than those of measured and rhythmical sounds. In reference to taste and smell, not many probably amongst those who are likely to be my readers would find any difficulty in recalling the peculiar fragrance and flavour of the strawberry and the pine apple. To mark the representative acts or states of mind, in all these cases, the general term idea may be not only correctly employed, but perhaps with less harshness or dissonance than any other.

In order to prevent misconstruction, it may be also needful to explain that in speaking of ideas as mental copies or representations, it is not intended to say that they are always exact representations of individual objects or states; they are sometimes such, and sometimes new combinations, as mentioned under the head of imagining; but in the latter case the simple ideas, or elements out of which they are composed, are derived from objects formerly perceived, or states of mind formerly felt. Amongst philosophers this point is I believe well understood.

You will observe, then, that in my vocabulary the term idea denotes representative intellectual phenomena phenomena which have their archetypes in real objects and events physical or mental. But I go farther than this. It will be my aim to show, in the following Letters, that there are none but representative affections of the mind to which the term can be correctly and consistently and

without confusion applied; and that when it has been applied, or rather when it has been supposed to be applied, to anything else, there has been a misconception of the phenomena designated, or intended to be designated, on the occasions in question.

I am perfectly aware that, on a first glance, this may appear an arbitrary limitation of its meaning, inasmuch as such things are said to exist as general and abstract ideas; and since we certainly do not perceive any general or abstract objects to match them--the very supposition of such objects being absurd the alleged general and abstract ideas cannot, it may be argued, be of a representative character.

Moreover, all must admit that we are in the constant use of general and abstract terms, the existence of which, it may be urged, would be unaccountable, if they were not the names of either objects or ideas.

This appears at first sight a formidable difficulty; and it must be met, or my position must be abandoned.

I purpose, therefore, in the two or three Letters immediately following, to inquire into what passes in the mind, or, in other words, what we are conscious of; first, when general terms, and, secondly, when abstract terms, are used.

This I am sensible is not the usual mode of

stating the inquiry; but it is often, I think, exceedingly advantageous to take unsettled questions out of their traditional forms, and put them into different, although in the main equivalent, lan

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LETTER XXII.

GENERAL TERMS.

It will conduce to the clear understanding of what passes in the mind on occasion of hearing or using general and abstract language, if we consider in the first place certain phenomena of perception.

When we perceive an external object we may see it either near or at a distance, either in partial obscurity or in broad daylight, either hastily or with a leisurely survey. We may, for example, see a man a quarter of a mile off where we can only just discern that he is a man, not a woman or a boy; or we may see him so close as to recognise in him a well-known acquaintance. A difference in the degree of light by which we see him, or in the rapidity with which we pass by him, may produce a similar difference in the distinctness of our perception. In a railway carriage we are sometimes wheeled along with such velocity, that we cannot distinguish the faces of those we pass, but only just perceive they are human beings.

If the objects we have perceived with these

different degrees of distinctness have been seen by us for the first time, our recollections, when we afterwards call them to mind, will partake in this respect of the character of our perceptions. We shall not recollect clearly and definitely an object that we have seen only obscurely and vaguely, however long and minutely we may dwell upon it in thought.

If, on the contrary, the object perceived is a familiar one, as, for example, an intimate friend, although the actual glimpse we catch of him is indistinct and momentary, it is sufficient, except in extreme cases, both to produce a recognition of his person and, if we pause upon the thought at all, to raise up a complete image of the man.

It is astonishing, when we reflect upon it, and at the same time important to remark, what a slight and fugitive glance at an object enables us to recognise it when it is already perfectly familiar

to us.

But there is another cause of variety in the distinctness of our recollections besides the character of our original acts of perception.

As the objects perceived may appear faint and ill-defined, from the velocity with which they pass before our eyes, so our recollections of external objects, even when the latter have been leisurely and thoroughly observed, may be faint and illdefined from an analogous cause; namely, the swiftness with which they pass through our minds,