454 



ON THE GENERAL 



deep-rooted passion till the due moment arrives for executing the one, or 

 gratifying the other. 



Now, in all these cases, the determination of the judgment, which forms 

 the motive or moving power, is as much a voluntary act of the mifi^, whe- 

 ther right or wrong, as the change of one or more ciphers in a common 

 arithmetical sum, in consequence of our discovering an error upon working 

 it a second time. This determination, or motive, however, may be changed 

 every hour, or even every minute ; for the mind may take a new view of 

 the subject : it may obtain clearer ideas from fresh sources ; or other 

 affections may be called into play than those which have hitherto produced 

 an influence ; and what before was decided to be a certain path to pleasure, 

 may next be decided to be as certain a road to misery and ruin. 



And so active is the judgment in asserting its control, that even where 

 the mind is borne down by the most violent passions, it still strives, at 

 times, to recover its authority, and is seldom quiet till it has succeeded. 

 Let me offer a single example in elucidation of this assertion. 



Behold the enamoured youth, who, after having struggled for years 

 with an unebbing current of obstacles, finds himself, at length, in posses- 

 sion of the fair object of his heart's affection. Here, the reigning power 

 must necessarily be the passion of love, and it would be somewhat cynical 

 to look for any thing else. Ask him in what his happiness consists, and 

 what are the motives that stimulate every action of his life, and he will at 

 once point to his beloved bride, without whom, he will tell you, that all 

 nature Would be a blank ; and, with whom, that a wilderness would be a 

 paradise. Behold her next, by the stealthy and startling hand of death, 

 snatched away from his embraces. What now is the condition of the 

 mind ? the new motives that distract it ? and the conduct t© which they 

 give rise ? Is it possible that an ember of happiness can remain to him 

 now ? — Yes, even here, in the rack of anguish, he has still his delight — a 

 lonely and a melancholy one, [ am compelled to grant, but he has his de- 

 light notwithstanding ; and the mind is as much hurried away, and as vio- 

 lently, by the present impulse, which is to weep over her remains, as by 

 fhe past, which was to devote himself to her wishes :— ' 



He haunts the deep cathedral shade, 

 The green sward where his love is laid, 

 And hugs her urn, and o'er the tomb 

 Hangs, and enjoys the specter'd gloom. 

 And oft to thee he litts his eye, 

 Mild express of the spangled sky ! 

 And thanks thy dewy beams, that guide 

 His footsteps to his clay-cold bride, 

 ^ And oft he asks the starry train 



That circle round thy silver reign, 

 By which her parting spirit pass'd, 

 And where she stay'd her flight at last. 

 He asks — and thither would he go — 

 For what has nature now below ? 



Thus far the mind has unquestionably evinced little or no control ; 

 and I bring forward these descriptions as instances of its subjugation. But 

 even here, in one of the severest trials with which mankind can be visited, 

 the mind gradually finds the means of recovering its ascendancy ; the 

 passions, by degrees become tranquillized, and in their turn subdued ; the 

 heart softened, the judgment corrected and fortified, and the reason set at 

 liberty for reflection. The pale sufferer perceives, at length, that happi- 

 ne^, to be genuine, must be neither violent nor transitory : that its foun- 



