he will feel a want, the want of something to love. But as there are few so occupied by an interest of the first kind as to exclude all wish for social delights, and as there are probably still fewer who can be altogether absorbed by general benevolence, it follows with the strongest evidence that particular attachments are necessary to the great bulk of mankind.

And this explains why it so often happens that men who live at home, say with their mothers and sisters, are less anxious about marriage, or even never think of it until they lose their relations. Having fit objects for loving, they feel not a want beyond. For the same reason a very strong friendship between persons not at all related may serve to prevent either from marrying, though instances of such friendships are rare. Separate the friends, remove the son or brother from his family, and then he will look out for a wife.

The attachment of a man to a woman, and of both to their children, are, after those, the only particular ties that can be formed. Thus the necessity of marriage to the happiness of the great majority of mankind seems to be established.

If, then, the habits of one nation be more domestic than those of another, if private morals be more pure, there is so far a strong presumption in favour of the superior happiness of the former.

A question of considerable interest here presents itself. Does the formation of particular attachments tend to increase or diminish general benevolence?

I am inclined to believe that particular attach

ments encourage general benevolence to a certain extent, but prevent it from becoming so fervent, as it may sometimes be found in persons who have no such ties. And I am led to this conclusion by reflecting on the following principles: first, that of occupation, to be afterwards dwelt upon; secondly, the principle that one emotion tends to suggest and encourage another of a similar kind. The principle of occupation leads us to conclude that, if a man's affections be much taken up with individuals, they cannot be engrossed with the love of mankind in general; while the other principle would persuade us that love of one or a few may open many a heart to feelings of universal love, at least to a certain extent. The warmth of the private attachment may kindle the general fire, which otherwise might have smouldered for ever.

This conclusion, moreover, seems to be supported by experience. It is not without reason that the world has a certain dislike to old maids and bachelors. Are they not more frequently than others of a sour and crabbed disposition, cold, ungenial, and devoid of affection for any one? This is particularly the case with old bachelors; for woman being naturally of a more loving nature than man, she often takes to her bosom some niece or other relation when she has neither husband nor children of her own.1

After all, it is by no means contended that desires

1 One possible effect of private ties, similar to the first effect above stated, is thus alluded to by Tasso in accounting for the timid counsels of Orcanus :

cannot be too strong; for what may not err by excess? Happiness seems to depend very much upon a due proportion or equilibrium between our desires and intellectual faculties. Now happiness is of two kinds, happiness of tranquillity, and that of activity; and opposed to these, are the pains of ennui and those of anxiety.

When desires are not strong enough in proportion to our intellectual faculties, it is clear that we are cut off from many active pleasures which those faculties fit us to obtain. But this is not all; for it is precisely this state of mind which engenders the pains of Ennui. Having more than once alluded to this grand enemy of human happiness, I shall now take the opportunity of saying a few words concerning it.

The proper idea of ennui is that of a feeling which occupies the mind when it has nothing else to engage it, since in our waking hours it cannot be altogether vacant. To keep off this uneasiness, it signifies not what may fill the mind, whether pleasurable or painful sensations or emotions, or else a succession of thoughts of a neutral character. Anything, in short, may serve the purpose, provided it keep us employed; for we find that persons who perform even the most mechanical drudgery do not

Orcano, uom d'alta nobiltà famosa

E più nell' arme d'alcun pregio avante;
Ma or, congiunto a giovinetta sposa,
E lieto omai de' figli, era invilito

Negli affetti di padre e di marito.

Gerusalemme Liberata. Canto x. st. 39.

suffer from this malady. It is difficult to conceive any pleasurable or painful emotion as arising from certain occupations which are ever the same, such as cotton-spinning, when labour is much divided, stone-cutting and sawing, coal-heaving, pin-making, and innumerable others; the business of under-clerks in banking houses, of copyists, &c.; but yet these occupations drive away mental languor. I make this remark for the purpose of showing that pleasure or pain is not necessary for expelling ennui, as has sometimes been asserted, but that thought alone will suffice. The feeling in question seems to be of a simple nature, and admits of no analysis.

2

When we look abroad and observe what are the characters most liable to this evil, we shall find that they are precisely those who with considerable intellectual faculties, or at least not inferior to the ordi

The word ennui, though derived from the French, is used in that language in a much more extensive sense than in ours. With us it means but one thing, namely, that languid, uneasy feeling which arises from the want of any other emotion or occupation; but with the French it may mean any annoyance, or even grief. Thus, in Corneille's play of Les Horaces, Camille, when labouring under the deepest anguish on account of the approaching combat between her brother and her lover, says to Sabine, in reference to the "bonne nouvelle" of delay,

"Je pense la savoir s'il faut la nommer telle;
On l'a dite à mon père, et j'étais avec lui;
Mais je n'en conçois rien qui flatte mon ennui."

Acte iii.

Melancholy is sometimes confounded with ennui properly so called, but they are very different. The French are perhaps as much liable to the latter as we are, though not to the former.

E

nary, possess but weak desires. Diminish the faculties or increase the desires, and in both cases ennui will abate. Whatever the circumstance may be on which the lowness of the faculties depends, whether natural conformation, want of education, or a long course of mental inactivity, age, or temporary causes, such as illness, drinking, and opium eating, the consequence is always the same. Observe very old men, whose faculties have become impaired, they can sit doing nothing nearly all day long, and yet without ennui. The same more or less holds true of savages and halfsavages, such as the Esquimaux, who spend many months of the year shut up in snow houses without any occupation, and still appear cheerful; the Lazzaroni of Naples, who lie down in the shade for hours together; and many of the poorer Irish who may be often seen standing and looking over the country in an indolent state of mind equally void of pleasure and of pain. It has frequently been remarked of negroes, whose intellects are of an inferior order, that if not forced to work they will rather lie all day in the sun than exert themselves in any way, so that we cannot suppose them to feel any painful mental lassitude. In like manner persons in illness which depresses the faculties lie in bed perfectly idle, without suffering from vacuity of mind; but no sooner does the illness subside and the faculties return, than the want of occupation is again felt. Wine or spirits, tobacco and opium, produce the same effect for a short time. At first they exhilarate, but afterwards they bring on a calmness of mind nearly allied to torpor and sleep, and often ending in