is capable of existing in certain states, the varieties of which correspond with these particular designations. We see, we remember, or compare, what we have seen,-we regard what we see, or remember, or compare, with desire or with aversion; and of these, or of states analogous to these, the whole of life, sensitive, intellectual, or moral, is composed. Every minute, therefore, of every hour, in all its variety of occupation, is but a portion of this complicated tissue. Let us suppose ourselves, for example, looking down from an eminence, on the prospect beneath.-On one side all is desolation, and we see perhaps, at a little distance, some half-roofless hovel, as miserable as the waste immediately around it, which has scarcely the appearance of a dwelling for any living thing, but seems rather, as if Nature herself had originally placed it there, as a part of the general sterility and ruggedness. On the other side, all is plenty and magnificence ;-and we see, amid lawns and wooded banks, a mansion as different in aspect, as if the beings that inhabited it were of a different race,-which, as a part of the scene, where it is placed, accords so harmoniously with the whole, that, without it, the scene itself would appear incomplete, and almost incongruous, as if stripped of some essential charm. To view these separate dwellings, and all the objects around them-if no other feeling arose would be to have a series of external or sensitive affections only. But it is scarcely possible for us to view them, without the instant rise of those intellectual states of mind which constitute comparison, and of those affections of another order, which constitute the emotions of admiration and desire in the one case, and in the other the emotions that are opposite to admiration and desire, together perhaps with some of those bitter emotions which the sight of misery makes in every breast that is not unworthy of so sacred an influence.

In this example, our intellectual states of mind, and our emotions, have for their objects things really existing without; but the external affections of our senses, though the most permanent, and usually the most vivid, and therefore the best remembered, of all the sources of our internal feelings, are far from being necessary, in every instance, to the production of these. There is a constant, or almost constant succession of internal affections of mind, of thoughts, and emotions, following thoughts and emotions, which even though we were to be rendered incapable of a single new sensation,-if our animal life could in these circumstances be long protracted,-would still preserve to us also that intellectual and moral existence, which is the only life that is worthy of the name. The knowledge which we acquire from without, lives in us within; and, in such a case as that which I have now imagined, our memory would be to us in some measure every sense, which we had lost, creating to us again that very world which had vanished before us. If we could compare and love or hate only things actually present, we should be far from the maturity and perfection of an infant's mind, and should scarcely be advanced to the rank of idiocy, which, limited as it is in its range, still comprehends in its little sphere of foresight and memory, some few moments at least of the past, and even a moment or two of the future. It is with the future and with the past, that, intellectually and morally, we are chiefly conversant. To these high capacities of our being, the subjects, which can exercise our powers and feelings, however distant in time or place, are as it were everlastingly present,-like that mysterious eternal now, of which theologians speak,-in which past, present, and future are considered, as, in every moment of every age, alike visible to the omniscient glance of the VOL. L.

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Divinity. We love the virtues, of which we read, with the same sort of emotion, with which we love the virtues that are mingling with us in the present hour. The patriot of the most remote age, of whom we know nothing, but the historical tale, of his voluntary perils or sufferings, in some generous cause, is like the friend of our familiar intercourse; and the sacrifices, that wrought the happiness of millions of beings, who are now not merely unknown to us, but of whom not a single name is remembered on the earth, awake a sort of veneration, that is almost combined with gratitude, as if we were in the presence of a personal deliverer. It is the same with absolute unreality, nor merely with that which no longer exists, but with that which never had existence. We are struck with the beauty of what we only imagine, in the same manner, though perhaps not with the same liveliness of feeling, as we are struck with the beauty of external things. Our emotions then, however dependent they may have been originally, are now no longer dependent on these external things. They may arise, from memory or imagination, as readily as from perception; but when they arise from memory or imagination, they are as truly distinguishable from what we remember and imagine, as they are distinguishable from our perceptions of mere forms and colours and other sensible qualities, when they arise from what we perceive.

To have arranged all the varieties of feelings of which the mind is susceptible, in the three great divisions to which our arrangement as yet has extended, though it is unquestionably to have made some advance in our generalization,-is yet to have made only a small part of the necessary progress; since each of these three orders comprehends almost innumerable phenomena, which require the aid of more minute division. In the class of our external affections, indeed, this subdivision is very simple and easy; since our separate organs of sense furnish, of themselves, a very evident ground of distinction. But the two orders of our internal affections have no such obvious and tangible distinction, to serve as the basis of their subdivisions. They admit, however, as I trust we shall find,-of distinctions, which, though not equally obvious, are almost equally definite, and require only a very little reflection, to be understood as clearly, as the organic relations, according to which we distinguish our sensations of sound, or smell, or sight. It is not my intention, however, to proceed, at present, to the consideration of these subdivisions; since the nature of the more minute arrangement will, I conceive, be better understood, when we come to treat of each separate order fully, than they could be now, by the mere enumeration of a few names, of the propriety of which, as mere names, and, still more of the propriety of the arrangement which they involve, you could not be expected to form any accurate judgment, without a fuller elucidation.

