ten to his own words. In his treatise on the education of youth, to which he would have the years from twelve to twenty one allotted, he places among their earliest studies, arithmetic and geometry. "And," says he, "having thus passed the principles of arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, &c., they may descend in mathematics to the instrumental science of trigonometry, and from thence to fortification, architecture, enginery or navigation, &c.; then also those poets which are now counted most hard, will be both facile and pleasant;" among which he numbers the Georgics of Virgil; thus making that book with which we are required to be familiar, as early at least as with arithmetic, succeed, in the order of mental discipline, a pretty extensive and thorough training in the higher branches of the mathematics. Such was the opinion of one who, from experience, was prepared to judge of the influence of the different studies in forming the mind. Nor does he make any exceptions to suit the case of those effeminate, lovemelted, moonshine-mongers, whom Shakspeare describes as

"Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad
Made to their mistress' eyebrows."

We will next introduce the charming bard of Mantua, with whose biography it would be strange if every classical scholar were not familiar. At the age of sixteen we find him listening to the instructions of Syro, a distinguished epicurean philosopher, and celebrated teacher of that sect. "But," says Lempriere, "medicine and mathematics were the sciences to which he was chiefly addicted." And we are willing to set the Georgics and the Eneid against the opinion of Schaliger, in deciding whether "your geometer should be a dull and patient intellect." It may seem futile to drag in the name of Homer, as authority on this point. But those who have the bravery to encounter Dr. Cudworth, may find abundant reason to believe that the bard of Chio could not have been unskilled in so much of geometry and astronomy as was taught in his age. The perfect ease with which he handles every branch of Grecian learning and art, especially navigation, has been adduced by Coleridge, as proof, that he had an accurate acquaintance with every branch of science and art then cultivated among the Grecians; and, we may add, among the Egyptians. Madame de Staël in her Germany, remarks very justly, that "poets find in the sciences the genuine beauties of the universe." Leibnitz, the cotemporary and rival of Newton, was a powerful mathematician and no mean poet. Of Haller, whom the Germans regard as their second Leibnitz, his biographer says: "it cannot be denied that his compositions breathe the genuine spirit of poetry, and are animated by the sublimest inspirations. Though Haller has been surpassed in harmony, grace, and correctness, he has perhaps never been equalled in richness and vigor

of imagination." We are sorry we cannot add to our catalogue of witnesses the distinguished name of Bayle. His opinion certainly would bear nothing in our favor, for D'Israeli remarks of him, that according to his own acknowledgment, "he never could comprehend the demonstration of the first problem in Euclid." But the same author remarks further, that he was destitute of fine taste, and poetic discernment; by which it appears, that an aversion to mathematics is not always indicative of poetic talent. But being aware of the futility of catching here and there a flying phrase from a one sided and partial reviewer, without being able to refer to times and places, we must content ourselves with advising those who would learn the real sentiments of the distinguished scholars of every age upon this subject, to become acquainted with their early history; then, tracing the progress of their minds up to the height and maturity of their action, they will know what it is that gives vigor and permanancy to their efforts. And when they see a Milton, like the eagle, with strong and sinewy wing, buffetting the storm, and stretching his flight above the clouds, till he gazes, with unflinching eye, upon the bright sun, let them remember the words of the immortal bard, and

474

TRUE NOBILITY OF MAN.

"An honest man's the noblest work of God."

THE dignity of man's nature has been ascribed to the joint advantages of bodily superiority and intellectual greatness. But the former he shares pretty equally with some brutes; in the latter he is exceeded by lost spirits, and neither the one or the other comprises his true native nobility. That human beings alone of animals walk erect, have a certain peculiar conformation and movement of limb, is of itself a trifling circumstance. It adds little dignity to their character, and only as the outward symbol of a high toned, upright spirit deserves the admiration of the wise. If the mind be vicious, with low desires and abject feelings, the human form becomes the vilest imposition which the world, this various and complex work of nature, exhibits. When Milton represents the great deceiver on his return from that malignant excursion to our globe, "scorned by the dismal universal hiss" of his snaky associates, we remark with peculiar pleasure the fitness of their metamorphosis. The mind feels no repugnance at seeing celestial nature and archangelic intellect, having once assumed the serpent's character, afterwards clothed in his own proper form.

Reason, the brilliancy of wit, the glow of sensibility, though much, are not all, nor the chiefest part in that exaltation of which our nature is capable. Reason, that lofty faculty of which we love to boast as associating our nature with the divine! Were she followed and cherished with an equal enthusiasm, such claim might have a weight which he who looks only at the common practice of man is unwilling to acknowledge. But where she should rule, she slumbers an impotent mistress, while passion and prejudice usurp her throne and give law in her name. Her just authority is subverted; her free decisions are warped to give speciousness to absurdity, and color to falsehood. Wit is but an uncertain light, which dazzles by its brilliancy, but blinds the eye to every other object. Sensibility, through which man should taste an innocent delight in whatever is beautiful in scenery, noble in sentiment or elevated in character, often gives a keener relish to debasing pleasures, or a sharper efficacy to the stings of remorse. These, then, are not the real dignity of man. Alone, they only form a superior kind of brute, and become illustrious only when subservient to a higher faculty of his being.

The moral nature of man as the basis of his own happiness, and the ground of that connection which exists between him and his God, is the crowning excellence of his character. Infinite

goodness sent forth the human soul, weakly guarded by reason, tossed by passions, a child of frailty and prone to wander; but endowed it with a moral nature which binds it to his own glorious nature, and affiliates it to the spirits of the blessed. When borne on in the race of guilty pleasure, a voice whispers in the ear of man, chides his devious course and tells him of a glorious destiny. To know the extent of our moral relations, to adorn the character with the beauty of excellence, and develope our moral susceptibility, is the business of life, and the proper object for the employment of all our talents. We should become wise in order to become good. Especially, be it never forgotten, that he who has attained a just conception of his moral relations alone, has proceeded farther in the way of wisdom, than he who has mastered all the stores of human learning without it. If we mistake the ultimate design of being, it matters little how wise we show ourself in other things; we have missed the point of destination, and our whole course is necessarily wrong.

Placing the nobility of man upon such high ground, the way of attaining true excellence becomes peculiarly important. And first, we say, let him who desires this excellence, impress upon his mind and ponder in his thought the importance of an immortal nature. Let him remember that this is "the infancy of being." Let his steady eye often turn from these scenes which so distort our mental vision, to contemplate the enfranchised spirit as it "pursues its rising track" from ignorance to the full perfection of knowledge. Let him remember, let him feel, that this weak nature contains the elements of perfection; that this feeble spirit, which now gropes in error, confounded and amazed at the least of creation's wonders, has a glorious period in prospect, when it shall comprehend a universe, and fathom the depths of the divine purposes. By such reflections he may learn to set a just estimate upon things, to counteract that fatal thirst for present pleasure, to associate life with immortality. He for whom fortune has in reserve a crown, however low his present state, must blush to act inconsistently with his future character, must learn to anticipate his regal dignity.

The contemplation of immortality, while it is too serious to excite vanity, still should awake in every breast sentiments of the most perfect freedom. When man clearly comprehends how fearful and wonderful is his destiny, he feels his interests too important to be trifled with; and the rights of his fellow man are too momentous for the thought of infringement. When the

enraged tyrant looks down upon the pale, cringing wretch at his feet, let the recollection of his immortal privilege burst upon him, and let him fear to wound a nature enduring as his own, and which must move on, a kindred spirit, by his side, in infinite progression.