DEFORMITY, the want of that uniformity necessary to constitute the beauty of an object.
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Deformity is either natural or moral. These are both referred by Mr Hutcheson to an internal sense; and our perceptions of them, as he supposes, arise from an original and arbitrary structure of our own minds, by which certain objects, when observed, are rendered the occasions of certain sensations and affections.

That many objects afford no pleasure to our sense is obvious. Many are certainly void of beauty; but then, says this author, there is no form which seems necessarily disagreeable of itself, when we dread no evil from it, and compare it with nothing better of the kind. Many objects are naturally displeasing and distasteful to our external senses, whilst others are pleasing and agreeable, as smells, tastes, and some separate sounds; but with regard to our sense of beauty, no composition of objects which produce not unpleasant simple ideas, seems positively unpleasant or painful of itself, had we never observed any thing better of the same kind.

Had there been a species of the form which we now denominate ugly or deformed, and had we never seen nor expected greater beauty, we should have received no disgust from it, though the pleasure would not have been so great in this form as in those which we now admire. Our sense of beauty seems designed to give us positive pleasure, but not positive pain or disgust, any further than what arises from disappointment.

There are indeed many faces which at first view are apt to raise dislike. But this generally arises not from any positive deformity, but either from want of expected beauty, or from the carrying some natural indications of morally bad dispositions, which we all acquire a faculty of discerning in countenances, airs, and gestures. That this is not occasioned by any form positively disgusting, appears from the circumstance, that if, upon long acquaintance, we are sure of finding sweetness of temper, humanity, and cheerfulness, though the bodily form continues, it will occasion us no disgust. There are horrors raised by some objects, which are only the effects of fear for ourselves, or compassion towards others, when either reason or some foolish association of idea⅛ r makes us apprehend danger, and not the effect of any thing in the form itself. For we find, that most of those objects which excite horror at first, when experience or reason has removed the fear, may become the occasion of pleasure.

The casual conjunction of ideas occasions us disgust when there is nothing disagreeable in the form itself. And this, in effect, is the cause of most of our fantastic aversions to the figures of divers animals. Thus serpents of all kinds, and many insects, really beautiful enough, are beheld with aversion by many people, who have some accidental ideas of mischief associated with them. A similar reasoning is applied to our perception of moral beauty and deformity. (See Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue, passim.)

But it is more to the present purpose to distinguish between the sentiments of delight or disgust, excited in our minds by beautiful or deformed objects, which are effects of certain causes, and the natural and real qualities of the perceived objects by which they are produced. There are objects, says an excellent writer, which have a natural aptitude to please or offend, or between which and the contemplating mind there is a necessary congruity or incongruity; and though the actual perception of the understanding, and consequent feeling of the heart, in contemplating the actions and affections of moral agents, may exist in very different degrees, on account of the incidental obstructions arising from bodily indisposition, mental prejudices and biasses, and the association of ideas; yet, in every rational mind properly disposed, morally good actions must for ever be acceptable, and can never of themselves offend; and morally evil actions must for ever be disagreeable, and can never of themselves please. What is right in actions and characters is beautiful and amiable, and gives pleasure; what is wrong is deformed and odious, and excites disgust. Right and pleasure, wrong and pain, are as distinct as cause and effect. It is no less absurd to maintain that the perception of virtue is nothing distinct from the perception of the pleasure resulting from it, than to infer, with some metaphysicians, that solidity, extension, and figure, are only particular modes of sensation, because attended, whenever they are perceived, with some sensations of sight or touch. Thus does the author show that moral beauty and deformity are real qualities of certain actions, in which consists their aptitude to please or disgust. With respect to natural beauty, he observes, that uniformity amidst variety pleases, because the natures of variety and uniformity are such, that whenever united, they are adapted to please every unbiassed mind that discerns them. He accounts for the pleasure they afford, without referring them to an arbitrary internal sense, by the following circumstances which attend them. They are more easily comprehended by the mind: order and symmetry give things their stability and strangth, and subserviency to any valuable purpose: regularity and order are evidence of art and design. Disorder and confusion, whence deformity arises, denote only the negation of regularity and order; or any arrangement and disposition of things, which are not according to a law, rule, or plan, and prove not design. These are not positively displeasing, except where we previously expected order, or where impotence or want of skill appear, and the contriver has either failed in his design or executed it unskilfully.

