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DAVID RINTOUL. m t ■ ( [i ' '• All (»eiHoiis nic iiiidei soino uliligalion lo iiripiove iheir own unclprStanding, J)( otLuiwiso it will l»e a buircn desert, or a lorust ovorgiown with weeds uud ^ hmmbles."— Dk. WATts. " & SSio biumbloa."— Dk. WATts @ isi tr* (S) M U IS) '/<• I'llINTED BY JAMES CLELAND, 15, CITY BUILDINGS, AND PUbLlSHED UY HUGH SCOBIE, H. & W. IIOWSELL, LESSLIE BROTHERS, U. BROWN, AND AT THE WESLEYAN METHODIST BOOK ROOM. 1844. ^3<^S^: ;^vq; ■ ^^^^~^"^(.^^Si>' °^^-^^ VC 0->s.^CA, HS^ )j 0"''^»»^U o i^'.Ut^J^^.^iCM A* w r .1^ TWO LECTURES w ON » BEIIYEEED IS THE BECnANICS' IKSTITUTE, TOEOSTO, BY IHE REV. DAVID RINTOUL. " All persons are iinHer some obligation to improve their own ur.derstnndinff, otherwise It w,ll be a barren desert, or a forest overg.own wiih weeds and brambles."— Dii. Watts. ^ 13D t5f 151 tJtl UiD Printed by james cleland, 15, city buildings, \( AND PUBLISHED BY HUGH SCOBIE, H. & W. ROWSELL, LESSLIE :, BROTHERS, G. BROWN, AND AT THE WESLEYaN |. METHODIST BOOK ROOM. JH^ 18 44. I J' »..:ji^i ^1 TO HIS EXCELLENCY THE GOVERNOR GENERAL, TO THE PRESIDENT, VICE-PRESIDENTS, AND OTHER OFFICE-BEARERS OF THE MECHANICS INSTITUTE, IN THE CITY OF TORONTO : THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE MOST HUMBLY AND RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. TUBSE Lectures were written without the slightest intention of being published. They formed part of a short course on the suhject of Rhetoric delivered iu the Mechanics' Institmc of this city; but as ceriain of the Office-Benrers expressed a desire that they should be given to the public, and one of these gentlemen kindly offered to bear the whole expenses connected with the publication, the Author could not with a good grace, refuse so flattering a request, however conscious he might be of the imperfection of his performance. He commits it, therefore, without anxiety, to the indulgence of his fellow-subjecls, as he wishes to view it in no other light thaii Rs a small tribute to the important cause of popular Education in this part" of the British empire. TonoNTo, May, 1844. LECTURE L— On the best mnhod of acquiring a good English Style. LECTURE IL— On the Emotions of the Sublime and Beautiful. , Be ver deli refe lai this and are has tion urge com can wisi our no p and mea the( that corn and «ln disp; And tain. trasti state allov^ ofed LECTURE I. id. Ihe I a dly II Id be 'y. un he . Before entering on the subject of thia evening's Lecture, I must revert very briefly to what I said in the last Lecture which I had the honor of delivering some weeks ago in this place. You may remember that i» referred to the imporiance of acquiring the art of English Composition. 1 am aware that there are prejudices in the minds of some men against this branch of education being introduced generally among the people: and yet, were it needful, I think it might be very easv to shew that these are rather founded on the vitiated mode in which English Composition has been too often practised, as well as taught, than on any solid objec- tion to the art itself. Certain it is, that every objection which may be urged against improving the popular * ' .pacity in the matter of in any degree — and I nd mind who would > the great mass of t this feeling forms hich gave us birth j composing, is equally applicable to can hardly believe that there is any wish to see the art and privilege oi \ our people. At all events, I am well .. . no part of the policy of the enlightened cc g«,„ „„ „„^„ . and no stronger proof can be adduced of this fact, thanThe"" philanthropic measure adopted some years ago by the British Parliament, of reducing the charge on letters passing through the post-office to so low a scale, that the peasant as well as the peer, has the power of upholding a wri'ten correspondence with his friends on matters of business or friendehip,— and his humble epistle, though in the present state of education it may be « m characters uncouth and spelt amiss," enjoys the same security and dispatch as one emanating from the bureau cf a Minister of the Crown And in adverting to this noble art of legislation, illustrating as it does a cerl tain.fe.eatness of mind, in conferring a favor on the people, which con- trasts wonderfully with the debasing bribes and largesses by which the statesmen of Greece and Rome sought to purchase popularity, I may be allowed to say, that its authors are entitled to the esteem of everv friend of education. No doubt the enactment is wholly a matter of dimestic \i policy, but it is of the r.jost benevolent and enlightened kind, and may be held an indicating the dawn of a brighter day upon sr italionu. How seldom do wo meet, in the h atory of the world, with statesmen addresc- Mig themselves to me people in language like this,—" We will not be accessary to upholding on the one hand a tax upon education, and on the other an imrpunity upon ignorance. Here aie two clashes of labor- ers, we shall suppose, the one having both tHe capacity and the will to correspond with their Iriendr rt a distance, by means of writing, and the other having neither the will nor the capacity,we shall not allow ourselvea to be either so unwise, or so unjust, as to tax ihose who ought rather to be free, and to free thobe who ought rather to be taxed. It is true, we need the money which this tax brought into the public purse, but we shall raise it from a source lees objectionable than one which bears the aspect of discouraging} the superior tastes and education of the people." It was a spirit of the same kind a? this that led '.he eloquent poet, Cow- per, to exclaim—" England, with all thy faults, I love thee still !» It is ,iOw admitted by men of all parties, nearly of all religious opinions, that education, »iore especially in our large cities, has been very greatly neglected j and, I may afterwards show, that there are certain special considerations which oerve to prove, that a neglect in them 'n a more serious thing than a like neglect among a population living in the coun- try.* Meanwhile I proceed to bring again before you the topics which I touched upon the last time I addressee' you, when recommending English Composition ns a brunch of etudy. I observed, thet the mere art of speaking or writing in an ornate style, would be an acquirement of a very inferior kind. The most accomplished pupfl in the school of rhetoric would be but poorly qualified for the real business of the wortd were his mind not previously stored with useful knowledge. Were he not imbued with materials for thought and rejection, it would be of small • avatl that he had acquired the art of presenting us with elegantly turned sentences, but filled only with empty declamation. This branch of study supposes you have disciplined your mind by reflection, and furnished it v:th a measure of knowledge ; and it meets you at this stage of your progress, and prop^es to instruct you in the best mode of conveying, through the medium of written language, your thoughts to other minds. And surely in a community like ours, in which intelligence in all the departments of business is so highly prized, it seems only needful to state the object of a class for English Composition in order to secure for It the countenance of the public, at least of all those, who, entering in tue busy arena of e, desire to perform their part with eflSciency and honor, i shewed, that ia the earliest stage.-: of society, we could trace toMe attention bettowed on tb« gfac?« of language, and that in a'i •-^' munilie.i that had made any pr«igreH8 in civilization, and in the uru,; v r.a br.'»nch of jtud^ waa dii gently cultivated— more especiaiiy t^ ^ . it was of ihe utmoai importance to young men devoting thembelveb to the stj-Jy of the law — slnco it was by the power jf using with force and elegance the English language that the Barrister, whether addressing a learned Judge or Jury, could rivet conviction on the understanding and heart. I noiiced a popular imagination that only a fev/ select spirits c^uld succeed in these studies, and shewed that the ability of speaking, or of writing with forco and fluency, was not so much derived from nature, in the vast majority of cases, as acquired by means of pains and study. I •hewed, that by learning to compose with a measure of facility, we were taking ihe surest way to form in our minds those principles of criticism by which we shall be enabled to form a correct judgment of books and other writingM— an object of no small importance, when the press teems with publications, and the good and the bad solicit public patronage with like importunity I observed that there was an additional recommenda- tion of these studies on this ground, that they formed a subject of inno- cent and agreeable relaxation to the mind— that in . > i. . of fact the power of conveying our sentiments with force and ;l quen e, was an art which belonged to young men of all professions, seeing that at.y degree of proficiency therein brought along with it this farther recom- mendation, that it enabled us to think with accuracy— to transfuse into our own minds, and by reflect^ i to make thoroughly our own, facts and opinions which we might have received in conversation or from hooka, and which otherwise would have soon faded from our remembrance. — I observed still farther, that it was an art not restricted to professional men, but belonged to all who had occasion to make statements in writing concerning matters of business, or even to maintain an epistolary cor- respondence with their friends. I noticed a device not unfrequently used to compensate the inability of composing— that of having recourse to printed forms of epistles v/hich cenain authors had published for the benefit of the uninstrurted— and I pointed out the great imperfection of all such set forms of writing, seeing they were of necessity inapplicable to the precise business in hand, and unsuitable as expressions of our special sympathy arid interest in the concerns of friends ; that as there was usually a stiffnetTand formality about such productions, our corres- pondents would be prone either to form erroneoiis impressions of our feelings, or if they discovered the source from which we had borrowed o'.T phraseology, would form a low estimate of our talents and educaJic In every way, therefore, both in writing letters of business or of friend- ship, it waa Of the utmoet importance we should have a facility of using It. 8 with freedom, (hat great instrument of thought, the English language I stated also that that quality which was looked upon as a gL t X ,„ trllT "^''"' " ''"'' ^'^ ^"^ ''''' "•'J'-^ °^ ^he teacher who prof^ses to g.ve .nstruction in this branch of knowledge, is just to teach the art of us.ng language as a uanslucent medium for reflecting the ner- loua Tr^^r''^^'^ '"' reelin.-consequently, other things bLg equal, he .s really the most natural writer of letters who has cultivated Im H'"'"""'^ '""«"'«' "''^ '''' greatest success. And I con- c uded w.th observing, that in order the more efficiently ,o initiate you into the art of wntmg well, it was my purpose to prescribe a weekly UelTlL 't '" ""m '' '"'^''^' '''''"'y '' -"*«' -d that thus I felt confident you would acquire, in the course of your attendance at th,s class, a facility of expressing you^lves in writing clearly and c'l^. ously on any given subject. And now, in the prosecution of what I 2-ted .n my former Lecture, I proceed to bring before you some observations as to the best method of acquiring a good English style i« th!; '^^' ^'!* r"^ '^'^"'''*' *° ^'^'"'^ ^ ^^»''^ '° ««" y°"^ attention is, that you read always the best and most approved authors. A g.^at part of our most important knowledge is learned by a process of imita- tion For example, it is in this way that a child comes to acquire the art of expressing h.s wants and feelings by n.eans of articulate language. In the early stage of h.s being, he seems as incapable of speech as afy of the mfenor animals. He has no other way of communicating his wants to those about him than in the way they adopt, by means of cries or other outward s.gns. In the course of time, howeve.-, by hearing his parents addressing him, or conversing together in articulate speech, his n..nd ,s excted by the pleasing sounds, and he attempts to imitate ^itS h.8 own hps that wh,ch he hears from the lips of others. In this instance we see how strong are those powers of imitation, seeing they develone themselves as if spontaneously at the most tender age-and by means of the«. the child is enabled to furnish himself with the gift of articulate speech-thus raising himself to a higher state of intellectual existence. And not only are these powers of imitation strong, they aie also deli- speech from h.s parents, but he learns it in the very dialect rl,ey use, however unseemly it may be,~nay, more, he acquires their exact modi of exp.^8s.on and intonation, -so th«t in one generation, you have a pretty exact transcript, generally speaking, of that which J.ni K.rJ^ ly.w u.e„e powers of mutation do not belong exclusively toTnfancy. in poiu. effect, we are evermore ,r iesa under their influence j and they may be compared in their effects to that subtle fluid we call caloric, wh.ch, wherever it exists in any strong degree, passes insensibly into al! homogeneous bodies, and introduces the same temperature into them all. Here, then, gentlemen, is an important pnnciple to guide us in acquiring a good English style ; and on the strength of it I would sav to you-- peruse the best English authors, that you may write with a like ease and elegance. Study those writers who have excelled in writing at once with beauty and with vigour. As the poet expresses it, « read them by day, and study them by night," and you will insensibly, and almost without an effort, acquire a relish for their graces, and when you sit down to wr.te, you will feel it to be natural for you to transfu a these jnto your own. It has been on this ground that many have argued the importance of the study of the classical writers of Greece and Rome of Homer and Xenophon, of Virgil and Livy-not so much from the oosi- tive accession of knowledge we acquire by this means, as from the excellent models which such works present to the young student of chaste and eloquent writing. Nay, some writers on rhetoric, in recom- mendmg the study of the best models of composition as a highly suit-* able means of acquiring an easy and vigorous style, have advised a preparatory training in the way of translating passages from Greek and Latm authors into English-arguing that in this way the mind of the student .s brought into close and immediate contact with the bert models by which to form his taste and his style. Still, I do not think that the genera! student is required, for tho sake of finding suitable examples of good writing, to commence the study of the language of Greece or Rome. No doubt there was a period in the history of our country when this was necessary-when our language was rude and ill defined*-then assuredly it was the duty, not merely of professional men, such as clergymen, physicians, and lawyers, to study the Greek and Latin classics, but of all, of every profession who aimed at writine with any measure of politeness and energy. Tn the fifteenth century for example, when the best literature of our country consisted of little else than a few ballads chaunted by the rustic minstrel, there was a real necessity for all who thirsted for poetic or literary distinction, havin* recourse to the pages of Virgil or of Homer, those great masters of song • but now that our literature has been enriched by the writings of men of genius as great and accomplished as the world has ever seen— by the writings of Shakspeare, of the sublime Milton, of Addison, Pope, Thom- son, Gibbon, Robertson, Burke, Dugald Stewart, Chalmers, and a hundred others of like fame— there exists not the same nece««iiv «- ;„ tne infancy ot our literature. The general student, therefore, whose aim • S». Chtmbtri' Kiflory otMn Eii|liib Uvrng* »ai LiUrMur*. Ediuburgb, 1630, p. 4. il. 10 is the perTecting of himself in English Composition, will find his labour abridged by familiarizing himself with the thoughts and modes of expres- sions of some of our best British authors.