satisfaction, that ever such passion of change was put in
us as that "custom lies upon us with a weight, heavy as frost, and deep
almost as life," and only such weak back and baby grasp given to our
intellect as that "the best things we do are painful, and the exercise
of them grievous, being continued without intermission, so as in those
very actions whereby we are especially perfected in this life we are not
able to persist." And so it will be found that they are the
weakest-minded and the hardest-hearted men that most love variety and
change, for the weakest-minded are those who both wonder most at things
new, and digest worst things old, in so far that everything they have
lies rusty, and loses lustre for want of use; neither do they make any
stir among their possessions, nor look over them to see what may be made
of them, nor keep any great store, nor are householders with storehouses
of things new and old, but they catch at the new-fashioned garments, and
let the moth and thief look after the rest; and the hardest-hearted men
are those that least feel the endearing and binding power of custom, and
hold on by no cords of affection to any shore, but drive with the waves
that cast up mire and dirt. And certainly it is not to be held that the
perception of beauty and desire of it, are greatest in the hardest heart
and weakest brain; but the love of variety is so, and therefore variety
can be no cause of the beautiful, except, as I have said, when it is
necessary for the perception of unity, neither is there any better test
of that which is indeed beautiful than its surviving or annihilating the
love of change; and this is a test which the best judges of art have
need frequently to use; and the wisest of them will use it always, for
there is much in art that surprises by its brilliancy, or attracts by
its singularity, that can hardly but by course of time, though assuredly
it will by course of time, be winnowed away from the right and real
beauty whose retentive power is forever on the increase, a bread of the
soul for which the hunger is continual.

Sec. 8. The conducting of variety towards unity of subjection.

Receiving, therefore, variety only as that which accomplishes unity, or
makes it perceived, its operation is found to be very precious, both in
that which I have called unity of subjection, and unity of sequence, as
well as in unity of membership; for although things in all respects the
same may, indeed, be