In a work entitled Fugitive Pieces is preserved an essay on Bodily Deformity, by William Hay, who was himself what he describes, and who, whilst he ridicules his own figure with great pleasantry, discusses the general subject in a manner equally instructive and agreeable. He considers, first, the natural consequences of bodily deformity; secondly, how it affects the outward circumstances; and, thirdly, what turn it gives to the mind.

It is certain that the human frame, when warped and disproportioned, is lessened in strength and activity, and rendered less fit for its functions. Scarron had invented an engine to take off his hat; “and I wish,” says our author, “I could invent one to buckle my shoe, or to take up a thing from the ground, which I can scarce do without kneeling; for I can bend my body no farther than it is bent by nature. For this reason, when ladies drop a fan or glove, I am not the first to take it up, and often restrain my inclination to perform those little services, rather than expose my spider-like shape. And I hope it will not be construed as pride, if I do not always rise from my seat when I ought; for if it is low, 1 find some trouble in it; and my centre of gravity is so ill placed, that I am often like to fall back. Things hanging within the reach of others are out of mine; and what they can execute with ease, I want strength to perform. 1 am in danger of being trampled upon or stifled in a crowd, where my back is a convenient lodgment for the elbow of any tall person that is near. I can see nothing; and my whole employment is to guard my person. 1 have forborne to attend his majesty in the House of Peers, since I was like to be squeezed to death there against the wall. I would willingly come thither when his majesty commands; but he is too gracious to expect impossibilities. Besides, when I get in, I can never have the pleasure of seeing on the throne one of the best princes who ever sat on it. These, and many others, are the inconveniences continually attending a figure like mine. They may appear grievous to persons not used to them, but they grow easier by habit; and though [7:7:674]they may a little disturb, they are not sufficient to destroy the happiness of life, of which, at an average, I have enjoyed as great a share as most men. And perhaps one proof of it may be my writing this essay, not intended as a complaint against Providence for my lot, but as an innocent amusement to myself and others.”

As to what effect deformity may have on the health, it appears natural to imagine, that as the inward parts of the body must in some measure conform with the outward mould, so the form of the latter being irregular, the former cannot be so well placed and disposed to perform their functions; and that generally deformed persons would not be healthy or long lived. But this is a question best determined by facts; and in regard to it the instances are too few or too little observed to enable us to draw a general conclusion from them; yet health is more than is commonly thought in a man’s own power, and the reward of temperance more than the effect of constitution, which makes it more difficult to pass a judgment. Aesop could not be young when he died, and might have lived longer if he had not been murdered at Delphi. The Prince of Orange scarcely passed the meridian of life, and the Duke of Luxembourg died about the age of sixty-seven. The Lord Treasurer Burghley lived to seventy-eight; but his son, the Earl of Salisbury, died about fifteen years after him. It is said that Mr Pope’s father was deformed, and he lived to the age of seventy-five; whereas the son died in middle age, if he may be said to die whose works are immortal. “My father,” adds our author, “was not deformed, but active, and my mother a celebrated beauty; and I, that am so unlike them, have lived to a greater age, and daily see my acquaintance of a stronger frame quitting the stage before me.”

