ed, to 'avoid vain repetitions, as the
heathen do,' many Anglican clergymen insist on repeating half-a-dozen
times in a single service--is it not notorious that, so far from the
idea of one word suggesting to us the idea of the next, no small effort
of attention is requisite to enable us to have any idea at all of what
we are saying?

It would seem that the author of the 'Analysis' either could not help
asking himself questions like these, or, without asking the questions,
could not help seeing the commonplace truths involved in the inevitable
replies to them. It would seem to have been semi-consciousness of the
utter inability of the evidence first cited by him to justify belief in
the necessarily simultaneous or successive occurrence of the ideas of
simultaneously or successively experienced sensations, which made him
have recourse for help to _complex_ ideas. 'If,' he says, 'from a stone
I have had synchronically the sensation of colour, the sensation of
hardness, the sensations of shape and size, the sensation of
weight,--when the idea of one of these sensations occurs, the ideas of
all of them occur.' Because, then, I may have ascertained by experience
that a stone is white, hard, and round, two feet in diameter, and twenty
pounds in weight, am I really incapable, if I happen to break my shin
against it, of thinking how hard it is, without thinking also how heavy;
or, when trying to lift it, of thinking how heavy it is without
thinking likewise of its shape and colour? Elsewhere the same writer
speaks of 'ideas which have been so often conjoined that whenever one
exists in the mind, the others immediately exist along with it, seem to
run into one another, to coalesce, as it were, and out of many to form
one idea.' But which are the ideas whereof this can be said? The writer
instances those simple ideas, colour, hardness, extension, weight,
which, he says, make up our complex ideas of gold or iron. He instances,
too, the ideas of resistance, muscular contractility, direction,
extension, place, and motion, of which he says our apparently simple
idea, weight, is compounded. Does he mean, then, that we cannot
entertain the idea of yellowness without entertaining at the same time
all the other ideas necessary for composing the idea of gold, and
entertaining, too, that idea in addition to all the rest? Does he mean
that a train of thought cannot commence with place without terminating
with weight? Of course he means noth