All which I must request you, then, at present, to keep in remembrance, is the primary division, which we have made, of the different states of the mind into two great classes, and the secondary division which we have made of one of these classes, into its two very comprehensive orders.-You will remember, then, that the various affections, of which the mind is susceptible, are either external, as they arise from causes without the mind, or internal, as they arise from previous states, of the mind itself;-that of these internal affections, some are mere conceptions or notions of former feelings, or of objects and of the qualities or relations of objects, as remembered or variously combined or compared,-results of different susceptibilities of our intellectual constitution, to which different names have been given, conception,

memory, imagination, abstraction, reason, and other synonymous terms;that these internal affections or states of the mind, which I have denominated its intellectual states, are distinctly separable, in our reflective analysis, from certain vivid feelings, that may arise instantly in the mind, on the consideration of these mere intellectual results, or on the perception of objects without,-feelings of admiration, love, desire, and various other analogous, or opposite states of the mind;-but that there is such an order of vivid feelings, which arise, in many cases, on the mere consideration of what we perceive or remember, or imagine, or compare, and that this order is what I wish to be distinguished by the name of emotions.

According to this division, therefore, of the mental phenomena, into those which are of external and those which are of internal origin, and the subdivision which we have made of this latter class, I shall proceed to consider, first, The external powers or susceptibilities of the mind; 2dly, The intellectual powers or susceptibilities of the mind; and 3dly, Its susceptibilities of emotion,-beginning with that class, which we have every reason to suppose to be first, in the actual order of developement,-the powers or susceptibilities of the mind, in its immediate relation to its own bodily organs.

Certain states of our bodily organs are directly followed by certain states or affections of our mind ;-certain states or affections of our mind are directly followed by certain states of our bodily organs. The nerve of sight, for example, is affected in a certain manner; vision, which is an affection or state of the mind, is its consequence. I will to move my hand; the hand obeys my will, so rapidly, that the motion, though truly subsequent, seems almost to accompany my volition, rather than to follow it. In conformity with the definitions before given of power and susceptibility, the one as implying a reference to something consequent, the other a reference to something antecedent, I should be inclined to consider the sensation which follows the presence of an external object as indicating a mental susceptibility of being so affected;-the production of muscular motion by the will, as indicating a mental power. But the terms are of less consequence, if you understand fully the distinction that is implied in them; and you may be allowed still, in compliance with the general language, to speak of the power or faculty of sensation or perception, if you mean nothing more, as often as you use these terms, than that the mind is affected in a certain manner, and, therefore, must have had a previous susceptibility of being thus affected whenever certain changes have previously taken place in that nervous system with which it is connected.

In considering the susceptibilities of the mind, I comprehend, under its external affections, all those phenomena or states of the mind which are commonly termed sensations; together with all our internal organic feelings of pleasure or pain, that arise from states of the nervous system, as much as our other sensations. Many of these are commonly ranked under another head, that of appetites, such as hunger, thirst, the desire of repose, or of change of muscular position, which arises from long continued exertion; the oppressive anxiety, which arises from impeded respiration, and various other diseases, arising from bodily uneasiness. But these appetites evidently admit of being analyzed into two distinct elements, a pain of a peculiar species, and a subsequent desire of that which is to relieve the pain,-states of mind, of which one may immediately succeed the other; but which are, unquestionably, as different in themselves, as if no such succession took place,-as

different as the pleasure of music is from the mere desire of enjoying it again, or as the pain of excessive heat, in burning, from the subsequent desire of coolness. The pain, which is one element of the appetite, is an external affection of the mind, to be classed with our other sensations, the succeeding desire, which is another element of it, is an internal affection of the mind, to be classed with our other emotions of desire. We might have felt the same pain of hunger, though we had not been aware, that it arose from want of food, and consequently could not have felt any desire of food, but merely the general desire of relief which attends every disagreeable sensation. We might have felt the same uneasiness, which we term thirst, though we had not been aware that it would be relieved by a draught of any beverage, and the same pain of impeded respiration or fatigue, though nature had not led us instinctively, in the one case to perform the muscular actions necessary for expiration and inspiration; in the other, to change our posture, and thus give repose to the wearied limbs. Whatever be the organic states, which occasion these painful feelings, that are elementary in our appetites, there can be no doubt, that some organic affections precede them, as truly as some affection of an external organ precedes the pain of a burn, or the painful temporary blindness, when we are dazzled with excessive light. And though, in the case of the appetite, we may give the same name to the pain, and to the desire of that which is to relieve the pain; or rather, may give one name to the combination of the two feelings,-which is not to be wondered at, where the two feelings are so universally and so immediately successive, this error, or rather this mere abbreviation of language, is no reason that we should consider the elementary pain itself, as different, in kind, from our other pains, that have not merely half a term to express them, but a whole undivided word of their own. The pain, of which the appetite desires the relief, is a sensation, as much as any other internal bodily pain which we feel, a state or affection of the mind, arising, immediately and solely, from a state or affection of the body,-which is the only definition that can be given of a sensation.

