AT LOS ANGELES J (J^f^r^Tz^ lJlA4ux MEMOIRS AND imi(01^ MMMi or AN ONLY SON, WHO DIED NOVEMBER 27, 1821 IN HIS 19th year, WHILE A STUDENT IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW. BY THOMAS DURANT, FIRST AMERICAN FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION. ANDOVER : PUBLISHED BY MARK NEWMAN. 1823. > J > J , UISTUICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, TO WIT : L. S. District Clerk''s Office. Be it remembered, (hat on the fifth day of June A. D. 1823, in the forty seventh year of the Independence of the United States of America, Mark Newman, of the said district, has deposited in this ollice tlie title of a book the right wliereof he claims as propri- etor in the words foliowini?, to wit — " Memoirs and select remains of an only son, who died November 27, 1821, in his 19th year while a student in the University of Glasgow ; by Thomas Durant, Poole, Dorset Eng." — In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States, entitled, " An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of Maps, Charts and Cooks, to the authors and proprietors of such coj)ies, during the times therein mentioned :" and also to an Act entitled, " An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, An Act for the encouragement of Learning, by se- curing tlie cof)ies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies during the times therein mentioned ; and extending the benefits thereof to the arts of Designing, Engraving and Etching Historical, and other prints." JOHN W.DAVIS, C7erfc of the District of Massachusetts. a CONTENTS. f- ^. PAGE His Birth and Childhood 9 i.J^is religious Education 19 2His Intellectual Education 31 _,His Commencement and Progress in Latin, French, '^ Greek, and Italian 54 j^His Commencement in writing Themes, at the ^ age of Eleven 60 THEMES : •^ On (he advantages of the Study of History ... 62 w On the disadvantages of Solitude 63 Ql On Decision 65 r On Polytheism 66 (_ On what Religion is most calculated to promote ji the happiness of individuals ? 69 On Superstition 71 On the Connexion of Ideas 79 IV CONTENTS. PAGE His first Poetical efforts, at the age of Fourteen 84 Translation of Crebiiloa 85 On the Setting Sua 86 Imitation of Horace 87 Illness and Death of his Mother 93 His first Session at Glasgow 106 A Poem, "The Land of the Blessed." .... 120 Professor Walker's Testimony to his character and success at College 122 His return in 1819, and his labours during the va- cation 126 Prize Essay on the Tribunicial Power among the Romans 130 His Return to College in 1819 151 Letters written during the Session 152 Extract from his Logic Theme 162 The Dream ; or Human Misery ; a fragment . . 174 Professor Jurdine's Testimonial 192 His Return Home in May, 1820, and his employ- ment during the vacation 194 Melville and his Pupil 197 Fragments 201 O Midnight . 202 Friends of Infancy and Youth meeting after long separation 202 His return to College in 1820 204 Letters written during the Session 206 COJfTENTS, ESSAYS : Pack Essays written in the Moral Philosophy Class . . 221 On Virtue 221 On the Immateriality of the Human Soul . . 228 On the Immortality of the Soul 237 On Providence, a Poem 243 Professor Myine's Testimonial 252 His return Home, in May, 1821, and his occu- pations during the vacations 257 His departure for Scotland, October, 1821 . . . 259 Dr Meikleham's Testimonial 260 A General Review of his character 262 His Aunt's Illness and Death 289 His Illness and Death 308 Address of Condolence from the Students of the Natural Philosophy Class 316 ADVERTISEiMENT TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. The American Editor of this interesting biogra- phy has thought proper to omit a part of the Essays and Poems contained in the London Edition ; not because he differs in judgment from the biographer as to the merit of those juvenile productions ; but because he wishes so to reduce the size and the price of the book, that the circulation may be as ex- tensive as possible ; and because he thinks it will answer the great end of this edition to retain a suffi- cient number of those productions to make a just im- pression of the genius and early cultivation of the extraordinary youth who wrote them. With the same views, the Editor has omitted a few notes and other passages of minor consequence. He has also given titles to all the sections corresponding with the Table of contents. But in the biography itself he has made no alterations. X PREFACE. parental partialities, and who were, in every other re- spect, more competent judges than himself, had formed as high an estimate of those talents as he entertained ; and some of whom had expressed a wish that a work of this kind should be undertaken. The writer may be suspected of partiality, especial- ly in describing the moral and religious character of his son. It will, however, be admitted, that no other had such means of knowing that character; and he solemn- ly declares, that he is utterly unconscious of present- ing one feature more strongly than truth permitted, or even demanded. When he asserts as he does most con- scientiously — that he never, for the last fourteen years, endured one anxious feeling of apprehension respect- ing his child's future interests in time or eternity — that, from a perfect conviction of the purity and strength of his religious principles, his parents could ever repose on him the most unlimited contidence — the public will admit that, in whatever he has said, he is, at least, sin- cere. On this subject he dares to appeal, without hes- itation, from his own testimony, to the united opinions of many — and especially of those numerous youths, both at home and at College, with whom his sou was most intimately acquainted ; and to whom he necessarily' ap- peared, in his hours of rehixation, without even the pos- sible suspicion of disguise. If tulth be rAKEGVRic, the PREFACE. XI eulogium must stand : and the writer can never suffi- ciently praise God that, in this case, an eulogium can be Aiirly pronounced ; and that, amidst recollections which awaken all the tenderest and most painful emo- tions of his heart, he has not to look back on one act of disobedience, or one moral delinquency of his son. That son was, unquestionably, conscious of his own im- perfections before God ; and sought, through the medi- ation of a Saviour, the pardon of his sins ; but, in all that was visible to man, there was the evident opera- tion of that sacred principle, which taught him "to de- ny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously and godly in this present world." The Avriter has found it difficult to satisfy himself in making a selection from Essays and Poems, which would^ altogether, fill several volumes, and which afford strik- ing evidences of industry, if not of taste and judgment. In making the selection, he has done his best ; though he can confidently assert, that there are among the un- published pieces several quite equal to those contained in these volumes, and one superior to any among them. HIS BIRTH AND CHILDHOOD. My beloved child, William Friend, so named from his maternal grandfather, was born January 7th, 1803. It was no sooner announced to me that " a man child was born into the world," than I most solemnly dedica- ted him to his Maker ; and from that day to the dread- ful moment in which I heard he was gone beyond the reach, or the need of prayer, I never once, to the best of my recollection, offered my supplications to God in private, without distinctly remembering and mentioning him. Since his removal, it has been one of mj' bitter- est griefs, that neither he nor those with whom he had a common and an equal interest in my affections, remain to form an object of solicitude in such hallowed employ- ments. The sincerity with which I so often made that dedication, has now been put to a severe test; and, though not without "•strong crying and tears," I have been enabled, through the grace of Him who smote me, to say, '•'• The Lord gave, and the Lord laketh away, and blessed be the name of the Lord." The celebrated .Tohn Ilowe, in addressing Sir Charles and Lady Hogh- 1 10 ton,* on an occasion similar to that wliich has agonized my heart, says, " You concurred in this the dedication of your son — you covenanted with God in Christ to be his God. But then you ought to consider what the import and meaning was of that your covenant. Was- it not absolute and without limitation, that God should be a God to him entirely, and without reserve ? and that he should be kis^ absolutely, and be disposed of by him, at his pleasure ? Otherwise, there was a repugnancy and contradiction in tlie very terms of your covenant. Is not God, the name of a being incapable of limitation ? — And when he makes his demand from us of what we, on our part, are to be and do ; he demands our all, absolutely ; that we surrender ourselves and ours, whatsoever we are and have, to his pleasure and dispose, without other ex- ception or restriction, than by his promise, he hath laid upon himself" I felt most deeply the importance of the charge which Providence had devolved upon me. Not utterly a stranger to the state of human nature, to the way- wardness of the heart, to the dangers which beset every part of the path of life ; 1 trembled, lest, through a de- fect in his education, through any impropriety in our example, or through some foreign influence, he might become an injury to the world, a dishonor to his God : — and looking upon him, I uttered the language of an- other father, similarly circumstanced : — * Dedication to his " Redeemer's Dominion over the invisible World," a Sermon of almost unequalled vigor, beauty and) ithos, preached nearlj' a century and half ago. It *■' Now tliou art listed in the war of life, The prize immense, and oh ! severe the strife I Thou embryo-angel, or thou infant fiend, A being now begun, but ne'er to end, What boding fears a father's heart torment, Trembling and anxious for the grand event, Lest thy young soul, so late by Heaven bestowed, Forget her father, and forget her God ! Lest, while imprison'd in this house of clay, To tyrant lusts she fall a helpless prey ! And lest, descending still from bad to worse, Her immortality should prove her curse ! Maker of souls ! avert so dire a doom, Or snatch her back to native Nothing's gloom !" DAVIS, These apprehensions of possible evil did not destroy the pleasure which our lovely boy produced. We call- ed to remembrance the promises of God to the faith- ful ; the assistances which he had aftbrded many of our friends in training up their families ; and the happy suc- cess which had crowned labors as humble as our own. They gave, however, a tone of deep and anxious feeling to our hearts, awakened within us the spirit of prayer, and roused us to the exercise of our judgments respect- ing the pleasing, but solemn duties assigned us. On many particular occasions did both his mother and my- self jointly make these the special subjects of our peti- tions. Nor had we, in after life, neither have I to this moment, reason to doubt, that He, " who heareth prayer,'' approved and answered ours. Few can be ig- norant that the direct and immediate influence produced by exercises of this kind on the mind is great and most 12 salutary : they bind us, in common consistency, to act as we pray. Philosophy, which, on such subjects, only skims the surface, may maintain, that this is the sole ef- fect ; but that word, on which I have long rested my hopes, and which now affords, not merely my richest, but my only consolation, assures us, that, however im- mutable the plans of the " only wise God" may be, our prayers, when sincere and. fervent, avail much in heaven. Besides the abundant consolation which flowed to us from the word of truth, / found my burden most mate- rially alleviated by a knowledge of the sound sense, cul- tivated understanding, affectionate heart and christian principle of his beloved mother ; who possessed, in a high degree, almost every mental and moral excellency for which her son was afterwards so distinguished. I knew, from the experience of three years, that she was deficient in no single qualification of a " help meet" for me in the education of our common charge. He passed through his earliest years, with no more than the ordinary share of infantile diseases ; which sometimes alarmed us for a season, but never produced any lasting fears. We enjoyed liim greatly ; nor did either our tempers or our principles permit us to refuse the comfort with which Providence had supplied us in the health and sprighfliness of our child ; we were not disposed to dash the cup of happiness with the bitterly tormenting inquiry, ' How could we endure to lose him ?' This disposition accompanied us through life : and ex- cept in cases of real or apparent danger, neither his mother nor myself ever endured, on this ground, a mo- 13 ment's anxiety. 