So long as the gold itself is in the miser's grasp, it is, and is felt to be, a permanent possession; when it is expended, it is usually for something of a transient nature, which perishes with the using. It seems to him afterward as s、 much utter loss, and is regretted as such. Every such regretted expenditure increases the reluctance to part with another portion of the treasure. There is, moreover, another cir cumstance which heightens this feeling of reluctance. The enjoyment purchased is one and simple. The gold with which it was purchased is the representative, not of that particular form of enjoyment alone, but of a thousand others as well, any one of which might have been procured with the same money. All these possible advantages are now no longer possible. Very great seems the loss. Add to this the circumstance that the miser, in most cases, probably, has accumulated, or set his heart upon accumulating, a certain round sum, say so many thousands or hundreds of thousands. The spending a single dollar breaks that sum, and, therewith, the charm is broken, and he who was a millionaire before that unlucky expenditure, is a millionaire no longer, It is mainly in these feelings of regret, which attend the necessary expenses of the man who has once learned to set a high value upon wealth, that avarice finds, if not its source. at least its chief strength and aliment.

Odiousness of this Vice. There is, perhaps, no passion or vice to which poor human nature is subject, that is, in some respects, more odious and repulsive than this. There is about it no redeeming feature. It is pure and unmingled selfishness, without even the poor apology that most other vices can offer, of contributing to the present enjoyment and sensual gratification of the criminal. The miser is denied even this. He covets, not that he may enjoy, but that be may refrain from enjoying.

Strongest in old Age. "In the contemplation of many of the passions that rage in the heart with greatest fierceess," says Dr. Brown, "there is some comfort in the

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thought that, violent as they may be for a time, they are not to rage through the whole course of life, at least if life be prolonged to old age; that the agitation which at every period will have some intermissions, will grow gradually less as the body grows more weak, and that the mind will at last derive from this very feebleness a repose which it could not enjoy when the vigor of the bodily frame seemed to give to the passion a corresponding vigor. It is not in avarice, however, that this soothing influence of age is to be found. It grows with our growth and with our strength but it strengthens also with our very weakness. There are no intermissions in the anxieties which it keeps awake; and every year, instead of lessening its hold, seems to fix it more deeply within the soul itself, as the bodily covering around it slowly moulders away. The heart which is weary of every thing else is not weary of coveting more gold; the memory which has forgotten every thing else. continues still, as Cato says in Cicero's dialogue, to remember where its gold is stored; the eye is not dim to gold that is dim to every thing beside; the hand which it seems an effort to stretch out and fix upon any thing, appears to gather new strength from the very touch of the gold which it grasps, and has still vigor enough to lift once more, and count once more, though a little more slowly, what it has peen its chief and happiest occupation thus to lift and count for a period of years far longer than the ordinary life of man. When the relations or other expectant heirs gather around his couch, not to comfort, nor even to seem to com. fort, but to await, in decent mimicry of solemn attendance that moment which they rejoice to view approaching; the dying eye can still send a jealous glance to the coffer near which it trembles to see, though it scarcely sees, so many human forms assembled; and that feeling of jealous agony, which follows and outlasts the obscure vision of floating forms that are scarcely remembered, is at once the last mis ery and the last consciousness of life."

SV.-DESIRE OF SOCIETY

A natural Principle. There can be little doubt that the desire of society is one of the original principles of our nature. It shows itself at a very early period of life, and under all the diverse conditions of existence. Its universal manifestation, and that under circumstances which preclude the idea of education or imitation in the matter, proves it an implanted principle, having its seat in the constitution of the mind.

