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and yet the fountain within is not exhausted or weakened. This has been the source of all the calamities which have fallen upon our nature-the spring of the evergrowing pollutions which have been spreading over all the generations of men. The Lord has beheld the whole compass and potency of the evil-and no mind but his own could comprehend it, in its vigorous causes and awful issues. "The Lord looketh upon the heart." That is to say, he looks at the beginning of sin. He cannot stop short in effects, but ever apprehends the effect in the cause-and that is its true measure, its intentional issue, which is its real one. Let every reader look into his own thoughts. There is formed the repugnancy of human nature to the Divine law and government; there the weapons are first taken up against him that made the heavens; there we say who is Lord over us? there, in his heart, at last, the fool says, there is no God-there is no eye to see.

It is through the medium of evil thoughts, that the empire of darkness is maintained. Satan retains his vassals by evil thoughts. He has a power of suggesting them -whether immediately, by direct access to the thinking faculty, or mediately, through sensible objects, is of little moment-the fact is clear, by them he leads captive the imagination, and thus holds the heart and all the active powers, his willing slaves. Thus Saul's heart was filled with evil thoughts against David-thus the darkminded Judas entertained with pleasure the first thought of betraying the Son of God to his foes. The Psalmist lays it down as one of the features of the wicked" he conceiveth mischief upon his bed; when he goeth abroad, he telleth it." Ananias and Sapphira "conceived" the wicked lie against the Holy Ghost

in their hearts: and it was in the thought of his heart, that the sin of Simon Magus consisted. “Repent, if perhaps the thought of thine heart may be forgiven thee

for thou hast thought, that the gift of God may be purchased with money-thine heart is not right in the sight of God." Thoughts are the words of the mind-the actions of the soul. The strength of the body of sin is in evil thoughts. There is evil enough in one thought of sin to turn angels of light into devils-a paradise into a hell-and men, made in the likeness of God, into the image of devils.

Christ was set up" for the fall and rising again of many in Israeland that the thoughts of many hearts might be revealed.' "God will judge the secrets of men by Jesus Christ," and "He will bring every work, and every secret thing into judgment:" and he will condemn the wicked for THINKING, that he was altogether such an one as themselves.

From these brief observations, the inference is obvious" as a man thinketh in his heart, so is he."

Let us learn to entertain no other standard of our own characters-for by this God judges. How momentous then is the exclusion of evil thoughts, and the production of good ones! I have but opened the subject, which should you, Mr. Editor, and your readers approve, I may resume in some future pages of your work.

MOSES PRISCUS.

THE INFLUENCE OF IMAGINATION ON HUMAN CHARACTER AND HAPPINESS.

WHOEVER has attended in any degree to the operations of his own mind, must be aware that he has a power, not only of forming ideas of sensible objects while present in his view, or of recalling to his recollection ideas of past

objects; but that he also possesses a faculty which enables him to select ideas of those sensible objects, and so to arrange and modify them, as to form ideal scenery, which the eye of the mind surveys with pleasure or pain, according to the nature of the representation. This faculty of the mind, philosophers have designated by the term imagination.

In determining the province of imagination, philosophical writers do not appear to agree. Mr. Addison and Dr. Reid, for instance, have limited it to objects of sight; while Professor Stewart, on the other hand, has extended its operations to all the objects of human knowledge. Both these definitions have been considered defective. The former is too limited; for, although imagination most readily and most frequently selects its materials from objects of vision, yet it often (as the productions of the poet abundantly prove) makes its selections from ideas obtained through the medium of the other senses. The latter definition must be considered too extensive; since it obviously destroys that meaning of the term which its etymology has fixed, and entirely confounds it with conception.

The design of this paper, however, does not embrace a minutely philosophical analysis of this mental phenomenon. We shall, therefore, immediately proceed to the proposed discussion, namely, the influence of imagination on human character and happiness.

That the character of man, both intellectual and moral, and consequently his personal happiness, is, in an important degree, influenced by the imagination, even the most superficial observer of mental phenomena must have frequently remarked, and with equal propriety we may add, that a more important influence than such an observer has ever remarked will be found to exist.

An investigation of the subject, far from laborious, will be sufficient to convince us that the imagination, when brought under correct discipline, has a most valuable influence on the character and happiness of man.

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None can doubt that, by the aid imagination, in a most important degree, is created that stimulus which gives at once ardour and perseverance to the efforts of the early adventurer in the path of science;-a path too rugged and too steep to invite the feet of the inexperienced and volatile genius, were it not that that genius possessed the power, first of all, to throw on the bleak and boundless prospect, a scene as fascinating as it is unreal, and to adorn the very path of ruggedness, by which its advances are to be secured, with softness, and verdure, and flowers.

