the duty of one, to love him from whom he has received important kindnesses, to study the interests of him, by whom his own have been promoted, and in every service which requires only zeal, and not a sacrifice of virtue, to be assiduous in repaying what can be repaid,-not from any eager wish to shake off the obligation, which is truly in itself a species of ingratitude, but from the sincere desire of increasing the happiness of one who is sincerely loved, and who has given so much reason to love him.

These are the duties of the obliged. But though we are not much accustomed to think of the duties of benefactors, the obliger too has moral obligations to fulfil, and obligations which, while they are as truly incumbent, as the duties of the obliged, are far more difficult to be fulfilled:-the duty of making his benefits press as lightly, as benefits to the same amount can press, by unfailing attentions to him whom he has obliged, a condescension, that makes itself felt, however, not as condescension, which would recall the obligation more powerfully, but only as kindness, which seems to arise with out any thought of former benefits, from the overflowing goodness of a benevolent heart. It would be manifestly cruel to repeat to any one, on whom we had conferred an important favour, "Remember the favour which I conferred on you;" but since it is not in the direct words only that such a meaning can be conveyed, it is cruel also, by excessive and ill placed forms of ostentatious civility, to seem constantly to say to him, that we are thus very kind, and that we have never forgotten the generosity which we showed him, at the distance, perhaps, of many years.

When a benefactor forgets his duties, and makes a cruel use of the favours which he may have conferred, there is no tyrant whose cruelty is more oppressive; because it is the tyranny of one whom we cannot oppose like other tyrants. They may, indeed, shackle our arms; but the iron clasp of this moral oppressor is placed where it is most powerfully felt, upon the heart itself, that may feel the worthlessness, but that is deprived of all power of rising against it. There are beings of this kind, who use the means of beneficence, only for purposes the most malevolent,-whose very gifts are snares, who oblige that they may afterwards be malicious with impunity, exacting, ever after, from their unfortunate. victim, assiduities and services which it is unreasonable to pay, and rejoicing, if he fail in them, that they may have the still greater pleasure of proclaiming his ingratitude.

"Ingratitude, indeed," as Rousseau justly observes, "would be far rarer than it is, if the benefactor were less frequently VOL. III.-U u

an usurer. What has done us good, is dear to us, by the very sentiment of our nature. Ingratitude is not in the heart of man; but interest is there; and the obliged who are ungrateful, are far fewer in number than the obligers, who are interested, and who have sold what they have only feigned to give. When is it," he continues, "that we see any one who is forgotten by his benefactor, forget him? A benefactor who can thus forget, the obliged never fails to remember, he speaks of him with pleasure, as he thinks of him with tenderness. If an opportunity occur, on which he can show, by any unexpected service, that he remembers the service which was before conferred upon himself,--with what internal delight does he then satisfy his gratitude,-with what expression of joy does he make himself recognized,-with what transport does he say, My turn is come! Such is the genuine voice of nature. A kindness, that was truly a kindness, never yet found a bosom that was ungrateful."*

The expression, if it were meant to be understood strictly, would certainly be a little too strong; since there may be ingratitude, even to the most generous, as there may be any other atrocious offence. But it is only in the bosoms of the most atrocious, that such ingratitude can arise and of this, at least, we may be sure, that the best preservative against a failure of duty on the part of the obliged, is for the obliger himself to fulfil all the duties of a benefactor.

* Oeuv. de J. J. Rousseau, Emile, liv. iv. Tome VII. p. 56. a Paris, 1819.

339

LECTURE XC.

ON THE DUTIES OF CONTRACT; ON THE DUTIES OF CITI

ZENSHIP.

GENTLEMEN, we have now considered the nature of the duties, which arise from our peculiar connexion with certain individuals, as our relatives in consanguinity or wedlock, our friends, our benefactors. There remain still to be considered by us, two species of duties, that arise from connexions of a more general kind, the duties of contract, which of course vary with the nature of our particular engagements, and the duties of citizenship, or of patriotic regard, which extend to all the individuals that are comprehended with us, under one system of government.

Though the practical rules of morality, which regard contracts, strictly as contracts, are all founded on the great principle, that each party in the contract, is under a moral obligation to fulfil what he has undertaken to perform, in the manner in which he had reason to believe the engagement to be understood, by the party with whom he contracted, it may be of advantage, to consider, separately, the contracts, which relate to objects of commercial barter, and those which relate to personal service. Some personal services, indeed, are truly objects of barter, as much as any of the articles of daily sale, of which we usually think when we speak of commerce; but still there are so many other circumstances of moral influence connected with the contracts of service, that they may very fairly, at least the most important of them, which connects the master and the servant, and admits a stranger into the general system of relationships,-be regarded in ethics, as constituting a species apart.