* Let me advise you, then, gentlemen, frequently to read leisurely and with attention, not for infoi«- mation merely, but with a view to the style and manner, portions of our most approved writers. You can b^ at no less here, if you have access to any of the accomplished authors to whom we have just referred, it is not so much the quantity thai is read which leads to excellence, as the manner of reading. This cannot be too much kept in mind in an age when reading has degenerated into a kind of mental dissipation. — There is a brief sentence which 1 have met with somewhere, of Lord Bacon*8, well worthy of the attention of every student who aspires after the cultivation of his mental powers. I quote it from memory. " Read not for the purpose of finding matter to cavil at, or to confute, neither to assent to, and take for granted, neither to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider." And here I cannot omit noticing a practice recommended by several respectable writers, and which will be found to be only a following out of the principle we have now recommended, of improving our taste and style, by setting before ourselves the most ap- proved authors as patterns we are to imitate, or, it may be, to rival and •urpass. The practice I now allude to is, to prosecute a series of trans- lations into our own language, of some good EngViBh author, until we have made his exceUencea uU our own. Among others, Franklin recommends this to young men. It was his custom, when a boy, he tells us, to select a passage generally from the writings of Addison, to read it over with care once or oftener, and after he had apprehended the meaning, to close the book, lay it aside, and some days afterwards, when he could not be supposed to remember the precise words, to sit down and write in his own language fully and accurately the sentiments of the author, and then to judge of his performance by a comparison with the original. This practice has several recommendations. — First. It tends to form in the young student a habit of thoughtful reading, which is a matter of great importance in mental traning. Second, It provides against that complaint which is often made by young students when required to compose, namely, that they have no ideas ; and third, as we suppose the model author to be one approved both for moral and intellectual excellence, the student has a safe guide on entering the field of speculative science, and will thus be guarded against aberrations at a period in his mental history when he is prone to fall into them. Another writer of distinguished authority also recommends the practice we have just noticed, to ail young men who are any way ambiiioui* of excelliiig * The Author nw4 inirccly n^d, tkirt to tk« pi«AuiMal HudNt b« coatidwi (h« itiwly oftiM ciMiical writer* •f OrcKt Md K*B*, vTwry (rM( i«p«rUBc«. ihen, 11 - in the purity of their style. " I know no exercise," says he, " that will be found more useful for arquiriDf; a proper style, than to translate some passage from an eminent Englinh author into our own words. What 1 mean," he continues, *' is to take for instance some page of one of Mr. Addison's Spectators, and read it carefully over two or three timesy till we have got a firm hold of the thoughts contained it, then to lay aside the book, to attempt to write out the passage from memory in the best way we can, and having dene so, next to open the book, and compare what we have written with the style of the author. Such an exerciss will, by comparison, shew us where the defects of our style lie — will lead us to the proper attentions for rectifying them— and among the dif- ferent ways in which the same thought may be expressed, will make vm perceive that which is the most beautiful.* 2. But I now proceed to the second grand requisite in enabling tts to acquire a good Enr^lish style ; and it is, that we should first make our- selves master of the subject on which we mean to write. Now, that clearness of conception is favorable to eloquence, will appear, by refet^ ring to those instances in which it is allowed by all, that men have expressed themselves with the greatest force and feeling. When is it, for example, that the Barrister speaks with the greatest prevision 7 Every one will %i once admit, that it is only after he has mastered h'ta cau&«. When is it *hat he rises to the highes*. strains of eloquence ? It Uf when roused by hia sensibilities, he is pleading the cause, it may be» of injured innocence, and demanding reparation at the bar of justice^— When was it that the celebrated statesman, Mr. Wilberforce, a man of considerable powers of eloquence, outrivalled himself and shone the brightest among a whole galaxy of orators 1 It was after he had been furnished with the evidence of the wrongs of Africa, and when his whole heart and mind was filled with a sense of their reality. It was after he had made himself thoroughly conversant with the aggregate amount of misery which that section of the globe suffered in consequence of the traffic in slaves. It was after giving days and nights to a oarefid summing up of the whole statistics of crime, sufiering and death, which resulted from trading in human flesh, that that cele- brated person, year after year, in the British Senate, exhibited the no- blest displays of fervid oratory. The truth is thought is the basis of a good style — and if that is awanting, the finest collocation of words, in so far as effect is concerned, is utterly without avail. The minds of men are now so disciplined by education, th:;t if we would succeed in gaining their attention, we must have wherewith to convince the judgment at •VMMr- 12 well as to charm the ear. Accordingly, all writers on educBtion have urged the work of independent thought and reflection as a matter of primary importance in learning to compose well. « A writer is often obliged" says Dr. Blair, "to prune the luxuriance of his imagination— wemg that an excessive amount of embellishment encumbers rather than illustrates good writing j but information, good sense, sound and judicious observation, must form the basis of all good writing." Do not attempt then to separate the eloquence of words from the eloquence of thought, by seeking after fine expressions, when you should rather be seeking after clear conceptions of your subject. The truth is langua-e, adheres as it were naturally to thought, and every good writer will admit that he seizes the expressions he uses rather through the medium of thought, than the thought through the medium of expression. By accurate and premeditated thought, previous to taking up the pen, our composition comes to have a certain continuity running through it : and the ornaments which belong to it are all the more graceful, that they are interwoven as if naturally with it. Dr. Blair considers that the first and most important direction which can be given is, to "study clear ideas on the subject concerning which we are to write or speak. This « a direction which may at first appear to have small relation to style. Its relation to it, however, is extremely close. The foundation of all good style is good sense, accompanied with a lively imagination; whenever the impressions of things upon our minds are faint and indistinct, or perplexed and confused, our style in treating of such things will infallibly be so too. Whereas, what we conceive clearly, and feel BtrongIy,^we shall naturally express ourselves with clearness and with strength." Here, then, gentlemen, be assured, is an admirable rule in introducing you to the acquirement of a good style. Think closely on the subject till you have attained a full and distinct view of the matter you are to clothe in words-till your attention is awakened and your " whole soul becomes interested in it-and not till then will you find expression begin to flow. Horace in his art of poetry gives an opinion ini conformity with all that has now been said-" a thorough knowledge of our subject is both the principle and source of writing well, and words not unwillingly will follow well premeditated thought." There are some writers also who advise not merely careful reflection on the subject about which we are to write, but the importance of drawing up a rough outline of the chief topics we intend to handle ; and there can ^be no doubt this practice will be highly subservient to our wru,.„ga luii ana accurate conception of the whole subject of discouree, u as well as to oar dlscufising it in * lucid manner. This applies, howeter, rather to more formal compositions which the student maybe required to write, than to lighter productions, such as familiar epistles and the like, which being of the nature of conversation in writing between friends, ev«n the absence of methodical arrangement is more natural and becoming. In those essays, however, which you may write for this class, you will find the method proposed a great help in training you to accurate and perspicuous writing. « It is highly important," says Dr. Blair, "that the attention of the student in his first attempts, should be directed to the management of his subject. I would require of him to exhibit a plan or skeleton, staling the precise object he had in view, ih? divisions he proposes to make with reference to this point, and the manner he designs to enlarge on each head. In this way he will not only be aided in forming habits of methodically arranging his thoughts, but will be led to adopt the easiest and most direct method of proceeding in writing on any subject." 3. The third grand requisite to our acquiring a good English style is, to be natural. There is every reason to believe, although a certain correspondence exists among all minds, yet there is none that is precisely alike. In the human countenance, though the outline is much the same in every member of the human family, yet there is no one that has precisely the same expression— there is an endless variety. Every one has what may be called an individuality about it, which makes it to differ from all others. The same is true of the human mind. The general faculties correspond in all men, and yet withal there is an endless diversity. In these circumstances it is of the utmost importance that every student should have that degree of confidence in himself which is requisite in leading him to follow what is natural at least to him, that thus the language he uses may be a perfect transcript of his thought I consider, gen Jemen, that this principle, though of the last importance in acquiring a good English style, has been too little attended to in practice ; and the consequence has been, that the art of writing has become too often a matter of servile imitation. This is very manifest in the influence which those writers who flourished during the reign of Queen Anne had for a long period over the literature of England. " The writers of that age," as Chambers observes, « were unquestionably finished scholars- men of knowledge, art, and refinementj-'—and one cannot help admiring, their skill in the use of words, their rich figurative language, and the smoothness and harmony of their periods." Now all these qualities might be very becoming among the court circles in which they moved, for In these the manner is more cultivated than truth and nature— still, the writings of not a few of these authors were set down for a long time «« o 14 the only standards of excellency j and he who would come forth as the candidate for literary honons, must do little else than servilely imitate Pope or Addison. The consequence was, as the same author proceeds ; « Writers scarcely dared to trust to their own observations of nature, but wrote in slavish imitation of both the style of prose and of versoi which they found already so highly approved by the public taste. They wanted that proper confidence in themselves which every upright mind ought to posssss. They were imitators of men, and their aim was lower than it would have been had they imitated nature j and hence we Qnd freedom from faults. A negative sort of excellence was the object at which they aimed, and in their painful efforts for polish and refinement of style, they forgot to think for themselves and nobly speak their thoughts" * You are aware, gentlemen, I have recommended good models of writing as worthy of your attention—but not in the way of teaching you such a slavish submission to authority in this matter, that you are merely to imitate their phrases or turns of expression — the works of distinguished writers are rather to be read for the purpose of acquiring a copious vocabulary, of stimulating the powers of taste and of imagina- tion in the student— but never so to overawe him by their authority, that he cannot look on nature except through their spectacles. Though I have spoken of the school of Pope and Addison as exercising an undue authority over their successors for a considerable period, I am far from thinking that we are wholly emancipated from the spirit which produced this. The truth is, there seema to be a despotism in matters cf taste as much as in politics; authors are not satisfied with being read and esteem- ed—they wish also to be masters— and if we have thus far emancipated ourselves from the stiffness and artificial polish of the times of Queen Anne, that it is no longer held to be a proof that an author is unworthy of public estimation because he does not write after the style and manner . of one or other of the great wits who penned the Spectator — still j in our ■ day, we need to be upon our guard lest we be drawn into the same error, since through the blinding influence of fashion, men are ever prone to think their own times the most enlightened of all that went before, and in unduly prizing some favorite writer, to imitate his defects rather than his beauties. There are many misconceptions in the minds of young men which stand in the way of their acquiring the noble art of compos- ing well 5 but most of these we apprehend may be traced up to the want of that proper confidence in themselves which is indispensable to their progress both in literature and science. Mr. Newman has attended to some of these misconceptiona. « It not unfrequently happens," he observes, « that the efibrts of the student have taken some wrong direction. i Im Chuitirf' Biitgr)r< Id Rb hfu some eroneotn impressions m to the nature of style, or as to the manner in which a good style may be formed. It may be that he is labouring too much on the choice and arrangement of his words, or the construction of his sentences ; or assigning ur.due importance to the ornaments of style ; he may be seeking principally after what is figurative, and the elegance of expression ; or again, with false notions of what is original and forcible, he may he striving after what is sententious and striking. Sometimes too, there exists a fastidiousness of taste, which is detrinaental. The student is kept from doing anything, because he is unable to do anything better than he can do. In other instances there is an injurious propensity to imitation. The student has fixed upon some writer as his model, and servilely copying his master, his own native powers are neglected."