each of the other active principles has its exact and definite object. The object of hunger is food; and nothing but food: the object of curiosity is knowledge alone: the object of compassion is confined to the relief of the distressed. But with the passions the case is very different. Fear may be excited by the prospect of any kind of evil; by the apprehension of pain, the prospect of poverty, or the risk of losing a friend. Joy is raised by a sudden access of fortune or of fame, by the acquisition of a friend, or the birth of a child: and so in the case of the other passions. I would, therefore, call the passions a kind of mental emotions or energies which nature has implanted in us, as strong incitements to pursue every thing that is beneficial, and to avoid whatever is hurtful to us, on account of the lively pleasure which the attainment of the first, and the pain which suffering the last, are sure to produce. They scarcely ever exist unmixed, or unaccompanied with some of the other active principles of our nature; but may be considered as a kind of auxiliary incitements which nature occasionally calls forth in aid of our more important affections and desires; of friendship, gratitude, pity, resentment, curiosity, emulation,

&c.

Passion, when strong, produces the most powerful effects upon the body, as well as upon the mind, of man. It agitates the countenance, changes the voice, and occasions gestures of the most peculiar kind. Strong passion will incite a man to make exertions of bodily strength, of which in his cooler moments he is altogether incapable; but which are usually followed by that exhaustion of frame, which is the natural consequence of so great efforts. At other times, the effects of passion are in the highest degree depressive and weakening. Extreme terror generally overcomes the strength both of the body and the mind, and reduces the unfortunate person, who is under its influence, to the most abject and pitiable state.

Seneca has admirably delineated the indications of excessive anger. "Ut autem scias non esse sanos quos ira possedit, ipsorum illorum habitum intuere. Nam ut furentium certa indicia sunt, ita et irascentium. Flagrant oculi, et multus ore toto rubor. Labia quatiuutur, dentes comprimuntur, horrent ac subriguntur capilli, tumescunt venæ, concutitur crebro spiritu pectus, parum explanatæ voces sunt, comploduntur sæpius manus, pulsatur humus pedibus, totum concutitur corpus: ita ut nescias utrùm magis detestabile vitium sit an deforme." (De ira.)

The external indications of passion are a language understood by all mankind. It is from them that the human countenance derives its chief beauty, as well as occasionally much of its deformity. The indications of passion then form a primary object of study for the painters; as its language and natural tones enter largely into the peculiar charms of poetry and music.

But the passions likewise produce effects of a more lasting kind upon our corporeal frames. So strong is the agitation, which some. times accompanies them, that they may be the means of restoring or impairing health, of producing disease, or even of occasioning death

If. The salutary influence of the gentler passions upon the human e, the balm of hope, and the exhilaration of moderate joy, have

occasionally been experienced by all; nor are the deleterious effects of anger, revenge, and fear, or the fatal influence of excessive grief, less generally known. We are apt to ascribe wonderful effects to the imagination or fancy, both in curing and causing diseases: it would, perhaps, be more strictly proper to ascribe these effects to the passions, which the imagination has sufficient power to raise, and of which the salutary or deleterious influence is sufficiently known to us. When the imagination is disturbed by fancied danger, fear, and sorrow, with all their concomitant evils, will naturally arise in the mind; and when it exhibits a more flattering picture, the soothing influence of hope and joy will naturally be felt. In this way we are enabled to explain, and to ascribe to their proper causes, many miraculous cures which are upon record, and which cannot be accounted for by the natural operation of medicine; and in this way we can explain how quackery may sometimes produce important effects upon the human frame, and even fulfil its vaunting pretensions. The history of animal magnetism, and of some later impositions of a like kind, affords satisfactory illustrations of this fact; and ought to convince physicians that, although quackery is a contemptible imposture, yet the proper management of the human passions is a subject highly deserving of their minute

attention.

Various instances are upon record of sudden death having been occasioned by extreme terror, rage, or grief. History likewise furnishes us with examples of death having been occasioned by sudden and excessive joy, but always, according to Dr. Cogan, when the mind was the instant preceding under the influence of great anxiety. Such are the well known examples of Chilo the Lacedæmonian dying, upon hearing that his son was declared a victor in the Olympic games, recorded by Pliny (1. 7. c. 7.): of the aged matron, mentioned by Livy, who, being in the depth of distress on the tidings of her son having fallen in battle, died in his arms from the excess of joy upon his safe return (l. 22. c. 7.): of Sophocles the tragedian, who, according to Valerius Maximus, died in consequence of a decision being pronounced in his favor (1. 9. c. 12.). If such facts are true, they show the necessity of caution in communicating good tidings, as well as in imparting those of an afflictive nature. I have been informed by a very eminent physician that instances of madness occasioned by sudden and excessive joy are much more frequent than those of the derangement produced by extreme grief; a fact which may give rise to interesting speculations concerning the natural effects of these two opposite and powerful passions.

