the cause being bodily, belongs to the one, and the effect being spiritual, to the other. So the emotions lie on the line of separation between the purely mental and the mixed or moral sciences; and viewed in one light they belong to the former, in another to the latter. When examined merely in a speculative way, as an object of curiosity, they form a branch of metaphysics; but when they are considered as elements of human happiness, capable of being fostered, stifled, or directed with a view to the good of individuals or communities, they appertain to moral science. To analyse, classify, and trace their causes belongs to the one; to show what effects they have upon our happiness, how these effects may be modified, and how the emotions tend to support or overthrow any practical system, is peculiar to the other. Dismissing, then, the general analysis and classification of these feelings as belonging to another department, and amply sufficient to fill a separate work, we shall confine our attention to one great branch of them, by far the most important for our present purpose, Desires and Fears.

A practical acquaintance with the emotions, especially with desires and fears, with the occasions on which they are apt to arise, and the consequences, whether in word or deed, which they usually produce, constitutes what is commonly called a knowledge of human nature. This knowledge is indispensable not

4 Those who are inclined to see this branch of philosophy treated at length, and with great acuteness, will do well to consult the third volume of Dr. Brown's Lectures, perhaps the most interesting of the whole work.

only in proposing schemes for bettering the condition of mankind, but more or less in almost every branch of literature, whether history, novels, poetry, or the drama. Without it no moralist, legislator, or statesman, no writer in prose or verse has ever risen to much eminence.

Desire and passion differ only in this, that the former is the most general term, whereas the word passion is limited to desires, either intense or durable. A desife, however transitory, if it be intense, is called passion; as for instance, momentary anger; and perhaps the same word would be applied to a very durable desire, though it never rose to a height. But as this is a case of rather rare occurrence, since desires seldom continue long without waxing powerful, we cannot so well say whether in common language continuance alone would be enough to justify the term. This, however, is of little consequence, for all I wish to observe is, that between desire and passion there is no essential difference, and that the one may at any time grow or decline into the other, the nature of the feeling being all the while the same. Love of money, for instance, may in this man be a light desire, and may never greatly increase, while in that it is the mainspring of life, which, as he advances in years, becomes the passion of avarice, and engrosses his whole existence. This being understood, we may now proceed to consider what more real difference exists in the nature of our various desires.

Desire and fear are utterly opposed to each other, and yet the same objects give rise to both. If we desire to obtain any thing, we may also fear lest we

should not obtain it; and when we actually possess and wish to preserve it, we are apt to fear that we shall not. So when we fear any evil, we necessarily desire to escape it, and when it does overtake us, we again wish for its departure. Thus the two emotions are produced by the same objects, come and go together, and both look to the future. For this reason they have properly been called prospective. They are both simple feelings, not susceptible of analysis, either in language or in idea; and therefore they cannot be defined.

From the above it follows, that whatever real distinction may be found between our desires, the same must exist between our fears; and therefore that the classification which applies to the one will also hold good of the other. Moreover, it is evident, that just as much as desires are favourable, must the corresponding fears be unfavourable to happiness, supposing them equally intense and continuous; and therefore whatever may be proved true of the former, the converse must apply to the latter. Consequently, we are freed from the necessity of discussing both, for we could only repeat our observations.

Every thing in nature may be considered in two points of view, first, as it is something in itself; secondly, as it is related to a greater whole of which it forms a part. The globe we inhabit has a real existence by itself, while at the same time it is a part of the universe, and of our planetary system more especially, to which it is related in the way both of cause and effect. The eastern hemisphere was occupied by races of men, who lived and flourished

long before they heard of the western; but the old world was not tardy in forming relations with the new when this was once discovered. Every country has a real importance of its own, as well as in reference to others, whether we view it in a geographical, a political, or a moral light; and so has every province, parish, family, and individual. The moral duties have generally been divided into those which regard self and those which look to others; and in politics and political economy, home and foreign affairs, home and foreign trade are always kept distinct. This real and fundamental distinction is also met with in the human mind. The great Author of our being has implanted in us two orders of desires very different in their nature. By the one, we are directly impelled to seek the good of self, by the other, that of the world without. Those are properly Self-regarding, these are Social. Without the former man would be a fool, without the latter a savage; take away the first, and the human race expires; extirpate the second, and it is scarcely worth preserving. But besides the desires which directly seek the good of others, there are some which point to their evil; and these also may be called social, the term being employed to signify what relates to the world without, whether for good or for ill. Thus of the two grand classes of desires, the self-regarding and the social, the latter is subdivided into the benevolent and the malevolent. The former class, it is evident, admits of no such general subdivision, for we cannot be conceived as wishing our own injury; and therefore, the particular desires alone remain here to be enumerated.

This distinction appears so obvious when once pointed out, it admits of such convincing proof from direct experience, and is so agreeable to the general analogy of nature, that we are almost at a loss to conceive how it ever could have been called in question. Still, authors have not been wanting who have denied the reality of the social, or at least of the benevolent desires, and have attempted to prove that man looks only to self. This is but one instance of that tendency to excessive simplification, which in the figurative language of Bacon, is one of the general idols of the human mind. No more acceptable incense could be offered to this deceitful divinity, than that which arose from the ruins of the altar of benevolence. It had always been observed, that self over-ruled a great part of our emotions, but how great would be the glory of him who should prove that it governed alone!

It will not be difficult to prove that the distinction we have pointed out is really founded in nature, even on the supposition that all our desires originate in a regard to self. Those who maintain this last opinion must, at all events, admit that there is a decided difference between direct and reflected plea

between that which arises immediately from the presence or prospect of any object, and that which we feel, because pleasure has first been felt by others. That we do often rejoice on account of the happiness of others, and are grieved on account of their misery, is a fact which falls within the experience of all men, and to this experience we may boldly make an appeal, and rely upon it as impli