*' These, gentlemen, are common errors into which young students more especially are apt to fall ; and we shall best avoid them by keeping in remembrance that a correct style is a perfect representation of the ideas of the mind, and of the order jn which these have been arranged ; consequently we shall come nearer to the classical model according as we approximate to that noble simplicity of diction which, by the testimony of the men of all ages, is the truest echo of the voice within. In this way, more than in any other, composition will become easy and agreei ble ; and should it lack the showy ornaments which those who are ambitious of fine writing are ever attempting to portray, these will be amply compensated by that varied and genuine eloquence which wells forth from the recesses of thought and of feeling. and 4. The fourth and last grand requisite in acquiring a gnod English style is, practice in composing. All rules are supposed to be given in order that they may be put in practice, for without this they are compa- ratively insignificant. The rules of Syntax, for example, are of small importance in themselves — they are of the nature of a practical com- mentary on a language — or rather they are certain great principles that have been found to characterize it, and which in translating or in writ- ing are intended for our direction — and so alsoir.ose rules which are laid down by Rhetoricians are of small importance in themselves. They sup- pose that we are about to begin the task of composition — and they are given not to supersede all labor on our part, which no device of man can do — but to guide us while engaged in it. Rules contribute something towards our acquiring the art of composition, but they do not contribute every thing. In order to their being profitable, we must make a begin- ning. The ancient Rhetoricians keep this steadily before the student, and in ui^ing him to practice composition, they advise that he should •iMirOMB* ><■ i : i "5 16 make it a daily task- no day without a line. But it may be aiked, on what subject are we to write ? And I answer, that this must be left very much to the taste of the individual. One remark, however, may occur to yourselves from what I have said abova— it should be a subject with which your minds are thoroughly acquainted—for no sqlecism can be greater than this, to attempt to explain what we do not understand* The daily press may be viewed as giving us a contemporaneous history of the sayings and doings of the leading men in the world. Suppose, then, that the student has been readmg the oration of some statesman in behalf of a public or patriotic measure, or of some eminent lawyer in a case of special interest— here, then, is a subject which he has selected for himself— and Jet him carefully consider all the facts and circumstan- ces which such professional men bring under his attention, the argument or series of arguments by which they wish to carry conviction to those they are addressing, and after he has so digested them in his mind that he comprehends their whole scope and bearing, let him write out a nar- rative of the case according to that order which appears to him most natural. 1 cannot, therefore, but think that the complaint which ia sometimes made by young students, that they find great difficulty ia getting a subject on which to write, may be obviated by calling them to reflect on subjects with which they are daily conversant. Bui perhaps it may be ymir wish to have a different choice. You have not confi- dence enough in your own powers to write on law or public pdicy even though daily reading about both. Well, then, let us try another class of subjects. It has been frequently observed, that conversation proceeds with most vigor when some controverted point is under discussion. The idea of opposition whets men's faculties, and on occasions of this kind an amount of art and eloquence is elicited which we should have sought for in vain had no controversy arisen. The same principle, I think, applies to composition ; and I would advise those of you to whom the exercise above alluded to may appear less suitable, to select the alterna- tive in a question of no great difficulty, and to write in defence of it as fully and clearly as you are able. I need scarcely submit to you any list of questions, as these may be trivial or important, according to the age and mental progress of the student. I would not wish, how- ever, to pass over a very important remark of Dr. Blair's, that students slwuld be careful always to choose that side of the question to which in their own judgment they are most inclined, and defend it by no other arguments than those which they believe to be solid. I have known teachers also recommend their stmipnls to write a narrative of the life of some dift. nmiishe.l individual for the purpose of inlrodiicng them to the pra lire if c i;;ip siiig ; an i lu-re I may <)i)serve, you fiave an ample fiold from which to make your choice ; fur tietiidea the many special biogra- IT phies that have been written of distioguiihed penoiM, all bistoryi both aacieat and modern, if carefully examined, will be found to consiBt of little else than a series of biographies. As you have it in your power also to select such as by the fewness of their incidents are peculiariy simple, I would eay, that these should form your first essays in this very attractive department of literature. And supposing you have selected some such biography as a theme on which to write, it ia proper that you should make yourselves fully master of all the incidents of the story, wheth^ few or many, before you write one sentence of the narrative ; for thus taking a corcpreheneive view of all the parts together, you will be enabled to preserve the relative proportions between facts that are, and facts that are not important ; and however compendious your essay may be, to furnish at least a fair outline of the original story. This species of writing possesses numerous recommendations, of which I need allege no other proof than this, that societies have been formed in the iVI other Country by gentlemen ambitious of mental improvement, in which the single task required of the members is, to furnish a biographical sketch of some distinguished individual. But should it so happen that there are still some of you who think that the subjects I have suggested are all of a kind too grave and difficult for you to undertake, I would suggest one other class of a lighter kind, but still of much impoitance in the matter of improving your powers of observation as well as of writing.— Your lot is now cast on the western side of the Atlantic, in this young and thriving country, which I do not hesitate to say, is in very many respects better and more interesting than the one we led on the other side. Here we have all the poetry which the most sublime imagination could long for in our lakes of unrivalled greatness — these seas of a smoother surface and softer outline than those which encircle the British isles — but only on that account the better fitted for our graceful steamers that by their fleetness enable us to peruse their extent — to fix our eyes at one time upon the blue surface of the unfathomed depths, or to range them along shores where all that is beautiful in agriculture, or in thriving villages and cities — all that is magnificent in the hoary forest, or sublime in the thundering cataract, arc seen ns in a great panorama. If a cer- tain lady could say to the poet Cowper, who had asked for a subject — : " When required to write, you need be at no loss for a subject — there is the sofa !" I may surely be allowed to say to the student who makes to me the same complaint — you cannot be at a loss for a subje<'t — there is your adopted country — a wonder in itself, not only for its natural gran.- deur, but for its rapid increase in wealth, and for the noble works de> vised, and in the course of being execuied, to increase it still more Have any ol ua then been making a tour through any part of the coun- try J The iiruit of your obaervatioa ia the tbene on which I would i * I' xx. i 18 propose you should write. There are so many topics that you might touch upon, in slietching such a tour, no mpUer hov/ short it might be, that I shoulu rather thin'i it necessary to guard you against a danger incidental to its being over fruitful in discussion, than suppose you could experience aught of barrenness. Here the skill of the student would, as in a biographical sketch, be apparent in the topics he selected— while telling us, it may be, of the localities he visited, of the company he met, of the individuals he conversed with, of the additions made to his know- ledge, of the character of the scenery, of the productiveness of the soil, of the appearance of the farms, cf the habits and morals of the people, of the nature of the roads, as well as many other particulars which I need net to enumerate. I cannot, therefore, but think you can at all times command a theme for a short CBsay. The great matter, as I have already said, is, that you make a beginning ; and as the practice will soon approve itself to your own minds to be in all respects excellent and profitable, you will be more easily disposed to adhere to it after it is begun< It will be of much importance also, that the student furnish himself With a blank book of sufficient size, and that he copy into it, in a clear and legible hand, the exercises he may have written j for this will serve as a record in after years, of his progress in general intelligence, as well as in the &rt of committing his sentiments to writing. And here, gentle- men, in recommending such exercises as peculiarly suitable to the young' student, I need scarcely remark, I am far from advising you to think of commencing the profession of authors. The truth is, the notion that none but professed authors require to bestow any attention on these stu- dies, is an idle prejudice, which greatly retards their more general culti- vation. The young student who, it may be, has been distinguished in other departments of study, excuses himself for neglecting composition, by saying, « I never intend professionally to be an author, and therefore why should I begin to write a book 1" Now, who does not see the fal- lacy which exists irx this excuse. It supposes there is no motive to cultivate the mind for its own sake, which is certainly a great fallacy, and if followed . ut, would in a great measure suppress the most precious and interesting parts of education altogether. It supposes there is no motive to write out our own ideas on any subject, unless we intend to send forth the same to the public in the shape o{ a printed volume.— Now, so far from supposing this, I would have you dismiss altogether from your minds, the idea of becoming author. You will certainly have calls enough fur exercising the art of composition tiiough you never write for the public eye. The error of suppoeing that all who learn to com- 19 pOM, hftve in view the profesBion cf an author, must, I think, appear obvious enough io you all. Suppose you were wishing to teach a little, boy to speak with correctness, and while you told him he must give the proper pronunciation to this and the other word, that he must observe the pauses while reading, and lay aside some unseemly intonation he had acquired, he should excuse himself from all this trouble by saying, ** I am not going to be a Preacher, or a Barrister, and what matters it to me either to speak or to read with propriety." The absurdity of such an excuse is very manifest; and yet I do not think it more so than say- ing, that we need not take much trouble in learning to compose because we do not mean to publish. That composition of the highest order ii attainable only by a few choice spirits who devote themselves to a life of study, I freely admit ; but that a respectable proficiency may be ac- quired by young men of ordinary talents, consistently with a proper attention to their daily avocations, I conceive to bo as certainly true ; and I would therefore repeat to you the counsel I have given already, to begin the task, and prosecute it with vigour. There is much of practical wisdom in the injunction of Dr. Johnson to a gentleman who asked him as to the best manner of learning to compose — " Sit down doggedly io itf Sir /" was the reply.* Rules, as I have already stated, are of im- portance to the student. They are like so many finger posts pointing out the way by which he is to walk ; but in order to appreciate their true value and importance, he must walk on the path-way himself. I have often known young students complain of the arduousness of the task of composing. They could commit any thing to memory. They could' encounter any difiiculty in the matter of translating from a Greek or Latin author. They could follow any demonstration in geometry, but to sit down and write, with pen and ink, their cogitations upon paper, in the shape of an essay, was something for which they felt a total inapti- tude. They would undergo any drudgery rather than attempt a task so irksome. Now this supposed incapacity is altogether imaginary. It is a feeling of the mind originating altogether from a want of practice in the art. I might illustrate the truth of this by referring to the good efieqts of practice in conversation. Compare the case of a person who hai lived altogether in retirement, with that of another who has spent hii time in mingling with the best society. In talents, information, and liveliness of fancy, there may be no real difference between them. But bring them into company, and you will immediately see that the appar- ent difference is very great. The man who baa lived in retireoieot, is • St* Nole C. I' : I'i'ir now altogether out of hif proper element. Ho manifeats an STvk ward- new in Ilia manner. He aeems as if he scarce ponetsed the pcwera of "peech and utterance ; and if he can so far compose himself at to ad- dress those about him, he does it in such a timid, confused, and faulter^ ing manner, that every one is well pleased for his own sake he should remam sHent. See, however, how another displays himself, who haa been often in compar/-who has practised from his infancy hisconver- sational powers in the social circles. He manifests no confusion in his manner, and no faultering in his utlerance. His mind is familiariMd to what he is engaged in. He has a hundred times over been in the same scenes before. He has { -actised the art of being communicative in company so often, that young though he may be, he is a proficient in it. All his mental powers, therefore, are seen at their ease. He talks on subjects grave or gay with the greatest fluency ; and such an adept is ha in the art of being communicative, that his topics as well as his language, seem really inexhaustible. All this, gentlemen, is to be traced to no other source than to practice ; and the like excellent result will be found to attend it in ite application to the power of writing as well as of speaking. I shall now, in conclusion, eum up the chief topics adverted to in the preceding discourse. 1. I have stated that the first requisite in acquiring a good English style was, that you should frequenUy read the best and most approved author«~that thus, by a process of imitation, you would be led to trans- fuse their graces into 3'our own compositions, and comparing your per- formances with theirs, to correct whatever was faulty or defscUve U the use of language. 2. The second was, that you should always, before writing, make yourselves master of your subject. I have said that this was a matter <.! .3pccral importance ; for so intimate is the connection between thought nm^ ' • :>v ge, that i . c/der to our writing continuously and well, litde el3u is re.ioired, than an accurate apprehension of the subject. I ob- wrvedalso, that in formal essays it was desirable the student should draw up an ouUine of what he meant to at of, that thus there might be comprehensiveness and a lucid arrangement In his performance. 3 That the student should have such a confidence in himself, that He should aim at being natural. Althoueh it was 5mnnr*-nf Ko .k-.,ij O'vo a taste culUvated by the •tur', of the beat authors, yet that he should cultivate a noble Bim|)!icily of styld^ and perspicuity of diction that was really his own, — and therefore the most suitable medium for conveying his sentiments to other minds. 4. The fourth requisite was, that the student dhould practice the art of composing. 