Brown, in his analysis of the principle under consideration, has very justly included this among the components of the pleasure thus derived. But it by no means accounts for the origin, nor explains the nature, of this desire. It is rather an incidental circumstance than the producing cause.

This Principle as it relates to the Future. - Perhaps in no one of its aspects is the desire of esteem more remark able, than when it relates to the future the desire to leave a good name behind us, when we are no longer concerned with the affairs of time. It would seem as if the good or ill opinion of men would be of no moment whatever to us, when once we have taken our final departure from the stage of life. We pass to a higher tribunal, and the verdict of approving or reproving millions, the applause of nations, the condemnation of a world in arms against us, will hardly break the silence or disturb the deep repose of the tomb. These approving and condemning voices will die away in the distance, or be heard but as the faint echo of the wave that lashes some far-off shore.

Yet, though the honors that may then await our names will be of as little moment to us, personally, as the perishing garlands that the hand of affection may place upon our tombs, we still desire to leave a name unsullied at least, if not distinguished, even as we desire to live in the memory and affections of those who survive us.

How to be explained. — To what, then, can be owing this desire of the good opinion and esteem of those who are to come after us, and whose opinion, be it good or ill, can in no way affect our happiness? Philosophers have been sadly at a loss to account for it, especially those who trace the desire of esteem to a selfish origin. Some, with Wollaston and Smith, have referred it to the illusions of the imagination, by which we seem, to ourselves, to be present, and to witness the honors, and listen to the praises, which the future is to bestow. Such an illusion may possibly arise in some nour of reverie, some day-dream of the mind; but it is im

possible to suppose that any one of sound mind should be permanently influenced by such an illusion, or fail to perceive, when reason resumes her sway, that it is an illusion, and that only.

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Admits of Explanation in another Way. If, however we regard the desire of the good opinion of others as an iginal principle of our nature, and not as springing from fish considerations, it is easy to see how the same princie may extend to the future. If, irrespective of personal dvantage, we desire the esteem of our fellow-men while we live, so, also, without regard to such advantage, we may lesire their good opinion when we are no longer among them.

True, it is only a name that is transmitted and honored, as Wollaston says, and not the man himself. He does not live because his name does, nor is he known because his name is known. As in those lines of Cowley, quoted by Stewart:

""Tis true the two immortal syllables remain,

But, O ye learned men, explain

'Tis all the conquered world could give."

Yet reason as we may, it is no trait of a noble and ingenous mind to be regardless of the opinions of the future. The common sentiment of men, even the wisest and the best, finds itself, after all, much more influenced by such considerations than by any reasoning to the contrary.

Not unworthy of a noble Mind. Nor is it altogether nworthy of the ambition of a noble and generous mind to leave a good name as a legacy to the future; in the lan guage of Mr. Stewart, "to be able to entail on the casual combination of letters which compose our name, the respect of distant ages, and the blessings of gener ions yet unborn. Nor is it an unworthy object of the mos' rational benevo

Lence to render these letters a sort of magical spell for kind. ling the emulation of the wise and good whenever they shall reach the human ear."

Desire of Esteem not a safe Rule of Conduct. I would by no means be understood, however, to present the desiro of esteem as, on the whole, a safe and suitable rule of conduct, or to justify that inordinate ambition which too frequently seeks distinction regardless of the means by which it is acquired, or of any useful end to be accomplished. The mere love of fame is by no means the highest principle of action by which man is guided by no means the noblest or the safest. It is ever liable to abuse. Its tendencies are questionable. The man who has no higher principle than a regard to the opinions of others is not likely to accomplish any thing great or noble. He will lack that prime element of greatness, consistency of character and purpose. His conduct and his principles will vary to suit the changing aspect of the times. He will, almost of necessity, also lack firmness and strength of character. It is necessary, sometimes, for the wise and good man to resist the force and pressure of public opinion. He must do that, or abandon his principles, and prove false at once to duty, and to himself. To do this costs much. It requires, and, at the same time, imparts, true strength. Such strength comes in no other way. That mind is essentially weak that depends for its point of support on the applause of man. In the noble language of Cicero, "To me, indeed, those actions seem all the more praiseworthy which we perform without regard to public favor, and without observation of man. The true theatre for virtue is conscience; there is none greater." The praise of man confers no solid happiness, unless it is felt to be deserved; and if it be so, that very consciousness is sufficient.

Disregard of public Opinion equally unsafe. It must be confessed, however, that if a regard to the opinions of others is not to be adopted as a wise and safe rule of con

duct, an entire disregard of public opinion is, on the other hand, a mark neither of a well ordered mind, nor of a virtu ous character. "Contempta fama," says Tacitus, "contemnantur virtutes."

Accordingly we find that those who, from any cause, have lost their character and standing in society, and forfeited the good opinion of their fellow-men, are apt to become des perate and reckless, and ready for any crime.

CHAPTER IV.

HOPE AND FEAR.

Nature of these Emotions.-In the analysis of the sensibilities, which was given in a preceding chapter, hope and fear were classed as modifications of desire and aversion, having reference to the probability that the object which is desired or feared may be realized. Desire always relates to something in the future, and something that is agreeable, or viewed as such, and also something possible, or that is so regarded. Add to this future agreeable something the idea or element of probubility, let it be not only something possible to be attained, but not unlikely to be, and what was before but mere desire, more or less earnest, now becomes hope, more or less definite or strong, according as the object is more or less desirable, and more or less likely to be realized. And the same is true of fear; an emotion awakened in view of any object re garded as disagreeable, in the future, and as more or less likely to be met.

As desire and aversion do not necessarily relate to dif ferent objects, but are simply counterparts of each other, the desire of any good implying always an aversion to its loss, so, also, hope and fear may both be awakened by the same cbject, according as the gaining or losing of the object be

comes the more probable. What we hope to gain we fear to lose What we fear to meet, we hope to escape.

The Strength of the Feeling dependent, in part, on the Importance of the Object.—The degree of the emotion, however, in either case, the readiness with which it is awakened, and the force and liveliness with which it affects the mind, are not altogether in proportion to the probability merely that the thing will, or will not, be as we hope or fear, but somewhat in proportion, also, to the importance of the object itself. That which is quite essential to our happiness is more ardently desired, than what is of much less consequence, though, perhaps, much more likely to be attained; and because it is more important and desirable, even a slight prospect of its attainment, or a slight reason to apprehend its loss, more readily awakens our hopes, and our fears, and more deeply impresses and agitates the mind, than even a much stronger probability would do in cases of less importance. What we very much desire, we are inclined to hope for, what we are strongly averse to, we are readily disposed to fear. Nothing is more desirable to the victim of disease than recovery, and hence his hope and almost confident expectation that he shall recover, when, perhaps, to every eye but his own, the case is hopeless. Nothing could be more dreadful to the miser than the loss of his treasure, and nothing, accordingly, does he so much fear. Poverty would be to him the greatest of possible calamities, and of this, accordingly, he lives in constant apprehension. Yet nothing is really more unlikely to occur. It is the tendency of the mind, in such cases, to magnify both the danger of the evil, on the one hand, and the prospect of good on the other.

Illustration from the case of a Traveller. "There can be no question," says Dr. Brown, "that he who travels in the same carriage, with the same external appearances of every kind, by which a robber could be tempted or terrified, will be in equal danger of attack, whether he carry with him 'ittle of which he can be plundered, or such a booty as