on the soil-these, and a thousand even emotion itself, as far as its desuch movements, full of the most dis- gree or direction is condemned by turbing and oppressive passion, are so virtue; it implies the immediate subfar from weaknesses or disorders of jection of our actions to the law of our nature, that they are the only way virtue, whatever the violence of the in which our nature can possibly make feelings may be that struggle against itself known to our own understanding it. But it leaves, at the same time, a -the only way by which the strength, wide field of nature open, within which the character, the reality of our most every principle of emotion which is necessary affections can be understood implanted in our bosoms may act; by us. It is the only way in which within which even their strong and they can be known as subsisting in our stormy agitation is no violation of the minds, and, consequently, the only way moral character of our mind, nor of in which we can receive the instruction that due authority of reason, to which of nature as to good and evil. Reason is the whole tenour of our lives must, disturbed and shaken while the sudden though every moment cannot, be submovement of passion lasts; but, after- jected. wards, does not the less reassume her sway when she may at leisure consider and understand the passion of which she could not restrain the rise. That self-command which virtue and reason require, is, therefore, something different from that complete suppression of all emotion which was proposed by the Stoics. It implies the subjugation, slowly effected as it must be, of The great defect, then, of the Stoical speculative doctrines, appears to be an ignorance of the nature and office of Passion in the human mind-conceiving it to be a disorder and not a neces sary power and not perceiving that our highest and noblest affections partake of this quality as essentially as all the others. SPIRIT OF THE AGE. In considering mental pursuits under the most general and comprehensive view, we observe that they may be classed as of two kinds: those studies which are derived from Imagination, and those which are derived from Intellect. Now, it is certain that nothing lifts up higher our conception of the power of the human mind than the highest productions of those arts which are the offspring of imagination. Wherever they have flourished they adorn the people in our eyes. Because in these the soul, delivering itself up to the full transport of its powers, seeks nothing but to express in durable forms the very visions of beauty and greatness which visit it in its height of conception. Such have been the works of mighty sculptors and painters; such the works of those who have reared up on the earth edifices that have stood proudly on the soil adorning it with a magnificence that was not misplaced amidst the magnificence of nature. Such have been those poets whose great works have remained to their people, dilating the bosoms of thousands with what one mind, only in one age, could have conceived. We cannot, in remembering what human nature has done for itself to establish its strength by its own works, forget our love and admiration of those surpassing productions which have so much lifted up the spirits that gave them birth, and have maintained at such a lofty pitch of genius the mind of a country through following generations. It rests upon such works; it will not willingly fall from them into abasement. Yet it is to be observed, that the pursuit of those arts which are derived from imagination, however capable they may be of the utmost greatness of the human mind, does not supply that kind of continued strength which the mind requires. In the luxury of a people their arts take the tone of the times. Imagination is too much in sympathy with pleasure, it yields itself too easily to the enchantment from which the mind itself seeks deliverance. Accordingly, all the arts to which imagination gives birth have greatly changed their character with the changing genius of a people. Strong, masculine, and rude in elder times, and bearing the stamp of the bold spirit which period become unnerved and effeminate -tainted with the weakness of a luxurious age and breathing back on the soul of the people the same indolent softness they had already received from it. If therefore the mind is, by its own pursuits, to supply itself with strength, it is not on such as these that it must rely-not on a faculty which is itself susceptible of so much influence from extraneous causes. It must rely on those faculties which are self-dependent on those which derive the law of their action from within. created them, they have at a later inadequacy of such means of protec tion, if we conceived this strength to be placed only in those highest minds, which distinguish themselves above all others by their intellectual achievements, but which will appear to us not void of consolation and encouragement, when we look upon our own country, and consider to how great an extent the generous activity of intellect may be diffused throughout a people; when we conceive that the strength thus given does not reside in a few elected spirits, but that all the thousands of minds that draw each from itself the impulses to intellectual exertion, are carrying on each within itself the work of this defence, uniting, though they know it not, their individual strengths to maintain a great common cause of the whole united society. How noble and calm is that human spirit which in all its hours of more undisturbed and selfcollected thought, reflects