2.

It keeps aloof all those who would have assisted us had they precisely known our object.

3. It enables our enemies to misrepresent our views.

MOHENDRO LAUL SHOME,

Hindu College, First Class.

Answer to the Thirteenth Question.-(a) Every elevation. to high place and rank in society is by a crooked way; and if that society be distracted by factions, it is wise and politic on a man's part, whilst he is rising to greatness to join one of these parties, but after having once succeeded in obtaining the place he coveted, it is prudent for him to keep himself neutral between them.

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(b) Bacon here means to say, that men usually become great by unfair and dark means; i. e., to use his own emphatic words they come to dignities" by "indignities." by "indignities." They can never accomplish the objects of their ambition without "the illness" which attends them. He also, as a worldly politician advises them to secure to themselves the aid of a powerful party in the community at the commencement of their career, that they may be able to employ its interests in their favour but to keep themselves neutral after the accomplishment of their projects.

DWARKA NAUTH MITTRE,

Hooghly College, First Class.

Answer to the Fourteenth Question.-If we once regard a coming danger as trivial and if instead of taking proper pains to prepare for meeting it, we bury ourselves in confident security, it generally happens that such dangers falling upon us unwares injure us severely; and in this manner many persons have been lulled into security by the apparent lightness of dangers and thus deceived, have been subjected to greater evil than what could have fallen upon them had they taken previous precautions for meeting them, and resolutely stood to face them. "Security" says Shakespeare "is mortal's chiefest enemy." Buried in indolent repose and fancied security, we often find that those very dangers which once appeared to us as light and insignificant are now threatening us, and ready to burst upon us with irrestible fury. It is a common observation that fate strikes her blow in the "sunshine." DWARKA NAUTH MITTRE,

Hooghly College, First Class.

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Answer to the Fifteenth Question.-Assuredly there are some men who know the springs and falls of business, i. e., who understand when the matter can be easily managed and when with difficulty; but their understandings cannot drive further into the business; they cannot understand the essential part of it. In this respect the contrivances of their understanding resemble a house, that hath convenient modes of entering into it and of ascending it, but never a fine room, i. e., those contrivances enable them to enter into business in times of ease, and to leave it in times of difficulty, but not to take the lead in it. Therefore these men can find out pretty means of escaping without any danger to them; yet they cannot examine or debate matters. But still these men would take advantage of their defect, and would pass for men, who are able to manage affairs.

RADHAGOBIND Doss,

Hindu College, First Class.

Answer to the Sixteenth Question.-In the Æneid, Virgil speaks of the birth of Fame. He says that the giants, begotten of the earth, made war upon Jupiter and other Gods; but that they were defeated. For this, their mother earth brought forth a daughter, called Fame to revenge on them. Bacon has used this story in the Essay on Seditions and Troubles."

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RADHAGOBIND Doss,

Hindu College, First Class.

Smith's Moral Sentiments.

Morning Paper.

Answer First.-According to Smith, we judge of the propriety or impropriety of the affections and sentiments of other people by their concord or dissonance with our own. We neither have, nor can have, any other means of forming our judgments with respect to them. We, in imagination, place ourselves in the situation of the person whose sentiments we want to judge of, and according as, we find, we can or cannot enter into the motives which influenced his conduct, we regard his sentiments and affections, as proper or improper, suitable or unsuitable to the objects which excited them. Thus, if my sympathy keeps time with the grief of my friend, I cannot but admit the reasonableness of

his sorrow. The exceptions which occur to this general rule are, according to Dr. Smith, only apparent. A stranger passes by us with all the marks of the deepest affliction on his face; and we are immediately told that he has just received the news of the death of his father. It is impossible that in this case we should not approve of his grief. Yet it may often happen without any defect of humanity on our part, that, far from entering into the violence of his sorrow, we should scarcely feel the first movements of concern upon his account. He and his father are perhaps entirely unknown to us, and we do not take time to picture to ourselves the different circumstances of distress which must occur to him. But in this, as in many other instances, the rules derived from our preceding experience correct upon the impropriety of our present emotions. We have learned from experience, that such a misfortune naturally excites such a degree of sorrow, and that, if we had taken time to consider all his circumstances, one by one, we should doubtless have most heartily sympathised with him. It is upon this conditional sympathy, that our approbation of his sorrow is founded, even when that sympathy does not actually take place.

Answer Second.-Our sympathy with those passions which take their rise from the body is very faint, because our bodies, not being in the same state with that of the person principally concerned, cannot be expected to enter fully into them. To the person himself, as soon as they are gratified, the objects which excited them, cease to be agreeable. He now can enter as little into his own passion as any other person. He looks round to no purpose for the charm which transported him the moment before. When we have dined we order the covers to be removed, and we should, in the same manner, treat every other object of our most impetuous passions, if it were endeared to us by no other passions than those which orginate from the body. For the same reason, to cry out with bodily pain, is always regarded as unmanly. Nothing is so soon forgotten as bodily pain. The moment it is gone, the whole agony of it is over.

