we are reduced to the necessity of affirming, that nature hath exhausted her powers in the formation of inferior objects, and neglected the most important; that she hath established laws and government in the inanimate creation, and abandoned the mind to misrule; and that she hath given us a body suited to our condition, fashioned according to the most accurate proportions, and adjusted to the nicest rules of mechanics; and left the animating principle, the mover and director of this wonderful machine, to be actuated by random impulses, mishapen, and imperfect. Shall we acquiesce in this opinion, and ascribe negligence or inability to the Creator? The laws that regulate the intellectual system are too fine for superficial attention, and elude the perception of the vulgar. But every accurate and sedate observer is sensible of their existence.

Difficulty in making just experiments is the principal reason why the knowledge of human nature has been retarded. The materials of this study are commonly gathered from reflection on our own feelings, or from observations on the conduct of others. Each

of these methods is exposed to difficulty, and consequently to error.

Natural philosophers possess great advantages over moralists and metaphysicians, in so far as the subjects of their inquiries belong to the senses, are external, material, and often permanent. Hence they can retain them in their presence till they have examined their motion, parts, or composition : they can have recourse to them for a renewal of their impressions when they grow languid or obscure, or when they feel their minds vigorous, and disposed to philosophize. But passions are excited independent of our volition, and arise or subside without our desire or concurrence. Compassion is never awakened but by the view of pain or of sorResentment is never kindled but by actual suffering, or by the view of injustice.

row.

Will anger, jealousy, and revenge, attend the summons of the dispassionate sage, that he may examine their conduct, and dismiss them? Will pride and ambition obey the voice of the humble hermit, and assist him in explaining the principles of human nature? Or by what powerful spell can the abstracted

philosopher, whose passions are all chastened and subdued, whose heart never throbs with desire, prevail with the tender affections to appear at this unkindly command, and submit the delicacy of their features to the rigor of strict inquiry? The philosopher, accustomed to moderate his passions, rather than indulge them, is of all men least able to provoke their violence; and, in order to succeed in his researches, he must recall emotions felt by him at some former period; or he must seize their impression, and mark their operations at the very moment they are accidentally excited. Thus, with other obvious disadvantages, he will often lose the opportunity of a happy mood, unable to avail himself of those animating returns of vivacity and attention essential to genius, but independent of the will.

Observations made, while the mind is inflamed, are difficult in the execution, incomplete, and erroneous. Eager passions admit no partners, and endure no rivals in their authority. The moment reflection, or any foreign or opposing principle, begins to operate, they are either exceedingly ex

asperated, agitating the mind, and leaving it no leisure for speculation; or, if they are unable to maintain their ascendent, they become cool and indistinct; their aspect grows dim; and observations made during their decline are imperfect. The passions are swift and evanescent: we cannot arrest their celerity, nor suspend them in the mind during pleasure. You are moved by strong affection: seize the opportunity, let none of its motions escape you, and observe every sentiment it excites. You cannot. While the passion prevails, you have no leisure for speculation; and be assured it has suffered abatement, if you have time to philosophize.

But you proceed by recollection. Still, however, your observations are limited, and your theory partial. To be acquainted with the nature of any passion, we must know by what combination of feelings it is excited; to what temperament it is allied; in what proportion it gathers force and swiftness; what propensities, and what associations of thought either retard or accelerate its impetuosity; and how it may be opposed, weakened, or suppressed. But, if these

circumstances escape the most vigilant and abstracted attention, when the mind is actually agitated, how can they be recollected when the passion is entirely quieted? Moreover, every passion is compounded of inferior and subordinate feelings, essential to its existence, in their own nature nicely and minutely varied, but whose different shades and gradations are difficult to be discerned. To these we must be acutely attentive; to mark how they are combined, blended, or opposed; how they are suddenly extinguished, in a moment renewed, and again extinguished. But these fleet volatile feelings, perceived only when the mind is af fected, elude the most dexterous and active memory. Add to this, that an object suggested by memory is ever fainter and less distinct than an actual perception, especially if the object to be renewed is of a spiritual nature, a thought, sentiment, or internal

sensation.

Even allowing the possibility of accurate observation, our theories will continue partial and inadequate*. We have only one * Dr. Reid's Inquiry, chap. i. sect. 2.