in itself, as in a mirror, the harmonies of the worlds! Such are pre-eminently those faculties of which the pursuit is Truth. Truth, in all the various forms in which it can be made the subject of human contemplation. Truth in the observation of nature in the severest sciences and in that science which begins and ends in the Mind itself. Such, above all, is that moral wisdom which draws from the whole internal being the strength by which it seeks to subject, not merely the appearance of human life to its intelligence, but the actions of human life, by its will. In those works which the mind frames for its own delight merely, it obeys an uncertain law. But when it applies itself to know that which has been and is, it no longer floats on uncertainty. It then seeks to know; and there is but one measure which can satisfy its desire-namely, the scverest knowledge of reality. In these sciences, too, there is such a conformity to the intellectual nature of man, that to pursue them is to bring forth his innermost powers into action. The field, too, that lies before him is boundless; he can never know all. What he learns, is a step only to what is beyond. He is going forward in a continual march; and from his own mind must he derive the constant supply of power by which he is to effect his progressive conquest. Fearful, then, as from the history of the world, we may judge the danger to be which menaces a people from the enervating influences of civilisation-it appears that the proper strength which nature has provided to man for direct resistance is in the character and power of his intellectual mind. A view, which might give us great reason to apprehend the But there are peculiar characteristic circumstances of the mind and state of this nation at the present time, which, besides those common causes of injury to the spirit of a people which have been already spoken of, include dangers of a different kind, and which lead us to consider in this application also, the influence that may be derived from the tenor of our intellectual pursuits. The present age exhibits a remarkable character of energy and ardour in all the ordinary pursuits of human life. Each mind is seen rushing eagerly to its allotted task, and scarce feeling there is any other call upon its powers than to strive vigourously and successfully in the animated conflict. The highest orders among ourselves are less solicited to case than they are called to struggles and duties in the public business of the state. Such is the effect of that particular constitution of our polity, that the life of no order is that of repose. The thirst for reputation, the pride of rising to higher eminence in the ranks of society, the ardour for wealth, the very rivalry that is engendered in the midst of conflicting interests, have seized on the spirit of the land, and in the midst of what the history of mankind would have prepared an observer to expect as a life of ease, have produced a restless and eager activity of powers, which resembles in its effect, though not in its character, those earlier struggles of a people maintaining warfare with men or with nature for the protection of their existence. The result is that spirit of manly strength which must always be produced in the contests of men with men. But besides the peculiar character of this internal activity in the heart of society throughout the country, there are other circumstances generally affecting the spirit of our minds, which appear calculated to produce a like effect, and which require some separate notice. The agitations of the late eventful years have occupied the minds of all men with interests, which, though of the utmost importance and magnitude, were, nevertheless, in one respect temporary. For every new event which arose, or was in preparation, seemed as if the fate of a nation, or we would almost say, of mankind, were involved in its issue: and, therefore, no excess of passionate expectation which could be fixed on it, could appear misplaced. But hence it has happened, that through this whole period the mind of the nation has been continually held in suspense on events which, whatever might be their magnitude, were yet to pass away: and we have been accustomed to live in a succession of vivid emotions which were all but the birth of the times, and could only have the duration of the events with which they had arisen. Now, even the strong and pervading sympathy with the fortunes of nature and humanity, however ennobling to the minds which it filled, and although accompanied with lessons of the highest instruction, has nevertheless, in this respect, been injurious to our highest faculties of thought, that they have withdrawn our imagination from those great objects which, to the selfcollected mind wrapped in meditation, have at all times appeared of paramount importance. That great sympathy, and those momentous expectations on which all men have been in tent, have made it appear, as if the more thoughtful mind turning itself to those remoter objects and their shadowy speculation, was deserting the great hazards of mankind, to busy itself in the dreams of a fantastic and indolent philosophy. We have found, in the occurrences and scenes of a shifting world, their full scope for all our capacity of hope and desire; and hence it may be difficult to our minds, when they would turn themselves again towards higher and more lasting contemplations, to recover that zeal, and those devout convictions of their value which have belonged to them of old, and have been easy and habitual to men who