consenting praise of the good, the uncorrupted testimony of the virtuous; it is that which is pursued at the risk of ease, tranquillity and pleasure; it is maintained in spite of the powerful, the audacious and the wicked; its end is to give cause to our country to rejoice in bearing such a son." Alexander felt it when, after conferring costly rewards upon his friends, he said that the only one he desired to reserve for himself was "Hope."

Yet ardent as may be these yearnings of our nature; and pure and lofty as may be the spirit that cherishes high resolves and aims at lofty objects; they demand of us, and require for success, impulses to action as ardent and as pure. It is not for us to dream away our years in the arms of enthusiastic hopes, "like Endymion with the moon, as the tale of Latmus goes."

Certare ingenio-contendere nobilitate

Noctes atque dies niti præstante labore ;

-this it is which is also needed to give steadiness to our views and unity to our purposes; it is allured by no seductions and terrified by no misfortunes; it is not tempted by the golden apples of Meleager or daunted by the frightful spectres of Ulysses; it sees across its path no mountains too lofty to climb; directing its flight above the clouds, it soars onward, through pure skies and on buoyant gales, towards the great fountain of light at which it aims. The Creator has ordained that knowledge worth acquiring, and virtue worth esteem, are to be gained only by labour and zeal-" Pater ipse haud facilem esse viam voluit." In what strains does Milton allude, when old, and blind, and amid misfortunes that might have tamed a spirit less sublime, to the perseverance, constancy and faith that guided and bore him up :

Not to these idle orbs doth sight appear

Of sun, or moon, or star throughout the year,

Against heaven's hand or will-nor bate a jot

Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.

If those to whom is given unrivalled genius, thus toil in the race of knowledge, well may they who aspire to follow, though indeed with unequal steps, in the same career, devote to it an industry not less constant, a devotion not less fervid; and, excluding all minor objects, bear up, and steer right onward, gaining at least the vestibule, if it be not given them to enter the shrine consecrated by such mighty masters. Among the illustrations by which a teacher of mental science has adorned his lessons of wisdom, is found the story of a poor child who was born deaf, dumb, and blind—thus ushered upon the world, without ever possessing the great inlets from which our race receives all that it knows or enjoys. It was among the habits of this benighted creature to retire alone into a chamber, with which he had become familiar, where he would carefully close the doors and windows, then, placing himself before a small crevice, he would sit for hours, eagerly catching the rays upon his eye, which, obscured as it was, felt the influence of the concentrated light. For him whose faculties have not been stinted by the chastening hand of heaven, there is a bright and intellectual ray, powerful to bless, to irradiate, and to warm; who would not shut out all that could impair its pure lustre ; who would not devote himself, with unchanged ardour, to catch its beam and enjoy its influence?

Indeed it is one of the results of an enthusiastic character, which aims at worthy ends, and pursues them with untiring spirit, to banish from our thoughts ignoble views and to brace up the mind to loftier purposes. It is like that law of Plato, which permitted the inmates of his imaginary republic to listen to the harp, the lyre, and instru

ments of greater compass; but forbid every sound that could soften or enervate the heart. It exalts our view of the end and object of our existence here. It fills us with sympathy for man and devotion towards God. What is tardy it excites-what is wild and vehement it softens, awakening dreams of peace, happiness, and boundless charity, that are as gentle as the airs of summer, and as refreshing to the spirit that must needs contend and struggle through the crosses of human life. It holds up the image of universal Truth as the beacon of life's voyage. It teaches us rightly to weigh the favours of worldly fortune, which wisdom will not, indeed, altogether disregard, but which no mind, imbued with just emotions, places otherwise than low in the scale of human blessings. It shrinks from what is bad, as it covets what is good; it is in arms at wrong, tyranny, and oppression; and it seeks to bring all mankind beneath the protecting wings of benevolence and justice. To our lives it imparts that equability and singleness of purpose, pronounced by Tully to be so graceful. It teaches us that it suffices not for evil to be concealed. It bids us, in the language of Bacon, "to propound unto ourselves good and virtuous ends of life, so that what virtue soever the pursuit and passage towards those ends doth commend unto us, we are invested of a precedent disposition to conform ourselves thereto." Above all, it indignantly overthrows, as the basis of human conduct, unworthy selfishness and interest, and, on the wider foundation of generous and ennobling actions, it builds a temple to philosophy, which embraces all the feelings and affections that unite the individual with the rest of his race.

Such are the principles exciting and governing human actions, that have their spring in the enthusiastic spirit implanted by nature in our breasts. Well directed and ardently pursued it is a talisman which

we bear with us as Sylla bore the statue of Apollo about his person, to inspire us with what is most wise, to guide us in moments of difficulty and trial, to lead us to those ends which are the worthiest objects of man's pursuit.

Nor is it less the spring of excellence in the productions of art and the researches of science. It gives to the conceptions of genius originality and beauty. It sees in nature fair images hidden from the cold or careless observer. It catches from its own sensibility, that which appeals most surely to the heart of others. Whence is the charm that beams over the placid countenance of the Virgin mother, gazing on the infant Saviour smiling in her arms? Whence arise the strong emotions which live in the features of the Athenian crowd, as they listen to the apostle telling of the unknown God? They are not in the grouping, or the colouring, or the skill or tricks of art-the soul of the youthful master, as he delineated them, responded to the influence of angelic beauty and love, and bowed to the eloquent teachings of inspired truth. Why does the eye never tire to dwell on the airy distances, the rich and tranquil softness, the delicious harmony that pervade the landscapes of Claude? Nature herself seldom offers scenes that steal so deeply to the heart. Is it a mere effort of skill, blending together the mountain, the cloud, the forest, the stream, the temple and the plain? It cannot be these, since others may have copied as well; others may have combined with equal skill. It is because the canvass bears the impress of the same spirit which led on the artist for days, and weeks, and months in his rambles among the mountains and the woods; which dwelt with him, as he lay stretched for hours, gazing on the scene before him, catching every hue of the changing heavens, imbibing the breathing freshness of the morning, the humming glow of noon, and the clear tranquillity of eve.

What but the "innate flash" could mould the statue which still enchants the cold and rude scepticism of our age, as it enchanted the ardent and imaginative devotion of that long past? What imparts its living interest to the marble group which the modern Praxiteles has sculptured as ascending in mournful gratitude the tomb of pious beneficence? Is it the polish of unrivalled skill, the exquisite whiteness, the shining smoothness, the accuracy of anatomy, the regularity of features, the harmony of composition, or the gracefulness of attitude? These indeed unite their influence in the general effect-but the secret of perfection, and the secret of the triumph is in the soul which inspired and was imparted.

It is in vain that the poet has given to the fictitious personages of his drama thoughts that breathe and words that burn; that he has drawn in Antigone the picture of female devotion, piety, resolution, tenderness and love-that he has blended in the character of the Cid, the loftiest with the gentlest emotions-that he has depicted the sublimity of Lear, the exquisite philosophy of Hamlet, the devotion of Juliet, the terror of Macbeth-it is in vain that he has given to them the true language of passion, and perfect consistency of character; it is in vain that they are decked in appropriate costume, and presented in scenes which give reality to the fable-if the actor glows not with the enthusiasm, feels not deeply the emotion he represents.

So is it with the orator. In vain he endeavours, unexcited, to bear along with him the crowd whom he addresses; in vain he calls for passions which he does not also feel; he finds his success only in the moment when he seems least to care for it, when thinking less of those around him than himself, he pours out the torrent of contagious