only love or esteem for the author, but also a separate feeling, being a vague feeling of gratitude, without an object-a feeling, however, that disposes the spectator or reader to acts of gratitude, more than upon an ordinary occasion. This feeling is overlooked by writers upon ethics; but a man may be convinced of its reality, by attentively watching his own heart when he thinks warmly of any signal act of gratitude: he will be conscious of the feeling, as distinct from the esteem or admiration he has for the grateful person. The feeling is singular in the following respect that it is accompanied with a desire to perform acts of gratitude, without having any object; though in that state, the mind, wonderfully bent on an object, neglects no opportunity to vent itself: any act of kindness or good will, that would pass unregarded upon another occasion, is greedily seized; and the vague feeling is converted into a real passion of gratitude in such a state, favors are returned double.

In like manner, a courageous action produces in a spectator the passion of admiration directed to the author: and beside this wellknown passion, a separate feeling is raised in the spectator, which may be called an emotion of courage; because, while under its influence, he is conscious of a boldness and intrepidity beyond what is usual, and longs for proper objects upon which to exert this motion

Spumantemque dari, pecora inter inertia, votis
Optat aprum, aut fulvum descendere monte leonem.

And rather would the tusky boar attend,
Or see the tawny lion downward bend.

Eneid, iv. 158.

Non altramente il tauro, ove l'irriti
Geloso amor con stimoli pungenti,
Horribilmente mugge, e co'muggiti
Gli spirti in sè risveglia, e l'ire ardenti:
E'l corno aguzza ai tronchi, e par ch' inviti
Con vani colpi alla battaglia i venti.
Sparge col piè l'arena; e'l suo rivale
Da lunge sfida a guerra aspra e mortale.

Tasso, Canto 7. st. 55.

Like as a bull when prickt with iealousie
He spies the rivall of his hot desire
Through all the fields both bellow, rore and crie,
And with his thund'ring voice augments his ire,
And threat'ning battaile to the emptie skie,

Teares with his horne, each tree, plant, bush and brire,
And with his foot casts up the sand on hight,
Defying his strong foe to deadly fight.-

So full of valor that they smote the air
For breathing in their faces.

-Fairfax.

Tempest, Act IV. Sc. 4.

The emotions raised by music, independent of words, must be all of this nature courage roused by martial music performed upon instruments without a voice, cannot be directed to any object; nor can grief or pity raised by melancholy music of the same kind have an object.

For another example, let us figure some grand and heroic action,

highly agreeable to the spectator: beside veneration for the author, the spectator feels in himself an unusual dignity of character, which disposes him to great and noble actions: and herein chiefly consists the extreme delight every one takes in the histories of conquerors and heroes.

This singular feeling, which may be termed the sympathetic emo tion of virtue, resembles, in one respect, the well-known appetites hat lead to the propagation and preservation of the species. The appetites of hunger, thirst, and animal love, arise in the mind before they are directed to any object; and in no case whatever is the mind more solicitous for a proper object, than when under the influence of any of these appetites.

The feeling which I have endeavored to unfold, may well be termed the sympathetic emotion of virtue; for it is raised in the spectator, or in a reader, by virtuous actions of every kind, and by no others. When we contemplate a virtuous action, which fails not to prompt our love for the author, our propensity, at the same time, to such actions, is so much enlivened, as to become for a time an actual emotion. But no man has a propensity to vice as such: on the contrary, a wicked deed disgusts him, and makes him abhor the author; and this abhorrence is a strong antidote against vice, as long as any impression remains of the wicked action.