67te, iu adverting to it, has often said, " The probability is, that he will survive us both ; and why should we torment ourselves with the voluntary apprehension of an evil which may never arrive ? God may take him from us ; ' sufficient for the day will be the evil thereof;' and sufficient, unquestionably, will be our strength from above to bear it : but why should we not enjoy him while he lives, instead of embittering the present by the agonies of anticipation ? *' It will be enough" — (Alas I / find it so !) — "• it will be enough to endure his actual death, without enduring the dread of meeting the evil at every turn of his passage through lite." Thus have been secured to me nineteen entire years of parental bliss — a larger share, I fear, than falls to the Jot of many parents who possess their children for a much longer time. We deemed it imperiously necessary to form, while he was yet in his infancy, a plan of future management, to begin from the moment that he should emerge from that state. It was, I imagine, little if any thing, more than that of all considerate parents ; and if more than ordinarily successful in the application, it arose from the circumstance that while we had to operate upon the most favourable materials, the plan was invariably pur- sued : I say, invariably^ for I am not aware, that it was ever, in a single instance, essentially neglected. We had determined, from the beginning, to act in PERFECT UNISON — and if there should, at any time, occur an unavoidable difference in opinion, never to let him perceive it. If 1 had, as was sometimes probably the case, been unreasonable in demanding more than was 1* 14 to be fairly expected, or in insisting on what was, in his circumstances, impracticable, his mother was uniformly silent before him, and shewed me, when alone, the ex- travagance of my requisitions — thus affording me an op- portunitj' of averting or correcting any evil that might have been threatened or produced — without begetting in his mind a notion that he might calculate on a rival- ship betwixt the sternness of a father, and the excessive indulgence of a mother. He ever considered us as one — expected an equal share of tender affection from both — and was not, I trust, wholly disappointed. We never emploj'ed the ordinary and vulgar meth- od of FRIGHTENING him juto obedicncc. Nothing but ig- norance and weakness will resort to expedients which produce in many, and even in some powerful minds, dis- tressing associations which no future instructions or rea- sonings can totally dissolve ; and which are, not unfre- quently, the foundation of mental habits, which destroy the entire comfort of future life, lead to a mad-house, or terminate in suicide. Never to the moment of his entrance upon the unseen world, did he know the tor- ment of a superstitious apprehension. It was an essential part of our plan never either to DECEIVE HIM, Or to Suffer him to be deceived. We car- ried this into every thing. One deception discovered by a child — (and children are adepts at making such discoveries) — will ever shake that perfect confidence on which a parent has to calculate as the main assistant in a moral education. On this we rested a large share of our hope, and it never disappointed us. When about two years of age, he was afflicted with an inflammation 15 of the lungs, which rendered respiration difficult. In- capable of transl'erring so precious a charge to other hands, we sat up with him, watched, wept, and prayed over hira, as he lay dozing or restless. It was necessa- ry he should take medicine. This he refused, saying, " I can't, papa, it makes me sick." 1 answered, " My dear, it will make you sick ; I know it is unpleasant ; but it must be taken. You will be the better for it after- wards." This reasoning making, as may be imagined, little impression, in opposition to his feelings^ I deemed it necessary to add, in a tone perfectly understood, " Unpleasant as it is, you must and shall take it." As he never knew us promise or threaten in vain, the case was instantly decided: and he never, from that time, refused any draught, however nauseous. This saved us much future perplexity. He was never PERMrxxED to carry a poinx by impor- TUN[XY. We strove early to establish in his mind a con- viction of our superior wisdom, and of a disposition to do every thing, which, in our judgment, could make him happy. " Do you not think we know what is best tor you?" 'Yes.' "Do you not know that we love you too well to keep from you any thing that would make you happy?" ' Yes.' "• Well, then, why do you ask a second time for what we would have given you at once if it had been proper ?" After some such short di- alogues as this, it was almost needless to say more. He might, perhaps, a iew times, have urged a request, with the hope of subduing us : but after giving him two or three practical proofs of its inefficacy, there never was occasion to speak twice. Why will any parents, to save themselves the pain of a momentary decision, encour- age a practice which, when formed into a habit, is equally injurious to one party, and vexatious to the oth- er ! A child that can conquer, by cries or entreaty, once in twenty times, will be sure always to make the effort: for, however the chances may be against him, a mind intent on its object, will convert the mere possibility of success into a aufhcieni probabblity to justify the perpet- ual attempt. We were equally anxiotis never to be conquered by HIS OBSTINACY. As he was to reign only in our affec- tions, our will, when once announced, was the law of the house. In cases where his mind was capable of perceiving the reasons of a decision, we often assigned them ; but anxious to convince him that there always were reasons, we demanded an entire acquiescence in our determination, whether he saw its reasonableness or not; assuring him, that he would himself, when old- er and wiser, see that we had done right. When about two years of age, the question was brought to a practi- cal issue : he obstinately refused for two hours to com- ply with a demand from his mother to beg her pardon for an offence. She was inflexible ; and at length, he modestly turned round, submissively fell on his knees at her feet, and, in the most penitential accents, said, " I beg your pardon, mamma, and will never be so naughty again." The consequence of this patient decision was permanent. I am confident, that from that moment to the hour of his death, he never meditated opposition to our will, nor said or did a thing of which he feared we might seriously disapprove. In the merest trifles, no 17 less really than in the most momentous engagements of his life, he was ever studious of our happiness ; and he felt, that, in consulting this, he was securing his own. These remarks may seem both trifling and unneces- sary to those who have paid little or no attention to the philosophy of education ; and who conceive it to consist only in the whipping and discipline of a school and a college ; nor, in truth, do I entertain much hope that they will derive any material benefit from such minute- ness. If not already aware that on these trifling circum- stances much of the future character depends, I can scarcely calculate on finding among them a suflicient share of discernment to perceive the force of arguments by which the actual importance of these seeming trifles can be demonstrated. 1 wish to present before the pub- lic a youth of no ordinary character, equally distinguish- ed by the brilliancy of his mental powers, the sweet- ness of his temper, and the strength and steadiness of his christian principles : — and it is not unnatural that I should give in detail the particulars of that process of education, by which, under God, those powers were de- veloped, and that entire character formed. The first five or six years generally determine that which consti- tutes the individuality — the leading peculiarity^ of the man through life. And he must have been a careless observer, who has not perceived the permanence of earl}' associations and early habits. Circumstances, in after life, may modify that peculiarity, but they will never be able wholly to destroy it. And even the pow- er of divine grace, which may effect a total moral rev- olution ; which may implant principles, that, after un- 18 folding themselves here, shall receive their more com- plete development in another world ; will leave it to the end of time almost untouched. It has become too intimately a part of the mental constitution to be annihi- lated by any thing short of that solemn event, which shall dissolve every earthly tie, and place us in a region of light and love, whose transforming influence shall leave no portion of the character unassimilated to the likeness of our God and Saviour. As the efficacy of even religious principles, in forming the character, is so materially affected by these previous associations and habits, it is of immense importance to the individual and to society that special attention should be paid to the minuter circumstances of early life. These remarks will, it is hoped, be deemed sufficient to justify the past, or any future, detail of particulars. 19 HIS RELIGIOUS EDUCATION, The most important light in which our dear child ap- jteared to us was that of a moral axd immortal being. And while we earnestly prayed for the advancement of his highest interests in time and eternity, we knew that it were mockery to offer prayer, did we not employ all the means in our power to enlighten, impress, and guide him. We ever felt that an influence from heaven was necessary to render our labours effectual ; — that He, " from whom cometh every good and perfect gift," must be the primary agent in this great work ; — but that we had to hope for and calculate on that influence, only as we added our endeavours to our supplications. The Nile, fed by the rains of distant mountains, rolls majes- tically along in its course ; rises above, and spreads over the face of Egypt ; giving to that land all its fertility : — yet a large portion of the effect depends upon the husbandmen, who wisely construct their reservoirs, and so preserve the precious fluid, that, after the recession of the stream, they may still conduct it to every part; and thus conduce to the production of that enchanting scene, which rises up to view, with a rapidity and love- liness which almost surpass the charm of a poetic fic- tion. This depends wholly on the Nile : yet it depends upon the inhabitants of Egypt, whether "• the wilder- ness and the solitary place shall be glad, and the desert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose," or remain fruit- 20 less and unsightly as the neighbouring sands. In simple truth, it depends on the union of both. Were the river to refuse his supply, or the husbandmen to refuse to avail themselves of his assistance, there would appear neither the beauty nor the abundance for which that land has, at certain seasons, been celebrated. And the law, which runs through nature, is equally