1 observed, that without practice the best rules were of no avail ; but by means of this, composit on, so irk ome at first, would become conriparati/e'y easy. I mentioned certain classes of subjects that might fiiriiisli you with matter for an essay, and I recommended you to have a blank bou'i, in which yju should regularly transcribe your essay e in the order they were written. I have only a few general observations to make before concluding this Lecture. It will now appear very manifest to all of you, that the art of writing well supposes not only a facility of expression, but a clear knowledge of our subject. This is the substance of all good writing, and he who would distinguisi) himself in tl' , requires to be given to study Rnd reflection. He requires to have the habit of sustaining his attention. It is said of the famous Sir Isaac Newton, that being asked on one occa- sion, by some of his friends, wherein it was that he so differed from other men, that it was reserved for him to make those notable discoveries vvliich had escaped the notice of all other men, — he is reported *.o have said, with that noble modesty and wisdom which might be f :ted from so great a philosopher, — that he was not conscious of any particular dif- ference between himself and other men ; but if there was any, he thought it was only this, that he had acquired a greater power of keeping up his attention on any given subject. Here, then, we find the secret of that force of mind which enabled the great British philosopher to solve the true principle which maintains the planets in their orbits. This, gentlemen, is the germ of all intellectual proficiency ; and it will be of much importance to keep in mind, that the cultivation of this faculty of attention belongs as much to the heart as to the understanding. There is thus an inseparable connexion between virtuous feelings and mental vigor ; and for this reason, even though there was no other, we would deprecate in the student all immoral or dissolute habits, seeing that his mind will neither be directed to the steady contemplation of truth, nor > the unwearied prosecution of higher attainments, who cherishes passions altogether earthly and debasing. In fine, we shall make but small ad- vancement in the art of composing, by merely gathering a collection of VI y ~" — L' Y i\.auttig Miv iitctvijr *-'t ttxu past tokno w all the strange things that have turned up in the \7orld — D 22 .l.e nu.bor of battles that may have been fought, or dynasties that may have f„lten,-B!! ,he.e things „.ay be laid „p in the memory, and yet vve ...ay be .lefi.-ie,.. in those powers of invention which furni»h materials for g-....| wntng. W. n,v.u therefore, gentlemen, cultivate the art of tl.M.k.ng „lvvays for . .,r.elves-vve must appreciate the dignity of our n.m,re- I n.ean that part of it which is spiritual, and whose proper food .. .M.t men, and dr nk, bu, though, and reflect.on-whose pleasures are no. ,t. ,s. orpor.-„I ....es uh..l. endure for a n.oment, but that internal joy .vh. h an^es (rom a perception of the beauty of mtede.-.ual truth or externa nature. It i. to these ennobling cbje- ts your attention is now directed ; and sure I am, .hat those hours which you may be enaM«H ^o spare from your professional avocations, to studies such as these, wil not be regretted by you in your af.er years. LECTURE II. ox THE EMOTIONS OF THE BEAUTIFUL AND SUBLIME. The present age is eminenlly ulililarian in all its tastes and feeling!*, and seems to look with scorn on every dis;:usdion except that v\hi. h relates to physical advantage. Hence it is we find in some men a sort of keen appetite Ibr everything that savors of the material rather than the spirit- uaL A discussion on a steam engine, or a grii^t mill, or even on the simple matter of a pump, — no matter how tedious or even insignifii ant in its real practical bearing it may be, — yet inasmuch as it agrees with their imaginary standard of utility, and perhaps also because it bears a reference to man's corporeal organs, is conceived to be something that is supremely excellent — and he who produces essays of this sort, however great a theorist he may be otherwise, is looked upon almost with the same grateful feelings as if he had laid a bale of useful articles at our door. The public taste is so insatiable in these matters, that everything else seems worthless in comparison of them. It would seem, indeed, that our extraordinary ambition for possessing territory, and lands, and the produce of lands, houses and steamboats, money and cutlery, cotton goods, bacon and wheat, had so affected our imaginations, that the very shadows of such things are hugged to our hearts with all the joy with which the miser hugs his moneybags to his insane bosom ; and as the mind of man cannot be supposed to love two objects at one and the same moment, so all discussions which savor of material things, are lauded to the skies, while those of a philosophical kind are thought to have come well off if they receive a cold atul formal hearing. Now, without referring to the repetitions and endle oommon-placee which are served up to the public in (he 8iia|)e of science, and which have really no practical force or bearing at all, neither originating nor aiding the ingenuity of the operative, nor yet strengthening the might of his right 24 ■'Ki- m hand— and in all respects as innocent in regard to practical efficacy as a theory on dreaming— I am willing to admit that there is really some ground for that aversion which not a few cherish to discussions of a metaphysical kind, and which have led to an undue depreciation of their importance. This is the unsatisfactory nature of the conclusions to which metaphysicians have come in their discussions, and originating, as I apprehend, from a desire of being esteemed philosophical, when their highest ambition should have been to be wise. There are few subjects on which a greater amount of logomachy has been manifested than on this which I have chosen as the subject of Lecture— namely, the Emotions of the Sublime and Beautiful. It has been discussed with not a little of the keenness of parlizanship, being intimately connected with the question, whether there is a standard of taste— a question which the literary men of a certain school imagine to be of peculiar importance in upholding their influence. Now, that there is such a power in the human mind, is manifest from the appeals we con- stantly hear made to it— what do you think of this poem, of this paint- ing, of this scene, of this description, or the like ? First of all then, I commence by observing, that man is not purely an intellectual or reas- oning being: I mean, he is not a being whose single faculty is engaged in tracing out the connection between causes and their consequences We have indeed heard of men who approximated to such a character. We have heard of men who kept themselves in seclusion from the joys of life, and whose single object was the solution of difficult problems in mathematics or in science, and who looked with contempt on every oc- cupation except their own. Men of this sort approximate to the mental character which we have referred to-ihat is, of beings who have no sympathy with aught save abstract truth—and yet, even in their case, nature vindicates her supremacy— for what is the motive which keeps such persons in a course of such self-denying labors. The mole may mine its way in the earth, with no other motive than to find food, but man possesses a more exalted nature ; and even in those cases in which the prosecution of the abstract sciences seems as if it had such potency ove^the spirit of man, that the deveiopnient of ah.fract truth seems to >• be his undivided aim-there is a current of feeling too deep and strong to remain unobserved. Has the mathematician, I >„lgh( ask, no en o- tion when he has reached the goal of his laborious efforts, and solved some theorem over which he had wasted the midnight-oil apparently in vain ? Has he no emotion when he has e'aborated liis way through the mazes of a demonstration which had pu77,!e'J the intellects of men uf less acumen than hisi Could we penetrate the recesses of his bosom, we Buould Bee It was far otherwise, and that there was a joy that sprung up 25 in his mind, which, by its viv' ess served to indicate that the intellecW ual faculty after all, was the servant rather than the master. Even the miser, who may seem to have approached the nearest to the case of a being without emotion, employing himself in the single object of count- ing over his ever- in creasing treasures, or devising schemes by which they may be increased a hundred fold, even in this case of a spirit en- slaved and corrupted by avarice, we might see, could we only mark the imaginations of the thoughts, the earnest longings for power, and the self congratulations arising from a fancied superiority, as often as he contem- plates his money in his chest. A purely intellectual being is a concep- tion of the mind rather than a real existence. At least, in this sublunary world, if there is one attribute which belongs to men, and which is cha- racteristic of them as spiritual beings, it is that they have emotions. The first class of emotions may be ranked under those which are of a moral kind. The nature of these may be easily illustrated. Sup- pose that a man is placed under some strong temptation to commit a crime. I have been entrusted with a large sum of money which a dying parent put into my hands to divide among those he has left behind — his widow and his children. Did I wish to retain possession of this treas- ure, I have nothing more to do than merely to keep silence. No one knows the secret of its being entrusted to me, save him who has now gone to that bourne from which no traveller returns. I am therefore in perfect security, as far as man is concerned, to keep the treasure if I have a mind. But suppose that, moved by a sense of what is just — by an honorable compassion to j. family ready to sink into poverty — and seeking to do what is equitable in all my dealings with my fellow men, I reject the temptation, and pay the money in full tale to its rightful owners. In this case I experience a grateful emotion — I feel an inward satisfaction that in this matter at least I have done my duty — and all who are made aware of this deed of honest dealing look upon me with a similar feeling of complacency. Here, then, are a class of emotions, and they have been ranked under the class of moral, because they arise from a perception of what is morally excellent in the character and con- duct of a good man. To the same class also belong those emotions which arise in our minds at the contemplation of deeds of wrong or cruelty. Suppose T am presented with the s ght of a man who has been guilty of deeds of atrocious wickedness. Here is a man so filled with the lust of having, that he has not patience to wait and to lal)or until by means of his industry he rea 'hes tho goal of an honest and honorahip compciCfiCy. He is a niangnani and criiel deiiion rather than a man. His feet are swift to shed blood. He comes upon his innocent neij.'hbor in the silence ol' tiie night, when sleep has closed his eyes— he plunges lllff 26 Into hi« bosom the dagger-and he robs him of all his wealth. Now. who doe8 not know that it needs nothing more than the mere recital of this deed to excite in every bosom in a neighborhood the emotion of high minded detestation against the wretch who has acted such a treacherous and cruel part towards a brother man. Let me add one other illusira- t.on to the same purpose. Suppose I am witness to a case of atrocious oppression. I see the rich man who has plenty of flocks and herds- and I see residing in his neighborhood the poor man, who has only me little lamb, which eats at his table, and is to him in the stead of a daughter-and see, when a stranger has called at the door of the rich hT het? " m"^ "'V*^' '•"' ""' S"^'"' '^«' he cannot find it in h.. heart to y.eld up one of his own lambs t<, furnish an enteriainment to his guest, but he ser.ds and he seizes the lamb of the poor man,whfch was his all-he s ays it, and he eats it with his friend. ^Let us i^ag e such a sc.ne as this which the prophet Nathan presented to King Da d 7St \ T' "u'"' '" "'^^^ '^'""^^ «S«'-^ ^he ri-h oppresJr, and be ready to say that he who could compass such a deed of injustice or blame, merit or demerit, to ourselves as well as to others, accordin; to our own or their conduct are, as I have just observed, classed unde? the emotions that are moral. n../"VT"^'-''' *^"*' '*' '"°*''" *='^«^ of ^'""t'ona which are not and the like. It is usual with writers to class such under the general head 2ur:::to the' ""' 'r^r -"' '^-^P-- ^^ enter into^r/miu onTvT« f"ll T P''"''" '^''''''''' ^ '^'^^ «f ^hem for the present only as falling under a more general classification of the mental nheno n.ena. An illustration will put you in possession of what Mr real nature IS Suppose I am walking at midiight alone in a sol tary nlaTe I am distant many miles from a human dwelling. The d k do d of n.gh IS over my head and around me. Who ca'n tell but nger may bese nj next footstep 7 Behind the next tree may lurk some hoTid aTd' thi-: r'k:: ;;:a:v'v:Tur : '^''r^'-' '—- -> u . . ""= "cdru. in such, or similar circumEtanres whn h« no. heen the ..bjec. of fear which he eo„IJ „„, e^; X-of a^.™,, «h,„h .h„„gh reasoned down fo, a .i.e, .he shakL f'lTeaf bven at ihe sound hi seif had mhdo." 27 And then to illustrate the emotion of hnpo we need only to take an inci- dent reoorded m the life of the celebrated African traveller, iVIungo Park. — We are told thai on one occasion he was faint and weary in the African desert — he has travelled far, and his strength is now unable to suppDrt him furtli?r in his journey. He is not only exhausted by fat gue, he is fainting with thirst. All refuge has failed him, and he lays himself down to die. It was at this moment when we may suppose him looking around to hid farewell to the pleasnnt light of day, and all terrestrial th'iigs, that his eye caiiglit one solitary floweret blooming green and fresh in the desert. He looked again, and mysterious is the chain of associated thoughts in the heart of man, the little flo ver proi>ably reminds him of a passage in Holy Writ which he had learned when a child, that the lilies of the 6eld should read a lesson to man not to despair. Hope rises in his breast, and this, as we may well believe, awakened many a thril- ling association connected with his far distant home, over which an oblivious sleep seemed for ever to have fallen. For such is the power of this emotion — " Still it whitpered promised plpasiire, And bade t' . lovely scenes ht distance hail." He rose from the sand on which he lay ; he made one effort more, and it is scarce needful to add, be was not disappointed. But besides these, man is possessed of a class of emotions which belong neither to the passions nor yet to that other class which are called moral. These are the emotions o*" the beautiful, the grand, and the sublime. Mr. Newman, of Bowdoin College, has an interesting passage in his practical system of Rhetoric, presenting illustrations of these emo- tions from their imperfect to their highest state ; and I need make no apology for the length of the quotation. It is as follows : — " When the sun goes down in the west, the surrounding clouds reflect to our view a rich variety of colors. We gaze on the splendid scene and there is a pleasant emotion excited in our minds. In reading the story of the two friends, Damon and Pythias, who were the objects of the cruelty of Dionysius, we are struck with the closeness of their friendship, and while we think on the fidelity of the returning friend, and on their mutual con- test for death, a pleasing emotion arises in the mind. It will be observed in these exe.nples, that the emotion excited is not strong, that it is of a grateful kind, and that it may continue for sometime. This is called an emotion of beauty. " The traveller when he stands on the banks of the Mississippi, and looks upoa