ful. I can conceive a centaur or a griffin, though no such animal ever lived. Yet even in this case, though the Concept, as a whole, is unreal or imaginary, it must be made up only of real parts or attributes, that is, of such as have been embraced in some preceding Intuition. I have never seen a centaur; but I have seen the head of a man and the body of a horse, and I can unite, in Thought, these real parts into an unreal whole. So, again, I can think or conceive any combination, however fantastic, of colors that I have previously seen; but I cannot introduce into the painting, even in Thought, any color that I have never seen. A person born blind, and remaining so, cannot conceive any color whatever; just as one who has never had the sense of hearing can form no Concept of sound. Intuitions, then, are the basis, not only of all Knowledge, but of all Thought. The perception which gives us a new Intuition may take place either through the external senses, or exclusively through that internal source of knowledge, sometimes called an internal sense, but more properly denominated Consciousness, by which we are made aware of the existence of our own sensations, thoughts, and feelings.

Consciousness, indeed, is the universal witness which testifies to the reality, not only of sensation and feeling, but of the external perceptions which come to us through the outer senses. I see a bright red color, I hear a particular sound, only so far as I am conscious of that act of seeing or hearing; if I were not conscious of it, it would be to me as if it were non-existent. For to know, and to know that I know, are phrases that designate one indivisible act of mind; and to know that I know is a phrase which means the same thing as to be conscious. Hence, though it is an act of sense whereby I perceive the red color or hear the sound, it is at the same time an act of consciousness; as, otherwise, I should have no knowledge either of the act of perception, or of the outward phenomenon to the existence of which it testifies.

I am conscious also of internal perceptions, of hunger, pain, fear, joy, etc. Still further, I am conscious of myself, as the one being that perceives, fears, or rejoices. Every act of consciousness is twofold, testifying to the existence both of the subject,—that is, of the being or person who is conscious, and of the object, that is, of the feeling, perception, or other phenomenon of which he is conscious. The very language which I am compelled to use in making known the fact to another person testifies to this duality of the act. Any phrase used for this purpose must contain at least two terms, one expressive of the subject, and the other of the object, of consciousness. Thus, in the proposition "I feel hunger," the pronoun "I" denotes the person who feels, and "hunger" the phenomenon which is felt. In some languages, the whole may be expressed in a single word, as in the Latin "esurio"; but the expression here is elliptical, the "ego," or the subject of consciousness, being always understood. The two elements can only be known together, simultaneously, and in their relation to each other. One is not known through the other, or in consequence of the other, or after the other; but they are known together, in one act of mind. I cannot be conscious of hunger without, at the same moment and in the same act, being conscious of myself as feeling the hunger.

All the phenomena, then, both of the external and internal world, are presented to the mind each in its distinctive or peculiar Intuition. In other words, any Intuition differs from every other Intuition, at least in the relations of time and space. Thus, two successive Intuitions by the same person, of the same thing, are distinguishable at least in this respect, that the one preceded the other, or took place at an earlier time. In like manner, to borrow an example from Mr. Mansel, "I see lying on the table before me a number of shillings of the same coinage. Examined severally, the image and superscription of each is undistinguishable

from that of its fellow; but in viewing them side by side, space is a necessary condition of my perception; and the difference of locality is sufficient to make them distinct, though similar, individuals." As already remarked, each Intuition is of a distinct thing as perceived now and here,that is, in its own peculiar relations both to time and space. On the other hand, a Concept is freed from these relations of space and time; I can think what is denoted by the word tree, without identifying it with this or that particular tree, standing on a particular spot, and seen at a particular time.

As already remarked, it is the capacity of Thought properly so called which constitutes the immeasurable superiority of the human over the brute mind; but it is also true, that the necessity of Thought arises from the immeasurable inferiority of man's intellect to that of his Creator. If the human mind were omniscient and of infinite compass, it would behold all things intuitively, and would not be confused and overburdened by the multitude of these single cognitions. But it is far otherwise; the mind is limited and imperfect, and can grasp at once but few objects, according to the common opinion, only five or six. It can permanently retain in memory, so as to reproduce at will, it can accurately represent in imagination, only a few of its primary Intuitions. We must have recourse to the artifice of Thought; we must discard all individual attributes and peculiarities, in order, through meagre Concepts, to rise to a larger and clearer, though consciously imperfect, comprehension of a multitude of things. As will be shown hereafter, it is precisely the scantiness of the general notion in respect to its import, which renders it more comprehensive in respect to the number of things which it embraces; in other words, if we would know more objects, we must know each of them less perfectly. Unable to master the vastness and complexity of Nature by taking in detail the

objects which she offers to us, each in its separate Intuition, we throw them, through discarding their differences, into groups and classes. The mind can then grasp at once six or seven of these groups, instead of being limited, as before, to six or seven individuals. Then, by forming successively groups of groups, or classes of a higher order of generalization, our mental horizon is enlarged till we can take in, or comprehend (con-prehendo), all the objects that we have ever known. But this is like ascending a very high mountain, whence, though we obtain a broader view, the outlines and colors of objects below are but faintly seen, and many are wholly lost in the distance.

The nature of Language illustrates this process of the formation of Thought. In fact, taken in its strictest sense, Language is the expression of Thought only; it has to do, not with Intuitions, but with Concepts. Intuitions, from their very nature, can be designated only by Proper Names; and words properly so called are Common Names. Every word has a meaning, and is therefore susceptible of definition, or at least of explanation. But a Proper Name, strictly speaking, has no meaning; as Mr. J. S. Mill remarks, it is a sign which denotes this one thing, but which connotes nothing. Like a pointing of the finger, it designates the individual who is meant; but it says nothing as to the nature or character of that individual. In so far, indeed, as usage has limited one class of names to males, and another to females, in so far the names connote sex; and precisely to this extent they cease to be Proper, and become Common, Names. If, to a person who does not know James, I say, "James did this," the effect is precisely the same as if I had said, “A man or boy did it." If a word is to express an Intuition, it must be accompanied by other words, or at least be marked by emphasis or a significant gesture, so as to restrict its meaning to a determinate single thing; and these limiting words can be dispensed with only

when the context, or the custom of speech, supplies the necessary limitations. For example: "this house now before us," "that house on the hill," "the house in Cambridge which I showed you yesterday," are phrases wherein the general meaning of the word house is narrowed down to this or that particular building, which may be known through an Intuition. In other cases, the context or emphasis suffices to limit the signification of such phrases as "his house," "John's house," "the house," etc., to the one thing which was intended.

Dr. Reid puzzles himself in attempting to explain how it comes to pass, that, whilst all the objects and events which we perceive are individual or singular, all the words in a language are general. But the reasons are obvious. First, we cannot have countless words for the innumerable single objects which we perceive, as no memory could retain them: think, for a moment, of the myriads of leaves, blades of grass, insects, and other classes of things, which we are constantly beholding. Secondly, these very instances show, that, at least as far as our perceptions are concerned, the similarity of objects is often as great as their diversity, and even greater. Thirdly, one main purpose of language being the communication of Thought to others, what we need to know or to communicate is not so often a particular fact respecting this single object, as it is a general truth respecting a whole class of objects; we do not so often need to say, Avoid or seek this one thing, as, Avoid or seek all of which this is a specimen. We are more frequently concerned, in our mental operations, with classes than with individuals, though the latter alone furnish employment for our hands. Fourthly, many things are usually massed together even to our perception, as individual trees in a forest, and therefore can never be exhaustively designated by one expression. By the law of parsimony, therefore, language makes up its millions of names or designa

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