fixed in the dispensations of grace, " work, for it is God that works." Our hearts were naturally formed to cheerfulness ; and the religion of Jesus had always presented itself to our minds as inexpressibly lovely, — as "glad tidings of great joy." It was, therefore equally from inclination and principle, that we determined, if possible, to pre- sent religion before him in her own charming and at- tractive form. He never saw gloom in us ; and he soon learned that religion was at once the inspirer and the guardian of our happiness. A connexion, of great im- portance to his future character and peace, was thus early formed in his mind between godliness and pleas- ure. And such was the effect of this happy associatioD_, that though I never knew a human being who took a more solemn view of the realities of eternity than he, 1 am persuaded he never once in his life contemplated religion without a feeling of calm delight. He knew it only as the guide of life, the support of the heart, and the cherisher of a hope full of immortality. He had never felt " the terrors of the Lord;" for he had never known himself a sinner but in the light of those holy scriptures which, at the very moment of shewing him his condition, presented that blest sacrifice on which 21 he could confidently rest for everlasting life. But though he had never passed through those nnental anxi- eties and depressions which are found to give a pecu- liarly thrilling interest to the doctrine of salvation by faith in the Redeemer ; 1 have rarely found any one who more ardently loved that distinguishing truth ; or who felt more dissatisfied with sermons in which it did not form a prominent feature. We began very early to point out to him the proofs OF THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. The steps of the argument were so easy, that he soon comprehended all the lead- ing topics in Paley's Natural Theology — a work, which, it is needless to say, possesses for young minds all the interest of a novel, by the variety of facts it adduces, and the happy simplicitj'^ with which it applies them in proof of its point. I did not introduce him, till later in life, to Clarke's a priori reasoning on the same subject. And, indeed, he never relished thatgreat writer's "De- monstration." We corresponded and conversed much on this subject, during the last year: but he always con- sidered the argument, a posteriori, as the only popular, and almost the sole ground that can be taken, with effect, against an atheist. He seemed to think that what was conclusive in the Demonstration, though not founded on the method of induction, was, after all, only the a posteriori argument in another form : and that the rest, from our necessary ignorance of Infinity, was more fitted to confound than satisfactorily to demonstrate. He admired, however, the profoundness of Clarke ; and was equally struck with astonishment at the acuteness of Butler — first, a student for the dissenting ministry, after- 2 22 wards Bishop of Durham — who ranked, at the age of twenty one, among' that great writer's most powerful correspondents — for his objections were too much in the form of doubts and modest inquiries, to place him among his opponents. At a period equally earlj'^, we made him acquainted with the LEADING EVIDENCES OF DIVINE REVELATION, To teach him these, — consisting, as most of them did, of facts, which are as susceptil)le of historical proof as any other facts, — we found to be no difficult task. It was, however, our great object to shew him the proofs which the holj^ scriptures themselves contain of their own sacred origin. At about the age of nine, he was a tolerable master of all the leading arguments in Paley. In future life, he studied these evidences with fresh and uncommon attention ; and as he was unusually acute in perceiving all that could be said for and against any sub- ject ; and as he shrunk irom no difficulty, his own mind anticipated, fairly met, and, to his perfect satisfaction, completely conquered, almost every objection which the heads and hearts of men have brought, or can bring, against the truth. Armed in (his panoply, and with a deep and experimental feeling of its importance, he pursued inquirv, till he left no single topic, connected with the subject, unexplored. In more advanced years, he found great advantage from Saurin, whose Sermons of twelve volumes he read in French ; from Butler's Analogy, which he fairly studied ; and from other works which afforded materials for the exercise of his vigor- ous understanding, as well as for the repose of his heart. 23 Another great object was, to lead liim, as earlj^ as possible, into a j^eneral acquaintance with the various CONTENTS of Divine Revelation ; and especially to im- press him with those primary truths — the fallen condi- tion of man, which the scripture either uniformlj' as- sumes, or distinctly asserts — and the abundant grace which the gospel affords for his recovery from sin, and his final happiness. We were anxious to put him in possession of a correct principle, of interpretation. And this principle so approved itself to his maturer under- standing, that he ever held it inviolate. I used to saj'-, " My dear, if God has spoken to man, and made an ex- plicit declaration of his will, by persons whom he has inspired, our business is, to ask. Where is that commu- nication to be found ? This book claims the honor. If God be its author, he has doubtless attended it with proofs sufficient to convince an honest enquirer that it comes from him. Examine the validity of its claim. — Are you satisfied ? — This I may assume. Now, then, there remains but one duty ; and that is, to ascertain, by a fair application of the laws of criticism, what is its import ? — In this you must rest." " If the New Testa- ment," says Dr Chalmers, ••' be a message from God, it behoves us to make an entire and unconditional surren- der of our minds to all the duty and all the information which it sets betore us. — Had no message come to us from the fountain head of truth, it were natural enough for every intelligent mind to take itself to its own spec- ulations. But a message from God has come to us, bearing, on its front, every character of authenticity ; and is it right now, that the question of our faith or of 24 our duty should be committed to the capricious varia- tions of this man's taste, or of that man's fancy ?" ' Our maxim ! and our sentiment ! ' God has put an authori- tative stop to all this ! He has spoken, and the right or liberty of speculation no longer remains to us. The question is now, not, ' What ihinkest thou V In the days of Pagan antiquity, no other question could be put, — and to the wretched delusions and idolatries of that period, let us see what kind of answer the human mind is capa- ble of making, when left to its own guidance, and its own authority. But we call ourselves christians, and profess to receive the bible as the directory of our faith; and the question in which we are concerned is, 'What is written in the law ? How readest thou? What sailh the scripture ?'*" When more advanced in life — and after he had thought profoundly on this, as on most other subjects submitted to his attention, — he considered this princi- ple of interpretation as so sacred, that rather than have violated it ho would, if necessary to its maintenance, have admitted the monstrous doctrine of transubstantia- tion itself He more than once reasoned thus : — " The doctrine of transubstantiation is unquestionably false. The language of our Lord, — ' Except ye eat my Jiesh and drink my blood — This is my Body'' — is in perfect unison wjth many other passages as truly figurative, and equal- ly as bold. Nor is there any such language, except as connected with this subject, which even Catholics them- selves understand liicrally. It is, therefore, right, and even necessary, to iiitcr])ret these texts on the same * Evidences and autlioiity of (he Cliristian Revelation. 25 principle by which all others are interpreted. Either take all in their literal sense, or none : for there is no assignable reason, why these should form exceptions. But," added he, " If the general principle of rational interpretation did not relieve me from the difficult}', I would believe, how mysterious soever the doctrine might be, that the sacramental elements were the very body and blood of Christ ; because He, who can neither err himself, nor delight to impose on his creatures, has told me so. Though it seemed a contradiction to my senses; and my reason might be ready to revolt from it as an absurdity; 1 would rather suppose that God wrought perpetual miracles in the case ; or resolve the whole of my perceptions on the subject into sheer ig- norance ; than, for a moment, question what my Saviour had declared to be fact."' — He did, 1 grant, select aa extreme case for his illustration : but I am most delib- erately of opinion, that the principle itself is correct ^ and that many grievous errors have crept into the church of God, from a disregard to its truth and im- portance. This persuasion was far enough from crip- pling his mind in the investigation of divine truth. He brought to the inquiry, indeed, none of that daring har- dihood which sacrifices every canon of fair interpreta- tion to the preconception of what a revelation from heaven ought or ought not to contain : for, having once become fully satisfied that the scriptures are from God, he sought with ardor, and he sought with a devotional spirit, the whole will of God ; nor did he seek in vain. He was familiar, from his childhood, with those "holy scriptures," which made him " wise uuto salvation, 26 through faith in Jesus Christ." They bore him up honorably in the path of life, and they sustained him in that dread moment, when heart and flesh and life failed him. We made his sabbaths always delightful, by contriv- ing to indulge him with such lessons and such engage- ments as should associate the idea of pleasure with those holy days. His opinion on the subject is preserved in one of those essays, (to which a more distinct refer- ence will be made hereafter) written at the age of eleven, and entitled, " The pleasures and advantages of a religious observance of the Sabbath." Time and experience only strengthened the opinion of his earlier days. His exercises at the close of the public services were of peculiar importance to him ; and they produc- ed an effect equally salutary on his understanding and his heart. From the age of five, his mother was wont, on the Sabbath evening, to take him, alone, upon her knee, to cause him to repeat what he could remember of the sermons which he had heard ; and to pray over what he had recollected. He then said that hymn from Dr Watts, " Lord, how delightful 'tis to see," &c. The prospect of this evening engagement insured his atten- tion at the place of worship ; and the success with which he would, when so young, recapitulate almost every leading sentiment he had heard, gratified both his dear teacher and himself. These exercises he continued almost till his beloved mother's death ; and never shall 1 forget the manner in which, when a boy of nearly fif- teen, he would sit upon her knee and repeat his hymn, while his arm was round her neck, and his head leaning 27 on her bosom, precisely as (hey had been when the practice commenced in his childhood. Often have I entered their room at the close of these exercises; with rapture embraced thenj both, and enjoyed, in our ardent, holy, mutual aifection, all but Heaven. At these, above most other moments, we felt ourselves truly united, and, as forming part of " the whole fami- ly of heaven and earth." Religion alone could so sub- limate our domestic bliss. And William ever looked back on these scenes as the sweetest and most profita- ble hours of his life. It was also our custom ocoasionally to retire with iifM — especially on his birth-days — for the purpose of making him the almost entire subject of our