that noble river, flowipg oa with the power of collected :l i waters, and bearing on its bosom the wealth of the surrounding regions, 19 conscious of emuliond, which, as they rise and swell within his breast, correspond to the scene on vvliich lie looks. Burke has given the fol- lowing biographical notice of Howard, the celebrated philanthrophist. *He has visited all Europe, not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces, or the slateliness i)f leinpies — not to make accurate measurements of the remains of ancient grandeur — not to form a scale of the curiosities of modern art — not to collect medals, or collate nianuscripto — but to dive into the depths of ilungeons— to plunge into the infection of hospitals — ■ to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain — to take the guage and di- mensions of misery, depression and contempt — to visit '*'e forsaken — and to compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries. His plan is original ; and is as full of genius as it is of humanity. It was a voyage of discos^ery — a circumnavigation of charity'. No one can read this passage and not feel a high degref^ of admiration in view of the devotedness and elevation of purpose it describes. When the orator stands up before collected thousands, and for an hour sways them at hio will, by the powers of his eloquence — who in that vast throng can regard the speaker before him, and feel no admiration of his genius. The emo- tions exciled in them and similar instancas have been called emotions of grandeur. They differ from those of beauty in that they are more elevating and ennobling. Byron, in his description of a thunder-storm in the Alps, has the following passage : — ' Far alongf From peak to peak the rattlina; nrags among, Leaps the live thiinHer! — not from one lone cloud, But every munntain now halh found a tongue— And Jura answers through her misty sliroud Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud.' " Who in the midst of Alpine scenery can thus listen to the voice of the leaping thunder and not start with strong emotion 1 " We are told that when General Washington appeared before Congress, to resign his military power, at the close of the war, he was received as the founder . iid guardian of the republic. They silently re- traced the scenes of danger and distress through which they had passed together. They recalled to mind the blessings of freedom and peace purchased by his arm. Every heart was big with emotion. Tears of admiration and gratitude burst from every eye. In the presence of this august assembly, the Commander-in Chief of the armies of the United States, after piously recounting the blessings which Divine Providence had conferred on his country, and commending that country to the con- tinued care of its Almighty Piotector, advanced and resigned the great " 29 powen which had been committed to hia trust. How much must this doslog act have added to the deep interest of the scene ! <* We are told that when Newton drew near to the close of those calculations which confirmed his discovery of the laws by which the planets are bound in their courses, he was so overwhelmed with emo- tron that he could not proceed, and was obliged to ask the assistance of a friend. No one can think of the mighty intellectual work that was then accomplished, and not feel as he did, an overpowering emotion.— To the emotions excited in these last-mentioned examples, is applied the epithet sublime. They are less permanent than those of grandeur, but more thrilling and exalting." In such of these illustrations as refer to natural scenery, it is very manifest that the emotion which is excited cannot arise from a moral approbation of the objects as virtuous ; and neither can it arise from a personal interest in them as afiecting our happiness ; and the question therefore has been asked, how is it excited 1 and with this question has lieen mixed up discussions as to the standard of taste, in which not a few writers have written, to say the least, with small satisfaction. Now, it will be of importance to attend first to those great elemen- tary things in which men all agree are to be found the lineaments of beauty and sublimity in the highest degree *, or at least, which have the undoubted power of exciting these emotions ; and I observe, that this material creation, which is around and over us, has the power of calling forlh in our minds to a wonderful degree, the emotions of beauty and sub- limity. Not a few writers, of no small eminence, have expressed them- selves with much ambiguity on this matter. They have sought to find out some first principles in the human mind which mightenable it to determine the beautiful and sublime in external nature. They have wished to dis- cover some special faculty to which reference could be made as to all matters of taste, and consulting which, we could determine with abso- lute uncertainty, whether a work of art or a scene in nature would be universally pleasing ; and in the very dubious conclusions to which they have come, the impression left upon the mind of the reader (whether the author meant so or not is of inferior moment) is, that the whole subject is one of dim uncertainty. The truth is, the brilliant discoveries which have been made in physics for a century past, have operated so far in* juriously on the philosophy of mind, that they have led men to think that their investigations might be prosecuted to an indefinite extent on thi& field also. They have supposed too that the mode of enquiry by 'IF"" SO analysi,, which they raw to be 6o efficient in laying open the chemical laws of matter, and of reducing it to its elementary substances, would be equally efficient when brought to bear upon mind, just as if that mode of enquiry which was applicable to the one was equally so to the other. The principles on which they set out were false, and they led to miserable results. The most laborious investigations were prosecuted into the nature of the human mind 5 and it would be singular amid the heaps of inferior ores that were thrown up, if some were not found of a happier vein than the rest ; still, speaking generally, the investigations of the mental philosophers, as compared with those of the physical, it is not too much to say, have been altogether a failure— and this applies as much to the subject under our consiJeration as to any other department of the philosophy of the human mind. The writers on taste have fallen under the same pernicious influ- ence with those metaphysicians who attempted to discover in what way the mind is made acquainted with the existence of a material world.— Refusing to look on the objects without, and choosing rather to reason on the sensations these produced, they were led at length to doubt whe- ther there was any material creation at all—and whether what are called properties of matter, such as hardness, extension, figure, and the like, were not altogether illusory. In like manner, not satisfied with the fact, that our emotions of the beautiful and sublime rose or subsided accord- mg as their own objects were presented or withdrawn, the philosophers on these emotions appeared to have wished to dive somewhat deeper into the arcana of our nature, even as the others, who, not content with the testimony of our senses, wished for deeper proofs of the existence of matter. They were not satisfied with the visible phenomena— as for example, present certain objects to the mind and certain emotions will arise, which is really all that a sound philosophy can take cognizance of. They wished to know, in some way or other, how these emotions arose: and their favorite hypothesis was that of a special faculty determining the beautifu' and sublime in nature or art, with all the precision that marks our judgments as to the properties of a circle or of a triangle- Then again it happened that this conclusion, unwarranted as we think by the evidence on which it rested, being once admitted as a canon by the critics of the day, produced much injury and injustice in its application, and m tiuth was in danger of reducing our literature to a thing of mere polish aLd refinement. The public mind, in short, was altogether in an uncomfo.iabie slate on this important subject. 'I'heories and principles of taste »bcy bad in abundance, but got up by men who had no appreci- 31 ation of the highest efforts of genius, and least of all of that noble freedom which belongs to it— these, however, served admirably the end of prop- ping up the reputation of a few favorite authors. Not being founded in truth and nature, they fettered for the time being the human mind, rather than helped it in its progress— and perhaps by this very circumstance they paved the way more speedily for that improvement in puLic taste and sentiment which marks the times in which we live. There can be no doubt that ihere are vast fields of knowledge wu h. lie beyond the ken of our faculties, and never is philosophy guih'y of a more egregious solecism than when she professes to be capable of un- locking all the mysteries of nature — modern philosophy takes cognizance rather of phenomena as such than of the modes of their existence. On this latter territory, namely, the manner of existences, she is puzzled at every step. She may be able to class all the productions of the vegeta- ble ki; gdom, so that there might not be one plant in the whole of its do- mains, that was not known and arranged under its own distinct genus, and yet with a science that embraced every individual of the great botanic family, the true philosopher would confess his ignorance of a thousand mysteries that belonged to it. What is the principle of vegeta- ble life ] Has it a distinct subsistence 1 Kow does it attach itself to matter 1 Why does a plant strike its roots in the earth ? How is it that these roots are possessed of something like a muscular power in grasping the soil 1 Why does one class of plants imbibe sweet juices and others bitter 1 Why is this vegetable grateful to the human system, and ano- ther growing in the same soil, a deadly poison 1 Why such a difference '» Que^Unns of this sort might be multiplied indefinitely to which no solu- tion could be given. Still this fact, that certain phenomena connected with the vegetable family lie beyond the reach of scientific investigatiou, does not prevent the botanist from investigating those that lie within it ; and accordingly the science of botany has reached that high degree of consideration which belongs to it, simply by an adherence to this princi- ple. There are questions that might be asked respecting the physiology of the plan% which we cannot solve ; but there is one thing which we are capable of investigating — we can examine the plant and discover wherein it agrees or disagrees with others, and classify it accordingly. In the same manner I may be utterly incapable of discovering how 't is that external matter becomes an object of perception to the mind ; and if my belief in its existence depended on the solutir- r*" this question, I would certainly be involved in hopeless perplexity, 'nd might be ready to assent to the scepticism of Hume and others, who appear to have come to the conclusion, that the existence of a material world was allogellier imaginary ; but no sooner do I stretch forth my arm and grasp a piece of ill : hi m Hit*!! S2 matter with ray hand than all my doubta am dissipated. I need only to withdraw my attention from the delusive arguments of the sceptic, and fix It upon the material things around mc to experience the force of a de- monstration as to their reality. I„ Ii1.e manner, after perusing thcdiscttiH Bions that have been written on the subject of that faculty by which we are supposed to jiulge of the beautiful and subl ,ne, I have been oonscioua of a feeling of dissali8faction,_and not only so, but looking to the con- trariety of opinions which have been put forth as to what this faculty is. -some asserting that it is an original power of the mind which discerns what IS graceful from what is ungraceful, even as the reasoning faculty discerns mathematical truth, and others, that it is a modification of sepa- rate and distinct powers of the mind,-I cannot help thinking, whatever the authors may have thought of their own performances, that the effect at least upon the minds of the generality of students, has been rather to darken than give light. It is the remark of a judicious writer,* that there is a moral spirit in every discussion. If a w =*^r evolves a true principle, he instructs the mind ; if a false one, in so far as that is con- cerned, he perplexes it. The latter alternative has been too conspicuous m the various hypothesis that have been put forth respecting this class of emotions. One metaphysician after another hasattempted to preeent us w,th the philosophy of the subject; and as they have marvellously failed ,n so doing, or at least as very great obscurity rests on the various conclusions to which they have come, the feeling is natural enough that the same obscurity attaches to the phenomena which attaches to the hypothesis. In other words, in so far as these philosophical discussions have operated, the palpable fact of the material creation, for example having ,n its numberless combinations a wonderful power in excitine emotions of the beautiful and sublime, is enveloped in obscurity. But how opposite to all this is the reality will appear by merejy turning our eyes away from the obscure metaphysics to the material things around us. The poets are a class of men who do not reason but feel i and they will supply us with very many illustrations of what we have said, that no obscurity attaches to the fact, that nature in her many moods possesses great power in awakening these pleasing emotions in the breast of man. Do not, therefore, gentlemen, perplex yourselves at present with the question, how nature should be possessed of such a PTJ: ,-^f ' ^^^^ ^''•««^y °'^«e'-^e<'» our knowledge of the modus esc> isiendi of things, if I may be allowed the use of two Latin words ia exceedingly limited. For the present turn aside from the dissertation j( the metaphysician, to the illustration of the poet j and in so fw aa the true phUosophy of these emotions is concpm..^ ♦k- ♦«.