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to find the same cause concerned in the generation | ate opposition to them, without a secret remorse of our moral sentiments?

of conscience. But this remorse may be borne
with: and if the sinner choose to bear with it, for
the sake of the pleasure or the profit which he
expects from his wickedness; or finds the plea-
which he alone is the judge, and concerning which,
when he feels them both together, he can hardly
be mistaken, the moral-instinct man, so far as
I can understand, has nothing more to offer.
For if he allege that these instincts are so many
indications of the will of God, and consequently
presages of what we are to look for hereafter;
this, I answer, is to resort to a rule and a motive
ulterior to the instincts themselves, and at which
rule and motive we shall by-and-by arrive by a
surer road:-I say surer, so long as there remains
a controversy whether there be any instinctive
maxims at all; or any difficulty in ascertaining
what maxims are instinctive.

Another considerable objection to the system of moral instincts is this, that there are no maxims in the science which can well be deemed innate, as none perhaps can be assigned, which are abso-sure of sin to exceed the remorse of conscience, of lutely and universally true; in other words, which do not bend to circumstances. Veracity, which seems, if any be, a natural duty, is excused in many cases towards an enemy, a thief, or a madman. The obligation of promises, which is a first principle in morality, depends upon the circumstances under which they were made; they may have been unlawful, or become so since, or inconsistent with former promises, or erroneous, or extorted; under all which cases, instances may be suggested, where the obligation to perform the promise would be very dubious; and so of most other general rules, when they come to be actually applied.

An argument has been also proposed on the same side of the question, of this kind. Together with the instinct, there must have been implanted, it is said, a clear and precise idea of the object upon which it was to attach. The instinct and the idea of the object are inseparable even in imagination, and as necessarily accompany each other as any correlative ideas whatever: that is, in plainer terms, if we be prompted by nature to the approbation of particular actions, we must have received also from nature a distinct conception of the action we are thus prompted to approve; which we certainly have not received.

But as this argument bears alike against all instincts, and against their existence in brutes as well as in men, it will hardly, I suppose, produce conviction, though it may be difficult to find an answer to it.

This celebrated question therefore becomes in our system a question of pure curiosity; and as such, we dismiss it to the determination of those who are more inquisitive, than we are concerned to be, about the natural history and constitution of the human species.

CHAPTER VI.

Human Happiness.

THE word happy is a relative term; that is, when we call a man happy, we mean that he is happier than some others, with whom we compare him; than the generality of others; or than he himself was in some other situation: thus, speaking of one who has just compassed the ob ject of a long pursuit,-"Now," we say, "he is happy;" and in a like comparative sense, compared, that is, with the general lot of mankind, we call a man happy who possesses health and competency.

Upon the whole, it seems to me, either that there exist no such instincts as compose what is called the moral sense, or that they are not now to be distinguished from prejudices and habits; on which account they cannot be depended upon in moral reasoning: I mean that it is not a safe In strictness, any condition may be denominated way of arguing, to assume certain principles as so happy, in which the amount or aggregate of pleamany dictates, impulses, and instincts of nature, sure exceeds that of pain; and the degree of and then to draw conclusions from these princi-happiness depends upon the quantity of this ples, as to the rectitude or wrongness of actions, independent of the tendency of such actions, or of any other consideration whatever.

excess.

And the greatest quantity of it ordinarily attainable in human life, is what we mean by hapAristotle lays down, as a fundamental and self-piness, when we inquire or pronounce what evident maxim, that nature intended barbarians to human happiness consists in.* be slaves; and proceeds to deduce from this maxim a train of conclusions, calculated to justify the policy which then prevailed. And I question whether the same maxim be not still self-evident to the company of merchants trading to the coast of Africa.

mean by pleasure, can be affixed to the term "happiIf any positive signification, distinct from what we ness," I should take it to denote a certain state of the nervous system in that part of the human frame in which we feel joy and grief, passions and affections.Whether this part be the heart, which the turn of most languages would lead us to believe, or the diaphragm, as Buffon, or the upper orifice of the stomach, as Van Helmont thought; or rather be a kind of fine net-work,

sensation may violently shake and disturb the fibres at the time, but that a series of such may at length so derange the very texture of the system, as to produce a

Nothing is so soon made, as a maxim; and it appears from the example of Aristotle, that authority and convenience, education, prejudice, and lining the whole region of the præcordia, as others have general practice, have no small share in the mak-imagined; it is possible, not only that each painful ing of them; and that the laws of custom are very apt to be mistaken for the order of nature. For which reason, I suspect, that a system of morality, built upon instincts, will only find out reasons and excuses for opinions and practices already established,-will seldom correct or reform either.