thanksgiv- ing and prayer ; imploring also for ourselves that di- vine assistance which should enable tts to discharge aright our important duties as parents. The effect of these retirements was great and salutary. They ren- dered us, if possible, dearer to each other, by bringing us into more immediate contact with our common Fa- ther in heaven, and with our everlasting home. They raised within us a livelier sense of our obligations to Him, and of our duties to each other. I used, at these seasons, to enter into his circumstances and ours, with a minuteness which would have been improper at our family devotions ; and I have good reason to believe that he derived lasting benefit from these engagements. His aunt, scarcely less dear to each of us than his mother had been, made up our trio, after the melan- choly day that took from us " the desire of our eyes with a stroke." When it pleased God to remove her, 28 in 1818, we daily met, till her interment, by the side of her coffin ; and, hand in hand, knelt and wept, and prayed together, as we had been accustomed to do in other and happier circumstances. This practice of re- tirement we three continued, at meeting and parting in May and October, when William left us to prosecute his studies at Glasgow, till the last solemn evening we ever spent together. That night — never to be forgot- ten by me — after the family devotions were closed, and before we retired to rest, his beloved aunt, and he, and I bowed together before the throne of grace — min- gling our joys and sorrows for the last time. Oh ! had we known, or even conjectured as, in the slightest de- gree, probable, what events were to follow so soon, and in such rapid succession, what had that meeting been ! Could / have borne it ? Could they 1 Thank God, the Fa- ther of mercies, for our ignorance of futurity ! They are gone, and thej' will not return unto me ; but 1 shall go to them. Our next meeting, I confidently hope, will be before the throne of God and the Lamb ; where all tears shall be wiped away. In a letter of exquisite tenderness, written under circumstances almost more affecting than imagination could create, is the following language, which perfect- ly harmonizes with the tone of my own feelings. "On Thursday last, it was your mournful lot to follow to the grave all that was mortal of your son, your only son, William. But did not the Saviour, whom you serve, see you ! had he not compassion on you ! does not he say unto you, weep not ! To the house appointed for all living, WE are on our march. We must meet the ene- 29 my ourselves : and shall not the hope of victory make us dry up our tears, for those who have overcome by the testimony of Jesus ?— through the blood of the Lamb ? I knew, I esteemed, I loved, your dear departed son. I need not speak of his mental gifts — of his literary ac- quirements—these will be justly appreciated by many who reject, it may be, the faith in which he died. Of this faith, my very dear friend, let us be followers. Then we shall meet in that place, where the Lamb, who is in the midst of the throne, shall feed us, and lead us to living fountains of water ; and God him- self shall wipe away these tears from our eyes. Then you shall see your son, and I shall see my father, no more to part for ever."— That meeting shall, indeed, " turn all bright again." William daily heard the scriptures read in the family, and as constantly knelt with us at our family altar. But we felt it extremely difficult to determine on the right method of teaching him how to pray. Though no ene- mies to forms of prayer in the abstract, we thought that when children learn to pray by a form, they too frequently pass through the task, without any exercise of the understanding — without attention. At this time, Mrs. D. met with a passage in Zollikofer's Sermons, which instantly approved itself to our understandings ; and on which we proceeded to act. It was this : — " Let your child be taught, in general, its relation to God, its dependance upon him, its obligations to him, Lc. &c. : then let it form a prayer for itself. This will require thought, recollection, views of the future," &c. His mother would take him on her knee, and say, " Now, 30 my dear, think how good God has been to you to-dny, in continuing to you your dear papa, and me, and aunt, and other friends ; in giving you health, opportunity for learning, &c. Think of what has been amiss with you. Consider what you need, — his protection, his favor, and his mercy." This would, at times, lead to a long con- versation. At length he would kneel upon her lap, with his face in her bosom, and offer his prayers. They were at first, short, singularly simple, but always con- ducted with the greatest seriousness. Exercise improv- ed his talents ; and at the age of eight or nine, he could and did pray with considerable variety, with facility, and, occasionally, with pathos and eloquence. At the age of twelve, and thenceforward, he had a remarkable fluency in prayer, though it was never heard by any human being except his aunt, his mother, and myself. On no occasion could he be prevailed upon, even to his last hour, to take a part beyond that of reading the scriptures, or of reciting a hymn, in the devotional ex- ercises of the family. It was, I believe, pure modesty ; but it was carried to an almost criminal length. In my occasional absence from home, he always devolved upon his aunt the task of conducting family prayer, for which he was himself so well qualified. Wc were soon delighted, and made thankful to God, for many striking indications of his piety. His mental talents were developed in a surprising degree, at a very early stage of life ; and he seems to have felt the pow- er of religion from the time that he could first form a notion of its nature. He was not a little indebted for this to a young woman, frequently in the habit of work- 31 ing as a sempstress, at our house. She had, and stil! has, beyond most, the power of engaging- the attention and the affections of children. 'Many of his hours were spent with her, while at work ; and she often attended him to his bed. Religion, than which nothing more de- lighted him, formed their principal subject of conversa- tion ; and I shall never cease to reflect, with pleasure and gratitude, on the circumstance, that that female — whom he continued to love to his dying dny, and who now mourns his loss, with a tenderness of feeling scarce- ly inferior to my own — was so frequent an inmate of my family. She had her reward in the kindness of my son on earth — she will have it more completely in that day and in that world, where the fruits of all such labours of love shall be I'ully reaped. Amidst those early indications of religion, which af- forded us so much pleasure, was his decided, invariable regard to truth. His parents had his entire confidence ; and he felt no temptation to decieve us, as he was fully aware that his happiness and his woes were ours. We had his affections so strongly on our side, that, indepen- dently of a nobler principle, he would have been res- trained from falsehood by a regard (o our feelings. This may seem to ascribe to him a delicacy, a correctness, and a strength of feeling rather unnatural, or even im- possible, at such an age : but it must be recollected, that all his powers had an uncommonlj' early develop- ment : and I pledge myself that such reasons, hovvf'ver out of the ordinary course, did very soon operate tipnn his mind. Vvhile we could calculate on this operation, in all his intercourse with us, we had ever studied to 32 impress him with a sense of the divine presence and inspection. This supplied him with a motive for speak- ing truth in his intercourse with oihers as well as with ourselves. And to no part of his character did we ever direct a more constant or more earnest attention than to this. When he was about three years old, an aged fe- male, at whose house he was staying for a day, inform- ed me that William had told a falsehood. As deception of any kind was so perfectly foreign from all his habits, 1 expressed a doubt on the subject ; but she stated such particulars as caused me to fear that he had transgress- ed. I was thunderstruck and almost distracted; for the information seemed to blast my most cherished hopes. This might, I thought, be the commencement of a series of evils for ever ruinous to our peace. I am not — I never was — naturally of a temper to augur the worst ; but the first grand moral delinquency, even at such an age, must commit a breach on the noblest sensibilities of the heart, which cannot but threaten a catastrophe at which a parent may well shudder. Principiis obsta, (resist the beginnings of evil,) had ever been our mot- to ; and our child lived long enough to feel its impor- tance, and to bless God that his parents had never depart- ed from it. I am not sure that my agony, on hearing of his death, was much more intense than that which I then endured, from an apprehension of his guilt. In- stantly, but without betraying my emotions, I asked him what he had said. He answered, at once, in so artless and unembarrassed a manner, as to convince me that he was unconscious of falsehood, — that there must have been some misconception in the case, and that my boy 33 was yet innocent. I pursued the inquiry, and in a few moments found, to my inexpressible joy, that he was perfectly correct in all he had stated. This was the only time in his life in which I had even a passing suspicion of his disregard to truth. On one me- morable and most important occasion, in 1820, to which I need not more explicitly refer, and which Glasgow College, with its late and present Lord Rectors, will not readily forget ; he received from a distinguished professor a testimony to his integrity which his own heart felt he merited, but which that gentleman con- veyed in language and with a manner so peculiarly deli- cate as to make upon the mind of my son a deeply fa- vourable impression, which nothing but death could erase. In a confidential interview with that professor, he said, " Sir, I was not present on that occasion ; and I can prove an alibi.'''' Mr laying his hand upon his heart, said, " Mr D., you have removed from my mind a heavy load : I was sure you could not have been in that procession : but you need not, Sir, prove an alibi ; for no gentleman in the University can re- quire a proof be3'ond your own assertion.'' To that learned professor, I am myself indebted for the politest attentions and the most tender sympathy, at a moment when my bleeding heart felt the need of all the support that human or divine kindness could administer. And I beg him to accept this public expression of my thanks. 34 HIS INTELLECTUAL EDUCATION. I HAVE presented, in one view, the general history of his religious character — though that will be found to run, more or less, through the whole memoir — in order that I might pursue in a more unembarrassed manner, his in- tellectual progress. It may easily be imagined, that pa- rents not altogether unacquainted with literature them- selves ; feeling its importance as a copious source of in- nocent pleasure, and as an instrument of usefulness in the world ;* and marking, with rnpture, the early indi- cations of superior talents in their child, would apply themselves with assiduity, to the cultivation of his mind. We were aware that more depended on the manner of CONDUCTING HIS EDUCATION, than on our best inclinations. We, therefore, read, and conversed, and thought much upon the subject. While common observation, and our moderate acquaintance with mental philosophy, furnish- ed us with many useful suggestions, Dr. Knox, Miss Hamilton, the Edgeworths, and others, who had writ- ten on education, afforded us most essential benefit. To * In one of his letters to me during his first session at Glas- gow, he writes, " I am glad to hear that you do not neglect clas- sical literature ; for, besides its intrinsic, it has an arbitrary val- ue — so to speak. — It creates esteem ; esteem, influence ; influence is power; and power will prove, I am convinced, in your hands, the instrument of beneficence.'' 