often in the possession of the greatest share of sensual pleasure; they are at least surrounded with a large proportion of the means by which such inferior gratifications may be secured; a fact which leads us to the conclusion that the Deity puts little value on gifts which he allows his enemies pre-eminently to enjoy, and that he intends higher and more enduring rewards for those who sincerely obey him. The whole, indeed, of natural and revealed religion, whilst it allows us temperately to use all the sources of enjoyment of which our nature is susceptible, urges upon our attention the duty and necessity of habitual selfcommand.

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Every one knows," says Reid, "that when appetite draws one way, duty, decency, or even interest, may draw the contrary way; and that appetite may give a stronger impulse than any one of these, or even all of them conjoined. Yet it is certain, that, in every case of this kind, appetite ought to yield to any of these principles when it stands opposed to them. It is in such cases that self-government is necessary. The man who suffers himself to be led by appetite to do what he knows he ought not to do, has an immediate and natural conviction that he did wrong, and might have done otherwise; and therefore he condemns himself, and confesses that he yielded to an appetite which ought to have been under his command."

It is unnecessary to take any notice here of our acquired appetites, since they owe their existence to casual circumstances. Moral and political causes have no slight influence in increasing or diminishing their number; and to these causes it is not difficult in many

cases to trace the appetite for tobacco, or for opium, but especially for intoxicating liquors. It is generally, I believe, to moral as well as to physical causes, that a prevailing habit of dram-drinking owes its origin; and when several such causes unite in its formation, its power is increased by that law of our nature according to which every thing that stimulates the nervous system produces a subsequent languor, which gives rise to a desire of repetition.

I PROCEED to consider those emotions which are both animal and intellectual. These are the affections. It may seem unusual to consider this class of our active principles as allied to the intellectual powers of our nature. Dr. Reid places them among the animal principles of our nature, because they are such as operate upon the will and intention, but do not suppose 'any exercise of judgment or reason; and are most of them to be found in some brute animals, as well as in man. But I consider them in a somewhat more elevated point of view; first, because they are of a higher order of active principles than our appetites, which are properly called animal; and secondly, because some of them are peculiar to man, and all of them, in consequence of the nobler principles with which they are associated in his nature, are exalted in their exercise and in their ends.

They are the same, in

Under the general head of our affections are comprehended all those active principles, whose direct and ultimate object is the communication either of enjoyment or suffering, to any of our fellow-creatures. Affection, in this sense, is to be distinguished from appetite and desire; for these have always things, and not persons, for their objects; whereas, strictly and properly speaking, the immediate objects of affection are persons only. Affection is likewise distinguishable from passion. deed, in kind; but they are different in degree. Affection is exercised with decency and moderation; but passion is affection carried to such excess, that it disturbs our reason, lessens, or entirely takes away from us our power of self-command, agitates even the body, and hurries us to action, by an almost irresistible impulse. Dr. Reid thinks that the malevolent principles, such as anger, resentment, envy, are not commonly called affections, but rather passions. And he takes the reason of this to be, that the malevolent affections are almost always accompanied with that perturbation of mind which we properly call passion; and this passion being the most conspicuous ingredient, gives its name to the whole.

Though something like this distinction may obtain in popular language, there is not the slightest occasion for its introduction into philosophical arrangements. I shall, therefore, with Professor Stewart, consider under the head of affections all those feelings and emotions, by which we are led to communicate to others, either pleasure or pain, enjoyment or suffering.

These emotions, then, may be divided into the benevolent and malevolent. The benevolent affections are various, and it would not, perhaps, be easy to enumerate them completely. The parental and filial affections, the affections of kindred, love, friendship, patriotism, universal benevolence, gratitude, and pity, are some of the most important. Besides these, there are peculiar benevolent affections, excited by those moral qualities in other men, which render them either amiable or respectable, or objects of admiration. The malevolent affections are hatred, jealousy, envy, revenge, and the like.

The exercise of all our benevolent affections is accompanied with an agreeable feeling or emotion. This law of our nature, which was noticed by moralists at an early period, shews that the design of the Creator is to communicate happiness to his intelligent creatures in connexion with the exercise of virtuous dispositions. It is obvious that much of the pleasure which we feel in reading works of fiction may be traced to this source; and accordingly it has been noticed, that those authors whose object is to furnish amusement to the mind, avail themselves of these affections as one of the chief vehicles of pleasure. Hence, the principal charm of tragedy, and of every other species of pathetic composition. And hence it is that he possesses the greatest share of the happiness of human life whose affections are warm and virtuous; because he is not only in the possession of the chief source of human enjoyment, but of one which is little affected by casual circumstances.

There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint,
How blind, how impious! There behold the ways
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,

For ever just, benevolent, and wise:
That virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued
By vexing fortune and intrusive pain,
Should never be divided from her chaste,
Her fair attendant, pleasure. Need I urge
Thy tardy thought through all the various round
Of this existence, that thy softening soul
At length may learn what energy the hand
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide
Of passion swelling with distress and pain,
To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops
Of cordial pleasure?

Ask the crowd

Which flies impatient from the village walk
To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below
The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast
Some helpless bark; while sacred pity melts
The general eye, or terror's icy hand

Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair;
While every mother closer to her breast
Catches her child, and pointing where the waves
Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud
As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms
For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,
As now another, dash'd against the rock,
Drops lifeless down; O! deemest thou indeed
No kind endearment here by nature given
To mutual terror and compassion's tears?
No sweetly melting softness which attracts,
O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers
To this their proper action and their end?

Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste
The big distress? Or would'st thou then exchange
Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot
Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd
Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,