II. Suppose now an action to be done. I think that every one who examines his own heart, will be conscious of another class of feelings conséquent on those to which we have just alluded.

1. If he have obeyed the impulses of conscience, and resisted successfully the impulses at variance with it, he will be conscious of a feeling of innocence, of self-approbation, of desert of reward. If the action have been done by another, he will feel towards him a sentiment of respect, of moral approbation, and a desire to see him rewarded, and, on many occasions, to reward him himself.

2. If he have disobeyed the impulses of conscience, he will be conscious of guilt, of self-abasement, and self-disapprobation or remorse, and of desert of punishment. If it have been done by another, he will be conscious of a sentiment of moral disapprobation, and of a desire that the offender should be punished, and, in many cases, of a desire to punish him himself. Of course, I do not say that all these feelings can be traced, by reflection upon every action; but I think, that in all cases in which our moral sensibilities are at all aroused, we can trace some, and frequently all of them.

In accordance with these remarks, several facts may be noticed.

The boldness of innocence, and the timidity of guilt, so often observed by moralists and poets, may be thus easily accounted for. The virtuous man is conscious of deserving nothing but reward. Whom then should he fear? The guilty man is conscious of desert of punishment, and is aware that every one who knows of his offence desires to punish him; and as he never is certain but that every one knows it, whom can he trust? And still more, there is with the feeling of desert of punishment a disposition to submit to punishment arising from our own self-disapproba

tion and remorse. This depresses the spirit, and humbles the courage of the offender, far more than even the external circumstances by which he is surrounded.

Thus, says Solomon, "the wicked flee, when no man pursueth; but the righteous is bold as a lion."

"What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he armed, who hath his quarrel just;
And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted."

Sec. Part Henry VI., Act iii. Sc. 2.

Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind;
The thief doth fear each bush an officer."

Sec. Part Henry VI., Act v. Sc. 6.

"I feel within me

A peace, above all earthly dignities—

A still and quiet conscience."

The effect of guilt.

Henry VIII, Act iii. Sc. 2.

"No wonder why

I felt rebuked beneath his eye;

I might have known, there was but one,

Whose look could quell Lord Marmion."

Marmion, Cant. vi. 17.

"Curse on yon base marauder's lance,
And doubly curs'd my failing brand!
A sinful heart makes feeble hand.”

Marmion, Canto vi. St. 32.

It is in consequence of the same facts, that crime is, with so great certainty, detected.

A man, before the commission of crime, can foresee no reason why he might not commit it, with the certainty of escaping detection. He can perceive no reason why he

should be even suspected; and can imagine a thousand methods, in which suspicion awakened might with perfect ease be allayed. But, as soon as he becomes guilty, his relations to his fellow-men are entirely changed. He becomes suspicious of every one, and thus sees every occurrence through a false medium. Hence, he cannot act like an innocent man; and this very difference in his conduct, is very often the sure means of his detection. When to this effect, produced upon the mind by guilt, is added the fact, that every action must, by the condition of our being, be attended by antecedents and consequents beyond our control, all of which lead directly to the discovery of the truth, it is not wonderful, that the guilty so rarely escape. Hence it has grown into a proverb, "murder will out;" and such we generally find to be the fact.

This effect of guilt upon human action has been frequently remarked.

Thus, Macbeth, after the murder of Duncan :

"How is it with me, when every noise appals me."

Act ii. Sc. 2.

"Guiltiness will speak, though tongues were out of use."

The same fact is frequently asserted in the sacred Scriptures. Thus, "the Lord is known by the judgment that he executeth; the wicked is snared in the work of his own hands."

"Though hand join in hand, the wicked shall not go unpunished."

I hope that I need not apologize for introducing into such a discussion so many illustrations from poetry. They are allowed, on all hands, to be accurate delineations of the workings of the human mind, and to have been made by

most accurate observers. They were made, also, without the possibility of bias from any theory; and therefore are of greater value, when they serve to confirm any theoretical views, with which they may chance to coincide. They show, at least, in what light poets, whose only object is to observe the human heart, have considered conscience, and what they have supposed to be its functions, and its mode. of operation.

SECTION III.

THE AUTHORITY OF CONSCIENCE.

We have thus far endeavored to show, that there is in man a faculty denominated Conscience; and that it is not merely a discriminating, but also an impulsive faculty. The next question to be considered is, what is the authority of this impulse.

The object of the present section is, to show that this is the most authoritative impulse of which we find ourselves susceptible.

The supremacy of Conscience may be illustrated in various ways.

I. It is involved in the very conception which men form of this faculty.

The various impulses of which we find ourselves susceptible, can differ only in two respects, that of strength and that of authority.

When we believe them to differ in nothing but strength, we feel ourselves perfectly at liberty to obey the strongest. Thus, if different kinds of food be set before us, all equally healthy, we feel entirely at liberty to partake of that which we prefer; that is, of that to which we are most strongly im

pelled. If a man is to decide between making a journey by land, or by water, he considers it a sufficient motive for choice, that the one mode of travelling is more pleasant to him than the other. But when our impulses differ, in authority, we feel obliged to neglect the difference in strength of impulse, and to obey that, be it ever so weak, which is of the higher authority. Thus, suppose our desire for any particular kind of food to be ever so strong, and we know that it would injure our health; self-love would admonish us to leave it alone. Now, self-love being a more authoritative impulse than passion, we should feel an obligation to obey it, be its admonition ever so weak, and the impulse of appetite ever so vehement. If we yield to the impulse of appetite, be it ever so strong, in opposition to that of self-love, be it ever so weak, we feel a consciousnes s of self-degradation, and of acting unworthily of our nature; and, if we see another person acting in this manner, we cannot avoid feeling towards him a sentiment of contempt. ""Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool." And, in general, whenever we act in obedience to a lower and in opposition to a higher sentiment, we feel this consciousness of degradation, which we do not feel when the impulses differ only in degree. And conversely, whenever we feel this consciousness of degradation, for acting in obedience to one instead of to another, we may know that we have violated that which is of the higher authority.

If, now, we reflect upon our feelings consequent upon any moral action, I think we shall find, that we always are conscious of a sentiment of self-degradation, whenever we disobey the monition of conscience, be that monition ever so weak, to gratify the impulse of appetite, or passion, or selflove, be that impulse ever so strong. Do we consider it any palliation of the guilt of murder, for the criminal to declare, that his vindictive feelings impelled him much more strongly than his conscience? whereas, if we perceived in these impulses no other difference than that of strength, we