35 the Edg-eworths, however, we were chiefly indebted; as they had presented before the world the actual course of instruction pursued, with such apparent suc- cess, in their own family ; thus offering- a practical com- ment on their theory. A few years since, my dear Wil- liam and I read together the Institutes of Quintilian ; and I was not a little pleased to find that we had pursu- ed with him (from his cradle) almost the entire course of mental discipline, which that learned rhetorician had recommended tor the formation of a scholar and an ora- tor. This circumstance may have materially influenced his opinion in favor of that author; but he ever spoke of him, as, with the exception of Cicero, to whom he was devotedly attached, the wisest of the Roman wri- ters with whom he was acquainted. We ever felt fully persuaded that, in education, REGULARITY, AND THE FORMATION OF GENERAL HABITS, Were of great and essential importance. We had seen many a promising child spoiled — suffered to skim over the surface of things, and continuing a mere sciolist— through the absence of these. We imagined in theory, what we found in fact, that order and stf.adiness of applica- tion are the grand secrets on which so much of excel- lency depends. Having formed our plan, and determin- ed on a strictly domestic education, we came to the res- olution that nothing, over which we had control, should interfere with the execution of our intentions. The friends, who occasionally visited us, were always given to understand that our plan was unalterable ; and that they must, therefore, consent to our devoting, the accus- tomed hours to the instruction of our beloved pupil. 36 His mother would say, " If any can be oflended with this, they will, of course, cease to visit us; and we may well dispense with their visits ; for the welfare of the child shall not be sacriticed to propitiate the t'avor of such unreasonable guests."' Yet, however rigid in our adherence to system, we did not assign him too many hours of labour — but our language ever was, " Work while you work ; play when you play." We never kept him very long at any one thing, knowing that va- riety of pursuits would operate almost as relaxation. At the age of seven, the habit of regular application was completely formed ; and from that time till the mo- ment of his last short illness, mental exertion was his delight. Except during his hours of play, or while he was engaged in those amusements which were deemed necessary for his health, his mind chose and delighted in steady and intense action ; which was so much his ele- ment, that he never sauntered about idly inquiring, ''What must I do next?" for he had always before him employment sufiicient to occupy his whole time and at- tention. " The hand of the diligent maketh rich." Great tal- ents are the immediate gift of God; but great attain- ments are the fruit of personal exertion. It is often the affectation, and sometimes the practical folly, of men endued with genius, to maintain that the possession of uncommon powers renders labour unnecessary. That, independently of close application, they may astonish by the occasional displays of strength and originality, tew will deny ; but without industry, they must never ex- pect to gain permanent and uselul fame and influence. 37 My son, if not at play or in conversation, was always en- gaged, though frequently in those lighter studies which relieved, even while they occupied him. He had a con- siderable taste for drawing, and has left me several bold and well executed sketches. In pursuing this amuse- ment, however, he still kept his mental cultivation in view; and would often say, to his mother, " Now, if you will read, 1 will draw ; but unless ^-ou will do so, I cannot afford time for drawing." He seemed to give his whole mind to his pencil ; yet he had the talent of attending to the subject of the book so entirely, as if he had been simply and intently listening to the beloved reader. The fact is mentioned here merely for the purpose of shewing the habit of incessant, indefatigable industr}', induced by early discipline, and on which his distinguished acquirements depended. It must not be inferred from this that he was debar- red from necessary play and various recreations. We were always anxious that he should promote his health, and fit himself to go cheerfully to his sedentary pursuits, by a sufficient quantity of relaxation. Our neighbours, who often saw him trundling his hoop, spinning his top, and bounding, with the sprightliness and force of an an- telope, from place to place, will bear witness that he was not a confined child — or a little demure old man. His earlier companions, who read this, will recollect that he was ever the boldest and most boisterous boy in all their games and pastimes. And it is singular enough — but it perfectly accords with his influence at a matur- er age and among superior companions, — that though perfectly unassuming, and so kind that every plaijfdloiv 3* o «i <■; z"' ouns, or the conjugations of his verbs, 1 would sometimes bet him ten kisses that I could go through them lasler and more accurately than he. And this was a stimulus which he was eminently formed to feel : no severity could have urged him to so much diligence : his heart could always be touched by an appeal to his affections. After he had fairly master- ed " The Accidence, As in praesenti. Propria quae ma- ribus, Syntax, and Prosody," I divided the whole 55 into twenty-four parts, which he repeated daily;- — thus accomplishing his task every month. This, 1 iind, he continued to do till the end of his life. He parsed, of course, as he read, and thus applied his rules: but the practice of monthly repetition kept them ever ready for application. Before he went to College, at the age of a little more than fifteeen, he had read through the elementary books of the Valpys, with Eutropius, Nepos, Florus, Justin, (twice) Caesar, (twice) Sallust, (twice) Liv}^, Tacitus, several orations and some philosophical pieces of Cicero. He read frequently the Eclogues, Georgics and ^neid of Virgil ; with Lucan's Pharsalia ; Excerpta of Ovid, which contain most of the unexcep- tionable parts ; and such parts of Terence, Martial, Persius and Juvenal, as prudence permitted. All the finest parts of those poets — especially their bold and tender descriptions, — he had committed to memory. My friend had furnished me with Didot's edition of Ho- race, printed at Paris, from which all the Pagan filthi- ness of that beautiful author is ejected : — and can it be worth while, for the purpose of maintaining the integ- rity of his writingrJ, to publish edition after edition for our seminaries of instruction, and to thrust upon the at- tention of the young, scenes and language which, how- ever popular at Pome in the days of Augustus, or in England during the reign of Charles II. are tit only for a brothel, and are condemned equally by the sober dic- tates of common morality and the authoritative mandate of divine revelation ! This expurgated copy he gener- ally used ; and, as I had tixed with a pen the mark of reprobation on all the indecent passages in my own 56 complete editions, on which he might occasionally light, he never read one line that could awaken a passion which Christianity teaches us to sui)press. He commit- ted to memory the whole of Horace's Odes, the Carmen Scecidare, and Dc Arte Foetica ; all which he repeated, at least, four times every year. At his first Session in Glasgow, he gained the chief Latin prize at the Black Stone examination ; and made one of the largest '■^professions'''' that any of his age had ever been known to make. The profession for com- petition consists in meeting several of the professors : with fellow-students as judges ; and the person who " competes'''' recites to the professor of his class a list of authors, of which he professes himself the master ; and offers to read, ad aperturam lihri — the examiner open- ing as many of the authors, in what places he pleases, or to which chance may direct him. I have before me a list of thirty-nine authors, which he professed on that occasion. All who pass from a lower to a higher class, undergo a Black Stone examination, (so called from the students' silting at the end of a long table on a black marble slab ;) but the competition for prizes lies among those few who have the courage to dare bravely, and to meet the cleverest and boldest of their companions in literature. At the age of nine, he began to learn French, under his beloved mother, who spoke that language with flu- ency and correctness. After his progress in Latin, he found this very easy; and soon read through many-of the Poets, Racine, Moliere, Crebillon, Delille, &,c. ; to- gether with Pascal, Fenelon, Du Bosc, Saurin, &c. It 57 was originally intended that after he had been four years at Glasgow, he should spend a year either at Pa- ris, or at the University of Montaubon ; but this purpose, at his particular request, we had for some time relin- quished. The next year he entered upon the study of Greek. It was impossible that he should not admire the Greek historians and poets; though he thought even they had been over-rated. That the expatriation of the Greeks, by the capture of Constantinople, and the consequent diffusion of Greek literature, contributed most materi- ally to the revival of learning in Europe ; and that nothing then existed which could bear comparison with the chaste atid beautiful writings of the ancients, he readily admitted : but he thought it mere pedantry to offer a homage to them, which should imply a contempt for the moderns. He thought, and others thought with him, that whatever might be the powers of the ancients, they did not surpass, in any department, writers who have lived since the revival of learning; while, in some departments, they fell far short of them. During one of his vacations, after he went to College, he wrote a very elaborate essay on " The advantages of classical literature," in which he said all that he could say in fa- vor of the ancients ; but his sentiments on the compara- tive worth and beauty of the classical and more recent writers remained unchanged. Of the Greek philosophers he used to say, "It is classical treason to declare it ; and, therefore, I must take care before whom I expose myself; but I think most of these are mere drivellers." He was particularly struck with this when we read to- 58 gether the Ethics of Aristotle. He thought that, as a philosopher, Cicero threw all the Greeks into the shade. This might be true, without any disgrace to thetn : for he enjoyed the advantage of all their lights. My dear son, however, moving, as he did, among the fine writings, and curious but unsatisfying speculations of the classics, learned to perceive, more and more, the necessity and advantages of that divine revelation, which has thrown open to the most uneducated christian, and placed among (he first principles of his knowledge, the truths for which so many powerful minds had been for ages searching in vain. " The world by wisdom knew not God." He saw that while philosophers, toiling in the dark, had only accumulated a mass of errors, with here or there a particle of truth, rather " received by tradition from their fathers," than elicited by their own efforts, God had " revealed" his perfections, the nature of his government, and the riches of his grace, "to babes." He excepted from the mass of trifling philoso- phers, one distinguished man. His great favourite of pagan antiquity was Socrates, who had, as he thought, drawn moral science out of the obscurity, in which the miserable sophistry of the rest had involved it. This excellent man he ever designated, " the St. John of heathenism :" and he wondered how any scholar could maintain, that that almost inspired sage virtually aban- doned the principle of the divine unity, for which he dared to die, by requesting, as Plato, in his Phtedo, re- lates, that his attendants would offer a cock to tEscuIe- pius. Is it forgotten that he did this — if, indeed, he really did it at all — only as he was just sinking under 59 the stupifying influence of poison ? My son also greatly admired the distinguished disciple of Socrates, Xeno- phon, whose Memorabilia, Cyropaedia, and Anabasis, he read through. Besides, portions of almost all the differ- ent Greek classics, he read with me the whole New Testament and Septuagint, before he went to College. When eleven years old, he began to learn Italian, under his mother, and read with her Metastasio, Tasso, and some other of the poets — what they read in prose I forget. He never appeared afterwards to be at a loss in translating any thing he met with in the course of his reading. 