«-:.: m „_ •A.JalIwv 83 Cahily be as from a region of mist to one of clewr Bonahme. Dr. Lowth, in hia m>rk on Hebrew poetry, observes, that the mountains and ▼alea, the rivers, streams, and other natural phenomena and natural r>r iuctions of Palestine, are the great sources from which they have borrowed their imagery, shewing clearly that the material creation appeared to them most grand and beautiful, for the nature uf their high commisaion hinders them not h >m reverting to it. They saw a glory in Lebanon and Ita ever-green cedars, and a gtacefulness in Carmel ; and their eye rested upon the peaceful beauty of a landscape where are green pastures and still walc;8. The truth is, in all ages and countries, the testimony of a« true poets has been deep and thrilling as to tlie potent influence which creation in all its aspects exercises over mind. The illustrious bard of Avon may be supposed to speak as the representative of his tunefui bre- thren and sisters on ihis subject : — " The poei'g eye in a fine frenzy rolling, Doth glance ftom h«aven lo earth, from earth to heavm. And a« imaginHtlon bodies forth the forms Of things unknown, the poet's pen turns Them to shapes, and gives to airy notfaing A local habitation and a name." Another great English poet, with far more of learning, and eq: »1 in sublimitv of genius, infuses deep feeling into hia verses when he speaks of external nature. This poet also, I mean Milton, is a witness very much in point; and for this reason thai at the time he composed his great work, he had been deprived of his sight. Such a change to the worse would have been enough to sink many a man in hopeless depres- sion. To live shut out from that most common but precious blessing, the light of day, must appear to every one a very sad affliction. And yet this was Milton's state while writing his great poem :— " Sonl-choering light, most bountiful of thing*! > Guide of our way, mysterious comforter! Whose sacred influence, spread through earth and heaven, We all too thanklessly participate, ^^ Thy gifts were utterly withheld from him. Still, though in this state, he had manifestly a high pleasure in recalling to his remembrance those sun-lit scenes which in better days he loved to look upon. 1 think I even now see the poet sealed in his study, with his long tresses silvered over with age, in the very attitude of pouring forth this affecting soliloquy. His eyes are <' quenched ;" but he pre- serves a noble composure of mind : — " Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt— Clear stream, or shady jjrove, or sunny hiii, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief Thee Zion, and the flowery brodti beneath That waah thy hallowed feet." Il^ 34 My object at present is not to speak of th j poetry of these lines. I oite the author as a witness to a principle or much importance in intel- lectual tiammg,Bnd which cur modern »ohoolmen have well nigh thrown into utter obscuration. The fidelity of .us testimony too is tested in the severest possible manner, by the altered circumstances in which he is placed. A man who has become blind, speaking of the beauties of nature, la a more disinterested witness than a man who has his eyes open, aeemg he gives his evidence to a fact, which raises the position Of other men and depresses his own~that is, in other words, he makes mmself an object of pity ; and no man possessing a spark of the nobility of -pint wh,ch characterised the author of Paradise Lost, can suppose he had any such wish. The testimony of the poet, therefore, is genuine. It comes forth from the rece.se» of truth ana nature. There \s one other remark also which I wish to make on these lines. They shew the en- during nature of the emotions referred to. Milton, when he had the sense of sight like other men, enjoyed, as we know from verses written at this time, the beauties of nature in a high degree. It migh' be .sked, then, are these sensations merely transitory like those of taste or of smell ? Do tney continue no longer than when the open eye expiates over the amplitudes of nature? Let this organ be marred, and do they cease to exist 1 The testimony of Milton shews that it is far otherwise In this recorded experience of the poet, we see most plainly that the image of this beautifu world without, as if by the magic art of the Daguerrotype, was sketched vividly on the tablet of his heart; and now in the absence of the natural sun, there is the sunshine of imagination, reflected, however upon nature with a certain sombreness, like the light that shines through the arched ^vindows c^ an ancient cathedral. These are the objects which the poet in fancy revisited oft ; and I need not tell most of you how beautiful they are in the English landscape-the clear stream, the shady grove, the sunny hill, the flowery brooks. The poet continues his soliloquy in the following lines, which I may be allowed also to brine under your notice j the deep pathos which runs through them is very remarkable : — & o vc.jr " Thus with the year Reasons return ; but not to me return Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks or herd?, or human face divine ; But clouds instead, and ever-during dark- Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off— and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works to me expunged and rased, And wisdom nt one entrance quite shut out." ^ - v,.,5„iai puvvcis ui Uiu numan mind, education does m ich m training them. This is true of the mental powers or sus- 85 ceptibilities of which we are now speaking. They required to be excited : and in this work much unquestionaNy is due to the poets. ri:e majority of people are little given to reflection. They live amid 'he bustle of business or the dissipations of fashion, and for anything that appears to the contiary, they would have remained profoundly ignorant that there was anything remarkable to be seen amid the soliludes of nature, had the poet's song not reached them in their halls and workshops* It may be obf^erved also, that things which are common to all men,and which those who lead the fashions cannot appropriate, are in danger of being utterly neglected. I have been led to make these remarks, before adding one other testimony as to the power which the vast objects in creation wield over the mind of man— and it is the more striking that it represents the feelings of one who had lived in the centre of a great and luxurious city, and moved in the gay circles of an imperial court. The writer, who is a lady, is describing in a letter to ?. friend the appearance of the glaciers on the summit of one of the Alpine mountains. « It would be vain in me to enter upon any description of the scene which now opened to our view. Many celebrated writers have failed in their attempt to convey an idea of its grandeur. The sublime '. usion which nature here presents— the immense height of the icy peaks, re- sembling innumerable castles — the enormous chasms shaped like fun- nels, where one false step must be followed by certain death— the deep silence, broken only by the terrible noise of the avalanches thundering one after another into the gulphs below, or by the plaintive pipes of the shepherds who are exiled to these regions during many months of the year — all excite a feeling of melancholy and admirafK-m. While we contemplated the awful grandeur of the surrounding scene, tears uncon- sciously gushed from our eyes, and my fair compan.-jns seemed surprized to find their attention engrossed by anything besides the elegance of their dress, which might adorn, though it could not add to their charms."! It is my wish, gentlemen, to free 3elf as far as possible from all discussion as to the metaphysics of this subject, thinking, as I do, that these have served to throw obscurity around the fact of external nature possessing the power of exciting in the mind the emotions of the beauti- ful and sublime. I may, however, observe, that the mode of operation in this case is in accordance with other phenomena connected with the mind. Thus, for example, do I wish to awaken the principle of con- science in the breast of man, I just present hira with its own peculiar neigl: have f«cl * I once heard a con»eriation to this f ffect-" O, Sir, that isa beautiful waterfall that I have been seemgjn^youf slibourliouii " "luJctil, Sir, id cvevy body say;, and mat cvrrj' bmfj' 'ay^ ,,,iiM ..? .r™, .;■.. -.r. -.y yr.ur^ -syt i fe on^n rode pail i! without Leing aware there liw tutfttog teBKUbto tO b« K«»l" ftud tUil doubUtll wu Ut ling not of an individual but a c!ais. t Sm Mtmoin oftbe Empress Joeoluuv 36 objects that are fitted to excite it. The Apostle Paul was well acquainted with this, as we may gather from his conduct when he stood before the Roman Governor Felix, who was given to all manner of malver- sations in the admit,, stration of his Government. The accomplished preacher just presents to the conscience of the oppressor its own proper object, namely, moral truth. He reasoned of righteousness, tem- perance, and judgment to come. And the effect is immediate — the Governor could not stand unmoved — he trembled, and asked the preacher to leave him alone at this time. In like manner do I wish to excite in the mind the emotion of hope, I present to it likewise its own peculiar object. I lay before the man who is labouring under some sore distem- per, the nature of a medicine which has cured others who were in the Jike affliction — I tell him that this medicine may be easily possessed by him — and supposing what I say to be credible, I immediately excite in his bosom the emotion of hope. In like manner the emotion of anger is excited by bringing before the mind a case of wrong or oppression, in- flicted by some lordly oppresser upon helpless innocence. I may have before me the case of a man of wealth, or power, in the mere wanton- ness of a cruel disposition, inflicting ruin and wretchedness upon a victim' whose only injury was an uncompromising adherence to the cause of honest patriotism ; and in such a case, if my sensibilities are true, the emotion of anger will glow and kindle in my breast against the man who has heedlessly sported with the dearest interests of humanity In a word, to awaken the emotion of anger in our breasts, it is only needful to present before us a manifest instance of wrong and injustice perpe- trated upon the innocent — upon those who may be too feeble to defend themselves ; and with all the invariableness of the law of affinity in chemistry, our feelings seem to adhere to the particulars of the story, and they seem to pour forth fires of vengeance upon the head of the oppres- sor. It is in precise accordance with the same law that our emotions of the sublime and beautiful are called forth, — these emotions like those of angerj hope, conscience and the like, have objects which properly belong to them ; and one great class of objects is the magnificent works of crea- tion around us — the woods, the rivers, the streams, the lakes, the hills and vales, and flowery meadows — the pure vault of heaven, irradiated by the light of the sun by day, or the moon and stars by night — the eye never rests on these objects without the emotion of beauty, grandeur, and subli- naity being felt to a greater or less degree in our breasts. It is with justice therefore an anonymous poet exclaimed : — " Ever charmin)?, ever new, When yvill tbe lundjcapo tire tiio view T 37 The pleasant seat, the ruined toweri The naked rock, the shady bower, The town and village, dome and farm, Each gives each a double charni." It is true there are other objects than external nature which excite these emotions ; but I choose to limit my attention to this for the present, in order to give you a clearer view of the true nature of this class of mental phenomena, which appear to me to have been unnecessarily mystified by all the writers on Rhetoric that I have consulted. If the question then should be asked, who is the poet whose writings will be always pleasing? Without entering more minutely into the question, we would answer, that it is he, who, possessing a mental constitution more alive than other men to the beauties of nature, has kindled with a warmer glow as his eye expatiated over them. Other men might experience the same feelings in kind, but they were different in degree. They were more languid, and consequently more transitory. They might have the outline, but they wanted the well-defined figures and vivid coloring which are essential to a true representation. The consequence was, their emo- tions soon faded, and left no other trace save the remembrance that for the time they were pleased. The true poet, however, like an inspired prophet of old, is constrained by a noble impulse to pour out his soul in language fresh and appropriate. Hie art, if art it may be called, is not what many suppose it to be, the mere capacity of expressing himself magniloquently on common things ; and of so selecting terms that the last of every second or third line may have a similarity of sound. One who writes thus, writes not from the fulness of his heart, but from a principle of imitation. It would be an interesting discussion to point out the adaptations which exist between external nature and man's mental constitution— this, however, would lead me too faraway from the immedi- ate object of this lecture — it may be enough to say, that such an adaptation exists, and the soul of the true poet responds not less truly to the graceful and the sublime in the natural world than do the cords of a well tuned instrument to the hand of the performer. True poetry is of the nature of a testimony. And neither docs it seem to matter what shape it assumes — whether the author speaks in his own person, or conjures up imaginary beings who speak as if of themselves, he is never withdrawn ; and I doubt not could we know the private history of the Author of some Epic such as the Aeneid, Paradise Lost, or Telemachus, we should see that there was less of mystery in the matter of originality and invention than the reading public had been taught by critics to believe — and that the author whether he was describing things p.pnken hy Godg, Angels, or Men — by Kings or Commons — whetiier he transported them to another world or limited them to this one, was all the while borrowing from ordi- F 38 nary scenes and incidents that had turned up around him. And neither does this detract from the merit of poets, any more than it does from the merit of painters, that their imaginary groups are generally made up of the portraits of living men. At all events the dignity of philosophy requires that the light of truth should be poured in upon this subject as far as may be, and the important interests of a purer system of mental tiaining re- quire it. Adverting then to the principle that the emotions of the sublime and beautiful are awakened by presenting before the eye the objects of exter- nal nature, it is well known that original poets have not been so much reading as reflecting men. They have come forth and seen and given us their impreesions of things. The poet Burns is reported by one of hia own friends to have been so much in love with the appearances of natu- ral scenery, that he iias known him to stand for an hour together looking upon the corn-fields of his native land, and seeming to peiuse as in a gr'at volume, the features of the varied and noble landscape ; and it is just this susceptibility of being impressed by the things without, that enters largely into what is understood by genius. There is perhaps not a human being possessing his faculties in a sound state, whose soul would not swell with emotion in beholding a noble river, Buch as the Niagara, rolling onward in silent majesty amid magnificent woods, — at one time spreading out its unruffled waters to the sun, like a glorious mirror, — at another time, rolling down the terrible rapids, or thundering in one vast volume over the awful precipice into the yawning abyss,— a scene of this stupendous kind awakens the souls of the dullest of men. All pronounce it to be most beautiful and magnificent ; but the feelings of the man of genius needs not such a lavish display of nature's glories to awaken them. Whatever other powers characterise the man of genius, one thing is certain, he is a man of sensibility in the best sense. Hannah More has well expressed this in one of her poems : — " Cold and inert the mental power* would ba Without this quickening spark of Deity ! To give immortal mi ' its finest tone, Oh, sensibih'ty. is all ttiine own. This is the eternal flame which lights and warmi> In song enchants us, and in action charmst" All the authors who have excelled in writing poetry, will be found, if their writings are examined, to have been possessed of this quality in no small degree. Gray's elegy, written in a country church-yard— a pUCUl ^Tiiivii io i!x siiuci sixc:: a uutazicS) tsxigtit, Uc tanoix an «»i f;i^*T7»-flr***v of this ; and as I should wish you to verify for yourselves the accuracy of our principlea, I would Fecocamead this poem to your careAal peruaai, at « befitting exatnf^e, amid all its felicity of expressir '\ and faarmoniooa numbers, of that peculiar sensibility which belongs to {genuine poet6, and which has perhaps the greatest share in makiog up the melody of their ■ong. There n another example which I would not willingly pass over —it is to be found ' ' the sacred scriptures. I refer to that byran writ- ten by the Hebrew prophet, when raising his eyes to the boundless vault of heaven, and beholding the far distant orbs which enlighten our dark nights, be breaks out into these sublime expressions — ** When I cott- aider thy heavens the virork of thy fingers, the moon nnd the stars which thou hast ordained, then say I, wluit is man that thou art mindful of It is of much importance, therefore, gentlemen, to keep in mind the principle we have endeavored to develop, namely, that our emotions nre excited by their own peculiar objects ; and ihat the emotions of the beautiful and sublime are no exception. I have carefully abstained from any discussion as to the modus exittendi of these emotions, think- ing as I do, that a discussicm of this kind has proved unfavorable to their due development, seeing those who have entered upon it have darkened the whole subject of enquiry by the mists of a sceptical [^ilosophy. I have thought it enough to shew, that the emotions of the beautiful and sublime are subject, to the same law which belongs to the other emo- tions of the human mind. They have their objects ; and it would be just as rational a subject for investigation, how it comes about that I should feel any emotion of anger in seeing a cruel man oppressing the innocent ; or how I should feel any emotion of veneration at (he sight of a man remarkable for his virtues, as that how a beautiful or sublime object should excite in me the corresponding emotions of aublimity or beauty. What binds an effect with its cause may be simply the will of the Creator — or there may be some intermediate vincula which we have not faculties to discern — but one thing is certain, all that we know of cause and effect, amounts to nothing more than invariable sequence* The chemist proceeds on this as a first principle, in all his enquiries.