere, or soft music which moulds a dream without becoming its object. If facts are required to prove the possibility of combining weighty performances in literature with full and independent employment, the works of Cicero and Xenophon among the ancients; of Sir Thomas Moore, Bacon, Baxter, or, to refer at once to later and contemporary instances, Darwin and Roscoe, are at once decisive of the question."
'Dear tranquil time, when the sweet sense of homeIs sweetest...'
Biog. Lit.
return
Footnote 17:
Tale and novel writing of second-rate order, somewhat spiced and stimulating, are sure to succeed, and carry 'of course' popularity with their success, by advertising the writer. Of this there is an instance in Coleridge's own works. The
Zapoyla
, entitled a
Christmas Tale
, (and which he never sat down to write, but dictated it while walking up and down the room,) became so immediately popular that 2000 copies were sold in six weeks, while it required two years for the sale of 1000 copies of the
Aids to Reflection
, which cost him much labour, and was the fruit of many years' reflection.
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Footnote 18:
i.e. Nether Stowey, at the foot of the Quantock Hills.
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Footnote 19:
Thomas Poole, Esq.
return
Footnote 20:
The following lines are here referred to
"And now, beloved Stowey! I beholdThy Church-tower, and, methinks, the four huge elmsClustering, which mark the mansion of my friend;And close behind them, hidden from my view,Is my own lowly cottage, where my babeAnd my babe's mother dwell in peace. With lightAnd quicken'd footsteps thitherward I tend,Remembering thee, O green and silent dell!And grateful, that by nature's quietnessAnd solitary musings, all my heartIs soften'd, and made worthy to indulgeLove, and the thoughts that yearn for human kind.Nether Stowey,April 28th, 1798."
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Footnote 21:
Ossian.
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Footnote 22:
This ill-natured remark requires no comment: but I would fain recommend the reader to peruse the beautiful and faithful portrait of him in the Preface to the second edition of the
Table Talk,
Murray, Albemarle Street.
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Footnote 23:
He was not an enthusiast in the sense this individual used the word; in whatever studies he was engaged, he pursued them with great earnestness, and they were sufficient to excite his powerful and sensitive intellect, so as to induce an observer not well acquainted with him to form this opinion. In the character of preacher, he exhibited more the character of philosopher and poet, never manifesting that sectarian spirit, which too often narrows the mind, or perhaps is rather the
result
of a narrow mind, and which frequently seems to exclude men from the most substantial forms of Christianity, viz. "Christian charity and Christian humility." His religion was the very opposite of a worldly religion, it was at all times the religion of love.
This visit to Shrewsbury, as the probable successor of Mr. Rowe, was undertaken by the advice of Mr. afterwards Dr. Estlin, a Unitarian dissenter and preacher in Bristol, a man possessed of great kindness and of great influence among this sect, to whom Coleridge had been indebted for many kind offices; the result of this visit forms a part of the sequel.
return
Footnote 24:
Poetical Works,
vol. i. p. 238.
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Footnote 25:
"No little fish thrown back into the water, no fly unimprisoned from a child's hand, could more buoyantly enjoy its element than I this clear and peaceful home, with the lovely view of the town, groves, and lake of Ratzeburg."