But whether deformity, abstractedly considered, be really prejudicial to health, in its consequences it appears to be most commonly an advantage. Deformed persons have less strength than others, and therefore should naturally be more careful to preserve it; and as temperance is highly conducive to health, it may incline them to be more temperate. Another great preservative of health is moderate exercise, which few deformed persons can want strength to take. As a deformed person is not formed for violent exercise, he is less liable to such disorders as are the natural consequences of it. He will also escape many accidents, to which men of athletic make, and who glory in their strength, are always exposing themselves, to make trial and proof of it. If he cannot carry an ox, like Milo, he will not, like Milo, be handcuffed in the oak by attempting to rend it. He will not be the man that shall ride from London to York in a day, or to Windsor in an hour, for a wager; or that shall be perpetually performing surprisingly long journeys in a surprisingly short time, for no earthly business but the pleasure of relating them. Conscious of his own weakness, he will be cautious of running into places or occasions of danger. Nature, too, warns deformed persons to be careful not to offer such affronts as may call them forth into the field of false honour, where they cannot acquit themselves well for want of strength and agility; and they are the more secure from such affronts themselves, since others will consider the little credit to be gained by compelling them to appear on that scene. On the whole, therefore, it may be concluded that deformity is a protection to a man’s health and person; which, strange as it may appear, are better defended by feebleness than by strength.

The influence of bodily deformity on a man’s fortune may next be considered. Amongst the lower class, he is cut off from many professions and employments. He cannot be a soldier, for he is under standard; he cannot be a sailor, since he wants activity to climb the rigging; he cannot be a chairman or porter, because he wants strength to bear the burden. In higher life, he is ill qualified for a lawyer, as he can scarcely be seen over the bar; and for a divine, since he may drop from his hassock out of sight in his pulpit. The improvement of his mind is his proper province, and his business should only be such as depends’ on ingenuity. If he cannot be a dancing-master to adjust the heels, he may be a schoolmaster to instruct the head; he cannot be a graceful actor on the stage, but he may produce a good play; he would appear ill as a herald in a procession, but he may pass as a merchant on the Change; he cannot undergo the fatigue of the campaign, but he may advise the operations of it; he is designed by nature rather to sleep on the two-topped Parnassus, than to descend to the plains of Aeolis; he cannot be crowned at the Olympic games, but may be the Pindar to celebrate them; he can acquire no glory by the sword, but he may by the pen, and may grow famous by only relating those exploits which it is beyond his power to imitate.

Lord Bacon, whose extensive and penetrating genius pointed out every part of nature for examination, in his Essay on Deformity says, “that in their superiors it quencheth jealousy towards them, as persons that they think they may at pleasure despise; and it layeth their competitors and emulators asleep, as never believing they should be in a possibility of advancement till they see them in possession.” But it is much to be doubted whether this is not more than counterbalanced by the contempt of the world, which it requires no mean parts to conquer; for if, as has been said, a good person is a letter of recommendation, deformity must be an obstruction in the way to favour. In this respect, therefore, deformed persons set out in the world at a disadvantage; and they must first surmount the prejudices of mankind before they can be upon a par with others, and must obtain by a course of behaviour that regard which is paid to beauty at first sight. When this point is once gained, the tables are turned, and then the game goes in their favour; for others, sensible of injustice towards them, no sooner find them better than they expected, tfian they believe them better than they are; whereas in the beautiful person they sometimes find themselves imposed upon, and are angry that they have worshipped only a painted idol. For, to use Lord Bacon’s words, “neither is it almost seen that very beautiful persons are otherwise of great virtue: they prove accomplished, but not of great spirit; and study rather behaviour than virtue. Whereas deformed persons, if they be of spirit, will free themselves from scorn, which must be either by virtue or malice; and therefore let it not be marvelled if they sometimes prove excellent persons, as was Agesilaus, Zanger the son of Solomon, Aesop, Gasea, president of Peru; and Socrates may likewise go amongst them, with others.” Nay, he says, “in a great wit deformity is an advantage to rising;” and in another part of his works, “that they who by accident have some inevitable and indelible mark on their persons or fortunes, as deformed people, bastards, and the like, if they want not virtue, generally prove fortunate.”

