fitnesses of things, or to a moral sense only perceptible to philosophers. At the same time it kept God at a convenient distance. It exiled mystery from the affairs of daily life, but left a dark background of terror sufficient to keep criminals in awe. It may be considered, indeed, as a crude mode of expressing some important truths; on the one hand, it admitted that the rule of life was to be discovered from experience, and not from a priori theories, which had too little consistency to be a safe guide; on the other, it asserted-in a crude and brutal fashion enough-the necessity of some religious sentiment to restrain the selfish passions of mankind. And thus it was essentially a compromise which could not satisfy a truly philosophical mind, but which did well enough as a stopgap, borrowing its terms from the old theology, and drawing upon experience for practical guidance.

118. The theory of Law, or of the Rev. Mr. Gay-for Gay, it seems, chiefly compiled the essay which was adopted by Law is given in an introduction to Law's translation of Archbishop King's 'Origin of Evil.' This introduction is remarkable because, as already noticed, it helped to suggest Hartley's theory of association. Two or three propositions extracted from its pages will sufficiently indicate its general character.

'Virtue is conformity to a rule of life, directing the actions of all rational creatures with respect to each other's happiness; to which conformity everyone is in all cases obliged, and everyone that does so conform is, or ought to be, approved, esteemed, and loved for so doing.' 'Obligation is the necessity of doing or omitting any action in order to be happy.' God alone can make a perfect obligation, for he alone can, in all cases, make a man happy or miserable.' As God wishes men to be happy, the happiness of mankind may be said to be a criterion of virtue but once removed.' Happiness is the general end of all our actions, and 'moral goodness or moral virtue in man is not merely choosing or producing pleasure or natural good, but choosing it without a view to present rewards, and in prospect of a future recompense only.'

119. The ablest and most original exponent of this theory was Abraham Tucker, author of the 'Light of Nature Pursued.' Few men have led more blameless or happier

lives than this neglected philosopher. He was a rich country gentleman, spending his summers on his estate and his winters in London. But, unlike his neighbours, he delighted neither in fox-hunting nor in place-hunting. Philosophical theories were the game which he loved to follow through all the writings of some speculative labyrinth, and his ambition was to be received as a worthy colleague of Locke instead of Chatham. His devotion to abstract enquiries was free from the slightest tinge of moroseness or indifference to practical affairs. He was an example of that rarest of all intellectual compounds, the metaphysical humourist. He might have stood for a likeness of Mr. Shandy; and Montaigne is perhaps the writer to whom, though at a long distance, he bears the closest resemblance. This mixture of shrewdness and kindliness which made him active and amiable in all the relations of life shows itself in every page of his book, Listening to abstract disquisitions upon theology, ethics, and metaphysics, we strangely learn to love the author, whose eye is always twinkling with suppressed humour even in the gravest passages of his discourse. There is something so simple and childlike in his outbreaks of playfulness, that his incongruities never shock us. Indeed, his illustrations, quaint as they may be, have frequently the merit of an almost incomparable felicity. We can see the old gentleman writing in his study, and when perplexed to explain his theories, raising his eyes and smiling complacently, as he presses into his service the first object that meets his gaze. The childish game of cat's-cradle, the handiwork of the village carpenter, the groom saddling a horse, a girl going to a ball, or something that reminds him of his own courtship; these and a hundred other familiar objects enable him to expound his views on fate, free-will, a future life, the mechanism of the human mind, and the purposes of the Almighty. To be candid is part of his nature; a difficulty, instead of heating his temper, receives a genuine welcome; for does it not give one more problem over which he may brood for hours, and which may serve as a point of attachment for new webs of theory? No one ever more fully appreciated the maxim, that the search after truth-'Search' is the significant pseudonym which he adopts-is more delightful than the fruition. He would

have regarded a fallacy which was too easily exposed just as a sportsman would regard a fox which did not give him a good run. An antagonist is therefore a friend in disguise, to be met with a quaint joke, instead of a bitter sarcasm. No man's pen was ever freer from gall. And, of course, it follows that Tucker is not seldom wearisome and immeasurably prolix. The last twenty years of his life were devoted to the composition of his book; and he has no intention to spare his readers one inch of the devious track which he has followed throughout that time. He never hurries; he cares nothing for concentration; the twentieth statement of any proposition is as prolix as the first; and he utterly ignores the principle that the secret of being tedious is to say everything.

120. This fault has been fatal to anything like a wide popularity of the 'Light of Nature.' Nine readers out of ten are probably repelled after a time by the boundless garrulity of his philosophical gossip. Vivacious, amiable, and cheerful as he may be, one longs to say, Do, for heaven's sake, take something for granted! But the old gentleman benignantly follows out his plan in its minutest details, and cares not for the diminution of his audience. Yet those who have the courage to follow him will be repaid, if by nothing else, at least by a curious exhibition of character, and by some curious illustrations of contemporary modes of thought.