If the influence of the passions is very important upon our corporeal frame, it is not less so upon our minds. They are the springs and stimulants by which the dormant faculties of man are roused, and by which he is led to the performance of whatever is arduous or admirable, as well as to the perpetration of base and detestable actions. "The passions," says Dr. Reid, "when kept within their proper bounds, give life and vigor to the whole man. Take away the passions, and it is not easy to say how great a part of mankind would resemble those frivolous mortals, who never had a thought that enga

ged them in good earnest. It is not mere judgment or intellectual ability that enables a man to excel in any art or science. He must have a love and admiration of it bordering upon enthusiasm, or a passionate desire of the fame, or of some other advantages to be obtained by that excellence. Without this, he would not undergo that labor and fatigue of his faculties, which it requires. So that, I think, we may with justice allow no small merit to the passions, even in the discoveries and improvements of the arts and sciences. If the passions for fame and distinction were extinguished, it would be difficult to find men ready to undertake the cares and toils of government ; and few, perhaps, would make the exertions necessary to raise themselves above the ignoble vulgar." (Essay 3. on the Active Powers, c. 6.) "The effects of passion upon the human mind," says he again, "are not less remarkable. It turns the thoughts involuntarily to the objects related to it, so that a man can hardly think of any thing else. It gives often a strange bias to the judgment, making a man quicksighted in every thing that tends to inflame his passion, and to justify it, but blind to every thing that tends to moderate and allay it. The sentiments of a man under its influence will appear absurd and ridiculous not only to other men, but even to himself, when the storm is spent and succeeded by a calm." (Ibid.)

"Les passions," says the lively Helvetius, "sont dans le moral ce que dans le physique est le mouvement: il crée, anéantit, conserve, anime tout, et sans lui tout est mort: ce sont elles aussi qui vivifient le monde moral. C'est l'avarice, qui guide les vaisseaux à travers les déserts de l'Océan, l'orgueil qui comble les vallons, applanit les montagnes, s'ouvre des routes à travers les rochers, éleve les pyramides de Memphis, creuse le lac Moris, et fond le colosse de Rhodes. L'amour tailla, dit-on, le crayon dessinateur. Dans un pays où la révélation n'avoit point pénétré, ce fut encore l'amour qui, pour flatter la douleur d'une veuve, éplorée par la mort de son jeune époux, lui découvrit le systême de l'immortalité de l'ame. C'est l'enthousiasme de la reconnoissance qui mit au rang des Dieux les bienfaiteurs de l'humanité; qui inventa aussi les religions, et les superstitions, qui toutes n'ont pas pris leur source dans des passions aussi nobles que l'amour et la reconnoissance. C'est la passion de l'honneur et le fanatisme philosophique qui pouvoient seuls au milieu des supplices engager la Pythagoricienne Zimicha à se couper la langue avec les dents, pour ne point s'exposer à révéler les secrets de sa secte. Ce sont, en effet, les passions seules qui, portées a ce degré de force, peuvent exécuter les plus grandes actions, et braver les dangers, la douleur, la mort, et le ciel même." (De L' Esprit dis. 3. c. 6.)

But let us also reflect that the passions, when allowed to revel uncontrolled, produce the most serious mischief, and occasion the most deplorable confusion in the moral world. From unrestrained desire, or unchecked aversion degenerating into malevolence, have arisen much of the vice and enormity with which the page of history is deformed. The overthrow of cities, the revolutions of empires, the destruction of whatever is venerable or sacred, spring chiefly from the baleful influence of headstrong passion; and the misunderstand

ings and miseries of private life, which are not less acutely felt than the shock of empires, have generally no other source.