But, if this important faculty has so surprising an influence on the intellectual character, by giving to the mind a powerful stimulus in the pursuit of enterprize, much more extensive is its influence on moral character. All the natural virtues of the heart are, in a most important degree, modified by the imagination. If this faculty is properly cultivated, and its operations wisely directed, it will much contribute to give that tone and finish to the affections which constitute the perfection of virtuous character, and the consummation of earthly happiness.

A well regulated imagination heightens benevolent feeling.-That there is, in the exercise of benevolence, an indescribable and exquisite pleasure, none but the heart that is destitute of this virtue will be disposed to deny. In proportion as this pleasure is heightened, will a desire for its cultivation be increased. Imagination does much, if we mistake not, towards heightening the pleasure which benevolent feeling affords. This truth is strikingly.

illustrated in the productions of the novelist. The picture of distress is here finished in all its parts, and we are made acquainted not only with every circumstance on which the distress turns, but with the sentiments and feelings of every character with respect to his situation. In ordinary life, we see only the naked outline of the exhibition, and, consequently, the impression is slight. But by the aid of imagination we finish the scene, and supply the incidents that are wanting. Let us conceive, for a moment, of two individuals; the one possessing an active imagination, the other, to a considerable degree, destitute of the faculty. An object of distress presents itself to their notice. They are both benevolent, and they both contribute to the wants of the suppliant. The one, who is destitute of imagination, feels satisfaction in having it in his power to gratify the benevolent instinct of his nature, and here his pleasurable feeling ends. The other, by an effort of his imagination, which is as easy as it is delightful, pictures to himself the scene which he may suppose will present itself, when the object of his charity shall have reached his home of wretchedness, (if a home he has,) and shall present to the raptured view of the sharers, both of his affections and his miseries, the boon of humanity. He will fancy he sees the smile of joy and the tear of gratitude mingled on every face, and, while he gazes, he will feel, to an extent to which his phlegmatic companion is totally a stranger, the "luxury of doing good." "I have been often inclined to think," says Professor Stewart, "that the apparent coldness and selfishness of mankind may be traced in a great measure to the want of imagination. In the case of misfortunes, which happen to ourselves or to our near connexions, this power is not necessary

to make us acquainted with our situation; so that we feel of necessity the corresponding emotions. But without the exercise of a lively imagination, it is impossible for a man to comprehend completely the situation of his neighbour, or to have an idea of a great part of the distress which exists in the world. If we feel, therefore, more for ourselves than for others, the difference is to be ascribed, at least partly, to this, that, in the former case, the facts, which are the foundations of our feeling, are more fully before us than they possibly can be in the latter."

In the same manner, the imagination subserves the interests of friendship. It is this faculty which gives to the mind a susceptibility of attachment, and a glow of affection which otherwise could never exist. There are two passions, which in every case are necessary to permanent friendship; admiration and gratitudeadmiration of intrinsic excellence, and gratitude for reciprocal regard. The mere contemplation of excellence, it is true, inay for a time produce strong attachment; but we cannot lastingly love, unless there is a consciousness of corresponding emotions existing on the part of the object of our regards. Now, both these passions are heightened by the imagination. This faculty, when active and refined, will often be employed in inventing circumstances and incidents such as would serve to elicit the best virtues of the object beloved, and to develop, under every varied and fascinating form, the most admired traits of its character. Actions of strong disinterested friendship will be imagined as already performed; and thus, amid the monotonous events of everyday life, where the same qualities of excellence, modified by no changing scenes or altered circumstances, would almost cease to appear excellencies from their

uniformity, all that attachment which renewed admiration and rekindled gratitude can elicit, is preserved and increased.

While imagination bears this important relation to intellectual and moral character, its influence on personal happiness must be proportionably powerful. One or two facts, not necessarily arising out of the foregoing observations, must be stated, in order to exhibit this truth in its full extent.

The boundless desires of the human mind after novelty, render imagination eminently subservient to personal happiness. The contemplation of present objects, and the reflections on those already passed, cannot be long satisfactorily indulged. The field of visible realities, however extensive, varied, and rich, is too limited for the soul's unwearied flight, and for its boundless curiosity. The aid of imagination, therefore, is solicited, which, with a hand as potent as it is ingenious, forms a new creation, on whose enchanting scenery the mind can gaze with delight; a scenery which soon loses its beauty indeed, but loses it only in the rival charms of a newer landscape.