— No reason can be assigned why two bodies, when brought together, unite together and form a new substance. The most we can say of it is just this — so it is ; but we can say absolutely nothing on the question, how it is. Indeed all our knowledge of physics, at least in our present state of being, amounts to this, that one thing is a cause, and another is a consequence. Shew me a beautiful rose, or a beautiful landscape, and I experience an emotion of beauty. The rose or the landscape is the antecedent, and the grateful feeling is the consequent; and this, gentle- men, as far as I understand the subject, is the amount of our knowiedge regarding it. I would have you ^a to discard that sceptical pbiloso* 40 ^pn ..,.{,'■ Hj£ ■* " ■ H^Vw''t ^^^■1 P *CbMMri, phy which teaches that there is a great error in saying that there is beauty in a rose or sublimity in the Falls of Niagara. This is a wisdom which is of the schools, and leads to nothing that is fresh and elevating either in feoling or in poetry. It has led those who embraced it into a species of mental abstraction, which bears but little congeniality with the glorious system of things which is around us; and it stript our poetry of all its luxuriance and strength, and made it a tame and artiBcial thing, until, to use the figurative langua("> of a modern writer, « the vein was fairly wrought out."* The modern school of poetry, which is certainly superior in point of vigour and variety to that which went before it, has acquired this pre-eminence by the masters of song, coming under the influence of this purer mental discipline which I now urge upon you. They had not recourse to the dissertation of the philosopher as to the beautiful forms which charm the eye and imagination, but they went to the living reality. Lord Byron may be considered as illustrating this principle of cultivating our feelings, by looking upon objects as they lie presented tp us: — " To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been— To climb the trackless mountain all unseen With the wild flock that never needs a fold, Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean— This is not solitude ; 'tis but to hold Converse with nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled." The poet Burns also, to whom allusion has been already made, aflfords a suitable illustration of the truth of what we have said. At the time that this remarkable man appeared, criticism had become too much a thing of rule. The great poets of the Elizabethan age had sunk into comparative neglect ; and the productions which were most esteem- ed among persons of rank, were so glossed and polished, that nature and genius seemed alike forgotten. It was amid the pedants of this school that the Ayrshire ploughman made his appearance. How far opposed to the Pope school of poetry every one who has paid some at- tention to the history of our literature must know, were the following verses addressed to a mountain daisy, which the poet had turned up with his plough '. — ' " Wee modest crimson-tipped flower, r> Thou's met me in an evil hour, ,,. For I maun crush amang the stoure Thy slender stem — To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! Its no thy neebor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion nipet, Bending thee 'mnng thr, Hewy weet Wi' gpeckl'il bieast, When upward springing, blyth to greet The puip'ling eait.'' 41 The principle which In the above observations I have endeavoured to develop, namely, that the emotions of the sublime and beautiful have their own proper objects, and that by the presentation of such to the mind, these emotions will be awakened, is one that would admit of many rich applications in its bearing on mental cultivation. Do you wish then to enjoy that intellectual treat which the domains of creation present in common to the peasant and to the philosopher 1— those mild and innocent joys which the glorious forms in external nature are fitted to infuse into the spirit of man 1 I certainly would not have you seek assistance from the metaphysician speculating on the arcana of the mind, and attempting to discover there a standard of taste about which they have not to this day been able to agree. If books are to be used as helps at all, I would bay, you should rather go to a class of writers who, with- out philosophizing upon the matter, are really in possession of the true philosophy — to those who have opened an unclouded eye upon creation, and described what they have seen with more or less of the eloquence of truth. I would have you peruse the writings of that class of observers who have « looked on nature with a poet's eye" — and who may therefore be supposed apt teachers in pointing out forms and combinations which had escaped our duller organs. But a still better species of mental train- ing than even this will be found in going to nature herself, and with or- gans unbedimmed by a vulgar familiarity on the one hand, or by the scepticism of philosophy on the other, peruse her bright and wondrous volume. In this way you will enjoy that rich entertainment, — may I not say those devotional feelings, — which suuh a pleasing exercise is fitted to call forth. This, gentlemen, is the true philosophy of our emo- tions ; and in the language of a great English poet, it will enable you to " Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooksi Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." APPENDIX. NOTE A. Education it indispensable to the weU>being of cities. The tendency of tli« increase of capital (and it has been, and still is on the increase in the mother oouniry) is to extend the division of tabor to the greatest possible extent^to substitute maobia'< ery for manual labor, until the task of the operative is reduced to a few operation!, and his hand acquires somewhat of the routine and rapidity of a machine. This arises from the competition of capitalists among themselves; and t^e obiect is to obtain the greatest amount of produce at the least possible expense. But the tendency of this regime is far less favorable to a sound, moral, and intellectual state among the workmen than the operations of agriculture. There is much in the processes of agri> culture fitted to invigorate the human mind. These have a certain greatness and vvri- ety in them, to inspire comprehensive uiought, as well as in an eminent degree toteach< providence of the future. Compare with ail this the case of the operative in a large city, who is confined in a workshop, and has frequently little more to do than turn m wheel or the like, and the infarence is unavoidable— there is little or nothing in his employment to interest or stimulate his mind. On the contrary, in so far as its ten- dency operates, it is to reduce him to act the part of a machine himself. But this cannot be done without a grievous neglect of the intellectual faculties. The operative will have excitement in his own way in the hours of relaxation — and with no resources in himself, where will he find it? very probably in haunts of dissipation. Without an improved system of intellectual training, therefore, the great mass of tbs population of our cities would be, in respect to habits of thought and of providence, much below the inhabitants of the country. Our cities would be filled with a multitude of human beings possessing physical powers, it is true, but in all that respects the ext.. jise of inind, sadly degraded. And who will say this is a desirable state of things 7 What is the compensatory process then to enable such a numerous class of inhabitants of a city to make head against the necessary consequence of an ever-increasing capital in limiting the operations cf their hands? How will the artisan, in short, be enabled to hold an equal position with the agriculturist ? My answer unhesitatingly is, give him a superior education to tho agriculturist, and then you will compensate for his more unfavorable position. Discipliii'^ his mind with science, and with those branches of literature that aie useful and interesting, and then let capital do its worst — let it re* duce his Ot arations to the narrowest possible range— the man has then materials for thought and reflection infused into him ; and the very circumstance that his work is of the most mechanical kind, will only leave his mind the more free and undisturbed to refloct on the principles in which he has been instructed. Indeed, I cannot but help nking, though certain eminent individuals took the lead in promoting Schools ofAit in England, that the chief cause of their rapid progress is to be ascribed to the felt ne- cessity on the part of the operatives themselves for a higher state of intellectual train* ing. The vast capitals accumulated, the division of labor, the introduction of machinery, tended to sink thum in the ssale of rational beings. But there is a benevolent Provi* dence that rules in the affairs of men ; and the rise of these institutions in our own times is an illugiration of it. They hnve introdnced a higher kind of education amons our citiscens, and have thus, it is not too much to hope, been instrumental in sustaining .heir intellectual and moral character against ioi^uences which would othei wise have subverted both. 44 RrV,nJu!,?'l°?-^°."' fiontain* a compendious view of th argument for supporting fure de ivored il.% '■^'. towns; and us I tooI< occasion to .xpand ,he same 1^7^ iZ^n ru .u °T' ^ '"'''i^''" ""« following extract, for t lie purpose ofelucidaf ing more fully the soundness of the principles on which it rests :- tn«,n!>*ii,l%?"^''i'" '=°7'paring the intellectual condition of families residing in lar.'e SthoLh I am 11'"''' '?, ■■"'?.' ^'^'"'='^' '•> 6'- "- precedence to the former; and .pecdvVinCnce, i'^.r''' '" '"'fJ"" •^"^' >'^' " """h' ''^ '^^ '^"''"■" ^^"" «^« "^e re- from thl a Dowerf^ '*° '"°''^' "^ "^'"^ "n°" ^^o intellectual character, because oirJnl^.f P°r Brgument may be deduced in f.ivor of extending and improving fei ioMo the aniin^ employments that the agriculturist is in- Sr waf and tha"; , ,^" •^'' '^°"f'-'''y' ^ aPP'-hend that the tendencies are all the towns inVesnect of . f-r certam compensatory processes, the inhabitants of large h^n before an nL?/.,rr' '"'?"'.««'"^° «"J vigor of mind, would rather be behind rn«n'. ;in I "f "="'^"'■^1 population. There can be no doubt that the nature of a so hen thL:TL°rr"' '"^"""T ^^-^ -"-'-«'''y his mental developmen ; and if to't .« Pn c' ^7 "'"•^^ '» (he avocations of an agriculturist that is favorable rwhichl,!„^'T'''''^' ''''^*'=''''''^- ^°' '" «P*"'k of the importance of I i callinV Ki ,■ ^ '"■",' '"'"""" ''"dependence of mind) seeing it is he who providfs itLTnn ""^'"T"' "'"^'^ "^^'If"! fov the subsistence of man-fhere is a greatnes in those powers of nature wuh which he comes into immediate contact in fll hi" nlan^ and operat.ons. If the machine of nature is magnificent in respect to power and wTs^ inT:i .r ''"""I ^"u" '" '^^ benevolent rnd of providing produce for the m^i^n. sona?in,i T"' f '^°l" ''"''"^'' "^'''^h he has domesticafed for his use A per- sonal mterest ,n any thing sharpens observation as well as all the powers of the human ^n iflust^rr* "" T'^'u""''. •^^''"'" ^^ '^" inattentive observer of nature. Jus^.o t^ke heavins 7 Th"" °^^7l '" "*""■•" ^'' «'«=»'"^ '"'"•« «"^"'i°" 'han the sun in the '•surnnsLn/ 1 P^'T'^ '"["^"'e^ ^""^ ^^^" exhausted in the attempt to portray ks surpnssmg^^lory. ' But what an interesting object is the sun to the agriculturist - h pr c LTLd iV rh^'^r'""' ''' fields.'and-'made them like a gardfn, and owed TInlilahT- i:- ''^ y^'fyng wurmtu from that luminary be. not communicated f^rm he labo?fs .',«rT"'"^,'""^^ '"'' '"'"*''>• '""'— '" ^-'"P°" '^e welT-pr pared S ftih from h , ?'. """'?"' ^"•'"•, "^^^ agncukurist never Hses from his bed and emp ovment di^el h " ^' ''°°'" \° '^^ ^°'''' "•^'^« ''"" '«'""'' ^is horizon, but his "At whose sight all the stars Hide their diiiiinishcU heads." rHlllnl*'^I!"°*'-'''^''^'iT'.''"^'^*"^' ^^""^ '" the soul of a good man who follovs this he c .'me :[: ron.a"ct 'fri'^P"^'" f '^^ >^°"'-^ °f imagination. And ntlt on y do KracZ aUo-thllJ i^" "'^S"'"""' things of nature, but with things that are f^ce of iStTnS Vp ^ •' ^"".'-ru'' 'r^°^'^' ''' '"'^^^^ t° "'"hale the refrefhing influ! refm.h^n. ^ u ', " """'^^^ ^^ ^'"' ^">"' "« incipient to its mature fo4-tho IvlZhJ' ^««"""«tion« of shade and of sunshine, the cy.le of The seasons on he fores? " ForT 'T,' --''.--Netful changes both 'on his'cultivated fi'ds and on the torest. For around his dwelling, it may be truly said in the words of the poet, ■r 1 . ** The youne snriniT Looks ever br.g l,t will, leaves and blos.ninini'. And winler always wends his sullen horu. Ami the wild auluinn, with a look lorlorn Ujes in his stormy manhood ; and the skies W«ep, au d flowers sicken, when the suuiiuer flies." ,U Ir. '"^ '' 'V'"""" r"""' '*'^. '^'"Ss without impress the mind even as the seal does the pliant wax. the inference is unavoidable; the agriculturist whose feel nes a e not deadened by sensual indulgence, must be a man ofsensibilitv-a man whose ir^Lination Tn^U ,^» » ^ 'nflucnce gladdening the minds of those who know him best. But not S f^„oA,T IT-"' °^'';' "g-i-^ulturist fitted to awaken sensibility and 1.^" ion Th: seals" t^'^e^STn T^ffT''' ""' '"""''!'' - a manner suffiLntlyl? e We! ,h„ Vo ? f ^ ?'^ "^ progression-the showers of spring are succeded bv ^omL .byJ'T"^""-"'' '^"-""^ "«''" ''y 'he ripenin. infiuence of autuHand then comes the desolating winter. None of these seasons indivit^nallv ar. liXipprfn. the sSe'lhl'; LTomit.H r"'~'r ^^.V' '"^ "^'""'^ "^ ^'^ '"'^'P^ -l'"i- them Tl! .0 in summer- and ftJ """ '"' K"^ '" '^""^^ '' ^^°"''^ ^'^ ""' '«t« '° l^^gi" ^o do .0 an 8umn,er, and if the operat.ons of summer ate neglected, the harvest may come 45 Such b.i„^ th,^,^ "; 7. L";;f„S":'^'y "•y'r- "!•: -'emen,. or .n pr,ctic,l wi,do,... >nd nflection ""'^ "^ * ""*" ""P^-"<'d wi'h the auribuie. of thought City ■J'Z hadTirilu«t ??! "'" "'■ '^^ •"■--•'"'"'""ed in th« he.rt „f a populou. naturally iradvanr^^u. [^7 °"'' ^'r "''^''' "'"''y "''^^ •'^^ »>'* P""''"" '^" labour i. divided and^h« i„,r l • r ^"j'-'^"' •-«•«"' '« which in manufacture. few opera, ons' The i^at end „r""h ° T'"'^''""'"*" ^* "'""«'' »''" ""^"""" '" " '«7 of the workman that hrhand 1. ' **""•'' '^T. '?'"'"'*" "'"'* ** •" '" "'"'I'"*)' '^e .a.fc Hence the e^ien ,rwh ch ^1T?^ ""''"•'' "''»»'« P^«<'i«i<'=' -"d rapidity of a machine. procewe. of ag" culture ItT. £ "„7- " '"''"^""^'^ *" manufactures ; where,., in the ihecapitali.t, in thU division „n.h * T"' T"*"'" i"applic«l'le. Th« object of greatest amount if prodTce« thlt.