Passion, when it produces these remarkable effects, can seldom be said to exist in an unbiassed or simple state. It unites itself with the other active principles of man, and impacts to them its powerful and peculiar energy. In fact, man can seldom be said to be actuated by any of those principles of his constitution, which we have been analysing, in a pure and unmixed state; they become blended and combined, in an endless variety of ways, and thus give rise to principles of an apparently new and distinct kind. Desire and aversion, hope and fear, by turns lend their energy to the most powerful of man's active principles, and according as the one or the other predominates, shall we behold actions which excite our admiration, or call for our strongest censure. Hatred, that baleful affection of the human breast, may be said to spring from a union of resentment and aversion; envy is formed of the same ingredients, with the addition of a certain portion of fear and desire: despair is formed of a gloomy mixture of aversion, fear, and sorrow. Language seldom affords appropriate names for the compound affections, which we approve, although it generally discriminates those which we censure: but we may with some attention analyse the former as well as the latter. Thus we may say that the true patriot is at once animated by the love of esteem, the desire of benefiting his fellow citizens, and the hope of producing a lasting reform in the constitution of the state.

When passion is raised in a slight degree only, and goes off without producing any remarkable effect, it is called an emotion. Such at least is the meaning assigned to the word emotion by Lord Kaimes, and which I think is more agreeable to common usage than that in which Dr. Cogan employs it, viz. to denote the violent and extreme degrees of passion. According to the first sense, emotion is a degree of passion which does not lead to action, and goes off without any other effect than producing a certain agitation of mind. It is this degree of passion which is generally raised by mere narration, or fictitious composition; and when not carried beyond this moderate degree, the powerful passions themselves become productive of a certain kind of pleasure; hence the reason that terrific descriptions, delineation of odious characters, and sorrowful catastrophes, are so frequently introduced into the pages of fiction.

The term emotion seems likewise properly to belong to some other slight agitations of the mind, which nature calls forth on certain occasions, and which by their agreeable or disagreeable effects are calculated to raise us to act as the particular case requires. The most remarkable of these feelings is surprise, or the agreeable agitation produced by whatever is new or uncommon; an energy of the mind which most writers have classed along with the passions, but which to me seems to be nothing more than the pleasurable feeling which nature has attached to the gratification of curiosity; and by which we are prompted to seek continually for new acquisitions in every kind of knowledge.

Surprise appears to be the appropriate term for this emotion in

simple and unmixed state. When roused to a higher energy, and combined with a certain portion of desire, this emotion becomes admiration, and when fear is added to surprise, it gets the name of astonishment. That fear is really an ingredient in this last emotion, may fairly be inferred from the original signification of the term, which comes from the French étonnement and the Latin attonitus; and that, when moderate, even this sort of surprise should be agreeable, may be understood by the observations just made upon emotions in general. From what has been said concerning the powerful influence of the passions on human conduct, may naturally be inferred the propriety of duly regulating and controlling these impetuous incitements to action. It is of the greatest consequence to human characters and intimately. concerns human happiness, that desire and aversion, hope and fear, should be directed towards those objects by which they ought to be excited, according to a just estimate of the relative value of things; that we should desire only what is really good in itself, and shun only what is really evil; and then will our joy and our sorrow have a rational and not a fanciful foundation.

An irritable or irascible temper is a strong obstacle to the attainment of happiness, and it deserves the more to be attended to, as it is a fault not unusually found in characters otherwise affectionate and generous. If left uncontrolled, it is apt to degenerate into misanthropy, and a gloomy discontent at the course of human affairs. But by keeping a rein over the headstrong sallies of resentment, and cherishing candor with respect to the conduct and intentions of other men, much may be done in overcoming this unamiable propensity of the mind. The very restraint of the external signs of anger or of discontent, has a considerable effect in calming the tumultuous agitation of the mind. For so intimate is the connexion between mind and body, that the suppression of the exterual sign of any strong emotion has a tendency to allay the feeling which is indicated by that sign, just as the imitation of the expression has a tendency to excite the

emotion itself.

SECT. V.

Of the moral principles of action in man.

I divided man's active principles into three classes, the selfish, social, and moral. Having examined as minutely as is consistent with the plan of this work, the two first classes, I come to treat of the third, which is doubtless the most important of the three, and is that which confers upon man his peculiar character and dignity. For if we can discover among the various tribes of animals some traces both of the selfish and social active principles; if we can find clear indications of their being prompted by appetites, desires, affections, and passions; there is nothing observable in the lower animals that de serves the name of a moral principle of action; nor can we ever as cribe to their conduct the characteristics of virtuous or vicious.

All nations, even the most rude aud uncivilized, make a distinction