The command which mere barter gives us, even when the objects of the barter are present objects exchanged for present objects, is no slight accession to the comfort of mankind. What is useless to ourselves is thus instantly invested with

utility, by becoming the medium of acquiring for us, what is directly useful. But such direct barter, of present objects for present objects, would be only a small part of the commerce from which our wants might receive aid, if no more than the possessions of the present moment, were allowed to enter into the mutual transference. We may have present wants, which the superfluities of others might gratify, though we may be, at present, without the possession of any thing, which can purchase them as a fair equivalent; and we may have this inability of present purchase, with the certainty, that we shall at some period more or less near, love that which, if possessed by us now, would be gladly purchased from us, by the cession of those articles of use or luxury, which our wants of the moment require. A contract is truly, in its moral operation such a transfer of the future for the present,---or of some future object, which we value less, for a future object which we value more. Its effect is to free us, in a great measure, from the influence of time, as far as our mere commerce is concerned,―to render every thing which our power, in any moment of our life, may command, present, as it were, at the very hour in which we make our purchase,-enabling us thus to form, of all the property which we are ever to possess, and of all the energies which we are ever to be capable of exerting, one great fund, which we may employ with equal and ready command, for all the purposes that seem to us, at any one moment, most essential to our happiness.

If that power, by which we are thus enabled to bargain for the future, be so important an instrument of public convenience, the breach of the contracts, on the stability of which, that is to say, on the good faith of which, the power is founded, we may well suppose, will be regarded by the community as an injury to its essential interests; and the individual guilty of it, should feel, not merely the self-disapprobation, which arises from the thought of having deceived, for purposes of selfish profit, any one member of the community,—but that also, which arises from the thought of having contributed to weaken the great support of public confidence, and to reduce the whole power of society, to those few exertions, which it is capable of making at any one instant, or the few immediate objects of barter, which are at any one instant absolutely possessed.

Of that most useful power, which the general sy stem of contracts gives us over time itself, he does all which an individual can do to deprive us ;—for he does that, which if all other individuals did in like manner, the power of bargaining for the future, which exists only by mutual confidence, would

cease instantly in mutual distrust. From a command over every moment of our life, we should be reduced to a single moment of it,-the moment, in which we could give with one hand, while we received with the other.

Man, therefore, is morally bound to perform the engagements which he has undertaken to fulfil,-whether there be or be not, in the individual with whom the contract was made, any power of enforcing the fulfilment. In this obligation, where it has been voluntarily made, there are truly no limits but the physical power of the individual, and the independent morality of that which is undertaken to be performed. Where we have undertaken to perform, what no exertions on our part, however active and unremitting, could accomplish, we cannot feel remorse at not having done what we were unable to do; whatever moral disapprobation we may feel of our engagement itself, as undertaken rashly, and as tending to excite expectation in others, which, as they were beyond our power of gratifying them, we had no title to excite. In like manner, when the action which we have undertaken to perform, is one which, as affecting the happiness, or means of happiness, of others whose happiness we have no title to disturb, it would be immoral in us to perform, if we had not entered into the engagement, the performance of it would be immoral still, though we may have entered into the most solemn engagement,-for there is no form of words, no promise, no oath, which can render just, what was injustice to others before. In such a case it cannot excite our remorse, that we have not done what it would be remorse to have done :-our moral disapprobation of ourselves may arise, indeed, and should rise :-but it arises at the remembrance of the engagement itself, not at the thought of the failure in the engagement. We have now to regret one delinquency. But if we had performed what he had engaged to do, we should then, instead of one species of moral regret, have been subject to two feelings of that sort. We should have had to repent, as now, of the guilt of engaging to do what was morally wrong,-and to repent also of the continued guilt of wilfully persisting in an action, which we felt to be iniquitous.

When that which we have engaged to do, is truly within our power,-when it is undertaken voluntarily, and when the performance involves no violation of moral duty,-it would be a violation of moral duty not to perform it,-or, though perhaps, with more verbal exactness, to perform it less fully than we know to have been understood and intended, in the spirit of the mutual convention. The contract may, indeed, if we consider the mere words of it, often imply more or less than