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Footnote 26:
From the earliest periods of authentic history, the Brocken has been the seat of the marvellous. On its summits are still seen huge blocks of granite, called the Sorcerer's Chair and the Altar. A spring of pure water is known by the name of the Magic Fountain, and the Anemone of the Brocken is distinguished by the title of the Sorcerer's Flower. These names are supposed to have originated in the rites of the great Idol Cortho, whom the Saxons worshipped in secret on the summit of the Brocken, when Christianity was extending her benignant sway over the subjacent plains. As the locality of these idolatrous rites, the Brocken must have been much frequented, and we can scarcely doubt that the spectre which now so often haunts it at sunrise, must have been observed from the earliest times; but it is nowhere mentioned that this phenomenon was in any way associated with the objects of their idolatrous worship. One of the best accounts of the Spectre of the Brocken, is that which is given by M. Haué, who saw it on the 23rd May, 1797. After having been on the summit of the mountain no less than thirty times, he had at last the good fortune of witnessing the object of his curiosity. The sun rose about four o'clock in the morning through a serene atmosphere. In the south-west, towards Achtermannshöhe, a brisk west wind carried before it the transparent vapours, which had yet been condensed into thick heavy clouds. About a quarter past four he went towards the inn, and looked round to see whether the atmosphere would afford him a free prospect towards the south-west, when he observed at a very great distance, towards Achtermannshöhe, a human figure of a monstrous size. His hat having been almost carried away by a violent gust of wind, he suddenly raised his hand to his head, to protect his hat, and the colossal figure did the same. He immediately made another movement by bending his body, an action which was repeated by the spectral figure. M. Haué was desirous of making further experiments, but the figure disappeared. He remained however in the same position expecting its return, and in a few minutes it again made its appearance on the Achtermannshöhe, when it mimicked his gestures as before. He then called the landlord of the inn, and having both taken the same position which he had before, they looked towards the Achtermannshöhe, but saw nothing. In a very short space of time, however, two colossal figures were formed over the above eminence, and after bending their bodies, and imitating the gestures of the two spectators, they disappeared. Retaining their position and keeping their eyes still fixed upon the same spot, the two gigantic spectres again stood before them, and were joined by a third. Every movement that they made was imitated by the three figures, but the effect varied in its intensity, being sometimes weak and faint, and at other times strong and well defined — — ."
Vide
Sir D. Brewster's
Natural Magic
, p. 128.
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Footnote 27:
Horseley appears to have been in his way a Christian Hercules, and well adapted for cleansing even an Augean stable of apostasy.
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Footnote 28:
"Letter sixteenth," p. 264. ed. 1789, in Bishop Horsley's
Tracts
in controversy with Dr. Priestley.
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Footnote 29:
This observation, it is presumed, alludes to the time when he was
preaching
Unitarianism.
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Footnote 30:
Written in 1805.
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Contents
Mr. Coleridge once met Mrs. Barbauld at an evening party. He had not long been present, and the recognition of mere acquaintanceship over, than, walking across the room, she addressed him in these words:—
"So, Mr. Coleridge, I understand you do not consider Unitarians Christians.""I hope, Madam," said he, "that all persons born in a Christian country are Christians, and trust they are under the condition of being saved; but Idocontend that Unitarianismis notChristianity;"to which she replied,"I do not understand the distinction."
This want of knowledge of the difference, is common to many very clever and very amiable persons of this creed. It is hoped that we are not always to be tried by our speculative opinions, for man is frequently constituted higher and better than the principles he sometimes adopts.
Coleridge frequently observed,
"I do not so much care for men's religious opinions, — they vary, and are dependant on that which usually surrounds them-but I regard with more attention what menare."
He extended his kindness to all he believed to be good, whatever their creed, and when in his power, his aid.
When
injured, he immediately forgave, as he hoped to be forgiven,
1
and when reviled and persecuted, he never became
persecutor
. Of him it may be said, what he himself observed of the pious Baxter, that "he came a century before his time." The Western world however seems to have better appreciated the works of Coleridge, than most of his countrymen: in some parts of America, his writings are understood and highly valued.
In 1801, he settled at Keswick, in a house, which if not built, was at least finished for him, by a then neighbour (a Mr. Jackson,) and for a time he occupied a part of it. But here his health greatly failed, and he suffered severe rheumatism from the humidity of a lake country, which was the main cause of his leaving Keswick for Malta.
It has been already observed, that when a youth at school, he had, from imprudent bathing, become a rheumatic subject, and during the rest of his life, remained liable to most painful affections of that disorder.
In 1803, the fear of sudden death induced him to insure his life, that his family might not be left, dependant on his friends. In 1804, his rheumatic sufferings increasing, he determined on a change of climate, and accepted an invitation from his friend, Sir John, then Mr. Stoddart, residing at Malta, where he arrived in May. He soon became acquainted with the governor of the island, Sir Alexander Ball, who was greatly attached to Coleridge, and whose character has been so well described by him in
The Friend
.
During
a change of secretaries,
2
Coleridge, at the request of Sir Alexander, officiated,
pro tempore
, as public secretary of that island; and there was found in him — what at that time was so much required — an able diplomatic writer in this department of correspondence. The dignities of the office he never attempted to support: he was greatly annoyed at what he thought its unnecessary parade, and he petitioned Sir Alexander to be released from the annoyance.
