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Thus, the impressions of the past are necessarily of a mixed nature, but rather inclining to melancholy, while anticipations of the future may be more purely delightful. Moreover, as the past is limited and unchangeable, and so gives us nothing to do, it therefore less fills the mind, and being perfectly known to us, it leaves no scope for the imagination; whereas, the future is a boundless and undiscovered country to be improved by our own assiduity. Hence this is the grand, the permanent object of human thought and emotion. But emotion which looks forward must be either desire or fear, one or other of which can occupy the mind more than aught beside; and as the former prevails over the latter, so, in a great degree, will be the sum of our happiness.

Our experience of different characters confirms the above remarks, for are not the melancholy prone to look back, the gay and cheerful forward? This shows that the past has some connection with melancholy, the future with cheerfulness. The natural turn of mind inclines to these different views, and these views increasing the natural bent, they are dwelt upon accordingly.

The rain and wind beat dark December, how,
In this our pinching cave, shall we discourse
The freezing hours away? We have seen nothing."
So Guiderius:

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If quiet life be best; sweeter to you,

That have a sharper known; well corresponding
With your stiff age; but, unto us, it is

A cell of ignorance."

Cymbeline, Act iii. Sc. 3.

From what has been said above, we may learn the hollowness of the Epicurean maxim, "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;" for the above principles inform us that man cannot expel pain but by means of some better occupation, that neither the present nor the past can occupy him fully and agreeably, and therefore that he cannot enjoy to the utmost what the time being really affords, unless he have something beyond on which desire may rest. In vain would philosophers attempt to dissuade men from thinking of the future, for in so doing they go contrary to human nature; but if they could succeed, ennui or other ills would fill up the vacant mind.

It would be easy to multiply instances of the above principles; but without entering more into detail, enough has probably been said to prove their comprehensiveness, and to enable the reader to apply them on fit occasions.

313

CHAPTER II.

ON ACTIVITY.

LOSELY connected with the above principle is

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that of Activity. If a leading desire be necessary to occupy us fully and agreeably, so likewise is activity; and moreover it is only by means of activity that a leading desire can agreeably fill the mind. Now, a strong desire generally produces activity, but not necessarily nor universally. He who has a stake in the lottery may eagerly desire a prize, but he can do nothing to obtain his object. The luckless traveller who is mounted on a lazy mule, endeavours at first to urge it to a quicker pace, but when the whip is of no avail, he must at last give up the contest, though he ardently wish to arrive at his journey's end. So, we may long for fine weather, but as we cannot change it, we remain inactive. A desire even of this sort may engage and amuse the mind not a little; but, not leading to action, it is too apt to terminate in that uneasy restless state called impatience, in which our eagerness for the future renders us discontented with the present. Here the desire, having no vent, feeds upon the mind too much, but when it gives birth to action, the ultimate object is occasionally lost sight of in the hurry and bustle of the pursuit. The former emotion may be compared to a fire of charcoal that corrupts the air, the other to the cheerful blaze which renews and purifies the atmosphere.

As there are two kinds of desire, the active and the inactive, so are there two kinds of Hope. Having already analysed this state of mind, and in part shown how it acts as an element of human happiness, it only remains to observe that much of the effect commonly attributed to hope, is in reality due to the activity which it sets in motion. Hope alone is seldom sufficient agreeably to fill the mind, and when too long deferred, as Solomon saith, "It maketh the heart sick;" but when it gives rise to activity, it then is truly delightful. Activity, within certain bounds, is not only agreeable in itself, but is necessary to give a zest to all other enjoyments; while the languor which attends its absence is not merely itself unpleasant, but deadens the relish of every passing amusement.

That activity is a real source of enjoyment is evident from the fact that the more active is any pursuit, the longer does it please; and that too, whether the end be great or small, frivolous or important. Objects the most insignificant may be followed up from year to year with unabated ardour, provided the chase be one of movement and difficulty. What proportion between the toil and danger of a fox-hunt and the petty prey in view? Here, it is evident, the pursuit is almost every thing, and it must be very agreeable, or it would not be undertaken for so very trifling an object. A steeple-chase is a still more remarkable instance, for here there appears hardly to be an object at all. The same observation applies to most kinds of sport. And be it remarked that in spite of the frivolity of the end, these pursuits often please to

the last, and are discontinued only when the bodily powers are insufficient for such exertions. The old sportsman who can no longer follow the game on foot, is still carried to the field on a quiet pony, and dismounts only to fire.

The above remark holds true of mental as well as of bodily activity. The more abstruse is any branch of inquiry, the longer does it interest; as is seen in mathematics, metaphysics, and the learned languages, which may please during the whole of life. Nor even here is the importance of the object by any means essential. How frivolous many of the questions of the schoolmen! how minute the disquisitions. of many studious grammarians! but entity and quiddity, Hebrew roots and Greek particles, have been enough to fill up existence. Such, indeed, is the natural respect for activity, that it can give dignity to a pursuit, while the end has really none; for though a fox-hunter or a verbal critic may not be a very useful personage, he is always more thought of than the indolent or the idle. In countries where hunting, shooting, and fishing, are the common amusements of the gentry, it rather goes against a man that he is no sportsman, for he is thought to be wanting in

energy.

Amusements, on the other hand, comprising little activity, where we are more spectators than doers, speedily pall upon the mind. Such are shows and sights of all kinds, plays, operas, pantomimes, ballets, processions, sauntering, slow driving, and novelreading. Not so with cards and other games of skill or hazard, which continue to interest to the latest

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