lived in calmer times of the world. Even minds of superior power have thus absolutely surrendered themselves to their interest in passing events, and have forgotten altogether those thoughts of which the interest arises in the silent mind-to which their strong reflecting character would otherwise have called them, and which their genius, full of wisdom, might in other times have illustrated. Nor can it be doubted that these events have, in another way, tended to disqualify our minds for the highest speculations, inasmuch as they have given great intensity to those feelings which are at all times spread through the bosom of society, variously divid ing the members of a state. They have given to all momentary questions and feelings of this sort an intensity and magnitude derived from those great interests which were at hazard in the contentions of the world, and have thus kept men's minds in a state of keen and agitated debate, a temper the most hostile of any to contemplative philosophy. There are, however, other consequences of such passions and pursuits which unavoidably force themselves upon our observation. The objects which are thus sought after, though to a certain extent good, honourable, and even necessary, are all of a temporary and personal nature. As temporary, they cannot be the fit objects of the most earnest and persevering endeavours of minds framed like ours; as personal, it must be expected that long continued and passionate desire directed upon them, will, as it is always found to do, impair the more disinterested affections. We have no difficulty in admitting these views in single examples. We may feel some hesitation in applying them to the case of a nation. Yet the injury to a na tion may be more complete and certain. For, to an individual, the effect of his own pursuits upon his character may be mitigated by his intercourse with other men. But in the case of a nation, all men concurring to justify one another's passions, and to confirm those false deceptions of the under standing which passion always suggests, it is to be apprehended that any effect naturally injurious will take place with stronger and more decisive effect. It seems impossible, then, with these views, to look without apprehension to the future effect upon the character of the country from so much of our whole exertion and desire being devoted to these objects. And if it is difficult for us, situated as we are, to recall ourselves in any great degree from their pursuit, it appears desirable at least, that the intervals of leisure in which our minds are called back to themselves, should be employed on objects of an opposite character. Literature is one source of such employment. The higher works which we include under that name, bring objects of a different nature before the mind, and awaken feelings and thoughts which had slept in the midst of our more eager occupations. The objects with which we are thus led to converse are even of the greatest magnitude and the highest kind; and we have no faculties of such dignity, and no affections so exalted, but they may here find room to act. But all these pursuits are in danger to become at last little else than a relaxation to the mind overstrained with more serious employment. They call up a momentary play of sensibility and fancy, they amuse the tired faculty of thought with new speculation. They renovate for fresh labour. But they scarcely do more. They leave the man, as he was, a being whose anxious and earnest thoughts are fixed on interests which each successive day brings before him, and which even his own speculation carries on but a little way into futurity. They leave him to think that all his capacities of affection and desires have found their sufficient objects, and that there are no disregarded faculties in his soul, pleading in vain to be admitted, as they are of higher birth, to their right of a higher destination. Now we cannot but believe that a more serious cast given to the intellectual pursuits of a people, might add greatly to the importance of that portion of their lives, in which the mind from its accustomed labours, is recovered to itself. If their literature be not a literature of pleasure merely, but by a high spirit of Philosophy infused, can address itself in another language, and with other claims to their minds,-turning their thoughts in upon themselves, and proposing the faculties which it calls into activity as objects of a distinct regard, entitled on their own account to be considered excellent, and not merely instrumental to the relaxation of amusement of unoccupied hours; then it would appear that a new and important effect would follow. For the mind cannot in any degree be turned to the distinct consideration of its own powers, without an immediate percep tion of their dignity, and without being led on in some degree to specu late on the ends for which they are designed in the constitution of our nature. But no sooner does it begin to reason or conjecture upon the ends which they are framed to insure, than it is necessarily drawn on to consider them in their full connexion with that life to which we are born, and which is the first great scene of their activity. Now this is the very subject on which it seems most important, that the human mind should exercise its spe culation. For the moment it begins to compare the extensive reach and high character of its inherent powers with the facilities which human life offers for their exertions, it is met by the conviction that the ordinary employments to which it is required, are