There
can be no doubt that, to an individual accustomed to public business, his occupation might appear light, and even agreeable; but his health, which was the object of this change, not being much benefited, and the duties of the employment greater than he was equal to, made it for him an arduous one.
3
He seemed at this time,
in
addition to his rheumatism, to have been oppressed in his breathing, which oppression crept on him imperceptibly to himself without suspicion of its cause yet so obvious was it, that it was noticed by others "as laborious;"
4
and continuing to increase, though with little apparent advancement, at length terminated in death.
"Friday afternoon, four o'clock, April 18,1804. The Speedwell dropped anchor in the harbour of Malta: one of the finest in the world, the buildings surrounding it on all sides, of a neat ever-new-looking sand-free-stone. Some unfinished, and in all, the windows placed backward, looked like Carthage when Æneas visited it-or aburnt outplace.Saturday, April 19. — In the after-dinner hour walked out with Mr. and Mrs. Stoddart, towards the Quarantine harbour. One's first feeling is, that it is all strange, very strange; and when you begin to understand a little of the meaning and uses of the massy endless walls and defiles, then you feel and perceive that it is very wonderful. A city all of freestone, all the houses looking new like Bath; all with flat roofs, the streets all strait, and at right angles to each other; but many of them exceedingly steep, none quite level; of the steep streets, some,allstepped with a smooth artificial stone, some having the footpath on each side in stone steps, the middle left for carriages; lines of fortification, fosses, bastions, curtains, &c. &c. endless: — with gardens or bowling-grounds below; for it is all height and depth — you can walk nowhere without having whispers of suicide, toys of desperation. Expletive cries of Maltese venders shot up, sudden and violent. The inhabitants very dark, almost black; but straight, cleanlimbed, lively, active, — cannot speak in praise of their cleanliness — children very fair — women from the use of the faldetto, or cloak-hooding their heads, as women in England in a shower throw over their aprons, and from the use of always holding it down to one side of the face, all have a continued languishing manner of holding their heads one way — picturesque enough as expressive of a transient emotion, but shocking and inelegant inalland always. The language Arabic, corrupted with Italian, and perhaps with others. Sunday, April 20, 1804. — Went to church, plain chapel with a picture behind the pulpit, which I was not close enough to see, and at the other end in a nitch, across painted! Was it there before? or was it in complaisance to Maltese superstitions? — Called on Sir A. Ball — there I met General Valette, and delivered my letter to him, — a striking room, very high; 3/4ths of its height from the ground hung with rich crimson silk or velvet; and the 1/4th above, a mass of colours, pictures in compartments rudely done and without perspective or art, but yet very impressively and imagination-stirringly — representing all the events and exploits of the Order. — Some fine pictures, one by Correggio, one of a Cain killing Abel, I do not know by whom.Monday, April 21, 1804, Hardkain. — Sir A. Ball called on me, and introduced me to Mr. Lane, who was formerly his tutor, but now his chaplain. He invited me to dine with him on Thursday, and made a plan for me to ride to St. Antonio on Tuesday morning with Mr. Lane, offering me a horse. Soon after came on thunder and storm, and my breathing was affected a good deal, but still I was in no discomfort.April 22, Tuesday morning, six o'clock, was on horseback, and rode to St. Antonio. — Fields with walls, to keep the fort from the rain — mere desolation seemingly, and yet it is fertile. St. Antonio, a pleasant country-house, with a fine but unheeded garden, save among the low orange and lemon trees, still thick with fruit on many of the trees, fruit ripe, blossoms, and the next year's fruit. Pepper-trees very beautiful, and the locust-tree not amiss. Visited St. John's — O magnificence!Wednesday, April 23. — General Valette I called on at his country-house, just out of the gates, near the end of the Botanic Garden, and it is the pleasantest place I have seen here. The multitude of small gardens and orangeries, among the huge masses of fortifications, many of them seeming almost as thick as the gardens inclosed by them are broad. Pomegranate in (beautiful secicle) flower. Under a bridge over a dry ditch saw the largest prickly pear. Elkhorns for trunk, and then its leaves — but go and look and look. — (Hard rain.) We sheltered in the Botanic Garden; yet reached home not unwetted."
