IV.

On Delicacy of Feeling.

THERE is no one disposition of the human heart that affords such exquisite pleasure or pain, as that which we call delicacy: it is the polish of the mind, soiled by the least breath, and affected by the slightest touch. A delicate turn of thought is, in some cases, extremely agreeable, is the sign of a valuable mind, (for base metals are not capable of receiving any great degree of polish) but will not go half so well through the world, as that which is more plain and rough.

Yet, as there is something in this disposition peculiarly elegant and amiable, people are apt to encourage themselves in it, till, from a grace, it becomes a weakness, and diffuses unhappiness to all around them, who must weigh with the exactest care all their words and actions; and it is extremely possible, that all their care may not be enough to prevent giving some grievous offence, which they never meant, and which will express itself in perpetual smartnesses, or an eternal flow of tears, according as the constitution of the deli

cate person inclines to anger or to melancholy. In the latter case, it is more unhappy than in the former for hasty anger is easily passed off; but nobody of good nature can bear to see a person affected, in the most painful manner, by things so trifling, as they may be guilty of every moment, without knowing any thing of the matter.

This consideration should make us extremely careful in our behaviour to those amongst whom we live. Perhaps some little heedlessness of ours may seem a most cruel slight to one we never intend to grieve, and oppress a worthy mind with the most melancholy dejection. A careless word, spoken quite at random, or merely by rote, may give a delicate heart the most anxious distress : and those of us who have the most prudence andgood nature, say and do a hundred things, in our way of talking about characters we know little of, or behaving towards those to whom we little attend, that have much more grievous consequences than we are aware of.

But then, on the other hand, we should, in ourselves, most strictly guard against all excess of this delicacy; and though we cannot help feeling things in the quickest manner for the moment, we should arm our reason against our feeling, and not permit imagination to indulge it, and nurse it up into a misery for misery, if indulged, it will certainly occasion; since an excess of delicacy is the source of constant dissatisfaction, through too eager a

pursuit of something every way higher than is to be had.

The person of delicate judgment sees every thing, as it were, with a microscopic eye; so that what would be a pleasing object to a common spectator, is, to him, unsupportably coarse and disagreeable. The person of lively and delicate imagination disdains the common routine of comfort and satisfaction, and seeks for happiness in an airy sphere not formed to give it; or pursues misery through a wild and endless maze, which at every turning grows more inextricable. By this refined delicacy of sentiment, to put ourselves on so different a footing from the rest of the world, that it is scarce possible we should ever understand one another, is only vain vexation.

In friendships especially, this excess of delicacy is often of fatal ill consequence: from hence spring suspicions and jealousies; from hence arise doubts and disquiets that know no end, unless it be, that they often quite weary out the patience of the persons whom they are thus perpetually teazing for their affection. I have known instances of this kind, that are sufficient warnings against it.

As for the affairs of common life, they can scarcely go on, where every little nicety is to be turned into a matter of importance. I knew a family, good, agreeable, sensible, and fond of each other to the highest degree; but where each was

so delicate, and so tender of the delicacy of the rest, that they could never talk to one another of any serious business, but were forced to transact it all by means of a third person, a man of plain sense, and a common friend to all.

Poor Lucius! how much constraint and real un. easiness does he suffer from the delicacy that proceeds from having a genius infinitely superior to most he meets with! By having a mind above the low enjoyments of this state of being, he is deprived of many hours of most innocent cheerfulness, which other people are happy in. He has an understanding so fitted for the deepest researches and the sublimest speculations, that the common affairs and engagements of life seem vastly beneath him. He has a delicacy, in his turn of mind, that is shocked every day by the less refined behaviour and conversation of the generality of mankind; and it must be a very chosen society indeed, that he prefers to his beloved solitude. This disposition gives him a reservedness, that, in another character, might pass for pride, as it makes him mix less freely in those companies that he is unavoidably engaged in. However, it has certainly this ill consequence; that it makes his virtues of less extensive influence than they would be if they were more generally known. He is naturally extremely grave, and, perhaps, with the assistance of reason and experience, which prove the insufficiency of any pleasures or attainments, in this life, to make us happy, this seriousness is heightened so as to give himself many a

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gloomy moment, though other people never feel the effect of it, by any ill humour or severity to wards them. A turn of mind, so superior to any of the common occurrences or amusements of life, can seldom be much affected or enlivened by them: but as so excellent an understanding must have the truest taste for real wit, so no one has a more lively sense of all that is peculiarly just and delicate. These pleasures, however, are little compensations for the much more frequent disgusts to which the same turn of mind renders him liable. Happy, thrice happy, are those humble people, whose sensations are fitted to the world they live in!

Those pleasures, which the imagination greatly heightens, it will certainly make us pay dear enough for; since the pain of parting with them will be greatly increased, in full proportion, not to their value, but to our enjoyment. The world was intended to be just what it is; and there is no likelihood of our succeeding in the romantic scheme of raising it above what it is. To distract ourselves with a continual succession of eager hopes and anxious fears, is a folly destructive to our nature and to the very end of our being. We are formed for moderate sensations either of pain or pleasure; to feel such degrees of uneasiness only as we are very able to support; and to enjoy such a measure of happiness, as we may easily resign, nay thankfully too, when religion has opened the prospect to a brighter scene; to meet with many rubs and difficulties, which we must get over, or