Osborn, in his Historical Memoirs of Queen Elizabeth, informs us, that “she chose the goodliest persons for her household servants; but in her counsellors did not put by sufficiency, though accompanied with a crooked person; as it chanced in a father and a son of the Cecils, both incomparable for prudence.” It is well known the queen would make the father, Burghley, sit in her presence, telling him that she did not use him for his legs, but his head. But the son, afterwards Lord Treasurer and Earl of Salisbury, was not so civilly treated by the populace; and he is an instance not only that envy pursues a great man, but that the highest post cannot redeem a deformed one [7:7:675]from contempt: it attends him like his shadow, and like that, too, is ever reminding him of his ill figure, which is often objected to for want of real crimes. For the same writer says of the same great man, “that the misfortunes accompanying him from his birth did not a little add to that cloud of detraction that fell upon all that he said or did; a mulct in nature, like an optic spectacle, multiplying much in the sight of the people the apparitions of ill.” Nor was this contempt buried with him; it trampled on his ashes and insulted his grave; as appears by an epitaph which Osborn cites, as devoid of wit as it is full of scurrility; in one line of which there is an epithet, not so elegant as descriptive of his person, namely, “little Bossive Robin that was so great.”

Such contempt in general, joined with the ridicule of the vulgar, is another certain consequence of bodily deformity; for men naturally despise that which appears less beautiful or useful, and their pride is gratified when they see such foils to their own persons. It is this sense of superiority which is testified by laughter in the lower sort; whilst their betters, who know how little any man whatsoever has to boast of, are restrained by good sense and good breeding from such an insult. But it is not easy to say why one species of deformity should be more ridiculous than another, or why the mob should be more merry with a crooked man than with one who is deaf, lame, squinting, or purblind. It is a back in alto relievo which bears all the ridicule, though one would think a prominent belly a much more reasonable object of derision, since the last is generally the effect of intemperance, and of a man’s own creation. Socrates was ugly, but not contemned; and Philopoemen had a very mean appearance; but though contemned on that account, he was not ridiculed. Montaigne says, “Ill features are but a superficial ugliness, and of little certainty in the opinion of men; but a deformity of limbs is more substantial, and strikes deeper in.” As it is more uncommon, it is more remarkable; and that perhaps is the true reason why it is more ridiculed by ' the vulgar.

The last consideration on this subject relates to those passions and affections which most naturally result from deformity. Lord Bacon observes, that “deformed persons are commonly even with nature; for as nature hath done ill by them, so do they by nature, being for the most part (as the Scripture saith) void of natural affection” But Mr Hay says, “I can neither find out this passage in Scripture, nor the reason of it; nor can I give my assent or negative to a proposition, till I am well acquainted with the terms of it. If by natural affection is here meant universal benevolence, and that deformity necessarily implies a want of it, a deformed person must then be a complete monster. But however common the case may be, my own sensations inform me that it is not universally true. If by natural affection is meant a partial regard for individuals, I believe the remark is judicious, and founded in human nature. Deformed persons are despised, ridiculed, and ill-treated by others; they are seldom favourites, and commonly most neglected by parents, guardians, and relations; and therefore, as they are not indebted for much fondness, it is no wonder if they repay but little. It is the command of Scripture, not to set our affections on things below ; and it is the voice of reason not to overvalue what we must soon part with; therefore, to be so fond of others as not to be able to bear their absence or to survive them, is neither a religious nor moral duty, but a childish and womanish weakness; and I must congratulate deformed persons, who by example are early taught another lesson. And I will now lay open my own heart to the reader, that he may judge if Lord Bacon’s position is verified in me.