60 Jl'st about this time, he began to rsrite themes al- most every Friday forenoon. He generally chose his own subjects ; though we sometimes chose them for him, or the passing events of the day suggested them. He always wrote upon his slate, read them to the fami- ly, and, for a long time, understood that they were rub- bed out and lost. But both from their extraordinary character as the productions of a child, and in order to preserve a permanent memorial of his mental progress, I copied them off, even from the beginning. After hav- ing done this for some time, I made no secret of it. As those productions afford a fair specimen of his habits of thought and modes of expression ; and do, I think, con- tain a proof of the precocity, vigor, and cultivation of his powers, I shall take the liberty of presenting a few^ extracts — assuring my readers, that, as I copied them with scrupulous exactness from his slate, I give them as exactly in these pages. I have not the folly to imagine that these early productions of his pen can gratify per- sons of matured understanding, further than as they af- ford an illustration of his mental progress. The first of the following essa} s was written, when he was about eleven years and three months old. I have inserted in succession, pieces written at the intervals of three or six months, in the first series ; and every one who un- derstands composition, will instantly perceive his rapid improvement in the choice of his words, the structure, harmony, and force of his style. I shall pursue the 61 same course in the two subsequent periods ; and leave the intelligent reader to form his own judgment of that child who began the last, " on the connexion of ideas," before he attained his fourteenth year. I may remark, in passing, that, as far as I recollect, he never obtained assistance in writing any of these pieces, by reference to hooks. He had conversed, read, and thought on all these subjects ; but when he wrote, he drew immedi- ately from the stores of his own mind. 5* 62 THEMES Written between the Age of Eleven and Twelve. ADVANTAGES OF THE STUDY OF HISTORY, {Dated April, 1814.) The advantages of the study of history are various. Even if there were none, it seems natural to wish to know the degree of civilization and fi^eedotn which our fellow creatures have enjoyed, and the forms of govern- ment under which they have lived, in various ages and countries. But besides the gratification which it affords us, several advantages arise from a good acquaintance with it. By presenting to our view the actions of great and good men, it stimulates us to exertion, that we may imitate them. It is said that Julius Caesar, when he read the actions of Alexander, wept that he^ though he was as old as that conqueror, had performed no action which equalled any of his. Besides affording examples which may stimulate us to noble and useful actions, it warns us to avoid those which are base or hurtful. What king of England would attempt to levy taxes without a parliament, or to encroach on the civil or religious privileges of English- men, after the fate of Charles I. and James H. ! And will not the fall of Napoleon Buonaparte shew all fu- 63 ture kings what a vain attempt it is to subject all Eu- rope to one man ! What people will imitate the French Revolution, after knowing the murders which were its immediate consequences, and the despotism to which it ultimately led ! Besides all this, we see for what wise ends the darkest providences were sent ; and that the greatest judgments have ultimately tended to the good of mankind. THE DISADVANTAGES OF SOLITUDE. {July, 1814.) Solitude has been supposed the fittest situation for contemplation and devotion, and for the cultivation of all the most excellent qualities of the soul. It has been loved and sought by some men, from a natural morose- ness of dispositien —by others, because they have been disappointed in the pursuit of honors or riches, and so disgusted with society — and also by some good and wise men, who would have been, perhaps the honor of their age, and the lights of the world, if erroneous ideas of devotion had not led them astray. But how great are the pleasures and advantages of society ! In solitude, there are none who may partake one's joys or griefs — a man must suffer his afflictions, and enjoy all his hap- piness (if it is possible to possess any in such a situation) alone. There is none to console the man when in dis- tress, or to counsel him wlien he knows not how to act. But in society, our sorrow is, at least, alleviated by the 64 condolence of those who love us ; and pleasures are doubled, by knowing that all our joys make a friend joy- ful. There are in society vvise and good men to advise and admonish us. All these advantages are lost in soli- tude. O solitude I where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face ! I think the love of society natural to the human race. There may have been some exceptions : but they are, in general, considered as monsters, rather than men. 65 THEMES Written between Twelve and Thirteen. ON DECISION. {February, 1815.) Many of the best properties of the mind, when pos- sessed in an excessive degree, are hurtful ; and jet al- most all of them are apt to run into extremes. Zeal may beget fanaticism ; strong reasoning powers, an ar- gumentative turn of mind, may create scepticism j emu- lation may become ambition ; and, in like manner, de- cision may degenerate into obstinacy. Nevertheless, we ought not to confound these various qualities. We need not dislike zeal, because we hate fanaticism ; we need not admire scepticism, because we are fond of acute reasoning ; it would not be right to discourage emulation, because we see the fatal consequences of ambition. And it is an equal mistake to confound deci- sion with obstinacy. Though they are, (if I may so epeak) of the same species, they are far from being the same thing. Decision is determination and firmness, governed by reason, directed by wisdom, and associated with prudence : — while obstinacy is unrestrained, gov- erned by passion, and directed by folly ; opposing only that which is good ; determined only in that which is evil; vaccillating, when it ought to decide j deciding, when it ought to consider. 66 Efjually opposite to both of these is Indecision. It shows a vast weakness and imbecility of the mind when a man is always halting between two opinions ; when the slightest arguments can determine him ; and argu- ments still weaker unfix his determination ; when he never knows what course to take, what sentiments to adopt. Nothing can be done without decision, in peace or war, in the affairs of a nation, or in those of an indi- vidual. Decision has formed the characters of a Marl- borough, a Nelson, a Wellington, and an Elizabeth ; — while Indecision and obstinacy united, distinguish those execrable princes (the disgrace of Scotland, and the curse of England) the Stuarts. It is decision by which Britain has overthrown the tyrant. It is decision by which Europe has thrown ofT the yoke of slavery. And it is decision by which Britons have obtained their pres- ent rights and liberties. POLYTHEISM. {March, 1815.) Wickedness produces negligence ; and negligence fosters ignorance. Mankind, who had received the knowledge of the only living and true God from their father, Noah, lost it by degrees from among them ; and gave themselves " to believe a lie." But reason ; tra- dition ; the testimony of the earth, with it« flowers, its fruits and its verdure ; the testimony of the heavens, with their wonders — all — all — concurred to prove a God. Thus far went reason, but no farther : for, unilluminat- ed by the lamp of revelation, and unenlightened by the % 67 torch of truth, she wandered in endless mazes of error and folly. ' The Sun enlightens us, and He shall be our God. The Earth nourishes us, and we will adore Her. But who formed the earth ? We know not. Who cre- ated the sun ? We are ignorant. Who " spake and it was done, commanded and it stood fast ?" We know of no such Being. But even this was too refined for them. They con- sidered their gods only as more exalted men. They no longer worshipped the sun ; but the god of the sun — a god cursed with all the passions of a very bad man. The number of gods was multiplied ; and almost every tree, every fountain had its divinity. Not content with this, they proceeded a step farther ; and deified men were placed among the gods, and stood next to the throne of Jupiter. These marvellous and incongruous tales, these numerous and jarring divinities, were adorn- ed bj' the pens of an Ovid, a Homer and a Virgil : and their ridiculous and impure rites were sanctioned by the examples of a iSTuma, a Cato, and a Pompey. As for the philosophers — what they disbelieved we know — what Ihey believed, we can hardly tell. Al- though they contemned the rabble of divinities worship- ped by the vulgar, they had too much timidity or too much policy to publish their opuiions : — for, if they had destroj'cd, could they have re-editied ? li^ they had pulled down the fabric of superstition, could they have built a more noble structure on its ruins ? Had they "cast their idols to the moles and to (he bats," would they have instituted a religion more agreeable to truth ? What could they have done ? Would they have reform- 68 ed polytheism ? Alas ! the efforts of the best of idola- ters manifest the impracticability of this. Would they have philosophized the world ? It is impossible : or, had it been possible, they would have reasoned thus : — '' If the world is philosophized, I am no longer a won- der, no longer a sage, no longer a demigod." Would they have established a belief in pantheism ? If every thing is God, nothing can be God: for He is the ruler of the universe. But if the earth is a part of the uni- versal Godhead, it has no superior ; and (unless you sup- pose it to possess an intelligent spirit) it is, according to this system, governed by chance. This would indeed have been to take away all the restraints which the hope and fear of future rewards or punishments might have inspired. But, amidst this universal darkness, a taper had long burnt in the sanctuary, and had illuminated the narrow land of Judea — and there " the sun of righteousness arose, with healing in his beams;" — and his peaceful soldiers, animated by the example of their divine mas- ter, and following the footsteps of their general ; car- ried his standard and his victorious arms, where the Ro- man legions had never penetrated, and the Roman ea- gles were unknown. They displayed the bright light of the gospel, in the most distant regions; and idolatry and ignorance fled before them. And although the wicked persecuted the church of Jesus, they could not destroy her. She sits on a mountain, and while the lightnings play and the thunder roars below her, she may smile at their rage, knowing that she has an Al- mighty Friend ; and confident that in " fulness of time," his glory, whom she adores, " shall cover the earth." 