there is the minimum of evidence has been a favourite theme of philosophers. There are two modes of this operation, according as the feeling predisposes to belief in any shape or favours some particular variety of conviction. Both of these modes may be illustrated in the class of beliefs of which we are now speaking. An example of the first is given us in the action of a love of power on our observation of others' characters. A readiness in unravelling the threads of human sentiment and purpose has always been looked on as a ground for self-gratulation and for the admiration of others. A man who thinks himself capable of divining instantaneously another's unspoken thoughts has not only the pleasing consciousness of power which every supposition of knowledge brings with it, but also a gratifying feeling of equality with this second person. That is to say, he thinks himself on a level with this other in respect to the knowledge of any thoughts or impulses which may occur to him. Not only so, but the assumption of this omniscient insight into character will pretty certainly inspire awe, if not dread, in many other minds, so that the man or woman who can make any pretensions to this fine penetration will be able to indulge in the most delicious emotions of power and superiority. A supposition so intensely gratifying as this must be will pretty certainly be secure from that close scrutiny and careful verification which alone would prove its validity. The feelings which predispose men to entertain à priori a certain kind of notion respecting the character of others are too numerous to be dwelt on here. It may suffice to mention a few of them. There is the desire for sympathy, which is very strong in most minds, and which prompts a person to anticipate that every new character will respond in a kind of grateful resonance to his individual sentiments. Then there are the impulses of love and admiration which predispose the mind to believe in human goodness and render it optimistic in its conceptions of character. On the other hand, there are the less pleasing sentiments of distrust, hostility, and contempt, which sustain the conception that everybody is mean and ignoble till he has proved himself to be the contrary. These and other feelings always dispose their possessors to form certain opinions respecting any new character long before they have the necessary foundation for such opinions. To any one who will give himself the trouble of working out the many and complicated influences which tend to produce conviction respecting matters of character, quite apart from the force of evidence, it cannot be surprising that people's judgments on the ideas and motives of others are often so crude and inexact, and so little deserving: to be called intuitions.
AMBER.
Amber is formed by the pith (medulla, or marrow) which flows from trees of the pine species, as gum flows from the cherry-trees and resin from pines. It is, first of all, a liquid which bursts forth in abundance; then it is congealed by the cold, or by the heat, or by the sea, when the great tides rise and sweep it from the islands. At all events, it is thrown on the coasts, and it seems to swim with the waves, and not go to the bottom. Our ancestors, thinking that it was the sap {succus) of a tree, called it, on that account, succinum. What proves that amber is the product of a species of pine, is that when rubbed it exhales an odour like that of the pine, and that when set on fire it burns after the fashion, and with the scent, of a resinous torch. It is conveyed by the Germans into Pannonia (Hungary) chiefly; thence the Veneti (Venetians), whom the Greeks called Heneti, who are in the immediate proximity to Pannonia, and who live round the Adriatic Sea, have brought it into vogue. The fable which has connected the Padus with amber has an evident cause. In our own day, the Transpadanian peasant women wear an amber necklace, for the sake of ornament, no doubt, but also as a remedy, forasmuch as amber is deemed good for affections of the tonsils and the fauces, these and the neighbouring parts of the body being subject to maladies produced by the different kinds of waters in the neighbourhood of the Alps. From Carnuntum, in Pannonia, to the coast of Germany, whence amber is brought, there are six hundred miles, a fact not known till recently. Still lives the Roman knight who was sent to procure amber by Julianus, superintendent of the gladiatorial games given by the emperor Nero. This knight travelled over the markets and the shores of the country, and brought back such an immense quantity of amber that the nets intended to protect the podium from the wild beasts were fastened with buttons of