inadequate alike to their capacity and dignity; and it is driven on to inquire what nobler occupation it may find on which its largest faculties shall not be lost, or its proudest misapplied. Now the whole of a literature which the spirit of a high Philosophy pervades, will lead the tninds of men in innumerable ways into these views and trains of speculation. But most of all, those high works of Philosophy-which speak of the mind alone, and by the most open and direct appeal-call upon it to turn its thoughts upon itself-to understand and to acknowledge its own high descent and indefeasible prerogative. The direct application of such philosophy to remove the doubts with which the over active mind possesses itself, may be made more apparent by some consideration of the manner in which it falls into such mistrust. It will appear probably that some of the most important labours of the mind in science, and some of its purest laws of operation, tend to the production of the doubts of which we have spoken. Thus, then, it may appear that even in those profound wonderful sciences which investigate the laws of nature through her mighty material universe, there may lurk danger to the human spirit, not as it pursues them for its individual delight, but when the mind of a whole generation is given over to them with too exclusive desire. They are the high and just, the useful and the ennobling study of man, the observer, and, in his own domain, the master of nature. But they are not his only knowledge-and they must not usurp the full measure of his capacities. There is another knowledge that must divide with them the empire of his mind, and must hold at least its equal sway. Of the laws of intellect one most Hence, against that unwillingness essential to its nature is, "to know of cultivated intellect to admit belief the evidence of its own belief." Hence drawn from such internal evidence, there is naturally a favourable inclina- there seems no defence so ready to tion of intellect towards all truth, of have recourse to as that philosophy which the evidence is obvious to demon- which founds its whole science on the stration, and a natural disinclination basis of such evidence, and which, to that truth of which the evidence while it is jealous to admit all reasonis elusive and obscure. Now the ing derived from imperfect knowledge human mind is called upon to pursue of its own great and authentic princiinquiry in two very distinct spheres ples, is as strenuous in urging human of speculation :-in a world external nature to indulge the cultivation of to itself where the evidence of belief that whole inward world of affections lies in sense-and in a world within and feelings, be they more distinct itself where the evidence of belief and palpable, or more undefined and consists in variable and indefinite feel- obscure. ings and affections, many of which are to most minds, and some perhaps to all, unfamiliar and obscure. It is apparent, then, to which of these two spheres of investigation, a mind determined chiefly by its intellectual faculties, will incline. The observations now made may perhaps serve to explain the tendency of inquiry which philosophy in these later times has discovered. To those sciences of which the evidence lies in sense, the human intellect has turned itself in all its strength, and has built up an edifice of knowledge of which the former ages of the world entertained no imagination. But it must almost appear that it has given itself up to them with relinquishing, to a certain extent, its other and more important sphere. The knowledge which lies within, it seems too much to have regarded with disfavour. Turning from the broad day in which the facts of external science lie exposed, to this dark and shadowy world, it has feared to set its steps on unsubstantial ground; and has often kept itself aloof from it altogether. So that while in the sciences of material nature, it has been advancing in acquisition with giant strides, and lifting up its power beyond all precedent, in the other it has sometimes been losing knowledge that was possessed perhaps by the earliest ages of mankind. But the evidence of belief from this interior world is not necessarily uncertain and obscure. It is our Mind that makes it more or less so. The manifold affections incident to our mind become clear and defined to those who feel them strongly, and are accustomed attentively to consider them. To those only are they obscure and inevident who imperfectly feel and negligently consider them. Before we conclude, we wish to add a few words upon a subject, which, though distinct from those of which we have now spoken, is not unconnected with them. We speak of a sort of practical scepticisin which is spread among many as to all opinions which rest for their evidence upon the highest feelings of our minds, and of explicit scepticism among others. We conceive that mind to be in a state of practical disbelief in these respects, which, by attachment to speculative or active pursuits of a different character, is kept in an habitual forgetfulness of the thoughts, and an habitual disuse of the feelings, if we may so express ourselves, which belong to such subjects. It is a state of mind not adverse to the belief, perhaps, from which it is thus habitually estranged, but certainly divided from it. But there is among many a scepticism explicit and deliberate, which we cannot help conceiving is to be ascribed to the influence unforeseen to themselves, of a course of life, and perhaps of speculation unfavourable to the just use of some of |