ioned, and under the influence of different passions, receive from the same objects dissimilar impressions. Exhibit the same beautiful valley to the miser and to the poet. Elegant and lovely images arise in the poet's mind: Dryads preside in the groves, and Naiads in the fountains. Notions of wealth seize the heart of the miser: he computes the profits of the meadows and cornfields, and envies the possessor. The mind, dwelling with pleasure on these images that coincide with its present humour, or agree with the present passion, embellishes and improves them. The poet, by figuring additional lawns and incuntains, renders the landscape more beautiful, or more sublime: but the miser, moved by no compassion for Woodnymphs or Naiads, lays waste the forest, changes the windings of the river into a dead canal, and solicits wealth at the expence of beauty. Now, as the influences of passion govern and give a train to our thoughts, these, in return, nourish and promote the passion. If any object appears to us more striking and excellent than usual, it communicates a stronger impulse, and excites a

keener and more vehement desire. When the lover discovers, or fancies he discovers, new charms in the character of his mistress, if her complexion glow with a softer blush, if her manner and attitude seem more engaging, his love waxes ardent, and his ardour ungovernable. Thus imaginary representations, more even than real objects, stimulate our desires; and our passions, administering fewel to themselves, are immoderately inflamed. Joy is in this manner enlivened; anger more keenly exasperated envy burns with additional malice; and melancholy, brooding over images of misery and disappointment, is tortured with anguish, and plunges into despair.

Thus far ambition may be invigorated, assisted merely by a lively temperament and a glowing imagination. Prompted by its incitements, we engage with eagerness in the career of glory; and with persevering courage undergo fatigue and encounter danger. But though imagination may dazzle and inflame, the prudent man, in the pursuit of honours, limits his desires to objects within his reach. The most active spirit, confined

to a narrow sphere, is never desirous of unattainable glory, but is ambi ious of being distinguished in his condition. If, however, by succeeding in inferior enterprizes, higher objects are exhibited to us, our ambition, by partial gratification, becomes more violent than before. In producing this effect, the following causes co-op rate.

The temporary and accidental emotion of joy, occasioned by success, enlivens and animates the passion upon which it depends. You love your friend; he returns unexpectedly from a long journey; your joy on his arrival heightens your affection, and you receive him with transport.

Non ego sanius

Bacchabor Edonis: recepto

Dulce mihi furere est amico. HOR.

The new object appearing more excellent than the former, excites a livelier appetite, To the churchman who was meek and moderate in pursuit of inferior dignity, exhibit a mitre, and you spoil his peace.

The proximity of the object, because nothing intermediate diverts our attention,

quickens and promotes the passion. The profligate heir, who longs for the death of an avaricious father, is more eagerly impatient during his last moments than during the course of a tedious life. And the nearer the hour of assignation approaches, the heart of the lover throbs with a keener and more intense desire. To these illustrations the following passage, from a celebrated* historian, is extremely apposite: "James, har"rassed with his turbulent and factious sub

jects, cast a wishful eye to the succession "of England; and, in proportion as the

queen advanced in years, his desire in"creased of mounting that throne."

Success, as it produces vanity, invigorates, our ambition. Eminently or unexpectedly distinguished, we fancy ourselves endowed with superior merit, and entitled to higher honour. Alexander, after the conquest of Persia, grew more vain and more extrava gantly ambitious than before.

In this manner, by joy, by the prospect, and proximity of a more splendid object, and by vanity, all depending on partial gratification, the passion is swelled and be

* Hume.

comes excessive. Macbeth having repelled the inroads of the islanders, and having vanquished a numerous host of Norwegians, is rewarded by his king, and revered by his countrymen. He rises to unexpected honours: his ambition, fostered by imagination, and confirmed by success, becomes immoderate; and his soul, elevated above measure, aspires to sovereignty.

II. Every variation of character and passion is accompanied with corresponding changes in the sentiments of the spectator. Macbeth engaged in the defence of his country, and pursuing the objects of a laudable ambition, is justly honoured and esteemed. But the distraction which ensues from the conflict between vicious and virtuous principles, renders him the object of compassion mixed with disapprobation.

The chief obstacle in the way of our selfish desires proceeds from the opposition of our moral faculties. Invested by nature with supreme authority to judge concerning the passions of mankind, they exert themselves in restraining their impetuosity, and