“1 hope it proceeds not from a malignity of heart; but

I never am much’affected with the common accidents off life, whether they befal myself or others. I am little moved when I hear of death, loss, or misfortune; I think the case is common. “Tritus, et e medio fortunae ductus accrvo.” And as it is always likely to happen, I am not surprised when it does. If I see a person cry or beat his breast on any such occasion, I cannot bear him company, but am not a Democritus to laugh at his folly. I read of battles and fields covered with slain; of cities destroyed by sword, famine, pestilence, and earthquake; I do not shed a tear. I suppose it is because they are the usual storms to which the human species are exposed, proceeding from the just judgments of God, or the mistaken and false principles of rulers. I read of persecutions, tortures, murders, massacres; my compassion for the sufferers is great, but my tears are stopped by resentment and indignation against the contrivers and perpetrators of such horrid actions. But there are many things that bring tears into my eyes whether I will or no; and when I reflect, I am often at a loss in searching out the secret source from whence they flow. What makes me weep (for weep I do) when I read of virtue or innocence in distress; of a good man helpless and forsaken, unmoved by the greatest insults and cruelties, or courageously supporting himself against oppression in the article of death? 1 suppose it is to see vice tri umphant, and virtue so ill rewarded in this life. May I judge by myself, I should imagine that few sincere Christians could read the sufferings of their Saviour, or Englishmen those of a Cranmer, Ridley, or Latimer, without tears; the first dying to establish his religion, the last to rescue it from corruption. When I read of Regulus returning to torment, and John of France to imprisonment, against the persuasion of friends, to keep faith with their enemies, I weep to think there is scarce another instance of such exalted virtue. Those who often hear me read know that my voice changes, and my eyes are full when I meet with a generous and heroic saying, action, or character, especially of persons whose example or command may influence mankind. I weep when 1 hear a Titus say, that he had lost the day in which he did no good; when Adrian tells his enemy that he had escaped by his being emperor; or Louis XII. that he is not to revenge the affront of the Duke of Orleans. These are the first instances that happen to occur to me. I might recollect many, too many to insert in this essay; yet all are but few, compared to instances of cruelty and revenge; perhaps I am concerned that they are so rare; perhaps too I inwardly grieve that I am not in a situation to do the like. I am entertained, but not moved, when I read Voltaire’s History of Charles XII.; but I melt into tears on reading Hanway’s character of his antagonist Peter the Great. The first is a story of a madman; the other of a father, friend, and benefactor of his people, whose character, as the author observes in the conclusion of it, will command the admiration of all succeeding generations; and I suppose I lament that God is pleased to advance to royalty so few such instruments of good to mankind.”

Again: “I am uneasy when I see a dog, a horse, or any other animal, ill treated: for I consider them as endued with quick sense, and no contemptible share of reason; and that God gave man dominion over them, not to play the tyrant, but to be a good prince, and promote the happiness of his subjects. But I am much more uneasy at any cruelty to my own species; and heartily wish Procrustes disciplined in his own bed, and Phalaris in his bull. A man bruized all over in a boxing match, or cut to pieces in fighting a prize, is a shocking spectacle; and I think I could with less horror see a thousand fall in battle, than human nature thus depreciated and disgraced. Violence, when exerted in wantonness or passion, is brutality; and [7:7:676]can be termed bravery only when it is sanctioned by justice and necessity.

“1 have been in a situation to see not a little of the pomp and vanity as well as of the necessity and misery of mankind; but the last only affect me; and if, as a magistrate, I am ever guilty of partiality, it is in favour of the poor. When 1 am at church among my poor but honest neighbours in the country, and sec them serious in performing the ceremonies prescribed, tears sometimes steal down my cheek on reflecting that they are doing and hearing many things they do not understand, while those who understand them better neglect them; that they who labour and live hard are more thankful to heaγen than those who fare luxuriously on the fruits of their labour; and are keeping and repeating the fourth commandment at the very instant the others are breaking it

“These are some of the sensations I feel, which I have freely and fairly disclosed, that the reader may judge how far I am an instance of a deformed person wanting natural affection. And I am a good subject of speculation, because all in me is nature; for, to own the truth, I have taken but little pains (though I ought to have taken a great deaD to correct my natural defects.

