ture; (Rhetoric, i. 11, § 1) κίνησις τις τῆς ψυχῆς καὶ κατάστασις ἀθρόα καὶ αἰσθητὴ εἰς τὴν ὑπάρχουσαν φύσιν· a certain motion of the soul, and a settlement of it, collective, continual, and sensible, into its proper nature; alpóa having the double meaning of collective and continuous. In like manner, Jeremy Taylor says, that for man to become happy, "it is necessary that all his regular appetites should have an object appointed them, in the fruition of which felicity must consist. Because nothing is felicity, but when what was reasonably or orderly desired is possessed." Both concords are recognised by these writers. Other writers, although doubtless at heart they admit both, yet fall into a loose way of referring, some to the first alone, some only to the last. Of the former, Jeremy Collier may be taken as a specimen, when in one of his essays he lays it down that " pleasure of whatsoever kind is nothing but an agreement between the object and the faculty." Of the latter is Pope, when he sings,

"Virtue alone is happiness below."

Divisions of Pleasure into its various kinds are commonly furnished under the present head. As the present is not the primary law of pleasure, this at first may appear strange. But it is to be observed, that, as the nature of our activities must be determined by the objects with which they are engaged, so the nature of our pleasurable activities must be determined by the objects

with which they are engaged, and with which they harmonize. If pleasure, therefore, is to be divided, here is the proper place. It may be divided as follows:

All the objects of our thought are twofold, they are real, or they are ideal; they are either presented to the mind, that is, known immediately, or represented, that is, known mediately. There are two realities which man is permitted to behold, a spiritual and a material, God and nature; into the former of which he has insight by means of the higher reason or spirit, and into the latter through sense. As the ideal depends for its existence, so manifestly it must depend for its character, upon the thinking faculty; and as thought is evolved from two opposite poles, the one called Imagination, the other called Understanding, ideal objects, although they are often the self-same, yet, because they are viewed upon different sides, are divided into two classes, the one called images or representations, the other concepts or notions. Hence, in all, there are four kinds of pleasure, founded on the knowledge apprehended by Spirit, by Sense, by Imagination, and by Understanding. Those pleasures which under different names have charmed a Warton, a Rogers, and a Campbell, may be ranked under one or other of these heads: they, in fact, chiefly belong to those pleasures of Imagination which kindled the verse of Akenside.

It will be seen that while, in the above arrangement, spiritual pleasure has been added to the list of Stewart,

there has been taken away, not only the pleasures of activity (for reasons already given), but also, for a like cause, pleasures of the heart. The reason is plain. All pleasure is of the heart, is simply a feeling, emotion, or affection arising out of some head knowledge, to use a common phrase. Hobbes expresses this after his own fashion, in terms which, if metaphorically understood, will be regarded as forcible, but as ridiculous if taken too literally. Indeed, his materialistic views are in nothing seen to be more gross than in what he says touching the seat of pleasure and of passion generally. As he would have us believe that all our knowledges are only certain motions in the head, beginning from sense, so he wishes to make out that all our pleasures are only the same motions carried a step or two farther, namely, to the heart; and that as pleasures are nothing but motions helping the action of the heart (jucundum a juvando), so pain is but a motion hindering that action (tædium). He who is so glad if he can overturn any statement that galls him, by showing that it is expressed in a figure, he to whom Beatific Vision are words unintelligible, who objects to the word Spirit because it means breath, and laughs at Virtue inspired or infused, because that would mean Virtue inblown or inpoured, is yet so put upon, that to eke out a theory whose chief passport to success lies in the fact that it happens to be within reach of the most sensuous understanding, he wilfully hardens the metaphorical heart of common speech

into a real heart of flesh and blood.

Were he to meet with such a statement in the pages of an opponent, and he had opponents not a few, how would he fasten on it, how would he chuckle! He would tell him in no mincing terms, that he had placed the seat of passion in the heart chiefly because he was writing in English; that had he been writing in Greek, he might have placed it in the liver; that had he been writing in Hebrew, he would have placed it in the belly; and that had he been writing in Chinese, he would have placed it there is no saying where.

To the laws of pleasure which we have hitherto considered, but chiefly to the second, it will be found that most of the elder writers confine themselves. This should be noted; because it is to the parallel laws of poetry that they have been tied. On the other hand, it will be found, that later authors have paid more attention to that which is the third, the last, and the highest law, alike of pleasure and of poetry.

CHAPTER III.

THE LAW OF UNCONSCIOUSNESS.

THE Third Law teaches that pleasure is unconscious; forgetting Self, and looking chiefly to the Unself.

We cannot waylay pleasure; we cannot hunt joy as we stalk for deer. Pleasure turns from the man that woos her, and to the heedless child flies unbidden. To ourselves she seldom gives note of her coming; she comes, like an angel, unheard, unseen, unknown, and not till she has gone or is parting from us, are our eyes opened to see what we have enjoyed. It was when the Saviour was vanishing from his disciples that they knew it was He; it was when the blissful vision on Tabor was passing away that Peter began to feel how good to be there. The moment we ask ourselves, Are we happy? we cease to be so. Thus it is that we can feel the present to be dull and weary; it would be as bright with sunshine as the past and the future, were we to take it as it is, and ask no questions. Thus also