69 WHAT RELIGION IS MOST CALCULATED TO PROMOTE THE HAPPINESS OP INDIVIDUALS? {May^ 1815.) Tartarus and Elysium, the paradise of Mahomet, or the Indian heaven, may scare or delight some minds equally weak and credulous; may afford to the philoso- pher a subject of investigation ; to the wit, a subject of derision ; and to most men, a subject of indifference. Their state is pitiable ; for the most credulous, when about to launch into the immeasurable ocean, and to plunge into the unfathomable abyss of eternity, must feel a great deal of terror; and fear the anger of those gods, whose commands they have broken through, ia following their example. The philosopher, void of all religious opinions, unable to determine the being, much less the attributes, of God, may be proud of the little knowledge he has acquired, and may, perhaps, have pla- ced his error on the throne he had prepared for truth. He may feast his imagination on the admiration of pos- terity ; he may fancy himself crowned with the praises of future ages ; but when old age or death comes upon him, he is no longer able to investigate, no longer able to prove. Does he look forward ? All is darkness. Does he look backward ? All is error. Does he look around ? There is no light to guide him. The wit, dazzled with his own brilliance, shines like a meteor, astonishing all around him, by his superior lustre. It is but a meteor, and it sets in darkness. When he has time for reflection ; when eternity is near; he sees a dread- ful gulf opened under his feet: but the abyss is covered 6 70 with darkness ; he dares not fix his eyes on it; and he cannot avert them from it : he dares not plunge ; but expects soon to be precipitated into it. Something with- in assures him that there is a future state. But I am now come to the fourth class. The indif- ferent can no longer be indifferent ; the careless can no longer be careless ; when death and eternity come to support the terrors of conscience. When the tumult of the world no longer drowns the small still voice of con- science, the darkness by which they are enveloped can- not hide the whole of futui'ity from them ; and the clouds which hang over it rather increase than diminish its horror. There is no way of escape, there is no light, there is no one to guide, no one to direct. 1 have gone far enough with this melancholy pic- ture : and, surely, that is the best religion which deliv- ers men from so much darkness and misery. What re- ligion effects this 1 We pronounce immediately, " The Christian." It has, I think, been proved, that virtue produces happiness. That the christian religion is the purest of all religions, has, 1 think, been sufficiently shewn. The enemies of the gospel, even if opposing a cheat, are opposing a cheat in which the happiness of the human race consists. Let them, then, tell us of the happiness of the pagans ! They cannot struggle against facts! Oh! thou bloody city of Juggernaut, ye pilgrims, fainting under its scorching sun, bear your united testi- mony to the happiness of pagans ! 71 SUPERSTITION. {December, 1815.) We take a melancholy pleasure in examining the di- lapidated walls, the falling' arches, and the solitary col- umns of a magnificent ruin. But if a man had possessed that building when in a perfect state : if he associated with each ruined arch the idea of some long lost pleas- ure ; if every stone reminded him of some friend that was gone forever ; if desolation pervaded the place that had once witnessed domestic happiness ; if brambles grew on that hearth where he had been accustomed to sit, and if ivy crept round the room of which he was once peculiarly fond ; — his feelings would be those of unmixed melancholy. Such is the human mind ! A few solitary columns, a few broken arches, fallen pillars, scattered chapiters, and defaced sculpture, are the sole indications of its origmal beauty. Man once possessed this habitation : but it is now in ruins ; and I shall en- deavor at present to examine one part of these ruins. I shall first consider Superstition itself; then its causes ; then its effects; then its advantages. I shall consider Superstition itself, as of two kinds. It is first, a disposition to recur to preternatural agency and mystery : secondly, a disposition to give the glory of the Creator to the creature. That this is a line of distinction between these two is obvious ; but it is more difficult to determine its situation. To effect this, I must consider, first, the inclination some men feel to re- cur to preternatural agency and mystery. This is but an intellectual error — an error produced by education ; 72 or by habit ; and is not inconsistent with the greatest purity of soul, or the greatest mental vigor, — I say, the greatest mental vigor | for men of the strongest minds have been very superstitious — a Brutus and even a John- son being examples. I may not yet have defined, with sufficient clearness, what I mean to include under this kind of supersti- tion. It is not superstitious to recur to supernatural and divine agency ; we know that even a hair of our head falls not to the ground without divine permission : — but it is superstitious to believe that common or even extra- ordinary occurrences are the effect — not of those second causes which God has appointed, and which he mana- ges, but — of a certain mj'sterious power which we can- not explain. It is not superstitious to believe that invis- ible and even wicked agents have a great influence over us ; but it is superstitious to believe that they put on a bodily form, or that any particular appearance is an in- dication of their presence. It is not superstitious to be- lieve that God can permit and has permitted pure spirits to take a bodily lorm ; but it is superstitious to believe that this is done on common occasions, or that such ex- traordinary and miraculous means are resorted to, to accomplish an unworthy end. It is not superstitious to receive religion with all its marvels ; but it is supersti- tious to receive even religion without examination. This implicit faith in the common religion, because it is the common religion, has been the foundation of the tem- ples of Venus and Bacchus ; it has supported the pa- pal throne, as well as the ridiculous doctrines of the Ko- ran. i 73 But I turn from the merely intellectual, to the mor- al ruins of human nature. The temple is ruined, it is true ; but, what is worse, it is defiled. Where, former- ly, Reason sat enthroned, Error now reigns. Where Charity, Wisdom and Peace once reigned, there Hatred, Strife and Superstition now wield their sceptres. The veil of the holy of holies is rent, the sanctuary is thrown open to every intruder; and Satan has entered and de- filed it. The obscurity of tradition handed down from father to son, was increased by every repetition ; and fallen man has always been more fond of accommodat- ing his creed to his desires, than of accommodating his desires to his creed. The bloody Saxons chose Odin as their principal divinity. Venus was worshipped by the luxurious Cyprians. The powerful Jupiter was adored in the Capitol; and to the god of poetry were dedica- ted the groves and vallies of Greece. In fact, every stream and every hill had its ovvn peculiar god. I have now to consider the different causes of these two different kinds of superstition. The causes of the first kind of superstition are — The love of a violent slim^ ulus — The desire after immortality — The love of prying in- to mysterious secrets — and — Ignorance. There is a singu- lar analogy between the tastes of ihe body and those of the mind. And, among other similarities, they are both fond of violent excitements. Marvellous occurrences are to the mind, what strong drink is to the body. Like it^ they inflame, and leave a kind of void behind : they dis- gust the mind with all vvholesome food, with all the com- mon occurrences of life ; but great part of their charm is taken off. if we doubt the truth of the relation. This 6* 74 • 13 one cause of superstition. But ag'ain — The desire af- ter immortality. There is something revolting in the idea of being laid in the dust, and so annihilated. There is something sad in the idea that the wit, the orator, the warrior, and the husbandman must all lie down to- gether in a common grave. And, thus taught by tradi- tion, and by their own desires, men have aspired to- wards a future state of being. But they were unable to form any just conception of it ; and the frightful ques- tions pi'Gsented themselves on every side, " Where am I going ? — To what society shall I be introduced ?" They have appealed to reason; but reason has been si- lent ; and imagination, with all its phantoms and vaga- ries, has been substituted for it. Again, another cause of superstition is J'he love of prying into mysterious se- crets. There was a time when the judgment was gov- erned by God, and when judgment governed the will, and the execution of the will was not impeded by ad- verse circumstances. But now this fair picture is re- versed. The judgment is corrupt, and is influenced and governed by a corrupt will : or, where the mind is Tuuier a better influence, obstacles to the fulfilment of its desire are continually presenting themselves; and its diflerent properties, like parts of a deranged ma- chine, impede what they were intended to facilitate : that which was once all harmony/and order, is now con- fused and disproportionate. The desires are as unlimit- ed as they ever were ; but they flow in diflerent chan- nels, or rather from a corrupt i'ountain. Instead of as- piring to virtue and immortality, they entwine around, they embrace, the world. Instead of desiring anything 75 that is honorable or of good report, they cling- to every thing that is dishonorable. But, among other strong desires, curiosity is one of the strongest ; and, in some cases, one of the most laudable ; in others, one of the most hurtful. You iind that from the little child, to the wise philosopher, all are dissatisfied with the present state of knowledge, all participate in the pleasure of learning something. " Still onward ! onward !" It is, then, no wonder, if men have sought to dive into the secrets of futurity. Hence they resort to cunning men, who pretend to tell them what is to come to pass ; but who rarely satisfy their superstitious hearers by a di- rect answer to their inquiries. They have also resort- ed to spectres and phantoms. " Rocking on the billowy air, Ha ! what withering phantoms glare !" The}'^ have thought that, by intercourse with the dead, they might gain some information on so important a subject, and thus they hear, with the utmost attention, and believe, with the profoundest reverence, the most incredible stories. Again, Ignorance is another cause. And, under this head, 1 might have comprised all the causes of superstition : but as brevity was not my ob- ject and I wished to be explicit and intelligible, I have divided the subject into several particulars. For were not our taste vitiated, and our knowledge impaired, we should not seek a '* stimulant'''' by any unlawful means. The '' desire of knoiscledge'''' produces only a good effect on those to whom life and immortality are revealed. And the very idea of a " secret" implies ignorance. 76 The human tnind is ignorant, yet wise in its own con- ceit ; and the Uttle light that it gain?, unassisted by rev- elation, only serves to show the thick darkness that surrounds it. Philosophy has, indeed, attempted to re- move the difficulty, which, like the stone of Sysiphus, recoils, and crushes the hand that attempts to move it : but its endeavors have been useless. Neverthe- less, the ignorance to which I refer, is rather a gen- eral ignorance than an ignorance on particular subjects ; and we do find that where general knowledge is preva- lent, superstition is banished ; and that men are more or less superstitious, according to the portion of infor- mation that they have acquired. 