sand which the next tide obliterates, or
are even lighter and more evanescent than this.
Let me add, that the existence of the child for two or three years from
the period of his birth, is almost entirely a state of vegetation. The
impressions that are made upon his sensorium come and go, without
either their advent or departure being anticipated, and without the
interference of the will. It is only under some express excitement, that
the faculty of will mounts its throne, and exercises its empire. When
the child smiles, that act is involuntary; but, when he cries,
will presently comes to mix itself with the phenomenon. Wilfulness,
impatience and rebellion are infallible symptoms of a mind on the alert.
And, as the child in the first stages of its existence puts forth the
faculty of will only at intervals, so for a similar reason this
period is but rarely accompanied with memory, or leaves any traces of
recollection for our after-life.
There are other memorable states of the intellectual powers, which if
I did not mention, the survey here taken would seem to be glaringly
imperfect. The first of these is madness. In this humiliating condition
of our nature the sovereignty of reason is deposed:
Chaos umpire sits,
And by decision more embroils the fray.
The mind is in a state of turbulence and tempest in one instant, and in
another subsides into the deepest imbecility; and, even when the will is
occasionally roused, the link which preserved its union with good sense
and sobriety is dissolved, and the views by which it has the appearance
of being regulated, are all based in misconstruction and delusion.
Next to madness occur the different stages of spleen, dejection
and listlessness. The essence of these lies in the passiveness and
neutrality of the intellectual powers. In as far as the unhappy sufferer
could be roused to act, the disease would be essentially diminished,
and might finally be expelled. But long days and months are spent by the
patient in the midst of all harassing imaginations, and an everlasting
nightmare seems to sit on the soul, and lock up its powers in
interminable inactivity. Almost the only interruption to this, is when
the demands of nature require our attention, or we pay a slight and
uncertain attention to the decencies of cleanliness and attire.
In all these considerations then we find abundant occasion to humble
the pride and vain-glory of man. But they
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