But further, suppose we admit the existence of these instincts; what, it may be asked, is their authority? No man, you say, can act in deliber

perpetual irritation, which will show itself by fretfulness, impatience, and restlessness. It is possible also, on the other hand, that a succession of pleasurable sensations may have such an effect upon this subtile organization, as to cause the fibres to relax, and return into their place and order, and thereby to recover, or, if not

lost, to preserve, that harmonious conformation which faction. This state may be denominated happiness, and is so far distinguishable from pleasure, that it does

gives to the mind its sense of complacency and satis

In which inquiry I will omit much usual declamation on the dignity and capacity of our nature; the superiority of the soul to the body, of the rational to the animal part of our constitution; upon the worthiness, refinement, and delicacy, of some satisfactions, or the meanness, grossness, and sensuality, of others; because I hold that pleasures differ in nothing, but in continuance and intensity: from a just computation of which, confirmed by what we observe of the apparent cheerfulness, tranquillity, and contentment, of men of different tastes, tempers, stations, and pursuits, every question concerning human happiness must receive its decision.

It will be our business to show, if we can, 1. What Human Happiness does not consist in: II. What it does consist in.

FIRST, then, Happiness does not consist in the pleasures of sense, in whatever profusion or variety they be enjoyed. By the pleasures of sense, I mean, as well as the animal gratifications of eating, drinking, and that by which the species is continued, as the more refined pleasures of music, painting, architecture, gardening, splendid shows, theatric exhibitions; and the pleasures, lastly, of active sports, as of hunting, shooting, fishing, &c. For,

of the imagination, it hinders us from providing for, or acquiescing in, those gently soothing engagements, the due variety and succession of which are the only things that supply a vein or continued stream of happiness.

What I have been able to observe of that part of mankind, whose professed pursuit is pleasure, and who are withheld in the pursuit by no restraints of fortune, or scruples of conscience, corresponds sufficiently with this account. I have commonly remarked in such men, a restless and inextinguishable passion for variety; a great part of their time to be vacant, and so much of it irksome; and that, with whatever eagerness and expectation they set out, they become, by degrees, fastidious in their choice of pleasure, languid in the enjoyment, yet miserable under the want of it.

The truth seems to be, that there is a limit at which these pleasures soon arrive, and from which they ever afterwards decline. They are by necessity of short duration, as the organs cannot hold on their emotions beyond a certain length of time; and if you endeavour to compensate for this imperfection in their nature by the frequency with which you repeat them, you suffer more than you gain, by the fatigue of the faculties, and the diminution of sensibility.

1st, These pleasures continue but a little while at a time. This is true of them all, especially of We have said nothing in this account, of the the grosser sort of them. Laying aside the pre-loss of opportunities, or the decay of faculties, paration and the expectation, and computing which, whenever they happen, leave the voluptu strictly the actual sensation, we shall be surprised ary destitute and desperate; teased by desires that to find how inconsiderable a portion of our time can never be gratified, and the memory of pleasures they occupy, how few hours in the four-and-twenty which must return no more. they are able to fill up.

2dly, These pleasures, by repetition, lose their relish. It is a property of the machine, for which we know no remedy, that the organs, by which we perceive pleasure, are blunted and benumbed by being frequently exercised in the same way. There is hardly any one who has not found the difference between a gratification, when new, and when familiar; or any pleasure which does not become indifferent as it grows habitual.

3dly, The eagerness for high and intense delights takes away the relish from all others; and as such delights fall rarely in our way, the greater part of our time becomes, from this cause, empty and uneasy.

