show this 
carelessness about temporal goods; and, therefore, are guilty of gross 
and culpable inconsistency, if they are comparatively careless about 
what is far more important. 
So, also, in the present case. If any man's mind were so constituted as 
to reject the same evidence in all matters alike--if, for instance, he 
really doubted or disbelieved the existence of Buonaparte, and 
considered the Egyptian pyramids as fabulous, because, forsooth, he 
had no "experience" of the erection of such huge structures, and had 
experience of travellers telling huge lies--he would be regarded, 
perhaps, as very silly, or as insane, but not as morally culpable. But if 
(as is intimated in the concluding sentence of this work) a man is 
influenced in one case by objections which, in another case, he would 
deride, then he stands convicted of being unfairly biassed by his 
prejudices. 
It is only necessary to add, that as this work first appeared in the year 
1819, many things are spoken of in the present tense, to which the past 
would now be applicable. 
Postscripts have been added to successive editions in reference to 
subsequent occurrences. 
FOOTNOTES:
[1] It was observed by some reviewer, that Hume himself, had he been 
alive, would doubtless have highly enjoyed the joke! But even those 
who have the greatest delight in ridicule, do not relish jokes at their 
own expense. Hume may have inwardly laughed, while mystifying his 
readers with arguments which he himself perceived to be futile. But he 
did not mean the readers to perceive this. And it is not likely that he 
would have been amused at seeing his own fallacies exposed and held 
up to derision. 
[2] See Elements of Rhetoric, p. i. ch. 2, § 4. 
* * * * * 
 
HISTORIC DOUBTS RELATIVE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE. 
Long as the public attention has been occupied by the extraordinary 
personage from whose ambition we are supposed to have so narrowly 
escaped, the subject seems to have lost scarcely anything of its interest. 
We are still occupied in recounting the exploits, discussing the 
character, inquiring into the present situation, and even conjecturing as 
to the future prospects of Napoleon Buonaparte. 
Nor is this at all to be wondered at, if we consider the very 
extraordinary nature of those exploits, and of that character; their 
greatness and extensive importance, as well as the unexampled 
strangeness of the events, and also that strong additional stimulant, the 
mysterious uncertainty that hangs over the character of the man. If it be 
doubtful whether any history (exclusive of such as is confessedly 
fabulous) ever attributed to its hero such a series of wonderful 
achievements compressed into so small a space of time, it is certain that 
to no one were ever assigned so many dissimilar characters. 
It is true, indeed, that party-prejudices have drawn a favourable and an 
unfavourable portrait of almost every eminent man; but amidst all the 
diversities of colouring, something of the same general outline is 
always distinguishable. And even the virtues in the one description bear
some resemblance to the vices of another: rashness, for instance, will 
be called courage, or courage, rashness; heroic firmness, and obstinate 
pride, will correspond in the two opposite descriptions; and in some 
leading features both will agree. Neither the friends nor the enemies of 
Philip of Macedon, or of Julius Cæsar, ever questioned their 
COURAGE, or their MILITARY SKILL. 
With Buonaparte, however, it has been otherwise. This obscure 
Corsican adventurer, a man, according to some, of extraordinary talents 
and courage, according to others, of very moderate abilities, and a rank 
coward, advanced rapidly in the French army, obtained a high 
command, gained a series of important victories, and, elated by success, 
embarked in an expedition against Egypt; which was planned and 
conducted, according to some, with the most consummate skill, 
according to others, with the utmost wildness and folly: he was 
unsuccessful, however; and leaving the army in Egypt in a very 
distressed situation, he returned to France, and found the nation, or at 
least the army, so favourably disposed towards him, that he was 
enabled, with the utmost ease, to overthrow the existing government, 
and obtain for himself the supreme power; at first, under the modest 
appellation of Consul, but afterwards with the more sounding title of 
Emperor. While in possession of this power, he overthrew the most 
powerful coalitions of the other European States against him; and 
though driven from the sea by the British fleets, overran nearly the 
whole continent, triumphant; finishing a war, not unfrequently, in a 
single campaign, he entered the capitals of most of the hostile 
potentates, deposed and created Kings at his pleasure, and appeared the 
virtual sovereign of the chief part of the continent, from the frontiers of 
Spain to those of Russia. Even those countries we find    
    
		
	
	
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