1 should now have considered the causes of Idolatry ; but this is, alas ! to be referred rather to the depravity of the heart, than to that of the understanding. I will, therefore, proceed to the effects of superstition. Some men, always ready to oppose any thing which can tend to civilize or bless their species, since they find that the universal cry of England has destroyed the Slave Trade, have entreated us, that, although we are determined to deny the Africans the unspeakable pleasure of being transported and worked to deatli in a foreign land, we would, at least, leave the heathen their innocent super- stition. Innocent ! Let War show her thousands of dead, and Superstition shall show her ten thousands ! Witness! ye miserable victims crushed under her chari- ot wheels ! Witness ! Witness ! ye infants, whom the cruelty of your parents has exposed to the heat of a vertical sun, to hunger and thirst, and wretchedness ! — and, with united voice, bear witness to the innocence of 77 superstition ! It debases the human mind ; it restrains its powers, and tyrannizes over them ; it hardens the human heart, and steels it against the most natural and almost instinctive feelings : " At thy command, he plants the dagger deep ; •' At thy command, exults, though nature bids him weep." Superstition though it wears the garb of religion, is a very ditferent thing, both in its principles and in its ef- fects. Religion emanates from the bosom of God, and produces charity and good works ; while Superstition, arising from the fancy of men, or from the machinations of Satan, produces strite, envy, and evil works. Reli- gion commends itself by meekness and love : Supersti- tion is distinguished by hatred and desire of revenge. Religion uses only lawful and laudable means to estab- lish her dominion ; but the arms of Superstition are not only carnal, but diabolical. Such are the general effects of Superstition. I have now to consider more particularly its advanta- ges : and these are rather negative than positive. It prevents Atheism : and, where united with Christianity, it in some measure guards it from the attacks of scepti- cism. If the heathen, deprived as they were of every source of instruction, and of every spiritual idea of God, had not been helped in their conceptions of the Su- preme Being, restrained from sin, and assisted in their devotions, by Superstition, they must have become Atheists both in theory and practice. It may sometimes also strengthen a man's belief in Christianity. Many men have been educated in such a way, that they know 78 but little of religion, and yet are well acquainted with the Superstitions with which the fancy of men has dis- figured it, and have been taught from their childhood to revere them, and to connect them with the idea of religion. These, then, have guarded religion, till the man has been able to examine it; and then, having seen the beauty of undefiled religion, he takes away the in- cumbrances with which it was surrounded, and casts off the chains with which he himself was bound. But still, the evils of Superstition vastly preponder- ate. And we are happy that we can look forward to a period when Truth shall come in like a flood ; when the river, which springs from the throne of God, shall grow wider and wider, shall overflow its banks, and re- fresh, and fertilize, and beautify that " dry and thirsty land where no water is ;" when the Sun, which is now rising, shall shine forth in full splendour, and shall dis- pel the mists of darkness and of error J and when Truth alone shall reign. 79 He continued his weekly compositions from thirteen to fourteen ; and I should, with pleasure, continue the extracts, did I not fear that I should weary my readers with too great an abundance of these juvenile, or rather childish, productions. The last prose piece which he wrote was on "the oonnexion of ideas.-' It is far too long for insertion ; and though it contains many beauti- ful thoughts clothed in charming language, I can dare to offer only the commencement and the conclusion of the essay. It was begun when he was thirteen years and nine months old. THE CONNEXION OF IDEAS. {September, 1816.) All sciences may be divided into two classes : — tboffe which are purely speculative, which afford considerable amusement ; but in which the lover of his species and the lover of improvem^int can find little or nothing that may serve to strengthen his own faculties, to sweeten his own disposition, or to ameliorate the condition of mankind at large : — and those which, while they are continually opening new sources of i)leasure, strengthen the faculties, enlarge the mind ; and, contributing to the happiness of their possessor, enable him to contribute largely to the happiness of the world. The subject which I am to consider unites all the advantages I have 80 enumerated. To the man who is fond of reasoning and speculation, it will aflbrd matter of contemplation which will delig-ht, but never cloy ; satisfy, but never satiate him ; while the philanthropist may make it the founda- tion of new plans, by which he may bless, and raise, and dignify mankind. Whoever studies this subject will find that, as he passes on, fresh prospects are ever opening before him ; that as soon as he has gained one object, another, brighter and more lovely, presents itself ; and that regions more beauteous than those through which he has already passed, invite him to continue his en- deavours, Man, like every other species, has his dis- tinguishing peculiarities : — a peculiar conformation of body ; peculiar habits ; and a mind peculiarly vigorous, when compared with the lower creation. Minds too have all some things in common, some distinguishing traits which none can mistake ; and which that poor despised creature, whose intellect scarcely raises him above a brute, possesses in common with the mind of a Virgil — perhaps, in common with the highest archangel in heaven. " The connexion of ideas," then, is one of those things which 1 consider as necessary to the very existence of mind as it exists on earth. It is indispensa- bly necessary, because the judgment, the fancy, and all the powers of the mind are its offspring; and because nothing can be done without it, by the philosopher in his study, or by the mechanic in his daily occupation. But before I attempt to prove what 1 have asserted, it will be necessary to explain the Ideas which I attach to the terms which I have used.* * Here intervened many pages, written at various times, dur- ing about three or four months ; but, for the reason already as- 81 fft •!• "t* *!• »!• •!■ ^* *p "T" I liave now to consider the imagination. The mind of every man seems to feelits own grandeur; but exter- nal circumstances keep it down, shorten its flisfhts, and repress its exertions ; but the moment 3'ou can detach it from ordinarj' objects, it begins to soar and expatiate in a world of its own, which resembles the world that surrounds us just as the celestial colors of the rainbow resemble the clouds they adorn. Hence the frequent sublimity of dreams, and the energetic eloquence of madness. It is true, that in such cases our ideas are of- ten fixed on common affairs; and then indeed they hare all the whim of insanity without any of the grandeur which it sometimes possesses. Yet when once the real world ceases to haunt us, imagination creates an ideal universe, and luxuriates in her proper sphere. The associates she forms are also entirely different from real men. She paints them all, glowing with the colors of heaven, or tinged with the darkness of hell. The scene is ever shifting as the actors are strange ; sometimes decked with the flowers of paradise, and soon wrapped in the deepest gloom. She often endures causeless, un- accountable miseries, and is sometimes elated with the most exquisite joys; sometimes tilled with hope, and often sunk in despair ! Yet " xftE connexion of ideas" is, in some sort, necessary to the exercise of this facul- ty. We have no example of a mind utterly devoid of connexion, so that we can scarcely determine the effects of its destruction. signed, they are omiWccl. What follows was writtcrj on the lust 7 t^\;o rnoraings. 82 ********* And now had I determined to eulogise the human mind ; had it been my design to throw the deformity of the heart into the shade ; and to lose sight of the de- pravity of our morals, amid the dazzle of intellectual brilliance ; what could 1 have said more highly commen- datory of our mental perfection, than that the principle of ORDER — the moving principle of the universe, the grand principle which puts the power of omnipotence into action — is the main-spring of the human soul, the foundation of its greatness, nay, the very stamina of its existence ? Nevertheless, true — incontrovertibly true — it is, that the love of order has been injured, though not destroy- ed, — that some grand intellectual as well as moral shock has been sustained by humanity. We see its ravages la the greatest mind ; and, although they resemble the traces of an earthquake, which has rent an Alp asunder, they are but ruins still. I must leave it to divines to determine by what means that shock was given ; and whether the depravity of the human heart alone has debased the intellect, or whether the same shock which effaced the moral, defaced the intellectual image of the Deity. But the fact is certain ; and if we refuse to admit it, we find that all our speculations on this subject are restrained by insurmountable difficulties, and all our most plausible reasoning but a tissue of sophisms : we are acting against experience ; we are in the labyrinth of Minos, without a clue to extricate us ; we find our- selves at sea, without a compass to direct our way ; 83 and surrounded with rocks and quicksands, without a beacon to shew us a place of safety. But while it is necessary for the philosopher to cal- culate on this mental blindness ; it is far more essential to the philanthropist and politician to calculate on de- pravity, both intellectual and moral. The benevolent must expect to find that his labors are undervalued by the folly, and chilled by the ingratitude, of mankind — while the legislator must always prepare himself for resistance against his most beautiful theory ; and remem- ber, while, like the patient artist, he is endeavouring to realize forms of ideal beauty, that he too is working on bad materials ; and that he has an additional difficulty to encounter in the propensity his most perfect work will always have to relapse into its original deformity. 84 mS FIRST POETICAI. EFFORTS AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN. Perceivia'g in several of these pieces, a considerable play of imagination, and soraething approaching to the elevation of poetrj ; I often said to his mother, ' There is here and there something like a poet in our dear boy.' Yet I more frequently said, ' William, you will make a very good metaphysician, perhaps, a good mathemati- cian ; but never a poet. How can you become one ? for neither father nor mother have a particle of imagi- nation to give you.' This, I conceive, determined him to try. He did not write, I believe, " because the num- bers came ;"" but because he wished to see what he could do. This was no unusual thing with him. Feel- ing, I suppose, the strength of his powers, he aluays attempted what was represented to be, or what was in reality, the most difficult of its kind. In April, 1817, while I was in London, his mother, to my great surprise, sent me a few verses written by him. He happened to see the plays of Crebillon at a shop in the town, and begged his mother to purchase them for him. On the following Friday, intent as usual, upon his new volumes, he said, "■ Let me write a translation of the Idomeneus." ' By all means.' "But shall I give you an elegant translation ?" She, smiling, said, ' As ele- gant as you please.' In two or three hours, he brought her ninety lines, from which she sent me the following extract : 85 Back to