There is hardly any delusion by which men are greater sufferers in their happiness, than by their expecting too much from what is called pleasure; that is, from those intense delights, which vulgarly engross the name of pleasure. The very expectation spoils them. When they do come, we are often engaged in taking pains to persuade our selves how much we are pleased, rather than enjoying any pleasure which springs naturally out of the object. And whenever we depend upon being vastly delighted, we always go home secretly grieved at missing our aim. Likewise, as has been observed just now, when this humour of being prodigiously delighted has once taken hold

not refer to any particular object of enjoyment, or con. sist, like pleasure, in gratification of one or more of the senses, but is rather the secondary effect which such objects and gratifications produce upon the nervous system, or the state in which they leave it. These conjectures belong not, however, to our province. The

comparative sense, in which we have explained the term Happiness, is more popular, and is sufficient for the purpose of the present chapter.

It will also be allowed by those who have experienced it, and perhaps by those alone, that pleasure which is purchased by the encumbrance of our fortune, is purchased too dear; the pleasure never compensating for the perpetual irritation of embarrassed circumstances.

These pleasures, after all, have their value: and as the young are always too eager in their pursuit of them, the old are sometimes too remiss, that is, too studious of their ease, to be at the pains for them which they really deserve.

SECONDLY, Neither does happiness consist in an exemption from pain, labour, care, business, suspense, molestation, and "those evils which are without;" such a state being usually attended, not with ease, but with depression of spirits, a tastelessness in all our ideas, imaginary anxieties, and the whole train of hypochondriacal affections.

For which reason, the expectations of those, who retire from their shops and counting-houses, to enjoy the remainder of their days in leisure and tranquillity, are seldom answered by the effect; much less of such, as, in a fit of chagrin, shut themselves up in cloisters and hermitages, or quit the world, and their stations in it, for solitude and repose.

Where there exists a known external cause of uneasiness, the cause may be removed, and the uneasiness will cease. But those imaginary distresses which men feel for want of real ones (and which are equally tormenting, and so far equally real) as they depend upon no single or assignable subject of uneasiness, admit oftentimes of no application of relief.

Hence, a moderate pain, upon which the attention may fasten and spend itself, is to many a refreshment; as a fit of the gout will sometimes cure the spleen. And the same of any less violent

agitation of the mind, as a literary controversy, a law-suit, a contested election, and, above all, gaming; the passion for which, in men of fortune and liberal minds, is only to be accounted for on this principle.

THIRDLY: Neither does happiness consist in greatness, rank, or elevated station.

The pleasure of success is exquisite; so also is
the anxiety of the pursuit, and the pain of disap-
pointment;-and what is the worst part of the
account, the pleasure is short-lived.
We soon
cease to look back upon those whom we have left
behind; new contests are engaged in; new pros-
pects unfold themselves; a succession of struggles
is kept up, whilst there is a rival left within the
compass of our views and profession; and when
there is none, the pleasure with the pursuit is at
an end.

II. We have seen what happiness does not consist in. We are next to consider in what it does consist.

Were it true that all superiority afforded pleasure, it would follow, that by how much we were the greater, that is, the more persons we were superior to, in the same proportion, so far as depended upon this cause, we should be the happier; but so it is, that no superiority yields any satisfaction, save that which we possess or obtain over those with whom we immediately compare our- In the conduct of life, the great matter is, to selves. The shepherd perceives no pleasure in know beforehand, what will please us, and what his superiority over his dog; the farmer, in his pleasure will hold out. So far as we know this, superiority over the shepherd; the lord, in his our choice will be justified by the event. And superiority over the farmer; nor the king, lastly, this knowledge is more scarce and difficult than in his superiority over the lord. Superiority, at first sight it may seem to be: for sometimes, where there is no competition, is seldom contem- pleasures, which are wonderfully alluring and plated; what most men are quite unconscious of. flattering in the prospect, turn out in the possession But if the same shepherd can run, fight, or extremely insipid; or do not hold out as we exwrestle better than the peasants of his village; if pected: at other times, pleasures start up which the farmer can show better cattle, if he keep a never entered into our calculation; and which we better horse, or be supposed to have a longer purse, might have missed of by not foreseeing:—whence than any farmer in the hundred; if the lord have we have reason to believe, that we actually do miss more interest in an election, greater favour at of many pleasures from the same cause. I say, to court, a better house, or a larger estate than any know "beforehand;" for, after the experiment is nobleman in the country; if the king possess a tried, it is commonly impracticable to retreat or more extensive territory, a more powerful fleet or change; beside that shifting and changing is apt army, a more splendid establishment, more loyal to generate a habit of restlessness, which is desubjects, or more weight and authority in adjust-structive of the happiness of every condition. ing the affairs of nations, than any prince in Europe; in all these cases, the parties feel an actual satisfaction in their superiority.