“Lord Bacon’s next position is, i That deformed persons are extremely bold; first in their own defence, as being exposed to scorn; but in process of time by a general habit.’ This probably is so among the inferior sort, who are in the way of continual insults; for a return of abuse is a natural weapon of self-defence, and in some measure justified by the law of retaliation. To upbraid a man with a personal defect, which he cannot help, is also an immoral act; and he who does it has reason to expect no better quarter than to hear of faults which it was in his own power not to commit. But I find this observation far from being verified in myself; an unbecoming bashfulness has been the consequence of my ill figure, and of the worse management of me in my childhood. I am always uneasy when any one looks śtedfastly on so bad a picture, and cannot look with a proper confidence in the face of another. I have ever reproached myself with this weakness, but am not able to correct it. And it may be a disadvantage to a man in the opinion of those he converses with; for though true modesty is amiable, the false is liable to misconstruction; and when a man is out of countenance for no reason, it may be imagined that he has some bad reason for being so. In point of assurance, I am indeed a perfect riddle to myself; for I, who feel a reluctance in crossing a drawing-room, or in opening my mouth in private company before persons with whom I am not well acquainted, find little in delivering my sentiments in public, and exposing my discourse, often as trifling as my person, to the ears of a thousand. From what cause this proceeds I know not; it may be partly from hopes of wiping off any ill impression from my person by my discourse, partly from a sense of doing my duty, and partly from a security in public assemblies from any gross personal reflection.

“Lord Bacon compares the case of deformed persons to that of eunuchs, ζ in whom kings were wont to put great trust as good spies and whisperers; for they that are envious towards all, are more obsequious and officious towards one.’ But, with submission to so good a judge of human nature, 1 own I can discover no uncommon qualification in them for spies, and very few motives to envy peculiar to themselves. Spies submit to that base and ungenerous office, either for the sake of interest or power: if for interest, it is to gratify their covetousness; if for power, their ambition or revenge; which passions are not confined to the eunuch or deformed, but indiscriminately seize all classes of men. Envy too may prompt a man to mean actions, in order to brinġ down the person envied to his own level; but if it is on account of superiority of fortune it will operate alike on men of all shapes. Eunuchs have but one peculiar motive to envy; but that, as Lord Bacon expresses it, makes them envious towards all, because it is for a pleasure which all but themselves may enjoy. Deformed persons are deprived only of beauty and strength, and therefore those alone are to be deemed the extraordinary motives to their envy; for they can no more be beautiful or strong than eunuchs be successful lovers. As to myself, whatever sparks of envy might be in my constitution, they are now entirely extinguished; for, by frequent and serious reflections, I have long been convinced of the small value of most things which men value the most.

“There is another passion to which deformed persons seem to be more exposed than to envy, which is jealousy; for being conscious that they are less amiable than others, theymay naturally suspeetthat they are less beloved. I have the happiness to speak this from conjecture, and not from experience; for it was my lot, many years ago, to many a young lady, very piously educated, and of a very distinguished family, and whose virtues are an honour to her family and her sex; so that I had never any trial of my temper, and can only guess at it by emotions 1 have felt in my younger days, when ladies have been more liberal of their smiles to those whom 1 thought in every respect but person my inferiors.”

The most useful inference from all this to a deformed person is, to be upon his guard against those frailties to which he is more particularly exposed, and to be careful that the outward frame do not distort the soul. Orandum est, says Juvenal, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano, “Let us pray for a sound mind in a healthy body;” and every deformed person should add this petition, zit sit mens recta in corpore curvo, for “an upright mind in a crooked one.” And let him frequently apply to himself this article of self-examination, Lenior et melior jis, accedente senecta? “As age approaches, do your temper and morals improve?” It is a duty peculiarly incumbent; for if beauty adds grace to virtue itself, vice must be doubly hideous in deformity.

Ridicule and contempt are a certain consequence of deformity; and therefore what a person cannot avoid, he should learn to disregard. He should bear it like aman, forgive it as a Christian, and consider it as a philosopher; and his triumph will be complete if he can exceed others in pleasantry on himself. Wit will cease when it sees itself outdone, and so will malice when it finds it has no effect; and if a man’s behaviour afford no cause of contempt, it will fall upon those who condemn him without cause.

