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Freedom of feeling and freedom of action.

each other, and I command you immediately to do it." They may fear parental displeasure, they may know that they should be happier if they were united in heart; but will affection come at once at their call?

The entire free agency of man, by which is meant his freedom from all external restraint in his conduct, cannot be asserted too frequently, or kept too distinctly in the view of every human being. There is such a thing however as presenting this subject in such a light as to lead the mind to the erroneous idea that all the affections of the heart are in the same sense under the control of

the will as the motions of the body are. I do not mean that any respectable writer or preacher will advocate such a view, but only that in expressing his belief in human freedom, in sweeping and unqualified terms, he may unintentionally convey the impression. There is unquestionably a very essential difference between a man's freedom of feeling and his freedom of acting. A may may be induced to act by a great variety of means. a motive of any kind, if strong enough, will be sufficient. Suppose, for instance, a sea-captain wishes to induce a man to leap off from the deck of his ship into the sea; he may attempt in a great many ways to obtain his object. He may command him to do it, and threaten punishment if he disobeys; he may try to hire him to do it; he may show the sailor that his little son has fallen overboard, and thus induce the parent to risk his life that he may save that of his child. He may thus in various ways appeal to very different feelings of the human heart-love of money, fear, or parental affection—and if by either of these, the volition, as metaphysicians term it, i. e. the determination, can be formed, the man goes overboard in a moment. He can do any thing which, from any motive whatever, he resolves to do.

In regard however to the feelings of the heart, it is far different. Though man is equally a free agent in regard

Illustration.

to these, it is in quite a different way; that is, the feelings of the heart are not to be managed and controlled by simple determinations; as this external conduct may be. Suppose, for instance, the captain wished that sailor to be grateful for some favor he had received, and of which he had been entirely regardless; and suppose he should command him to be grateful, and threaten him with some punishment if he should refuse; or suppose he should endeavor to hire him to be grateful, or should try to persuade him to be thankful for past favors in order to get more. It would be absurd. Gratitude, like any other feeling of the heart, though it is of a moral nature, and though man is perfectly free in exercising it, will not always come whenever the man determines to bring it. The external conduct is thus controlled by the determination of the mind, on whatever motives those determinations may be founded, but the feelings and affections of the heart are under no such direct control.

There is certainly, for all practical purposes, a great distinction between the heart and the conduct-between the moral condition of the soul and those specific acts which arise from it. Two children, a dutiful and a disobedient one, are walking together in a beautiful garden, and suddenly the gardener tells them that their father did not wish them to walk there. Now, how different will be the effect which this annunciation will make upon them! The one will immediately obey, leaving with alacrity the place which his father did not wish him to pass. The other will linger and make excuses, or perhaps altogether disobey. Just before they received the communication they were perhaps not thinking of their father at all; but though their minds were acting on other subjects, they possessed distinct and opposite characters as sons, characters which rendered it probable that one would comply with his father's wishes as soon as those wishes should be known, and that the other would

Metaphysical controversy.

Story of the Duke of Gloucester.

not. So in all other cases; a dishonest man is dishonest in character when he is not actually stealing, and a humble and devoted Christian will have his heart in a right state even when he is entirely engrossed in some intellectual pursuit, or involved in the perplexities of busi

ness.

I am aware that, among metaphysical philosophers, there is a controversy on the question whether all which is of a moral nature, i. e. which is blameworthy or praiseworthy, may not be shown to be specific, voluntary acts of the moral being. Into this question I do not intend to enter at all;—for if what is commonly called character, in contradistinction from conduct, may be resolved into voluntary acts, it is certainly to be done only by a nice metaphysical analysis, which common Christians cannot be expected to follow.

To illustrate the nature of this subject, i. c. the distinction, for all practical purposes, between character and conduct, I must give the following narrative, which I take from Hume, with some alterations of form to make it more intelligible in this connection.

In early periods of the English history, Richard, duke of Gloucester, an intriguing and ambitious man, formed the design of usurping the throne. The former king had left several children, who were the proper heirs to the crown. They were however young, and Richard gained possession of the government, ostensibly that he might manage it until they were of age, when he was to surrender it to them again—but really with the design of putting them and all their influential friends to death, and thus usurping the throne.

One of the most powerful and faithful friends of the young princes was Lord Hastings, and the following is the account which Hume gives of the manner in which he was murdered by Richard.

Richard's artful plan.

"The duke of Gloucester knowing the importance of gaining Lord Hastings, sounded at a distance his sentiments by means of a lawyer who lived in great intimacy with that nobleman; but found him impregnable in his allegiance and fidelity to the children of Edward, who had ever honored him with his friendship. He saw therefore, that there were no longer any measures to be kept with him; and he determined to ruin utterly the man whom he despaired of engaging to concur in his usurpation. Accordingly, at a certain day, he summoned a council in the Tower, whither Lord Hastings, suspecting no design against him, repaired without hesitation. The duke of Gloucester was capable of committing the most bloody and treacherous murders with the utmost coolness and indifference. On taking his place at the council table, he appeared in the easiest and most jovial humor imaginable; he seemed to indulge himself in familiar conversation with the counsellors before they should enter on business; and having paid some compliments to one of them, on the good and early strawberries which he raised in his garden, he begged the favor of having a dish of them. A servant was immediately despatched to bring them to him. Richard then left the council, as if called away by some other business: but soon after returning, with an angry and inflamed countenance he asked them,

"What punishment do those deserve that have plotted against my life, who am so nearly related to the king, and am entrusted with the administration of government?" Hastings replied that they merited the punishment of traitors. "These traitors," then cried the protector, "are the sorceress, my brother's wife, and Jane Shore, his mistress, with others their associates: see to what a condition they have reduced me by their incantations and witchcraft." As he said this, he laid bare his arm, all shrivelled and decayed; but the counsellors, who knew that this infirmity had attended him from his birth, looked

Violent measures.

on each other with amazement; Lord Hastings began to be alarmed:

"Certainly, my lord,' said he, if they be guilty of these crimes they deserve the severest punishment.'

"And do you reply to me,' exclaimed Richard,' with your ifs and your ands? You are the chief abettor of that witch Shore! You are yourself a traitor: and by St. Paul I will not dine before your head be brought me.'

"He struck the table with his hand: armed men rushed in at the signal: the counsellors were thrown into the utmost consternation: and one of the guards, as if by accident or a mistake, aimed a blow with a poll-ax at one of the lords, named Stanley, who, aware of the danger, slunk under the table; and though he saved his life, received a severe wound in the head in Richard's presence. Hastings was seized, was hurried away, and instantly beheaded on a timber log which lay in the court of the Tower. Two hours after, a proclamation, so well penned and fairly written, that it must have been prepared before, was read to the citizens of London, enumerating his offences, and apologizing to them, from the suddenness of the discovery, for the sudden execution of that nobleman, who was very popular among them."

After this act of violence Richard went forward with his plans until he attained complete ultimate success. He caused the unhappy young princes whose claims were' between him and the throne, to be confined in the Tower, a famous castle and prison on the banks of the Thames, in the lower part of London. He then sent orders to the constable of the Tower to put his innocent and help. less victims to death. The officer declined performing so infamous an' act. He then ordered the constable to give up, for one night, the command of the Tower to another man. He did so, and the duke sent Sir James Tyrrel, who promised to see that his cruel orders were

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