_dependant_, he plainly shews that he can govern his temper, and that his not doing it on particular occasions, proceeds from the basest and most despicable of all motives. I remember, when I was on the continent with the English army, having seen an officer beat a soldier very unmercifully with his cane: I was then standing with some officers, all of whom seemed to be filled with indignation at this mean exercise of power. When the person who had performed the intrepid exploit came to join the circle, he plainly perceived marks of disapprobation in every countenance; for which reason he thought it necessary to apologize for what he had done. “Nothing,” says he, “provokes me so much as a fellow’s looking saucily when I speak to him. I have told that man so fifty times; and yet, on my reprimanding him just now, for having one of the buttons of his waistcoat broken, he _looked saucily_ full in my face; which threw me into such a passion, that I could not help threshing him.—However, I am sorry for it, because he has the character of being an honest man, and has always done his duty, as a soldier, very well. How much,” continued he, “are those people to be envied, who have a full command of their tempers!” “No man can command it more perfectly than yourself,” said a gentleman who was then in the foot-guards, and has since been a general officer. “I often endeavour to do it,” replied the choleric man, “but always find it out of my power. I have not philosophy enough to check the violence of my temper when once I am provoked.” “You certainly do yourself injustice, Sir,” said the officer; “no person seems to have their passions under better discipline. With your brother officers, I never saw you, in a single instance, break through the rules of decorum, or allow your anger to overcome your politeness to them.” “They never provoked me,” said the passionate man. “Provoked you!” rejoined the other; “yes, Sir, often, and in a much greater degree than the poor soldier. Do not I, at this moment, give you ten thousand times more provocation than he, or any of the unfortunate men under your command, whom you are so apt to beat and abuse, ever did?—and yet you seem perfectly master of your temper.” There was no way left by which the choleric man could prove the contrary, except by knocking the other down; but that was a method of convincing his antagonist which he did not think proper to use. A more intrepid man, in the same predicament, would very probably have had recourse to that expedient; but in general mankind are able, even in the violence of passion, to estimate, in some measure, the risk they run; and the populace of every country are more readily kindled to that _inferior_ degree of rage, which makes them lose their horror for the crime of murder, and disregard the life of a fellow-creature, than to that _higher_ pitch, which deprives them of all consideration for their own personal safety.