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ence of pleasure, considered directly as mere pleasure-and of glory.

SECTION I.-Of the Desire of Knowledge.

There is no principle more powerful in human nature than this, though its operation is very different in different individuals; and there is certainly no principle more useful in its results to the community. It may bear different names in the different stages and ranks of life-it may be called curiosity in the child, and a desire to know the causes of things in the sage, but it is the same original tendency of the mind. It appears in children at a very early period, and is commonly proportioned to the degree of capacity they possess. The wisdom of nature appears in giving it that peculiar direction which is best adapted to the necessities of every different stage of life,-leading us in youth to give our exclusive attention to the properties of the material objects with which we are surrounded-and in maturer years to the pursuits of society, to politics, and science, and to the endless variety of studies and professions which are comprehended in the avocations of mankind. "The desire of knowledge discovers itself, in one person, by an avidity to know the scandal of the village, and who makes love, and to whom; in another, to know the economy of the next family; in another, to know what the post brings; and in another, to trace the path of a new comet. When men shew an anxiety," continues Dr. Reid, " and take endeared to us on account of the ministry which he

pains to know what is of no moment, and can be of no use to themselves or others, this is trifling, and vain curiosity. It is a culpable weakness and folly; but still it is the wrong direction of a natural principle, and shews the force of that principle more than when it is directed to matters worthy of being known."

It is a prominent characteristic of this desire, that it is gratified only in the acquisition of knowledge. When its novelty has passed away, the pleasure which knowledge communicates is greatly diminished; and it is for this reason that the attainments which we made years ago are less valued now, than at the time when we were toiling for their acquirement. Nor is this concomitant of the desire of knowledge without its important use; since it prompts us to examine still farther into the myteries of nature, and to advance with a more rapid progress in the pursuits of science; and as if the knowledge of realities were insufficient to gratify our large desire, we rise above the world we inhabit, to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge as it grows in other and in fairer regions. So necessary is novelty to the full gratification of this desire, that the most important truths, if very familiar, can scarcely command any interest; while another class of truths, which are either new, or made to appear as if they were so, are listened to with delight

and attention.

At no period, perhaps, is this desire more highly gratified than in early life, when either listening to the tale of wonder, or when surveying for the first time the delightful prospects which science unfolds, and when he who is the instrument of unfolding them is

discharges. Is there any moment in which the feelings are more interested than when the enchanted castle is opening to us its unearthly scenes of mystery, and when we are allowed to witness the transmutations which the spells of its lord are so easily accomplishing? Next to this is the satisfaction which we feel when we either in after life make discoveries of our own, or understand the discoveries of others, and are capable of sympathizing with the philosopher of Syracuse*. It is this desire, in addition to the desire of fame, which prompts the youth to go in quest of knowledge to distant lands, and from the gratification of which the philosopher receives a compensation for that life which he consumes in retirement. The pleasure which he enjoys in adding to his treasures of knowledge, is his immediate reward for depriving himself of those other sources of pleasure which he voluntarily foregoes; and the sickly aspect of the midnight taper is unnoticed in the exquisite consciousness of advancing in the rank of a thinking being.

What need words

To paint its power? For this the daring youth
Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
In foreign climes to rove: the pensive sage,
Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the sickly taper: and untir'd
The virgin follows, with enchanted step,
The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence, finally, by night,
The village matron round the blazing hearth
Suspends the infant audience with her tales,

* It is scarcely necessary to remind any of my readers that the allusion is to Archimedes' " Eugnna."

Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,
And evil spirits; of death-bed call

Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet souls
Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk
At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
At every solemn pause the crowd recoil
Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd
With shivering sighs: till, eager for the event,
Around the beldame all erect they hang,

Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.

The desire of communicating our knowledge is so closely connected with the desire of acquiring it, that few writers have given it a separate consideration. Though the pleasure accompanying it may be traced to the lively exercise of our social affections, or to the feeling of superiority which accompanies the conscious possession of knowledge, it is not the less true that it forms a powerful motive to perseverance in the most laborious study. It might seem, indeed, that the philosopher, whose labours are to benefit future ages rather than his own, is not acting under the influence of this stimulant, and that his only incentives are the desire of knowledge, the wish to do good, and perhaps the ambition of posthumous reputation: but even he would not think it worth his while to pursue his studies with so much steadiness and application, if he enjoyed not in hope the satisfaction of enlightening and benefiting his fellow-creatures. He anticipates the future; and by an illusion not unnatural to man, he spreads his conscious existence over it, as he converses in his writings with the people of succeeding generations,

That the pleasure which we receive from the communication of our knowledge has a most important influence in stimulating us to its acquisition, is a fact which might be illustrated and confirmed by many considerations. There is no man appointed to be the teacher of others who does not feel anxious to acquire the information requisite to his office; and he entertains this desire not only on account of his own reputation, but because he is gratified by the communication of what he knows. This, I conceive, is a happy provision of our nature, intended to increase our enjoyment and our virtue; and evidently designed to render the blessings of knowledge the common inheritance of the species.

SECTION II.-The Desire of Society.

The next of our desires is the desire of society. That this is an original principle of our nature, is proved by the universality of its operation. It is closely connected with the desire of acquiring knowledge; and still more so with the desire of communicating knowledge; though it is different from both. "Abstracting," says Professor Stewart, in his Outlines, "from those affections which interest us in the happiness of others, and from all the advantages which we ourselves derive from the social union, we are led, by a natural and instinctive desire, to associate with our own species. This principle is easily discernible in the minds of children; and it is common to man with many of the brutes." There is a great difference, however, between the way in which this principle

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