Now the conclusion that follows from hence is this; that the pleasures of ambition, which are supposed to be peculiar to high stations, are in reality common to all conditions. The farrier who shoes a horse better, and who is in greater request for his skill, than any man within ten miles of him, possesses, for all that I can see, the delight of distinction and of excelling, as truly and substantially as the statesman, the soldier, and the scholar, who have filled Europe with the reputation of their wisdom, their valour, or their knowledge.

No superiority appears to be of any account, but superiority over a rival. This, it is manifest, may exist wherever rivalships do; and rivalships fall out amongst men of all ranks and degrees. The object of emulation, the dignity or magnitude of this object, makes no difference; as it is not what either possesses that constitutes the pleasure, but what one possesses more than the other.

Philosophy smiles at the contempt with which the rich and great speak of the petty strifes and competitions of the poor; not reflecting that these strifes and competitions are just as reasonable as their own, and the pleasure, which success affords, the same.

By the reason of the original diversity of taste, capacity, and constitution, observable in the human species, and the still greater variety, which habit and fashion have introduced in these particulars, it is impossible to propose any plan of happiness, which will succeed to all, or any method of life which is universally eligible or practicable.

All that can be said is, that there remains a presumption in favour of those conditions of life, in which men generally appear most cheerful and contented. For though the apparent happiness of mankind be not always a true measure of their real happiness, it is the best measure we have.

Taking this for my guide, I am inclined to believe that happiness consists,

I. In the exercise of the social affections.

Those persons commonly possess good spirits, who have about them many objects of affection and endearment, as wife, children, kindred, friends. And to the want of these may be imputed the peevishness of monks, and of such as lead a monastic life.

Of the same nature with the indulgence of our domestic affections, and equally refreshing to the spirits, is the pleasure which results from acts of bounty and beneficence, exercised either in giving money, or imparting to those who want it, the assistance of our skill and profession.

Another main article of human happiness is, II. The exercise of our faculties, either of body or mind, in the pursuit of some engaging end.

Our position is, that happiness does not consist in greatness. And this position we make out by showing, that even what are supposed to be pecu- It seems to be true, that no plenitude of present liar advantages of greatness, the pleasures of am- gratifications can make the possessor happy for a bition and superiority, are in reality common to continuance, unless he have something in reserve, all conditions. But whether the pursuits of am--something to hope for, and look forward to.— bition be ever wise, whether they contribute more This I conclude to be the case, from comparing to the happiness or misery of the pursuers, is a the alacrity and spirits of men who are engaged different question; and a question concerning in any pursuit which interests them, with the dewhich we may be allowed to entertain great doubt.jection and ennui of almost all, who are either

born to so much that they want nothing more, or who have used up their satisfactions too soon, and drained the sources of them.

It is this intolerable vacuity of mind, which carries the rich and great to the horse-course and the gaming-table; and often engages them in contests and pursuits, of which the success bears no proportion to the solicitude and expense with which it is sought. An election for a disputed borough shall cost the parties twenty or thirty thousand pounds each, to say nothing of the anxiety, humiliation, and fatigue, of the canvass; when, a seat in the house of commons, of exactly the same value, may be had for a tenth part of the money, and with no trouble. I do not mention this, to blame the rich and great (perhaps they cannot do better,) but in confirmation of what I have advanced.

or business before us, we are commonly happy,
whatever the object or business be; when the
mind is absent, and the thoughts are wandering
to something else than what is passing in the
place in which we are, we are often miserable.
III. Happiness depends upon the prudent con-
stitution of the habits.

The art in which the secret of human happiness in a great measure consists, is to set the habits in such a manner, that every change may be a change for the better. The habits themselves are much the same; for, whatever is made habitual, becomes smooth, and easy, and nearly indifferent. The return to an old habit is likewise easy, whatever the habit be. Therefore the advantage is with those habits which allow of an indulgence in the deviation from them. The luxurious receive no greater pleasures from their dainties, than the peasant does from his bread and cheese: but the

Hope, which thus appears to be of so much importance to our happiness, is of two kinds;-peasant, whenever he goes abroad, finds a feast; where there is something to be done towards at- whereas the epicure must be well entertained, to taining the object of our hope, and where there is escape disgust. Those who spend every day at nothing to be done. The first alone is of any cards, and those who go every day to plough, value; the latter being apt to corrupt into impa-pass their time much alike: intent upon what tience, having no power but to sit still and wait, which soon grows tiresome.

