ession. Public
morality has been their pretext--the private gratification of jealousy
their aim. In republics they were intended to allay the envy of the
poor--in monarchies to flatter the arrogance of the great. The first of
these motives produced, as Say observes, the law Orchia at Rome, which
prohibited the invitation of more than a certain number of guests. The
second was the cause of an edict passed in the reign of Henry II. of
France, by which the use of silken shoes and garments was confined to
princes and bishops. States are ruined by the extravagance, not of their
subjects, but of their rulers.

Luxury is pernicious when it is purchased at an excessive price, or when
it stands in the way of advantages greater and more attainable. The worse
a government is, the more effect does it produce upon the manners and
habits of its subjects. The influence of a government of favourites and
minions over the community, is as prodigious as it is baneful. Every
innocent pleasure is a blessing. Luxury is innocent, nay, it is desirable,
as far as it can contribute to health and cleanliness--to rational
enjoyment; as far as it serves to prevent gross debauchery; and, as one of
our poets has expressed it,

"When sensual pleasures cloy,
To fill the languid pause with finer joy,"

it should be encouraged. It does not follow, because the materials for
luxury are wanted, that the bad passions and selfishness, which are its
usual companions, will be wanted also. A Greenlander may display as much
gluttony over his train oil and whale blubber as the most refined epicure
can exhibit with the _Physiologie du Gout_ in his hand, and with all
Monsieur Ude's science at his disposal. When the gratification of our
taste and senses interferes with our duty to our country, or our
neighbours, or our friends--when, for the sake of their indulgence, we
sacrifice our independence--or when, rather than abandon it, we neglect
our duties sacred and imperative as they may be--the most favourable
casuists on the side of luxury allow that it is criminal. But even when it
stops far short of this scandalous excess, the habit of immoderate
self-indulgence can hardly long associate in the same breast with
generous, manly, and enlightened sentiments: its inevitable effect is to
stifle all vigorous energy, as well as to eradicate every softer virtue.
It is the parent of that satiety which is the most unspeakable of all
miseries--a short satisfaction is pu