The pain of hunger and thirst, then, and, in general, every internal pain arising from a state of the bodily organs, and distinct from the subsequent desires which they occasion,-are as truly sensations, as any other sensations; and the desires that follow these particular sensations, are as truly desires, as any other desires of which we have the consciousness. We may, indeed, if we resolve to invent a new name for those particular desires, that terminate immediately in the relief of bodily pain, or the production of bodily pleasure, give to such desires the name of appetites; but it is surely a very simple analysis only, that is necessary to separate, from the desire of relief, the feeling of the pain which we wish to be relieved; since it is very evident, that the pain must have existed primarily before any such desire could be felt. That the various species of uneasiness, which are elementary parts of our appetites, recur, at intervals, in which there is some degree of regularity, does not alter their nature, when they do recur, so as to render a peculiar arrangement necessary for including them. The mental states, which constitute the uneasiness that is felt, recur thus at intervals, not from any thing peculiar in the mind itself, the phenomena of which alone we are considering, because the body is only at intervals in the state, which precedes or induces those peculiar mental affections. If, instead of the two or three periods, at which the appetite of hunger recurs, the nervous system were,

one hundred times in the day, at intervals the most irregular, in that state, which is immediately followed by the feeling of hunger, the painful feeling,and the consequent desire of food, which has been found to relieve it,would of course be felt one hundred times in the day. The regularity, therefore, of the recurrence of this state of the nerves, is a phenomenon, which belongs to the consideration of the physiologist of the body, not of the physiologist of the mind, whose immediate office is finished, when he can trace any particular feeling of the mind to some affection of our organic frame, as its invariable antecedent; and who knowing, therefore, that the feeling of pain in any of our appetites, is the effect or result of some organic affection, is not surprised that it should not recur, when that organic affection has not previously taken place,-any more than he is surprised that we do not enjoy the fragrance of roses or violets, when there are no particles of odour to be inhaled by us; or do not listen to songs and choral harmonies, when there is no vibration to be transmitted to the auditory nerve. It is at certain regular periods, that the full light of day, and the twilight of morning and evening, are perceived by us. But we do not think it necessary, on this account, to give any peculiar name to these visual perceptions, to distinguish them from others less regular, because we know, that the reason of the periodic recurrence of these perceptions, is that the various degrees of sunshine, which produce them, exist only at such intervals. We are hungry, when the nerves of the stomach are in a certain state; we perceive the sun, when the organ of vision is in a certain state. It is as little wonderful, that we should not have the feeling of hunger, except when the nerves of the stomach are in this state, as that we should not have the perception of the meridian sun, when the sun itself is beneath our horizon.

Since the mere pains of appetite, however, most important as they truly are, for the ends which they immediately answer, are yet of little importance in relation to our general knowledge, it is unnecessary to dwell on them at length. But I cannot quit the consideration of them, without remarking that admirable provision which the gracious Author of Nature has made by them, for the preservation not of our being merely, but of our well-being— of that health and vigour, without which, a frail and feverish existence, at least in its relation to this earthly scene, would be of little value. The daily waste of the body requires daily supply to compensate it; and if this supply be neglected, or be inadequate-or, on the other hand, if it be inordinately great, disease is the necessary consequence. To preserve the medium, therefore, or at least to prevent any very great deviation from it, He, who planned our feelings and faculties as well as our bodily frame, has made it painful for us to omit what is so important to life; and painful also to prolong the supply in any great proportion, after the demands of nature have been adequately satisfied. If food had afforded gratification only as relieving the pain of hunger, these natural boundaries of appetite would have required no aid from moral or physical lessons of temperance. But the indulgence of nature, in conferring on us the sense of taste, and making food a luxury as well as a relief, we abuse, as we abuse her other kindnesses. The pleasures of this most intemperate of senses, may lead, in some degree, beyond the due point of supply, the greater number of mankind; and may drive, to excesses more injurious, all those herds of unthinking sensualists who prefer the sickly enjoyment of an hour, to the health and virtue, and intellectual as well as physical comfort, of more frugal repasts. Yet even to them, nature