The doctrine delivered under this head, may be readily admitted; but how to provide ourselves with a succession of pleasurable engagements, is the difficulty. This requires two things: judgment in the choice of ends adapted to our opportunities; and a command of imagination, so as to be able, when the judgment has made choice of an end, to transfer a pleasure to the means: after which, the end may be forgotten as soon as we will.

Hence those pleasures are most valuable, not which are most exquisite in the fruition, but which are most productive of engagement and activity in the pursuit.

A man who is in earnest in his endeavours after the happiness of a future state, has, in this respect, an advantage over all the world: for, he has constantly before his eyes an object of supreme importance, productive of perpetual engagement and activity, and of which the pursuit (which can be said of no pursuit besides) lasts him to his life's end. Yet even he must have many ends, besides the far end: but then they will conduct to that, be subordinate, and in some way or other capable of being referred to that, and derive their satisfaction, or an addition of satisfaction, from that.

they are about, wanting nothing, regretting nothing, they are both for the time in a state of ease: but then, whatever suspends the occupation of the card-player, distresses him; whereas to the labourer, every interruption is a refreshment: and this appears in the different effects that Sunday produces upon the two, which proves a day of recreation to the one, but a lamentable burthen to the other. The man who has learned to live alone, feels his spirits enlivened whenever he enters into company, and takes his leave without regret; another, who has long been accustomed to a crowd, or continual successsion of company, experiences in company no elevation of spirits, nor any greater satisfaction, than what the man of a retired life finds in his chimney-corner. So far their conditions are equal; but let a change of place, fortune, or situation, separate the companion from his circle, his visitors, his club, common-room, or coffee-house; and the difference and advantage in the choice and constitution of the two habits will show itself. Solitude comes to the one, clothed with melancholy; to the other, it brings liberty and quiet. You will see the one fretful and restless, at a loss how to dispose of his time, till the hour come round when he may forget himself in bed; the other easy and satisfied, taking up his book or his pipe, as soon as he finds himself alone; Engagement is every thing: the more signifi- ready to admit any little amusement that casts cant, however, our engagements are, the better: up, or to turn his hands and attention to the first such as the planning of laws, institutions, manu- business that presents itself; or content, without factures, charities, improvements, public works; either, to sit still, and let his train of thought glide and the endeavouring, by our interest, address, indolently through his brain, without much use, solicitations, and activity, to carry them into effect; perhaps, or pleasure, but without hankering after or, upon a smaller scale, the procuring of a main- any thing better, and without irritation. A reader, tenance and fortune for our families by a course who has inured himself to books of science and of industry and application to our callings, which argumentation, if a novel, a well-written pamforms and gives motion to the common occupations phlet, an article of news, a narrative of a curious of life; training up a child; prosecuting a scheme voyage, or a journal of a traveller, fall in his way, for his future establishment; making ourselves sits down to the repast with relish; enjoys his masters of a language or a science; improving or entertainment while it lasts, and can return, when managing an estate; labouring after a piece of it is over, to his graver reading, without distaste. preferment; and, lastly, any engagement, which Another, with whom nothing will go down but is innocent, is better than none; as the writing of works of humour and pleasantry, or whose curia book, the building of a house, the laying out of osity must be interested by perpetual novelty, will a garden, the digging of a fish-pond,- -even the consume a bookseller's window in half a forenoon; raising of a cucumber or a tulip. during which time he is rather in search of diverWhilst our minds are taken up with the objects | sion than diverted; and as books to his taste are

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few, and short, and rapidly read over, the stock is | Benevolence proposes good ends; prudence sugsoon exhausted, when he is left without resource from his principal supply of harmless amuse

ment.

So far as circumstances of fortune conduce to happiness, it is not the income which any man possesses, but the increase of income, that affords the pleasure. Two persons, of whom one begins with a hundred, and advances his income to a thousand pounds a year, and the other sets off with a thousand and dwindles down to a hundred, may, in the course of their time, have the receipt and spending of the same sum of money: yet their satisfaction, so far as fortune is concerned in it, will be very different; the series and sum total of their incomes being the same, it makes a wide difference at which end they begin.

