may conceive fictitious objects with all the circumstances of place and
time. It may set them, in a manner, before our eyes, in their true
colours, just as they might have existed. But as it is impossible that
this faculty of imagination can ever, of itself, reach belief, it is
evident that belief consists not in the peculiar nature or order of
ideas, but in the _manner_ of their conception, and in their _feeling_
to the mind. I confess, that it is impossible perfectly to explain this
feeling or manner of conception. We may make use of words which express
something near it. But its true and proper name, as we observed before,
is _belief_; which is a term that every one sufficiently understands in
common life. And in philosophy, we can go no farther than assert, that
_belief_ is something felt by the mind, which distinguishes the ideas of
the judgement from the fictions of the imagination. It gives them more
weight and influence; makes them appear of greater importance; enforces
them in the mind; and renders them the governing principle of our
actions. I hear at present, for instance, a person's voice, with whom I
am acquainted; and the sound comes as from the next room. This
impression of my senses immediately conveys my thought to the person,
together with all the surrounding objects. I paint them out to myself as
existing at present, with the same qualities and relations, of which I
formerly knew them possessed. These ideas take faster hold of my mind
than ideas of an enchanted castle. They are very different to the
feeling, and have a much greater influence of every kind, either to give
pleasure or pain, joy or sorrow.

Let us, then, take in the whole compass of this doctrine, and allow,
that the sentiment of belief is nothing but a conception more intense
and steady than what attends the mere fictions of the imagination, and
that this _manner_ of conception arises from a customary conjunction of
the object with something present to the memory or senses: I believe