or after a period in which the hopes of the individual have been momentarily raised by some unforeseen circumstance.  It is by no means certain that hope is of itself a good thing.  The wise and mournful soul prefers the blessedness of that non-expectancy which shall not be disappointed, to the exhilarating pleasures of an anticipation which may prove empty.  In this matter lies one of the great differences between the normal moral state of the heathen and that of the Christian.  The Greek hoped for all things in this world and for nothing in the next; the Christian, on the contrary, looks for a happiness to come hereafter, while fundamentally denying the reality of any earthly joy whatsoever in the present.  Man, however, is so constituted as to find it almost impossible to put faith in either bliss alone, without helping his belief by borrowing some little refreshment from the hope of the other.  The wisest of the Greeks believed the soul to be immortal; the sternest of Christians cannot forget that once or twice in his life he had been contemptibly happy, and condemns himself for secretly wishing that he might be as happy again before all is over.  Faith is the evidence of things unseen, but hope is the unreasoning belief that unseen things may soon become evident.  The definition of faith puts earthly disappointment out of the question; that of hope introduces it into human affairs as a constant and imminent probability.

The development of psychologic research in our day has proved beyond a doubt that individuals of a certain disposition may be conscious of events actually occurring, or which have recently occurred, at a great distance; but it has not shown satisfactorily that things yet to happen are foreshadowed by that restless condition of the sensibilities which we call presentiment.  We may, and perhaps must, admit that all that is or has been produces a real and perceptible impression upon all else that is.  But there is as yet no good reason for believing that an impression of what shall be can be conveyed by anticipation—­without reasoning—­to the mind of man.

But though the realisation of a presentiment may be as doubtful as any event depending upon chance alone, yet the immense influence which a mere presentiment may exercise is too well known to be denied.  The human intelligence has a strong tendency to believe in its own reasonings, of which, indeed, the results are often more accurate and reliable than those reached by the physical perceptions alone.  The problems which can be correctly solved by inspection are few indeed compared with those which fall within the province of logic.  Man trusts to his reason, and then often confounds the impressions produced by his passions with the results gained by semi-conscious deduction.  His love, his hate, his anger create fears, and these supply him with presentiments which he is inclined to accept as so many well-reasoned grounds of action.  If he is often deceived, he becomes aware of his mistake, and, going to the other extreme, considers a presentiment as a sort of warning that the contrary of what he expects will take place; if he chances to be often right he grows superstitious.