121. To compress such a book into a few paragraphs is necessarily to do it injustice, for the irrelevant passages must be omitted, and the irrelevant passages are often what is most charming. It would be difficult, for example, to cite a more amusingly characteristic passage in any book than the chapter called the 'Vision,' which occupies over seventy closely printed octavo pages in the last edition of his works. But how give an idea within any shorter limits of the singular experience of the disembodied or partially disembodied Tucker; of the strange flashes of playful humour, and pathetic sentiment, and reverent emotion, which are blended into a unique whole, equally calculated to provoke smiles and sympathy? The dreaming soul is separated from his body, but still enveloped in a kind of minute bag, which, it appears, is the semi-corporeal abode of spirits in the 'vehicular state.' The

bag has a strange power of shooting forth a head and limbs at the will of its occupant; and his first introduction in the new world is to a similar bag, looking like a bladder filled with air, from which protrudes the 'meagre lankjawed face' of his master Locke. By the instruction of his friend he learns to skate upon rays of light, and to talk after a new fashion, and, thus accomplished, performs strange journeys and hears strange converse in the world of spirits. He is put through a bit of dialectics by Socrates, and listens to an oration from Pythagoras, and talks sentiment with his long-lost Eurydice, and makes fun of Stahl, till the German philosopher shuts himself up in his bag; and is grievously bullied by Borgia in the likeness of a spider; and all the while, he and Locke carry on a queer running comment, changing strangely from grave to gay, but everywhere pervaded by a quaint tinge of humour. This bag bursts for a time, and he is absorbed in the mundane soul, and hears unspeakable things and witnesses solemn visions; but he speedily returns to his vehicle, and finally descending to a huge mountain, 'with a monstrous gaping chasm on one side, from whence issue black streams of fuliginous vapour,' discovers it to be his head, and entering with difficulty through one of the pores, sticky and miry with insensible perspiration, again takes his place in the seat of life.1

122. I must refrain, however, from following these strange flights of fancy, in order to attempt a brief summary of the system which is gradually shadowed forth in this strangely discursive performance. Tucker, as already noticed, is a disciple of Locke, of whom he always speaks with the warmest reverence. Indeed, he clings to those opinions of his master which had been exploded by Berkeley and Hume. He never, I believe, mentions Hume; but he frequently attacks Berkeley, and by falling into the usual fallacies on the subject, exhibits his want of metaphysical acuteness; for, indeed, it is exclusively as a psychologist and as a moralist that Tucker has any great speculative merit. From Hartley he has borrowed much, whilst at the same time he regards the leader of the association philosophy with a feeling as nearly approaching to dislike as can find room in his kindly bosom. Starting 1 Ib. i. 493.

Tucker's 'Light of Nature,' i. 423.

from such principles, Tucker's theological system presents no particular novelty, except where his quaint fancy has engrafted some odd hypothesis upon the older doctrines. He is a rationalist after the pattern of Locke; and through many chapters of wearisome length he labours to accommodate the mysterious dogmas of Christianity to a rational interpretation. By the ordinary devices, he explains away the doctrines of the Trinity, the Atonement, the Fall of Man, and the Sacraments, until they may be accepted, even by a pure deist, without much effort-though in treading those perilous paths, it is probable that Tucker has unconsciously stepped into some very heretical propositions. The fundamental method of his reconciliation is significant.

123. God, according to him, is to the universe what the watchmaker is to the watch'-an illustration which Paley may have borrowed, along with much else, from his favourite author. Further, we may, if we please, hold that the material universe is one stupendous engine, which has been made from everlasting, and is never in want of winding up, or interference. from the Creator.2 Tucker, however, inclines to the opinion that the Almighty artificer does occasionally interfere, though only on rare and important occasions.3 'God is not profuse of his own omnipotence. He employs it rarely, upon those occasions only wherein he had rendered it necessary by leaving deficiencies in his plan of nature, purposely to admit these interpositions of his own hand, which he had predetermined from everlasting. Nor yet does he perform his extraordinary works wholly by his own power, but with the concurrence of second causes, turning and keeping them in the course wherein they will naturally bring forth the predestined event.' Tucker, in short, is jealous of the Divine interference. It is equally important that we should believe in a God, and that we should make as little use of him as possible. The higher our reverence for the watchmaker, the less the need for his interfering with the instrument. This theory, however much it might satisfy Tucker the philosopher,

' Tucker, 'Things Providential,' sec. 11, ii. 83; and 'Providence,' sec. 9, i. 525. Ib. 'Providence,' sec. 11, i. 527.

Ib. 'Things Providential,' ii. 85.

Ib. Christian Scheme,' sec. 35, ii. 400. VOL. II.

I