"rascal in a public conversation." The cardidinal replies, "Very well," and bids him go on. The spy proceeds, and loads him with reports of the fame nature, till the cardinal rifes in a fury, calls him an impudent fcoundrel, and kicks him out of the room *.

We meet with inftances every day of refentment raised by lofs at play, and wreaked on the cards or dice. But anger, a furious paffion, is fatisfied with a connection ftill flighter than that of cause and effect; of which Congreve, in the Mourning Bride, gives one beautiful example:

Gonfalex. Have comfort.

Almeria. Curs'd be that tongue that bids me be of comfort.

Curs'd my own tongue that could not move his pity, Curs'd thefe weak hands that could not hold him here, For he is gone to doom Alphonfo's death.

Act IV. Sc. 8.

I have chofen to exhibit anger in its more rare appearances, for in these we can beft trace its nature and extent. In the examples above given, it appears to be an abfurd paffion, and altogether irrational. But we ought to confider, that it is not the intention of nature to fubject this paffion, in every instance, to reafon and reflection it was given us to prevent or to repel

:

injuries; and, like fear, it often operates blindly

and

Spectator, No. 439.

and instinctively, without the least view to confequences the very first apprehenfion of harm, fets it in motion to repel injury by punishment. Were it more cool and deliberate, it would lose its threatening appearance, and be infufficient to guard us against violence. When fuch is and ought to be the nature of the paffion, it is not wonderful to find it exerted irregularly and capriciously, as it fometimes is where the mifchief is fudden and unforeseen. All the harm that can be done by the paffion in that state is inftantaneous; for the fhorteft delay fets all to rights; and circumstances are seldom fo unlucky as to put it in the power of a paffionate man to do much harm in an inftant.

Social paffions, like the selfish, sometimes drop their character, and become inftinctive. It is not unusual to find anger and fear respecting others fo exceffive, as to operate blindly and impetuoufly, precisely as where they are selfish.

SECT. VII.

F 4

དང་འབ

SECT. VII. Emotions caufed by Fiction.

THE

HE attentive reader will observe, that hitherto no fiction hath been affigned as the cause of any paffion or emotion: whether it be a being, action, or quality, that moveth us, it is fuppofed to be really exifting. This obfervation shows that we have not yet completed our task; because paffions, as all the world know, are moved by fiction as well as by truth. In judging beforehand of man, so remarkably addicted to truth and reality, one fhould little dream that fiction can have any effect upon him ; but man's intellectual faculties are not fufficiently perfect to dive far even into his own nature. I fhall take occafion afterward to show, that the power of fiction to generate paffion is an admirable contrivance, fubfervient to excellent purposes in the mean time, we must try to unfold the means that give fiction fuch influence over the mind.

That the objects of our external fenfes really exift in the way and manner we perceive, is a branch of intuitive knowledge: when I fee a man walking, a tree growing, or cattle grazing, I cannot doubt but that thefe objects are really what they appear to be: if I be a fpectator of any tranf

action

action or event, I have a conviction of the real existence of the perfons engaged, of their words, and of their actions. Nature determines us to rely on the veracity of our fenfes; for otherwife they could not in any degree answer their end, that of laying open things exifting and paffing around us.

By the power of memory, a thing formerly feen may be recalled to the mind with different degrees of accuracy. We commonly are fatisfied with a flight recollection of the capital circumftances; and, in such recollection, the thing is not figured as in our view, nor any image formed we retain the consciousness of our prefent fituation, and barely remember that formerly we saw that thing. But with refpect to an interesting object or event that made a strong impreffion, I am not fatisfied with a curfory review, but muft dwell upon every circumftance. I am imperceptibly converted into a spectator, and perceive every particular paffing in my prefence, as when I was in reality a spectator. For example, I faw yefterday a beautiful woman in tears for the lofs of an only child, and was greatly moved with her diftrefs: not satisfied with a flight recollection or bare remembrance, I ponder upon the melancholy scene: conceiving myself to be in the place where I was an eyewitness, every circumftance appears to me as at firft: I think I fee the woman in tears, and hear her moans. Hence it may be juftly faid, that

in

in a complete idea of memory there is no paft nor future: a thing recalled to the mind with the accuracy I have been defcribing, is perceived as in our view, and confequently as exifting at present. Past time makes part of an incomplete idea only: I remember or reflect, that some years ago I was at Oxford, and faw the first stone laid of the Ratcliff library; and I remember that, at a still greater distance of time, I heard a debate in the House of Commons about a standing army.

Lamentable is the imperfection of language, almost in every particular that falls not under external fenfe. I am talking of a matter exceedingly clear in the perception: and yet I find no fmall difficulty to exprefs it clearly in words; for it is not accurate to talk of incidents long past as paffing in our fight, nor of hearing at present what we really heard yesterday or at a more diftant time. And yet the want of proper words to describe ideal presence, and to distinguish it from real prefence, makes this inaccuracy unavoidable. When I recall any thing to my mind in a manner fo diftinct as to form an idea or image of it as prefent, I have not words to defcribe that act, but that I perceive the thing as a spectator, and as exifting in my presence; which means not that I am really a fpectator, but only that I conceive myself to be a spectator, and have a perception of the object fimilar to what a real spectator hath. As many rules of criticifm depend on ideal presence, the reader, it is hoped, will take fome

pains