In a rough road, a halt to view a fine country is refreshing; and here a delightful prospect opens upon us. It is indeed wonderful to observe what incitements there are to virtue in the human frame: justice is perceived to be our duty; and it is guarded by natural punishments, from which the guilty never escape; to perform noble and generous actions, a warm sense of their dignity and superior excellence is a most efficacious incitement.* And to leave virtue in no quarter unsupported, here is unfolded an admirable contrivance, by which good example commands the heart, and adds to virtue, the force of habit. We approve every virtuous action, and bestow our affection on the author; but if virtuous actions produced no other effect upon us, good example would not have great influence: the sympathetic emotion under consideration bestows upon good example the utmost influence, by prompting us to imitate what we admire. This singular emotion will readily find an object upon which to exert itself: and at any rate, it never exists without producing some effect; because virtuous emotions of that sort are, in some degree, an exercise of virtue; they are a mental exercise at least, if they appear not externally. And every exercise of virtue, interna] and external, leads to habit; for a disposition or propensity of the mind, like a limb of the body, becomes stronger by exercise. Pro per means, at the same time, being ever at hand, to raise this sym pathetic emotion, its frequent reiteration may, in a good measure supply the want of a more complete exercise. Thus, by proper dis cipline, every person may acquire a settled habit of virtue: inter course with men of worth, histories of generous and disinterested actions, and frequent meditation upon them, keep the sympathetic • See Essays on Morality and Natural Religion, part 1. ess. 2, alı. 4.

emotion in constant exercise, which by degrees intro luces a habit, and confirms the authority of virtue: with respect to education in particular, what a spacious and commodious avenue to the heart of a young person is here opened!

SECTION V.

The relations between objects productive of emotions and passions-The relation between a being and its qualities-The relation between a principal and its accessories-The effect of veneration for relics-The respect and esteem which great men command, transferred to their dress, &c.-Hatred extends to all connections-These emotions properly termed secondary, being produced by primary antecedent emotions-The power of self-love-Family connectionsFriendship produces hatred towards the enemy of our friend-Slight connections not favorable to the communication of passion-Exceptions to this-The influence of order in the communication of passion-The two exceptions-The effect of marriage in obstructing the affections-One passion generated by another without a change of the object.

IN the first chapter it is observed, that the relations by which things are connected, have a remarkable influence on the train of our ideas. I here add, that they have an influence, no less remarkable, in the production of emotions and passions. Beginning with the former, an agreeable object makes every thing connected with it appear agreeable; for the mind, gliding sweetly and easily through related objects, carries along the agreeable properties it meets with in its passage, and bestows them on the present object, which thereby appears more agreeable than when considered apart.* This rea. son may appear obscure and metaphysical, but the fact is beyond all dispute. No relation is more intimate than the relation between a being and its qualities: and accordingly, every quality in a hero, even the slightest, makes a greater figure than more substantial qualities in others. The propensity of carrying along agreeable properties from one object to another, is sometimes so vigorous as to convert defects into properties: the wry neck of Alexander was imitated by his courtiers as a real beauty, without intention to flatter: Lady Piercy, speaking of her husband Hotspur,

-By his light

Did all the chivalry of England move,

To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass,
Wherein the noble youths did dress themselves.

He had no legs that practis'd not his gait:

And speaking thick, which Nature made his blemish,

* Such proneness has the mind to this communication of properties, that we often find a property ascribed to a related object, of which naturally it is not susceptible. Sir Richard Grenville in a single ship, being surprised by the Spanish fleet, was advised to retire. He utterly refused to turn from the enemy; declar ing," he would rather die, than dishonor himself, his country, and her Majesty's ship." Hakluyt, vol. ii. part ii. p. 169. To aid the communication of properties in instances like the present, there always must be a momentary personification: a ship must be imagined a sensible being, to make it susceptible of honor or dishonor. In the battle of Mantinea, Epaminondas being mortally wounded, was carried to his tent in a manner dead: recovering his senses, the first thing ne inquired about was his shield; which being brougnt, he kissed it as the companion of his valor and glory. It must be remarked, that among the Greeks and Romans it was deemed infamous for a soldier to return from battle without his shield.

Became the accents of the valiant:

For those who could speak slow and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him.

Second Part, Henry IV. Act II. Sc. 6.

The same communication of passion obtains in the relation of principal and accessory. Pride, of which self is the object, expands itself upon a house, a garden, servants, equipage, and every accessory. A lover addresses his mistress's glove in the following terms:

Sweet ornament that decks a thing divine.

Veneration for relics has the same natural foundation; and tha: foundation with the superstructure of superstition, has occasioned much blind devotion to the most ridiculous objects-to the supposed milk, for example, of the Virgin Mary, or the supposed blood of St. Janivarius. A temple is in a proper sense an accessory of the deity to which it is dedicated: Diana is chaste, and not only her temple, but the very icicle which hangs on it, must partake of that property: The noble sister of Poplicola,

*

The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle
That's curdled by the frost from purest snow,
And hangs on Dian's temple.

