case, where the one possesses a strong and unbending mind, fitted, not only to endure, but to surmount misfortunes, and the other, a delicacy and tenderness of feeling that shrinks, like the sensitive plant, from the slightest touch. We know how much more unfortunate the one is than the other, and our sympathy always keeps pace with the uneasiness and anxiety of feeling which we believe him to endure. As it is with feelings, then, we sympathize, not with the situation of the sufferer, we can feel no sympathy until we ascertain, or be enabled to form some opinion of, the state of the sufferer's feelings.

Our sympathy is never determined by what we think the sufferer ought to feel; for, if it were, we should feel the same for all men placed in similar situations. Experience tells us we do not, and, that while we are quite insensible to the situation of one man, we are greatly affected by that of another, though the situation of both are exactly the same. We are so constituted by nature, that we cannot avoid sympathizing with any person whom we see greatly affected, even though we should ourselves be scarcely moved by the circumstance that affects him. We know his feelings arise from weakness,-from possessing a nature easily moved; but this weakness, so far from checking our sympathy, only increases it, so that we never take into consideration how much a person

ought to feel, but how much he does feel; and, it is with this latter feeling we always sympathize. This is so true, that he who does not feel at all, who is perfectly unmoved by the situation in which he is placed, creates no sympathy in us whatever, though it is a situation that would greatly affect us, if a sensitive mind were placed in it.

From these observations, it is obvious, that distress and sufferings affect us, only in proportion as we are made acquainted with the feelings of the sufferer. It is true, we may be mistaken in the ideas which we form of his feelings; but, it is equally true, that our sympathy for him is entirely determined by these ideas. If we imagine that he feels more affected than he really does, so also do we sympathize with him more than we ought. There can, therefore, be no sympathy with real distress, where no idea is conveyed of the state of mind or feelings which accompany it; whereas, imaginary distress affects us exceedingly, where a tender and pathetic scene of feeling is described, the writer not confining himself to the mere situation in which the sufferer is placed. Hence, then, whenever the writer of fiction describes the feelings produced by the situation in which his characters are placed, or makes us so well acquainted with their tempers and dispositions, that we can always place ourselves in their situation, and imagine those feelings which the writer does not choose

to describe, he is sure of affecting us more strongly than he who, in describing real distress, confines himself to circumstances, situations, and events, without noticing the complication of feelings and passions arising from them. It is only in this case that imaginary excites a stronger sympathy than real distress; but where the description of the latter is accompanied by those delineations of feeling and passion, which give to fiction all its interest, the victim of real distress will always excite stronger sympathy than the victim of imaginary woes. The writer of fiction, however, has an advantage over him who relates only that of which he was himself a spectator. The latter describes only what is real; if he describe more, it is fiction. Confined, therefore, to rigid truth, he cannot render any situation, or state of feeling, more interesting or affecting than it really is, while the writer of fiction may make it as interesting and pathetic as he pleases. Hence, it seldom happens, (and it is even doubtful whether it can happen,) that we meet with a case of real distress as pathetic and interesting as that which the poet is capable of imagining; but, if such a case were to occur, and delineated with the same happiness of description, it would create an interest which no fiction of the imagination could ever excite.

CHAP. VIII.

All strong sensations pleasing to those by whom they are felt, three instances only excepted.

HAVING shewn that every writer who has hitherto attempted to discover the source of the Pleasures arising from Tragic Representations rests his theory on some erroneous principle, it now remains to be shewn, what the true source of these plea. sures are. In doing so, I must premise, that no man shall ever be able to tell, why pleasure should result from any source whatever. All the knowledge we possess of emotions, is derived from our feelings. When we feel an emotion to be pleasing, we know it is so, simply because we feel it is so, but antecedent to this feeling we know nothing. Philosophy will never enable us to tell, why a beautiful woman produces a pleasing, and a deformed woman, a disagreeable emotion. Our feelings inform us of it, and if they withheld the intelligence, we could derive it from no other source. There is

nothing, then, to instruct us on the subject but our feelings; but they can only make us acquainted with the fact. They point out the cause or agency by which pleasure is produced, but they can never shew, by what act or faculty the cause or agency produces the effect. The philosophers, however, who have set about discovering why Tragic Representations produce pleasure, seem to have taken it for granted, that they know, already, why Comic Representations produce it. A moment's consideration would have convinced them, at the same time, that they can no more tell why the latter should produce pleasure than the former, or than Newton could why heavier bodies attract the lighter. It is absurd, then, to suppose, that he who cannot explain how Comedy is a source of pleasure, should succeed in explaining how Tragedy produces that effect. Philosophers have long laboured to discover in what beauty consists; but without success; and yet, it is certain, that if they even succeeded, they would still be at a loss to tell by what agency it imparted pleasure. We must, therefore, refer the laws of feeling, as Newton did the laws of attraction, to the will of the Creator, by whom we are so constituted, that certain external appearances, and the display of certain mental affections in others, produce certain emotions in us. Why they do so, we cannot tell, without having recourse to this law, because we