IV. Happiness consists in health.

By health I understand, as well freedom from bodily distempers, as that tranquillity, firmness, and alacrity of mind, which we call good spirits; and which may properly enough be included in our notion of health, as depending commonly upon the same causes, and yielding to the same management, as our bodily constitution.

gests the best means of attaining them; fortitude enables us to encounter the difficulties, dangers, and discouragements, which stand in our way in the pursuit of these ends; temperance repels and overcomes the passions that obstruct it. Benerolence, for instance, prompts us to undertake the cause of an oppressed orphan; prudence suggests the best means of going about it; fortitude enables us to confront the danger, and bear up against the loss, disgrace, or repulse, that may attend our undertaking; and temperance keeps under the love of money, of ease, or amusement, which might divert us from it.

Virtue is distinguished by others into two branches only, prudence and benevolence: prudence, attention to our own interest; benevolence, to that of our fellow-creatures: both directed to the same end, the increase of happiness in nature; and taking equal concern in the future as in the present.

The four CARDINAL virtues are, prudence, fortitude, temperance and justice.

But the division of virtue, to which we are in modern times most accustomed, is into duties;— Towards God; as piety, reverence, resignation, gratitude, &c.

Towards other men (or relative duties;) as justice, charity, fidelity, loyalty, &c.

Health, in this sense, is the one thing needful. Therefore no pains, expense, self-denial, or restraint, to which we subject ourselves for the sake of health, is too much. Whether it require us to relinquish lucrative situations, to abstain from Towards ourselves; as chastity, sobriety, temfavourite indulgences, to control intemperate pas-perance, preservation of life, care of health, &c. sions, or undergo tedious regimens; whatever More of these distinctions have been proposed, difficulties it lays us under, a man, who pursues which it is not worth while to set down." his happiness rationally and resolutely, will be content to submit.

When we are in perfect health and spirits, we feel in ourselves a happiness independent of any particular outward gratification whatever, and of which we can give no account. This is an enjoyment which the Deity has annexed to life; and it probably constitutes, in a great measure, the happiness of infants and brutes, especially of the lower and sedentary orders of animals, as of oysters, periwinkles, and the like; for which I have sometimes been at a loss to find out amusement.

The above account of human happiness will justify the two following conclusions, which, although found in most books of morality, have seldom, I think, been supported by any sufficient

reasons:

FIRST, That happiness is pretty equally distributed amongst the different orders of civil society:

SECONDLY, That vice has no advantage over virtue, even with respect to this world's happi

ness.

CHAPTER VII. Virtue.

VIRTUE is "the doing good to mankind, in obedience to the will of God, and for the sake of everlasting happiness."

According to which definition, "the good of mankind" is the subject; the "will of God," the rule; and "everlasting happiness," the motive, of human virtue.

I shall proceed to state a few observations, which relate to the general regulation of human conduct; unconnected indeed with each other, but very worthy of attention; and which fall as properly under the title of this chapter as of any future one.

I. Mankind act more from habit than reflec

tion.

It is on few only and great occasions that men deliberate at all; on fewer still, that they institute any thing like a regular inquiry into the moral rectitude or depravity of what they are about to do; or wait for the result of it. We are for the most part determined at once; and by an impulse, which is the effect and energy of pre-established habit. And this constitution seems well adapted to the exigences of human life, and to the imbecility of our moral principle. In the current occasions and rapid opportunities of life, there is oftentimes little leisure for reflection; and were there more, a man, who has to reason about his duty, when the temptation to transgress it is upon him, is almost sure to reason himself into an

error.

If we are in so great a degree passive under our habits; Where, it is asked, is the exercise of virtue, the guilt of vice, or any use of moral and religious knowledge? I answer, in the forming and contracting of these habits.

And hence results a rule of life of considerable importance, viz. that many things are to be done and abstained from, solely for the sake of habit. We will explain ourselves by an example or two: -A beggar, with the appearance of extreme disVirtue has been divided by some moralists into tress, asks our charity. If we come to argue the benevolence, prudence, fortitude, and temperance. | matter, whether the distress be real, whether it be

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