Coriolanus, Act V. Sc. 3.

Thus it is, that the respect and esteem, which the great, the power'ul, the opulent, naturally command, are, in some measure, communicated to their dress, to their manners, and to all their connections: and it is this communication of properties, which, prevailing, even over the natural taste of beauty, helps to give currency to what is called the fashion.

By means of the same easiness of communication, every bad quality in an enemy is spread upon all his connections. The sentence pronounced against Ravaillac for the assassination of Henry IV. of France, ordains, that the house in which he was born should be razed to the ground, and that no other building should ever be erected on that spot. Enmity will extend passion to objects still less connected. The Swiss suffer no peacocks to live, because the Duke of Austria, their ancient enemy, wears a peacock's tail in his crest. A relation more slight and transitory than that of enmity, may have the same effect: thus the bearer of bad tidings becomes an object of aversion:

Fellow, begone; I cannot brook thy sight;
This news hath made thee a most ugly man.

King John, Act III. Sc. 1.

Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news
Hath but a losing office: and his tongue
Sounds ever after, as a sullen bell
Remember'd, tolling a departed friend.

Second Part, Henry IV. Act I. Sc. 3.

In borrowing thus properties from one object to bestow them on another, it is not any object indifferently that will answer. The

* But why worship the cross which is supposed to be that upon which our Savior suffered? That cross ought to be the object of hatred, not of veneration. If it be urged, that as an instrument of Christ's suffering it was salutary to mankind, I answer, Why is not also Pontius Pilate reverenced, Caiphas the high priest, and Judas Iscariot?

object from which properties are borrowed, must be such as to warm the mind and enliven the imagination. Thus the beauty of a mis tress, which inflames the imagination, is readily communicated to a glove, as above mentioned; but the greatest beauty of which a glove is susceptible, touches the mind so little, as to be entirely dropped in passing from it to the owner. In general, it may be observed, that any dress upon a fine woman is becoming; but that ornaments upon one who is homely, must be elegant indeed to have any remarkable effect in improving her appearance.*

The emotions produced as above may properly be termed secondary, being occasioned either by antecedent emotions or antecedent passions, which in that respect may be termed primary. And to complete the present theory, I must add, that a secondary emotion may readily swell into a passion for the accessory object, provided the accessory be a proper object for desire. Thus it happens that one passion is often productive of another: examples are without number; the sole difficulty is a proper choice. I begin with self-love, and the power it has to generate love to children. Every man, beside making part of a greater system, like a comet, a planet, or a satellite only, has a less system of his own, in the centre of which he represents the sun darting his fire and heat all around; especially upon his nearest connections: the connection between a man and his children, fundamentally that of cause and effect, becomes, by the addition of other circumstances, the completest that can be among individuals; and therefore self-love, the most vigorous of all passions, is readily ex. panded upon children. The secondary emotion they produce by means of their connection, is sufficiently strong to move desire, even from the beginning; and the new passion swells by degrees, till it rivals, in some measure, self-love, the primary passion. To demonstrate the truth of this theory, I urge the following argument. Remorse for betraying a friend, or murdering an enemy in cold blood, makes a man even hate himself: in that state, he is not conscious of affection to his children, but rather of disgust or ill-will. What cause can be assigned for that change, other than the hatred he has to himself, which is expanded upon his children. And if so may we not, with equal reason, derive from self-love, some part, a least, of the affection a man generally has to them?

The affection a man bears to his blood-relations, depends partly on the same principle: self-love is also expanded upon them; and the communicated passion is more or less vigorous in proportion to the degree of connection. Nor does self-love rest here: it is, by the force of connection, communicated even to things inanimate: and hence the affection a man bears to his property, and to every thing he calls his own.

Friendship, less vigorous than self-love, is, for that reason, less * A house and gardens surrounded with pleasant fields, all in good order, bestow greater lustre upon the owner than at first will be imagined. The beauties of the former are, by intimacy of connection, readily communicated to the latter; and if it have been done at the expense of the owner himself, we naturally transfer to him whatever of design, art, or taste, appears in the performance. Should not this be a strong motive with proprietors to embellish and improve their fields?