Instead of repining, therefore, a deformed person ought to be thankful to Providence for giving him such a guard to his virtue and repose. Thousands are daily ruined by a handsome person; for beauty is a flower which every one wants to gather in its bloom, and spares no pains or stratagem to reach. All the poetical stories concerning it have their moral. A Helen occasions war and confusion; the Hyacinths and Ganymedes are seized on for catamites; the Endymions and Adonises for gallants; Narcissus can admire nobody but himself, and grows old before he is cured of that passion. Who is a stranger to the story of Lucretia killing herself for her violated chastity? or of Virginia killed by her father to preserve it? In those circumstances, says Juvenal, she might have wished to change persons with Rutila, the only lady we know amongst the ancients celebrated for a hump-back. The handsomest men are chosen for eunuchs and gallants; and when they are detected in exercising the last function, both Horace and Juvenal inform us of the penalties and indignities [7:7:677]they undergo. Silius was converted by the insatiable Messalina into a husband, and Sporus, by the monster Nero, into a wife. The last-mentioned poet shows that praying for beauty is praying for a curse. And Persius refuses to join in such a prayer: and has'not the deformed person reason to thank his stars, which have placed him more out of danger than even virtue itself could do? for that could not guard a Joseph, an Hippolytus, a Bellerophon, and others, against the revenge of slighted love.

Another great advantage of deformity is, that it tends to the improvement of the mind. A man who cannot shine in his person will have recourse to his understanding, and attempt to adorn that part of him which alone is capable of ornament. When his ambition prompts him to begin, with Cowley, to ask himself this question,

What shall I do to be for ever known,

And make the age to come my own?

on looking around him, he will find many avenues to the temple of fame barred against him; but some are still open through that of virtue; and these, if he has a right ambition, he will most probably attempt to pass. The more a man is inactive in his person, the more his mind will be at work; the time which others spend in action he will pass in study and contemplation; and by these he may acquire wisdom, and through wisdom fame. The name of Socrates is as much sounded as those of Alexander and Caesar, and is recorded in much fairer characters. He gained renown by wisdom and goodness, they by tyranny and oppression; he by instructing, they by destroying mankind: and happy it is that their evil deeds were confined to their lives, whilst he continues to instruct us to this day. A deformed person will naturally consider where his strength and his foible lie; and as he is well acquainted with the last, he will easily find out the first; and must know that, if it is anywhere, it is not, like Samson’s, in the hair, but must be in the lining of the head. He will say to himself, “I am weak in person; unable to serve my country in the field, I can acquire no military glory; but I may, like Socrates, acquire reputation by wisdom and probity; let me therefore be wise and honest. My figure is bad, and I should appear but ill as an orator either in the pulpit or at the bar; let me therefore pass my time in my study, either in reading what may improve myself, or in writing what may entertain or instruct others. I have not the strength of Hercules, nor can I rid the world of so many monsters; but perhaps I may get rid of some that infest myself. If I cannot draw out Cacus from his den, I may pluck the villain from my own breast. I cannot cleanse the stable of Augeas, but I may cleanse my own heart from filth and impurity. I may demolish the hydra of vices within me; and be careful too, that whilst I lop off one, I do not suffer more to grow up in its stead. Let me be serviceable in any way that I can; and if I am so, it may in some measure be owing to my deformity, which at least should be a restraint on my conduct, lest my conduct make me more deformed.”

Few persons have a house entirely to their mind, or the apartments in it disposed as they could wish; and there is no deformed person who does not wish that his soul had a better habitation, which is sometimes not lodged according to its quality. Lord Clarendon says of Sir Charles Cavendish, brother to the Marquis of Newcastle, that he was a man of the noblest and largest mind, though of the least and most inconvenient body, that lived; and every body knows that the Prince of Orange had many amiable qualities; therefore, in justice to such persons, we must suppose that they did not repine that their tenements were not in a more regular style of architecture. And let every deformed person comfort himself with reflecting, that though his soul has not the most convenient and beautiful apartment, yet that it is habitable; that the accommodation will serve as an inn upon the road; that he is but tenant for life, or, more properly, at will; and that, whilst he remains in it, he is in a state to be envied by the deaf, the dumb, the lame, and the blind.