But it is widely different with those passions which originate from the imagination. The condition of my body can be but little affected by the alterations that are brought upon that of my companion. But my imagination is more ductile, and more readily assumes the shape and configuration of those with whom I am familiar. It is on this account that a disappointment in love or ambition will produce a more lively sympathy than the greatest bodily misfortune. The same takes place with regard to all other passions which originate from the imagination; and we have always a greater propensity to sympathise with them than with those which take their origin from the body.

Answer Third.--That our sympathy with sorrow is more lively than our sympathy with joy, Dr. Smith shows from the following considerations:

1. Our sympathy with sorrow is more universal than our sympathy with joy. Though the sorrow be excessive, we still can have some fellow-feeling with it; but we have no such indulgence for the excess of joy. The man who dances and skips about with that foolish and intemperate joy which we cannot enter into; is the object of our contempt and indignation, our heart renounces all sympathy with him, and we term his conduct, levity and folly. 2. Pain is a more pungent sensation than the corresponding pleasure. The mind is much more depressed below its ordinary state in the one case than raised above it in the other. It is on account of this reason that we have a more lively perception of our sympathy with sorrow than that with joy.

3. Over and above all this, we often struggle to keep down the emotions which the view of a sorrowful situation excites within our breast. We endeavour, for our own ease, to suppress them as much as we can, and we are not always successful. The struggle which we thus make with them bring them more prominently into our notice; but no such thing happens with regard to our sympathy with joy. When there is any envy in the case, we do not feel the least inclination to it; but when there is no envy in our way, our heart abandons itself with satisfaction to that delightful sensation.

But

From these considerations, it is evident that though our sympathy with sorrow is not more real than our sympathy with joy, it comes into our view in a more conspicuous manner. on the other hand, our sympathy with joy approaches more nearly to what is felt by the person principally concerned, as will appear from what follows. The condition of the greater part of mankind is, on the whole, more happy than miserable. Between it and the highest pitch of prosperity the interval is a trifle; but between it and the lowest depth of adversity the distance is vast and immense. Consequent misfortunes depress the mind of the person principally concerned much more below its ordinary state than good fortune can ever elevate him above it. The greater part of mankind, therefore, must depart much more from the ordinary state of their mind to enter into his feelings in the one case than in the other. Our sympathy with sorrow, therefore, must necessarily fall much more short of the violence of what is felt by the sufferer. That this is actually the case, Dr. Smith shows by many familiar and beautiful illustrations, some of which are well deserving of a mention. It is upon account of this cold sensibility of mankind to the misfortunes of others, that magnanimity in the midst of great distress is so divinely graceful. It

is upon account of this same principle, of this same propensity of the human mind to sympathise more with joy than with sorrow, that we are ashamed to weep before a company, though the occasion be such that our tears are perfectly natural.

Answer Fourth.-From what precedes, it is evident that our propensity to sympathise with joy must be much greater than our propensity to sympathise with sorrow. It is this principle that leads us to make a parade of our riches and power and to conceal our poverty. It is this same principle that makes us peculiarily interested in the fate of men of rank and influence. When therefore any misfortune happens to these, it excites our commiseration in the highest degree. We are much concerned to see that any thing should occur to disturb the repose of those who possess such great and almost infallible means of acquiring perfect happiness. We heartily desire to see this system, which only falls short of absolute perfection complete in itself, and are therefore peculiarly sorrowful when anything happens to disturb or to destroy it. All the innocent blood, shed since the commencement of the Civil War of England, did not excite so much pity among the English people as the execution of one great manCharles I-and one who had previously tyrannized over them.

Answer Fifth. The love of praise is the desire of obtaining the approbation and admiration of our fellow-creatures. But the love of praiseworthiness is the desire of rendering ourselves the proper object of this approbation and admiration; or of becoming that thing (as Dr. Smith expresses it), which, though it should not be praised by any body, is yet really deserving of this praise. The love of praise and the love of praiseworthiness agree in this particular, that they both have a reference to the sentiments of other people; but in this case, the reference is to what actually are, and in the other case, to what ought to be, or upon a certain condition would be, their sentiments with regard to our conduct. These two principles of our nature may be, more briefly, thus expressed. The love of praise is the desire of obtaining the approbation of all about us. And the love of praiseworthiness is the desire of obtaining the approbation of the man within the breast, or of the supposed impartial spectator.

Answer Sixth.-As it has already been once or twice observed, pain is a more pungent sensation than the correspondent please. The one depresses the mind much more below its ordinary state than the other can elevate it above this ordinary state. Unmerited reproach therefore must, since it is a painful emotion, give more pain than unmerited applause can give us pleasure. There are other reasons which lead to the same conclusion. When any one praises us for qualities which we do not possess or for motives which had no sort of influence on our conduct, praises not us but