of some men with the idea of happiness, and,
without staying to deliberate, these unfortunate persons hunt through
life the phantasms of a disordered imagination. Whilst we pity, we are
amused by the blindness and blunders of those whose mistakes can
affect no one's felicity but their own; but any delusions which prompt
their victims to actions inimical to their fellow-creatures, are the
objects not unusually of pity, but of indignation, of private aversion
and public punishment. We smile at the avaricious insanity of the
miser, who dresses himself in the cast-off Wig of a beggar, and pulls
a crushed pancake from his pocket for his own and for his friend's
dinner.[83] We smile at the insane vanity of the pauper, who dressed
himself in a many-coloured paper star, assumed the title of Duke of
Baubleshire, and as such required homage from every passenger.[84] But
are we inclined to smile at the outrageous vanity of the man who
styled himself the son of Jupiter, and who murdered his best friend
for refusing him divine honours? Are we disposed to pity the
slave-merchant, who, urged by the maniacal desire for gold, hears
unmoved the groans of his fellow-creatures, the execrations of
mankind, and that "small still voice," which haunts those who are
stained with blood.

The moral insanities which strike us with horror, compassion, or
ridicule, however they may differ in their effects, have frequently
one common origin; an early false association of ideas. Persons who
mistake in measuring their own feelings, or who neglect to compare
their ideas, and to balance contending wishes, scarcely merit the
name of _rational_ creatures. The man, who does not deliberate, is
lost.

We have endeavoured, though well aware of the difficulty of the
subject, to point out some of the precautions that should be used in
governing the imagination of young people of different dispositions.
We should add, that in all cases the pupils attention to his own mind
will be of more consequence, than the utmost vigilance of the most
able preceptor; the sooner he is made acquainted with his own
character, and the sooner he can be excited to govern himself by
reason, or to attempt the cure of his own defects, the better.

There is one habit of the imagination, to which we have not yet
adverted, the habit of reverie. In reverie we are so intent upon a
particular train of ideas, that we are unconscious of all external
objects, and we exert but little volunt