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be distinguished. We should see in the agitation of a bad conscience,-in the terror that arose in it at the very conception of futurity, and of bim who presides over the future as over the past,—that the misery which was anticipated was already begun; -as in the tranquillity of the good, and the delight which they felt in the very contemplation of the perfections of the Divinity, we should perceive the commencement of that happiness which immortality was not to confer, but to continue :

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“ Heaved our reward, --for hearen enjoyed below."

With these remarks, I conclude my view of our retrospective emotions. The remaining series of emotions, which we have still to consider, are those which relate to the future,-comprehending the important class of our desires and fears, as these are diversified by all the variety of the objects on which they can be fixed, and by all the variety of degrees of probability, with which the good which we desire can be expected, or the evil anticipated and feared. In this order of our affections, as in all the emotions already considered by us, we shall find abundant proof of the wisdom and goodness of that being, who has given us our passions as he has given us our intellectual faculties, for nobler purposes than those of individual gratification,-purposes which the virtuous delight iu seeing and fulfilling, and which the wicked unconsciously promote, even while they are regardless of the wisdom and goodness which protect the world, and equally regardless of that social world which is under this sublime protection.





GENTLEMEN,—In my original arrangement of our emotions, I divided them into three orders, according as their objects were regarded by us as present, past or future—our immediate emotions, our retrospective emotions, our prospective emotions. In my last Lecture, I concluded my remarks on the second of these orders,— which from their reference to the past, I have termed retrospective. One order still remains to be considered by us,—the emotions, which I have denominated prospective, from their reference to objects as future.

This order is, in its immediate consequences, the most important of all our emotions, from its direct influence on action, which our other feelings of the same class, and indeed all our other feelings whatever, influence, only indirectly, through the medium of these. It comprehends all our desires, and all our fears,-our desires, which arise equally from the prospect of what is agreeable in itself, or from the prospect of relief, from what is disagreeable in itself,-our fears, which arise equally from the prospect of what is disagreeable in itself, and from the prospect of the loss of what is in itself agreeable. The same external object, agreeable or disagreeable, may give rise to both emotions, according as the object is, or is not, in our possession, or is, or is not producing any present uneasiness,—or, when it is equally remote in both cases, according as the probability of attainment of the agreeable object, or of freedom from the disagreeable object, is greater or less. Hope and fear do not necessarily relate to different objects. We fear to lose any source of pleasure possessed by us, which had long been an object of our hope; we wish to be free from a pain that afflicts us, which, before it attacked us, was an object of our fear. We hope that we shall attain to a situation of which we are ambitious; we fear that we shall not attain to it. We fear that some misfortune, which seems to threaten us, may reach us ;

we hope that we shall be able to escape. The hope and the fear, in these cases, opposite as the emotions truly are, arise, you perceive, from the same objects ;—the one or the other prevailing according to the greater or less probability on either side. But though they vary with different degrees of probability, they do not depend wholly on a mere comparison of probabilities. They arise, or do not arise, in some measure, also according to the magnitude of the object; our hope and our fear awaking more readily, as well as operating more permanently and strongly, when the object which we wish to attain, or of which we fear to be deprived, is very important to our happiness, though the probabilities on either side may be exactly the same as in cases of less importance, where desire and fear, if they arise at all, are comparatively feeble, and when often not the slightest emotion of either species arises :

" Pauca licet portes argenti rascula puri,

Nocte iter ingressus, gladium contumque timebis,
Et motæ ad lunam trepidapis arundinis umbram;
Cantabit vacuus coram latrone viator."

" The needy traveller, serene and gay,

Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away.
Does enry bid thee crush the upbraiding joy?
Increase his riches, and his peace destroy.
Now sears in dire vicissitude invade, -
The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade ;-

* Juvenal. Sat. X. v. 19-22.

Nor light nor darkness brings bis pain relief ;-
One shews the plunder, and one hides the thief."


There can be no question, that he who travels, in the same carriage, with the same external appearances of every kind, by which a robber could be tempted or terrified, will be in equal danger of attack, whether he carry with him little of which he can be plundered, or such a booty as would impoverish him if it were lost. But there can be no question also, that though the probabilities of danger be the same, the fear of attack, would, in these two cases, be very different,—that, in the one case, he would laugh at the ridiculous terror of any one who journeyed with him, and expressed much alarm at the approach of evening ;-and that in the other case, his own eye would watch suspiciously every horseman who approached, and would feel a sort of relief when he observed him pass carelessly and quietly along, at a considerable distance behind.

That the fear, as a mere emotion, should be more intense, according to the greatness of the object, might indeed be expected; and if this were all, there would be nothing wonderful in the state of mind, which I have now described. But there is not merely a greater intensity of fear,-there is, in spite of reflection, a greater belief of probability of attack. There is fear, in short, and fear to which we readily yield, when otherwise all fear would have seemed absurd. The reason of this it will perhaps not be difficult for you to discover, if you remember the explanations formerly given by me, of some analogous phenomena. The loss of what is valuable in itself, is of course a great affliction. The slightest possibility of such an evil makes the evil itself occur to us, as an object of conception, though not at first, perhaps, as an object of what can be termed fear. Its very greatness, however, makes it, when thus conceived, dwell longer in the mind; and it cannot dwell long, even as a mere conception, without exciting, by the common influence of suggestion, the different states of mind, associated with the conception of any great evil; of which associate or resulting states, in such circumstances, fear is one of the most constant and prominent. The fear is thus readily excited as an associate feeling; and when the fear has once been excited, as a mere associate feeling, it continues to be still more readily sugVOL. II.


gested again, at every moment, by the objects that suggested it, and with the perception or conception of which it has recently coexisted. There is a remarkable analogy to this process, in the phenomena of giddiness, to which I have before more than once alluded. Whether the height on which we stand, be elevated only a few feet, or have beneath it a precipitous abyss of a thousand fathoms, our footing, if all other circumstances be the same, is in itself equally sure. Yet though we look down, without any fear, on the gentle slope, in the one case, we shrink back in the other case with painful dismay. The lively conception of the evil which we should suffer in a fall down the dreadful descent, which is very naturally suggested by the mere sight of the precipice, suggests and keeps before us the images of horror in such a fall, and thus indirectly the emotions of fear, that are the natural accompaniments of such images, and that, but for those images, never would have arisen. We know well, on reflection, that it is a footing of the firmest rock, perhaps, on which we stand,—but in spite of reflection, we feel, at least, at every other moment, as if this very rock itself were crumbling or sinking beneath us. In this case, as in the case of the traveller, the liveliness of the mere conception of evil that may be suffered, gives a sort of temporary probability to that which would seem to have little likelihood in itself, and which derives thus from mere imagination, all the terror, that is falsely embodied by the mind in things that exist around.

It is not, then, any simple ratio of probabilities, which regulates the rise of our hopes and fears, but of these combined with the magnitude or insignificance of the objects. Yet whatever may be this mixed proportion of probability and importance, the objects of desires and fears are not to be considered as essentially distinct; since these opposite emotions arise, as we have seen, from the same objects, considered in different relations to us. There is nothing which, if it be not absolutely indifferent to us, may not excite both hope and fear, as the circumstances of our relation to it vary. This contrast of the mere circumstances, in which the opposite emotions arise, may save us from much discussion. It would be superfluous to consider all our desires in a certain order, and then to consider all our fears in a certain order, since we could only repeat, as to the one set of feelings, the

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