The simplicity of Coleridge's manners, and entire absence of all show of business-like habits, amongst men chiefly mercantile, made him an object of curiosity, and gave rise to the relation of many whimsical stories about him. But his kindness and benevolence lent a charm to his behaviour and manners, in whatever he was engaged. From the state of his own lungs, invalid-like, he was in the habit of attending much to those about him, and particularly those who had been sent to Malta for pulmonary disease. He frequently observed how much the invalid, at first landing, was relieved by the climate and the
stimulus
of change; but when the novelty, arising from
that
change, had ceased, the monotonous sameness of the blue sky, accompanied by the summer heat of the climate, acted powerfully as a sedative, ending in speedy dissolution, — even more speedy than in a colder climate. The effects on Coleridge seemed to run parallel to this. At first he remarked that he was relieved, but afterwards speaks of his limbs "as lifeless tools," and of the violent pains in his bowels, which neither opium, ether, nor peppermint, separately or combined, could relieve. These several states he minuted down, from time to time, for after-consideration or comparison. He most frequently sought relief from bodily suffering in religious meditations, or in some augmented exercise of his mind:
"Sickness, 'tis true,Whole years of weary days, besieged him close,Even to the gates and inlets of his life!But it is true, no less, that strenuous, firm,And with a natural gladness, he maintainedThe citadel unconquered, and in joyWas strong to follow the delightful muse."Tombless Epitaph.5
The citadel did, indeed, remain unconquered even to his
last
hour — he found in religious meditation and prayer that solace and support which, during a life of misery and pain, gave him his extraordinary patience and resignation. If an ejaculation escaped him, it was usually followed by some moral or religious reflection, as thus runs one of his notes:—
"O me mi serum! Assuredly the doctrine of grace, atonement, and the spirit of God interceding by groans to the spirit of God, (Rev. viii. 26.), is founded on constant experience, and even if it can be everexplained away, it must still remain as the rising and setting of the sun itself, as the darkness and as the light — it must needs have the most efficient character of reality, — quod semper, quod ubique, quod ab omnibus! Deeply do I both know and feel my weakness — God in his wisdom grant, that my day of visitation may not have been past."
Lest some
will-worshiping
individuals, inflated by vanity, and self-righteousness, should misunderstand or misconstrue him, the following lines are copied from his poems:—
Humility, The Mother Of Charity"Frail creatures are we all! To be the best,Is but the fewest faults to have: —Look thou then to thyself, and leave the restTo God, thy conscience and the grave."Poetical Works.
There is not, perhaps, to be found on record a more perfect example of humility and charity, than that which he exhibited and sustained for so long a period of suffering and trial. Surely he could not be compared to the generality of his fellows — to men who, though possessing great worldly reputation, never gave him their support; but, on the contrary, were sometimes even ready to whisper down his fair name!
"For whispering tongues can poison truth;And constancy lives in realms above."
Some of these might be well meaning enough to believe, that in giving publicity to what they
erroneously
considered moral infirmities, (not possessing the knowledge to discriminate between moral and physical infirmities), they were performing a religious duty — were displaying a beacon to deter others from the same course. But in the case of Coleridge, this was a sad misconception. Neither morally nor physically was he understood. He did all that in his state duty could exact; and had he been more favoured in his bodily constitution, he would not have been censured for frailties which did not attach to him.
Alas! how little do the many know of the hearts of truly great men! Least of all could such men as Coleridge be known by modern pharisees.
"It is no uncommon thing," says an affectionate and kind-hearted friend, whose genius is rarely equalled, "to see well intentioned men please themselves with the feeling that they are not as others; that they are the favorites of Heaven, and washed clean by special dispensation from the spots of frail mortality; who more-over assume that they possess the most delicate feelings; but then those feelings are under such admirable discipline, that they can, with the most exquisite suffering, cry over their own sentences, shed tears of pity and blood for their duty, make a merit of the hardness which is contrary to their nature, and live in perpetual apprehension of being too tender-hearted. It is wonderful with what ingenuity these people can reconcile their flexible consciences to acts at which their inferiors might blush or shudder, and no less fearful to reflect how many poor wretches, not wholly past hope or reformation, may have been sent to their last account, with all their imperfections on their heads, to satisfy the religious or political fears of these pharisees. The patrons and employers of spies, we may expect to make the greatest sacrifice toexpediency, — a word which every man will explain after his own way."
