eans of maintaining their opinions amongst persons of sense, is to
support them by unanswerable arguments. They should be taught, that,
to secure respect, they must deserve it; and their self-denial, or
self-command, should never obtain that tacit admiration which they
most value, except where it is exerted for useful and rational
purposes. The constant custom of appealing, in the last resort, to
their own judgment, which distinguishes the proud from the vain, makes
it peculiarly necessary that the judgment, to which so much is
trusted, should be highly cultivated. A vain man may be tolerably well
conducted in life by a sensible friend; a proud man ought to be able
to conduct himself perfectly well, because he will not accept of any
assistance. It seems that some proud people confine their benevolent
virtues within a smaller sphere than others; they value only their own
relations, their friends, their country, or whatever is connected with
themselves. This species of pride may be corrected by the same means
which are used to increase sympathy.[97] Those who, either from
temperament, example, or accidental circumstances, have acquired the
habit of repressing and commanding their emotions, must be carefully
distinguished from the selfish and insensible. In the present times,
when the affectation of sensibility is to be dreaded, we should rather
encourage that species of pride which disdains to display the
affections of the heart. "You Romans triumph over your tears, and call
it virtue! I triumph in my tears," says Caractacus; his tears were
respectable, but in general the Roman triumph would command the most
sympathy.

Some people attribute to pride all expressions of confidence in one's
self: these may be offensive to common society, but they are sometimes
powerful over the human mind, and where they are genuine, mark
somewhat superior in character. Much of the effect of lord Chatham's
eloquence, much of his transcendent influence in public, must be
attributed to the confidence which he showed in his own superiority.
"I trample upon impossibilities!" was an exclamation which no
inferiour mind would dare to make. Would the house of commons have
permitted any one but lord Chatham to have answered an oration by
"Tell me, gentle shepherd, where?" The danger of failing, the hazard
that he runs of becoming ridiculous who verges upon the moral sublime,
is taken into our account when we judge of the action, and we pay
involunta