which they excite, will only serve to aggravate their disagreeable effect. For these emotions consist, as I have observed, merely in the excitation of the thoughts and attention; and when the objects of thought and attention create, by their intrinsic qualities, feelings of their own, whether of desire or aversion, of hope or fear, the effect of surprise and astonishment can only be to give these feelings additional force. And it is owing in general to this accessory impulse, that the passions acquire their utmost energy, and display themselves in those wild paroxysms which spurn the government of reason.

SECTION IV.

OF THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

That there is a pleasure, to a certain extent, in the mere exercise of the Memory, is a fact familiar to every one's experience. Any object, however indifferent in itself, around which a multitude of associations are accumulated, becomes, for that sole reason, interesting to us. Hence, in a great measure, arises the pleasure which we feel in revisiting, after long absence, the scenes of our early days, which call up to

our remembrance a variety of circumstances and events in the history of our past lives. It is by no means necessary to our pleasure, that these remembered circumstances or events should have been in themselves agreeable, since the remembrance of them is often pleasing in cases where they have been indifferent, or even painful. The pleasure, in most instances, arises mainly from the mere multiplicity of recollections which the scene calls up into our minds; and this, it is worthy of being remarked, is perhaps the true foundation of the opinion which many entertain of the peculiar happiness of their youthful days. The pleasure which they feel at the present moment from this exercise of memory, they incautiously ascribe to the nature of the things remembered, and thus create in their fancy a picture of happiness by no means corresponding with what was actually enjoyed. Another instance of the pleasures of memory may be noticed in that increased gratification which we find in contemplating an extensive prospect, after having travelled over the country, and become acquainted, by a nearer inspection, with the various objects it presents, compared with what we felt when the country and the prospect were alto

gether new. However great may be our admiration on first gazing at the landscape, how much more exquisite is our pleasure, when we can recognise in the distance the mountain we have climbed; when we can trace the windings of the road we have travelled; when we can discern the distant spire of the town or village we have visited, or descry the far-off solitary inn which afforded us refreshment on our way. The pleasure of such recognitions is not to be accounted for by any previous enjoyment derived from the objects recognised, but appears to consist solely in the mere act of recognition itself. I hardly need observe that the exercise of memory is agreeable only when it is easy. Whenever an effort is required to recall a lost idea, that effort in itself is painful; though it may lead to pleasure, by leading to success. It is only when the remembered idea occurs spontaneously, and without any effort of thought to recover it, that the exercise of memory is a source of gratification.

But here presents itself an apparent inconsistency, which requires some explanation, between the pleasures of memory and those of novelty. How is it that pleasure should flow

from such directly opposite sources?—that objects should be alike agreeable by being familiar and by being new? The apparent inconsistency will be at once removed by observing that in each case the pleasure arises from the exercise of the faculties, and that the difference is only in the mode of exercise; the power of observation being employed in the one case, and the power of memory in the other. A new object forcibly arrests the attention, and furnishes to the mind an agreeable employment in perusing it through all its features, and noting its peculiarities. A familiar object interests and pleases in a different way, by recalling to the mind a multitude of recollections. But it is to be observed, that novelty of a certain kind is necessary to the existence even of the pleasures of memory. An object which is perpetually before our eyes, attracts no attention, and excites no train of thought. It is only when an object has been once familiar, and then for a time withdrawn from observation, that it is capable of awakening, by its re-appearance, that train of associated ideas which alone can render it interesting. Hence it is that an attachment to any particular spot is seldom strongly felt, till after a temporary

absence; that the feeling of patriotism is in none so ardent, as in those who are just restored to their country after years of travel or exile in a foreign land; and that the meeting of friends, after long separation, is always so peculiarly delightful. The pleasures of novelty are necessarily short-lived; for when our observation has been applied to all the parts of the novel object, and all its peculiarities have been remarked, it then possesses nothing more to attract attention, and is consequently regarded with indifference. The pleasures of memory, on the contrary, are increased and strengthened by length of time, because the longer we have been conversant with any scene or object, the greater, of course, is the number of associations which are collected around it. Hence it is that the passion for novelty, which so strongly prevails in early life, is gradually weakened by the increasing resources which are found in the pleasures of memory, till in age we become entirely averse to change, and strongly attached to the scenes, pursuits, and objects with which we have been long familiar.