The mind, too, not only seeks novelty, but it loves perfection. In real life there is the perpetual intervention of circumstances, which interrupt a succession of agreeable and felicitous incidents; and the benevolent Author of our existence seems to have provided this source of relief, among many others, a power to call off the mind from a state of real imperfection to the ideal perfections which itself has erected. The ills of life are often complicated and severe, and it is as much the path of wisdom lawfully to avoid them, as, when unavoidable, with fortitude to support them. That individual is at once to be envied and imitated, who has learnt to forget his present sufferings in the antici

pation of supposable felicity;who, while gazing on the complacent and lovely form of imaginary happiness, can smile away the tear which real calamity has bid to flow; and when real existence presents no object on which hope can fix its gaze, but all around is dreary and forlorn, "can rise on imagination's wings above the dark and troubled horizon, which terminates earthly prospects," to wander undisturbed and happy amid harmony and repose.

The individual, indeed, who is placed in the mediocrity, both of external circumstance and of mental state,-whose whole life has been spent in sensible pursuits,who has scarcely known a want, because he has scarcely a mind to want, such an one can tell us but little of the pleasures of imagination. But ask the unhappy exile, who has been separated from all that he has held dear,-who has suffered a rupture of every tie of social tenderness, and is destined to a long, and, to him, an almost eternal solitude, ask such an one what are the blessings of imagination? He can tell you how often, like some heavenly messenger of mercy, it has visited his lonely retreat, chased away the gloom of his dreariness, lighted up the beam of joy in the listless and sunken eye, conducted him back, as it were, to the scene of his domestic enjoyment, there to experience, for a moment, all the raptures of real return, and all the extacies of recovered possession! Or ask the mariner the question,— he who, while an almost measureless ocean has rolled between him and his native shore, has still found himself at home in thought, at home, too, when that home has been most dear and most happy,

who, while winds and waves have beat around his fragile bark, has felt ten thousand lively and tender thoughts entwine about his heart, the more lively and the

more tender from that very distance that separates, and that danger which threatens.

Such is the solace which imagination is wont to afford to solitude and to suffering; and next, perhaps, to the supreme consolations which religion affords, there is no more efficient antidote for the ills of life than that which an active and well-governed imagination supplies. Next to religion have we said? But may we not except the qualification, for assuredly the most animating pleasures of religion itself are deduced from this very source. Some of the most exquisite joys of piety are derived from this very power which the mind has of picturing its prospects, and of imagining its eternal realities. True it is that the pleasures which fancy gives are unsubstantial and fleeting, but they are pleasures still, and they are innocent pleasures, like the soft and chastened lightning which we have sometimes seen sporting in the horizon of an autumnal sky, which is as beautiful as it is momentary, and as harmless as it is both.

Birmingham.

MY GARDEN

"Your Majesty," said one of her statesmen, to Elizabeth of England, when she rallied him on the smallness of his habitation — "Your Majesty has made me too big for my house." There were giants in those days! and men like Burleigh and Walsingham might talk of their gigantic stature, but when I am disposed to grumble at the narrow dimensions of my domain, I can only venture to intimate that my garden is not big enough for me. I should like to have a larger tract, and to experiment on an extensive scale; · to have my various soils and my sheltered aspects, stoves and green-houses, with all the endless contrivances that horticultural ingenuity has devised for transferring to northern latitudes, the growth and atmosphere of African and Asiatic climes. In more senses than one, "whatever is, is best;" man was framed for nobler aims than those of the mere botanist, and, perhaps, if I were surrounded by all that I sometimes covet in this way, I should be neither a wiser, better, nor happier man. Here, I can at least say, I have enjoyed A. P. T. many a peaceful hour, many a season of "homefelt delight;" I have witnessed the innocent gaieties of my children, and even the gambols of my dog have given a charm to this endeared and tranquil spot. The scientific florist would sneer at my humble and unpretending parterre. My varieties would make a sorry figure at a carnation-show or a tulipfeast, but, to my taste, or rather to my feelings, they have a most attractive appearance where they are. The "roses of the spring," the violet, and the jasmine, have to me an hundred times the charm of those flaunting hybrids, the spoilt children of the horticulturist, tricked out in all the tawdry dies of an Indian loom. There are few things more offensive to my eye than the glowing display of flowers

Is but a small one, and yet I have enjoyed in it more of gratification than their hot-beds and conservatories have given to the far larger portion of the sons of wealth and magnificence. The mountainash, the laburnum, the thorn-acacia, the stag-horn, and the larch, overshadow, with their blending foliage, an irregular grass-plat and a verdant slope; the pyracanthus and the ivy mantle my walls and windows; a winding walk and three or four flower beds occupy the remainder of my little territory, while a few plants of less hardy temperament, find a temporary habitat in a sunny exposure on a graduated stand.

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