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ing two things 'as related, the mind is not stationary, but pafseth and repasseth from the one to the other, viewing the relation from each of them perhaps oftener than once; which holds more especially in considering a relation between things of unequal rank, as between the cause and the effect, or between a principal and an accessory : in contemplating, for example, the relation between a building and its ornaments, the mind is not satisfied with a single transition from the former to the latter; it must also view the relation, beginning at the latter, and passing from it to the former. This vibration of the mind in passing and repassing between things related, explains the facts above mentioned: the mind pafseth easily from the father to the daughter: but where the daughter is marrid, this new relation attracts the mind, and obstructs, in some measure, the return from the daughter to the father; and any circumstance that obstructs the mind in passing and repassing between its objects, occasions a like obstruction in the communication of passion. The marriage of a male obstructs less the easiness of transition ; because a male is less sunk by the relation of marriage than a female.

The foregoing instances are of passion communicated froin one object to another. But one passion may be generated by another, without change of object. It in general is observable, that a passion paves the way to others similar in


their tone, whether directed to the same or to a different object ; for the mind, heated by any passion, is, in that state, more susceptible of a new impression in a similar tone, than when cool and quiescent. It is a common observation, that pity generally produceth friendship for a person in distress. One reason is, that pity interests us in its object, and recommends all it's virtuous qualities : female beauty accordingly shews best in distress; being more apt to inspire love, than upon an ordinary occasion. But the chief reason is, that pity, warming and melting the spectator, prepares him for the reception of other tender affections; and pity is readily improved into love or friendship, by a certain tenderness and concern for the object, which is the tone of both passions. The aptitude of pity to produce love, is beautifully illustrated by Shakespeare :

Othello. Her father lov'd me; oft invited me; Still question’d me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, fieges, fortunes, That I have paft. I ran it through, ev'n from my boyish days, To th' very moment that he bade me tell it : Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field; Of hair-breadth 'scapes in th’imminent deadly breach ; Of being taken by the infolent foe, And sold to llavery; of my redemption thence, And with it all my travel's history, All these to hear


Would Desdemona seriously incline ;
But still the house-affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as she could with haste dispatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnelt heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,
She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:
She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful-
She wilh'd she had not heard it :-yet she wilh'd
That Heaven had made her such a man: The thank'd me,
And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I fpake: •
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past,
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them :
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd.

Otbello, Act 1. Sc. 8.

In this instance it will be observed that admira. tion concurred with pity to produce love.

Sect. VI. Sect. VI..Causes of the Pasions of Fear and


TEAR and anger, to answer the purposes of T nature, are happily so contrived as to operate sometimes instinctively sometimes deliberately, according to circumstances. As far as deliberate, they fall in with the general system, and require no particular explanation: if any object have a threatening appearance, reason fuggests means to avoid the danger: if a man be injured, the first thing he thinks of, is what revenge he shall take, and what means he shall employ. These particulars are no less obvious than natural. But, as the passions of fear and anger, in their instinctive ftate, are less familiar to us, it may be acceptable to the reader to have them accurately delineated. He may also poffibly be glad of an opportunity to have the nature of instinctive passions more fully explained, than there was formerly opportunity to do. I begin with fear.

Self-preservation is a matter of too great importance to be left entirely to the conduct of reason. Nature hath acted here with her usual foresight. Fear and anger are passions that move us to act, sometimes deliberately, sometimes instinctively, according to circumstances; and by operating in the latter manner, they frequently VOL. I.



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afford security when the flower operations of deliberate reason would be too late : we take nou. rishment commonly, not by the direction of reafon, but by the impulse of hunger and thirst; and, in the same manner, we avoid danger by the impulse of fear, which often, before there is time for reflection, placeth us in safety. Here we have an illustrious instance of wisdom in the formation of man; for it is not within the reach of fancy, to conceive any thing more artfully contrived to answer its purpose, than the instinctive paflion of fear, which, upon the first surmise of danger, operates instantaneously. So little doth the passion, in such instances, depend on reason, that it frequently operates in contradiction to it: a man who is not upon his guard cannot avoid shrinking at a blow, though he knows it to be aimed in sport; nor avoid cle ling his eyes at the approach of what may hurt them, though conscious that he is in no danger. And it also operates by impelling us to act even where we are conscious that our interpofition can be of no service: if a passage-boat, in a brisk gale, bear much to one fide, I cannot avoid applying the whole force of my thoulders to set it upright; and, if my horse stumble, my hands and knees are instantly at work to prevent him from falling.

Fear provides for self-preservation by flying from harm; anger, by repelling it. Nothing, indeed, can be better contrived to repel or prevent



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