To have written during his life any thing like an eulogy on Coleridge would have been most painful to him, yet he must have felt, that he deserved well of his fellow beings; for fame, and fame only, he observes, is the aim and object of every good and great man, though it is too often confounded with mere reputation. When a youth, he had learnt how to value that bubble reputation, its fleeting character, but the love of which, in some men, is so injurious both to head and heart. Reputation, "the morrow's meal," the "breakfast only," the furnisher of the tinsel ornaments, or at most of some of the worldly agreeables, sown perhaps for future worldly enjoyment.
He
laboured for riches of another kind, and
stored
them, in the hope of receiving a more permanent reward:
"Byfame of course," says Coleridge, "I mean any thing rather than reputation,6the desire of working in the good and great permanently, through indefinite ages, the struggle to be promoted into the rank of God's fellow-labourers. For bold as this expression is, it is a quotation from Scripture, and therefore justified by God himself, for which we ought to be grateful, that he has deigned to hold out such a glory to us! This is however only one consistent part of the incomprehensible goodness of Deity in taking upon himself man."
His note-books abound with "his hints and first thoughts; "as he says, his "Cogitabilia rather than actual cogitata à me," — not always to be understood as his fixed opinions, but often merely suggestions of the disquisition, and acts of obedience to the apostolic command of "Try all things, hold fast that which is good." Among them is the following characteristic of the man and his feelings, noted down for some future disquisition.
"Würde, Worthiness,Virtue, consist in the mastery over the sensuous and sensual impulses; but Love requiresInnocence. Let the lover ask his heart whether he could endure that his mistress should havestruggledwith a sensual impulse for another, though she overcame it from a sense of duty to him? Women areLessoffended with men, from the vicious habits of men in part, and in part from the difference of bodily constitution; yet still to a pure and truly loving woman it must be a painful thought. That he should struggle with and overcome ambition, desire of fortune, superior beauty, &c. or with desire objectless, is pleasing; butnotthat he has struggled with positive appropriated desire, i.e. desirewithan object. Love in short requires an absolutepeaceandharmonybetween all parts of human nature, such as it is, and it is offended by any war, though the battle should be decided in favour of the worthier.This is perhaps the final cause of therarityof true love, and the efficient and immediate cause of its difficulty. Ours is a life of probation, we are to contemplate and obeydutyfor its own sake, and in order to this we, in our present imperfect state of being, must see it not merely abstracted from, but in direct opposition to thewish, theinclination. Having perfected this, the highest possibility of human nature, he may then with safety harmonizeallhis being with it;he mayLove! — To perform duties absolutely from the sense of duty, is theideal, which perhaps no human being ever can arrive at, but which every human being ought to try to draw near unto. This is in the only wise, and verily, in a most sublime sense to see God face to face; which, alas! it seems too true, that no man can do andlive, i. e. ahumanlife. It would become incompatible with his organization, or rather it wouldtransmuteit, and the process of that transmutation to the senses of other men would be calleddeath. — Even as to caterpillars; in all probability the caterpillar dies, and he either does not see, which is most probable, or at all events he does not see the connection between the caterpillar and the butterfly, the beautiful Psyche of the Greeks.Those who in this lifelovein perfection — if such there be — in proportion as their love has no struggles, see God darkly and through a veil: — for when duty and pleasure are absolutely coincident, the very nature of our organization necessitates that duty, will be contemplated as the symbol of pleasure, instead of pleasure being (as in a future life we have faith it will be) the symbol of duty. This then is the distinction between human and angelichappiness. Human happiness — humanly happy I call him, who in enjoyment finds his duty; angelically happy he, who seeks and finds hisdutyin enjoyment. Happiness in general may be defined — not the aggregate of pleasurable sensations, for this is either a dangerous error and the creed of sensualists, or else a mere translation or wordy paraphrase — but the state of that person who, in order to enjoy his nature in its highest manifestations of consciousfeeling, has no need of doing wrong, and who in order to do right is under no necessity of abstaining from enjoyment."