«C -.7 '''"''""'°" of machinery, i, to obtain the he adopts are inost wU-lv ad«m!i fo? f V^"'"'' . ^""^ «»«"reHly the measure. to be a very impor a^ ouesttT «1?. T^^^ %"'' proposed. But it come, to habii. of the peon e? 2^d .„ " " T ""' ^"""^^ "^ '^'» '•"ff""* "" '^e in-llectual mea.ure. wereTpDHed hs tenr """'* "./C''""*" ^^^ """•"■«'• '•'" if "o remedial populationTrnoiWf „f in^Jr ^^ '^^"''^ ^^'^ pernicious, that the bulk of our city L^. in ag irultCl dist i ., ^ And r'^^'i'' 'J'",';'** ""•* S^^-'y ''«'•'- 'he .am2 man whofe at Son i! eo?fi"„P An .[ • f''*' "^ * """""on. lel u. suppose a work- hi. ta.k unrSnelv from d. J n t "'"8' V"'"'"? °^ '"'"'"g » *»"'«'• "« P'i« It is very obvious ilf.Li^Tn.K^ • 7.' *"'* ^f*"" ^^''^ "^ *««'''' »" ihe year round. turist to expand and7nvilr» 7.^ '? ''"'.^'"PW'nentas there i, in that of the agricul- with which they operite^for hi? °''T" ""'«««»'";"' ''"'^ "f«h« -''"''^°'» '"ergy Mcure their c™rat?on tn « 1 .l^' •.' '"'" '*' '° '? '"^ ""' '''» '''''°"'- '»>«'»"» "'y ed for the play o?!he f^cultie. A " I'j' T''^ manifest there is a certain room allow- person was eXr weak mind ek or i '*""''* ^ u" ^^"'\°^ '""«""«« '" "y '»"" """h » ariizan whLe wLe or/.^-,- ■ 'S"°'-«"'-t'« ™UBt be a man of reflection. But the ciSof whosrvislon l^ '9 narrowed down to a few mechanical operations-the e ther to !m„«!M • "avowed by the dimensions of the workshop-has but little irbe po :eL"d yrr'"^ ^r^^ii "r "°'? •''" ''"«gin«ion. ft is anowed l: ihele, and end. to fos^^r^h'""' n'" ?"'' '"T"'"' ^''^''Sy- ^ "" occupation demand, eff^t^rcainng in°o X hi!'"me„?«lV" T''^ "^ '^" •'' ^ '*>« "'"''""' P°"ible are over, he mtv be exnerfJ^ Te '^'""•^'- r ^"""^ *'.'»' "'"'' '^^ '"''» °f '^e day other. He iTnot a mrM't ,V ^^u " '""S'nff fb. some kind of mental recreation or perfo;ming the same func in.;, if "^ """"^ * P"" J"'?" "'"y ^ ^'"P''''"^ '" "«* ''im " ?her; and speak inTin .hi « "« Possesses all the mental faculties of the philoso- arabsoul S"^ f I. *^«'""?«' ''a possesses them in the same degree. To make to a end no schoolT Ir ' 7 "Tu '"°"'.''' '•«'«'"»'''"'• B"t if he ha. no lectu.^ natuVrof hUrelaratinn i ' * "° ''•j'^V! it i* obvious that whatever may be the -tS'erlrS^^^ ^-^ »^ '"-•■ig-ce and of K I. of s'ucrvastTm^^^r/''''" •'"'T '"''" ^ h"'* "''^' '•"" ♦*"» i""«a« "f capital (which "sSbns wir£, f "7'"/''^ ""?r°^ ''"' ''"''"'='") ""'"• «i'l«d hy educational portant^eclil If !h ""^ i^favourable to the mental illimination of a large andTr^I SSoiof labour '^r,K^ T^^ '""«"« °f capital leading to tSi i. .0 .imnUed thati?r. 1"''°'^"?."°" "f '""hinery, until the labour of a man's hand aAere^S or^ionlandlT'' *?.'""" !"""'?*' °^ '^^ '"'"'* '"' '^ '^e man himself wa. iD?. endoweTSirnoiri" ^"' "y.'^"' '"'• '• > ^"i'-»'''« c^dition for human be- '.!!-.•-, *"! *"" ."°?'» P"**" and faculties to be olaced inT Tn f«iu„ „.,» .u- m«ohTw.lu writhe f.?'7'rji.'"'' '"'^V^y '° ""^ -"^^^'y «"""« »■"* drinking iB«enino.^u 10 fly to the face of God's image that is slaroped upon the poor nao a. G 46 well ms upon ih- c«pltaH«. Th# w)m kJn^ Solomon etpn-iiei hi. mom of lh« inipor- Unee of knowNH^e in us moat compreUr..iv« •enfif> to all mfin, wb^n h«. My*, "thttt the ioul 6« wuhoi.t knowledsp it not bo.„|," anl p.-eordioKly the riM of ■cliooU of art for the jn.m,cti«n of ihe working pi^ople in our large town*, i. ih« oon..KH»«w I doubt not of that longing anrnng thenselve. for a high.-r gra.l- of m-ntal M.rclM. than 1» turnish.-d by ihnr daily Rxocaiim*. No doubt certain men high in the eitimation ftrthe commiiniiy «uoh a. Lord Brough«m and other., look the lead in this great >novenient, but that which gave .fadfRMne** and univertHlily to it among lh«« citiea of fcngl«nd, was the wide-npread demand for a higher kind of mental training. Things naa not remainpd staiionary gince the eduoaiional institutiont consequent on the refor- fnafion had been introduced. Capital had immen.Hy increased ; and this again hwl ITL'- u f "■"^^'^ e5«pediPnt for iiicrea.ing the productive powers of the labour >M)ich it BPt_ in motion ; and we can easily suppose, from the httle that was done for cancating the people, that mnnv an overgrown capitalist, when he saw the might and power ot hii capital in wielding the masses of human beings around him, waa disposed fo |„nk upon ihom ns only a part of that machinery which he could set ia mniinn— but nature rerlaimed asainst the wrong. The people themselves had felt th« noble impulse for a higher intellectual training than they possessed. Though born freemen they found themselv«. en.lavpd, not by the triumph of • conquering foe, but by the increase cf wealth. They were cooped up in work-shops in the midst of crowded cities-their labor constant, and requiring but small exercise of their faculties <-they w.re in danger of sinking irremediably into a state of ignorance, and of seekin* nothine higher than a mere sensual existence. In this state, our cities had become mere sinks of depravity— and the patriotism, the intelligence, and the virtue, had been not in them but in the rural districts. The tendency of an ever-increasing capital to sink the intellectual condition of the working clashes in towns is strong; and in so (ar as this element operates, they should at no distant period be placed on a lower grade man the same class in the country. But in our Educational Institutions, our Institutes, our Libraries, our lacilities for mental training, we find a process amply sufficient to compensate^to the artiran Ids otherwise unfavorable position. The truth is, by meana ot these and of their excellent result in Indoctrinating the mind with a taste for litera- mVi^ »c'Pnce, what seemed adverse to theartizan. namely the narrow arena within Which tie was confiied, and the small demand in the mechanical operations to which Dis hand was restricted, that was made upon the exercise of thought and renection— ^ete in the case supposed will be found to be favorable to mental illumination—ser'nc i "u J * ^'*"' measure at freedom to expatiate on its favorite theme. i»nother advantage that people living in towns have over country people is, that they are better adapted for attending lectures and such means of improvement. It baa been observed by an advocate of these ii.btitutions,* that a country man who spenda much of his time in the open air, when he comes into a confined place, such as a lec- ture room, is very apt to fall under the infiuence of sleep; whereas the artizan who spends his time in the city is as much awake in such a place as he was in hit owa workshop, consequejitly the latter class are more Mkely to receive improvement. Uivtne F-rovidence thus sharing men's advantages with an equal hand, seeing that the sgriculuristwho had nature and her processes spread out before him— that magnifieent TOlume which is so fraught with instruction— enjoys in a less degree the capabilitira for reading the volume of art; while the artizan, to whom the former was closed, is better fitted for reading the latter. • » • • Seeing then your lot is cast in this yoong and thriving city, which is, however, subject to all the evils that be- long to other cities, let me counsel you to support this institution, that like all other things in this noble pr its progress may be onward ; for I have perfect confi- dence that its safe an-" ry results will be vindicatoJ before our rulers, and men of mnuence, by the superiu.../ both in intellect and virtue of those who have imbibed j .u ! fui'"i "* "5™'y' •"■ in its lecture room.the lessons which it communicates; and ttiat While its students have become Imbued with taste and intelliaenco, thej have Jott none of their workmanlike qtialities. NOTE B. p. 15. The work hero quoted, to which rofersnce has already been made, merhs the attention of students. It has ..... . •' - » treatise, and as we are It has as rnuch originality as may be expected in an elementvrjr informed in a note, it hnAbotm ronrinto^ in Cnalamrt. aiul in*»<.. f Z«(d Bie«|kaa* 47 duo#H into certain »chooJ». rt» chief merit liei in containing many very uwrul praeti* c«l hint*. amJ it i^ more interestini? thnt mnny of the exainpln* which he ha* choMn to illu«trHt«< hi« princifile* are HHJtr.ted from molorn wriiHrd. When ilm aiiibiir how- ever, paa^pi from Rheioric as a piaciicHJ art lo the phih)«ophv of the »uhieot, heM»ni< not to write witli the «amt. inleHi^ence. Tlie followir.,? pa«a«« occur, in th« iiitro. dticiion— " That iiuiruciion in thi* part of rhetoric (last.-) \» attended with difficulkw "" '"T "'" '^""*'- ' ^^ ""M-cm themaelvM ar« intricate, hard lo be underttood, and •lUl harder to explain, especially to itiose whose minds are immature and unanou* tome.l to philosopliical reasonini;*." One n)it;hi almost suppose from ihit, that tha ■ulhor was relerrin» to th.- mysteries of a transcndantal region, which the English languHife. «..h all its plasti.i.y, w.. a very unfit me.lium for communicating especially lo the un.n.tiaud. But it is not so. The subject lies within those limits' that are open to r.hilos,.plii„«! invomi ation ; and the adoption of languai?o which would apply ra.her to the .-xplication of heavenly mysteries, is not a liitU, inconeiuous It may tie true, that the opinions of some writers on taste are hnrd lo :>e understood— so harrt indeed, that in rearin- their theories on too narrow a l.a^is, ihev have perplexed the whole rnatter in the vain attempt of reroncilinij ih.-m witti llie ficts. But then these and the strict ^ul.Ject of enquiry „re difl-.-reul thinas-aud no apology is «dmi«I .ible for obscure wnnn^, on the r.r,.,enre th .r nn author feels it hard to make MmTe f tntelligihle— for no aphorism in rhetoric is more certain than this, that what a writer cannot well explain lo others, he does not well understand himself. He has failed in reaching the philosophy of the subject. The tr.ith is. that the emotions comprehended under the general term, taste, are as m.ich first principles of the human m=nd, us those that are peculiar to cons.vt.-nce. and the real cause of the complaint, that the subject it hard to be understood." has arisen from tliis fact being kept in abeyance. I cannot perceive that there is any thing more hard to be understowl in the fact, that a flower smtue painting, or poetical desciiption, that are true to nature, should excite an emo-' lion of the beautiful in the mind, as that the witnessing of a cruel action should excite «n emotion of moral aversion, ft may be admitted to the Author of the Essays on laste. that a beautiful object may excite various associated ideas, as of delicacy, puritv •prighthness, or the like; and it may he admitted to Dr. Thomas Brown, that a beau- Ulul edifice approve, itself to our love of fitness; hut this only shews, as Combe ob- ••rvos, in his Lssays on Phrenology, that there is an association of our faculties It ems not prove either, that our sense of the beauty of the edifice is resolvable wholly «f«r«J \ -J-u"' '''"f" '""'■ ""'i'^''" ^"'^^- '"■ °^ 'h« ''°^«'-' &'=• '"»" th« association, referred to. These and many other feelings may be concomitants. They may form so many pillars in the temple of beauty ; but it has a foundation of its own, and the error BM Jain in supposing that it rested wholly on one. NOTE C. p. 19. ^ .'^''■^•'°°''*f through Boswell's Life of Johnson for the observation here referrei to, but have failed in discovering it. I have given it on the authority of a respected professor whose class I attended in the University of Edinburgh. It is, however so thorougnly Jo*n«o».a», that no one acquainted with his manner can doubt its beinir genuine. The true spirit of an observation of this kind is often lost when not found in the connection in which it was spoken. Regarding the words referred to as really pronounced by the great English Lexicographer, who excelled all the men of his times in conversational powers, let us supply an imaginary context in the absence of the true one, w.iich IS probably lost. Let us go back then 70 or 80 years ago, and fancy soma young aspirant much concerned to hear Johnson's opinion about a matter on which ha had no small misgivings in his own mind. Boswell is in the secret, and the introduc- tion of the subject is committed to him. Boswell. Don't you think, sir, that a man is not always in the same mood for composing 1 Johnson. Why, yes, sir, just as a man may say he is not in a mood to go with you to the House of Commons or to Covent Garden ; but does any one suppose that this means any thing else than merely that he is not willing to go 7 Boswell But, sir, I was conversing the other day with Goldsmith, who has just published his ueserted Village, and he assured me there were seasons of the y.-ar when he could write with more fluency than in others. May this not show, sir, that there is soma such thing as an e^a<«» required in order to write well? Johnson. No. sir. The ancient poets introduced this mn/la nf iail< inn ....^ ,u<. ».„j_ l ^i . . ' .. . them. Why, sir, a foreigner might on the same ground infer that we had hons or tigers in England, because in some of our poets you will meet with similies drawn from 48 from the cIm.ic «n,l ,n .he mn..ih- of writer, who h«v« nev«r b^en nut of Rn.l.nd ■re wiiho-.t mPan.n? S,r [ vvnul.l hHv. „ yo„„^ wri.,.r di.mi*. .hi. common hui rmlMh noi.on from h-s m,n,] Th. he.t .#«.«,. ,ir. whici. w.. hnd .t .chool *,.",£« al,Zn WU "'" ""^'"'."' '*'" n"'-;nhHH innk w« .hould be .o.indly flo«;d.l £o,v,ell. WH Rir H.ippo«H r WRs 10 a«i< you what advice ynu would fL a vounc »;;ficul° ""'"'''»'"*■'* "^ •' "ffi-'"y "f com,„..i„«. and who .till « i.hed to auiin ,5 proficen.v ,n ,h«t art. J<,A«.»n. I would have him .it down do^edly to i. . ir - ».7„tri; ^"^""^ "i'^ " """*'" •" ^'^ y"""^ '■"'■"'^' •" ' «i'h admiration u^on b. man whom he reverenced as an orarle, and in retiring Memed to .ay- ^ l^h ! when niong tbe t .m of time thy name Expanded flie., nnd uiiinem nil it. fBine, . Say shnll my Mule bark, ailcnriant bbH, Pursue tlieitluinpli and partake the sale " 1 NOTE D. p. 40. ^*^ on .oral .uhjects. The .ame i. ,rue of the efT^U^^' demand." frt;.''Th::rhaf: had no .mall influence in rrtnteracting the tendency that philo.opher; have alwav! .hown toward, what ,. paradoxical. Bo.h Berklev and Hume would have ex^.^ ced a certain nervou. feelinfj in making the affirmation that there i. hardne.. in a Tiom S f lT«'r '"i' r" ''"'"*'"' Philo.opher Macadam. H. never doubted thi.-,h; ch.rf object with him wa. to overcome it by means of the hammer and to cover ,h! country wuh '■ road.'' caked according to hi. own peculia- fa.Zn ' Ano her cl... of ph. osopher. would have told you that you predicated what wa. very que.tiWble in say.ng that flower, were beautiful. Not so with the arti.t Hi. „„.? *J."^'"""'^'"? '," tate their beautiful form., and to prese^T th' m ;o%7 ' \ e" h vi" iVco^rt KtTbe copie. m,ghl nval, if it were po..ible, the original.. And here wb le on thU .uhW, .trgivTuaVfThV"'""'"^ ^'r :^*"=' ^'r"™' -thorof;rDic:ionVr5'*o;ce l.lry, gives us of the manner .n wh.ch a taste for the beautiful i. cultivated bv a clnT. o operafve. .n the city of Lyon, in France. " Tbe mode, in whieh ta.te ?«• "'t^v*."" at Lyons deserve particular study and imitation in ihi. country. Among be weaver. criZolJ W*^ '*'"^ "* ^2' ""'^^ connected icith the beautiful' either in figure U ■ .1' ^«*':"« "">y be seen ... thsir holiday-leisure gathering flowew and group.ng them ,„ the most engaging combinations. They are con.inuaflv Zgesl'nJ •pSve' "^hfi vL?la' ^" ''"'"" '^^ P""P '" '''• ^-"y °" Drawing and Per- spective. the French, flower patterns are remarkably free from inconcruitie. beinir "he';«mTfa"irt;atm-V,t"''^ ''"""""/; ^"^ p'^''- ''-T SK? ^nu "n! tne germ of all that might be said as to the best method of developinir these mental Lre«;rin''thet''birv r ""''T' "''? "^ ^^''^ '° """' "-^ atS„^f iiTwr.™ inierestea in tbe subject of juvenile training. v» N ^ <• V. if » 'M' ^i ffi-. *J»^., % \