The beast of labor is cheered

Manifested by Animals of every Species. — The child rejoices in the company of its fellows. The lower animals manifest the same regard for each other's society, and are unhappy when separated from their kind. Much of the attachment of the dog to his master may, not improbably, be owing to the same source. and animated by his master's presence, and the patient ox as he toils along the furrow, or the highway, moves more willingly when he hears the well-known step and voice of his owner trudging by his side. Every one knows how much the horse is inspirited by the chance companionship, upon the way, of a fellow-laborer of his own species. Horses that have been accustomed to each other's society on the road, or in the stall, frequently manifest the greatest uneasiness and dejection when separated; and it has been observed by those acquainted with the habits of animals, that cattle do not thrive as well, even in good pasture, when solitary, as when feeding in herds.

Social Organizations of Animals. Accordingly we find most animals, when left to the instinct of nature, associating in herds, and tribes, larger or smaller, according to the habits of the animal. They form their little communities, have their leaders, and, to some extent, their laws, acknowledged and obeyed by all, their established customs and modes of procedure in which associations, thus regu lated, it is impossible not to recognize the essential featur

and principle of what man, in his political associations of the same nature, calls the state. What else are the little communities of the bee, and the ant, and the beaver, but so niany busy cities, and states, of the insect and animal tribes? The social State not adopted because of its Advantages merely. It may be said that man derives advantages from the social state, and adopts it for that reason. Unquestionably he does derive immense advantages from it; but is that the reason he desires it? Is the desire of society consequent upon the advantages, experienced or foreseen, which accrue from it, or are the advantages consequent upon the desire and the adoption of the state in question? Is it matter of expediency and calculation, of policy and necessity, or of native instinct and implanted constitutional desire? What is it with the lower animals? Has not nature provided in their very constitution for their prospective wants, and, by implanting in them the desire for each other's society, laid the foundation for their congregating in tribes and communities? Is it not reasonable to suppose that the same may be true of man? The analogy of nature, the early manifestation of the principle prior to education and experience, the universality and uniformity of its operation, and the fact that it shows itself often in all its strength under circumstances in which very little benefit would seem to result from the social condition, as with the savage races of the extreme North, and with many rude and uncultivated tribes ⚫ of the forest and the desert all these circumstances go to show that the desire of society is founded in the nature of man, and is not a mere matter of calculation and policy.

Man's Nature deficient without this Principle. - And this is a sufficient answer to the theory of those who, with Hobbes, regard the social condition of man as the result of his perception of what is for his own interest, the dictate of prudence and necessity. The very fact that it is for his interest would lead us to expect that some provision should be made for it in his nature and this is precisely what we

find to be the case. Were it otherwise, we should feel that, in one important respect, the nature of man was deficient, inferior even to that of the brute. But the truth is, the whole history of the race is one complete and compact con tradiction of the theory of Hobbes, and shows. with the clearness of demonstration, that the natural condition of man is not that of seclusion, and isolation from his fellows, but of society and companionship.

Strength of this Principle. So strongly is this principle rooted in the very depths of our nature, that when man is for a length of time shut out from the society of his fellow men, he seeks the acquaintance and companionship of brutes, and even of insects, and those animals for whom, ir. his usual condition, he has a marked repugnance, as a relief from utter loneliness and absolute solitude. Mr. Stewart elates the instance of a French nobleman, shut up for several years a close prisoner in the Castle of Pignerol, during the reign of Louis XIV., who amused himself, in his solitude, by watching the movements of a spider, to which he at length became so much attached, that when the jailor, discovering his amusement, killed the spider, he was afflicted with the deepest grief. Silvio Pellico, in his imprisonment, amused himself in like manner. Baron Trench sought to alleviate the wretchedness of his long imprisonment, by cultivating the acquaintance or friendship of a mouse, which in turn manifested a strong attachment to him, played about his person, and took its food from his hand. The fact hav ing been discovered by the officers, the mouse was removed to the guard-room, but managed to find its way back to the prison door, and, at the hour of visitation, when the door was opened, ran into the dungeon, and manifested the greatest delight at finding its master. Being subsequently removed and placed in a cage, it pined, refused all sustenance, and in a few days died. "The loss of this little com. panion made me for some time quite melancholy,” adds the

narrator.